Dance with the Devil

by Victoria Wilcox

  There was an assenting murmur from the crowd, then the first voice added:

  “You white-livered son of a bitch! If you got some praying to do, get at it!”

  It only took a moment for John Henry to make a leap to the bar where he grabbed the pistol he’d stashed there and another hanging by it. Then he crossed the saloon and pushed through the batwing doors while he cocked both pistols at once, taking aim at the surprised crowd.

  “Throw ‘em up!” he said, “high and wide, you damned murdering cow thieves!”

  Before him, Wyatt stood empty-handed on the board sidewalk, and past him in the street was a crowd of what looked to be twenty-five pistol-toting cowboys. And though Wyatt didn’t even glance his way, John Henry’s interruption had distracted the cowboys enough for him to jerk both his guns, cocking them as he swung them up from the holsters. So there they stood, Holliday and Earp, four guns against fifty. And to John Henry’s eyes, the odds looked just about even.

  “What’ll we do with ‘em, Wyatt?” he asked with a smile, as though the battle had already been won.

  In reply, Wyatt took a single brave step toward the startled leader of the gang and laid the barrel of his Buntline Special over the cowboy’s head. The man dropped like he’d been shot instead of buffaloed, and the rest of the cowboys stood in stunned silence.

  “Throw ‘em up!” Wyatt said to the rest of them. “All the way up and empty! Morrison’s got his, and you’re next, Driskill!”

  Six-shooters clattered to the street as the cowboys’ hands went sky-ward, but in the rear of the crowd, one Texan took a wild chance.

  John Henry saw the cowboy’s gun hand go up and yelled, “Look out, Wyatt!” as he leveled his own revolver and pulled off a shot just as the cowboy fired. The two reports roared almost as one, but a howl of pain from the back of the crowd told whose shot had taken effect.

  “Sorry, Wyatt,” John Henry apologized. “Reckon I only winged him. I was tryin’ to kill him for you.”

  “Glad you didn’t, Doc,” Wyatt replied, as he waved the Buntline toward the rest of the crowd, herding them off to the calaboose. “I’d hate to have to arrest you for murder after you’d saved my life. Those boys were about to do me in when you jumped out the door. What the hell made you try a fool thing like that?”

  “Morgan asked me to watch out for you. He figured you needed someone to cover your back. I was just doin’ what he would have done if he’d been around.”

  “Morgan?” Wyatt said in surprise. “Morgan never would have made a play like that, nor Virg neither.” Then he added with a nod of his head. “I guess you’re the best brother I’ve got, Doc. I won’t forget this.”

  John Henry would never forget it, either. Wyatt Earp had called him a brother.

  Bat Masterson came to John Henry’s rooms at the Dodge House Hotel the next week, limping as he always did, a painful reminder of the shooting in Sweetwater, and carrying a narrow box under his arm.

  “I heard you’re leaving Dodge,” Bat said.

  “You heard right. This Kansas dust is about to kill me. I’m going to Colorado where I can breathe. Besides, it looks like Wyatt’s got things under control here now. The cattle season’s about run out, and Morrison and Driskill will probably spread the word that Wyatt’s too tough to collect that bounty on, anyhow.”

  Masterson nodded. “This county’s already had enough trouble for one year. You know Dull Knife got away from the cavalry after all, headed up to the Cheyenne nation?”

  “One more loss for the brave boys in blue,” John Henry commented. “Can’t say who I feel sorrier for, the fool Indians or the Army they made fools of.”

  “Still just as smart-mouthed as ever, aren’t you?”

  “Did you have somethin’ you wanted to talk to me about, Sheriff?” John Henry asked irritably. “I’ve got a patient waiting to see me.”

  Bat sighed. “Listen, Doc. I know we haven’t been the best of friends . . .”

  “Nonsense, Sheriff. I’m friends with any man I can beat at cards.”

  “Let me finish what I have to say. It isn’t easy for me to thank you.”

  “Thank me? For what?”

  “For saving my friend’s life. I could have been there with Wyatt, but I wasn’t. I was off chasing Indians with the rest of the boys and didn’t think about what Wyatt might be walking into taking those prisoners back to Dodge alone. If you hadn’t happened to be there, he’d be dead now, and I can’t afford to lose anybody else who matters. So, much as it goes against my grain to say it, I thank you for what you did.”

  Then he took the box from under his arm and lifted the lid. Inside was a shiny new Colt’s .45, nickel-plated and pearl-handled, the kind of fancy firearm that only a dandy like Bat would buy.

  “What’s this?” John Henry asked, as Bat handed him the open box.

  “It’s a gift, just in case Wyatt ever needs your help again.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Sheriff,” John Henry said, and though his voice had a trace of his usual sarcasm, he meant the words. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given him anything. Anyone but Kate, of course, who was always buying him presents with his own money.

  “Don’t say anything for a change. Just take it with my thanks. I ordered a couple of them from the Colt’s company. Take it while I’m in the giving mood. And do us all a favor by trying to stay out of trouble with it.”

  “I always try, Sheriff. Haven’t I been an exemplary citizen, here in Dodge? No brawling, no fighting, and only a minimum of public drunkenness.”

  “You’ve been all right, for Dodge. But I wouldn’t go so far as calling you exemplary. You’re still mostly a gambler living with a fallen angel.”

  “Kate’s no angel!” John Henry said with a laugh. “Though I suppose that’s why I’ve kept her around . . .”

  “So where in Colorado are you headed? Maybe I should warn the marshal there that you’re coming.”

  “I’m headed over to Trinidad, for starters, since the train runs that away now. Should be some fine gambling in that town with the Santa Fe coming in. Then maybe back up to Denver, open a dental practice there. They’ve got a gun ordinance now, so I’ll probably never get a chance to use this pretty new pistol of yours, more’s the pity. I have a fondness for nice firearms, you know.”

  Bat nodded. “That’s why I figured you’d enjoy playing with this new toy. But Holliday . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “Play carefully. I’d hate to see your bad reputation cause your friends any trouble—especially Wyatt. Now he feels he owes you, he’ll stick by you ‘till the debt’s repaid. No matter what it takes to repay it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  TRINIDAD, 1878

  THE CITY LAY IN A NARROW VALLEY IN THE SAN JUAN MOUNTAINS OF southeastern Colorado, where the Purgatoire River crossed the Santa Fe Trail. The cowboys called the river the Picketwire, mispronouncing the French version of the original Spanish name, “El Rio de Las Animas Perdidas en Purgatorio.” Everyone else just called it Purgatory.

  But it looked more like heaven to John Henry, as the train from Dodge City rose up out of the dusty plains and wound into the green mountains that surrounded Trinidad.

  “I saved a man from Purgatory, once,” he mused to Kate.

  “And just how did you do that? You’re no priest.”

  “I rode a horse all night long, that’s how, and nearly froze to death doin’ it. My uncle was dyin’ and I had to go all the way to Atlanta to get the priest to give him his last rites.”

  “You never told me you had a Catholic uncle,” Kate said in surprise.

  “I never told you a lot of things,” he replied, as he touched the Claddagh ring on his little finger. Though Kate knew he wrote letters home to his cousin in Georgia, he was careful not to let her see the replies, with the envelopes addressed in Mattie’s delicate feminine handwriting. Kate still thought his cousin was a man and he didn’t plan to enlighten her any. “I almost became a Catholic myself, fo
r instance. I never told you that either, did I?”

  “You’d have made a good Catholic, with all that drinking.”

  “And you’ve made a bad one, if you were ever good at it in the first place. Surely you must know that our sleepin’ together is a sin. We could both be damned, you know.”

  “You can be damned now, for all I care,” she answered haughtily. “You’re the one who’s happy keeping a mistress. I’d be your wife, if you ever asked me.”

  He hadn’t expected the sudden serious turn of the conversation, and he couldn’t find the words to answer for a moment. It was true that Kate had been more like a wife than a mistress to him, traveling the hard miles up from Fort Griffin without complaining, caring for him during his sick spells, bearing him the only child he would ever have. But he didn’t love Kate, not enough to marry her. Not the way he still loved Mattie.

  “You wouldn’t want to be married to me, Kate!” he said with a laugh. “I’d be a poor bet as a husband. I’d just die on you someday, leave you a wealthy widow, or a bust one, dependin’ on my luck. And as I recall, I only promised to take you as far as Dodge City, anyhow. You’re free to leave now, if you’re tired of the way things are. Trinidad ought to suit you fine. I hear they have the most remarkable redlight district in Colorado.”

  “Are you calling me a whore?”

  “That would be a case of the pot callin’ the kettle black, I believe. I think you are a fine companion for a sportin’ man, and more than adequate to my other needs. In fact, if this ridin’ car had a sleepin’ berth . . .”

  “Go to hell!”

  “You first!” he laughed. “Ah, Kate! You do look lovely when you’re angry, with your eyes all on fire like that! It reminds me of why I wanted you in the first place, back in St. Louis.”

  “And why was that?”

  “To see if I could tame your arrogant soul.”

  “That’s one thing you will never do!” she said, tossing her head. But there was a smile behind her eyes, enjoying the battle. “I don’t think I will marry you, even if you ask. You’re not nearly my equal. I could have married a nobleman if my family had stayed in Hungary.”

  He smiled, too, intrigued as always by Kate’s quick passions, so unlike Mattie’s steady emotions that were like a balm to his troubled soul. Kate’s passions fired his own, though there were times he wanted to kill her more than make love to her. But now he was only amused and toying with her.

  “Yes, you’re quite the princess,” he said, “wearing all that finery your outlaw lover buys for you. I wonder what your old Hungarian family would think of you now with your face all painted and your bosom showing in the daytime?”

  And all at once, Kate’s haughty anger turned to tears, catching him off guard again.

  “You are a cruel and heartless man!” she said with a sob.

  The one thing John Henry couldn’t bear was to see a woman cry, and he quickly took her gloved hand in his.

  “Kate, I was only teasin’! I didn’t mean anything by it. Do you think I’d stay with you if you looked like a street-walker? Why do you think I spend all this money dressin’ you up, anyhow? Here,” he said, pulling his own linen handkerchief from his vest pocket, “blow your nose. Your rouge is runnin’.”

  But as Kate opened the handkerchief, elegantly embroidered with his initials JHH, she saw the brown stain of old blood that wouldn’t wash out.

  “Oh, Doc!” she cried. “Why do we have to fight all the time? I don’t want to lose you! I don’t want you to die!”

  “Everybody dies, Kate. Me and you and all the rest of the world, too. But I’m not dead just yet, so stop your weepin’. We’re coming into Trinidad. You don’t want to make your entrance with your face all a mess, do you?”

  He could have stopped her tears all at once, he knew, by telling her that he loved her, and for a moment, he almost tried. Heaven knew he’d told enough other lies in his life. What difference would one more make? But heaven knew, too, that he’d made a vow to Mattie, and that one vow he meant to keep. Always, he had promised her. And though Kate was looking up at him with yearning in her eyes, he couldn’t break that vow.

  Trinidad was one of the boomtowns of the Santa Fe Trail, sprung up as a supply stop on the eight-hundred mile highway that ran from Missouri to the New Mexico Territory. The trail brought thousands of oxen-drawn prairie schooners driving along the two main streets of the town, and with the arrivals of the railroad from Denver in 1876 and Dodge City in 1878, Trinidad had quickly become the major shipping point for most of New Mexico, Arizona, and West Texas. The town boasted a population of 3,000 permanent residents, with eighty-eight stores, three hotels, a daily newspaper and mail, and the red-light district that was the wonder of Colorado.

  But it wasn’t Trinidad’s bordellos that interested John Henry, and as soon as he got Kate and himself settled into a room at the swank new Southern Hotel, he headed up the street to the Exchange Club, the biggest saloon and gambling house in town. Though the Exchange had a reputation for violence, it also had a reputation for drawing some of the best-known sporting men in the west. Wild Bill Hickok had played there, and Frank and Jesse James. Some claimed that young Billy the Kid had tried his luck at the Exchange’s gambling tables while running from the law in Lincoln County, New Mexico. With all that action, the Exchange was the kind of place where a gentleman gambler could rake in a bundle, and that’s just what John Henry proposed to do.

  The first night in town he won $200 on Faro; the second night he cleared $300 more on Spanish Monte and knew that he was on a roll. And though Kate pestered him about letting go of the games for an evening or two and getting a little rest after the trip up from Dodge City, he couldn’t stop playing as long as things were going so well. He was riding on the wave of euphoria that a successful gambling spree always gave him, and he didn’t feel like sleeping or eating or even making love.

  But he did feel like drinking, both to celebrate his success at the card tables and to mask the growing pain in his lungs. The summer months in dusty Dodge City had been hard on his health and he was having more trouble breathing than usual, coughing and wheezing between every play. If it hadn’t been for the blessed relief of the whiskey, he might not have been able to keep playing at all, streak or no streak. So by the end of his first week in Trinidad, he was $2,000 richer, tired beyond tired, and thoroughly soused, as well.

  “Come on, Doc,” Kate cajoled as he took another hand of cards and laid down his bet. The poker game in the Exchange Club had been going on for most of the day and into the night, and Kate was getting tired of waiting. “Let it go for awhile. Haven’t we made enough money for one week? You need to rest.”

  “With you?” he said, looking up with blood-shot blue eyes. “That’s funny, Kate! When did you ever let me get any rest, anyhow? You are a veritable virago in the bedroom. I’d get more rest right here on the green baize than in your eager embrace.”

  “Then come eat something, at least. Or take me shopping and buy me a new dress . . .”

  “Ah! Is that what you’re after? Well, hell, darlin’,” he drawled, “why didn’t you say so?” and he tossed her a wad of bills from the stack in front of him. “You go on ahead and get to shoppin’ without me. I’m gonna stay on a little longer and see how much more money these fine gentlemen have to lose.”

  But although Kate took the money, sliding it down into the plunging neckline of her satin dress, she still persisted in trying to get him to give up his game. “You’re going to make yourself sick, Doc. Take a break and come walking with me. Trinidad’s not the place for a lady alone.”

  “Why, Kate! I’m surprised at you! Don’t you still have that derringer tucked up inside your garter? If anybody tries to give you trouble, you just give ‘em a little of what you’ve got between your legs!”

  He always found himself immensely amusing when he’d been drinking and playing cards. Hilarious, Morgan had called him, and he had to agree. But Kate seemed to think otherwise.

&nbs
p; “You’re disgusting. I don’t know why I stay with you.”

  “Then leave. But do so quickly, if you must. You’re ruinin’ my concentration on this fine hand of cards. Gentlemen, shall we play poker?”

  Kate stood beside him fuming a moment longer before sweeping out of the gaming room, her head held high and her aristocratic nose in the air, and her dramatic exit wasn’t lost on the other gamblers at John Henry’s table.

  Kid Colton, a scar-faced youngster who fancied himself another Billy the Kid, watched her with lusty young eyes and whistled in admiration. “That’s a helluva woman, Holliday! Are you her pimp? I got $50 here I’ll give you for a trick, if you’re running her business.”

  Kate heard his words from the doorway and turned back haughtily. “What did you say?” she demanded. “What did you call me?”

  “I said you’re a helluva woman. Asked Holliday if he’d take a fifty for you. But I’ll give it to you myself, if you’d rather. Don’t make no difference to me. Long as I get a good lay for it.”

  “How dare you!” she cried. “Doc, you’re not going to let him insult me like that, are you? You’re not going to let him insult you . . .”

  It was the personal insult, pointed out by Kate, that got John Henry’s ire. Calling a spade a spade was one thing. But calling a gentleman a pimp was not to be borne.

  He laid down his cards and said with a sigh, “Kid, you have put me in a difficult position. I’d rather keep beatin’ you at cards than have to shoot you, but unless you apologize to Miss Elder and myself . . .”

  “Apologize, hell! That was a damn good offer. The madams up on parlor hill don’t make any more on a trick than that!”

  “Then I shall have to challenge you to a duel in defense of Miss Elder’s honor and my own.” And as he rose to his feet, wobbly from a week of liquor, he waved his hand toward the other players at the table. “Gentlemen, may we have some room, please? Mr. Colton and I are about to have a duel . . .”

  “You’re crazy!” Kid Colton sneered, “crazy and drunk.”