I really enjoy writing gambling scenes. It's a chance to show the subtleties of Doc's personality, along with silent communication between him and Wyatt.

January, 1864

Wyatt felt pretty proud of himself as he set out with his own beautiful new .22 rifle. The week after Christmas, he had spread the word among every gun-carrying boy and young man exactly where and when he planned to go hunting today. No one would spoil his hunt or get themselves hurt. James had teased that he had to do all of that warning because he was sure to shoot a person by mistake. Wyatt was too pleased with his gun to mind what James said. Besides, James had even agreed to oversee all of the chores today so Wyatt could stay out and enjoy himself.

James is the best brother.

Wyatt walked across the fields to the south and entered the woods, watching carefully for wildlife signs. He could easily tell the prints of rabbits, raccoons, deer, and porcupines, and knew most of their droppings as well. Snow covered much of the ground, but most of it had hardened so prints weren't clear in it or didn't show at all. Growing up in a state that had snow every winter, Wyatt had learned the many textures it could take, and what to look for in each.

After a while, he came across rabbit droppings and a jumbled mess of pawprints that had sat for several days, sunken into the snow as it melted, and then hardened when it froze again. The messy path followed a row of brambles before turning through a gap in them. This was a good place to lie in wait. The rabbits clearly used this path a lot, and they would be back.

He found a fallen tree to sit on. There was good brush cover between him and the rabbit's little doorway in the brambles. He could relax and wait.

Just a few minutes after he selected his spot, Wyatt heard soft footfalls in the gritty snow. He stared in the direction of the sound until a person came into view. Then he stood, praying the person would take him for what he was and not game.

The person waved and approached him. Once they were within speaking distance, he pulled his muffler down from his face. It was Lewis.

Wyatt grinned. "You came."

Lewis smiled in return. "I was afraid I misunderstood, and you wanted to be left alone."

"I did - by everyone else. Did you ride out here?"

"Yes. My horse is tied just inside the wood on the southern side. I shouldn't leave him there all morning, but he'll be all right for a couple of hours, I think."

"Good. Thanks for not shooting me."

Lewis laughed. "I never saw a rabbit as big as you. Or one wearing a red scarf, for that matter."

Wyatt reached up to fondle the knit scarf his mother had given him. It was soft and warm. "True. I just started watching that rabbit corridor. Should we stay here or go somewhere else?"

"This is fine, but let's fill in the brush a little and make it a proper blind."

They added sticks and fallen branches in among the stand of brush to further conceal themselves before sitting down to wait.

"Did you have a good Christmas?" Wyatt whispered.

"Mhm. My cousins came to visit. We only just got rid of them the other day. I got some books from my parents, too. The perfect thing for winter days."

James's warnings were still in the back of Wyatt's mind, but he was quickly forgetting about them. Lewis seemed like a perfectly normal young man. "James got books too. He's..."

Lewis put his hand on Wyatt's leg. He nodded toward the brush line across from them.

Wyatt was startled at first, but then he realized Lewis had heard something. He held his breath and listened. Something was quietly scuffing along, getting nearer every moment. He cocked his rifle slowly, heart pounding. The rabbit hopped carelessly through the opening as he brought the rifle to his shoulder.

"Easy," Lewis said in a soft breath. "There may be more."

Wyatt sighted on the rabbit while Lewis prepared his own gun. He waited, a little worried that the rabbit would get out of range before he got off a shot. But then he saw more movement at the opening from the corner of his eye. He squeezed the trigger gently, just as he had practiced so many times.

A split second later, Lewis fired his gun. Both rabbits fell motionless on the snowy ground.

Lewis threw his arm around Wyatt. "Damn, that was amazing!"

"Yeah," Wyatt agreed, not sure how to feel about the half-hug. But in a moment, it was over, and they walked out together to retrieve their prey.

"This one's probably stew meat," Lewis said, picking his rabbit up by the ears. "But you've got a good-sized one there. It was a good shot too."

"Thanks." Wyatt felt a little shaky with excitement. He had shot small game before, but it felt better with his own gun. It felt better with Lewis there, too.

July, 1878

Wyatt woke with a start. He had been dreaming about Lewis. It was a little odd how that fellow kept returning to his thoughts these days. He looked across the room and saw James sitting up on his bed with a book.

James marked his place and set the book aside. "Sleep well?"

Wyatt rubbed his eyes and sat up. "I don't remember taking my boots off."

"You didn't."

"Thanks." Wyatt chuckled sheepishly. "Find us someplace to eat?"

"Most folks I asked said we couldn't do better than eating right here in the hotel."

"Suits me. What time is it?"

James checked his watch. "Almost seven."

"I should go find Doc."

Wyatt spruced up a bit, wearing the nicer outfit he had brought along, and left the hotel heading for the post office. Sure enough, just on the other side of it stood the Chuck-a-Luck. Extra lamps were being lit in preparation for sundown. A fair-sized crowd was dispersed among the tables, many having dinner, a few drinking, and some gambling.

Right in the thick of things was Doc. He had a significant stack of chips in front of him, along with a string of beads and some cash. He looked like he was mightily enjoying himself, watching around a cigar as another man shuffled a deck of cards. His jacket was off, and even his cravat was untied. An empty whiskey bottle and another about a third gone were prominent features on the table as well.

Oh, boy.

Doc spotted Wyatt then and raised his cigar to wave him over. "Wyatt, come join! We're about to start a new round." He looked at the man dealing. "Deal an extra hand, Joe. This is my friend, Wyatt Earp. Wyatt, meet Joe, Matthew, Alex..." he frowned in concentration. "And... Bart, wasn't it?"

"Brad," the man corrected.

"I do apologize, Brad," Doc said, somehow getting both humility and enthusiasm into his voice. "Siddown, Wyatt."

He's drunk.

"Well, we just met a half hour ago," Brad allowed.

"Glad to know you," Wyatt said to the others. He looked at Doc. "I came to let you know we're having dinner at the hotel."

"Oh, I see. Well, you can spare time for a couple of hands, can'tcha? I'll stake you if you need me to." He looked at his pile of loot and laughed.

"Sit in, mister," the one called Alex said. "We need new money at this table."

James won't like this. "Well... I guess one or two hands won't hurt," Wyatt said reluctantly.

The one called Joe vacated his chair for him and Wyatt sat down.

"Wyatt Earp?" the dealer, Matthew, said.

"That's right," Wyatt answered.

"Nice to meet you." He paused in his dealing to reach over and shake Wyatt's hand. "My brother met you in Wichita. Said you were quite an impressive lawman."

"Exaggeration, I'm sure."

"No exaggeration," Doc contradicted. "Wyatt is quick, smart, and tough. Everything you need in a lawman."

That's not the whiskey talking. Wyatt felt proud that Doc thought so highly of him.

"If you can overlook his being an insufferable skirt-chaser, he's a good man, too."

And there's the whiskey, damn it. "Doc..."

The others laughed.

"Five dollar ante this time?" Doc suggested.

The others agreed, some a bit reluctant. Wyatt decided that if the buy-in remained that high, he had better not risk playing more than two rounds. He didn't intend to show up broke in Denver.

"Say, Wyatt, you think Kate'll like this?" Doc held up the string of beads.

"Let me see." Wyatt took it from him and studied it a moment. "Looks like an authentic wampum necklace. I saw one back in Iowa that had come all the way from New England. That's where the white ones were made." He handed it back, not minding when his fingers brushed against Doc's.

"You don't say! How much do you think it's worth?"

"Nothing as currency anymore, but if you like rare and pretty things, I'd say a dollar or two."

"Sounds like you had it just about right, Alex," Doc said, smiling at his companion. "I'm glad to know we didn't sell you short."

Although he was definitely tipsy, Doc seemed well in control of himself and managing to keep his new acquaintances cheerful in spite of their heavy losses. Wyatt guessed that these were far from the first players to sit down with him that afternoon.

They picked up their cards and placed their bets. Doc raised the pot by a dollar. Wyatt had little confidence in his hand, but there were a couple of ways to improve it, and he didn't like to back down so early. Only Matthew folded at that point. He must have had a truly rotten hand. It was a good sign of an honest game when the dealer folded first.

Wyatt exchanged two cards, hoping for a flush in clubs. Instead, he was given back two red cards, but now he had a pair of aces and a pair of fours. Lady Luck was a mysterious mistress. He raised the bet another dollar, whereupon Alex and Brad both folded.

"I see your dollar and raise you three more," Doc said, looking at Wyatt like the cat that ate the canary.

Wyatt studied his friend's face. The alcohol had given him a slight flush that contrasted sharply with his usual pallor. Is this his bluff? He clearly wants me to think he's confident. It doesn't matter. If I were to lose all my ready cash to him, he'd stake me until we collect the reward - he pretty much said so. And he won't mind losing to me. He doesn't care if he wins or loses... he certainly has enough winnings in front of him. This is all for fun. "Call."

Doc grinned and laid down his cards. "I didn't have a damned thing."

Wyatt laughed as he showed his hand.

The spectators joined in the laughter and someone slapped Wyatt on the back. Just like that, he had profited $25. Suddenly, he was glad Doc had talked him into this.

It was almost eight when James showed up looking for them.

"Oh... dammit, James, I'm sorry," Wyatt said. "We got carried away."

He and Doc both had a sizeable profit in front of them, and only Matthew remained from the group that had been there when Wyatt came in. The saloon was busier than ever.

"Should we just eat here?" James asked flatly, ignoring the apology.

Wyatt knew his brother was annoyed. He looked across at Doc. "How 'bout it, Doc?"

Doc looked at Wyatt and then back at his hand of cards. "No, we'll eat at the hotel like you planned. Just as soon as this hand's played out."

"All right," James said. He waited while they finished the round.

Surprisingly, Doc folded early. He had even dealt this round himself. When Matthew raised the bet, something told Wyatt to fold, too. Looking very pleased, Matthew took the pot.

"That concludes our business for now, gentlemen," Doc said, pushing his chair back. He drained his cup and set it down again, scooped up his winnings and went to the bar to redeem his poker chips.

"Here you are," the bartender said, counting Doc's money back to him carefully. "You sure were lucky tonight."

Doc grinned and handed the man a dollar. "Have something on me," he said. "And I'll need my jewelry as well."

"Oh, yes, of course." The bartender handed him his pistol.

"Sir, I thank you. Have an excellent evening."

As they left the Chuck-a-Luck, Wyatt asked, "Why did you fold in that last round? Do you know what he had?"

"Not for certain. I just figured he deserved the chance to win the last round. He's a nice fella. And you want folks to stay friendly with us, right?"

"Yes."

"How drunk are you?" James asked.

"I'm very offended, James," Doc said mildly. "I'm scarcely drunk at all."

"How much did you win?"

"Somewhere in the neighborhood of five hundred dollars and a pretty necklace for my wife." Doc was the picture of contentment.

"Five hundred?" Wyatt repeated. "Damn. That's more than my share of the reward."

"I'm so glad I decided to go on this wild goose chase with you, Wyatt. You think the proprietor of the Harvey House will hold my winnings in his safe until we come back through here?"

"Why not put it in the bank?"

"Banks have a way of gettin' robbed."

"Put a little of it in the bank," James suggested. "That way no one will suspect you left it at the hotel."

"Intelligence must run in your family, Wyatt. James, that's just what I would do."

"Would?"

"There's no bank in Granada. No Jail, either. No law."

"How do they keep the peace?" Wyatt asked.

Doc shrugged. "Sheer friendly cooperation?"

Wyatt huffed in amazement.

"And how did you make out?" James asked Wyatt.

"I'm up about seventy-five dollars," Wyatt said, quite pleased, himself. "Doc was right - it's a great town for gambling."

"It's actually slowed down some since I was here last," Doc said. "I wouldn't be surprised if things decline further as other towns rise up. That's the way of it. The railroad giveth; the railroad taketh away."

Granada was a big town in the mid 1870s, but started to decline a couple of years later. Amazingly, the town had no real governing body or law enforcement presence in spite of being the second largest town in its county at that time. Maybe that's why gamblers liked it so much. Doc really did pass through there in the mid '70s.