Doc liked the peace and quiet he could find there. That was why he’d started most of his days at one of Shanny’s card tables whether anyone else was playing or not. He could eat some good food, have some good coffee, and practice his card handling while getting in the occasional game of gin rummy with an old-timer or two. After that, he would find his way to someplace like the Beehive where Lottie Deno held court like a reigning queen.
It was a good routine that suited Doc very well. On this particular day, however, sitting in one place felt like torture. Just knowing that Caleb was out making moves and possibly getting killed for it didn’t suit Doc one bit. After Samuel had left, Doc sat down for all of one minute before getting up to pace near the windows. His feet itched within his boots and that itch soon worked its way up to his throat. As soon as he started to fret about it, the itch became a scratch and then grew into a cough. Before long, Doc was coughing hard enough to fill his handkerchief with blood. Letting out a sigh, he turned and went back to his chair.
“Shanny,” he hollered toward the bar. “Is that big fellow from Saint Louis still in town?”
After thinking about it for a second, the Irishman replied, “You mean Bill?”
“That’s him.”
“Yeah, he’s still about. He said he’s catching a train back north in a few days.”
“See if he wants in on a game. Anyone else around who could play?”
“Ed Bailey was kicked out of the Beehive for something or other. He’s always up for a game.”
“As long as you’ll have him here, that sounds good enough for me,” Doc said. “If you can scrounge up at least one more, we’ll be in business.”
Shannsey nodded and walked back to the bar. Being on such friendly terms with so much of Fort Griffin made it fairly easy for him to put together a quick cash game. Even with that in mind, Doc was still surprised to see the Irishman make his way toward his table only a few minutes later.
“I believe you have a knack for this,” Doc said without looking up from the cards he was arranging in front of him. “Now, if only I could talk you into letting me run a faro game in here.”
“After that business between you and Kate the last time, I’d prefer it if you stuck to poker. Besides,” Shannsey added, “this isn’t about the game.”
“What else is there?” Doc asked.
“A matter in which you might be of some help. Think you could come with me and have a word?”
Doc looked up to find Shannsey motioning toward a doorway near the bar. “Your office?” Doc asked. “I do hope you’re not carrying your shotgun.”
The Irishman smiled in a way that should have seemed odd upon such a burly fellow. On Shanny, however, the expression was as easy as it was genuine. “Nobody’s in any trouble, Doc. There’s a man who came to me for some help and I thought you might be able to oblige.”
Since Doc had been itching to get out of his chair again anyway, he walked across the room to Shannsey’s office. Along the way, another coughing fit gained enough steam in him to shred a familiar section at the back of his throat. Doc pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it so tightly against his mouth that it would have suffocated anyone else.
The coughing grew in intensity until Doc was finally able to pull in a breath and hold it for a second. After one last effort to clear his throat, Doc tucked the handkerchief away and lifted his chin so he could meet Shanny’s friend.
“Wyatt Earp,” Shannsey said, “this is John Holliday. Most everyone around here calls him Doc.”
Recognizing Wyatt from the brief glimpses he’d gotten in Deadwood, Doc extended his hand and took a closer look at the man before him. Wyatt was a lean figure with dark hair and serious eyes. It hadn’t been too long since Deadwood, but Wyatt’s face seemed just a bit more hardened than it should have in that amount of time. He nodded once as he shook Doc’s hand. “You’re a doctor?” he asked.
“When I practice my trade, it’s dentistry,” Doc told him. “More recently, however, I’ve been learning my way around a new line of work.”
“Shanny mentioned you do some gambling. Having any luck?”
“Not as much as I’d like,” Doc admitted. “Fortunately, luck’s not a requirement.”
Wyatt sat bolt upright in one of the two chairs inside Shannsey’s office. In the corner behind him was the Irishman’s strongbox and Wyatt propped one arm upon the battered old desk as if he was guarding that money with his life. “I never thought of gambling as a trade. I used to play some faro when I was younger. I’ve even dealt a game or two.”
“Playing faro is for suckers,” Doc said bluntly. To his surprise, Wyatt didn’t even bat an eye at the smoothly delivered insult. “Tell me something, Mr. Earp. When you dealt faro, were—”
After stopping Doc with a quickly raised hand, Wyatt lowered that hand before it could be considered rude. “Please, when folks call me Mr. Earp they either want something or are addressing someone else. Call me Wyatt.”
Doc had to admit that he was impressed, mostly because he’d never been quieted down so quickly and so efficiently. There was a strength behind Wyatt’s eyes that was very rare in a man. It was a kind of strength that was simply there like a storm that didn’t need to be summoned and would not be diverted. So many arrogant men with big mouths were so eager to bluster and thrash about in order to prove something. It was truly something impressive when someone only had to raise a hand.
“All right, then, Wyatt. When you were dealing faro, were you proficient in some of the more . . . creative practices of the game?”
“You mean cheating?”
Doc nodded.
For a moment, Wyatt’s stony facade seemed to crack. Then the slightest trace of a grin appeared under his mustache. “Yeah,” he said. “For a while. But the beautiful thing about dealing faro is that you really don’t have to cheat to get ahead. The moment too many folks figure that out, I suppose it’ll be the end of that game. What about you, Doc? Do you cheat?”
“Everybody cheats,” Doc replied. “The ones who are good enough to get away with it deserve to. I find it’s much more interesting to see how things unfold on their own. There’s more ways to win than just having the best hand.”
“Ahh,” Wyatt said with a nod. “You’re talking about poker. That’s a whole other animal. I’ve never been good enough at that game to invest much into it.”
“Then let me be the first to invite you to a game I’m hosting later this evening.”
Wyatt chuckled and eased back into his chair a bit. The smirk didn’t seem to fit him, but he was reluctant to let it fade. Doc’s next question proved to be enough to do the trick, though.
“So what brings you to Fort Griffin?”
“I’m after a man named Dave Rudabaugh,” Wyatt replied sternly. “Shanny said you might know him.”
As Doc nodded, his eyes took on a steely glint and he stifled one cough that was just strong enough to lift his shoulders. “Dave Rudabaugh,” Doc said before coughing again, “is a thieving son of a bitch who deserves whatever hell is coming his way.”
“Sounds like you have some history with him.”
“How long have you known the man?” Doc asked.
Wyatt shrugged and said, “I’ve been on his trail for a few weeks.”
“That seems to be more than enough time for you to have come to that same conclusion.”
“I suppose it is.”
“What sort of business are you in, Wyatt? You don’t strike me as a bounty hunter.”
“I’ve been a keeper of the peace here and there. I was assistant marshal of Dodge City, but it was more the sort of job I was roped into.”
“Whatever you may think of me, I’m not the sort that needs to hear justifications for what anyone else does. No need to belittle your official career. I may not be first and foremost a dentist, but I still hang my shingle when I can. I worked hard to earn my credentials in that respect and I assume it was the same for you.”
Wyatt nodded. “It
was.”
“Then don’t try to jump from one side or another on my account. It doesn’t suit you.”
“No offense, Doc, but you haven’t known me for long enough to know what might suit me or what might not.”
Doc grinned and tipped his hat. “I believe I’ve known you long enough to know you’re a man who speaks his mind without fear or the assistance of alcohol. I respect that. Your sort are few and far between.”
Accepting the compliment with nothing more than a subtle nod, Wyatt sat quietly as Doc removed the flask from inside his coat and took a sip. When he caught Doc’s eye again, Wyatt raised an eyebrow before shifting his eyes toward the flask. “Without assistance of alcohol?” he asked.
Without lowering the flask more than it took to speak, Doc replied, “That’s what I said about you. I, on the other hand, am a consummate hypocrite.” Doc took one more swig of whiskey before placing the cap back on the flask and dropping it into his pocket. “How do you know Shanny?”
“I’ve come through here a few times. Before that, I knew him back in his days as a fighter. I officiated a few of his matches. Hell of a quick left jab.”
“And he pointed you in my direction?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, if you intend on taking a shot at Dave Rudabaugh, I’d suggest you form a line. This might not be a bad place to wait.”
“He’s coming here?” Wyatt asked.
“He should be somewhere in these parts fairly soon, but I don’t know exactly where. I doubt he’ll lollygag for long before running away, however.”
“He does have a tendency to do that. Do you and he have unfinished business?”
Furrowing his brow, Doc asked, “Why do you ask?”
“Because I’d like to know if I should catch him before or after you two meet up,” Wyatt replied without hesitation. “You do seem to have more than a passing interest in finding him.”
“Believe me, if I knew exactly where he was, I would tell you. If it’s not me that gets to put that wild dog down, I’d be just as happy for you to have the honor. You strike me as the sort who wouldn’t make a mess of it.”
Wyatt tapped the edge of the desk before getting to his feet. “I suppose that’s it, then. I should be on my way since Rudabaugh is still on the move and all. If he is lurking about, the sight of me could be enough to send him running.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Doc said as he got to his feet. “I honestly wish I could offer more help.”
“Just knowing I’m still closing in on him helps me quite a bit. Thanks for your time.”
They shook hands once more and then Wyatt left the office. Doc took another drink from his flask before stepping out as well. By the time Shanny and Wyatt had said their farewells, Doc stepped up to the bar. All he had to do was place his flask on the bar for Shanny to know what to do once he got there.
“Wyatt’s a good man,” Shannsey said as he picked up Doc’s flask and refilled it. “I appreciate you helping him out.”
“Think nothing of it,” Doc replied as he picked up the flask and raised it in a casual toast. “Any friend of yours . . .”
“So,” Samuel said as he glanced up and down the street for what must have been the tenth time, “do we have a deal?”
Graymon looked over at Paul and got a single nod in return. Despite that, he let out a slow, reluctant breath when he shifted his eyes back toward Samuel. “We don’t take orders from the town marshal,” he said. “Why should we start taking them from you?”
“I’m not trying to give orders,” Samuel replied. “I’m just trying to alert you to a menace in your town. You men have run out so many of the bad elements thus far, I thought you’d be the most prudent choice for this one.”
“Apart from gambling and drinking, Holliday hasn’t done much of anything since he’s been here.”
Samuel raised his eyebrows and asked, “Have you kept watch on him every minute of every day?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you can’t know what he’s been into. He’s a cheat, a trickster, and a killer. All I ask is that you allow me to prove that for certain.”
“And how can you do that?”
“Like I said before, you’ll just need to indulge me for a short while and be ready to act when the time comes.”
“What do you get out of this?” Graymon asked.
“Just the knowledge that Holliday and his accomplices are finally getting their just deserts. In fact, there’s plenty of folks who’ve already been cheated by Holliday and the ilk he works with right here in this town who would be mighty grateful to anyone who stepped up to do the right thing.”
“Like who?”
“Like the men who could see to it that you get some real power in this town,” Samuel said with certainty. “Just think how much more you could do with a little bit of official backing.”
Graymon thought it over for a few seconds. When he looked down, he found Samuel’s hand extended toward him. Finally, Graymon reached out to shake that hand. “All right. We’ve got a deal.” Tightening his grip, he added, “But you’d better deliver.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Samuel said. “You’ll be shown Holliday’s true colors soon enough.”
Frank watched Samuel strut away. Taking his spot next to the vigilante leader, Frank said, “That fella looks like he should have peacock feathers sprouting from his backside.”
“Yeah,” Graymon muttered.
“You strike a deal with him?”
The older man shrugged. “Of a sort. If I see him with Dave Rudabaugh, there ain’t no handshake that’ll save that skinny asshole.”
“So we’re throwing in with Caleb?”
“Keep him where we can watch him, but don’t let him stray from your sight for too long.”
“And what if both Caleb and that runt are trying to put something over on us?” Frank asked.
“Then we’ll put both of them into the ground.”
24
The entire day had all but passed and Doc had yet to leave Shannsey’s Cattle Exchange. In fact, Doc rarely left his table unless it was to answer the call of nature. All in all, it was a fairly normal day. By the time Kate finally made it around to check in on him, she found Doc sitting behind a stack of chips that was roughly the same size as it had been when he’d started.
“Hello, Kate,” Doc said with a smile. “Be so kind as to get a good look at Bill’s cards on your way over here.”
Bill Kennebeck was a big fellow, but had the smile of a little boy. He showed that smile now, but was also careful to hold his cards so Kate couldn’t see them as she sauntered behind him. “Come on now, Doc,” Bill said good-naturedly. “Let’s just play poker.”
“Now there’s a stellar idea,” Doc exclaimed. He raised his tin cup and then tipped it back to drain the whiskey that was still inside.
Wincing a bit as Doc set down the cup, Bill adjusted the thick spectacles that sat upon the bridge of his nose. “Is it my bet?”
“Most certainly,” Doc replied. And in the blink of an eye, Doc turned to his right and spoke in a voice that was the exact opposite of the cordial tone he’d used when addressing Bill. “What are you trying to do there, Ed?”
Ed Bailey held his cards in a grip that was just tight enough to keep them from falling to the floor. His other arm was resting on the table so his free hand was within inches of the pile of discards that had been made during the draw. Snapping his arm back, Ed grunted, “I ain’t doing a damn thing, Holliday. Just tend to your own affairs.”
Sidling up behind Doc, Kate rested her arms on his shoulders and leaned forward to whisper into his ear. Her steep posture, combined with the plunging neckline of her dress, gave the other players something to occupy them for the few seconds it took for her to say, “Yes, Doc. Take a breath and relax. Remember what we’ve—”
“I remember just fine,” Doc snarled as he shook one of Kate’s arms from his shoulder. “Ed’s the one messing with the deadwood.�
�
“To hell with that!” Bailey said. “And stop talking to that . . .” Pausing when he saw the look in Doc’s eye, Bailey bit his tongue. “Stop talking to her and get back to the game.”
Doc nodded and adjusted his posture so he was once again sitting perfectly upright. “You’re absolutely right.” Glancing over at Bill, he added, “Let’s play some poker.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Bill replied. “It’s still my bet and I call.”
The Chinese man across from Doc had already folded. Although he spoke perfect English with only a hint of an accent, he knew when to keep his mouth shut. After he’d fulfilled his duties as the dealer of that hand, he sat with his arms folded to watch the game play itself out.
“I’m raising,” Bailey declared as he tossed in the rest of his chips. Looking over at Doc, Bailey added, “Make it another hundred.”
“But that’s only sixty in chips,” Bill pointed out.
“I’m good for it.”
As the other players looked his way, Doc cleared his throat and said, “It’s poker, Ed. You raise what you can and hope for the best.”
“Fine. Another sixty, then.”
Doc threw his chips in and picked up a silver dollar from the table. As Bill sifted through his own money, Doc started to whistle quietly and spin the dollar between the table and his forefinger.
Although his face had already stated his intent clearly enough, Bill winced and set his cards facedown. “I’ll fold this one. A bit too rich for me.”
“Take a gander at that,” Ed said as he spread his cards faceup on the table. “Three nines. What’ve you got, Holliday?”
Looking up at Kate, Doc felt her fingertips brush against the side of his neck as she stepped around to sit in his lap. “What I’ve got,” Doc said, “is not something a gentleman should discuss in public. Oh, and these cards don’t help, either,” Doc added as he tossed his hand.
Bill snickered and covered his mouth with his hand. When Ed Bailey looked at him, Kennebeck tried to disguise his laughter with a forced cough.
The Accomplice: The Silent Partner Page 23
