Free Doctor and the Kid, The (A Weird West Tale) (Weird West Tales) by Mike Resnick

pen?” The man supplied it, and Holliday signed his name on the cover, then returned the pen. “Here,” he said, handing the book back to Antrim. “Wait a year or two until I'm in the grave, and you can sell that thing, with a genuine Doc Holliday autograph, for half a dollar. Maybe a dollar if you're lucky.”
    Antrim clutched the dime novel to his chest. “I'm never going to part with it. Never!”
    Holliday smiled. “Never's a long time, Henry. You'll grow a little older, someone will offer to trade you some of those French postcards I've seen and you've probably at least heard about, and you'll jump at the chance.”
    “Not me!” Antrim assured him.
    “Well, it's nice to have such an admirer,” said Holliday. “Now how about that drink?”
    “Sure,” said Antrim, walking over and waiting for the stationmaster to pour him a glass. He lifted it to his lips, took a swallow, and made a face.
    “A little strong for you?” asked Holliday.
    “A little!” Antrim whispered as he gasped for breath.
    “You'll grow into it.”
    Buntline entered the room just then.
    “Well?” asked Holliday.
    Buntline shook his head. “Seems absolutely normal to me. Some of the wood even has termites.”
    Edison joined them a moment later.
    “You're sure this is the station he was talking about?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Very strange,” muttered Edison. He stood up and looked around. “Well, at least it's empty.” He walked up to the stationmaster. “I want to buy you a new window. How much will it cost?”
    “Don't need one.”
    “You may. How much?”
    The stationmaster scratched his head. “Including labor, a dollar and a half.”
    “It's a deal.” Edison turned to Holliday, “Doc,” he said, pointing to a window, “shoot that damned thing out of its frame.”
    Holliday drew his gun and fired in one motion.
    Nothing happened.
    Buntline walked over and examined the glass. “Not a mark.”
    Antrim, who had ducked when Holliday fired, was on his feet now. “Where's the bullet? I didn't hear or feel anything ricochet.”
    They all spent a couple of minutes looking, without success, for the spent bullet.
    “It's like magic!” said Antrim.
    “Exactly,” agreed Edison, his face lighting up with excitement. “Doc, stand six inches away from that wooden wall and put a slug into it.”
    Holliday did as requested. The result was the same: no mark on the wall, and no spent bullet.
    “This is wonderful!” enthused Edison. “Simply wonderful!” He turned to his companions. “Come along! It's time to go back to town and get a couple of rooms for the night.” He walked over to the stationmaster. “Are there seats available on tomorrow's train?”
    “Always,” was the reply.
    “Good! We'll want two tickets to Tombstone.”
    “Three,” said Holliday. Edison looked at him questioningly. “I told you about my trade. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”
    “So I'll see you tomorrow, Doc?” asked Antrim.
    Holliday nodded. “We'll be here.”
    “Could we maybe…maybe sit together on the train?”
    “Sure,” said Holliday. “How far are you going?”
    The young man shrugged. “I don't know. As far as my money will take me.”
    “See you tomorrow,” said Holliday, turning and joining his companions. They walked out to the buckboard, then climbed onto it one by one.
    “There's a horse out behind the station,” said Buntline. “But before we shoot it, we should make sure it belongs to the stationmaster.”
    “It won't matter,” said Holliday. “Geronimo sounded like it's the area that's protected, that it doesn't make any difference if you work there or are a customer—or his horse.”
    “And we can't just walk up and slap it,” added Edison. “If we're not trying to kill it, my guess is that nothing will happen except that we'll spook the poor dumb creature. God damn, this is lucky! Thanks for calling us in on it, Doc!”
    “What's so lucky about finding a place where bullets and