And the Devil Makes Five
Chapter 11 – The Doctor Is . . . . OutPiedras Negras brought a better frame of mind, if not a more accepting heart. They rode into town, the curious looking bunch of them, and found the only hotel available. The first order of business for all three Mavericks was a bath – for Doc it was a drink. Clean clothes and a decent supper soon followed. It was the first meal in weeks that consisted of something other than rabbit and beans.
Bret and Bart went to the monastery to talk to the monks and see what could be learned about the chalices. The monks had no information they were willing to share and the Mavericks were advised to seek out the Franciscans in Laredo proper. An hour later they were all sitting in the cantina next to the hotel when a Federale Captain and two of his men came in, apparently looking for the Americanos. He went straight to their table and shifted his gaze from one to the other, finally settling on Bret to deal with directly.
"Señor, the Anglican monks from the monastery have come to us complaining that someone from your group has disturbed them greatly with questions about buried treasure. I assume it is you and your . . . friends?"
"My family, Captain," Bret stated forcefully. "And we only asked the monks if they had any information about the treasure that was buried in the abandoned monastery. I'm sorry if they were upset – that certainly wasn't our intent. We understand now that they're not associated with the old legends."
The Captain looked skeptical as he turned his attention to Doc. "You are not this man's family, sir? Are you, Doctor Holliday?"
"Actually, he is," Bret answered before Doc could. "He's my sister's brother-in-law once removed."
"I'm what?" Doc asked.
"A family friend," Beau interjected.
"And you are here with these . . . . . uh, gentlemen?" the Captain persisted.
"These three reprobates?" Doc asked innocently.
"Uh . . . . yes."
Doc sighed dramatically. "Yes, I suppose so."
"You are also interested in the lost treasure?"
"Treasure?" Doc feigned ignorance. "The only treasure I'm interested in would be this, Captain," and he held his glass up to the light.
"Hmmm. You will be responsible for him, eh? No killing in Nuevo Laredo." The Captain looked directly at Bret, expecting him to be Doc's keeper.
"I will be, Captain," Bret answered solemnly.
The Federale turned and strode out the door, with his two minions following right behind. Bret looked over at Doc and wagged his finger at the gunslinger. "You behave yourself, you hear me? No killing on this side of the border." Bret, Beau, and Doc burst into fits of laughter. It had been a long, hard, two-week period and they were due some relaxation and enjoyment.
Bart didn't say anything, just grabbed the barmaid and ordered a drink. Bret was startled and caught off-guard, he hadn't been expecting that. His brother was so quiet it was easy to forget the hell he'd been through less than forty-eight hours ago.
" - do you, Bret?" he only caught the end of what Beau asked him.
"What?"
"I don't see any reason why we shouldn't go on to Laredo tomorrow, do you?" Beau repeated.
"Uh, yeah, I think we need to go back to the abandoned monastery tomorrow, just to give the Federales something to think about besides our questions. Let 'em believe we're gonna go diggin'." The reasoning was sound, and Beau and Doc agreed.
Bart's drink came and he didn't dawdle; he'd spent too much time around Doc and downed what was in the glass. He signaled the barmaid and she brought him another. He finally added his voice to the agreement to go 'treasure hunting' for the benefit of the Federales. The talk descended into a discussion of leading the law astray on one wild-goose chase after another and the next time Bret noticed Bart's glass it was empty again. Bret sighed, exasperated. Bart had done this one other time when they were about to go off to fight in a war they didn't believe in, and it had almost cost him his life.
"We goin' in the morning?" Beau asked as he yawned.
"Yeah, let's get it over with," Doc added.
"Sure, after breakfast. Sounds reasonable."
Beau stood up and stretched. "Then I'm goin' to bed. Anybody else comin'? Doc?"
"Yeah, why not, it'll be a new experience," Holliday volunteered and laughed at his own joke. He got up and threw a bill on the table. "You boys behave now, you hear?"
Beau and Doc walked out the door and Bret watched them go. "Aren't you goin' with 'em?' Bart asked his brother.
"Do you want me to?"
A long silence, and then a solemn, "No."
"Somethin' on your mind, Bart?" Bret knew very well what was bothering his brother, but it was up to Bart to decide if they were going to discuss it or not.
"Why, Bret? Why'd it happen?"
That wasn't the question Bret expected. And he didn't have a really helpful answer. "Don't know, Bart. Maybe it was just supposed to happen that way. It wasn't your fault, you know."
Bart looked at his brother but was having trouble focusing. He'd only had two drinks, why did he feel like somebody had pulled the world out from underneath him? "Not my - no, you're right. Some damn fool thought a poker game was more important than a life and it cost me Millie. Say, Bret, sit still, would ya?" Bret wasn't moving, but he could see from the look in his brother's eyes that whatever he'd been drinking was really hitting him hard. He picked up Bart's empty glass and smelled it – whiskey, and a strong whiff of something else – tequila, and the smell was almost overpowering. Bart might have only had two drinks, but they were tequila backed whiskey.
"What'd you order, Bart?"
"Huh? Whiskey, what else?"
Bret looked dubiously at his brother. "No tequila?"
"Tequila? That rotgut? Nope, not me. Straight whiskey." He picked up his glass and attempted to take another drink from it; it was empty and he tried to put it down. "Who told you tequila?"
Bret finally took the glass from his brother and set it on the table. "I smelled it, Bart. Somebody was tryin' to get you drunk." He looked around the cantina. There was only one other American in sight, a grizzled old man sitting in the corner. He gave his brother another look; it appeared they'd succeeded. "C'mon, let's get you to bed." He stood and tried to help Bart up - the first attempt ended in failure. He got his hands under Bart's arms and hauled him to his feet; whether he'd be able to keep him there or not was another matter. He picked Bart's hat up off the table and set it on his head, then took him by the elbow and tried to guide him across the room. Bart stumbled and staggered, leaning heavily on his brother for support.
They got through the cantina doors and out onto the short sidewalk to the hotel. Bret could feel his brother tense up and he knew what was coming. Bart dropped quickly to his hands and knees and threw up violently into the street. Much as Bret hated to admit it, that was probably the best thing; get the 'rotgut' and the whiskey out of his system as fast as possible. He held his brother by the shoulders and felt his body tense again, followed swiftly by a second round of vomiting. Once it became evident that was over, for the moment at least, Bret pulled his handkerchief out and wiped his brother's face and mouth, and got him once again to his feet.
They made it up the stairs to their shared room without further incident. Bret sat Bart down on the edge of the bed and got his buckskin jacket off before he collapsed unceremoniously onto the mattress. No sense trying to get the shirt off, Bart was passed out at this point. Take off the boots and swing his legs up on the bed, then cover him up and hope all the poison was out of his system.
Bret straightened and took his own jacket and vest off, slowly the boots followed. He decided it was better to sleep in the bed than on the floor; at least if Bart needed him sometime during the night, he'd be close. He crossed to the window and opened it to let air in the room, then came back to the bed and got in on the other side. He'd only been down for two or three minutes when Bart moaned, and Bret reached out a hand and rubbed the back of his brother's head, the way he had when they were kids and Bart was dreaming. Bret's touch seemed to calm him, and soon they were both asleep.
XXXXXXXX
It was morning, but still early. The air coming through the window was cool, which meant the sun hadn't been up long. Bret started to roll over before realizing he was alone in the bed. He turned over, startled to find his brother gone, not only from the bed but the entire room. He looked at the chair next to the bed; Bart's jacket was still there, but his hat and gun belt were gone. Bret breathed a sigh of relief; at least Bart hadn't gone weaponless, wherever he'd gotten to.
Slowly and quietly the door opened and Bart stumbled in, attempting to be discreet and failing. He had one of the cantina's cups in his hand, full of steaming coffee. Bret could see the cup shaking, not much, but enough to alert him to the fact that his brother wasn't completely over what had plagued him last night. He sat up in bed just as Bart took a seat at the small table by the window.
"How's your head?" the older brother questioned, knowing full well what kind of an answer he was going to get.
"Shhhhh, not so loud," Bart cautioned. "Somebody's drillin' a well in my head."
"Yeah, no doubt," came the reply. "That excavation was started last night. Whadda you remember?"
"Not much after the first . . . . . Bart stopped mid-sentence, beginning to look a little green around the gills. He gulped and took a sip of coffee, then finished the thought. " . . . . drink. Did I. . . . . have more than one.?"
"Oh yeah," came Bret's answer. "Two that I know of. Why the whiskey?"
"Don't say it that loud. I can hear you. Just needed something to . . . . I don't know, wipe the chalkboard clean."
"You'd a been fine if it was straight whiskey."
Bart took a sip of coffee and fixed confused eyes on his brother's face. "That's what I asked for."
Bret rubbed his eyes and ran his hand over his face. "Well, that's not what ya got. It had a tequila back."
"What?"
"'Rotgut', I believe you called it."
Bart looked sheepish. "Well, it is."
"No doubt your stomach thinks so, too."
"Now I understand. Couldn't figure out why everything's so upset this morning." Bart took another swallow of coffee and then set the cup down. "Somethin' you haven't told me?"
Bret gave a small laugh, examining his brother's face carefully. "You mean your insides don't remember?"
"Oh." He looked embarrassed and ashamed at the same time. "In front of everybody?"
"Nope. Just me."
The coffee cup found its way back into Bart's hands. "Any ideas why?"
Bret shook his head and was glad it didn't hurt. "None. Wasn't any reason that I could see. Maybe that's just the way they serve drinks at the cantina."
There was a knock at the door, and Beau's voice asked, "You up in there?"
"Come in, Cousin Beau," Bart called.
When the door opened, Beau stood there half-dressed and looking confused. He stepped into the room while asking, "Either of you seen Doc this morning?"
Bret shook his head, Bart answered, "No. Why?"
"Because he's gone."