I tease you with little touches in this one. Not sorry. The poker game from Doc's perspective. His mind is a fun place. Then we go back to the hotel... to talk. And sleep. Maybe.

As they entered the Full Moon saloon, Wyatt admonished, "No fighting, Doc. No knives, no guns, no killings."

Doc put on an earnest expression and crossed his heart. "No knives, no guns, no killings." He stepped up to the bar, where they surrendered their weapons to the bartender for safekeeping. All except the second knife in Doc's boot, but no one needed to know about that. Then they headed into the group of tables where various people were eating or drinking.

Doc soon made introduction to a group of cattlemen and induced two of them to play poker with Wyatt and himself. He suggested a two-bit ante to start, knowing that players were not plentiful and they would need to hold these men's interest for a while if they didn't want to spend the rest of what would be a dull, unprofitable evening back at the hotel.

Doc knew where every card in his deck sat. He could tell with each riffle where each card ended up. It was a skill he had developed from countless hours of practice. It required great concentration. When he offered the deck to Bill, he had to watch keenly to judge exactly where the cut had landed. When he took up the cards again, the feel of the thickness of each half confirmed his estimation. He shuffled them again, carefully arranging things so Wyatt would get two jacks, the best starting hand. If play went as he expected - Bill exchanging three cards - Wyatt could exchange two cards to match the seven in his hand and get a full house, or he could exchange three and still have a strong two pair. That was ideal, really, because he would still win the round and not look like a cheat. But things sure would be interesting if it went the other way.

He dealt the cards and set the deck aside with a penny on top of it, a token measure against tampering. His own hand had been thrown together haphazardly. Focusing on giving Wyatt a good hand had left little attention for his own. It didn't matter. If he lost to Wyatt, his friend would be flush with cash and probably generous about buying him whiskey during the remainder of their journey. Playing with a partner was a rare experience, and Doc's blood was rushing with excitement. Never mind that Wyatt didn't know he was Doc's partner yet.

Bill added another twenty-five cents to the pot, and the other players followed suit, even Doc, in spite of knowing he had nothing to work with. Staying in made the pot more attractive to their opponents.

As expected, Bill took three cards, and Wyatt did the same. The round was practically won, provided Bill didn't bluff big and fool Wyatt into folding.

After Doc handed fresh cards to Alan, he caught Wyatt looking at him. You've got this, boy. Doc winked and looked down at his cards. "The dealer takes two." He replaced the penny on the deck and looked to Bill. "What'll it be, friend?"

"Another half-dollar," Bill said, confidently adding a fifty-cent piece to the growing pile of coins in the center.

That wasn't a bluff. Doc knew that Bill had two pair now, and he was raising by a modest amount because he thought he had probably won the round and didn't want the others dropping out.

Poor sucker, Doc thought, not even trying to hide a smirk. These players didn't know who he was, let alone how to interpret his expressions.

Wyatt looked his way again, and though little about his expression changed, his eyes looked searching.

Go on. You have him.

"I see your half-dollar," Wyatt said, changing a dollar coin for the fifty-cent piece Bill had laid down.

Alan took only a moment to decide before folding.

"I fold as well," Doc said cheerfully. "Let's see 'em, gentlemen."

"Two pair," Bill said, laying down his nines and sixes.

"And two pair here," Wyatt said, showing his jacks and sevens.

High class, son. "A fine start to the evenin'," Doc said, gathering up the discarded cards and shuffling again. "Wyatt, I think you ought to buy us a round of drinks."

"Sure." Wyatt gathered his money and went to the bar.

While he was gone, Doc removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. It was too warm in the saloon, and now that they had played a round of cards, they all knew each other well enough not to stand on ceremony.

They played several more rounds, some of which Doc made sure their opponents won. But after they had taken a lot of the cattlemen's money (and Doc had consumed rather a lot of whiskey), he quit controlling the deal when it was his turn and played solely on his reading of the men around him. The best hand he had all night was an honest three of a kind. Bill still had no clue how to read him, and Alan wasn't doing much better. Alan had the sense to fold on that hand, but Bill thought Doc was bluffing and lost four dollars at once. That soured him for any more play.

Doc kept his manner lighthearted in spite of the tension in the air. "Sure you won't go another round? I wouldn't want to leave without giving you the chance to win your money back."

"We've lost enough," Bill growled. He and his companions stood while Doc gathered his winnings.

"You sure that tinhorn wasn't cheating?" Joe said in a voice that he might not have intended to carry to everyone.

Doc looked up sharply. Almost immediately, he felt Wyatt's hand on his arm.

"Easy now," Bill said. "You saw everything right in front of you, Joe. This was just a friendly game. Let's not spoil it now."

"I think you owe me an apology," Doc said, gaze boring into Joe's face.

Joe looked to the side and rubbed the fingers of his right hand against his palm. No wonder he hadn't wanted to play in the first place - this kid had an obvious tell.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it," Wyatt said. "Let's just leave it alone."

"Cheat, I will overlook, but tinhorn, I will not," Doc said. This was a matter of pride. He wasn't about to back down... no matter how good Wyatt's hand felt on his arm.

"Come on, Doc," James all but begged. It was the first time anyone had used Doc's nickname since they met the cattlemen.

"Doc?" Alan repeated. Suddenly, he shrank back a step. "Joe, apologize to the man."

"Well, I... uh..." Joe sputtered, looking at his friends in confusion. Finally, he looked back at Doc. "Uh, sorry. I didn't mean it."

Doc relaxed. The warmth of Wyatt's hand was seeping through his sleeve. His grip was firm, but not hurting him. "I suppose we all speak out of turn sometimes," he murmured.

Bill didn't seem to know what was going on, but he took Alan's cue to leave with a subdued, "Good evening."

Once they were gone, Doc collected his jacket and he and the Earps got their weapons back from the bartender.

"I told you not to get into trouble," said James.

"That fool kid had no right to talk about me like that," Doc seethed.

"Don't give me that," Wyatt said sternly. "You were cheating."

"Only a little."

James cursed. "Come on. Back to the hotel. Now."

"Who among us hasn't cheated a little now and then," Wyatt said, coming around to Doc's defense when James still seemed upset back at the hotel.

They were in Wyatt and James's room; Doc had followed them in hopes of seeing Wyatt's map. He still carried his jacket over his arm. Spying Wyatt's saddlebags, he sat on the edge of Wyatt's bed and pulled the heavy leather bags over, opening the nearest one.

"It's not that," James countered. "It's that we're a long way from Dodge. We need to avoid trouble with the locals. We have a job to do, and if you're not careful, we could get mixed up in something that ruins the whole trip."

Doc reached into the bag and pulled out a compass. Hm. Interesting. Wyatt's a sensible explorer. What else is in here? His fingers closed on something that felt like leather, a pouch or book. He pulled out Reverend Wright's Bible. Oh. Damn.

"And that goes for you, too."

Doc looked up to see James looking quite stern. "Yes, sir," Doc said meekly. It was the response that had generally gotten his father off his back. He looked back at the Bible and opened it impulsively. Maybe it would help him look penitent. On a flyleaf he saw a date written in a neat script, "December 25th, 1877." A Christmas gift from the parishioners?

"No more of this shit, understand?"

"We understand, James," Wyatt said calmly. "Right, Doc?"

Doc set the Bible aside. "Right." Next, he found a pencil and some paper. Pulling these out, he saw that the paper was the folded map. He unfolded it eagerly and saw detailed figures of territory from the Arkansas River all the way to Colorado's western border. He could see the path they had taken from Dodge and the route Wyatt intended them to take on to Denver.

Wyatt came to Doc's side and pointed to an area south of Granada. "There are Cheyenne and Comanche trails all through here. Kiowa use them, too. They're still considered dangerous, but usually if you leave them alone, they leave you alone."

"Even if you're a white man straying onto their territory?" Doc asked skeptically.

"Then they might ask you if you're lost," Wyatt said, smiling a little. "I've got some tobacco in my other bag. That's usually a good peace offering for any tribe."

"Not a bad peace offering for me either, so you know."

"Wouldn't smoking be..." Wyatt trailed off.

Doc knew where he was going. Personally, he suspected the smoke might be as irritating to the "bugs" that afflicted him as it was to his lungs, and therefore the activity might do him as much good as ill. He shrugged.

"There's a river down here - well, a stream. And some woods along it," Wyatt went on, pointing out the features as he moved his finger over the map. "Cottonwoods, mostly, but there's scrub brush and a few other types of trees that eke out a living near the water." He pulled his hand back and rested it on Doc's shoulder.

"Sounds like bush-whacker country," Doc said, looking up at his friend. "Spend much time down there?"

"Some, when I was buffalo hunting. I think they're mostly gone from this side of the Santa Fe line now. Hard to believe." Wyatt squeezed Doc's shoulder a little and then let go. "Anyway, maybe we won't have to go in there, but if we do, we'll be ready.

Doc's shoulder felt almost cold in the loss of contact. But he was still warm enough that he could feel sweat on his brow. He hoped Wyatt had not found his shirt damp. He reached up to loosen his cravat.

James had taken off his jacket and was working on his waistcoat. It was probably time for Doc to go to his own room. But he didn't want to be alone yet, an unfamiliar sentiment for him.

"Was buffalo hunting as thrilling an experience as it sounds?" Doc asked, feigning more interest than he felt. He suspected it could be a long conversation, and that was what he wanted.

"Well, it could be, that's for sure," Wyatt said. He too was getting out of his outer clothes now. "But they were so unused to guns or humans that you could shoot half a dozen before it occurred to them to be scared. Then they'd usually run away from you, but it would take a long time for the whole herd to get out of range because there were so dang many of them. I only got charged a couple of times."

Doc took a little more interest at that. "Rather like being charged by a locomotive, I reckon?"

"Something like. One came at me while I was reloading, and I barely got the gun up in time."

"We might never have met," Doc said with a macabre smile.

"He's exaggerating," James put in.

"Am not," Wyatt retorted. "It was mere feet from me."

"A mere hundred feet."

"You weren't there."

Doc's smile widened. "Either it was a hell of a close shave or a hell of a good shot, one."

Wyatt chuckled. "I reckon so."

That little laugh, mostly in his throat... why does it stir something under my breastbone? Doc glanced at James. "It looks like James wants to get to sleep," he said reluctantly. He checked his pocket watch and found that it was nearly ten.

"We won't get as much rest when Jackson is our responsibility," James said. "It's best to get it when you can."

Wyatt started packing his things back into his saddlebag.

"Well, if you've a mind to talk some more," Doc said, trying to sound indifferent, "you could come over to my room so as not to disturb older brother, here."

"If you do, don't stay up too late. If Wyatt's sleepy when he blunders in here, he'll wake me for sure," James accused.

Wyatt sighed and rolled his eyes at Doc. "Not too late, old man." He picked up the waistcoat he had just discarded and hurriedly pulled it back on without buttoning it. "Come on."

Pleased, Doc picked up the map and pencil and led the way to his room.

We don't know for sure that Doc was a card counter or knew sleight of hand, but it's very possible. Considering that he wasn't able to be very physically active, I think he probably had lots of downtime to master his tricks.

Remember, back then people didn't know how many problems smoking could cause. -_^

Buffalo hunting is part of the Wyatt Earp legend, but we have only Wyatt's own word that he ever did it!