Forty-five
“Hell, Virgil, this whole thing is about Behan wanting her back,” Wyatt said. “He’s not going to kill her?”
“Be a way to get at you,” Virgil said.
“No, Johnny ain’t much. But he won’t hurt her.”
“I agree he ain’t much,” Virgil said. “But since the fight and the trial he got a lot of people on his side now. And some of them are much.”
“Curley Bill?”
“Yep, and John Ringo. Billy Breakenridge is a pretty good man. And Dave Neagle.”
“And none of them would hurt Josie,” Wyatt said.
“How ’bout Ike?” Virgil said. “Frank Stilwell? Pete Spence?”
Wyatt nodded.
“Okay. Maybe they would,” he said.
“So whyn’t you send her to San Francisco, let her father look after her, until we clean this up?”
Wyatt drank some of his coffee, holding it in both hands, looking over the rim through the ribbon of steam that rose from the cup. He put the cup down and grinned at Virgil.
“ ’Cause she won’t go,” Wyatt said.
Virgil grinned back at him.
“I understand that,” he said.
Virgil finished his beer.
“Well,” he said, “time to go home.”
“The Cosmopolitan Hotel is not home,” Wyatt said.
“No, but the perimeter’s a hell of a lot easier to secure.”
“Home sweet home,” Wyatt said.
Virgil said good night and turned and walked out of the front door of the Oriental.
Wyatt gestured at the bartender for more coffee, and watched as it was poured. From the street came the sound of gunshots. Wyatt thought there were four. Shotguns, he was pretty sure. Two guns, both barrels? He turned toward the door as Virgil pushed into the saloon. The left side of him was bloody.
“I’m hurt, Wyatt,” Virgil said.
He seemed calm enough, but Wyatt knew that the first shock of injury often left you calm. It hadn’t yet started to hurt like it was going to.
“Where?” Wyatt said.
He stepped to his brother’s side and put his left arm under Virgil’s right arm and held him upright. Wyatt held a Colt.45 in his right hand, pointing at the floor with the hammer thumbed back.
“Empty building across the street,” Virgil said.
“I meant, where are you hurt?”
“Left side, left arm,” Virgil said.
“Can you walk to the hotel?”
“Yes.”
Wyatt turned to Blonde Marie.
“Go across the street and get Goodfellow,” Wyatt said. “We’ll be at the Cosmopolitan.”
Without a word Blonde Marie ran from the saloon.
They moved slowly out of the saloon, crossed Fifth Street, and walked almost the length of the block to the Cosmopolitan Hotel. It took them longer than it took the news. When they reached the hotel lobby Sherman McMasters was there, and Doc, and Morgan, all armed. Warren, slighter and darker than his brothers, was at the top of the stairs with a shotgun. Allie stood beside him. Her eyes were big, her face was white. When she saw them she clattered down the stairs.
“Bring him to our room,” she said.
Dr. Goodfellow came into the lobby, and behind him Blonde Marie, who stopped awkwardly just inside the door to stare at the Earp women as they gathered around Virgil.
“Oh Virgil,” Allie said, “oh goddammit, Virgil.”
Virgil put his right arm around her.
“Still got one arm to hug you with, Allie.”
Allie rested her head briefly against his shoulder and took in some air, and some of her briskness came back.
“Well, that’ll be plenty,” she said.
Wyatt and his brothers waited in the lobby while Goodfellow and a doctor named Matthews worked on Virgil. Blonde Marie in a burst of enthusiasm had sent one of the other whores to get Dr. Matthews, just to be on the safe side.
Doc was drinking in the lobby, walking back and forth with a whiskey glass and a bottle, swearing to himself, his black coat open and tucked on the right side behind the butt of his revolver. Sherman McMasters and Turkey Creek Jack Johnson were outside on the porch with shotguns. At two-fifteen in the morning, Dr. Goodfellow came down the stairs.
“Wound in his side is nothing,” Goodfellow said. “But his left arm’s a mess. We’re going to have to take the elbow out.”
“Will he be able to use it afterwards?” Wyatt said.
“Not much,” Goodfellow said.
“He can still shoot,” Wyatt said.
“A handgun,” Goodfellow said and moved past Wyatt to take some medical supplies from George Parsons. Wyatt turned and looked at Morgan.
“You heard the doctor?” Wyatt said.
“Yes.”
“Shots came from that construction on the corner,” Wyatt said. “Get a lantern.”
He and Morgan went out of the hotel and walked back up Allen Street, the lantern casting its uncertain light ahead of them. It was a cold night, and the stars seemed very high. The saloons were still. Light and sound spilled out of the Oriental across the street and the Crystal Palace on the opposite corner. The life in the saloons seemed to intensify the empty silence of the street. On the corner of Fifth Street, Huachuca Water Company had a building half built. They went in.
“Virgil would have come out of the Oriental and walked across Fifth Street,” Wyatt said. “So they would have to have been standing about here. Two men with shotguns.”
Morgan moved the lantern.
“No shell casings,” he said. “Nobody used a Winchester.”
“Goodfellow said it was all pellets,” Wyatt said.
They stood looking around the partial room. It seemed colder in the empty, partly open building than it had on the street.
“Virgil’s always been fine,” Morgan said.
Wyatt nodded.
“Seems funny,” Morgan said, “thinking about him not being fine.”
“I know.”
“I mean he can still shoot a Colt, I guess. But he can’t shoot a rifle, can’t fight a man except one-handed. I mean, it’s like Virgil ain’t quite there anymore.”
“I know.”
“I guess Virgil will still know what to do,” Morgan said.
“It’s not the same,” Wyatt said.
“No, I guess it isn’t,” Morgan said.
“And it never will be.”
The lantern light picked up something lying beside a stack of rough siding. Morgan went over and squatted down, holding the lantern up.
“Somebody’s hat,” he said and picked it up.
Wyatt squatted beside him and they examined the hat. It was like everyone’s hat except that inside it, crudely burned into the leather sweatband, was a name: “I. Clanton.”
“Ike,” Morgan said. “Sonova bitch Ike Clanton.”
“Doesn’t mean he did it,” Wyatt said.
“What the hell does it mean?” Morgan said. “Mean that Ike goes around, throws his hat away in empty buildings?”
“Means we got a place to start,” Wyatt said.
Forty-six
“Virgil says he thought he might have seen Frank Stilwell scoot into the Huachuca building,” Wyatt said.
“Just before he got shot.”
“He’s with the cowboys?”
“Sure.”
“You think he shot Virgil?”
“Maybe. Virgil couldn’t be sure it was him.”
“But you found Ike’s hat,” she said.
“We’ll talk to Ike about that. Crawley Dake’s appointed me a U.S. marshal. Means I can appoint some deputies.”
“But what are you going to
“It’s what I’m trying to do,” Wyatt said. “I’m trying to still be a lawman. I’m trying to find out who did what they did, and then I’m going to try and arrest them.”
“And if they try to kill you again?”
“They’ll try,” Wyatt said.
“Kill them first,” Josie said.
Wyatt put his hand over hers.
“Aren’t you fierce,” he said.
“I don’t care anymore about anything else. Kill everyone. I don’t want you hurt.”
“What I need from you is to go visit your father,” Wyatt said.
“I told you before, I won’t leave you.”
“You’re not leaving me,” Wyatt said. “You’re leaving me free to do what I need to do without worrying about you.”
“Johnny wouldn’t hurt me,” Josie said.
“I don’t think he would,” Wyatt said. “But Johnny’s got something rolling downhill that he can’t stop. I want you safe.”
“And where do you think it will end?” Josie said.
“People got to go to jail,” Wyatt said. “And some got to be shot, I expect.”
“And it’s harder for you if I’m here?”
“I love you,” Wyatt said. “I will always love you. But, yes, it will be easier if I know you’re safe.”
“Then I’ll go. I’ll pack tonight and go tomorrow.”
They were silent, most of the pigeon pie uneaten on their plates.
“How’s Virgil?” Josie said finally.
“He’ll be all right,” Wyatt said. “He’s full of morphine now. Virgil’s tough. And Allie’s with him.”
“Allie doesn’t like me,” Josie said.
“No,” Wyatt said. “She doesn’t like me much either. But she likes Virgil.”
Josie drank a little more claret.
“And how are you?” Josie said.
“Nobody shot me,” Wyatt said.
“I know that Virgil was as much like a father as he was a brother.”
“He’s not that much older than me,” Wyatt said.
“I know.”
“But you’re right,” Wyatt said. “He’s always been the one. Maybe I’m closer to Morgan, for just playing cards and talking. But it’s always been Virgil. He’s the one counted. We always cared what Virgil thought. Always wanted to do things the way Virgil did them. It’s probably why me and Morg are gunhands, ’cause Virgil was a gunhand. Hell, now Warren’s a gunhand.”
“And Virgil?”
“Now he’s not a gunhand anymore. I mean he can still shoot. He’s got his right hand. But a man can only use one arm isn’t the same in a fight. Hell, he’d have trouble reloading, according to Goodfellow.”
“So he can’t take care of things anymore.”
“No.”
“And now you are the one,” Josie said.
“I guess.”
Wyatt drank the rest of his coffee. Josie finished her wine.
“You want to come to my place?” Josie said. “And help me pack?”
“Yes,” Wyatt said. “But you can pack later.”
Josie smiled at him.
“Of course I can,” she said.
Forty-seven
“You miss Josie?” Virgil said.
“I do.”
“Mattie’s been talking to Allie. She thinks maybe she’s won you back,” Virgil said.
“She’s got no reason to think that,” Wyatt said. “I haven’t been near her.”
“Women think things,” Virgil said.
They both drank coffee.
“Crawley Dake refused to accept that resignation letter,” Wyatt said.
“I told you he would,” Virgil said. “Why’d you write it, anyway?”
“Tired,” Wyatt said. “Tired of listening to all that horseshit in
“I’m a little tired of your brother getting shot too,” Virgil said.
“Well, I’m not going nowhere until we clean that up, deputy marshal or not.”
“Making any progress?”
“Not a lot to show for three months’ posse work,” Wyatt said.
“You got Ike in jail.”
“I do. But he won’t cooperate. He denies having anything to do with shooting you, and he goddamned insists that he don’t know who did. I even tried telling him we could make a deal.”
“Bygones be bygones?”
“Something like that.”
“He say anything about giving me back my left arm?” Virgil said.
Wyatt smiled slightly.
“Didn’t say I meant it ’bout bygones.”
Virgil smiled too.
“But he didn’t bite.”
“No,” Wyatt said. “Fact is, he’s swearing out a warrant on us for killing Billy and the McLaurys.”
“He’s wasting his time,” Virgil said.
“And ours.”
“Which may be the point. You keep showing up in court, you ain’t out chasing down the cowboys.”
“Tom Fitch’ll do most of the appearing in court for us.”
Virgil drank some coffee.
“Still, Ike’s an irritating little bastard,” Virgil said.
“Probably Behan’s idea on the warrant,” Wyatt said. “Keeps the cowboys stirred up. Ringo’s in town, and Curley Bill and Frank Stilwell.”
“I thought you had John Ringo for holding up the stage.”
“Driver wouldn’t identify him.”
“Scared of Ringo?”
“Yep.”
“Can’t blame him that much, I guess.”
Virgil leaned back a little in his chair. Wyatt noticed that he seemed to move without pain.
“Allie,” Virgil shouted. “We need some more coffee.”
Virgil’s wife came in from the parlor with a big enamel coffeepot and poured some for both of them. She bent over and kissed Virgil on the top of the head and went out.
“Seems to like you better than she likes me,” Wyatt said.
“That’s a fact,” Virgil said.
“Fact she don’t like me much at all.”
“No,” Virgil said, “she don’t.”
“Ever since Josie.”
“Yep. Feels bad for Mattie.”
“Hell, Virg, she don’t even like Mattie.”
“She likes her better now that she’s a woman scorned.”
“She blame me for you getting shot?” Wyatt said.
“Yes.”
“I guess she’s got the right. It goes back to me taking Josie from Behan.”
“Everything goes back to something,” Virgil said. “What matters here, whatever Allie feels, is that our names are Earp. You and me and Morgan and Warren and James. We are brothers. We are made of the same stuff. That’s what we go back to.”
“I know.”
“You want Josie. I want Josie. Morg wants Josie. James and Warren want Josie. People don’t like it, they don’t like us. You do something. We do it with you. Brothers. The Earp brothers.”
“I know.”
“Don’t never think anything else is true,” Virgil said. “That’s who we are. That’s what we got. It’s what we always had. Before the women came. Before any of us ever shot a gun. If I got shot on account of something you did, it’s because that’s what I’m supposed to do. Don’t matter if Allie likes it. She loves me. I love her. But that don’t matter either. Blood, Wyatt. Flesh and blood.”