Doctor Who_ The Gunfighters - Donald Cotton [47]
‘Doc,’ she gulped, ‘I think you’ve got a smut on your nose...’ And she held before his face a small hand mirror, such as young ladies carry at all times...
‘Why, so I do declare!’ said Doc. And he loosed an underarm shot behind him with his Derringer.
He had never previously attempted such a manoeuvre; but he had once seen Bill Cody perform this difficult feat to the detriment of Annie Oakley’s hair-do, so he was interested to see the outcome, and was pleased to note that on this occasion it worked, the bullet taking the astonished gun-man in the place it would do most damage – no need to specify.
‘Sorry, old friend and colleague,’ said Holliday, sadly –
for he’d always had a professional admiration for the man –
‘but how you have the gall to come bustin’ in here while I’m dressin’...’
‘My gall,’ said Johnny Ringo, a scholar to the last, ‘is now divided into three parts...’ And thereupon he quietly died, not, perhaps, quite like a gentleman, but going on that way.
‘Little lady,’ said Doc, mopping his face with the crêpe-edged bandana he kept for such occasions, ‘I am surely obliged! And now let us see what is portended by the noise of the multitude... Only, if I was you,’ he added, ‘I would stay right where you are, until I have investigated same..
And he sauntered forth, to see if he could be of any assistance to anyone.
‘Well, Glory be!’ smiled Wyatt, as his friend’s dapper figure manifested itself on the sidewalk. ‘We got company!’
‘Confound the man!’ objected the Doctor. ‘He is the cause of this whole intolerable imbroglio!’ And he inadvertently sent another shot in the approximate direction of the reinforcements.
‘Maybe,’ agreed Wyatt, ‘but it would pleasure me some if you’d stop doing that! Over here, Doc...’ he called.
Doc knew perfectly well where they were, but preferred to stay where he was – behind a newly perforated trash-can, in point of fact – till he had weighed all the relevant circumstances.
‘What you plannin’ to do, Wyatt?’ he asked. ‘Cain’t jest lay there all the cock-eyed morning...’
‘Gonna work round behind ’em,’ explained Wyatt.
Doc groaned to himself. His friend, he sometimes felt, was sound, but limited...
‘Seems to me,’ he said, ‘as they look pretty much the same, whichever side you see ’em. Come on now – you got Warren there, ain’t you? Reckon the three of us can take
’em, face to face, like always.’
About to make good this confident claim by stepping into mid-thoroughfare, he paused briefly to suggest that maybe one of them might explain to that trigger-happy old buzzard that he, Holliday, was one of the good guys, and nobody’s turkey at a Thanksgiving Shoot...
And this point having been established to his satisfaction, he strolled jauntily across the street to join them.
Surveying the scene from his temporary field-headquarters, back of the wooden Indian by the cigar store, Pa Clanton was chagrined to observe that the Earps were now supported by, not one, but a pair of doctorates –
something which is always impressive...
‘Hey, that ain’t fair!’ he hollered. ‘They got two Hollidays with ’em!’
‘Yeah – I meant to tell you about that...’ said the ineffable Phineas.
The others just looked at him the way they did so often.
Ah, well...
‘What do I do now?’ asked the Doctor, after Holliday had enquired politely as to the current condition of his jaw. ‘I mean, surely you don’t need me any more?’
‘Don’t know about that,’ said Wyatt. ‘So far, you’re doin’
jest fine. So, reckon we’ll keep you with us, for luck. An’
since all innocent parties are now here assembled, kindly consider yourself free to shoot the first thing that moves!’
In fact, the Doctor was beginning to enjoy himself, rather; but unfortunately, the first thing that did move was Eddie Foy who had thought to improve the shining morning by passing out a few handbills.