Doctor Who_ The Gunfighters - Donald Cotton [10]
‘If you don’t let us out of here at once,’ the Doctor had warned him, ‘I shall have no alternative but to apply for writs of habeas corpus – and see how you like that!’
‘Well, this here’s the Ritz of many a happy corpse, right enough,’ replied their captor, making a rare attempt at humour; ‘but you ain’t leavin’ it till you see fit to tell me who you are an’ where you come from.’
And since this, of course, was a thing almost impossible to explain to the uninitiated, the conversation had then reached its long-awaited impasse; and the monolithic Marshal had returned to his gloomy perusal of some of the snappier items contained in the Book of Revelations. The bit about the Great Beast, he’d always rather liked. Put him in mind of his horse, Apocalypse...
Bat was pleased to see him; but didn’t at once say so.
Not out of any churlishness – even though Wyatt was in his chair – but because when strong men meet, words are sometimes unnecessary between them. And then there’s the matter of vocabulary, too. I mean, ‘Hallo,’ is somehow inadequate; and ‘Gee, fella, am I glad to see you?’ seems to be overdoing things rather. No, difficult. Very.
So for a while there was silence between them, while Bat accidentally rolled his moustache into a cigarette, and Wyatt merely murmured the occasional ‘Hallelujah!’ in his purring, harmonium-like voice.
At length – ‘I thought you was out lookin’ for the Rudabaugh Bunch?’ said Bat.
‘I found ’em,’ said Wyatt. ‘There will be wild rejoicin’ in Hell this very day; and for a twelve-month after, I shouldn’t wonder. Glory be to the power of the Lord!’ he added.
‘What?’ said Bat.
‘Amen!’ said Wyatt.
‘Oh,’ said Bat. He cleared his throat, and fiddled with his badge.
‘Don’t do that,’ said Wyatt; ‘makes me nervous...’
He didn’t look nervous; but there you are – you never can tell...
‘And is that some of ’em you got in the cage there?’
asked the Sheriff.
After all, it was his gaol, and someone had to do the paper work...
‘No,’ said Wyatt. ‘Them’s just an uppity parcel of vagrants, as I took into protective custody till such time as they see fit to give a proper account of theirselves.
Question ’em careful, Bat – question ’em real shrewd!
Could be trouble. The hosts of Midian sure is out aprowlin’, this blessed day.’
‘Blessed, you call it?’ said Bat, glancing out of the window; ‘I’ve seen better days, I must say.’
‘No-one lasts forever,’ agreed Wyatt.
Bat ignored the remark.
‘And that bunch don’t look particular dangerous, do they now?’ he continued. ‘I mean, they ain’t by no means the Daltons. More like as if they was actors from the Bird Cage Theatre, I’d say. Eddie Foy’s playin’ there at the moment,’ he remembered. ‘Get you a ticket?’
‘Theatres,’ reproved Wyatt, ‘is a haunt of vice an’
corruption. Lewdness an’ filth.’
‘Well, the notices were good,’ said Bat.
And the Doctor, who had been listening with interest, at once adopted the cover so conveniently offered.
‘Quite so,’ he interjected. ‘That, indeed, is who we are –
a humble troupe of travelling players...’
‘Then why didn’t you say so before?’ demanded Wyatt.
‘You yourself have just explained why. We are commonly regarded as rogues and vagabonds. Incorrectly, of course, but experience has taught us to be wary of revealing our true profession, before we are certain of our reception. Moreover, we are at the moment between engagements; and as always, rather loth to admit it. But now that your colleague had seen through our modest deception, allow me to perform the introductions: Miss Dodo Dupont – Queen of the Ivory Keys; Mr Steven Regret – Songs for All Occasions; and lastly, your humble servant, Doctor... Doctor Caligari – Master of Magic and Legerdemain!’
‘Doctor who?’ enquired Bat.
‘Precisely!’ said the Doctor; and he looked at the others for approval. He was disappointed, of course – but he was used to that by now.
‘And if there are any tickets going,’ said Dodo, ‘we’d love to see Eddie Foy!’
‘No, we wouldn