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

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Instinctively, Wyatt turned his barrels on Frank. That was his mistake as -- in the blur of action -- Ike pulled his hidden gun and shot Wyatt Earp through the heart.

***

FOR A FEW SECONDS MORE

As the Time Lord watched the events unfold on the plasma screen in the TARDIS, he became increasingly agitated by the behavior of the four cowboys in the alley. Their furtive actions made him suspect a ruse afoot. More so when only three of them walked into the street to await their foe. Then, in their confrontation with the Earps and Doc Holliday, he saw the cowboys demonstrating that they were "unarmed". He knew that wasn't so. He had seen them conceal their weapons while in the alley, but as the dust storm worsened, he knew that it would be impossible for the Earps and Doc Holliday to see if the cowboys carried weapons or not.

The Time Lord feared that this could be the anomaly. History would be written in the next few seconds. He had to be there. And the only way he could achieve this was to project part of himself into the street below. As dark matter, he would be invisible to them, but should he deem it imperative to interject, he could -- at any given instant -- morph himself into a duplicate of any person at the scene. However, once he did that, he would be governed by physical properties -- he could be killed.

The Time Lord looked at his wrinkled skin. He had aged, and he smiled as he thought, Well, this body has seen better days.

***

Briefly, as sand and dust blew into his face, Ike knelt gloating over the dead man lying at his feet. I've killed him. I've killed Wyatt Earp raced through his mind.

He wanted to yell it out, but bullets were raining around him, and as the wind of one whistled past his ear, he flinched and for a split-second, he turned his head away. When he looked again, he saw a dead man... walking.

"Mercy -- this can't be!" he yelped. One second Wyatt Earp had been lying dead at his feet, and in the next, he had come alive again; standing there a few feet away - all guns blazing.

Stricken dumb, Ike's eyes bulged, and his mouth flopped open. His gun dropped from his hand as a smoking shell spat on his boot. He fell backwards onto his butt and elbows, and for a few seconds more, he cowered in fear of a world he didn't know, but then an instinct for survival clicked in, and he scrambled to his feet crying: "Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"

As the dust clouds rolled away, Wyatt saw Ike running for his life. "You yellow-bellied snake!" he yelled. He had his shotgun raised to shoot, but its barrels were smoking on empty. He had to re-load.

Billy Clanton kept low in a crouched position. He held his pistol across his knee for accuracy. His shot hit Morgan in the side. Morgan clutched at the flesh wound before he started shooting again. Billy's next shot splintered Virgil's shank-bone. In agony, the Marshall slumped onto the ground, but he continued firing from where he fell. Wyatt and Morgan kept firing at Billy.

Finally, Billy heard death knocking when he felt himself punched in the ribs. He could taste the blood filling his mouth, but he didn't feel any pain, only a cold numbness flooding through his veins as he slumped onto his knees, and dropped his pistol. As if in prayer, he looked down at the ground.

"Dang. If that don't beat all," he smiled.

Then he died.

Tom McLaury's wild shooting had let him down. And when he saw the Doc pull a sawn-off shotgun out from his coat and level it at him, he panicked and fled from the street. He never made it out. The hot thud of lead hitting his back was the last memory Tom ever had.

When Frank McLaury had dashed across the street firing his pistol, he managed to wing the Doc, but only in his hip. Now as the two gunfighters faced off, Frank backed up and put distance between himself and his rival. He thought it would be in his favor, for in a standing position, he could shoot the hat off a man from fifty paces, but that wasn't his aim as he laid the pistol across his arm. He could see the Doc had tossed away the used shotgun. He had no pistol to hand.

"You're a dead man, Holliday."

Frank fired, but he was slow on the trigger. In that time, the Doc's gun-hand moved like greased-lightning as he drew, fired, and re-holstered his pistol.

"Well, if you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk," he said.

For a few seconds more, Frank stood looking bewildered as he clutched his chest and stared at his deadly rival. Then he staggered away, the pistol limp in his hand as the earth veered up before his eyes.

It was over, and the gusting wind echoed an eerie specter as curls of dust swept along the main street. Frank and Tom McLaury lay face down in the dirt, and the hunched over Billy Clanton had set stiff on his knees.

As Morgan and Doc Holliday looked on, Wyatt knelt down beside the grimacing Virgil. He could see his brother's leg needed tending.

"We'd better get that in a splint," he said. "Let's get him up."

***

Back in the TARDIS, a figure rose from the floor. The changed appearance of the Time Lord's second incarnation resembled a much younger fellow. He looked shorter in stature, and almost scarecrow-like in a carpetbagger suit. Instead of wispy, white strands of hair, he now sported a thick, black mop with a fringe. His eyes, no longer a teary-blue, were now larger, black saucer-like eyes seeming to stare out of a dark and distant place.

As he sat in the pod-like chair, he knew that, had he not intervened and sacrificed a generation of his life, Ike Clanton would have killed Wyatt Earp. The consequences of which would have been catastrophic for the planet. Ike's younger brother, Billy would have lived on, and his descendant, Billy Joe Clanton would have risen to become president in the year, 2020. His gung-ho leadership would have provoked a war to ends all wars. But now, that calamity had been averted. Wyatt Earp's bullet had killed Billy. Earth's future time was secure. The alternate Time Line had been displaced.

"A most satisfactory outcome," the Time Lord said to himself.

He leaned over the system console to reset the time actuator. He had a mind to return to his home planet, Gallifrey, but before he could go, he had one trifling matter to attend to.

"Mister Culpepper's gold. How would he live without it?" he smiled.


***

Ike Clanton had been hiding in Fly's photo-shop doorway when he saw his brother killed. It had pained his heart, and he had cried bitterly over Billy's death. Now as he stood in the sheriff's office, his duds all dust-caked and his face sweating grime, the tiredness and whiskey that had
confused him into thinking he had shot Wyatt Earp was gone.

"That son-of-a-bitch killed my brother!" he bawled. "What are you gonna do about it, Behan?!"

A murder charge? Johnny got up from his desk and collected a rifle from the rack. "Are you sure about this, Ike?"

"As God is my witness," Ike said. "I'm telling you my brother, Billy put his hands up to surrender, and that Yankee skunk, Wyatt Earp shot him dead."

For right or wrong, the thought of putting a noose around Wyatt's neck warmed Johnny's heart. But he needed more than Ike's word to charge a deputy Marshall with murder.

"All right," he said. "You stay put. If I'm gonna arrest him, you're gonna have to sign an affidavit saying what you saw is true."

"I will do that," Ike replied. "Now, where's your goddamn whiskey? I'm dying here."

Johnny motioned back at his desk, and Ike lumbered over to it and sat himself down. He pulled open the drawer and helped himself to the bottle. Johnny watched the big man use his teeth to grip the bottle's cork and spit it out. Then as Ike had his fill, Johnny thought to ask him one question.

"How come Wyatt didn't shoot you?" he asked.

Ike grimaced and leaned back in the sheriff's chair as the liquor's fire burned his chest.

"I guess I got lucky," he said. "I had my hands up and I said to him, 'I ain't armed'. He aimed his shotgun at me, and I knew he itched to pull the trigger. Hell, if it hadn't been for the dust blowing in his face, I'd be in the bone orchard now."

***

In the Occidental saloon, numerous bottles of whiskey and glasses cluttered up the bar. Patrons were crowding around. Talk of the shootout was on everybody's lips. Who had shot whom? And had all the cowboys been armed? No one knew for sure. The dust storm had made seeing difficult.

With whiskered chins wagging around him, Red took another snort of his oh-be-joyful, and wiped his mouth.

"They were packing, all right," he said. "Hell, I saw Ike loose off his pistol."

A bleary-faced cowboy smelling of whiskey breath butted in. "Hell, you did. I saw him running like he had the wind up his ass."

Then a fat man in tight breeches and wearing a bowler hat said: "Tom McLaury took off too, but he went down in a heap. Shot in the back, I'd say. That ain't right," he added. "And what about Billy Clanton and Frank McLaury? They got killed, and it weren't by accident."

Red shrugged. "Well, seems like Virgil, Morgan and the Doc got holed as well. Them weren't accidents neither."

"Well, every which way you look at it, it was a killing party," the fat man said. "This'll end up in the courthouse, you mark my words."

"Most likes," Red murmured. His whiskey bottle had run dry, and he had a hole in his pocket. Who could stake him? Who? "Shit!" He'd almost forgotten him -- the stranger. Wait until the dust settles, then I'll settle my debt with you. You know where to find me.

In the liquor stinking, smoke-filled saloon, men could disappear in the soused brew. And as Red lurched off towards the exit, only one patron -- the bleary-faced cowboy -- saw him leave. "Where you going?" he called out. "I thought you were here for the duration."

Red waved a hand. "I'll be back. Just gotta tend to my mule," he said.

***

Some way down the main street, Wyatt and the Doc held up the hobbling Virgil. Behind them, Morgan limped along holding the flesh wound in his side.

When Johnny Behan caught up with them, other folk were appearing along the plank-walk and in the street. A few were milling around the dead men, but most were watching the sheriff as he came up beside Wyatt and jabbed him with his rifle.

"Stop where you are, Wyatt. You're under arrest!"

Wyatt looked unconcerned as he turned aside: "Not today, Johnny. I'm taking Virgil home." And then mindful of the rifle being pointed at him, he