THE CONVERSATION AROUND THE POKER table centered mostly on places they’d been and men they’d known. Bill Hickock, Bass Reeves, and Chris Madsen were mentioned. Someone asked Doc if he’d ever heard of a bounty man called Brennen.
“Why sure,” Holliday said in his soft Georgia drawl. “I knew Sam Brennen. I’ll see your two bits and raise ya four more, I recollect he worked a spell as a deputy for Wyatt back in Wichita.” The poker playing dentist wiped the sweat from his brow while studying the other card players around the table in the Birdcage Theater that warm afternoon. “He’s a quiet, peaceful enough man. In Wichita, he married a Dutch woman who had two children.”
“I heard he was a town-taming marshal,” one of the players said.
“Where was it, Sam got that town marshal job?” Doc asked himself absently. Then, as if he recalled, he shook his head to continue. “I recall it was some mining camp up in Colorado.”
“I’ll raise you four more,” said Judge Spicer.
“It’s a sorry day when an honest gambler can’t even buy a pot.” Doc folded his cards in disgust. “Someone said a bunch of drunk miners killed his whole family while he was gone.”
“Whose family, John?” Spicer asked.
“Sam Brennan’s,” Doc replied. “Pretty gory deal.”
“What happened then?” one of the players asked.
“Nobody knows, but I heard that he’s bounty hunting now with some mean squaw.” Doc twisted in his chair. “Wyatt?”
“What’s that Doc?” the Marshal asked from the bar.
“Where did Sam get that gun totin’ Injun bitch rides with him?”
“Search me.”
“She as mean as they say, Wyatt?”
“Well, them two rounded up a bunch of stage robbers in Colorado. Heard she blowed one old boy to hell an’ gone with a shotgun for reaching for his gun.” Wyatt said with a shake of his head. “She must be tough enough.”
“I heard that she was Natise’s daughter,” said Doc.
“Who knows who she is, but Sam Brennen has her riding along with him. I guess he’s got him a helluva outfit to collect them rewards,” Wyatt said, leaning back with his elbows on top of the bar.
Doc agreed then broke into coughing that he finally suppressed with a straight shot of whiskey before he spoke again. “He keeps on the move. Must still be looking for those old boys that kilt his family.” Doc began studying his new hand.
“You reckon he’s still doing that?” a player asked across the table.
“Can’t be sure, but if determination and an Indian squaw will help, I’d hate to be the ones he thought had done it,” Holliday said and folded.
“Doc, I’m going down to the OK Corral and check on my horse. He’s still lame,” Wyatt said, finishing his drink.
“Well by gawd, take these damn flies down there with you!”
“Them flies bringing you bad luck?” Earp frowned and acted amused.
“Ain’t won a damned hand all afternoon.”
Wyatt smiled and shook his head as he started for the front door. Under the shaded porch, he could still hear Doc coughing as he crossed the street. Where in the hell was Sam Brennen anyway?