Doctor Who_ The Gunfighters - Donald Cotton [40]
Wyatt’s call for reinforcements had been answered right speedily by the rest of the clan; who had at once dropped whatever criminal they’d happened to be beating the nonsense out of at the time, and ridden in from all available points of the compass. Nothing remarkable in that: it’s what brothers do when one of their number becomes a mite over-extended. As witness the Clantons, on the extension to his full length of the departed Reuben.
So now Virgil Earp, the eldest, was here; and Warren Earp was here; and Morgan Earp, the youngest, was also among those present: with the trifling difference, in the case of the latter, that he was now dead as a beetled elm tree; which, strictly speaking, made him no age at all.
Added to which, Virgil had got himself a dose of buck-shot in his gun-arm; a thing which will generally slow you down some. So, at a rough estimate, that left Warren as the only functional addition to the strength of the angels.
Near as one can tell, in face of the conflicting reports lately current, what had happened was this – or near enough.
The previous night, Ike and Billy Clanton, having left their message for Ringo, were riding home full of zip and buck, to announce to their proud parent that when it came to a matter of asking around, they were the best available.
And, in this exalted frame of mind, they had encountered young Morgan who, rightly speaking, shouldn’t have been out that late, as he was riding in from Dodge.
Words had been exchanged; and, since these were in no way civil, bullets had swiftly followed. Which, at those odds, and considering Morgan’s inexperience, had made the outcome as inevitable as the Clantons had calculated. A fine, old fashioned bush-wacking, in fact.
It was while they were examining their trophy, that Virgil had ridden up, to enquire – remember, it was dark, and the parties had not previously met – if he could be of any assistance.
‘Sure!’ they said, ‘Hold this!’ And they had blasted him from the saddle with a shotgun they happened to have along. Leaving him for dead, they had then tittupped onwards; confident that their subsequent debriefing by Pa would be an occasion for joy, not unmired with gladness.
And, after a pause for stock-taking, Virgil had pulled as much of himself together as he could find, and ridden in with both the news and his brother’s body.
It was just this time that the Doctor chose to come a-calling.
Always a forbidding figure, Wyatt now put the Doctor in mind of a chariot of wrath, forming deep thunderclouds on its way to preside at The Last Judgement, with something of a hangover!
‘That does it!’ Wyatt hissed. ‘Bat – drag Phineas in here
– and I don’t mean gentle!’
Phineas, now restored to what, in his case, passed for consciousness, had been an interested audience to Virgil’s story and was consequently apprehensive.
‘It warn’t my fault!’ he claimed; ‘You know I bin here all night – sleepin’ like a... like a...’ What in hell was innocent when it slept? ‘Like a snow-bound gopher!’ he finally achieved. ‘You cain’t take it out on me!’
‘He’s right, Wyatt,’ warned Bat. ‘He’s a prisoner in legal custody! We don’t want no crusadin’ gaol-reform articles, on top of all!’
‘I ain’t gonna hurt him none,’ said Wyatt, grimly.
‘Know what I’m gonna do with you?’ he asked the palsied captive.
‘What?’ enquired Phineas, interested in spite. of himself.
‘Why, I’m gonna open the door, an’ let you walk right out of here. How about that?’
‘You can’t do that, either,’ Bat objected. ‘I tell you, he’s a...’ ‘Aimin’ to stop me, Bat?’
‘Well, no, Wyatt – but I thought I’d best mention it...’
‘You crazy?’ asked Warren. ‘There’s more than enough Clantons out there, the way it is!’
‘Don’t tell me nothin’ about the Clantons, Warren!
Don’t even breathe their foul name!’ He turned back to Phineas. ‘An’ when you get outside, boy;