by D. V. Berkom
The afternoon of October twenty-sixth, Claire retired to her room at Fly’s to work on some ideas to improve her skirt’s pistol pocket. The mood in town was tense—Ike Clanton had been drinking heavily all night and was running his mouth off about the Earp brothers, threatening to kill them on sight. Although Ike was a blustering fool by most accounts, Claire had ensured that Doc and Kate knew about the rumors before retiring to her room. Kate mentioned seeing Ike Clanton near the boarding house that morning, still drunk and wearing a bandage on his head.
“Claire—” Kate yelled as she banged on Claire’s door. “Come quick.”
Claire ran to the door and opened it wide. Clearly upset, Kate beckoned for Claire to follow her. Her fear-filled eyes appeared coal black in her pale face.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Doc.” Kate grabbed Claire’s hand and dragged her to their room. Once inside, she pointed out the window. “There.”
The window looked onto the vacant lot next door where several men squared off with each other. Virgil, Wyatt, and Morgan Earp stood on Fremont Street near the lot entrance, while Ike Clanton, his brother Billy, and well-known ranchers and cattle rustlers Tom and Frank McLaury stood farther in. Tom held the reins of his horse and wore a guarded expression. Doc stood in the middle of Fremont wearing a knee-length duster and a deadly serious expression.
Claire pointed at Virgil, who’d just stepped into the lot. “Virgil’s got Doc’s cane.” The lawman held the silver-headed walking stick in his right hand.
“What’s he going to do with that?” Kate asked, annoyed. “Hit someone over the head?”
Claire clenched her fists. “I should be there to back them up.” She turned to leave, but Kate gripped her arm.
“No, you should not, Claire Whitcomb.” Kate’s fierce expression made Claire rethink her decision. “Unless you want to die.”
Kate had a point. This wasn’t Claire’s fight. She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to join the men in the lot, and turned back to the window. Maybe Virgil would deescalate the situation. With all the bad blood between them the chance seemed remote.
Kate cracked the window open in an attempt to hear what was being said. A cold wind slithered into the room, and Claire hugged herself against the chill. A crowd had formed on Fremont Street, comprised of an eager audience—it wasn’t every day that there was an honest-to-goodness shootout.
Let this be over soon, Claire thought.
To Claire’s left, Wyatt took up a position at the southwest corner of Fly’s. Morgan stood on the street near the entrance to the lot. Doc remained in the center of Fremont Street, most likely to keep an eye out for anyone coming toward them. Virgil stayed where he was.
There was movement to Claire’s left as Tom McClaury appeared to go for the rifle in his saddle scabbard. Doc swept his coat aside to reveal a double-barreled shotgun. Tom froze.
“Throw up your hands, boys. I intend to disarm you.” Virgil’s voice rang out in the cold October air.
“We will—” Frank McLaury began, but Virgil’s words set everyone in motion. Frank went for his pistol at the same time as Wyatt.
Wyatt beat Frank to the draw and fired, hitting him in the stomach. Frank doubled over but kept his feet.
Virgil waved the cane and yelled, “Hold!” but his words had no effect. Billy Clanton, standing next to the wood frame house across the lot from Fly’s, fired at Wyatt, but his shot went wide. Ike threw himself at Wyatt and grabbed him around the middle, unintentionally shielding him from Billy’s next shot.
“Don’t shoot, Wyatt. I ain’t armed,” Ike pleaded. Wyatt tried and failed to throw off the tenacious cowboy. Billy worked to get a clean shot at Wyatt, but Ike was in the way. Seeing an opening, Morgan shot the younger Clanton, who collapsed against the house but kept shooting.
Black smoke thickened the air as the gunfight intensified. It was hard to keep track of who shot whom.
“Virgil’s down.” Claire gasped as the veteran lawman fell to one knee.
Virgil struggled to his feet and fired at Frank as Frank staggered toward Fremont, but the outlaw’s horse got in the way and Virgil missed.
Ike and Wyatt were still locked in a struggle when Wyatt’s pistol went off. Kate stifled a scream, startling Claire. Outside, Morgan yelled, “I’m hit,” and went down. He attempted to stand but tripped and fell.
Wyatt finally managed to shake Ike free and bellowed, “The fighting’s commenced. Get fightin’, or go away.”
Ike chose the latter. He took off running and disappeared from view.
“I’m going after Ike.” Claire turned from the window, a mixture of anger and fear for Doc and the Earps firing through her.
“No—you must stay here. You will be shot—” Kate pleaded.
Claire’s anger reached a boiling point, and she turned on Kate. “This is Ike’s fault and he’s getting away. I’m going to find him and either kill him or bring him to justice.”
More shots rang out, and the two women turned toward the window, momentarily forgetting Ike Clanton. Tom McLaury’s horse bolted, leaving Tom wide open. Doc fired the shotgun, hitting Tom under the arm. Tom staggered from the lot, his right side a bloody mess. Doc threw down the shotgun and pulled his pistol free, searching for his next target. He honed in on Billy.
His hand bloodied by a bullet wound, Billy switched his gun from his right to his left, but his wounds were too grave and his aim was off. Seeing that Billy was no longer a threat, Doc turned his attention to Frank.
Frank McLaury fired at Morgan but Frank’s horse spooked and took off, leaving Frank exposed and bleeding in the middle of the street. Morgan managed to pull himself up to take aim at Frank, but Doc was already coming for him.
With difficulty Frank straightened. He drew on Doc and yelled, “I’ve got you now.”
Doc smiled at his audacity. “Blaze away. You’re a daisy if you have.”
Frank fired.
Doc staggered. “I’m shot through,” he bellowed. Both he and Morgan fired at Frank. Frank collapsed to the ground. Doc towered over the fallen cowboy and said, “The son of a bitch has shot me, and I mean to kill him.”
But Frank was already dead.
Chapter 8
A steam whistle from a nearby mine shrieked, breaking the onlookers’ stunned silence. Armed men swarmed the street but balked at the sight of the dead. Obviously they were too late to help.
Claire raced from the room with Kate close on her heels, and met Doc as he crashed through the door and headed for his room. Kate followed.
Mollie Fly stopped Claire and handed her a bar of soap and a kettle of hot water. “He might need these,” she said as she pulled strips of clean muslin from her apron pocket. Claire took everything to Doc’s room. Doc was in the process of unbuttoning his trousers. With a grimace he pulled the fabric away from his hip. Blood marked the wound.
Claire handed Kate a damp cloth, which she used to clean him. Kate leaned back, relief obvious on her face. “It’s just a graze.” Claire let out a sigh, unaware she’d been holding her breath.
Doc grabbed a wad of muslin, secured it to the wound to stanch the blood, then pulled his pants back on. “I’ve got to go to Wyatt. The cowboys will be looking for revenge.” He nodded at Claire. “I would appreciate your company.”
“I’ll get my rifle.” Claire hurried to her room to grab the modified Winchester and joined Doc outside.
Wyatt stood guard over Virgil and Morgan and chatted quietly with bystanders while they waited for a wagon to take his wounded brothers home to be looked after. Out of the eight involved, Wyatt was the only one who hadn’t been shot—except for a bullet hole punched through the bottom of his coat. When Claire pointed it out Wyatt inspected the damage and raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll be. Billy got a shot off after all.”
“You want to take his gun?” someone behind Claire asked.
Claire turned to see Camillus “Buck” Fly—Mollie’s husband—and Bob Hatch, the owner of Hatch�
��s Saloon, standing near Billy Clanton. Weak and bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds, Billy worked feverishly to reload his gun.
“Aw, hell. I’ll do it.” Fly bent down and wrested Billy’s gun from his hand.
“I need more bullets,” Billy cried as he attempted to retake his gun. He fell back, writhing in pain. Several men walked over and picked him up to take him to a nearby house. Billy’s screams echoed through the vacant lot as they carried him away.
Not long after, the wagon arrived to cart Virgil and Morgan off to be seen by one of the town’s doctors. Sheriff Johnny Behan, missing throughout the gunfight, walked out from behind Fly’s Photography Studio and joined Wyatt, Doc, and Claire.
“Wyatt Earp and John H. Holliday, you’re under arrest for the murders of Frank and Tom McLaury and Billy Clanton.”
Wyatt rounded on the sheriff, his anger on full display. “I’ll tell you plain, Johnny, I will not be arrested.”
Clearly taken aback at Wyatt’s outburst, Johnny sputtered a response. “You and Doc need to answer for what you done.”
A Tombstone businessman who was standing nearby interrupted. “There’s no hurry arresting this man,” he claimed, nodding at Wyatt. “He’s done right in killing them, and I’m certain the town will agree.”
“You bet we did right,” Wyatt admonished Behan. “We had to do it. And you threw us, Johnny. You told us they were disarmed.”
Outnumbered, Johnny gave in. “See to your brothers, but stay in town.”
“Someone needs to find Ike,” Claire suggested. “Last I saw he was running toward Allen Street.”
Johnny eyed Claire’s rifle and shook his head. “It’s a good thing you weren’t involved. I’d hate to put a lady behind bars. Or worse, bury you.”
“Go after Ike,” Claire replied. “It’s the least you can do, Johnny.”
Johnny glared at Wyatt and Doc and said, “I’ll find Ike, but it won’t be good for either of you.”
After Behan left, one of the bartenders from the Alhambra ran up to Wyatt, breathless. “The Safety Committee’s talkin’ about lynchin’ Ike Clanton.”
Doc and Wyatt exchanged glances. “I’d say Sheriff Behan will have his hands full tonight.”
With Behan out of the way, Claire, Doc, and Wyatt started for Virgil’s house. On the way, Claire asked Wyatt, “Will there be a trial?”
Wyatt narrowed his eyes and stared into the distance. “If there is I have no doubt the town will back us.”
“I’m not so sure, Wyatt,” Doc said. He had a slight limp but didn’t appear to be in too much pain. He’d recovered his cane, which he used now. “This town has a way of turning on you. Look at the election last year—we all expected you to win.”
Wyatt frowned. “Citizens don’t like Behan much, especially since he’s partial to cowboys. Virgil’s the law and he appointed Morgan and me as his deputies. We were in the right, all the way through. We gave those cowboys plenty of opportunities to either give up their guns or leave town.”
“But is that enough?” Doc asked. “Three of the cowboys died today. At the very least their compatriots will be looking for revenge, disrupting Tombstone’s serenity. The town’s collective memory may run short if that happens. The shootout will be top of mind.”
Wyatt looked at Claire. “You saw it. What do you think?”
“It all happened so fast, I can’t say for sure exactly,” Claire said. “I do know that Ike Clanton’s had it in for you and your brothers for a while now. The whole town knows that. But I also know there’s been bad blood between you and the cowboys for longer than that. A standoff has been a long time coming.”
“Did you see who shot first?” Doc asked.
“I didn’t have a clear view because of McLaury’s horse but Tom looked like he was going for his rifle and thought better of it when Doc pulled out the shotgun.”
“Indeed.” Doc nodded at her recollection.
“Would you swear to it in court if it came to that?” Wyatt asked.
“I don’t know how effective my testimony would be in a trial—everybody knows I’m partial to you boys.”
Doc’s mustache quirked up as he gave her the briefest of smiles. A second later the grim expression he’d worn since the shootout returned. “I think we’re in for it, Wyatt.”
“We’ll be fine, Doc. Don’t worry about things that ain’t gonna happen.”
Surprisingly, the next morning both newspapers backed the lawmen, although rumor had it that close to half the town sided with the cowboys.
That afternoon, the dead cowboys’ funeral procession commenced. Mourners numbered in the hundreds and included a stagecoach and twenty-two carriages. Close to two thousand townspeople lined the streets of Tombstone in respectful silence. Claire wondered how many were on the side of the dead.
Whatever the number, it didn’t look like a town that was going to back Doc and Wyatt.
Chapter 9
Claire was right.
“What will happen now?” Claire asked Doc. She’d just finished breakfast at the Grand Hotel. She and Doc sat at a table talking.
“It doesn’t look good, Miss Claire.” He made circles on the table with his cup and stared into the distance. He’d taken to adding a splash or two of rye whiskey to his morning coffee. “The governor denied Virgil’s request for federal troops to fend off what he sees as an impending cowboy assault.”
“They don’t think that will happen? I’d expect the cowboys would want vengeance. Especially if the courts don’t rule in their favor.”
Doc shifted in his chair. “I don’t think we need to worry about an all-out assault on the town. I believe Virgil made the request to rehabilitate his reputation. The cowboys may be rash but they’re not stupid. They will exact their revenge in a more surreptitious manner.”
At that moment, Johnny Behan and two of his deputies entered the restaurant and strode to their table.
“John H. Holliday,” Behan declared, “you’re under arrest for the murders of Billy Clanton, and Tom and Frank McLaury.”
Doc sighed and placed his linen napkin on the table. “This is getting tiresome.” He stood and bent to kiss Claire’s hand and murmured, “I’m sorry to leave you so soon, my dear.” He turned to Behan. “And you, sir, have the tedious habit of repeating yourself. You might want to check with your doctor—you may well be succumbing to feeble-mindedness.”
Behan scowled at Doc. “That’s enough, Holliday. Time to go.”
The inquest lasted several weeks, and it appeared that the cowboys were favored to win. That is, until Tom and Frank McLaury’s older brother, Will, requested that Ike Clanton take the stand. After a few easy questions, the Earp brothers’ attorney, Tom Fitch, showed Ike a telegram from Wells Fargo to Marshall Williams stating that the company would pay a reward for the apprehension of the Benson stage robbers, dead or alive.
“Did you or did you not strike a deal with Wyatt Earp to lure the stage robbers to a predetermined place,” Fitch asked, “so that Mr. Earp could take the fugitives into custody and collect the reward—all of which he would then pay to you?”
Ike’s face turned red, and he stammered his answer. “I—uh, Wyatt came to me to help him kill the men that robbed the stage. He said there was a lot of money to be had—twelve hundred dollars for each bandit captured—and that I could have it all.” He turned to Justice of the Peace Wells Spicer, and added, “Wyatt even offered twenty-four hundred dollars of his own money if I agreed to betray my friends.
“Naturally, I wanted to know why Wyatt wanted them three dead so bad. He told me him and Morgan gave Doc and Billy Leonard money from the treasure box even before the stage left town. They was afraid the others would squeal on ’em if they was caught.”
Fitch listened to his story, then prompted, “Why didn’t you tell anyone else about this sinister scheme?”
Ike’s gaze darted to Wyatt as he answered. “Wyatt made me promise on my honor as a gentleman not to repeat the conversation if I did not like the
proposition.”
Wyatt scoffed. Attendees buzzed with conjecture.
Fitch ended his questioning. Will McLaury asked to question Ike further, to which Spicer agreed. Fitch whispered something to Wyatt and then settled back in his chair. Doc scribbled on a scrap of paper and slid it to his attorney. What other lies would Ike dream up?
Apparently thinking Will’s request to keep him on the stand implied his support of the direction Ike’s testimony was taking, Ike continued his blatant perjury.
“A few days after the holdup, Doc Holliday came around askin’ to talk with me. I told him no sir, don’t take me into your confidence, but he went ahead and confessed to takin’ part in the ambush and that he himself shot Bud Philpot through the heart.”
A collective gasp erupted from the room at this supposed confession. The excitement was palpable as the spectators whispered among themselves.
Ike sat straighter in his chair, clearly buoyed by his time in the limelight.
“That ain’t all. The day after that, Virgil Earp told me he was in league with his brothers and that he’d thrown off the posse chasing ’em so’s they could escape into New Mexico Territory.”
“Why did you wait until this hearing to mention these crimes?” Will asked Ike.
Ike leaned forward in his chair. “I never would’ve said a word ’cept for being called up on this stand.” He swept his gaze over the room. “I was afraid after the outlaws was found dead that the Earps and Doc Holliday would surely kill me for what I knew.” He leaned back triumphantly. “That’s why they started the gunfight.”
A collective murmur filled the room. Claire studied Wells Spicer, looking for some kind of tell for which way he was leaning. Surely he didn’t believe Ike Clanton. Ike’s “confession” was so over the top as to be comical. It was well known that none of the money in the Wells Fargo treasure box had been taken in the attempted robbery and had been delivered to Tucson that same night. Plus, Ike’s description of Virgil being in league with the robbers didn’t ring true and everyone knew it. His insistence that Doc would kill him didn’t hold water either. Doc could have easily killed him during the gunfight and didn’t, weakening Ike’s testimony considerably.
