tongue was thick.
“You killed Bud Philpot sure as I’m standing here,” she said. It came out
Holliday looked at her. His cheeks were bright red. His eyes were alive with something that made Behan uncomfortable. Despite the way he looked, Holliday’s voice was as flat as tin when he spoke to her.
“I’m going to knock out every tooth in your ugly whore head,” Holliday said.
“You already tried doing that, you peculiar bastard,” Kate said. The remnants of her Hungarian accent lengthened the
One of the deputies, Bill Breakenridge, said, “Why’nt you take that Colt out with your left hand, Doc, and put her on the bar and come on down to the jail.”
“Why’nt you kiss my ass, Billy.”
“I’ll do that when you got the ten-gauge and I don’t,” Breakenridge said. “Put her on the bar, Doc.”
Holliday didn’t move.
“Shoot the sonova bitch,” Kate said.
“Shut up, Kate,” Breakenridge said pleasantly enough. He had the shotgun at his shoulder, aimed straight at Holliday.
“Come on, Doc,” Behan said. “No need to be a hard case about this, somebody’ll bail you out in a couple hours.”
“Don’t matter somebody bails me out when we get there,” Holliday said. “I don’t take orders from anybody, let alone a goose fucker like you, Johnny.”
Behan flushed. He felt Doc’s insane gaze on him. He realized suddenly what was disturbing in Holliday’s eyes. Doc didn’t care if he died or not. Behan felt the coldness of that sudden knowledge in his crotch. Nobody moved. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Behan felt the chill in his crotch spreading. He didn’t know what to do either. Could they just cut him down here, right at the bar? If he gave the go-ahead to shoot, would Doc get him before he died? What would the Earps do if he killed Holliday? Why hadn’t he thought all this out before he came in to the saloon? He could hear the silence building. He felt Doc’s eyes on him. When someone spoke behind him, he jumped visibly and hated himself for jumping.
“Doc, this ain’t worth your time,” the voice said.
Doc’s face relaxed into a smile. He picked up his whiskey and drank it.
“Why don’t you go on with Johnny,” the voice said. Behan knew it was an Earp, though he wasn’t sure which one; they all sounded the same.
“I’ll get a couple of boys,” the voice said, “and go down to Wells Spicer’s office and post bond.”
“I was thinking I might shoot this pismire,” Holliday said.
“Watch that ten-gauge, Billy,” the voice said, and a man stepped past Behan and took Holliday’s gun from its holster. Behan still didn’t know which Earp it was until he turned, holding Doc’s gun, and it was Wyatt. Wyatt stuck the gun in his belt.
“Come on, Doc,” Wyatt said. “I’ll walk down with you.”
Holliday fell into step beside Wyatt, and the two of them walked through the ring of deputies and toward the saloon door.
“I’ll be seeing you, bitch,” Holliday said to Kate Elder as they passed her.
Behan had nothing to do but follow. And the deputies strung out behind him as they went out onto Allen Street and headed for the jail.
“Said he couldn’t find no grounds for them, Wyatt,” Doc said, sipping whiskey and beer at the bar of the Alhambra. “I’m going to slap that bitch silly.”
“Maybe you didn’t hit her so much,” Wyatt said, “she might not say bad things about you.”
“They got her drunk,” Doc said. “Behan and his crowd. Filled her with hooch and got her to sign the complaint. She’s drunk, she’d sign a complaint against Jesus Christ.”
“Specially if he thumped her around,” Wyatt said.
Doc laughed.
“Well, she’s gone off to Globe for a while, waiting for me to cool down, I suppose.”
Wyatt was drinking coffee, even though the temperature in the street was over a hundred.
“How come you never have a drink, Wyatt?”
“Don’t like it.”
“What don’t you like?”
“Don’t like the taste. Don’t like being dull and slow and loud from drinking it.”
“Like me?”
“Ain’t seen you dull and slow yet, but you do get loud.” Doc finished his whiskey and ordered more.
“I do,” Doc said. “That’s a fact. You know why I drink so much, Wyatt?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said, “I do.”
“Being a drunk and having a temper like I do might get me killed someday.”
“Might.”
“You know I don’t care if it happens,” Doc said.
“I know.”
Doc drank some more whiskey and tipped his head back, letting the whiskey trickle down his throat. Then he swallowed and laughed and chased it with some beer.
“And I like whiskey, and beer, and,” he laughed again, “and wild, wild women.”
“Why do you suppose Behan put Kate up to that trick?” Wyatt said.
“You got his girl,” Holliday said. “Johnny figured to paint me with shit and get some on you. You and Virgil ought to bring in them boys who really done the Benson stage. Take some of the bite out of Sheriff Behind.”
“Got to locate them first,” Wyatt said.
He wasn’t looking at Holliday. He was gazing out through the saloon doors into the street.
“They’re out there with the rustlers, Wyatt.” Doc leaned back in his chair and made a wide sweeping gesture with his left hand. “Somewhere out there.”
Wyatt smiled, still looking out the door.
“You ain’t being much of a help, Doc.”
“No, I probably ain’t,” Holliday said. “Mostly I’m probably a hindrance.”
And he drank off the rest of his whiskey.
“Frank Stilwell’s a goddamned deputy sheriff,” Bill Herring said. “We can’t trust the damned law officers; who we got left but ourselves?”
Milt Clapp tried to make a motion, but the noise in the room was too much. Everyone spoke at once. On one side of the room, Virgil leaned silently against the wall with Wyatt on one side and Morgan on the other. John Behan stood up beside Clapp and gestured for silence. No one paid him any mind. He waited. Several people yelled that everyone should shut up and let Johnny talk. The noise level dropped only slightly. But Behan jumped at it.
