by Mike Resnick
“They're just birds and flies, and the occasional rattler,” replied Holliday in bored tones. “Wouldn't be the most exciting hunt you've ever been on.”
“I'm not looking for excitement,” said Roosevelt. “I've hunted grizzlies for that, and someday I hope to go to Africa after really big game. But many of these species aren't in the museums back East, and the ones that are have been carelessly mounted.”
“That's right. Bat said you were a taxidermist too.”
“I dabble in it.”
Holliday smiled. “No false modesty. He said you were considered one of the country's top ornithologists and taxidermists while you were still in your teens.”
“He's being too generous,” said Roosevelt.
“Probably,” agreed Holliday, and was pleased to see a little tightening of Roosevelt's expression when he agreed with him.
“Have you ever been to the Smithsonian?” asked Roosevelt. “I'm told you didn't grow up all that far from it.”
“I grew up in Georgia,” replied Holliday, “and we were fighting a war with the people who ran the Smithsonian.”
“Not by the time you got to college.”
Holliday shrugged. “I was busy learning to be a dentist, and then I was busy coughing on all my patients, so I moved West where the air was dryer.” He snorted. “You can see how much it helped.”
“It helped get rid of a lot of desperados,” remarked Roosevelt.
“A lot of people think I'm one.”
“I'd heard of you and read about your exploits,” said Roosevelt. “You've been arrested your fair share of times, but as far as I can tell, you've never been convicted of anything.”
“True enough,” agreed Holliday.
They rode for two more hours, with Roosevelt finding fascinating things all over the barren landscape, and then Holliday brought his horse to a stop.
“What is it?” asked Roosevelt.
“We're getting close,” replied Holliday. “I don't see them yet, but I can't imagine he hasn't got some warriors watching us.”
“He does,” said Roosevelt. “I've seen them for the last mile. I thought you'd seen them too.”
Holliday peered into the distance. “By that boulder off to the left,” he said.
“Right. And a couple in the gully over there.”
“Damn! For a man with spectacles, you've got damned good eyesight, Theodore.”
“Comes from being a hunter,” answered Roosevelt. “You get an instinct for things that don't seem quite right, even before you can spot what's wrong with them.” He looked ahead again. “I assume they're just making sure we're not coming with what I think you call a posse.”
“Yeah,” said Holliday. “When we get a little closer to the lodge, they'll ride out and accompany us. They'll probably take our weapons, too. I'd advise you not to make a fuss about it.”
“Can the greatest of the medicine men be hurt by a bullet?” asked Roosevelt curiously.
“Probably not,” said Holliday. “But any member of his tribe can.”
“Ah!” said Roosevelt, nodding his head. “I hadn't even considered that.”
“That's because you've never been to his camp before.”
“How did Bat kill a warrior if he was unarmed?”
“Man pulled a knife on him,” replied Holliday. “I think he was just trying to scare him. Bat took the knife away from him and stabbed him.” He looked off to his right. “Six more, and they're not making any effort to hide themselves.”
A moment later they were surrounded by Apache warriors, who offered no word of greeting or sign of recognition to Holliday as they rode along. After another mile the party came to a stop.
One of the warriors rode up to Holliday and held out his hand, and Holliday carefully withdrew his pistol and handed it to him. The warrior gave it to another, and held out his hand again.
“Damn!” muttered Holliday, pulling out a Derringer he kept tucked in a pocket in his vest.
Roosevelt followed suit, handing over his rifle and his pistol. The warrior held out his hand for more.
“That's all I've got,” said Roosevelt.
The warrior gestured again.
“Here,” said Roosevelt, removing his coat and handing it to the warrior. “See for yourself.”
The warrior examined the coat, handed it back, hopped down from his horse, and ran his hands over Roosevelt's pants, then nodded his head. He climbed back onto his horse, and the little party began moving forward again.
“How's that for irony?” said Roosevelt. “I just started carrying a six-gun today, and I've already lost it.”
“They'll return it later,” Holliday assured him.
Five minutes later Geronimo's lodge came into view.
“It's smaller than I imagined,” remarked Roosevelt. “This can't be the headquarters of the whole Apache nation.”
“It's just where he stays when he's in this area,” explained Holliday. “No one knows where the bulk of his people live, which is probably why they're still a large and powerful tribe.”
When they reached the first of the structures, they stopped, and Roosevelt and Holliday dismounted. One of the warriors took their reins and led their horses off.
Roosevelt frowned. “I hope they don't intend on keeping them,” he said. “I don't relish a walk all the way back to Tombstone.”
“I thought you'd relish a run to it,” said Holliday with a smile. “Don't worry. They're just making sure we don't leave before the negotiations are over.”
“Where is he?” asked Roosevelt, looking around.
“Who knows?” replied Holliday. “He could be one of the birds in that tree, or a snake, or even one of the horses. He'll be Geronimo when he's convinced himself you're the man he sent for.”
A mangy dog sauntered up, wagging its tail and panting heavily.
“Geronimo?” Roosevelt asked Holliday.
Holliday shrugged. “Who knows?”
Roosevelt squatted down and petted the dog. As he did so, he saw a burly shadow fall across the dog. He looked up and found himself facing an imposing figure of a man, stern and dignified.
“You're Goyathlay,” he said with absolute certainty.
“And you are Roosevelt,” said Geronimo.
“I have come a long way to meet you,” Roosevelt said in Apache.
“I speak your language,” said Geronimo. “And we have important things to discuss.”
“If this is a private conversation,” said Holliday hopefully, “I can just go sit in the shade of that hut, and maybe relax with a drink from”—he padded his flask through his coat—“my special water supply.”
“No,” said Geronimo.
“No?” repeated Holliday, making no attempt to hide his annoyance. “I brought him. What more do you want?”
“It is important that you listen too,” said Geronimo, “because when we are done, it will start a war such as you have never dreamed about.”
Holliday stared at him for a moment, then pulled out his flask. “I think I'll have that drink right now,” he said.
��IT IS TIME,” said Geronimo when he and Roosevelt were sitting cross-legged on the ground in the shade of Geronimo's hut, facing each other. Holliday, who had some trepidation about lowering himself to the ground gracefully and an absolute certainty that if he managed it he could never get up on his own power, remained on his feet a few feet away. “That is why I have sent for you.”
“I appreciate that,” replied Roosevelt. “I have two questions.” Suddenly he grinned. “Well, two right now. A lot more later.”
“You may ask.”
“Why me?”
“You are a man of honor.”
“Thank you,” said Roosevelt. “But there are many men of honor.”
“Not as many as you think,” said Geronimo. “And though you are a very young man, you are the best of them.”
“I'm flattered that you should think so,” replied Roosevelt, “but there are many better men.”
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Geronimo stared at him for a long moment. “Do you truly believe that?” he said at last.
Roosevelt stared back for just as long. “No,” he finally admitted. “No, I don't.”
“Good. Because if you answered otherwise, I would not know that I can trust you.” He paused. “You had a second question?”
Roosevelt nodded. “Why now?”
“It is time.”
“It is past time, but why have you decided to lift the spell now?”
“Many reasons,” said Geronimo. “The man Edison will soon know how to negate much of our magic.”
“We both know you could kill him before that happens,” offered Holliday from where he stood.
“He has done me a service. I will not kill him while I am obligated to him.”
“You paid it off,” said Holliday. “He found a way to remove the spell and the railroad from your burial ground, and you removed Billy the Kid's supernatural protection.”
Geronimo shook his head. “I paid you, Holliday. You were the one who faced McCarty called the Kid. I did not pay Edison, and until I find a way, he is safe from me.” Another pause. “But he is not safe from the other tribes.”
“You said many reasons,” said Roosevelt. “What are some others?”
“There are too many White Eyes,” answered Geronimo. “Already many thousands of you have crossed the river. You have even built towns. We no longer have the power to stop you, only to hinder you. Eventually your nation will reach from one ocean to the other, and if we fight you every step of the way is it not beyond your people to wage a war of extermination, which we cannot win.”
“I would fight against that,” said Roosevelt.
“I know. That is another reason I have chosen you.”
“After you, Hook Nose was the strongest of the medicine men,” said Holliday, “and you killed him almost two years ago. This should be a stroll in the park.”
Geronimo frowned. “I do not understand.”
“With no Hook Nose, there should be no meaningful opposition,” said Holliday.
Geronimo shook his head. “How little you know.”
“Enlighten us,” said Roosevelt.
“The medicine men of the other Indian nations have always resented my power, and now they have a reason to openly oppose me. They have no intention of lifting the spell.”
“If you're the strongest…” began Holliday.
“I am stronger than any one of them,” explained Geronimo. “I am not stronger than most of them acting in concert.”
“How many others are there?”
“More than fifty.”
“And how many oppose you?” continued Holliday.
“Perhaps thirty-five, perhaps forty.”
“And you think with Theodore on your side, you can beat them?”
“Theodore?” asked Geronimo, frowning.
“Roosevelt,” said Holliday.
“It will take more than him,” said Geronimo.
“What or who else will it take?” asked Roosevelt.
“Edison and Buntline,” answered the Apache.
“What will you want them to do?”
Geronimo shrugged. “It depends on what the other nations do.”
Roosevelt shook his head. “We need a better strategy than to just sit here waiting for them to strike first.” He turned to Holliday. “Doc, you've got to have a lot of friends who are good with guns.”
Holliday smiled a bittersweet smile. “I have never had a lot of friends.”
“Then we'll recruit them.”
“To face the warriors of fifty-five Indian nations?” asked Holliday in amused tones.
“There have to be alternatives.” He turned to Geronimo. “You didn't send for me just so I'd be an easier target for your enemies. What do you have in mind?”
“I chose right,” said Geronimo, nodding his head in satisfaction. “I sent for you to make sure you had not changed since you first came to me in a vision three years ago, that you were still the man best fit to lead your nation across the river, and to make peace with my nation.”
Roosevelt looked at him expectantly, and finally the old man continued.
“I will show you what you must eventually face, Roosevelt.”
“Eventually?”
“They are still learning how to control it,” said Geronimo. “Little do they know that it cannot be controlled, only aimed like a rifle or an arrow.”
Roosevelt frowned. “I'm not sure I understand.”
“I will show you.”
Geronimo closed his eyes and uttered a chant. Roosevelt tried to follow it, but though he had studied the Apache language, most of the words were unfamiliar to him.
Then, suddenly, a naked warrior with bright red skin, perhaps two feet high, stood on the ground between them. Roosevelt leaned forward and studied him. His red face was almost that of a skeleton's, but it was somehow capable of expression, and right now it was frowning and glowering. His arms were as long as an ape's, and ended not in hands or paws, but in flames.
“What is it?”
“The man Edison would call it a test model,” answered Geronimo. “It is a creation of my rivals and your enemies. It has a name, but you cannot pronounce it. The closest approximation is War Bonnet.”
“And this is what the other tribes are sending against us?” asked Roosevelt.
“That is correct.”
“I could smash his head with my pistol right now,” offered Holliday. “Or put a bullet through it.”
“This is not War Bonnet,” said Geronimo, “but merely what he will look like.”
Roosevelt reached out for the image, and his hand passed right through it. “If that's the worst they can do, I don't think we've got much to worry about,” he said.
“As I said, it is only a model. This is what the true War Bonnet will look like when they are done with him.” Geronimo muttered another chant, and suddenly the image of War Bonnet began growing taller and broader, the flames that were his hands become longer and brighter, his skeleton's face grew more fearsome, and when he finally reached his full height the top of his head towered some twelve feet above the ground.
“Interesting,” commented Roosevelt.
“He is not just a giant, but will have powers even I cannot guess at,” added Geronimo.
“He's a couple of feet taller than the biggest grizzly I've ever seen.”
“And mighty few grizzlies can reach out and set you on fire,” added Holliday.
“Will he be able to shoot those flames like arrows?” asked Roosevelt.
“Almost certainly,” answered Geronimo.
“And he'll have other powers too?”
Geronimo nodded. “Many.” He paused. “I will make him vanish now.”
“No,” said Roosevelt, pulling a notebook out of a pocket. “I'm not much of an artist, but let me sketch him so I can show Tom what we're up against.”
“Tom?” repeated the Apache.
“Edison.”
“The White Eyes have too many names,” declared Geronimo.
“His whole name is Thomas Alva Edison,” said Holliday with a smile.
“You are sure?”
“As sure as my name's John Henry Holliday.”
Geronimo snorted but made no reply.
“Okay, I'm done,” said Roosevelt a moment later, putting the notebook away. Geronimo made a gesture and the image of War Bonnet vanished.
“I've got a question, if I may,” said Holliday.
Geronimo turned to him. “Ask.”
“You're the most powerful medicine man of them all. Why can't you just magic War Bonnet away, send him back to whatever hell they pulled him out of?”
“His magic is too strong for that—or it will be, once he truly exists,” answered Geronimo. “They know better than to create a creature that I can scatter on the winds.”
“Let me make sure I understand our agreement,” said Roosevelt. “You lift the spell, and I agree to fight War Bonn
et with help from Edison or anyone else I can enlist?” He paused, frowning. “We have an army. Why don't I just send for it?”
“Your army cannot cross the river, for I cannot lift the spell with all of the other medicine men arrayed against me,” answered Geronimo. “First they must be defeated. Only then can I lift the spell.”
“Not much of a bargain,” commented Holliday. “Especially since you admit that sooner or later we're going to spread across the river anyway. Did I hear that right?”
“You heard it right,” confirmed Geronimo.
“You didn't ask him the operative question, Doc,” said Roosevelt.
“What question was that?” asked Holliday.
Roosevelt turned to Geronimo. “If the spell isn't lifted, when will we freely cross the river and settle the land to the Pacific Ocean?”
Geronimo opened both hands, extended his fingers, then closed them and repeated the process seven more times.
“Eighty years,” said Roosevelt. “Almost everyone who is alive today, even newborn infants, will be dead by then.” He grimaced. “That's why I have to do this, Doc. It is our manifest destiny to reach from one coast to the other. I can't make an entire nation wait for more than three-quarters of a century because I find the task daunting.” He reached his hand out. “Goyathlay, we have a deal.”
Geronimo took his hand. “It is not written that you shall succeed,” he said grimly. “Only that you are the best of them.”
“Doc and I have to get back to Tombstone and meet with Edison,” said Roosevelt, getting to his feet. “How long will you remain here?”
“I leave tonight,” answered Geronimo.
“How will I find you if I need to confer with you?”
“Holliday knows.”
Geronimo didn't say another word, but somehow his warriors knew to bring Roosevelt's and Holliday's horses and weapons, and shortly thereafter they were heading back to Tombstone across the parched landscape.
A single hawk, riding the hot thermals, circled overhead. Finally it swooped down, diving directly toward Roosevelt. When it was some thirty yards away its wings turned to flames, the same flames Roosevelt had seen at the ends of War Bonnet's arms.
