pulling a notebook out of a pocket. “I'm notmuch of an artist, but let me sketch him so I can show Tom what we're up against.”
“Tom?” repeated the Apache.
“Edison.”
“The White Eyes have too many names,” declared Geronimo.
“His whole name is Thomas Alva Edison,” said Holliday with a smile.
“You are sure?”
“As sure as my name's John Henry Holliday.”
Geronimo snorted but made no reply.
“Okay, I'm done,” said Roosevelt a moment later, putting the notebook away. Geronimo
made a gesture and the image of War Bonnet vanished.
“I've got a question, if I may,” said Holliday.
Geronimo turned to him. “Ask.”
“You're the most powerful medicine man of them all. Why can't you just magic War Bonnet
away, send him back to whatever hell they pulled him out of?”
“His magic is too strong for that—or it will be, once he truly exists,” answered Geronimo.
“They know better than to create a creature that I can scatter on the winds.”
“Let me make sure I understand our agreement,” said Roosevelt. “You lift the spell,
and I agree to fight War Bonnet with help from Edison or anyone else I can enlist?”
He paused, frowning. “We have an army. Why don't I just send for it?”
“Your army cannot cross the river, for I cannot lift the spell with all of the other
medicine men arrayed against me,” answered Geronimo. “First they must be defeated.
Only then can I lift the spell.”
“Not much of a bargain,” commented Holliday. “Especially since you admit that sooner
or later we're going to spread across the river anyway. Did I hear that right?”
“You heard it right,” confirmed Geronimo.
“You didn't ask him the operative question, Doc,” said Roosevelt.
“What question was that?” asked Holliday.
Roosevelt turned to Geronimo. “If the spell isn't lifted, when will we freely cross the river and settle the land to the Pacific Ocean?”
Geronimo opened both hands, extended his fingers, then closed them and repeated the
process seven more times.
“Eighty years,” said Roosevelt. “Almost everyone who is alive today, even newborn
infants, will be dead by then.” He grimaced. “That's why I have to do this, Doc. It
is our manifest destiny to reach from one coast to the other. I can't make an entire
nation wait for more than three-quarters of a century because I find the task daunting.”
He reached his hand out. “Goyathlay, we have a deal.”
Geronimo took his hand. “It is not written that you shall succeed,” he said grimly.
“Only that you are the best of them.”
“Doc and I have to get back to Tombstone and meet with Edison,” said Roosevelt, getting
to his feet. “How long will you remain here?”
“I leave tonight,” answered Geronimo.
“How will I find you if I need to confer with you?”
“Holliday knows.”
Geronimo didn't say another word, but somehow his warriors knew to bring Roosevelt's
and Holliday's horses and weapons, and shortly thereafter they were heading back to
Tombstone across the parched landscape.
A single hawk, riding the hot thermals, circled overhead. Finally it swooped down,
diving directly toward Roosevelt. When it was some thirty yards away its wings turned
to flames, the same flames Roosevelt had seen at the ends of War Bonnet's arms.
“Soon!” promised the hawk, and vanished just before it reached him.
H OLLIDAY , R OOSEVELT, AND M ASTERSON sat on cow hide furniture in Edison's living room. Edison himself emerged from a
kitchen, bringing them coffee on a copper tray.
“Ned will be here in a few minutes,” he announced. “He's just finishing up some work
in his lab.”
“I don't want to sound unduly nervous,” said Roosevelt, “but I have to ask: Is it
safe to sit here with my back to a window?”
Holliday chuckled at that, and even Masterson smiled.
“Have I said something funny?” asked Roosevelt, trying to hide his irritation.
“Theodore, nothing
“Tom?” repeated the Apache.
“Edison.”
“The White Eyes have too many names,” declared Geronimo.
“His whole name is Thomas Alva Edison,” said Holliday with a smile.
“You are sure?”
“As sure as my name's John Henry Holliday.”
Geronimo snorted but made no reply.
“Okay, I'm done,” said Roosevelt a moment later, putting the notebook away. Geronimo
made a gesture and the image of War Bonnet vanished.
“I've got a question, if I may,” said Holliday.
Geronimo turned to him. “Ask.”
“You're the most powerful medicine man of them all. Why can't you just magic War Bonnet
away, send him back to whatever hell they pulled him out of?”
“His magic is too strong for that—or it will be, once he truly exists,” answered Geronimo.
“They know better than to create a creature that I can scatter on the winds.”
“Let me make sure I understand our agreement,” said Roosevelt. “You lift the spell,
and I agree to fight War Bonnet with help from Edison or anyone else I can enlist?”
He paused, frowning. “We have an army. Why don't I just send for it?”
“Your army cannot cross the river, for I cannot lift the spell with all of the other
medicine men arrayed against me,” answered Geronimo. “First they must be defeated.
Only then can I lift the spell.”
“Not much of a bargain,” commented Holliday. “Especially since you admit that sooner
or later we're going to spread across the river anyway. Did I hear that right?”
“You heard it right,” confirmed Geronimo.
“You didn't ask him the operative question, Doc,” said Roosevelt.
“What question was that?” asked Holliday.
Roosevelt turned to Geronimo. “If the spell isn't lifted, when will we freely cross the river and settle the land to the Pacific Ocean?”
Geronimo opened both hands, extended his fingers, then closed them and repeated the
process seven more times.
“Eighty years,” said Roosevelt. “Almost everyone who is alive today, even newborn
infants, will be dead by then.” He grimaced. “That's why I have to do this, Doc. It
is our manifest destiny to reach from one coast to the other. I can't make an entire
nation wait for more than three-quarters of a century because I find the task daunting.”
He reached his hand out. “Goyathlay, we have a deal.”
Geronimo took his hand. “It is not written that you shall succeed,” he said grimly.
“Only that you are the best of them.”
“Doc and I have to get back to Tombstone and meet with Edison,” said Roosevelt, getting
to his feet. “How long will you remain here?”
“I leave tonight,” answered Geronimo.
“How will I find you if I need to confer with you?”
“Holliday knows.”
Geronimo didn't say another word, but somehow his warriors knew to bring Roosevelt's
and Holliday's horses and weapons, and shortly thereafter they were heading back to
Tombstone across the parched landscape.
A single hawk, riding the hot thermals, circled overhead. Finally it swooped down,
diving directly toward Roosevelt. When it was some thirty yards away its wings turned
to flames, the same flames Roosevelt had seen at the ends of War Bonnet's arms.
“Soon!” promised the hawk, and vanished just before it reached him.
H OLLIDAY , R OOSEVELT, AND M ASTERSON sat on cow hide furniture in Edison's living room. Edison himself emerged from a
kitchen, bringing them coffee on a copper tray.
“Ned will be here in a few minutes,” he announced. “He's just finishing up some work
in his lab.”
“I don't want to sound unduly nervous,” said Roosevelt, “but I have to ask: Is it
safe to sit here with my back to a window?”
Holliday chuckled at that, and even Masterson smiled.
“Have I said something funny?” asked Roosevelt, trying to hide his irritation.
“Theodore, nothing
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