July 4, 1876, as the Kansas Pacific began to pull out of the Fairmont station two men slipped into the second passenger coach unnoticed. The conductor wasn't aware of them nor did the coach attendant. They were not on the train to see the newly completed transcontinental Kansas to Denver tracks and landscape. Trouble was ahead. I knew it. Two other men had loaded five horses into a boxcar one hour earlier. I saw it all from my seated position in my traditional train station perch.

Long trails of black sooted smoke weaved and hung in the mountain skyline as the locomotive climbed upwards. We had two stops between us and Deer Trail, Colorado. In the coach car, we're several families headed to our destination stop. They would be attending the ninth annual Deer Trail Rodeo. Deer Trail was the inaugural site of the world's first official rodeo on July 4, 1870.

The train ride would take a little over two hours. We would pick up passengers in Behams and Bijou. Once we crossed the Kiowa River Bridge, we would be clear of Cheyenne Indian territory. That was as long as no holdups took place, cows wandered onto the tracks or mountain rockslides fell into our path. Something always seems to happen on my watch. At least that is what the railroad claims on their monthly incident reports to the Governor's Office.

It was reported in the August 1870 issue of "Field and Farm" magazine that several ranchers came with their unbroken horses and top cowboys to the 'Bronco Bustin' Contest' in Deer Trail. First year winner was E. J. Gardenshire of Mill Iron Ranch. He saddled up and rode 'Montana Blizzard' for fifteen minutes. That July 4th his bronc ended up on its knees and EJ was declared the First World Champion Bronco Rider. He returned the following year to defend his title. It was a repeat victory on his horse 'White Lightning.' There have been no repeat winners. E.J. Gardenshire will be returning this year to compete. His first appearance in four years. He has been guaranteed $500 for competing. If he wins, he will be paid $2,500 dollars. That will be the largest bronc payout in US rodeo history. Let the betting begin. Don't break a leg.

My incident report to my Chief of Railroad Security stated that the E.J. Gardenshire bronc riding competition was not the most memorable event that happened on that day.

Seated in the last two rows of the KP passenger rodeo train were several bankers, a couple of well-known gamblers and a gentleman with a suitcase and those two black hat strangers who slipped on unnoticed.

Raindrops began to pelt against the windows and some folks began pushing and pulling on the opened windows to get them closed. A couple of young brothers had their arms flailing out a window trying catch random raindrops. Their mother was trying to haul them in and get them seated when the coach attendant arrived. Their dad pulled the boys in by their short pants. The man with the suitcase frowned and brought his suitcase to his chest. He gripped it so tight that his knuckles turned white.

About 10 minutes outside of Fairmont, the rear door of the passenger car flung open. With the cold, wet breeze staggered in a bespectacled, drunken, uniformed soldier. He tried to sit down next to the suitcase carrying gentleman but was rebuffed with a shove. He finally got himself seated to the side of a husbandless spinster who at once got up and plopped herself in the vacant seat next to the suitcase man. He clutched his suitcase under his whiskered, screech owl shaped chin. What he carried in that suitcase would buckle the knees of most of Henry Wells and William Fargo employees. Five thousand dollars. Cash. Lots of damn cash.

Two soldiers, Connelly and Mulvey of the 7th Cavalry Regiment on July 2, 1876, rode into Hays City drunk and wildly shooting out the dress shop and general store windows. Sadly, an inebriated Connelly wounded a boy of ten with a flailing arm gunshot. This rampage took place in the presence of Bill Hickok, the US Marshal of Ellis County. Hickok was standing outside of the Hay's City Saving and Loan when he confronted the two horse-backed soldiers. They fired at Marshal Hickok, and he returned the favor. The pony soldiers were buried before sunset. Then, in less than forty-eight hours, Hickok took a seat on the Kansas Pacific out of Denver headed to Deer Trail Rodeo to partake in the $5,000 Winner Take All Poker Tournament.

Trains do not collide. At least we hope they don't. That's why train stations exist. Our train was headed west to Deer Trail and Hickok's was riding east to the same stop. Ours had the five thousand dollars that Hickok planned on stuffing in his pockets. We had four men on our train that other plans for the money. I was to see to it that Hickok had his opportunity to get rich in the card game.

Forty minutes out of Fairmont we slowed down. We were approaching Behams train station for passengers and more gamblers of ill repute. Not to be disappointed we picked up 10 more rodeo ticketed passengers and three finely dressed cowboys who said 'The Game' was their destination. Nothing eventful happened over the next 20 minutes. The three cowboys started a card game and were joined by the two gamblers from Fairmont. Meanwhile the suitcase carrying man was getting beads of sweat on his forehead and upper lip. He was looking tired and like a man who could use a good nap. Most of the kids were either sleeping by now or playing games of 'what you see out the window.' Older folks were reading, sleeping, or watching the gamblers. The attendant told me that the other passenger car was carrying families and a few ranchers. No gamblers or suspicious looking characters.

Our next stop was Bijou. We took on only five passengers for the rodeo and a gambler. He was an easy one to spot. He was a tall, thin, and pale gentleman who fashioned a handlebar mustache. He was wearing a high white collared shirt with a satin bow tie. He smartly wore a black four button Livingston mid thigh coat. His vest was carrying his gold chain pocket watch. He gave all appearances of being either a doctor or an unsavory sort of fellow. He had cleverly tucked away in his jacket a revolver.

A gambler from Fairmont gave a wave over to the Livingston coat gentlemen. The gentleman rose from his seat and withdrew a small bottle from his coat pocket along with a red handkerchief. He stood for a moment surveying passengers and then drank a swig and coughed into his handkerchief. He didn't appear all that well. He was headed to Denver to the 'lungers hospitall' for tuberculosis treatment. I've seen his type on the train before.

"Hello Doc."

Tipping hat to the two dark coated gamblers seated with the three cowboys.

"Hello Wyatt. Virgil," he said.

"Doc, would you like to join us?" Wyatt asked.

"Doc, you will help us play a better game of Omaha. More balanced game with six players," said Virgil.

"Deal me in gentlemen. We got an hour to Deer Trail."

I am Bartholemew William Barclay Masterson. My friends know me as 'Bat' Masterson. I have been a U.S. Army scout, lawman, professional gambler (who hasn't in the wild west), journalist and newspaper columnist. My job on this train is to serve as a lawman for Wells Fargo under the employment of the KP security. The train is my job. Passenger safety and guarding money are my tasks. In 'two shakes of a pig's tail' undesirable things can happen on the train.

My KP detail now has Wyatt and Virgil Earp, current Wells Fargo guards and their friend, Doc Holiday, four rows from my seat. Three of Kansas and Colorado's most well-known lawmen and gunfighters. I did overhear Wyatt tell Doc that he left his position as assistant Marshall in Dodge City and has been working as a Wells Fargo recovery agent. He and Virgil are riding some trains on speculation of robberies. There younger brother Morgan Earp had just moved to Tombstone to serve as a deputy. Wyatt and Virgil were going to Denver and staying there for two days and then heading to Tombstone to work with Morgan on a recovery detail of $6,000 dollars of Wells Fargo gold. Wyatt mentioned he and Virgil and Morgan get 10% of the recovery. Doc said he was going to Denver to play in the $5,000 winner take all poker tournament. Then he was going to his see his wife, Kate, at their place in The Hotel Glenwood in Glenwood Springs.

John Henry Holliday had been with Big Nose Kate for two years. The rumor in Glen Springs was that Kate and Doc got married. No knows for sure. He was suffering from his increasing symptoms of tuberculosis. He shared with Wyatt he had gone to see a doctor in Kansas City to get some treatment and was now returning home to Colorado. He told Wyatt to write to him and let him know how hot it was in Tombstone. Virgil got a good laugh at that. Doc said he might like to see the place someday. His Dental Surgery practice and his TB diagnosis both started at the age of twenty. He would be 28 in a month. Doc said he was getting itchy feet to move his dental practice to a new location. Doc was advised strongly by his doctor to stay in the 'ratifying and healthy air' of Colorado. I'm not so sure he will follow that medical advice. He's stubborn. He's still drinking his 86 proof Old Overholt Straight Rye Whiskey from his silver flask. A bottle lasts him two days. I'm not sure if his liver will give out before the TB gets the better of him. That is a bet I wouldn't take. He might die first in an old fashion gunfight.

Indians are on the hillside. Looks like fifty or more Cheyenne on horseback. It's hard to be sure because they never show their full riders. They are watching. They are not approaching the train. There have been no Indian attacks for several months.

We are nearing the Kiowa River Bridge. It is less than ten minutes away. The Indians won't cross the river. Deer Trail is another ten minutes after the bridge crossing. When we cross the bridge, we will stop at the water tower to feed a thirsty locomotive. We will need to take on 8,000 gallons of water to fill the tender. Short stop and hopefully uneventful.

As the brakeman and the fireman saw to it that the water tender was being filled, kids and some old folks looked out their windows to watch the watering. The man holding the suitcase was fast asleep and did not stir. Younger men stood and milled about the coach stretching their legs. The two strangers from Fairmont stood next to the suitcase banker and were watching the opposite side of the train. Indians. Lots of Indians. A hundred or more on horseback were approaching the train. They had crossed on the train trestle that morning and had been waiting. The Indians we saw before lining the hillside were for show. A distraction. A ruse. Now what?

I was watching the passengers as they began to notice the Cheyenne approaching on a trot towards the train on the left-hand side. No Indians were on the water tower right-hand side? Doc, Wyatt, and Virgil stood and started for the front coach door. I asked them to reconsider.

"Whom are you, my friend?" asked Doc.

"Bat Masterson. I am the Wells Fargo guard on this coach," I said.

"Bat, nice to meet you, but circumstances dictate we need rifles on the roof," said Wyatt.

"Outside this car is the rifle box. Here is my key. Ammo is in the side box. I'll try to recruit more men and send them out," I said.

The Indians stopped about fifty yards from the train and lined up across the two passenger coach cars. The rear coach door flung open and in came five masked men. They had rifles and revolvers. One gunman pointed at me to sit down and put my hands on my head. Two other men waved guns at the passengers. Then one shooter lowered his mask and shouted the command to 'be seated and stay seated or be prepared to take a bullet.' The passengers complied. The suitcase man was awake, and bug eyed with fear.

A burly cowboy walked straight to the suitcase man and asked him to give up his possession. He closed his eyes and said he couldn't do that. The cowboy shot him in the chest and took the suitcase. He told folks to listen up. He said no one else would be harmed. He was just taking what was 'rightfully his.' They exited the passenger car and locked the door.

Wyatt, Doc, and Virgil were getting on the passenger car roof during the robbery. I asked folks to still be in their seats and told them I was going for help. When I climbed the passenger car ladder and poked my head up to see where Wyatt was, he signaled me to stay put.

"Wyatt, they came in and shot the banker agent and took the suitcase with the five thousand dollars," I said.

"Five thousand dollars?"

"Yeah. The money for the Deer Trail Rodeo winner takes all tournament."

"Jesus. I was not aware that money was on this train."

"It wasn't supposed to be. There was a change made this morning in Fairmont. The sheriff said he got word of a planned hold up of tomorrow's train. I was hired to ride shotgun over the suitcase," I said.

"Well, the Wells Fargo recovery fee is 10%."

The five robbers had traded rifles with the Cheyenne for providing their safe passage off the train. The five cowboys rode their horses through the Indian blockade and off in the direction of Denver. They got clear in less than five minutes after they entered the passenger car and murdered the Wells Fargo agent. We moved his body to the supply car and instructed the conductor to get us to Deer Trail as soon as possible. We arrived twenty-five minutes later. Only ten minutes behind schedule. One passenger dead. Five thousand dollars lighter.

I completed my incident report in the train depot and went ahead to the Deer Trail Rodeo fairgrounds. I met with the poker tournament director and informed him that the prize money was stolen. No prize money, no poker tournament. He agreed.

To my surprise Wyatt, Virgil and Doc were waiting for me as I entered the lobby of the St. James Hotel. Wyatt asked if I wanted to go with them to Denver to recover the $5,000. He said would pay me $100 plus expenses. I agreed. We would leave in the morning on the 6:15.

We arrived in Denver at noon. Wyatt divided us up to go casino hunting for our robbers. I went with Doc. Our second stop was the Black Hawk Casino. We were told that the four men we were looking for had arrived last night. We were looking for five. Who was missing?

They had been seen with 'soiled doves and playing roulette and faro.' We paid one of the 'doves' (Jill) a handsome amount of cash to tell us what she knew. Turns out the cowboys were staying outside of town at The Prince Guest Ranch. The 'doves' also service that location on Sunday mornings. Seems the doves don't attend regular church services. The cowboys planned to return after dark tonight to the casino for supper, gambling and bedtime play. We had other plans for the 'gang of four' that did not include any of those activities.

Wyatt and Doc decided that we would meet them between of The Prince Guest Ranch and the outside of town. The plan Doc came up with was dangerous, but Wyatt and Virgil liked it. Doc would approach the gunmen asking for directions to The Prince Guest Ranch. He would have a full day's worth of alcohol on his breath and would be a bit tipsy. He would pass through and double back behind them with his double-barreled shotgun. We would wait for them to get nearly to town and stop them in the road and ask them to give up the money or die trying to escape.

We were unaware that another 'soiled dove' (Becky Ann) overheard our payout to one of her sister doves. She didn't want to miss her big tipping cowboy's planned visit that night. She sent word to him by a Chinese servant. Her note said that some strangers had been in asking questions that afternoon. She thought they might have been playing cards with them the previous night and might be trying to set up for a robbery.

The cowboys were on watch but didn't suspect too much. They figured the doves were trying to butter them up and ask for more money for watching their backs.

Doc's appointment with the riders took place at sunset on the road as planned. There were indeed only four cowboys on horseback. Where was the missing number five gunmen from the train?

"Gentlemen, can you tell me how to find The Prince Hotel?" asked Doc.

"You mean the The Prince Guest Ranch partner?" asked one of the cowboys.

"Mmm. That must be it. A fellow down the road told me they got rooms," said Doc.

"Where you headed?" asked another of the four horsemen.

"I'll be going to Glen Springs tomorrow. A two-day ride."

"We might cross path with you again."

"You don't say. Safe travels," said Doc.

Ten minutes later Wyatt looked at his watch and then to me and then to Virgil. We were tucked in the thickets and only five paces to the road. Our horses were tied up. I had my Winchester and Virgil had his rifle in his right hand and a revolver tucked in his belt. Wyatt was holding his Colt Army revolver with its Buntline 12-inch barrel.

"No shots have rung out. That is good. Doc must be safely by them," said Wyatt.

"Don't say another word, Wyatt. They're coming our way," I said.

The cowboys were within 10 yards when we stepped out of the thickets and into their path. They pulled the reins on their horses and three of them drew their pistols. The fourth shooter took his rifle from his scabbard.

"What do you three gentlemen want?" asked the man with his rifle aimed at Wyatt.

"We want you four to throw down your guns," said Wyatt.

"Why? Who says?" asked the rifle.

"We are agents of the Wells Fargo."

I saw a finger pulling on a revolver on my right and Virgil saw the same on his left. We both fired and two gunmen fell off their respected saddles. Two remained steady. They hardly flinched.

"Wells Fargo men, huh. What do you want?" asked the rifle.

"The money," said Virgil.

"What money is it you're referring to?"

"The five thousand that's in the Wells Fargo suitcase," I said.

"Oh, I see. You're the Bowler hat that was on the train."

"That's right," I said. "I'm charging you with murder."

"You are. Are you? I don't think so."

"If you last two want to die right where you sit, we will step aside and let the gentleman behind you unload his double barrel shot gun. I would hate to see your horses take on pellets at your expense."

"Nice try," said the rifle.

"Boss."

"Yeah?"

"That guy on the road we let through."

"Yeah?"

"He's behind us with a shotgun aimed at your back."

The lone rifleman leaned down to his right and opened fire and hit Virgil in the thigh and the other gun fired at Wyatt. I shot him and Doc took out the rifleman. It was over. Now we needed to find the money. And the missing 5th cowboy.

We returned to the The Prince Guest Ranch and searched the room of the cowboys. We found $3,000 dollars in saddle bags in their room. We had taken $300.00 off the lone gunmen. We needed to find the remaining cash of $1,700 minus what they had spent the first night at the Black Hawk Casino. Wyatt was convinced based on what the first dove told him that they did not lose any of the train robbery money gambling. In fact, the lady dove said they made a few hundred dollars. Enough to pay the doves bedding fees, supper and for everything they drank. The full $5,000 needed to be found.

Wyatt went to the Black Hawk and found the dove that sent the message to the gunmen at The Prince. He searched her room and turned up another saddle bag. It had $1,900 dollars in it along with the keys to the Wells Fargo suitcase. He also found a dead cowboy in her closet. He was still wearing his boots and had $150 dollars in his pants. Seems he died with his pants on of alcohol poisoning. She had been hiding him and his money in hopes of finding a way to get his dead body out of her room. No such luck. She didn't kill him. She just kept him prisoner.

My incident report to Wells Fargo covered all the details of the recovered money in Denver. I was notified by telegram that Wells Fargo had sent a second suitcase to Deer Trail Rodeo for the Winner Take All Poker Tournament.

Doc Holliday traveled by stagecoach to the tournament. He arrived a day late. Wild Bill Hickok won the tournament. Doc went back to Glen Springs, Colorado and buffered up his health. Hickok headed off to Deadwood in Dakota Territory. He would die in Deadwood less than a month later. On August 2nd, Hickok was shot in back playing poker. Wild Bill's dying hand had a pair of Aces and a pair of eights. Known forevermore as a dead man's hand.

Doc did eventually make his way to Tombstone, Arizona to be with Wyatt, Virgil, and Morgan. Big Nose Kate opened and ran one of her houses of ill repute in Tombstone so that she and Doc could be together. Kate was a Hungarian born western American outlaw, gambler, prostitute, saloon owner and common law wife of Doc Holliday. She and Doc were notorious gamblers, drinkers, and western gunfighters.

Doc did march down the Fremont Street in Tombstone with Wyatt, Virgil, and Morgan. It is known as The Gunfight at O.K. Corral. Legendary. Courageous. A remarkable story for another day.