es into
Tombstone is too long to tell here, although it is a stirring tale and
colorful.

Tombstone to-day stands just as it was back in those wild days of the
early eighties; just as it was--the buildings are unchanged. You may
see them all, and see the streets as they looked when pistols flamed
and men died hard out in the roadway.

But other crowds walk those streets now. And sometimes on an evening
you will see automobiles going down the block with family parties on
their way for a spin along the Benson road where the Clanton boys,
Frank Stilwell, John Bingo, and the other bad men used to rob the
stages in daytime.

On such an evening, should you travel down that highway, you may see
the leaping light of a bonfire by which a group of young people are
toasting marshmallows on the summit of the knoll where Ed Schiefflin
hid from the passing Apaches.

Tombstone is peaceable enough to-day for any man; so peaceable that
one finds it hard to believe there was a time when the town had a
man--or more--for breakfast every morning.

THE SHOW-DOWN

In the early days of Tombstone when miners and merchants and cow-men
and faro-dealers and outlaws were drifting into Cochise County from
all over the West, a young fellow by the name of William C.
Breckenbridge came down from Colorado to the new camp. He was, so the
old-timers say, one of those smallish men who can wear a flannel shirt
and broad-brimmed hat so jauntily that, although their breeches be
tucked into their boot-tops, they still look marvelously neat; but
while he could come through a hard day's ride still suggesting a
bandbox, there was nothing of the dandy about him.

His people had staked him to go out West and at their suggestion he
had hunted up an older brother in Colorado. But two years in the wide
reaches of the Platte country, where the monotony of teaming was
varied by occasional brushes with the Indians, failed to satisfy his
spirit. And so he came riding down into the flaring valleys of the
Southwestern border along with the first influx of adventurers.

He was still in his early twenties and the world looked good to him;
one of those quiet youths who preface most remarks with a smile
because, all other things being equal, they like their fellow-men.

He knocked about the camp, trying this thing and that, and was
starting in at mining engineering with an old marine compass as his
only instrument when Johnny Behan, who was newly appointed s