and see how they reconstruct them in their various museums.” Roosevelt leaned forward, his enthusiasm obvious even in the dark. “It's really a fascinating science, Doc. Imagine a creature that could kill an elephant forlunch, or one that could give a pronghorn buck a half mile lead and run him down in another half mile.” He offered his trademark grin. “It makes you wonder what the world was like back then—and more to the point, how Man ever got a foothold here, let alone became the dominant species.”
“I imagine any preacher'd be happy to explain it to you,” said Holliday. “Of course, they might have a little difficulty explaining what happened to the dinosaurs.” Suddenly he smiled. “They'd probably say that they were too big to fit in the Ark.”
Roosevelt sighed deeply. “This science is too new. I doubt that we'll ever know the answer during our lifetimes. That's damned frustrating!”
“I'll be hobnobbing with Satan in less than a year,” replied Holliday. “I'll ask him when I get there, and try to get word upstairs to you.”
“Don't talk like that, Doc,” said Roosevelt.
“You don't like to think about dying?”
“I don't like to think about you winding up in hell, or accepting it so casually.”
“Not to worry,” said Holliday, taking another drink from his flask. “I'll be surrounded by damned near every friend I ever had except you, and certainly I'll be rubbing shoulders with every man I ever killed.” His face suddenly distorted in a grimace. “I hope Kate gets religion. I do not look forward to spending an eternity with her.”
“She broke you out of jail,” noted Roosevelt.
“Only so she could try to kill me a few more times.”
“It's an unusual relationship, I'll grant you that.”
“ Was ,” Holliday corrected him. “It was an unusual relationship.”
Roosevelt flashed Holliday his familiar grin. “Texas Jack Vermillion writes me the occasional letter,” he replied. “He says she still visits you regularly at the hospital.”
“Of course she does,” growled Holliday. “Those metal chippies she'sgot working for her don't feel a thing when she slaps ’em or whacks ’em with a gun barrel. If she wants blood, she has to come to me. Admittedly, I've got a limited supply of it, but still…”
“So she's still running a house of ill repute?”
Holliday shook his head. “Actually, it's a house of excellent repute. Those metal chippies Tom and Ned built never need a break or a meal—not that Kate would give ’em either even if they did need them.”
“You two would have produced a hell of a child,” said Roosevelt.
“A hot-tempered sadistic shootist with consumption,” retorted Holliday. “You have peculiar taste in kids, Theodore.”
He paused and took a final swig from his flask, emptying it. “In fact, there's those who'd say you have a peculiar taste in, if not friends, at least allies—a dying shootist and the most powerful medicine man alive.”
“You're both primaries,” said Roosevelt. “I'm drawn to that.”
Holliday frowned. “Primaries? Like elections? I don't understand.”
Roosevelt smiled. “No, like colors. Most people are pastels. They can't help it, and it doesn't make them any better or worse. There are very few primaries, but they stand out for better or worse, and they seem to be the ones I'm attracted to, or at least the ones I keep running into.”
“So I'm a primary, cough and all?”
“Doc, they'll be arguing about who were the good guys and who were the bad guys at the O.K. Corral for another century, but the one thing they'll all remember is that you came to the aid of Wyatt Earp and his brothers and risked your life solely for friendship, with no thought of recompense.”
“I suppose so,” said Holliday without much enthusiasm.
“Answer me this,” continued Roosevelt. “Have you ever shot a man who wasn't trying to kill you?”
“No, never.”
Roosevelt grinned again and bowed his head to an
“I imagine any preacher'd be happy to explain it to you,” said Holliday. “Of course, they might have a little difficulty explaining what happened to the dinosaurs.” Suddenly he smiled. “They'd probably say that they were too big to fit in the Ark.”
Roosevelt sighed deeply. “This science is too new. I doubt that we'll ever know the answer during our lifetimes. That's damned frustrating!”
“I'll be hobnobbing with Satan in less than a year,” replied Holliday. “I'll ask him when I get there, and try to get word upstairs to you.”
“Don't talk like that, Doc,” said Roosevelt.
“You don't like to think about dying?”
“I don't like to think about you winding up in hell, or accepting it so casually.”
“Not to worry,” said Holliday, taking another drink from his flask. “I'll be surrounded by damned near every friend I ever had except you, and certainly I'll be rubbing shoulders with every man I ever killed.” His face suddenly distorted in a grimace. “I hope Kate gets religion. I do not look forward to spending an eternity with her.”
“She broke you out of jail,” noted Roosevelt.
“Only so she could try to kill me a few more times.”
“It's an unusual relationship, I'll grant you that.”
“ Was ,” Holliday corrected him. “It was an unusual relationship.”
Roosevelt flashed Holliday his familiar grin. “Texas Jack Vermillion writes me the occasional letter,” he replied. “He says she still visits you regularly at the hospital.”
“Of course she does,” growled Holliday. “Those metal chippies she'sgot working for her don't feel a thing when she slaps ’em or whacks ’em with a gun barrel. If she wants blood, she has to come to me. Admittedly, I've got a limited supply of it, but still…”
“So she's still running a house of ill repute?”
Holliday shook his head. “Actually, it's a house of excellent repute. Those metal chippies Tom and Ned built never need a break or a meal—not that Kate would give ’em either even if they did need them.”
“You two would have produced a hell of a child,” said Roosevelt.
“A hot-tempered sadistic shootist with consumption,” retorted Holliday. “You have peculiar taste in kids, Theodore.”
He paused and took a final swig from his flask, emptying it. “In fact, there's those who'd say you have a peculiar taste in, if not friends, at least allies—a dying shootist and the most powerful medicine man alive.”
“You're both primaries,” said Roosevelt. “I'm drawn to that.”
Holliday frowned. “Primaries? Like elections? I don't understand.”
Roosevelt smiled. “No, like colors. Most people are pastels. They can't help it, and it doesn't make them any better or worse. There are very few primaries, but they stand out for better or worse, and they seem to be the ones I'm attracted to, or at least the ones I keep running into.”
“So I'm a primary, cough and all?”
“Doc, they'll be arguing about who were the good guys and who were the bad guys at the O.K. Corral for another century, but the one thing they'll all remember is that you came to the aid of Wyatt Earp and his brothers and risked your life solely for friendship, with no thought of recompense.”
“I suppose so,” said Holliday without much enthusiasm.
“Answer me this,” continued Roosevelt. “Have you ever shot a man who wasn't trying to kill you?”
“No, never.”
Roosevelt grinned again and bowed his head to an
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