work? I think it comes down to this: Is he alive as we understand life? I can design a weapon to use against any living thing—but what living thing has hands of flame, and is impervious to bullets?”
“So you have to see him first?” said Roosevelt.
“It would certainly help,” replied Edison.
“Then you shall!” exclaimed Roosevelt, getting to his feet.
“What are you talking about?” demanded Holliday. “You lure him here, maybe he can't kill Tom and Ned, but he can destroy all their equipment and three years’ worth of notes and documents.”
“Not here,” said Roosevelt excitedly. “There!”
“I'm afraid I don't follow you, Theodore,” said Edison.
“There's one aspect to this whole business I haven't been comfortable about,” said Roosevelt, starting to pace the floor.
“Only one?” asked Holliday with a sardonic smile.
“I don't like being on the defensive,” said Roosevelt. “We know who the enemy is. Why sit back and wait for him to pick his time and place?”
“Doc was powerless against him,” noted Buntline, “and I assure you that Tom and I will be even less formidable under similar circumstances.”
“They won't be similar,” said Roosevelt, still pacing. “You're not going to fight War Bonnet. We already know that's impossible. You just want to see him in action. Well, the one thing that can guarantee that action is my presence.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Edison, frowning. “You want the three of us—you, me, and Ned—to ride out into the desert and wait for him to attack you?”
Roosevelt grinned. “I'm not suicidal. No, if these medicine men spoke to Doc in concert, they probably got together to create War Bonnet and are still in the same place. Geronimo must know where.”
“Even if he does,” said Edison, “that's still a New Yorker and two noncombatants against this monster.”
“Oh, we'll have more than that,” Roosevelt assured him.
“Who?”
“I've already got one Rough Rider—Luke Sloan,” was the answer. “Give me a week and I'll have a damned formidable team of them.”
“Rough Rider?” repeated Buntline, frowning. “What the hell is a Rough Rider?”
“It's a man with special skills who pledges his loyalty to me,” said Roosevelt. He turned to Holliday. “We can start by sending for your friend I've heard a lot about—Texas Pete…”
“Jack,” Holliday corrected him. “Texas Jack Vermillion.”
“Would he come?” asked Edison.
“He came on Wyatt's Vendetta Ride,” answered Holliday. “Wild horses couldn't keep him from something like this.”
“I'll start recruiting as soon as we're done here,” said Roosevelt enthusiastically. “I'll wager I'll have a handpicked dozen within three days.”
“And you'll be the Roughest Rider of all?” suggested Holliday.
“Why not?” responded Roosevelt with a grin.
ROOSEVELT AND HOLLIDAY were sitting at a table in the Oriental. Holliday had his omnipresent bottle in front of him, while Roosevelt sipped a tin mug of tea.
“Now, you have to understand, these are not the most elegant and polished men you're ever going to come across,” Holliday was saying.
“I can't use elegant men,” said Roosevelt. “I want Rough Riders.”
“You've fallen in love with that term,” remarked Holliday with an amused smile.
“It describes what I want. Anyway, I need to meet these men. I can't imagine we have more than a couple of days before War Bonnet walks into town, bold as brass, looking for me. If we were back East, I'd enlist the great John L. and some of his rivals—and there are some football players I'd add.”
Holliday shook his head. “You mean baseball.”
“No, football.”
“Never heard of it.”
“You will,” Roosevelt assured him. “Anyway, we're not back East, so I need the best Tombstone and the surrounding area's got to offer.”
“Some have only a nodding acquaintance with the law,” said Holliday. “And some have an out-and-out contempt for it.”
“Are they brave?”
“Without exception.”
“And competent with their fists and their weapons?”
“They are.”
“Have they the courage to ride against overwhelming odds, look Death in the eye, and laugh at him?”
Holliday smiled. “Some will laugh. Some'll curse. And most of 'em will shoot first and leave the laughing and cursing for later.” He took a drink from his glass. “Anyway, I've passed the word, and told Henry Wiggins to do the same.”
“He doesn't strike me as a Rough Rider,” noted Roosevelt.
Holliday chuckled. “He's just a well-meaning little salesman who I introduced to Ned and Tom. But he's—what would you call him?—a hero-worshipper, with a misplaced sense of what constitutes a hero.”
“Well,” said Roosevelt, “if he chooses the wrong men, we'll know soon enough.”
“There are still a few left over from the Vendetta Ride,” said Holliday. “I'll vouch for any of them.”
Roosevelt frowned. “You mentioned the Vendetta Ride