Free Weird West 04 - The Doctor and the Dinosaurs by Mike Resnick Page A

hour of solitaire—after all, since he didn't know exactly where Marsh's camp was, he might be just two or three miles from it. But then he decided that it was just as likely that he was two or three days from it, and he wanted to scout out a better place to spend the night, so he sat for another ten minutes and then painfully mounted his horse.
    He covered a few more miles, the trail leveled out and the landscape became greener, and as he reached the outskirts of a forest he realized that he was getting hungry. He didn't relish the effort of chewing on the beef jerky, but while he was sure there were all kinds of edible things growing around him, he had no idea which they might be. He dismounted, pulled out the jerky, took one bite of it, and made a face. He didn't know which leaves or grasses might be harmful, but then, he'd been poisoning his system with alcohol for as far back as he could remember, so what further harm could a little more poison do?
    It occurred to him that if his horse ate it, it was probably safe for humans. Not necessarily tasty, but safe. So instead of tying his horse to a tree or a bush he led him to the shrubbery and watched to see what the animal ate.
    He was still watching his horse when he heard another horse snort twice, and became aware that he was no longer alone. He turned and found himself facing a grizzled man who was pointing a gun at him.
    “Nice day, ain't it, neighbor?” said the man.
    Holliday merely stared at him.
    “’Course, it could be a little warmer,” continued the man. “I'm afraid you might freeze your ass off once the sun goes down.”
    “I'll be fine,” said Holliday.
    “Well, maybe you will,” agreed the man. “But you'll be without your horse and your gun and any money you got with you.”
    “I didn't see you at Cope's camp, so you must be working for Marsh,” said Holliday. “Why not just take me to him?”
    “Never heard of neither of ’em,” said the man. “The gun first, I think.”
    “Whatever you say,” said Holliday, raising his left hand in the air while very gently, very carefully withdrawing his pistol from its holster with his right hand. He made a production of pointing it butt first to the grizzled man, and as the man reached for it, Holliday spun it in his hand so that the muzzle was pointing at the would-be thief. He fired point-blank at the man's belly, blowing him off his horse.
    “You aren't exactly the brightest bear in these woods, are you?” said Holliday contemptuously, standing over the fallen man.
    “Who the hell are you?” gasped the man as Holliday leisurely aimed the gun between his eyes.
    “When you get to hell, which'll be any second now, tell the gatekeeper that Doc Holliday has sent him another one. You'll have plenty of company.”
    He fired the gun, and the man shuddered convulsively, then lay still—
    —but both horses panicked and began running off before Holliday could grab the reins of either. The effort brought forth another coughing fit that lasted almost three minutes, and left his chin and his shirtfront covered with blood. He spent another minute gasping for breath, coughed again, and finally had to lean against a tree in order to stay on his feet.
    “Wonderful,” he muttered. “Just wonderful.”
    He surveyed his surroundings and saw a number of birds, some still screeching in response to the noise of the gunshots, others settling back down after flying up in alarm.
    He waited until he had recovered enough strength to speak in his normal voice. “You'd damned well better be one of these critters,” said Holliday, “because I can't walk from here to either camp.”
    Holliday looked into the trees. None of the birds was paying him the least attention.
    “I mean it,” he said. “We renegotiate our deal, or I quit here and now.”
    A squirrel approached him, and when it was about ten feet away it slowly grew and morphed into Geronimo.
    “You are a killer,” said the Apache, “but you are a man of