too dumb to call it off, then you're no use to Cope, Marsh, or me, and I'll take great pleasure into lowering both their payrolls.
Younger turned to Roosevelt. “Is he kidding?”
“I hope not,” answered Roosevelt.
“Well, I for one didn't sign on to draw against Doc Holliday,” said Cody. “I'm going back to my tent.” He turned and started walking. As he passed Holliday, he whispered, “My show could use a sharpshooter when this dinosaur silliness is done. Let's talk later.”
Holliday smiled and didn't say a word.
“Would you really have done it, Doc?” asked Younger curiously as the tension began seeping away from his body.
“Get a good night's sleep,” said Holliday, “and you can ponder it all the way back to Cope's camp in the morning.”
Younger seemed about to argue, then thought better of it, and walked off into the gathering darkness.
Holliday pulled out his flask, took a swallow, and watched the two men walk away until they were out of his range of vision.
“Truth to tell,” he said, “I've never seen either of them in action. I wonder what the result would have been?”
“That's easy to answer,” said Roosevelt.
Holliday turned to him. “Oh?”
Roosevelt nodded.
“Okay,” said Holliday. “Who'd have won?”
“The Comanche,” said Roosevelt.
“S O WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED ?” asked Roosevelt. He and Holliday sat beside a dying fire after all the others had sought out their tents or any available shelter and gone to bed.
“Other than that Cope and Marsh are both about ready for the lunatic asylum, you mean?” responded Holliday.
“Other than that,” said Roosevelt with a smile.
“Well, they know their stuff. You could fill a couple of freight trains with the bones they've dug out of the ground.” He grimaced. “What I don't think anyone can do is make them stop.”
“Or work together,” added Roosevelt, as one of the lanterns ran out of fuel and flickered out.
“Or work together,” agreed Holliday.
“Well, none of the things Geronimo was worried about have happened yet,” said Roosevelt, “except for someone taking a shot at you. Maybe the old gentleman was overreacting.”
“I don't think anyone ever referred to him as a gentleman before,” said Holliday. “When the white men talk about the Indian they mostwant to see dead, Geronimo beats Sitting Bull by a comfortable margin.” He frowned. “More to the point, I've never seen him overreact before. I just wish I knew what the hell he expects us to do about it.”
“Maybe Cody had a point,” suggested Roosevelt.
“Oh?”
“Hire them all.”
Holliday shook his head. “They might take money rather than go to war with you over most of their land, but not their burial grounds. I don't know why that should be, because to the best of my knowledge none of the tribes believe in resurrection or reincarnation, but they'll kill to keep people from messing in their burial grounds.”
“But they haven't ,” Roosevelt pointed out. “From what I've been able to tell, there have been some sporadic attacks, usually by lone warriors, but they've kept their distance.”
“I know,” said Holliday, pulling out his flask. “The only answer I can come up with is that their graveyard may well be eighty miles by fifty, but they've only using a couple of hundred acres so far, and neither Cope nor Marsh has desecrated the ground that's in use as opposed to the ground that's earmarked for future use.”
Roosevelt considered Holliday's statement. “It sounds reasonable, Doc,” he said at last, “but somehow I don't believe it.”
“For what it's worth, neither do I,” admitted Holliday, taking a swallow from the flask. “Just clutching at straws.”
“Well, as long as the most dangerous situation so far is a lone outlaw who thinks he can beat you to the draw, I suppose we'll have a few pleasant weeks—well, as pleasant as they can be around Marsh and Cope—and then we'll go back East with their treasure
Younger turned to Roosevelt. “Is he kidding?”
“I hope not,” answered Roosevelt.
“Well, I for one didn't sign on to draw against Doc Holliday,” said Cody. “I'm going back to my tent.” He turned and started walking. As he passed Holliday, he whispered, “My show could use a sharpshooter when this dinosaur silliness is done. Let's talk later.”
Holliday smiled and didn't say a word.
“Would you really have done it, Doc?” asked Younger curiously as the tension began seeping away from his body.
“Get a good night's sleep,” said Holliday, “and you can ponder it all the way back to Cope's camp in the morning.”
Younger seemed about to argue, then thought better of it, and walked off into the gathering darkness.
Holliday pulled out his flask, took a swallow, and watched the two men walk away until they were out of his range of vision.
“Truth to tell,” he said, “I've never seen either of them in action. I wonder what the result would have been?”
“That's easy to answer,” said Roosevelt.
Holliday turned to him. “Oh?”
Roosevelt nodded.
“Okay,” said Holliday. “Who'd have won?”
“The Comanche,” said Roosevelt.
“S O WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED ?” asked Roosevelt. He and Holliday sat beside a dying fire after all the others had sought out their tents or any available shelter and gone to bed.
“Other than that Cope and Marsh are both about ready for the lunatic asylum, you mean?” responded Holliday.
“Other than that,” said Roosevelt with a smile.
“Well, they know their stuff. You could fill a couple of freight trains with the bones they've dug out of the ground.” He grimaced. “What I don't think anyone can do is make them stop.”
“Or work together,” added Roosevelt, as one of the lanterns ran out of fuel and flickered out.
“Or work together,” agreed Holliday.
“Well, none of the things Geronimo was worried about have happened yet,” said Roosevelt, “except for someone taking a shot at you. Maybe the old gentleman was overreacting.”
“I don't think anyone ever referred to him as a gentleman before,” said Holliday. “When the white men talk about the Indian they mostwant to see dead, Geronimo beats Sitting Bull by a comfortable margin.” He frowned. “More to the point, I've never seen him overreact before. I just wish I knew what the hell he expects us to do about it.”
“Maybe Cody had a point,” suggested Roosevelt.
“Oh?”
“Hire them all.”
Holliday shook his head. “They might take money rather than go to war with you over most of their land, but not their burial grounds. I don't know why that should be, because to the best of my knowledge none of the tribes believe in resurrection or reincarnation, but they'll kill to keep people from messing in their burial grounds.”
“But they haven't ,” Roosevelt pointed out. “From what I've been able to tell, there have been some sporadic attacks, usually by lone warriors, but they've kept their distance.”
“I know,” said Holliday, pulling out his flask. “The only answer I can come up with is that their graveyard may well be eighty miles by fifty, but they've only using a couple of hundred acres so far, and neither Cope nor Marsh has desecrated the ground that's in use as opposed to the ground that's earmarked for future use.”
Roosevelt considered Holliday's statement. “It sounds reasonable, Doc,” he said at last, “but somehow I don't believe it.”
“For what it's worth, neither do I,” admitted Holliday, taking a swallow from the flask. “Just clutching at straws.”
“Well, as long as the most dangerous situation so far is a lone outlaw who thinks he can beat you to the draw, I suppose we'll have a few pleasant weeks—well, as pleasant as they can be around Marsh and Cope—and then we'll go back East with their treasure
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