The Doctor and the Rough Rider Read online

  When he got there he went over to what had become his usual table, and didn't even have to ask for a bottle. The bartender brought him a glass and what was left of the previous night's bottle, with the word “Doc” still visible where he'd scrawled it with a pencil. He poured himself a drink, considered playing solitaire, decided against it, and simply sat and stared at the patrons, seeing how many of them he could recognize from previous encounters or Wanted posters.

  Then a dapper little man entered, looked around, saw Holliday, and promptly approached his table.

  “Hi, Doc,” said Henry Wiggins. “I heard you were back in town, but we just haven't connected.”

  “Hello, Henry,” said Holliday. “I thought I'd see you over at Tom's or Ned's place, or aren't you working for them any longer?”

  “Oh, I'm still with them. I gave up traveling around selling their inventions. They're doing so well that now I run a team of half a dozen salesmen from St. Louis to California.”

  “Sell enough metal chippies and you might put real women right out of the oldest profession,” remarked Holliday.

  “They're awfully expensive,” replied Wiggins. “These days mostly I sell protection.”

  “Protection?” repeated Holliday, frowning. “You mean like armed guards?”

  Wiggins smiled and shook his head. “Like Tom and Ned have installed around their houses. You know, machines that let them know who's approaching, what they look like, if they're armed. Just about every bank has ordered at least one. So have a bunch of stores, and even some rich ranchers.”

  “I hope you're getting rich yourself,” said Holliday.

  “I was, but then Matilda left me, and I don't want the kids to grow up poor, so I give most of it to her.”

  “Left you?” repeated Holliday. “I've known you for three or four years, and I don't recall her ever being with you.”

  “That never bothered her much,” said Wiggins. “It was when…ah…well, when…”

  “When she found out you were testing the merchandise?” suggested Holliday.

  Wiggins nodded. “Damn it, it gets lonely being on the road for months on end.”

  “Not like being home alone with a pack of kids for months on end, right,” said Holliday wryly.

  “Whose side are you on, Doc?” said Wiggins irritably.

  “Mine.”

  “Ah, what the hell, why am I telling you my problems?”

  “Here,” said Holliday, shoving the bottle toward him. “Have a drink or two and they won't seem so major.”

  “Thanks,” said Wiggins. “I think I will.” He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow, then made a face. “Man, that stuff'll burn a hole in your throat!”

  “I've tasted better,” agreed Holliday. “But never in the Oriental.”

  “How have you been, Doc?” said Wiggins, pushing the bottle back to Holliday's side of the table. “I don't mean any insult, but I've seen you looking better. You seem kind of pale.”

  “I just had dinner,” said Holliday. “Food doesn't agree with me these days.”

  “You're kidding, right?”

  Holliday merely stared at him.

  “Okay, you're not kidding. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Don't offer me a cigar or a sandwich and we'll be fine,” said Holliday, and this time Wiggins chuckled.

  “So what are you doing back in Tombstone?” he asked. “Last I heard, you were planning to live out your life in the mountains up in Colorado.”

  “I plan to go back there in a couple of days,” answered Holliday. “Though for the life of me I don't know why.”

  “I thought there was this sanitarium that could cure you…”

  “Nothing can cure me. But they can make dying minimally less objectionable.” Holliday shook his head in wonderment. “I'll never know why they put a facility for consumptives up in the goddamned mountains, where the birds find it easier to walk and even the spiders have trouble breathing.”

  “So stay here,” said Wiggins.

  “You see any sanitariums around here?” asked Holliday with a sardonic smile. “All Tombstone's got are abandoned silver mines and unabandoned cemeteries.”

  “Okay, I'll ask again. Given all that you said, why are you here?”

  “I don't think you'd believe me if I told you,” replied Holliday.

  “You'll never know until you try.”

  Holliday sighed. “I'm helping a young man from back East. Possibly.”

  “Possibly?” repeated Wiggins.

  “I could be helping an old Indian from out West,” said Holliday. “Or it could be that nothing will help either of them.”

  “I don't understand.”

  “It gets complicated. If everything works, the young man will become a hero, or maybe even a king, and if it doesn't, we'll bury what's left of him, which probably won't come to ten pounds, somewhere in the Arizona Territory.”

  “You're not being very informative, Doc.”

  “You noticed.”

  “So who is this young man?”

  “You ever hear of Theodore Roosevelt?” asked Holliday.

  Wiggins shook his head. “No, I can't say that I have.”

  “Well, if he survives the next few weeks, you will.”

  “How about the old Indian you mentioned.”

  “You've heard of him,” replied Holliday with a smile.

  “I haven't heard of a lot of them, not really,” answered Wiggins. “Victorio, Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, Geronimo, Hook Nose, maybe half a dozen others.”

  “Makes no difference,” said Holliday. “It'll work or it won't, and either way I plan to go back to Colorado and die in peace, or at least less discomfort.”

  “How soon are you leaving?”

  Holliday shrugged. “A couple of days. Maybe sooner if I win big tonight, maybe an extra day or two if I don't.”

  “You still living with Kate?”

  A rueful smile crossed Holliday's face. “We've parted company.” A pause. “For the fourth time.” Another pause, and another smile. “Possibly the fifth.”

  “I don't know why the two of you don't get married.”

  “You mean, like you?” said Holliday with an amused chuckle.

  “I'm a bad example.”

  “It's all right, Henry. I'm a worse one.”

  “Didn't you tell me once that she broke you out of jail?”

  “True,” said Holliday. “But two weeks later she took a shot at me. She was a good whore, and a better madam, and she'd make a great bodyguard…but I think she'd have as many shortcomings as a wife as I'd have as a husband.”

  “Okay,” said Wiggins with a sigh. “It's none of my business anyway.”

  “Have another drink,” said Holliday, pushing the bottle to him again.

  “Anyway, I'm glad I got a chance to see you before you leave again,” said Wiggins, taking a small swallow, making a face, and handing the bottle back. “You've always treated me well—and if it wasn't for you I'd never have met Ned and Tom.”

  “Yeah, you'd probably be a happily married man working in a civilized town,” said Holliday. “I'll take full credit for that.”

  “Damn it, Doc, you have a way of turning everything anyone says,” complained Wiggins.

  “The benefits of a classical education and a pending death,” replied Holliday. He looked at the swinging doors at the front of the saloon. “Speak of the devil and in he strides, spectacles and all.”

  “I've never seen him before,” said Wiggins, turning to see who had entered. “Is this the young man you mentioned?”

  Holliday nodded, then waved to catch Roosevelt's attention. “Over here!”

  “Look at those buckskins and that fringe,” said Wiggins with a smile. “It must have cost him a month's pay. No question that he's from back East. I've been reading dime novels for years, and that's what they think we wear.”

  Roosevelt approached the table.

  “Theodore, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine.”<
br />
  Wiggins got to his feet and extended his hand. “Henry Wiggins.”

  “Theodore Roosevelt,” replied Roosevelt. He turned to Holliday, “Mind if I sit down?”

  “Of course not,” said Holliday, and Roosevelt and Wiggins both seated themselves. “How'd it go?”

  “He was about as useful as Tom and Ned,” answered Roosevelt grimly. “It's all guesswork until it happens, at which point it may very well be too late.”

  “You think he's holding anything back?”

  Roosevelt shook his head. “Hell, he sent for me. Why would he do that and then conceal information or lie to me?”

  “I can't help but notice you're being vague,” said Wiggins. “I can leave if you wish.”

  “No, stay here, Henry,” said Roosevelt. “I'm all through being vague. The subject is closed, and we can talk about anything you wish.”

  “Doc tells me you're from back East,” said Wiggins. “How far east?”

  “About as far as possible,” replied Roosevelt with a smile. “New York City.”

  “It is as big as they say?”

  “In terms of area, no. You could fit a few dozen New York Cities into the Territory here and never notice any land was missing. But in terms of population, it's crowded east to west, north to south, and top to bottom.”

  Wiggins frowned. “Top to bottom?” he repeated.

  “The island of Manhattan is only maybe twelve or thirteen miles long and a couple of miles across,” said Roosevelt. “So when they ran out of room on the ground, they started building up. They've got buildings that are seven and eight stories high.”

  “And people live in them?” asked Wiggins.

  Roosevelt nodded his head.

  “What do you do there? Work in some store?”

  “Right at the moment, I don't do anything there. I live on a ranch in the Dakota Badlands.”

  “I thought—”

  “I did live in New York State until a few months ago,” said Roosevelt. “I had a job with the government.”

  Holliday chuckled. “I love the way you describe it.” He turned to Wiggins. “He was one of the three or four men who ran the damned state.”

  “It doesn't matter,” said Roosevelt with a shrug. “It's history.”

  “Survive the next month or two and I have a feeling you'll make your share of history,” said Holliday. Suddenly he was seized by a coughing fit. “Of course,” he continued, taking a bloody handkerchief from his mouth, “I won't be around to see it or read about it.”

  “Maybe you'd better consider going back to Denver,” suggested Roosevelt.

  “Leadville,” Holliday corrected him. “And I plan to do just that in a day or two.”

  “Good,” said Roosevelt, nodding his approval.

  “I hate to leave you without any help.”

  “I've got Tom and Ned,” answered Roosevelt.

  “I meant frontline help.”

  “I've got Bat.”

  Holliday shook his head. “What Geronimo did to him the last time he was out here in Tombstone isn't exactly a secret. You can bet some other medicine man will remember it.”

  “It's not Bat's battle anyway,” said Roosevelt.

  Holliday was about to reply when there was a commotion at the bar. Finally a tall, deeply tanned man walked over to the table and stood in front of Roosevelt.

  “You can settle a bet for us, Four-Eyes,” he said. “I say you're a dandy from back East, and my friends say that no, you just stole that outfit from some other dandy.”

  Roosevelt got to his feet. “I have a name,” he said. “And it's Theodore, not Four-Eyes.”

  “It's Four-Eyes to me, you Eastern creampuff,” said the man.

  Roosevelt took off his glasses, folded them, and handed them to Wiggins. Then he swung a roundhouse right that knocked the man sprawling. “How may eyes do you see now?”

  The man went for his gun, but Holliday was faster, and was pointing his own pistol between the man's eyes before he could pull his gun out of his holster.

  “Take it out, real gently,” said Holliday, “and hand it to me. You can have it back after the bloodletting's over.”

  The man glared at Holliday, slowly removed his gun, and handed it to Holliday, butt first.

  “Good luck,” said Holliday. “And may God have mercy on your soul.”

  The man got to his feet and charged at the smaller Roosevelt, who ducked under his outstretched arms and delivered two quick blows to the stomach. The man growled a curse, spun around, and raced at Roosevelt again. This time he got a broken nose for his efforts.

  The one-sided fight went on for another five minutes. Roosevelt offered to end it three different times, but the man, his face a bloody mess, refused. Finally he uttered one final bellow and made one final attempt to connect to Roosevelt, who blocked one punch, ducked another, and delivered a haymaker to the man's jaw. He dropped like a stone.

  “Anyone want to claim this trash?” asked Holliday.

  There was no response, and Roosevelt dropped to one knee and began examining the damage he'd done to his opponent's face.

  “Henry, get me a wet rag from the bar, will you, please?” said Roosevelt.

  “He'd have been happy to let you lie on the floor 'til Doomsday,” remarked Holliday.

  “I'm responsible for my actions, not his,” said Roosevelt. Wiggins returned with the towel, and Roosevelt began cleaning away some of the blood.

  The man awoke, and Roosevelt spoke to him soothingly, instructing him to lie still until he finished getting rid of the blood. Finally he helped the man to his feet.

  “I'm willing to admit when I been beat,” said the man. “You got one helluva punch, Dandy.”

  “Thank you,” said Roosevelt. “How are you? Nothing broken?”

  “Maybe my nose. Nothing important.”

  “What's your name?”

  “Luke,” said the man. “Luke Sloan.”

  “And I'm Theodore. Let me buy you a drink.”

  Sloan looked at him as if he were crazy. “You sure?”

  “I'm sure,” said Roosevelt. “We had a disagreement. It's over.” He took his glasses back from Wiggins. “I hope you don't mind if I wear my glasses.”

  “If they make you fight like that, maybe I'll buy a pair myself,” said Sloan. Roosevelt threw back his head and laughed, Sloan joined him, and soon everyone at the bar was laughing as the tension faded away.

  “I don't know what you're doing out here, Dandy—I mean, Theodore,” said Sloan, “but me and my horse are at your service if you're looking for help. Maybe I ain't quite as rough as I thought,” he said, “but against most people I can hold my own and then some.”

  “You're rough enough for me, Luke,” said Roosevelt. “I just might have some use for a rough rider like you.”

  “I'll be around,” said Sloan. “I better get over to the doc's—not your Doc—and get some ice for my nose before it swells up so much I can't breathe.”

  “I'll be in touch,” replied Roosevelt, as Sloan walked out the door and he returned to his table.

  “I will never understand you,” said Holliday.

  “Leave him on the floor and he'd be an enemy for life,” replied Roosevelt. “Now he wants to ride with me.” He paused and suddenly grinned. “Rough rider. I like the way it sounds.”

  HOLLIDAY CLIMBED THE STAIRS to his second-floor room at the Grand, unlocked the door, tossed his hat on the desk in the corner, unbuckled and untied his holster, hung it over the back of the desk chair, and was preparing to sit down on the bed when he saw the mouse in the corner of the room.

  “You are not supposed to be here,” he muttered, “but at least when I present your bullet-riddled body to the management you ought to be worth a discount.”

  He reached for his gun, but before his hand closed on it, the mouse was gone, and standing in its place was Geronimo.

  “Don't you ever get tired of sneaking up on people this way?” complained Holliday. “Or is this your only pa
rty trick?”

  “If they saw me, they would kill me,” answered Geronimo. “You know that.”

  “Yeah, probably they would,” agreed Holliday with a weary sigh. “Well, what is it? I was about to go to sleep.”

  “I spoke to Roosevelt.”

  “I hope that's not what this is about,” said Holliday. “He told me about it.”

  “He is a brave man.”

  “And a soundly sleeping one,” said Holliday. “Get to the point.”

  “He plans to face War Bonnet.”

  “I know. You told us that. You even gave us a hint of what he'd look like.”

  “He is not ready,” continued Geronimo.

  “Of course he's not ready,” said Holliday irritably. “How do you get ready to face a magical giant?”

  “By learning more about him.”

  “Fine. Let him go learn.”

  “He cannot. They will hide War Bonnet from him until they are ready to kill him.”

  “Okay, then,” said Holliday. “You're the medicine man. You go learn and tell him.”

  “They have defenses against me.”

  “I'm sorry Roosevelt's not ready and you're no help,” said Holliday, “but what do you expect me to do about it?”

  “Face War Bonnet.”

  “Me?” said Holliday incredulously.

  “Learn what you can, and if you survive, bring us the information.”

  “Shit!” muttered Holliday. “I'm sobering up.”

  Geronimo stood and stared at him silently.

  “I thought this was your and Roosevelt's fight,” continued Holliday.

  “It is.”

  “Then what is this all about?”

  “War Bonnet has been created to kill Roosevelt and me,” said Geronimo.

  “I know.”

  “Roosevelt and me,” repeated Geronimo. “Not you.”

  Holliday frowned. “Are you saying I can kill him? Or it, or whatever the hell it is?”

  Geronimo shook his head. “No, Holliday, You probably cannot kill him.”

  “Well, you'll forgive me if I don't like playing the sacrificial lamb. If you want to find out how fast he can tear someone apart, send Masterson or someone else.”