Doctor and the Kid, The (A Weird West Tale) (Weird West Tales) (13 page)

H

There was a new clerk at the desk, but he'd evidently been told who Holliday was, because he was positively obsequious in his greeting.

Holliday handed him the flask. “Get this thing filled up, please.”

“It'll be waiting for you this afternoon, sir.”

“I didn't say anything about the afternoon,” replied Holliday coldly, as Buntline joined him.

“Yes, sir,” said the clerk. “It'll just be a minute, sir. I'll be right back, Dr. Holliday, sir.”

Buntline smiled as the clerk raced off to get some whiskey. “I never knew your name was ‘sir.'”

“It's early in the day,” said Holliday hoarsely. “Spare me your attempts at humor.” He looked around. “Where's Edison?”

“He'll be along.”

“Damned well better be. It must be seven o'clock in the morning. There are days I don't get in from playing cards until seven.”

Holliday fell silent, and Buntline decided not to disturb him. The clerk returned about three minutes later and handed Holliday his flask. Holliday instantly opened it and took a swallow, then screwed the top on and tossed a nickel to the clerk.

“Okay,” he said, turning to Buntline. “I'm human again.”

“Shall we get some breakfast while we're waiting for Tom?” suggested Buntline.

“I just had mine. You go ahead if you're hungry.”

Buntline shook his head. “I packed some meat and a loaf of bread in a basket. One of the lads is loading it into the buckboard as we speak. We can eat as we travel. And this time I rented an extra horse, too. Three in a buckboard is too damned uncomfortable.”

“I hope you don't think
I'm
riding the damned horse,” said Holliday.

“I'll take turns with Tom.”

“Where the hell
is
he?” asked Holliday, looking up the staircase.

“He's not in his room,” replied Buntline. “He's out back with the buckboard, making sure everything's in order. This means a lot to him, even more than it means to you. If we can destroy the station, whichever of the devices does it might also work on the medicine men.”

“You're going to turn one of those things on Geronimo?” asked Holliday with a smile. “He'll just vanish and show up fifty miles away a second later.”

“We have to start somewhere,” said Edison's voice, and Holliday turned to see the inventor entering the lobby. “Are we all ready to proceed?”

Holliday grunted an affirmative, Buntline nodded, and the three of them went out the back entrance where a wagon drawn by two horses was awaiting them, as was a saddled gelding. Holliday winced at the sunlight, tried to ignore the dust that was blowing in his face from a gentle breeze, and climbed painfully up to the top of the wagon. Edison followed him, while Buntline mounted the gelding.

“All right,” said Edison. “Let's go. If we're lucky, we'll make it there by nightfall.”

“Why don't we just take the goddamned train?” growled Holliday, as the wagon shook and bounced over the uneven street.

“Because if we're successful,” answered Edison, “and we have to assume we'll be or why go out there at all, we'd have to walk all the way back to Lincoln.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” admitted Holliday. “I just pull teeth and play cards.”
And shoot people who need it every now and then
, he added mentally.

They passed a row of wooden buildings that had been bleached almost white by the sun, reached the outskirts of town in a few minutes, and then began following the railroad tracks to their destination. They rested the horses every two hours, stopping at a series of shaded water holes, some natural, some created by the construction crews that had laid the tracks, all of them welcome in the blazing New Mexico sun.

“It's so hot I actually prefer water to whiskey,” remarked Holliday, leaning up against a small, twisted tree during a late afternoon rest stop.

“That's enough to give a man religion,” said Buntline with a chuckle.

“You really think any of these gadgets will work on the station?” Holliday asked Edison.

“We'll know tomorrow,” answered the inventor.

“Got a question,” said Holliday.

“What is it?”

“What you're doing tomorrow—or hoping to do—is to destroy a station, a physical object, that's protected by a medicine man, maybe Hook Nose, maybe someone else, but definitely by someone using magic. Let's suppose you succeed.”

“I'm happy to suppose that,” said Edison. “What's your question?”

“How the hell does that help you combat the magic Geronimo and Hook Nose are using to keep the United States from expanding across the Mississippi? There are no stations, no physical barriers. So how does destroying the station help you lift their magic at the river?”

“No one's found a way to combat their magic yet, Doc,” answered Edison. “If we can do it here, at least we'll have proof that it
can
be done, that science can successfully combat magic. I'll analyze what worked, what principles we applied, and we'll go from there with the certain knowledge that we can hold our own against the supernatural as practiced by the medicine men.”

“I hope you're right,” said Holliday.

Edison smiled. “I hope so too.”

“We've already made some progress,” added Buntline. “They've attacked my brass coaches dozens of times with arrows and bullets, and we've yet to lose a passenger.”

Edison shook his head in disagreement. “That's a function of the super-hardened brass, Ned, not of our ability to combat magic. The Apaches and Southern Cheyenne never attacked one of your coaches with magic.”

“How do we know that?” Buntline shot back.

Edison shrugged. “Point taken,” he said, deciding not to argue.

They stayed in the scant shade for another few minutes, then climbed back onto the wagon and the horse—Edison rode it this time—and continued following the tracks to the west, coming to the edge of the valley that held the Apaches' sacred burial ground just before sunset.

“No sense floundering around in the dark,” announced Edison. “We'll go to work at sunrise.”

They pulled out their sleeping gear, started a fire, cooked their very simple dinner, and soon all three were asleep.

Holliday felt like he'd only been sleeping for five or six minutes when the toe of Edison's boot gently nudged him.

“What is it?” he rasped, sitting up promptly, drawing his gun, and looking around.

“Calm down, Doc,” said Edison. “It's time to get up.”

Holliday blinked his eyes furiously for a few seconds, finally remembered where he was and what he was doing there, and got stiffly to his feet. He took a swig from his flask, then a swallow of water from a canteen that Buntline offered him. “Damn!” he muttered. “It's even brighter and hotter than yesterday. And I don't remember that many dust devils,” he added, indicated the swirling cloud of dust sweeping across the barren valley floor.

“Well, what's our first step?” asked Holliday, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.

“We could start right here,” said Edison. “The tracks are protected once they start descending into the valley. But I think it makes more sense to start at the station.”

“Why?”

“Because if any of these devices work, we could wreck a fully loaded train if we begin on the rails. If we make any headway on the station, we can evacuate it before anyone gets hurt, then warn off the trains from both directions before going back to work on the rails.”

“Okay, it makes sense,” agreed Holliday. “Besides, I'm just here for moral support. I wouldn't know which end of those damned things to point at the station.”

They proceeded down the slope to the floor of the valley, then approached the station.

“Well, at least it's empty,” said Buntline.

“Except for the attendant.”

“We'll move him out when the time comes,” said Edison. He turned to Holliday, “We'll probably need more from you than moral support, Doc. I'm sure the attendant doesn't want us to destroy his place of business.”

“Leave it to me,” said Holliday.

They reached the station, moved the wagon around to the side, and soon all three men were on the ground.

“Give me a minute,” said Holliday, walking to the front of the building and entering it.

“Good morning, sir,” said the attendant, a different one from the last time. “May I help you?”

“You certainly may,” said Holliday. “Have you got a deck of cards?”

The attendant frowned. “I'm afraid not, sir.”

“Well, come out from behind there and let's get acquainted,” said Holliday. He displayed his flask. “I might even be persuaded to share some of this with you.”

“I'm afraid I'm not allowed to interact with the customers, sir,” said the attendant. “Nor am I permitted to imbibe while on duty.”

“I won't tell anyone if you don't.”

“I'm sorry, sir.”

Holliday casually drew his gun and pointed it at the man. “You can be sorry and alive, or sorry and dead. It's entirely up to you.”

The man raised his hands well above his head. “Please don't shoot me, sir,” he said. “I have a wife and two daughters.”

“I think that's charming,” said Holliday. “Come sit over here and tell me about them.”

The man walked out from behind the counter, hands still reaching for the ceiling, and sat down next to Holliday.

“You can put your hands down now,” said Holliday.

The man obeyed.

“And here, have a sip,” continued Holliday, handing him the flask.

“Thank you, sir,” said the man. He took a swallow and returned it. “I assume you want my money, sir?”

Holliday shook his head. “If you've got a wife and two daughters, you need it more than I do. What's your name?”

“Raymond, sir.”

“Well, Raymond, very shortly you're going to see and hear a couple of men working around the station. It's perfectly all right. They're friends of mine, and they mean you no harm.”

“I find that difficult to believe, sir,” said Raymond, eyeing Holliday's gun.

“You mean
this?”
asked Holliday, indicating the gun. “Don't worry about it. I haven't shot anyone since sun-up.”

Buntline opened the station door and peered in. “Everything okay, Doc?”

“Just fine. My friend Raymond and I are having a pleasant visit.”

“All right, Doc. Just wanted to alert you that we'll be going to work now, in case you hear anything strange.”

Buntline went back outside, and Raymond turned to Holliday, “He called you Doc,” he said.

“A lot of people do,” replied Holliday.

“Are you
him
?” he asked. “Are you Doc Holliday?”

“At your service.”

Raymond clasped his hands together and began whispering a prayer.

“Relax, Raymond. No one's going to hurt you.”

“But you're Doc Holliday, and you're pointing your gun at me!”

“I've got to point it
somewhere,”
replied Holliday. “Now try to calm down. Tell me about your daughters. What are their names?”

“You're not going to kill them too, are you?” asked Raymond in tremulous tones.

“I'm not going to kill anyone unless you keep irritating me!” snapped Holliday.

“I'm sorry, Mister Doc, sir. It's just that I'm very nervous, talking about my family with such a notorious killer, meaning no offense, sir.”

Holliday shook his head in disgust. “You should never have left Boston.”

Raymond's eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“A shot in the dark,” said Holliday. Raymond looked blank. “Your accent,” he added. “Well, we've got to talk about something, and clearly you don't want to talk about your family. Tell me about Billy the Kid.”

“I've never seen him, sir.”

“Tell me what you've heard.”

“He's a ruthless killer,” said Raymond. “Some people say he's only thirteen years old, but I find that difficult to believe.”

“Why?” asked Holliday.

“He would have had to start killing when he was five.”

“Probably he's a bit older than thirteen, then,” suggested Holliday.

“I agree, sir. Sixteen at least.”

Holliday resisted the urge to smile at the notion of an eight-year-old desperado. He was about to comment when they heard a loud buzzing sound from the corner of the building.

“Any luck?” he yelled when the buzzing stopped.

“No,” Buntline yelled back. “Thought we had something for a minute there, but we didn't.”

“What are you using?”

“The Imploder, but it's not getting anywhere. I think we'll be trying the Deconstructor next.”

“What are they doing?” asked Raymond.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Holliday. “They're just trying to destroy the building.”

Raymond jumped to his feet. “Destroy the building?” he repeated, panic in his voice.

“Just a piece at a time,” said Holliday. “They'll give us plenty of warning if we have to evacuate.”