Bisbee daily review., 1905-01-31
GOT WRONG PROSPECT0R IN
 GALS GRAVE
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dose of calomel. taken not too wisely but too soon after consuming a jar of genuine dill pickles. So observ- ing that I was handicapped. Cal. changed the subject to school mans and how they sometimes bulge their hair out in front like a hay stack in distress. and then we said our pray CTS and retired.
 Cal had been with me just fOI~ days and was just delighted with his stay as 1 was to have him stay. when one Saturday night, just after dark, he said to me: q believe I'll go down to the store and get sonlc chewin' to- bacco." I reminded him of the 350- foot bluff around which he would have to work his way, and urged him to "cut it out Eating tobacco is about the only fool habit never contracted, so could do nothing for him, and you know how crazy g man gets when he wants tobacco. So Cal started down to the store. He said he would be right back, and waited for him to re- turn.
 waited for half an hour. at which time he was due. I waited an hour, when he was largely over due. waited an hour and half, when could endure the suspense no longer and wended my way down to the store in search of him. He had not been there. Fitted out with improvised lanterns we skirted the base of that imposing rock, but found no signs of Calvin. went back to the shack still hoping that he might have miss ed the store and found his way back home, but he was not there.
 The cruel silence that pervaded that little domicile that night was terror even to be remembered. I imagined a thousand different forms of fright full tragedy which might have over taken my friend, and no one but those who have been there n high tide and stranded days together, in hunger and cold and delicious luxury, under stand how much the old boys think of each other.
 Well, the next morning, when it was barely light, I went back to the store, but still no tracl of Cal. The trail was so constantly travelled that it was impossible to identity anything. Then we began a systematic search below the rock. We had not pro ceeded two hundred feet after reach ing\ the basf@ofA the rock when we discovered what appeared to be piece of Q mans shirt hanging from an old juniper srag. high up on the bl1sS and immediately beneath it we cams-upon the body, lying as it had "smote"the rocks, broken. torn, crushed, distdrt- ed almost beyond all resemblance Ito human form. We turned the poor crushed mass tenderly over, just as tenderly as if we knew it could feel, but the face was unrecognizable from frishtful contact with a hundred stones and snags and cactus and thorny bushes.
 We tried to identify it by the cloth ing. hut men pay little attention ta and never remember, clothes. As a
 
 general impression, though, they were the clothes Cal wore. Then, who else could it be? And lastly, and most convincing Of all. there was a pint bottle in the right coat pocket, and that settled it-it was poor Cal.
 We buried Cal the next day down where the mesa smiles out over the San Pedro valley; where the beauti- ful live oak parks invite glory lovers all the year round, and Siis sweetheart could come. and between her heart broken sobs, lisp blessings on the kind hands that had left her loved one in that lovely spot.
 Then I went out to Ash Canyon and obtained a beautiful piece of native marble, and had it taken to Bisbee, where professional hands shaped it into rugged yet elegant rustic shaft, emblematic of the sturdy, honest life my noble old friend had led. Only in one small place was the stone blamed and polished. and that held the in- scription, Sacred to the Memory of Noble Old Cal. By his cratic friend, -Mescal.'" I had it taken out and substantially planted at the head of my old friend, and the boys all paid their last sad tribute and turned then to their respective troubles.
 Two weeks later had business in Tombstone. Joe took me to Her9 ford, where I caught the Fl Paso and Southwestern. 1 arrived in Tomb stone at l1:S0 a. m. As I stepped of the coach at Tombstone fell right plunk into the arms of, who? Ca Warrington. That was the first time l ever took hack up to town 1T Tombstone.
 It's only 200 yards to the Epitaph of flee, and the streets skin all the as phalt on earth. but I could not mak, it. In the language of the cowboy