Robert Parker - Gunman's Rhapsody

“You ain’t heeled?” Doc’s rage spiraled and he could barely talk. He sounded, Wyatt thought, as if he were spitting.

“You sonova bitch,” Holliday said, “go heel yourself, you ain’t heeled.”

Morgan walked past Doc and hoisted his backside up and sat on the counter between Doc and Clanton and let his heels dangle. Morgan’s coat hung open, and the butt of his big Colt showed. He rested his hand against his body near the gun.

“I ain’t afraid of you, Holliday, even if all the Earps in Tombstone are backing you up.”

“I ain’t exactly backed Doc here,” Morgan said, “but you sonova bitch, you keep talking and you are going to have all the fight you want right now.”

Wyatt went back to his end of the counter and began to eat. Virgil came into the Lunch Room from the street and stood in the doorway. He had a deputy with him named Jim Flynn.

“Take Doc out of here, Morg,” Virgil said.

“Nobody takes Doc out of anywhere,” Holliday said.

Morgan grinned at him and swung down from the lunch counter and stood beside Holliday. He was probably a foot taller than Doc.

“Come on, John Henry,” Morgan said.

He put his hand on Holliday’s arm and turned him slightly toward the door and walked him past Virgil and out into the street. Clanton looked down the counter at Wyatt for a moment, then he turned and went out the same door that Morgan and Doc had gone through into the street. Wyatt continued to eat his steak and tomatoes. The tomatoes had some green chilies cut up in them and had been heated with several squares of bread tossed in. As he ate, he could hear Doc’s spitting rage outside and Ike Clanton’s voice almost as frantic and just as angry. Wyatt gestured with his cup to the counterman and the counterman came down and poured him more coffee. As he drank some of the fresh coffee, blowing on it first so as not to burn his lip, he heard Virgil’s voice in the street.

“Goddamm it, that’s enough,” Virgil said. “Either you go in different directions, or I’ll arrest both of you right now.”

Wyatt stood and walked to the door. In the street Doc was walking away. Morgan walked beside him, herding him with his bulk. Ike lingered for a moment, looking at Virgil, looking over his shoulder at Wyatt. Then he turned and walked past Virgil in the other direction.

“Don’t you bastards shoot me in the back,” Ike said.

Virgil watched him go, then nodded at Wyatt and walked off down Allen Street.

Wyatt went back to the counter and finished his meal. Then at about 1:30 in the morning Wyatt left the Occidental and strolled up Allen Street toward the Crystal Palace to pick up the bank money from his faro game. Ike Clanton was in the street, with a Colt revolver in his belt.

“Wyatt,” Clanton said.

“Ike.”

“I just want you to know that I ain’t a man to walk away from a fight.”

Wyatt didn’t say anything.

“I wasn’t fixed just right when Doc fronted me in there,” Clanton said.

Again Wyatt was silent. He began to move along the street toward the Crystal Palace.

“In the morning I’m going up against Doc, man to man. All this fighting talk has gone on long enough.”

“You know how Doc blows off,” Wyatt said. “He just wanted you to know I didn’t tell any secrets.”

“Like hell,” Ike said. “And don’t think I won’t fight you too. All of you. I’ll be ready for all of you in the morning.”

“I don’t see any reason to fight somebody if I can get away from it,” Wyatt said. “There’s no money in it.”

“You better be ready tomorrow,” Ike said. “Doc and you and your brothers.”

“Try to get some sleep, Ike,” Wyatt said and turned into the Crystal Palace.

They played poker all night. Virgil Earp, Johnny Behan, Ike Clanton, Tom McLaury, and another man none of them knew. Mostly it was five-card draw, and by morning Virgil had won some money. With the sun shining down Allen Street and throwing long shadows in front of it, Virgil stuffed his revolver into his belt and stepped into the street with Ike behind him.

“I don’t see why you have to play cards all night with a Colt in your lap,” Ike said.

“I’m a peace officer,” Virgil said. “I like to keep it handy.”

“Well, it ain’t comforting, being as you was throwing in with them that want to murder me.”

“I’m throwing in with the law,” Virgil said.

“Well, you want to have at me, I’m in town.”

“I been up all night, Ike,” Virgil said. “I’m going home and go to bed.”

“Well, ’fore you do that, I want you to carry a message to Doc Holliday,” Ike said. “The son of a bitch has got to fight me.”

“That’s no way to talk to a peace officer. I want you to be easy while I’m sleeping.”

“You won’t carry the message?” Ike said.

“ ’Course I won’t.”

“Well, he’ll have to fight, damn his ass. You may have to fight too, ’fore you know it.”

Virgil shrugged and turned west on Allen Street with the sun behind him and his shadow ten feet long in the empty dirt street. At home, Allie was awake but not yet up. She watched as he undressed and put the big Colt on the bedside table before he climbed in.

“There something going on?” she said.

“Been trying to keep Doc and Ike Clanton from killing each other,” Virgil said.

“Why didn’t you let them go ahead?” Allie said. “Neither one of them amounts to snake spit.”

Virgil patted her hip as she lay on her side beside him.

“Doc’s been with us a long time,” Virgil said, and fell asleep almost at once with his hand resting on her hip.

Allie lay on her side for a while looking at him. There was in him such a great calmness that he could fall asleep like that. He was motionless as he slept. His breathing was even. After a while she gently took his hand away from her hip and laid it on the blanket and got up and began to make herself some breakfast. At midmorning she came into the bedroom. Virgil came wide awake as she opened the door. He was always like that, she thought. Either full asleep or full awake. He never seemed in between.

“Bronk’s here,” she said. “Got jail business. Something about a prisoner.”

“Tell him I’ll be in later this afternoon,” Virgil said.

“Bronk also says that you better get up because Ike Clanton is on a rampage and there’s liable to be hell. Says Ike’s threatening to kill Doc, and you boys too.”

Virgil nodded.

“Ike’s probably drunk,” Virgil said. “Tell Bronk I’ll be in later this afternoon.”

He closed his eyes and appeared to be instantly asleep. Allie went out to tell Bronk what Virgil had said. When he left she picked up where she’d left off ironing Virgil’s shirts. While she let the iron heat on the stove she thought about Ike Clanton. He was a mean, loudmouthed drunk. She knew that. She’d seen a lot like him in saloons in Wichita and Dodge and Ellsworth. And she knew that mean, loudmouthed drunks with a gun could be dangerous. He’d need to be drunk to go up against Virgil; the whiskey would give him fortitude. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t pull the trigger. She thought about going to Virgil’s brothers. She knew they’d stand with him. It was who Bronk had meant when he said Clanton would be going after “you boys.” The Earps were always “you boys,” she thought. She took the iron off the stove with a potholder and licked her finger and tapped it on the flat of the iron. It sizzled. She nodded and began to iron careful creases in the shirt she’d stretched out on the board. Always “you boys.” Always the brothers. It was a good thing sometimes. Sometimes it was bad. She set the iron on its heel and turned the shirt and ironed another careful crease. She decided not to go to Wyatt or Morgan. Virgil wouldn’t approve. And God knew he’d handled things like this before. He slept peacefully in the next room while a man raged in the streets threatening to kill him. Maybe Ike would call Doc out before Virgil even woke up, and Doc would kill Ike, and it would be past. Allie took a deep breath and let it out slowly and kept ironing.