Part 41 (2/2)

”The name's John.”

”John. Yes. Tell me. Marshal Grigsby-you know, I'll never be able to think of him as anything but Marshal Grigsby-in any event, he told me that you'd been following the lecture tour in order to arrange poker games with the men who attended. Is that true?”

Holliday smiled. ”Partly,” he said.

”Partly?”

Holliday finished the whiskey in his gla.s.s, refilled it from the bottle. ”The games were the icing on the cake.”

”What, then, was the cake?”

Holliday's black empty eyes looked levelly into Oscar's. ”You were.”

Oscar frowned. ”I was? I don't know what you mean.”

Below the handlebar mustache, the quick ghost of a smile flickered once. ”Sure you do, Poet.”

And suddenly Oscar did. And suddenly, astonis.h.i.+ngly, so did. Freddy Phallus, who stirred slightly, like a child beneath the blankets about to awaken from a long slumber.

”Ah,” Oscar said. ”Ah. Well. I see.”

Holliday's stare hadn't wavered.

”Well,” said Oscar. ”Yes. Well. Doctor. John. If I understand you aright-”

Holliday nodded. ”You do.”

”Yes. Well, then of course, yes, I'm very flattered. Very flattered. Of course. But you see, I'm not, well, I don't ... As it happens, you see, I'm very much attached to a particular person. A young woman, actually.”

Holliday nodded. ”Mrs. Doe.”

”Well, let us simply say a young woman. And you know, well, it's my loss, probably, but I've never actively engaged in ... the other.”

Another flicker of a smile. ”So far.”

”Indeed. So far, yes, exactly. Who knows what the future may bring, eh?”

Holliday nodded. He lifted his gla.s.s, drank it down in a single swallow, set the gla.s.s back on the table. He smiled once again. ”Well,” he said, ”when you change your mind, you let me know.”

”Absolutely,” said Oscar. ”The very instant.”

”Like I said,” Holliday said, ”when I find something I like, I stick with it.”

He stood, looked down at Oscar, nodded. ”Be seeing you, Poet.”

As he walked away, a dark, slim, lithe figure moving with the grace of a toreador, the crowd parted to let him pa.s.s-out of respect, or awe, or simply out of fear.

What an extraordinary man.

What an extraordinary few days these had been.

Had it truly been only five days since he had met Elizabeth McCourt Doe in Denver?

Between then and now, he had fallen in love. He had been battered about inside a madly driven carriage, been given opium to smoke, been bored by drunken old men, been hurled into sawdust and then stalked for days by a bearlike buffalo hunter. He had watched the bearlike buffalo hunter die. He had suffered a broken heart. He had been at the receiving end of two revolvers, and at the discharging end of one. He had been propositioned by a legendary gunman. He had learned that a man he had liked and respected was a killer, and he had seen him open his own throat with one savage swipe of a knife.

Perhaps it was the sheer number of events, or perhaps it was the velocity with which they had arrived. Or perhaps it was his horror at von Hesse's death. Whatever the reason, Oscar was too worn and weary now to worry about his betrayal by Elizabeth McCourt Doe. She was a beautiful woman, and very probably, at some time in the future, he would mourn the death of his love, and of his hopes.

Farewell my love, and remember me ...

Just now, Oscar wanted, he needed, a respite.

Grigsby was right. The best thing to do was put it all behind him. Everything. Elizabeth McCourt Doe. Biff. Von Hesse.

And what of the brooch that still lay in his pocket, the brooch he had purchased for Elizabeth McCourt Doe?

Give it to Mother.

Put the rest behind.

Think of it as a book. One chapter closes and another begins. Tomorrow, and in the tomorrows which followed, there would be new cities, new adventures, new people. Perhaps new women.

No. No new women for a while, if you please.

Perhaps he should take up Dr. Holliday's offer.

Extraordinary man. He ought to meet Wilbur.

”Sure you do, Poet.”

Fancy that.

Enough. This chapter is over.

It was, as Grigsby said, time to mosey on.

EPILOGUE.

From the Grigsby Archives.

November 7, 1890.

MY DEAR GRIGSBY,.

It was with great surprise and greater pleasure that I learned, in a letter sent by Mr. Jack Vail, that he had seen you recently in San Francisco, at a lecture given by Vail's current charge, someone called Lysander Richards (which must be, surely, a nom de route?). According to Vail, you were accompanied by a lovely wife and two lovely, nearly grown children, all of whom you successfully concealed from us when we met you eight years ago in Denver.

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