The Doctor And The Tinpan, Stephen Hawkins [i like reading TXT] 📗

the situation, but the Doc's condition worried him. He had taken a pasting. His face looked puffed up, and he was clutching his ribs as he groped for the hitch rail.

Morgan collected the Doc's hat and helped him up. "You'd best get some rest," he said.

Deathly though he looked, the Doc declined Morgan's offer to walk him back to the hotel. "I'll be just dandy," he said.

Leaning on a post, Ike watched the Doc teetering from side to side. He thought it right entertaining. "Where you going, Doc? The funeral parlor is down thataways," he chuckled.

Morgan's: "bite your tongue" fell on deaf ears as Ike turned on him.

"Your time is coming, Earp," he snarled. "For you and your brothers. You think you can run us Clantons and McLaurys out of town? Well, it ain't gonna happen, mister. Not while I'm breathin'."

Morgan nodded. He had heard it all before. "You're big on liquor talk, Ike."

As Ike sneered at him, Morgan looked away. He had spotted his two brothers, the US Marshall, Virgil and his deputy, Wyatt heading across the street. Like him, they both had moustaches; wore black, long-tailed suits, wide-brimmed hats and they carried their pistols low-slung. With them was the town Sheriff, Johnny Behan. He had got the office because Ike Clanton had bankrolled people to vote for him rather than Wyatt.

From behind him, he heard Ike Clanton snort and shout out: "Come tomorrow, I'll have you man for man!" he shouted. "Then we'll see how slick you are with them irons!"

Wyatt paid the Clanton no heed as Virgil said: "Ease up, Ike. We're here to play some Faro. Come on in with us, or let us be. What say you?"

Morgan knew that if Ike had his way, he would see them all dead. Leastways, there would be a showdown, but that time hadn't come just yet. Ike liked playing Faro: wagering on what card was gonna be dealt.

"Yeah - yeah, alright, Virgil. Why not?" he said.

Ike was like that. He could drink with a man, and then he could kill him with equal enthusiasm.

As Virgil Earp and Johny Behan mounted the plankwalk, he noted Wyatt holding back.

"You joining us, Wyatt?"

As Wyatt fingered his moustache. Morgan followed his brother's gaze down the street. They saw the Doc being helped by two other fellahs. Red Culpepper they recognized, but the other fellah, they didn't. Some stranger. He had white hair, no hat and a long-tailed suit. Now where are they takin' him? Morgan thought.

"I'll go see how the Doc is," he said.

Virgil nodded. "And you, Wyatt?"

"I'm with Morgan."

Virgil smiled. "Alright. I'll see you boys in the mornin'." Then he, Sheriff Johnny Behan, and Ike Clanton went into the saloon.

Morgan and Wyatt had intended catching up with the Doc, Red Culpepper and the stranger. But when they looked down the street again, they were nowhere to be seen. They had gone.

"Well, I'll be damned," Wyatt said.

Morgan was equally bemused. "Well, guess we should commence to looking. Can't have got far."

Wyatt agreed, and motioned over the street at the hotel. "Let's begin there," he said.

***

KATE

In the hotel room, a lusty, buxom woman lay propping her head on the wrought-iron bed. Wearing only a camisole, her long, chestnut locks hung in a tangled mass over her comely face.

A wildcat by nature, Kate Fisher worked as a dance-hall girl and prostitute. She did just fine. These thoughts were on her mind as she collared a whiskey bottle round the throat and gazed through liquor-shot eyes at a far-off place.

She liked dangerous men, and John was surely that. Like the night she had watched him dealing cards in a saloon in Fort Griffin. A man had called him a bilk. John hadn't taken kindly to that, and he had cut open the man with his Bowie knife. "I was only protecting myself," he later told the sheriff. Well, folk didn't see it that way, and hemp fever set in. They wanted to lynch John for what he had done. But she had taken a liking to John, and didn't want to see that happen. So she went to the sheriff's office and cosied up to the deputy there. Once I had got into his pants, sneaking his gun out wasn't so hard, she thought.

Kate smiled as she recalled that, after disarming him, she had gotten the cell keys and freed John. He had gagged the deputy and locked him in a cell. After that, they hoofed it for Dodge. John had been grateful to her for freeing him. He said, "I'm going to do all I can to make you happy, Kate." So for a time, she gave up being a prostitute and inhabiting the saloons. John gave up gambling and hung out his shingle again. It didn't last for long though. Respectable living wasn't their way.

Three years later, she caught up with John again in Tombstone. She had purchased a large tent, rounded up several girls, a few barrels of cheap whiskey, and operated Tombstone's first "sporting house." Her business made a sizeable income, but John didn't like her tramping around, and they had argued a lot, mostly when drunk. Then one night, she got real abusive, and he threw her out.

When she later heard that the Benson stage had been held up and that the driver, Bud Philpott had been shot dead, she told the new sheriff, Johnny Behan that John had been one of the masked highwaymen. It was a lie. She was just getting even with John for throwing her out. She wasn't proud of what she had done, and so when she sobered up, she repudiated her statement. That's how things stood. A hard rapping on the door brought her back...

"You in there, Kate?"

I surely am, she grinned and rolled off the bed. "Hold up there. I'm coming."

***

In a dark alley off the street, a twitchy Red Culpepper crouched down beside the stranger. They had the Doc propped up behind a stack of planks. He looked in a bad way. Chalk-white and limp; head lolling on his chest. The stranger looked to be checking the Doc's pulse.

Oh mercy. "Is he living?" Red started.

The stranger's "hmm" hardly reassured the Tinpan.

"Well? Is he or isn't he?"

Red got no answers as he saw the stranger pull some kind of pencil from his duds.

"What the hell you got there?" Red asked.

"This is a remote control," the stranger replied. "It can relay our position to the Tardis. The transporter will do the rest."

"Do the rest?" Red looked stumped. "I wish I knew what the hell you were talking about mister."

In the dark, Red couldn't see the Time Lord's smile. "Don't concern yourself, my good fellow," he said. "Just get in closer. I wouldn't want to leave part of your anatomy behind."

"Uh?" Red could feel a hand on his arm. "Look here, mister. If the Marshall catches us like this, he's gonna think we're party to a kidnapping. Shit, I should never have let you railroad me into doing this."

"You'll be paid for your services, Mister Culpepper, in gold. Will that do for you?"

Red huffed. "Fool's gold, most likes. I say we just leave the Doc and forget it. I won't say nuthin' . You hang on to your gold, and I'll hang on to my neck. Wha' d' ya say to that?"

"Well," The Time Lord replied, "I say that this person, this John Henry Holliday you refer to as the Doc. Well, for all intents and purposes, he's a dead man."

That's when Red heard a strange 'pip-pip' noise. It reminded him of the telegraph office machine. But this was coming from the stranger's pencil.

"Oh shit."

Now the Doc being dead an' all might seem a good reason to say such a thing, but Red was more concerned with himself. And rightly so because his feet had just, well... vanished.

***

When Kate opened the door, she smelled of whiskey, and she looked woozy -- none too steady on her feet. Morgan had to hold her up. Wyatt did the talking...

"We're looking for the Doc, Kate."

"Well, I ain't seen him all day," she grinned. "But if you want, you can come in and wait a whiles. There's plenty of whiskey to go around."

As Wyatt watched Morgan help her back to her bed, he thought Kate should know. "The Doc's taken a pasting," he said. "He's gonna need some tending."

Kate huffed. "Is that right? Well, he knows where I am."

Wyatt shook his head. "Well, you being full as a tick ain't gonna help him none."

Kate flopped on her back and lay there with an arm across her brow. "Leave me be, Wyatt. If he comes back, I'll care for him. That's how it's always been."

That's when she passed out. Wyatt and Morgan were left listening to a loud grunting that sounded like a sow at the trough. Morgan looked a mite tickled by that. "She'll have a head in
the morning," he said.

Wyatt grimaced. With Kate sleeping with her head up, there was one bit on her face you couldn't fail to see: her big hooter, and it sure was honking some. No, folk didn't call her Big-Nosed Kate for nuthin'.

"Yeah, I reckon so," he murmured.

***

In the transporter room, the Time Lord sighed at the old, stubble-chinned gold prospector in his worn cowboy duds cowering in the corner. Recruiting such a vacuous, dim-witted fellow did appear somewhat rash. However, given the urgency of the matter, the Time Lord thought he'll do...

"Come now, Mister Culpepper, there's nothing to be afraid of."

No? Red feared he might have dunked in his pants. "Where the hell am I? Jesus, what have I done to deserve this?"

With scared eyes, he looked around. They were in a round room, so bright and kind of white. Red had never seen the likes of it. There were three shimmering tubes there. Each one had a round plate to stand on. He remembered that. Then he saw the white-haired fellah dragging the "dead" Doc Holliday over the floor.

"Where are you taking him?"

"To the medical room," the Time Lord replied.

Red's head hurt. "Medical room?"

"Yes, I'm going to defibrillate his heart."

"You what?"

"Resuscitate him, Mister Culpepper. Now, hurry up! I need your help."


A few minutes later, a wheezing Red leaned against a wall. Hauling a dead man around had left him feeling tuckered out.

Across the medical room, the "dead" Doc Holliday lay on a kind of surgeon's table. Red saw all kinds of fancy instruments attached to it and, over the table, a saucer of bright light kept dazzling his eyes. Under it, he saw the Doctor fellah holding a couple of...

"What the hell you got there?" he asked. "Branding irons?"

"Not exactly, Mister Culpepper. No, these are gel pads. They enable better electrical contact with the skin. Now, will you stand back? Or do you want an electric shock?"

Red shrugged. "Dunno rightly. Will it hurt?"

"Well, let's say that the effects