Doc pulled in a weak breath, which immediately caught in his throat. When he hacked out an exhale, he spat up a mess of blood and tried to sit up. No matter how much Caleb or Seegar tried to help him, Doc insisted on clambering up on his own. He never once loosened his grip on the empty pistol in his hand.
“What’s . . . where am I?” Doc stammered.
Caleb pushed Doc toward the other side of the street to make way for some members of the fire brigade. “You’re safe. So is Dr. Seegar.”
Doc looked over at Seegar and then glared up at the dentist’s office. There wasn’t much to see apart from a blocky shape within a curtain of flame. “It was Weeks’s man,” Doc snarled. “The one with the burnt face. He did this.”
“Thompson’s is already gone,” Caleb added. “So’s most of this block by the look of it.”
“What about Weeks?” Doc asked. “Where is that son of a bitch?”
Caleb stepped in front of Doc to keep him from running toward the drugstore. After that, the street was filled with the fire brigade as well as those folks trying to help them. “We’ll catch up with him soon enough. Right now this fire is what we need to worry about. You need to stay here and catch your breath.”
“To hell with that,” Doc rasped. Already, he was reloading his gun and tucking it back into its holster. “I’ll stay here and do my part.”
“You almost died in there,” Seegar said. “I had to carry you out myself.”
Doc looked at the older dentist as if seeing him for the first time. “Then I won’t stand by and keep letting you do all the work. I can pass a bucket along just like anyone else.”
Rather than try to talk Doc into resting for a moment, Caleb and Seegar led the way back to the line of people passing buckets back and forth to either be filled or emptied onto the flames. The fire brigade was hard at work, but it was plain to see that there was no saving the drugstore or the dental offices above it.
Even so, everyone still tried to put a dent in the blossoming flames.
Nearly a whole day passed before the fires were reduced to a thick, greasy haze in the air and a stain on the ground. Locals picked through the remains, trying to find personal items or whatever was left of their businesses. Caleb sat on the boardwalk facing Main Street, and Doc stood beside him with his back to a post.
“I’m surprised Weeks didn’t come along to gloat,” Doc said.
“He was probably around,” Caleb replied. “But he’s gone by now.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because he’s not a fool. I saw three more of his men die at the Flush, and you killed the worst of the lot. That doesn’t leave much in the way of hired guns.”
Doc nodded. “Guess you’re right. There’s still the matter of his trial.”
“All the more reason for him to run. Whatever pull Weeks had with the law must have been used up just to let him get out of here without being caught.”
“Caught or worse,” Doc said. “I plan on looking in on this place from time to time just to make certain he doesn’t get any more bright ideas.”
“You becoming a guardian angel to saloon owners now, Doc?”
“No,” Doc replied gravely. “I’ve just got a whole lot of unfinished business with Weeks, and I aim to see it through. If you want the job of watching over the saloons, you can come along with me when I visit Dallas.”
“What makes you think I won’t be staying?”
“Because that wouldn’t make sense. You seemed more relaxed in an actual jail cell than you did when you were running that place. I know, because I’ve seen you in both places.”
Caleb wanted to refute what Doc was saying, but was too tired to come up with a convincing lie.
“There’s plenty of action in Dennison,” Doc continued. “You could come along with me and scout out some good games. You have an eye for separating the good and bad saloons, and that will come in awfully handy.”
“You mean you want someone who can spot a place running crooked tables before you find out for yourself the hard way,” Caleb said.
“Something like that. We worked pretty well together. There’s no reason to turn away from a partnership like that.”
Caleb took a look around at the streets that he’d known for more than his share of years. Suddenly, every corner seemed as dreary and blackened as the ones that had been scorched in the fire. It was then he realized that making the decision wasn’t all that difficult. The challenge was in recognizing that his mind had been made up on the matter long ago.
“Are you asking for a partner or an accomplice?” Caleb asked.
“Does it matter?”
“No. I guess it doesn’t.”
[32]
Six Months
Later 
Champagne Charlie Austin was most definitely living up to his nickname. The St. Charles Saloon had been packed to the gills all night long, and it wasn’t until early the next morning that it finally cleared out. Even so, Charlie was all smiles and still busying himself with making certain that none of his few remaining guests could find the bottom on their drinks.
“Happy New Year, Caleb!” Charlie said for what had to have been the hundredth time.
As he’d done every other time, Caleb lifted his glass and replied, “Happy New Year to you.”
“Since he didn’t show up here, you’d best say hello to Hank. He’s been running the Busted Flush into some mighty fine profits. I hear he’ll be adding some ladies to work there in the next few months.”
“I’ve already been,” Caleb said. “Hank had his hands full, so I had a quick drink and paid my respects. He doesn’t need me around to flap my gums. Besides, there was someone else I wanted to see while I was here.”
“How is Sarah, by the way?”
“Fine as ever.”
“Tell her I said Happy New Year.”
“Actually,” Caleb said as he drained the rest of his drink, “I’ll go and tell her now.” With that, Caleb tipped his hat and left.
Apart from a few men passed out at their tables, Charlie was alone when Caleb stepped out of the St. Charles. The moment he knew there was nobody in sight, Charlie’s smile flickered out of existence. Sure enough, the heavy footsteps came right on cue from the office behind him.
“Where’s he staying?” came a gruff voice from behind Charlie.
“I don’t know, Mr. Weeks,” Charlie replied.
“Find out, and do it quick. Otherwise, I’ll see to it this place goes up in smoke like Thompson’s. Grissom may be dead, but I can raise plenty of hell on my own, by God.”
“I know, Mr. Weeks. I’ll try to find out.”
Just then, one of the drunks in the back of the saloon sat up straight and got up. “Maybe I can help you, Bret.”
Weeks turned toward the familiar sound of the smooth, southern drawl. “I’ll be damned, Doc,” he said as his hand drifted toward the gun at his hip. “You are one sneaky little bastard.”
“You could only afford one man to look out for you?” Doc asked in a mocking tone. “Times are hard indeed.”
“I got more,” Weeks said.
Doc stepped around the table and squared his shoulders to Weeks. “I don’t think so. And I wouldn’t even hold my breath for that one man if I were you. Caleb’s already seen to him by now. Your friend Grissom was right. It does pay to study a place for a bit before you make a move.”