be Kate's establishment.”
“I'm surprised he's not fixing them all the time, given the use they get.”
“They're not in as much demand as they were when we created them three years ago and the population was three or four times larger,” said Edison. “On the other hand, they're machines, and they're three years old, and it's natural that some of them break down.”
Holliday brought his bloody handkerchief to his mouth and coughed. “I know all about things breaking down,” he said sardonically.
“No better?”
Holliday shook his head. “I thought I was just a month or two away from entering the sanitarium when Geronimo broke me out of jail.”
“Jail?” repeated Edison, surprised.
“It's a long story,” said Holliday, “but the usual one. The only good thing about it is that sometimes stupidity is genetically self-limiting. Anyway, he got me out, and that's why I'm here. In law offices and other criminal enterprises, they call it a quid pro quo.”
“And he really wants to lift the spell that's kept the country confined to the other side of the Mississippi?” asked Edison.
“I don't know if he wants to,” said Holliday. “But he's a realist. The United States gets bigger and stronger every day. I know the Indians' magic is pretty powerful, but how long can they hold us east of the river? It had to be a lot easier back in Washington's time, or even Andy Jackson's…but how many millions do we total today?” He took another sip of his drink. “We've got numbers, we have firepower”—he paused and smiled at Edison—“and we have you.”
“Me?” said Edison, surprised.
“Don't be modest. You're our greatest genius. That's why they sent you out here—to find the weak spots in the medicine men's magic.”
“And I haven't accomplished a thing,” said Edison.
“You haven't accomplished what you wanted to accomplish,” agreed Holliday. “But you've weakened them. You helped cause a rift between the two most powerful medicine men, Geronimo and Hook Nose, and now Hook Nose is dead. I think that's another reason Geronimo's ready to deal. The other Indians blame him for Hook Nose's death.”
“He did kill him,” noted Edison. “We were there.”
“Did they ever have a falling-out before you were sent out West?”
“How would I know?”
“Take a guess,” said Holliday.
“No,” admitted Edison. “Not an important one.”
“That's why you've got an artificial arm. They knew early on that you were the catalyst. That's why they got Curly Bill Brocius to take that shot at you. You were just damned lucky he was liquored up and couldn't see straight.”
“Let's not talk about it. It makes it very difficult not to hold a grudge against Geronimo.”
“He's an honorable man,” said Holliday. “And there ain't too many of them in any race.”
“So when is young Mr. Roosevelt due here?” asked Edison, changing the subject.
Holliday shrugged. “Four, maybe five days.” He smiled. “If it was me, and I had to ride horseback, it'd be a lot closer to a month.”
“So what do we do when he gets here?” continued Edison. “Take him to Geronimo's camp? I mean, we can't have Geronimo walking or riding into Tombstone.”
“We don't do anything,” answered Holliday. “Geronimo never mentioned you. I imagine Roosevelt wants to meet the great Tom Edison. The only person Geronimo wants to meet is Roosevelt. I don't even know if he'll let Bat come along.” A grim smile. “I don't know if Bat'll want to, either. You know what happened to him last time he rode out with me to Geronimo's camp.”
“So I just sit by and do nothing?” asked Edison. “If that's the case, and the spell's going to be lifted, I suppose Ned and I might as well close up shop and go back East.”
Holliday shook his head. “Oh, I think your services are going to be needed—and soon.”
“But if he's lifting the spell…” said Edison, frowning.
“He's making peace with Roosevelt,” said Holliday. “But while he speaks for the Apaches, he's not the king of all the Indians, and Roosevelt's not the president of the United States. There are lots of Indians who don't want to lift the spell, and that includes every medicine man and shaman on this side of the Mississippi except Geronimo.”
“So you're saying that there may actually be a war coming…”
“Right,” said Holliday. “With Geronimo and Roosevelt on one side, and every other Indian on the other.”
“Where do you fit in, Doc?” asked Edison.
“Me? I'm just a dying man who's putting two interested parties together.”
“Rubbish. For one thing, you're the best shootist alive.”
“Well, alive and free,” amended Holliday. “Don't forget