You happen to be one, John Henry Holliday. You are capable of remarkable feats, some of them distasteful, all of them exceptional—and it's my observation that Fate usually has plans for exceptional men.”
Holliday pulled out a fresh handkerchief and coughed into it. It came away bloody. “Fate's played enough tricks on me already,” he said, pocketing the handkerchief. “All I want it to do is leave me alone.” He paused. “All I ever wanted to be was a dentist and a loving husband. I didn't plan to be a shootist, or spend most of my adult life living with a hard-drinking madam. I could tell five minutes after I met you that you want to be something special, that you revel in your exceptionalism.” A bitter smile. “Not all of us do, Theodore. You want to be a mayor or a governor? More power to you. I just want to lie in a bed and have a little less trouble breathing.”
“I hope you get your wish, Doc, truly I do,” said Roosevelt.
“But?” said Holliday. “Sure sounds like there's a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”
“But you and I are riding to meet the most powerful medicine man on the continent. If we don't make a deal, America's stuck on the other side of the Mississippi for God knows how many years and decades, or even centuries. And if we do make a deal, you assure me that every other medicine man will be out to kill us.” An amused smile crossed his face. “I just don't see how that leads to a bed in a sanitarium. An earlier grave than you anticipate, perhaps—but not one near a sanitarium in the Rockies.”
Holliday took another swallow from his flask. “I wish you didn't sound so goddamned sensible,” he growled, and Roosevelt chuckled.
“Have we rested long enough?” asked the younger man.
Holliday grimaced and got to his feet. “I'm tireder now than when we sat down. Might as well try to rest on the horse.”
They mounted up and began heading south again, Roosevelt identifying every bird, insect, and snake they saw by their scientific names. “When this is all over,” he said, “I've love to come back and collect some specimens for the Smithsonian and the American museum.”
“They're just birds and flies, and the occasional rattler,” replied Holliday in bored tones. “Wouldn't be the most exciting hunt you've ever been on.”
“I'm not looking for excitement,” said Roosevelt. “I've hunted grizzlies for that, and someday I hope to go to Africa after really big game. But many of these species aren't in the museums back East, and the ones that are have been carelessly mounted.”
“That's right. Bat said you were a taxidermist too.”
“I dabble in it.”
Holliday smiled. “No false modesty. He said you were considered one of the country's top ornithologists and taxidermists while you were still in your teens.”
“He's being too generous,” said Roosevelt.
“Probably,” agreed Holliday, and was pleased to see a little tightening of Roosevelt's expression when he agreed with him.
“Have you ever been to the Smithsonian?” asked Roosevelt. “I'm told you didn't grow up all that far from it.”
“I grew up in Georgia,” replied Holliday, “and we were fighting a war with the people who ran the Smithsonian.”
“Not by the time you got to college.”
Holliday shrugged. “I was busy learning to be a dentist, and then I was busy coughing on all my patients, so I moved West where the air was dryer.” He snorted. “You can see how much it helped.”
“It helped get rid of a lot of desperados,” remarked Roosevelt.
“A lot of people think I'm one.”
“I'd heard of you and read about your exploits,” said Roosevelt. “You've been arrested your fair share of times, but as far as I can tell, you've never been convicted of anything.”
“True enough,” agreed Holliday.
They rode for two more hours, with Roosevelt finding fascinating things all over the barren landscape, and then Holliday brought his horse to a stop.
“What is it?” asked Roosevelt.
“We're getting close,” replied Holliday. “I don't see them yet, but I can't imagine he hasn't got some warriors watching us.”
“He does,” said Roosevelt. “I've seen them for the last mile. I thought you'd seen them too.”
Holliday peered into the distance. “By that boulder off to the left,” he said.
“Right. And a couple in the gully over there.”
“Damn! For a man with spectacles, you've got damned good eyesight, Theodore.”
“Comes from being a hunter,” answered Roosevelt. “You get an instinct for things that don't seem quite right, even before you can spot what's wrong with them.”