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

Holliday. “Why don't you destroy it?”
    Geronimo frowned. “I cannot.”
    “Hook Nose is protecting it, too?”
    “I do not know. He swears he is not, and we are allies now. But we have been enemies before. This is Apache holy ground, so there is no reason why he should care about it, but there is also no reason why he should protect it. But someone or something is protecting it.”
    “I assume the Apaches have other enemies?” said Holliday.
    “Like grains of sand when the wind blows across the desert,” answered Geronimo.
    “Suppose you tell me what's special about this station, or the men defending it, what you've tried to do and failed.”
    “We tried to burn it. It will not burn. We have captured three cannons from your cavalry. We know how to use them. We fired at the building and could not even shatter the window. Our arrows bounce off the men who guard the station. We fire bullets into them, and they do not fall or even flinch.”
    Holliday was silent again for another moment. Finally he looked into Geronimo's cold, unblinking eyes.
    “Let me see if I've got this straight,” he said. “All I have to do is destroy men and buildings that are impervious to arrows, bullets, cannonballs and fire, and in exchange for that, a sick, dying man gets to face the greatest killer in the West on even terms, is that your offer?”
    “That is my offer.”
    “Give me a minute to think about it,” said Holliday, staring down at the ground.
    Geronimo nodded his assent.
    Holliday stood motionless for awhile, then looked up at the medicine man.
    “What the hell,” he said. “If he kills me, I don't need the money anyway.”
    “We will trade,” confirmed Geronimo.
    “We will trade,” agreed Holliday. “But before I attack your station I have to send for two friends who are currently in Leadville.”
    He looked to Geronimo for his consent, but found that he was back inside his room, and a small bird was flying off into the night.

 
    H
     
E HAD JUST RETURNED from the telegraph office when he ran into Charlotte Branson in the lobby of the Grand Hotel.
    “I was starting to worry about you,” was her greeting.
    “No need to,” replied Holliday. “He's not going to kill me as long as he needs me.”
    “Who?” she asked sharply.
    Suddenly he realized what he had said and who he had said it to. “I apologize. I must have been preoccupied.”
    “Who's not going to kill you?” she persisted.
    “I think that statement can apply to everyone in the world,” he said with a lame attempt at flippancy. “How late am I?”
    “About half an hour. Are you all right?”
    “Don't I look all right?” he responded.
    She stared at him for a moment, then smiled. “I'm beginning to understand why you get into so many gunfights,” she said. “You can be an infuriating man to talk to.”
    “Then why not see if I'm less infuriating to eat with?” He offered her his arm. “Shall we go scout out the restaurants?”
    “There ain't but four,” said the desk clerk.
    “Which do you recommend?”
    “The Silver Steak,” answered the clerk.
    “Silver steaks sound hard on the teeth,” remarked Holliday, as Charlotte chuckled.
    “Take it from me,” said the clerk. “It's the best.”
    “What makes it the best?”
    “My cousin owns it.”
    “I suppose we can't go wrong with a testimonial like that,” said Holliday. He turned to Charlotte. “Shall we go?”
    “Where is it?” she asked the clerk.
    “Out the front door, and two blocks to your right.”
    They left the hotel, walked along the raised wooden sidewalk, crossed the dirt street, repeated the process a block later, and finally came to the Silver Steak.
    “Sounds more like something you'd find in Tombstone,” remarked Holliday.
    “Oh?” said Charlotte. “Why?”
    “Town was built around a big silver strike,” replied Holliday. “It was almost played out when I left. Should be just about empty now.”
    “You've traveled all over, haven't you,