Parables of the Beautiful Country

by Jack E’Dalgo

Chapter 15: Falls and Follies

“Holliday seemed to be absolutely unable to keep out of trouble for any great length of time. He would no sooner be out of one scrape before he was in another, and the strange part of it is he was more often in the right than in the wrong, which has rarely ever been the case with a man who is continually getting himself into trouble.” – Bat Masterson

The special from Pueblo had Masterson, Holliday and Pickett back in Grape Creek by four. Once in camp, Holliday and Pickett disappeared for a couple of hours. Resting up for the evening’s entertainment, Masterson hoped.

The camp, meanwhile, had progressed with another day’s work for the Santa Fe and Masterson’s Dodge City Gang had readied their area of the camp for Foy’s Follies that night. The largest saloon had been extended with the addition of another tent attached to the original. Carpenters had built a stage at one end of the saloon for the performers to be lifted up high enough to be seen.

The tent’s side flaps were opened so the remainder of the camp — workmen of all ranks, and working girls — had the opportunity to enjoy as much of the show as they could see and hear. The interior lighting of the saloon was directed to the stage; Masterson warned that much more light would have the troupe sweating like a whore in church.

Eddie Foy’s bunch had arrived in Canyon City that afternoon, and burst into camp on the usual evening train. By agreement with the Santa Fe, the train was held over in camp to allow the staff to see the show before leaving and to haul Foy’s entertainers back to the depot. While finishing touches were being put on the performance tent, Foy’s troupe used the train as a dressing room and some of the camp residents availed themselves of the passenger car windows to get a preview of flesh at the expense of the actresses and dancers. No one in Foy’s team seemed to mind too much. It was simply more free advertisement, apparently.

Masterson had made his rounds and got in a few minutes of gossip with Foy. Foy chatted with his usual rapidity and assured Masterson that Dodge was so dead at the moment that Wyatt Earp had agreed to collect ballots for a baby beauty contest to benefit the Ladies’ Aid Society’s missionary fund. Masterson had a good laugh at that, especially when he realized Foy was serious.

Foy was sporting a number of fresh bruises and scrapes and a sling on one arm. Masterson inquired about his trouble. Foy explained that he and his new bride had been working in Leadville just the evening before. He and part of his team had taken the long, dangerously steep Priest Canyon route down to Canyon City by stage. The road had crumbled from under them at one point and their wagon had overturned and slid, dragging driver, horses, and passengers down to within mere feet of a thousand foot drop. They were spared only when the stage caught against a tree stump.

Foy showed Masterson his bandaged broken collar bone. Foy was game to perform, however, without his usual handstands, of course, and Masterson marveled at the little man. Frail as Holliday and far smaller, Foy possessed as much of a frontiersman’s spirit as the rest of them. He was indeed one of their own and he strutted like a bantam rooster when Masterson told him so.

Meanwhile the camp was filled with the smell of roasted popcorn. The various houses of sporting women had large fires going and took turns popping kernels of corn in mesh shakers, squealing when the long metal handles became too hot to safely hold. Masterson could have sworn he saw several of the ladies wrapping the handles with their hastily removed bloomers. A number of girls were melting syrups and pouring the popped corn into the mass to make popcorn balls. Masterson hadn’t had a decent popcorn ball since he’d last seen his mother too many years before. The thought left him an odd mixture of hungry and melancholy.

Finally it was showtime. Holliday, now in formal evening wear, had collected a richly dressed Kate and joined Masterson, Pickett and Ben Thompson on the front row. Thompson was sporting a gold-headed swagger stick. A stove-pipe top hat corralled his curly dark hair and he’d waxed his mustache, as dapper for once as Luke Short.

The conversion of the saloon had left the bar still along one wall, but no one was serving while the show was in progress. Some men sat on the bar as a kind of impromptu balcony, ensuring they got the best views. Everyone else sat in the chairs collected in front of the stage or on the tables toward the front of the saloon.

First on stage was a man in frontier skins and fringe, obviously trying to imitate a shorn Wild Bill Hickok. He pantomimed riding in from the range, then shooting at someone at the back of the audience, pops from his pistol provided by a firework behind the stage that didn’t quite line up with the jerking he was doing with his pistol. The audience of gun sharks had several choice comments but all in good fun; they were willing to indulge the Easterners’ ideas of gunplay. Finally there was another firework and the man, just a tad too slowly, began pantomiming being shot.

“Well, just keep standin’ there out in the open and maybe they’ll plug ya again,” came a drawl from the front. The audience roared with laughter.

Masterson nudged Holliday’s elbow. “Doc. Behave.”

“I’m glad we didn’t pay good money for this,” Holliday teased to Kate, sotto voce.

She smirked. “I can think of better things we could be doing, Doc.”

“Kin ya now? Do tell.”

Masterson said, “Only after you two get a room, will you?”

The Sweet Serenaders were up next with a foot stomping rendition of “Arkansas Traveler.” Masterson was impressed by the number of verses he’d never heard for the song, some of them quite risque enough to make Kate blush. Kate. Would wonders never cease.

Next up was Foy, the show headliner, of course. He was dressed, clown-like, in exaggerated city finery, his skinny legs highlighted by big bell-shaped flairs at the ankles of his trousers. His hair was teased and oiled to form a peak like a rooster comb and he had a pair of stuffed gloves serving as a bow-tie. He looked ridiculous and proud of it, which was why everyone loved him.

He bounced onto the stage, his usual fireball of energy and immediately started into one of his signature songs. The gathered crowd sang along with him softly to the solemn tune, snickering when they felt it appropriate.

“A bum in front of a theater door stood waiting for a check;

The police tried to drive him off, but he firmly stood on deck.

His stomach yearned for lunch, so he turned and entered a saloon,

But the barkeep hit him in the eye with an Etruscan brown spittoon.

The weary bummer faltered as he sadly murmured, ‘Sure

You wouldn’t treat me thusly, only you know I’m poor.

Why, I’ve been mistaken for Vanderbilt, but you can see I’m not the man;

For I was born in Kalamazoo, Kalamazoo in Michigan.”

“I’m sorry I’m late folks,” Eddie moaned with his characteristic lisp. “I was up all night, got no sleep.”

His audience graced him with sympathetic comments and noises.

Foy said, “You, know how it is. There was a beautiful young woman knocking on my hotel room door all night.”

Ribald laughter from the audience until Foy explained, “I finally had to let her out.” The audience exploded with foot stomping approval.

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” Foy cautioned. “You know I’m a happily married man with seven kids. I love my wife–” There was so much snickering and hooting Foy paused, grinning appreciatively, to allow the room to calm so his punchline could be heard.

Holliday shouted out, “I love my cigar, too, Eddie, but I take it out every once in a while. Damn!”

The room erupted with laughter. Eddie smiled and tipped his hand to Doc.

“Seriously, though, I’ve been in love with the same woman for twenty years.” There was genuine applause for such a feat. “If my wife ever finds out, she’ll kill me!” That was greeted so enthusiastically, Foy had to laugh at it himself.

“For our anniversary, my wife and I went back to the hotel where we spent our wedding night; only this time, I’m the one who stayed in the bathroom and cried. Before we went, she was at the beauty shop for two hours. That was only for the estimate. She got a mud pack and looked great for two days. Then the mud fell off.”

Foy turned to Doc and held out his hand. “Doc, here’s one for ya.” He turned back to the audience and soto voced conspiratorially, “We all know Doc Holliday’s a bit of a scrapper, and not to be messed with, don’t we?”

There were murmurs of general approval for the statement. Holliday was very still and alert, but still smiling. Masterson noted that Kate was suddenly watching him closely. Foy said in his usual stage voice, “So Doc went to the doctor once and the fool doctor gave him six months to live.” There was a sudden uneasy silence. “Doc refused to pay his bill,” Foy plowed onward, “so the doctor gave him another six months.”

Holliday stood, one arm raised as if he had a glass to toast. “And damned if that scoundrel will ever get paid!” he announced and sat as Eddie applauded him and the room erupted again with laughter.

Foy giggled, then sought to look solemn. “Seriously, the last time Doc saw his doctor, Doc decided to stop by the saloon for a few drinks first. He’s standing there in the doctor’s office and the doctor is holding a stethoscope up to his chest. Doc asks, ‘Doctor, how do I stand?’ The doctor says, ‘That’s what puzzles me!’

Holliday was laughing so hard he was wiping tears.

“They tell me Doc had a court date this morning. Our Doc, he’s standing in front of the judge. The judge says, ‘You’ve been brought here for drinking.’ Doc says, ‘Sounds good. Let’s get started.'”

Doc stood and waved for silence in the roar of laughter. “Just for that, the drinks are on me after the show, boys.” The applause was thunderous in the tent and Doc took a bow before sitting back down.

Masterson spoke through his laughter. “Damn, Doc. I’m not paying you that much.”

Foy was speaking again. “Speaking of courts, my friend George, went through a divorce recently. Took every cent he had.” There were various sympathetic noises from the room. “Yes, sir, it’s true,” Foy lisped. “I asked him, ‘George’, I says, ‘I don’t understand, why do divorces cost so much?’ George looks at me and he says, ‘Because they’re worth it.’ Well, that’s enough of me for now. I have to rest my voice so that I can come back and allegedly sing for ya. Fair warning!” Over applause and more laughter, Foy cried, “I want to introduce you to my very dear friends, all the way from Peoria, the lovely Louanne Sisters!”

Foy gave a flourish and exited the stage as two buxom blondes wearing tights and not much else, uni-cycled in, juggling various objects. The accompanying music was raucously loud as were the shouts of encouragement from the men. The women could have been eating raw cats for all the men cared, the men were eager to see anything suggesting naked flesh and the lovely Louanne’s were showing as much as might be allowed and perhaps a bit more as they bent and wove their way through their act.

Doc didn’t need Foy’s buxom blondes, he had one of his own. Masterson noted Holliday’s head was bent down as Kate was saying something in his ear. They were like that for most of the juggling act, Doc holding Kate close and from time to time speaking with his mouth pressed to her ear to be heard. Kate had one hand flat against Holliday’s chest, the other between his back and the back of his chair.

Masterson turned in his seat, so he could keep a better eye on the couple while not appearing too nosy. Holliday was looking especially pale in the garish lights, he decided. The Hollidays continued nodding or shaking heads at one another intermittently. Masterson didn’t interrupt, confident he would be informed of their situation shortly.

The music died finally and Masterson heard Holliday growl, “No, goddammit, Mary Kate. I am not a child. Enough.”

Kate hissed, “Fine. Die then, see if I care.” She released him and flounced her back against her chair.

“I will,” Holliday assured her quietly. “Just not on your schedule, ma belle madame.“

Kate leaned past Holliday and shot Masterson one of her hate-filled glances.

Holliday told her, “He can’t make me, either. Hush up Kate and let me enjoy the evening.”

The next act was dancing girls, lots of petticoat fanning and unbloomered thigh. Kate’s foot began tapping in spite of herself and by the third verse of “Sweet Mary Ann” she was clapping her hands.

She was steadfastly ignoring Holliday, however. Holliday didn’t seem to let it bother him, enjoying the display and even softly singing along with the chorus. “She’s a darlin’, she’s a daisy, she’s a lamb–“

About an hour before full dark, the boulders began to fall. There was a sudden hellacious crack that interrupted Harrigan and Hart’s soulful rendition of “I’m As Happy As a Big Sunflower.” Within seconds the crack was followed by a blast that sounded like someone had dynamited a tunnel. The entire tent emptied, gunmen, workmen and performers alike struggling through the assembled crowd, their attention riveted on the Royal Gorge.

Bits of mountain broken but unmoved since the Flood dropped 500 to 1000 feet straight down, shattering in thunderous echoes. Fragments the size of bullets ricocheted off the sheer walls, while rocks the size of freight cars tumbled down-canyon a hundred yards. Several machinist tents collapsed under the weight of exploded gravel. Red granite raised geysers in the Arkansas River. Boulders of all sizes shot out and struck the girders of Twelve Mile Bridge. It was over in minutes but the minutes felt like hours and would be remembered for the rest of their lives.

Masterson felt a hand tugging at his arm. He looked over to see Foy, breathless and amazed, his makeup half removed, his costume unbuttoned.

Foy said, “Ya know, I’ve been accused of bringing down the house from time to time, but never a mountain! Oh my!”

Within two hours, Foy and his troupe had gone back to Canyon City to catch the next train back out to their usual circuit. The Santa Fe crew made their rounds as soon as there was finally enough light to assess the damage. Twelve Mile bridge still stood and was surprisingly undamaged, but the freshly mounded grade into the gorge was cratered and pocked with boulders. Several tents had collapsed, but with everyone at Foy’s show, there had been no human casualties.

The mules, however, had not fared quite so well.

Several mule teams had been corralled near the gorge for the night. At one end of the pen stood a group of wounded mules, crowded together for comfort. One, his hind leg shattered and hanging limp, was pushing farther into the group, next to the calming presence of the team’s pale gray bell mare. Despite their pitiful injuries, the mules made no sound.

Their muleskinners examined and treated recoverable injuries and sympathetic rail terriers offered what assistance they could, bringing water, hay and bandages, holding leads and speaking softly to the traumatized animals.

Two mules, it was determined, were beyond help and were led away to a nearby gulch beyond the cottonwood grove before being put down, out of sight of the other mules.

Masterson wondered at the concern, but he noted the reactions of the remaining mules: there was a brief braying at the sound of the rifle fire, then a few soft huckles and a collective dropping of their heads as though they knew the end had come for their corral comrades. They huddled closely again as though in mourning. It was a sobering sight and made Masterson all the more grateful that no one else had been injured.

Word had come in with the morning train that the Rio were bragging about their handiwork of the previous night. They crowed that they were literally moving heaven and earth to destroy the Santa Fe in Colorado. Masterson, normally level-headed, saw red. He found Dave Mather and John Jacob Webb and shared Doc’s idea of relieving the Rio of their black powder stores and dynamite reserves.

“Go on and tell me it’s a crazy fool idea if you think it is, Dave,” Masterson insisted.

“Ya know,” Dave mused. “A couple nights ago I was playin’ Spanish Monte with an ol’ boy who was working the blastin’ crew for the Rio just last month. He knows where they keep the powder and when it’s guarded and when it ain’t.”

“Do tell. Can you find this man, do you think? And would he help us against his employer?”

“He’s workin’ for the Santa Fe this month. He’s right here in camp. Shit, Bat, these ol’ boys get the same three dollars a day whether they’re workin’ for the Rio or the Santa Fe. They get fired on one side of this gorge, they just walk over and get hired on the t’other. Long as they’re feedin’ their families, they don’t care.”

Webb grinned. “I signed up with the Rio two weeks ago and worked for a few days as a swamper for the commissary over there, just to get the lay of the camp, ya know? Thought it might come in handy. I tol’ Doc all about it, but Doc’s been a bit busy what with the shootin’ and his bein’ a bit peaked and all, so–” Webb trailed off in a moment of reflection.

Mathers continued, “Leastwise, this guy I was talkin’ ’bout, name of Bob, says a handful of hombres can be in and outta the munitions shed with the powder, in under a quarter hour, tops. I reckon we can borrow one of those velo-whatsits the section inspectors ride on to check the rails and we’ll be back in no time.”

“A velocipede? We have one of those?”

“The Santa Fe does. Me and Doc tried one out the t’other day. Drop one of those little bicycle lookin’ things on the rail and ya can go like the wind. I’m told you can get up ta twenty miles an hour outta one of ’em if ya pump it right.”

“Damn,” Webb whistled appreciatively. “That’ll put the wind up ya.”

Masterson nodded. “Sounds good. Listen, you two, not a word of this to Holliday. He’ll just wanna go and I don’t want him doing anything too strenuous yet.”

“Ah, Doc’ll never know. He’s not even back yet, I don’t think.”

“Not back yet? Not back from where?” Masterson demanded.

“The hot spring. He and Billy Leonard took out, I dunno,” Mather squinted at Webb, “late last night, early this mornin’?”

Webb nodded, “‘Round midnight thereabouts.”

“To Hot Springs? Arkansas?”

“Naw, Bat,” Mather chuckled. “That little hot spring ’bout a quarter mile back, just the t’other side of the bridge headin’ back to Canyon City.”

Masterson shook his head. “I haven’t seen anything like that.”

“Ah, now, the spring t’aint much to look at. Just a fair-sized pond at an old minin’ claim. S’posed to help what ails ya, though. Leonard thought he and Doc oughta try it. Ol’ Billy’s got the consumption, too, ya know.”

“No. I didn’t know,” Masterson admitted.

“Don’t think Bill’s had it as long as Doc, maybe ’bout a year now. Unlike Doc, though, Bill’s weak as an acorn calf.”

Webb chimed in, “Bosh. Bill ain’t weak, he’s just afeared of doing a bit of work. Laziest sod ever stood in shoe leather. Calls himself a jeweler but he couldn’t even fix Doc’s watch.” He scoffed. “Only thing Bill’d put his hand ta for an honest day’s work is whore herder at a cathouse.”

Mather nodded. “Sounds ’bout right. Don’t know why Doc puts up with ‘im. Still. It was a good idear Bill takin’ Doc to the hot spring. Mayhap it’ll get Doc back on his feet a while.”

“Meanwhile,” Webb tossed a thumb at Mather, “give us the word, and me and Dave’ll take care of the blastin’ powder.”

“Don’t forget the dynamite, if you can get it.”

“It’s good as done, Bat.”

Both men were grinning like boys with a new bag of marbles when Masterson left them.

The plan for the raid on the Rio’s powder stores in operation, Masterson headed for Holliday’s tent.

No one had sat shotgun on the Hollidays last night. Holliday had appeared hale enough at first glance for Foy’s performance and he was certainly no longer in custody, so there had seemed little point. The deal table and a congregation of chairs remained, but there was no sign of any recent activity in the area. John Shanssey’s tent showed no sign of life, no tell-tale wisp of smoke, no scent of brewing coffee. Masterson called out about two seconds before he stuck his head in Shanssey’s tent. It was empty and quite cold.

Masterson could hope, then, that Shanssey had gone with Doc. It certainly beat Holliday being alone with Billy Leonard.

Leonard wasn’t much, a two-bit hardcase wanna-be. The last time Leonard and Holliday had run together, though, Leonard had gotten Holliday accused of rustling sheep. Sheep, for crying out loud. Thankfully, Masterson himself had been Holliday’s alibi for that one. He and Holliday had been at the Palace Theatre to see a repertory performance of Les Brigands and Holliday was cleared of suspicion. Leonard had done a year in the Lansing penitentiary, however. Apparently the sheep had been valuable. Masterson had never heard of such.

Masterson presented himself at Holliday’s tent next. He found Kate severely hungover. She untied the tent flap when he called out and peered at him for a moment.

Her hair looked like chewed twine and the rest of her looked like she’d been rode hard and put up wet. Her makeup from the evening before was smeared and in the cold light of day it all just made her look harsh and a good deal older than Masterson expected she was. She was in a frilly pink dressing gown that didn’t cover much, but she wore a chemise under it so Masterson wasn’t too alarmed.

The first thing out of her mouth was “So you come to tell me you arrested Doc again.” It wasn’t a question. She winced at the sight of the full morning sun over Masterson’s shoulder. “Keep your voice down. My head aches like a sonofabitch.” She held the flap open and stood aside and hiccuped as Masterson stepped in.

“So, Doc’s not here,” he said.

She squinted at him and turned to work at her stove. “Doc is at Bell’s Spring,” she said.

“With Billy Leonard?”

Kate looked up at that. “With that bastard Billy Leonard. Makes me so mad.” She shook her ash shovel at Masterson, sending flecks of ash in a soft plume across her slippers.

She said, “Doc helps Bill out of a jam once with a customer who wanted a special made ring, and Leonard gets Doc to make it for him, weaving gold into a net with silver and platinum–” she formed her fingers in an effort to indicate intricacy, “–just oh, so dainty and nice, really, really nice and all Doc’s work ’cause Leonard, the so called jeweler, could not pour piss out of a boot with instructions on the heel. And does Bill share the twenty thousand he made off the sale of that bauble with Doc, it’s creator? Hell, no.”

Masterson feigned interest and let Kate stew for a few minutes, figuring it was the price he’d have to pay to get her angry enough to turn informant in spite of herself.

She slammed the door shut on the stove and the two-hundred pounds of cast iron shuddered with the force. “And does Doc even ask for his share? Hell, no. Ol’ Billy boy is Doc’s amigo and Doc is a gentleman and a gentleman never discusses anything so common as money.”

Masterson said, “Doc’s a dentist. I didn’t know Doc knew about working gold and–”

“Where do you get teeth of gold, but from a dentist? You think they fall out of the sky? And that they fit in your mouth just so because they are born that way? Doc knows meta…lurgy? Is that what you say? Metallurgy?” Kate slammed down her spoon. “And Doc is not a dentist. He is a dental surgeon.” She sat up quite proudly as though Holliday’s doctorate was down to her for some reason. “Even Fox will tell you Doc is better educated than himself. Doc is brilliant. The bastard. So brilliant he gets himself hooked up with some snot like Billy Leonard or that damned arrogant ass Wyatt Earp.” She said Earp like she was vomiting.

Kate adjusted the flue and slammed a coffee pot onto the cook surface. She winced and rubbed her forehead, having set off her own hangover. After a moment she rattled on, reprimanding Holliday in absentia.

“Doc says Leonard makes him laugh. Oh sure. Ha. Ha. The problem is Doc does not know the difference between a cut-up and a cut-throat. And he doesn’t seem to care that Leonard will beg, borrow or steal just to satisfy his cocainism.” She hiccuped again. “Once Doc imagines he likes you, he’ll overlook anything, damn him.”

Masterson thought that could pretty much cover what Doc saw in Kate as well, but he didn’t say so.

He said, “John Shanssey with them?”

Kate looked up from her coffee makings. “Is he? I do not know. I did not see them leave. Not that that makes it any better, far as I am concerned” She went back to measuring her coffee grounds. She was still hiccuping pretty routinely.

“I don’t like Bill Leonard, either, Kate. But Shanssey’s Doc’s good friend. Surely he’ll keep Bill from getting them into too much trouble–“

Kate sat down hard on one of the chairs between her little table and the stove.

“Oh, yeah, John Hugo Shanssey is great. Sure. A good friend to Doc.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“Doc and Shanssey have been known to share a woman from time to time. And I don’t mean me.” She stared at the stove. “That damned Lottie Deno, for one. Doc swears it ain’t so, and Doc don’t lie, but his version of events can get a bit skewed once he gets himself good and liquored up.”

“A woman? At a hot spring? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Kate, but the camp is full of women. If Doc wanted a woman, he wouldn’t need to–.”

“A hot spring. In the middle of the night,” Kate reminded him. “That’s not suspicious. Not a bit.” She hiccuped again.

Masterson, unlike Kate, was not concerned about Holliday and his possible roving eye. He couldn’t care less unless Kate had a shotgun in her hands and was planning to use it on her presumed rival or Holliday himself. Of course, given that Masterson had not yet returned the rest of Holliday’s arsenal, the point was probably moot. “You and Doc been arguing, Kate?”

“That damned snake Leonard. I didn’t want Doc to go. Not in the middle of the night. But Leonard insisted. And Doc said you might need him tomorrow. Today,” she corrected. She tried mimicking Holliday: “Bat might need me for somethin’ after all that ruckus in the gorge.” She was crap at the caricature. “Never mind what Kate might need. It is always what one of you Earps might take a hankering for. That is what is important. I hope Doc does get caught. It would serve the bastard right.”

“Caught doing what, Kate?”

She straightened and tried to look imperious in her rumpled pink. “I am no pigeon, dammit.”

“Kate. You obviously think Leonard is roping Doc into something illegal. What makes you believe Doc would agree to be part of this… job Leonard may or may not have going?”

“Doc is a badman. One of the worst. You do not know the half of what he has done. Or what he is capable of. You don’t know half the men he has killed.” She said it all like she was proud of it. Like she believed half the rumor that swirled around Holliday and the legend that he’d created to protect himself.

“God, Kate, listen to yourself. The man is half dead. Can’t you give him some peace?”

“You sound like John.”

It took him a moment to realize she meant John Holliday.

“If he’s so terribly evil, Kate, what does it say about you that you share his bed?” Masterson surprised himself by voicing the words. He wasn’t quite certain where they came from.

“There is no smoke without fire, Bat Masterson,” Kate hissed “I’ve known Doc longer’n you. I know what he is. I even know what he would rather be. And who he would rather be with. And I’ll tell you something else for free, when Doc dies, I hope he takes half the world with him. It does not deserve to exist without him in it anyway.” She was not sobbing, but she was crying. Great heavy tears rolled down her face and dripped off her jaw. She hiccuped some more.

Masterson was reminded again that he hated drunks. As far as he was concerned, sloppy, feel-sorry-for-me drunks were just as rotten as the loud-mouth braggart drunks.

“Kate, either you tell me what in hell’s going on, or I start shouting. Talk about a ruckus. You and I will have us one. It’s not gonna do your headache any favors.”

“Sweet heart of Jesus, Bat, I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire, but I at least figured you to be the smartest in the bunch.” Kate shook her head. “Every person and his brother knows the Santa Fe payroll is coming in today,” she said flatly. “And if Billy Leonard has gotten Doc involved with something, I am going to hold you responsible. Doc goes down for any of it, I am going to squawk and lie and cheat just to make certain you go down with him. You count on it, you bastard.”

Masterson sprinted from the tent to the telegraph office in record time.

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