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They were all at Tombstone to try and win the matched pair of gold-inlaid Colt Cavalry Peacemakers. Bat Masterson was there, in dude dress with fancy hat. Tom Horn was there, looking like an Apache war chief. Burt Alvord was there, the ex-deputy who never brought in a living prisoner. Wyatt Earp was there, looking like a prosperous undertaker. Then came an insignificant Texan against whom the bartender of the Bucket of Blood Saloon gave odds of ten to one. His name was Dusty Fog.

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