Free The Doctor and the Rough Rider by Mike Resnick

want to get you out of here fast.”
    “Why?” asked Holliday.
    “Johnny Behan's due to come by in about twenty minutes, and I know you and him ain't
     exactly what they call bosom buddies.”
    “I've got nothing against him these days,” said Holliday. “It was Wyatt who stole
     his woman, not me. And I've never minded if a man was a lying, backstabbing, black-hearted
     bastard, as long as he didn't display those traits while holding elected office…and
     Johnny's been forcibly retired for two or three years.”
    “Well, I'm sure glad you ain't got anything against him,” replied the barber with
     an amused smile as he lathered Holliday's face. “I think I'll get you out of here
     before he comes anyway.”
    “Suits me fine,” said Holliday. “I hate to have to look at an ugly son of a bitch
     like that right before I eat.”
    “Doc, if you make me laugh while I'm shaving you, I'm liable to cut your nose off.”
    “This is the day to do it, Sam. I'm fresh out of blood.”
    The barber held his blade at arm's length while he chuckled, and then, when Holliday
     closed his eyes and leaned back, he began shaving the emaciated man, marveling that
     a man in such obviously poor health could grow anything, even hair.
    Holliday awoke to a finger being prodded into his shoulder.
    “What is it?” he asked.
    “You fell asleep.”
    “Oh. Are you done?”
    “Not quite.”
    “Then why—?”
    “Behan's early,” said the barber, pointing out the front window at the figure that
     was approaching the shop. He lowered his voice. “If you're going to kill him, please
     don't do it so that your bullet goes through him and shatters a mirror or he falls
     through my window.”
    “I'm not killing anyone,” responded Holliday. He paused briefly. “Probably,” he added.
    The door opened and John Behan entered the shop.
    “Well, well, look who's here,” he said, staring at Holliday. “They let just anyone
     come into town these days.”
    “True,” agreed Holliday. “Still, you were the sheriff until the people wised up to
     you, so I suppose you might as well hang around to remind them to be a little more
     careful when they go to the polls.”
    “Very funny,” said Behan, who obviously was not amused.
    “I'm known far and wide for my sense of humor,” said Holliday,
    “Is your friend Wyatt with you?” asked Behan.
    “No. He spends all his time in bed with his wife.” Holliday paused and frowned. “Come
     to think of it, I believe you used to know the lady.”
    “You're treading on dangerous ground, Holliday,” said Behan, pushing his coat back
     and exposing his gun and holster.
    “Not as dangerous as someone else in here,” replied Holliday. “I've had you covered
     since you walked in here.” The cloth over his gun hand wiggled as if for emphasis.
    “That's just your finger you're pointing at me.”
    “If you really believe that, then you should go for your gun,” said Holliday. “Sam,
     you're a witness that he was warned, and thought he was drawing on an unarmed man.”
    “I don't believe you,” said Behan nervously.
    “That's your right,” said Holliday easily. “A man's got to disbelieve in some thing.”
    “You're bluffing!”
    “Anything's possible.”
    Behan seemed to struggle briefly with himself, then spat on the floor. “Fuck it! What's
     one more lunger in the world? You'll be dead soon enough anyway.” And with that, he
     opened the door and stalked off down the street.
    “Thanks for not shooting him, Doc.”
    “Pull the cloth off,” said Holliday.
    The barber did so, revealing Holliday's forefinger pointing at the place where Behan
     had been, his pistol still securely in its holster.
    The barber emitted a hearty laugh. “By God, wait'll I tell this story around town.”
    “I'd be very careful about that, Sam,” said Holliday. “You're not as likely to scare
     him off as I was.”
    “What would you have done if he'd actually gone for his gun?”
    “Killed him,”