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     that I hadn't thought it through.”
    “Then you'll come?”
    “To double the nation's territory? Of course!” There was a brief pause. “Hell, I'd
     come just to meet Doc Holliday and Geronimo. I mean, Billy the Kid, Wild Bill Hickok,
     Jesse James, and at least one of the Younger Brothers are dead, the Earps have gone
     to California and Alaska, and John Wesley Hardin has been rotting in a Texas prison
     for years. Of all the bigger-than-life figures of the West, Holliday and Geronimo
     are just about all that's left. Of course I'm coming!”
    “You'll get to meet Tom Edison, too. I'm not certain what he's doing out there, but
     he seems to have become a friend of Holliday's.”
    “Thomas Alva Edison?” said Roosevelt, his eyes widening with excitement. “The inventor?”
    Masterson nodded his head. “He's made a lot of changes to Tombstone. Whole town was
     lit up by electric lights at night when I was there three years ago.”
    “Holliday, Geronimo, and Edison?” said Roosevelt excitedly. “What are we waiting for?”
    “You sound like a hero-worshipping kid at the ballpark,” commented Masterson.
    “There are very few exceptional men in this world, Bat,” replied Roosevelt seriously.
     “I'm willing to ride halfway across the continent to meet three of them.” Suddenly
     he began pacing back and forth. “I'll take Manitou, of course, and—”
    “Manitou?” repeated Masterson curiously.
    “My horse. Meanest bronco you ever saw—or he was when I first encountered him.” Another
     grin. “He must have thrown me twenty times before we finally reached an understanding.”
     He continued pacing. “I'll need a few blank notebooks and some pencils, and my telescope,
     and—” He stopped and suddenly turned to Masterson. “What kind of game do you have
     out there?”
    “In Tombstone?” said Masterson. “An occasional snake or jackrabbit. And once in a
     while a hawk.”
    Roosevelt nodded, more to himself than to Masterson. “The Winchester will do. And
     I'll have to prepare a pack for a second horse.”
    “Just to carry a Winchester?” asked Masterson, puzzled.
    “No, of course not,” answered Roosevelt. “But I can't be without my books. Let me
     see now. For this trip I think Tolstoy, and Jane Austen, and…” He spent the next five
     minutes deciding on the bookshe wanted, then rummaging through the six rooms of the house until he'd found them
     all.
    In another hour he had packed his weapons, books, clothes, everything he thought he
     might want or need, even a spare pair of spectacles.
    “Okay, Bat, help me load Manitou and the pack horse and we can be on our way.”
    “It's going to be dark in half an hour,” noted Masterson. “We can start tomorrow.”
    “Now,” said Roosevelt firmly.
    Masterson shrugged. “Okay, mount up.”
    As they were leaving Elkhorn, Masterson remarked that without encountering any serious
     obstacles, he thought they could reach Tombstone in ten days.
    “Nonsense,” said Roosevelt, clicking to Manitou. “We'll do it in seven.”

T HE B UNT L INE'S self-propelled heavily armored brass stagecoach came to a stop on Third Street in
     early evening, and Holliday climbed down, then waited for the driver to unsecure his
     small suitcase and pass it down to him.
    He turned and walked half a block to the Oriental Saloon, which had been his home
     away from home when he'd been living in Tombstone with Kate Elder. He was surprised
     to see how dilapidated it had become in just three years.
    It was still open for business, though, and he entered, walked over to a table, laid
     his bag on it, and sat down.
    “Well, I'll be damned!” said the bartender. “Look who's back!”
    Suddenly all eyes turned to Holliday, who touched the brim of his hat with a forefinger.
     “Bring a bottle and a glass,” he said.
    “What are you doing back in town, Doc?” asked the bartender as he grabbed a bottle
     of whiskey, found a mildly clean glass,