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Authors: Mike Resnick
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to go back to Leadville, check into the sanitarium,
and hope to hear before I breathe my last that Geronimo lifted the spell and we've
crossed the Mississippi in huge numbers.”
“I'm sorry,” said Roosevelt earnestly. “This is my fight. And I don't propose to do it on an empty stomach. I saw a nice-looking restaurant
across from the Oriental.”
He got to his feet, and Masterson stood up as well. “I'll join you.”
“I'll be back tomorrow,” Roosevelt promised. “I want to consider various approaches
to the problem, and see which seems to offer the greatest chance of success.”
“How can you do it when you don't know what this War Bonnet can do, or even if he's
the only magical thing they're going to throw against you?” asked Masterson as he
followed Roosevelt to the door.
“It's a novel problem. It requires a novel solution.”
Then they were out the door and gone.
“Doc, are you really going back to Leadville?” asked Edison.
“I was going to ask that myself,” said Buntline.
“I'll stick around another day or two, sit in on a game or two at the Oriental, and
then I plan to head back. I don't want to be too far from the sanitarium if something
happens.”
“I can appreciate that,” said Edison, frowning.
“But?” said Holliday, suddenly alert. “There's an unspoken ‘but’ hiding in there somewhere.”
“Doc, I studied this young man, this Roosevelt, when I heard he was coming out here.
He's the most accomplished man America has yet produced. Along with everything else,
he even wrote the definitive treatise on naval warfare. There are the seeds of greatness
within him. Whatever the outcome here, America is going to need him.”
Holliday stared at him in silence.
“You know what I'm going to ask you,” said Edison uncomfortably.
“You're going to have to say it,” replied Holliday.
“Doc, Ned and I will supply you with anything you need, but I want you to keep that
young man alive.”
“Whatever the cost?” said Holliday.
“Whatever the cost.”
H OLLIDAY AWOKE TO A COUGHING FIT , thoroughly bloodied a fresh handkerchief before he was done, and painfully climbed
into his clothes, then walked down the corridor to the floor's only bathroom.
As he was washing his hands, he saw a bird perched on the windowsill, staring at him.
“I hope you're enjoying yourself,” he muttered.
The bird watched him silently for another few seconds, then flew off.
“OK, so you were just a bird,” said Holliday. He stared into the mirror and decided
that he needed a shave. He had gone to the local barber for a shave every day the
last time he'd lived in Tombstone, but he'd been living with Kate Elder then, and
she complained when his face had a two- or three-day growth on it. Since they'd been
living apart, he'd fallen into the habit of getting a shave only when he could see
the shadow of his beard on his cheeks.
He returned to his room, strapped on his holster, inserted his gun into it, put the
Derringer in his vest pocket, donned his hat, and walked out of his room and down
the steps to the lobby. He lookedaround for Roosevelt or Masterson, didn't see them, and decided to visit the barber
before he faced any food.
He walked out into the street, decided that it was every bit as hot here as it had
been in Leadville, with the added disadvantage that the wind constantly blew clouds
of dust through the air. He began making his way down the raised wooden sidewalk,
came to a corner, crossed the street, walked another half block, and finally stopped
at the barber shop.
“Good morning, Doc,” said the barber, dusting off a chair for him. “You're up early
today.”
“Morning, Sam,” replied Holliday, sitting in the chair.
“Same as usual? Shave the face, don't touch the mustache?”
Holliday grunted an affirmative.
“You're going to need a haircut pretty soon,” continued the barber. “This'd be a bad
day for it, though. We
and hope to hear before I breathe my last that Geronimo lifted the spell and we've
crossed the Mississippi in huge numbers.”
“I'm sorry,” said Roosevelt earnestly. “This is my fight. And I don't propose to do it on an empty stomach. I saw a nice-looking restaurant
across from the Oriental.”
He got to his feet, and Masterson stood up as well. “I'll join you.”
“I'll be back tomorrow,” Roosevelt promised. “I want to consider various approaches
to the problem, and see which seems to offer the greatest chance of success.”
“How can you do it when you don't know what this War Bonnet can do, or even if he's
the only magical thing they're going to throw against you?” asked Masterson as he
followed Roosevelt to the door.
“It's a novel problem. It requires a novel solution.”
Then they were out the door and gone.
“Doc, are you really going back to Leadville?” asked Edison.
“I was going to ask that myself,” said Buntline.
“I'll stick around another day or two, sit in on a game or two at the Oriental, and
then I plan to head back. I don't want to be too far from the sanitarium if something
happens.”
“I can appreciate that,” said Edison, frowning.
“But?” said Holliday, suddenly alert. “There's an unspoken ‘but’ hiding in there somewhere.”
“Doc, I studied this young man, this Roosevelt, when I heard he was coming out here.
He's the most accomplished man America has yet produced. Along with everything else,
he even wrote the definitive treatise on naval warfare. There are the seeds of greatness
within him. Whatever the outcome here, America is going to need him.”
Holliday stared at him in silence.
“You know what I'm going to ask you,” said Edison uncomfortably.
“You're going to have to say it,” replied Holliday.
“Doc, Ned and I will supply you with anything you need, but I want you to keep that
young man alive.”
“Whatever the cost?” said Holliday.
“Whatever the cost.”
H OLLIDAY AWOKE TO A COUGHING FIT , thoroughly bloodied a fresh handkerchief before he was done, and painfully climbed
into his clothes, then walked down the corridor to the floor's only bathroom.
As he was washing his hands, he saw a bird perched on the windowsill, staring at him.
“I hope you're enjoying yourself,” he muttered.
The bird watched him silently for another few seconds, then flew off.
“OK, so you were just a bird,” said Holliday. He stared into the mirror and decided
that he needed a shave. He had gone to the local barber for a shave every day the
last time he'd lived in Tombstone, but he'd been living with Kate Elder then, and
she complained when his face had a two- or three-day growth on it. Since they'd been
living apart, he'd fallen into the habit of getting a shave only when he could see
the shadow of his beard on his cheeks.
He returned to his room, strapped on his holster, inserted his gun into it, put the
Derringer in his vest pocket, donned his hat, and walked out of his room and down
the steps to the lobby. He lookedaround for Roosevelt or Masterson, didn't see them, and decided to visit the barber
before he faced any food.
He walked out into the street, decided that it was every bit as hot here as it had
been in Leadville, with the added disadvantage that the wind constantly blew clouds
of dust through the air. He began making his way down the raised wooden sidewalk,
came to a corner, crossed the street, walked another half block, and finally stopped
at the barber shop.
“Good morning, Doc,” said the barber, dusting off a chair for him. “You're up early
today.”
“Morning, Sam,” replied Holliday, sitting in the chair.
“Same as usual? Shave the face, don't touch the mustache?”
Holliday grunted an affirmative.
“You're going to need a haircut pretty soon,” continued the barber. “This'd be a bad
day for it, though. We
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