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

added: "And put that away. There ain't no ladies here for you to impress. But I tell you what! You can get a wagon and clean up the shit in the street. You're good at that."

Johnny heard some cackling behind his back. Folk had overheard Wyatt putting him down. Having his name stained in such a way made him mad, and he looked real determined as he cocked the rifle's hammer to force home his intent.

"I won't tell you a second time. You're coming with me!"

As Wyatt stopped in his tracks and stared coldly at Johnny, Johnny saw the Doc's pistol appear from around Virgil's side. It was aimed low, pointing between his legs.

"I'll make it easy for you," the Doc said. "You can be a hero, or you can keep your balls on."

Johnny swallowed hard and lowered his rifle. "I get your point."

The Doc grinned. "That's a fact, you do."

***

GOLD

The grimly humorous phrase about our town was that Tombstone had 'a man for breakfast every morning'"

-- Josephine Sarah Marcus, actress


In the barn at the OK Corral, Red Culpepper lay amongst the hay in a horse box. His snoring had begun to bother his mule. It kept tossing its head, nickering to wake its master.

After some time, Red's dreams became unsettled: his journeys with the stranger, his "pardner" --the Doctor or whoever he was. Red kept seeing a horse-less wagon flying in the sky and a mushroom cloud on the wall. Them and "gold" nuggets flying around as a whiff of something none too sweet twitched his hooter.

Red's waking grunt was mindful of something warm, soft and...

"What the-?"

As his mule nickered, tossing its head, Red jumped quicker than he ever had as he looked in disgust at what he held. "Damn in hell!" He was covered in it. And in his hand, he held a lump of the offending

"Horse shit!"

Sometimes, desperate stinks called for desperate acts. Red ran outside the barn and without thinking none, he jumped into the water trough. He had never done the like, and probably never would again. It was damn freezing, but if nothing else, it cleared his head some.

As he sat there, staring at the sunlight glinting off the water in the trough, he recalled the night before. He had come looking for the stranger to get his gold. Or had he? It all seemed like a soused dream, unreal, and it hadn't taken long before he had passed out. In all truth, Red didn't know what was real or not anymore.

***

Back home, Virgil Earp lay flat on his back on the parlor table. His trouser-leg had been torn back to reveal his splintered and bloodied shank-bone. Wyatt was watching Virgil's wife, Allie, strap a splint to her husband's leg. A good-looking woman in gathered skirts and blouse, she had put on a pinafore and pinned her long, auburn hair in a bun.

As Wyatt fingered his walrus-like moustache, he thought Virgil trusted Allie more than any man. She knew about nursing, and she wouldn't let anyone else get near him -- not even the surgeon they'd called for. Maybe it was his reputation as being a "saw" man that Allie took exception to, but she had sent him packing. "Be gone with you!" she'd screamed at him. "You ain't gonna take my man's leg off!"

The surgeon had protested by saying: "I can assure you madam, that I have no such intention." But it made no difference. And thinking back, Wyatt didn't think much of him either. He'd brought some whiskey with him, and from the smell on him, he'd been drinking it.

With the surgeon gone, Allie had done a fine job in fixing up Virgil's leg. Wyatt admired the way she dug the bullet out of Virgil's shank-bone with a cauterized knife. That took gumption.

Allie finished strapping the splint, and then smiling fondly at her unconscious husband, she gently stroked his brow. "Can we get him up to bed now?" she said.

Wyatt glanced around the parlor. He saw Morgan lounging in a walnut-cushioned chair. His flesh wound had been bandaged up, but he looked pale and drawn, and had his eyes closed. Wyatt let him be.

"I'll get the Doc," he said.

In the kitchen room, the Doc was bending over a chair. He'd dropped his pants, and Wyatt's lady, Josie Marcus stood dabbing the Doc's "cheek" with antiseptic cotton. In her black, lace dress, she looked bewitching: her long raven hair hanging like twin-drapes down the sides of her angelic face.

Wyatt loved her, and he smiled at her when she saw him there. But then, upon seeing the Doc's blushes, it tickled him to say: "Well, I'll be -- I didn't know you two were so well acquainted!"

The Doc grimaced. "Don't say anything, Wyatt. This ain't of my choosing."

"You don't say?" Wyatt replied. "Well, you best watch you don't catch a draft."

Josie sighed at Wyatt's jest. "Don't mind him, Doc," she smiled. And then wagging a playful finger, she chided Wyatt. "You hush now," she said.

Wyatt put his hands up, surrendering. "Okay, I know when I'm beat," he grinned.

Josie finished tending to the Doc's wound, and then as he dressed his dignity, she had words with Wyatt. It worried her that he had been accused of murdering Billy Clanton. "Where do you think this killing is all going to end?" she said

Wyatt shrugged, " I don't know that, Josie."

The Doc had something to say on that. "These feuds don't ever end," he said. "The cowboys' allies will come looking for blood. I'd lay the Reaper's Ace on that."

"An' I'll cover it!" Wyatt snapped. "I ain't backed off a fight in my life, and I don't aim to start now!"

And more's the pity, Josie thought, for she feared the Doc was right in what he said.

***

As Red reached the General Store, he looked a worried man. He had spent his gold dust on oiling his whiskey habit, and now that he had no one to bail him out, he couldn't pay for his provisions or his mule's feed. What's more, he still owed for his last order, and he couldn't see the proprietor extending his credit. Hell, all he had in the world was his mule. He wouldn't trade that in.

As Red pushed open the door, a bell tinkled. Inside the shop, it smelled stale and sweaty. A dusty gloom filled the place. Pots and pans hung from hooks, and grocery bags and sacks of grain stacked up the space.

Behind the counter -- the proprietor -- a big, fat man called Bob smoked on a cigar. He had a soiled vest on, and a grimy apron was strung round his bulging gut. Upon seeing Red, the slack on his chin wobbled some as he broke into a gummy grin. "Well, look-ee here, if it ain't the Tinpan. I was wondering when you'd show your ugly face in here."

Red looked nervous and began fidgeting. "It ain't what you think, Bob. I've been meaning to come in, but times have been lean. You gotta believe me."

Bob's tiny pea-green eyes shrunk even smaller as he tried to figure out a dumb Tinpan. "Uh? What the hell you talking about? Your friend came in and settled up. Your tab's clean," he said, then added: "I put your order on the rig out back."

Order? Rig? I ain't got a damn rig, Red thought. But he wasn't so stupid to admit to such a thing. "You don't say? Well, I guess I'm right obliged..."

Bob grunted as he thought back on the stranger. "His lingo had me beat," he said. "And he had these crazy-looking eyes." Then he thought some before saying: "Looks like a carpetbagger. You two go back a-ways?"

Red got to thinking. He had to. "Er... yeah, we sure do. Known him since er... way back."

Bob looked puzzled. "Is that right? Well, I may not be seeing too well, but he looked no more than a young buck to me. An' you? Well hell, you got more cracks than baked shit."

Red's "ha-ha" sounded kinda high. "I mean I've known him since he was a whippersnapper," he said. "I staked him out for his bundle. I guess he's making good now."

For once, Bob looked impressed. "Well yeah, it sure looks that way."

"Uh? How do you mean?" Red asked.

"Well, he paid in gold. Don't see much of that in these parts -- you should know that."

Gold? Red heard that. "Gold?" he croaked.

"Yeah," Bob replied. "He said you'd be better off this way."

"Better off? Who's got a right to say such a thing?!" Red demanded to know.


Bob's belly laugh boomed around the shop. "He said if he had paid you directly, you would have flushed it down the whiskey pan by now."

"That ain't so," Red smarted. "No sir, I would have seen my mule got his feed an' all."

"Your mule?" Bob grimaced, sniffing the air. "Damn in hell! That' s what I can smell! Horse shit!"

***

In the main street, the Fargo stagecoach was about to leave. Wyatt and Morgan stood looking on from the plank-walk as the Doc saw off his lady.

Kate Fisher sat by the stage's passenger door. In her high-crowned, wide-brimmed hat with a ribbon tied under her chin, she looked comely, and it saddened the Doc to let her go. But what with his consumption getting worse, and a long, bloody feud with the cowboys brewing, he didn't see much of a life for her.

"Things could get ugly around here, Kate, and I don't want you getting hurt on my account," he said.

"I can handle myself, " she replied, and sniffling, she dabbed her brimming tears with a hanky.

The Doc smiled as best he could. "I know that, but with your whoring business, Ike Clanton's friends might come a-calling, and I'm afraid of what they might do to you to get at me. No, it ain't safe for you to stay in Tombstone."

Kate sniffled some more as the Doc signaled to the stage-driver. The man's "giddee-up" and shake of the reins got the horses pulling for their head.

For as long as he could, the Doc walked alongside the stage, holding onto Kate's hand.

"Let's wait 'til the dust settles some," he said. "Then I'll come and look you up in Cochise."

Through glistening tears, Kate nodded. "You promise?"

"I surely do," the Doc replied.

As her hand slipped from his, Kate laughed through her crying. "You're a damn bad liar, John Henry," she called back. "But what the hell, I love you."

And then she was gone. The Doc's, "And I you..." dying on his breath as he stared forlornly after the receding stage. Then with a heavy sigh, he turned away and headed over to Wyatt and Morgan. Nothing was said as the trio fell into step and headed along the plank-walk. The men had a lot on their minds, and it wasn't just because the Doc had sent his lady packing.

They had all received a summons to appear at the courthouse the next day. There was to be an official inquiry