Doc Holliday Must Die

Doc knew he had to kill him. The only question was when.

The mark had been playing the worst game of poker that he had ever seen. The burly teamster looked like he could barely read and it was a wonder that he could recognize the meaning of the cards he was playing. Best of all he was stinking drunk. Stinking in all aspects. He reeked of stale tobacco and rot gut whiskey with flesh that had not seen water since the last time he was caught in a rainstorm.

It was only a matter of time before it came to pistols. Not be the first time. A problem none the less. You see the sheriff had warned him when he rode into Newton. He had managed to keep his nose clean. Well relatively clean since his nose could often be found in a saloon girl’s cooze. Doc was an old school Southern gentlemen but he did favor the soiled doves. Their corruption assuaged the rot in his soul.

The whiskey drummer with the stained cravat had the play. “Two” he said. Doc spun two cards across the table. The drummer picked them up delicately and frowned. He tossed down his hand. “Fold.

Just Doc and idjit who smelled like a constipated buffalo. “Three” he slurred. Doc sent them across the table from the bottom of the deck. 

No need to trifle with circumstance. Since it would come to killing he might as well win the pot.

You have the play sir” Doc said. The teamster googled at his hand like it was the first time he figured out what his privates were used for besides pissing. “I raise twenty” he said. Doc checked his hand and shook his head. “I will see that sir and raise you fifty.” “FIFTY! YOU COCKSUCKING LUNGER! I AIN’T GOT BUT ANOTHER  DOLLAR TO MY NAME!” “That will suffice sir. You can just call all in. I will be willing to let it be.”

The teamster glared and pushed his last few coins to the middle of the table. He turned over his cards.  “Three sixes” he said as he lunged to pull in the pot. “Sorry sir but I think you are premature.” Doc turned over his hand. “I believer four Queens would be the better sir.” The teamster looked stupidly at the cards and he lost it. He jumped up and pulled an enormous Tennessee Toothpick and started to slash across the table.

Doc calmly palmed a derringer and shot him through the eye.  

It had been twelve minutes.

Marshal Miller came into the saloon with his gun drawn. Doc sat with his hands on the table in full view to avoid misunderstandings.

“Had to happen Jim. He came after me with a pig sticker. You can inquire of the rest of the congregation. I think they would swear to it. Couldn't be avoided.”

“Well I reckon it could have been avoided if you were in some other town Doc.  I can’t let you stay here and shoot up the citizens now can I?”

“Shoot up the citizens. Not hardly Jim. This poor benighted soul was not a citizen. In fact he was barely sentient.  You might as well call the rock outside the livery stable a citizen.”

“Maybe Doc but I couldn't have you shoot that up either. It scares the women and excites the horses.  Or excites the women and scares the horses. Either way it makes for a poor ride. Can’t let it happen again Doc. You need to make tracks. Pronto.”

“Fair enough Jim. You have always been a gentleman. You will not get any arguments from me. I will be on my way on the next stage.”

“Tonight Doc. Get a horse and ride. Or I will be forced to put you in jail and see what a trial might bring. There are enough people who hate you here and who wouldn't mind seeing you wear a different kind of cravat. So you best be on your way.”

Doc stared at the Marshal and just shook his head. “Well I guess that puts a tear in it. Gentlemen thank you for the game. I will be seeing you down the line.” Doc scooped up the pot. Folded the greenbacks and put the coins in one of the multiple side pockets of his silk vest. Taking his finely brushed old fashioned beaver hat he straightened his withered shoulders as best he might and walked into the night.

A small sickly man with a deadly sting.

Not a rattler. More like a consumptive asp.

Kill you just as dead. But without the warning rattle.

Doc gathered up his belongings from his hotel room. He always traveled light. Two saddle bags. One with a change of clothing. One with the tools of his trade. His original trade. He had not practiced dentistry for quite some time. He kept his instruments as a reminder of other days. Other times. Other directions.

The livery was empty but the owner lived in a room at the back. Doc walked back and struck the door with a clenched fist. 

Old Gabe stumble out rubbing the sleep and the stench out his eyes. Try as he might he could not get rid of the stink of horseshit and cheap whiskey out.

“Doc? What can I do for you?”

“Need a horse Gabe. I was invited out of your fine town. I have to make tracks before the rest of the citizens awake and inquire as to the fresh corpse in the thoroughfare.”

“Like that is it. Well I got a nice gentle mare for you. I know you don’t want too spirited a horse so she should suit you down to the ground. That will be ten dollars.”

“Ten dollars? You should wear a mask when you ask for that you horse thief.  But I guess I can’t balk as my time is limited. Throw in a rig and we have a deal.”

“Sure enough Doc. I didn’t reckon you were gonna go bareback. Be ready in a few minutes.”

He rode out of town a half an hour later. The mare had a gentle gait and Doc pointed her nose down the line to the next town on the Circuit. He rode for a good three hours until he was far enough away to discourage pursuit. Especially if he left early in the morning. He hobbled the mare and built a small fire with dry wood and buffalo chips. Most considered Doc a devotee of the saloon and dancehall but he was a competent woodsman. He loved to hunt and fish back in his native Georgia and had not lost any of his skills. Doc usually kept any skill that he learned. He might not use them but they would be there if he reached for them.

Sitting with his back to a sturdy willow tree he stretched. A short rest is all he could afford. It would not be smart to be caught sleeping if they did decide to send a posse. So a dozing would have to do.

Doc reached into his inner pocket and look out an envelope and stub of a pencil. He might as well finish his letter if he could not sleep.

“My Dearest Mattie

I am writing to you from the trail. I have to go on to the next town as my practice did not prosper in my former abode. Not to worry. I am well. My cough is tiresome but seems to have improved with the fresh country air.

I remember how you loved the smell of the flowers in the wind when we would walk in the woods on a summer twilight. I wonder do you get to smell the flowers in the convent or do you only have to scent of candles and piety to amuse you in the evening. I will never understand why you decided to become a bride of Christ. It is past my reckoning. Please know that I am ever at your command. If you need me I will come.

I hold those memories of the times we spent a precious gift. I hope you remember them with fondness as well. Those thoughts of you and home keep me warm even as I huddle before this fire on the trail to the next town.

If you desired to leave me word please forward it to the Drovers cottage at Abilene. I expect to be there for some time.

May your God hold you safe in his bosom and protect you from all the evil that is found this imperfect world.

With fondest regards,

Your dearest cousin,

John”