by Matt Braun
A brilliant orange glow suddenly filled the room. They moved to the window as frenzied shouts erupted from the crowd outside. Downstreet, halfway along the next block, the rear of the hardware store was engulfed in flame. The blaze lit the night, burning brightly against an indigo sky speckled with stars. Smoke billowed as sparks leaped toward nearby buildings.
Fire was an ever-present dread in the Flat. The structures along Griffin Avenue were dry as a tinderbox, slapped together with ripsawed lumber. Unless checked, the flames would leapfrog from building to building, and rapidly burn the entire town to the ground. The blazing hardware store was everyone’s concern, saloonkeepers and hide hunters, gamblers and cowhands alike. The lynch mob scattered, Holliday abruptly forgotten, and rushed toward the fire. Men quickly formed bucket brigades from water pumps along the street.
There was a light rap at the door. Holliday pulled his Peacemaker, flattened himself against the wall. “Who’s there?”
“Kate,” a whispered voice replied. “Let me in.”
Holliday unlocked the door. When he opened it, the pistol still in hand, Kate hurried into the room. She was dressed in men’s clothes, with a baggy jacket and scuffed boots, her hair bunched inside a slouch hat. She ignored his astounded expression, brushed past Cruger, and grabbed a worn carpetbag from beneath the bed. She began stuffing clothes in the bag.
“C’mon, Doc,” she demanded, glancing at Holliday.
“Whatever you want, let’s get it packed. We’re short on time.”
“I’ll be switched.” Holliday laughed with sudden understanding. “You started that fire, didn’t you?”
“Well, of course I did, sugar. Somebody had to distract those fools away from here.”
“Why are you wearing men’s clothes?”
“I couldn’t very well ride a horse in a dress. C’mon, Doc, let’s get moving.”
“You have horses?”
“Behind the hotel,” she said. “I stole them off the street.”
“Hold on now,” Cruger interrupted, turning to Holliday. “You killed a man and she set the town on fire. I can’t let you skedaddle out of here.”
Holliday cocked his pistol. “Marshal, I place little faith in you or the law. Kindly hand your gun to Kate.”
“For chrissakes, Doc! Them boys’ll tar and feather—”
“Do it. Now.”
Cruger obeyed, grumbling as he surrendered his gun. Holliday tore a bedsheet into strips and tied him hand and foot in a chair. After using a strip of cloth for a gag, he selected one suit from the armoire and crammed it into the carpetbag. He waved to Cruger on the way out the door.
“Invent some tall tale about how I got the drop on you. I doubt they would believe the truth.”
Kate led the way down the back stairs. At the rear of the hotel, two horses stood hitched to a woodshed. Holliday got her mounted, then hooked the handles of the carpetbag over his saddlehorn. He stepped aboard, reining his horse about, and rode toward the edge of town. The sky was ablaze with firelight, the frantic shouts of men drifting on a southerly breeze. He chuckled out loud.
“Kate, I swear, you are a wonder. How did you manage it?”
“Simple as pie,” she said from beneath her slouch hat. “The fire was John Shanssey’s idea, and he loaned me the clothes. I stole the horses all by myself.”
“A pair of tacticians,” Holliday remarked with wry humor. “We’ll be far away before anyone knows we’re gone.”
“That raises a good question, sweetie. Where are we going?”
“Our first stop will be Doan’s Crossing.”
“Where is that?”
“On the Red River,” Holliday said. “A trading post of sorts on the Western Trail.”
“You’re kidding!” She looked at him, surprised. “We’re going to Dodge City?”
Holliday smiled. “I have a standing invitation.”
They rode north from Fort Griffin and the Flat.
CHAPTER 23
Holliday and Kate rode into Dodge City late in May. She was still dressed in men’s clothes, and they drew stares as they crossed the bridge over the Arkansas River. The Santa Fe railroad tracks, which bisected the town east to west, were directly north of the bridge. The business district was spread along a broad plaza opposite the tracks.
Their journey had consumed almost three weeks. At Doan’s Crossing on the Red River, Holliday had outfitted them with food supplies and camp gear. Generally following the Western Trail, their trip northward through the Indian Nations had proved uneventful. Yet they were weary from the long ride on horseback, and their clothes were covered with trail dust.
Holliday’s spirits were nonetheless improved by their return to civilization. He felt he’d made a friend in Wyatt Earp, and he thought they would be welcome in Dodge City. The cowtown was also far removed from Texas, which made it unlikely that he would be sought for the killing at Fort Griffin. From a professional standpoint, Dodge was considered a major stop on the Gamblers’ Circuit, ranked alongside mining camps in the Rockies. A railhead, and cattlemen fresh off a trail drive, offered easy prospects for a gambler. So far he liked what he’d seen.
Dodge City billed itself as “Queen of the Cowtowns.” On his way into town, Holliday’s brief glimpse of the sporting district indicated that it was larger and far livelier than he had expected. He was surprised as well by the number of longhorn herds on the holding grounds along the plains bordering the Arkansas. From the looks of things, many Texas ranchers got an early start on the drive to railhead. The herds were money on the hoof, and hard cash in the pockets of cattlemen. All of which boded well for a gambler.
Fort Dodge, the nearest army post, was situated five miles east along the Arkansas. Until 1872, with the arrival of the railroad, Dodge City had been a windswept collection of log structures devoted to the buffalo trade. But now, hammered together with bustling industry, it had sprung, virtually overnight, into the rawest boomtown on the Western Plains. A sprawling hodgepodge of buildings, the town was neatly divided by the railroad tracks.
The dusty plaza along Front Street was clearly the center of trade and commerce. Down at the end, flanked by several smaller establishments, were the Dodge House Hotel, Zimmerman’s Mercantile, and the Dodge Opera House. Up the other way were a couple of banks and the newspaper, bordered by cafes and shops and varied business places, including the Long Branch Saloon. Farther north, beyond the plaza, was the residential district of town.
Holliday reined to a halt outside the Dodge House Hotel. With Kate at his side, he entered the lobby, where a group of Texas cattlemen stood talking among themselves. All conversation ceased as the Texans stopped to gawk at a woman, dusted in trail grime, dressed in men’s clothes. She ignored the strange looks, watching as Holliday signed the register “Dr. and Mrs. John H. Holliday.” He then ordered a bathtub and hot water brought to their room, and arranged to have his extra suit pressed. The clerk agreed to have their horses stalled at a livery stable.
Their room overlooked the plaza. Holliday dumped their tattered carpetbag on the bed and moved to the window. Kate removed her slouch hat, fluffing her hair, and joined him. She gave him a curious sidewise glance. “What was that nonsense about Dr. and Mrs. Holliday? Are we getting married?”
“Not today,” Holliday said evasively. “I just thought it would look better. A matter of propriety.”
“Who do you think you’re kidding, sugar? You’re trying to impress your lawdog friend, Wyatt Earp.”
“Here.” Holliday peeled a hundred dollars off his roll. “Go buy yourself some clothes while I have a bath. Get dresses that are nice-looking, respectable. Nothing flashy.”
She took the money. Her gaze went across the railroad tracks, to the sporting district. “We’re on the wrong side of town for my line of work.”
“As of today, you are retired. You have become a lady of leisure.”
“What if I don’t want to retire?”
“You have a choice,” Holliday said firmly. �
�Either you’re my woman, or you are a bride of the multitude. I won’t have it both ways.”
“Are you serious?” she said, with a wounded look. “You’d kick me out it I went back on the line?”
“Kate, try to understand. All the time we were on the trail, I had you to myself. I want it to stay that way.”
“A lady of leisure.” She examined the notion. “I suppose we could give it a shot. See how it goes.”
“Indulge me this one time. You won’t regret it.”
“You are some sweet man, Doc. Why not?”
She returned an hour later. The dresses she’d bought were demure by her standards, colorful but high-necked and fashionably proper. Holliday was bathed and shaved, attired in a freshly pressed gray suit and apricot shirt. He dusted off his hat, placed it squarely on his head. She dropped her bundles on the bed.
“Are you going out?”
“I thought I might have a look at the town.”
“What about me?”
Holliday motioned to the tub. “I had it filled with fresh water. Have a bath and surprise me with one of your new dresses.”
Her eyes narrowed. “When will you be back?”
“Expect me in time for supper.”
When he went out the door, she stared after him a moment. Then, stripping off her grimy clothes, she stepped into the tub. She sighed, luxuriating in the hot water, her eyes closed. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
She thought being a lady of leisure might not be so bad.
The train depot was at the east end of the plaza. Directly across the track was the city jail, which housed a combined office for the town marshal and the county sheriff. The building resembled a fort, constructed of thick railroad timbers.
Holliday entered by the only door, which faced the sporting district. To the rear was a large holding cage, fronted by steel bars and a heavy metal door. In the outer office were four battered desks, with carbines and double-barrel shotguns chained in a wall rack. Wyatt Earp rose from behind one of the desks.
“I’ll be damned,” he said, slightly amazed. “Where’d you drop from, Doc?”
“Points south,” Holliday replied, shaking his hand. “I tired of Texas.”
“Well, that’s easy to do. What brings you to Dodge?”
“I’ve heard it called the Babylon of the Plains. Anything so iniquitous has a certain intrigue.”
Earp laughed. “We’ve got our share of sinners. No doubt about that.”
“Speaking of wayward souls,” Holliday said. “Were you able to capture Dave Rudabaugh?”
“Missed him by a week. Damn fool headed back to Kansas and got caught anyway. Like to introduce you to our sheriff.”
A man stood at one of the other desks. “Bat Masterson,” Earp said, “this is Doc Holliday. You’ll recall he gave me an assist at Fort Griffin.”
Masterson was of medium height, solidly framed, his brushy mustache neatly trimmed. The man seated at the next desk bore a striking family resemblance. Earp introduced him as Ed Masterson, the town marshal.
“Heard a lot about you,” Bat Masterson said. “Wyatt tells me you’re an honest gambler.”
Holliday shrugged. “I prefer the vagaries of chance. Why improve the odds?”
“How long you plan to stay in Dodge?”
“I haven’t given it much thought. Why do you ask?”
“From your reputation,” Masterson said, “you’re a man with a short fuse. We frown on gunplay around here.”
“An admirable policy,” Holliday said in a neutral voice. “I am a staunch advocate of law and order.”
Ed Masterson gave him a sharp look. “That why you’ve killed so many men?”
“Hold on,” Earp interrupted. “We’ve got no shortage of toughnuts in town. No reason to single Doc out.”
“We’re not,” Bat Masterson said gruffly. “Just call it a word to the wise. No gunplay allowed.”
“I’ll vouch for him,” Earp said. “Doc won’t be the one to start trouble. Am I right, Doc?”
Holliday spread his hands. “I will be on my best behavior. Decorum is the byword.”
“Hope you mean that,” Ed Masterson said. “Your name will just naturally draw attention. Try to avoid trouble.”
“I always do, Marshal.”
“Come on, Doc.” Earp moved toward the door. “Let’s you and me take a walk. I’ll show you around town.”
“Gentlemen.” Holliday nodded to the Masterson brothers. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Outside Earp led the way to Second Avenue, the main thoroughfare through the sporting district. Holliday wagged his head. “Your friends seem to have made the law a family business. Unusual, to say the least.”
“Well, they’re good men, sticklers for the law. Highly regarded by folks in Dodge.”
“Do they disapprove of all gamblers … or just me?”
“Don’t take it personally,” Earp said. “Their job is to run a clean town. Gets rough sometimes.”
“No doubt,” Holliday observed. “How long have they been in office?”
“Bat was elected last November. Ed got appointed town marshal a few months ago. He was a deputy before that.”
“I’m surprised you weren’t considered for the job. You have an enviable record as a lawman.”
“Never liked to be tied down,” Earp told him. “I sign on only during the cattle season. ’Course, there’s politics involved, too.”
“I see,” Holliday said. “Are the Mastersons skilled at the game?”
“Bat’s the talker of the family. He could charm the birds out of the trees. Natural born politician.”
“I tend to prefer your view of things. No permanent ties.”
“That reminds me.” Earp looked at him. “Your lady friend at Fort Griffin was a big help. Whatever happened to her?”
“We formed an alliance,” Holliday said with a crooked smile. “In fact, she’s over at the Dodge House right now. I brought her with me.”
“She plan to catch on here as a saloon girl?”
“Kate has retired from the business. We have an … arrangement.”
“Had a few myself, here and there. Nothing like a good woman.”
Holliday laughed. “Or a bad one.”
Before Earp could reply, they rounded the corner onto Second Avenue. The trailing season had only just begun, but the sporting district was jammed with Texans. A wild-and-woolly atmosphere permeated the street, with saloons, whorehouses, and gambling dives pandering to the rowdy nature of cowhands. A combination of fallen women and raw whiskey quickly separated most of them from their wages.
The district was known simply as the South Side. There, the trailhands were allowed to let off steam in a no-holds-barred pursuit of drunkenness and depravity, gunplay excepted. But at the railroad tracks, locally dubbed the Deadline, all rowdiness ceased. The lawmen of Dodge City, with a no-nonsense attitude toward troublemakers, rigidly enforced the ordinance. Anyone who attempted to hurrah the town north of the tracks was guaranteed a night in jail.
Holliday thought it a highly sensible arrangement. The wages of sin on one side of the tracks and the fruits of commerce on the other. The neutral ribbon of steel in between served as a visible, and clearly effective, dividing line. At first glance, containing the Texans to the sporting district seemed to work uncommonly well for all concerned. On the north side of the Deadline, the townspeople went about their business in relative peace.
Earp gave him a tour of the better gaming establishments. At the Lady Gay, one of the more popular watering holes, he was introduced to Ben Thompson. A Texan himself, and a veteran of Wichita and other cowtowns, Thompson was a high roller of some note. His attitude toward Earp was civil but distant, and Earp later explained the reason. Thompson was something of a hothead, and in gunfights from the Mexican border to the Kansas railheads, he’d reportedly killed ten men. He was on warning in Dodge City.
Uptown, across the Deadline, Earp stopped in at the Long Branch. He intro
duced Holliday to Chalk Beeson, the owner, who operated high-stakes games for wealthy Texas ranchers. The resident gambler was Luke Short, a fastidious dresser, small and wiry, with the quick hands of a professional. Holliday liked his natty attire, and found him to be a man of understated intelligence and jocular good humor. Afterward, on the street, Earp explained that Short was a former army scout turned gambler. He was reported to have killed six men in shootouts, but none in Dodge. His presence north of the tracks was tolerated because he behaved himself.
Holliday sensed a subtle message. “Perhaps you might yet have a place in politics. You are a man of some diplomacy, Wyatt.”
“Diplomacy?” Earp feigned surprise. “How so?”
“Thompson is consigned to the South Side, and Short is accepted uptown. Unless I’m mistaken, you’ve cautioned me to keep my nose clean. Am I wrong?”
“Doc, when I left Fort Griffin, I said you’d be welcome in Dodge. I just wanted you to understand how things work.”
“You need have no qualms,” Holliday said earnestly. “I will do nothing to compromise your position as a lawman, Wyatt. You have my word on it.”
“Never thought otherwise,” Earp said. “Whatever anybody else thinks, I got your number down in Texas. You’re a man of honor; Doc.”
“Kindly keep it to yourself, will you? I wouldn’t want my reputation spoiled.”
They parted with a warm handshake. Earp turned toward the jail, and Holliday walked upstreet to the hotel. He realized now that Dodge City had been the right decision. Among the men he’d known, Wyatt Earp was unique, even singular. One of a kind.
A man worthy of friendship.
CHAPTER 24
The crowd began to drift off about three in the morning. Shortly afterward, with only a few cowhands still at the bar the gaming tables closed for the night. A swamper began gathering his mop and pail from the storage room.
On the dance floor, Kate swirled lazily in the arms of a young cowhand. By house rule, the band was not allowed to leave until the place emptied for the night. The Lady Gay was popular with Texans, and no customer ever went away thirsty. The doors were never locked.