m-jumping. And claim-jumping in those days always meant shooting.
Some properties were taken and retaken several times, each occasion
being accompanied by bloodshed. Surveying parties marched into the
foot-hills of the Mule Mountains under escort of companies of
riflemen; in more than one instance they laid out boundary lines and
established corner monuments after pitched battles, each with its own
formidable casualty list.

What with the murders by the savages and these affrays--together with
such natural hazards of disease and accident as accompany any new
mining camp--the boot-hill graveyard out beyond the north end of the
wide main street was booming like the town. And now there came a more
potent factor in stimulating mortuary statistics.

The bad men took possession of Tombstone.

They came from all over the West. For railroads and telegraph lines
were bringing a new order of things from the Missouri to the Rio
Grande, and those who would live by the forty-five hastened to ride
away from sight of jails and churches, seeking this new haven down by
the border.

One by one they drifted across the flaring Southwestern deserts; from
California, Montana, Colorado, Kansas, Texas, and New Mexico, with
their grim mouths tight shut against all questions and their big
revolvers dangling beside their thighs. The hair of some of them was
gray from many winters and their faces deeply lined; and some were
boys with down on their smooth cheeks. But once his hand started
moving toward his pistol, every man of them was deadlier than a bull
rattlesnake in rutting time.

No man challenged them on their arrival. The town was too busy to heed
their presence. The one-story buildings which lined the wide streets
were packed to the doors with customers; saloons, dance-halls, and
gambling-houses roared on through day and night; the stores were open
at all hours. The wide sidewalks under the wooden awnings which ran
the length of every block, were crowded from wall to gutter with men
intent on getting wealth or spending it.

The bad men mingled with the sidewalk throngs; they dropped into the
Bird-Cage Opera House, where painted women sang in voices that clanged
like brazen gongs; they took their places before the gambling-tables
of the Crystal Palace, where girls were oftentimes to be found dealing
faro; they joined the long lines before the bars and drank the
stinging whisky which the wagon-trains had brought from Tucson. And
they