"It doesn't matter," said Roosevelt with a shrug. "It's history."

"Survive the next month or two and I have a feeling you'll make your share of history," said Holliday. Suddenly he was seized by a coughing fit. "Of course," he continued, taking a b.l.o.o.d.y handkerchief from his mouth, "I won't be around to see it or read about it."

"Maybe you'd better consider going back to Denver," suggested Roosevelt.

"Leadville," Holliday corrected him. "And I plan to do just that in a day or two."

"Good," said Roosevelt, nodding his approval.

"I hate to leave you without any help."

"I've got Tom and Ned," answered Roosevelt.

"I meant frontline help."

"I've got Bat."

Holliday shook his head. "What Geronimo did to him the last time he was out here in Tombstone isn't exactly a secret. You can bet some other medicine man will remember it."

"It's not Bat's battle anyway," said Roosevelt.

Holliday was about to reply when there was a commotion at the bar. Finally a tall, deeply tanned man walked over to the table and stood in front of Roosevelt.

"You can settle a bet for us, Four-Eyes," he said. "I say you're a dandy from back East, and my friends say that no, you just stole that outfit from some other dandy."

Roosevelt got to his feet. "I have a name," he said. "And it's Theodore, not Four-Eyes."

"It's Four-Eyes to me, you Eastern creampuff," said the man.

Roosevelt took off his gla.s.ses, folded them, and handed them to Wiggins. Then he swung a roundhouse right that knocked the man sprawling. "How may eyes do you see now?"

The man went for his gun, but Holliday was faster, and was pointing his own pistol between the man's eyes before he could pull his gun out of his holster.

"Take it out, real gently," said Holliday, "and hand it to me. You can have it back after the bloodletting's over."

The man glared at Holliday, slowly removed his gun, and handed it to Holliday, b.u.t.t first.

"Good luck," said Holliday. "And may G.o.d have mercy on your soul."

The man got to his feet and charged at the smaller Roosevelt, who ducked under his outstretched arms and delivered two quick blows to the stomach. The man growled a curse, spun around, and raced at Roosevelt again. This time he got a broken nose for his efforts.

The one-sided fight went on for another five minutes. Roosevelt offered to end it three different times, but the man, his face a b.l.o.o.d.y mess, refused. Finally he uttered one final bellow and made one final attempt to connect to Roosevelt, who blocked one punch, ducked another, and delivered a haymaker to the man's jaw. He dropped like a stone.

"Anyone want to claim this trash?" asked Holliday.

There was no response, and Roosevelt dropped to one knee and began examining the damage he'd done to his opponent's face.

"Henry, get me a wet rag from the bar, will you, please?" said Roosevelt.

"He'd have been happy to let you lie on the floor 'til Doomsday," remarked Holliday.

"I'm responsible for my actions, not his," said Roosevelt. Wiggins returned with the towel, and Roosevelt began cleaning away some of the blood.

The man awoke, and Roosevelt spoke to him soothingly, instructing him to lie still until he finished getting rid of the blood. Finally he helped the man to his feet.

"I'm willing to admit when I been beat," said the man. "You got one h.e.l.luva punch, Dandy."

"Thank you," said Roosevelt. "How are you? Nothing broken?"

"Maybe my nose. Nothing important."

"What's your name?"

"Luke," said the man. "Luke Sloan."

"And I'm Theodore. Let me buy you a drink."

Sloan looked at him as if he were crazy. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," said Roosevelt. "We had a disagreement. It's over." He took his gla.s.ses back from Wiggins. "I hope you don't mind if I wear my gla.s.ses."

"If they make you fight like that, maybe I'll buy a pair myself," said Sloan. Roosevelt threw back his head and laughed, Sloan joined him, and soon everyone at the bar was laughing as the tension faded away.

"I don't know what you're doing out here, Dandy-I mean, Theodore," said Sloan, "but me and my horse are at your service if you're looking for help. Maybe I ain't quite as rough as I thought," he said, "but against most people I can hold my own and then some."

"You're rough enough for me, Luke," said Roosevelt. "I just might have some use for a rough rider like you."

"I'll be around," said Sloan. "I better get over to the doc's-not your Doc-and get some ice for my nose before it swells up so much I can't breathe."

"I'll be in touch," replied Roosevelt, as Sloan walked out the door and he returned to his table.

"I will never understand you," said Holliday.

"Leave him on the floor and he'd be an enemy for life," replied Roosevelt. "Now he wants to ride with me." He paused and suddenly grinned. "Rough rider. I like the way it sounds."

HOLLIDAY CLIMBED THE STAIRS to his second-floor room at the Grand, unlocked the door, tossed his hat on the desk in the corner, unbuckled and untied his holster, hung it over the back of the desk chair, and was preparing to sit down on the bed when he saw the mouse in the corner of the room.

"You are not supposed to be here," he muttered, "but at least when I present your bullet-riddled body to the management you ought to be worth a discount."

He reached for his gun, but before his hand closed on it, the mouse was gone, and standing in its place was Geronimo.

"Don't you ever get tired of sneaking up on people this way?" complained Holliday. "Or is this your only party trick?"

"If they saw me, they would kill me," answered Geronimo. "You know that."

"Yeah, probably they would," agreed Holliday with a weary sigh. "Well, what is it? I was about to go to sleep."

"I spoke to Roosevelt."

"I hope that's not what this is about," said Holliday. "He told me about it."

"He is a brave man."

"And a soundly sleeping one," said Holliday. "Get to the point."

"He plans to face War Bonnet."

"I know. You told us that. You even gave us a hint of what he'd look like."

"He is not ready," continued Geronimo.

"Of course he's not ready," said Holliday irritably. "How do you get ready to face a magical giant?"

"By learning more about him."

"Fine. Let him go learn."

"He cannot. They will hide War Bonnet from him until they are ready to kill him."

"Okay, then," said Holliday. "You're the medicine man. You go learn and tell him."

"They have defenses against me."

"I'm sorry Roosevelt's not ready and you're no help," said Holliday, "but what do you expect me to do about it?"

"Face War Bonnet."

"Me?" said Holliday incredulously.

"Learn what you can, and if you survive, bring us the information."

"s.h.i.t!" muttered Holliday. "I'm sobering up."

Geronimo stood and stared at him silently.

"I thought this was your and Roosevelt's fight," continued Holliday.

"It is."

"Then what is this all about?"

"War Bonnet has been created to kill Roosevelt and me," said Geronimo.

"I know."

"Roosevelt and me," repeated Geronimo. "Not you."

Holliday frowned. "Are you saying I can kill him? Or it, or whatever the h.e.l.l it is?"

Geronimo shook his head. "No, Holliday, You probably cannot kill him."

"Well, you'll forgive me if I don't like playing the sacrificial lamb. If you want to find out how fast he can tear someone apart, send Masterson or someone else."

"You do not understand," said Geronimo.

"Enlighten me."

"War Bonnet was created to kill Roosevelt and me. That is his sole purpose. His every thought is to kill us. His every defense is to protect himself against us. His every skill is a skill that is required for killing us." Geronimo paused and continued staring at Holliday. "He was not created to kill you."

"Well, now, I find that very interesting and almost worth being sober for," said Holliday. "Are you saying that anyone but you or Roosevelt can kill him?"

Geronimo shook his head. "No. He is a monster, created and powered by magic."

"Then what the f.u.c.k are you talking about?" demanded Holliday irritably.

"You have faced many men who were stronger that you, many who were better with their weapons, many who had no fear of you. Every man you ever faced was stronger and healthier than you. And yet you have always emerged alive and triumphant." He paused. "You do not have to kill War Bonnet. It is entirely possible that you cannot. But it is equally possible that he cannot or will not kill you, and when you return, you can report on everything you saw, everything you experienced."

"He's twenty feet high and made of fire," said Holliday. "What do you mean, he can't kill me?"

"I said he might be unable to kill you," replied Geronimo. "Possibly he is constructed only to kill myself and Roosevelt. Possibly he recognizes no other enemy."

"And possibly he likes killing, no matter who," said Holliday.

"That is true," agreed Geronimo.

"Then why in the world should I risk my life, and probably p.i.s.s it away, just to get you some information?"

"Your remaining life is of very short duration," began Geronimo.

"That's not a very telling argument," answered Holliday.

"If you die, you will suffer no more than you will suffer at your lodge in the mountains of Colorado," continued Geronimo. "And if you live, I can foresee you having two very fortunate nights at the place you call the Oriental."

"I'll win big?" said Holliday. "How much?"

Geronimo merely shrugged.

"Well, what the h.e.l.l, however much or little, it beats losing. And I don't suppose getting torn apart or set on fire is any worse than spending a final month or two gasping for air and not quite getting it." Holliday grimaced, then sighed. "Okay, I'm your huckleberry."

"It is agreed, then."

"Uh...before you go, where do I find War Bonnet?"

"He will not exist, not in a form that is meaningful to you, for three more days," answered Geronimo. "When that time comes, I will instruct you where to find him."

"You might also instruct me about what hurts him, or keeps him at bay."

"If I knew that, I would not be sending you."