The Doctor and the Rough Rider (8 page)

H
OLLIDAY WALKED DOWN THE STREET
, shading his eyes against the setting sun and wondering once again why he wore a
derby instead of a broad-brimmed hat. It was more stylish than a Stetson, but totally
useless in these bright desert surroundings. He doffed the derby to a pair of women
who were walking on the raised wooden sidewalk in the opposite direction. One smiled
at him, the other pretended he wasn't there. He felt pretty good about that; he'd
settle for half the people not hating him.

He passed a tobacco store, looked longingly at a box of cigars, decided as always
that he coughed more than enough without any help from tobacco, and kept walking.

He realized that he hadn't eaten all day, so he stopped in at the Lazy Bull, ordered
a rare steak, thumbed through a dime novel that had him teaming up with Jesse James
(who he had never met), put it aside long enough to eat about half the steak, left
a quarter on the table, then added a dime for the tip (he was feeling generous), and
continued making his way to the Oriental.

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.”

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.