The Doctor and the Rough Rider (17 page)

“I agree,” said Roosevelt. “Killing the medicine men seemed the likeliest answer,
but not only are they well protected here, now that they know they're a target, I
can see them moving a few hundred miles north and west.”

“Can they still control War Bonnet from that far?”

Roosevelt nodded. “And if they can't, they'll get help. Remember: there are a lot
of medicine men, and only Geronimo wants to lift the spell.”

“Can they really control him?” persisted Mickelson.

“They can stop an entire nation from expanding beyond the Mississippi,” answered Roosevelt.
“I think you can be sure they can control one magical monster.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” said Sloan. “Still, you can't just wait around hoping that he
can't find you.”

“I had hoped I could neutralize him by killing his creators,” said Roosevelt, “but
in retrospect, it was doomed from the start. We know there were four medicine men
there, but even if we'd killed them, there are dozens more all over the West, and
doubtless some of them would have taken over control of him.”

“I think if I were you, I'd go back East,” said McMaster, tying a fresh handkerchief
over his wound.

“I'm not a quitter.”

“No one thinks you are, Theodore,” continued McMaster, “but you've just explained
why you can't neutralize the damn creature, so what's left?”

“I can kill it,” said Roosevelt, his jaw jutting forward pugnaciously.

“H
E'S NOT FOLLOWING US,”
remarked Luke Sloan, looking back for the twentieth time.

They were half an hour from the lodge, and there had been no sign of War Bonnet.

“It's early yet,” said Roosevelt.

“Got to be midafternoon,” noted Hairlip Smith.

Roosevelt shook his head. “Early in War Bonnet's existence. When I first met Geronimo
a few days ago, he didn't even exist. When Doc encountered him out beyond Tombstone,
he was gone in seven or eight minutes. Today he didn't last for much more than ten
or twelve minutes.”

“What are you getting at, Theodore?” asked Morty Mickelson.

“They're still working on him, making him stronger—and I have a feeling it's taking
a lot out of Dull Knife, Spotted Elk, and the others; that War Bonnet feeds on their
psychic powers, maybe even their physical strength. It would make sense for him to
catch up with us, trail us, wait for the moment when I'm not surrounded, and strike,
and we know he can go much farther afield, because Doc encountered him a day and a
half from here…but instead he's gone again. There might be some other reason, but
that's what I think is happening.”

“So you figure he's going to get stronger, and stick around longer?” asked Turkey
Creek Johnson.

Roosevelt nodded his head. “I've seen what he can do now, and just as importantly,
I've seen what he
can't
do. I'll talk to Thomas Edison and Ned Buntline, and we'll see what kind of weapon
they can devise.”

“So you never thought you could kill him this time?” demanded Johnson. “But you didn't
tell us that when you got us to ride with you.”

“I didn't think I could hurt the puppet,” said Roosevelt. “My hope was that we could
kill the puppeteers and cut the strings.”

“Nice turn of phrase,” said Mickelson. “Maybe you ought to give this up and become
a writer.”

“I
am
a writer.”

“Then why aren't you at home writing?”

“I don't believe in limiting myself.”

“I don't know, Theodore,” said Mickelson. “There's a mighty big difference between
not limiting yourself and going up against War Bonnet again.”

“I've seen him, I know what he can and can't do,” said Roosevelt. “Next time I'll
be fully prepared.”

“I got a question,” said McMaster.

“Yes?” said Roosevelt.

“War Bonnet was built to kill you and Geronimo, right? And the reason for it is that
his builders don't want the spell lifted that keeps the country on the other side
of the Mississippi, right?”

“Right.”

“So here's my question,” continued McMaster. “If he kills you, there's every likelihood
that Geronimo will find someone else to deal
with. Maybe President Arthur, maybe U. S. Grant, but
someone
. So killing you is only a stopgap measure. So why doesn't he go after Geronimo first?
After all, if he does, you have no one to deal with but the guys who spent part of
today trying to kill you.”

“Damned good question,” said Roosevelt. “I want to say that Geronimo's a lot harder
to kill, but that doesn't hold water, since War Bonnet was created solely to kill
both of us. So I think the likely answer is that while Geronimo may be easy for him
to
kill
, he's damned difficult for him to
spot
. I always look like a man, but Geronimo can turn himself into a jackrabbit, a bird,
a toad, damned near anything. War Bonnet didn't have to jump today, and I'm sure if
he did, those legs could send him twenty feet in the air…but what good is that when
Geronimo can fly to the top of a tree?”

“Okay,” said McMaster. “I suppose it makes sense.”

“You look like you have doubts,” said Roosevelt.

“If
you
know Geronimo can do those things, surely
they
know,”

“Certainly,” agreed Roosevelt. “But knowing he can do it doesn't mean they know how
to make War Bonnet do it.” He paused. “The proof is in the pudding. If he
could
change into all those things, he'd have gone after Geronimo first for the very reasons
you mentioned.”

Although Roosevelt was certain his reasoning was sound, he elected not to stop during
the night, and the horses walked on until they began passing the abandoned silver
mines on the outskirts of Tombstone the next day at noontime.

“Well, we made it, safe and sound and intact,” said Roosevelt. “I want to thank you
men for your help, for without you I would surely have died at War Bonnet's hands
yesterday.”

“Any time you need us again, Dandy, just pass the word,” said Sloan. “I ain't never
been nothing more than a cowboy. I
like
that I can tell people I been a Rough Rider.”

“And we certainly have seen something to tell our grandchildren about,” added Mickelson.
“Assuming any of us lives long enough to have any.”

“Got to make children before you worry about grandchildren,” said Tipton. “Let's go
into town and get started on that.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Sloan, spurring his horse into a canter. The others followed
suit, leaving Roosevelt and Manitou to walk into town. He rode up to the boarding
stable, dropped Manitou off, and walked the two blocks to the Grand, where he found
Holliday and Masterson having dinner in the restaurant.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, approaching their table.

“Glad to see you made it,” said Masterson. “How did you kill War Bonnet?”

“I didn't.”

“I didn't think you could,” said Holliday. “The real question is: Why didn't he kill
you?”

Roosevelt described the encounter in some detail.

“Damn!” exclaimed Masterson when he'd finished. “I was so captivated that my steak
got cold.”

“Mine too,” noted Holliday. “Fortunately, I never gave much of a damn if they served
it hot or cold.” He stared at Roosevelt. “So he didn't chase after you. You know what
I think?”

“What?”

“I think running him for ten minutes or so takes all the mental energy or spiritual
power or whatever you want to call it that they've got.”

“I agree,” said Roosevelt. “But now that they know I know, they'll be making changes.”

“How can they, if that's their limit?” asked Holliday.

“That's the limit for four of them. What if twenty or thirty throw
their psychic abilities into him?” replied Roosevelt. “He could be bigger, stronger,
faster, and stick around an hour or more.”

“Should have killed those medicine men when you could,” said Holliday.

“We couldn't,” answered Roosevelt. “He couldn't hurt the Rough Riders, but they couldn't
get past him, and when he made a break for me, they rode back to protect me instead
of charging into the hut.”

“Can't blame them for that,” offered Masterson.

“I owe them my life,” agreed Roosevelt.

“What now?” asked Holliday.

“Now I talk to Tom and Ned, and let them pick my mind about what I saw, and see if
they can come up with something—
anything
—that can kill him.”

“And if not?”

“If not, he'll go back East,” said Masterson. “He's got a future there. He could even
be governor of New York someday. No sense staying out here until War Bonnet can find
a way to kill him.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” declared Roosevelt adamantly.

“But—”

“Bat, I know it sound egomaniacal, but someday I'm going to be the president of the
United States, and I don't plan to preside over a country that stops less than halfway
across the continent.”

“Egomaniacal is an understatement,” replied Masterson.

“I'd vote for you,” said Holliday. He took a drink. “Of course, they might have to
lead me to the booth and read my ballot and steady my writing hand while my other
held my bottle…”

Roosevelt laughed. “That's years off. First things first, and the first thing is to
get rid of the one obstacle that's keeping us on one side of the river. Did you notice
anything at all, Doc, anything that might be useful?”

“We've been over it, Theodore,” said Holliday. “You've seen him yourself now. He walks,
he talks, he sees, he hears, he can't be hurt, and he can lift a two-ton rock as long
as he doesn't have to throw it at anybody besides you and Geronimo.”

“There's a weakness
somewhere
,” said Roosevelt firmly.

“What makes you so sure?” asked Masterson.

“Because if there weren't, they'd be planning to take the war east of the Mississippi.”

“How do you know they aren't?”

“If they were, Geronimo would know, and if he knew, he'd have told me.”

“He barely knows you, Theodore,” said Masterson.

“I'm the one he sent for,” insisted Roosevelt. “If he knew, he'd have told me.”

“Well, you know him better than I do,” said Masterson. “I just wouldn't put any faith
in that old man.”

“Makes sense for you not to,” offered Holliday. “After all, he turned you into a bat.
But Theodore's the one white man he trusts.”

“Whatever you say,” said Masterson, clearly becoming annoyed. He got to his feet and
left a few coins on the table. “I'm off to read a bit and then get a full night's
sleep. There's a rodeo tomorrow, and I thought I might as well make a little money
while I'm out here, so I'm writing it up for the
Epitaph
.”

“Wonderful name for a Tombstone newspaper,” commented Roosevelt.

“Useful, anyway,” said Holliday as Masterson headed off to his room.

“You say that as if you've been reading it lately.”

“I have,” said Holliday. “John, the editor, is a friend of mine from the O.K. Corral
days. The
Epitaph
hunted up witnesses, and it was the
best friend Wyatt and I had during the trial. Its editorials are one of the reasons
that Johnny Behan's not wearing a badge anymore.”

“And how have you been using it?” asked Roosevelt.

“You've had a lot on your mind, so I don't blame you for not thinking much about it,
but War Bonnet broke John Wesley Hardin out of jail a few days ago on the condition
that he come to Tombstone and kill me.”

“There was some talk about Hardin among the Rough Riders,” said Roosevelt, appropriating
Masterson's plate and his cold, half-eaten steak. “How good
is
he with a gun?”

“He's alive,” answered Holliday. “Given the number of gunfights he's been in, that
pretty much speaks for itself.”

“Have you ever seen him in a shootout?”

“I've never seen him, period.”

“But he's definitely coming this way?” persisted Roosevelt.

Holliday nodded. “The
Epitaph
has been tracking his progress for me.” A grim smile. “There's no doubt who it is.
Killed a man in a bar in Texas who thought it was funny to call him Hard-on.” He paused.
“Shot another man for not moving out of his way fast enough on a sidewalk in Lincoln
County, New Mexico.”

“You're kidding!”

“Check it out yourself. I'll be happy to show you.”

“The man's a monster!” exclaimed Roosevelt.

“These days the man's a lawyer,” said Holliday wryly. “Comes to pretty much the same
thing.”

“Well, we can make sure you don't have to face him alone,” said Roosevelt. “I'll assemble
my Rough Riders; they'll surround and protect you as they did me.”

“They protected you against a magical giant with supernatural powers,” replied Holliday.
“Hardin is one hell of a shootist, but when all is said and done, that's all he is:
a flesh-and-blood shootist.”

“But why face him if you don't have to?”

“I've faced every man who ever came after me, Theodore. I faced Johnny Ringo a year
after he'd been shot and killed. I've never asked anyone to fight my battles for me.”

“What if you start coughing just when he's facing you?”

“Then I'll stop coughing permanently and the world will be none the worse off for
it,” answered Holliday. “If I were you, I'd worry about how to kill War Bonnet. After
all,
I
don't plan to live long enough to be president.”

Roosevelt offered a guilty smile. “It's just a fancy, a maybe someday kind of thing.
I have a lot to accomplish first.”

“Well, I've done all my accomplishing. Either Hardin will put me in the grave now,
or the sanitarium will plant me in a year or two. Like I said, worry about War Bonnet.”

“I've been thinking about him all the way back,” admitted Roosevelt. “And you know
something, Doc?”

“What?”

“I'm convinced that he
can
be killed. There's a weakness there, but I'm missing it. I've gone over every one
of his abilities in my mind, I've listed them all, I've examined them all, and it
keeps eluding me. It's right there, so close I can almost touch it, but it keeps floating
just out of my grasp.” Roosevelt frowned. “I'm expressing myself badly. I really
am
a writer, you know.”

“I've ordered your treatise on naval warfare,” replied Holliday. “They say it's the
definitive study. Should arrive in another couple of weeks.”

“You really ordered it?” asked Roosevelt, clearly flattered.

“You really wrote it,” was Holliday's answer.

“If it gets here before we leave, I'll inscribe it to you,” Roosevelt promised.