Heavily armed men are lying in wait for me when I pull into the Holiday Inn Express—enough to make me nervous.
I try to make it to my room unobserved, but a black-hatted hombre tracks me down and instructs me to mosey over to the lobby.
A Colt Single Action Army is a mighty good persuader. Which causes me to think:
It’s a lot easier to pack iron in Tombstone, Arizona, today than it was when the Earp brothers called the shots.
Wyatt Earp is still The Man.
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