Trailer Life: RIDING WITH WYATT EARP

DISCOVER YESTERDAY'S COWBOYS IN ARIZONA'S WILD WEST

It was a dark and rainy fall-chilled night. I was sleeping on a mat outdoors. Across a patch of cattle-trampled pasture from me was a bunch of bedded-down cowboys. One said, "I just can't sleep in a wet bedroll." Another said, "Well, will you just shut up and let somebody sleep who can sleep in a wet bedroll?" This exchange set the agenda for a real adventure that lay ahead. Very quietly, I crawled out of my soggy sleeping bag, and slid open the big side door of my Ry especially desirable at this moment for being dry and leakproof. Inside, I wrung out my sleeping bag in the shower stall, hung it on the shower-faucet handles, dried myself and slipped into a nice, dry backup bag.

We were in 6,256-square-mile Cochise County in southeastern Arizona, once upon a time the most notorious county in the United States, and I was participating as photographer in an event titled "The Last Cattle Drive," a theatrical affair staged by a bunch of real cowboys in honor of the vanishing American cowboy. Tombstone is here, once the bailiwick of Wyatt Earp and his brothers, John Henry "Doc" Holliday, the Clantons and the Laurys, "Curly" Bill Brocius, "Buckskin" Frank Leslie, Johnny Behan, Frank Stillwell and Johnny Ringo, frequently characterized in Western films. Yes, more Western plots very likely came out of Cochise County than anywhere else, including action covering cattle rustling, stagecoach and other robberies, gambling, saloon brawls and gunfights.

The Last Cattle Drive would take 30 days, drifting 300 miles across an S-shape route. From Willcox, Arizona (the birthplace and home of famous film cowboy and singer Rex Alien), the drive continued southeasterly on State Route 186, through the ghost town of Dos Cabezas, along the foothills of the Chiricahua Mountains to Turkey Creek, then south on U.S. 191 to Elfrida, across Sulphur Springs Valley. Then it leads to Tombstone, taking the 300 head of cattle up Alien Street, through the heart of town, becoming perhaps the most significant event ever to occur here other than the Earp-Clanton O.K. Corral shootout. Here, The Last Cattle Drive cowboys staged a little war of their own, starring local gunslingers, deputies and marshals, real and unreal, as the opposition shouted just before the gunfire, "You ain't bringing no cattle through Tombstone." The last leg moseyed eventually to the northern side of Tucson for the grand finale, amid hundreds of spectators who had been alerted by national and local news.

After the first soggy night south of Willcox, the little RV and I sometimes became an integral part of the drive, hauler of a bale of hay or two, sometimes transporting cowboys themselves to quick marts at Elfrida for a micro waved burrito, sometimes cruelly, but not unsympathetically, using it to block cattle that were tired and wanted to go home. Then there was the reporter who said a night's lodging in the RV had saved his life because he was "hang-dog sick and knew he would die outdoors in the killer cold night. "

The Last Cattle Drive is history now. But the locales and many of the locals are still there, and I along with my wife, Vicki, and our Border-collie-lab, Butte, frequently return to the most colorful areas toured by The Last Cattle Drive, placing emphasis on the historical personalities and places, in particular die ruggedly beautiful Chiricahua Mountains. Forty airline miles directly east of Tombstone, dieywere once a fortress for Apache Chief Cochise and his warriors. The famous Apache, Big Foot Massai (Burt Lancaster played him in the film Apache) disappeared forever among the Standing Rocks. Here, Tombstone-associated renegades rendezvoused in Galeyville and Paradise, clumps of shacks described as "about as far from the arm of the law as it was possible to get."

The Chiricahuas rise to 9,798 feet, and the bad guys took advantage of the meadows and flats, in the West called "parks," with good grass and sweetwater springs. From 1870 through the early 188Os, when they weren't making trouble-causing trips to Tombstone (apparently undeterred by the 80-mile round-trip on horseback), they were rustling cattle and hiding them in this sky island. Up here, they redesigned brands and, showing great patience, waited while the hair regrew around the brands before attempting to sell the cattle. Today, one of these haunts is appropriately called Rustler Park, a thin-air mountain retreat at a summer-cool elevation of 8,784 feet, with a 25-site, highly desirable campground.

Galeyville, named for John H. Galey, located in Turkey Creek Canyon on the northeastern side of the Chiricahuas, was a silver boomtown of about 400 itinerant miners during the 188Os. On The Last Cattle Drive, we camped overnight on West Turkey Creek, and it was here that Johnny Ringo died, found propped against a black oak tree, a bullet hole in his head. The tree is still here and so is Ringo, his grave marked by a tombstone of painted rock on private property. he was part of the Clanton gang. he could have been a victim of the war with the Earps or maybe murdered by Buckskin Frank, a poor loser in card games.

Described as heavy, dark and curly-haired, Curly Bill was said to be "unrestricted by any conscience whatsoever," and, no doubt tongue-in-cheek, referred to as Galeyville's mayor. One account accuses him of being the leader of the Clanton gang, a collective name for the Harps' opposition, but Curly Bill was not present at the O.K. Corral shootout. Since Johnny Ringo killed only one man - his target wouldn't accept a drink from him - he was Mr. Nice Guy compared to Curly Bill, who started a long line of killings with Marshall Fred White, of Tombstone; he was said to have led the band that killed nine Mexican smugglers for $4,000 worth of silver and left them and their mules and horses to decay in what is known today as Skeleton Canyon, just off the eastern slopes of the Chiricahuas. Curly Bill was hunted down in the Chiricahuas by Wyatt Earp and his posse and, in another enthusing gun battle, Galeyville lost its mayor.

Galeyville was destroyed by fire and everything salvageable was carried away to build new structures in nearby Paradise, about a mile and a half south. Two stories relate to how Paradise got its name: (1) a pair of newlyweds in marital bliss moved to the privacy of this location and called it Paradise; and (2) cool Chiricahua springs must have been a paradise for travelers after dealing with the heat and dryness of the desert lands below. For the newlyweds, Paradise became Purgatory when a vein of silver ore was discovered nearby and a boomtown sprang up along with 13 saloons to help quench the thirst of the miners.

Paradise today is still Paradise for some seeking isolation. Forest Road 42B goes through the heart of it, and numerous new homes have been built alongside it. Back in the forest, you can see remnants of buildings of Paradise's territorial days. A No TRESPASSING sign and a substantial gate locks you out of famous Paradise Springs.

Though still shown on maps, Galeyville appears to have vanished entirely. Not even a roadside marker remains. Back in the greenery, we again see well-kept homes that grew out of the ghost town. The Coronado National Forest map shows the locations of mines on both sides of the road in Turkey Creek Canyon. Exploring on foot should surely reveal evidence of Galeyville past.

Portal, the only real community here in the high Chiricahuas, lies six miles to the east of Paradise on Forest Road 42B. You might call it a resort, since it has rooms for rent, an excellent restaurant and a tiny, but fully stocked, store. It is the gateway to gorgeous, lush Cave Creek Canyon with its great walls of buff and reddish rhyolite decorated with lichens, cradling a half-dozen small idyllistic (one appropriately named Idlewild) campgrounds in the Chiricahua National Forest. A pair of prospectors surnamed Duffener get credit for founding Portal in f 900. Its only claim to violence dates back to 1896, when Alfred Hands was reported as the last settler to die at the hands of an Apache Indian.

Remarkably, Portal has been overlooked by guidebooks I've checked, but at various times at the store I have heard French, German, Japanese and Belfast Irish spoken. The Chiricahuas rate as one of the most biologically diverse places in America-with five biological life zones. In fact, the Southwestern Research Station, owned and operated by the American Museum of Natural History, is based here to continually study it. Squirrels and chipmunks, javelinas, whitetail and mule deer, coati-mundis (a member of the raccoon family), bears and gray and kit foxes abound. Most of these visitors, along with other nationalities, seek out this treasure for the birds. Yup, birds. More than 300 species coexist here, including the rare elegant trogon. The same diversity goes for bugs, reptiles, amphibians and plants: cactus species and members of the lily family, oaks, junipers, cypress, on up to ponderosas and even higher conifer trees, like spruce and fir, at Rustler Park.

Living in Phoenix, we have the luxury of visiting this lightly trafficked, intriguing historical and commanding scenic expanse on the spur of the moment. Our route usually leads directly to Galeyville, Paradise and Portal, up to Rustler Park, marveling through Cave Creek Canyon, a stop at the Research Station for a pricy T-shirt, winding down Pinery Canyon, into Chiricahua National Monument where we camp overnight; next morning picking up the route of The Last Cattle Drive on State Route 186, across the rolling grasslands and yucca lands of Sulphur Springs Valley (where, 10,000 years ago, you could have been trampled by a mammoth) to Tombstone.

The shortest route to Portal is via the San Simon-Paradise Road off Interstate 10, near the Arizona Port of Entry. The first seven miles are paved; after that you're dealing with allweather roads to Portal. Most Chiricahua roads are narrow and winding. At the entrance to Turkey Creek Canyon, a forest road sign says RVs no longer than 28 feet are allowed.

You connect with paved road again at Portal, which continues to the Cave Creek campgrounds and ends at the Research Station. If you need pavement all the way to get to Portal, you can take U.S. Highway 80 off 1-10 from Roadforks, over the border in New Mexico, south to the Portal Road turnoff just north of Rodeo. (Another few miles south will take you to the community of Apache and the Geronimo Surrender Monument; the actual surrender site is about seven miles up Skeleton Canyon Road.)

I have seen Hollywood versions of Tombstone filmed everywhere except in the city itself. The location that resembles Tombstone the most is still Tombstone, despite a sea of colorful banners and storefronts touting its souvenirs. It qualifies now as an Arizona Main Street City. With personal regret, I report the Casino Saloon burned to the ground. The Johnny Ringo saloon is gone too. There's still the Crystal Palace, built in 1879, a grand watering hole and other Tombstone civic sites positively worth seeing.

Heading north on State Route 80 out of town, ever the romanticist, I caught myself wishing some epic master would do a film where these Cochise County events really took place. Include Portal, Galeyville, Paradise and Rustler Park, places marked forever with true historical significance. But, what the heck, it's still out there, waiting for anyone with wheels to see the real thing.

Arizona Office of Tourism, (602) 364-3700, anzonaguide.com. CIRCLE 224 ON READER SERVICE CARD.