The Doctor and The Tinpan

In 2020, the Earth is devastated by a nuclear holocaust, but from the databanks in the TARDIS, The Doctor discovers an anomaly in Earth's time continuum. He travels back in time in order to change the course of events that led to the apocalyptic scenario. The date he returns to is October 25th, 1881. The place is Tombstone, Arizona.


Earthdate: 2120

Databank history:

Species: Human.

Count: One Billion.

Radioactive atmosphere. Neutron cell contamination. Carcinoma related disease. Ecosystem compromised.

In the main control room of his Time Machine, the TARDIS (Time and Relative Dimensions in Space) the aging, white-haired Doctor sat in a rotatable oval pod studying the system readouts of the central computer. His chameleon-like dark matter had morphed into that of a man, and in mind of the late nineteenth century and the Old West he intended to visit, he wore a long-tailed black suit and frills.

The Doctor already knew that, by the Earthdate 2250, all life on the planet would become extinct. So what had brought about this calamitous scenario? Through a rapid assimilation of the databanks, he had established that a nuclear holocaust had occurred in 2020. Judging from the
history of that time, an unscrupulous megalomaniac had risen to preside over the world's most powerful nation. His election to office had been the catalyst for disaster, but from the Doctor's understanding of the president's ancestry, he should never have existed. An alternate Time Line had come into effect.

From his calculations, the Doctor ascertained the Time Line's origin, and he set the course coordinates and date on the time module.

***

Tombstone, Arizona.

October 25th, 1881

Red Culpepper was a scrawny and bearded old prospector. He had spent fifty years panning for gold in a creek outside Tombstone. Some folk called him an ornery old critter; others called him a crazy old Tinpan. He was a bit of both. He panned all day, every day, and he panned enough to pay for his provisions. That day he had come into town to get soused, and he was tethering his horse in the OK Corral when it started getting mulish on him.

"Eh, eh, eh! Hush now! Damn it! What's got into ya!"

As he tightly gripped the reins, Red looked towards the barn. The wind had got up, and there was one hell of a ruckus going on inside the barn. It sounded like some dang locomotive tootin' and hootin', and there was a light flashing off and on. It didn't last long, maybe a few seconds, and then all was calm.

"Easy, easy! Whoa there! Whoa! Dang! What in tarnation was that?!"

Red shook his head. "Damn new-fangled contraptions..."

He was thinking it could be one of them new traveling conveyances. He'd seen a couple in his time, but he didn't know what folk saw in them. Smelly, and loud as hell. What's it doing in the barn though?

"Maybe I should go look-see," he murmured. And as his horse nickered at him and tossed its head, he tittered, "You reckon so too, huh?"

Then with a slap down its neck, Red made off towards the barn, but he'd only taken a few steps in that direction when he pulled up. The barn doors had opened, and a white-haired, dignified looking fellah in funeral parlor duds came out. Red thought he looked kinda furtive as he looked round. That's before the time the stranger spotted him.

"Ah, good evening!" he called out. "Perhaps you can help me."

Red thought the stranger sounded right eloquent, but as he came closer, there was something about the old fellah's mad eyes and grim, skinlined face that put Red on his guard. More so when the stranger asked:

"Are you familiar with the name, John Henry Holliday? I believe he's in Tombstone at this time."

"Uh?" Doc Holliday . That wasn' t a name Red wanted to hear. The Doc was a dirty-dealin' poker player who was right slick at dealin' a hidden Ace. But then, he was even slicker at dealin' a gun into his hand. No, the Doc didn't like being called a cheat, and when he had disagreements over pots, he usually pulled the loser's teeth. So who was this stranger? A gambler or a gunman lookin' to get even?

"Yeah, I know him," Red said warily.

"And do you know where I can find him?" the stranger asked.

Red shrugged. "Well, he'll likely be at the Alhambra Saloon. Why? You got business with him?"

The stranger grinned. "Yes, you could say that. The nature of his health is of some concern to me."

"Uh huh." Red didn't like the sound of that, and in mind of trouble brewing, he glanced at the stranger's suit. "You ain't packing any pistols in them breeches, are ya? Gotta hand 'em in, you know. It's the ordinance, no guns in town. The Marshall will throw you in the hoosegow if he finds you packing heavy."

The stranger smiled to reassure the man. "Put your fears at rest my good fellow. I mean no one any harm. I'm a Doctor. Now, can you show me where this Saloon is? Time is of the essence."

Red nodded. He didn't think this Doctor fellah was meanin' to kill anyone. "Well, if you want, you can walk with me. I'm heading that-a-ways."

"Thank you. Yes, that's most civil of you."

Somehow the question of the Doctor's "conveyance" in the barn slipped Red's mind as he grinned to himself, and thought some dude, this.

"A Doctor, huh? Doctor who?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Uh?"

***

In the smoke-filled Alhambra Saloon, goodtime girls canoodled with the patrons. In the background, a piano man played, and on the green felt tables, gamblers played five-card stud.

Slouched over the bar, Ike Clanton sniffed. He had been losing, and he had been on the gin mill. He was a big, swarthy looking man with whiskers, and a cold glint in his eyes. He had on his old cowboy duds with his cattleman's hat, and a bandanna tied loosely round his neck. He wore a gun-belt and holster, but no gun. Ike cussed under his breath. "No arms in town," Virgil had said. "Marshall, huh? Who the shit does he think he is?"

Ike Clanton was a cattle rustler and hell-raiser. He liked getting things his own way, but things had changed. The Earps and Doc Holliday had arrived in town. They'd started meddling in his affairs, and things had happened. Bad blood. And he had a mind to get even as he turned and leaned with his back against the bar.

"Seems to me, the Earps are getting real big on the law around here," he began. "Got so's a man can't breathe anymore."

As a hush fell over the place, he kicked over a chair, and blearily glared around at the patrons. "It ain't right! They claim to uphold the law, but they let that murdering son-of-a-bitch Holliday walk free. He killed my friend, and the Earps don't do shit."

Sitting a long ways back at a poker table, a frail, slightly built man with gentlemanly ways twitched a lip as he slyly eyed his covered hand. Ace high. He wouldn't ride on that. Then as he slowly rose from the table, his languid Southerner's drawl cut through the heavy silence.

"I take it you're referring to me, sir?"

Ike cussed. He didn't have his pistols, and he knew Holliday would be packing, courtesy of the Earps. But armed or not, he feared no man.

"My friend, Bud Philpott did you no wrong, Holliday," he growled. "But you shot him down in cold blood. I'm gonna see you pay for that."

"Is that right?" the Doc replied. "How are you gonna do that? With harsh language?"

Ike sneered as he watched the Doc slowly approach him. "You in your long tails and frills. You look right fancy, Doc, but it don't fool me none. If I had my pistol, I'd shoot you down like the mangy critter, you are."

The Doc's face flushed up. "Well, I'd surely like to oblige you."

Behind the bar, the saloonkeeper looked on. "You've had a snootful, Doc. You both have. Let's keep this peaceable."

The Doc's cough had become ticklish. "Peaceable? I am, but I do believe - " he wheezed to finish - "this man wants a war."

Ike nodded back. "It's gonna happen, Holliday. You can count on it."

The Doc had begun hacking up blood, and he covered his mouth as he spluttered, "And I'll be praying for you - "

Ike knew about Holliday's sickness, and he smirked to see the bloodstains. "Well now, looks like the grave's waiting for you, Doc. But don't you fret any, me and the boys'll take good care of that whore of yours."

Ike had meant to goad the Doc into a fist fight but, for a sick man, the Doc moved real quick. The Doc's short-arm jab caught him unawares, and Ike stumbled back holding a bloodied snout. Just then, he saw the Doc itching to draw his pistol, and he thought his time had come, but the patrons were watching it all. No, the Doc wouldn't be seen shooting an unarmed man.

In that moment, Ike took his chance and charged him. He missed with a head butt, but his solid punch thudded full in the ribs. The Doc doubled up, but he instinctively clung on, and tables and chairs went crashing as the two men wrestled their way out of the bar into the street.

On the plank-walk, Ike got the Doc in a headlock and ran him into a post. Then Ike crunched his knee up into the Doc's face. Bloodied and broken up, the Doc dropped onto his hands and knees. But Ike didn't let up: kicking and stomping on him all the while.

Morgan Earp had seen the fight from across the street and he came running. He drew his pistol and fired into the air.

"Back off, Ike!" he yelled. "NOW, goddam it! Or I'll shoot!"

Ike looked wild-eyed and breathing hard. He had no mind to stop the beating, but a cocked pistol looked very persuasive. He put his hands up and slowly backed off.

"That son-of-a-bitch held up the Benson stage and killed my friend, Bud Philpott!" he bawled. "What are you gonna do about it?"

"Stop that, now!" Morgan warned him. "The Doc ain't party to what you say!"


It was only a rumor, nothing more. There had been no evidence to say the Doc had done the deed. Sure he could have. He was a renowned killer and opportunist, and neither Morgan nor Virgil liked having him around much. But on account of the Doc saving Wyatt's skin in a shoot-out with cattlemen in Dodge, they let him be. "He's the only friend I got," Wyatt had said. "That counts a lot."

Ike Clanton bent down to retrieve his own hat and dust it off. As he did so, Morgan uncocked his pistol's hammer and reholstered the iron. He didn't want to aggravate the situation, but the Doc's condition worried him. He had taken a pasting. His face looked puffed up, and he was clutching his ribs as he groped for the hitch rail.

Morgan collected the Doc's hat and helped him up. "You'd best get some rest," he said.

Deathly though he looked, the Doc declined Morgan's offer to walk him back to the hotel. "I'll be just dandy," he said.

Leaning on a post, Ike watched the Doc teetering from side to side. He thought it right entertaining. "Where you going, Doc? The funeral parlor is down thataways," he chuckled.

Morgan's: "bite your tongue" fell on deaf ears as Ike turned on him.

"Your time is coming, Earp," he snarled. "For you and your brothers. You think you can run us Clantons and McLaurys out of town? Well, it ain't gonna happen, mister. Not while I'm breathin'."

Morgan nodded. He had heard it all before. "You're big on liquor talk, Ike."

As Ike sneered at him, Morgan looked away. He had spotted his two brothers, the US Marshall, Virgil and his deputy, Wyatt heading across the street. Like him, they both had moustaches; wore black, long-tailed suits, wide-brimmed hats and they carried their pistols low-slung. With them was the town Sheriff, Johnny Behan. He had got the office because Ike Clanton had bankrolled people to vote for him rather than Wyatt.

From behind him, he heard Ike Clanton snort and shout out: "Come tomorrow, I'll have you man for man!" he shouted. "Then we'll see how slick you are with them irons!"

Wyatt paid the Clanton no heed as Virgil said: "Ease up, Ike. We're here to play some Faro. Come on in with us, or let us be. What say you?"

Morgan knew that if Ike had his way, he would see them all dead. Leastways, there would be a showdown, but that time hadn't come just yet. Ike liked playing Faro: wagering on what card was gonna be dealt.

"Yeah - yeah, alright, Virgil. Why not?" he said.

Ike was like that. He could drink with a man, and then he could kill him with equal enthusiasm.

As Virgil Earp and Johny Behan mounted the plankwalk, he noted Wyatt holding back.

"You joining us, Wyatt?"

As Wyatt fingered his moustache. Morgan followed his brother's gaze down the street. They saw the Doc being helped by two other fellahs. Red Culpepper they recognized, but the other fellah, they didn't. Some stranger. He had white hair, no hat and a long-tailed suit. Now where are they takin' him? Morgan thought.

"I'll go see how the Doc is," he said.

Virgil nodded. "And you, Wyatt?"

"I'm with Morgan."

Virgil smiled. "Alright. I'll see you boys in the mornin'." Then he, Sheriff Johnny Behan, and Ike Clanton went into the saloon.

Morgan and Wyatt had intended catching up with the Doc, Red Culpepper and the stranger. But when they looked down the street again, they were nowhere to be seen. They had gone.

"Well, I'll be damned," Wyatt said.

Morgan was equally bemused. "Well, guess we should commence to looking. Can't have got far."

Wyatt agreed, and motioned over the street at the hotel. "Let's begin there," he said.

***

KATE

In the hotel room, a lusty, buxom woman lay propping her head on the wrought-iron bed. Wearing only a camisole, her long, chestnut locks hung in a tangled mass over her comely face.

A wildcat by nature, Kate Fisher worked as a dance-hall girl and prostitute. She did just fine. These thoughts were on her mind as she collared a whiskey bottle round the throat and gazed through liquor-shot eyes at a far-off place.

She liked dangerous men, and John was surely that. Like the night she had watched him dealing cards in a saloon in Fort Griffin. A man had called him a bilk. John hadn't taken kindly to that, and he had cut open the man with his Bowie knife. "I was only protecting myself," he later told the sheriff. Well, folk didn't see it that way, and hemp fever set in. They wanted to lynch John for what he had done. But she had taken a liking to John, and didn't want to see that happen. So she went to the sheriff's office and cosied up to the deputy there. Once I had got into his pants, sneaking his gun out wasn't so hard, she thought.

Kate smiled as she recalled that, after disarming him, she had gotten the cell keys and freed John. He had gagged the deputy and locked him in a cell. After that, they hoofed it for Dodge. John had been grateful to her for freeing him. He said, "I'm going to do all I can to make you happy, Kate." So for a time, she gave up being a prostitute and inhabiting the saloons. John gave up gambling and hung out his shingle again. It didn't last for long though. Respectable living wasn't their way.

Three years later, she caught up with John again in Tombstone. She had purchased a large tent, rounded up several girls, a few barrels of cheap whiskey, and operated Tombstone's first "sporting house." Her business made a sizeable income, but John didn't like her tramping around, and they had argued a lot, mostly when drunk. Then one night, she got real abusive, and he threw her out.

When she later heard that the Benson stage had been held up and that the driver, Bud Philpott had been shot dead, she told the new sheriff, Johnny Behan that John had been one of the masked highwaymen. It was a lie. She was just getting even with John for throwing her out. She wasn't proud of what she had done, and so when she sobered up, she repudiated her statement. That's how things stood. A hard rapping on the door brought her back...

"You in there, Kate?"

I surely am, she grinned and rolled off the bed. "Hold up there. I'm coming."

***

In a dark alley off the street, a twitchy Red Culpepper crouched down beside the stranger. They had the Doc propped up behind a stack of planks. He looked in a bad way. Chalk-white and limp; head lolling on his chest. The stranger looked to be checking the Doc's pulse.

Oh mercy. "Is he living?" Red started.

The stranger's "hmm" hardly reassured the Tinpan.

"Well? Is he or isn't he?"

Red got no answers as he saw the stranger pull some kind of pencil from his duds.

"What the hell you got there?" Red asked.

"This is a remote control," the stranger replied. "It can relay our position to the Tardis. The transporter will do the rest."

"Do the rest?" Red looked stumped. "I wish I knew what the hell you were talking about mister."

In the dark, Red couldn't see the Time Lord's smile. "Don't concern yourself, my good fellow," he said. "Just get in closer. I wouldn't want to leave part of your anatomy behind."

"Uh?" Red could feel a hand on his arm. "Look here, mister. If the Marshall catches us like this, he's gonna think we're party to a kidnapping. Shit, I should never have let you railroad me into doing this."

"You'll be paid for your services, Mister Culpepper, in gold. Will that do for you?"

Red huffed. "Fool's gold, most likes. I say we just leave the Doc and forget it. I won't say nuthin' . You hang on to your gold, and I'll hang on to my neck. Wha' d' ya say to that?"

"Well," The Time Lord replied, "I say that this person, this John Henry Holliday you refer to as the Doc. Well, for all intents and purposes, he's a dead man."

That's when Red heard a strange 'pip-pip' noise. It reminded him of the telegraph office machine. But this was coming from the stranger's pencil.

"Oh shit."

Now the Doc being dead an' all might seem a good reason to say such a thing, but Red was more concerned with himself. And rightly so because his feet had just, well... vanished.

***

When Kate opened the door, she smelled of whiskey, and she looked woozy -- none too steady on her feet. Morgan had to hold her up. Wyatt did the talking...

"We're looking for the Doc, Kate."

"Well, I ain't seen him all day," she grinned. "But if you want, you can come in and wait a whiles. There's plenty of whiskey to go around."

As Wyatt watched Morgan help her back to her bed, he thought Kate should know. "The Doc's taken a pasting," he said. "He's gonna need some tending."

Kate huffed. "Is that right? Well, he knows where I am."

Wyatt shook his head. "Well, you being full as a tick ain't gonna help him none."

Kate flopped on her back and lay there with an arm across her brow. "Leave me be, Wyatt. If he comes back, I'll care for him. That's how it's always been."

That's when she passed out. Wyatt and Morgan were left listening to a loud grunting that sounded like a sow at the trough. Morgan looked a mite tickled by that. "She'll have a head in
the morning," he said.

Wyatt grimaced. With Kate sleeping with her head up, there was one bit on her face you couldn't fail to see: her big hooter, and it sure was honking some. No, folk didn't call her Big-Nosed Kate for nuthin'.

"Yeah, I reckon so," he murmured.

***

In the transporter room, the Time Lord sighed at the old, stubble-chinned gold prospector in his worn cowboy duds cowering in the corner. Recruiting such a vacuous, dim-witted fellow did appear somewhat rash. However, given the urgency of the matter, the Time Lord thought he'll do...

"Come now, Mister Culpepper, there's nothing to be afraid of."

No? Red feared he might have dunked in his pants. "Where the hell am I? Jesus, what have I done to deserve this?"

With scared eyes, he looked around. They were in a round room, so bright and kind of white. Red had never seen the likes of it. There were three shimmering tubes there. Each one had a round plate to stand on. He remembered that. Then he saw the white-haired fellah dragging the "dead" Doc Holliday over the floor.

"Where are you taking him?"

"To the medical room," the Time Lord replied.

Red's head hurt. "Medical room?"

"Yes, I'm going to defibrillate his heart."

"You what?"

"Resuscitate him, Mister Culpepper. Now, hurry up! I need your help."


A few minutes later, a wheezing Red leaned against a wall. Hauling a dead man around had left him feeling tuckered out.

Across the medical room, the "dead" Doc Holliday lay on a kind of surgeon's table. Red saw all kinds of fancy instruments attached to it and, over the table, a saucer of bright light kept dazzling his eyes. Under it, he saw the Doctor fellah holding a couple of...

"What the hell you got there?" he asked. "Branding irons?"

"Not exactly, Mister Culpepper. No, these are gel pads. They enable better electrical contact with the skin. Now, will you stand back? Or do you want an electric shock?"

Red shrugged. "Dunno rightly. Will it hurt?"

"Well, let's say that the effects are rather similar to putting your hand into a pan of frying fat -- acutely painful. Now, stand back!"

"Okay, okay! Keep your breeches - " Red never got the on out. The word got stuck in his craw as he stared gaping at the shock treatment. Three times he saw a dead man fly -- Doc Holliday's body lifting off the table. Red hoped it would end soon, but hell no...

"Adrenaline," the Time Lord said aloud. "It's a cardiac stimulant. I'll need to inject intravenously -- straight into the heart."

Seeing a long, dripping needle. "Holy shit - " Red felt faint.

***

With the flickering oil-lamp doused, Wyatt lay in bed thinking...

Where the damn did they take the Doc? He couldn't figure it out. Gotta be somewhere. Can't just disappear off the face of creation... Wyatt shook his head. I should have looked some more.

From all his thinking, Wyatt kept meeting with dead ends and slowly, tiredness got the better of him until, at the door of sleep, his thoughts sounded like someone else talking in his head. Memories of another time and place... Wyatt could hear glass shattering as a hail of bullets pinged around him.

Gonna catch a death... Doc? Busting through the doors, pistols blazing. Texan cattlemen dropping like flies. Never saw anything like it.

As his sub-conscious thoughts ran free, Wyatt recalled the Doc had been on the run from a killing. Gave him protection for saving my life... Killing, hell. Wyatt smiled through his shuttered eyes.

You ain't too hard to find, Doc. You leave dead men wherever you go. Yeah, I said that... In his mind's eye, Wyatt remembered. It was after the Doc had killed three men in Santa Fe over a gambling spat.

They drew on me first, the Doc claimed. That as maybes, but then, you know he said something that I never forgot. Why is everyone so eager to die? he said. Ain't life worth living none? I surely would if I had the choice. Yeah, with his lungs being shot 'an all, the Doc's time was short. But whatever folk said about him, he had a good heart. He wouldn't let me down.

Wyatt had a few flashbacks of their move to Tombstone. Virgil was going to head up the law. Morgan and he -- Wyatt -- would be his Deputies.

We're heading north, Doc, Wyatt remembered saying his friend. Come along if you want. Likes as not, we'll be pulling some teeth.

Why, thank you, sir. I'm right obliged, the Doc said.Pulling teeth? Yes... The Clantons and McLaurys. As Confederate Cowboys, they were none too fond of us being Union men. And with the Doc being a Confederate. Well, when he sided with us, they saw him as a traitor to the Southern flag. That's what started the bad blood...

As he rolled over, Wyatt nestled against his woman. Even in his sub-conscious, her flimsy camisole enticed his hands to reach out and stroke over her undulating curves. He loved Josie Marcus. A showgirl by profession, she had many admirers, including notably, the Sheriff, Johnny Behan.

Although he was a weak lawman, Johnny Behan had political savvy, and he’d cosied up to the Clantons and McLaurys. As it suited them to have a sheriff in their pocket, they bankrolled him. In return, he turned a blind eye on their shady business dealings. So when Prima County was partitioned off and Tombstone became part of the new Cochise County, they supported his election for Sheriff. Wyatt had also been up for the job, and he had support from around town.

Seeing Wyatt as a threat, Johnny had gotten real smart and struck a deal with him. He said that if Wyatt stood down, he would appoint Wyatt as an Under Sheriff. The idea being that Wyatt would enforce the law whilst he, Johnny did the paper work. They would split the salary. At $40000 per year, that was a princely sum. But after Johnny was elected, he reneged on the deal. He appointed someone else as the under sheriff. Wyatt never forgave Johnny for double-crossing him like that.


***

In the control room of the TARDIS, John Henry Holliday lay slumped on a rotating oval pod. Although unconscious, he was alive.

As the Time Lord withdrew the hypodermic needle from the man's arm, he thought the sedative would keep him asleep for a while.

"He will fight another day, Mister Culpepper. At least the one he must."

"Uh?" As Red wheeled around in a pod of his own, he wanted to know. "Why the hell are we dragging him all over creation?"

"If you mean, why have we brought him to the control room? Well, it's because I need to set the co-ordinates so we can transport back to where we found him. In the circumstances, we should stay close together. I don't want to leave any body parts behind."

Red wasn't listening. "Look here mister, I'm plumb tuckered out. You can keep your gold. I ain't wanting it none. Just let me off this ship or whatever the hell you call it. You go your way, and I'll go mine. Can't be fairer than that, huh? What d'ya say?"

Although he had been warned not to touch anything, Red forgot and he leaned on the main console. As he did so, he "accidentally" hit the actuator on the time module. 2020, being the year the Doctor had planned to return after he had completed his mission in 1881.

"Imbecile-! What have you done-?!" the Doctor yelled.

Red didn't know, but everything had begun spinning, and he could hear this screaming like a herd of stampeding cattle as a big flashing tube pumped up and down.

***

BILLY JOE CLANTON

In the President's nuclear bunker, a chubby, middle-aged man with beady, pea-green eyes, and an immaculately groomed head of platinum colored hair sat behind his oak desk. He had his battle-dress on: Stetson, bomber-jacket, denims and cowboy boots. And as he puffed on a huge Havana cigar -- the Commander-In-Chief of the American Armed forces -- namely the President, Billy Joe Clanton pondered the hawkish features of a uniformed figure: a peak-capped General pacing around the ornately furnished bunker room.

It was his close friend, General Frew McLaury, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. They went a long way back. Clanton blew some smoke-rings airwards...

"So what's on your mind, Frew boy?" he drawled.

"Well, I was wondering if you were aiming to order a retaliatory strike, Mister President," McLaury replied.

"No, I'm aiming to order a pre-emptive strike," Clanton said. "The world ain't big enough for two super-powers, and so Li Wang and his Chinese Republic is going down." Then Clanton thought to add: "Of course, I would have preferred a political settlement, but those Commie shites have been fucking with us for too long now."

His face turned a bottled red as his anger soared. "If Wang reckons targeting our cities with his missiles is gonna scare me, he don't know nuthin' about Billy Joe Clanton."

"That's fighting talk, Mister President."

"Damn right it is, Frew. I mean, I' m a reasonable man. Sure, I know the Arab oil' s dried up, an' we gotta pay the going rate, but Wang's putting a noose around our neck. He's bleeding us dry. If we don't act now and show him who's top-dog, the whole darn world's gonna be stir fry."

"You bet," McLaury replied. "Just one thing though. There's gonna be casualties, Mister President. We won't be able to stymie all their incoming missiles."

Clanton sighed. "I know that Frew. And I am deeply saddened to know that American lives must be sacrificed for the common good. But we need to get our hands on that Commie crude. If it means the world's gotta go into hibernation for a while, then what the hell? It's pay-back time, Frew. You with me on this?"

McLaury straightened up to salute. "Yes, sir! All the way!" But then, he had a thought. "What about a news release?"

Clanton shrugged. "Right. Well, we all know China's a damn terrorist resort. The shites dump their dirty bombs abroad, and while people are dying from the hot water, their killers are sunning themselves on Wang's beaches eating lychees." He went on...

"Okay, so they ain't dropped any nuclear confetti on us just yet," he said. "But let's say they have, 'kay? New York, that's a site the Commies will nuke anyway. So yeah, I stand corrected, Frew boy. We're going for a retaliatory strike."

McLaury nodded. "You wanna call in the football?"

Football? Billy Joe thought Frew meant there was a game on TV.

"Uh? The Redskins playing today?"

"No, Mister President. I mean the football ." Frew nodded back at the door. "It's with our man outside."

Billy Joe was a little slow to catch on, but then he did. The football was a briefcase that contained the release codes that he, the president, could transmit to the launch sites. And the quarterback -- a military officer -- was holding the football outside in the ante-room.

Clanton puffed on his Havana. "Hell, why didn't you say so? Sure, call him in. Let's get it on."

***

In the TARDIS, Doc Holliday lay slumped in the pod-like chair. He was almost a forgotten man as the Time Lord stood over the main console. In activating the plasma screen, he wanted to see what was going on outside.

Red Culpepper groaned as he giddily found his legs and stood up. What with all the spinning and all, he felt like he'd been treading the gin mill.

"I've been dreaming, right?"

"No, Mister Culpepper, I'm afraid not," the Time Lord replied.

"Dang..." Him again. Red rolled his eyes. "Why is this happening to me?"

The Time Lord sighed. "It's happening because -- being the imbecile you are -- you brought us to the year 2020 before I had intended."

Imbecile? Is he being nice, now? Red had no idea. He'd never heard of the word before. "Look, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, mister. Just let me get my mule, and I won't bother you no more."

The Time Lord grimaced. "I wish it were that simple, Mr. Culpepper. Here, take a look. You are seeing the world as it is in the year 2020."

"Uh?" Red's eyes boggled as he saw a picture appear on the wall. "Hell, what's that?" he asked. "Looks like some damn mushroom cloud. Ain't seen one of them before."

"No, Mister Culpepper. And you don't want to see one. For if you do, it will be the last thing you ever see," the Time Lord replied.

"You're scaring me, mister," Red said.

The Time Lord smiled to say: "Take heart. The calamity that would befall the world will only happen if our guest - " He looked toward the hapless Doc Holliday - "Is not returned to his bed... alive."

It was way over what Red could figure out, but there was something in the stranger's words that put him at ease.

"Whatever you say, mister. Now can we go back? I feel out of place here."

The Time Lord laughed. "Believe me, you're not the only one."

***

A few hours later...

In only his underpants, Doc Holliday lay on the bed. His ribs hurt badly, but Kate was with him. She had tended to him and bandaged him up.

As she cuddled up beside him in the darkened room, Kate heard the Doc cough and splutter as he took a slug from the Bourbon bottle. She recalled an old man. He had white hair and sounded foreign. She had hardly understood a word he had said.

"That Tinpan, Red Culpepper. Him and some Doctor, I think. They helped you."


As the liquor burned in his throat, the Doc wheezed. "Well, I don't rightly recollect. All I can recall was passing out. Next thing I remember was seeing your comely face."

"Aww..." Kate kissed him. "Well, either ways, it was kindly of them bringing you back here."

The Doc thought so too. "Yeah, I reckon so. I'm indebted to them."

Kate kissed his brow. "Hush John," she whispered. "You rest up some."

The Doc smiled in the darkness. "You know what, Kate? I'm just thinking on how I might die."

Kate knew he had consumption and was likely dying, but she'd never say that. "You'll be fine," she said.

The Doc grinned. "Well, it don't matter none, but -" He wiggled his sockless toes, "I ain't gonna die without my boots on. A man's got his pride."

***

Tombstone.

October 26th, 1881

3am.

In the Occidental saloon, a few hardy patrons stood at the bar sharing smalltalk with the saloonkeeper. Some ways back, Red Culpepper sat at one of the tables. He had a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He poured himself another shot.

A belly-full of liquor made all things possible. And as Red blearily eyed the black-suited, and pasty-faced, white-haired Doctor sitting opposite him, he could almost believe what he'd seen in the barn. The stranger's wagon... it had no wheels. How in creation did it move? And why did it look like a damn hut with a door on the outside?

Red shook his head. He thought that if his mule hadn't nickered at him, he would have gone plain loco. But then, what of the picture show in the stranger's wagon? Mushroom clouds? Hell, he didn't know what to make of it all, but then, there was one thing he did know about.

"Hey, mister. That nugget you bought the whiskey with. Is there any more where that came from?"

Across the table, the teetotal Time Lord sipped from a glass of water as he replied: "Oh yes, we have an abundance of the mineral on my home planet. Gold, as you call it, is completely worthless there."

"Don't say?" Red's eyes brightened. "Well, you won't mind giving me all you got then."

The Time Lord laughed. "You'll get what's coming to you, Mister Culpepper. Now, can we get back to what I was saying?"

At the prospect of gold filling his pockets, Red duly nodded.

"You go right ahead, mister. I'm listening real good."

"Yes well," the Time Lord replied. "As I was saying, the president in the year we visited -- 2020, was one Billy Joe Clanton who is a direct descendant of someone you know as... Billy Clanton."

Red's eyes boggled. "You don't say? Hell, I can tell you a story about him."

"Can you, indeed?"

"Damn right I can." Red slugged the whiskey down in one gulp. "Ahh... that's good. Yeah well..." He wiped his mouth and poured another. "He stole Wyatt Earp's -- horse, you know? Well, Wyatt went and confronted Billy about it."

"Do go on," the Time Lord said.

"Well, Billy said it was finders keepers," Red said. "There was a standoff with him and Wyatt, but in the end, Billy backed down and Wyatt took his horse back. Anyhow, they got differences and don't like each other none."

"Yes well, I suspect they will settle their differences today," the Time Lord assured him. "The future dictates that one or the other of them will cease to be."

Red puffed his cheeks. "All this fancy talk, mister. Hell, I wish you'd just talk plain. Hey -" He saw his 'pardner' standing - "You leaving?"

The Time Lord smiled. "Using a table for pillow talk is not my custom. I'll leave that to your good self."

"Uh?" Red didn't rightly care. "Well, that's up to you, mister. I got all the company I need. The whiskey here and me have got right acquainted."

"So I see," the Time Lord replied. "Then I'll say goodnight to you, Mister Culpepper."

"Uh?" Red could think straight when he needed to. "What about the gold you promised me?"

"Ah yes, I haven't forgotten, but the day is young," the Time Lord replied. "Much can happen between now and tonight." Then with a wry grin, he added: "Wait until the dust settles, then I'll settle my debt with you. You know where to find me."

"Wait until the dust settles? Why? What's gonna happen?" Red wanted to know.

"A storm is brewing, Mister Culpepper. And it's closer than you think."

"Damn if I know what you mean," Red said.

Just then, the appearance in the saloon of a big, swarthy looking man with whiskers, and a cold glint in his eyes made Red look-see who it was. The man wore dusty cowboy duds, a cattleman's hat, and a bandanna. He had no gun-belt on.

Ike Clanton. Red didn't want to be troubling him. That's when he remembered his pardner's vanishing trick with the pencil. He could get them from one place to another in a puff of smoke.

"Say - " Red's head swiveled round. "What about-? Uh-?" Pardner?"Where the hell-? Darn it! What about me-?"

The Time Lord had already done the trick.

***

Later that morning, Doc Holliday woke up feeling dandy, and as he sat on the four-poster bed in his long-pants pulling on his socks, he heard Kate snoring behind him.

"Damn it," he grinned to himself. "An' she wonders why I drink so. How else can a man sleep?"

For a moment, he stopped and thought some. He remembered Ike Clanton giving him a beating; then he remembered passing out. After that, it seemed like he'd been dreaming. He remembered the faces of some stranger, and the old Tinpan, Red Culpepper giving him a helping hand. And hell, if it didn't feel like he'd been levitating...

The Doc laughed at his own foolishness. "Okay, let's go see Wyatt. Maybe he wants some teeth pulling."

After cleaning himself up, the Doc headed for the courthouse. He thought it likely to find the Earps there.

***

Earlier, a roostered Ike Clanton had snuck a rifle from behind the bar of the Occidental saloon, and ran off down the street threatening to shoot the first Earp he saw.

When Virgil heard about it, he called his brother Morgan. Then he loaded his ten-gauge, sawn-off shotgun. When his brother arrived, they went looking for Ike. They found him, but by the time they did, the whiskey had caught up with the cowboy, and he was sleeping face down at a table in the Occidental saloon.

Morgan seized the offending rifle from under Ike's nose. As he did so, Virgil shoved the
cocked shotgun barrels into Ike's gaping mouth. Woken so rudely, Ike looked kind of speechless with his mouth full. Then Virgil said to him...

"I'm arresting you for violating the town ordinance. You gonna come peaceable, or do you wanna eat this?"

In the circumstances, Ike put his hands up. Morgan cuffed him and helped him to his feet. After that, Virgil removed the barrels from Ike's mouth and motioned with the shotgun...

"Now move."

As the big man lumbered towards the exit, Virgil followed. He kept his cocked shotgun aimed at the cowboy's back. He didn't anticipate any trouble. As for Morgan, the sight of Red Culpepper sleeping at another table reminded him of the night before...

"Can you manage, Virgil? I need to speak with this man."

His brother nodded. "I'll be fine. I'll see you in the courthouse."

Morgan nodded, and as Ike Clanton and Virgil left the saloon, he walked over to the Tinpan's table. An empty whiskey bottle said a lot, as Morgan started shaking the man's shoulder...

"Come on, now. Wake up, old timer."

It took a few seconds to get any response. Then...

"Uh? What-?"

For a moment, Red thought the black duds belonged to his pardner, but then he saw the gun-belt, and the wide-brimmed black hat.

"Marshall?"

"I've been looking for you, Red," Morgan replied.

"Oh? Why's that?" Red blinked a lot as he tried to unscramble his brains.


"Wyatt and I saw you and some stranger helping the Doc last night," Morgan said. "Where did you go? Is the Doc alright? I want answers, and I want them now."

Red scratched his head. "Yeah, yeah. Well, I got railroaded into helping out. The stranger said he was a doctor."

"What doctor?"

"A traveling doctor," Red replied. "Just passing through, he said. I bumped into him down by the OK Corral. He's got his wagon there. Anyways, he wanted the saloon and I said I'd show him. That's when we saw Doc Holliday lying in the street. The stranger said he could treat him."

"And did he?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah, we took the Doc back to the stranger's wagon. He gave the Doc some medicine and then we took him back to his room. That's all there is to it, Marshall."

Morgan thought about it. "Well, I didn't see any wagon by the Corral."

Red shrugged. "He must have gone already."

"Hmm. Well, I'm gonna look into this. In the meantime, I don't want you leaving town. You hear?"

Red wasn't planning to. "I hear you, Marshall."

***

For disturbing the peace, Ike Clanton was fined $25, but when the judge made his ruling, Ike pointed at his accusers, Virgil and Wyatt Earp who were sitting way back in the courtroom.

"You Earps are living on borrowed time, " he bawled. "We're coming for you! You'd better believe it! You Unionist shits!"

Wyatt got riled and replied: "If you are so anxious to make a fight, I will go anywhere on Earth to make a fight with you."

"Well, don't go too far!" Ike blared across the courtroom. "Today will be just fine!"

Wyatt retaliated. "You should go home, Ike. You talk too much for a fighting man!"

Later, on his way out of the court, Wyatt chanced upon Ike Clanton's friend, Frank McLaury. Wyatt was still upset from his confrontation with Ike and seeing a McLaury walking his way didn't sweeten his disposition. "What do you want?" he snapped at the cowboy.

A hard case, Frank McLaury would kill a man if pressed. But he had come in unarmed.

"I want nothing with you, Earp. I'm here to collect Ike," he said. "But maybe you pig-shits have killed him, already."

Wyatt drew his gun. McLaury laughed to see it. Folk in the street were watching.

"Go ahead, kill me. It'd be worth it if I knew your head would swing."

Wyatt feigned to turn away, and then flipping the pistol over to grip the barrel, he swung around and pistol-whipped McLaury hard on the head. Everyone saw it as McLaury groaned and slumped onto his knees.

Doc Holliday also saw it, and he came running as Wyatt raised his pistol again to hit the bloodied McLaury. In his rage, Wyatt didn't even know the Doc was there until his friend grabbed at his arm -

"Easy, Wyatt! This ain't the way."

"Uh?" Doc? The red mist cleared from Wyatt's eyes. "Doc? Damn it! I thought you were a goner!"

The Doc laughed. "Hell, no. I've got a few hands to play yet."

As Wyatt re-holstered his pistol, Tom McLaury slowly got to his feet. His pride hurt more than the head he nursed.

"The next time I see you, I'm gonna kill you, Earp," he snarled.

Wyatt's laugh hacked bitter. "Must be a day for promising. Now get out of my face."

McLaury bit his lip. Seeing Doc Holliday with Wyatt Earp dissuaded him from saying any more.

As McLaury slunk away, Wyatt turned to the Doc."What the hell happened to you last night? I see that Tinpan, Red Culpepper and some stranger helping you. Where did they take you?"

The Doc shrugged. "I don't rightly recall. You'd best ask them."

There would be no need. Morgan was heading across the street. He had the answers.

Come the afternoon, the Clanton and McLaury gang had gathered at the OK Corral. They were itching for a fight.

***

SHOWDOWN

We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it - and stop there..."

-- Mark Twain

Inside the TARDIS, the Time Lord sat in his pod-like chair reconfiguring the external chameleon circuit that enabled him to interface with the real world.The interface could look like anything. A doorway. A clock.

From the computer readouts, he knew that the shoot-out between the Clanton-McLaury gang and the Earps and Doc Holliday would take place in the streets of Tombstone. As such, he configured the TARDIS to morph within the clocktower above the funeral parlor. It would give him an ideal vantage point from where he could "watch" history being made. Even the Doctor had a
sense of humor.

***

In the sheriff's office, the Doc had his right hand raised and, in his left hand, he held a bible as Marshal Virgil Earp swore him in as Deputy. Wyatt and Morgan stood witness. Sheriff Johnny Behan was also there. He sat behind his desk looking incredulous as he heard the Doc repeating Virgil's words.

"...I do solemnly swear that I have not engaged in any duel to fight or accepted a challenge for that purpose..."

Like hell, he has, Behan thought. That dead-eyed charmer has sent more folk to the bone
orchard than Jesse James.

Behan grimaced to hear the Doc declaring, "I will honestly perform the duties of Deputy Marshall to the best of my ability. So Help Me God."

God help us, Behan thought as he watched Virgil hand the Doc a badge of office and say, "Alright. You're legal now."

Behan consoled himself with the thought that sooner or later, a bounty would be put on the Doc's head, and when that happened, he'd sure as hell catch his death. But even if he didn't die by a bounty hunter's bullet, Behan thought the "lunger" was living on borrowed time. He'll be a daisy before long, he thought. I can live with that prospect. But then, there was one man he couldn't abide alive -- Wyatt Earp. Both had wanted the sheriff's job, and both had wanted the same woman. After some double-crossing, Behan had got the sheriff's job, but Wyatt had got the woman -- his woman, Josie Marcus. For that, Behan hated him more than any man alive.

As Doc Holliday and the Earps filed out of his office, Behan waited until -- the last man out -- Wyatt reached the door. Like his brothers and the Doc, he carried a ten-gauge sawn-off shotgun. He had a pistol tucked in his gun-belt and a holstered twelve-inch long-barreled Buntline Special slung low at his side. In his black, long-tailed coat and wide-brimmed hat, he posed a mean spectacle as Johnny sat up to bait him.

"Dying ain't much of a living, Wyatt, but I guess you're stupid enough to do it."

Wyatt's face looked set in stone as he ground out the words. "Why hell, Josie was right when she said, you ain't got what it takes to be a man, Johnny."

If looks could kill, Johnny's would. He knew Wyatt wasn't calling him a coward for staying out of the fight. No, it was about his failure as a "man." He had trouble keeping his pecker up.

***

A wind had got up. Loose rafters rattled and hanging shop-signs swung and creaked along the plank-walks of Tombstone. It looked like a ghost town. Shops were locked up and shutters were drawn. But folk were home. They were inside watching the street from everywhere they could. A showdown between the cowboys and the lawmen had been a long time coming, and folk didn't want to miss the show.

In the Occidental saloon, the loud clatter of chairs and clumping of feet woke Red Culpepper from his sleeping. Blinking fiercely through liquor-shot eyes, he saw hardy patrons crowding the windows and the swing-gates of the saloon.

"Uh? What's got into them?" he grumbled.

A lonesome bottle of whiskey on another table sharpened his focus. He grabbed it for company and made his way over to join them. He could hear some whispering about a shootout, then it all fell silent. Red craned his neck to look-see why. Then he saw them... the Earps and Doc Holliday passing by the saloon.

"Oh shit," he mouthed to himself. "It's coming true. " They will settle their differences today, his pardner -- the Doctor -- had said. So where is he? Red thought. He looked along the plank-walks and at buildings across the street. He almost expected to see the Doctor appear out of nowhere. Then for no reason he could think of, he looked up at the clock tower over the funeral parlor.

By the time the Earp party reached the OK Corral, the storm had worsened. Dust whorls swirled around as tumbleweed bounced like balls down the main street. The Clanton and McLaury horses were tethered in the Corral, but the cowboys had made themselves scarce.

Virgil Earp had his finger on the trigger of the shotgun he held across his chest, and as his coat's long-tails flapped in the wind, he yelled, "Okay. Fan out and keep your eyes peeled!"

He didn't know it, but the cowboys were waiting in an alley next to a Photo Shop. There was Ike Clanton and his younger brother, Billy. And with them, were the McLaury brothers, Tom and Frank. Frank aimed to kill Wyatt Earp for the pistol-whipping he'd taken that morning.

"That son-of-a-bitch is gonna pay for what he did to me," he growled.

As Ike Clanton filled the chamber of his Colt .45, he said. "No, Frank. You've gotta deal with Doc Holliday first. He's too quick to let be."

Frank's eyes narrowed as he said, "Then I'll kill 'em both."

Ike huffed. "Lead's gonna be flying out there, Frank, and you might catch a slug before you get the chance so... no, you leave Wyatt to me," he said. Then after twirling his loaded gun-barrel, he shoved the pistol in his trouser belt behind his back. "I've got it figured," he smirked. "I'm gonna put my hands up and say I'm unarmed. He won't kill me."

Frank looked puzzled. "What? With a pistol in your belt?"

"Well, Wyatt ain't gonna see it. Not 'til you run out and distract him. That'll give me all the time I need to kill him."

"Smart thinking, Ike," Frank grinned. "I like it."

Billy butted in to ask his brother, "What about me and Tom? How do we fit in?"

"You bide your time," Ike replied. "Keep your pistols hidden. Say you're unarmed and say you don't wanna fight. In this dust storm, they won't be seeing too well. That'll give us an edge, an' that's all we need."

At only nineteen, Billy looked a fresh-faced kid, but he had a wild spirit. Rustling cattle or horses, shooting up the town, bedding any woman he could, and going on benders made his life just fine.

"Well, I'm ready," he said.

As for Tom McLaury, he didn't say much. He hated Unionists and the Earps were that, and he particularly despised Doc Holliday for siding with the Unionists. "That makes him a traitor in my book," he'd said more than once. Killing him would be southern justice, and killing the Earps would be good for business.

"Let's get back to running this town," was all he had to say.

Ike nodded. "You're damn right, Tom. Now, let's do it."

***

Above the funeral parlor, the Time Lord sat watching events unfold on the plasma screen. He could discern the opposing factions closing in on each other, but the dust storm made viewing difficult.

The Time Lord thought that by reviving Doc Holliday, a legend would be born and the future of the world would be secured: Billy Clanton's descendant -- Billy Joe would never be born to become president, and the nuclear holocaust of 2020 would be averted. That time line would be erased.

But what if I am mistaken? he thought. My being here is changing history. So what if I am the anomaly -- the origin of the alternate time line? If so, the shootout at the OK Corral could yet be a catalyst for disaster.

***

As the wind howled and thick dust clouds rolled across the main street, four figures of the law -- the Earps and Doc Holliday -- slowly walked out of the sandy fog.

Upon seeing three of the cowboys waiting for them, they came to a halt. The Doc put his shotgun back inside his coat, and tucked his thumbs inside his gun-belt. He had a mind to chivvy up Billy Clanton. He couldn't see much to beat.

"Hey Billy! I be your huckleberry!" he called out.

Billy bit his lip and did what his brother had told him. "I ain't armed!" he yelled. "Don't shoot!"

As with his brothers, Virgil kept his shotgun pointed. He had sand in his eyes and they stung. "Alright! Keep 'em up where we can see 'em. If I see your hands drop, I'll shoot!"

Then Tom McLaury opened his coat to "show" he was unarmed.

Morgan marked him. "Throw up your hands, Tom. And walk this way!"

Ike made his move. He began walking towards Wyatt with his hands up. "I ain't armed, Wyatt. You won't kill me, will you?" he asked.

It was just then that the Doc alerted his friend. "Where's Frank McLaury-? " he shouted. "I don't see him!"

Wyatt leveled his shotgun at Ike. "Get on your knees, you shit! Or so help me, I'll kill you now!"

In that moment, the dust swirled again, and nerves snapped as all hell broke loose.

Frank McLaury ducked out of the alley and ran out. He kept side-on, his shooting arm held straight out like a duelist as he fired at will. In all the confusion, his brother, Tom and Billy Clanton went for their guns.

Instinctively, Wyatt turned his barrels on Frank. That was his mistake as -- in the blur of action -- Ike pulled his hidden gun and shot Wyatt Earp through the heart.

***

FOR A FEW SECONDS MORE

As the Time Lord watched the events unfold on the plasma screen in the TARDIS, he became increasingly agitated by the behavior of the four cowboys in the alley. Their furtive actions made him suspect a ruse afoot. More so when only three of them walked into the street to await their foe. Then, in their confrontation with the Earps and Doc Holliday, he saw the cowboys demonstrating that they were "unarmed". He knew that wasn't so. He had seen them conceal their weapons while in the alley, but as the dust storm worsened, he knew that it would be impossible for the Earps and Doc Holliday to see if the cowboys carried weapons or not.

The Time Lord feared that this could be the anomaly. History would be written in the next few seconds. He had to be there. And the only way he could achieve this was to project part of himself into the street below. As dark matter, he would be invisible to them, but should he deem it imperative to interject, he could -- at any given instant -- morph himself into a duplicate of any person at the scene. However, once he did that, he would be governed by physical properties -- he could be killed.

The Time Lord looked at his wrinkled skin. He had aged, and he smiled as he thought, Well, this body has seen better days.

***

Briefly, as sand and dust blew into his face, Ike knelt gloating over the dead man lying at his feet. I've killed him. I've killed Wyatt Earp raced through his mind.

He wanted to yell it out, but bullets were raining around him, and as the wind of one whistled past his ear, he flinched and for a split-second, he turned his head away. When he looked again, he saw a dead man... walking.

"Mercy -- this can't be!" he yelped. One second Wyatt Earp had been lying dead at his feet, and in the next, he had come alive again; standing there a few feet away - all guns blazing.

Stricken dumb, Ike's eyes bulged, and his mouth flopped open. His gun dropped from his hand as a smoking shell spat on his boot. He fell backwards onto his butt and elbows, and for a few seconds more, he cowered in fear of a world he didn't know, but then an instinct for survival clicked in, and he scrambled to his feet crying: "Don't kill me! Don't kill me!"

As the dust clouds rolled away, Wyatt saw Ike running for his life. "You yellow-bellied snake!" he yelled. He had his shotgun raised to shoot, but its barrels were smoking on empty. He had to re-load.

Billy Clanton kept low in a crouched position. He held his pistol across his knee for accuracy. His shot hit Morgan in the side. Morgan clutched at the flesh wound before he started shooting again. Billy's next shot splintered Virgil's shank-bone. In agony, the Marshall slumped onto the ground, but he continued firing from where he fell. Wyatt and Morgan kept firing at Billy.

Finally, Billy heard death knocking when he felt himself punched in the ribs. He could taste the blood filling his mouth, but he didn't feel any pain, only a cold numbness flooding through his veins as he slumped onto his knees, and dropped his pistol. As if in prayer, he looked down at the ground.

"Dang. If that don't beat all," he smiled.

Then he died.

Tom McLaury's wild shooting had let him down. And when he saw the Doc pull a sawn-off shotgun out from his coat and level it at him, he panicked and fled from the street. He never made it out. The hot thud of lead hitting his back was the last memory Tom ever had.

When Frank McLaury had dashed across the street firing his pistol, he managed to wing the Doc, but only in his hip. Now as the two gunfighters faced off, Frank backed up and put distance between himself and his rival. He thought it would be in his favor, for in a standing position, he could shoot the hat off a man from fifty paces, but that wasn't his aim as he laid the pistol across his arm. He could see the Doc had tossed away the used shotgun. He had no pistol to hand.

"You're a dead man, Holliday."

Frank fired, but he was slow on the trigger. In that time, the Doc's gun-hand moved like greased-lightning as he drew, fired, and re-holstered his pistol.

"Well, if you're gonna shoot, shoot. Don't talk," he said.

For a few seconds more, Frank stood looking bewildered as he clutched his chest and stared at his deadly rival. Then he staggered away, the pistol limp in his hand as the earth veered up before his eyes.

It was over, and the gusting wind echoed an eerie specter as curls of dust swept along the main street. Frank and Tom McLaury lay face down in the dirt, and the hunched over Billy Clanton had set stiff on his knees.

As Morgan and Doc Holliday looked on, Wyatt knelt down beside the grimacing Virgil. He could see his brother's leg needed tending.

"We'd better get that in a splint," he said. "Let's get him up."

***

Back in the TARDIS, a figure rose from the floor. The changed appearance of the Time Lord's second incarnation resembled a much younger fellow. He looked shorter in stature, and almost scarecrow-like in a carpetbagger suit. Instead of wispy, white strands of hair, he now sported a thick, black mop with a fringe. His eyes, no longer a teary-blue, were now larger, black saucer-like eyes seeming to stare out of a dark and distant place.

As he sat in the pod-like chair, he knew that, had he not intervened and sacrificed a generation of his life, Ike Clanton would have killed Wyatt Earp. The consequences of which would have been catastrophic for the planet. Ike's younger brother, Billy would have lived on, and his descendant, Billy Joe Clanton would have risen to become president in the year, 2020. His gung-ho leadership would have provoked a war to ends all wars. But now, that calamity had been averted. Wyatt Earp's bullet had killed Billy. Earth's future time was secure. The alternate Time Line had been displaced.

"A most satisfactory outcome," the Time Lord said to himself.

He leaned over the system console to reset the time actuator. He had a mind to return to his home planet, Gallifrey, but before he could go, he had one trifling matter to attend to.

"Mister Culpepper's gold. How would he live without it?" he smiled.


***

Ike Clanton had been hiding in Fly's photo-shop doorway when he saw his brother killed. It had pained his heart, and he had cried bitterly over Billy's death. Now as he stood in the sheriff's office, his duds all dust-caked and his face sweating grime, the tiredness and whiskey that had
confused him into thinking he had shot Wyatt Earp was gone.

"That son-of-a-bitch killed my brother!" he bawled. "What are you gonna do about it, Behan?!"

A murder charge? Johnny got up from his desk and collected a rifle from the rack. "Are you sure about this, Ike?"

"As God is my witness," Ike said. "I'm telling you my brother, Billy put his hands up to surrender, and that Yankee skunk, Wyatt Earp shot him dead."

For right or wrong, the thought of putting a noose around Wyatt's neck warmed Johnny's heart. But he needed more than Ike's word to charge a deputy Marshall with murder.

"All right," he said. "You stay put. If I'm gonna arrest him, you're gonna have to sign an affidavit saying what you saw is true."

"I will do that," Ike replied. "Now, where's your goddamn whiskey? I'm dying here."

Johnny motioned back at his desk, and Ike lumbered over to it and sat himself down. He pulled open the drawer and helped himself to the bottle. Johnny watched the big man use his teeth to grip the bottle's cork and spit it out. Then as Ike had his fill, Johnny thought to ask him one question.

"How come Wyatt didn't shoot you?" he asked.

Ike grimaced and leaned back in the sheriff's chair as the liquor's fire burned his chest.

"I guess I got lucky," he said. "I had my hands up and I said to him, 'I ain't armed'. He aimed his shotgun at me, and I knew he itched to pull the trigger. Hell, if it hadn't been for the dust blowing in his face, I'd be in the bone orchard now."

***

In the Occidental saloon, numerous bottles of whiskey and glasses cluttered up the bar. Patrons were crowding around. Talk of the shootout was on everybody's lips. Who had shot whom? And had all the cowboys been armed? No one knew for sure. The dust storm had made seeing difficult.

With whiskered chins wagging around him, Red took another snort of his oh-be-joyful, and wiped his mouth.

"They were packing, all right," he said. "Hell, I saw Ike loose off his pistol."

A bleary-faced cowboy smelling of whiskey breath butted in. "Hell, you did. I saw him running like he had the wind up his ass."

Then a fat man in tight breeches and wearing a bowler hat said: "Tom McLaury took off too, but he went down in a heap. Shot in the back, I'd say. That ain't right," he added. "And what about Billy Clanton and Frank McLaury? They got killed, and it weren't by accident."

Red shrugged. "Well, seems like Virgil, Morgan and the Doc got holed as well. Them weren't accidents neither."

"Well, every which way you look at it, it was a killing party," the fat man said. "This'll end up in the courthouse, you mark my words."

"Most likes," Red murmured. His whiskey bottle had run dry, and he had a hole in his pocket. Who could stake him? Who? "Shit!" He'd almost forgotten him -- the stranger. Wait until the dust settles, then I'll settle my debt with you. You know where to find me.

In the liquor stinking, smoke-filled saloon, men could disappear in the soused brew. And as Red lurched off towards the exit, only one patron -- the bleary-faced cowboy -- saw him leave. "Where you going?" he called out. "I thought you were here for the duration."

Red waved a hand. "I'll be back. Just gotta tend to my mule," he said.

***

Some way down the main street, Wyatt and the Doc held up the hobbling Virgil. Behind them, Morgan limped along holding the flesh wound in his side.

When Johnny Behan caught up with them, other folk were appearing along the plank-walk and in the street. A few were milling around the dead men, but most were watching the sheriff as he came up beside Wyatt and jabbed him with his rifle.

"Stop where you are, Wyatt. You're under arrest!"

Wyatt looked unconcerned as he turned aside: "Not today, Johnny. I'm taking Virgil home." And then mindful of the rifle being pointed at him, he added: "And put that away. There ain't no ladies here for you to impress. But I tell you what! You can get a wagon and clean up the shit in the street. You're good at that."

Johnny heard some cackling behind his back. Folk had overheard Wyatt putting him down. Having his name stained in such a way made him mad, and he looked real determined as he cocked the rifle's hammer to force home his intent.

"I won't tell you a second time. You're coming with me!"

As Wyatt stopped in his tracks and stared coldly at Johnny, Johnny saw the Doc's pistol appear from around Virgil's side. It was aimed low, pointing between his legs.

"I'll make it easy for you," the Doc said. "You can be a hero, or you can keep your balls on."

Johnny swallowed hard and lowered his rifle. "I get your point."

The Doc grinned. "That's a fact, you do."

***

GOLD

The grimly humorous phrase about our town was that Tombstone had 'a man for breakfast every morning'"

-- Josephine Sarah Marcus, actress


In the barn at the OK Corral, Red Culpepper lay amongst the hay in a horse box. His snoring had begun to bother his mule. It kept tossing its head, nickering to wake its master.

After some time, Red's dreams became unsettled: his journeys with the stranger, his "pardner" --the Doctor or whoever he was. Red kept seeing a horse-less wagon flying in the sky and a mushroom cloud on the wall. Them and "gold" nuggets flying around as a whiff of something none too sweet twitched his hooter.

Red's waking grunt was mindful of something warm, soft and...

"What the-?"

As his mule nickered, tossing its head, Red jumped quicker than he ever had as he looked in disgust at what he held. "Damn in hell!" He was covered in it. And in his hand, he held a lump of the offending

"Horse shit!"

Sometimes, desperate stinks called for desperate acts. Red ran outside the barn and without thinking none, he jumped into the water trough. He had never done the like, and probably never would again. It was damn freezing, but if nothing else, it cleared his head some.

As he sat there, staring at the sunlight glinting off the water in the trough, he recalled the night before. He had come looking for the stranger to get his gold. Or had he? It all seemed like a soused dream, unreal, and it hadn't taken long before he had passed out. In all truth, Red didn't know what was real or not anymore.

***

Back home, Virgil Earp lay flat on his back on the parlor table. His trouser-leg had been torn back to reveal his splintered and bloodied shank-bone. Wyatt was watching Virgil's wife, Allie, strap a splint to her husband's leg. A good-looking woman in gathered skirts and blouse, she had put on a pinafore and pinned her long, auburn hair in a bun.

As Wyatt fingered his walrus-like moustache, he thought Virgil trusted Allie more than any man. She knew about nursing, and she wouldn't let anyone else get near him -- not even the surgeon they'd called for. Maybe it was his reputation as being a "saw" man that Allie took exception to, but she had sent him packing. "Be gone with you!" she'd screamed at him. "You ain't gonna take my man's leg off!"

The surgeon had protested by saying: "I can assure you madam, that I have no such intention." But it made no difference. And thinking back, Wyatt didn't think much of him either. He'd brought some whiskey with him, and from the smell on him, he'd been drinking it.

With the surgeon gone, Allie had done a fine job in fixing up Virgil's leg. Wyatt admired the way she dug the bullet out of Virgil's shank-bone with a cauterized knife. That took gumption.

Allie finished strapping the splint, and then smiling fondly at her unconscious husband, she gently stroked his brow. "Can we get him up to bed now?" she said.

Wyatt glanced around the parlor. He saw Morgan lounging in a walnut-cushioned chair. His flesh wound had been bandaged up, but he looked pale and drawn, and had his eyes closed. Wyatt let him be.

"I'll get the Doc," he said.

In the kitchen room, the Doc was bending over a chair. He'd dropped his pants, and Wyatt's lady, Josie Marcus stood dabbing the Doc's "cheek" with antiseptic cotton. In her black, lace dress, she looked bewitching: her long raven hair hanging like twin-drapes down the sides of her angelic face.

Wyatt loved her, and he smiled at her when she saw him there. But then, upon seeing the Doc's blushes, it tickled him to say: "Well, I'll be -- I didn't know you two were so well acquainted!"

The Doc grimaced. "Don't say anything, Wyatt. This ain't of my choosing."

"You don't say?" Wyatt replied. "Well, you best watch you don't catch a draft."

Josie sighed at Wyatt's jest. "Don't mind him, Doc," she smiled. And then wagging a playful finger, she chided Wyatt. "You hush now," she said.

Wyatt put his hands up, surrendering. "Okay, I know when I'm beat," he grinned.

Josie finished tending to the Doc's wound, and then as he dressed his dignity, she had words with Wyatt. It worried her that he had been accused of murdering Billy Clanton. "Where do you think this killing is all going to end?" she said

Wyatt shrugged, " I don't know that, Josie."

The Doc had something to say on that. "These feuds don't ever end," he said. "The cowboys' allies will come looking for blood. I'd lay the Reaper's Ace on that."

"An' I'll cover it!" Wyatt snapped. "I ain't backed off a fight in my life, and I don't aim to start now!"

And more's the pity, Josie thought, for she feared the Doc was right in what he said.

***

As Red reached the General Store, he looked a worried man. He had spent his gold dust on oiling his whiskey habit, and now that he had no one to bail him out, he couldn't pay for his provisions or his mule's feed. What's more, he still owed for his last order, and he couldn't see the proprietor extending his credit. Hell, all he had in the world was his mule. He wouldn't trade that in.

As Red pushed open the door, a bell tinkled. Inside the shop, it smelled stale and sweaty. A dusty gloom filled the place. Pots and pans hung from hooks, and grocery bags and sacks of grain stacked up the space.

Behind the counter -- the proprietor -- a big, fat man called Bob smoked on a cigar. He had a soiled vest on, and a grimy apron was strung round his bulging gut. Upon seeing Red, the slack on his chin wobbled some as he broke into a gummy grin. "Well, look-ee here, if it ain't the Tinpan. I was wondering when you'd show your ugly face in here."

Red looked nervous and began fidgeting. "It ain't what you think, Bob. I've been meaning to come in, but times have been lean. You gotta believe me."

Bob's tiny pea-green eyes shrunk even smaller as he tried to figure out a dumb Tinpan. "Uh? What the hell you talking about? Your friend came in and settled up. Your tab's clean," he said, then added: "I put your order on the rig out back."

Order? Rig? I ain't got a damn rig, Red thought. But he wasn't so stupid to admit to such a thing. "You don't say? Well, I guess I'm right obliged..."

Bob grunted as he thought back on the stranger. "His lingo had me beat," he said. "And he had these crazy-looking eyes." Then he thought some before saying: "Looks like a carpetbagger. You two go back a-ways?"

Red got to thinking. He had to. "Er... yeah, we sure do. Known him since er... way back."

Bob looked puzzled. "Is that right? Well, I may not be seeing too well, but he looked no more than a young buck to me. An' you? Well hell, you got more cracks than baked shit."

Red's "ha-ha" sounded kinda high. "I mean I've known him since he was a whippersnapper," he said. "I staked him out for his bundle. I guess he's making good now."

For once, Bob looked impressed. "Well yeah, it sure looks that way."

"Uh? How do you mean?" Red asked.

"Well, he paid in gold. Don't see much of that in these parts -- you should know that."

Gold? Red heard that. "Gold?" he croaked.

"Yeah," Bob replied. "He said you'd be better off this way."

"Better off? Who's got a right to say such a thing?!" Red demanded to know.


Bob's belly laugh boomed around the shop. "He said if he had paid you directly, you would have flushed it down the whiskey pan by now."

"That ain't so," Red smarted. "No sir, I would have seen my mule got his feed an' all."

"Your mule?" Bob grimaced, sniffing the air. "Damn in hell! That' s what I can smell! Horse shit!"

***

In the main street, the Fargo stagecoach was about to leave. Wyatt and Morgan stood looking on from the plank-walk as the Doc saw off his lady.

Kate Fisher sat by the stage's passenger door. In her high-crowned, wide-brimmed hat with a ribbon tied under her chin, she looked comely, and it saddened the Doc to let her go. But what with his consumption getting worse, and a long, bloody feud with the cowboys brewing, he didn't see much of a life for her.

"Things could get ugly around here, Kate, and I don't want you getting hurt on my account," he said.

"I can handle myself, " she replied, and sniffling, she dabbed her brimming tears with a hanky.

The Doc smiled as best he could. "I know that, but with your whoring business, Ike Clanton's friends might come a-calling, and I'm afraid of what they might do to you to get at me. No, it ain't safe for you to stay in Tombstone."

Kate sniffled some more as the Doc signaled to the stage-driver. The man's "giddee-up" and shake of the reins got the horses pulling for their head.

For as long as he could, the Doc walked alongside the stage, holding onto Kate's hand.

"Let's wait 'til the dust settles some," he said. "Then I'll come and look you up in Cochise."

Through glistening tears, Kate nodded. "You promise?"

"I surely do," the Doc replied.

As her hand slipped from his, Kate laughed through her crying. "You're a damn bad liar, John Henry," she called back. "But what the hell, I love you."

And then she was gone. The Doc's, "And I you..." dying on his breath as he stared forlornly after the receding stage. Then with a heavy sigh, he turned away and headed over to Wyatt and Morgan. Nothing was said as the trio fell into step and headed along the plank-walk. The men had a lot on their minds, and it wasn't just because the Doc had sent his lady packing.

They had all received a summons to appear at the courthouse the next day. There was to be an official inquiry into the shootout at the OK Corral. Sheriff Johnny Behan had served them the writs at their house, and he'd been smug about it.

"You're gonna have to testify before the inquiry into the killing of Billy Clanton and the McLaury brothers," he'd said. "And if you don't show, I will arrest you for contempt of court. Believe me, gentlemen, I will bring the damn army with me if I have to."

It was probably Johnny's greatest living moment. As for Johnny's paymaster, Ike Clanton, no one had seen hide or hair of him since the shootout. He was laying low at his ranch, but come the trial, he'd be blowing hard in his attempts to see the Earp "gang" hung for murdering his brother.

***

Further along the plank-walk, the Time Lord sat on a bench watching the hustle and bustle in the street. In his shiny, black and white shoes, square-patched suit and bowler hat, he looked like a showman with a bag of tricks by his side.

As the three men approached him, he knew who they were, and with a gracious smile, he stood up and doffed his bowler hat. "Good day, gentlemen. Can I say how honored I am to meet you."

As with Morgan and the Doc, Wyatt wasn't inclined to be civil. He had seen this man's breed before...

"What's it to you?" he snapped. "You a carpetbagger?"

"I am most certainly not," the Time Lord replied. "I am a traveling doctor."

"You don't say?" Wyatt motioned at the carpetbagger's bag. "What you got in there? Quack medicine?"

"As far as I know, morphine doesn't quack," the Time Lord replied. "But it will relieve the most serious pain for a time."

"Is that so?" Wyatt recalled Virgil's leg had been paining him all night, and in truth, Allie had sent them out to get some whiskey for him. That's all they could get.

"Morphine, you say?"

The Time Lord pulled a small bottle of white powder from his bag. He uncorked the bottle and tasted the powder himself before passing it to Wyatt. As Morgan watched all this, he had an inkling of something strange... A traveling doctor? What is it about him? He just couldn't place it. For some reason, the carpetbagger reminded him of Doc Holliday collapsing in the street.

Morgan shook his head. I'm imagining things. The Doc got up and we helped him back to his room. I remember seeing the Tinpan, but there was no one else there. Wise up.

Wyatt had dusted his own palm.

"Taste it," the Time Lord said.

Although wary, Wyatt did as the carpetbagger said. Morphine was a newfangled drug. He heard it had been used in the Civil War, but he hadn't seen it close up before. But then, on the tip of his tongue, he got the message -- it felt numb.

"How much you say you want for this?"

"Nothing," the Time Lord replied. "History will thank you for what you did yesterday. So take it. It's my gift to you."

Wyatt nodded. "Well, I'm right obliged." And he accepted the proffered handshake. What did you say your name was again?"

"I didn't," the Time Lord replied. "But most people call me the Doctor."

"Well, the hell they do," Wyatt grinned.

In turn, Morgan shook his hand, and then came Doc Holliday. "With more of your likes in town," he said. "We wouldn't have so many dead men to bury."

The Time Lord laughed. "Thank you, sir. It's been a privilege, I'm sure."

The Doc said, "Well, likewise, mister." Then as he, Wyatt and Morgan headed off, the Doc scratched his chin and said to them, "You know, I get the strangest feeling about that man. I surely don't know why."

Neither Wyatt nor Morgan would argue with that. They both had a feeling -- the Doctor as he called himself -- was more than met their eye, but they didn't have the mind to figure out what it was.

As for the Time Lord, he was pleased to have met such famous men. But then, as they receded along the plank-walk, he felt sad as well, for in history, he knew that amongst those three, only Wyatt Earp would see in the twentieth century.

As for their recollection, lest he chose to remind them, none of them including Red Culpepper, would remember him -- the Doctor -- beyond a sense of a dream that wasn't their reality. For when he had sacrificed his former incarnation to save Wyatt Earp's life, he had caused that Time Line to warp and decay. The Time Line of his former incarnation had therefore become consigned to works of the mind.

***

With his new rig, a four-wheeled buggy, Red headed out of town. He had been to the wash house and smelt better. But smelling sweet didn't impress his mule. It took a lot of coaxing and oat feed for it to heed its master's will and pull the load.

Red had gone maybe a mile out of town, when he came upon the strangest sight. Off the road, next to a small hut that reminded him of a dunk-house, he saw a man, a carpetbagger...

"Well I'll be damned-?"

The man was doing tricks. Like pulling a rabbit from a hat. Red had never seen the like, but "carpetbagger?" Red got thinking about it. What Bob had said.

Is this him? he thought? Oh, shit.

And his mule was getting jittery, rearing up.

They weren't going no-where, and Red had this awful feeling this man was working some kind of hocus-pocus. "Oh shit. Don't turn me into a damn toad," he yelped.

The Time Lord laughed. "You don't know me as I am now, but I am here to keep a promise." And with a deft wave of the hand...

Red wasn't a man to pray, but it felt pertinent. The man and the dunk-house had vanished. All Red could see was a bag in the road covered by a red, magic cloth.

After waiting a while to see if anything happened, Red took his life in his hands and jumped off the buggy. His mule nickered at him as he crept by, and it took several tries before Red plucked up the courage to snatch the red, magic cloth away from the bag. And then, what he saw -- "Oh, my. Oh, MY-!"

Gold nuggets glittering before a man's eyes. Can you imagine a world where dreams come true? Red could.

"Holy SHIT!"

Red's mule had never seen its master dance before. And it didn't make a pretty sight, but it nickered and tossed its head as the old Tinpan danced a jig around the bag.

"Hahahahaha. Can you hear that music?" he yelled.

A rootin' an' a tootin' --

Doctor Who.

***

EPILOGUE

On December 1st 1881, Judge Spicer declared his opinion, and it read as thus:

"...The great fact, most prominent in the matter, to wit, that Isaac Clanton was not injured at all, and could have been killed first and easiest...I cannot resist from conviction that the Earps acted wisely, discreetly, and prudentially to secure their own self-preservation - they saw at once the dire necessity of giving the first shot to save themseves from certain death. It was a necessary act done in the discharge of official duty." Wells Spicer was related to the Earps.

So the Earps' name had been cleared, but life in the American West had a way of working "justice". After his decision, Judge Spicer received a death threat saying that it would "only be a matter of time" before he got his. Well, he never did, but on December 28th, 1881 Virgil Earp, who was still Marshall, was crossing the street when an unknown gunman fired out of the shadows. The buckshot went through Virgil's shooting arm. He was never able to shoot with it again.

Two months later, In February 1882, Ike Clanton brought more murder charges against the Earps, but since no new evidence had surfaced, the charges were thrown out.

Then, in March, 1882, while playing billiards at a Tombstone saloon, Morgan Earp got shot in the back, and killed. Another bullet narrowly missed Wyatt. Intent on revenge, Wyatt took only a few weeks to avenge his brother's death. He found and killed his brother's murderer, one Frank Stilwell, who was another Clanton supporter.

As a wanted man, Wyatt, and Josie left Tombstone and went north to Alaska. They never did get followed, and they got to live out fifty odd years together. It was in that time together that Wyatt once confided to Josie...

"If it weren't for the Doc, I wouldn't be alive today. Some put him down, but to me, he was a true friend, and surely the greatest gunman I have ever seen."

As for the Doc, well, on the 8th November, 1887, the end time came for him. He lay dying in a sanitarium when he took a final snort of whiskey and looking down at his feet, he said: "Well, I'll be damned."

He didn't have his boots on.

He died then.

And Ike Clanton? Well, on June 1st, 1887, when he was forty years old, he was shot dead. Some say by a hired gun. The Earps had their supporters too. Ike was buried in an unmarked grave.

Alice Sullivan, Virgil's wife. Her brief obituary appeared in the New York Times on Tuesday, Nov. 18, 1947, noting she was 98 years old.

In 1888, Kate married a blacksmith, named George M. Cummings, but left him in 1889. She began working in the Cochise Hotel. Kate left the hotel ten years later and moved in with a man named Howard. They lived together until he died in 1930. Kate died in 1940 in an Old Pioneer's home.

In 1888, Johnny Behan became superintendent of the Territorial State Prison at Yuma. Later he was a U.S. agent at El Paso where he attempted to control smuggling in the area. Behan was also employed as a government special agent in China of all places. He died in Tucson on 7th June, 1912, a lonely man.

Wyatt Earp died on 13th January, 1929. His Josie died soon after.

***

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.05.2010

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