St. Petersburg, October 25-
Arrests of Nihilists continue daily. Today a number of students were arrested and upon the person of one of them was found a manifesto headed “Executive Committee to the Czar.” The document demands general amnesty for political offenders, entire freedom of the press and speech, and a parliament elected by the people. Unlessthese demands are complied with the writer threatens rebellion, vengeance upon the nobility and the death of the Czar.
From the celebrated Joseph Schlitz Brewing Company Milwaukee, Wis. for sale in half or quarter bottles or in bottles bearing my trade-mark and name.
Joseph Gahm
83 Commercial Street
Said the young blonde in attendance at the candy counter in Macy’s: “Oh yes indeed, many gentlemen buy candy here and from the fact that they eat from the package, and tell us it is for themselves, I believe they have a sweet tooth and like candy as much as we girls.”
It was the beginning of June. Wyatt stood at an open window in the office of Earp/Winders Mining trying to find a breeze. Behind him with his shirtsleeves rolled and his collar unbuttoned Virgil sat at a rolltop desk with his feet up, occasionally wiping sweat off his face with a blue handkerchief. In the shade of the overhang downstairs in front of the Crystal Palace the temperature registered at 104.
“Hear Johnny’s been coming around after Josie,” Virgil said.
“Yeah. It’s her house. She’s told him she don’t want to see him, but he comes around some anyways.”
“Going to do anything about that?”
Wyatt smiled.
“Morgan maybe done it for me,” he said.
“Oh?”
A freight wagon pulled by six sweat-darkened mules labored past, heading east up Allen Street. There were three whiskey barrels standing upright and lashed side by side to the back of the driver’s seat.
“I was up in Tucson couple weeks back, with Winders, about that new shaft extension on the Mountain Maid. I knew Johnny’d been after Josie about letting him back in, so I asked Morgan to keep an eye on her. You know Morgan wants to be a tough nut like his brothers.”
Virgil smiled.
“He is a tough nut,” Virgil said.
“Like his brothers,” Wyatt said.
“ ’Cept maybe a little too quick sometimes,” Virgil said, “proving it.”
“Hell, Virg, you remember when you was his age.”
Virgil grinned again. “I was never his age. What’d he do?”
“Well, Josie told me that Morgan came by, said he was going to sort of sit around for a while, case Johnny showed up and bothered her. So she gave him some coffee and they sat in the living room and they talked. You know Morgan.”
“He could talk to a sage chicken,” Virgil said.
“Yep, and then sure enough, Johnny comes knocking at the door and Josie lets him in, and there’s Morg sitting there with his coffee. Well, Johnny says, ‘What the hell is he doing there?’ And Morgan says he’s keeping company with his brother’s girlfriend. And Johnny tells him to get out of his house, and Josie reminds him it ain’t Johnny’s house. It’s her house paid for by her father, and Johnny says it don’t give her the right to live in it and be a slut for the Earps. So Morgan knocks him down, and Johnny gets up, and Josie says Morgan was annoyed as hell. ‘I’m losing my goddamned punch,’ he says, and knocks Johnny down again, and this time Johnny stays down for a while, and when he gets up, sort of tottering, Morgan runs him out the front door.”
“Good, Johnny wasn’t packing,” Virgil said.
“Wouldn’t matter if he was,” Wyatt said. “He wouldn’t jerk on Morgan.”
“You never know,” Virgil said. “You never know how far you can push somebody.”
A single rider with a big hat and a checkered blue shirt rode a lathered chestnut horse up Fifth Street and turned the corner. He reined and got off the horse in front of the Oriental across Fifth Street from the Crystal Palace. He led the horse down to the watering trough in front of the Arcade and let him drink. Then he brought the chestnut back and tied him to the rack in front of the Oriental and went in.
“Josie thinks it’s Johnny doing most of the talking about Doc holding up the stage,” Wyatt said.
“Be a way to get at you,” Virgil said.
“Sort of roundabout, ain’t it?” Wyatt said.
“Johnny’s a roundabout guy,” Virgil said.
Wyatt nodded, as much to himself as to Virgil. Below the window, three whores walked up Allen Street toward Sixth Street carrying groceries. Wyatt recognized them. They worked for Nosey Kate Lowe. They’d have an early supper at Nosey Kate’s and get ready for work.
“I was to find Leonard, Head and Crane,” Wyatt said. “Might sort of settle the question.”
“Guess it would,” Virgil said. “You got an idea how you’re going to do that?”
“Well, they’re someplace,” Wyatt said.
“Guess so,” Virgil said.
“And somebody knows where.”
“Specifying who?” Virgil said.
“Well, I’d be willing to bet Ike Clanton knows.”
“Ike rides with the cowboys. Him and the McLaurys,” Virgil said. “You think Ike will turn in his friends to help you?”
“Sure,” Wyatt said. “Make it worth his while.”
“He don’t like us,” Virgil said.
“I ain’t going to ask him to do it ’cause he likes us.”
“What you got to offer him?”
“I’ll think of something,” Wyatt said.
“I expect you will,” Virgil said. “Just don’t get yourself in a position where you got to trust Ike.”
“Not likely,” Wyatt said. “But maybe I can get Leonard and the boys to trust Ike.”
“Be a stupid thing for them to do,” Virgil said.
“Which one of them three boys you figure to be the smartest?” Wyatt said.
Virgil grinned.
“I’d say none of them.”
“That sounds right to me,” Wyatt said.
Wyatt and Ike Clanton had a drink together at the Oriental in the late afternoon with the heat still oppressive. Ike was drinking whiskey with a beer chaser. Wyatt nursed a cup of coffee. Ike was a fancy-looking man, Wyatt thought. Curly hair and a tricky little Vandyke beard. His mouth seemed somehow loose as he talked, and the fine network of broken veins that spidered his sun-darkened face suggested how much beer and whiskey he’d drunk in a lifetime of ranch work and saloons.
“I want the credit for capturing those three boys,” Wyatt said. “Be a big help to me if I run for sheriff, and it’ll take the pressure off Doc.”
“Meaning you’ll get them to confess and it’ll clear Doc’s name,” Clanton said.
He had on a white cotton shirt. He had rolled the sleeves up and unbuttoned the collar. Sweat was glossy on his neck and his bare arms. He swallowed a shot of whiskey and some beer.
“That’s about right,” Wyatt said.
“But I get the reward,” Clanton said.
“You get them back here where I can grab them and you get the money.”
“Secret.”
“If that’s how you want it,” Wyatt said.
“If I was to do this at all,” Clanton said, “it’s got to be that way. They ride with Brocius and Ringo. They was to find out I turned them boys in, I ain’t got a snowball’s chance in hell of living to spend the money.”