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

cannonballs and fire don't work on wood, on people, on anything?” demanded Holliday as the horse began pulling the buckboard.
    “Don't you see?” said Edison happily. “This is magic!”
    “I know it's magic,” replied Holliday. “So what?”
    “The government brought me out here to see if I could find a way to combat the medicine men's magic, which is what has stopped us from expanding beyond the Mississippi,” answered Edison. “Here's a kind of magic that William Tecumsah Sherman's entire army probably couldn't defeat or destroy. If I can find a way, we're that much closer to finding a way to combat all their magic.”
    “I never looked at it that way,” admitted Holliday. “I suppose that's why you're the genius, and I'm the shootist.”
    Edison turned to Buntline. “There's no sense unpacking. We'll be back here tomorrow.”
    “Right,” agreed Buntline.
    “Just out of curiosity, why are we going to Tombstone?” asked Holliday, idly wondering if there was still a warrant out for his arrest.
    “That's where my first factory is,” said Buntline. “And once Tom figures out and designs what we need, I'll have to make it—and along with being better-stocked, Tombstone is a lot closer than Leadville.”
    “It's still operating?” asked Holliday.
    “Why not?” replied Buntline. “After all, the government is paying for it, and I've got your friend Henry Wiggins overseeing it.”
    “Doc?” said Edison.
    “Yes?”
    “We're halfway out of the valley. See that prairie dog there?”
    “I see him.”
    “Shoot him. Let's see how far this protection extends.”
    Holliday pulled his pistol and aimed it at the prairie dog without firing, while the little animal stared at him curiously.
    “What's the matter?”
    “I may know that particular animal,” replied Holliday. “I want to give him time to warn me off.” Finally, when no transformation took place, he squeezed the trigger. The prairie dog fell backward, jerked spasmodically once, and lay still.
    “Okay, there's a limit,” said Edison. “Good.”
    As they continued on their way out of the valley, Holliday looked at the body of the little animal that couldn't do him any harm, and realized that he felt worse about shooting it than about most of the men he had killed.

 
    “S
     
O DID YOU TWO MEN of the world enjoy your talk?” asked Edison as he, Buntline, and Holliday climbed down from the train and walked the hundred feet to the terminus of the monorail. The station was new, clean, made of the super-hardened brass that was now omnipresent in Tombstone, and there was a bar and a restaurant in the interior.
    Holliday smiled. “The poor kid slept just about all the way. He couldn't have gotten two winks on that rock-hard bench back at the station.”
    “I don't see him around,” said Buntline.
    “Probably still asleep,” said Holliday. “I gave him a quarter to spend in the dining car. If he doesn't wake up before the train pulls out, it'll have to last him through to California.” He looked around. “I don't think an innocent country boy like that could handle what Tombstone's become, anyway.”
    As he spoke, he gestured to a monorail with bullet-shaped brass cars that were just pulling up to the station.
    “This was my pride and joy before we left for Colorado,” remarked Buntline, staring lovingly at the brass cars. “Circles the whole city, and cuts across the middle, right in front of the Oriental Saloon.”
    “That place saw a lot of action when you and the Earps were here,” added Edison at the mention of the Oriental. “I understand that it's just about empty these days.”
    The cars came to a stop and their tops popped open. “Climb in,” said Buntline. “No sense walking. One to a car.”
    “You should have made them bigger,” said Holliday, tossing his suitcase into a car.
    Buntline shrugged. “A lot of people don't want to ride with strangers, especially out here. But everyone's willing to ride alone if the