improvements to it.”
“It already spins, cuts metal, weighs things to the closest ounce, could lift all of the Earps tied together, and can probably outdraw me in a gunfight. What else does it have to do?”
“It's too good a conductor of electricity, and it actually becomes a hazard during some of my experiments. I'm tired of removing it every time I'm working with positive and negative charges, so Ned's trying to negate its conductivity.”
“I think I may introduce you to a British visitor I met tonight. He'd love to write you up in song and story for the stage.” A pause and a cynical smile. “Well, he'd love to write your arm up, anyway.”
“Mr. Wilde?”
“I was going to ask how you knew,” said Holliday. “Then I remembered that he's probably the only writer currently on tour in Leadville.”
“Well, the only playwright,” agreed Edison. “Miss Anthony has written some powerful articles. I hope to meet both of them before they leave town.”
“If you want to meet Mr. Wilde, come over to the Monarch. He'll be there pretty soon.”
“I can't,” said Edison regretfully. He wiggled his stump. “I'm being, ah, re-attached in another hour.”
Holliday shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Edison sat down at his desk, gestured to a wooden chair with a cushioned back, and Holliday seated himself. “Now, my friend, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
“Have you got any business with Geronimo or the Apaches?” asked Holliday. “Did you promise them anything, or offend any of them, before you left Tombstone?”
“No to the first, and I hope not to the second,” answered Edison, frowning. “Remember, it was Hook Nose and the Southern Cheyenne who got Curly Bill Brocius to try to kill me—and wound up blowing away my arm—back in Tombstone, not the Apaches.”
“Good,” said Holliday.
“Why?”
“Because I was just visited by one of Geronimo's representatives, so he obviously knows I'm here—and if he knows that, he knows you and Ned are here too.”
“What did he want?”
“Damned if I know.”
“Geronimo's warrior just walked up, said ‘Hi, Doc,' and went away?” said Edison sardonically.
“In essence.” Holliday's brow furrowed in puzzlement. “He told me to remember that I had once made a deal, long since consumated, with Geronimo. Before I could ask what kind of deal the old bastard wants this time, he was gone.” The gambler grimaced. “I'll take war chiefs to medicine men any day. I still can't get used to magic.”
“That's pretty difficult to believe at this late date,” said Edison. “It's their magic that's stopped the United States from extending to the Pacific, and it's what I'm being paid to study and counteract.”
“Geronimo knows that. That's what I came to tell you: He knows you're here.”
“Well, he probably knew it last night and last week as well, so let's assume he has some other reason for contacting you.”
“I wish he'd choose some other way,” complained Holliday irritably. “I just hate giant snakes turning into braves before my eyes.”
“If he wanted to kill you, he could have,” offered Edison. “So if I were you, I'd wait until he decided to say what he wanted. You're not going to be leaving town, are you?”
Holliday shook his head. “I'm here for the duration.”
Edison frowned again. “The duration of what?”
“Of my life.” Another grimace. “You'd think they could have built the damned sanitarium a few thousand feet lower, where nothing but dogs pant and gasp for breath.”
“I hear they're building one a few hundred miles south of here in Arizona,” said Edison. “You might consider that.”
“Too many men in Arizona want to save the sanitarium the trouble of burying me,” answered Holliday with a wry grin. “No, I've set twenty thousand dollars aside for my upkeep. At five thousand a year, the place will run out of me before I run out of money.”
“Try not to be such an optimist,” said Edison