hole, you got me.”
“No king,” Butler said, turning over his hole card, “but would another deuce do?”
“Full house!” somebody exclaimed in a hushed tone.
Doc Holliday stared across the table at Butler and said, “Nice hand, old son. How about a drink?”
“Okay, game’s over,” Bat shouted. “Give the gents some room.”
Men started to move away, back to their own tables, or to the bar, or even out the front doors. Butler rakedhis money in and two girls came over to take the chips away and cash them in.
“Let’s have that drink at the bar,” Doc suggested. “Bat, would you care to join us?”
“Sure,” Bat said.
The three men went to the bar. Bat and Butler ordered beer, while Doc stuck with whiskey.
“To the victor,” he said, raising his shot glass.
“That was some hand,” Bat said.
“Yes, it was,” Doc said. “I’ve seen our friend bluff before, but he wasn’t bluffing this time.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Bat said.
Butler didn’t comment. To him there was no way to bluff that hand. Most of what they had was on the table.
Doc finished his drink and signaled the bartender for another. Bat and Butler nursed their beers.
“Whew,” someone said from down the bar, “that Doc Holliday sure got skunked in that game!”
Butler cringed, Bat craned his neck to see who was speaking. Doc ignored the comment.
“I mean, it was pretty clear who had the winning hand that time,” the voice said. “Didn’t take a blind man to see that.”
Doc accepted his fresh drink from the bartender. Butler watched him as he downed it with a steady hand.
“Doc Holliday sure must be losin’ it,” the man’s voice said. “But then what do you expect from a lunger. He probably coughed up most of the brains he ever had.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Bat shouted. He turned to face that end of the bar. “Who’s got the big mouth?”
The men between him and the speaker backed away from the bar. Frank Pennington stood at the end with his three partners right behind him.
“I’m just havin’ my opinion, Marshal,” Pennington said.
“Christ, Pennington, is that you? Man, you ain’t got the brains God gave a donkey.”
Pennington stiffened, and his face reddened.
“I ain’t havin’ words with you, Marshal,” he said. “I was talkin’ about Holliday.”
“I know,” Bat said. “That’s why I know you ain’t got no brains. Why would you wanna go and poke at a man who just lost a bunch of money on a tough hand—”
Bat stopped short when he felt a hand on his arm.
“It’s okay, Masterson,” Holliday said. “I can handle this.”
“Doc, I’m the law—”
“Don’t worry,” Doc said, “I’m not gonna press charges. I’m just gonna have a talk with these waddies.”
“I ain’t no waddie!” Pennington snapped, straightening up, his hand hanging down by his gun. The three men behind him all straightened and spread their legs, but Bat, Butler, and Doc could see the fear on their faces. The question was, who did they fear more, Pennington or Doc Holliday?
CHAPTER 31
“You’re obviously lookin’ for a fight, friend,” Doc Holliday said. “I just lost a lot of money, so lucky for you I’m in the mood for a fight.”
Suddenly, the bar became the place not to be. As had happened in the Bucket of Blood some nights ago, men began to find someplace else in the room to be—or they left the saloon altogether. For the most part, however, they wanted to see this showdown, so tables were upturned and used for cover, or men just hit the floor but kept their heads up so they could see what was happening.
Bat didn’t move, except to give Doc some space. Butler was behind Doc’s right shoulder, at the end of the bar. He could see Doc’s face in profile, and he could see his neck. He wondered if Bat was seeing what he was. There was a coughing fit in Doc that was trying to get out, but Doc was trying to hold it in until after he dealt with Pennington and his
“No king,” Butler said, turning over his hole card, “but would another deuce do?”
“Full house!” somebody exclaimed in a hushed tone.
Doc Holliday stared across the table at Butler and said, “Nice hand, old son. How about a drink?”
“Okay, game’s over,” Bat shouted. “Give the gents some room.”
Men started to move away, back to their own tables, or to the bar, or even out the front doors. Butler rakedhis money in and two girls came over to take the chips away and cash them in.
“Let’s have that drink at the bar,” Doc suggested. “Bat, would you care to join us?”
“Sure,” Bat said.
The three men went to the bar. Bat and Butler ordered beer, while Doc stuck with whiskey.
“To the victor,” he said, raising his shot glass.
“That was some hand,” Bat said.
“Yes, it was,” Doc said. “I’ve seen our friend bluff before, but he wasn’t bluffing this time.”
“No, he wasn’t,” Bat said.
Butler didn’t comment. To him there was no way to bluff that hand. Most of what they had was on the table.
Doc finished his drink and signaled the bartender for another. Bat and Butler nursed their beers.
“Whew,” someone said from down the bar, “that Doc Holliday sure got skunked in that game!”
Butler cringed, Bat craned his neck to see who was speaking. Doc ignored the comment.
“I mean, it was pretty clear who had the winning hand that time,” the voice said. “Didn’t take a blind man to see that.”
Doc accepted his fresh drink from the bartender. Butler watched him as he downed it with a steady hand.
“Doc Holliday sure must be losin’ it,” the man’s voice said. “But then what do you expect from a lunger. He probably coughed up most of the brains he ever had.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Bat shouted. He turned to face that end of the bar. “Who’s got the big mouth?”
The men between him and the speaker backed away from the bar. Frank Pennington stood at the end with his three partners right behind him.
“I’m just havin’ my opinion, Marshal,” Pennington said.
“Christ, Pennington, is that you? Man, you ain’t got the brains God gave a donkey.”
Pennington stiffened, and his face reddened.
“I ain’t havin’ words with you, Marshal,” he said. “I was talkin’ about Holliday.”
“I know,” Bat said. “That’s why I know you ain’t got no brains. Why would you wanna go and poke at a man who just lost a bunch of money on a tough hand—”
Bat stopped short when he felt a hand on his arm.
“It’s okay, Masterson,” Holliday said. “I can handle this.”
“Doc, I’m the law—”
“Don’t worry,” Doc said, “I’m not gonna press charges. I’m just gonna have a talk with these waddies.”
“I ain’t no waddie!” Pennington snapped, straightening up, his hand hanging down by his gun. The three men behind him all straightened and spread their legs, but Bat, Butler, and Doc could see the fear on their faces. The question was, who did they fear more, Pennington or Doc Holliday?
CHAPTER 31
“You’re obviously lookin’ for a fight, friend,” Doc Holliday said. “I just lost a lot of money, so lucky for you I’m in the mood for a fight.”
Suddenly, the bar became the place not to be. As had happened in the Bucket of Blood some nights ago, men began to find someplace else in the room to be—or they left the saloon altogether. For the most part, however, they wanted to see this showdown, so tables were upturned and used for cover, or men just hit the floor but kept their heads up so they could see what was happening.
Bat didn’t move, except to give Doc some space. Butler was behind Doc’s right shoulder, at the end of the bar. He could see Doc’s face in profile, and he could see his neck. He wondered if Bat was seeing what he was. There was a coughing fit in Doc that was trying to get out, but Doc was trying to hold it in until after he dealt with Pennington and his
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