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love to see you run against him.”
    “I'm through running for office, for a little while yet,” answered Roosevelt. “I'm
     here to see Goyathlay.”
    “You know his real name?” asked Holliday, surprised.
    “Once I knew I was coming out here, I made sure I packed a coupleof books about the Apaches. I don't know how good his English is, so I thought I'd
     better learn to speak his language.”
    “Must be recent books,” remarked Holliday. “He's only been the boss since Victorio
     died.”
    “But he's been one of the leaders for twenty years now,” said Roosevelt. “An admirable
     man, from all I've learned.”
    “He's responsible for the death of thousands of white men,” said Masterson.
    “He killed them while protecting his people,” responded Roosevelt. He turned to Holliday.
     “You've spent time with him. What's your opinion?”
    “He's an honorable man,” said Holliday. “On those occasions that he's a man at all.”
    “I don't understand.”
    Holliday smiled. “You will.” He paused. “You really speak Apache?”
    “I'm not sure of the pronunciations,” answered Roosevelt, “but I'm pretty sure I can
     understand it if it's spoken to me.”
    “Geronimo will like that,” said Holliday. “He's not some ignorant savage, and he resents
     being treated like one.”
    “When do we meet him?” asked Roosevelt.
    “Tomorrow we'll ride down to his lodge,” answered Holliday. “I'm sure he knows you're
     here.”
    “I'll stay here,” said Masterson.
    Roosevelt turned to him. “Why?” he asked curiously.
    “Bat had an unpleasant experience the last time he paid a visit to Geronimo,” said
     Holliday with an amused smile.
    “Stop grinning!” snapped Masterson. “There was nothing funny about it!”
    “It sure as hell wasn't funny while it was happening,” agreed Holliday.
    “I have no idea what you're talking about,” complained Roosevelt.
    “Bat killed one of his warriors, and Geronimo, who speaks enough English to know what
     a bat is, turned him into a huge one every night from sunset to sunrise.” Suddenly
     Holliday smiled again. “So if you've got a nickname like Bull or Hawkeye, I'd suggest
     you keep it to yourself.”
    “It wasn't funny,” growled Masterson. “It was a living hell.”
    “Clearly it ended,” said Roosevelt. “You kept me awake half of each night with your
     snoring.”
    “I did a service for Geronimo and he lifted the curse,” said Holliday.
    “Ah!” said Roosevelt with a smile. “A quid pro quo .”
    “Damn!” said Holliday happily. “Latin! I knew I was going to like you. Have a drink!”
    “No offense, but I want to keep a clear head until this business is over. The results
     are too important.”
    “Fair enough,” said Holliday. “You got a room yet?”
    “Yes, we took out a pair of rooms at the Grand Hotel,” said Roosevelt.
    “Yeah, we took a quick tour of the town—well, what's left of it—before we came over
     here,” added Masterson. “I see you've got a baseball diamond outside town.”
    “I thought it was just a flash in the pan when it came to Denver,” said Holliday,
     “but then it spread to Leadville, and damned near every town between there and here.”
     He shook his head. “Doesn't make any sense, a bunch of people paying to watch other
     people trying to hit a ball with a stick.”
    “I prefer prizefighting myself,” said Roosevelt.
    “Is this John L. Sullivan all he's cracked up to be?” asked Holliday. “We've heard
     about him all the way out here.”
    “He's a drunkard and a braggart, but he's as good as they say,”replied Roosevelt. “I wish I was about thirty pounds heavier. I'd like to take him
     on myself.”
    “And Bat would write the story,” said Holliday.
    “And the obituary,” added Masterson. “I've seen the great John L. Best athlete around, now that Hindoo's retired.”
    “Hindoo?” asked Holliday.
    “Best racehorse in American history,” said Masterson. “He'd run down the