The Doctor And The Tinpan by Stephen Hawkins (e book reading free .txt) 📕

The Doctor and The Tinpan

In 2020, the Earth is devastated by a nuclear holocaust, but from the databanks in the TARDIS, The Doctor discovers an anomaly in Earth's time continuum. He travels back in time in order to change the course of events that led to the apocalyptic scenario. The date he returns to is October 25th, 1881. The place is Tombstone, Arizona.


Earthdate: 2120

Databank history:

Species: Human.

Count: One Billion.

Radioactive atmosphere. Neutron cell contamination. Carcinoma related disease. Ecosystem compromised.

In the main control room of his Time Machine, the TARDIS (Time and Relative Dimensions in Space) the aging, white-haired Doctor sat in a rotatable oval pod studying the system readouts of the central computer. His chameleon-like dark matter had morphed into that of a man, and in mind of the late nineteenth century and the Old West he intended to visit, he wore a long-tailed black suit and frills.

The Doctor already knew that, by the Earthdate 2250, all life on the planet would become extinct. So what had brought about this calamitous scenario? Through a rapid assimilation of the databanks, he had established that a nuclear holocaust had occurred in 2020. Judging from the
history of that time, an unscrupulous megalomaniac had risen to preside over the world's most powerful nation. His election to office had been the catalyst for disaster, but from the Doctor's understanding of the president's ancestry, he should never have existed. An alternate Time Line had come into effect.

From his calculations, the Doctor ascertained the Time Line's origin, and he set the course coordinates and date on the time module.

***

Tombstone, Arizona.

October 25th, 1881

Red Culpepper was a scrawny and bearded old prospector. He had spent fifty years panning for gold in a creek outside Tombstone. Some folk called him an ornery old critter; others called him a crazy old Tinpan. He was a bit of both. He panned all day, every day, and he panned enough to pay for his provisions. That day he had come into town to get soused, and he was tethering his horse in the OK Corral when it started getting mulish on him.

"Eh, eh, eh! Hush now! Damn it! What's got into ya!"

As he tightly gripped the reins, Red looked towards the barn. The wind had got up, and there was one hell of a ruckus going on inside the barn. It sounded like some dang locomotive tootin' and hootin', and there was a light flashing off and on. It didn't last long, maybe a few seconds, and then all was calm.

"Easy, easy! Whoa there! Whoa! Dang! What in tarnation was that?!"

Red shook his head. "Damn new-fangled contraptions..."

He was thinking it could be one of them new traveling conveyances. He'd seen a couple in his time, but he didn't know what folk saw in them. Smelly, and loud as hell. What's it doing in the barn though?

"Maybe I should go look-see," he murmured. And as his horse nickered at him and tossed its head, he tittered, "You reckon so too, huh?"

Then with a slap down its neck, Red made off towards the barn, but he'd only taken a few steps in that direction when he pulled up. The barn doors had opened, and a white-haired, dignified looking fellah in funeral parlor duds came out. Red thought he looked kinda furtive as he looked round. That's before the time the stranger spotted him.

"Ah, good evening!" he called out. "Perhaps you can help me."

Red thought the stranger sounded right eloquent, but as he came closer, there was something about the old fellah's mad eyes and grim, skinlined face that put Red on his guard. More so when the stranger asked:

"Are you familiar with the name, John Henry Holliday? I believe he's in Tombstone at this time."

"Uh?" Doc Holliday . That wasn' t a name Red wanted to hear. The Doc was a dirty-dealin' poker player who was right slick at dealin' a hidden Ace. But then, he was even slicker at dealin' a gun into his hand. No, the Doc didn't like being called a cheat, and when he had disagreements over pots, he usually pulled the loser's teeth. So who was this stranger? A gambler or a gunman lookin' to get even?

"Yeah, I know him," Red said warily.

"And do you know where I can find him?" the stranger asked.

Red shrugged. "Well, he'll likely be at the Alhambra Saloon. Why? You got business with him?"

The stranger grinned. "Yes, you could say that. The nature of his health is of some concern to me."

"Uh huh." Red didn't like the sound of that, and in mind of trouble brewing, he glanced at the stranger's suit. "You ain't packing any pistols in them breeches, are ya? Gotta hand 'em in, you know. It's the ordinance, no guns in town. The Marshall will throw you in the hoosegow if he finds you packing heavy."

The stranger smiled to reassure the man. "Put your fears at rest my good fellow. I mean no one any harm. I'm a Doctor. Now, can you show me where this Saloon is? Time is of the essence."

Red nodded. He didn't think this Doctor fellah was meanin' to kill anyone. "Well, if you want, you can walk with me. I'm heading that-a-ways."

"Thank you. Yes, that's most civil of you."

Somehow the question of the Doctor's "conveyance" in the barn slipped Red's mind as he grinned to himself, and thought some dude, this.

"A Doctor, huh? Doctor who?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Uh?"

***

In the smoke-filled Alhambra Saloon, goodtime girls canoodled with the patrons. In the background, a piano man played, and on the green felt tables, gamblers played five-card stud.

Slouched over the bar, Ike Clanton sniffed. He had been losing, and he had been on the gin mill. He was a big, swarthy looking man with whiskers, and a cold glint in his eyes. He had on his old cowboy duds with his cattleman's hat, and a bandanna tied loosely round his neck. He wore a gun-belt and holster, but no gun. Ike cussed under his breath. "No arms in town," Virgil had said. "Marshall, huh? Who the shit does he think he is?"

Ike Clanton was a cattle rustler and hell-raiser. He liked getting things his own way, but things had changed. The Earps and Doc Holliday had arrived in town. They'd started meddling in his affairs, and things had happened. Bad blood. And he had a mind to get even as he turned and leaned with his back against the bar.

"Seems to me, the Earps are getting real big on the law around here," he began. "Got so's a man can't breathe anymore."

As a hush fell over the place, he kicked over a chair, and blearily glared around at the patrons. "It ain't right! They claim to uphold the law, but they let that murdering son-of-a-bitch Holliday walk free. He killed my friend, and the Earps don't do shit."

Sitting a long ways back at a poker table, a frail, slightly built man with gentlemanly ways twitched a lip as he slyly eyed his covered hand. Ace high. He wouldn't ride on that. Then as he slowly rose from the table, his languid Southerner's drawl cut through the heavy silence.

"I take it you're referring to me, sir?"

Ike cussed. He didn't have his pistols, and he knew Holliday would be packing, courtesy of the Earps. But armed or not, he feared no man.

"My friend, Bud Philpott did you no wrong, Holliday," he growled. "But you shot him down in cold blood. I'm gonna see you pay for that."

"Is that right?" the Doc replied. "How are you gonna do that? With harsh language?"

Ike sneered as he watched the Doc slowly approach him. "You in your long tails and frills. You look right fancy, Doc, but it don't fool me none. If I had my pistol, I'd shoot you down like the mangy critter, you are."

The Doc's face flushed up. "Well, I'd surely like to oblige you."

Behind the bar, the saloonkeeper looked on. "You've had a snootful, Doc. You both have. Let's keep this peaceable."

The Doc's cough had become ticklish. "Peaceable? I am, but I do believe - " he wheezed to finish - "this man wants a war."

Ike nodded back. "It's gonna happen, Holliday. You can count on it."

The Doc had begun hacking up blood, and he covered his mouth as he spluttered, "And I'll be praying for you - "

Ike knew about Holliday's sickness, and he smirked to see the bloodstains. "Well now, looks like the grave's waiting for you, Doc. But don't you fret any, me and the boys'll take good care of that whore of yours."

Ike had meant to goad the Doc into a fist fight but, for a sick man, the Doc moved real quick. The Doc's short-arm jab caught him unawares, and Ike stumbled back holding a bloodied snout. Just then, he saw the Doc itching to draw his pistol, and he thought his time had come, but the patrons were watching it all. No, the Doc wouldn't be seen shooting an unarmed man.

In that moment, Ike took his chance and charged him. He missed with a head butt, but his solid punch thudded full in the ribs. The Doc doubled up, but he instinctively clung on, and tables and chairs went crashing as the two men wrestled their way out of the bar into the street.

On the plank-walk, Ike got the Doc in a headlock and ran him into a post. Then Ike crunched his knee up into the Doc's face. Bloodied and broken up, the Doc dropped onto his hands and knees. But Ike didn't let up: kicking and stomping on him all the while.

Morgan Earp had seen the fight from across the street and he came running. He drew his pistol and fired into the air.

"Back off, Ike!" he yelled. "NOW, goddam it! Or I'll shoot!"

Ike looked wild-eyed and breathing hard. He had no mind to stop the beating, but a cocked pistol looked very persuasive. He put his hands up and slowly backed off.

"That son-of-a-bitch held up the Benson stage and killed my friend, Bud Philpott!" he bawled. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"Stop that, now!" Morgan warned him. "The Doc ain't party to what you say!"


It was only a rumor, nothing more. There had been no evidence to say the Doc had done the deed. Sure he could have. He was a renowned killer and opportunist, and neither Morgan nor Virgil liked having him around much. But on account of the Doc saving Wyatt's skin in a shoot-out with cattlemen in Dodge, they let him be. "He's the only friend I got," Wyatt had said. "That counts a lot."

Ike Clanton bent down to retrieve his own hat and dust it off. As he did so, Morgan uncocked his pistol's hammer and reholstered the iron. He didn't want to aggravate