Denver Draw (17 page)

Bat was exhausted from his ride. He hadn’t been kidding about riding his mount into the ground.

“It died,” he said, “when we got to the livery. I hope Doc’s life—or what’s left of it—is worth that horse.”

“I guess that would depend on who you were talking to.”

They had another beer, and then dinner together in the hotel dining room. Bat caught Butler up with what had been going on in Trinidad since he left, which had not been much.

“Since you, Doc, and the Earps left there ain’t been much goin’ on,” Bat said. “I think I might be about done there. Ready to be on the move again, take the badge off for a while.”

Butler had told Bat everything he needed to know about Doc, so now he filled him in on Jennifer.

“You think she’s settin’ you up?” Bat asked. “Been settin’ you up all along, to write somethin’ about you?”

“I don’t know why she’d want to do that,” Butler said. “She’d be more likely to sell something about Doc, or you, than about me.”

“Could be that’s been her plan all along,” Bat said. “You got to watch out for the pretty ones, Butler.”

“I’ll remember that, Bat.”

Bat decided to turn in early. He’d gotten a room there in the hotel.

“Might as well go first class.”

They agreed to meet up early the next morning for breakfast, after which they’d go to the lawyer, Oliver James’s, office to find out what their next move should be.

Butler hadn’t seen Jennifer all day, but there she was in the lobby now, hurrying over to him.

“Was that him?” she asked breathlessly.

“Who?”

“Bat Masterson.”

“Oh, yes, that was him.”

“Lucky for Doc Holliday he finally showed up, huh?”

“Yes, it is,” Butler said, “or, I hope it is.”

She grabbed Butler’s arm.

“Do you think he’d sit for an interview?”

“I think maybe you should ask him.”

“But…do you think he’d do it?”

“I don’t know, Jennifer,” Butler said. “Bat’s got some very firm ideas about pretty women.”

Jennifer went on as if she hadn’t heard.

“If I could get an interview with him I know I could sell it to a newspaper—maybe even more than one. Is he coming back down tonight?”

“No,” Butler said, “he’s all done in from riding. He’ll be down…tomorrow.”

He’d almost told her that he was going to have break
fast with Bat in the hotel dining room, but thought better of it.

“And will I be seeing you later tonight, Mr. Butler?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I might go out in search of some work.”

“You mean a poker game?”

“That’s my work,” he said.

“Well,” she said, ”if you don’t get back too late, knock on my door.”

“I’ll do that.”

But as she crossed the lobby and went up the stairs he knew he wouldn’t. He no longer trusted her, which might have been unfair, but it was how he felt. She was a writer, which was the next best—or worst—thing to a reporter, and you couldn’t trust reporters.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought this way before.

Yes, he did.

He decided to check with the head bellman. If anyone knew where a poker game was, it would be him.

Police Officer Perry Mallon unlocked the cell door and said to Doc Holliday, “Let’s go.”

Doc remained seated on his bunk, wishing Butler had brought him a gun already. He looked up at Mallon, and the other two officers standing behind him.

“Where are we goin’ in the middle of the night?”

“You’re headed back to Arizona to hang,” Mallon said.

“Yeah,” Doc said, “if I don’t catch a bullet in the back while trying to escape.”

“If it was just me you might,” Mallon admitted. “But
I’ll just shoot you in the knee and drag you out if you don’t come.” Mallon drew his gun to drive his point home.

Doc sighed. He was going to have to depend on Butler and Bat Masterson having something up their sleeves to counter what was going on now.

“Let’s go,” Mallon said, cocking the hammer, “I ain’t got all night.”

“All right,” Doc said, standing.

“Turn around,” Mallon ordered.

Doc did, and one of the other men handcuffed him that way.

“If we’re riding I’ll need my hands,” Doc told them.

“We’ll take care of that when the time comes,” Mallon said. “Right now you’re walkin’ and ridin’ a buggy. Move.”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Doc said.

“We’re just followin’ orders,” Mallon said. “There’ll be some Arizona lawmen takin’ you all the way back.”

As they went up the stairs Doc said, “So we’re tryin’ to sneak out before anybody misses me?”

“Ain’t nobody gonna miss you, Holliday,” Mallon told him, prodding him from behind. “Believe me.”

Butler met Bat Masterson in front of the hotel dining room early the next morning and they went in to have breakfast.

“Well rested?” Butler asked.

“More than you,” Masterson said. “You look like crap.”

“I found a poker game last night,” Butler explained. “It went on for quite a while.”

“How’d you do?”

“I did my business.”

“Which means you won.”

“That’s my business,” Butler said.

The waiter came over and they both ordered steak and eggs. They were only halfway through with their meal when Bat saw a portly man come rushing into the dining room.

“Is that our lawyer?” he asked.

Butler turned and saw Oliver James hurrying toward them.

“That’s him.”

“He’s got somethin’ on his mind.”

James reached the table and asked Butler, “Is this Masterson?”

“Yes,” Butler said. “Bat, this is—”

“You both have to do something.”

“About what?” Butler asked.

“Doc’s gone.”

“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Butler demanded.

“Just what I said,” James answered. “They moved him during the night.”

“To where?” Bat asked.

“I don’t know,” James said. “And they claim not to know.”

“Are they claiming he escaped?” Bat asked.

“No,” James said. “What they said was they seem to have ‘misplaced’ him.”

Bat looked at Butler.

“They’re on their way to Arizona. They probably took him someplace right outside of town, where they’ll hand him over to the Arizona lawmen.”

“We’ll have to go get him,” Butler said.

“Yeah,” Bat said. “That means we’re gonna have to take him away from some other lawmen.”

“That doesn’t bother me much,” Butler said. “I’m not wearing a badge.”

“That fact might come in handy,” Bat said. He looked longingly at the remainder of his breakfast, then said to Butler, “We got to go now.”

They both stood up and hurried from the dining room, leaving Oliver James standing next to their empty table. Just so their money and meals wouldn’t go to waste he sat down, combined both plates, and started eating.

Bat needed a horse, so they went to the livery where Butler had left his and made a quick deal with the liveryman to rent one. Bat had to pay too much, but there was no time to dicker.

Mounted, they rode out of the livery.

“Which way?” Butler asked.

“That’s easy,” Bat said. “We head for Tombstone. We’re bound to catch up.”

“Doc asked me to smuggle him a gun.”

“Did you?”

“Not yet,” Butler said. “I was going to. A derringer. It’s still in my boot.”

“I’ve got an extra gun in my saddlebags,” Bat said. “When we find him we’ll arm him. It’ll better our odds.”

“If we find him alive.”

“The only way we won’t find him alive is if he dies on his own,” Bat said. “They’re gonna want to take him back to Arizona.”

“How do we know which way they’re going to go?” Butler asked.

“I’ve made this ride before,” Bat said. “There are a couple of good routes. I’m gonna have to make a damn good guess, but if I know Doc he’ll be working on a way to let us know.”

Doc coughed, hawked up a bloody gob, and spat. It struck a boulder, staining it with red.

Mallon, riding in the lead, turned, and said, “Hawking up a lung, Doc? You feel like fallin’ off your horse and dyin’ right here, be my guest.”

“When I want to lay down and die, Mallon, you’ll be the first to know,” Doc said. Because you’ll be in the ground first, he added to himself.

He brought up another bloody gob and spit it again. Once again it stained a round boulder. No one thought anything of it, except to avert their eyes when he did it.

If Butler and Bat Masterson couldn’t see the bloody trail he was leaving, they’d have to be blind.

“This guy has got no imagination,” Bat Masterson said, shaking his head.

“Who?”

“Whoever it is we’re following,” Bat said. “He’s takin’ Doc the most direct route.”

“Maybe he’s not expecting to be followed.”

“An experienced lawman would take an evasive route, anyway,” Bat said.

“Then I suppose we’re lucky this guy isn’t experienced.”

“Or he’s just plain stupid.”

They were a couple of miles outside of Denver, heading due south. Bat had halted their progress to make his observation.

“Wait a minute,” Butler said. “How do we even know we’re going in the right direction.”

“Have you done any trackin’ at all?” Bat asked.

“Not if it didn’t involve cards.”

“Look.”

Bat pointed to a rock that seemed to have a dark stain on it.

“What is that?”

“It’s blood.”

Butler frowned at the stain.

“It doesn’t look red.”

“It’s not fresh blood,” Bat said, “and even if it was, it darkens the older the stain is.”

“So how old is this stain?”

“Hours.”

“So you’re saying that’s Doc’s blood? He’s wounded?” Butler asked.

“Not wounded,” Bat said. “He’s leaving us a trail. You know, like that nursery rhyme.”

Butler stared at him.

“With the bread crumbs?”

“Oh,” Butler said. “Hansel and Gretel?”

“That’s the one.”

“That’s not a nursery rhyme,” Butler said, “it’s a—”

“Okay,” Bat said, cutting him off, “the point is, Doc’s leaving us this trail.”

“With blood?”

“Think about it,” Bat said. “How do you think he could leave us a trail of blood without anyone noticing a thing?”

Butler thought a moment, then it came to him.

“Jesus,” he said, feeling vaguely nauseous. “He’s spitting it up?”

“So it’s not just blood,” Doc said. “It’s everything else that comes up when Doc does that.”

“Jesus…” Butler said again.

“So now all we’ve got to do is follow this trail,” Bat said, “and hope he doesn’t run dry.”

Bat gigged his horse and Butler followed. Trying not to think about Doc Holliday, Hansel and Gretel.

“What now?” Doc asked when they stopped.

“This is as far as we go,” Mallon said, dismounting. He walked over to Doc, who was not handcuffed in front so he could ride. However, when Mallon grabbed him and pulled him from his horse, he had no way of resisting. He hit the ground with a hard thud that jarred him to the bone and started a coughing fit.

“There he goes again,” Mallon said.

The other two officers dismounted and stared down at Doc with distaste.

“This is disgusting,” one of them said.

“Who’d wanna live that way?” the other asked.

“He’s not gonna live this way for much longer,” Mallon said.

One of the policemen looked at Mallon and said, “You ain’t gonna—I didn’t sign on for no murder—”

“Me neither—” the other stated, but Mallon cut them both off.

“Relax,” he said. “All I meant was they’ll stretch his neck for him when he gets back to Tombstone.”

“Who’s takin’ him back?” one of them asked.

“We got to wait here for a sheriff and his deputy from Arizona,” Mallon said. “The chief’s sendin’ them here to take him off our hands.”

“How long’s that gonna take?”

“Who knows?” Mallon said. He pointed to one. “Just start a fire and we’ll camp until they get here.” And then the other. “You take care of the horses.”

“What are you gonna do?” one of them asked.

“I’m gonna make sure our guest is real comfortable,” Mallon said.

As the other two walked away he uncuffed Doc,
flipped him over onto his stomach, and then cuffed his hands behind his back.

“Comfy?”

Doc choked and spit up a gob of bloody phlegm in reply.

“No more blood,” Butler said.

“You noticed,” Bat said. “Good. Maybe that means you’re learning.”

“It’s not a skill I think I’ll need in the future,” Butler observed.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“The point is,” Butler said, “there’s no more blood. How do we know we’re still going in the right direction?”

“See? You do want to learn.”

“I want to know if—”

“Doc only meant to point us in the right direction,” Bat said. “If he kept it up he probably would have run dry, or run the risk of having someone figure out what he was doin’.”

“Leaving us a blood trail?” Butler asked. “I doubt anyone would have figured that one out. I’m still having a hard time believing it myself.”

“Still got that derringer in your boot?” Bat asked.

“Yes, why?”

“I’m just wonderin’ how things would’ve been different if you had already passed it to him.”

“Well, for one thing,” Butler said, “somebody would probably be dead.”

“I’ll bet you’re right about that.”

“Or maybe Doc would’ve used it to get away.”

“And he’d be on the run now,” Bat said.

“Wouldn’t he be better off?”

“No,” Bat said, “because we’re gonna get him back and use my warrant to get him out of Denver.”

“You sound so sure.”

“I am,” Bat said. “I’m not gonna let some idiotic Denver lawmen get away with this.”

“And what if we run into the Arizona lawmen at the same time we run into the idiotic Denver lawmen?”

“I guess we’ll have to deal with them when the time comes,” Bat said.

“If it comes,” Butler said hopefully.

“Right, if it comes. Come on, we’re not too far behind them, and they’ll be camping soon.”

“Why camp? There’s still plenty of daylight.”

“I’ll explain my thinkin’ while we ride,” Bat said.

Bat thought that some local lawmen were probably transporting Doc out here to pass him off to the Arizona lawmen.

“They’re not gonna want to get too far from home,” he finished. “They’ll want the others to catch up to them as soon as possible.”

“But we’re going to catch up to them.”

“Right,” Bat said, “and, hopefully, first.”

Mallon stared across the fire at the other two policemen who were with him. One he knew was named Benson. He didn’t know the other one’s name. It was true if they hadn’t been with him he probably would have found a
way to kill Doc Holliday. As Holliday himself said, he probably would have put a bullet in the man’s back and claimed he was trying to escape. However, with Benson and the other man along he wouldn’t be able to do that.

“Can I get some of that coffee?” Doc asked.

Benson looked over at Mallon.

“Sure,” he said, “why not?”

Benson poured a cup and brought it over to Doc. He removed the cuffs, allowing Doc to bring his hands around to the front, then cuffed him again that way. Doc picked up the hot cup and held it in both hands.

“Thanks,” he said to Mallon.

“Hey,” Mallon said, “I can be a big man. You’re gonna be dead soon, anyway.”

“One way or another,” Doc agreed. “But then, we’re all going to die sometime, right?”

“That’s true,” Mallon said, “but not at the end of a rope like you, Doc.”

Doc looked up at the sky. Still a couple of hours of daylight to go. If Bat Masterson and Butler were going to find them they’d have to do it quickly, or be forced to do it in the dark.

“Got anything to eat?” Doc asked.

“We don’t plan to be out here that long, Holliday,” Mallon said. “Make due with your coffee.”

“That’s fine,” Doc said. “Never hurts to ask.”

“I got some beef jerky—” Benson started, but Mallon cut him off.

“Eat it yourself, then,” Mallon said. “Coffee’s enough for him.”

“Obliged for the offer,” Doc said to Benson.

He finished the coffee and handed the cup back to Benson, who cuffed him behind his back again. Doc’s
body ached, not only from the constant coughing spells but from the fall from the horse. He’d been happier in his cell than out here. He was fairly safe there. Out here one of these men could still get it into their head to put a bullet in him—although a quick death from a bullet was much better than some of the alternatives.