The Doctor and the Rough Rider

by Mike Resnick

  “Geronimo.”

  “Geronimo?” demanded Smith. “He's the worst of them all!”

  “He's the strongest of them all,” replied Roosevelt. “And he's the one who's decided that it's time to make peace and lift the spell.”

  “Why you?” said Tipton. “Last I heard, Jim Garfield was the president.”

  “It's Chester Arthur,” Roosevelt corrected him. “And as to why he chose me, you'd have to ask Geronimo. I just know that he sent for me, and I came.”

  “And you don't trust him, and that's why we're all gathered here today?” suggested Sloan.

  Roosevelt shook his head. “He's on our side. The other medicine men know it, and that's the problem.”

  “Just have Geronimo wipe 'em out,” said Sloan.

  “If it were that simple, I wouldn't have gathered you here,” said Roosevelt. “The medicine men have created a monster, a huge, magical warrior named War Bonnet. He was created for one purpose and one purpose only: to kill Geronimo and myself. I have yet to see him, but Doc has faced him. Doc, you want to describe him?”

  “He's about two and a half times a normal man's height,” said Holliday. “Built like an athlete. Muscles everywhere. Except his hands and forearms, which are, as best as I can explain it, living flames. Not much of a mouth or nose, which leads me to think he doesn't breathe, or at least not as much as real men.” He paused long enough for the men to get at least a vague mental picture of the creature. “And he's got another feature you should know about. I pumped half a dozen bullets into him at point-blank range. I still don't know if they went into him or bounced off, but I know they didn't hurt him or slow him down.”

  “Bullshit,” said Hairlip Smith. “If he's half what you say he is, how could you live through it?”

  Roosevelt forced a grin to his face. “Tell him, Doc.”

  “He was built for one purpose,” said Holliday. “Theodore already told you what it is: to kill him and Geronimo. That is the only thing he can do. He grabbed at me with those flaming hands; they passed right through me without burning me. He picked up a rock that must have weighed a thousand pounds. He had no problem holding it up over his head…until he tried to carry it over and crush me with it. The closer he got, the more effort he had to put into carrying it, and finally he couldn't…but when he turned his back and threw it away, I could see that it was light as a feather to him.”

  “So he can't hurt us and we can't hurt him,” said the Englishman. “Therefore, I have to ask: What possible purpose can be served by our confronting him?”

  “You're not here to confront War Bonnet,” said Roosevelt. “I just want you to know what he is, and just as importantly, what he isn't. There are only two people he can kill, or even harm. The problem is, if he kills either of us, the spell at the Mississippi will never be lifted, at least not in our lifetime. So we are going to seek out the medicine men who create and control the monster, and we are going to kill them,”

  “Does War Bonnet vanish just because we kill his…ah, his parents?” asked Mickelson.

  “I don't know,” admitted Roosevelt. “But at least he'll be without orders, without direction. I'd like to think he'll vanish, but even if he doesn't, this should buy us enough time to figure out how to destroy him.” He looked at the assembled men. “If any of you want to withdraw from this enterprise, now is the time.”

  Nobody moved and nobody spoke.

  “Good!” said Roosevelt. “We meet in front of the Grand Hotel at sunrise tomorrow morning.” He bared his teeth in his familiar grin once more. “And then the Rough Riders will prove that a small but motivated group of men can make a difference!”

  HOLLIDAY SAT AT A TABLE in the Grand's restaurant, facing Roosevelt, who was clearly enjoying his meal.

  Finally the gambler could stand it no longer. “You ever going to talk to me, Theodore?”

  “I thought we'd been talking all day,” answered Roosevelt, sprinkling some salt on his lamb chops. “By the way, you really should dig in,” he continued, indicating Holliday's untouched plate. “These are excellent.”

  “Damn it, Theodore!”

  “You don't like lamb? Then maybe I'll have one of yours when I'm done with mine.”

  “Keep this up and you won't have to wait for War Bonnet,” said Holliday irritably. “I just may kill you myself.”

  Roosevelt chuckled heartily. “Yeah, I've heard about your skills as a dentist, Doc.”

  “Theodore!” growled Holliday.

  “Doc, haven't you figured out that I'm not about to discuss anything concerning tomorrow while we're in public. We'll finish our meal, grab some of that scrumptious pecan pie for dessert, and then we'll go up to my room, where there won't be anyone around to overhear.”

  “What difference does it make who listens and who doesn't?” demanded Holliday. “You're leaving town at sunrise anyway.”

  Roosevelt looked to his left, then his right. Finally he learned forward and said, very softly, “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  Suddenly Holliday was facing the familiar Roosevelt grin again. “So can I.”

  “Wyatt had his faults,” muttered Holliday, “but you make him look pretty goddamned good as a partner.”

  “Doc, you're a bright man,” said Roosevelt. “If you'll just put that brain to use, you'll know exactly what's going to happen when we go up to my room.”

  Holliday stared at him, frowning in puzzlement, for almost a minute. Then, suddenly, he smiled and relaxed. “All right, Theodore. I apologize. I've had a lot on my mind.”

  “Apology accepted,” said Roosevelt. “Now, are you going to eat your lamb chops or not?”

  Holliday pushed his plate across the table, and poured himself a drink.

  “I would never tell a man who seems totally unaffected by liquor to give it up,” said Roosevelt, “but you've got to eat more, Doc. What are you—five foot ten or eleven? You can't weigh a hundred thirty pounds.”

  “A hundred twenty-two, last time I looked,” said Holliday. “I guess I'll have to drink more to make up the weight.”

  “Just out of curiosity, have you ever been drunk?”

  Holliday nodded. “Oh, yes,” he said, nodding his head. “Worst time was about two years ago. I got so drunk I couldn't count, I thought I couldn't lose, and I blew every penny I'd saved for the sanitarium in one night at the tables.”

  “I'm sorry,” said Roosevelt.

  “You should be happy.”

  “That you went broke?” asked Roosevelt, frowning.

  “That I needed money,” said Holliday. “That's why I turned bounty hunter and killed Henry McCarty.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  Holliday smiled. “Yes, you did. Out here most people called him Billy the Kid.”

  “I thought Pat Garrett killed him.”

  “That's what most people think,” replied Holliday. “We made a deal. I got the money, he got the fame—and the book sales. I think in the long run he'll make out better than I did. Part of my reward money's gone already, and Garrett's book keeps on selling.”

  “I had no idea,” said Roosevelt.

  “Well, now that you know, put that idea out of your head, or at least to the back of it where you keep other stuff you're never going to tell anyone.” Holliday downed his drink. “It was an interesting couple of days. I killed the Kid, and Geronimo killed Hook Nose. I think he'd just had enough. Hook Nose and Geronimo were the two most powerful medicine men, and they did everything in concert. I think if Hook Nose hadn't gone against him, Geronimo would never have sent for you or been willing to deal.”

  “Interesting,” said Roosevelt.

  “History,” replied Holliday with a shrug.

  Roosevelt finished his lamb chops, went to work on one of Holliday's, and finally ordered dessert.

  “You sure you won't have some?”

  Holliday shook his head, and suddenly smiled. “I probably haven't got the strength any more to tote around a hundred tw
enty-five pounds. I'd better keep away from sweets.”

  Roosevelt laughed, dug into his pie, and a few minutes later the pair of them ascending the stairs to Roosevelt's room.

  “I see the maid closed the window,” noted Holliday as they entered and Roosevelt closed the door behind them. “Better open it.”

  Roosevelt nodded, crossed the room, and opened the window, then sat down on his desk chair while Holliday seated himself on the edge of the bed.

  “I kept wondering,” said Holliday, “just how the hell you expected to lead your men—”

  “My Rough Riders,” Roosevelt corrected him.

  “Your Rough Riders,” amended Holliday, “when you didn't have any idea of who you were up against or where you could find them. But you've sent for Geronimo, and he's going to show up and tell you.”

  “I hope so,” said Roosevelt. Another grin. “If he doesn't, I'm going to feel mighty silly tomorrow morning.”

  “Just out of curiosity, how did you send for him? It's not as if he's got a mailbox.”

  “I know he'd be curious about why I was recruiting the Rough Riders,” said Roosevelt. “I don't know if he was the jackrabbit or a snake or one of the birds, and I figure he didn't want to show himself in front of what on the surface seems like a gang of gunfighters, but every time I saw an animal watching me I told it to come to my room tonight, that I was going after War Bonnet in the morning.”

  “He can be forgiven for thinking you've assembled a gang of gunfighters,” said Holliday with a sardonic smile. “Now let's hope that one of those animals was actually him.”

  “You think not?”

  “No, I'm sure he's keeping a close eye on you,” answered Holliday. “That's why I think he'll probably stop you from going in the morning. You're the white man he chose to make peace with.”

  “There's not going to be any peace until we take care of this War Bonnet and see to it that the medicine men don't create another one.”

  “Damn it, Theodore, I've seen him! You're not going to beat him, not on your own, not with your Rough Riders, not even with Tom Edison inventing a new weapon a day.”

  “I have to try, Doc.”

  “Why?” demanded Holliday.

  “Do you think he'll stop if he kills me and Geronimo? If you were a nation, and you created a weapon that killed your two most powerful enemies, would you willingly disassemble it? Or would you say, ‘We stopped them at the Mississippi and protected our land without anything remotely resembling War Bonnet. Now, how much of their land can we take back with him?’”

  “Shit!” muttered Holliday irritably. “Don't you get tired of always being right?”

  “I assume that's a compliment.”

  “It's a complaint. If you were wrong on occasion, I'd be in Leadville, preparing for a comfortable if brief old age.”

  “You're an interesting man, John Henry Holliday,” said Roosevelt with a smile. “Your compliments sound like insults, and your insults sound like compliments.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, and then a bird fluttered down out of the sky and perched on the window sill.

  “If that's you, come on in,” said Roosevelt. “And if not, then I hope you have the instinct to fly away fast, because my friend Doctor Holliday is not in the best of moods.”

  Before the words were out of his mouth, the bird had hopped down onto the floor, and an instant later had become Geronimo.

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” said Roosevelt.

  Geronimo and Holliday gave him identical looks that each said: Cut the crap.

  “You have assembled a group of men,” said Geronimo. “You plan to lead them against War Bonnet. I tell you now that they cannot kill War Bonnet any more than Holliday could.”

  “I know,” said Roosevelt.

  Geronimo looked at him questioningly.

  “But I have to assume,” continued Roosevelt, “that he cannot kill them any more than he could kill Holliday. If you can tell us where to find the medicine men, my men and I will see to it that they never create another War Bonnet.”

  “You have not thought this through, Roosevelt,” said Geronimo. “War Bonnet cannot kill them, but he can kill you. In fact, he was created to kill you, and to kill me, and for no other purpose than that.”

  “I know.”

  “In fact, the only reason he is not here now is that he is still not fully complete. They can only bring him to life and direct him for a few minutes at a time.” Geronimo's expression hardened. “But he will grow stronger every day. You must send your men to fight the medicine men, but stay well behind them where you will be safe.”

  Roosevelt shook his head. “I belong at the head of my men. I can't send them where I fear to go.”

  “But—”

  “I'm no safer here. Doc was just a few hours out of town when he confronted War Bonnet. What's to stop him from coming to Tombstone and tearing apart every building in town until he finds me? If I'm going to die, it'll be fighting against my enemies, not hiding from them.”

  Geronimo laid a hand on Roosevelt's shoulder. “I knew you were a brave man. I only wish you were a little less brave.” He sighed. “But then you would not be the man whose soul I found in the spirit world. When do you plan to leave?”

  “My Rough Riders will be here at sunrise,” answered Roosevelt.

  Geronimo turned to Holliday. “You will be riding with them?”

  “Hell, no,” said Holliday. “I've already seen War Bonnet. I can't accomplish anything by seeing him again. As for the medicine men, if they lived at the edge of town I'd lead the charge, but I'm not much good on horseback, and I know there's no Indian lodge besides yours within a two-day ride, so by the time we got to where we're going, I'd probably be too weak to pull my gun out of my holster.” He grimaced. “Besides, I've got my own problems. War Bonnet broke John Wesley Hardin out of a Texas jail, in exchange for his promise to kill me. I've never met him, but I know all about him. This is no Frank McLaury or Billy Clanton we're talking about, or even a Billy the Kid. This is the greatest killer in the West, a man with more than forty notches on his gun—and he's coming straight for me, so I've got to be ready for him. Unless it was all a lie.”

  Geronimo closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “It was not a lie. The man Hardin is no longer in jail.”

  “You can see him?” asked Holliday.

  Geronimo nodded an affirmative.

  “How soon will he get here?”

  Geronimo shrugged. “It depends on Hardin. He has already killed two men.”

  “That's Hardin, all right,” said Holliday. Suddenly he paused, staring off into the distance. “I wonder how fast he really is.”

  “I'll be damned!” exclaimed Roosevelt. “I do believe you're actually looking forward to this.”

  “As my friend Johnny Ringo was fond of saying, whatever your area of skill, you seek competition at the highest level.”

  “Your friend? You killed him!”

  “He was my friend anyway,” said Holliday. “Truth to tell, I had a sneaking fondness for the Kid, too.” He smiled. “It's a lonely trade, especially at the top, and you find you have things in common with the best of your rivals. Hardin and I have one thing in common that no other shootists have.”

  “What's that?” asked Roosevelt curiously.

  “We're both over thirty.”

  “From what I hear, that's unique for a shootist, all right.” Roosevelt turned to Geronimo. “What medicine men are we looking for, and are they in one lodge or spread out all over the West?”

  “All the medicine men created War Bonnet, but only four currently control him, and they are banded together in a lodge two days north of Tombstone.”

  “Who are they, and how will we recognize them?”

  “They are Spotted Elk, Dull Knife, Tall Wolf and Cougar Slayer, and this is not a permanent lodge. It was built when they built War Bonnet, and there are no women or children there, only warriors.”

  “How many?�
�

  Geronimo held up ten fingers, closed them into fists, then repeated the process four more times.

  “Fifty,” said Roosevelt. “And we're nine or ten. Do they have rifles?”

  “Yes.”

  “And where will War Bonnet be?”

  Geronimo shrugged. “I do not know. He may attack before you reach the lodge, or while you are there, or not at all. He obeys their orders.”

  Holliday could tell from Roosevelt's face that he was already digesting and processing the minimal information Geronimo had given him and was working out a strategy.

  “And how will we find this lodge?”

  “I will lead you,” answered Geronimo.

  “As a bird?”

  “You will know me when you see me,” said Geronimo. “But I tell you now, I will guide you to the lodge, but I will not enter it. You and I, we are the only two men in the world who are defenseless against War Bonnet.”

  “Is he also defenseless against us?” asked Roosevelt.

  Geronimo's eyes widened. “I do not know.”

  “I guess we'll find out, won't we?” said Roosevelt, suddenly anxious for morning to come.

  But he found he was speaking only to Holliday, as a small bird flew out the window and was soon riding the warm thermals to the south.

  ROOSEVELT HAD RISEN, SHAVED, BATHED, eaten a hearty breakfast, and was sitting astride Manitou before English Morton Mickelson, the first of his Rough Riders, showed up.

  “Good morning, Morty,” said Roosevelt.

  “Oh God!” moaned Mickelson, shading his eyes, something his top hat didn't do. “You're not cheerful in the morning, are you?”

  “Why not? It's a beautiful day.”

  “No day is beautiful that begins with the sun rising.”

  “You could use some coffee.”

  Mickelson made a face. “Didn't anyone ever tell you? Brits drink tea.”

  “All right, have some tea. We've got a little time before everyone's assembled.”

  “I hate tea.”

  “I think this is a little early for whiskey, even for Doc,” said Roosevelt, amused. “You'll just have to suffer.”