Gunman's Rhapsody

“That’s no way to talk to a peace officer. I want you to be easy while I’m sleeping.”

“You won’t carry the message?” Ike said.

“ ’Course I won’t.”

“Well, he’ll have to fight, damn his ass. You may have to fight too, ’fore you know it.”

Virgil shrugged and turned west on Allen Street with the sun behind him and his shadow ten feet long in the empty dirt street. At home, Allie was awake but not yet up. She watched as he undressed and put the big Colt on the bedside table before he climbed in.

“There something going on?” she said.

“Been trying to keep Doc and Ike Clanton from killing each other,” Virgil said.

“Why didn’t you let them go ahead?” Allie said. “Neither one of them amounts to snake spit.”

Virgil patted her hip as she lay on her side beside him.

“Doc’s been with us a long time,” Virgil said, and fell asleep almost at once with his hand resting on her hip.

Allie lay on her side for a while looking at him. There was in him such a great calmness that he could fall asleep like that. He was motionless as he slept. His breathing was even. After a while she gently took his hand away from her hip and laid it on the blanket and got up and began to make herself some breakfast. At midmorning she came into the bedroom. Virgil came wide awake as she opened the door. He was always like that, she thought. Either full asleep or full awake. He never seemed in between.

“Bronk’s here,” she said. “Got jail business. Something about a prisoner.”

“Tell him I’ll be in later this afternoon,” Virgil said.

“Bronk also says that you better get up because Ike Clanton is on a rampage and there’s liable to be hell. Says Ike’s threatening to kill Doc, and you boys too.”

Virgil nodded.

“Ike’s probably drunk,” Virgil said. “Tell Bronk I’ll be in later this afternoon.”

He closed his eyes and appeared to be instantly asleep. Allie went out to tell Bronk what Virgil had said. When he left she picked up where she’d left off ironing Virgil’s shirts. While she let the iron heat on the stove she thought about Ike Clanton. He was a mean, loudmouthed drunk. She knew that. She’d seen a lot like him in saloons in Wichita and Dodge and Ellsworth. And she knew that mean, loudmouthed drunks with a gun could be dangerous. He’d need to be drunk to go up against Virgil; the whiskey would give him fortitude. But it didn’t mean he couldn’t pull the trigger. She thought about going to Virgil’s brothers. She knew they’d stand with him. It was who Bronk had meant when he said Clanton would be going after “you boys.” The Earps were always “you boys,” she thought. She took the iron off the stove with a potholder and licked her finger and tapped it on the flat of the iron. It sizzled. She nodded and began to iron careful creases in the shirt she’d stretched out on the board. Always “you boys.” Always the brothers. It was a good thing sometimes. Sometimes it was bad. She set the iron on its heel and turned the shirt and ironed another careful crease. She decided not to go to Wyatt or Morgan. Virgil wouldn’t approve. And God knew he’d handled things like this before. He slept peacefully in the next room while a man raged in the streets threatening to kill him. Maybe Ike would call Doc out before Virgil even woke up, and Doc would kill Ike, and it would be past. Allie took a deep breath and let it out slowly and kept ironing.

Thirty-nine

Just before noon Katie Elder was looking at some of Camillus Fly’s photographs in the gallery Fly kept next to his rooming house. Fly came in.

“Ike Clanton’s out there with a rifle and a side arm,” Fly said. “He is looking for Mr. Holliday.”

“Why?” Kate said.

“He says he is going to kill him,” Fly said.

“Doc’ll be interested to hear that,” Kate said.

She went next door into the boardinghouse and up to their room and woke Doc up.

“Ike Clanton’s looking to kill you,” Kate said. “He’s got a rifle.”

Doc rolled out of bed and began to put on his pants.

“ ’Less I die on the way,” Doc said, “he’ll get his chance.”

The air smelled of impending snow when Wyatt met Virgil and Morgan on Fremont Street. It was cold for October. All three men wore mackinaws; the hem of Wyatt’s was tucked up above the walnut handle of his gun.

“Harry Jones tells me Ike is after us with a Winchester and a six-shooter,” Wyatt said.

Virgil nodded.

“He was down at Hafford’s, too,” Morgan said, “with a rifle. Says he was insulted last night when he wasn’t fixed right. Says he’s heeled now and ready and wants to fight.”

“Lynch told me the same thing,” Virgil said. “Says Ike’s planning to kill us on sight.”

“And the sonova bitch been telling people we was supposed to meet him at noon and welshed out on it,” Morgan said. “It ain’t even noon yet.”

“Five of,” Wyatt said.

“Seems to me,” Virgil said, “we ought to find him and settle him down a bit.”

“Maybe we should settle him down for good,” Morgan said. “Ike’s starting to make me awful tired.”

“We’ll disarm him, arrest him if we can,” Virgil said.