BTW, I know I've told some things contrary to history already, and if I'm not mistaken, one of those is that Charlie Basset lived in Dodge, directly giving orders to Wyatt and his other deputies. I think, as county sheriff, he lived elsewhere, and someone else presided over Dodge. However, up until spring of the year in question, that would have been Bat's brother Ed, who was shot and killed. So, whether it's accurate or not, I'm assuming Charlie stepped in to run things until they decided on a suitable replacement for Ed.

Another point, the Frankie Bell incident may very well have happened in 1877, rather than '78. Conflicting sources. -shrug-


By the time Doc had filled Masterson's troublesome tooth, he had another customer waiting. A third came in during the second consultation. His cough interfered little, and no one gave any sign of resenting his fee.

When he finally saw his third customer off and turned his sign back over, Doc felt a certain quality of satisfaction that he had not known for some time. This was how he could have made his living all the time. Before... Doc inhaled slowly, felt that raspiness like a minor earthquake in his lungs, exhaled with a little cough. Before the consumption took hold.

Knowing he was about to start a round of self-pity, he shook off the thought and went to the Custom House for dinner. He got himself something a little fancier than usual to celebrate the success of his day's business and took his time. Then he ordered a bottle of whiskey and looked around for likely punters.

By the time James Earp began his shift behind the bar, Doc had a handful of men following his Faro game. He didn't bother with any tricky dealing, knowing he had the whole evening to spend. He wanted to keep the punters happy, especially since he didn't have Kate there to help smooth things over or grab the money while he defended himself. He had dutifully checked his revolver, but still had a derringer and knife at his disposal for some peace of mind.

Chips changed hands again and again, and Doc noted that his bank was growing slightly, though a couple of the punters had made some lucky bets, too. They were playing mostly with five- and ten-cent chips. He was getting bets on every final round, and the punters were splitting the possibilities so someone won every time. The worst result he had was a loss of about forty cents, but usually Doc had a profit of twenty or more.

Then the actual evening crowd came in - the serious gamblers. Doc shuffled his cards and prepared the case for the next game. "New game, folks," he announced. "Two-bit minimum." Two previous players cashed in their chips immediately, but two new ones were ready to take their places.

By and by, Wyatt came in, off duty at last. He went right to the bar to talk to James, not noticing Doc. Doc continued his banking until the current game concluded. Then he collected his winnings and took a seat at the bar, setting his half-empty whiskey bottle and glass down with quiet thunks.

"Doc," James said, "Wyatt tells me you've met this Colorado Bob character."

Wyatt, just noticing who was beside him, turned toward Doc.

"You think it's worth carting his hide from the Colorado state line up to Denver?" James asked.

"Not really," Doc replied. "But I can't talk the boy out of it."

"Do you think we have decent shot, though?"

Doc shrugged. "That really depends on whether or not Jackson's gang knows where he is. If they're layin' for us somewhere, it could get uncomfortable quick."

"How many are in the gang?"

"Oh, depending on which way the wind was blowing, I've heard he always had three or four with him, sometimes as many as eight. Maybe more, if they care enough about freeing him to round up all their friends."

James looked at Wyatt. "I don't fancy facing an army, Wyatt."

"It won't be an army," Wyatt said. "Doc's just laying out the worst possibility. Jackson will spend the night in our jail tomorrow night. I'll have plenty of time to question him and get an idea of what we can expect."

"If you can get the truth out of him."

Wyatt looked at Doc. "How good are you at spotting a man's tell?"

"Damn good," Doc said, not boasting at all. "It's the reason I'm still alive. That twitch that tells me a man's about to go for his gun... it's the same one he makes when he's bluffing at the poker table."

"All right. You'll observe when I question him and tell me what he's lying about."

James looked skeptical.

"It'll probably work," said Doc. "But even if I can tell you he's lying, that won't mean we know what the truth is."

"But it will give us a good idea of it," said Wyatt. He looked Doc over.

Bemused, Doc blinked at him.

"Did you check your weapons when you came in here?" Wyatt asked.

Doc nodded toward the gun rack. "My revolver's hangin' right over yonder."

Wyatt laid a hand on Doc's side, curving around the bulge of the derringer. "And what's this, a hernia?"

Unable to stop a half-smile, Doc said, "You know I'm a sick man, Wyatt. I'm at a terrible disadvantage. I need the means to defend myself, should trouble arise." Wyatt wasn't taking his hand away, and Doc sort of liked that he was starting to feel the warmth from it.

"Maybe trouble will arise because you don't follow the rules."

"I didn't see the hint of a tell on you," James put in, sounding a bit admiring.

Wyatt finally withdrew his hand.

"Comes of bein' a compulsive liar," Doc told James. "Once your conscience doesn't bother you anymore, and you're as used to telling lies as the truth, they become almost one and the same. Besides, I wasn't lying. Just misdirecting."

"But Wyatt still caught you."

"I had a good hunch," said Wyatt.

Returning to the previous conversation, he said, "We'll get the truth out of Jackson. Then we'll make our decision. If it's too risky, Denver will just have to send someone out to meet the transport themselves."

"Fine," said James. He took a deep breath and then huffed it out. "Now, do you care to explain the story I saw in the Times today?"

"What story?" asked Wyatt.

James reached under the bar and fetched his copy of the Dodge Times. He opened and folded it before holding it out to Wyatt at the proper page.

Doc looked at the story over Wyatt's shoulder.

"Miss Frankie Bell, who wears the belt for superiority in point of muscular ability, heaped epithets upon the unoffending head of Mr. Earp to such an extent as to provoke a slap from the officer, besides creating a disturbance of the quiet and dignity of the city, for which she received a night's lodging in the dog house and a reception at the police court next morning, the expense of which was about $20.00. Wyatt Earp was assessed the lowest limit of the law, one dollar."

"It says Frankie Bell 'heaped epithets' on your head, enough to provoke you into slapping her?"

"On his unoffending head," Doc put in helpfully, noting the morally descriptive word from the paper.

"Uh..." Wyatt adjusted his collar. "I'll explain it to you later, Jim."

"Should be a very interesting story," James said, the picture of skepticism.


Kate had not returned when Doc got back to his room, so he sat down to write a letter.

"Dear Kate"

He paused. Kate could easily come back to him before they left. She had at least another full day, and maybe two. He set the paper aside and set his hand on a new sheet.

"Dear Mattie"

This was not for Mattie Blaylock, but for his cousin Martha.

"I apologize for making you wait so long for correspondence. A lot has happened, and much of it I'm sure would not meet your approval. But I don't wish to withhold anything from you, so I will tell you the truth now.

"I mentioned last time that I had made some new acquaintances that were keeping me entertained and making sure I did not fail to take care of myself. One of those was a young woman named Kate. She and I have formed something more than a friendship. We have entered an understanding that makes us something near man and wife. I'm sure I'll never love and adore her as I have you all of these years, but I aim to cherish her in recognition that she is more than I deserve, and more than I thought I'd be blessed with.

"I hope you will not see this as a betrayal. You know that if things were different, nothing would stop me from returning to your arms. I would forsake all others for you alone. But I will not condemn you to care for me in my last days as I did for my mother. I know you would bear it most sweetly, but your tender heart would break, and I simply can't do it to you.

"In the interest of honesty, Kate and I have had a bit of a quarrel now, but she has assured me that she won't leave me for good over it. We'll mend things before long, I'm sure. She's not the sort of woman you would have associated with, but she is one who keeps her word. She takes good care of me as well - I hope that will set your mind at ease.

"I've made another, rather unexpected friend in assistant marshal Wyatt Earp. First, I gave him information on a criminal he was tracking. Then, after moving to Dodge City (where Kate and I are staying now), I somehow managed to save his life. I reckon I'll not see the back of him for a while now. You know that I was never one to make a close friend of a man, so it says a lot that I'm pleased about the situation. For all his faults, he seems to be a good man. And for all my faults, I haven't gotten tired of him yet. He interests me, and I aim to study him a bit.

"We are now debating taking part in the transport of a prisoner arrested in Wichita, Kansas. He arrives in Dodge tomorrow (I'll post this letter in the morning), and soon after, Wyatt, his brother James, and I will make up our minds whether or not to assist in transporting him from the Colorado state line on up to Denver. The job would pay well, but it is not without risk. If you don't hear from me again for some time, please don't fret. Assume a lapse in my diligence in writing you, rather than a misfortune, has occurred.

"Knowing you as I do, I know that you will send up fervent prayers for me. I'm sure that your angels will persist in pestering the Almighty until he can't help but send a few angels my way to protect me from harm."

Doc smiled to himself at the notion of his dear cousin making herself a nuisance to God.

"I hope He blesses you, my darling.

"Please remember me kindly. Know that I treasure my memories of you, and that each thought of you brings warmth to my heart. You are the best of me.

"Farewell. Much love,

"John"

Doc dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief before he could allow himself to notice that they had become misty. He folded the letter with care and sealed it in an envelope.

Like his dentistry profession, Mattie was something that might have been, something he had wanted and thought possible, only to have it snatched away from him. His heart ached. He wished Kate were there. She knew enough about his past that she would have held him and not questioned him. She would have kept him warm and saved him from drowning his sorrow in whiskey. Then he would have apologized for becoming emotional and she would have smoothed things over, and then probably made love to him, which would have made him feel a little guilty, but ultimately better. Then life would go on.

Doc sighed and hastily addressed the envelope to Jonesboro, Georgia. He lifted it to touch his lips to the corner of the flap, a practice he had begun when he was little more than a sentimental boy, and which he had been unable to quit doing since. Mattie used to do the same when she received or answered his letters. A childish whim. He wondered if she still did it, too.


Wow, I didn't mean to get so sappy. LOL I knew I wanted to include a letter to his cousin, but I didn't plan on it being a THING. Oh well. On a scale of cringey to that warm fuzzy feeling, how do you feel about Doc's letter and silly custom?

In the newspaper story, I took out the "ex" in the term "ex-officer." Other than that, I believe it's word for word from the actual copy of the day.

What was Wyatt thinking when he touched Doc like that?! We'll probably find out next time. At least Doc didn't seem to mind. At all. ^_^