Denver Draw (6 page)

Virgil spotted Bat and Wyatt coming out of a restaurant. He crossed the street and caught them still talking outside of it.

“You look well fed,” he said to Wyatt.

“Good steaks inside, Virg,” Wyatt said. “Grab yourself one.”

“I will.”

“You seen Doc?”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, “I just passed the Bonanza saloon. Looks like he found himself a new friend.”

As Virgil went inside Wyatt looked at Bat and asked, “Ya think?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me if those two found each other,” Bat said. “As far as them becoming friends, though, they got a lot in common, but Butler is nothing like Doc when it comes to—” He stopped short.

“Comes to what?” Wyatt asked. “Say it. ‘Killin’?”

“I’m just sayin’ they’re different inside,” Bat said. “That’s all. And Butler’s from the East, he ain’t been out here that long.”

“Then maybe there’s time,” Wyatt said.

“Time for what?”

“For him to end up just like Doc.”

Bat and Wyatt walked over to the Bonanza and found Butler and Doc right where Virgil said they were, at the bar.

“Didn’t take long,” Wyatt said. “You found the other gambler in town.”

“Plays a pretty mean game of poker, too,” Doc said. “Wyatt, this here’s Tyrone Butler.”

“Mr. Butler,” Wyatt said, shaking hands. “Seems we have some friends in common.”

“It would seem so,” Butler said, “and it’s my honor to be counted among them as friends.”

“Oh-ho,” Wyatt said, looking at Bat, “and he’s a smooth talker.”

“He’s an educated man, Wyatt,” Doc said, slurring his words a bit. Butler didn’t know how much whiskey Doc had drunk, but that was because he’d lost count.

“Doc,” Wyatt said, “how’d you do at the table?”

“Me and this young man cleaned up,” Doc said. “Drove them other fellas right outta here.”

Doc started to cough then, a fit that sent him staggering. Wyatt was the only one who reached out to steady him. The fit left him looking like death warmed over.

“Time for some rest, Doc?” Wyatt asked. “I know I could use some.” Fact was Wyatt didn’t feel much like lying down, not with his stomach so full, but he was trying to give his friend a way to withdraw gracefully.

“You might be right, my friend.”

“We’ll go back to our hotel and see you fellas later,” Wyatt said. “I might want to try Mr. Butler out myself, but on the faro table.” Wyatt Earp had had a faro layout of his own most everywhere he went.

Butler and Bat watched as Wyatt virtually walked Doc Holliday out of the saloon, but without actually touching him. He was simply there to support his friend if the need arrived.

“I don’t know too many people Doc Holliday likes,” Bat said to Butler, “and that includes me. You must’ve impressed him.”

“I took some of his money, but he took some of mine,” Butler said. “What are they doing in town?”

“Lookin’ for a place to lay low for a while,” Bat said. “Virgil is with them, too. They been through a lot, especially Wyatt. He blames himself for Virg and Morg’s getting shot.”

“I think we all know about that kind of guilt, don’t we?”

“I do,” Bat said. “I don’t know about you. Listen, you wouldn’t reconsider wearing a deputy’s badge while you’re here, would ya?”

“I don’t think so, Bat,” Butler said. “Why don’t you ask Wyatt?”

“That wouldn’t exactly be layin’ low, now would it?”

“No.”

“Besides,” Bat said, “I’m thinkin’ I might be needin’ a good hand with a gun as my deputy, because Wyatt, Virg, and Doc are here.”

“Well,” Butler said, “I’ll be around to help, but I don’t know that I’d want to go up against any of the three of them with a gun.”

“It won’t come to that,” Bat said. “I’m just worried they might attract some unwanted attention. I mean, I know what that’s like myself, so with the four of us here in town it could get worse.”

“Like I said,” Butler reiterated. “I’ll be around.”

“I guess that will have to do.”

“How are you feeling?” Butler asked.

“Better,” Bat said. “I was lucky the bottle wasn’t full.”

“Well, at least you have something else to occupy your time now,” Butler said. “Keeping your friends out of trouble.”

“Friend.”

“Excuse me?”

“Friend,” Bat said, again. “Wyatt’s my friend. Doc is his friend, and Virg is Wyatt’s brother, but they’re not my friends.”

“You’re just all connected through Wyatt.”

“It’s complicated,” Bat said. “And Wyatt has made it even more complicated.”

“How?”

“Come to my office with me and have some coffee,” Bat invited, “and I’ll tell you.”

“You did what?” Virgil asked.

They were having coffee in D’Amico’s. Wyatt had gone back after leaving Bat and Butler in the Bonanza, and after taking Doc to his hotel room. Once he was sure his friend was asleep he went to find his brother. They were having coffee together after Virgil’s meal.

“I asked Bat to help Doc by swearin’ out a warrant for his arrest.”

“In Colorado.”

“Yes.”

“You think that will keep Arizona from getting him back?”

“I hope so.”

Virgil shook his head, cut into his pie.

“You’re a good friend, Wyatt,” he said. “I wish I had a friend like you.”

“You do, Virg,” Wyatt said. “Only I happen to be your brother, too.”

“Yeah, well,” Virgil said, “what’re we gonna be doin’ while Doc’s hidin’ out in Colorado?”

“I’m not done, yet,” Wyatt said. “There’s a place here in Colorado called Glenwood Springs. There’s a
sanitarium there where people like Doc can get some help.”

“What kind of help.”

“With his lungs,” Wyatt said. “It has something to do with the sulfur springs there, supposed to be good for people like Doc.”

“People who are dying, you mean?” Virgil asked.

Wyatt sat back.

“Maybe not,” he said. “Maybe there’s time to reverse it.”

“Come on, Wyatt,” Virgil said. “Every time he has one of those coughing fits little flecks of his lungs come up with the blood. He’s gonna die and there’s nothin’ you can do about it. My God, even he knows that.”

Virgil rubbed his left arm, grimacing.

“Are you in pain?” Wyatt asked.

“All the time, little brother.”

“Come on.” Wyatt pushed his chair back and got to his feet.

“Where to?”

“We’re gonna find the sawbones in this town.”

“Wyatt—”

“Maybe he can’t fix your arm but he sure as hell can give you somethin’ for the pain.”

“You mean like laudanum?” Virgil asked. “The stuff Mattie was on? I don’t want to be doped up all the time, Wyatt.”

The reference to Wyatt’s second wife brought him back into his seat. In his mind he had already moved on from Mattie to Josie, even though he was still married to her.

“I’m sorry, Virg, I just—”

“Look, when I get to Denver I’ll see a good doctor there.”

“You goin’ to Denver?”

“I was thinkin’ about it.”

“That’s where Doc wants to go.”

“I know. He wants to gamble, though.”

“And you?”

Virgil shrugged.

“They got good doctors there.”

“So you have been thinkin’ about it.”

Virgil touched his arm again.

“Believe me, Wyatt,” he said, “I think about this all the time.”

“So he wants to phony up a warrant?” Butler asked later. “Make a bogus arrest?”

“No arrest,” Bat said, “just a phony warrant.”

“For Doc.”

“Right.”

“Who’s not your friend.”

“But Wyatt is, and he’s doin’ the askin’.”

“You’re right.”

“About what?”

“It is complicated.”

Butler got up, walked over to the potbellied stove and poured himself another cup of Bat’s coffee, which was remarkably good. As he did he noticed a deputy’s badge sitting on the stove next to the coffeepot. The metal was undoubtedly hot and he wondered what kind of symbolism was in that fact? Whatever it was it was too deep for him. Interpreting that was for better educated people than he. He left the badge there—where Bat had obviously put it—and didn’t mention it.

He turned and went back to his seat across from the marshal.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna do my friend a favor,” Bat answered, “and try to keep his friend from being arrested.”

“Do you know a judge who will go along with you on this?”

Bat seemed to be concentrating, sitting back in his seat with his chin almost on his chest. “I think I do.”

“What kind of trouble could this get you into?”

“I don’t know,” Bat said. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Will Doc have to stay here, in Trinidad?”

“No, but he’ll have to stay in Colorado—or, at least, stay out of Arizona.” Bat thought a moment. “No, he’ll have to stay in Colorado.”

“Think he’ll do that?”

“There’s no predicting what Doc Holliday will or will not do,” Bat said. “I can only do this favor for Wyatt and see how it turns out.”

“Well,” Butler said, “I only hope you can do it without causing yourself too much trouble.”

“If there’s trouble I’ll deal with it then,” Bat said. “That’s the way I’ve always done it. No point in worryin’ about somethin’ before it happens.”

“Good philosophy,” Butler said.

“It’s not philosophy,” Bat said. “It’s just a rule.”

Late that night Butler was manning Bat’s table while the lawman did his rounds. He had less time for the table now that he had no deputy. Butler was taking money from all comers when the batwing doors swung inward and both Wyatt and Virgil Earp entered.

Word had gotten around that not only was Doc Holliday in town, but the Earps, so they drew looks as they entered and approached the bar. Wyatt looked over at Butler and exchanged a nod with him. The two ex-lawmen then ordered beers and stood at the bar drinking them. Butler wondered if and when Wyatt was going to come over and try him. He didn’t anticipate that he’d have much luck against the man. He was a much stronger poker player than a faro dealer, and faro was Wyatt Earp’s game.

He was still waiting when Bat Masterson walked in, looked around, nodded to him, and then joined the Earps at the bar. Now he wondered where Doc Holliday was, and if he was all right. He hadn’t looked all that good that afternoon when Wyatt Earp walked him out of the Bonanza.

Finally, Bat tore himself away from the Earps and am
bled over to Butler and the faro table. At that moment there were no takers.

“Looks like you’ve scared all the players away,” Bat said. “Might as well close up. I don’t feel like dealin’ tonight, and you might still get into a poker game.”

“Mind if I just join you at the bar?” Butler asked.

“Be my guest.”

Together they covered the table and then walked over to the bar, where the Earps each had a fresh beer.

“Drinks on me, Butler,” Wyatt said. “What’ll you have?”

“Beer,” Butler told Willy, the young bartender.

“Looks like you were doin’ pretty good tonight,” Wyatt commented as Butler accepted his beer.

“Not bad,” Butler said. “I thought you were going to come over and try your luck.”

“I don’t mind tryin’ my luck,” Wyatt said, “I just didn’t want to try yours, tonight.”

“The cards were running well for me,” Butler admitted. He just as soon not face Wyatt Earp across the faro table. So he figured he’d dodged the bullet tonight.

“Where’s Doc tonight?”

“Still restin’, I hope,” Wyatt said. “That was a pretty bad episode he had this afternoon.”

“Did you talk to him yet about this warrant business?” Bat asked Wyatt.

“No,” Wyatt said. “I thought I’d wait until tonight.”

“Why would he have anythin’ bad to say about it?” Virgil asked. “It’s gonna help him out.”

“You never know how Doc’s gonna react to somethin’,” Wyatt said. “Even something that’s supposed to help him.”

“You talk to him about Glenwood Springs yet?” Virgil asked.

“Glenwood Springs?” Bat asked. “Ain’t that where they got those, uh, sulfer springs?”

“That’s the place,” Wyatt said.

“That should be good for him,” Butler added.

“If I can get him to go,” Wyatt said. “Doc’s pretty stubborn.”

“Too stubborn to want to live?” Butler asked.

“Doc wants to live, but he wants to live his way,” Wyatt said, “on his own terms. Nobody can tell him different.”

“Maybe you can, Wyatt,” Virgil said. “He listens to you.”

“Maybe,” Wyatt said.

“You can start working on him right now,” Butler said, his eyes on the front door, where Doc Holliday had just entered.

Patrons in the Bonanza began to get restless. Here were three of the principals in the event that had already become known as the Shootout at the O.K. Corral, all in one room together, along with Bat Masterson. In addition, word had gotten around that Bat and Butler had shot up the Bucket of Blood the night before, killing three men.

“Looks like you might start losing some customers,” Butler said.

“The hell with ’em,” Bat said. “Willy, get me a beer, will you?”

“Sure, Marshal.”

“What’ll ya have, Doc?” Bat asked.

“Whiskey,” Doc said, his voice sounding hoarse. He tried to clear his throat and almost went into another coughing fit, but was able to quell it.

Willy poured the whiskey and his hand shook. Of all the men standing at the bar it was Doc Holliday he was
most in awe of. The others, although they had reputations with their guns, were also gamblers and lawmen. Doc’s reputation was that of a killer, pure and simple.

“Relax, kid,” Doc said, accepting the glass. “I’m not going to bite you.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Willy said. “I mean, no, sir.”

Doc turned to face the others with his drink in hand.

“No faro tonight?” he asked.

“Closed the table,” Bat said. “Butler was cleanin’ everybody out.”

Doc looked over at the batwings, which were swinging in and out quickly as people filed out.

“Am I costin’ you business?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about them,” Bat said. “Let’s get a table now that the place has cleared out.

The five of them picked up their drinks and moved to a back table. Three men sitting at a table nearby picked up their drinks and moved away. Butler didn’t know what their problem was. He felt as if he was in pretty august company.

They had their drinks while Bat and Wyatt exchanged some small talk and then Doc said, “Okay, what’s goin’on?”

“Whataya mean, Doc?”

“Somethin’s on your mind,” Doc said. “All of you. I can feel it ever since I came in.”

The four men looked at one another, each waiting for someone else to talk. Butler sat back, because he was the outsider. He had nothing to say.

“Come on,” Doc said, “somebody better start talkin’.”

Virgil looked at his brother and said, “Wyatt?”

Wyatt gave his brother a dirty look, then said to his friend, “Okay, Doc, here it is…”