But for the cornerstone of this episodic narrative, I cannot make a better choice than the bloody feud in Tombstone, Arizona, which cost me a brave brother and cost more than one worthless life among the murderous dogs who pursued me and mine only less bitterly than I pursued them.
—WYATT EARP
The summer of 1881 saw tensions rising in Tombstone. It also saw the death of Billy the Kid. While this would have no direct impact on Wyatt Earp or Bat Masterson, the Kid’s death was another indication of the Wild West moving toward becoming less wild, as one by one its most colorful outlaws exited the stage.
Before he had joined forces with Dirty Dave Rudabaugh, Billy had gotten involved in what had become known as the Lincoln County War, and that was why Sheriff Pat Garrett had gone after him.
Billy was working in New Mexico Territory for the rancher John Tunstall. The wealthy Englishman had arrived in Lincoln County in 1876 to go into the cattle business with John Chisum, but their efforts were thwarted by a rival faction that wanted to control the business as well as the federal government contracts that went with it. The friction escalated, and by the time the Lincoln County War was over, fourteen men had been killed. One of them was Tunstall, in February 1878. Billy was a big part of the revenge action that followed; then, as the war drew to a close, he went on the run.
After being arrested by Garrett because of his adventures with Dirty Dave, Billy was put on trial in Mesilla, New Mexico, convicted, and sentenced to be hung. Though often debunked, the reported exchange was between the judge declaring that Billy would hang “until you are dead, dead, dead,” and the Kid responding, “And you can go to hell, hell, hell.” He was restrained by handcuffs and leg irons and locked in a room on the top floor of the courthouse in Lincoln, where he awaited execution, scheduled for May 13, 1881.
But Billy escaped. Early on the evening of April 28, a deputy, James Bell, escorted him downstairs to a privy. As they were going back upstairs, Billy managed to slip one hand out of the metal cuffs and bashed Bell over the head with them, also yanking out the deputy’s pistol. As Bell staggered down the stairs, Billy shot him; the deputy was dead when he hit the street. Another deputy, Bob Olinger, who hated the Kid, and the feeling was mutual, came running. By the time he arrived at the courthouse, Billy had a shotgun pointed out one window. “Hello, Bob,” he taunted, then pulled both triggers, killing him, too. The Kid forced a man bringing them food to help him out of the restraints, then stole a horse and rode out of town. When Garrett returned to Lincoln, instead of supervising the construction of the gallows, he had to put together another posse.
Almost three months later, and many miles of following the outlaw’s trail, Garrett was in a cantina in Fort Sumner when Billy, still two months shy of his twenty-first birthday, entered. Supposedly, he was there to see a girl he claimed he loved. It was dark inside and Billy couldn’t see well, but he sensed danger. “Quién es? Quién es?” he queried. There is some dispute as to whether Billy drew a gun or a knife, but in any case, Garrett fired, hitting Billy in the chest. He fell to the floor, took a couple of last breaths, and died. The following day, July 15, Billy was buried at the Fort Sumner cemetery. And only nine months later, Pat Garrett’s book on the outlaw’s life and death was published. (In 1908, Garrett was shot and killed by a ranch worker contending he had been cheated out of his wages.)
In Tombstone, Ben Sippy could see which way the dry desert wind was blowing, and on June 6 he requested a two-week leave of absence as the chief of police. The city council granted it. Members were probably unaware that Sippy, having the good sense to know what could happen in Tombstone between the cowboys, ranchers, and the opposing factions of law enforcement, had his saddlebags packed. The former sheriff and now chief (since the city had been incorporated in February) was getting out while the going was good. The council installed Virgil as the temporary chief of the police department. Three weeks later, when there was no sign of Sippy, Virgil had the job he had been unable to be elected to the previous fall.
His first major action was an auspicious one. That month, a fire had begun in Tombstone that ate up sixty of the mostly wooden buildings on the east side. It was reported that Wyatt was in the Oriental (which was to suffer some damage) when the fire broke out and spread, but he did not leave the building for a safer location until he made sure all the money left on the gaming tables by the safety-first gamblers was swept up and secured in the saloon’s safe.
No sooner had the ashes cooled when displaced residents and others looking for quick accommodations pitched tents and began living in the streets. As both the police chief and a deputy U.S. marshal, Virgil deputized Wyatt, Morgan, and twenty-one other men, and they cleared all the squatters away without violence. The Tombstone Epitaph lauded Virgil as “fearless and impartial” and declared that “his force kept perfect order and protected life and property in a manner that deserves the highest praise.”
The hope among many residents was that someone so fearless and impartial as Virgil in charge of the lawing in Tombstone—though at a modest $150 a month—would prevent an outbreak of hostilities. (So impartial was Virgil that he even arrested the city’s mayor and editor of The Tombstone Epitaph, John Clum, for riding his horse too fast.) But there were problems Virgil could not control, one being the rampant rustling throughout Cochise County.
The other was that as Virgil had to pay more attention to policing in Tombstone, Behan was not picking up the slack. That February, Governor Frémont had appointed Behan sheriff of Cochise County, another reason why Wyatt wanted no part of being a deputy. But Behan had continued down the path of being more friend than foe to the lawbreakers, especially the McLaurys and the Clantons and others who could act with impunity. That summer, adding to the dangerous atmosphere was the combination of Curly Bill and Johnny Ringo.
Things got more out of hand in the summer of 1881 when one of the frequent border crossings to steal cattle resulted in fifteen Mexicans left for dead. This was too much. The Mexican Army could disrespect a border, too. On August 13, a contingent of troops did a raid of their own on American soil, looking for outlaws. Old Man Clanton and four others were found with a herd of stolen cattle and were executed on the spot.
On the night of September 8, several masked men held up a stage near Bisbee and took a Wells Fargo box of money and whatever valuables the passengers had. Normally, this would be Behan’s sole jurisdiction, and thus the robbery might well have been ignored, but also stolen was a bag of mail, making the offense federal, too, requiring the intervention of the deputy U.S. marshal. Virgil deputized Wyatt and Morgan and they hit the trail again. This posse was more successful, finding and apprehending Frank Stilwell and Pete Spence. They were brought back to Tombstone, where Stilwell was released on bail. Virgil arrested him a second time. He would be acquitted in October, but he vowed to repay the Earps for what he claimed was harassment. Taking things a step further, Frank McLaury took Morgan Earp aside to warn him that the brothers would be killed if they attempted any more arrests.
Even with the occasional appearance of Mexican troops, by October the cowboys and crooked ranchers had Cochise County to themselves, except for that burr under their saddles—Virgil and his peace officers, who more often than not included his deputized brothers. As Wyatt was to tell the San Francisco Examiner in 1896 about Ike Clanton, now the head of the larcenous clan, “He knew that his only alternative was to kill us or be killed by his own people.”
If the Earps could be swept away as efficiently as those squatters had been after the fire in Tombstone, the only real law would be Behan, and that was pretty much no law at all. To give him some credit, the sheriff knew that he was far outmanned and outgunned and had a widespread county under his jurisdiction. Taking on the cowboys would have been a huge task and most likely suicidal.
It could not have helped Behan’s disposition and lack of desire to side with Virgil Earp that he was losing his woman to the federal officer’s brother. Wyatt’s romance with Josephine was not necessarily motivated by being fed up with Mattie. She was fine with the domesticity of the Earp commune and the company of her sisters-in-law, especially Allie, who shared her fondness for having a drink or two in the afternoon. Mattie was over thirty now, and Tombstone had potential as a place to build a home and maybe a family. Her headaches and her intake of laudanum were manageable.
Wyatt’s habits did not change. Between his peace officer duties and gambling and other business interests, he was gone from home most of the day and well into the night. Even surrounded by Earps, Mattie increasingly felt neglected and alone. The headaches became more frequent and severe, and gum disease added to her woes. Higher amounts of whiskey helped, but when Mattie woke up, the pains returned, and drinking in the morning was not abided even by Earp women. Laudanum was appealing because of its potent mix of opium and alcohol, and it was more discreetly consumed. Frontier doctors were free to dispense gallons of the liquid painkiller for a wide variety of ailments, and overdoses were either overlooked, misdiagnosed, or considered a blessing.
As the distance between Wyatt and Mattie grew, he and Josie grew closer. An especially colorful assessment can be found in E. C. Meyers’s biography of Mattie: “From the moment Josephine decided Wyatt was the man most likely to rescue her from Behan the sparks of passion flew, but it was Mattie who was burned. Wyatt took up with the sagebrush seductress, secretly at first, but later quite openly.”
Virgil tried not to involve himself in Wyatt’s dizzying domestic issues, instead devoting himself to his own as well as lawing. Allie was not pleased to be constantly surrounded by Earps, with that circle widening when Warren arrived and stayed at her house. He told her that he wanted to learn how to deal faro like Morgan and Wyatt did and be a marshal and wear a gun like Virgil did. (Apparently, James’s job as a bartender did not entice him.) To put some cash in the young man’s pocket, Virgil deputized Warren from time to time, as long as the job was not dangerous. Sometimes the cash did not stay long in his pocket, such as when Warren was arrested and fined twenty-five dollars for discharging firearms within the city limits. Again impartial, Virgil did not interfere with compliance with the law.
That autumn, as cooler breezes began to replace the hot desert zephyrs, Tombstone itself, under Virgil’s watch, was quiet. Arrests were for only petty theft, drunkenness, and the like. Cochise County, however, under Behan’s benevolent neglect, was descending into chaos. The cowboys were stealing everything in sight and continuing to raid across the border. This was not the place the Earps wanted to live in, but they were not about to pick up stakes and leave, either. Virgil was not one to shirk responsibilities, and his brothers were not going to leave him to fend for himself.
There have been many accounts of the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, ranging from as close to authentic as the facts and differing reminiscences will allow to deliberate and often mystifying flights of fancy. Many authors and filmmakers have treated the more reliable accounts as obstacles to be overcome. For the sake of brevity, the following account is what Virgil and Wyatt contend happened. There are inaccuracies, but we may wind up unearthing the true origins of Stonehenge before knowing what exactly happened on Wednesday, October 26, 1881, in Tombstone.
Early that morning, brothers Virgil and Wyatt were told that an angry and probably drunk Ike Clanton was looking for them. He had already stopped at the boardinghouse where Doc Holliday had rooms, but he had not lingered there long enough for Doc to get dressed and come out to fight. Virgil would later testify that he encountered Ike Clanton on Fourth Street between Fremont and Allen. He was toting a Winchester rifle and had a six-shooter tucked into his pants belt. After Virgil went up to him and grabbed the rifle, Clanton “let loose and started to draw his six-shooter. I hit him over the head with mine and knocked him to his knees and took his six-shooter from him.” It was fortuitous that Virgil had acted quickly, because Clanton said, “If I’d seen you a second sooner I would’ve killed you.”
Arrested for disturbing the peace, Ike paid a twenty-five-dollar fine and was released. He then sent word for his brother Billy and the McLaurys, telling them to come armed because it was time to get rid of that cursed Virgil Earp and his brothers.
That afternoon, word reached Virgil that cowboys were gathering off Fremont Street and that they carried guns. The marshal believed it was his duty to disarm them. To help him, he deputized Wyatt, Morgan, and Doc. They walked to a narrow vacant lot between the Harwood House and Fly’s Boarding House and Photography Gallery and the rear entrance of the O.K. Corral. There they found Frank and Tom McLaury, Ike and Billy Clanton, and Billy Claiborne.
Virgil said evenly, “Boys, throw up your hands. I want your guns.”
They stared back defiantly. “I’ve got you now!” Frank McLaury shouted, and Doc responded, “Blaze away. You’re a daisy if you do!”
Wyatt announced, “You sons of bitches have been looking for a fight, and now you can have it!” He later recalled:
For answer, their six-shooters began to spit. Frank McLaury fired at me and Billy Clanton at Morgan. Both missed. I had a gun in my overcoat pocket and I jerked it out at Frank McLaury, hitting him in the stomach. At the same time Morgan shot Billy Clanton in the breast. So far we had got the best of it, but just then Tom McLaury, who got behind his horse, fired under the animal’s neck and bored a hole right through Morgan sideways. The bullet entered one shoulder and came out at the other.
“I got hit, Wyatt!” said Morgan.
“Then get behind me and keep quiet,” I said—but he didn’t.
By this time bullets were flying so fast that I could not keep track of them. Frank McLaury had given a yell when I shot him, and made for the street, with his hand over his stomach. Ike Clanton and Billy Clanton were shooting fast, and so was Virgil, and the two latter made a break for the street. I fired a shot which hit Tom McLaury’s horse and made it break away, and Doc Holliday took the opportunity to pump a charge of buckshot out of a Wells Fargo shotgun into Tom McLaury, who promptly fell dead. In the excitement of the moment, Doc Holliday didn’t know what he had done and flung away the shotgun in disgust, pulling his six-shooter instead.
* * *
No doubt, every surviving member of that gunfight would have a recollection that differs from another’s. For example, supposedly Ike Clanton did not fire a weapon during the fight. Instead, he ran toward Wyatt, who said, “The fight has commenced. Go to fighting or get away.”
The McLaurys and Billy Clanton died from their wounds. Virgil was shot in the left leg, Morgan in the shoulder, and a bullet grazed Doc’s hip. Wyatt was not wounded. He and Doc were arrested, and three days after the gunfight Virgil was suspended as chief of police.
Following that a monthlong preliminary hearing before Justice of the Peace Wells Spicer was conducted. During it, testimony was given that supported the Earps and Doc Holliday, and other testimony placed the blame for the gunfight on them. On November 30, Spicer ordered the release of the defendants, declaring that based on what he had heard, no jury in the territory would find them guilty.
But the Earps were judged guilty by an outlaw jury. In a letter dated April 13, 1884, Will McLaury revealed to his father that he hired “assassins” to avenge his two younger brothers. The group included Pete Spence, Florentino Cruz, Hank Swilling, and Indian Charley, and their mission was to kill the Earp brothers and any others, such as Doc, associated with them.
The first attempt came on December 28, 1881. Virgil was on patrol that night, and as he walked along Allen Street, the post-Christmas quiet was shattered by shotgun blasts. Virgil was hit, most of the damage done to his left arm. As he was being treated, Virgil managed to say to Allie, “Never mind, I’ve got one arm left to hug you with.”
For weeks reports circulated that Virgil was near death, but he gradually improved. U.S. Marshal Dake appointed Wyatt to take his brother’s place, and he assumed the role of federal peace officer. Peace was not necessarily uppermost in his mind, but he was not about to instigate a conflict, either. Doc took care of that, on January 17, 1882. In the middle of the street he faced off against Johnny Ringo. Both men were moments away from jerking their pistols when a peace officer, Joe Flynn, grabbed Ringo, and Wyatt wrapped his arms around Doc. Sheriff Behan was nowhere to be found.
There was a concern that it was now open season on the Earps and anyone could be a target. All the family members took up residence at the Cosmopolitan Hotel, which could be more easily defended than individual cottages. But they could not simply hide inside the building. And after almost three months without violence, on the evening of March 18, it did not seem too risky for Wyatt and Morgan to go shoot pool.
Across the street from the parlor was a saloon owned by Bob Hatch and John Campbell. From inside it, a man fired a rifle twice through a window in the back door. The second bullet just missed Wyatt, plunging into the wall behind where he was sitting. The first bullet had already torn into Morgan, severing his spine. As had happened with Bat Masterson four years earlier in Dodge City, in Tombstone Wyatt watched a brother die. Morgan, only thirty, breathed his last shortly after midnight, on Wyatt’s thirty-fourth birthday.
There were several accounts of Morgan’s last words. The biographer Casey Tefertiller sides with what Wyatt reportedly offered two months later: “I promised my brother to get even, and I’ve kept my word so far. When they shot him he said the only thing he regretted was that he wouldn’t have a chance to get even. I told him I’d attend to that for him.”
Later that day, Wyatt and James escorted a wagon bearing Morgan’s casket to the train station in Benson. When the next westbound train came through, James and his dead brother were on it, bound for the Earp homestead in Colton, California. Next was to get Virgil along with Allie, Bessie, and Mattie to safety. Two nights later, they were put on a train in Contention, with Wyatt, his brother Warren, and Doc providing protection.
After the train pulled out, Wyatt spotted Ike Clanton and another man believed responsible for the shootings—Frank Stilwell—with shotguns. Firing erupted, and Stilwell was killed. Again, Clanton had run off. What became known as the Earp Vendetta Ride had begun. Wyatt would recall, “For a long time thereafter I occupied the anomalous position of being a fugitive from the county authorities, and performing the duties of Deputy United States Marshal, with the sanction and moral support of my chief.” Wyatt had lost faith in the court system. He had always upheld the decisions of the system in Dodge City, even those he disagreed with, but in Arizona it was a different story.
The vendetta lasted several weeks, and during it the posse led by Wyatt was credited with killing three more men—Curly Bill Brocius, Indian Charlie, and Johnny Barnes. That July, Johnny Ringo was shot and killed, and some accused Wyatt of doing it, but by then the vendetta was over and Wyatt was in Colorado. In an odd twist, during the rest of March and into April, the two Earp brothers and Doc and a few fellow riders were being pursued by a posse formed by Behan. When he drew close, though, courage failed him. He and his halfhearted helpers gave up when Wyatt’s posse left Arizona.
When all was said and done, the fight that began at the O.K. Corral culminated with at least eight men dead. Morgan was the only Earp to die, though Virgil would be disabled the rest of his life.
Wyatt and his posse were worn out and certain that whoever was left worth killing was long gone. Doc’s declining health was another reason to call it quits. Arriving in Silver City, New Mexico, they sold their horses and took a stagecoach to where they could get a train to Trinidad, Colorado. For all his previous attempts at bravado, Warren had seen enough killing. Even Doc had. He split off from the others, to gamble his way to Denver. By the end of April, Wyatt had arrived by train in Gunnison, Colorado. He was sick at heart and exhausted, and he needed to reunite with an old friend.
It had to be a bittersweet get-together for Bat and Wyatt when the latter arrived in Trinidad, where Bat was the city marshal. The last time Bat had seen his close friend, in Tombstone, Virgil and Morgan had been hale and hearty. At least now, Wyatt could recover under Bat’s protection. He found a job dealing faro at a Trinidad saloon. He was done with lawing. For that reason, and Wyatt still being a wanted man himself, it was Bat who had to rescue Doc when he was arrested.
In Denver, Doc had been corralled by a lawman from Arizona named Perry Mallan, and the Denver authorities were content to be bystanders and watch the deadly dentist be extradited. Bat knew the marshal in Pueblo—Henry Jamieson—and wired him, asking a favor. Sure enough, Jamieson arrived in Denver with an arrest warrant, claiming that Doc had swindled a Pueblo man out of $150. But the Denver authorities refused to release Doc, insisting they would hold him until Arizona lawmen arrived to take custody.
So Doc sat in jail, with The Denver Republican reporting about him that “murders committed by him are counted by the scores and his other crimes are legion. For years he has roamed the West, gaining his living by gambling, robbery and murder. In the Southwest his name is a terror.”
Bat’s second ploy was to confront Mallan in the Denver sheriff’s office, and he must have been pretty intimidated, because he confessed to not being a lawman at all but a swindler who was hoping to make money off his sudden fame as the man who had arrested the terror who was Doc Holliday. Bat then went to Colorado Governor Frederick Pitkin, who agreed to stall the extradition request from Arizona. He also agreed to have the custody of Doc transferred to Jamieson. No sooner was that done than the marshal, Doc, and Bat were on a train to Pueblo.