by D. V. Berkom
More witnesses were called, and the prosecution rested. When it came time for the defense, Fitch asked if Wyatt could read a statement. Overruling the prosecution’s objections, Spicer allowed it and Wyatt gave his version of events.
On the afternoon of November thirtieth, Wells Spicer called everyone back to render his verdict. Claire filed into the room with the rest of the spectators and took a seat. The crowd was abuzz with speculation and rumor. From what Claire could glean, half were anti-cowboy, half wanted Wyatt and Doc to stand trial for murder. Claire did her best to ignore what was being said and waited for Spicer to begin.
“Virgil Earp’s decision to enlist his brothers and Doc Holliday in disarming the cowboys,” Spicer began, “was an injudicious and censurable act.”
That didn’t sound promising. Claire glanced at Doc. His jaw pulsed but he remained stone-faced. Wyatt stared straight ahead.
Spicer continued. “But I can attach no criminality to his unwise act. The cowboys were violating the town’s ordinances, and Virgil, Wyatt, Morgan, and Doc were doing what it was their right and duty to do. I cannot resist the conclusion that the defendants were fully justified in committing these homicides—that it was a necessary act, done in the discharge of an official duty.
“There being no sufficient cause to believe the within named Wyatt S. Earp and John H. Holliday guilty of the offense mentioned, I order them to be released.”
Claire let out a breath and laughed with relief. Grinning, Wyatt and Doc stood up and slapped each other and their counselors on the back. Several folks in the room shot to their feet to clap and whistle. Wells Spicer banged his gavel trying to restore order, but it was not to be.
Afterward, Wyatt, Doc, and Claire met up with Virgil and Morgan at the Cosmopolitan, where the two Earp brothers had been convalescing. Drinks flowed freely—even Wyatt had a glass of whiskey to celebrate. Virgil’s and Morgan’s wives, Allie and Louisa, joined them at the hotel and the group prepared to go to dinner.
“Isn’t Mattie coming?” Claire asked Doc. Mattie Earp often stayed home citing a headache. Even so Claire figured Wyatt’s wife would want to celebrate the important occasion. At that moment an attractive woman walked through the door and greeted Wyatt with an intimate smile. Claire raised her eyebrows at Doc. “Josie and Wyatt?”
Doc nodded and said, “Unfortunately, yes,” before throwing back his drink.
Josie was Josephine Marcus, the former actress from San Francisco who had most recently lived with Johnny Behan. Claire had met her the year before when Claire had first come to town and wasn’t at all impressed. Josie was beautiful and knew it, using her feminine wiles to manipulate men to get what she wanted.
Except Johnny had promised Josie marriage and kept putting her off time and again. Eventually Josie had caught him with another woman (or two) and had made it known that their impending nuptials were off.
“Do you think she’s trying to get back at Behan?” Claire wouldn’t put it past her—she’d earned a reputation as a proud woman who expected to be treated like royalty.
Doc shrugged. “That may have been her original intention but I fear they’re both smitten now.”
“How on earth did they keep their relationship from the rumor mill?” It always amazed Claire at how quickly gossip traveled through Tombstone. Keeping anything a secret from the town busybodies was a full-time job.
“I assume it was mostly Wyatt’s doing.”
The group moved to the dining room, and Doc offered Claire his arm. “Miss Whitcomb, will you do me the great honor of accompanying me to dinner?”
Claire smiled and slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow. “I’d be delighted, Mr. Holliday.”
Kate Elder wouldn’t be joining the celebration. When it appeared the preliminary hearing wasn’t going well for Doc and Wyatt, Kate had skipped town after securing a gift of fifty dollars from Doc’s nemesis, John Ringo. Apparently Kate and the cowboy had a history. Doc didn’t appreciate Ringo financing his woman’s travel—indeed, he’d been beyond enraged when he found out. Doc vowed to escape from his cell to hunt the cattle rustler down. Luckily, Claire managed to calm him before he did anything rash.
Dinner was festive and everyone had a lovely time, but when Claire sat back in her chair and studied the group, a sense of uneasiness settled over her.
The cowboys weren’t going to let the Earps’ victory stand—they’d get their revenge. She just didn’t know how or when.
Chapter 10
Late in December, as Virgil Earp made his way to the Cosmopolitan from the Oriental Saloon, an unseen gunman shot him in the back. He survived, but lost the use of his left arm. Certain the shooting was the work of the cowboys, Wyatt asked for and was granted US marshal status and began to put together a posse.
Then Morgan was killed, ambushed as he played billiards at Hatch’s Saloon with Wyatt looking on. Two bullets smashed through the backdoor window—one of the rounds missed Wyatt’s head by inches, while the other ripped through Morgan’s spine. Morgan died less than an hour later.
Wyatt was beyond angry, beyond grief. One brother maimed for life, another dead. That Sunday on Wyatt’s’ thirty-fourth birthday he sent his brother’s body home via railcar to their parents in California. The next day he and Doc and another member of the posse escorted Virgil and Allie to Tucson. While there, another cowboy named Frank Stilwell attempted to ambush Virgil and kill him, but Wyatt shot and killed him first. The group returned home, and Wyatt immediately called together another posse. Tucson authorities deemed Stilwell’s death a murder and issued a warrant for Wyatt’s arrest.
When Claire heard that Wyatt was planning a “vendetta ride” to hunt down those responsible for Morgan’s murder, she searched him out and found him at the Oriental Saloon.
“I want to join the posse.”
Wyatt finished entering a posse member’s name in his ledger and looked Claire in the eyes. “I appreciate your offer, Claire. But I won’t have a woman’s safety on my conscience. This isn’t like protecting a stage.”
Claire’s anger spiked and she glared at Wyatt. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t put me in a box with other women. You know I can shoot as well as anyone joining up.” When he didn’t respond she added, “You need me. I can track and shoot and ride and I’ve got better eyesight than half the men in this saloon. Besides, you know how much I care for you boys. Isn’t that worth something?”
There was a set to his jaw as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Claire. I can’t allow it.”
Claire pulled in a deep breath, fighting the retort that sprang to her lips. Arguing with Wyatt wouldn’t solve anything. He was the leader of the posse. His word was final.
“When Virgil didn’t let me join the posse to hunt down Bud’s killers, I figured it was because he didn’t know me well enough. I thought you’d be more open-minded since you know what I can do. Obviously I was wrong.”
Someone entered the saloon through the swinging doors, and she caught a glimpse of Doc standing outside on the boardwalk. With a frustrated sigh, she brushed past Wyatt and went out to meet him.
When he saw the look on her face he pulled her aside.
“You have to talk to Wyatt,” Claire protested, pinning his gaze. “I have to—no, I need to be part of this posse.”
“I can’t help you, Claire.” Doc sighed. “Wyatt’s mind is made up.”
She pulled back, searching his eyes. “You talked to him for me?”
He nodded. “Of course I did. Don’t you think I want you along? You’re a better shot than half these men and likely better at strategic thinking than all of us put together.”
“Oh.” His admission took the wind out of her sails. At least Doc had the good sense to want her along. “I could follow at a distance, keep out of sight until you find them.”
“I’m sure you could. But when Wyatt finds out you disregarded his edict I guarantee he’d never trust you again. Wyatt sees the world in black and white. Your defiance would be a
bridge too far. Is that what you want?”
“I see how it is,” Claire said. “No matter how capable I am, men like Wyatt won’t ever allow me to live to my potential.” She shook her head, her anger building at the stupidity of it. “You need me, Doc.” She waved her hand at the posse. “They need me.”
Doc nodded. “You’re right. We do. But nothing you or I say is going to change Wyatt’s mind.” He lifted her chin. “You’ll find your place, Claire Whitcomb. Besides, I could never forgive myself if you were killed.”
Doc gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and climbed onto his horse. Claire watched the posse ride out of town, wishing with every fiber of her being that she could join them.
The next day, Claire met Molly Fly at the Cosmopolitan for lunch. Molly was Claire’s only source for gossip since Claire didn’t put much stock in most rumors. Molly could be counted on for the straight story.
“Apparently Johnny Behan tried to arrest Wyatt last night.”
“Again?” Claire shook her head. “When is he going to figure out he won’t win with the Earps?”
Molly smiled, the devil in her eye. “Johnny’s mad at Wyatt for stealing his girl.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Josie? Behan never had her in the first place. The end was obvious when she caught that lowlife cheating on her.”
Molly studied her with interest. “I thought you didn’t like the woman?”
“What I don’t like are men who can’t be trusted. No woman deserves that kind of scoundrel in her life.”
“Hear, hear,” Molly agreed. “I was wondering.” She looked up and caught Claire’s gaze. “Would you be interested in a job?”
Claire leaned forward. “What do you have in mind?”
“Buck has a friend who needs help moving a prisoner from Fort Huachuca to Tucson where they’ll take the train to Yuma Territorial Prison.”
Still stinging from Wyatt’s rebuke the night before Claire said, “Does your husband’s friend know I’m a woman?”
“He does. And to be truthful he wouldn’t normally choose someone of the female persuasion. But with all the good marksmen joining Wyatt’s posse and your sterling reputation, he was most amenable to the proposition.”
Claire sat back, considering. “Does he want someone to guard the prisoner on the train?” She’d certainly had experience in that regard.
“No, just to Tucson. There are extenuating circumstances.” She waved Claire’s next question away. “I’ll let him tell you the rest. I took the liberty of setting up a meeting at the boarding house this afternoon.”
Claire smiled at her friend. “And if I decide not to?”
“That’s your choice. But if I could put in a good word, Buck’s friend is an upstanding gentleman who never reneges on his promises and holds women in the highest regard.”
“We’ll see.”
Chapter 11
The meeting with Buck’s friend, Mr. Van Houten, took place that afternoon at the boarding house. Quite a bit older than Claire, Van Houten was professional in his request, and his reasons for hiring her matched with Molly’s explanation. Both went a long way toward alleviating Claire’s unease.
“May I ask why you are coordinating the transport of prisoners since you’re not a federal marshal or a lawman?” Claire asked.
“A fair question,” Van Houten said with a nod. “I’ve been tasked with such by my good friend, Governor Tritle. I have heard nothing but sterling recommendations of your abilities as a gunfighter and security guard.” His gaze held hers. “I’ve heard differing accounts of your character, many of which were positive.”
“May I ask what you’ve heard that is not?” Not that she cared much anymore, but she was curious what people said.
Van Houten’s cheeks reddened and he shifted uneasily in his chair. “Only in regard to your association with a certain John H. Holliday. And, well, to be quite frank because of your support of the Earps.”
Claire nodded. “I make no excuse for my friendliness with all of whom you speak. Those men have been nothing but helpful and supportive since I arrived in Tombstone.” Although Wyatt’s stance against her joining the posse rankled, she wouldn’t hold it against him. Some men were just bullheaded.
Van Houten nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. “That was all I needed to know, Mrs. Whitcomb.”
“Please, call me Claire. Who am I to transport?”
“A man known as Sam Peters.”
“Sam Peters, the man who killed that family near the fort?”
“The very same.”
Sam Peters had been captured and charged with multiple murders when a family of seven was discovered dead at a remote ranch near Fort Huachuca. Peters and his gang of rustlers and thieves had been sighted nearby at the same time a neighbor returned a draft horse to the family. The neighbor issued a statement with a remark on Peters’ odd behavior as he passed the group of outlaws. Peters told the neighbor that the family had gone to visit relatives in Prescott and wasn’t expected home for several days. The neighbor, suspecting foul play, discovered the family shot to death soon after. He rode to the fort to inform the captain. An arrest warrant was issued and a posse formed, but Peters had already left the area. Eventually apprehended near the mining town of Bisbee, his trial was swift. Judged a flight risk, Peters was sent to the fort to await transport to Tucson and then on to Yuma Territorial Prison via rail.
“Your partner in this endeavor will be Harrison Sparks, the bounty hunter who tracked down Peters and took him into custody.”
“And he’s all right with sharing the job with a partner?” Claire asked. What she really meant to say was a female partner but chose to let the implication speak for itself. Bounty hunters were a different breed, independent and territorial. She didn’t blame them. She’d heard stories of some being swindled out of their rightful payments when a lawyer or an unsavory lawman decided they deserved the reward instead.
“You’re to meet Sparks at Fort Huachuca in two days’ time,” Van Houten replied, ignoring her question. “The transfer must be done at night. There’s talk of a gang of roughs camped nearby although the soldiers have had no luck in locating them. We assume they’re waiting to set upon anyone who attempts to move Peters. Leaving under cover of darkness ensures a head start of several hours at least.”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “Does Mr. Sparks know he’s to have a partner?”
Van Houten cleared his throat. “Not exactly, no.”
“Then my welcome is not ensured.”
“I will provide a letter of instruction containing the seal of the governor’s office. Sparks will have no choice but to accept your presence.”
Claire leaned back in her chair. She’d swayed the opinions of men before. But an inauspicious start with someone she would need to rely on and who needed to rely on her throughout such a dangerous journey didn’t sit well.
“Is there no plan for more than the two of us? I’m not saying no to the job but why not hire a larger group to fend off Peters’ gang?” Unpleasant memories of the attempted train robbery in Colorado by Jack “Sheriff Killer” Abrams rose in her mind. “I’d feel a whole lot better if there were more firepower than just myself and the bounty hunter.”
Van Houten agreed. “Your services will only be required to Tucson. At that point a group of deputy marshals drawn from farther afield will accompany Sparks and the prisoner on the rest of the trip. I’m afraid the governor has decided that a lean transport party is more nimble than a larger group for the Tucson leg of the journey. Besides, there are few men I or the governor would trust to remain quiet about our plans to move him at night. As you know, the men we do trust are otherwise engaged.”
He had a point. Employing a smaller group did make changing tactics easier. Was she signing her own death warrant? Peters’ men were known to be ruthless, cutthroat outlaws, men who didn’t care who they killed or why. Claire mentally shrugged off the idea. She’d been up against ruthless men before.
This was
her chance to prove herself—and not only to the governor. When she and Sparks successfully delivered Peters to Tucson her reputation and viability would only grow. She’d be able to write her own ticket. Besides, she’d been to Tucson several times and knew the route well.
“Since my good friends the Flys vouch for you,” she said, “I accept your offer.”
The look of relief on Van Houten’s face told Claire he’d likely offered the position to others who refused.
She wondered if they knew something she didn’t.
Chapter 12
Van Houten gave Claire money for provisions and she stocked up on ammunition for the Peacemaker and the Winchester, and food for both her and her horse, Rose. She wrapped the tomahawk in the blanket Thomas had given her and secured them and the beaded bow and quiver of arrows to her saddle. The next day she left Tombstone, headed to Fort Huachuca.
She wore her hair tucked under her hat in case she met anyone and kept her bandana around her neck, allowing her to raise it if the dust and dirt got too thick, or if someone got too close. She also kept a Green River hunting knife concealed in her boot as a backup.
Claire relished the solitude of riding alone and found herself humming a Gilbert and Sullivan tune from HMS Pinafore. The familiar scent of leather and horse sweat and Rose’s comforting gait made everything right with the world. Leaving Tombstone had been a godsend. She didn’t miss the political machinations by the townspeople, preferring her own company to just about anyone except Molly and Doc. Most of the folks in Tombstone tired her with their unwavering quest for power and money and gossip. The idea of Tombstone—the possibility of striking it rich and anything goes—had been what drew her to the mining town. But those same ideas now repelled her. She’d had enough of shallowness, greed, and the mean-spiritedness that accompanied that greed.