Doctor and the Kid, The (A Weird West Tale) (Weird West Tales) by Mike Resnick Read Free Book Online

killed twenty men, maybe thirty. But they also say he's a really nice, polite, thoughtful kid, so who knows?”
    “Who are you talking about?”
    “Billy Bonney,” was the answer. “Just busted out of jail a couple of months ago. Killed eight or nine deputies in the process. Maybe twelve.”
    “I don't believe I've heard of any desperado named Bonney,” said Holliday, hoping the driver could tell him more details.
    “Maybe you've heard of Billy the Kid?”
    “Here and there.”
    “Don't know why he permits it. Who'd want to get famous as being a kid?” continued the driver.
    “Sounds to me like he's chosen a profession where he's not likely to get much older,” answered Holliday. “What else can you tell me about him?”
    “They say he's got a Mexican ladyfriend,” was the answer. “I hear he's left-handed, but I don't put much stock in it, since I figure anyone who's seen him draw ain't around to report on it.”
    “Makes sense.”
    Suddenly a horse-drawn buckboard pulled up, and a woman in her fifties climbed down, tipped the man at the reins, walked over to the stagecoach, handed a ticket to the driver, and entered the coach.
    “I guess we can go now,” said the driver. “She's what we were waiting for. Climb aboard, Doc.”
    Holliday entered the coach and sat down opposite the woman.
    “I'm Charlotte Branson,” she said, extending a gloved hand.
    “John H. Holliday at your service, ma'am.”
    She frowned. “I heard the driver call you Doc.”
    “Yes, ma'am. I'm a dentist.”
    “You're Doc Holliday, aren't you?”
    “I've been called that, yes, ma'am,” he said, tipping his hat.
    “I want you to know that I'm not the least bit afraid of you,” said Charlotte Branson.
    “I'm terrified of you, ma'am,” replied Holliday.
    She chuckled. “I do believe we're going to get along famously, Doc.” Then: “May I call you Doc?”
    “Why not?” said Holliday with a shrug.
    “Well, how shall we kill the time, Doc?” she continued. “Have you got a deck of cards, or would you rather regale me with stories of the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral.”
    “How does canasta sound, Miss Branson?” said Holliday.
    “It's Mrs. Branson, and please call me Charlotte.”
    “Very well, Charlotte. Shall we play a friendly game of canasta?”
    “How about a friendly game of blackjack, dollar a hand?” she countered.
    Suddenly Holliday grinned. “You're right, Charlotte. We're going to get on well together.” He paused. “And when you hear stories about the gunfight, you can tell them that it was in the alley leading up to the O.K. Corral, and your source for that is Doc Holliday.”
    “I shall do that,” she promised. “Was Ike Clanton as ugly as they say?”
    “Uglier,” replied Holliday, putting his suitcase on his lap and starting to deal.
    They played and exchanged stories until the horses came to another watering station three hours later, at which time Holliday was seven dollars ahead.
    “Well, I guess I didn't do so badly,” said Charlotte.
    “Charlotte, around Tombstone and elsewhere, they say that an outlaw named Johnny Behind-the-Deuce is the best cardplayer in the West.” He smiled at her. “I never had to work this hard beating him at the card table.”
    “I'm flattered,” she said, beaming. “Seven dollars poorer, but flattered.”
    “Let me spend some of that seven dollars buying you a drink,” offered Holliday.
    “Just one,” she said as he climbed down and then held out his hand to her. “I can't get used to—what do you call it?—rotgut.”
    “I call it wet,” answered Holliday, offering her his arm and escorting her into the station.
    “Welcome,” said the station master. “What can I get for you and the missus?”
    “The missus is from back in the States,” said Holliday. “You got anything from east of the Mississippi?”
    “Almost,” was the answer. “Is St. Louis close enough?”
    Holliday looked questioningly at Charlotte, and she nodded.
    “That'll be