"Give a sick old man a hand up," said Holliday. The man cupped his hands, Holliday placed his foot in them, and the man helped boost him to the saddle.

"You can't imagine how much I hate horses," were Holliday's parting words as he rode off to the north and east.

It took him about five minutes to reach the spot where they'd left the Indian, but when he got there he couldn't find any sign of the corpse.

"Shit!" he growled. "Either you're collecting human bones too, or the Comanche found their warrior and took him off to bury him, hopefully where you won't dig him up again while he's still fresh."

He dismounted, tied his horse to a small tree, and began examining the area. From the moccasined footprints, he concluded that three Comanche had come across the body. It would have had to be since sunrise, since the corpse was too well-hidden to have been found in the dark.

Holliday frowned. Why had three braves been just five minutes away-at a slow walk-from the camp in the daylight?

He heard a horse whinny off to his left, he turned, and there, perhaps sixty yards away, was a row of some twenty Comanche warriors.

"I hate mornings!" said Holliday as he turned to face them.

He stared at the warriors, who sat motionless on their horses, staring back at him.

"Let's go," he muttered, flexing his right hand. "Or are you just killing time until lunch?"

One of the Comanche put an arrow in his bow and let it fly. It hit the ground twenty yards short of Holliday. He wanted to throw back his head and laugh at such a futile and misguided action, but he was afraid if he did it would bring on a coughing fit and he didn't want to show any weakness.

Instead he pointed his finger at the warrior in the middle, pretended to shoot him, and then went through the pantomime of holstering his finger.

A burly warrior from the right side of the line began moving his horse forward. Holliday considered his options. The one thing he didn't want to do was show them how short a firing range his pistol had before the bullet lost both accuracy and velocity. He decided that if he faced the brave with his hand poised above his holster they would see how puny his weapon was at even thirty yards. Finally he decided to fold his arms across his chest as if he was totally unconcerned and was just biding his time before drawing and firing his weapon, which in a way was true, though not for the reasons he hoped to imply.

The warrior was fifty yards away, then forty, and then two more warriors began urging their horses forward.

Suddenly they stopped and looked at something Holliday couldn't see, well off to his left.

"Don't worry, Doc," said Cole Younger's voice. "We'll be there in another half minute."

Holliday turned in the direction of the voices, and suddenly saw a column of some thirty men-Younger, the six from the campfire, and close to twenty-five more-approaching him in single file. They fanned out on either side of him, brought their mounts to a stop, and faced the Comanche warriors, who held stock-still, staring back at them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" said Holliday. "Not that I'm not glad to see you."

"I got to thinking," said Younger. "I'm being paid to ride shotgun and keep the Indians at bay, not to guard a bunch of bones. And you've seen those bones. It'd take four of them to lift one of the big ones, and most of their ponies couldn't carry 'em anyway, so even if they wanted the damned bones they'd still be there trying to load them for the next couple of days-and I knew you weren't going more than a mile or two from camp, so why the hell not ride out, just in case they'd arranged this very type of reception for you?"

"That's some pretty smart thinking," said Holliday, never taking his eyes off the warriors. "Just keep on doing it while I'm around."

"You'd think being a soon-to-be famous author would make thinking easier," complained Younger wryly. "If we fire even a single shot, we're probably going to get in a shootout that'll kill all of one side and two-thirds of the other, and truth to tell I ain't ready to hobnob in hell with Jim and Bob just yet." He paused. "On the other hand, if we don't do anything, sooner or later the Professor is going to come back this way, and if they see him first..."

"They won't know it's Cope," said Holliday. "He's not wearing a uniform or anything."

"True," agreed Younger. "But I've seen what they do to lone white men."

"Not just white men," chimed in one of the Chinese. "They got my brother two weeks ago."

"Well, we can't just spend the day staring at each other," said Holliday. He frowned as he stared at the Comanche. "You know," he continued, "if they're hunting for Cope they know he's not here, and it makes sense that they'd go to wherever they thought he was. So I think they were here because of the dead Indian. Either the guys who found him brought some of their friends and relations back to show them where it happened, or reconstruct it, or else they were all in the area, not looking for a fight but just because it's Comanche land, and they found the body and before they could figure out what to do next, I showed up."

"What are you getting at, Doc?" asked Younger.

"I think if we ride back to camp, they're going to turn around and go home. They're not looking for Cope, and since no one's started shooting yet, they're not out for revenge-at least not here and not now."

"And what about the Professor?"

"He'll come back when he's found whatever the hell it is that he's looking for."

Younger stared at the Comanche for a long minute, then turned back to Holliday. "It's worth a try."

"I'm not guaranteeing it'll work," said Holliday, "just that it makes sense. But tell them that nobody draws a gun or aims a rifle until you do, and you don't do it until I do."

It took Younger only a moment to pass the word up and down the line. Then, on his signal, they turned and began walking their horses back to camp. Holliday climbed onto his own horse and brought up the rear.

They reached camp without incident, split up into small groups, and awaited Cope's return. He showed up an hour later, looking very excited.

"I believe I've found a nest of fossilized eggs!" he enthused.

"Good," said Holliday. "Beats the hell out of having steak for breakfast."

Cope stared at him but said nothing.

"By the way, Professor," said Younger, "did you see any Comanche while you were looking for...for eggs?" He couldn't hide his disillusionment in any grown man who would go searching for eggs.

"Not a one," said Cope. "I think they've cleared out of this area." He went into the cabin to scribble in one of his notebooks.

Younger shook his head. "How the hell can he find eggs that have been buried for a million years, but not see Indians who were on the warpath an hour ago?"

"Just lucky, I guess," said Holliday.

"Lucky?" repeated Younger incredulously.

"Two men leave camp an hour apart. One finds ancient eggs that'll make him famous. The other finds a Comanche war party." Holliday allowed himself the luxury of a grim smile. "Who'd you rather be?"

HOLLIDAY SPENT TWO MORE DAYS in Cope's camp and decided to leave. Cope hadn't paid him, so he didn't consider himself an employed bodyguard-or a fossil guard either-and he made up his mind to ride to Marsh's camp and make sure that Roosevelt had sent the telegram to Edison and arrived healthy and whole. The truth of the matter was that he found Younger boring and Cope all but incomprehensible.

He offered to buy one of Cope's wagons so he wouldn't have to ride the whole distance, but the expedition needed them and his offer was politely but firmly refused. He stopped by the supply tent long enough to pack a couple of meals of beef jerky, which he devoutly hoped he wouldn't have to eat, and then he was off in the general direction of Marsh's camp.

He'd gone about ten miles along a high, rocky trail and found that every single joint in his body hurt, so he pulled his horse up, dismounted, and sat down with his back against the broad trunk of a solitary tree. He fingered his deck of cards and wondered if he had time for a half hour of solitaire-after all, since he didn't know exactly where Marsh's camp was, he might be just two or three miles from it. But then he decided that it was just as likely that he was two or three days from it, and he wanted to scout out a better place to spend the night, so he sat for another ten minutes and then painfully mounted his horse.

He covered a few more miles, the trail leveled out and the landscape became greener, and as he reached the outskirts of a forest he realized that he was getting hungry. He didn't relish the effort of chewing on the beef jerky, but while he was sure there were all kinds of edible things growing around him, he had no idea which they might be. He dismounted, pulled out the jerky, took one bite of it, and made a face. He didn't know which leaves or grasses might be harmful, but then, he'd been poisoning his system with alcohol for as far back as he could remember, so what further harm could a little more poison do?

It occurred to him that if his horse ate it, it was probably safe for humans. Not necessarily tasty, but safe. So instead of tying his horse to a tree or a bush he led him to the shrubbery and watched to see what the animal ate.

He was still watching his horse when he heard another horse snort twice, and became aware that he was no longer alone. He turned and found himself facing a grizzled man who was pointing a gun at him.

"Nice day, ain't it, neighbor?" said the man.

Holliday merely stared at him.

"'Course, it could be a little warmer," continued the man. "I'm afraid you might freeze your ass off once the sun goes down."

"I'll be fine," said Holliday.

"Well, maybe you will," agreed the man. "But you'll be without your horse and your gun and any money you got with you."

"I didn't see you at Cope's camp, so you must be working for Marsh," said Holliday. "Why not just take me to him?"

"Never heard of neither of 'em," said the man. "The gun first, I think."

"Whatever you say," said Holliday, raising his left hand in the air while very gently, very carefully withdrawing his pistol from its holster with his right hand. He made a production of pointing it butt first to the grizzled man, and as the man reached for it, Holliday spun it in his hand so that the muzzle was pointing at the would-be thief. He fired point-blank at the man's belly, blowing him off his horse.

"You aren't exactly the brightest bear in these woods, are you?" said Holliday contemptuously, standing over the fallen man.

"Who the hell are you?" gasped the man as Holliday leisurely aimed the gun between his eyes.

"When you get to hell, which'll be any second now, tell the gatekeeper that Doc Holliday has sent him another one. You'll have plenty of company."

He fired the gun, and the man shuddered convulsively, then lay still- -but both horses panicked and began running off before Holliday could grab the reins of either. The effort brought forth another coughing fit that lasted almost three minutes, and left his chin and his shirtfront covered with blood. He spent another minute gasping for breath, coughed again, and finally had to lean against a tree in order to stay on his feet.

"Wonderful," he muttered. "Just wonderful."

He surveyed his surroundings and saw a number of birds, some still screeching in response to the noise of the gunshots, others settling back down after flying up in alarm.

He waited until he had recovered enough strength to speak in his normal voice. "You'd damned well better be one of these critters," said Holliday, "because I can't walk from here to either camp."

Holliday looked into the trees. None of the birds was paying him the least attention.

"I mean it," he said. "We renegotiate our deal, or I quit here and now."

A squirrel approached him, and when it was about ten feet away it slowly grew and morphed into Geronimo.

"You are a killer," said the Apache, "but you are a man of your word. And you gave me your word you would keep these two grave robbers from further desecrating the Comanche burial ground."

"Use your eyes, damn it!" snarled Holliday. "I can't walk twenty paces without coughing my lungs out, and I'm miles from both camps."

"You made a bargain," said Geronimo.

"You misled me," replied Holliday. "You said you'd restore my health."

"I have explained that," said Geronimo. "And in case it has already escaped your memory," he added, pointing to the robber's corpse, "you just killed that man, which demonstrates that you can still function as you always did."

"That man had the brains and foresight of a demented toad!" snapped Holliday. "I want a new deal. A year of pain and a lifetime in hell isn't much of a bargain."

Geronimo stared at him for a long moment. *We have an agreement," he said at last.

"It doesn't make any sense anyway," growled Holliday. "You opposed all the other medicine men who acted in concert against you and lifted the spell that kept white men east of the Mississippi. Why the hell can't you deal with two goddamned bone collectors?"

"You are just a man, using the arguments and threats of men to make them stop and go elsewhere, and that is clearly in the interest of the Comanche. But I made the agreement with Roosevelt. They believe that I am their enemy, and if they know that I am involved in any way, even though I want the same thing that they do, they will eventually do exactly what you are here to prevent them from doing."

"Can they even hurt you?"

"They can," confirmed Geronimo. "But more importantly, they can hurt my people-and before I will let that happen, I will sacrifice myself if need be. But this can all be avoided if you and Roosevelt can make the grave robbers go elsewhere."

"You'd really die for your people?" said Holliday.

"When one is a leader, one must accept the responsibilities of leadership."

"That's one good reason never to run for office."

"Speak to your friend Roosevelt," said Geronimo. "The day will come when he bears far greater responsibilities than you can imagine."

"He's not exactly my friend," said Holliday. "Hell, I've only had two friends since I came out here. They were both Earps. One's dead and the other's no longer speaking to me."

"He is a better friend than you have ever had."

"Because he likes me?" asked Holliday curiously.

Geronimo shook his head. "Because he is Roosevelt."

"I don't understand."

"That is why you have only had two friends, and one of them will not speak to you," answered Geronimo.

"Touche," said Holliday wryly.

"The sun will set in another hour," noted Geronimo. "What will you do, Holliday?"

"Die, probably," answered Holliday. "I've got no food, no shelter, and no horse."

"I will help you this one time," said Geronimo. "It would serve neither of our interests for you to die here and now."

"I could surely use a buckboard, a team of horses, and a bottle of whiskey," suggested Holliday.

"No, Holliday. You would surely misuse them."

Holliday was about to reply when he felt a sudden dizziness. He thought he was about to black out and collapse, but somehow he found that he couldn't. He shook his head to clear it, then realized that far from standing, he was seated atop his horse. He checked his saddle bags and found to his annoyance that Geronimo had reunited him with his horse but had removed his liquor.

He realized that his surroundings had changed. The forest was no longer there, the land was flat, not much was growing except grass and weeds, and a small creek ran off to his left. He could hear noises up ahead-voices, axes chopping wood, even a man playing a banjo.

He urged his horse forward, anxious to reach Marsh's camp and get some food. Then he saw something unusual off to his left, and rode a little closer.

It was a dead man, hanging by his neck from a makeshift gallows, and attached to his foot was a sign that contained a single word: Saboteur.

"Yep, we're here," said Holliday grimly, urging his horse forward.

HOLLIDAY RODE INTO THE CAMP, which was larger-and, he noted, better kept-than Cope's. There were three main buildings. He assumed one was a storage house, one a bunkhouse, and he had no idea what the third might be.

A tall man with a neatly trimmed beard and flowing blond hair that reached down to his shoulders emerged from one of the buildings and approached him.