An historical story of fiction

November 7th, 1887 –Glenwood Springs Colorado

The bed sheet was damp with sweat when he woke from a fitful sleep. It had been another long night of coughing. Upon waking he spit up blood again, a situation becoming more frequent. Reaching for the bottle of laudanum at his bedside he drank the small amount that remained in the bottle. Angrily, he threw the bottle against the wall. He reached for the bottle of Old Overholt Rye Whiskey sitting on the bedside table. Before screwing off the lid he paused for another hacking spell to lapse. He drew a deep breath and drank heartily from the whiskey bottle. Feeling the warmth of the liquor in his stomach, he relaxed somewhat.  

With great exertion, John Henry “Doc” Holliday putt the bottle back on the table and cursed the coughing again. He had been dealing with this consumption malady for over fourteen years now. He knew it was going to kill him as it did his mother, sister, and step-brother. But he vowed not before he got out of this bed to head back down to Globe Arizona, near the Superstition Mountains, where he had plans to look for that treasure of the Lost Dutchman that he had read about.  

Kate, his Hungarian common law wife, unexpectedly entered the room. She had only arrived in town yesterday after he had left her in Tombstone Arizona five years earlier. She said she only came to visit her brother in the next town over.

Kate: “Hello, John. What in tarnation is all that ruckus ya makin?’” Kate never called him by his nickname, Doc, as she didn’t want him calling her by her nickname, Big Nose. Her nickname came about not only because of the size of her nose, but the magnitude of her stubbornness.

Doc was in the middle of another coughing fit and unable to answer. Seeing the empty laudanum bottle on the floor she picked it up. When she turned back around, Doc’s lips and the back of his hand were blood red. She sat on the bed next to him stroking his left thigh. In a few moments the coughing spell was over so he could talk with her.

Doc, smiling at her: “Kate, my dear, would you be an angel and saunter down to the local apothecary to rustle up more of my medicinal laudanum? As you can directly observe, I seem to be bereft of that magic potion which helps calm me of these infernal fits.”

Kate: “Sure, John. Have you any money for me to buy it?”

Doc, pointing at his pants hanging over a chair, “I should have some in my britches hanging over there, as long as that little hussy hadn’t run off with it. If not, tell Doc Harris to put it on my bill and I will be down to settle up in a day or two.”

Ignoring the hussy comment, Kate looked at him forlornly before getting up. He looked worse than at any time in the ten years she had known him. He was going bald and what hair he had left turned gray. At just 36 years old he looked thirty years older.

Ignoring the hussy comment, Kate looked at him forlornly before getting up. He looked worse than at any time in the ten years she had known him. He was going bald and what hair he had left turned gray. At just 36 years old he looked thirty years older.

She reflected on their tumultuous relationship. She had met him dealing cards at a saloon in Fort Griffin Texas. The two had hit it off immediately. They stayed together in Tombstone Arizona until he decided he would be a better gambler than dentist up in Colorado and the Cheyenne Dakota territory.  By 1887 he decided to take up residence at the Hotel Glenwood in Glenwood Springs Colorado due to the curative powers of the spring waters. By the time she got to him she had to seriously wonder about any curative powers in the springs. Were they killing him?

She got up and checked his pants pockets only to find nothing in them. She turned to say something but John was in the middle of another coughing fit. She waved and left to go to the apothecary, figuring she would have to pay for the medicine.

After she had left, Doc wiped his bloody lips on the sleeve of his long johns then reached for another snort of his hooch. It seemed to relax him a bit more so he drank another and then stared off into the corner while catching his breath. He began to reminisce about his life and how he had wound up in this dingy hotel room. He had so much he wanted to do but right now he was just tired of battling this disease.

He thought back to his days at the Pennsylvania College of Dental Surgery when he was just 20 years old and began mumbling to himself.

‘There wasn’t a better student than I, but damn, I sure didn’t care for that surly old professor. Had the peculiar habit of belittling me and I could never figure out why. Now, for the life of me, I can’t recall the old man’s name at the moment, although I’m sure I know it as well as I know my own. Damned if I didn’t think of killing that old coot over a particularly nasty slur about me and the Confederacy. Had I killed him though I wouldn’t get my degree which would have seriously angered my overbearing father. He took out all his woes on me after the deaths of the rest of our family. Hell, just attending school in Pennsylvania had been a sabbatical away from him, so I decided to let that no good son-of-a-bitch professor live.’

It was then a thought occurred to him. He didn’t normally curse much and wondered why he was doing so much now. Cursing shows a lack of couth proving one has a limited vocabulary he reminded himself. Having no answer he went back to mumbling to himself.  

‘After graduating I went to work for a dentist in Atlanta Georgia and lived with my uncle. I was rightfully satisfied there, too, unless my father was visiting. He and my uncle would get to drinking which usually led the old man to complain about me. After I got diagnosed with this damnable family scourge I was given only a few months to live unless I moved to a drier and warmer area of the country than muggy Georgia. Given the chance to live longer, and further away from father, I packed up and headed to Dallas Texas to partner in dentistry with Dr. John Seegar.’

He paused in another fit of coughing. Where was Kate he wondered. He had missed their discussions and even a few of their quarrels. Once the coughing subsided he went back to muttering.

‘I was a damned good dentist too. Me and Doc Seegar won awards for our dental work.’

Smiling, he reflected on the great joy he had experienced winning those awards at the Annual Fair of the North Texas Agricultural, Mechanical and Blood Stock Association at the Dallas County Fair. The duo won all three awards that year: Best Set of Gold Teeth, Best in Vulcanized Rubber, and Best Set of Artificial Teeth. It had been good for their business, and his love life.

Doc began mumbling to himself again. “I wanted to own my own practice though, not working or partnering with somebody. I dissolved the practice with Doc Seegar and opened up my own practice over the Dallas County Bank. But these damn bouts of coughing upset people when I had my hands in their mouth, so business declined. That is when I took up gambling. Well, until those uppity Bible thumpers of Dallas decided to indict me and twelve other boys for illegal gambling. They arrested me in 1875 after that saloon keeper and I traded gunfire. Hell, no one was injured so they found me not guilty.’

At this recollection, Doc began to giggle uncontrollably to himself. He was starting to lose control of his senses. After the laughter had subsided, he went back to mumbling.

‘Then I moved on over to Denison but I’ll be damned if they didn’t take an equally dim view of my gambling there so I packed up and left the state. I headed up to Denver and became a faro card dealer at Babb’s Theatre Comique. That was until I got into a knife fight with that mean old hombre Bud Ryan. Well, I was looking for a job when I got that one, I guess.’

Just then the door opened and in walked Kate, laudanum in hand.

Doc, grinning: “Ah, my dearest angelic health provider returns. And none too soon, I might add.”

Kate unscrewed the top of the medicine and handed it to him: “Cost me a buck it did. The pharmacist said he don’t give anyone credit and don’t ask again. Said it was nothing personal, but too many of his patients die still owing him money. Says it is nothing personal.”

Doc: “A smart businessman he is, and if I was wearing my hat, I would doff it to him for his shrewd instincts.”

Kate sat next to him on the bed again. She looked concerned and felt his head for a fever. “So how were you whilst I was gone fetching your medicine, John?”

Doc, in between gulps of whiskey, “Oh I was just explaining to myself how I happened to find myself in this bed. In fact, my dear Kate, I had not gotten all through my oration when you returned. Perhaps you might want to be regaled with my rhetoric as well as I was enjoying it.”

Having nothing better to do Kate agreed, but not before taking a belt of the whiskey herself. Doc winced watching her swallow his medicinal liquor. That woman could always drink more than most men.

Doc: “Well, Kate, I had just gotten to the point where I had first worn out my welcome in Denver, thanks to that brute Ryan almost dying. That’s when I headed up to Cheyenne to deal cards at the Bellas Union Saloon. There was a gold rush going on then, you know, Kate. Then Mr. Miller moved the Bellas Union to Deadwood South Dakota, so I headed over there with him.”

Doc continued, even though he was having difficulty breathing. “Recollect I hated Deadwood, Kate. It was cold, uncouth, dirty, and just about any other disgusting trait one would want to attach to that sorry little township. The girls weren’t even pretty over there, Kate, that’s how bad it was. So from there I went back to Cheyenne, then back down to Denver where they run me out of town again, so I headed east to visit my aunt in Kansas.’

He stopped to catch his breath. Kate wiped sweat from his forehead.

Doc continued: “After visiting my aunt I head down to Breckenridge in Texas. I took a fancy to Breckenridge, where I went back to gambling, right up until I agreed to disagree with that quadruped Henry Kahn. I was forced to beat him with my walking stick, but that bastard bushwacked me one night and shot me. I damn near died, Kate. Can you imagine such as calamity?”

Kate: “I don’t think it was such a calamity, John. Had that not have happened you would have never me at Fort Griffin. And look how well that good fortune turned out for you.”

Doc: “I can’t argue that point, Kate. Did I tell ya how…I met…Wyatt Earp?”

Kate noticed that John was starting to slur his words. She started to get up. “Yes you did, but I suppose you will tell me again if I was to sit here. Why don’t we take this up tomorrow morning, John. You need to rest.”

Doc, grabbing her arm, “I’ll rest when I’m dead, woman! Give me a little more time. I was just getting to the good part. Please.”

Kate reluctantly sat back down. John loved to talk about his time with the irascible Wyatt Earp. She never cared for the Earps brothers and would never understand their friendship.

Doc: “So, one night…” He began coughing again which led to another gulp of laudanum followed by an even larger gulp of whiskey. After a few moments the coughing died down and she wiped blood away from his lips with her kerchief. She used the other side to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead.

Doc smiled. “Thank you, my dear lady.”

Kate: “Are you sure you don’t want to rest, John?”

Doc: “Kate, I’m going to talk whether you are sitting here beside me or not, so if I am going to do all this prodigious oration don’t you think it prudent you should be here to hear it?”

Kate, smiling at him while realizing her time with him on this planet was getting short. “Sure, John,” she whispered, holding back tears. She held his hand.

Doc: “So, there I was one dreadfully hot evening playing poker at the Bee Hive Saloon, winning like usual, when the proprietor, John Shanssey…introduced me to this deputy US Marshall. Tall good lookin’ fellow with a big handle-bar mustache and blue eyes that sparkled. Bluest eyes I ever observed in a human. He was always dressed in black with clean white shirts that almost dazzled. Toughest hombre I ever met though. I didn’t know it…at the time but he was after…Mr. Dirty Dave Rudabaugh for robbing a Santa Fe Railroad construction camp. I had just had the pleasure of taking a few bucks off of Dirty Dave earlier in the evening but had no idea he was a thief. Wyatt asked me about it…and one thing I can’t stand is a thief. Well, that and a card cheat but I repeat myself. I had overheard Dirty Dave telling another card player he was heading back up to Kansas and so I repeated that information to…Wyatt. Wyatt telegraphed Bat Masterson to keep a sharp…eye out for Dirty Dave. Wyatt then…rendezvoused a month in Fort Griffin, mostly with us playing cards and getting in an occasional fight. I believe we traded the same fifty dollars no less than thirty times. I also heard Bat caught Dirty Dave and they hung him for killing that little girl. Seems he got drunk…as a skunk one night and started  shooting up the town. One of his errant shots struck a young one just sitting on her porch.”

Kate got up and headed for the door. “Have to visit the privy, John. Be back in a few.” She had heard this story numerous times before.

Doc continued the story as if she was still there. “So Wyatt and I…well, we became friends, usually playing all night in the same poker games taking money from sodbusters. When Wyatt decided to head back up to Dodge City to become assistant city marshal, I made up my mind to go with him. Took my wife with me, a wonderful Hungarian woman named Kate Horony. Good Lord, that woman had a temper. She talked me into reopening a dentist’s office, which did well for a while until the consumption flared up again.”

Doc fell asleep until Kate returned, the door squeaking loudly enough to wake the dead. Doc opened his eyes and took right up narrating his story where he had left off. Kate sat back down beside him on the bed.

Doc: “So one night I’m playing cards toward the back room of the Long Branch Saloon, a rather fine establishment. All of a sudden…”

Doc seems to lose his place in the story talking gibberish before regaining his recollections, “…all hell broke loose outside as these cowboys came racing up the street shooting the town up. They blasted into the Long Branch to rob customers, then pistol-whipped one old coot who hadn’t the good sense the Good Lord bestowed upon him to hand over his pocket watch. So Wyatt …”

Doc seemed to have lost his thoughts and was struggling to regain his narrative.

Kate: “Go on, John. You were talking about Wyatt at the Long Branch.”

Doc: “Oh yes! So Wyatt busts into the bar to see what in tarnation was going on but suddenly found several guns pointed at him. From behind a curtain hiding the back room where we had been gambling, I could see what was going on. I stealthily snuck up to the gang leader…and stuck my revolver hard in the back of his head. I warned them I’d blow his head off if they refused to throw down their weapons. They knew I meant it too. The rest of those cowboys disarmed at the sight of seeing my gun stuck in the back of their leaders head. Then Wyatt rounded up the lot of them and marched them all to jail. Wyatt even credited me with saving his life that night.”

At this point, Doc was either having warm thoughts of that night or have forgotten where he was at again, as he stopped muttering. It appeared to Kate John had fallen asleep so she tried to get up, but the bed creaked noisily as she stood. Doc’s eyes shot open. He looked bewildered. He spotted her standing next to the bed. He patted the bed for her to sit again. She dutifully sat down.

Doc: “Where was I?”

Kate could tell John was still bewildered again, disorientated from his surroundings. Assuming he had been specifically talking about Wyatt, she mentioned such.

Doc: “Yep, that is precisely…where I was. Sorry for my hesitations, Kate. Anyway, later on I met him over in Las Vegas, New Mexico and we rode down to…Prescott Arizona and later on down to Tombstone. Well, you probably remember what happened in Tombstone, Kate?”

John’s current state was concerning to Kate. Smiling warmly, she patted his hand and asked him to tell her again as she had forgotten some of the details.

Doc: “I certainly will…Kate. I remember it… as it was just yesterday.”

Although he was not coughing at that point, he took another pull on the whiskey bottle. Kate waited patiently for him to finish.  

Doc: “For whatever reason these boys in Tombstone were telling anyone within earshot I had robbed a stagecoach…and kept threatening me. I didn’t even know them, Sally! I never robbed a stagecoach in my life!”

She noticed he had called her Sally. She had no idea who Sally was and wondered if John did either. Perhaps it was that hussy he mentioned. She decided not to make mention of it.  

Doc: “They called themselves the…the…the Cochise County Cowboys. Absurd name if you were to ask me. Finally, Marshal Virgil Earp, Wyatt’s brother, deputized me and we all set off for the OK Corral to disarm those boys bringing…, er, Morgan Earp along. A rough bunch those Cowboys were, too, Sally. I think it was in October of 1881. Well, those boys decided to shoot it out with us rather than be disarmed, and well, ya know what happened…to….”

John fell asleep mid-sentence. Kate waited almost ten minutes, covered him up, and left quietly in tears. She knew the rest of the story well – who didn’t? It was probably the greatest tale to ever come out of the west.

She returned to her brother Alexander’s small home in Redstone Colorado. It was a 29 mile trip and it took her nearly two hours on horseback. She was weary when she arrived and was glad to see Alexander’s wife, Elizabeth, had dinner waiting. After dinner, Elizabeth excused herself to attend to the couple’s two children. Alexander started a roaring fire in the hearth, opened a bottle of whiskey and the two sat there in rocking chairs, talking about Doc until late into the night.

Kate: “Alexander, not long after the gunfight at the OK Corral, Wyatt’s brother Virgil was shot and maimed. His youngest brother Morgan was killed just three months later. Wyatt tried to get justice through the court system but was unable. He had just been appointed a deputy US Marshall, so he deputized John and a few other friends and formed a posse to track down those damn Cowboys. They killed four of them, but then a local sheriff issued a warrant for Wyatt and his posse. Can you believe that, Alexander? John, Wyatt and the rest of the posse hightailed it over to New Mexico territory.”

Alexander: “So, Kate, I’ve heard Doc kilt up to a dozen men…”

Kate, interrupting him in mid-sentence: “Not true, Alexander. At most, he kilt four, and they all had it comin.’ We know he shot and killed Tom McLaury and possibly Frank McLaury at the OK Corral.  He shot and killed Mike Gordon in a street draw. They tried to convict him of murdering Frank Stillwell too, but John got off on that charge without ever saying whether he kilt Stillwell or not. John was mighty handy with a gun, he was, but he never wanted to kill nobody, ever. Felt bad about it, he did. Anyway’s, he looked at them as potential marks to be lightened of their money at the poker table, Alexander.” She laughed heartily at this.

Alexander: “How about that outlaw Johnny Ringo?”

Kate looked at her brother in surprise. “No, that was Wyatt.”

With that she turned away to stare at the fire. They both sipped their whiskey before Kate continued.

Kate: “Alexander, did ya know John also rode with Bat Masterson?

Alexander: “No shit? I don’t believe I knew that.”

Kate: “Sure enough. Two railroads, the Atchinson, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad was competing with the Denver and Rio Grande Western to claim a right-of-way through the Royal Gorge in the Rockies. Masterson figured guerilla warfare would break out and thought he should get ahead of it.  He deputized some men, including John and they rode herd at Leadville Colorado for a little over two months. Masterson was given a bribe of $10,000 by the Denver line and paid John a share.”

Kate continued. “John also built a saloon of his own with a partner. I think his name was Webber. No, it was John Webb, that’s it.  Eventually he sold his share to Webb.

After a few minutes reflection and a refill of her shot glass, Kate continued: “I’m not too proud of this, Alexander, but I got John in a heap of trouble once. We had a big fight down in Tombstone. Truth be told, we both had been drinkin’ hard. John kicked me out of the house so I went to the Sheriff’s office to file a complaint. While I was there we began to drink some more and the sheriff, Johnny Behan, told me a lie about John. I signed an affidavit saying John robbed a stagecoach and murdered some people. It wasn’t true, but I was mad as a hornet for him kicking me out. I didn’t even know what I was signing at the time. I’m not proud of that, Alexander. John put me on a stagecoach out of town after that.”

Alexander: “I wish I would have met him, Kate. You could have brought him by. I’ve heard reports that as sick as he was, he was one of the best shots and quickest draws there ever was. Seems odd for someone from Georgia.”

Kate: “That he was, Alexander. But he was most proud of his gambling ability. Called it a noble profession.”

With that, Alexander laughed. Kate didn’t see her statement as being funny but said no more to her brother about it. An awkward silence ensured.

Finally Alexander asked: “Where are his guns? I heard he used the 1877 Colt Lightning as his primary gun. Nickel plated with ivory handles. Is that true?’

Kate: “He had to check them with the front desk as collateral for his room, or at least that is what they told him.”

Alexander stood and yawned. “Kate, it is time for bed.”

They went to their respective bedrooms soon thereafter without another word.

The following morning Alexander and Kate rode to the hotel in his buggy to save his sister some time. He was going to buy a horse that day and planned on riding it back, leaving the buggy for her.

Kate got to Doc’s room about 9:30. Alarmingly, there was a doctor and a nurse standing over him with grave looks on their faces. Kate asked them if something was wrong, but they did not answer. Irked by their lack of response, she asked again, this time a little louder. The doctor looked at her and replied Doc had had a very bad night of coughing and had been alerted by the hotel proprietor. He had just fallen asleep, but his breathing was shallow and he was sweating profusely. They had noticed his feet and fingers were turning purple and was concerned.

The three stared at Doc lying in bed for about 15 minutes when all of a sudden his eyes opened. He looked around at the those standing over his bed peering down at him.  He asked for whiskey but the doctor immediately rejected that idea. Instead of getting mad he looked at his bootless feet sticking out from the sheets, which seemed to amuse him. He looked up at the Kate and cracked a smile.

Doc: “This is funny.”

With that he closed his eyes and soon thereafter stopped breathing. John “Doc” Holiday, the noted gunfighter and gambler died at 10:00 AM on November 8, 1877. He was just 36 years old.

His funeral in Linwood Cemetery overlooking Glenwood Springs Colorado was held that same day so the doctor and nurse attended. After the services they asked Kate about the rather odd remark Doc made with his last words.

Kate: “John always said he wanted to be shot by a jealous husband. Like most cowboys of his generation though he just assumed he would die with his boots on, not in his bare feet.

Postscript – while it is known Doc Holliday is buried in Linwood Cemetery and there is a nice marker surrounded by wrought iron fencing, it is really not known exactly where he is buried in the cemetery. My wife and I have been there, arduously hiking up the side of a mountain to get there and have viewed the obelisk grave marker surrounded by wrought iron. However, there is a separate less seen marker at the foot of the plot stating nobody today knows if Doc Holliday is really buried in that spot.

By the time Doc passed away he owed the hotel quite a bit of money for lodging, whiskey and food. Nobody settled the bill so it is possible Doc is buried on the other side of the cemetery where the paupers are buried. Have to wonder where those guns are at now.