Tombstone, AZ

Tuesday we made a trip up to Tombstone, AZ. The last home of Wyatt Earp, Doc Holliday, Big Nose Kate and numerous other interesting characters.

 

The Shady Lady sells corsets and gee gaws.

It took a bit over an hour to drive from Tucson and by the time we arrived our stomachs were hollerin’ for some vittles so we sauntered into the first establishment we came to…the Longhorn Restaurant. The “Too Tough To Die” Burger was mighty temptin’ but I went for the “Longhorn” burger instead and an ice cold beer to wash it down. Chris, bein’ the city slicker that he is, opted for the roast beef sandwich. 

 

Here comes the stagecoach.

After we’d replenished ourselves it was time to take in the town (such as it was). There was a heap o’ shoppin’ available with everything from spurs to corsets to gee gaws galore on display. The stagecoach rumbled into town while we were there so we were careful to stay on the boardwalk so as to avoid being run down.

 

Trouble a'brewin'

As we got close to the end of Main Street it looked like there was a bit of a ruckus startin’ up between some fellers with sidearms and a clodhopper out in the middle of the thoroughfare. Sure enough, it turns out there was some sort o’ disagreement goin’ on and soon enough the shootin’ commenced out back at the OK Corral. 

 

The OK Corral - before the lead starts flyin'.

Purt near everone was kilt or wounded in the fight. All but Sheriff Wyatt Earp who somehow escaped without a scratch.

 

The McLaury's - died in the OK Corral gunfight.

Well, by now we were ready to saddle up and head back to the bunkhouse but there was one more stop to be made. A visit to Tombstone wouldn’t be complete without a wander through Boot Hill to pay our respects to those who are moulderin’ in the ground.

George Johnson - In the wrong place at the wrong time!

That Ormsby was an ornery cuss. Red River Tom wasn't the only guy he plugged.

This says it all!

Guess a six-shooter wasn't enough!

 It soon became apparent that there was a lot of shootin’, hangin’ and murderin’ goin’ on back in them days. 1881 seems to have been a p’tickular bad year.