The Killing Of Ed: April 9, 1878

Dodge City doesn’t just welcome the cattle drives; it feeds on them. When the herds arrive, so do the wages, the whiskey, the gambling, and the dance halls, and the town’s “wide open” side of the tracks turns into a nightly test of nerve for anyone wearing a badge. We tell the story of one of those nights, when Deputy Marshal Ed Masterson and Assistant Marshal Nat Haywood walk their beat down Front Street and hear shots coming from the Lady Gay.

What follows is a tense, step-by-step descent from order to bloodshed. You’ll hear how Ed tries to defuse a mob of drunken Texas cowboys, how Jack Wagner’s gun is taken and then reappears in the street, and how trail boss A. M. Walker’s threats pin Haywood in place long enough for everything to go wrong. A single misfire, a moment of hesitation, and a scuffle over a revolver become the opening for a point-blank shot that leaves Ed burning, bleeding, and staggering into a saloon with no chance of survival.

From there, the narrative turns personal and brutal as Bat Masterson arrives, sees his brother cut down, and fires four shots in retaliation. We stay with the aftermath too: the cold reception the wounded Texans receive in nearby saloons, Wagner’s confession and burial on Boot Hill, and the way Dodge City shuts down to mourn Ed with its first public funeral. It’s a gritty piece of Old West history that forces a harder question beneath the legend: what does mercy cost in a town built on vice, and what does justice look like when it happens in seconds? This is a partial remastered episode first recorded on September 28, 2019. 

If you’re drawn to Wild West lawmen, Dodge City history, and the real stakes behind a frontier gunfight, press play, then subscribe, share the show, and leave a review. What do you think Ed could have done differently, if anything?

Transcript

Cattle Drives And Vice In Dodge

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The Killing of Ed. In early April is when the cattle drives began to peak. The drovers found Dodge City at the end of the trail, which represented their Valhalla, a place where they could eat and drink their fill and enjoy every vice. The cowboys had spent many long weeks sweating and freezing in the saddle. At the end of the trail, the offerings were somewhat plentiful with money in their pockets. The cowboy was easy prey for the denizens of the red light districts. He was offered every variety of liquor, games of chance, and women. One cowboy once said, Here might be seen the frailty of women in every grade and condition, from girls in their teens launching out on a life of shame, to the adventurous who had once had youth and beauty in her favor, but was now discarded and ready for the final dose of opium and the coroner's verdict. All were there in tinsel and paint, practicing a careless exposure of their charms. It was about 10 o'clock on the night of April 9th when my brother, Ed, and Assistant Marshal Nat Haywood walked to their beat along Front Street. They heard the raucous sounds and several pistol shots. The shots were coming from below the deadline on the south side of the tracks, where anything went and was wide open. Ed and Nat Haywood hurried across the tracks to the scene of the disturbance. When they arrived at the place of the disturbance, they witnessed a half dozen cowboys in the lady gay dance hall having fun and games. The cowboys, who had come in from their cow camp south of the river, cheered and showed elations over a dancehall girl. There came flashes of anger, jeers, shouting. They'd become a mob, mindless and dangerous. They had lost all self-control. Among them was the trail boss A. M. Walker. Walker, whose father owned a fine spread of cattle in Texas, was entrusted with bringing a herd of cattle north for shipment east. One of Walker's rollicking companions was Jack Wagner. Walker had taken too much whiskey aboard, even for a thirsty cowpoke with many layers of dust to be dissolved. It was Wagner who had cut loose with the shots and was being noisy and threatening other patrons. Ed was first to enter the barred dance hall theater. Ed witnessed that Wagner was carrying a gun. The gun was in Wagner's hand out in the open. Ed saw that gun barrel in Walker's hand was still smoking. You'd better check that gun with me, ordered Ed. Wagner shrugged and handed over the pistol. Politely, but first. You're smart to do as I asked, replied Ed. I now believe the situation is under control. Ed, having retrieved Wagner's gun, strolled over to young Walker, the trail boss, and gave him Wagner's gun. I'd suggest you leave this with the bartender till morning, ordered Ed. Walker nodded in agreement. Yes, sir, Mr. Marshall, I'll do just that, replied Walker. Ed respectfully tipped his hat to Walker, turned, and walked out in the street. Ed must have sensed that he and Nate were being followed, for Ed turned and looked back over his shoulder, witnessing Walker and Wagner on their heels. What Ed noticed next must have surprised Wagner, who was once again in possession of a gun. What is it you did not understand about my order? barked Ed at Walker. I told you not to let Wagner have his gun. Now why is Wagner carrying a gun? Ed turned around and advanced on the pair. I'll take that gun, he told Wagner. You can come down to the marshal's office in the morning and collect it. That is, if you're sober enough. Like hell I will, Wagner snarled. You ain't got no business fooling with a man's personal shooting iron. Who the hell do you think you are? I'm Deputy Marshal Masterson of the Dodge City Police, Ed replied. Now hand over that gun. Ed went for the gun Wagner was carrying and began a scuffle over possession of the revolver. The two men grunted as they took handfuls of each other's clothing and attempted to wrestle the other to the ground. By that time, four companion Texans came tumbling out of the lady gay. Walker and another cowboy drew their guns and covered Haywood, who had started to move to the Masterson's assistance. Keep out of this, Walker instructed Haywood. Let him fight it out or you'll get your head blown off. Walker raised his gun so it would level at Haywood's face a few feet away. Hawood reached for his own weapon when Walker released the hammer. The hammer clicked and fell in a dud shell. The misfire of Walker's revolver screwed up Haywood's courage. Hawood became unraveled and unnerved by the click in his ear. He ran down the street for reinforcements. A few moments later, Hawood ran up to me. He stammered out the news of my brother. Ed's in trouble, Bat, exclaimed Haywood. He's surrounded by a mob of trigger happy cowboys. I'm sorry, Bat, I should have stayed with him. Haywood's news of my brother being in trouble accelerated inside my head. My breaths came in gasps, and I felt like I would black out. My heart hammered inside my chest like it belonged to a rabbit running for its skin. I sprinted at full tilt towards the Lady Gay. Within a few seconds of the side of the dance hall, I witnessed two men skirmishing outside within plain sight of my brother Ed. A shot was fired. The ground around me spun as I saw the flash of a pistol. I tried to make the scene before me slow down to something my brain and body could cope with. I felt sick. One of the men, either Wagner or Walker, had fired at Ed almost point blank range. The flame out from the gun barrel was so close to my brother's side that it set his coat on fire. Burning and bleeding with a bullet in the right side of Ed's abdomen, he lurched away from the scene. I was sixty feet away when the shot was fired at Ed. I saw my brother cut down without a chance to draw his own gun. A rage built up inside me like a deep water current. I did everything right. I tried to convince Ed not to take this job, and still, at this place, these boardwalks from hell took my brother with vengeance. In one blaze of a second, I fired four shots at Walker and Wagner. The two men who were struggling with my brother. I gave no warning, and they had no time to know what hit him. In each of those four shots I fired in an uncertain light under the greatest emotional stress. Every pull of the trigger, for every blaze from my barrel was for one purpose, to rip my two targets from existence, to silence Wagner and Walker for their crimes against my brother. Every flame from my pistol that went into the foul air of the night would be the one that laid their drunkenness to their final end. It was as if that sound became the end of a murderer, the last and brutal shout from the coldest of lungs. I then looked upon the gawking mob of sightseers in the background who saw my vengeance play out as the lead hit one target and then the other. Jack Wagner was struck by one bullet in the left side of the abdomen. The other three slugs tattooed Walker, one hitting his lung, the other two shattering his right arm. Four of Walker's cowboy companions fled in terror, as it seemed their taste for further violence disappeared with them into the darkest shadows of the street. They were collared by other officers later that night. I holstered my revolver and watched my brother walk across the street into George Hoover's saloon. I could tell he was severely wounded. His clothes were on fire from the discharge of the pistol, which had been placed against the right side of his abdomen. By the time I reached Ed, he had collapsed on the floor of Hoover's saloon. He had a hole in his abdomen large enough for the introduction of a whole pistol. The ball passed completely through him, leaving no possible chance for life. Ed was unconscious. I picked him up off the saloon floor and had him carried to a room at Deacon Cox's establishment. I called out for someone to get a doctor. I held him until the doctor arrived. After treating my brother, the doctor said, I'm sorry to say, there's nothing more I can do. It was with those fourteen words, constructed of simple letters, that cut deep into my soul. Thirty minutes later, my brother Ed Masterson died in my arms. It was at this moment my eyes burned with an ache to sob. My stomach rocked back and forth on the harsh waves of fear. Why are we taught to fear death? I thought to myself. Why? Whether death is an eternal abyss of darkness, a fiery pit, or a clouded castle, we all fear it, even when vexed full of courage. Whether it comes as a relief or a surprise, we fear it. I said with a whisper over Ed's cold body. This will just about kill our mom. She'll never forgive me for letting you get killed in this damn town. While Ed died in my arms, the fun-loving Texans who had killed my brother were suffering from my retaliation on their malicious actions. Jack Wagner stumbled into Peacock's saloon, trailing blood, and floundered towards Ham Bell. Wagner pleaded with Ham. Catch me, I'm dying, said Wagner. Bell simply replied to Wagner's request, I want no part of such an unpopular character as you. Bell shoved Wagner away, saying, I can't help you now. Die for all I care. Wagner fell to the floor and lay there without medical assistance. Ham, along with several others, continued drinking at the bar as if Wagner was invisible. The drinkers at the bar continued to guzzle away until a group of silent Texans ventured into Peacock's and carried Wagner away to a rooming house. Walker, who had taken three bullets for my gun, was in slightly better condition than Wagner. His shirt front, covered with blood, and his almost severed right arm dangling at his side, staggered into Peacock's saloon a few moments after Wagner. Walker was also given a cold reception by Ham Bell. I'd like to surrender my gun to you, sir, Walker announced. Throw it on the floor if you don't want it, he said. Walker dropped the gun, noted the hostile stairs of Bell and the others at the bar, and made his way out the back door of the saloon where he collapsed. Walker's friends found him later and hauled him into a room over Bob Wright's mercantile house. His wealthy father came up from Texas a few weeks later and took Walker home, assured by the physicians that he had a good chance of recovery. But young Walker died of his lung wound about a month after the shooting, the third man to die under my gun. Wagner confessed to the killing of Ed Masterson before he died the next day and was buried on Boot Hill. Little sympathy was expended on the dead and dying Texans, but the town of Dodge City truly mourned for Ed Masterson. The Ford County Globe reported in my brother's eulogy Everyone in the city knew Ed Masterson and liked him. They liked him as a boy, they liked him as a man, and they liked him as their marshal. The marshal died nobly in the discharge of duty. We drop a tear upon his grave and remember: whether on the scaffold high or in the battle's van, the fittest place for man to die is when he dies for man. Dodge City gave my brother Ed its first public funeral, and probably its most sincerely regretful one. All the stores and even the saloons closed the day his body was carried to the cemetery. The funeral procession was headed by the city council and included the volunteer fire company, of which Ed had been a prominent member. All sixty of Ed's firefighting comrades attended, wearing their uniform and mourning bands. I was the only relative present. I followed the hearse alone on foot. My eyes were entirely fixed on the glass-sided wagon which bared my brother's body until we reached Fort Dodge. The public outpouring of sympathy was of much consolation as I watched the Reverend Ormond Wright sprinkle dirt over my brother's coffin as it was lowered into the grave. As the Reverend Wright began his oration over the grave, I only heard dust to dust, ashes to ashes. I could only think then of my mother's religious teachings and how these teachings of Christian way of life made a far deeper impression on Ed than on me. If Ed had been a little less Christian and shot those two Texans before they could grapple with him, he wouldn't be lying in that coffin. It wasn't safe to follow the golden rule west of Kansas City on the boardwalks from hell.