Doctor Who_ The Gunfighters - Donald Cotton [46]
‘How many times do I have to tell you, little lady,’ said Doc, ‘he’ll be with Wyatt? So he’ll keep till we get there, I’d say. There ain’t no hurry.’ Little did he know!
‘What in hell is that contraption?’ demanded Ike.
‘Like nothin’ I ever seen before,’ admitted Phineas.
‘That don’t prove a thing,’ said Billy, offensively. ‘Half the time you ain’t capable!’
‘Phin,’ said Pa, slowly, ‘you say it was Wyatt suggested we meet up here?’
‘Far as I recollect. I mean, it weren’t my idea – that’s for certain sure!’
They believed him.
‘Then I tell you what it likely is,’ deduced Pa. ‘I’ll bet you five to a horse-laugh, that treacherous, biblequotin’
bastard has filled this here large-size sarcophagus with dynamite – or some such unsporting substance – which he will presently proceed to blow! Boys, stand not upon the order of your going, but get the hell outa here!’
And they broke cover, like bankers from a busted cat-house!
Meanwhile down the centre of Main Street strode the gallant Doctor, supported left and right, with vice-like grips to the elbows, by Warren and Wyatt.
I’m sure you can easily imagine the nerve-scraping accompaniment which would have been playing, had there been a symphony orchestra available. Because you should also realise that, by now, all first-floor windows were packed to their sashes by the previously reported assortment of rough-necks, bad-lots, and personae non gratae, waiting to see which way the cookie crumbled before joining in.
Frank and Jack McLowry were there, for a start; as were Curly Bill, and Florentino Cruz, to name but several anti-social elements. In fact, such a collection of fancy-dressed desperados had seldom been previously assembled at the same time and place in the whole history of carnage. They had long been looking forward to seeing the Earps get theirs – and it looked as if this was likely it!
So the dice were somewhat loaded; and Blind Justice, on her pedestal over the Court-house, trembled accordingly.
It was about now that Johnny Ringo discovered he had left his copy of The Gallic Wars back at the ranch; so seeking light literary distraction before battle, as had been Caesar’s constant habit, he cast an idle eye over the hotel register.
And, on seeing the previous night’s entry, all thoughts of the O.K. Corral were swept into abeyance by the call of more urgent personal business. He mounted the stairs with the surprised look of a man born in the saddle, and sought the first-floor back.
The sign of the decayed tooth still swung, groaning in the wind, from the charred ruins of Holliday’s business premises; and as it came to the Doctor’s attention, so did the sequence of events which had led so remorselessly to his present predicament; and he erupted with spluttering indignation.
‘There it is!’ he snapped. ‘That’s the whole cause of the trouble!’ And he pointed to it with his shotgun.
‘ What is?’ asked Wyatt and Warren, jumping like jack-rabbits – for the nervous tension was considerable. And was infectious – causing the Doctor to jump in his turn; whereupon both barrels exploded.
The first shot caught Curly Bill in the diaphragm; and the second brought Frank McLowry drifting lead-like to the street before them, in a shower of broken glass; these events coinciding with the breaking from cover of the Clantons – who promptly revised their plans, and sought fresh hide-aways, from which to assess the situation.
‘If I was you, friend,’ said Wyatt, laconically as always,
‘I’d reload right smart!’
‘Reload?’ said the Doctor. ‘But, good heavens, I never intended...’
‘Never mind what you intended,’ said Warren. ‘Seems like you just made a pre-emptive strike!’
And, carrying the appalled Doctor between them, the Earps sprang, with an interesting Catherine-wheel effect, into the dubious shelter of the horse-trough.
The sound of shots fired in anger was something which had surrounded Holliday from infancy, so he continued imperturbably to settle his