Footsteps on Hallowed Ground

Chapter 4 – Against All Odds

The rest of the night passed just as it had in Montana when he spent the time on a chair at the window. Sitting alone in a dark hotel room staring out into the black night – waiting for something, anything to happen. Bret wasn't dead and gone, he was alive and well and living inside Bart's head.

At daylight, he changed out of his gambler persona and put on all black traveling clothes. Bret teased him, asking whose funeral he was going to. "Shut up," was his only response. He went downstairs to get coffee and tried to remember the last time he'd eaten. It didn't seem important until he caught a whiff of bacon, and he realized he was hungry. With nothing better to do this early, he sat down and ordered bacon and eggs. When his breakfast came he ate, even though food still had no taste. It was just something necessary to keep him alive.

He pulled out his pocket watch and stared at it. He couldn't read the time at first; when it finally came into focus the time was half-past eight. He paid for breakfast and left the dining room, then the hotel, and walked down the street towards Doc Walters office. He was not looking forward to this visit.

The office was open but empty. Bart called out "Doc," as he entered, and the physician came scurrying out from behind a closed door. His coat was off, his sleeves rolled up, and he was totally disheveled. He was wiping his hands on a towel.

"Mr. Maverick, good morning! Go on in my office, behind that door. I'll be there in a minute." He pointed to the other door and Bart went in. It sure didn't look like Beckham Dooley's office in Montana. It looked more like somebody's house, only it held a desk instead of a table. There was a full-size settee in one corner, about four feet away from the fireplace. Bart took a seat in front of the desk and waited. In less than five minutes the good doctor came bustling in, his coat now back on and his hair combed.

"Sorry about before. Tommy Fletcher broke his arm early this morning and I was finishing a cast. Why is it only boys break bones? Are girls smarter than we are? Well, never mind. Sorry for the rambling, I always do that when I'm nervous."

That was the second odd thing that the doctor had said since last night. He let this one pass, too. "Doc, I can't stay here if you keep calling me Mr. Maverick. The name is Bart, please."

"Okay, Bart. I can do that. Don't you have another brother, named Beau or something like that?"

As usual, Bret had probably explained their entire family to Doc Walters. "Cousin, Doc. Beau's our . . . . my cousin. Did Bret tell you about Pappy and Uncle Ben, too?"

The doctor nodded. "Yes, and the 'sister' in Montana. We had dinner together several times. He knew all about my family, too."

Bart chuckled at the memory of his brother always talking about family. Then his breath caught as he realized he'd never hear those stories again. "You have some things for me?"

"Right here, son. I kept everything he had on him. You sure now's a good time?"

Bart shook his head. A headache had started; he hadn't had one of those in a long time. "There's never gonna be a good time, Doctor. Let's get this over with."

Walters nodded; he hated having to do this to the man sitting in front of him. Cruel and brutal, but necessary. He pulled the box out from under his desk and picked up the gun belt. There was no gun in the holster.

"We couldn't find his gun. I have no idea what happened to it. Maybe one of Hinkel's men picked it up. But I kept the gun belt, just in case." Bart took it and set it down on the floor, at his feet. Next Doc pulled out Bret's pocket watch. It looked almost like Bart's own watch, but he took his out of his pocket and replaced it with Bret's. His went on the floor, next to the gun belt.

"His wallet," Doc announced, and Bart shuddered. The wallet he took from Doc had 'Bret Maverick' engraved on the outside, just as his said 'Bart Maverick.' Pappy had them made up and presented to each on his eighteenth birthday. He left the wallet sit on the desk.

"There were three things inside the wallet that I looked at briefly to see what or who they went to. The first was his money – almost fourteen hundred dollars." He handed that to Bart, who quickly slipped it inside Bret's wallet and placed both in his jacket pocket, next to his own wallet.

"Second is this," and Doc passed along a picture of the brothers that Bret had kept for years. He looked at the photo for a long minute, remembering the day it was taken. Neither was too happy about being drafted, but Pappy was trying to put a good face on it by having the photographic image done. It was a picture of a young Bret Maverick with his brother, both in Confederate uniforms. Bret had his arm around Bart, who was saluting the photographer. That was the photo Bret showed to Bart in Arizona when he was trying to explain that his name was Bart Maverick and not John Henry Holliday.

"This last one I'm gonna give you and go finish up Tommy's cast. I'll be back." Doc handed him a folded piece of paper and left the office, closing the door behind him. It was a letter from Bret, written to him.

'Dear Bart – If you're reading this then I've gone on ahead of you. Hopefully we're both old men, but if not I'm sorry that I left too soon. I'm sure our lives have been good because we wouldn't have it any other way. I'll be waiting here when you decide to join me.

'I don't know if I ever told you this or not, but you're my hero. You have been ever since you were a little boy and fought off every illness that came your way, when it would have been so easy to give up. How many times have you come back to us when the odds were against it? Montana, Santa Fe, Mexico, Arizona, and how many others that I don't even know about. Every time you beat the odds and just kept going. If I've got any sons I hope they turned out just like you.

I love you, Brother Bart, and always will. I'll be up here with Momma. Can't wait to see you again. You're the only brother now. Bret.'

Bart folded the letter back up and set it down. 'Damn you, Bret Maverick,' he thought. 'Why'd you have to leave me alone?'

He sat there for long minutes, wondering what he was going to do without his rock, his anchor, his brother. Nothing would ever be the same again. No more footraces to see who could reach the river first, no more falling for the coin toss with Bret's two-headed coin, no more watching his brother and knowing exactly what devious scheme he was thinking up now. 'Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you send for me? I would have dropped everything to come help. You knew better than to get into a mess like this alone. You should be here now, telling me what to do next, even though I already know. If one of us had to go, it should have been me. Is this what I get for cheating death so many times? He couldn't get me so he took you instead?'

He was still sitting there, staring blankly straight ahead, when Doc Walters came back into the room. He picked up Bret's letter and put it inside his wallet. That's where it would stay the rest of his life.