Sullivan bowed from the waist as he received a huge ovation.

"Fighting against him will be our own undefeated native son, William Smiley!

The cheer was even louder this time, and Smiley waved to the crowd.

"And coming out from New York just to referee this momentous event is Theodore Roosevelt."

Roosevelt nodded his head briefly to the mild cheers, and then called the two fighters to the center of the ring to give them their instructions.

"Why the hell did they bring out a politician to ref the damned thing?" complained a man standing next to Holliday.

"He's a little more than a politician," said Holliday.

"Oh?"

Holliday nodded. "For one thing, he was a boxing champion at Harvard."

"Where's that?" asked the man.

Holliday smiled. "Little school back East." He was about to list Roosevelt's other accomplishments, including the treaty with Geronimo, but then the bell rang and the fight began.

Strategy wasn't Smiley's strong suit. He went right at Sullivan, and received a bloody nose for his trouble. Undeterred, he charged the champion like a bull, and like a matador Sullivan stepped aside and landed a powerful blow on his ear that knocked him halfway across the ring.

The entire first round went that way, and the crowd became increasingly silent, because the only mystery remaining was not who would win, but rather how much longer Smiley could stand up under Sullivan's sledgehammer blows.

The bell rang for the second round, and Smiley approached Sullivan more cautiously this time. It made no difference. Sullivan ducked under a left, and delivered a powerful blow to Smiley's solar plexus. Smiley went down to one knee, in obvious pain, and as Roosevelt began counting Sullivan stepped in for the kill.

Roosevelt pushed Sullivan back to give Smiley room, then resumed the count-but Sullivan's blood was up, and he took another swing at Smiley as the fallen boxer was attempting to rise.

Roosevelt pushed him back again, more firmly this time. Sullivan bellowed an obscenity and, to the surprise of the crowd, he took a swing at Roosevelt.

The Easterner ducked, threw a quick left that bloodied Sullivan's nose, and took his glasses off, folding them carefully and putting them in a breast pocket.

"Your friend's gonna get it now!" said Holliday's companion excitedly.

"Don't bet your last penny on it," replied Holliday.

Sullivan wiped the blood from his nose, roared with rage, and turned his full attention to Roosevelt. He yelled something at Roosevelt that Holliday couldn't hear, then swung a roundhouse right that would have almost beheaded him if it had landed, but Roosevelt ducked and landed a quick one-two punch to Sullivan's belly that doubled the champion over.

"We chose the wrong man to fight against Sullivan!" cried a man who was standing a few feet behind Holliday.

Roosevelt pointed to the timekeeper, who instantly realized what the referee wanted and rang the bell. That seemed to bring Sullivan to his senses, and he walked quickly to his corner, not even deigning to look at Roosevelt, who dropped to one knee beside Smiley and helped him to his corner. Then he approached Sullivan, said something to him, Sullivan nodded, and Roosevelt went back to the middle of the ring. The bell rang about forty seconds later, and the two fighters emerged from their corners. It was obvious that Smiley was still groggy, and it only took one punch-a right to the side of the head-for Sullivan to put him down for the count.

Roosevelt raised Sullivan's hand, they spoke to each other for a moment, and then shook hands and parted.

Sullivan collected a trophy and a check from one of the sponsors and strode off furiously to his dressing tent, while Roosevelt, noticing that Smiley was starting to awaken, helped him to his feet and led him out of the ring and down the stairs to ground level.

As the two of them began walking away from the ring, they passed where Holliday was standing.

"You should have beat the crap out of that pompous bastard, Theodore," said Holliday.

Roosevelt stopped and searched the faces until he found the one he sought.

"Doc!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Buy me a drink and I'll be happy to tell you," said Holliday.

"Sure," said Roosevelt. "But not here. I've got a horse and buggy waiting. Let's go back to my hotel."

"Where are you staying?"

"The Plains Hotel. And you?"

"I haven't checked in yet," said Holliday.

"Where's your luggage?" asked Roosevelt.

"Right here," said Holliday, touching his gun and his flask in turn.

"Well, we'll get you a room there," said Roosevelt. "How long will you be in town?"

"Just passing through."

"Where are you heading?"

Holliday smiled. "That's what we're going to talk about."

They reached Roosevelt's horse and buggy, which also had a driver, and were sitting in the Plains Hotel's elegant bar ten minutes later.

"Nice place," noted Holliday, looking at the polished walls and crystal chandelier. "How are the rooms?"

"You won't be disappointed," answered Roosevelt. "Now," he said as the waiter brought Holliday a glass of whiskey and Roosevelt some sarsaparilla, "suppose you tell me what this is all about."

Holliday took a long swallow and leaned back in his chair. "You ever hear of a man named Cope?"

"The paleontologist?"

Holliday smiled. "You've heard of him."

"He's been digging not too far from Leadville, I understand," said Roosevelt. "Did you meet him there?"

"I've never met him," answered Holliday. "I assume you know of March, too?"

Roosevelt nodded. "Yale man. Probably not as brilliant as Cope, but he's got huge money behind him. I assume you've never met him either?"

Holliday shook his head. "Nope. But I suspect I'm about to, all thanks to our friend Geronimo."

Roosevelt frowned in puzzlement. "What's he got to do with this?"

"It seems that Cope and Marsh have gotten everything they want from the Colorado mountains, and now they're digging up the ground in Wyoming." Holliday paused. "Sacred ground."

"I didn't think there were any Apaches in Wyoming."

"It's sacred Comanche ground."

"Okay, it's sacred Comanche ground," said Roosevelt. "What's that got to do with you or Geronimo?"

"The Comanche want them off it."

Roosevelt shrugged. "That figures."

"And since they're loaded not only with scientists but with shootists, it's my job to convince them to leave peacefully."

"Or else the Comanche will go on the warpath?"

"Not exactly," said Holliday, toying with his whiskey glass.

"Doc, I can play guessing games all night," said Roosevelt. "But wouldn't it just be easier if you told me what's going on?"

"You know what dinosaurs are?"

Roosevelt nodded. "I've seen some of their bones at the Peabody and the Smithsonian."

Holliday sighed and shook his head slowly. "I guess I must be the only educated man who's never heard of them," he said ruefully. "Comes from living on this side of the river, I guess. Anyway, according to Geronimo, the dinosaur bones they're digging for are beneath the Comanche bones in the burial grounds. And rather than risk their warriors against the scientists' shootists, Geronimo says they'll resurrect the dinosaurs to kill them and preserve their sacred ground."

"Let me guess," said Roosevelt. "Geronimo thinks if that happens they won't be able to put the dinosaurs back, and they'll head for less populated land-like Arizona?"

"That's about it," said Holliday. "Sounds like a fairy tale to me."

Roosevelt seemed lost in thought for a moment, and finally spoke. "I've seen the bones back East, Doc. These creatures did exist once."

"As big as Geronimo says?"

"Some of them must have gone seventy, eighty tons."

"You're kidding!" said Holliday.

"No, I'm not. It's a fascinating new science. Doc, you can't believe the size of those bones! Mr. Cope and Mr. Marsh are filling up entire museums with their finds. I'd love to spend some time with them, learning about this new science."

"Anyway," Holliday continued, "Geronimo told me where I'd find these scientists, and he gave me back my health-well, some of it-for a year in exchange for stopping them. He also told me I'd meet a mutual friend along the way. I guess that's you."

"I'd almost say he arranged for me to referee this match, but it was set up a year ago, and he wouldn't have waited this long to send you here to try to stop them. I hope you-make that we-can talk reason to them, but if they haven't seen what power the medicine men wield, they'd never believe it."

"I agree," said Holliday. "I think this is a lost cause from the start. I'll talk to them, they'll laugh in my face, if I can keep my temper nobody'll get hurt, and then when the Comanche have had enough, we'll all run like hell." He took another swallow, draining his glass. "There's no reason for you to get involved, Theodore. This proposition is a loser from the start."

"That's all the more reason why I'm coming along," said Roosevelt.

Holliday stared at him. "Even though I probably can't convince them to pack up and dig somewhere else?"

"Precisely because of it."

"You don't seem to be listening to what I'm saying," persisted Holliday. "If Geronimo's right, the whole area could get overrun by these monsters."

"I know," said Roosevelt, flashing Holliday a toothy grin. "And we'll be the first men to see them. It'll be bully-just bully!"

"SO, WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING FOR THE PAST YEAR?" asked Roosevelt as he and Holliday rode north and west. Neither was happy with their steeds. Holliday hated all horses, and Roosevelt felt that the gelding he'd bought at the Cheyenne stable was far inferior to his beloved Manitou, a fact that became increasingly apparent as the land began getting hillier and more heavily forested.

"Dying, mostly," answered Holliday. "And you?"

"You are not the cheeriest man I ever met," said Roosevelt.

"Or the healthiest."

"Granted," said Roosevelt. "Anyway, I've been dividing my time between my ranches in the Dakota Badlands and finishing Sagamore Hill."

"What's that?" asked Holliday.

"The New York home where I plan to spend the rest of my life," replied Roosevelt. "I've been working on it-well, having it worked on-on and off for the past two years. It should be just about ready in a few more months."

"Big place?"

"Reasonably."

"And you a single man again. Sounds lonely."

"I don't intend to remain single too much longer. And I won't be alone anyway. My daughter and her nursemaid will be with me." He paused and smiled. "She's more than a year old now. That'll help fill the house. And," he added, "I plan to marry again. I don't think people were meant to live alone."

"Try hooking up with Kate Elder and then tell me that," replied Holliday with a wry grin.

"The notorious Big-Nose Kate?" asked Roosevelt. "Didn't she break you out of jail when you were incarcerated on a trumped-up charge?"

"She couldn't nag and curse at me while I was in jail," answered Holliday. "I'd rather face John Wesley Hardin any day."

Roosevelt laughed. "All right," he conceded. "Some men weren't meant to live alone. And I'm one of them."

"Got anyone picked out?"

Roosevelt nodded. "My childhood sweetheart." He chuckled. "I say that as if a ten-year-old knows what a sweetheart is. Anyway, she's Edith Kermit Carow, and as soon as I get the Dakota ranches sorted out, and finish a pair of books I've contracted to write, I plan to ask her hand in marriage."

"So are you going to be a writer now?"

"Too limiting," said Roosevelt.

"So you're going to go back to ornithology and taxidermy, too?"

"I never went away from them," answered Roosevelt. "You know, I was the youngest minority leader in the history of the New York legislature. I think I may try my hand at politics again."

"I'd vote for you," said Holliday.