The Most Famous Gunfight
The Overlook
By Tom Clavin
“The Overlook” appears every Thursday at tomclavin.substack.com. An overlook is a place from which one can see in several if not all directions, including where one has been and where one is going. If you enjoy the column, please "like" it and let me know what you think by commenting (check out previous ones while you're at it). Likes, comments, and shares help with author “discoverability” on Substack.com, and all support is appreciated. Don't forget to hit the ‘Subscribe’ button – it’s free!
There are two anniversaries next week that pertain to famous figures in the Wild West. And they both involve death. Next Monday is the centennial of the passing of Bat Masterson. A surprise to many people who associate Masterson with the American West of the 1800s is that he and his wife (whose ex-husband was the University of Michigan football coach) spent the last 19 years of his life in New York City.
Often referred to as a “gunfighter,” Bat became a popular figure in New York and enjoyed being a raconteur at his favorite watering hole at Broadway and 44th Street. His thrice-weekly newspaper column in The New York Morning Telegraph was widely read. On October 25, 1921, Bat had just finished writing his latest column when he slumped over his typewriter, dead of a heart attack. He was a month shy of his 68th birthday. For much more about Bat’s life and his lawman days with Wyatt Earp, pick up Dodge City: The Wickedest Town in the American West by yours truly.
About that other anniversary: Next Tuesday is the 140th anniversary of the infamous Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. It was on October 26, 1881 that three Earp Brothers – Virgil (the city marshal), Wyatt, and Morgan – and Doc Holliday squared off against the Clanton brothers and the McLaury brothers in Tombstone, Arizona.
Trouble had been brewing for months between the law-and-order faction, represented by the Earps, and the rowdy cowboys and ranchers, represented by the Clantons and McLaurys. On that chilly October day, Virgil Earp finally got tired enough of the ranchers’ insults and threatening behavior and he enlisted the help of his two younger brothers.
Tom McLaury had just ridden into Tombstone to join his brother Frank and Ike and Billy Clanton and a friend, Billy Claiborne. The five men stopped by Dexter’s Livery and Feed Station where Billy Clanton had left his horse. However, they did not appear to be in any hurry to leave town, or to do anything at all. They ambled to the O.K. Corral, which was across the way, on Allen Street between 3rd and 4th Streets. There they dawdled, heatedly discussing what to do next. This was reported to the chief of police. “They mean trouble,” one man told Virgil. “They are all armed, and I think you had better go disarm them.”
B.F. Stills was a railroad engineer who had just arrived in town. He saw several men standing around “talking some trouble they had had with Virgil Earp, and they made threats at that time, that on meeting him they would kill him on sight.” One of them said that “they would kill the whole party of the Earps when they met them.”
Stills walked up the street and reported to Virgil what he had overheard, then like many others on the street, he stood aside and watched for what would happen next.
Since its informal activation in September, the Citizens Safety Committee had continued to exist. The head of it, William Murray, stepped into Hafford’s. He took Virgil aside and confided, “I know you are going to have trouble and we have plenty of men and arms to assist you.”
The marshal realized that if men went for their guns it could be all-out war in the streets of the city. The entire situation had boiled down to the long-simmering acrimony between the Clantons and McLaurys and the Earp brothers. But if there were dozens of armed citizens and who knows how many cowboys in town, the day could be a very bloody one indeed. Worse, if Ike Clanton’s call for help had reverberated, a contingent of cowboys led by Curly Bill Brocius or Johnny Ringo could be on their way right now. As marshal and being Virgil, the last thing he wanted was chaotic violence and bodies bleeding into the dust.
“As long as they stay in the corral,” Virgil told Murray, “I will not go down to disarm them. If they come out on the street, I will take their arms and arrest them.”
This was still bold talk. But unlikely help was on the way. As was his custom, after his early-afternoon breakfast Doc Holliday strolled to the Alhambra Saloon. There might already be a card game underway to join, or he would just amuse himself with solitaire. He would certainly be immediately recognizable to anyone who entered the saloon after him. Doc was dressed like a dandy in a gray suit and a pastel shirt with a stiff collar and tie. He wore a slouch hat and a long, gray overcoat and carried a silver-headed cane.
The Alhambra was where Morgan Earp found Holliday. After being informed of that morning’s events, Doc accompanied Morgan to find Virgil and Wyatt. Citizens immediately directed them to Hafford’s corner shop and saloon. Wyatt was still standing outside, and Doc asked him what was going on. “We’re going to make a fight,” Wyatt replied.
The only other question Doc Holliday had was, “You’re not going to leave me out, are you?”
“This is none of your affair.”
“That is a hell of a thing for you to say to me.”
“It’s going to be a tough one.”
Doc grinned. “Tough ones are the kind I like.”
Back at Hafford’s Saloon, Johnny Behan, the county sheriff, with whiskey burning in his belly, offered to ask the Clantons and McLaurys and Claiborne to give up their guns. “They won’t hurt me,” Behan declared, either boasting or with false courage. “I will go down along and see if I can disarm them.”
Virgil responded that the immediate issue was the men were wearing weapons within the city limits. If they surrendered their guns or got on horses and rode away, there would be no further trouble. And if they stayed in the O.K. Corral they would be left to themselves, though Virgil was not about to wait all day to do his job or to be able to concentrate on other matters.
He was approached John Fonck, who had served as a police captain in Los Angeles. He offered to round up several men to stand with Virgil if he took on the ranchers and cowboys. The marshal responded that if those men were at the corral getting horses to leave, he would let them do so. But Fonck had just come from the O.K. Corral, and he told Virgil that the five men had left and were now on Fremont Street.
That tore it. Virgil could not allow them to roam downtown displaying weapons. But Behan interceded, saying he would meet up with those men and disarm them. Virgil nodded.
As he walked down the street toward where the Clanton and McLaury brothers and Billy Claiborne were reported to be, Behan was either quaking in his boots or picturing himself as a hero. Probably both. When he reached them, he said, “Boys, you must give up your arms. You have got to give up your arms.”
He was met with silent stares, so the sheriff pressed ahead: “Boys, you must go up to the sheriff’s office and lay off your arms and stay there until I get back. I’ll go disarm the Earps.”
But it was too late. When Behan glanced up Fremont Street, he saw the Earp brothers and Doc walking toward him. Now, whether Behan had meant what he said or not, getting the marshal’s party to give up their guns or to at least stop in their tracks was the only way to avoid bloodshed. “Wait here,” he told the others. “I will go up and stop them.”
Virgil was a patient man . . . but Behan had taken too long. Standing outside Hafford’s, he may have deputized Doc. Because of being so frequently called upon, Wyatt and Morgan were already designated as “special officers” and had law-enforcement powers. All four men had six-shooters stuck in their belts. Virgil took the walking stick and handed the borrowed shotgun to Doc, either because the latter’s long overcoat might make his pistol hard to get to or brandishing a shotgun at the ranchers might be like a red cape shaken at a bull. Plus, Virgil knew that Doc was no marksman with a handgun.
The four men waited another minute or two, then began marching down Fourth Street. Wyatt was on the left, and to his right were Virgil, Morgan, and Doc, with Virgil a couple of steps ahead. When they reached Fremont Street, they turned west, seeing C.S. Fly’s boardinghouse and photo studio up ahead. Also up ahead, in a vacant lot next to Fly’s property, were five men who, as far as the lawmen knew, were armed and demanding a fight.
When Behan saw the Earps and Holliday steadfastly approaching, he hurried from the vacant lot to intercept them. They met in front of Bauer’s Market. “Gentlemen,” Behan began, “I am sheriff of this county and I am not going to allow any trouble if I can help it.”
The lawmen brushed past him. It was abundantly clear that by this point the sheriff had lost all credibility with Virgil. Behan followed behind the four men, practically begging them to halt, but he could no longer delay the inevitable. “For God’s sake,” the sheriff implored, “don’t go down there or you will get murdered.”
As they marched on Virgil and Wyatt heard the sheriff say, “I have disarmed them all.” Behan would later deny he made that statement, but that was what Virgil and Wyatt heard and they relaxed a bit. Wyatt, Morgan, and Doc were still prepared to back Virgil’s play, but if the sheriff had indeed taken the weapons from the five men, there would be no shooting.
Virgil pushed his pistol into the left side of his pants and now in his gun hand he held the walking stick, as though he would wave it and the men in the lot would disappear. Wyatt and Morgan had their six-shooters in their right hands, but now they put them away on their right sides. Doc’s pistol and the shotgun were hidden under the long grey coat, except when the wind pushed it open. Behan stopped trying to keep up with them and dropped back.
Someone called out, “There they come!”
The lawmen arrived at the vacant lot, which was only 15 feet wide, on Fremont Street, between C.S. Fly’s and the Harwood House. As they came to a stop, Doc moved to one side. His role would be to prevent anyone from leaving the lot without having surrendered his gun. The Earps saw Ike Clanton in the middle of the lot, and closer to the Harwood House side stood the McLaurys and Billy Clanton and Billy Claiborne.
Also in the lot were horses belonging to Frank McLaury and the younger Clanton. The lawmen noted that in the horses’ saddle boots were Winchester rifles, that Billy Clanton wore a gunbelt and pistol, and Frank McLaury had a six-shooter tucked in his right side. So, quite possibly Behan had lied to them and none had been disarmed. “Son of a bitch,” Wyatt muttered.
Virgil entered the lot with Wyatt behind him, Morgan remaining on the sidewalk but with a clear view of the other men. Raising his right hand and with it the cane, the marshal ordered, “Throw up your hands, boys. I intend to disarm you.”
Billy Claiborne sought the safety of the C.S. Fly building.
In an odd response, Frank McLaury said, “We will,” as if he and the others would comply. At the same time, though, he stepped forward and grabbed the handle of his pistol. Billy Clanton reacted by placing a hand on his holstered gun. Tom McLaury tossed open his coat, apparently to grab one or perhaps two guns.
Wyatt pulled his gun out of his right coat pocket. Doc yanked the shotgun up out of his coat and pulled the hammers back. There was a sudden “click-click” – either from the shotgun or the hammers of two pistols being drawn back – and the sound was especially loud in the hushed silence of the vacant lot.
“Hold!” Virgil shouted. “I don’t mean that!”
Again, it was too late. What followed was an outburst of 30 shots in 30 seconds, destined to be the most famous gunfight in the American West.
Not wanting the four men to get the drop on them, Wyatt aimed and fired. As he later explained, “I knew that Frank McLowery [sic] had the reputation of being a good shot and a dangerous man.” His bullet struck McLaury in the belly. Simultaneously, Billy Clanton had jerked his gun and fired at Wyatt, but missed.
“I knew it was a fight for life,” Wyatt stated, “and I drew and fired in defense of my own life and the lives of my brothers and Doc Holliday.”
But during the next few seconds there was a pause in gunfire. The wounded Frank McLaury staggered away from Wyatt and Virgil. The marshal hurried to push the walking stick into his left hand and grab his gun with his right. Tom McLaury stepped behind one of the horses to grab a rifle. Doc walked into the lot. And suddenly, Ike Clanton ran at Wyatt.
He tried to wrap his arms around Wyatt. He could see that Ike was unarmed, so instead of shooting him, Wyatt managed to push him away. “The fight’s commenced,” Wyatt told the panicked man. “Go to fighting or get away.” Ike chose the latter. He ran into Fly’s and through it and kept running. He did not cease running until he reached Toughnut Street, two blocks away.
Abruptly, the shooting began again. Both Frank McLaury, despite his grievous wound, and Billy Clanton pulled their triggers repeatedly. Virgil was shot in the lower leg and went down. Morgan was struck next, the bullet going through one shoulder and out the other. He too fell, calling out, “I am hit!”
“Then get behind me and keep quiet,” Wyatt told Morgan, who stayed where he was. Of the lawmen, just Wyatt and Doc were left unhurt.
The latter advanced on Tom McLaury, who was reaching across the saddle. The agitated horse wanted to get away, and the moment McLaury was visible, Doc let loose with the shotgun, hitting his target in the right arm and side. McLaury tried to get out of harm’s way – the horse had gotten loose and was dashing down Fremont Street – but he could get only as far as a telegraph pole in the corner of the lot before collapsing.
Doc threw down the used shotgun and yanked out his nickel-plated pistol. Billy Clanton continued to fire, even after taking two bullets. One was lodged in his chest and the other had hit him in the wrist. He slid down the wall of the Harwood House. Now with the gun in his left hand and balanced on his bent knee, he fired more shots.
Frank McLaury had grabbed the reins of the other horse and was behind it as he walked it out of the vacant lot. When he fired at Morgan, the horse bolted. Doc strode toward him and both men lifted their guns. “I’ve got you now,” Frank said.
“Blaze away,” Doc responded. “You’re a daisy if you have.”
They jerked their triggers. Doc’s bullet bore into Frank’s chest. Morgan, to try to protect Doc, had fired too, and his bullet hit McLaury in the side of the head. The rancher’s bullet passed through Doc’s coat and grazed his hip. “I’m shot right through!” he announced. Then he approached McLaury, now lying on the ground and moving slightly. Doc said, “That son of a bitch has shot me and I aim to kill him.”
But instead of more shooting it was suddenly quiet again in the vacant lot, except for the sound of Billy Clanton, one wrist smashed, futilely trying to reload his six-shooter. After a few moments, C.S. Fly approached and took the young man’s gun. The gunfight was finished. Of the eight men there when the battle began, one had run off, three were wounded, and three were dead. Only Wyatt Earp was unscathed.
Tom Clavin is the bestselling author/co-author of 18 books, including Tombstone, Blood and Treasure (with Bob Drury), and the forthcoming Lightning Down: A World War II Story of Survival, to be published by St. Martin’s Press on November 2. To pre-order, please go to your local bookstore or to Bookshop.org, Amazon.com, or BN.com.