The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp

When Wyatt Earp was Marshal of Wichita, Kansas in 1875,

one of the serious problems with which he had to deal

was the runaway boy from the East.

Hundreds of such youngsters, incited by lurid dime novels

about cowboys, Indians, and outlaws,

left their homes in eastern towns and cities

for the wild, exciting life of the Western Frontier.

If today's comic books

have a bad effect on many juvenile readers,

they are mild compared to the bloody sensationalism

of paperback thrillers,

which lured the youth of earlier times

to seek adventure in the brawling violence

of cattle trail and cow town.

Hold it!

Break it up, there!

All right, hold it!

Get the gun!

Come out of there!

Why, you little punk.

Are you using real bullets?

I got me several of that Lazy H outfit.

Oh, you did, huh?

Well, they all seem to be standing up.

You the sheriff, mister?

No, I'm the marshal. Who are you?

My name's Tim Jones.

I'm with the Bar W.

We had our loading orders first,

then those Lazy Hs tried to jump our claim.

You took a shot at me.

Well, I didn't see your star.

I thought you were a Lazy H.

I don't shoot at the law.

Now that's real considerate of you.

Come on.

Was he shooting?

Yeah, without a license.

This one's sober.

We'll take him back to town with the rest of them.

Does a cowhand get a fair trial in this town,

or do they lynch him?

Your size, we spank.

Anybody get hurt?

No. They're too drunk to get hurt, most of 'em.

I wish people would keep their kids at home.

I got another Desperate Desmond on my hands.

- Runaway boy, huh? - Yeah.

It's a wonder he didn't ping somebody or hurt himself.

Is this the kid's?

Yeah.

This is the worst yet.

They're coming west by the hundreds.

We've had at least a couple of dozen in the last few months.

Can't you get something in the Eastern papers about it?

I've tried, Wyatt.

I think it's just normal kid behavior.

In fact, they're rather proud.

Proud? Proud of what?

Young America, the spirit of the pioneers...

You know the line.

Well, I've got something to show you.

Sam.

Sam, bring that young Tim Jones in, will you?

Now the "spirit of the pioneers" is fine.

But I have yet to see a runaway kid with a hoe.

They all want to be gunfighters.

It's those dime novels they read.

Ned Buntline and his Daredevil of the Plains.

Yeah, written by men that have never been west of Albany.

I wish they could see what it does

to some of their readers.

Well, take a good look at him, Mr. Murdock.

Young America.

Hey, are you the judge?

No, that's Mr. Murdock.

He happens to be the editor of the Wichita Eagle.

Hey, I don't want my name or my picture in the paper.

Well, don't worry, you're not that important.

Now go sit down.

Where do your folks live?

Haven't any folks.

Who's your relatives?

No relatives.

Just write it down that I'm a cowpuncher

working for the Bar W outfit.

The Bar W outfit doesn't hire kids.

You jumped off a freight train.

I don't want any more fresh talk from you.

I've got to send you home.

Where is that?

None of your business.

Don't get sassy with Mr. Earp, kid.

Okay.

I'm a homeless juvenile vagrant.

I'm an orphan without any means of support.

That's too bad.

We'll, uh, have to put him up for adoption.

Yeah.

Mr. Bodine at the dairy

would like to have another orphan.

40 cows to milk twice a day,

only three kids to do it.

Think you're tough enough for that?

Well, I want to be a cowhand.

You know, ride the range, punch cows.

You can milk cows at the dairy.

No. If my father were here, he'd...

You just turn me loose.

- You do have a father, huh? - No, I don't.

Bend over the desk.

- What? - You heard me.

- I said bend over the desk. - No! Ow!

Wait, I'll tell ya!

All right.

My father is Timothy Jones, Sr.

He lives in the Fifth Avenue Hotel

in New York City.

New York, huh?

You've come a long way.

I'll send a wire for you, Wyatt.

- Thanks. - We should hear in a few hours.

My father'll fix you

for using corporal punishment on me.

No one's allowed to do that.

You're just a Big Country Jake Sheriff.

You're a spoiled brat.

At least you might as well start learning.

Learnin' what?

To be a cowhand,

that's what you came west for, isn't it?

Yeah.

Where do we go now?

We're going to a little cowhand school.

I run it just for boys like you.

Now the first thing a cowhand has to learn

is how to ride a horse.

I already know.

- Oh, you do, huh? - Sure.

Come here.

It's on this side.

Turn him loose.

All right, Mr. Jones.

You all right?

Yeah.

I'll show him.

No, I think you had enough.

I want to try him again.

All right, but this time,

keep your heels out of his flank.

Stayed on him that time a longer time.

You want to try him again?

No. That horse doesn't like me.

Well, we'll forget about riding for the time being.

Cowhand's got to learn how to rope.

That's a lasso.

Give it here.

I'll show you how to bust a steer.

Oh?

First, you tie one end of the rope around your waist.

Then, you open the loop at the end, like this.

Uh-huh.

That's good.

Now you stay right here,

and I'll go get a steer and let him out of the chute.

You can rope him.

How big a steer?

Oh, just about your size.

Those aren't steers.

Those are calves, little dogies.

Well, you just go ahead and try and rope 'em.

I'll show ya.

Mr. Jones, you're aiming at the wrong end.

Come here.

You go up and climb up on that fence over there,

and drop the loop over their head.

That's not the proper way to do it.

That's the proper way for a cowhand on foot.

Now you go climb up.

Okay. Go on.

Are you all set?

Yeah.

I'll shoo one by for you.

Come on, dogie.

Go on!

Ow, it burns my hands.

Untie the rope.

Whoa, boy.

Now, let's see.

First, you tie the rope around your waist...

Well, I thought that was the way you did...

You can't rope and your can't ride.

What can you do?

I'm tired and I'm hungry.

Well, a good cowhand can always eat.

But you're a little dirty.

Got to get you scrubbed up first.

Oh, no.

Oh, yes.

This water's too cold. I'll catch pneumonia.