imaginary audience. “There you have it.”
“Some of them thought they had pretty good reasons for trying to kill me,” continued Holliday.
“Now you're just being Doc,” said Roosevelt.
Holliday blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You've emptied that flask, and if I say you're a terrible man who'll be remembered as a cowardly backshooter, you'll argue with me, just as you're arguing when I'm praising you.”
There was a brief pause while Holliday considered the statement. Then he uttered an amused laugh. “Well, I'll be damned!”
“Probably,” replied Roosevelt with a smile. “But what was that in reference to?”
“You know me even better than Wyatt did.” Suddenly he frowned. “I wish he'd known I was just bullshitting the last time we spoke.”
“That was when you said the wrong thing?”
Holliday nodded. “About his wife.”
“Perhaps he'll forgive you.”
“Wyatt's not the forgiving kind,” said Holliday, shaking his head. “Can't blame him for that. Neither am I.” He turned the flask upside down, just to make sure it was empty. “Besides, I got you now, and truth to tell, I don't think I can handle more than one friend at a time.”
“You're a very unusual man, John Henry Holliday,” said Roosevelt.
“Out of all the millions of white men on this continent Geronimo will treat only with you, and you think I'm unusual?”
“I'm not qualified to judge myself.”
“Well, I am,” said Holliday firmly. “Geronimo thinks you're going to be king of America if you live long enough.”
“America will never have a king,” said Roosevelt firmly.
“King, emperor, chief, president, it's all the same to him,” continued Holliday. Then he smiled. “Probably the best title is Boss.”
“I'm flattered than he should think so,” replied Roosevelt, “but I've been elected to the State Assembly of New York, nothing else—and I left it when Alice died. I've never been a mayor, a governor, a Senator, a—”
“You've been a deputy marshal,” interrupted Holliday. “You brought in those three killers in the Dakota Badlands during that blizzard. I heard all about it from Bat Masterson.”
“The Winter of the Blue Snow, they called it,” acknowledged Roosevelt. “And yes, I was a deputy—but it was a volunteer position. I was unelected and unpaid.”
“You're young yet,” said Holliday, shaking his head. “You'll learn.”
“I'm twenty-seven,” answered Roosevelt.
“See? You've got your whole life ahead of you.”
“How old were you at the O.K. Corral?” asked Roosevelt.
“What's that got to do with anything?” demanded Holliday.
“Just asking.”
“Maybe thirty.”
“And before the afternoon was over your reputation, for better or worse, was made for all time to come,” said Roosevelt.
“What are you getting at, Theodore?”
“Just that while it's nice to have most of one's life still ahead, the incidents that posterity will judge you by are few and far between, and you can rarely spot them in advance, so you can't procrastinate, you can't loaf, you have to live each moment as if this is the moment that posterity will remember.”
“It sounds exhausting,’ said Holliday.
“It does require one to believe in the vigorous life,” chuckled Roosevelt.
“I'm glad you feel that way, Theodore,” said Holliday, slipping his flask into a coat pocket and gently moving his coat back to expose his gun. “Because I think we're about to put it to the test.”
“What do you see?” asked Roosevelt, his voice tense but his posture unchanged.
“Over your left shoulder,” said Holliday. “It could be a deer or even a bear, but it could also be a Comanche.”
Roosevelt paused a moment in thought before he spoke. “If it's a Comanche, and he's not threatening us, pretend you don't notice him. If he's just scouting the camp, let him go back and report what he sees, which is just you and me. His leaders know where the camp is, so it
“Some of them thought they had pretty good reasons for trying to kill me,” continued Holliday.
“Now you're just being Doc,” said Roosevelt.
Holliday blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You've emptied that flask, and if I say you're a terrible man who'll be remembered as a cowardly backshooter, you'll argue with me, just as you're arguing when I'm praising you.”
There was a brief pause while Holliday considered the statement. Then he uttered an amused laugh. “Well, I'll be damned!”
“Probably,” replied Roosevelt with a smile. “But what was that in reference to?”
“You know me even better than Wyatt did.” Suddenly he frowned. “I wish he'd known I was just bullshitting the last time we spoke.”
“That was when you said the wrong thing?”
Holliday nodded. “About his wife.”
“Perhaps he'll forgive you.”
“Wyatt's not the forgiving kind,” said Holliday, shaking his head. “Can't blame him for that. Neither am I.” He turned the flask upside down, just to make sure it was empty. “Besides, I got you now, and truth to tell, I don't think I can handle more than one friend at a time.”
“You're a very unusual man, John Henry Holliday,” said Roosevelt.
“Out of all the millions of white men on this continent Geronimo will treat only with you, and you think I'm unusual?”
“I'm not qualified to judge myself.”
“Well, I am,” said Holliday firmly. “Geronimo thinks you're going to be king of America if you live long enough.”
“America will never have a king,” said Roosevelt firmly.
“King, emperor, chief, president, it's all the same to him,” continued Holliday. Then he smiled. “Probably the best title is Boss.”
“I'm flattered than he should think so,” replied Roosevelt, “but I've been elected to the State Assembly of New York, nothing else—and I left it when Alice died. I've never been a mayor, a governor, a Senator, a—”
“You've been a deputy marshal,” interrupted Holliday. “You brought in those three killers in the Dakota Badlands during that blizzard. I heard all about it from Bat Masterson.”
“The Winter of the Blue Snow, they called it,” acknowledged Roosevelt. “And yes, I was a deputy—but it was a volunteer position. I was unelected and unpaid.”
“You're young yet,” said Holliday, shaking his head. “You'll learn.”
“I'm twenty-seven,” answered Roosevelt.
“See? You've got your whole life ahead of you.”
“How old were you at the O.K. Corral?” asked Roosevelt.
“What's that got to do with anything?” demanded Holliday.
“Just asking.”
“Maybe thirty.”
“And before the afternoon was over your reputation, for better or worse, was made for all time to come,” said Roosevelt.
“What are you getting at, Theodore?”
“Just that while it's nice to have most of one's life still ahead, the incidents that posterity will judge you by are few and far between, and you can rarely spot them in advance, so you can't procrastinate, you can't loaf, you have to live each moment as if this is the moment that posterity will remember.”
“It sounds exhausting,’ said Holliday.
“It does require one to believe in the vigorous life,” chuckled Roosevelt.
“I'm glad you feel that way, Theodore,” said Holliday, slipping his flask into a coat pocket and gently moving his coat back to expose his gun. “Because I think we're about to put it to the test.”
“What do you see?” asked Roosevelt, his voice tense but his posture unchanged.
“Over your left shoulder,” said Holliday. “It could be a deer or even a bear, but it could also be a Comanche.”
Roosevelt paused a moment in thought before he spoke. “If it's a Comanche, and he's not threatening us, pretend you don't notice him. If he's just scouting the camp, let him go back and report what he sees, which is just you and me. His leaders know where the camp is, so it
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