Doc Holliday

by Matt Braun

  Holliday looked wounded. “Dog, where are your poker manners? Would I tell the table you have only a pair?”

  “You just did!” Kelly took a quick peek at his cards. “Well, would you look at that. I think I’ve drawn the winning hand.”

  “Bet ’em, then,” the dealer said. “You’re the opener.”

  “Good idea,” Kelly said with great bravado. “Run for the hills, boys. Opener bets a hundred.”

  “Your hundred”—the Texan next to him spread bills on the table—“and reckon I’ll raise you a hundred. Who’s runnin’ now?”

  Holliday squeezed his cards apart. He forced himself not to smile, or blink. On the draw, he’d caught a king, which gave him a full house. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he said with a trace of resignation. “Call the two hundred and … raise a hundred.”

  The dealer chortled aloud. “You gents damn sure better have the goods. I’ll just take the last raise.”

  “Three hundred to me,” Kelly said, flinging money into the pot. “Let’s see what you’re so proud of.”

  The cattleman dealing spread his hand. “Read ’em and weep! Three jacks.”

  “Christ on a crutch,” Kelly cursed, turning over three tens. “Talk about being nosed out. Jesus!”

  “Hell, don’t bellyache.” The other Texan tossed his cards in the deadwood. “Two pair was suckin’ hind tit.”

  Holliday started to reveal his hand. Before he could move, Jim Masterson burst through the door and hurried toward the table. The youngest of the Masterson clan, he had been hired as a deputy when his brother was killed. He halted beside Earp.

  “Got trouble, Wyatt,” he said, catching his breath. “Some cowhands over at the Lady Gay are fixin’ to cross the Deadline. They’re on the prod.”

  “How’d you get wind of it?”

  “Bartender snuck out and found me on the street. He says somebody told ’em you’re over here.”

  “Hold on,” Kelly interrupted. “Are you saying they’re out to get Wyatt?”

  “Sounds that way,” Masterson affirmed. “They likely know Bat’s off chasin’ train robbers. Figured Wyatt was the next best thing.”

  “Where’s Marshal Bassett?”

  “Home in bed,” Earp said with a tinge of sarcasm. “You’ll recall, Charlie doesn’t work the night shift.”

  “Well, roust him out,” Kelly ordered. “Get the day deputies up, too. Let’s have a show of force.”

  “No need for that,” Earp told him. “These boys are probably all wind and no whistle. Jim and me can handle it.”

  “What if they’re serious, though? I ignored all the talk about threats from Kennedy. Dirty bastard did his best to kill me.”

  The two Texans at the table were listening with rapt attention. When Earp glanced at them, they hastily averted their eyes. He looked back at Kelly. “We’ll scout around and see what’s what. Might turn out to be nothing.”

  Earp nodded to Masterson, and they walked toward the door. After a moment, clearly flustered, Kelly motioned around the table. “Think I’ll call it a night. Where’d we leave off?”

  “With me,” Holliday said, fanning his cards on the table. “I have a small full house. Sixes over kings.”

  “Looks pretty big to me,” Kelly said. “You won yourself a nice pot, Doc.”

  The cattleman with the three jacks angrily brushed his cards aside. “Sat here and dealt myself second-best. Damn the luck, anyway!”

  Holliday reached for the pot. From outside, the drumming thud of hoofbeats sounded across the stillness of the plaza. Across the room he saw Earp and Masterson move through the door. He kicked back his chair, registering the startled expressions of everyone in the saloon, and quickly circled the table. He was halfway to the entrance when the roar of gunshots split the night.

  A window shattered and slugs drilled through the front wall of the saloon. Holliday was aware of men diving for cover as he drew his Peacemaker and stopped beside the door. Outside, their pistols at shoulder level, he saw Earp and Masterson returning fire on four horsemen some thirty yards away. The riders and their mounts were limned in faint starlight, the muzzle blasts from their guns flaming through the dark. Lead sizzled all around the lawmen.

  Three of the riders suddenly whirled their horses and galloped off into the night. The fourth horseman triggered two rapid shots, then wheeled his mount and rammed hard with his spurs. Earp dropped to one knee, sighting along the barrel of his pistol, the rider silhouetted against the starlit sky. When he fired, the man straightened, arms flung outward, and pitched sideways out of the saddle. The horse pounded across the plaza.

  Earp walked forward, Masterson at his side. They cautiously approached the fallen horseman, stooping down to inspect the body. Satisfied that he was dead, they stood talking a moment, staring off into the night where the other riders had disappeared. Then Earp holstered his pistol and turned back toward the Long Branch. Holliday stepped through the door.

  “Your lucky night,” he said equably. “I wonder that you weren’t hit.”

  “Goddamn cowhands,” Earp said crossly. “Good thing they opened up at a distance. Otherwise I’d look like a sieve.”

  “Distance doesn’t noticeably spoil your aim. You made quite a shot.”

  “Tell you the truth, I never figured to drop him. Surprised myself.”

  Dog Kelly rushed through the door of the saloon. “Jesus Christ, Wyatt! Sounded like a war out here. What happened?”

  “Four cowhands looking for trouble. One dead and three got away.”

  “You think that’ll stir up a hornet’s nest?”

  “I’d say the hornets are already loose.”

  “So what’s to be done?”

  “Whatever they try, give it back to them in spades. Right, Doc?”

  Holliday smiled. “No question about it. Tit for tat.”

  Kelly groaned and walked back into the Long Branch.

  CHAPTER 27

  The bell over the door tinkled. Holliday was seated in a barber’s chair, an apron pinned around his neck. He looked in the mirror and saw Dog Kelly enter the shop. The barber stopped snipping.

  “’Afternoon, Mr. Mayor,” he said, motioning with his scissors. “Have a seat, won’t be long. You’re next.”

  There were no other customers in the shop. Kelly nodded to Holliday in the mirror. “Doc, how’s tricks?”

  “Win some, lose some, Dog. How is it with you?”

  “No complaints.” Kelly moved to a row of straight-backed chairs along the wall. “Fact is, maybe it’s a little too quiet.”

  “Are you referring to the Texans?”

  “Well, nobody else causes me to lose sleep. Just too damn quiet since that last dustup. Not natural.”

  Holliday smiled. “You sound superstitious.”

  The barber paused, interested in the answer. Kelly wagged one hand back and forth. “I’m no more superstitious than the next man. But I’m leery of too much good luck.”

  Some two weeks had passed since the shooting outside the Long Branch. The dead cowhand had been buried in Boot Hill, with over a hundred Texans attending the funeral. But there had been no retaliation against the town’s lawmen, or the mayor. All of Dodge City seemed to be waiting for the next move.

  “Perhaps you overestimate them,” Holliday said. “Even Texans are susceptible to common sense.”

  Kelly’s brow wrinkled in a frown. “What’s common sense got to do with anything?”

  “Three cowhands have been killed this summer. Maybe they’ve decided it’s a losing proposition.”

  “You think they’ve pulled in their horns?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Holliday observed. “Their record against Dodge City lawmen isn’t all that impressive.”

  “Hope to hell you’re right, Doc.”

  The barber removed the apron. “All finished, Mr. Holliday. How does it look?”

  Holliday rose from the chair. He dug a coin from his pocket, studying himself in the mirror. “You gi
ve a nice haircut,” he said, turning toward Kelly. “Try not to worry so much, Dog. Things usually work out in the end.”

  Kelly snorted. “I’ll just be glad when trailing season is over. I could use a good night’s sleep.”

  Holliday suddenly coughed, phlegm rattling in his throat. He pulled out his flask, took a long slug, and returned it to his pocket. After a deep breath, he wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, moving toward the door. He waved to Kelly.

  “Drop by the Long Branch tonight. We’ll have a game.”

  “Maybe I will,” Kelly said, as he climbed into the barber’s chair. “See you around, Doc.”

  Holliday collected his hat from a wall peg. Outside, he turned upstreet and walked in the direction of the hotel. A blistering noonday sun hung over the town, heat waves radiating across the distant plains. At the corner, he met Earp crossing the intersection. The lawman nodded pleasantly.

  “You’re out early, Doc. What’s the occasion?”

  “Nothing more momentous than a haircut. Kelly came in as I was leaving. He seems fixated with Texans.”

  Earp shook his head. “Our mayor jumps at his own shadow. You’d think we were in a war.”

  “To hear him tell it,” Holliday agreed. “What’s your opinion?”

  “I’ve got a hunch it’s yesterday’s news. Things are pretty much back to normal on the South Side.”

  “Exactly what I told Dog. Three dead cowhands send a convincing message.”

  “’Course, there’s always next year,” Earp said in a jocular tone. “Texans tend to have short memories.”

  “Take it one day at a time, that’s my motto. Who knows what the morrow brings?”

  A startled expression suddenly came over Holliday’s face. Earp saw the color leach from his features and followed the direction of his gaze. An attractive young woman, led by a depot porter carrying her bags, was crossing the opposite side of the intersection. He glanced back at Holliday.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Doc. Something wrong?”

  “I fear it’s people who haunt our lives, not ghosts. You’ll have to excuse me, Wyatt.”

  Holliday hurried off. His stride increased as he crossed the street and mounted the opposite boardwalk. He overtook the woman and the porter as they turned into the entrance of the Dodge House Hotel. He was breathing heavily when he entered the lobby.

  “Mattie.”

  She turned at the sound of his voice. Her first impression was that of a man so thin he appeared emaciated. Some two years had passed since their parting, but she was unprepared for the change. His features were gaunt and haggard, with dark circles under his eyes. His clothes, unlike the somber attire he’d worn in Atlanta, were hardly less colorful than a peacock. She tried to hide her shock.

  “John, it’s you,” she said, holding out her hand. “Oh, it’s so good to see you.”

  “God, I couldn’t believe my eyes.” Holliday took her hand, suddenly awkward and fumbling for words. “Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”

  “I had to come, John. I simply couldn’t bear to wait any longer … no more letters.”

  “Why didn’t you wire me, let me know?”

  “I was afraid.” She averted her gaze. “Afraid you would leave, if you knew I was coming here.”

  “I—” Holliday was at a loss for a reply. “Well, why don’t we get you settled into the hotel?”

  The porter was still waiting with her luggage. Holliday gave him five dollars, and then walked her to the registration desk. All the while his mind was riveted on the scene Kate would make if she happened into the lobby. At Holliday’s insistence, the clerk gave her a ground-floor room, and wisely made no comment when she signed the register “Miss Mattie Holliday.” He agreed to have her bags taken to the room.

  Holliday escorted her into the dining room. The noontime crowd was clearing out, and they found a table in the far corner. She was too excited to eat, declining his offer of food, and he ordered coffee. While they waited, it occurred to him that she was untouched by the passage of time. Her features were exquisite, and she still possessed the verve and animation he remembered so well. The waitress shortly returned with their coffee.

  “You haven’t changed a bit,” he said, when they were alone. “Still the girl I remember from Atlanta.”

  “Oh, John, it’s so good to hear your voice again! You can’t begin to imagine how happy I am.”

  A sudden spasm wracked Holliday’s lungs. He poured a dollop from the flask into his coffee, and gulped it down. “Pardon my manners,” he said, his features flushed. “These days I have little choice but to drink in public. Bourbon has a palliative effect on my cough.”

  “I didn’t want to believe your letters.” She smiled sadly. “I wanted to arrive here and find you in glowing health. I should have known you were telling the truth.”

  “So then, tell me your truth, Mattie. Why are you really here?”

  “To be with you. I don’t care how ill you are. We belong together!”

  Holliday studied her. “Do your parents share your opinion?”

  “No, they don’t,” she said softly. “But I’m a grown woman and I know my own mind. I belong with you. I always have.”

  Holliday was torn by mixed emotions. The eroding effect of their long separation melted away simply at the sight of her. Watching her now, he was reminded that she was the only woman who had truly touched his inner core, his soul. However much he might wish it otherwise, she was the one person in his life who engendered love and compassion, and some deeper sense of grace. He was flooded with memories of all they had shared, the bonds of the past.

  Yet, though he was inwardly torn, he tried to put the memories aside. He was determined not to allow her presence to weaken his resolve, to overturn what he knew was right. His future was ordained by some higher power, and he still rode the pale horse of death. He told himself that she must somehow be dissuaded, forced to accept the hard truth of finality. To make her his bride, and quickly his widow, would be a corruption of all they had once shared, a stain on honor itself. He had to end it here, today.

  “Listen to me,” he said earnestly. “You still have some image of me as I was in another time, another life. I am no longer that man.”

  She held his gaze. “You are exactly as I remember you. Time doesn’t change the man, John.”

  “No, you are very wrong. I am a professional gambler, one of the sporting crowd. Do you know what that means?”

  “Not really.”

  “A fraternity of scoundrels,” Holliday informed her. “I consort with cardsharps and thieves and ruffians of every stripe. Some people think I’m the worst of the lot.”

  “I’ll never believe that,” she said. “It simply isn’t in your nature to cheat or steal, or even countenance such things. I know you too well.”

  “Do you?” Holliday said gravely. “Do you know that I am infamous, that men fear my name? Do you know I am called Doc Holliday?”

  “No,” she said in a small voice. “And it doesn’t matter.”

  “Does it matter that I’ve killed nine or ten men since you saw me last? Not duels of honor, Mattie. Sleazy barroom gunfights, over cards and money. Am I the same man you remember?”

  “Ohhh—” The sound died in her throat. “Why are you telling me all this?”

  Holliday’s stomach knotted. “I’m telling you the kind of life I lead. Sordid and low, oftentimes brutal.” He paused, sighing heavily. “Not a life for you.”

  After a long silence, she looked at him. “Shouldn’t that be for me to decide, John?”

  “Would you martyr yourself?” Holliday’s tone softened. “Think back to all those nights we read the classic poets. Do you recall the line Lord Byron wrote? ‘The Angel of Death spread his wings.’”

  “What does that have to do with being a martyr?”

  “The wings of death are spread over me. You have only to look to see it in my face. I’m living on borrowed time, bankrupt of life. Why m
artyr yourself for a dead man?”

  Her chin lifted, her eyes defiant. “Living or dead, you are the man I love, John. There will never be another.” She smiled wanly. “So yes, I would happily accept whatever time remains.”

  A sinking feeling came over Holliday. He was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he failed to notice Kate crossing the dining room. She halted beside the table, one hand on her outthrust hip. Her eyes flashed with a wicked glint.

  “Well, well,” she said in a throaty huff. “Stepping out on me, lover?”

  Mattie looked at her with a stunned expression. Holliday started from his chair, momentarily at a loss for an explanation. But then, struck by sudden inspiration, he wondered that he’d never thought of it before. He saw a way to end it.

  “Miss Mattie Holliday,” he said with a formal gesture, “may I introduce Miss Kate Elder, my fiancée?”

  “Your—” Mattie’s face was a mask of pain. “You are betrothed?”

  Holliday nodded. “I apologize most sincerely, Mattie. I should have told you before now.”

  Her eyes welled with tears. “Excuse me,” she said in a choked voice, rising from her chair. “I have to see to my luggage.”

  She walked toward the dining room door, her head held high with dignity. Holliday watched, suddenly undone by his own cruelty, as she disappeared through the lobby. He felt as though he’d destroyed something rare and fragile with a blow of his fist. Kate gave him a venomous look.

  “So that’s your Georgia peach, huh, Doc? Who’s being used here, her or me?”

  “No more, Kate.” Holliday fixed her with a cold stare. “Keep away from me until I have her safely out of town. Disobey me and you will regret it.”

  Her face went rigid. “Who the hell you think you’re ordering around? Whatever you told Miss Priss, I’m not your fiancée.”

  “I won’t warn you again. Stay out of this.”

  “Stuff it, buster,” she announced sullenly. “You just lost yourself a personal whore. I’m going back on the line!”

  “Go where you will,” Holliday said wearily. “The farther the better.”

  Her laugh was wild, harsh and mirthless. “How’s Cheyenne sound, Doc? One of the girls has been after me to go up there. That far enough?”