Denver Draw by Robert J. Randisi Page A

somethin’ serious enough,” Bat said. “It couldn’t be for spittin’ on the street or somethin’.”
    “So what is it?”
    “I cited him for lewd conduct,” Bat said.
    “Jesus…”
    “He’ll get a kick out of it.”
    “You think so?”
    “Hey, it’ll keep him out of jail for murder.”
    “I don’t know…”
    “Let’s go tell him and see,” Bat said.
    “Doc Holliday doesn’t seem like the kind of man who can take a joke,” Butler said, “but let’s go.”
     
    “I don’t like it,” Waldo Ferguson said.
    “Why not?” Pennington demanded.
    “Well, for one thing it ain’t like Doc Holliday’s here all hisself,” Waldo complained. “Masterson’s here, and I was in the Bucket of Blood when him and that gambler shot up Fred Vance and his boys slicker’n snot. That gambler—what’s his name—Butler? He handles a shotgun about as good as he handles a deck of cards.”
    Pennington decided not to tell Waldo and the others that it looked like Butler had become friends with Holliday. He’d keep that little bit of information to himself.
    “Look,” he said, “it ain’t like we’re gonna face ’im head on.”
    “Whataya mean?” Seth asked. “We gonna dry gulch ’em?”
    “How else you gonna kill somebody like Doc Holliday?” Pennington asked. “Jesus, I ain’t stupid enough to stand in front of him.”
    “I dunno,” Waldo said.
    “You don’t know what?” Pennington asked.
    “I just ain’t never seen myself as a dry gulcher, Frank.”
    “Waldo, you ain’t never seen yerself as anything,” Pennington said. “That’s your problem.” He looked at the other two. “What about you? You got a problem bushwackin’ a dirty killer like Doc Holliday? Hell, we’ll be doin’ people a favor.”
    “I don’t have no problem with it, Frank,” Seth said. “You know me. I’m ready for anythin’.”
    “Deke?”
    “Sure,” Deke Walton said, “why not? I sure don’t want to go back to punchin’ cows.”
    “That leaves you, Waldo,” Pennington said, giving the man a hard look. “You with us, or against us?”
    “I ain’t against ya, Frank,” Waldo said, hurriedly.
    “You are if you ain’t with us,” Pennington said. “Come on, make your play. You gonna make somethin’ of yerself or not?”
    Waldo Ferguson didn’t know if he wanted to make somethin’ of himself, but he sure didn’t want these three thinkin’ he was against them.
    “Okay, Frank, okay,” he said finally. “I’m with ya. When are we gonna do this thing?”
    “That’s somethin’ we gotta talk about,” Pennington said. “When, and where. Let’s get some more beers.”
    “I’ll get ’em,” Seth said, excitedly, then looked at Pennington and asked, “You got any money, Frank?”
     
    Bat and Butler were prepared to knock on Doc Holliday’s door—god forbid he was dead in there, how would Bat explain that to Wyatt Earp—but there was no need to. As they entered the hotel Doc came down the stairs to the lobby. Dressed in black he looked both frail and pale, but at the same time as healthy as they had seen him.
    “’Mornin’, Doc,” Bat said.
    “Bat, Butler,” Doc said. “You lookin’ for me already? Sorry I’m up so late. Wyatt and Virgil get away okay?”
    “Early this mornin’, Doc,” Bat said. “Said to tell you they’ll see you on the trail somewhere.”
    “Yeah, we will,” Doc said. “If I last long enough.”
    “Give any more thought to that Glenwood Springs thing?” Bat asked, making Butler cringe, but there was no need.
    “Actually, I have,” Doc said. “But there’s still time. I can still stand on my feet, anyway. If I decide to go there I’ll walk in myself, I won’t make anybody carry me.”
    Neither Bat nor Butler knew what to say to that.
    “What’re you lookin’ for me for?” Doc asked then.
    “Got some news about that warrant,” Bat said.
    “Take some air with me and tell me about it,” Doc said, heading for the door.

CHAPTER 26
    “You