Gunman's Rhapsody

Forty-seven

It was mid-March and the desert spring was already beginning to ornament the scrub around Tombstone. The window was open and the hopeful smell of it drifted into Virgil’s room at the Cosmopolitan, where Wyatt and Virgil sat together. Virgil was shaved and dressed. His white shirt was freshly laundered, though he wore no collar. His face was indoor pale. The white cloth sling on his left arm was freshly laundered too. On the table near his right hand was a big single action Colt with walnut grips. They were drinking coffee.

“You miss Josie?” Virgil said.

“I do.”

“Mattie’s been talking to Allie. She thinks maybe she’s won you back,” Virgil said.

“She’s got no reason to think that,” Wyatt said. “I haven’t been near her.”

“Women think things,” Virgil said.

They both drank coffee.

“Crawley Dake refused to accept that resignation letter,” Wyatt said.

“I told you he would,” Virgil said. “Why’d you write it, anyway?”

“Tired,” Wyatt said. “Tired of listening to all that horseshit in The Nugget. A little tired of guns, of my brother getting shot. A little tired of all the politics and bad-mouthing, and court appearances. Tired of Tombstone, maybe. Thinking maybe I should move along.”

“I’m a little tired of your brother getting shot too,” Virgil said.

“Well, I’m not going nowhere until we clean that up, deputy marshal or not.”

“Making any progress?”

“Not a lot to show for three months’ posse work,” Wyatt said.

“You got Ike in jail.”

“I do. But he won’t cooperate. He denies having anything to do with shooting you, and he goddamned insists that he don’t know who did. I even tried telling him we could make a deal.”

“Bygones be bygones?”

“Something like that.”

“He say anything about giving me back my left arm?” Virgil said.

Wyatt smiled slightly.

“Didn’t say I meant it ’bout bygones.”

Virgil smiled too.

“But he didn’t bite.”

“No,” Wyatt said. “Fact is, he’s swearing out a warrant on us for killing Billy and the McLaurys.”

“He’s wasting his time,” Virgil said.

“And ours.”

“Which may be the point. You keep showing up in court, you ain’t out chasing down the cowboys.”

“Tom Fitch’ll do most of the appearing in court for us.”

Virgil drank some coffee.

“Still, Ike’s an irritating little bastard,” Virgil said.

“Probably Behan’s idea on the warrant,” Wyatt said. “Keeps the cowboys stirred up. Ringo’s in town, and Curley Bill and Frank Stilwell.”

“I thought you had John Ringo for holding up the stage.”

“Driver wouldn’t identify him.”

“Scared of Ringo?”

“Yep.”

“Can’t blame him that much, I guess.”

Virgil leaned back a little in his chair. Wyatt noticed that he seemed to move without pain.

“Allie,” Virgil shouted. “We need some more coffee.”

Virgil’s wife came in from the parlor with a big enamel coffeepot and poured some for both of them. She bent over and kissed Virgil on the top of the head and went out.

“Seems to like you better than she likes me,” Wyatt said.

“That’s a fact,” Virgil said.

“Fact she don’t like me much at all.”

“No,” Virgil said, “she don’t.”

“Ever since Josie.”

“Yep. Feels bad for Mattie.”

“Hell, Virg, she don’t even like Mattie.”

“She likes her better now that she’s a woman scorned.”

“She blame me for you getting shot?” Wyatt said.

“Yes.”

“I guess she’s got the right. It goes back to me taking Josie from Behan.”

“Everything goes back to something,” Virgil said. “What matters here, whatever Allie feels, is that our names are Earp. You and me and Morgan and Warren and James. We are brothers. We are made of the same stuff. That’s what we go back to.”

“I know.”

“You want Josie. I want Josie. Morg wants Josie. James and Warren want Josie. People don’t like it, they don’t like us. You do something. We do it with you. Brothers. The Earp brothers.”

“I know.”

“Don’t never think anything else is true,” Virgil said. “That’s who we are. That’s what we got. It’s what we always had. Before the women came. Before any of us ever shot a gun. If I got shot on account of something you did, it’s because that’s what I’m supposed to do. Don’t matter if Allie likes it. She loves me. I love her. But that don’t matter either. Blood, Wyatt. Flesh and blood.”

Wyatt stared at his brother. In his life it was probably the longest uninterrupted set of sentences Virgil had ever spoken. He spoke softly, without heat, almost as if he were thinking aloud. Allie came in as he finished.

“You need anything else, Virgil?” she said.

“No,” Virgil said.

He put his right arm around her waist.

“I got everything I need,” Virgil said.