The Doctor and the Rough Rider Read Online Free

hanging just above the mirrors.
    “What'll it be, sir?”
    “Make it a beer.”
    “Coming right up.” The bartender stared at him for a moment. “Ain't I seen you before?”
    “I doubt it,” replied Masterson. “This is my first trip to Dakota.”
    “You ain't seen him,” said the lone customer, a gray-bearded man sitting at a table.
     “But you seen his picture.” He turned to Masterson. “You're Bat Masterson, ain't you?”
    Masterson nodded.
    “I heard you gave up being a lawman and went to New York to be a writer,” said the
     man. “What brings you to Medora?”
    “I'm looking for a local resident.”
    “Got to be the Marquis de Mores or young Roosevelt,” said the man. “Can't imagine
     there's anyone else out here that anyone would want to see.”
    “It's Roosevelt,” Masterson confirmed.
    “Figgers.”
    “Because he's American?”
    “'Cause he's a lawman too, like you used to be.”
    Masterson frowned. “A lawman? I hadn't heard.”
    “The best,” said the man. “Makes your pal Wyatt Earp look like a beginner.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “I would,” said the bearded man. “But my throat's gone dry, and I probably can't get
     all the words out.”
    Masterson smiled and turned to the bartender. “A pitcher of beer for the table,” he
     said, walking over and sitting down.
    “Well, that's damned generous of you, Mr. Masterson.”
    “Bat,” said Masterson.
    “Bat,” repeated the man. “And I'm Jacob Finnegan.” He extended a gnarled hand, and
     Masterson shook it. “Can't say I blame you for hightailing it back to New York. I
     been reading all about you in those dime novels.”
    “Most of it never happened,” said Masterson as the bartender deposited the pitcher
     on the table.
    “Go ahead,” said Finnegan. “Ruin an old man's dreams.”
    “I'll do my best to,” replied Masterson with a smile.
    Finnegan laughed. “I like you, Bat Masterson! You're good with a gun, you ain't afraid to face a desperado
     or two, and even though you're a writer I can pretty much understand you. Your pal
     Roosevelt uses some of the biggest damned words anyone ever heard.”
    “He'll lose that habit fast enough,” said Masterson. “He needed it for his last job.”
    “And what was that?”
    “He was the youngest Minority Leader in the history of the New York legislature.”
    Finnegan took a swallow of his beer. “That don't sound right. He's still a young man, I'd say no more than twenty-five or twenty-six.”
    “That's about right.”
    Finnegan frowned, and stopped to pet a dog that had wandered in beneath the swinging
     doors. “Must have taken a terrible whooping at the polls to wind up out here.”
    Masterson shook his head. “He didn't lose. He quit.”
    “Hah! They're as corrupt as we always thought, right?”
    “Probably,” replied Masterson with a smile. “But that had nothing to do with it. His
     wife and his mother died something like ten hours apart, both in his house, one of
     disease, one in childbirth. He dearly loved both of them, and didn't want to stay
     there with all his memories.”
    “So he brung his memories out to the Badlands?” said Finnegan. “That don't make no
     sense.”
    “He's a complex man.”
    “He's a determined one, anyway,” said Finnegan. “You heard about the three killers he brung back?”
    Masterson shook his head. “No. Tell me about them.”
    “He just don't do nothing in a small way,” began Finnegan. “It wasn't enough that
     he bought two ranches…” His voice trailed off as he searched his pockets, found a
     small piece of jerky, and tossed it to the dog.
    “ Two? ” said Masterson, surprised.
    “Your pal thinks big . Anyway, he volunteered to be the local deputy. Refused to take any money for it.
     Wore that damned star everywhere. We figured he just wanted it the way a woman wants
     a pin or a necklace, but then a trio of killers done their evil deeds and Roosevelt
     went after them. I don't know where he was when