Thirty-six

It was October and Tombstone weather was finally comfortable. Wyatt was having breakfast with Josie in Maison Dorée, next to the Cosmopolitan Hotel.

“You ever see any Indians?” Josie said.

Wyatt smiled.

“No,” he said. “Got a chance to eat breakfast, though, with the McLaurys and Curley Bill.”

“My God,” Josie said. “Really?”

“Yep. Weather got too bad to chase Indians in, rained so hard the horses were sinking into the mud half a foot. So we gave it up and headed back in. Stopped at Frink’s place for a bit to get out of the weather and then the whole posse went on to McLaury’s for breakfast. Fed us good, too.”

“But aren’t they your enemies?”

Wyatt smiled and put a piece of bacon in his mouth.

“Not when I was eating their food,” Wyatt said.

“Not even Curley Bill?”

“Me and him didn’t talk,” Wyatt said. “But Virgil and him did. Seemed to be getting along fine.”

“What did they talk about?”

“Don’t know.”

“And you didn’t ask afterwards?”

“Nope.”

“Don’t you men talk?” Josie said.

She ate so pretty, he thought. She had a bowl of canned peaches. She cut off a bite-sized portion of one peach half and put it in her mouth with a fork, and chewed carefully with her mouth closed.

“We talk,” Wyatt said.

“So what about the Indians?”

“Army’s chasing them now.”

“Will they catch them?”

Wyatt smiled widely.

“The Army?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Army’s mostly kids from Chicago and Boston,” Wyatt said. “They can’t catch their own mounts in the morning. Their officers been shipped out here for failing someplace else. Pretty much they’re just putting in time until retirement.” Wyatt shook his head and smiled again. “The Army couldn’t catch Naitche if he was drinking agency whiskey at Fort Apache.”

“You didn’t catch him either,” Josie said.

“No,” Wyatt said, “we didn’t.”