The Undertaker's Devil - 10. Changing Fortunes

June 1882

“Sammy! Sammy! Get out here and let’s celebrate!”

Ritter swung into his office, depositing a chilled bottle of champagne on his desk. Samael shuffled in from the back room where he had been preparing a body for burial.

“What are we celebrating?”

“You are looking at the contractor for the new county courthouse of Cochise County. The Board of Supervisors approved my bid on building it. This is the kind of thing I’ve been wanting to get into!” Ritter grabbed Samael, lifted him off the floor, and kissed him.

“Andy, I still don’t know how you can do that and still do everything that needs doing here.”

“Oh, we’ll hire someone to help out here.” Ritter set two tumblers on the desk, opened the champagne, and poured two generous drinks.

“If you say so,” Samael said, a little dubiously.

“I reckon all it took was a fire taking out half the downtown to goose the Board into action.” Ritter demonstrated with a goose to Sammy’s posterior.

“An ill wind is still an ill wind.” Samael took a sip. “It tickles! I never tasted anything like it.”

“Sammy, we’ve had a lot of ill winds in the last few months. And good things have come out of them. Morgan Earp getting killed, Frank Stillwell getting gunned down, the Earps riding all over tarnation getting revenge and Behan riding his posse after them, and what happened because of that? The Earps are gone. Tombstone is done with them.”

Samael was still unnerved by the body of Florentino Cruz, brought to Ritter and Ream in March during the Earps' vendetta ride. “Nothing good came of Reverend Hackleforth coming to see me about preaching without a license.”

“And nothing bad came of it, either. And then there was that damned fire last month. Result? The town’s getting rebuilt better, in brick and adobe instead of wood. And I’ll be in the middle of the rebuilding! We needed some good news, Sammy, so drink up!” Ritter downed his own glass and poured himself a refill. “Be happy for me!”

“I am happy for you, Andy. I’m glad to see you happy. Just don’t get so busy at the work site that you forget to come home.”

“Not a chance, you little devil-angel.” Ritter swiped his champagne-wetted lips along Samael’s throat.

“I can just picture it. You’re gonna hire a whole bunch of strong, handsome workmen, they’re all gonna look up to you and fall in love with you, and the whole gang of you will be up to who knows what before the walls are even in place.”

“Are you saying you’re going to miss me?” Ritter’s hands drifted down to Samael’s ass.

“Every minute.”

“Why don’t you give me a demonstration of how you’ll greet me after a hard day of courthouse-building?”

“I’ll be happy to, if you’ll give me a chance to wash the smell of corpse off my hands. And I’ll take another glass of that, whatever it is.”

“Champagne. All right, go wash, and I’ll bring the bottle upstairs.”

“Won’t take a minute.”

******** 

Joe Corbin was walking down Allen Street, lost in his own thoughts. He was thinking about the time a few months ago when he had asked Ritter's permission to give Samael a gift of some paints and good paper, maybe some stretched canvases. Ritter was surprised that Corbin wanted to do such a thing, and that he felt the need to ask permission, but said that no, he had no objection at all.

Corbin almost wished that Ritter had objected. As it was, he obviously regarded Corbin as no threat at all. A man would like to think that he could be seen as a possible rival, after all. A man would prefer not to have that potential dismissed out of hand.

So Corbin gave Samael the best paints he could afford, and Samael was suitably grateful. Corbin also began instructing Samael in the basics of perspective, since even with his natural excellent draftsmanship, Samael had never attempted a larger composition with elements at different distances.

But he could only look wistfully at Ritter and Samael together. They seemed to have found something that Corbin had secretly desired most of his life, something that he was pretty sure was impossible. Yet there was an example, right in front of him. He was astonished that it was not immediately obvious to anyone with eyes that they loved each other. Apparently, such eyes were rare.

Something finally caught his eye as he walked: a boy sat outside a clothing store, which was locked, closed for business. Dimly he remembered that this was the boy who was sent to fetch Samael when Mrs. Hill was dying.

“You waiting for the store to open?” Corbin ventured.

The boy snickered. “This store won’t be open again. I used to work here.”

“What happened?”

“Mister Hill has decided to close up shop and move back to Tennessee.”

“And why are you sitting here outside?”

“Just trying to figure what to do next. I’m out of a job. Mister Hill was letting me live upstairs here, so that’s gone, too.”

“Well, at least he wasn’t one of the ones burned out in the fire.” Corbin looked down the street at the still half-ruined town. “There’s going to be a lot of rebuilding. You should try to get work doing that, if you know how.”

“I can nail two boards together and carry a load of bricks, which is all some of these fellers know how to do.”

“Well, then. You should ask around. One of the big projects is going to be the new county courthouse. They could probably find a use for you there.”

“I wouldn’t know who to ask.”

“Ask Andy Ritter. You know, the undertaker. He’s been chosen as the contractor for the courthouse.”

The boy’s attention suddenly became more focused. “Ritter? The one I met when I carried that message?”

“Yes, that’s him. What was your name again?”

The boy’s smile suddenly dripped charm. “Robbie. Robbie Crooks.”

“Well, Robbie, maybe I’ll see you around. I’ll probably be working on the courthouse myself.”

“And can I ask what your name is?”

“Joe. Joe Corbin.”

“Thanks, Mister Corbin.”

“You can call me Joe.”

********

Late one night in the second week of July, 1882, Ritter and Samael woke to the sound of loud knocking on the front door. Ritter put on a robe and went downstairs to investigate.

At the door was the familiar figure of Doc Holliday, shivering in the night air, his sweating horse tied up behind him. Ritter, if not exactly friends with Holliday, was at least on speaking terms with him, and quickly let him in.

“Doc! What are you doing here? You look like hell.” Ritter locked the door and ushered Holliday inside.

“Andy, can I stay here tonight? I don’t think a hotel would be safe.”

“Of course you can. And you’re probably right. Quite a few men are looking for you.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I’ve been up in Denver. Behan is trying to arrest me, Johnny Ringo was up there gunning for me and now he's back here, they think I killed Stilwell, they still think I robbed the stage a year and a half ago, and everyone who could prove me innocent is dead. Rode this mare all the way from Salida.” A fit of coughing interrupted Holliday’s rush of words. Then he caught sight of Samael at the top of the stairs. “Who’s that?”

“That’s Sammy. He’s working here. Sammy, would you kindly tend to Doc’s horse? Tied up out front? Take her out back and get her settled?”

“Sure thing, Mister Ritter,” Samael said, and quickly made his way out the front door.

Holliday continued, “I just about rode that mare to death. Son of a bitch in Salida is going to charge me a fortune if she dies. This Sammy, does he know how to take care of a horse?”

“He does, and he’ll keep her away from prying eyes.”

“They’re coming for us, Andy — Wyatt and me. I’ve got to get—” Holliday leaned over, took out a handkerchief and spat a little blood into it.

“Come on, Doc, let’s see if I can find you something other than a coffin to lie down in,” Ritter said, half-carrying Holliday toward the room in back where in theory Samael slept.

“Got anything to drink?”

“I can make you some coffee or tea.”

Holliday snorted. “Come on, Andy, I mean a drink.”

“I know you do, and I also know that’s a bad idea in your particular case.”

“Oh, I got lots worse ideas than that,” Holliday said, taking a small vial out of his vest pocket and taking a small sip from it.

“Laudanum, Doc? You going out of your way to kill yourself?” Ritter lowered Holliday onto Sammy’s bed.

“Now, why would you say that when I am obviously going to such extremes to stay alive? There’s something I gotta find. I had a letter. I lost it. I think I lost it at the hotel.”

“What’s so important about this letter?”

“It’s from Jim Crane. It’s proof that I was not involved in killing the men in that stage robbery. Jim Crane’s dead now, thanks to Wyatt. Goddamn it! I told Wyatt I need Jim alive, but he has to go and shoot up that whole gang.”

“You mean when Old Man Clanton was killed? I thought it was Mexican border police that did that.”

“Well, there are two schools of thought on that. I thought I could count on Wyatt, but ever since he stole Behan’s girl Sadie, she’s turned him into a damn Jew-boy, saying prayers in Hebrew and God knows what all. I don’t trust him anymore, Andy. Used to be him and me against the world. Now I got no one, no one at all.”

“What about Kate?”

“Kate!” Holliday huffed. “Kate runs hot and cold, you know that. One little argument and she sold me out to Behan. Nothing takes the place of a woman, but you can’t count on them, not like a man.” Another fit of coughing racked Holliday’s slender frame.

“You’re sick, Doc,” Ritter said. “You shouldn’t ride that kind of distance. You need to take it easy.”

“Can’t afford to,” Holliday gasped. “Johnny Ringo’s after me, there’s a warrant out for me for Frank Stillwell’s murder, everything’s going to hell.”

Ritter covered Holliday with blankets and gently pushed him to lie still. “You need a doctor.”

“Can’t,” Holliday whispered, then coughed up more blood.

Samael appeared in doorway. “Your horse is settled out back, Mister Holliday.”

Ritter felt Holliday’s forehead. “Sammy, he needs a doctor.”

“No doctor,” Holliday wheezed. “Can’t tell anybody I’m here.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Sammy asked.

Ritter glared at Samael. “Consumption.”

“Oh.” Samael looked troubled. “Isn’t that catching?”

“The man needs help, Sammy, and I’m going to help him. He needs something hot to drink, tea or coffee.”

“Doesn’t he need medicine?”

“Without a doctor, I don’t know how we’re going to get that.”

“Don’t mind me,” Holliday murmured. “Feel free to talk about me like I’m not even here.”

“China Mary,” Samael said. “She can get something from a Chinese doctor.”

Ritter looked up. “You know her?”

“Yeah, I know her. I can go right now.”

“Yes. Go. Make it quick, if you can. Tell her I’ve got a bad cough and a fever. Let me get you some money.”

“You can pay me back later,” Samael said, and headed out the front door.

An hour later Samael returned with an envelope of vile-smelling powder, which produced an even worse-smelling tea. Ritter forced it down Holliday’s throat.

“This is the worst bar I’ve ever been to,” Holliday said. “Your whiskey tastes like burnt rattlesnake.” He pulled out his laudanum and took another sip.

“I’m only letting you take that so you can sleep,” Ritter said.

Holliday lay back and looked at Samael. “Thank you. You got that nasty stuff real quick.” Looking back at Ritter, he said, “See, that’s what I mean. You can count on a man. You two are lucky to have each other.” Holliday turned his head and coughed some more.

Ritter rearranged the blankets. “I’m going to stay here, Sammy. I hope he can sleep, but I know I won’t. You can go on back to bed if you want.”

“Naw, it’s no fun without you,” Samael said. “I’ll make coffee and keep some water hot in case you need more for the medicine.”

“Thank you, Sammy.”

Samael flinched and said, “Um — can you try not to stay too close to him? I mean, any more than you have to? Keeping an eye on him is good, but I don’t want you to get sick too.”

Ritter shook his head. “I’m going to take care of him as best I can. Let’s not worry about me right now.”

Samael looked away. “I’ll get that coffee going.” He walked out the door.

Holliday regarded Ritter thoughtfully. “He’s right about not getting too close to me. He cares a lot about you, doesn’t he?”

“He’s got a good heart. Better than he knows.”

“And you care about him.”

“Oh, I have a weakness for taking in strays.”

With a thin smile, Holliday said, “It’s more than that, isn’t it? What was it that Sammy said about going back to bed being no fun without you?”

Ritter said nothing.

“I think I might envy you. Two men who are loyal to each other, that’s a beautiful thing - as long as a woman doesn’t come between them. That’s what screwed up me and Wyatt. But you - you don’t have to worry about that, do you?”

“Doc, I think that laudanum is going to your head. Now try to get some sleep. You warm enough?”

“Yeah, Andy. I think that Chinese poison might even have done some good. I wish Wyatt and me could be like you and that boy. Like the Sacred Band of Thebes. Did you know this room breathes like a horse? In and out, in and out. And it wobbles, like it’s real tired. Real tired…” Holliday’s eyes were closed and his breathing was even, with only a trace of cough.

********

The next day, close to noon, Holliday was saddling his horse, preparing to ride away. Ritter gave him the last of the Chinese medicine.

“So, no luck finding that letter?”

“Nope.” Holliday stowed the last of his gear in his saddlebags. “People at the hotel had no idea what I was talking about. They never found anything like that. Rode all this way for nothing.”

“Good thing you didn’t arrive a few days earlier. Ringo was still in town, stinking drunk.”

“If I ran into that bluebelly, I’d leave him barefoot in the desert. I’d tie his boots to his horse and run it off.”

“Don’t stop for any such thing. Get back to Colorado. And don’t try to hurry. Go easy.”

“Got to get back for a court date. I’m already going to miss one.” Holliday was ready to ride. “I owe you, Andy. My best to Sammy. I owe him, too.”

Holliday rode off, avoiding the more traveled roads.

A few days later, Johnny Ringo was found in the Dragoon Mountains north of Tombstone, his feet wrapped in strips of cloth torn from his shirt. A single bullet wound passed from his temple out through the back of his head. His death was ruled a suicide. Ringo’s boots were still strapped to the saddle when his horse was found a few days later.