Ghost Town (2 page)

“That wasn't fair,” Chip blurted out.

“No, it wasn't. Then for no good reason Ike Clanton got tossed in jail, and Wyatt clubbed Tom McLaury in the head with a gun.”

“What did the Clantons do then?” Chip asked.

Billy sat up, pushed his hat back, and looked
Chip right in the eye. “You've got a family. You know how it is. Family comes first. Nothin' else is more important. So, no matter what, the Clanton kin had to stick together. So did the McLaury kin. They could either give up their property and leave town or stay and stand up to the Earps.”

“What did they choose?”

Billy leaned forward, staring down the street toward Fremont. “They did what they had to do,” he said. “They warned the Earps they were out to get 'em, and on October twenty-six, they met. The Clantons and McLaurys on one side, Wyatt, Virgil, Morgan, and their friend Doc Holliday on the other.”

Slowly Billy got up. He stood with knees bent, leaning slightly forward, his feet firmly planted, his right hand poised over the grip of his gun. Chip held his breath.

In an instant, before Chip could blink, Billy's gun was in his hand, pointing toward the imaginary Earps on Fremont Street.

“Cool!” Chip said. “That was fast.”

“Yup, I'm good,” Billy agreed.

“With your job I guess you get a lot of practice.”

“No doubt about it.”

Chip thought a minute. “What exactly is your job in the gunfight?”

“To get that snake Wyatt Earp,” Billy growled. “This time I will.” He drew his gun again.

“Hey, take it easy,” Chip said. He kept his eyes on Billy's gun. “It's only a reenactment. It's make-believe. That's all.”

Billy stared at him, his eyes dark and penetrating. “Is that what you think?”

“S-Sure.” Chip's voice was shaky. “I didn't mean to make you mad or anything. I guess you have to feel the part, being one of the actors. Right?”

Billy didn't answer. He slowly returned his gun to its holster, then checked its placement on his thigh. He squared his hat and stood tall, throwing back his shoulders. “It's time,” he said. “Wish me luck.”

He stepped off the porch and strode down the street.

Two o'clock already? Chip glanced at his wristwatch, then hurried after Billy.

A crowd had begun to gather on both sides of Fremont Street. Next to Chip an elderly woman fanned herself, a man stuffed his mouth with handfuls of popcorn, and three shrieking little boys chased each other through and around their parents' legs. Everywhere people chatted and laughed while they waited in anticipation.

Chip felt a surprising sense of comfort as he caught a glimpse of his parents and sisters across the
street.
His
family. Emily was seated on Mr. Doby's shoulders, while Abby had found a perch at the edge of the boardwalk. He'd have fun telling Abby that he'd met one of the actors. She'd accuse him of bragging, but she'd want to hear all about it.

And wait until he told Mom and Dad that Wyatt Earp wasn't the big symbol of law and order they'd thought he was. So much for all that stuff Mom read in her guidebook.

An announcer introduced the reenactment, but Chip didn't pay much attention. He kept his eyes on Billy as Billy joined the other actors portraying the Clantons and the McLaurys. They stepped into the street, facing the Earp brothers and Doc Holliday, who had entered the street at the end of the block.

Slowly, carefully, the two groups of men walked toward each other. Suddenly gunshots rang out. The battle was on. Billy drew his gun with the same lightning speed he'd shown Chip. He was fast, but Wyatt Earp was faster. Billy suddenly grabbed his hand; it was dripping blood. He shifted his gun to his left hand, aimed, and fired, but the Earps had the advantage. They were too quick for him.

Billy dropped his gun, clutched his chest, and fell to the ground.

“Billy! No!” Chip yelled.

The man next to him turned in surprise. “Hey, kid, they're only pretending,” he said.

Suddenly the gunfight was over, and the crowd began to drift back to the shops. But Chip ran to Billy, who had picked himself up and was hobbling around the corner. “Billy! You were great!” Chip said.

“Yeah,” Billy grunted. “I can take care of myself.”

As Billy leaned against the nearby wall, Chip grabbed his hand to shake it, but it was wet and sticky.

Chip looked at the red smear on his thumb. “What is this stuff, anyway?” he asked.

“Blood,” Billy said.

“I know it's supposed to be, but I mean…” Chip stopped talking. He stared at Billy, who seemed to be fading away.

“Next time I'll get him,” Billy whispered. “Next time.”

Chip found himself staring at a blank wall. “Billy?” he managed to croak, but there was no answer.

“Here you are,” Mrs. Doby said. She put her arm around Chip's shoulders, and he gave a start. “What's the matter, Chip?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

“
I
am,” Chip said, “but Billy isn't.”

Mr. Doby chuckled. “You must mean Billy Clanton,” he said. “We saw the gunfight. The actor who played Billy was very good.”

“That
was
Billy,” Chip said in a low voice.

“That's what Dad just told you, doofus,” Abby said.

“I mean the real Billy Clanton.”

“Oh, sure. And I'm Doc Holliday.”

Emily began jumping up and down. “I'm thirsty! I'm thirsty!”

“We'll all get something to drink,” Mrs. Doby told her. “Chip, do you want to come with us?”

“Yeah, Mom, I do,” Chip said. This was his family, and families should stick together—the way Billy had said.

“It's been fun, hasn't it?” Mrs. Doby asked. “It's not so bad to spend time with the family. Right?”

“I guess,” Chip began, but he saw his parents exchange another one of those looks.

Never mind. He couldn't really explain his day. He'd keep Billy's story to himself. No one would understand. Not his parents, his sisters, or even the guys.

He glanced down at the red smear of dried blood on his thumb, and as he looked around the town, he knew he'd always remember this day.

In the mid-1800s, soldiers stationed at Fort Huachuca in southern Arizona thought prospector Ed Schieffelin was crazy. Trying to discover a rich vein of silver in hostile Apache country was bad enough. The dry, hot land was also a breeding ground for rattlesnakes.

“All you will find is your tombstone,” one of the soldiers warned, and others laughed.

But Ed was persistent, and when he discovered the rich vein of silver he'd known must be there, he named his claim the Tombstone.

In 1879, as Ed, his brother, and other prospectors located more silver deposits, the town of Tombstone was established and began to grow. At first Tombstone was inhabited by miners, storekeepers,
and saloon owners. But soon the population expanded to include gunslingers like Turkey Creek Johnson and Luke Short and lawmen such as Bat Masterson, Doc Holliday, and Wyatt Earp. With a population of around fifteen thousand people, Tombstone became a bustling town.

It was sometimes a violent town. A feud grew between a rancher named Ike Clanton and the Earp brothers, erupting in the famous Gunfight at the O.K. Corral in 1881.

The mines seemed to contain an endless supply of top-grade silver ore, but eventually water rose in the mines and couldn't be pumped out. Although Tombstone had been nicknamed “the town too tough to die,” the closing of the mines forced people to move away to find jobs elsewhere.

In 1962, the United States Department of the Interior designated Tombstone a National Historic Landmark. Many of its buildings have been restored, and the town is open to visitors.

To reach Tombstone
, which is seventy miles southeast of Tucson, take Interstate 10 east from Tucson. Turn south at the intersection of Highway 80 (Exit 303) and drive about thirteen miles.

To learn more about Tombstone
, contact the O.K. Corral, P.O. Box 367, Tombstone, AZ 85638. Telephone: (520) 457-3456.

Web sites:

The O.K. Corral and The Tombstone Epitaph
:
www.tombstone-epitaph.com/

Tombstone, Arizona: The Town Too Tough to Die, Presented by the Department of Journalism, University of Arizona:
http://journalism.arizona.edu/tombstone/tomb-stone.html

Publications:

And Die in the West: The Story of the O.K. Corral Gunfight
, by Paula Mitchell Marks, University of Oklahoma Press, Norman, 1996.

Tucson to Tombstone: A Guide to Southeastern Arizona
, by Tom Dollar, Arizona Highways Magazine Publishers, Phoenix, 1996.

I
f there aren't any ghosts in ghost towns, why do they call them ghost towns?” Lauren Raney asked. She stepped out of the van into the parking lot of the visitors' center in Shakespeare, New Mexico, slamming the door behind her. The sound shattered the silence of the open desert country, and Lauren jumped a little, expecting someone to say “Shhh!”

“It's the empty towns themselves that are the ghosts,” her mother answered. She waved a hand toward the dirt street that stretched out in front of them. On either side, past the sprawling old house that served as a visitors' center, were scattered an assortment of dusty red-mud brick buildings. “Believe me, I'd give anything to meet up with a
ghost in one of these ghost towns. It would add a lot to my story.”

Lauren's father had already pulled out his camera and was adjusting the lens. “The morning sun's just right,” he said with enthusiasm. “I should get some fairly good shots of these buildings.”

Lauren jammed a straw hat down over her dark, curly hair. With a mother who wrote magazine articles and a father who took photographs to illustrate them, Lauren was used to traveling. Sometimes she went to great places, and sometimes she wound up in strange ones. Ghost towns without ghosts were odd, and hard to believe. Those empty buildings looked as if they really needed ghosts.

An idea pricked her with excitement, and she smiled at her mother. “Do you mean it?” she asked.

“Mean what?” Mrs. Raney looked puzzled.

“Do you mean what you said—that you'd give anything to meet a ghost here?”

Her mother laughed, and Lauren said, “I wasn't being funny.
You're
the one who said you'd give anything to meet a ghost.”

Mrs. Raney stopped laughing, but the grin stayed on her face. “I tell you what, Lauren,” she said. “If you should come across a
real
ghost in one of these old mining towns, introduce me so I can
interview the ghost for my article. I'll even pay you for it.”

“How much?” Lauren asked. “Enough to buy my own computer?”

Mr. Raney shifted his camera strap to his left shoulder. “We've already discussed buying you a computer, Lauren. You're not old enough to need your own computer. Maybe next year when you're thirteen and doing more research for school assignments, we can consider it. For now you can use your mother's computer when she isn't using it.”

“That's the point,” Lauren complained. “When
isn't
Mom using it? She's always writing—even when I want to use the computer.”

Mrs. Raney cocked her head and studied Lauren. “Okay,” she said.