a point.”
“He usually does,” agreed Holliday.
Younger looked off to his left, where a cloud of dust seemed to be approaching them. “You'll have your chance pretty soon. That'll be the Professor.”
E DWARD D RINKER C OPE WAS A LEAN MAN with a carefully trimmed brown mustache and clear blue eyes. Holliday estimated his age at forty-five, give or take a couple of years. It was clear from his appearance that he'd been digging in the earth all day, and just as clear that he'd cleaned himself up as best he could before returning to camp.
There were some thirty men with him, and as he dismounted he issued orders to them as they began unloading the wagons and unhitching the horses. He watched them for a few minutes; then, satisfied that they were doing their jobs the way he wanted, he turned and walked toward the log building that held most of the huge bones. He stopped when his gaze fell on Holliday and Roosevelt.
Holliday remained seated, but Roosevelt got to his feet.
“Professor,” said Younger, also getting up, “we got ourselves a couple of famous visitors.”
“I believe I recognize one of them,” said Cope. “Mr. Roosevelt, isn't it?”
“At your service,” said Roosevelt.
“I certainly hope so,” said Cope. “I'd like you to use your connections to stop that thieving bastard Marsh from sabotaging my dig and stealing fossils that are rightly mine.”
“I'll certainly talk to him,” said Roosevelt easily.
“Do you know that son of a pig has some of his fat rich friends in Congress trying to pass a bill that would restrict where I can carry out my explorations?” continued Cope, spitting on the ground to show his contempt for Marsh.
“Explorations?” said Roosevelt curiously.
“For fossils.”
“Since Wyoming's not a state, I hardly think the Congress of the United States has any authority here,” said Roosevelt.
“I'm here because they harassed me when I was digging on the other side of the Mississippi,” said Cope angrily.
“I'll look into it,” said Roosevelt.
Cope turned to face Holliday. “Who's your friend, who doesn't seem to feel obligated to get to his feet when we're introduced?”
“Get up, Doc!” said Younger urgently.
“I'm comfortable right where I am,” replied Holliday, making no effort to stand.
“Mr. Cope…” began Roosevelt.
“I prefer Professor,” interrupted Cope.
“Professor Cope, say hello to Doc Holliday.”
Cope stared at Holliday as if comparing him to the mental picture he'd formed of the legendary hero of the O.K. Corral. “You're really him?”
“Sure am,” replied Holliday easily. “If you've got a toothache, I'll prove it to you.”
“And you've killed thirty men?”
“Probably not,” said Holliday.
“But you are the famous shootist?”
“Well, I'm a shootist when I'm not being a dentist or a gambler. How famous I am is probably a matter of some debate. There are certainly towns where I've got a little more fame than I'd like.”
“Well, I'll be damned!” said Cope, obviously impressed. “Doc Holliday has come to my camp! I couldn't have asked for anything better!”
Holliday stared at him curiously.
“That bastard Marsh is no more than fifty miles from this spot,” continued Cope. “What'll it cost for you to kill him?”
“I'm not an assassin for hire, Mr. Cope.”
“Professor,” said Cope.
“Professors don't hire killers, Mr. Cope,” replied Holliday.
“Cole, get ready to earn your pay,” snapped Cope, suddenly tense.
“I don't quite follow you, Professor,” said Younger.
“If he won't kill Marsh, then it's obvious that Marsh has sent him here to kill me !” said Cope.
Holliday turned to Roosevelt. “And they say he's the reasonable one,” he said sardonically.
“We're just here to make sure nothing untoward happens to either expedition,” said Roosevelt to Cope.
“Other than sabotage, murder and Indian attacks, you mean?” said Cope.
“Actually, yes,” said Holliday.
Cope
“He usually does,” agreed Holliday.
Younger looked off to his left, where a cloud of dust seemed to be approaching them. “You'll have your chance pretty soon. That'll be the Professor.”
E DWARD D RINKER C OPE WAS A LEAN MAN with a carefully trimmed brown mustache and clear blue eyes. Holliday estimated his age at forty-five, give or take a couple of years. It was clear from his appearance that he'd been digging in the earth all day, and just as clear that he'd cleaned himself up as best he could before returning to camp.
There were some thirty men with him, and as he dismounted he issued orders to them as they began unloading the wagons and unhitching the horses. He watched them for a few minutes; then, satisfied that they were doing their jobs the way he wanted, he turned and walked toward the log building that held most of the huge bones. He stopped when his gaze fell on Holliday and Roosevelt.
Holliday remained seated, but Roosevelt got to his feet.
“Professor,” said Younger, also getting up, “we got ourselves a couple of famous visitors.”
“I believe I recognize one of them,” said Cope. “Mr. Roosevelt, isn't it?”
“At your service,” said Roosevelt.
“I certainly hope so,” said Cope. “I'd like you to use your connections to stop that thieving bastard Marsh from sabotaging my dig and stealing fossils that are rightly mine.”
“I'll certainly talk to him,” said Roosevelt easily.
“Do you know that son of a pig has some of his fat rich friends in Congress trying to pass a bill that would restrict where I can carry out my explorations?” continued Cope, spitting on the ground to show his contempt for Marsh.
“Explorations?” said Roosevelt curiously.
“For fossils.”
“Since Wyoming's not a state, I hardly think the Congress of the United States has any authority here,” said Roosevelt.
“I'm here because they harassed me when I was digging on the other side of the Mississippi,” said Cope angrily.
“I'll look into it,” said Roosevelt.
Cope turned to face Holliday. “Who's your friend, who doesn't seem to feel obligated to get to his feet when we're introduced?”
“Get up, Doc!” said Younger urgently.
“I'm comfortable right where I am,” replied Holliday, making no effort to stand.
“Mr. Cope…” began Roosevelt.
“I prefer Professor,” interrupted Cope.
“Professor Cope, say hello to Doc Holliday.”
Cope stared at Holliday as if comparing him to the mental picture he'd formed of the legendary hero of the O.K. Corral. “You're really him?”
“Sure am,” replied Holliday easily. “If you've got a toothache, I'll prove it to you.”
“And you've killed thirty men?”
“Probably not,” said Holliday.
“But you are the famous shootist?”
“Well, I'm a shootist when I'm not being a dentist or a gambler. How famous I am is probably a matter of some debate. There are certainly towns where I've got a little more fame than I'd like.”
“Well, I'll be damned!” said Cope, obviously impressed. “Doc Holliday has come to my camp! I couldn't have asked for anything better!”
Holliday stared at him curiously.
“That bastard Marsh is no more than fifty miles from this spot,” continued Cope. “What'll it cost for you to kill him?”
“I'm not an assassin for hire, Mr. Cope.”
“Professor,” said Cope.
“Professors don't hire killers, Mr. Cope,” replied Holliday.
“Cole, get ready to earn your pay,” snapped Cope, suddenly tense.
“I don't quite follow you, Professor,” said Younger.
“If he won't kill Marsh, then it's obvious that Marsh has sent him here to kill me !” said Cope.
Holliday turned to Roosevelt. “And they say he's the reasonable one,” he said sardonically.
“We're just here to make sure nothing untoward happens to either expedition,” said Roosevelt to Cope.
“Other than sabotage, murder and Indian attacks, you mean?” said Cope.
“Actually, yes,” said Holliday.
Cope
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