"Not until I ran for President and you moved to a state that was part of the Union," replied Roosevelt with a laugh. "But all that's for when I go back East. Right now what I'm most interested in is learning about paleontology."

"I'd never heard of it till last week," said Holliday.

"With all due respect, you don't speak to a lot of college-educated people out here."

"True," admitted Holliday. A vision of Johnny Ringo crossed his mind. "And I killed the only one I knew."

"I heard about that," said Roosevelt. "Anyway, I want to talk to one or both of these men. For example, there's a femur-a leg bone-that's taller than I am. How did they know where to look for it? How did they figure out what the dinosaur looked like just from that one bone? How long did these creatures live, and when? And given how powerful they were, what could possibly have killed them? I mean, a lion could do them about as much damage as a toothless puppy could do to you."

"You make it sound sort of interesting," acknowledged Holliday. "And truth to tell, not a lot interests me these days. I'd like to live long enough to learn some of the answers to all those questions."

"So would I," said Roosevelt, grabbing his binoculars to study a red-brown bird that was flying overhead.

"It's just a bird."

"And Abraham Lincoln was just a man, and Hindoo is just a racehorse, and John L. Sullivan is just a boxer," replied Roosevelt. "It's an endlessly fascinating world we live in," he continued, watching the bird until it was out of sight, "and the dinosaurs are among the most fascinating things."

"In my world, it's the fascinating things that keep shooting at you," said Holliday.

"Still, whoever would have heard of Doc Holliday if you were just a dentist in Georgia?"

"I could do with a little less notoriety," remarked Holliday.

"Nonsense," protested Roosevelt. "You've made a mark on the mountain of history. People will be talking about those thirty seconds at the O.K. Corral for the next century or two."

"Near the corral," muttered Holliday irritably, so softly that Roosevelt didn't hear him.

"By the way, we're being watched," noted Roosevelt.

"Off to the left," said Holliday. "Yeah, I spotted them a couple of minutes ago."

"Them?"

"Yeah, two of 'em."

"Damn!" said Roosevelt. "I only saw one."

"The other's not moving," answered Holliday. "There! Now he is."

"Yes, I see him now. Comanche?"

"I assume so," said Holliday. "Just between you and me, I've never seen a Comanche before, but this is their territory."

"Are they just going to follow us?" asked Roosevelt.

"Probably," replied Holliday. "If they meant us any harm, they'd have done it by now."

"Good!" said Roosevelt. He pulled his horse to a halt, placed two fingers between his lips and whistled shrilly. The sound made both their horses uneasy, but while Roosevelt's was prancing nervously, he turned in his saddle, faced the two Comanche, and signaled them to join him and Holliday with a waving motion of his hand. The two Indians sat motionless, staring at him.

"What the hell's got into you, Theodore?" demanded Holliday.

"You say they don't want to kill us," answered Roosevelt. "So why not have them take us to their medicine men and see if we can reach an accommodation?"

"I said they probably don't want to kill us," growled Holliday. "And you can't make any deals for Cope or Marsh until you talk to them and get them to okay it."

"Geronimo's not worried about Cope or Marsh," said Roosevelt. "He's worried about the Comanche medicine men, so the sooner we find them and open a dialogue, the better."

"You've been out East too long, Theodore," replied Holliday. "You've forgotten how things work out here."

"I'm more concerned with making sure they do work," said Roosevelt. He peered off at the Indians, who had retreated behind some trees and shrubbery. "Ah, well, it was worth a try," he added, his face reflecting his disappointment.

"I've just been given a year," said Holliday, urging his horse forward again. "I'd hate to lose the last fifty-one weeks of it."

"All right," said Roosevelt. Then he shrugged. "They're gone anyway. We might as well keep going."

"In five minutes," said Holliday, pulling his horse to a stop and dismounting. "The goddamned horse may not need a rest, but I do." He reached for his flask, then shrugged and pulled his canteen off his saddle horn instead.

"You do know where their camps are, right?"

"I know the general area. I figure they'll keep moving around, but they're not hiding their presence, so we'll find enough signs to follow."

"Good. It'll give me a chance to practice my tracking skills," said Roosevelt. "In the meantime, since this thing they sold me is a pretty spiritless trail horse..." He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a book.

"Don't you ever rest or relax?" asked Holliday.

"Reading relaxes me."

"I'm sure it relaxes a lot of people-but not on horseback, in enemy territory, when we're almost certainly being watched or followed."

"Being watched and followed in enemy territory is practically a given," answered Roosevelt. "If they start shooting, I'll put the book away."

It comes back to me, thought Holliday. I admired your brain and your energy and your courage, but I never really liked you. You are not only the most accomplished man I've ever met; you can also be the most irritating. I'm so annoyed now that I might as well climb back up on this goddamned horse. Which he did.

They rode in silence until it was too dark to read. Then Roosevelt pulled some beef jerky out of his saddlebag, offered a piece to Holliday, and carefully replaced his book in a different compartment.

"What were you reading?" asked Holliday, washing down a bite of jerky with a swig from his flask.

"A Tale of Two Cities," answered Roosevelt. "By-"

"I know," interrupted Holliday. "Better than The Pickwick Papers, not up to David Copperfield."

"Right," said Roosevelt. "I keep forgetting that you're one of the literate shootists."

"It gave me something to do while my patients were screaming in agony," replied Holliday.

Roosevelt threw back his head and laughed. "You can be a very witty man when you forget that you're mad at the world."

"Oh, I forgive it most of its transgressions. I just wish it would leave me alone." He grimaced. "And I guess it will, in a year at the outside."

"I wouldn't bet on it, Doc," said Roosevelt.

"That was my deal."

"I know, but Geronimo's an intelligent man. He'll find more uses for you."

"Well, next time I'm going to insist on a full recovery," said Holliday, coughing into a blood-stained handkerchief.

They decided not to build a fire or rest for the night. They couldn't be sure all the Comanche warriors would be content merely to watch and follow them, and the sooner they reached one of the paleontologist's camps the sooner they'd stop being easy targets should the warriors have a change of heart.

It was in mid-afternoon of the next day that they began seeing unmistakable signs of a white man's camp. Half an hour later-it should have taken ten minutes, but Roosevelt kept stopping to watch birds and sketch unusual plants and trees-they came upon a dozen tents, which would only provide shelter for another month or two before the nights became too cold, and a hastily constructed log building. Though empty, the camp showed signs of recent habitation, so the two men dismounted, turned their horses loose in a primitive corral, and sat down by the remains of the morning's fire.

"That log building has to be where they're keeping whatever they pull out of the ground," remarked Roosevelt.

"You could always find out for sure and take a look," said Holliday.

Roosevelt shook his head. "I don't mind being rude and not waiting for them to come from their dig to show me, but I have absolutely no idea what I'd be looking at."

"Yeah, I suppose that does make a difference," agreed Holliday.

"How big can this burial ground be?" mused Roosevelt.

"Well, the one back in Arizona, where we had them move the train tracks, was at least twenty miles long, and maybe three or four miles wide," said Holliday. He thought about it, and shrugged. "Hell, for all I know, it was fifty miles long. All I know for sure is that we had them move it."

"And was that the only burial ground?"

"You mean for the Apaches?" asked Holliday. "No, I know of at least three or four more."

"So Cope and Marsh could be fifty, maybe a hundred miles apart, not desecrating the same burial ground, but digging in different ones," said Roosevelt, poking the fire with a long stick to get it going again.

"I suppose so," said Holliday. "It all depends on what signs they look for, where they know to dig for these bones they're after. Maybe Wyoming's loaded with them from one border to the other, or maybe they're all concentrated within a few miles of where we're sitting."

"I wonder what this landscape looked like when the dinosaurs roamed the land," mused Roosevelt, staring off toward the mountains to the west.

"You'd better have a damned good reason for being here, or you're about to find out," said a cold voice from behind them.

Roosevelt and Holliday turned to face the speaker, a lean man with unkempt black hair and a beard of black stubble. Roosevelt, seeing a gun pointed at them, raised his hands, but Holliday just smiled.

"Well, hello, Cole," he said. "When did you become a scientist?"

The man stared at him, clearly surprised. "Doc?" he said. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Mostly, hoping you won't shoot me," said Holliday.

The man holstered his gun. "Same old Doc!" he said with a laugh.

"Theodore," said Holliday, "say hello to the notorious Cole Younger."

"I've read about you," said Roosevelt.

"Lies, mostly," said Younger. "And you are...?"

"Theodore Roosevelt."

Younger's brow furrowed in thought. "You're the guy who made the treaty with Geronimo?" he said at last.

"I had that honor." Roosevelt studied him. "I must say that you don't look like your picture."

"I've been shot full of holes and served a lot of jail time since I posed for any pictures," answered Younger. "I used to be able to stand up straight. These days I walk kind of hunched over-but at least I'm still here."

"And what are you doing out here on a dinosaur hunt?" asked Holliday.

"Originally I was riding shotgun to keep the Indians at bay," answered Younger. "But then they hired a couple of other shootists. I don't know if they're any good, but they look like they know what they're doing-and I got put in charge of guarding all the bones." He laughed again. "Can you imagine what the dime novels will make of that? Cole Younger, guarding a bunch of bones!"

"We could have walked away with them any time in the last thirty minutes," said Holliday.

"I doubt it," said Younger. "First, you couldn't lift most of the bones we got in that shed. And second, that's where I was taking my afternoon siesta."

"Point taken," said Holliday.

"Excuse me, Mr. Younger-" began Roosevelt.

"Just Cole'll do."

"Cole," corrected Roosevelt. "But whose camp is this-Mr. Cope's or Mr. Marsh's?"

"This is Professor Cope's camp, though he don't much care if you call him *Mister'," answered Younger. "I'm told not calling Marsh *Professor' is a firing offense. Unless you happen to be one of his shootists, that is."

"And when is Cope due back?"

"Maybe half an hour before sunset," said Younger. "He's got about thirty men out digging with him, plus a couple riding shotgun, and at least one or two trying to foul up Marsh's dig."

"Marsh is nearby?" asked Roosevelt.

"I haven't seen him myself," answered Younger. "But they say he's about thirty miles north of here...or at least he was four days ago."

"How has Mr. Cope's dig been going?" asked Roosevelt.

"Pulling out a lot of bones, some of which have got him real excited," said Younger. "But we've got some trouble too."

"Oh?"

Younger nodded. "Marsh has hired a damned good saboteur-that's the real reason I'm watching the bones-and the Comanche have picked off three of our men, and also indulged in a little sabotage against a couple of our wagons." He paused for a moment. "At least, I think it's them, but it could be Marsh's doing."

"I see," said Roosevelt.

"So we got one or more of Marsh's guys trying to stop us, and the Comanche picking off a man or burning a wagon whenever they think can get away with it-and this ground looks pretty soft, but a couple of our horses have gone lame."

"I got a feeling all that's going to be the least of your problems," said Holliday.