Theodore Roosevelt is back!
The Undisclosed Adventures of Theodore Roosevelt #6: The Ravager of Roaring Fork
The train reserved for the president and his staff wound through the wide canyon, following the roaring waters of the Colorado River below. President Roosevelt looked out of the private train car, admiring the jagged granite and sandstone walls carved out by the mighty river. The train slowed and Roosevelt stuck his head out of the window. Ahead of the train lay a small town snaking up and down the valley where another river entered the Colorado. The station was small but packed with people eager to catch a glimpse of the visiting President. Theodore took a deep breath and smiled. The crisp mountain air rushed into his lungs, and he already felt refreshed. His whiskers tickled the top of his lip as he took another deep breath.
This was the third time President Theodore Roosevelt had chosen to vacation at Glenwood Springs, Colorado for the annual summer holiday. It was one thing to get out of the stifling Washington heat, but Theodore was enamored with the openness of the Great Plains and the natural beauty of the Rocky Mountains, and scheduled regular visits to the area. Glenwood Springs was a small town near the California border high in the Colorado Rockies. There was one major reason Roosevelt visited this far west; the hot springs. The revitalizing powers of the springs and the clear mountain air was always sure to energize the President's spirit.
The train hissed as it stopped at the platform. The President stuck his head back into the train car and stood. "It's good to be back in the wilderness again," the President said to no one in particular. He and his entourage stepped off the train. After the usual greeting of the crowds, they beelined for the hotel and the luxury of the town's riverside hot springs.
The cream colored Roman brick edifice of the Hotel Colorado was a welcoming sight to the President after the long train journey[1]. The presidential staff checked in, and Roosevelt, Interior Secretary John Muir, and two aides retired to the saloon attached to the hotel.
“This should be a lovely week!” Roosevelt said as he slumped into a large armchair. Muir and the two aides joined the President.
“Yes sir,” Muir said. “It’s so nice to get out of the crowds and explore the real beauty the continent has to offer.” Roosevelt nodded in agreement. He and Muir shared an admiration for the natural beauty of the country’s lesser populated western half. It was part of the reason why he had selected Muir for the position of Secretary of the Interior. Muir leaned forward. “Perhaps, Mister President, we could take a walk up one of the canyons while we are here.”
Roosevelt’s eyes lit up. “Splendid idea Mister Muir! Nothing to restore the vigor of a man’s spirit like a trek through the wilderness!”
Muir pulled out a surveyor's’ map of the area surrounding Glenwood Springs. Muir pointed to where Glenwood Springs was on the map. The four men scanned the map for a moment before Muir spoke up again. “There is a town a dozen miles from here.” He pointed to another collection of black squares on the map that indicated a town. He read the name by the town. “Carbondale. It’s just south of here.”
Roosevelt ran his finger along the map. “Looks like we could follow the Roaring Fork River between the two.” He slapped his knee. “Bully! It’s settled then. Tomorrow we hike from here to Carbondale and back. I’m starting to feel more energized already!”
Behind Roosevelt, a man loudly spat into a nearby spittoon. He shuffled a deck of cards on a oval-shaped felt covered table. “I couldn’t help but overhear you over there, your excellency.”
The two aides glanced at the faro dealer. Roosevelt and Muir paid him no mind.
“I would advise against making that trip. Men have been lost along the Roaring Fork. Devoured by wolves, they say.”
Roosevelt kept an ear to the dealer’s talk, but continued working with his staff on the plans for the next day’s adventure.
The dealer shuffled again. The cards snapped like a cascade of bones breaking. The dealer chuckled. “‘Cept, it’s not really wolves. Not as such, anyway. It’s a man what’s eating all them farmers up at Carbondale. Sheep too.”
Roosevelt turned around in his chair. The President looked over his pince-nez at the dealer. “Alright, you had my idle curiosity. Now you have my attention. Why are you trying to scare us out of going up to Carbondale with this nonsense? What’s your agenda?”
“Oh, nothing.” The man set the deck of cards aside and faced the President. “Just a friendly warning to you, Mister President.” The man tipped a wide brimmed straw hat and the President. He had an unusually youthful complexion. His brown hair was short and matted against his scalp. The only blemish visible was a crook on the bridge of his nose that caused it to veer slightly to the right. Roosevelt guessed the man had seen his fair share of bar fights in his time. “Name’s John Henry Holliday. I’m the dentist around here. Also do my fair share of card-handling as you can see.” He waved at the deck of cards on the table.”
The President raised an eyebrow. “Well met, Mister Holliday.”
The man smiled warmly. “No need to be so formal out here. Everyone calls me Doc.”
“Okay, Doc,” the President said. “Why are you warning us about this alleged man-eater?”
“I just want you to be safe. And, well, the authorities up here haven’t been able to do anything about the murders. I thought maybe someone like yourself could help stop these heinous acts. Surely a man running around eating American citizens falls under the purview of Presidential powers to stop. Not to mention the disappearing sheep threatening Carbondale’s economy.”
Roosevelt rubbed his chin. One of his aides leaned forward and hissed in the President’s ear. “Don’t tell me you believe this man? He’s talking nonsense, and he’s a gambler to boot! The only thing he’s knowledgable about is the sin of lying and deception!”
Roosevelt held up a hand to silence the aide. “You speak of strange occurrences in Carbondale. We will go up there and investigate tomorrow, see if your story plays out. I doubt it, but I’m not one to shy away from a curious circumstance.”
“If you feel you must,” Holliday said. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a card. Holliday handed it to the President. On it was printed “John Henry Holliday, D.D.S.” along with an address[2]. “Let me know what you find. I would go to Carbondale myself, but my business has been busy in the past weeks and I can’t take the time off.” Holliday flashed a bright smile at the President.
Roosevelt turned back to the others at his table. “Very well. The trek up to Carbondale is still on.” He turned to Muir. “Better mark that for all day tomorrow instead of just for the morning.”
-----
The next morning, President Roosevelt rose early to prepare for the hike ahead. He knocked heavily on Muir’s door. An incoherent mumbling responded from inside. Roosevelt shouted jovially into the room. “Get up you, the sun’s up. We’re wasting daylight!”
After a few seconds, the door opened. Muir was disheveled, his greying beard fanning out like a ruffle about his neck. “Yes, yes, give me a minute.” Muir eyed the President. He was already dressed in his khaki outfit, with his trousers tucked neatly into knee high campaign boots. Even standing still, the President’s sheer energy made him almost vibrate as if the natural forces could barely keep the president together. Muir retreated back into his room and emerged wearing a loose fitting white shirt and tan slacks. His beard had been contained in a downward direction, and he held a gnarled walking stick in his hand.
The two aides who had joined the President and Interior Secretary the day before met up with them outside the Hotel Colorado. The four men outfitted packs for the day’s trek and set off south from Glenwood Springs. They followed the right bank of the Roaring Fork River, taking advantage of the early morning shadows still cast by the bluffs to their east. A gentle slope went up from the riverbank and was dotted with scrub and sage bushes. Above them, the red iron-rich bluffs stood tall, shielding them from the sun.
The trek north to Carbondale took most of the morning. The President and John Muir kept a good clip, but the two staffers struggled to cope with the altitude and slowed them down. They finally reached Carbondale as it neared noon and the Roaring Fork split into its eastern main tributary and the Crystal River to the south. The town itself was set between the two, with wide fields and pastures covering the remainder of the shallow valley. The path from Glenwood Springs was well trodden, and Roosevelt found a number of citizens already gathered as they approached the town.
The President waved happily, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Good day to you!”
Two women in plain dark gray dresses greeted the President and his entourage in Carbondale. “Good day sir.” One of the women said in a monotone. Roosevelt eyed her strangely. “Welcome to Carbondale.” She bobbed in a brief curtsey, but the movement was awkward and stiff.
Muir and Roosevelt looked at each other. It was strange enough that neither would recognize or acknowledge the President of the United States, but the women were both oddly pale. “Ladies,” Roosevelt said removing his hat, “we come here to look into reports of a number of suspicious deaths. Do you know anything about what’s going on here?”
The women looked at each other and looked back at them. Their expressions barely changed and their eyes seemed to have glazed over. “We have not heard anything about deaths here.” One said.
“Mister Packer might know,” the other woman said. “He’s just over in the general store right now.”
“Thank you, madam.” Roosevelt nodded. The President, Muir, and the two aides started into two, but before they could take a step, a man in a tattered suit ran up to the group. “Well well, how are you all doing this fine day!” The man had a moustache and short goatee, and a pair of wild golden eyes that looked like they were about to jump right out of his head. “Miss Lucy, Miss Bella, you just run along now dears.” The two women mumbled responses and obediently shuffled off back into the town.
“Well bless my soul, if it isn’t our fine leader! My name is Alfred Packer!” He stuck out his hand. The President grabbed hit and shook it vigorously. Roosevelt winced as Packer’s long untidy fingernails dug into his wrist.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mister Packer.” Muir said as they in turn shook hands. “Who were those two ladies?”
“Packer’s eyes darted around as if he were watching an invisible fly. “Oh, they were two of my maids. Not sure why they were wandering about like that. I truly hope they didn’t cause any discomfort to you, Your Excellency.”
“No harm given,” Roosevelt said.
“Come, come, let me treat you to a meal! It’s the least I could do for you!” Packer led them quickly to the only restaurant in the sleepy mountain town.
Roosevelt leaned over to an aide as they walked and whispered. “Alexander, while we eat, go and look after those two ladies. There was something off about them, and with all that’s going on I’m concerned for them. This Packer fellow seems a bit off.” Alexander nodded and lagged behind the rest of the President’s group, before breaking off on his own.
-----
“Good morning, Alfred,” the waiter said as he walked up to their table. The waiter had a bright face that lit up even more as he noticed who Alfred’s guests were. “And a good morning to you too, Mister President! It is an honor it is to have you in our little town.” Roosevelt smiled back and nodded respectfully. “What can I get for you gentlemen?”
“Give me the biggest steak you’ve got!” The President beamed, earning a stern gaze from John Muir and pursed lips behind his long beard.
Muir turned to the waiter and spoke in an almost apologetic tone. “I will have a bowl of hominy if you please.” The waiter nodded and turned to Packer.”
Packer leaned back in his chair. “Mister Roosevelt has good taste. I’ll also have a steak.” He cast a friendly glance at Roosevelt. “But make mine as rare as you can.” The waiter nodded and left.
John Muir was sitting in between the President and Alfred Packer. He shifted in his seat. As the waiter went out of earshot, Muir finally spoke, mumbling. “I will never understand how you can eat such great creatures as you do. It’s a sacrilege is what it is.”[3]
Packer tensed, but Roosevelt jovially slapped the Interior Secretary on the shoulder. “Oh come on, Muir, lighten up. I take your advice plenty in Washington. Let me live a little while we’re here.” Muir sighed. Roosevelt winked at Packer and added, his voice booming so it could be heard around the small dining space, “Besides, I hear the steaks around here are the best in the country.” Even on vacation the President was always conscious of a chance to connect with voters without any formal meeting.
Packer chuckled. They chatted for a time until the food arrived. Roosevelt and Packer both immediately dug into their steaks, much to Muir’s chagrin and mild disgust. Packer moreso than the President ate voraciously, practically ripping at the meat. Muir eyed Packer suspiciously as he munched on the bowl of cooked hominy in front of him.
The lunch lasted another hour. Packer graciously paid for their meal and announced he had to return home. They said their goodbyes, and Muir hoped to get a chance to talk alone with the President. However, that would have to wait. Once Packer left, a line of people almost immediately formed to speak with Roosevelt. Roosevelt sighed but met everyone happily and vigorously shook any hands that were offered to him.
At last, as the sun sank below the horizon, Theodore Roosevelt and John Muir left and walked around Carbondale. The small town was almost deserted. “Did you notice anything odd about Alfred Packer?” Muir asked suspiciously as they began walking west along the bank of the Crystal River from where it flowed into the Roaring Fork.
“Oh John,” Roosevelt clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the darkening grey band of lingering sunlight that separated the horizon from the night sky. “I apologize about the steaks.”
John let out a deep breath. “No, it’s not about that. There was just something odd about that man. Did you notice if he ever used his silverware? I don’t believe I saw him touch his utensils at all, and when eating a steak! That was the most unsettling part.” Muir gulped, forcing down an unpleasant reaction in his stomach.
“Hmm, now that you mention it that is odd.” They walked on for a few minutes as Roosevelt pondered the meeting with Packer.
The night was peaceful, a nice diversion from the noise of Washington. Coyotes howled in the distance. The stream bubbled as it tumbled over the well worn rocks on its journey east. The rising moon cast visible shadows of the two men as they walked.
The peace of the night was cut short as Roosevelt’s keen eyes spotted a dark figure moving in the bushes about fifty yards ahead. “What is that?” He pointed at the figure. It looked like a particularly large dog. As they watched, it dragged a slender figure out of the brush with its teeth.
“It’s got someone!” Muir shouted. They two began running toward the two figures. The figure’s ears flickered at the sound of Roosevelt and Muir and turned its head toward them. Two golden eyes narrowed into slits and the creature dragging the body let out a loud howl.
Roosevelt and Muir continued running toward it, but it slung the body up on its back and bounded across the stream. Growling, it scrabbled up the bluff on the opposite bank. Roosevelt and Muir followed the trail of the creature for half an hour. Bits of the grey cotton dress on the body had been torn off on branches and sagebrush. Roosevelt and Muir looked at each other. “You don’t think it was one of the women that met us this morning?”
“Whoever it was we have to help them!” Roosevelt said. The thrill of the chase seemed to reinvigorate the President and Muir barely stayed with him. They followed the trail to a cabin near the edge of a bluff overlooking the Roaring Fork valley.
-----
The brush had been flattened and broke where the beast had dragged the woman’s body up to the cabin. THe moon shone bright enough for them to see clearly. Roosevelt, Muir, and Alexander crept in the sage, trying to stay out of sight until they neared the cabin.
“Mister Roosevelt!” A loud whisper made the three jump. Roosevelt turned around. In the shadow of a lone tree, his eyes could make out the slim figure that he soon recognized.
“Doctor Holliday? What are you doing here?” Holliday crouched against the tree, peering around it at the cabin.
“One of my clients had disappeared. I finally tracked them up here. I assume by your presence that you’ve found the culprit in the Carbondale murders?”
Roosevelt nodded, and sped from the sage to the tree to converse more quietly with Holliday. “A beastly creature murdered a young woman and dragged her body up to this cabin. We’re waiting to go in.”
“I see, I was afraid of this,” Holliday said somberly. “I believe I know why all these murders are occurring.”
“Oh?” Roosevelt raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. Based on the nature of the disappearances, and the bodies found with teeth marks in them and dismembered as if they were ripped open by rabid animals, I fear we may be dealing with some kind of werewolf.”
Roosevelt was taken aback. “And what makes you say this? Werewolves are a legend, a fiction!”
Holliday shook his head. “I wish they were. I worked with a man by the name of Van Helsing back in Calhoun some years ago. He clued me in on this type of thing - vampires, werewolves, and the like. They were common in Europe, but had not been seen in this country until recently.” Holliday reached into his pocket with a gloved hand and pulled out a small box. “If we are dealing with werewolves, you’ll need these.”
Holliday handed the box to the President. He opened it. The box contained a number of small bullets, each glistening in the moonlight. “Pure silver,” Holliday said, spitting next to the tree. “One thing ol’ Van Helsing taught me; that’s how you kill werewolves. Tough bastards can take most rounds aside from that.”
Roosevelt emptied his revolver. He put the old ammunition in his pocket and slotted six of Holliday’s silver bullets into the gun. He returned it to his holster. “Thanks, Doc. Now let’s go in there!”
Roosevelt led the charge into the cabin. Muir, his aide Alexander, and Doc Holliday followed behind. The path to the front door was littered with scraps of clothing that had torn off on the brambles and thorny bushes that lined the path. The President slammed the full weight of his body against the cabin door. It exploded into a mass of splinters as the President’s bulk filled the doorway.
“Stop right there, criminal scum!” The President shouted into the cabin.
The front room of the cabin also served as the living room, and in this case, the dining room. The body of the young woman lay on the center of the floor eviscerated. Alfred Packer was crouching on the floor over the woman’s body[4]. Packer looked up, his yellow eyes wide as drops of blood clung to the corners of his mouth.
Roosevelt stood wide eyed too. The cannibalism was not what gave him pause. When the concept of werewolves had sunk in, the feasting on human flesh became expected. But Roosevelt was at least expecting to see a living werewolf when he burst into the cabin. Instead, the human form of Packer threw the President off.
Alfred Packer stood up calmly. He let go of the woman’s right arm. A chunk had been torn out of it and it flopped to the ground. A moment of tense silence filled the cabin as Theodore Roosevelt and Alfred Packer eyed each other. Roosevelt glanced at the body and could see it was indeed one of the women who had welcomed them. The face was disfigured, but the President guessed it was Lucy.
Packer saw the President’s distraction and sprinted to the back wall and retrieved a shotgun. The cannibal displayed almost superhuman speed, and Roosevelt had only a moment to act has Packer turned around and leveled the weapon.
“Get down, everyone!” Roosevelt shouted, taking a step back. As Muir, Holliday, and Alexander made a hasty retreat out of the cabin, Roosevelt dove into the side room as a shotgun blast peppered the wall behind him.
Roosevelt scrambled up from the floor. He was in the cabin’s kitchen now. Cups and bottles of alcohol sat along the four foot high bar separating the kitchen from the main room. In the opposite corner a wood stove burned softly. Roosevelt put his back up against the brick wall of the bar as he gathered his wits.
“You can’t escape, Mister President! I got you cornered!” As punctuation, another shotgun blast exploded and broken glass rained down on the floor in front of the President.
Muir and Holliday positioned themselves on either side of the front doorway. “What are we going to do? We need to get in there!” Muir shouted over the blast.
“Uh,” Alexander adjusted his glasses as he lifted himself off the ground. “I’ll run back to town and get the police!” Alexander began running off but Muir grabbed him by the back of his collar.
“Oh no you don’t. We need to make sure we get out of this alive, and the police won’t be much help now!”
Alexander squirmed against Muir’s grip. “Nope! I am making sure I get out of this alive. By running!” He wriggled out of Muir’s hold and bolted off down the path into the night. Muir sighed and looked at Holliday. “Remind me to tell the President to fire him when we’re done here.”
Holliday nodded toward the inside of the cabin. “Let him go. We have more important matters to attend to.” Muir nodded in agreement. “So what are we going to doi?”
Muir held up a pistol of his own and grinned like the President on a hunt. “Normally I’m for protecting wolves in their natural habitats, but in this case we can make an exception.” Muir turned and shot two rounds into the room. Packer emitted an oddly dog-like yelp as one of the shots hit his shoulder.
Muir took cover behind the doorframe again. “Hopefully we can buy enough time for the President to get out of there.
Roosevelt heard the shots and chanced reaching up to the bar. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and pulled it down to him. The President looked at the bottle thoughtfully. He looked around the kitchen and crawled over to a shelf near the hearth. He opened it. spotted the folded rags inside, and grinned.
Another shotgun blast sent a stream of splinters through the doorway of the cabin. “We can’t just take potshots at Packer with Roosevelt pinned down!” Holliday yelled. He sucked in a breath between his teeth.
“I know, but-” Muir said but stopped. “What are you doing?” Holliday had already turned and had pulled out a knife. He ran into the hallway screaming. “Damnit Holliday!” Muir turned and watched through the door as Holliday raised the knife and leapt at Packer.
Holliday ran into the front hallway, screaming at the top of his lungs. He lifted the knife above his head as he came within two feet of Packer.
Packer swiveled and caught Holliday in the chest with his right elbow. Holliday went silent as the remainder of a breath was abruptly expelled from his lungs. THe knife fell awkwardly but still found contact with Packer’s back.
Alfred Packer turned and snarled at Holliday. “Why are you in league with this meddlesome politician? I have consumed dozens of men more powerful than you, you are foolish if you think you can stop me!” Packer knocked Holliday off of him. Holliday fell to the ground and in an instant Packer had pinned Holliday’s arms. Holliday’s eyes went wide as Alfred Packer’s eyes gleamed and a savage grin spread across Packer’s face.
Packer sunk his teeth into Holliday’s arm. Holliday uttered a curse under his breath and shouted loudly at the heavens. Muir and even Roosevelt shivered at the noise.
Packer retracted his teeth from Holliday’s arm and Doc shoved the cannibal off of him. He winced as he slowly rose to his knees.
“Doc, get away!” Roosevelt’s head popped up above the bar counter. The President waved his left arm wildly in the general direction of the front door. Holliday scrambled on his hands and knees, limping with his bitten arm.
Packer had been thrown against a wide oak beam in the main room that held the central rafters up. He was dazed from the impact but looked up. Madness coursed through his veins as his eyes darted from the President to Holliday. Suddenly, Packer whimpered as he saw the President thrust something from his right arm that looked like a bottle.
“Taste the fiery depths of Hell, foul beast!”
Roosevelt leapt over the bar and ran for the door. Packer’s eyes went wide as the bottle neared him. It was filled with whiskey and was corked with a bundle of rags. Roosevelt had set fire to the edge of the rags.
Roosevelt turned back and fired two shots from the pistol as he ran. One lodged in Packer’s chest. He screeched as the silver bullet pierced his heart.
The other missed Packer but with a stroke of luck hit the whiskey bottle in midair three inches from Packer’s face. The bottle exploded as the fire lapped up the alcohol and shards of glass from the bottle. The fire quickly spread along Packer’s alcohol-soaked body and licked at the wooden beam.
The President dashed out of the cabin and urged Holliday and Muir to follow him. As they retreated, the support beam caught fire and buckled under the heat and flame. The roof of the cabin came crashing down as a plume of flame erupted from the door and fallen roof. Roosevelt, Muir, and Packer turned once they reached a safe distance.
The President sighed and looked at his pistol. “At least we stopped him.”
Holliday nodded, clutching his arm. The teeth marks left a semicircular tear in his white cotton shirt and etched grooves into his skin. “Yes. That madman’s reign is finally ended.”
Muir looked at Holliday’s arm. “Good god man, your arm! You must find a doctor!”
Holliday held up his arm to look at it, rolling back his sleeve and breathing heavily. The marks where Packer’s teeth had sunk in had already turned a purplish red, but there was no blood on his arm or his sleeve. “It can wait until the morning. I can treat it with supplies in my bag here and give it proper treatment when we return to Glenwood Springs.”
Roosevelt and Muir looked at each other. “Are you sure?” The President eyed the bitten arm suspiciously. Holliday nodded and bent down to grab a cloth and a small bottle from his bag. Roosevelt stood over Holliday as he tended to the wound. “Then the least I can offer you is to stay in the Hotel Colorado as my guest!”
Holliday stayed squatting, rubbing the cloth on his arm. He thought for a minute before standing back up. The President extended a hand. Holliday smiled and grasped it. “Thank you, Mister President. It would be an honor.”
-----
Roosevelt awoke to a loud thump and a crash near his head. It sounded like someone in the next room had thrown a chair against the adjoining wall. The light from the moon shining through the window gave Roosevelt enough light that he could navigate to the door without igniting a lamp. He opened the door slowly. The hallway was darker. The deep maroon carpeting gave the hall a sense of foreboding. Behind him, outside the hotel, the Colorado River let out its perpetual dull roar. In the next room where he heard the crash, the President could hear movement and a fervent scratching on wood. The President in his tired state realized only too late; that was Doc Holliday's room.
Roosevelt took two hurried steps forward before the door to the room burst outward. Splinters and small chunks of the door scattered around the hall. The President shielded his eyes, but through his hands he could see the massive hulking silhouette now standing before him. Its glowing yellow eyes narrowed to slits as the President balled his hands into fists and immediately went into a fighting stance. The beast snarled at him. "Stay out of my way, Mister President! This does not concern you!"
The President's eyes went wide. The werewolf's voice was deep and growling, but beneath it he recognized the now familiar cadence in the voice. "Mr. Holliday?" Roosevelt lowered his hands slightly. "You... you're a werewolf too?"
"Yes, sir. I suppose you know my secret now. I was immune to Alfred Packer's bite because I am already a werewolf. Now you just run back to bed. I have no quarrel with you, so I'll just be on my way." Doc Holliday growled at the President. His massive canines dripped with saliva and contempt. "As I said before, these matters do not concern you."
The President brought his hands back up. "On the contrary, Doc, your reign of terror does concern me. You and your kind endanger my citizens, and I will not sit idly by while you murder good Americans in cold blood!"
Doc Holliday laughed slowly. His deepened voice and heavy breaths between each laugh was unearthly sent shivers down Roosevelt's spine. "You think you can stop me," Doc Holliday said. "With Packer and his wolves out of the way, I am unstoppable. Soon my pack will be all over these mountains! You are a fool, Theodore, if you think you can prevent me from gaining my rightful place as master of this land. You are powerful, but you are still just a mortal man. Step aside, or I will end you."
Doc Holliday dropped to all fours and snorted. The President shifted his footing to a better defensive position. The holster rubbed against his right thigh. The President stared down the three hundred pound beast in front of him and spat back one word. "Never!"
Doc Holliday snarled and charged forward toward the President. With each lunge the glass fixtures in the hallway shook violently. Roosevelt stood his ground as if he were a matador in the ring. At the last moment, the President jumped. But Holliday anticipated the President's move and barreled into the President. The two tumbled back down the hallway. Roosevelt lashed out a foot and planted his boot firmly on Holliday's stomach. Holliday grunted and stepped back, holding his gut and wincing. Roosevelt squirmed backward and rose to his feet. Still unsteady, the President reached for the pistol in his holster. Holliday charged at Roosevelt yet again as he raised the gun.
Before the President could get a shot off, though, Holliday slammed his body into the President's again. They fell backward, smashing through the window at the end of the hallway. They tumbled through the air, scratching at each other to try and direct their fall. The man and wolf hit the hot spring pool below with a loud splash. Roosevelt was the first to recover, and saw his pistol a few yards away from him in the clear, moonlit water. He kicked off of Holliday and swam to the pistol, grabbing it. The impact of the ninety degree water of the spring had startled both of them, stunning Holliday more. Roosevelt turned in the water to face Holliday. Holliday thrashed at Roosevelt, but the President was quicker on the draw as Holliday's matted fur and bulky wolf body slowed his lunge.
Underwater, the shot appeared to move as in slow motion. The silver bullet exited the pistol with a muted flash that was soon extinguished by the pool. The bullet punched through the water and hit Holliday's neck with a squelch. Holliday thrashed in the water as the pool around him turned an inky red. Roosevelt swam up, breaching the surface with a gasp. The crash had attracted members of Roosevelt's entourage to the broken window. Roosevelt swam to the edge of the pool and lifted himself out of the water. After a few minutes, Holliday went still in the pool and his lifeless body bobbed in the water. Roosevelt stood in the cool air, letting the water drip from him.
"I suppose that's settled then," Roosevelt said between heavy breaths once he noticed Muir had run to his side.
"Yes." Muir replied curtly.
"It's a shame, really. Doc Holliday was, from what I saw of him, a good man. It is too bad he succumbed to this bloodlust." Muir nodded. The President regained his breath. "At least this heinous activity has been ended and Glenwood Springs can live in peace now. With Holliday and Packer dead, the wolf packs shouldn't bother them anymore."
“Agreed.” Muir nodded. A thought popped into his head. “Oh, that reminds me, Mister President. You ought to fire Alexander for fleeing up at the cabin.”
Roosevelt grimaced. “Has he shown up since then? I don’t recall seeing him at all yesterday.” Muir shrugged.
Roosevelt and Muir went back inside to the warmth of the fire in the hotel lobby. Two days later after the Colorado and local authorities were brought in, the President ended his vacation and returned to Washington.
[1] In OTL the
Hotel Colorado often hosted Roosevelt and Taft in the summers during their administrations.
[2] A lot of this is taken from bits of Doc Holliday's OTL life. One of his odd jobs as he made his way west was as a faro dealer. Holliday also lived his final days in Glenwood Springs where he hoped the springs would help cure a bout of tuberculosis. He's buried in a cemetery in Glenwood Springs.
[3] I couldn't find any definitive info on whether John Muir was a vegetarian, but he was definitely against hunting.
[4]
Alferd Packer, one of the more colorful legends of Colorado history.
