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warrants out for the Earps and Doc, and maybe Bat—seeing as he was wearing a star—might be able to help.
     
    Virgil and Doc watched Wyatt walk over to where they had picketed the horses.
    “He needs some rest,” Virgil said.
    “I know.”
    “And we’re drivin’ him crazy.”
    Virgil looked at Doc.
    “Yeah, I know,” he said, “and each other.”
    “We need to be around some other people, I guess,” Doc said. “People who aren’t tryin’ to kill us.”
    “Right.”
    “I’ll get the fire,” Doc said.
    “I’ll saddle your horse and mine,” Virgil said.
    “Thanks.”
    “Sure.”
    Virgil walked over to where Wyatt was saddling his own horse.
     
    Doc poured the remnants of the coffeepot onto the fire and then stamped it out. He felt a cough coming on, but was able to quell it for the moment. He was running out of kerchiefs that didn’t have blood on them.
    He looked over at the Earp brothers. He knew the two of them were hurtin’ over the death of their brother, Morgan, and Virgil had one arm that wasn’t much good to him. He wondered what the brothers were going to decide to do after Trinidad. They hadn’t talked about the future much. They’d managed to track down as many of the cowboys as they could and had left them for dead. He didn’t know what else was on the Earp agenda, but he had a life of his own to lead.
    What was left of it.
     
    “Hey, Wyatt,” Virgil said. “Doc and I are sorry.”
    “Yeah,” Wyatt said, leaning on his horse, “I’m sorry, too. I guess we’re all just tired.”
    “Tired of each other.”
    “Yeah.”
    They both turned and looked at Doc.
    “I’m kinda worried about Doc, though,” Wyatt said.
    “I know,” Virgil said, “that cough of his is gettin’ worse. I seen him spittin’ up blood a couple of times.”
    Wyatt said, “Not only that. The warrants against us won’t stand up. We were wearin’ badges. But if they get Doc back into Arizona and make the charges stick, they might hang ’im.”
    “Well then,” Virgil said, “we better make sure he don’t ever go back to Arizona.”
    “Bat might be able to help,” Wyatt said. “He’s the marshal in Trinidad. He’s gotta have some connections.”
    Bat Masterson was someone else who was Wyatt’s friend, not Virgil’s. In fact, Virgil didn’t have many friends other than his brothers, Wyatt and Morgan—and now there was only Wyatt.
    “Bat and Doc don’t get along,” Virgil pointed out.
    “I don’t know too many people who get along with Doc,” Wyatt said. “But Bat will help. He won’t see Doc railroaded, no matter how he feels about him. I know him that well.”
    “I hope you’re right,” Virgil said, “for your sake—”
    “You got them horses saddled yet?” Doc called out. “I swear, Virg, you’re slowin’ down in your old age.”
    “—And Doc’s,” Virgil said to Wyatt.
    “I’ll get your horse,” Wyatt said, “you get Doc’s.”
     
    They walked the horses over to where Doc was waiting and Virgil handed the gunman the reins.
    “Thanks. Think your buddy Masterson is gonna be glad to see us?” Doc asked.
    “I don’t know,” Wyatt said. “I guess we better just ride on in and find out, huh?”

CHAPTER 9
    Butler played some poker that evening, won a little bit of money while he was trying to gauge the caliber of the other players. He also paid some attention to Bat Masterson’s table. Bat did a good business, and from what Butler could tell, took money from all comers.
    Earlier in the day Butler had met Bat’s deputy, a young man named Dean Collier. He was in his mid-twenties, and seemed to be in total awe of his boss. While Bat was manning his faro table Deputy Collier would come in and out, apparently with questions for his boss. At times Bat would roll his eyes, answer the young man, and send him on his way.
    It was almost time for Butler to relieve Bat at his table when Collier came in again. He walked to Bat’s table, whispered something that caused