Gunman's Rhapsody - Паркер Роберт Б. (читаем книги бесплатно .txt) 📗

Thirty-six

It was October and Tombstone weather was finally comfortable. Wyatt was having breakfast with Josie in Maison Doree, next to the Cosmopolitan Hotel.

“You ever see any Indians?” Josie said.

Wyatt smiled.

“No,” he said. “Got a chance to eat breakfast, though, with the McLaurys and Curley Bill.”

“My God,” Josie said. “Really?”

“Yep. Weather got too bad to chase Indians in, rained so hard the horses were sinking into the mud half a foot. So we gave it up and headed back in. Stopped at Frink’s place for a bit to get out of the weather and then the whole posse went on to McLaury’s for breakfast. Fed us good, too.”

“But aren’t they your enemies?”

Wyatt smiled and put a piece of bacon in his mouth.

“Not when I was eating their food,” Wyatt said.

“Not even Curley Bill?”

“Me and him didn’t talk,” Wyatt said. “But Virgil and him did. Seemed to be getting along fine.”

“What did they talk about?”

“Don’t know.”

“And you didn’t ask afterwards?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t you men talk?” Josie said.

She ate so pretty, he thought. She had a bowl of canned peaches. She cut off a bite-sized portion of one peach half and put it in her mouth with a fork, and chewed carefully with her mouth closed.

“We talk,” Wyatt said.

“So what about the Indians?”

“Army’s chasing them now.”

“Will they catch them?”

Wyatt smiled widely.

“The Army?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Army’s mostly kids from Chicago and Boston,” Wyatt said. “They can’t catch their own mounts in the morning. Their officers been shipped out here for failing someplace else. Pretty much they’re just putting in time until retirement.” Wyatt shook his head and smiled again. “The Army couldn’t catch Naitche if he was drinking agency whiskey at Fort Apache.”

“You didn’t catch him either,” Josie said.

“No,” Wyatt said, “we didn’t.”

Thirty-seven

It was after midnight when Wyatt sat down at the counter of the Occidental Lunch Room off the main room of the Alhambra Saloon. He ordered beefsteak and stewed tomatoes and drank some coffee while he waited for the meal. In the Alhambra, the bar was crowded, the faro tables were full and the sound of glasses and drunken men was loud. Ike Clanton came in from the saloon and sat down at the far end of the counter. He nodded at Wyatt, who nodded back, gave his order to the counter man and looked around the half-empty Lunch Room.

Wyatt’s dinner was on the counter before him, and he was finishing the first cup of coffee when Doc Holliday came in. He had the high flush along the line of his cheekbones that he always got when he was drinking or when his lungs were acting up. His dark eyes seemed to recess deeper into his thin face when he drank. He was wearing a black cloth coat over a white shirt. The coat hung open.

“Clanton, you lying sonova bitch,” Doc said.

“You got no call to be talking to me like that, Doc.”

“You been telling people that Wyatt Earp blabbed to me about your and his plans.”

“Doc, you’re drunk,” Clanton said. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Doc’s hand eased up to the edge of his coat, resting against his chest.

“You sonova bitch cowboy, you calling me drunk?” he said. “You go for your goddamned gun, and we’ll see how drunk I am.”

“I ain’t heeled,” Clanton said.

Wyatt got up and walked to the doorway that separated the saloon from the Lunch Room. Morgan was in the saloon, doing special deputy duty, keeping order. He saw Wyatt in the doorway. Wyatt jerked his head, and Morgan strolled past the faro players and into the Lunch Room.

“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.