Doctor Who_ The Gunfighters - Donald Cotton [26]
‘Tarnation blazes!’ he snarled, having rejected his first choice of exclamation out of deference to the all-female company. ‘Ma’am, it would ill behove me to accuse a well-brought-up little lady, like your sweet self, of concealin’
wildies in her unmentionables, but...’
‘Then don’t!’ said Dodo. ‘Put up, or shut up! Want some more?’
‘Lady, I got no more! You jest cleaned me out! Reckon I’ll have to step down to the bar for a spell, and replenish my resources from the pockets of the sportin’ fraternity...’
‘You stay where you are, Doc Holliday!’ said his beloved Kate, snapping like an angry garter. ‘The Clanton boys’ll likely still be infestin’ the place, an’ you promised me you’d stay out o’ trouble!’
‘Well now, you see, Kate, I also do have this dryness creepin’ up from my throat, an’...’
‘Sit
down! Less’n you give some spry sign of reformation, it’s all over between us!’
‘But I’d kind of calculated from your fratchetty manner as it was all over. An’ now you’re sayin’, unless I truly go to the Devil I cain’t ever be rid of you? Aw, come on, Kate: you know I got no dearer wish than to do like you say – if only you’d say it gentle! All I hanker after from now on, is you cookin’ an’ me eatin’ – you know that!’
Whereupon she softened somewhat; as women will, under the influence of such rosy-spoken tributes to their domestic know-how...
‘Times you really do melt a gal’s heart right down to gravy, you glib, smooth-talkin’ thimble-rigger, you! Never did rightly know which to choose between you an’ Turkey-Creek Johnson, till he got hisself hung,’ she reflected.
‘O.K. then, Sweet-talk, seein’ you’re that set on my victuals, did you take the stew off the stove, like I told you in my billet-doux?’
‘Damn!’ said Doc Holliday. And simultaneously remembering a bottle of rot-gut he’d secreted in the scalpel steriliser, he left the place by that same window wherein he came, and went to attend to it.
Following his nose, Doc readily traced the blackened repast to its ptomaine domain; and, having consigned the remains to a labour-saving crematory, he was about to rehydrate himself from the aforementioned germ-free bottle, when he was given pause by what felt like the mouth-piece of a cannon in the small of the back.
Now, who would do a thing like that – without first taking the obvious precaution of pulling the trigger, that is?
Only one man he knew would have the goddam nerve: and presently the gloomy, Revivalist tones of his assailant assured him that his supposition was correct...
‘Howdy, old child of darkness an’ sorrow,’ purred Wyatt. ‘Come to pass your time in confession to an old acquaintance?’
‘Well now,’ said Doc, ‘I ain’t much in the line of weepin’
or wailin’ these days, but with the gnashin’ of dentures I can surely oblige. An’ if n you’ll be so civil as to place that there weapon back in its leather receptacle, it’ll be a real pleasure to see you, Wyatt. Mind if I turn up the lamp, so I can refresh myself with a glimpse of them time-worn features?’
The Marshal offered no objection; and as the smoky flame illuminated the tobacco-stained appointments of the dream kitchen, he was pleased to see Holliday remove the point of a Bowie knife from the region of his fourth weskit button; and the two friends took cautious stock of each other.
It had been a long time, and there’d be a heap to discuss between them. Wyatt began the discussion.
‘I’d like it fine,’ he said, ‘if you was to get the hell out of town!’
‘An’ like hell I will!’ said Doc pleasantly. ‘Now, where’d I put that bottle? You’ll join me, Wyatt?’
‘Drink is an abomination to the Lord!’ declined Wyatt.
‘Wasn’t invitin’ Him, as I recall,’ said Doc, ‘but each to his own pizen, like they say. Now me, I can accomodate the occasional swig of abomination, without sufferin