Death Has Its Price

Chapter 7 – Maybe, Maybe Not

Bret rode back to Apache Junction slowly, turning the days happenings over and over again in his mind. He'd found Belle Maverick's Bible in the Superstition Mountains, and evidence that someone had been taken off of Canyon Peak, most likely alive. He needed the ride back to think.

If the person removed from the mountain was his brother, Bart could be almost anywhere. But if he was alive somewhere, why hadn't he tried to contact Doc? Or Bret? Was he so badly injured that he couldn't make contact? Worse yet, had his injuries proven fatal after he was moved? But that line of thought brought Bret right back to his initial response to Doctor Boyer and Doc Holliday – Bart was alive, he knew it. If that was true, what was his next move?

Maybe he'd have a better idea after some more investigation. Bret had Bart's saddlebags and his wallet, and had really not paid any attention to either. It was time to sit down and examine the two items and see if there were any clues he'd missed.

By the time he got to Apache Junction Doc was pacing in the hotel lobby, stone cold sober. "Bret," he said as soon as Maverick entered the hotel. "Thank God. I was afraid you'd left without me."

"I did, Doc. I rode out to the mountain."

"Did you find anything?" Doc sounded worried.

"Not a body, if that's what you mean. I found our mother's Bible, and something else interesting. How about some supper? I'm starved."

Doc must have been seriously distracted, because he nodded and followed Bret into the dining room. What was even stranger, he ordered food. Who was this in Doc Holliday's clothes? He waited anxiously for the new information, hoping it would provide them some kind of a lead to prove that Bret's instincts were right.

"I went back and walked the whole hill," Bret explained as they ate. "It looks like something rolled or was dragged downhill from the spot where Bart's horse went down. Almost to the bottom, and then into a wash or gully. And then back out, not by its own power. Whoever or whatever it was got carried out and disappeared."

"And you're thinking – "

"That it was Bart, and he was hurt. That if he's still alive he's out there somewhere."

Doc stopped eating and watched Bret for a minute. "If he's still alive?"

Bret nodded. "He's alive, Doc. I know it. Somebody found him and got him out of there."

"Then why wouldn't he contact one of us?"

"That would be a good question. But what if he can't? What if he was hurt so bad that he isn't conscious? What if he can't talk? What if he can't remember?"

"Awful thin 'what ifs', Bret."

"Not 'what ifs', Doc. Possibilities. And maybe one I don't believe – maybe he died after they got him out."

"So what's the plan?" Doc could stand it no more and pulled out his flask.

"I'm goin' lookin' for him."

"Then I'm goin' with you."

Bret shook his head. There were good reasons for Doc not to come along. "You can't, Doc. First of all I don't think you've got the funds to quit playin' poker and search. Second of all, let's be honest. You'd scare most everybody to death as soon as they took a look at you and found out who you were. I need to get information out of people, and I can do that better by myself. And I don't believe Bart would want you to put your life on hold to look for him. Given your, ah . . . . . condition."

Doc didn't know whether to be hurt, or frustrated, or mad. Finally he chose to be grateful. "Okay. I'll give you that. As long as you guarantee you'll let me know what's goin' on. I wanna be there if you find him."

Bret corrected Doc. "When I find him."

XXXXXXXX

Pete checked in with Amy on occasion during the daytime, just so the broken gunslinger would know there was somebody looking in on her. He wasn't happy with what he found the last time he was there: Amy, with her head mere inches from Holliday's, laughing about something he'd just told her. Still, it was obvious there was no way the man could get out of bed, much less do anything else, so he was willing to let it go – this time. He walked into the room and Amy pulled back and sat in the chair next to the bed. Doc had a smile on his face and looked harmless at that moment; Pete leaned against the wall and asked, "Miss Amy, you need anything?"

"No, Pete, I'm perfectly fine."

Pete looked over at the patient and asked simply, "You?"

The smile left Holliday's face. "No."

Pete tipped his hat at Amy and walked back out into the hall. The girl followed him and said quietly, "He can't hurt me, Pete. You don't have to keep coming by to check on me."

"Just bein' careful, Miss Amy. Like to be sure. Besides, your daddy asked me to."

"Of course he did, Pete. Big Gage Stanhope, protector of those who don't need protection. Tell daddy I'm all right. If he wants to do something for me, he can help me get John outside in the sunshine. It's beautiful out there, and the man's been confined to that room for weeks now. It would do both of us some good to get out of doors for an afternoon. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sure your pa will have a solution for you."

Amy had been thinking about getting John outside, ever since he'd been able to sit up in bed. He seemed so sad and looked out the window so longingly, she wanted to do something to make him feel better. His arm was still in a sling and his ribs were sore – but his collarbone was feeling better and his shoulder didn't hurt quite as much. The biggest problem was his foot – swollen and painful, he couldn't have put a boot on if his life depended on it. Still – Amy was sure a trip outside would brighten his day, if not his outlook.

Every time his reputation or past deeds came up in conversation he got quiet and somber, almost as if he didn't believe all the exploits he was accused of. When Amy asked questions about specific incidents, he had no answers for her. That part of his life seemed to have slipped from his memory entirely. About the only thing he had a good recall of were the myriad poker games he'd played and he was reluctant to discuss them.

One morning at breakfast Gage Stanhope encouraged Amy to see if she could get John up and out of bed. The faster Doc Holliday was back on his feet, the sooner he could leave the Stanhope Ranch. Amy was worried about his constant coughing, she was sure due to his consumption. Actually caused by a combination of dirt and dust inhaled during the fall down the mountain and the boulder that had slammed him in the back and bruised his lungs, the two conditions aggravated each other on a continual basis and never allowed any healing.

Gage reminded his daughter he had a crutch in his bedroom from the time he'd broken his leg, and since he and John were about the same height, it might work for the man. The other thing working in John's favor was the fact that his worst injuries had occurred to his right side, with the shoulder, arm and foot on his left side relatively undamaged. Amy was excited by the prospect of being able to get out of the guest room prison and encouraged her father to find and retrieve the crutch. Then she went to tell John.

He seemed excited by the prospect of being able to get up when she revealed the plan to him. "Do you think he'll be able to find it?"

"I'm sure he knows exactly where it is," Amy explained. "My father never loses or misplaces anything."

In just a few minutes Gage Stanhope entered the room, carrying a well-worn crutch. "You ready to try this, John?"

The gunfighter nodded eagerly. "You bet Mr. Stanhope. More than ready." There was a light in his eyes that Amy hadn't seen in a long time, and his smile was broad and genuine. After weeks in one bed, in one room, John Holliday was more than ready to try walking, even as hobbled as he still was.

Between Gage and Amy, they got him out of bed. While he leaned heavily on Gage, Amy was able to get the crutch positioned under his left arm, and Stanhope stayed close while John got the feel of the contraption. He was able to take two or three steps, albeit in sock covered feet due to the still swollen right foot.

He sat down slowly in Amy's chair, just a few steps being about all he could manage after spending weeks flat on his back. He looked up and grinned, and seemed genuinely happy. "Harder than I remember," he commented, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You're still handicapped, son," Gage reminded him. "You have to learn to walk again. We can get you up out of that bed a little each day while you build up your stamina. It'll come back to you, you'll see."

Amy smiled at that remark. For once her father was acting like the good-hearted man he was, rather than the hard-nosed skeptic he'd been ever since she brought John Holliday home. Maybe he'd finally begun to listen to her, and believe that John's reputation was baseless.

The two Stanhope's were about to get him back in bed when Sandy came running into the room. "Boss, you all better come out here. There's a stranger ridin' up, and he looks none too happy."

Gage looked at his daughter, then at the smiling man sitiing on the chair, and followed Sandy back outside. Amy tried to look unconcerned. Maybe this wasn't the law, come looking for Doc Holliday. Maybe it wasn't some would-be gunslinger, come to make his quick-draw reputation. Maybe it was just a coincidence that they had a reputed criminal in their guest room. Maybe it was just a weary gambler looking for his lost brother.