Doctor Who: The Gunfighters by Donald Cotton

leaving the stagedoor, did have the brief impression that they wanted his autograph. On second thoughts, however, he decided he’d best let his agent handle that kind of thing in future; and he went rapidly back inside, to smarten up the tricky bit in the second act. But I digress...
    The Doctor presently noticed that the crowd carried Steven, trussed like a rupture, amongst them; and it soon became obvious that he was no willing participant in the proceedings.
    ‘You still in there, Holliday?’ called Ike, who had become the spokesman by general agreement.
    Wyatt sighed. He’d been through all this sort of thing before, and knew most of the lines by heart...
    ‘Get off the street, Clanton,’ he advised. ‘The Doc’s my prisoner!’
    Ike knew all about that, of course, and wasn’t disposed to waste time arguing the rights and wrongs of the case.
    ‘That’s too bad, Marshal,’ he sympathised, ‘because, if he ain’t out here quicker ‘n you can... you can...’
    ‘Skin a ring-tailed ‘coon?’ Phineas suggested.
    ‘That’s right... skin a ring-tailed ‘coon,’ Ike agreed, ‘then his friend Regret’s gonna swing in his place! An’ bein’ the fine old Southern gentleman he is, I’ll bet Doc wouldn’t want that.’
     
    He was dead right, of course... But, on the other hand...
    Well, I mean...
    ‘What can I do?’ asked the Doctor. ‘Shall I go out and explain to them?’
    ‘Wouldn’t advise it,’ commented Earp. ‘Them boys ain’t accustomed to the cut an’ thrust of rhetorical logic. Their talk,’ he amplified, ‘is as the crackling of thorns under a pot...’
    ‘But if I don’t go, they’ll hang Steven; you heard him say so...’
    ‘An’ if you do go, they’ll hang you along of him. ‘Sides of which, I need ’em to continue believin’ as you’re Holliday for a while, so don’t go tellin’ ’em different! Not that they’d believe you anywise, but don’t try it! No... I’ll think of something... pretty well bound to...’
    ‘Time’s runnin’ out, Marshal,’ called Ike, having worked out how long three men could reasonably occupy themselves in skinning a ‘coon. ‘What’s it gonna be?’
    Being personally concerned, Steven now decided he would like to say something.
    ‘Stay where you are, Doctor,’ he advised, ‘they’re bluffing!’
    ‘You think that, boy, you’re gonna be powerful surprised, any moment now,’ growled Phineas; and, at the third attempt, he succeeded in throwing the unoccupied end of the rope over a convenient branch of the hanging-tree – not as simple an operation as you might think... at least, not with Phineas on noose.
    ‘Well, what about it?’ persevered Ike. ‘You all a-comin’, or ain’t you?’
    He was beginning to fear an anti-climax, and after all, he had his standing with the mob to consider...
    But Wyatt had now thought, and was well-pleased with the result. An unoriginal scheme, perhaps, but it had always gone down well before...
    ‘You keep ’em talking, Bat – and I’ll try to work round behind ’em.’
     
    ‘Ain’t that jest a mite corny?’ asked the Sheriff. ‘I mean, law-men’s forever doin’ such...’
    ‘Well, because it works, that’s why! Now, don’t get me all riled up, when I’m trying to concentrate!’
    And he slipped out of the building by the rear entrance
    – or exit, rather.
    Now, you must picture the scene; because, if you don’t, all this will mean nothing. On one side of the street is the gaol-house, right? And directly opposite is the hanging-tree, famed in legend. But between them – and this is important – is the milling mob, carrying those blazing torches; unnecessarily, you’d have thought, since it was a fine moonlit night – but, for whatever reason, they had
    ’em. And this, as you will readily appreciate, had the fortunate effect of throwing the tree into shadow.
    Yes, it did – if you work it out. Well, comparative shadow, anyway... (Look, who’s telling this tale, you or