And soon it didn’t matter, for the cards loved Elijah Garrett Grier that night. Early on, he drew two, and filled a ten-high straight that would pay off two outstanding loans. Half an hour later, he held a pair of queens, drew three, and was astonished to find himself holding a very timely full house.
“Ladies over nines,” he announced, and another bill was paid.
A while later, those three sweet nines showed up again—two dealt, one drawn. The hooker was pacing now, smoking one cigarette after another, glaring at Holliday, who was down by $1,500 and looked awful.
An hour or so later, Johnson or Johansen or Jensen, or whatever the hell his name was, slapped his final hand onto the table and stood.
“That’s it for me,” he declared. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.”
“The pleasure is all Captain Grier’s,” Holliday remarked affably, though Bob Wright had also taken a fair percentage of the cattleman’s losses.
The Texan snorted, tossing back a drink before bidding good-bye to his opponents and three grand. Doc Holliday gathered the cards and began to shuffle, surveying the chips in front of the remaining players.
“Ovid tells us that Fortune and Venus befriend the bold,” he said, “but they are fickle gods, Captain Grier. You might consider quittin’ while you’re ahead, sir.”
“Goddammit, Doc!” Kate cried. “What are you—?”
“Roll me a cigarette, will you, darlin’?” Doc said mildly. “ ’Pears you have lost your bet with the captain. Perhaps you should retire an’ prepare for the consequences.”
Eli grinned, expecting Hungarian fireworks, but Kate had stopped pacing. For a few moments she watched the dentist’s hands as he shuffled the cards. Divvy, tumble, riffle … Riffle, arch, release … A corner of her upper lip lifted slightly—contempt? Without another word, she pulled a small silk pouch from the carpetbag she always carried and measured tobacco from it onto a thin, fine square of paper.
“Looks like you’ve got more’n enough now to buy into that store we’ve been discussing,” Bob Wright observed, staring at Eli. “About time you thought about marrying, wouldn’t you say? Wonderful institution, marriage. A wife, children … Why, they make life worth living.”
Kate choked and gave a startled laugh, shaking her head. Doc laid the deck down, slumped back in his chair, and struck a match.
“Wha’s so funny, darlin’?” he asked, his words now more slurred than blurred.
Mumuring something in French, she leaned over the table to accept the light, twisting her neck to smile with luxurious satisfaction as her breasts came within inches of Eli’s face. Before she straightened, she looked the other way and kissed Bob Wright on the mouth. Then she moved behind Doc Holliday and bent to kiss his neck, before reaching around to place the lit cigarette between his lips.
“Why, thank you, darlin’,” Doc said, blind as Homer to her wantonness.
He picked up the deck again, but for the third time that night, drawing in the first smoke set off a coughing fit so violent, he was nearly shaken from his chair. Bent almost double, he turned from the table, unable to go on. It was appalling, and the rest of them just sat there, not knowing what to do.
“Jesus, Doc,” Kate whispered, pouring him a drink. Still coughing, he shook his head, watering eyes aimed at the floor. Then, to everyone’s horror, he hawked bloody phlegm into the brass spittoon at his feet.
Revolted, and having lost better than $4,700 to Eli and Bob, the second cattleman took that opportunity to gather his remaining chips and stand. “I’m afraid I’ve had enough,” he said.
“Not me,” Doc gasped, still game. Wiping his mouth, he turned back to the table, white-faced and blue-lipped. “Evenin’s hardly begun …”
Kate poured him another drink. Doc drained the glass she offered. Somewhat recovered, the dentist dealt. Two down, two up.
“Another three for Mr. Wright. Not much to look at, but sometimes a pair of threes is all you need. Well, now!” he cried breathlessly when a second ace appeared in front of Eli. “Fortune continues to smile on Captain Grier! You are a lucky man, sir. And … a queen,” he said, staring. “No help for the dealer’s nine.”
Another round of bets. The last down cards distributed. Eli peeled up a corner of his and sat back in his chair. “Your grand. Fifteen hundred more,” he told Bob Wright.
Doc folded, his face neutral when he remarked, “Too rich for me.” Almost half of what he’d brought in was gone, with a little over two grand left.
“All in,” Bob Wright said, pushing his chips to the center of the table. “Let’s see what you have, Eli.”
What Eli had should’ve been enough.
All night long he’d won and won and won. For crissakes, Bob was only showing a pair of threes. My God, who wouldn’t have gone all in with aces full of kings?
“Four of a kind,” Bob said, laying out a second pair of threes with a jack.
“Peach of a hand,” Doc murmured, while Kate laughed and laughed and laughed.
Bob Wright rose and looked down at Elijah Garrett Grier. “That’s eighty-two hundred and change you owe me, Grier. Call it eight even,” he said, his voice hard, his eyes harder. “I want the cash by noon, you contemptible sonofabitch.”
“And what was our little side bet?” Kate asked Grier airily. “Oh! I remember now! I spend a night with the winner, and you?” Taking Bob’s arm, Kate purred, “You owe me two grand.”
“Kate, darlin’, you go on along with Bob and celebrate, now,” Doc urged, his voice thready. “I have a little business to do with the captain.”
Drunk, sick, and nearly as stunned as Eli Grier, John Henry Holliday watched the couple leave. After a time, he cleared his throat and remarked, “Well, now. That was unexpected.” Eyes unfocused, it took him a while to work it out. “Only three of us,” he said to no one in particular.
Maybe Bob didn’t know before, Eli was thinking, but he sure as hell knows now. Jesus, I’m in trouble … He looked at Holliday. “I—I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“Three players. Pattern changed.” Holliday poured himself another shot and tossed it back. “Ten grand,” he said then, staring at Eli with something like sympathy. “Lotta money. Haven’t got it, have you.”
It was not a question. Eli didn’t bother to reply.
“If you will be so kind as to help me to my feet,” Doc said softly, “perhaps we can both salvage some of our night’s work, sir. You have a horse that I would like … to buy.”
Raising Blind
The days were noticeably shorter now. This one would be agreeably warm and windless. Half past six, and the pale early-autumn sun began its rise toward a clear, high sky that few in Dodge City were in a position to appreciate; the drovers had passed out a couple of hours ago and the citizens were still home, getting dressed and eating breakfast.
Their long shadows snaking westward along Front Street, two men walked toward the resurrected Elephant Barn, its unweathered lumber still the color of fresh-cut corn bread in the morning light. They had said little since leaving the Lone Star.
Eli named a price.
Holliday countered.
“She’s in foal,” Eli objected.
“You’re in trouble,” Doc replied. “Twenty-one sixty, firm.”
It was a strange number. Probably all the dentist had left, and no more than Roxana was worth. Given the sudden shift in his circumstances, Eli was already thinking about other things. How to phrase a vague telegram to his sister, for example, and how much she might be willing to wire him for an “emergency,” and where he could get the rest. He had no intention of paying off the hooker, but even minus that two grand …
No matter how he figured it, he’d never scrape the money up by noon.
Balancing an angry cuckold’s wrath against the U.S. Army’s dim view of desertion, Eli began to consider Mexico. Word was, Porfirio Díaz was staffing an army … Yes, it was probably time to take Bob Wright’s advice and resign his commission, in a manner of
speaking. Past time, really. Alice was becoming tiresome and, frankly, Bob was welcome to her. She wanted so much! Attention, acknowledgment, affection. The constant demands and expectations were—
The dentist stumbled slightly, crossing the tracks. Eli caught him by the elbow and held on.
“Very kind of you, sir,” Holliday said, the movement of his chest shallow and quick. “A little light-headed, I fear.”
Pathetic, Eli thought, the way drunks will fool themselves.
They moved on toward the barn. Eli began to think the game through with calm detachment. After years of anticipating a bad beat, it was almost a relief to lose that big. Law of averages, he thought. Keep playing, and something like this is bound to happen. Never thought it would be Bob Wright who did the job, though. Funny how he’d thought Holliday might be the one, just on reputation alone, but the man didn’t play that well, really. In fact, every time he dealt—
Eli stopped, astonished, and looked back at the dentist. “You were feeding me cards!”
“Occasionally.”
“How did you do it?” Eli asked as they turned down Bridge. “I’m just curious.”
“Oh … I am not quite so sick as I make out,” Doc said carelessly, but when they got to the corral, he reached for the top rail and leaned over to spit blood. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Oh, Christ.”
Snapping his fingers, Eli pointed at him and said, “You switched decks while you were coughing!”
“Now and then.”
“So … you wanted me to win until the end of the game? Yes! Let me collect the money from the table, so you could clean up! Except … you lost.”
“That wasn’t part of the plan.” The dentist straightened, wincing when he pulled his shoulders back. His lips in the sunlight were nearly the color of his eyes. “Stupid mistake,” he said vaguely. “Only three of us …”
“But you wanted Roxana? You thought I’d bet her?”
“Yes,” Holliday said. “An’ I was hopin’ to leave some sort of legacy … Take care of Kate and Sophie.”
Who in hell was Sophie? Eli wondered. Some other hooker, he guessed. “I had a cousin who died of consumption,” he told the dentist. “Dolph used to say it felt like the inside of his chest was being scrubbed with a wire brush. Must make it hard to concentrate.”
“Yes.” With a visible act of will, John Henry Holliday’s voice became stronger, his diction more precise, his eyes more focused. “Where is that horse of yours?”
She was in a stall about halfway down the aisle. Restless. Annoyed with him. Tossing her head and snorting when he approached. So beautiful! She took Eli’s breath away, even now. Compact, high-tailed, with large, dark eyes and a broad jaw behind a small, velvety muzzle. She looked like she was made of china, but she was as tough as any mustang. Keen on patrol, Roxana had stood up well to the bitter cold and withering heat of Kansas. She could outlast every other mount at the fort, but she was hot and nervy, too, and often made life difficult in the stable.
“I’m going to miss her,” Eli admitted, opening the stall door for Holliday.
The dentist approached, speaking calmly, hands low. What in hell is he going to do with a horse? Eli wondered. He’ll be dead by Sunday, from the looks of him.
It came to him then that nobody knew they’d made this deal, and maybe Eli could reclaim the horse, the way he had after—
Without warning, Holliday gagged twice and twisted away, a short, sharp cough doubling him over. Startled, Roxana reared, and Eli shoved the dentist out of range before stepping in from the side to get a grip on her halter, murmuring, “Easy, easy, easy …” Eyes on Roxana, he warned, “You have to be careful until she knows you. She’s skittish, and she’s stronger than she looks—”
“Is this the way it happened?” Holliday asked softly.
Eli turned, and jerked his forehead away from a short-barreled, nickel-plated revolver. Roxana shied at the motion, moving back in the stall.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve sold that mare to cover a gamblin’ debt. Is it.”
“What are you—?”
“Lie to me,” the Georgian suggested with gentle, smiling malice. “I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“You needed money. Johnnie Sanders knew that. He did the books for half the businesses in Dodge. He offered two grand for the horse. You agreed. He went to the safe at Bob Wright’s store and met you at the barn with the cash.”
“Yes, but—”
“You accepted the money and then you brained that boy, you spineless, gutless, heartless bastard.”
“No!”
“You set fire to the barn, and raised the alarm, and walked away with the cash and the horse, both. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“But—No, it wasn’t that way at all! He—Yes! I sold the horse to him,” Eli admitted, “but I didn’t kill him—”
“You broke his skull and left him to die.”
“No! Listen to me: I took the money and I went back to the saloon to pay off. When I came out, I swear, the barn was already on fire! I ran back—”
“Into a burnin’ building,” Holliday said, voice flat. “How courageous.”
“There were men sleeping in there!”
“So you raised the alarm.”
“Yes, of course!”
“You went back to Roxana’s stall, and you led her out.”
“I had to! She wouldn’t go past the flames! I got Roxana out and helped clear the barn, and when it was all over, I took her back to the fort—just overnight! I couldn’t leave her out on the street, could I? I figured I could come back in the morning and find the kid and sort it all out—”
“So you didn’t see Johnnie?”
“I figured he left. I had no idea he was still in the barn—”
Holliday pulled the hammer back. Eli flinched at the quiet click.
Speaking quickly now and quietly, he said, “I swear I didn’t hurt that boy. I ran back to the barn, and he was already on the ground. Roxana must have—You’ve seen it yourself! Look at her!” Eli cried, for the horse was showing white around her eyes. “She doesn’t trust strangers and she’s liable to go light on her front feet. I don’t think that kid knew the first thing about horses! He probably went into the stall and she came down on him.”
There was a curve to the fracture. It might have been the size of a hoof, but … “Doesn’t matter,” Doc insisted. “You turned his body over. You must have seen that he was still alive.”
“Maybe! Yes! I don’t know! I didn’t look that hard! It was dark, for crissakes! The roof was caving in and—”
“So you paid your debt, you got your horse and saved the cowboys. And you left John Horse Sanders to lie there and burn.”
Mouth dry, Eli tensed slightly, thinking he could—
“By all means,” Holliday urged courteously. “Try it.”
He’s going to kill me, Eli thought. This is how I’m going to die.
“Four years of war,” the Georgian said softly, “to teach them rebs a lesson and set their darkies free! But when it came down to your horse or that boy … Well, hell, he was just a colored kid, and kin to no one.” For an endless moment, John Henry Holliday just stood there, trembling. “God a’mighty,” he said quietly. “To think we lost to trash like you.”
As much as anything, it was the weight of the pistol that saved Elijah Garrett Grier’s life that morning. Suddenly and utterly exhausted, Doc lowered his gun, letting it dangle at his side.
“Bob Wright knows everything,” he said. “I recommend you run.”
Eli nodded his entire agreement but pointed out, “I’ll need a mount.”
Doc glanced toward the corral. “Pick one.”
“They hang horse thieves,” Grier objected.
“Only if you’re caught. Best hurry.”
“I—The money? For Roxana?”
Slate blue eyes went wide.
“Toujours l’audace!” Doc said with specio
us admiration. “The price was twenty-one sixty. Two grand will go to Miss Kate, to clear your debt to her. I will wire the remaining one hundred and sixty to my father. Grier and Cook Carriage Company owes him the money. That leaves me with thirty-eight dollars and change. Forgive me if I am not inclined to share that with a lyin’, low-life Yankee skunk. God as my witness: I should rid the world of you.”
His face reduced to bone, eyes fever-bright, the not-yet-infamous Doc Holliday summoned all the strength he had left, but could not raise the gun again.
“Get out of my sight,” he muttered, despairing. “Get out of Dodge. And don’t come back, you soulless cur.”
The oldest of John Riney’s four boys generally showed up at the Elephant Barn a little before seven. Young John—Junior, everybody called him—got the job right after they moved into town, when he was eleven, and he could do the work while half asleep. You drew water for the horses in the stalls, and fed them, and mucked out the straw, and spread new, and then went on to the horses in the corral, who got less attention because the customers paid less.
Whenever Captain Grier was in town, he left Roxana at the barn, and he paid extra, which is to say he put extra on his tab. Even so, Junior always took his time getting around to Roxana because she was a bitch of a horse and he was scared of her. She seemed kind of worked up this morning, too, so truth was, he might’ve drug his feet a little, hoping she’d settle down. It was almost nine when he finally got to her end of the barn and saw what was bothering the animal.
If it’d been any other drunk sitting on the floor in the corner of Roxana’s stall, Junior would have just shoveled the shit out from around him, but his mother was one of Doc Holliday’s patients, and Junior did not consider sitting in horse stalls to be among that gentleman’s habits.
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