Read Online Weird West 04 - The Doctor and the Dinosaurs by Mike Resnick - Free Book Online
Authors: Mike Resnick
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Roosevelt. “What'll you do if one of these flesh-eaters shows up right now?”
“Seriously? Run like hell, I suppose.”
“I don't think there's a weapon in the world that can stop one, or do more than annoy it,” said Roosevelt. “Now, it seems Cope has taken a liking to you, or at least has a use for you…and we both know you're not the easiest man to get along with, even on your good days. So it makes sense that you stay here, and that I go ingratiate myself with Marsh—but before I do that I'll stop by Cheyenne and send a telegram to Tom and Ned, telling them what we may be facing, and that if it comes to pass we're going to need something that will even the odds.”
“No matter how you make it sound, the end result is that I'm riding shotgun for this guy,” complained Holliday.
“Would you rather ride to Cheyenne in a day, and then approach Marsh on your own?” asked Roosevelt.
Holliday took another swallow from his flask, emptying it. “Youknow, this project was a lot simpler when it only had me thinking about it,” he growled.
“Is that an agreement?” asked Roosevelt, flashing him a grin.
“I'd sooner let the Indians and the dinosaurs eat the whole fucking state than ride another day on that goddamned horse,” muttered Holliday.
“Good!” sad Roosevelt. “We'll tell Cope that you agree, and that I've got business elsewhere. Both statements will be true, too.”
“Temporarily,” said Holliday.
“Temporarily,” agreed Roosevelt.
The two men returned to the cabin and informed Cope that he had an extra shootist on his staff after all. It was all Younger could do not to laugh at what he considered Holliday's capitulation. Roosevelt decided to leave at daybreak—he gave Cope a story about some business he had in Cheyenne, which was almost true—and after dinner they sat around the campfire listening to Cope expound on some of the finds he'd made and others he planned to make. His intellect was apparent, and his enthusiasm was boundless, broken only when the topic of Marsh or one of Marsh's finds came up. Finally, since he had a hard day of digging ahead of him, Cope went to the tent he'd set up behind the cabin.
Roosevelt and Younger sat up another hour, then walked to the cluster of tents where the men slept.
Holliday found that he wasn't so much sleepy as thirsty, and since his flask was empty he walked to where he'd left his horse, planning to refill his flask from one of the two bottles he had tucked in his saddlebag.
As he approached his horse, he caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye. Since the horse wasn't nervous, he decided it couldn't be a mountain lion or a bear, and that meant it was a Comanche, here to kill Cope or somehow destroy the cabin.
Holliday began humming aloud on the assumption the warriorwouldn't think people hummed when they were aware of his presence, and began fiddling with the saddle bags.
A few seconds later there was a savage scream designed to startle him into immobility, and a Comanche brave leaped out from the thick shrubbery and came at him with a tomahawk. Holliday ducked and stepped under the horse, and the Comanche raced around the horse to confront him. He calmly pulled his pistol and fired point-blank at his attacker, who gave a surprised grunt and fell to the ground with a bullet between his eyes.
Roosevelt, Younger and most of the men raced out of their tents toward the sound of the gunshot, followed by Cope, who had clearly been awakened and looked like he was still half-asleep.
“Nice shot,” said Younger as he examined the body.
“Theodore,” said Holliday, “I don't know how many more I can kill before you-know-what happens. You'd better start riding to Cheyenne right now.”
Roosevelt seemed about to protest, then thought better of it and nodded his agreement.
“We're sitting ducks out here in the dark,” said Younger. “Let's go back to the cabin. Doc, you and I will take turns standing watch.”
“First
“Seriously? Run like hell, I suppose.”
“I don't think there's a weapon in the world that can stop one, or do more than annoy it,” said Roosevelt. “Now, it seems Cope has taken a liking to you, or at least has a use for you…and we both know you're not the easiest man to get along with, even on your good days. So it makes sense that you stay here, and that I go ingratiate myself with Marsh—but before I do that I'll stop by Cheyenne and send a telegram to Tom and Ned, telling them what we may be facing, and that if it comes to pass we're going to need something that will even the odds.”
“No matter how you make it sound, the end result is that I'm riding shotgun for this guy,” complained Holliday.
“Would you rather ride to Cheyenne in a day, and then approach Marsh on your own?” asked Roosevelt.
Holliday took another swallow from his flask, emptying it. “Youknow, this project was a lot simpler when it only had me thinking about it,” he growled.
“Is that an agreement?” asked Roosevelt, flashing him a grin.
“I'd sooner let the Indians and the dinosaurs eat the whole fucking state than ride another day on that goddamned horse,” muttered Holliday.
“Good!” sad Roosevelt. “We'll tell Cope that you agree, and that I've got business elsewhere. Both statements will be true, too.”
“Temporarily,” said Holliday.
“Temporarily,” agreed Roosevelt.
The two men returned to the cabin and informed Cope that he had an extra shootist on his staff after all. It was all Younger could do not to laugh at what he considered Holliday's capitulation. Roosevelt decided to leave at daybreak—he gave Cope a story about some business he had in Cheyenne, which was almost true—and after dinner they sat around the campfire listening to Cope expound on some of the finds he'd made and others he planned to make. His intellect was apparent, and his enthusiasm was boundless, broken only when the topic of Marsh or one of Marsh's finds came up. Finally, since he had a hard day of digging ahead of him, Cope went to the tent he'd set up behind the cabin.
Roosevelt and Younger sat up another hour, then walked to the cluster of tents where the men slept.
Holliday found that he wasn't so much sleepy as thirsty, and since his flask was empty he walked to where he'd left his horse, planning to refill his flask from one of the two bottles he had tucked in his saddlebag.
As he approached his horse, he caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye. Since the horse wasn't nervous, he decided it couldn't be a mountain lion or a bear, and that meant it was a Comanche, here to kill Cope or somehow destroy the cabin.
Holliday began humming aloud on the assumption the warriorwouldn't think people hummed when they were aware of his presence, and began fiddling with the saddle bags.
A few seconds later there was a savage scream designed to startle him into immobility, and a Comanche brave leaped out from the thick shrubbery and came at him with a tomahawk. Holliday ducked and stepped under the horse, and the Comanche raced around the horse to confront him. He calmly pulled his pistol and fired point-blank at his attacker, who gave a surprised grunt and fell to the ground with a bullet between his eyes.
Roosevelt, Younger and most of the men raced out of their tents toward the sound of the gunshot, followed by Cope, who had clearly been awakened and looked like he was still half-asleep.
“Nice shot,” said Younger as he examined the body.
“Theodore,” said Holliday, “I don't know how many more I can kill before you-know-what happens. You'd better start riding to Cheyenne right now.”
Roosevelt seemed about to protest, then thought better of it and nodded his agreement.
“We're sitting ducks out here in the dark,” said Younger. “Let's go back to the cabin. Doc, you and I will take turns standing watch.”
“First
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