Doctor Who: The Gunfighters (5 page)

In fact, there was everything a festered tooth could wish for

– except a dentist to manipulate these macabre devices, prominent amongst which, he now noticed, was a brace and bit.

Groaning, he crossed the room and opened yet another door, which he presumed led to the living-quarters. They proved, however, to be the sleeping-quarters – and they were currently being used as such by the surgeon; and a lady who could only be, or so the Doctor supposed, the receptionist; who resented his intrusion, and. said so.

In fact, Doc Holliday went so far as to produce a six-gun from beneath the pillow, and ask if the Doctor thought he was some kind of dad-blasted purity enforcement officer from the Band of Hope – because, if so, they could settle the matter right now.

But the Doctor explained his business; and, in practically no time at all, the misunderstanding was resolved to general satisfaction. Because, as Kate pointed out, he was their very first customer – and she further urged both Doctors not to be in the least bit nervous on that account, because she would be watching the whole thing, ready to lend a hand if need be.

As one Doctor, they discouraged this idea.

‘Now Kate,’ said Holliday, ‘you know you cain’t stand violence an’ such; as you never leave off telling me. So kindly get right back in bed where you belong,and don’t emerge till the ruckus is over. Won’t take no more than a moment, once I’ve put the gentleman at his ease.’

‘And how do you propose to do that?’ quavered the Doctor.

‘Well now, I’ll tell you; you can either have a slug of rot-gut...’

The patient proclaimed his temperance principles. ‘Or I can give you a little tap on the parietal with my equaliser.

The choice is entirely yours.’

Although reassured to some extent by the use of the word ‘parietal’, which argued at least the rudiments of a medical background, the Doctor nevertheless discarded for the nonce his aforementioned prohibitionist views, and opted for the former alternative. Emboldened by which, he then enquired if Holliday was entirely sure what he was about.

‘Never tolerated a complaint in my whole life, sir,’ the practitioner boasted. ‘Now, if you’ll kindly stop your distracting cacophany, and open your goddam mouth real wide, I’ll proceed to go for your gums.’

And he reached a trembling hand for the surgical wrench.

8

The Last Chance Saloon was really jumping by now – and with some justification. It was a nervous place at the best of times, and this wasn’t one of them. The boys had at last run out of conversation; and since none of them felt like going out to fetch some more, they were presently engaged in shooting the neck off any bottle which had offended them by being empty.

Charlie had, in fact, mentioned that he didn’t want no trouble; but they had assured him that it weren’t no trouble at all, and continued to prove it, punctuating their explosive obbligato with those high-pitched yipping cries, which were such an attractive feature of the Old West.

Rather like Professor Barnstorm’s Musical Dogs in rehearsal, it was.

Speaking of music, Charlie explained to them that, if there was any kind of professional integrity round here, Kate would shortly be returning to continue her selections from the classics; and they agreed that they would look forward to that, then. But meanwhile they would continue to provide their own entertainment, if that was all right by him?

After a quick calculation of the odds, Charlie supposed it was; and retreated to his thankless sanctum, where there was a picture of Lily Langtry he was fond of. ‘What a Jersey Lily!’ it was his habit to say; after which he would laugh. But right now, he was unable to summon so much as a snigger to his blue and mirthless lips. He wondered whether to pass the time with a little shaving, since it was a Friday; but decided against it, on the grounds that the mortician would no doubt take care of all that, in due course.

But these valedictory musings were cut short by the unexpected tolling of the bar-bell; and he emerged once more, to find that two strangers had been fool enough to enter his premises.

These, of course, were Steven and Dodo, who, having scoured the town – which could use it – for a Waldorf Astoria, had now decided that this must be where the action was. And they were right. Their entrance had not gone unobserved.

‘Why, look-ee here,’ said Ike.

‘Why, look-ee here,’ followed Phineas, admiring the phrase, ‘if it ain’t Calamity Jane an’ Sam Bass!’

‘Haw! Haw!’ said Billy, to show he could appreciate a joke, ‘well, if it jest ain’t!’

Seth said nothing, to imply he was a loner, who always made up his own mind, when he could find it. But somehow he didn’t think they were right.

And Charlie, who had his custom to think of, said

‘What’ll it be, stranger?’ – an opening gambit he had always found to be much appreciated by the casual caller.

But not this time. It wasn’t Charlie’s day.

‘Nothing to drink, thank you,’ said Steven, primly, ‘but I’d like to book three rooms for the night, please...’

Charlie counted the passing trade, cautiously. ‘For the two of you?’ he enquired.

‘They need one for a rumpus room, maybe?’ suggested Ike.

‘That’s right – for funnin’ an’ such,’ explained Phineas.

‘Some place they can meet real private,’ said Billy, offensively.

‘A friend will be joining us later,’ said Steven, anxious to dispel any prurient speculations at the outset. ‘He’s been held up.’

‘Who hasn’t, these days?’ asked Charlie, with a malevolent glance at his regulars. ‘Sign of the rotten times!

Well then, I guess I’ll have to get you to affix your labels to the book here...’ And he pushed the mildewed volume towards them. ‘Jest so’s I can get in touch with the next of kin,’ he explained. ‘If need be...’

He breathed heavily over Dodo’s shoulder, wilting a flower or so, and regarded her particulars with interest – if you follow me.

‘Say,’ he said, impressed, ‘you really a piano player, lady?’

‘You’re durn tootin’, I am!’ said the irrepressible Dodo.

‘“Queen of the Ivory Keys” – that’s me!’

Steven groaned, and completed his own formalities.

‘An’ you’re a sure ‘nough singer, friend?’ continued Charlie. ‘Well, I’ll be hog-tied for a booze-breathin’ son of a prairie-oyster! That’s what I’ll be!’

‘Why?’ asked Steven, concerned on his behalf.

‘Because in that case, I might jest be able to offer the pair of you a job! You see,’ he explained, ‘I got no regular pianist on account of he played me sour a mite too often, an’... well, he’s kinda restin’ right now...’

‘Real peaceful,’ agreed Seth, who had assisted at the ceremony.

‘An’ the little lady who’s been fillin’ in for him is a touch unreliable. Well, I don’t want to be hard, but she’s got her other interests, I reckon...’

‘Surely has,’ said Seth, remembering one star-spangled night in Ground Hog’s Hollow. ‘Oh, boy!’ he added, reflectively.

‘So you see how it is?’ concluded Charlie. ‘Right now, I’m stuck for music as a porcupine on a pianola!’

A confusing thing to envisage, perhaps; but they got his drift – and Steven checked it before it became irreversible...

‘Well, that’s really very kind of you,’ he appreciated,

‘but I’m afraid the fact is, we shall have to leave first thing in the morning...’

‘At sun-up,’ translated Phineas, helpfully.

Disappointed, Dodo kicked Steven’s ankle. ‘But surely one night wouldn’t make... wouldn’t make no never mind, would it?’ she cajoled, dropping into the vernacular. ‘I’ve always wanted to be a gin-palace tootsie!’

‘Certainly not!’ snapped Steven. ‘You know perfectly well, the Doctor would never allow it!’

The boys slumped upright, and cocked their ears like so many slack-whiskered lynxes. And a strange effect it was, to be sure. But no matter...

‘You hear what I heard?’ rumbled Ike,
blotto voce
.

‘We heard!’ corroborated the rest.

‘Well, let me know if’n you change your minds,’ said the disappointed impresario. ‘The coffin’s always open, like they say...’

‘Is it?’ said Dodo. ‘Well, in that case, if you’ll just give this key to our friend, the Doctor, when he arrives, we will retire to our rooms..

And thereby hammering the last nail into said coffin, they swept up the Grand Staircase – something which had not previously been done in a coon’s age...

With their departure there was a necessary pause for thought.

‘So the Doc ain’t travellin’ alone this time,’ reasoned Ike finally.

‘Let me see that register!’ said Billy.

‘Now, boy, you know you cain’t read,’ objected Phineas.

‘Give it here!’

Since he laboured under a similar disability himself, he passed the book to Ike, who had been to reform school.

‘Steven Regret,’ the scholar laboriously enunciated.

‘Now there’s a thing! Any of you boys ever seen a singer totin’ six-guns afore?’

‘Heard some who should have,’ contributed Seth.

‘Well, well, well – so Holliday’s got hisself a partner,’

pursued Ike. ‘What I mean is,’ he continued, for the benefit of the slower witted, ‘he’s got company! Now I don’t know about you boys, but I’m surely goin’ to have a itchy feelin’

in the back of my neck, if Regret’s comin’ downstairs behind us, when the Doc comes through them doors.’

‘In front of us,’ reasoned Phineas.

‘You got it!’ said Ike.

‘So why don’t one of you,’ said Seth, the strategist, ‘go an’ bring Regret down here again? So’s we can keep an eye on him,’ he clarified.

‘Good thinking,’ said Billy. ‘On your way, Phin.’

‘What’ll I tell him?’ asked his brother. ‘I mean, I don’t hardly know him...’

‘Tell him,’ said Ike, ‘we’d take it as a personal favour if he was to give us a song before chow time. On account of...

say this... say that we have been riding the range, and far removed from cultural distractions, since we can’t remember when. That’ll fetch him.’

‘Bound to,’ agreed Seth. ‘You know what these here artistes is like. Give ’em any excuse, an’ they sets to warblin’ like a... like a...’

‘Summer frog?’ returned Phineas. They ignored him.

The time for that sort of thing was long gone. Hereon in, it was serious.

‘An’ while Phin’s takin’ care of that little matter,’

pursued Ike, sternly, ‘you take a mosey down Main Street, Seth, an’ see if you cain’t find Holliday. I’m gettin’ a mite tired of jest settin’ here, waitin’... I’ve had enough!’

‘You surely have,’ agreed Seth; and he high-tailed it for the Great Outdoors, before Ike could work that one out.

9

Gun-slingers who mosey down Main Streets, are – thank God! – a breed apart; and it suits them. They do not, that is to say, simply walk from point A to point B, same like you or I would do, if there was anything in it for us. No, they prefer to zig-zag about, like a graph of the trade figures in a bad month; occasionally spinning on their heels and snarling, before dropping on to their stomachs and rolling over and over to the nearest horse-trough –

where they can lie, breathing deeply, until ready to proceed.

It is a strange discipline they follow: and one which would likely lead to their being hauled off to the nearest laughing-academy – were it not, of course, for the fact that they are armed to the teeth, and would resent any such interference with their liberty.

Well, it’s a free country, as you may have heard; and so the citizens of Tombstone were generally prepared to take the broad view, and let them get on with it. After all, it’s their own clothes they’re ruining, ain’t it? And if a man can’t roll in the horse-flop whenever he feels that way, what is our fair land coming to?

And so Seth Harper attracted little but that modicum of attention required to avoid stepping on him, as he ducked and weaved through the weekday shoppers, like a play-pool dinghy rounding Cape Horn in a cyclone. And pretty soon, in the course of this routing, he fetched up against Holliday’s shop-front; where he stood for a moment, frozen, as they say, into immobility, before cautiously swivelling his unpleasant head on its point of attachment, and peeking narrowly through the window.

And what did he see? Why, a dapper little man in a velvet, box-back coat, and a fancy gambler’s vest; whose face may have been partly obscured for the moment by a blood-stained bandana clapped to the jaw, but who otherwise fitted the description so lovingly itemised by the police artists of several South-Western states.

There could, so Seth reasoned, be no mistake: this was the notorious rattlesnake of the Wild Frontier, the living legend himself, Doc Holliday. Besides, the man’s name was above the door, weren’t it? And if that didn’t clinch the matter beyond all reasonable doubt, what, he would like to know, could?

He was wrong, of course; but can perhaps be forgiven under the circumstances. And the stress of emotion too –

don’t forget that! Emotions were a thing he wasn’t used to

– and they had taken their toll. Because, having been so often told about them, he knew his limitations; and he wasn’t by no means about to push things to a fatal conclusion with
that
one – not all on his own. No, sir! I mean, come
on
!

So, summoning what he supposed to be a friendly smile from somewhere, and with hands akimbo, well away from his gun-belt, he sauntered into the shop...

As you will have gathered, Doc Holliday himself had retired from the scene briefly, shortly after completing his miracle of modern surgery; ostensibly to show the decayed ivory trophy to Kate; but in fact to avail himself of a bracing snort, for he had been much shaken by the encounter, and bitten painfully on the thumb to boot!

No hard feelings, of course – all in the line of professional duty, but still... a man needs a quiet moment to work out the bill after an experience like that. And he had decided that, in all fairness, it should be extortionate!

So the Doctor was alone when the Terror of the Plains made his entrance, and prepared to speak. This was the bit Seth always dreaded – words! God, how he hated them!