Tip Tipton.
“Probably more than he's been credited with,” offered Johnson.
“Or less,” said Smith. “I know he got into a couple a fights down in Mexico. They say he killed eight Mexicans at a poker table.”
“Ah, come on now,” said Johnson. “You ever see nine men play poker all at once?”
“Maybe they had friends,” said Smith.
“What do you think, Theodore?” asked Johnson.
“I think he's a good man with a gun or a deck of cards,” replied Roosevelt. “Probably a good dentist, too.”
“No, I meant how many men do you think he's killed?”
Roosevelt shrugged. “Is that important?”
“Maybe,” said Hairlip Smith. “Ain't you curious to know if you're riding with the greatest shootist there ever was?”
“That'd be Johnny Ringo,” said Sloan.
“Bullshit!” snapped Smith. “Johnny Ringo was killed in a gunfight.” He spat on the dusty, featureless ground. “Hell, he was killed in two gunfights.”
“Can't be Billy the Kid. After all, Doc killed him.”
“Ringo and the Kid were never the greatest anyway,” said Morty Mickelson. “And neither is Doc Holliday, for that matter. Just because John Wesley Hardin's been locked away for seven or eight years doesn't make him any the less a killer.”
“How many men do you think Hardin killed?”
“Nobody knows,” answered Mickelson. “But they proved something like forty-two in his trial. You'd have a hard time proving Doc killed much more than ten or twelve once the witnesses grow old and die.”
“If they met in the street, I'd take Doc anyway,” said Sloan.
“Maybe five years ago,” replied Johnson. “But he's a sick man. He walks with a cane more often than not, and he's always coughing up blood. I just don't figure he can be as fast, or have as true an aim, as he used to.”
“Well, hell, Hardin hasn't hit leather in years,” shot back Sloan. “What kind of shape can he be in?”
“He's out of practice, not out of health,” said Mickelson.
Suddenly Roosevelt pulled Manitou to a halt and scanned the horizon.
“What is it, Theodore? You spotted some Indians already?”
“No,” said Roosevelt. “I've lost him.”
“Lost who?”
“The bird I was—” began Roosevelt. Then: “Ah! There he is!”
“Is that Geronimo?”
“I don't know if it's Geronimo himself,” said Roosevelt, “but I know whoever or whatever it is, Geronimo's responsible for it.”
“Why doesn't he just come along as Geronimo?” asked Mickelson.
“Because War Bonnet was created expressly to kill Geronimo.”
“And you,” said Sherman McMaster. “He was created to kill Geronimo and you.”
“Right,” chimed in Johnson. “I never figured Geronimo as a coward.”
“He's not,” said Roosevelt.
“He's also not riding beside us in human form,” said Johnson.
“He's a medicine man,” replied Roosevelt. “His skills lie elsewhere.”
“I notice not being a blooded soldier or Indian fighter ain't stopped you from coming along.”
Roosevelt grinned. “Let me see a show of hands. How many of you would be here if I'd stayed behind?” No hands were raised. “There's your answer,” he concluded.
“Well, at least stay behind us, Dandy,” said Sloan. “This critter is looking for you, not us.”
“More to the point,” added Mickelson, “if what Doc says is right, he can't hurt any of us except you anyway.”
“I don't know about that,” answered Roosevelt.
“But you told us Doc faced him and War Bonnet couldn't do a damned thing to him,” said Johnson.
“People tend to learn from their mistakes,” replied Roosevelt.
“Medicine men are people. There's no reason to think they won't learn from his encounter with Doc.”
“Either way, you're the one he wants,” said Sloan. “If we can stop him, we will, but if not—”
“If not, then it won't matter whether I'm leading or trailing the rest of you,” said Roosevelt. “And let me explain once again: whether they've improved him or not, War Bonnet is not your target. Doc couldn't hurt him, and I have to assume you can't either. You're after the medicine men. They made him; they've got to be protecting him. We kill them, and I'll wager he's vulnerable to bullets.”
“Good term: ‘I'll wager,’” said Mickelson. “Problem is, what you're wagering is your life.”
“I can go hunting for the men who control him, or I can sit in my room in Tombstone and wait for him to kill me,” said Roosevelt. “It's an easy call.”
“Well, then,” continued Mickelson, “it's time to start getting practical. Let's say there are a hundred Indians where we're going. How do we know which four we want to kill?”
“There are maybe a dozen, and I'll point out the four medicine men when we get there—another reason why I shouldn't be bringing up the rear.”
“You've never seen them,” said Hairlip Smith, “so how