Denver Draw by Robert J. Randisi

the Bucket of Blood.
    So Pennington had backed off, and today he was sitting in a small saloon down the street from the Bucket. This was the only saloon in town that opened in the morning, only place a man could get a decent drink this early. He had arranged to meet three men here, because he figured he was going to need a little help if that gambler, Butler, had taken up with Holliday.
    His friends were of the same ilk as he, although a couple of them were “waddies,” cowpokes working on nearby ranches. Still, in their hearts they were mudsills, like he was.
    Around town, unbeknownst to them, they were all simply known as “coffee boilers,” men who’d rather shirk their duty and sit around the coffeepot.
    His three friends filed in, looking the worse for wear after a hard night at the Bucket of Blood.
    Deke Walton, Seth Cates, and Waldo Ferguson filed in, stopped at the bar for a beer, and then joined Pennington at his table.
    “What’s so important you got to get us up this early?” Waldo complained bitterly.
    “Early?” Pennington asked. “You fellas work on a ranch. Ain’t you up at the crack of dawn?”
    Waldo Ferguson looked over at Deke Walton, who said, “Ah, we got fired yesterday.”
    “Fired? It’s about time. They finally realized what layabouts you two are?” Seth Cates said, laughing.
    “At least we had jobs,” Waldo said.
    “Jobs are for suckers,” Cates said. “I’ll bet Frank’s got somethin’ hot for us.”
    “I got somethin’,” Pennington said. “It ain’t gonna make us no money right away, but it’ll give us a name.”
    “You still singin’ that same old song?” Waldo asked. “Gonna make a name for yerself? Why don’t you just admit none of us is ever gonna amount to nothin’.”
    “You ain’t never gonna be nothin’ with that attitude,” Pennington said. “I ain’t like that.”
    “So whataya got, Frank?” Seth asked. Seth Cates was close to being the town drunk, except that honor was usually reserved for older men than he. But he was usually pretty roistered, and ready for any half-baked scheme Frank Pennington could come up with.
    “I got Doc Holliday,” Pennington said.
    “What about him?” Waldo asked.
    “He’s in town.”
    “We know that,” Deke Walton said. “So are the Earps.”
    “They pulled out early this mornin’,” Pennington said. “Now Holliday is here by himself.”
    “So?” Waldo still didn’t get it.
    Seth thought he did.
    “We gonna rob ’im, Frank?”
    “No,” Pennington said. “We ain’t gonna rob him. We’re gonna kill ’im.”
    The other three were silent for a few moments, then Seth asked, “Can’t we rob him, too?”
    “Kill him?” Waldo asked, ignoring Seth. “What for? He’s a lunger. He’s gonna cough himself to death soon, anyway.”
    “Not if we get to him first,” Pennington said. “Imagine bein’ the men who killed Doc Holliday?”
    “Yeah,” Waldo said, “we’ll be the most famous men in prison.”
    “We ain’t goin’ to prison,” Pennington said.
    “We are if we gun down Doc Holliday,” Waldo said.
    “Just shut up for a minute and listen,” Pennington said, “and you’ll see what I mean.”

CHAPTER 25
    When Bat and Butler hit the street again Bat said, “I might as well give Doc the word.” They had each had a cup of coffee, and then gone together to the telegraph office, where Bat sent a telegram to Denver. He knew Wyatt and Virgil were going to be staying at the Denver House Hotel. The telegram would be waiting for them when they got in.
    “I guess he’ll be glad he won’t have to stay around here for more than a few days.”
    “Maybe not even that,” Bat said. “Judge Abernathy is usually quick. He’ll draw it up and have to file it with the state.”
    “What happens if somebody else in Colorado realizes there’s a warrant and decides to execute it?”
    “Word’ll get back to me or the judge,” Bat said.
    “And what’s the charge?”
    “Well, I had to make it