FORT GRIFFIN, 1878
KATE MAY NOT HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT RINGO ANYMORE, BUT John Henry had an uncomfortable run-in with him one night after a long game of poker at the BeeHive Saloon when he found the cowboy lingering in the shadows outside the gambling hall.
“Looks like Katie’s got herself a damned lunger these days, the way you been coughing in there all night,” Ringo said, taunting. “Hope she don’t kill you off before I get a chance to do it myself. She’s a regular cyclone in the sheets.” Then he slipped a revolver from his pocket and gave the barrel a spin. “You stole what’s mine, Holliday, and I want it back.”
“I didn’t steal your woman, Ringo,” John Henry said contemptuously. “She came of her own accord. Not that a cow thief like you would understand such a thing.”
“I’d watch what I say, if I was you, or they’ll be more than one pistol drawing a bead. I got high-up friends in this town.”
“Is that a confession or a threat?” John Henry answered cooly, though his hand moved toward his own pistol pocket. He was sure he could beat a drunken cowboy in fast-draw, but had no desire to hang another murder on his conscience.
“Just call it a warning,” Ringo replied. “This here’s a hanging town for men who make trouble. Like you.”
For a moment, they stood staring each other down, pistols ready, until John Henry forced a laugh. “If you want Kate, why don’t you come ask her yourself? But I’d take a bath before you do. You reek of cow manure.”
Then he turned on his heel and walked down the center of the muddy street. If the cowboy wanted to take a shot at him, he’d have to do it plain sight.
Ringo didn’t bother him again, spending his time making trouble with the cattle ranchers of Shackleford County instead. Rumor had it that he and his friend Pony Diehl had thrown in with Hurricane Bill Martin’s gang of cow rustlers, making night raids on the local ranches and running off branded cattle. But although the rustlers were the ones doing the lawbreaking, they were just hirelings in the employ of the real outlaw of Shackleford County: former Sheriff John Larn.
The Vigilance Committee, the old law before there was law in Fort Griffin, suspected that Larn was behind the rustling as he was the only rancher in the county who wasn’t losing any of his own cattle to the rustlers, but until he made some move himself, there was little the vigilantes could do against him. The longer he succeeded in stealing from his neighbors, the more arrogant John Larn became, even handing out one-hundred dollar bills to men who’d lost their cattle to him. But he never got too brash to stop watching his back, and he started traveling with an armed guard whenever he went into town.
Larn didn’t drink much that anyone knew, and he rarely gambled, but when he did feel like taking in a game, he did his playing at the Beehive Saloon where his favorite henchman, Hurricane Bill, had an interest. John Henry had played against Larn at the Beehive a few times and found him to be a bad poker player but a good loser, which made him good company for a night of cards. Hurricane Bill, himself, had joined them on occasion, and the rustler duo made a comically ill-suited couple: John Larn in an expensive suit of clothes and fancy tooled leather boots, and Hurricane Bill in a matted buffalo hide coat to match his heavy matted beard. But on one warm summer evening, they were joined by an even odder looking pair of sports—Lottie Deno, the red-haired lady gambler and whorehouse madam, and a fidgety young man with a tangle of curly hair who was introduced as Billy Brocious.
“But we call him Curly Bill on account of his pretty hair,” Hurricane said as John Henry and Kate made their entrance. “Curly’s working with me and Mr. Larn these days.”
“That’s enough, Hurricane,” cautioned John Larn. “We don’t need to talk business in front of company. I’m sure the doctor has more interesting things on his mind than cattle ranching.”
“Would that be Doc Holliday?” the lady gambler said with a lift of a brow. “I believe Johnny Shaughnessey’s mentioned your name to me. And this must be the talented Miss Elder,” she added, giving Kate a generous smile. “I was disappointed to hear you’re not dancing anymore.”
“I’m with Doc now,” Kate replied. “He makes enough off the gambling for both of us, don’t you my love?”
“I do my best. But you are an expensive woman to keep, Miss Elder. I am often forced to desperate means to pay your bills.” And so saying, he reached a hand to his vest pocket, making the other players freeze in their places.
“Hold on, Doc!” Hurricane Bill said quickly, “you know there’s no weapons allowed in here!”
But John Henry laughed. “I’m not plannin’ to rob you fine gentlemen! I’d just like to ante into this game, if you’ll have me. I was only reachin’ for my money purse.” And as he pulled his hand from his vest, he opened it to show a wad of greenbacks. “How does two-hundred sound for starters? I think a healthy pot makes for a more interesting evenin’, don’t you? Five card draw, nothin’ wild, and no limit on the bets?”
Then he tossed the bills onto the table and noted with satisfaction that even wealthy cattleman John Larn seemed impressed.
“I hear you’re the best poker player in Texas, Dr. Holliday,” purred Lottie Deno, as John Henry settled himself between her and Hurricane. “Is that true?”
“No Ma’am, I don’t believe that’s true. I reckon I’m the best poker player in the whole Wild West. Kate darlin’, why don’t you make yourself comfortable? This may be a long evenin’.”
And by reply, Kate slowly dropped the lace shawl from her shoulders, showing off her figure in a low-cut satin dress, and letting the men have a good long look at her before taking a seat behind John Henry.
“Hell, Holliday!” Curly Bill Brocious said, letting out a wolf whistle. “Your woman’s looking damn fine tonight!”
“Keep your trousers on, Curly,” Hurricane Bill warned, “this is just poker tonight. Deal the cards, Lottie. I’m running out of time to beat you at this game.”
“Oh, you’ll never beat me,” Lottie said with a smile. “I cheat, remember?”
But though Lottie Deno claimed to be playing a crooked game, John Henry somehow kept coming up with good cards himself, like the straight flush and the full house he took an hour later. And if he hadn’t known better, he might have thought that Lottie was purposefully dealing him better hands than she was giving the other men who were soon played out of the game.
“Although losing to you is always a pleasure,” Larn told Lottie as he bent to kiss her cheek after throwing in his last losing hand.
“You’re a fool with your money, Larn,” Hurricane Bill complained. “If you want to give your winnings to a whore, you might as well get some whoring for it.”
“I would, if I weren’t such a faithful married man,” Larn replied. “Not that you’d understand the concept of fidelity, Hurricane, being married to a whore yourself.”
“Save your piety for the preacher. Everybody in the county knows you been sweet on Lottie Deno for years. I’ll bet your wife wondered why you laid out your flower garden in the shape of playing cards. Did you know about that, Lottie? He even put a queen of hearts in the middle, just for you.”
And something almost like a blush ran over John Larn’s handsome face when Lottie smiled up at him.
“Did you really, Sheriff? How very sentimental of you! I’ll have to think of you from now on whenever I play the red queen.”
But Larn had quickly regained his composure and he glared at Hurricane Bill. “I should have let the Vigilance Committee have you last time they came looking around. Good night, Lottie. Mr. Martin and I have some ranching to do. Come along, Billy.”
“Interesting man,” John Henry said when Larn and his bodyguards had left the saloon. “Do you reckon he really planted a flower garden in the shape of playing cards?”
“Sure he did,” Lottie replied. “It’s famous in these parts. I rode out to take a look at it myself when he wasn’t around. There’s a queen of hearts in the middle of it, all right, though I didn’t know he put it there for me. But I’m not much of a flower lover. Flowers always die sooner or later.” Then she collected the scattered cards and ruffled them expertly, “So I guess this leaves just you and me now. Mind if I deal?”
“As a matter of fact, I do, Miss Deno. The other gentlemen may not have noticed you palmin’ a card or two, but I did. If you were a man, I’d have had to shoot you for cheatin’. So why don’t we start this hand with a fresh deck, and let Miss Elder deal for us? Kate, open up that pack of playin’ cards I bought just today, will you?”
“Now Doc,” Lottie said disappointedly, “you don’t really expect me to fall for that old game, do you? Even I’ve resealed a marked deck and pretended it was new!”
“Have you indeed, Miss Deno? Then you’re a worse cheat than I thought you were.”
“And I’d say that makes us two of a kind.”
“Well then,” John Henry said with a slow smile, “it appears we are at an impasse. Neither one of us can be trusted to play square. However are we going to finish this game? I don’t think I can let you just walk away with all that money of mine.” Lottie’s winnings were piled high on the table in front of her, cash and chips and several notes for credit at the local bank.
“Why don’t we let this hand decide it?” Lottie said. “Your mistress can deal, and you can pretend not to notice if I palm a card. That way, we can both do a little cheating and still be playing fair with each other.”
Kate opened the sealed deck of carefully marked cards and shuffled and dealt them as John Henry had taught her to: three jacks to him, his favorite hand, and a couple of high cards to Lottie. The high pair gave the competition a sense of security, but his three of a kind was enough to win most games and could turn into a full house or even four of a kind on a lucky draw. But though he knew that Kate had given Lottie a high pair, he didn’t know for sure what kind they were. Even when he cheated, he liked to have some element of chance left in the game. That was what made gambling a thrill, after all.
But Lottie Deno was a cool player as she opened with that pairaces, John Henry figured, from the fact that she wagered so high. Unless she was bluffing, of course. It was hard to tell, her being a woman and not the kind of competition he was used to. He could read most men, but Lottie Deno seemed inscrutable, and maybe even unbeatable, until the wagering ended and he called.
As Lottie laid her cards face up on the table, John Henry let out a whistle. She had two pair, all right, just as he’d thought, but what a two pair hand she had: Aces and eights and a queen kicker.
“The Deadman’s Hand!” he said with admiration. “Wild Bill Hickok’s last play. I’m surprised you had the nerve to keep it, Lottie. They say no man has ever left that hand alive.”
“But I’m not a man, as you may have noticed. And how about your own hand?”
“It’s not as impressive,” he said, turning his cards over, “but it beats your two pair, anyhow: three-of-a kind jacks.”
But Lottie smiled as if she were the real winner. “Well, at least I can say I lost to the best card player in the whole Wild West! Though I have a confession to make. Those chips of mine can’t be cashed in, not here in the saloon, at least. I’m afraid I’ve left my handbag at home tonight. Hurricane gave me the chips on credit, at Mr. Larn’s request.”
“Then I suppose I can carry your credit, too,” John Henry said, “though I usually like to collect my winnin’s directly.”
“But I’m not asking you to carry me,” Lottie said. “I’ve got the money at my house, if you’d just walk me down there. Do you mind loaning him out for a bit, Miss Elder? You know what my part of town is like, not safe for a woman walking alone.”
“I suppose I don’t mind,” Kate replied, as she pulled the last of the cash into her velvet handbag. “Doc’s taught me how to use a knife as well as how to deal the cards. I ought to be able to get back to the hotel without losing all our money.” Then she stood and gave John Henry one long, lingering kiss. “Just don’t take too long, my love,” she said in that sultry Hungarian voice of hers. “You know how I hate to go to bed alone.”
Lottie lived at the end of the main street of town, down by the banks of the Clear Fork of the Brazos where the prostitutes had their shanties, though her house was nicer than the rest. It was built of white-washed pickets, willow timbers laid side by side and bound together to make boards for the walls.
“I’d never seen a willow picket house before I came to Fort Griffin,” Lottie said, as she stood on the doorstep in the thin midnight light, her dyed red hair looking a little less garish in the darkness. “But it makes a nice, comfortable home, and I do like my customers to be comfortable. I suppose that’s why I do so well here. Men know they can always have a nice time at Lottie’s place.”
“You said you had the money?” John Henry asked, feeling uncomfortably conspicuous standing on the front step of Lottie Deno’s brothel. He knew plenty of men who were regular customers at the houses of prostitution down by the river, but he’d never had the need to venture into that part of town before. Shaughnessey’s girls had always been happy to offer, and now that he had Kate for company, he didn’t need to go looking for amusement.
“What I meant is, I can pay you what I owe you here,” Lottie replied. “But as I’m a little low on cash right now, I was hoping maybe you’d accept something in trade.”
“In trade?”
“I’m talking about a business transaction, Doc,” Lottie said coolly. “You come in and let me work off my debt. Prostitution is my business, after all. Why not let me give you some of what I sell in payment for my debt? I promise you’ll be satisfied with the arrangement.”
“You mean sleep with one of your girls and forget the money?” he said in surprise.
“Not one of my girls, Doc,” Lottie said with a friendly smile. “Spend the night with me, and call my poker debt even.”
But when he hesitated, she put her hand on his arm and looked up into his face. “What’s the matter, Doc? You’re not married to that Elder woman, are you?”
And John Henry thought of Kate, back in their hotel room counting up his gambling winnings and drinking the liquor his gambling money bought. Then he touched the gold Claddagh ring on his little finger, and he said softly:
“No, I’m not married to Kate.”
“Well then, will you accept my payment?”
And when Lottie smiled and reached her hand out to his, he took it, and followed her inside.
It was the sound of screaming down by the river that woke him in the early hours of the dawn, long after he and Lottie had finished settling her gambling debt. She’d been as good as her word about paying off to his satisfaction, and he was deep asleep in her comfortable bed when the noise began, a terrified wailing that sounded more animal than human.
“What the hell?” he said, rolling over and reaching for his revolver on the night stand, his reflexes amazingly quick for a man who hadn’t had much rest.
“A hanging, I expect,” Lottie replied, as she pulled the sheet around her nakedness and climbed out of bed, peering through the curtain at the window. “The vigilantes like to leave us a man for breakfast every morning, strung up in the trees there by the river. They’re hanging the wrong men, though, if you ask me, just poor cowboys. It’s John Larn who deserves to be strangled. He’s the one who’s behind it all.”
“I thought Larn was a friend of yours,” John Henry said, rolling back over and laying his pistol down.
“I’m friends with any man who loses a game of poker to me.”
“And what about me? I beat you.”
“Oh, you only thought you beat me, Doc. I still had an Ace up my sleeve, if I’d wanted to play it.”
“You mean you let me win?” he asked, puzzled. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“Well, honey,” she said, lying back down beside him and running her hand over the fair hair on his bare chest. “I figured that was the only way I’d ever get you into my bed. I took a liking to you the minute you walked into that saloon last night. And why shouldn’t I have some fun myself from time to time?”
“You are a bad woman, Lottie Deno!”
“I know I am,” she replied, “but at least I’m good at being bad!”
“You are that,” he agreed, remembering how much he’d enjoyed collecting on that debt. “It’s a shame we’ve settled up already.”
“We can always cut the cards again. I’ve got time for another quick go ‘round, if you’re feeling ready to ante up.”
And if he hadn’t started into a fit of morning coughing just then, he might have taken her up on the offer. But it was a few minutes before he could even catch his breath, and by then, Lottie was looking more concerned than amorous.
“That’s a bad cough, Doc. Have you seen a doctor about it?”
“Sure, I’ve seen a doctor. He told me to try a dryer climate. So I went to the Staked Plains and dried out.”
“You’ve got the consumption? That’s a shame, Doc, that’s a real shame. I’ll probably die of some social disease myself, if I don’t die in childbirth first. Though I’ve done fine in that department so far.”
“You have children?” he asked in surprise, though the news shouldn’t have startled him too much. Prostitutes were always getting pregnant by their customers and having babies who would never know their fathers. The west was littered with illegitimate children and their working-girl mothers. But he didn’t picture Lottie Deno being in that situation. “So where are they?”
“Far away from here, you can bet. No baby of mine is ever going to know what his mother does for a living. That’s why I work as hard as I do, so I can have enough to send to them and something left over for me, as well. So now you know my secret, Doc. Do you still think I’m a bad woman?”
“No,” he replied, suddenly seeing Lottie in a softer kind of light. “I think you’re a real nice woman. No wonder John Larn has such a fancy for you.”
“John Larn . . .” she said on a sigh, sitting up and shaking out her tangled red hair. “He did come to me once, right after I moved here. I think he’d had a big row with his wife, and figured he was losing her anyway. We had a good time together, that once. It might have even been his baby boy I had awhile later—he was a real pretty baby. But there’s no telling, working the line the way I do. I like to think that maybe he was John Larn’s, though. The queen of hearts,” she said wistfully, “what do you think of that?”
“I think you’re a queen, all right, Lottie,” he said, pulling her back to him. But before he could do more than hold her close, the bedroom door flew open. Kate was standing in the doorway, her face wild with anger and the Hell-Bitch in her upraised hand.
“Come away from her!” she said in a fury. “Come away, or I’ll cut her open!”
“Why, Kate, whatever are you doing with that blade?” John Henry asked in surprise, though he was less startled by the weapon than by Kate’s sudden appearance in Lottie Deno’s brothel.
“How could you do this?” she demanded. “You know she’s Shaughnessey’s woman. I thought Shaughnessey was your friend!”
“Shaughnessey knows what I do for a living,” Lottie said, pulling the sheet back around her. “It’s none of his business who I do it with.”
“We were just settlin’ our gambling debt,” John Henry explained. “Miss Deno got herself in a little deeper than she planned.”
“Oh, I think it’s you that got in deep, Doc!” Lottie said with a bawdy laugh, and Kate screamed and rushed at her.
“Whore! I’ll kill you!”
But when she raised her hand to strike at Lottie, John Henry grabbed his revolver and leveled it at her.
“Don’t make me shoot you, Kate. This isn’t worth dyin’ over.” And when he cocked the pistol with a click of the hammer, Kate froze in her steps.
“Would you really kill me?”
“Not if you behave yourself and give me that knife. Come now, Kate. You can’t beat a bullet, can you?”
And slowly, Kate’s arm fell back to her side, the huge knife clattering onto the wooden floor.
“I thought you said you weren’t married, Doc,” Lottie commented, as she slid off the bed and pulled on a dressing gown. “But she sure looks like a jealous wife to me.”
“Why don’t you give us a moment here alone?” he asked her.
“Sure, Doc. Just don’t let her kill you in my house, all right? I’ve got customers coming in pretty soon.”
“There now, Kate,” John Henry said evenly, after Lottie had closed the door. “It’s all over now. Shaughnessey doesn’t ever need to know . . .”
But Kate turned to him with sudden tears in her eyes.
“I don’t care about Shaughnessey!” she cried. “I care about you! How could you do this? How could you do this to me?”
“This had nothing to do with you. I was just collectin’ on a gambling debt, like I said . . .”
“But why this way? Don’t I give you what you need? Aren’t I a good enough lover to you? Why did you have to go to someone else’s bed?” Then she sat down beside him and said with surprising passion: “Love me, Doc! Make love to me!”
“I’m tired,” he said, turning away from her and reaching for his clothes. “I want to go home.”
But Kate was already unfastening the buttons on the bodice of her dress, and she reached for his hands and pulled him toward her.
“Love me!” she said hungrily. “I need you to love me!”
And feeling the softness of her skin under his fingers, John Henry felt the urgency rising up in himself.
“Kate,” he said hoarsely, “I don’t want to do this here. Not in Lottie’s bed . . .”
But Kate was laughing as she lay down and pulled him to her.
“Yes, in Lottie’s bed!” she said. “I want you to remember me in Lottie’s bed! I want you to remember me . . .”
And after they had finished making love and had walked back to their hotel through the early morning quiet of Fort Griffin Flat, Kate was as cool and calm as if nothing had ever happened at all.
A man for breakfast, Lottie had called the vigilante lynchings down by the banks of the Clear Fork. There weren’t enough sturdy trees for hangings anywhere else in that dry cattle country, so the pecans along the riverbank became a kind of public gallows for the Vigilance Committee. And though it wasn’t every morning, there were still so many bodies swinging from those shady branches that Fort Griffin was getting a reputation as a hanging town.
But in spite of the vigilante’s efforts, the cattle rustling in Shackleford County went on, drawing in more and more cowboy drifters looking for a way to make a fast dollar. The local law couldn’t seem to do anything to stop the rustling either, as newly appointed Sheriff Bill Cruger had his hands full just keeping the gambling dens of Fort Griffin under control. Whenever the cowboys got bored out on the range, they came in to run the town, gambling away their wages and shooting up the saloons. John Henry even saw Johnny Ringo in town a time or two with his friends from Hurricane Bill’s gang. But Ringo always seemed more interested in getting drunk than in looking up the woman he’d spent a few weeks with at Shaughnessey’s Saloon.
Shaughnessey’s was still John Henry’s headquarters, in spite of the fact that he got uncomfortable whenever the Irishman mentioned Lottie Deno’s name. It might not be any of Shaughnessey’s business who Lottie slept with, but John Henry couldn’t forget Kate’s angry accusation. Shaughnessey was the first friend he’d made in Fort Griffin and had saved his life once, and he owed the Irishman some kind of loyalty, at least. Sleeping with Lottie had been a mistake and he didn’t mean to repeat it.
He was in Shaughnessey’s dance hall one cool November afternoon, having a drink and taking in the show before going back to his hotel to get ready for a night of cards, when the Irishman motioned to him from his office behind the long walnut bar.
“Doc, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet, an old friend of mine from my boxing days. He’s here looking for a job, and I thought maybe you could help him to find one.”
“Why me? I’m not lookin’ to hire anyone.”
“He’s after a law job,” Shaughnessey said with a wink, “and I told him you know more about the law around here than anybody else!”
“Very amusin’. And where is this friend of yours?”
“He’s right over there,” Shaughnessey said, “the big fellow at the far end of the bar,” and he nodded toward a tall man in a long white duster coat, his flat-brimmed hat pulled down low over his eyes. “His name’s Wyatt Earp. Why don’t you go on over and introduce yourself?”
But John Henry lingered a moment, thinking that he might just finish his whiskey and leave without bothering to meet the man at all. Kate was waiting for him at the hotel and he ought to get back to her. She hadn’t been feeling well lately, with a sick stomach and edgy nerves, and she didn’t like to be left alone too long. Then he sighed and threw back the rest of his drink. He owed Shaughnessey, after all.
“Mr. Earp?” he said as he took a place beside the man at the bar, but before he could introduce himself, he started into a fierce fit of coughing. Finishing a drink too fast always started him off like that; usually he just sipped at his liquor, letting it go down slow. He grabbed the handkerchief from his vest pocket and coughed hard into it, then folded it quickly to hide the red-flecked sputum that stained the cloth.
“That’s a bad cough,” Wyatt Earp observed. “You a Lunger?”
“For the time bein’,” John Henry replied, clearing his throat and pushing the handkerchief back into his pocket. “I reckon I’ll get over it, sooner or later.”
“Oh? I thought the consumption was fatal,” Earp said, and John Henry sighed—the man obviously had no appreciation for sarcasm.
What he did have was the broad-shouldered, hard-muscled look of a man who’d spent a lifetime on the frontier. His face was square-jawed and tanned, his hair and heavy mustache a russet-gold, making him seem like a big mountain lion, poised and powerful. A man’s man, John Henry thought enviously, and probably a lady’s man, too.
“You Doc Holliday?” Earp asked, as he took off his hat and pulled a cigar from his coat pocket, lighting it and taking a long, deliberate draw. “I seem to remember that surname on a poster from Pinkerton’s Detective Agency. Wasn’t the army chasing after you awhile back?”
“I had some trouble with the law at one time. Why? Are you plannin’ to arrest me?”
“Not today,” Earp replied, letting out a slow cloud of cigar smoke and a familiar aroma of some Havanna blend, “there’s no money in it. The army’s got a short memory where Buffalo Soldiers are concerned.”
The conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn, and John Henry quickly changed the subject away from himself. “That’s an interestin’ name you’ve got, Mr. Earp. Are you a Southern man?”
“Hell, no. I was born in Illinois. My brothers fought for the Union. I would have too, if I’d been old enough to fight. Why do you ask?”
“I knew of some Earps back home in Georgia. It’s not a common name. I thought maybe you were kin to them: Daniel Earp and his wife Obedience?”
“Daniel Earp?” Wyatt repeated. “There was a Daniel in the family, my father’s older brother. I haven’t heard of him since before the War.”
“Well, I reckon you wouldn’t have, bein’ a Union man,” John Henry drawled. Then he added with a smile. “Daniel Earp was the biggest slave trader in Griffin, Georgia. Which may come as hard news to your Yankee family.”
“Do you think you’re funny, Holliday?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, I don’t,” Wyatt Earp said disdainfully. “But Shaughnessey says you’re the man to talk to about the lay of things around here. He says you play cards with everybody in town, so maybe you can give me the lead I’m looking for. I came down here trailing some rustled cattle, but it seems those beeves have already been sold to market. Now I’m looking for another job. I figured maybe your sheriff here could use a little help fighting the rustlers. I’m good at handling cowboys.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Earp. It’s not Sheriff Cruger who’s taking care of the rustlers. It’s the Old Law Mob, and they won’t be asking for help from a stranger like you.”
“The Old Law Mob?”
“The local Vigilance Committee. They’ve been around since before there was any real law in this county, even before the military came in. They’re old Shackleford County boys who don’t trust anyone but themselves. You try to break into the vigilantes, and they’ll string you up right along with the rustlers.”
“And if they’re so tough, why haven’t they got this county cleaned out yet?”
“They’re chasin’ the wrong men,” John Henry said, repeating Lottie’s words. “Until they get the rustler boss, the cattle thievin’ won’t stop.”
“And who’s this rustler boss?” Earp asked, giving him a steady blue-eyed stare. “I get the feeling you know something about him.”
“I do,” John Henry replied, “but my life wouldn’t be worth very much around here if I told you who he was. You’d best just leave it alone, Mr. Earp, and look for a job somewhere else. The Vigilance Committee won’t take you, and Sheriff Cruger doesn’t have the goods to bring the rustlers in.”
“And suppose I find out for myself who’s behind the rustling and bring him to justice? I guess the county might be so grateful, they’d make me sheriff.”
“You dream big, Mr. Earp!” John Henry said with a laugh.
“I do, for a fact,” Wyatt Earp agreed without a trace of brag about it. “I’ve been a deputy in all the cowtowns: Ellsworth, Wichita, Dodge City. Summer work, mostly, during the cattle season. But that kind of lawing doesn’t pay, not like being a county sheriff pays. I figure I just need to find the right county and make myself known. So how ‘bout we make deal, Holliday?”
“Such as?”
“You put me in touch with somebody who’s willing to talk, and I’ll pay you a reward once I get made sheriff. And nobody will ever know I got the lead from you. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds suspicious,” John Henry answered. “Why would a lawman like you trust an outlaw like me, anyhow?”
“We’ve all done things we regret,” Wyatt said with a shrug. “Your past doesn’t concern me too much.”
“And why should I trust you? What if you get drunk some night and mention to the wrong people that you got your information from me? It could shorten my already short life.”
“I’m not much of a drinker,” Wyatt Earp replied, “nor much of a talker, neither.” He paused and looked into his glass. “Laconic, my folks called me—that means spare on words.”
“I know what it means,” John Henry said. “I just want to make sure you stay that way as long as you’re in Fort Griffin.”
“So, what do you say about my offer, Doc? Can we deal?”
While he waited for an answer, Earp took another draw on his cigar and blew out another cloud of smoke, and John Henry realized where he’d smelled that kind of tobacco before: it was the same Havanna his father had smoked, an aroma that brought back too many memories. He was about to turn Wyatt Earp down when he remembered the debt he owed to Shaughnessey, and reconsidered.
“All right,” he said, “I reckon you’ve got yourself a partner, Wyatt Earp.”
“Good,” Wyatt replied with a quick flash of a smile against his frontier tan. Then, as he put out his hand to shake on the deal, he added: “Oh, and tell Katie I said hello.”
“Katie?” John Henry asked in surprise. “You know Kate?”
“I knew a little Hungarian pistol who called herself Katie Elder back in Wichita when I was lawing there. She worked in my sister-in-law Bessie’s brothel for awhile.”
He was less surprised by the news of Kate’s Wichita career than he was by Wyatt Earp’s family connection to it. “Your sister-in-law ran a bordello? Didn’t that put you in a compromisin’ position, being a lawman?”
“Not much. Bessie ran a good place and paid her fines regular. I figured the house was her business, hers and Jim’s. Besides, having a brothel in the family had its benefits. I met my wife there.”
“You married a girl on the line?” John Henry asked in surprise. Marrying a woman of negotiable virtue seemed to him like a needless thing to do. Why buy the cow, folks always said, when the milk was free—or cheap, anyhow? Not that Kate didn’t cost him some money with her expensive gowns and extravagant taste, but at least he wasn’t tied to her the way he’d be tied to a wife. They were both free to pack up and leave anytime either one of them got tired of their living arrangement.
“We’re not married exactly,” Wyatt explained. “I didn’t sign anything legal. But Celia Ann knows how things are with me. She knows I don’t plan on ever taking a marriage vow again . . .”
Wyatt stopped in mid-sentence as if he suddenly realized he’d revealed too much of himself, and for a moment his eyes were unguarded, filled with pain, and John Henry felt he’d had a glimpse of the man behind the brave facade. Wyatt had lost someone, too, he sensed, and carried the pain of that loss as John Henry carried the pain of losing Mattie. Then Wyatt’s eyes shaded again, closing over the emotion. A man’s man, all right, John Henry thought—the kind of man he wished that he could be.
“Why don’t you have Katie come by the hotel,” Wyatt went on after that momentary pause. “I’m sure Celia would enjoy a visit from her. The two of them used to be friendly back in Wichita.”
“I think Kate might like that.”
“So Doc, are you really as good as they say you are with the cards?”
“Why don’t you join me for a game tonight, and find out for yourself? I’ll be down at the Beehive Saloon where all the rustlers play.”
“The Beehive? I think I’d like to meet some of those card players.”
“Oh, speakin’ of that,” John Henry said almost casually, “there is one rustler in particular I’d like to see run out of this county, if you happen to come across him some dark night. His name is Johnny Ringo.”
“Ringo,” Wyatt repeated. “I’ll keep that in mind, Doc.”
“I met an interestin’ man today,” John Henry told Kate when he got back to their room at the Planter’s Hotel. Kate had been taking one of her afternoon naps, but she woke with a lazy yawn when she saw him.
“Who’s that?” she asked, stretching languidly.
“He’s a lawman from Kansas,” John Henry replied, as he pulled off his jacket and vest and poured wash water into a china bowl on the dressing table. “He wants me to help him with a law job here in Fort Griffin.”
“You?” Kate asked, reaching for the lady’s magazine she’d been reading before falling asleep. “Why should you help a lawman? The law’s no friend of yours, is it?”
“Not generally. But there’s something about this particular lawman— he seems like a man you could trust. And it didn’t seem to bother him that I’ve had some troubles with the law myself. He seems accepting, somehow, open-minded . . .”
He stopped a moment and looked at his reflection in the mirror over the dressing table and had the sudden notion that with his sandy blond hair and mustache and his clear blue eyes, he looked like a smaller, thinner version of Wyatt Earp himself. Then he shook his head and said with a laugh, “Imagine that; me having a lawman for a friend!”
“Friend?” Kate said in surprise. “What are you talking about? You don’t even know this man.”
“I knew some of his family back in Georgia. His uncle lived in Griffin when I was growing up there. And I hear he’s an acquaintance of yours, as well. His name is Wyatt Earp.”
And looking back into the mirror, he saw a sudden movement behind him as Kate dropped her magazine and stared at him.
“What did you say?”
“I said I met your friend Wyatt Earp today,” he repeated, wondering why Kate always seemed so jumpy these days. “He says he knew you in Wichita.”
“Wyatt Earp is no friend of mine! He’s no friend to anyone but himself! He had a hard reputation around Kansas . . .”
“Well, he’s gonna need a hard reputation around here,” John Henry said, drying his hands and pulling a fresh linen shirt from the dressing table drawer. “He’s got big plans for himself, cleanin’ up the county and gettin’ himself elected sheriff for it. But if anybody can do it, I reckon he can.”
Kate said with a sarcastic laugh, “And while he was telling you all his brave plans, did he happen to mention that he was dismissed from the Wichita police for roughing up his prisoners?”
“Is that right?” John Henry asked, giving her a questioning gaze. “And is that how you knew him, Kate? Did he arrest you for whoring?”
“No,” she said quietly, looking away. “He didn’t arrest me.”
“Then what gives you the right to judge him, anyhow? I should think you’d be pleased to have me find a friend with any redeeming qualities at all. Johnny Shaughnessey aside, most of the men I know would as soon kill me as lose a game of cards to me. And speaking of that, Earp and I will be goin’ out to play some poker together tonight, if you’d like to come along.”
It was the first time since they’d taken up together that he hadn’t just assumed Kate would be his companion for the evening, and she said bitterly:
“Why should I? You’ve got a new friend now, don’t you? What do you need me for?”
And John Henry, bewildered by Kate’s sudden belligerence and a little hurt as well, snapped back at her. “I need you for the same thing I always have, Kate. But if you’d rather not be accommodating, I reckon I can always get what I need down at Lottie Deno’s place. She seemed happy enough to have me in her bed.”
For a moment, Kate looked up at him with a hot Hungarian pride in her eyes. Then she took a long breath and said in that sultry voice of hers, “You don’t need to go back to Lottie, my love. Whatever you want, you can get right here from me,” and she lay back on the bed, waiting for him to come to her.
But John Henry wasn’t interested in making love just then, and pretended not to notice Kate’s willingness as he pulled writing paper and a pen from the dressing table.
“What are you doing?” she asked in surprise.
“I’m writin’ a letter. I think my cousin will be interested in hearing about my day, even if you’re not.”
“Your cousin?” Kate said with a haughty laugh. “Well, tell him hello from me!”
He ignored Kate’s contemptuous comment as he sat down at the small table in front of the long windows that looked out over raucous, rowdy Fort Griffin, and began writing:
My Very Dearest Mattie,
Do you remember that summer Sunday back in ‘72 when Aunt Permelia made us all a picnic at the Ponce de Leon Springs? You asked me then if I needed a hero, and I said I guessed that I did. Well today, I think I may have finally found a real one. His name is Wyatt Earp.
The night of cards with the Kansas lawman turned out to be two weeks of nightly card games, and John Henry got to know a lot about Wyatt Earp, though getting Wyatt to talk about himself wasn’t an easy thing to do. He was laconic, all right, and surprisingly shy, as well, which seemed funny for a man as brave and daring as he was. Even his mannerisms seemed on the shy side, the way he hunched his shoulders in his big duster coat and pulled his hat so low down on his face that his eyes were always half-hidden in shadow, keeping himself to himself. But Wyatt was a man of action, not a man of words, and he’d lived the kind of adventurous life that most men only dreamed of.
He was born on an Illinois farm, the son of a Mexican War veteran and named after his father’s commanding officer, a fighting man named Wyatt Berry Stapp. It was a big name to hang on a little boy, but young Wyatt Berry Stapp Earp soon proved equal to it, growing tall and strong as his family moved on from Illinois to Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, and finally across the plains to California. And by the time Wyatt was eighteen-years-old, he was on his own and working his way back across the country again, driving freight wagons over the mountains from California and laying rails for the Union Pacific Railroad across the Wyoming wilderness. He settled for a time in Missouri, taking a job as a constable in the little town of Lamar, but settling down didn’t seem to suit him, and soon he was off again, hunting buffalo on the great plains, guarding stage coaches of gold bullion out of the mines of the Black Hills, and controlling rowdy cowboys in the cowtowns of Kansas. He’d done just about everything there was to do in those wild western territories, and done it all well enough to live to tell the story. And the more John Henry heard of Wyatt’s life, the more sure he was that he’d finally found himself a real American hero.
But hero or not, Wyatt couldn’t seem to catch the trail of the Shack-leford County rustlers, and after two fruitless weeks in Fort Griffin, he packed up and headed east to Fort Worth. They were hiring police officers there, he’d heard, and until his summer hitch in Dodge City started up again, he needed a paying job. John Henry could have given Wyatt a break and told him who the rustler boss was, but John Larn wasn’t a man to cross. If John Henry divulged what he knew about the rustlers, his own life would be on the line, and he already had enough trouble to worry about. It seemed his card playing fame had spread from Fort Griffin all the way back to Dallas, where the local law heard of it and sent a warrant out for his arrest on the old gambling indictments.
It was Sheriff Bill Cruger who brought the warrant, though he was sorry to have to do it.
“I got no quarrel with you, Doc,” he said apologetically, as he stood in the doorway of John Henry’s room at the Planter’s Hotel. “But the law’s the law, and I got to honor this warrant. I’m afraid I got to take you in and send you back to Dallas to stand trial.”
“But it’s just a gamblin’ charge, Sheriff,” John Henry argued amiably, “surely you don’t intend to inconvenience us both over such a triflin’ matter!”
“Got to, though where the hell I’m going to put you until the next stage leaves for Dallas, I don’t know. The jailhouse at Albany is already full, and so’s the guardhouse up at the Fort.”
It was clear that the Sheriff wasn’t going to shirk his duty and ignore the papers from the Dallas County court, and John Henry knew better than to try to offer the county’s leading lawman a bribe. But maybe there was another way to avoid going back to Dallas . . .
“Tell you what, Sheriff, why don’t you put me under house arrest right here in the hotel? That’ll keep you from overfillin’ your jail, and give me a chance to pack up and get ready for the ride to Dallas. It’ll take me awhile to get my dental equipment put together, and I don’t dare leave it here unsupervised while I’m gone. I’m gonna need it when I get back to take care of that bad tooth of yours. I wouldn’t want you to start hurtin’ again like you were last week . . .”
It was an obvious play, but the only one he could think of on such short notice. Sheriff Crueger had been mighty grateful when John Henry had opened up that badly decayed tooth and taken out the throbbing, rotting nerve. And by the way the sheriff winced at the reminder of it, John Henry could tell that he still remembered the pain.
“Guess you’re right, Doc,” Sheriff Cruger said, rubbing his jaw at the memory. “I guess I could leave you here with one of my deputies to guard the door. I’d hate for you to lose anything valuable just to make a court date.”
“Why, that’s real kind of you, Sheriff,” John Henry drawled in his most gentlemanly manner, “and I’ll be sure to have myself ready in time to catch the stage.” Of course, the stage had other destinations besides Dallas, and it would be easy enough to change his itinerary once he got out of Fort Griffin . . .
“Oh, I know you’ll be on time, Doc,” Sheriff Cruger said in parting, “’cause I’ll have my deputy take you to Dallas himself. Just in case you forget the way.”
And before John Henry could think of another ploy to avoid being sent back to Dallas to stand trial again, he had an armed deputy posted at his door and another in the lobby of the hotel.
Kate had missed all the excitement of John Henry’s arrest, as she had spent the afternoon up at the military fort on the hill seeing the post doctor. After weeks of being sick at her stomach, she still wasn’t getting any better, and the usual remedies of liquor-laced elixirs only made her feel worse. So when she took a notion to try the post doctor for a cure, John Henry had been more than happy to pay for the visit. Kate’s illness had taken its toll on their lovemaking, and if she didn’t get well soon, he’d have to find himself another mistress.
“And where am I supposed to go while you keep Dr. Holliday incarcerated?” she demanded of the deputy at the door when she returned. “This is my room, too! All of my things are here.”
“Sorry, Ma’am,” the deputy apologized, cowering some before her haughty tirade. “I only got orders to keep the Doc here. Sheriff Cruger never said nothing about a lady being allowed in.”
But Kate wasn’t accepting any apologies, and she swore at the man in a most unladylike fashion. “You damned fool! Step aside at once, and let me in!”
“No, Ma’am,” the deputy replied. “Like I said, I’m real sorry for the trouble, but ain’t nobody going in or out of this room until I take the Doc down to the stage tomorrow morning. Sheriff says I got to take him to Dallas for trial, and that’s what I’m going to do.” He was a young deputy, still a little awestruck by the badge he was wearing, and firmly committed to honoring his appointment.
“You’re taking him to Dallas?” Kate asked, startled for a moment out of her rage. “I thought you worked for the county sheriff.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I do. But seems like Dallas has a long record on the Doc, and now they’re after him for skipping town on a gambling charge. The way I hear it from Sheriff Cruger, the Dallas law don’t forget too easy, and they’re planning on making an example of him this time. Maybe even give him some jail time instead of just a fine like they usually give for gambling. I guess Dallas is getting real cosmopolitan these days, trying to clean up the streets.”
“Well, they can start by cleaning out their courthouse!” Kate fumed. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let them put him behind bars again!” and if John Henry hadn’t come to the door at that moment, Kate’s anger might have ruined the plan that he was formulating.
“Why, Kate darlin’,” he drawled, “has the deputy here done somethin’ to offend you?”
“The deputy is exceedingly offensive! He won’t let me into our room. He says he’s keeping you locked up here alone until the stage leaves for Dallas.”
“I am sorry, Kate, but that’s the arrangement I made with Sheriff Cruger. House arrest seemed preferable to spendin’ the night in jail.”
“And where am I supposed to go?” she demanded again. “Where am I supposed to sleep? And what of my clothes? Am I to be turned out into the street?”
John Henry sighed and nodded to the deputy. “Might you let Miss Elder come into my room for just a moment? Perhaps, if she could just put a few things together, get a change of clothing? You can examine her bags if you like. She’ll just have a dress or two, a corset and shimmy and pantalettes . . .”
And as John Henry had hoped, the young deputy turned crimson with embarrassment at the mention of women’s underpinnings, and he sputtered: “No, Sir! That won’t be necessary! I won’t need to look into her bags! You go right ahead, Ma’am, and get your clothes and . . . and . . . things . . .”
He couldn’t even finish his sentence, for blushing so badly, and Kate smiled triumphantly as she swept past him into the room.
John Henry winked at the guard as he pulled the door closed behind Kate. “You know how women are, don’t you deputy?” he said in a confidential tone, though it was clear the deputy was thankfully an innocent still. A more experienced man wouldn’t have been so distracted by the thought of a lady’s scanties, and would have supervised the visit to make sure his prisoner didn’t do anything suspect. But the young deputy stood in embarrassed silence outside the door, while John Henry grabbed Kate by the shoulders and spoke in hushed and hurried sentences. He had one last, desperate plan of how to get himself out of Fort Griffin before the stage left for Dallas, and it was going to be up to Kate to work it out.
It was three in the morning when the fire-alarm sounded, rousing everyone in Fort Griffin. A fire in a town made of picket houses and board-front stores could mean disaster unless enough water could be carried up from the river to put out the blaze before it spread. When the fire-alarm bell was rung, everybody in town was expected to come running, and that’s what they were doing, pouring out of the saloons and bawdy houses and forming a bucket line that reached down the main street of town all the way to the Clear Fork of the Brazos River.
The only person in town not racing to answer the alarm was John Henry, who was pacing his hotel room waiting for a signal knock at his door. If Kate had set the blaze properly, lighting the woodshed behind the Planter’s Hotel on fire as he had instructed her to do, soon everyone in the place would be smelling smoke and running in a panic—hopefully even the steadfast deputy standing guard at his bedroom door. But if the guard were too foolish to save himself from a fire, Kate could always pull her derringer on him. She’d carried it out in her bag that evening, hidden away under her laciest garter belt, just in case the deputy had decided to take a look inside after all. That garter belt would have been enough to make even a worldly man a little modest, but the deputy had, thankfully, never bothered to open the bag. Still, the thought of Kate trying to overpower an armed guard didn’t help John Henry’s nerves any.
Outside his room, the darkness of the early morning sky was colored crimson from the flames of the burning woodshed in the horse lot behind the hotel. Kate’s fire must be a regular conflagration to be making so much flame and ashy smoke, and he only hoped that she would be able to get to him before he suffocated right there in his room or died in the blaze if the fire spread to the hotel itself. It was a dangerous escape he’d planned for himself, but the only one he could think of under the circumstances.
His anxious thoughts were interrupted by three swift taps at the bedroom door, then another three—the code he’d given to Kate—and he let out a gasp of relief as she burst into the room.
“The guard’s gone! I didn’t want to have to shoot him, but I would have.”
And in the noise and the confusion of the town crisis, no one noticed them leaving their room and running right down the front stairs and out through the lobby of the hotel along with the other boarders, some still wearing their nightshirts and bedclothes. John Henry’s own clothes were packed into his valise along with Mattie’s precious letters and a packet of dental hand tools. Everything else would have to wait until he could send a message to Shaughnessey asking him to send along his trunk. It wasn’t the first time that Shaughnessey had kept his things for him, though this time he wouldn’t be coming back to Texas to collect his belongings again. He was through with the Lone Star State and its overly-efficient legal system. Texas was a shame to the rest of the South, making such an awful fuss about guns and gambling.
John Henry had told Kate to hire him a horse and leave it saddled and waiting just up the street from the hotel, away from the fire that was distracting everyone’s attention. With an hour’s hard ride, he could be upriver into Throckmorton County and out of Sheriff Cruger’s jurisdiction by the time he was missed. It would take several days for another warrant to be issued for his arrest there, and by then he’d be long gone on a stage headed north to Dodge City. It was a perfect escape and had worked out just the way he’d planned—except for the fact that there were two horses waiting in the early morning darkness and not just the one he’d counted on.
“Who’s the extra horse for?” he asked, and Kate laughed as she gathered up her skirts and stepped into the stirrup of a pretty dappled gray.
“For me, of course!” she said. And as she straddled the saddle, John Henry saw that she was wearing men’s trousers under her flounced skirt. “Don’t look so surprised, Doc! Did you expect me to ride side-saddle?”
“I didn’t expect you’d be comin’ along at all,” he said, tying his valise behind the saddle of the big black that Kate had left for him. “It’s gonna be a hard ride, not a pleasure trip.”
“I don’t mind the ride,” she said, twisting her glossy dark hair into a knot under a too-big cowboy’s hat. “I’ve done harder things in my life. And you know I can handle a horse.”
It was true that she was an expert horsewoman, but doing stage tricks on a trained horse wasn’t the same as traversing the Texas panhandle and the Indian Territory beyond.
“No, Kate,” he demurred, as he swung up into his saddle and gathered the reins with leather-gloved hands. “It wouldn’t be fair to take you along when the law may be comin’ after me.”
“But I want to be with you. I love you, Doc! You know that I do!”
But John Henry looked down into her flushed face and shook his head. “Oh, Kate,” he sighed, “this arrangement of ours isn’t about love. It never was. We were just keepin’ company, surely you know that. I never gave you cause to think it was anything more, did I? Stay here in Fort Griffin. A beautiful woman like you won’t have any trouble findin’ another man to take you in.”
And for a moment Kate said nothing, her breath going out in a gasp as though she had just been hit by a blow. Then she put her head up proudly, and said with tears in her eyes:
“And who will want a pregnant mistress?”
His sudden jerk on the reins made the horse whinny and reel around.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
“I said I’m pregnant. The post doctor told me so this afternoon. It’s not an illness I’ve been suffering from after all, only morning-sickness.” Then her tears turned to laughter, and her words rushed out so fast that John Henry could hardly take them all in.
“I was told I would never be able to have another child after the hard time I had bearing my son. And when he died, I thought that I would never have another baby of my own. And after all these years, I never did conceive again. But now, I finally have! And I have your baby inside me, my love! I have your life within me!”
John Henry was speechless in his bewildered astonishment. Then something she had said struck him hard. “My life? But I’m dyin’, Kate. You know I’ve got the consumption.”
“No, my love, you’re not dying!” And she reached for his gloved hand and laid it against the gentle swell of her belly. “You’re alive in me! Feel how the life grows inside! Our baby, Doc, our child . . .”
He was still disbelieving, but as he looked down at Kate, he couldn’t deny that there had been a change in her lately. Her breasts had grown fuller, the delicate veins across them faintly blue against the honey of her skin; her smooth and curving waist had grown wider; her flat stomach feeling fuller against his hips when they made love . . .
And suddenly, he knew that what she said was true. They’d been together almost every night since he’d returned to Fort Griffin, and many mornings as well, their affair so passionate that it had nearly worn him out.
“All right,” he said finally, swallowing his pride and facing up to his gentleman’s responsibility, “all right. I’ll take you along with me. But I can’t promise you anything once we get to Dodge. Hell, Kate, I don’t even know if I’ll get there alive myself.”
“I’ll take care of you, Doc. Don’t I always take care of you? What better nurse could you have than a doctor’s daughter? And we’ll find another doctor there, one who will know what to do about your disease . . .”
“I said I can’t promise you anything, Kate. Please don’t ask me. But I will take you with me. It’s the least I can do . . .and it’s all I can do, for now.”
“You won’t be sorry, Doc! We’ll get to Dodge City soon enough, and I’ll bring your child into the world and everything will be fine for us. You’ll see, my love. Everything is going to be just fine!”
But as they spurred the horses and rode off together into the crimson-skied darkness, John Henry had the feeling that nothing would ever be fine again.