“If you want to fight right bad,” Morgan sneered, “I’ll give you this.”
He extended the six-shooter butt foremost to Clanton. Clanton started from his chair to grasp it, but Deputy Sheriff Campbell pushed him down in his seat again.
“I’ll get even with you for this, Wyatt Earp,” shrilled Clanton.
Wyatt’s graven-image face for a moment contorted with rage.
“You dirty, low-down cow thief,” Wyatt Earp rumbled savagely. “I’m tired of being threatened by you and your gang of cutthroats. You intend to assassinate me and my brothers the first chance you get, and I know it, and I would be justified in shooting you down like a dog anywhere I met you. If you are game to fight, I’ll fight you anywhere.”
“Just wait till I get out of here,” yelled Clanton. “I’ll fight you then.”
Wyatt Earp walked out of the courtroom. On the street just outside the door, he almost collided with Tom McLowery.
“If you’re looking for a fight, just say so,” said McLowery, his face going white with instant fury. “I’ll fight you any place, any time.”
“All right,” flashed Wyatt Earp, “fight right here.”
Full in the face Wyatt Earp slapped McLowery with his left hand, and with his right pulled his own six-shooter from its holster. McLowery had a gun stuffed down his trousers on his right hip, the butt in sight. But he made no move to draw it. Nor did he say a word.
“Jerk your gun and use it,” roared Wyatt Earp, and at the same time he bludgeoned McLowery over the head with his six-shooter. McLowery reeled under the blow across the sidewalk and measured his length in the gutter, blood gushing from his wound. Wyatt Earp walked away.
Soon afterward, as Wyatt Earp stood smoking a cigar in front of Hafford’s saloon at Fourth and Allen streets, Billy Clanton and Tom and Frank McLowery passed him. All three had their six-shooters buckled around them. They glared silently at Wyatt Earp, and Wyatt Earp glared silently at them. The three men entered a gunsmith’s shop half a block away on Fourth Street. Frank McLowery’s horse was standing on the sidewalk in front of the shop. This was a violation of a city ordinance. Also it was an opportunity for Wyatt Earp to confront these three armed enemies. If they wanted a fight, he would fight them all single-handed. He marched boldly to the shop and took hold of the horse’s bridle. Billy Clanton and Tom McLowery clutched the handles of their six-shooters. Frank McLowery stepped out and also took hold of the horse’s bridle.
“Get this horse off the sidewalk,” ordered Wyatt Earp.
Without a word, Frank McLowery backed the animal into the street. Ike Clanton, who had had his hearing before Justice Wallace and been fined $25, walked up at this juncture. He was unarmed. He averted his eyes as he passed Wyatt Earp close enough to touch him and went into the gunsmith’s shop. Wyatt Earp supposed, and had reason to suppose, that Ike Clanton, whose rifle and revolver had not been restored to him, went into the shop to rearm himself. Ike Clanton admitted later that this was his purpose. As it happened, however, the gunsmith did not let him have a gun.
At this time, beyond any question, Billy Clanton and Tom and Frank McLowery were all armed. And this was the last time Wyatt Earp saw any of the men until he met them in battle. But before the fight opened, Tom McLowery, all belligerency knocked out of him, perhaps, when Wyatt Earp clubbed him over the head with a gun, deposited his six-shooter in Moses & Mehan’s saloon. None of the Earps knew this. In fairness to them, it may be added, they had reason to believe that all four of their enemies were armed.
Sheriff Behan was getting shaved in an Allen Street barber shop when he heard of trouble brewing. He ordered the barber to hurry.
“I must stop this fight,” he said.
As the sheriff stepped out the door, his face smooth and rosy from the barbering, he spied Virgil Earp across the street and went over to him. Wyatt and Morgan Earp and Doc Holliday were standing in a group near by on the corner.
“What’s the excitement, Marshal Earp?” the sheriff asked.
“Some scoundrels are in town looking for a fight,” replied Virgil Earp.
“You must disarm them,” declared the sheriff. “It is your duty.”
“They have been threatening our lives,” said Virgil, “and we are going to give them a chance to make their fight.”
The dangerous situation was at a crisis. Sheriff Behan realized that, to avert tragedy, he must act quickly. He proposed himself to disarm the Clantons and McLowerys.
Sheriff Behan found the Clantons and McLowerys standing in a vacant lot near the O.K. corral on Fremont Street between Third and Fourth. Billy Claiborne, a tough young fellow from the San Pedro and a close friend of the Clantons, was with them. Frank McLowery and Billy Clanton had their horses. Hanging from the pommel of each saddle, according to Ike Clanton’s own account, was a Winchester rifle in a leather scabbard.
“Boys,” said Sheriff Behan, “I’m going to arrest and disarm you.”
“What for?” asked Ike Clanton.
“To preserve the peace.”
“I am unarmed,” said Ike Clanton. “The Earps still have my rifle and six-shooter.”
“Let me see,” said the sheriff, and he put his arm around Ike Clanton’s waist feeling for a gun, but found none.
“I’ve got no gun on me,” said Tom McLowery, and he threw back both flaps of his coat to prove his assertion.
“I didn’t come to town to make a fight,” said Billy Clanton who had a six-shooter on his hip. “I came to get Ike to come home. No use in my giving up my arms. We are getting ready to leave town right now.”
“That’s so,” cut in Ike Clanton. “My spring wagon is in the West End corral, and I’ve just left word there to have my team hitched up.”
“I’ve got a six-shooter and my rifle is hanging
