The Mistress of Illusions

by Michael D. Resnick

  “I’ve got a pretty good idea,” said Raven, returning his smile. “Okay, go visit with Curly Bill. Maybe I’ll catch you on your way out.”

  Ringo nodded and went back around the bunkhouse to its door, and after Raven had removed Inferno from Ringo’s saddlebag he walked back to the ranch house, decided he could live without the kind of breakfast he knew they’d be cooking up, and sat down on a rocking chair, opened the book, and began reading.

  He hadn’t noticed the passage of time, but he was almost thirty pages into it when Phin Clanton galloped up, dismounted, and tied his horse to a rail.

  “Is Curly Bill here?” he asked excitedly.

  “Yeah,” answered Raven, closing the book and putting it on a table. “He’s in the bunkhouse, visiting with John Ringo.”

  “So much the better!”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “I was coming home after refreshing one of Madam Cleopatra’s fallen flowers, and I got word that Morgan Earp was coming out here, all on his own, to find Wyatt’s horse. I took the longer route, but”—he pointed to his sweat-soaked mount—“I never let him slow down from a gallop. We’ve probably got five or ten minutes before he shows.”

  “Okay,” said Raven. “Run over to the bunkhouse and let them know.”

  “Right,” answered Phin, racing over to the bunkhouse.

  Raven went inside to see if Billy or the old man were up, and sure enough they were eating breakfast.

  “Didn’t see no sense waiting for you, Ike,” said Old Man Clanton. “Hell, if you eat breakfast three times a week, that’s a lot these days.”

  “Got more important things to discuss than breakfast,” said Raven. “Morgan Earp will be here in a couple of minutes, looking for Wyatt’s horse.” Before Billy or the old man could say anything, Raven held up a hand. “John Ringo’s already here, and he and Curly Bill are ready for him.”

  “Billy,” said Old Man Clanton, getting to his feet and hobbling toward the door, “get me my shotgun.”

  “I’ll get us both our shotguns,” said Billy, walking off in the other direction.

  Raven went outside and posted himself in front of the house. He didn’t know what he was going to do, or would be expected to do. He was unarmed, and he figured he couldn’t hit the broad side of the bunkhouse from fifty feet away if he was carrying a gun. He also knew that a man on foot didn’t have much chance of stopping, or even slowing down, a man on horseback.

  But he was here, and he felt he had to do something.

  He saw Ringo and Brocius leave the bunkhouse, followed by Phin, and tried to analyze their attitudes. Phin looked nervous, Brocius anxious, Ringo close to being bored. Which coincided with Raven’s opinion of their abilities.

  Ringo saw Raven and nodded to him. Brocius never looked anywhere but the direction of Tombstone. And Phin’s head was constantly in motion as he looked behind every tree, bush, horse, and anything else that could temporarily hide a man from view, as well as a hundred things that couldn’t.

  And just as Raven was concluding that it was a false alarm, that someone had lied to Phin, there was a small cloud of dust on the horizon, and a moment later a lone rider came into view.

  Brocius and Phin visibly tensed. Ringo merely drew his pistol a couple times to make sure nothing was slowing or obstructing it, then folded his arms across his chest and waited for the rider to reach the immediate area.

  Damn! Is that Morgan Earp? I saw his photo in a history book, but that was in another world, either eons ago or eons from now.

  The rider’s horse veered and walked directly toward Raven.

  “Mornin’, Ike,” said the rider.

  “Mornin’, Morgan,” answered Raven, and added mentally, if you are Morgan.

  “Got word from one of the men who helped you Clantons steal your latest herd of horses and cattle that Wyatt’s horse was in with them. Same description, same brand.” Earp smiled a humorless smile. “Now, I know it’s probably all a mistake or a misunderstanding, so if you’ll just turn him over to me I’ll take him back to town and there won’t be no trouble.”

  “We haven’t got Wyatt’s horse,” said Old Man Clanton from the porch, shotgun trained on Earp.

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just have a look around for myself,” said Earp, dismounting.

  “But we do mind,” said Ringo, stepping forward and blocking his way.

  “So you’re the Clantons’ hired gun now?”

  “No one pays me,” said Ringo. “Now mount up and ride home and tell your brothers that they sent you on a wild goose chase.”

  “And if I don’t?” said Earp pugnaciously.

  “Then I hope there’s a good doctor in town,” said Ringo, drawing his gun and cracking it across Earp’s face so quickly that his target didn’t have time to duck or raise a hand to protect himself.

  Earp staggered blindly to his left, blood pouring from a gash on his cheek, and Ringo cracked him on the forehead with the gun, then did it again as Earp dropped to his knees.

  Raven had heard or read the term “pistol-whip” sometime in the past, but he’d had no idea how frightening and blood-soaked the act could actually be.

  Ringo cracked him across the face a few more times, checked to make sure the now-unconscious man was still breathing, picked him up, and laid him across the top of his horse.

  “Bill,” he said, turning to Brocius, “lead the horse to within sight of Tombstone, then crack him on the hindquarters and get out of sight before anyone pulls Earp off of him.”

  “Right,” said Brocius, getting his own horse, mounting it, grabbing the reins of Earp’s horse, and starting the trip back to town.

  Ringo turned to Old Man Clanton. “That’s one Earp that ain’t gonna bother you in the near future.”

  “You realize that’s gonna bring the other four out here looking for blood,” said the old man.

  “You’re going to face ’em sooner or later,” replied Ringo. “Might as well do it on our property, with our men backing us up.”

  “So you’re sticking around?”

  Ringo grinned. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Old Man Clanton looked at the crew who had been watching from the bunkhouse.

  “What the hell are you staring at?” he demanded. “This is a working ranch, so get to work!”

  “Give ’em a break,” said Phin, emerging from the house. “Hell, he just took Morgan apart maybe two minutes ago.”

  “You pay ’em and they can stand there ’til midnight,” said the old man. “If I’m footing the bills, they work.”

  “All right,” muttered Phin, walking off to the bunkhouse. “I’ll tell them.”

  “Don’t worry, old man,” said Ringo. “Once you die and he inherits, he won’t spend a penny he doesn’t have to spend.”

  “And Ike’s next in line anyway,” added Old Man Clanton.

  Phin glared at him just long enough that Raven found himself wishing the old man had kept his mouth shut.

  I hope you were watching, Lisa. Unless every book about the Earps overlooked the pistol-whipping, we just managed to change history in a small way.

  Don’t celebrate too soon, Eddie, came her voiceless reply. Because of that, you’re going to have the opportunity to change it in a large way.

  What do you mean? asked Raven.

  But there was no reply.

  Raven busied himself with some trivial duties around the house, and after a couple of hours joined his father and brothers for lunch.

  He spent a couple of hours reading the Inferno on the porch, and then, at midafternoon, he heard some yells and commotion coming from the bunkhouse. Frowning, he got to his feet and looked across at it—and saw four or five of the men all pointing toward a dust cloud on the horizon.

  Ringo walked across to the farmhouse, where the old ma
n, Phin, and Billy had all joined Raven on the porch.

  “Better get ready,” he said.

  “Wyatt?” asked Billy.

  “All of ’em,” said Ringo. Suddenly he smiled. “Well, all of ’em except Morgan, anyway.”

  And suddenly Raven could make out the faces and figures of the four grim horsemen.

  I didn’t want this. They’re all going to kill each other.

  There was no response from Lisa or Rofocale.

  He looked at Wyatt Earp’s face. The jaw was set, the eyes unblinking. If there was any hesitation, it would be on one of his brothers’ faces . . . but they all wore the same expression.

  Then he looked at Ringo, standing along in front of the four riders. Brocius was nearby, so were half-a-dozen ranch hands, but basically it was Ringo standing his ground, staring at the four of them.

  Damn it, Rofocale! These aren’t Munchkins and I’m not Don Quixote or Dracula! These men really lived!

  “I want my horse,” said Wyatt Earp.

  “Don’t look at me,” said Ringo. “I’m just a friend of the family.”

  Earp turned, not to Old Man Clanton, but to Raven. “Okay, Ike,” he said. “Hand it over.”

  Hell, I don’t even know what it looks like. “We haven’t got it.”

  “I assume you don’t mind if I search through your stock,” said Earp.

  “And grab the first ten horses you see and claim they’re all yours?” replied Raven coldly.

  Good God—did I say that?

  “I think it’d be best if you ride on,” said Ringo. “You need a horse, borrow Morgan’s. He ain’t going to need it for a while.”

  “That’s something else we have to talk about.”

  Ringo shook his head. “Nope. I’m all through listening.”

  Suddenly Virgil, the Earp who was wearing the marshal’s badge, went for his gun.

  Ringo was quicker, and put a bullet right between his eyes.

  Instantly everyone on each side had a gun in his hand. Brocius took a bullet in his arm, fell to his knees, but kept firing. James and Warren Earp both fell out of their saddles; Warren was clearly dead, but James was still firing his weapon.

  Ringo turned to face him and prepared to finish him off, and Raven saw that as he did so Wyatt had his gun trained on Ringo.

  “Shit!” he muttered, finally drawing his own gun, and firing five quick shots in Wyatt’s direction. He’d never fired one before, it felt like an alien act to him, but Wyatt fell to the ground and lay motionless.

  “Thanks, Ike,” said Ringo, walking around and nudging each of the dead Earps with the toe of his boot. When there was no response, he finally holstered his gun.

  “They’re all dead?” asked Raven. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” said Ringo. “But you can put another bullet into each of them if you’ve got any doubts.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Well, that’s four fewer bastards roaming the West,” said Ringo. “I wonder if Morgan will ever figure out just how lucky he was to have come out all by himself yesterday.”

  If he ever walks and talks again, thought Raven.

  “Well, there’s nothing more to do here. I’ll stick around awhile if you or the old man want, but what the hell, I feel an urge to go into town and celebrate.”

  “I’ll come along later,” said Brocius, as he tended his wound. “But we got to clean the place up first.” He grinned. “Who knows what kind of critters they’ll attract when they start to ripen.”

  “A telling point,” said Raven. “Bill, if you and the crew will load the Earps onto a wagon, I’ll go into town with Ringo and dump ’em off at an undertaker’s.” He turned to Ringo. “Will you wait for me? Shouldn’t take ten minutes.”

  “Of course I will,” said Ringo. Suddenly he smiled. “I wouldn’t want to be a lone Clanton delivering four dead Earps to the undertaker in Tombstone.”

  Damn! I hadn’t thought of that. Ah, well, there’s no way we can keep it a secret, not with so many eyewitnesses and participants.

  A few minutes later the bodies were loaded onto the wagon, Raven insisted their horses be hitched to the back of it, and then he and Ringo began what turned out to be his last ride into Tombstone.

  24

  “Let’s unload ’em here,” said Ringo as they came to a run-down shed on the edge of town.

  “Any particular reason why?” asked Raven.

  “He’s a sometime undertaker, and like a lot of folks in town, he hates the Earps.” Suddenly he smiled. “Perhaps I should say he hated the Earps.” Ringo dismounted. “You stay there, Ike. This’ll just take a minute.”

  Ringo vanished into the shed, and came out a moment later accompanied by an emaciated man who looked like a grinning ghoul. They shook hands, Ringo unhitched his horse from the wagon, and a moment later he and Raven were riding into Tombstone.

  “Word’s going to get out pretty soon,” noted Raven.

  “Hell, half the town’ll be celebrating.”

  “I was thinking of the other half,” answered Raven. “Especially one particular member of it.”

  “He’ll be sleeping off last night’s drunk for another few hours,” answered Ringo. Suddenly he smiled. “Which reminds me, maybe we should get started on ours.”

  “What the hell,” said Raven with a shrug. “It’s too early for me to drink, but I’m safer in your company than without it, especially today.”

  “Haven’t been to the Deuces Wild in a week,” said Ringo. “That suit you?”

  “Anything that gets me out of the public eye suits me.”

  Ringo laughed. “I don’t know how you got a reputation for being such a tough bastard.”

  “Probably by not going up against you or Wyatt Earp,” answered Raven.

  Ringo chuckled again, then pulled his horse to a stop.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Raven.

  “They don’t allow horses in saloons,” answered Ringo. “And we’re here.”

  They dismounted, tied their mounts to the hitching post in front, and entered the Deuces Wild.

  “Go get what you want,” said Raven. “I’ll be sitting at that table by the far wall.”

  “I can bring you a drink,” said Ringo. “Hell, it’ll be my treat.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll take coffee if they have it.”

  Ringo laughed aloud at that. “Some rough tough cowboy!”

  Raven walked over to a table while Ringo approached the bar.

  Lisa? Can you read me?

  Yes, Eddie. I’m on my way over right now. Deuces Wild, correct?

  Yes. He paused. There’s been some serious bloodshed.

  I know. I saw it.

  You were there?

  No, of course not.

  I killed Wyatt Earp. Me, not Ringo or Curly Bill. I still don’t know quite how it happened.

  It’ll all come back to you as you calm down.

  You’re not mad?

  Of course not. The alternative would have been for Ringo to bring five bodies back to town.

  Damn, I miss you!

  Count to thirty.

  Why?

  I’ll be there while you’re still in the twenties.

  Raven suddenly sat up, totally alert, and wished he’d chosen a table next to a window so he could have a view of the street. Then, a few seconds later, a pudgy, once-attractive woman entered the saloon and began approaching him. He was about to suggest she had the wrong bar or at least the wrong person, and then realized it was Lisa in her Kate Elder persona.

  “I was wondering if I was ever going to see you again,” said Raven.

  “I’m not a deserter,” she said, sounding somewhat annoyed.

  He shook his head. “No, I meant that when the shooting started, given my skills with a
gun, I figured the odds were heavy that I wouldn’t make it to the end of the fight.”

  She smiled, reached forward, and laid her hand on his. “You must never underestimate yourself, Eddie,” she said. “Neither Rofocale nor I ever have.”

  “So what’s next?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “It depends on circumstances.”

  “What circumstances.”

  She smiled again. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I came to Tombstone, four Earps are dead and one’s in no condition to do anything for months. I hope to hell I’m not here to shoot it out with Doc Holliday.”

  “Only if you want to,” she replied.

  “Trust me,” said Raven. “I really, truly don’t want to.”

  Lisa shrugged. “Well, there you have it.”

  “Have what?” he said, frowning. “Lisa, if I can’t come to you for answers, where else can I go?”

  “You’re preparing for something so vast and complex that there are simply no straightforward or easily comprehensible answers.”

  Ringo walked over to the table, pulled up a chair from a neighboring table, and sat down.

  “Hi, Kate,” he said.

  “Hello, John,” she said coldly.

  “Doing well, I trust?”

  “Getting by.”

  “And your boyfriend?”

  “Same as always.”

  “That unpleasant?”

  Lisa stood up. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  She had walked halfway to the door when a familiar voice rang out in the street.

  “John Ringo, come out of there, you backstabbing coward!”

  Ringo smiled. “The boyfriend,” he said, getting to his feet. He walked over to Lisa, took her by the arm despite her flinching from his touch, and led her back to the table. “You’ll be safer here,” he said.

  Then he walked back to the door, looked outside to make sure Holliday wasn’t already covering him with his pistol, and walked out into the street.

  “I’m sorry,” Raven whispered to Lisa as he got to his feet, “but I’ve got to see what happens.”