The Doctor and the Rough Rider (22 page)

“Cows and dust, same as ever.” Suddenly Hardin grinned. “I heard about why you left
Dallas.”

“Well,” said Holliday, returning his smile, “the sheriff was running me out of town
in the morning anyway for practicing a vigorous brand of self-defense.”

“I wasn't talking about that. It was the teeth.”

Holliday's smile became even broader. “He gave me twelve hours to get out of town.
But then that night he had an abscessed tooth, and I was the only dentist he knew,
so he hunted me up to have me pull it.” Holliday chuckled. “I put him under with laughing
gas, pulled every tooth in his goddamned head, and decided to leave town without waiting
for the stagecoach.”

Hardin threw back his head and laughed. “Damn! I
knew
we could be friends if we ever met!”

“No reason why not,” agreed Holliday.

Suddenly Hardin's smile vanished. “Except that I got to kill you.”

“No, you don't.”

“That was the deal. This huge critter, I guess he was an Indian but he sure as hell
wasn't like any I ever saw, tore the brick wall right out
of my cell and set me free, but the deal was that he'd only do it if I promised to
kill you.”

“You don't owe him anything,” said Holliday. “He's dead.”

Hardin frowned. “Are you kidding me, Doc?”

“Ask anyone here,” said Holliday. “See the guy in the store-bought buckskins and the
spectacles? He killed him.”

“Really?”

“Really,” said Holliday, pulling a pack of cards out of a pocket. “So drink up and
let's play a little serious blackjack.”

Hardin stared at Roosevelt for another few seconds.

“
Him?
” he said disbelievingly.

“Him,” replied Holliday.

“Well, I'll be damned!”

“Probably we both will be,” agreed Holliday.

Hardin downed his drink. “Deal,” he said.

��N
ICE LITTLE TOWN,”
remarked Hardin after they'd been playing for about twenty minutes and had pretty
much broken even.

“Used to be even nicer, before the silver mines played out,” replied Holliday. “I
think it lost better than half its population in the last thirty months.”

“Too bad. As famous as you and the Earps made it, you kinda hate to see it die.”

“As long as people will pay good money to see the corral where the fight wasn't, it'll
stay alive.”

Hardin frowned. “Where it
wasn't
?”

“It's easier to call it the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral than the Gunfight in the Alley
Backing Up to the O.K. Corral,” said Holliday.

“A telling point,” agreed Hardin. “Still, it's a shame. I could have settled down
here and gone to work.”

“That's right,” said Holliday. “With your law degree.”

Hardin smiled. “Can you picture that, Doc—me defending killers?”

“Why not?” replied Holliday. “If you got your degree, you know the law, and I don't
think anyone would deny that you know shootists.”

Hardin laughed at that. “You've got a hell of a sense of humor, Doc. Why do you look
so damned grouchy?”

“I resent dying.”

“I ain't going to kill you.”

“I'm dying just the same.”

“The consumption?”

Holliday nodded. “I'll be heading back to Colorado in the next few days to die.”

“Colorado makes dying more pleasant, does it?”

“The sanitarium I plan to check into does,” answered Holliday.

“Is this sanitarium in Denver?”

Holliday shook his head. “Leadville.”

“Well, maybe we'll become almost-neighbors,” said Hardin. “Got to be a lot of lawbreaking
going on in Denver. Place like that must need a good lawyer who knows all there is
to know about lawbreaking.”

“Especially if there aren't any warrants out for you in Colorado.”

“Never been to Colorado,” answered Hardin. “And after living in hellholes all over
the Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona Territories, it might be nice to step outside at
night and feel the need of a coat.”

“Leadville was a hundred four degrees when I left it,” said Holliday with a rueful
smile.

“Surely it's not like that all the time.”

“No, it's not,” admitted Holliday. “I have a hard time breathing that thin mountain
air, but hell, these days I have a hard time breathing
any
air.”

“Cool mountain air,” mused Hardin. “It's worth considering, anyway.”

“I'd be happy to have you ride along with me.”

Hardin paused, considering the offer. “It's tempting, Doc,” he said at last. “Damned
tempting.”

“But?” said Holliday. “Sounds for sure like you've got a ‘but’ coming at the end of
that sentence.”

“I got a couple of men who have offered to set me up with a law office back in El
Paso.” He grinned. “Might even hire me one of those dance-hall girls as a secretary.
I'll get up to Colorado one of these days, but as long as there's money waiting for
me in El Paso…”

“I'd do the same thing if I were you,” said Holliday. “And if I ever need a lawyer,
I'll know where to go.”

“Well, I reckon I'll be moving on,” said Hardin. “It's been a pleasure talking with
you, Doc, and I'm glad it didn't come down to a gunfight.”

“My sentiments exactly,” said Holliday, getting to his feet. “Come on, I'll walk you
to your horse.”

Hardin made a circular route to the door, passing by Roosevelt's table. “Nice shooting—or
whatever the hell you did to him.”

“Thank you,” said Roosevelt.

“Maybe we
all
ought to wear specs,” said Hardin with a chuckle. He joined Holliday at the door
and the two men walked out to the street, where Hardin's sorrel mare was tied to a
hitching post.

Suddenly Holliday was aware that they weren't alone. Four Indians, none of them young,
stood between them and Hardin's mare.

“You men are blocking my way,” said Hardin ominously.

“You are going nowhere, John Wesley Hardin,” said the nearest of them.

“Get out of my way,” growled Hardin. “I won't ask you again.”

“You made a bargain. You are not leaving until you keep it.”

“You want me to shoot him?” he said, jerking his thumb at Holliday.

“That is correct.”

“Okay,” said Hardin. “But let me make sure my gun is working first.”

He drew his gun and fired four quick shots at the Indians. The bullets turned to dust
and floated to the ground before they reached their targets.

“Would I be correct in assuming that you're Dull Knife, Spotted Elk, Tall Wolf, and
Cougar Slayer?” asked Holliday as the Oriental emptied out into the street at the
sound of the gunshots.

“We do not speak to dead men,” answered the closest one, “and you are all but dead,
Holliday.”

“I hope you're not trying to frighten me,” replied Holliday. “Hell, I've been all
but dead for years.”

The Indian turned to Hardin. “If you wish to live, you know what you must do.”

“No one gives me orders!” growled Hardin, emptying his second gun into the Indians.
Again, the bullets turned to dust as they left his six-gun.

Holliday knew his gun wouldn't work against the medicine men either, but he couldn't
think of what else to do, so he pulled it and fired off three quick shots to no effect.

“You are not the fastest learner I ever met,” said a familiar voice from behind him.
He turned and saw Roosevelt, the black lenses clipped onto his glasses but raised
so he could see, the battery slung over his back, carrying Edison's two weapons, one
in each arm, both attached to the battery. “Here,” he said, thrusting the deafener
into Holliday's hands. “And understand: if you use it, they're going to die, but so
will every man and animal within a mile or more.”

Holliday took the deafener, handling it
very
gently, while Roosevelt pointed the blinder at the four medicine men.

“Now, you gentlemen are going to let Mr. Hardin leave right now, aren't you?”

“He must kill the man Holliday first,” said the one who wore the insignia of the Cheyenne
and who Roosevelt knew must be Dull Knife.

“Why don't you try to do it yourself,” said Holliday, pointing the deafener at him.

“You will not use that,” said Dull Knife. “We know and you know what it did to War
Bonnet. If you fire it, it will kill everyone in the city.”

“What the hell do I care?” replied Holliday. “I'm already a walking dead man. As for
Tombstone, ten years from now no one will even know there
was
a city here.”

Spotted Elk, the Lakota, faced Roosevelt. “Tell him: he will be the murderer of an
entire town.”

“Doc, if you fire that you'll be the murderer of an entire town.” Roosevelt grinned
at Spotted Elk. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I blind you for the
rest of your very brief life?”

“He will kill you too!” yelled Spotted Elk.

“If he doesn't, you will,” answered Roosevelt.

“This is not finished,” said Dull Knife. “We will be back.”

“You're not going anywhere until it
is
finished,” said Holliday.

“I agree,” said Roosevelt. “If you leave before this is concluded, my friend and I
will hunt you down and kill not only you but every member of your tribe. You've seen
what I did to War Bonnet. You know this is not a bluff.”

The four medicine men glared at Roosevelt and Holliday. Then, almost in unison, their
posture changed from one of aggression to one of defeat.

“We must speak to Geronimo,” said another, whose outfit identified him as Cougar Slayer
of the Arapaho.

Holliday smiled. “There's a hawk perched atop the church steeple who's been watching
all this very intently. I suspect Geronimo is closer than you think.”

And with that, the hawk swooped down and landed in front of the medicine men, and
instantly morphed into the Apache. He spread his arms, and suddenly a transparent
dome covered the five of them. They spoke for less than a minute, their words unheard
by any of the combatants or observers. Then the dome vanished, and so did the four
medicine men.

“It is settled,” announced Geronimo. “Tomorrow the spell will be lifted, and the White
Eyes and their armies may cross the great river.” He turned to Hardin. “Ride on!”
he ordered him.

Hardin stared at him for just a second, then tipped his hat, climbed onto his mare,
uttered a yell of triumph, and galloped off in the general direction of El Paso.

“Maybe we should have had it out after all,” said Holliday. “He's going to kill a
lot more men.”

“He is not,” answered Geronimo. “He will work as a lawyer, and less than a month later
he will be shot in the back and killed.”

“You know how everyone's going to die, do you?” asked Luke Sloan, who was standing
in front of the Oriental's swinging doors.

Geronimo stared at him as one might stare at an insect, and did not deign to answer
him.

“You will leave now,” he said to Roosevelt.

“After I return the weapons to Edison and Buntline.”

Geronimo nodded.

“Thank you,” said Roosevelt, extending his hand, and the old medicine man took it.
“I hope someday we will meet again.”

“As I told you, we will,” answered Geronimo. “Many years and many weeks’ march from
here.”

Roosevelt took the smaller weapon from Holliday, climbed aboard Manitou, and headed
off to Edison's house, trying without success to figure out what Geronimo had meant
by his final sentence.

H
OLLIDAY WAITED FOR THE LENS ABOVE THE DOOR
to identify him and allow the portal to swing open, then he walked into Edison's
living room, where the inventor and Ned Buntline were waiting for him.

“We got your message,” said Edison.

“I just wanted to stop by to thank you for what you did for Theodore,” said Holliday.
“Hell, for the whole damned country.”

“Which is going to be a much bigger country now,” said Buntline with a satisfied air.

“I wish I could stick around to see it.”

“Why don't you?” asked Buntline.

“No,” replied Holliday. “It's time to go to Leadville and die.”

“My God, that's a morbid way to put it!” said Edison.

“If it was my choice, I'd live another twenty or thirty years and see what young Roosevelt
can accomplish with his new nation. Hell, if I could lift a sixth of a coffin, I'd
mosey down to El Paso and be a pallbearer when Hardin finally gets backshot—he's too
good for anyone
except maybe me to take him in a fair fight. But I'm not going to live twenty years,
and I can't lift a sixth of a coffin, and I'm running out of handkerchiefs, so it's
time to go back to Leadville.”

“We have an office up there,” said Edison. “Maybe we
will
see you again.”

“I won't be much to look at,” said Holliday. Suddenly he grinned. “But then, I never
was.”

“Can I get you anything before you leave?” asked Buntline.

“I've already drunk my breakfast, but if you've got something wet before lunch…”

Buntline shook his head. “Neither of us drink whiskey.”

“If you're not careful, you just might live to be a hundred.” Holliday walked across
the room and shook hands with each of them. “Thanks, again. You are the only two men
I've ever been able to count on.”

Then he was gone, and a few minutes later he was riding north in one of the Bunt Line's
horseless coaches. He leaned back, sighed, pulled a flask out of his lapel pocket,
uncapped it, and took a drink—and was suddenly aware that he wasn't alone any longer.

“I know, I know,” he said. “This stuff'll kill me.”

“You are dying anyway, so drink what you want,” said Geronimo.

“You magicked yourself here just to tell me that?”

“And to tell you that no matter what others say, you are a good man.” He paused. “Roosevelt
will get the credit.”

“He's welcome to it,” said Holliday. “It's not going to do me any good where I'm going.”

“You are dying,” repeated Geronimo. “But you are not dead yet.”

And with that he was gone.

Holliday stared out the window, shading his eyes and trying to imagine the Mississippi
some two thousand miles distant. They'd start
crossing it in the coming weeks and months—settlers, farmers, soldiers, everyone.
There would be a mad rush to the West.

And, unknown to him, there would be two brilliant and half-crazed millionaires, one
from Philadelphia and one from New Haven, who would rewrite the history of American
science as their lives intertwined with his.