Defugalty is one of my favorite words. You may not find it in the dictionary, but my mother used it for particularly disagreeable situations, mostly centered around an argument or a general confusion of one kind or another. That would certainly describe the circumstances that occurred on a summer’s eve in old Dodge City.

If you have followed the narratives of The Way West for more than a decade, this may sound familiar. The story was first published in July 2011. The following is founded on that article with “new” information that has come to light over the years. Return with me to Dodge City on a hot July night in 1878.

Dodge City thrived from an exciting reputation described by Robert M. Wright in his book “Dodge City, The Cowboy Capital.”

“Standing out on the extreme border of civilization, like an oasis in the desert, or like a lighthouse off a rocky coast, is ‘The Beautiful, Bibulous Babylon of the Frontier,’ … Dodge City is far famed, not for its virtues, but for its wickedness. The glaring phases of its vices stand preeminent and attract the attention of the visitor, and these shadows of Babylon are reproduced in the gossip’s corner and in the press.”

Wright was quoting an 1878 editor who continued describing the virtues of his own Dodge City.

“Beautiful for situation, cozily nestled on the ‘beach’ of the turbid Arkansas, while on the north the palisades rise above the busy little city, which in the near future will be ornamented with cozy cottages, modern mansions and happy homes … Much has been said of the wickedness and unrighteousness of the city. If ‘old Probe’ should send a shower of fire and brimstone up there, we would not vouch for there being a sufficient number of righteous citizens to save the city …” Rare as they might have been, Dodge had a fair share of honorable men. One of those “righteous citizens” was Harry T. McCarty. He was the Ford County Surveyor and also operated a thriving drafting and signpainting business. He served on the fire department, and when a special scene was needed for a performance at the Varieties Theater, McCarty could be relied upon to perform the duties of “scenic artist.” Mack, as he was familiarly known, was exceptionally active in his community, well-known and well-liked. Mack had plenty to keep him busy, but when called upon, he also accepted the position of Deputy U. S. Marshal.

On the other hand, Thomas O’Haran offered little in the way of community service and cared little for the future of Dodge City. O’Haran, also known as Tom Roach and more familiarly as “Limping Tom,” worked as a cook in one of the cow camps outside of town. The Dodge City Times described him as “a half-witted, rattlebrained and quarrelsome wretch …” The evening of July 12, 1878, O’Haran had evidently become the butt of a practical joke instigated by Charlie Ronan. Ronan was a devil-maycare “knight of the green cloth.” In other words he was a gambler — a “sporting man” who had a knack for starting trouble. Ronan could get away with such shenanigans, but O’Haran had little charisma and gained no sympathy for the ruckus that dusted up the town.

O’Haran was forced to leave town and return to the cow camp, however, he unfortunately returned to the Long Branch Saloon a few hours later in the early morning of July 13, just as Harry McCarty stopped in for a drink and conversation.

Ronan, thinking he might get more mileage out of the joke of the day, told O’Haran that Harry McCarty had been responsible for the joke. Infuriated, O’Haran walked toward the unsuspecting McCarty and jerked McCarty’s pistol from its holster. McCarty turned just as O’Haran gave the pistol “a flourish or two.”

In a flash, black smoke filled the room as hot lead pierced McCarty’s groin and thigh. Mack staggered and collapsed near the door without uttering a word. An unnamed bystander pulled his own pistol and fired at O’Haran. The desperado cried out, “I am shot,” as he fell to the floor. Six-guns were leveled all about him, but O’Haran was believed to be already dead.

McCarty was carried to Charlie Ronan’s room where he gained consciousness for only a brief moment before finally breathing his last. To everyone’s dismay, O’Haran was only grazed in his right side and survived the shooting. The news brought an air of gloom to the normally festive streets as men gathered to talk, while others merely stood in silence, unable to indulge in conversation. The shock of the situation may have saved O’Haran’s life, for instead of the usual call for swift justice, the town seemed more than willing to submit to the law.

A great procession of carriages coursed through the streets toward the cemetery “where all that was mortal of Harry T. McCarty was mingled with the dust.”

Because of his drunken state, O’Haran was charged with manslaughter in the first degree. He pled guilty and was sentenced to do time at Kansas State Penitentiary, Lansing. For the next 12 years and three months, Thomas O’Haran had plenty of time to ponder the defugalty that he caused one hot summer night on The Way West.