Cowboys In A Storm
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The storm was a big one. It came up fast, and the wind blew hard enough to make it difficult for them to stand upright against the gusts that swept across the plains of Texas. The lightning flashed in sheets now; huge bolts lit up the sky from horizon to horizon as if God were trying out his latest special effects package on a Hollywood set.
Lightning had been striking all over the state since early morning, but this particular storm seemed more violent than most.
“It’s gonna be bad,” said Doc Holliday. “We should get back inside.” He looked at Wyatt Earp. “What do you think?”
Earp nodded slowly. “I guess so…but I’m not sure we can find our way through that mess without getting lost ourselves.”
Holliday shrugged. “Well, there’s nothing else to do about it. We’ll just have to go with the flow…”
He turned around and started walking toward the saloon door. But before he could reach it, another bolt of lightning struck nearby, sending him stumbling backward into a chair behind the bar where he sat down heavily. For several seconds after he’d fallen, he didn’t move or say anything.
Only when he finally opened his eyes did he look up at Holliday again. His gaze was unfocused, and he appeared confused by what had happened. Then he shook himself awake and stood up unsteadily. “Let’s go!” he shouted. “There’s no sense in sitting here waiting for something to happen! Let’s get moving while we still can!”
“But—” Holliday began to object.
“Get going!” Earp demanded angrily. “This is your idea, remember? You’re supposed to take charge and lead us out of this mess!”
“Yes, yes, all right…” Holliday muttered. “Just give me a second to catch my breath first.”
As soon as he finished speaking, lightning blazed just outside the window near the front entrance of the building. The thunderclap that followed was deafening, and a moment later a heavy rain fell upon them like a curtain of water falling from heaven itself.
For several minutes they waited under cover until the worst of the storm passed. Then they went out into the street once more, their faces blackened by the torrential rains. They could barely see each other, let alone any landmarks along the road ahead of them.
But no matter how dark things got, they kept trudging forward anyway. Their only hope lay in keeping on moving, whatever direction the storm might send them. And if they couldn’t see the way anymore, then maybe they wouldn’t get too far off course either.
They walked on for hours, sometimes stopping to rest briefly—and to listen to the sound of the pounding raindrops pelting the roof overhead—other times continuing on at a steady pace regardless of whether anyone was able to keep up or not. After a time, they found themselves crossing a bridge spanning a small river.
As they crossed it, the rain stopped abruptly; the clouds parted, allowing the sun to shine brightly through. By the time they reached the other side, the weather had changed completely, and the air felt warm and almost dry beneath the bright blue sky.
By late afternoon, the day grew hot and humid, and the heat made everyone feel even more exhausted than usual. When they stopped for lunch, some of the men complained about having to eat the same food for two days running.
“Why don’t we stop somewhere and buy something fresh?” asked Billy Claiborne. “Some kind of fruit or vegetable would taste good right now.”
Wyatt Earp smiled thinly. “That’s an excellent idea, Billy,” he agreed. “And I know just the place we can go. There’s a little market not far from here where we can pick up some supplies.”
Claiborne glanced at him curiously but said nothing.
After eating, they resumed their journey, following the dusty trail across the open prairie. The terrain gradually became less rocky, and the grasslands gave way to a flat expanse of brown earth dotted with clumps of trees.
The smell of wood smoke drifted on the breeze, and the men noticed that the ground was beginning to show signs of recent cultivation: corn stalks stood tall and straight, ready to provide nourishment to the animals roaming the area.
A few miles farther on, they saw a large farmhouse standing among the fields. Its white walls glowed in the sunlight, and its red-tiled roof gleamed brightly. The house appeared deserted, but there were plenty of people working the land around it. Some of them waved cheerfully as they drove past, and others called out greetings.
“Looks like someone lives here,” remarked Virgil Earp. “Maybe we ought to ask him if he knows where the nearest town is.”
“Or we could just stay here for the night,” suggested Doc Holliday. “It’s probably safer than trying to make camp out in the middle of nowhere.”
“I agree,” added Wyatt Earp. “If there are people living here, then it must be safe enough to spend the night. Besides, we need to get some rest before tomorrow’s fight.”
The men nodded in agreement. But as they neared the farmhouse, they realized that something wasn’t quite right. Something didn’t seem right about the whole situation. For one thing, the house looked much larger than it should have been for such a modestly sized family.
It seemed as though the entire structure was built entirely of logs, yet somehow the roof was covered with shingles. At the back of the house, there was a long porch stretching across the width of the building, extending all the way down to the ground. A pair of wooden steps led up to the front door, which was painted a bright yellow color and decorated with a wide variety of flowers.
There were also several horses grazing nearby, and a flock of chickens pecking busily at the ground, scratching for bugs and worms. The animals seemed healthy and well cared for, and none of them showed any sign of being afraid of the strangers who approached.
As they drew closer, they saw that the man tending the animals was wearing a straw hat and overalls, and his hands were stained with dirt and sweat. He wore a smile on his face, but when he caught sight of the group approaching, it quickly vanished. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, and he raised a hand to point toward the house.
“Who goes there?” he demanded angrily. “What do you want? Why did you bring your guns so close to my home?”
Wyatt Earp stepped forward and spoke calmly. “We’re looking for a place to spend the night, friend,” he explained. “Do you happen to own this property?”
The farmer frowned doubtfully. “You mean to say that you’ve come all the way out here without knowing anything about me or what I’m doing here?”
“Of course not,” replied Wyatt Earp. “But we figured that since you live here, you’d likely know how to find the closest towns.”
“Then why didn’t you simply ask?” the man growled. “Instead of coming over here and threatening us!”
“Sorry,” apologized Wyatt Earp. “We got lost. We thought we knew where we were going, but it turned out we weren’t anywhere near where we wanted to be. That’s why we stopped here instead of trying to ride on. Do you think we could stay the night?”
He paused, waiting for the farmer to reply. To his surprise, however, the man shook his head vigorously.
“No! You can’t stay here!” he cried. “This is private property, and I won’t allow anyone to trespass on it. If you want to sleep under the stars tonight, that’s fine by me, but you’ll have to leave right after breakfast.”
“All right,” conceded Wyatt Earp. “So, will you tell us where we might find a hotel?”
The man hesitated again, clearly torn between wanting to help them and refusing to let them into his house. Finally, he sighed heavily and spread his arms wide.
“Well, look around,” he told them. “See if there isn’t someplace else you would rather stay.”
Doc Holliday walked to the edge of the field and gazed through the fence at the surrounding countryside. As he watched, he spotted an abandoned barn not far from the house.
“That looks like a good place,” he announced. “Let’s go check it out.”
The men followed Doc Holliday to the barn, and together they examined the structure carefully. There was no telling whether it had once belonged to the farmer or another family, but it certainly looked clean and sturdy enough. In fact, it was almost identical to the farmhouse itself.
“I don’t see any windows,” observed Virgil Earp. “How do we light a fire inside?”
“Just use the lantern,” said Doc Holliday. “And remember: Don’t burn the hay bales. They’re full of straw, and burning it would set the whole place on fire. Just put the lamp in the corner and hang the blanket over the opening. Then we’ll be able to see to cook our dinner.”
They spent a few minutes gathering wood and kindling, then returned to the house to fetch their supplies. When they came back outside, Virgil Earp lifted the lid off of a large tin box and began to dig through its contents.
“Here it is!” he exclaimed happily. “A big old kettle, just perfect for making soup!”
“Good,” agreed Wyatt Earp. “I hope it has plenty of water in it. We haven’t eaten since lunchtime yesterday.”
Virgil Earp pulled out a small metal pot and began filling it with cold water from the bucket.
“It doesn’t matter how much we drink while we’re traveling,” he explained, “but we need to keep drinking during the day. It keeps us hydrated, and it helps prevent heatstroke. We can only carry so many waterskins, though. So we should make sure to fill up as often as possible.”
“I agree,” declared Wyatt Earp. “If we get thirsty, we’ll stop and rest until we feel better. And then we can start moving again.”
By the time the sun reached its zenith, the travelers had finished setting up camp. After securing the wagon to the wooden rails, they built a roaring bonfire. With the help of the lantern, they lit the stovepipe and placed the kettle on top of it.
When the water began to boil, they added dried meat, vegetables, and several cans of beans. The meal tasted terrible—even worse than the stew the previous evening—but it was still welcome food nonetheless.
After eating, the three men sat around the fire and talked quietly for hours. They discussed their plans for the future, and they shared stories about the people and places they had left behind. By the end of the night, Wyatt Earp felt more relaxed and refreshed than he had in weeks.
As dawn approached, the flames died down, and the men packed up the wagon. At first, Wyatt Earp tried to stoke the fire, but when he discovered that the wood had burned away, he gave up and headed for home.
“Didn’t you enjoy your visit?” asked Doc Holliday.
Wyatt Earp smiled wistfully. “Yes, I did,” he admitted. “But I’m glad to be heading back home again. This trip has been good for me. Now that I’ve seen Tombstone, I know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
***
The next morning, Wyatt Earp awoke early and went outside to inspect his horse. He found him lying dead beside the corral. Next to the animal lay a note written in blood:
’My name is John Behan,’ wrote the killer, ‘and this is my story.’
⁂
The first person Wyatt Earp saw upon waking up was Doc Holliday. The gambler was sitting cross-legged near the foot of the bed, staring intently at the ceiling.
“What are you doing?” Wyatt demanded. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“Sorry,” replied Doc Holliday. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Why aren’t you asleep?”
“Because I couldn’t sleep,” answered the doctor. “I kept thinking about all those poor souls who lost their lives last night. Their families must be devastated.”
Wyatt Earp rubbed his eyes and yawned loudly. “Yeah, well, I guess there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s head downstairs and have some breakfast.”
He climbed out of bed and hurried into the bathroom. A moment later, he emerged wearing fresh clothes and carrying a towel.
“All right,” he told Doc Holliday, “let’s eat.”
Together they made their way to the kitchen, where Wyatt Earp poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the table. As soon as he sat down, Virgil Earp appeared at his side.
“Are you ready to go?” he inquired.
“Ready or not,” responded Wyatt Earp. “Let’s do it.”
The two brothers walked to the front door, opened it, and stepped outside. In the distance, they could hear the sound of gunfire.
“Sounds like someone else is having problems,” remarked Wyatt Earp. “Maybe we should give them a hand.”
Doc Holliday shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “We don’t want to interfere. Whatever happened here, it’s none of our business. If they need help, they will ask for it. Until then, let’s leave them alone.”
They continued walking toward the saloon. When they arrived, they found that the place was deserted except for an elderly man seated in one corner. His skin looked pale and sickly, and his hair hung limply over his shoulders.
“Hello,” greeted Wyatt Earp. “Is Mr. Earp inside?”
The old man turned slowly and gazed at the strangers. For a moment, he seemed confused. Then he stood up and shuffled across the room.
“Mr. Earp isn’t in today,” he informed them. “Do you need something?”
“Actually, yes,” replied Wyatt Earp. “Could you tell me if he’s planning on coming back anytime soon?”
The old man nodded. “Of course,” he replied. “He usually comes by every day after lunchtime. But since he hasn’t shown up yet, I suppose he won’t be here until tomorrow.”
Wyatt Earp thanked the man and returned to his brother. Together, they walked back to the hotel.
A few minutes later, Virgil Earp came running down the stairs. “Where were you?” he demanded angrily. “It’s almost noon! We’ve got to get going.”
“Sorry,” apologized Wyatt Earp. “But I needed some extra time so that I could wash up. You know how dusty everything gets out here.”
Virgil Earp stared at his younger brother in disbelief. “That’s no excuse!” he shouted. “If you’re too lazy to take care of yourself, then I’m leaving without you.”
With that, he stormed out of the house and drove off in his buggy. Wyatt Earp watched him leave, then sighed heavily and went upstairs to change his shirt.
When he finished dressing, he descended the stairs and entered the dining room. There he encountered a group of men standing around a table. One of them was dressed in black—the same outfit was worn by the gunman who’d killed Billy Clanton and Tom McLaury the previous evening.
“Who are these people?” wondered Wyatt Earp.
One of the other guests pointed to the stranger. “That’s John Behan,” he explained. “He’s from Chicago.”
Wyatt Earp studied the man curiously. He had dark brown hair, light blue eyes, and a small scar above his left eyebrow.
The End