By Fernanda Santos | The New York Times
TOMBSTONE, Ariz. — Ken Curtis felt a stinging pain beneath the double-stitched leather holster where his Mitchell Arms pistol rests when it is not in his hands, as it was that afternoon in October. He slid a finger inside his pants. Blood oozed from a hole in his lower abdomen. Mr. Curtis took a deep breath and slipped right back into character.
People were watching and waiting, he said. He still had an outlaw to gun down.