Bucking the Tiger

Blinking calmly, Doc asked, “Are you heeled, Admiral?”

“You're damn right I am.” With that, Butler started to get up, and his hand dropped toward the holster buckled around his waist.

Doc's arm flickered with a motion that was so quick it barely attracted any attention. His Colt cleared leather and barked once.

For a moment, Butler stood his ground and blinked in disbelief.

Soon, he had to let his own gun drop so he could brace himself against the table.

When he looked up again, Butler didn't even have the strength to let out the obscenities that were on the tip of his tongue. He flopped forward and then slid from the table onto the floor…

Turning over Butler's cards, Doc counted up three eights and then went to his own cards to find three kings. “I guess this is mine,” he said while gathering up his chips. “I'll need to cash out.”

Author's Note

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Keeping up with John Henry “Doc” Holliday was a hell of a job. Anyone who knew him at the time would have told you as much, but that task becomes even more difficult when trying to piece him together from the research we have today. For the same stretch of time, one source might have Doc being chased by a posse through Indian country while another source puts him on an uneventful train ride. This isn't uncommon where notorious figures of the 1800s are concerned, but I thought it was worth mentioning here. For the purposes of this book, I have tried to keep Doc's whereabouts and associations as historically accurate as possible. Documented gunfights and scrapes with the law were also kept more or less intact, but some of these vary, depending on who is telling the tale. I've gone with the versions that make the most sense to me with the intention of staying true to Doc's essence while also telling a good story about the man. In the end, this is a fictional account. For a more biographical read, I'd recommend
Doc Holliday
by John Myers Myers or
Doc Holliday: A Family Portrait
by Karen Holliday Tanner.

Enjoy the book!

1875

John Holliday was a young man with a handsome, if somewhat gaunt, face. His blond hair was well kept and his mustache neatly trimmed, but all the fine grooming in the world couldn't blunt the razor's edge of his stare. Holliday, who'd become known more and more as Doc, coughed on some of the dusty air inside the quiet room. His eyes remained steady, however, as they fixed upon a man who wasn't too anxious to look back.

McDowell was the man taking the brunt of that stare, and he did so while shifting on his feet and nervously clearing his throat. He was a stout man dressed in a rumpled suit, which was currently becoming soaked with sweat around the edges. Like most everyone else in Dallas, he'd heard the rumors about Doc and had seen the city's former dentist carousing on numerous occasions.

There'd been plenty of talk about the guns Doc carried, but McDowell tried not to think too much about that. If he got too nervous, he might make a mistake and slip up at a bad time. A mistake like that could cause quite a stir, and McDowell simply wanted to get his job done and go home in one piece.

Doc stared at McDowell and immediately sensed the man's nervousness. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Doc's gambling instincts picked up on the beads of sweat on the man's face even before they trickled down McDowell's cheek. Just to add a bit of fuel to the fire, Doc smirked at McDowell and nodded as if he'd already read what was written upon his soul.

“We the jury,” McDowell said, “in a plea of guilty, assess the punishment as a fine of ten dollars.” Once that was out, McDowell let out the breath he'd been holding and lowered himself back into his seat.

The judge sat at the front of the courtroom and smacked his gavel against the top of his desk. “A fine, it is. Ten dollars, Dr. Holliday. Next case.”

Doc stood up, beaming as if he'd won a thousand-dollar pot with a ten high. Most of the folks sitting in the courtroom were there on business of their own, but Doc looked straight past them and to his own audience of one. As Doc walked toward the exit, the rough-looking figure from the public seats fell into step beside him.

“If you don't mind, I'd like to depart from this place as soon as humanly possible,” Doc said in a smooth, Georgia drawl. “The heat in here is unbearable.”

The man who walked with Doc out of the courtroom was of average height and had a complexion slightly darker than one that had been tanned by the sun. His coal-black hair fell in uneven clumps that stopped just short of shoulder length. Although his dark eyes seemed more comfortable in a scowl, they were smiling right along with the rest of his face as he walked with Doc through the newly built Dallas courthouse. His name was Caleb Wayfinder, and it was plain to see that he didn't want to be in the fancy building for one more second.

“I'll say it was hot in there,” Caleb said. “That jury foreman looked like he was about to faint dead away.”

“He just doesn't take to public speaking, Caleb. Try to show a bit of compassion.”

“Compassion, huh? Tell me, how exactly did McDowell pay back that money he owes you?”

Doc shrugged while taking a folded bill out of his pocket and handing it over to the prettiest of the court clerks. “Why, whatever are you trying to imply? Ten dollars is a standard fine for someone brought up on a gambling charge.”

“Last time you were hit for a lot more than that.”

“Thanks to a corrupt lawman and several other mitigating circumstances, thank you very much.” After getting his slip for the fee, Doc winked at the woman behind the counter and turned on his polished heels toward the courthouse's front door. “Still, a little insurance never hurt anyone.”

Caleb chuckled under his breath and stepped outside. It was a fine day, and trying to figure out what deal Doc had or hadn't arranged would only give him a headache. “Insurance, huh? That's fine talk coming from a man who plays cards and drinks all night when he should be resting.”

“My condition isn't going anywhere,” Doc replied. “That much is insured. Speaking of drinks and cards, how about we pay a visit to the Busted Flush? It's not far from here.”

“I remember where it's at, Doc. I used to own the place. It's just not the same as how I left it,” Caleb grumbled.

“Did you see that for yourself?”

Caleb shrugged and mumbled something under his breath, which was more than enough to answer Doc's question.

“Well, I have been there again,” Doc said. “From what I saw yesterday, it's still a fine establishment. But if it pains you so much to see it, maybe you shouldn't have come back for this nonsense of a hearing. You weren't even on trial.”

“Things went to hell pretty quickly last time we dealt with the law, so I figured it was easier to be here when it started up again rather than have it track me down. Besides, I also wanted to make sure Hank was doing all right with the Flush.”

“Is he?”

While glancing down Main Street, Caleb could just make out the Busted Flush itself. He'd seen that saloon built from the ground up, and if he closed his eyes, he swore he could still hear the same old voices talking about the same old things they'd been discussing before he'd left. If he concentrated while pulling in a breath, he could even smell the musty walls of his office, which had closed in around him like a coffin.

“I'm sure he's doing a fine job,” Caleb replied. “Probably better than I ever did, in fact.”

“Maybe you should pay him a visit before you leave.”

“Nah. The faster I shake the dirt of this town off my boots, the better.”

“I recall thinking the same thing when I left Georgia.” As Doc spoke, his drawl became a little thicker, as if part of him was already settling back into his former home. “It was partly a necessity in my case, but I was itching to leave. Funny thing is that I couldn't go back now even if I wanted to. Too much has changed in too short a time.” Glancing over to Caleb, he added, “There's a stage going back to Denison within the hour. Is that fast enough for you?”

“Maybe just a bit. I probably should pay Hank a visit since I'm here and all. After that, I'll head down to the station myself to see where else I can go.”

“Anyplace specific in mind?”

“Anyplace but here.”

Doc laughed and patted Caleb on the shoulder. “A man with standards. I like that.” Before he could laugh much more, Doc winced and snatched a handkerchief from his jacket pocket. Clutching the handkerchief in a tight fist, he pressed the cloth to his mouth and hacked into it. When he was done, he glanced down at it and then put it away.

“You need to take a moment and rest?” Caleb asked.

Shaking his head, Doc replied, “Not at all. It seems the western climate has done wonders for my condition after all. I do imagine the mountain air would be even more refreshing.”

“Mountain air? Sounds like you've got your sights set on somewhere in particular.”

“Why yes. I hear Denver is very nice this time of year.”

“And it happens to be on the gambler's circuit,” Caleb pointed out.

For a moment, Doc rolled his eyes as though he were tracing the path of a slow bee making its way over his head. He then blinked and nodded solemnly. “Why, what a novel idea. It would be a fine place for a new saloon.”

“I'm sure they've got plenty of saloons there already, Doc. Besides, I don't have what it takes to get another place off the ground.”

“Not on your own, perhaps. As I recall, we make quite the team.” Keeping his eyes fixed upon Caleb, Doc lowered his voice just enough to make it clear he was no longer idly chatting. “You know as well as I do that good partners are hard to find. Taking on the occupation of sport, the first thing I've learned is the value of someone I could trust.”

“We got out of a few scrapes, that's for certain,” Caleb said.

“Every good venture has its risks. Even dentistry wasn't without its perils. Business is business and that holds true no matter what your business is. Your business is running a saloon and mine is sport. The way I see it, there's no reason for our paths to split just yet.”

Caleb shook his head and tried to read the true purpose behind Doc's expression. Doing so was like trying to read what was inside a mountain just by staring at a rock wall. “Already given up on dentistry?”

“I might not have coughed up any blood today, but I'm still not getting any better,” Doc said candidly. “Making a living by winning my daily bread puts a fire in my belly that pulling teeth could never do.”

“I believe the fire you're talking about is from all that whiskey you pour down your throat. And playing cards with you is hardly sport.”

Doc kept up his stony facade for another few seconds before his smile returned. “So long as we're swapping brutal truths, did I mention that you settling into an office and balancing ledgers is about as fitting as this fine suit of mine wrapped around a pig?”

After taking a few moments, Caleb said, “You got a point there, but that doesn't mean I want to run a saloon with you.”

“Heavens no! You'd run the place and I'd play cards in it. Just think of the money that could be made with an arrangement like that.”

“I may not have known you for long, but I know damn well that you wouldn't just be playing cards with an arrangement like that.”

“Well, no. I'd be dealing faro.”

“You mean running that game, as well as every other game under my roof, in your favor?”

Doc shrugged and said, “It's called bucking the tiger, Caleb. Everyone knows the odds are stacked against you. The true test is beating them anyway.”

As they'd been talking, Doc and Caleb had made their way to the depot where stagecoach tickets were sold. The platform outside the office was empty for the moment, giving them an unobstructed view to the open land beyond Dallas. Caleb shook his head and walked over to a board next to the ticket window where the stage schedules were posted. Even as he quickly examined them, Caleb could feel Doc anxiously awaiting his reply.

When Caleb turned around again, he saw Doc still waiting.

“Well?” Doc asked.

“The stage to Denison should be here soon,” Caleb said. “And it just so happens to be one of the only ones out of here today. There's also another stage for Denison leaving tomorrow.”

Doc's smile grew a bit when he heard that.

Caleb let out a heavy sigh. “I wasn't planning on spending the night in Dallas, but it's either that or check in on Hank some other time. I might as well head back to Denison in the morning.”

“And after that?”

“I'll have to wait and see. I've heard Denver is a hell of a place.”

Grinning from ear to ear, Doc slapped Caleb's shoulder good-naturedly. “You can smell the profits just as well as I can. You'll see. This arrangement will work out just fine all the way around. With the two of us working together, we can raise enough money to start up a saloon in no time.”

“I haven't agreed to anything, Doc.”

Doc nodded and purchased a ticket. “Of course, of course. We'll see where fate puts us. After all, a sporting man has to be able to leave such important matters to the fates whenever possible. It's all a part of our charm.”

Even though Caleb was able to keep from sharing Doc's enjoyment of the moment, two ladies waiting on the nearby platform weren't so strong. They whispered to each other and quickly turned their blushing cheeks away from Doc.

Standing there in his expensive suit and fancy gold watch chain, Doc looked every bit the Southern gentleman. Caleb, on the other hand, more closely resembled the cowhands that rode through Texas while accompanying a herd from one ranch to another. Those ladies lost their high spirits when they saw the Navy model Colt revolver holstered under Doc's arm as he opened his arms to take in a deep, excited breath.

Doc didn't seem to notice either one of the ladies' shifting expressions as he stood on the edge of the platform and waited for the stage to Denison. It arrived amid the clatter of wooden wheels and the labored breathing of its horses. The ladies climbed up into the carriage and became quiet when they saw Doc headed for the seat directly across from them.

“Any baggage?” the driver asked.

Both ladies pointed toward a pile of cases stacked at the edge of the platform.

Doc's own case had been waiting for him at the station. After tossing it up to the driver, he got inside the stagecoach behind the two ladies. All it took was a tip of his hat and a cordial smile for him to put them at ease. “I see the city of Dallas is losing two of its finest assets,” he said with a Southern curl to his words. “I only hope you'll indulge me with a bit of conversation to pass these next few hours.”

One of the women was shorter than the other and had thick, red hair. “My name's Colleen,” she said while offering her hand to Doc. “This is my sister, Jenny.”

“Delighted,” Doc said.

Jenny nodded in Doc's direction, gazed out the window, and then rolled her eyes as the stagecoach lurched into motion.