“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.
Thirty-nine
“Ike Clanton’s out there with a rifle and a side arm,” Fly said. “He is looking for Mr. Holliday.”
“Why?” Kate said.
“He says he is going to kill him,” Fly said.
“Doc’ll be interested to hear that,” Kate said.
She went next door into the boardinghouse and up to their room and woke Doc up.
“Ike Clanton’s looking to kill you,” Kate said. “He’s got a rifle.”
Doc rolled out of bed and began to put on his pants.
“ ’Less I die on the way,” Doc said, “he’ll get his chance.”
The air smelled of impending snow when Wyatt met Virgil and Morgan on Fremont Street. It was cold for October. All three men wore mackinaws; the hem of Wyatt’s was tucked up above the walnut handle of his gun.
“Harry Jones tells me Ike is after us with a Winchester and a six-shooter,” Wyatt said.
Virgil nodded.
“He was down at Hafford’s, too,” Morgan said, “with a rifle. Says he was insulted last night when he wasn’t fixed right. Says he’s heeled now and ready and wants to fight.”
“Lynch told me the same thing,” Virgil said. “Says Ike’s planning to kill us on sight.”
“And the sonova bitch been telling people we was supposed to meet him at noon and welshed out on it,” Morgan said. “It ain’t even noon yet.”
“Five of,” Wyatt said.
“Seems to me,” Virgil said, “we ought to find him and settle him down a bit.”
“Maybe we should settle him down for good,” Morgan said. “Ike’s starting to make me awful tired.”
“We’ll disarm him, arrest him if we can,” Virgil said.
“I’ll go up to Allen Street,” Wyatt said. “See if I can find him, see what he wants.”
Morgan and Virgil began to look for Ike along Fremont. Wyatt walked up Fourth Street toward Allen. He could smell snow in the air. He shrugged himself a little deeper inside the mackinaw and put his hands into his coat pockets. Wouldn’t want them stiff with cold if he was going to have to shoot Ike Clanton.
Behind him Ike came out of the Capitol Saloon. He looked toward Wyatt. Virgil, with Morgan beside him, came around the corner of Fremont and took hold of Ike’s rifle barrel with his left hand. Wyatt turned.
Virgil said, “Are you hunting for me?”
“I am, goddamn you, and if I seen you a second sooner you’d be dead.”
Wyatt began to walk back toward them. Ike went for the six-shooter he wore stuck into his waistband. Virgil hit Ike on the side of his head with the big Colt revolver he was carrying. Ike grunted and sank to his knees. He stayed down for a moment, shaking his head, and then looked up into the barrel of Morgan’s six-shooter. Ike could see that it was cocked.
“We’re arresting you, Ike, for carrying a concealed weapon,” Virgil said.
Wyatt was there now, standing beside Morgan. Virgil reached down and took Ike’s revolver and handed both guns to Morgan.
“You fucking Earps don’t give a man a chance,” Ike said.
“We didn’t shoot you,” Virgil said.
Forty
Wyatt could smell things sharply and hear things clearly. He was focused microscopically and yet intensely aware of things at the very faint periphery of his vision. He felt solid and quick.
“You got no reason to talk to me like that, Wyatt. I’m a friend of yours.”
“Not if you’re a friend of Ike’s,” Wyatt said. “You here backing Ike?”
“I never done nothing against you boys,” McLaury said. “But if you’re looking for a fight, I’ll fight.”
“You heeled?” Wyatt said.
“Maybe I am,” McLaury said.
“Then jerk your gun,” Wyatt said.
With his left hand he slapped McLaury across the face. With his right he pulled the big smooth-handled Colt that he’d once used to face down Clay Allison. McLaury staggered back from the slap, his right hand still fumbling at his belt. Wyatt slammed him across the face with the four-pound revolver and McLaury went down and stayed. Wyatt looked down at him for a moment, then stepped past him carefully and walked on toward Hafford’s Saloon at the corner of Allen Street.
Wyatt bought a cigar at Hafford’s, and got it lit and burning evenly before he went back outside and stood on the boardwalk in front of the saloon. He was halfway through the cigar when Frank McLaury rode up Allen Street on the other side with Billy Clanton and Major Frink. They dismounted, tied their horses and went into the Grand Hotel.
The smell of snow was strong. Wyatt took the cigar from his mouth and examined the glowing tip of it, turning it slightly to see that it was burning evenly. Then he put the cigar back in his mouth and leaned his back against the wall of Hafford’s and waited.
The cigar was an inch shorter when Frank McLaury and Billy Clanton came out of the Grand Hotel, crossed Allen, trailing their horses behind them, and headed down Fourth Street. If they saw Wyatt standing outside of Hafford’s, they gave no sign.
Wyatt watched them as they went and then tossed the cigar into the street and stepped off behind them. He felt strong and compact. His muscles felt easy. His breathing was easy. The cold desert air filled his lungs. Halfway down Fourth Street, there was a crowd of people outside of Spangenberg’s Gun Shop, maybe a dozen, maybe more. Frank and Billy pushed through the crowd and went in. Wyatt drifted along toward the crowd and several people moved out of his way when he got close. Frank McLaury’s white-stockinged bay horse was on the sidewalk with his head in the door of the gun shop. Past the horse, inside Spangenberg’s, Wyatt could see Ike Clanton, his head still bleeding, Tom McLaury, Billy Clanton and Frank McLaury. Wyatt took his hat off with his left hand and shooed the horse off the sidewalk and into the street. While he did it he kept his eyes on Spangenberg’s door. The four cowboys appeared in the doorway. Billy Clanton had his hand on his gun.