“You made a big fucking mistake, Holliday,” Taylor snarled.
Cocking his head slightly, Doc flipped the knife he’d been holding so he could grip it by the blade rather than the handle. “Did I?” he quipped, before snapping his wrist and sending the blade right into its owner.
Taylor reflexively grabbed for the knife protruding from his upper torso. The moment his hand found the weapon, he winced in pain and practically threw himself to the floor.
Doc took advantage of the show by getting to his feet and drawing his pistol. Before he could take a shot, the room filled with a thunder that could only have come from a shotgun. Everyone in the saloon either turned or dropped to the floor. The members of that former group were able to see Donnelly stepping forward with the smoking shotgun in his hands.
“The law’s on their way!” the saloon owner shouted.
That was all that needed to be said to get the remaining gunmen as well as the gamblers up and moving.
Doc held his Colt in one hand while offering his other to Mike so he could bring the gambler up off the floor.
“You just signed your own death warrant, Holliday,” Taylor grunted.
“That was done long before I ever laid eyes on you,” Doc replied.
“Nobody draws a gun on us. You’re finished! You better pray you die of that sickness, because it’ll be a walk through the roses compared to what’s in store for you.”
Doc gritted his teeth as his finger tightened around the trigger. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he spotted someone coming at him like a charging bull.
The fourth gunman took one step and extended his arm to point his gun at the side of Doc’s head. Just as the gunman was about to pull his trigger, he heard a shot and felt a burning pain flood through his chest. When he looked down, he saw blood soaking into the front of his shirt.
Doc stood in the spot where he’d been before, only one of his hands was extended beneath the other. In that hand, Doc held his second pistol. It was still smoking from the bullet it had just delivered.
As Taylor staggered toward the door, he pulled the knife from his body and let out the snarl of a wounded animal as the blade slipped from between his fingers. He spotted Caleb rushing toward him, but was too weak and disoriented to think of anything to do about it. Fortunately for him, the gunman Taylor had posted at the door had already lined up a shot of his own.
The shot cracked through the air, adding to the smoke that hung in the room like an acrid fog. The bullet drilled into Caleb’s back and dropped him to one knee.
As Caleb’s vision started to fade, he felt Taylor shove him down and then watched as the man in the dark blue suit and his remaining guards headed out the door.
17
When Caleb woke up, he was surrounded by feathery pillows that were thicker than his head. Soft, downy comforters were wrapped around him and the smell of lilacs filled the air. As he shifted, he felt his legs and back rubbing against what he guessed to be satin or silk.
“Am I…in…?” he asked groggily.
“Not quite heaven, but you’re close,” Doc said from somewhere that was nearby but out of sight. “You’re in Lottie’s bedroom.”
Caleb opened his eyes and tried to sit up. Any thoughts of a glorious afterlife were erased when he felt pain lance all the way from his shoulder blades to the front of his chest. “Jesus!” he grunted as he dropped back down again. He felt another stab of pain as he hit, and he clutched two fistfuls of sheets until the pain died down a bit.
As something cool was pressed to his forehead, Caleb heard another voice. This one was also familiar and matched his surroundings much more than the scratchy drawl that had come before it.
“Sit still, Caleb,” Lottie said. “The doctor said you shouldn’t move unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“It is necessary,” Caleb groaned. “My mouth feels like baked leather.”
“I don’t exactly know what that means, but I bet you’re thirsty.”
“That’s exactly what it means,” Caleb said. As the pain faded a little more, he soon felt another cold touch against his skin. A tin cup was being placed in his hand and he took it gratefully. The first sip of water hurt like hell, but the second was a blessing. After that, he felt as if he’d never be able to drink enough.
When he finally came up for air, Caleb rubbed his eyes and took another look around. “How long have I been here?”
“Two weeks,” Doc said.
Almost immediately, Lottie backhanded Doc’s shoulder and said, “It’s just been over two days.”
Doc moved around to the opposite side of Caleb’s bed and said, “I bet that makes you feel better, doesn’t it? You see? It’s all a matter of perspective.”
Although he meant to laugh, Caleb let out something that was more like a grunt that had been forced up from the bottom of his gut. “Can I have some more water?”
“Sure,” Lottie said. “I’ll go get it.”
After watching her leave the room, Caleb shifted so he could get a look at Doc. The slender Georgian was sitting on a small padded chair against the wall. The room had a soft glow to it, thanks to the tinted lantern covers, the dark color of the furnishings, and the expensive carpet on the floor. There were a few tables set up here and there, each of which had flowers set on it in a different size of vase.
Doc sat in his chair with one arm draped over the back. Once Lottie was well out of earshot, he said, “I think she’s sweet on you.”
“Too bad I had to get stabbed to bring that out of her.”
“Shot,” Doc corrected. “You were shot.”
Pressing his palms against his eyes, Caleb took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It hurt, but not as much as when he’d tried to sit up a few moments ago. “Oh…yeah.” Suddenly, all the memories snapped back into focus, and Caleb tried to get out of bed one more time. “What happened after I was shot? Where’s Taylor?”
“He had more men waiting outside. Since nobody else but me and Owen were in any condition to chase after him, it seemed prudent to let him go. I must give him a bit of credit, though. He was man enough to leave his money behind.”
“After all that, you still figure on getting out of that game a winner.”
“And why not? I earned it.”
“Earned it? You cheated, Doc. We cheated. If that kind of thing had happened in my saloon, I would have chased us out of there and run us out of town.”
“That’s why a professional must know how to keep his moves quick and quiet. You did a fine job. Actually, we all did.”
Caleb opened his eyes and saw Doc truly basking in the moment.
When he saw he was being watched, Doc shrugged and said, “It could have been a whole lot worse, you know. None of us wound up dead.”
“Close,” Caleb grunted.
“Close only counts in horseshoes, and it sure as hell doesn’t count in poker.”
“I don’t even think I’m remembering how that last hand went.”
“Beautifully.” Doc beamed. “It was absolutely beautiful.”
“The way I recall, I had two of the cards you wound up showing before all the shooting started.”
“You did have those cards. And, thanks to Mike putting the deadwood pile closer to me, you tossed those cards my way when you folded.”
“I thought that part was a little obvious,” Lottie said as she came back into the room with Caleb’s water. “But it went over pretty well. Taylor must have been fixing the deal, so he knew who was getting what cards. I’m amazed he left that much to chance.”
“You’re not a card mechanic, are you?” Doc asked.
Lottie shrugged. “It’s not one of my strengths. At least, not in poker.”
“It’s hard enough to deal the cards you want to one or even two people, but dealing them to everyone at the table either requires a deck that you’ve already stacked or cards that have been rigged some other way. He dealt his own cards and my cards. The rest were just random trash.”
Grinning, Doc said, “That’s right. I did mention that I had to wait the better part of a day for those pieces to come together. You showed them to me perfectly, by the way.”
Lottie looked down at Caleb and asked, “You showed Doc your cards?”
“We’ve been practicing.”
“Very nice,” she said with genuine admiration. “Still, it was a risky play.”
Doc waved that off with one hand. “It was everyone working together. Mike shifted the discard pile, Caleb fed me the cards, and you distracted Taylor so he wouldn’t see any of it coming. I don’t see why everyone’s so surprised. After all, we were going into this as a team. Despite a few injuries, we all came out of it fairly well. Which reminds me…”
As Doc’s voice trailed off, he fished two bundles of money from inside his jacket. “Donnelly was kind enough to cash me out even after all the commotion. We had to pay for the damage to his place, but all of us came out ahead.”
Caleb took his money even though it hurt to move. Lottie, on the other hand, looked down at the cash as if it were a snake coiled in Doc’s hand.
“What’s the matter?” Doc asked.
Letting out a sigh, Lottie replied, “I shouldn’t take that money.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m the one who brought Taylor to that game. Because of me, two men are dead, Mike and Caleb were hurt, and the rest of us could have been killed as well.”
“First of all,” Doc said, “we all take a certain amount of risk when we do a job like this. It’s what makes the payoff that much sweeter. Secondly, you bringing Taylor to that game is what resulted in us getting his money.”
“And third,” Caleb added, “the men that were killed were working for Taylor.”
Doc nodded. “And, if I may add, they were trying their damnedest to kill us at the time. Don’t forget that.”
When she looked at Caleb, Lottie got a nod in return. That was enough for her to reach out to take the money Doc was offering. When she tried to take that money from Doc, however, she wasn’t able to pry it from his grasp.
Staring her dead in the eyes, Doc asked, “Did you know Taylor was connected to the Tiger?”
“No,” she said. “I didn’t. All I knew was that he was rich and looking for a game of high-stakes poker. Boyer’s always been the man to collect the taxes around here.”
“Did you look into who he was at all?”
“A bit, but I should have looked a whole lot deeper. That’s why I was going to refuse this money.”
After chewing on that for a while, Doc slowly started to nod. He let go of the money and put a smile on his face. “Consider this a lesson learned…for all of us.”
“Yeah, Doc,” Caleb grunted. “You start learning to drive people crazy and I’ll start learning how to dodge bullets.”
“I’m already doing just fine in that regard,” Doc said.
“Yes,” Lottie said as she tucked her money away and patted Doc on the cheek, “you most certainly are. Take all the time you need here, Caleb. I’ve got some errands to run. Will you be at your faro table tonight, Doc?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. There are some players coming in from Denver and they’re looking for a game. Since I’ll be occupied tonight, I’ll steer them your way.”
“Much appreciated.”
Lottie stepped over to Caleb and leaned down so she could kiss him on the forehead. After pausing to look into his eyes for a moment, she leaned down again so she could place a distinctly less nurturing kiss on his lips. Before backing away, she drew Caleb’s bottom lip into her mouth and gave it a quick nibble. “Feel better soon,” she said. “I want you able to move around again.”
Unable to hide the stunned expression on his face, Caleb said, “Yes, ma’am.”
Lottie turned on her heel and headed for the door with a bounce in her step that held a special spot in every man’s dreams. Doc was still looking in that direction when Caleb let out the breath he’d been holding.
“Now, that’s what I call a good person to have on our side,” Caleb said.
“Indeed, she would be. Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Remember what she said about not knowing who Taylor was?” Doc asked.
“Yeah.”
“She was lying.”
18
Just over a week passed, and Caleb had heard nothing more about the Tiger, the game that had exploded into a war inside the Beehive, or much of anything else that took place outside his room. Once he made his way out of Lottie’s place, Caleb slept through most of every day and made several agonizing attempts to get back on his feet.
His most recent attempt had proved to be the most agonizing and resulted in Caleb sitting backward in a chair for close to an hour without ever leaving his room. As another jolt of pain stabbed through him, Caleb grabbed on to the chair so tightly he nearly ripped it to pieces.
“Son of a…bitch!” Caleb snarled.
Another man sat in a chair next to Caleb. Actually, he looked more like a grizzled old bird perched on the edge of the chair. His shoulder-length gray hair hung in unkempt waves, and his wrinkled face was clean-shaven except for a patch of black and gray hair sprouting from his chin. With one hand, the old man inserted a probe into the bloody wound in Caleb’s back. His other hand manipulated a pair of pliers within that hole.
“Sit still, Caleb,” the old man said through gritted teeth.
“Fuck that!” Caleb grunted. “I think you’re pulling out a goddamn bone! How come we couldn’t do this before? Like when I was dead to the world.”
“You were losing too much blood,” the old man said as he kept digging. “And it’s not good to put you under this much stress while you’re not even strong enough to stay awake. Besides, the bullet managed to miss everything vital, so it was best to let it set until you were strong enough to bear through this procedure.”
“Real good policy,” Caleb snarled. “Real fucking good.”
The old man shook his head and kept working. “You’ve been strong enough for days, but you wouldn’t bother calling me. I had to wait until Dr. Holliday mentioned it.” When the muffled sound of metal crunching against metal could be heard, his eyes widened and Caleb tightened his grip even more around the back of the chair.
“I think I got it,” the old man said.
Caleb tried to speak, but only got out a series of vicious snarls.
Finally, the old man removed the pliers and eased out a hunk of twisted lead.
“You get the bullet out?” Caleb asked.
“Yep. That is, unless you’re growing these things in your shoulder.”
Caleb didn’t even try to laugh. When he let out a haggard breath, he practically wilted against the chair. “Lord, that feels better.”
“Told you it would. It would have been better a lot sooner if you would have come to see me again like I asked.”
“I know. It’s just—”
“Save it,” the old man interrupted. He then wrapped Caleb’s shoulder in bandages and tied them off with a sturdy knot.
“Thanks, Doctor,” Caleb said while carefully testing his arm as well as the bandages. “How much do I owe you?”
“I’m also here to visit John Henry. He said he’d settle up with me all at once. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” The old man gathered up his equipment and tipped his hat. Before leaving the room, he asked, “You need anything for the pain?”
“Since I’m feeling good enough to walk to a saloon, I’ll be able to find plenty there to ease my pain.”
Grumbling under his breath, the old man stepped out of Caleb’s room and headed to the room directly beside it. He tipped his hat once more to the woman who watched the hallway like a nervous hawk. Ever since the trouble at the Beehive, the owner of the boardinghouse had started paying especially close attention to the boarders who’d been recommended by Ow
en Donnelly.
As soon as he got into the other room, the old man immediately set down his bag and fished out another set of instruments.
“Afternoon, Dr. Sanderson,” Doc said cordially. “I take it by the screams coming from the next room that my associate is feeling better?”
“He will after a bit more rest. How’s your condition been treating you?”
Doc was sitting on a narrow bed with a cigarette case resting beside him. He wore a pair of black trousers with the suspenders gathered at his waist. A white undershirt could be seen beneath the more formal shirt that was unbuttoned all the way down to the waist. His skin was the same color as his undershirt and an almost skeletal frame could be detected through his clothing.
“I’ve never felt better,” Doc answered.
Sanderson fit the earpieces of a stethoscope in place and pressed the round end against Doc’s chest. While listening, Sanderson shook his head slightly and grumbled to himself. “Your friend in there got shot and I see him the same amount of times as I’ve seen you. I don’t know which one of you that makes me madder at.”
“The air has been doing wonders for my condition,” Doc recited. “And I have been watching my diet whenever possible.”
“I’ve heard all about you, John. The only time you get fresh air is when you’re stumbling in or out of a saloon. Your diet consists of whatever slop those bartenders throw at you and all that smoking doesn’t help matters either.”
“Some of those bartenders are excellent cooks.”
“They’re not to blame,” Sanderson snapped. “You are. For Christ’s sake, would it kill you to keep normal hours or eat healthier?”
Rather than put together any sort of answer, Doc took a cigarette from the case and lifted it to his mouth. By the time he found and struck a match, he seemed close to passing out from exertion.
“I can’t be the first doctor to tell you this,” Sanderson said.
Doc shook his head and expelled a smoky breath.
“Then why won’t you listen to anyone?”
“And what if I do listen?” Doc asked. “What good will that do? Will it keep me alive?”
Bucking the Tiger Page 12