The Denver deputy sheriff Charles Linton was not entirely sure what to make of the man who burst into his office waving two revolvers. The stranger was small and bearded, with a reddish face and small, fiery eyes, and he claimed to be a California lawman who had just made the arrest of a lifetime. His prisoner stood quietly nearby—a thin, pale man in a long coat, a gambler by the look of him, whose name Linton recognized at once. Doc Holliday.

Wanted in the Arizona Territory for murder. The stranger said his name was Perry Malon, and he insisted that a large reward awaited anyone who delivered the notorious gunslinger to justice. Holliday protested that he was innocent of any crime, that Malon was lying, that the whole affair was a mistake. But Malon kept both six-shooters trained on him, and he looked very worried, as though he might fire at any moment.

Linton assured the prisoner no harm would come to him and summoned a cab to take him to the county jail. For the moment, at least, Doc Holliday was under arrest in Denver, Colorado, and the man who had captured him was already basking in the attention of every newspaper in the city. The trouble had begun weeks earlier and more than a hundred miles to the south, in the dusty streets of Pueblo, Colorado. By the spring of 1882, Holliday was a wanted man.

The previous autumn he had stood alongside Wyatt Earp and his brothers during the famous gunfight near the O. K. Corral in Tombstone, Arizona Territory, and the violence had not ended there. In December a bushwhacker’s ambush had wounded Virgil Earp, and in March a second attack had killed Morgan Earp.

Wyatt, Holliday, and a deputized posse had retaliated, gunning down Frank Stilwell in the Tucson rail yard. With murder charges hanging over them, the posse had fled Arizona in early April, riding east to Silver City, New Mexico Territory, where they sold their horses. They then took a stage to Deming and boarded a northbound train for Albuquerque. After what Holliday later described as a disagreement with Wyatt, he and fellow posse member Dan Tipton split off from the group and pushed ahead to Trinidad, Colorado.

By early May, Holliday decided to leave Tipton behind and ride the train to Pueblo. Shortly afterward, a small, bearded man got off the same train and began following him. That man was Perry Malon, and their first encounter took place in the second week of May 1882, at a theater called the Kami. Malon approached Holliday with an alarming piece of information: the brother of the slain Frank Stilwell was actively searching for the gambler with lethal intentions.

Holliday, never one to shy away from danger, asked Malon to identify the vengeful brother. Malon, a small man with a beard, refused to comply. Holliday, drawing on his experience in Arizona, suspected Malon had simply read the newspaper reports of the Earp saga and was fabricating stories to serve some mysterious purpose of his own. Then Malon made an even more puzzling claim.

He asserted that Holliday had once saved his life in Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory. Holliday had no memory of such a thing. Regardless, Malon issued a bold and mysterious warning: “If you give me away, I will kill you. ”

Holliday ignored the curious threat.

Nothing happened. Malon eventually moved on, and the anticipated confrontation with Stilwell’s brother never materialized. But the encounter was not over—not by a long shot. A few days after their conversation at the theater, the two men crossed paths again, this time in another Pueblo saloon.

Intrigued by the strange little man, Holliday asked a local bartender what he knew. The bartender said Malon had introduced himself as a rancher who had recently sold his land and was looking for new opportunities. He had also borrowed ten dollars from the bartender and failed to pay it back. Holliday quickly sized up the alleged rancher as a dubious character and a liar.

According to Holliday, Malon tried to enhance his reputation by showing off a scar and claiming it came from a bullet wound. Holliday dismissed it as a mere mark of disease, and laughed. The Pueblo Daily Chieftain later reported that visiting men from Akron, Ohio—Malon’s hometown—immediately recognized him and said he had taken money from locals under false pretenses. To acquaintances, Malon presented himself as a traveler on business.

To strangers, he claimed to be a detective. The paper confirmed that Malon’s last known address had been Ogden and described him as “a small man with reddish face and beard, with small fiery eyes and not an inviting cast of features. ” The Denver Tribune added another detail: Malon seemed to be a former railroad brakeman who had been discharged, and he was noticeably missing the little finger on his left hand. None of this mattered to Holliday, who concluded that Malon had no value and could not be trusted.

He decided to put Pueblo behind him and head north to Denver, where he planned to take in the horse races. Unbeknownst to Holliday, Malon saw an opportunity to exploit the famous gunslinger for quick money—and he quietly followed the former dentist to the mile-high city. On May 15, 1882, Holliday was walking near the intersection of Sixteenth and Lawrence Streets in Denver when Perry Malon stepped out of the shadows and pointed two revolvers at him. Malon, still pretending to be a California lawman, enlisted the assistance of Deputy Sheriff Charles Linton to escort Holliday to the sheriff’s office.

He convinced Linton that Holliday was wanted in Arizona Territory for murder and that a large reward had been offered for his capture. At the sheriff’s office, Malon kept both six-shooters aimed at Holliday. The gambler protested to Linton that he was in no danger from anyone—except, perhaps, from the nervous man holding the guns. Linton assured him no harm would come to him.

Meanwhile, Malon added a second charge: Holliday was also wanted in Utah Territory for the murder of a man named Harry White, whom Malon claimed had been a close associate of his. According to Malon, the fatal shooting had occurred in a St. George, Utah Territory saloon while Holliday was dealing faro. Malon repeated the story that Holliday had injured him six times over the years, and with a theatrical flourish he raised his left hand and credited Holliday’s six-shooter for his missing pinky finger.

He enjoyed the instant fame that the arrest brought him. He gave interviews to the more gullible newspapers and told increasingly strange stories about his seven years of chasing the gambler across the West. The Denver Tribune was never fully convinced. The paper reported that Malon acted like a suspicious man and did not handle a pistol with the grace of a trained desperado-hunter.

Holliday himself later commented that Malon was not a gunman, noting that he carried a silver-mounted revolver “such as a cowboy would disdain to carry. ” A Denver reporter added that the manner in which Malon handled his pistol showed he was afraid it would go off every moment—and that he was more frightened than Holliday was. Despite the dubious and sensational nature of Malon’s stories, the Denver tabloids continued to publish his claims. They depicted Holliday as a desperado and his captor as a valiant avenger deserving of the five-hundred-dollar reward that Arizona Territory officials had offered for the gambler’s arrest.

The Denver Tribune stood out as a lone voice of reason, sarcastically questioning Malon’s narratives and his asserted identity. Undeterred, Malon insisted he was a deputized officer. On May 22, 1882, he went even further, claiming to have seen Wyatt Earp in Denver. The Tribune reported that there was a man in the city named Greenleaf “who looks very much like Wyatt Earp and who came near being arrested by Malon.

” Reliable reports, however, confirmed that Wyatt and his youngest brother Warren were actually residing on the outskirts of Gunnison, Colorado, where they had set up camp with Dan Tipton and Texas Jack Vermillion. Perry Malon thrived on the sudden surge of attention. He went so far as to claim he had received personal authorization from Cochise County Sheriff Johnny Behan to apprehend Holliday. But his taste of fame was about to curdle.

As the Tribune reporters interviewed Holliday in his cell, the gambler denied everything. He said he had never set foot in Utah Territory, that he had only encountered Malon for the first time in Pueblo, and that he was actually residing in Denver when Malon fabricated his murder allegations. The newspapers, however, continued to print Malon’s concocted tales, and efforts intensified to extradite Holliday back to Arizona Territory to face charges related to the Stilwell murder. Pima County Sheriff Bob Paul arrived from the territory to accompany Holliday back to Tucson, but he lacked the necessary paperwork.

He was forced to wait in Denver for the requisition documents. Friends of Holliday, including Bat Masterson—the marshal of Trinidad, who happened to be in Denver for the races—rallied to his defense. They spoke out against the extradition and formulated a plan to stall the proceedings. Soon, Holliday faced racketeering charges in Pueblo, and an order was issued to release him from custody in Denver so he could face the trumped-up charges there instead of being sent to Arizona.

The spotlight once again turned on Malon. Sheriff Paul said he had never heard of the man. The Tribune took a closer look at the habitual liar. In response, Malon went on the offensive.

On May 23, 1882, he penned a self-important letter to the Rocky Mountain News defending his actions. Cast in the style befitting a con man, the letter brimmed with irony, falsehoods, and indignant self-righteousness. He criticized the Tribune’s attack on his integrity and assured its readers he was “here on business—for business that I mean business, which Doc’s friends, who may have misled reporters or the public, will soon find out. ” He signed it, “Respectfully, Perry Malon.

”

The true nature of his business would soon be exposed. The widespread coverage of Malon’s exploits proved to be a double-edged sword. While the notoriety earned him the trust and attention of easily deceived individuals, it also broadcast his whereabouts to his old victims. Hyam W.

Rubly, an elderly investor and blacksmith who had fallen victim to a one-hundred-dollar scam in Omaha back in 1880, learned of Malon’s exploits in Denver. Seizing the opportunity, Rubly came forward to accuse Malon of fraud and reclaim his lost money, providing Tribune reporters with the intricate details of his dealings with the con man. Rubly’s cause was championed in subsequent articles, leaving no doubt about Malon’s dubious character. In due course, Rubly confronted Malon in Sheriff Linton’s Denver office, accompanied by a witness, and pressured him to reimburse the hundred dollars.

Trembling, Malon asked to speak with Rubly privately in an alley, but Rubly declined. The Tribune later reported that the con man had been compelled to repay the full amount. His fraudulent schemes exposed, Malon still had one last trick to play. His capture of Doc Holliday, driven by the prospect of a five-hundred-dollar reward and the ensuing notoriety, had been thwarted by protracted legal proceedings.

As it became apparent there would be no reward and Holliday would be released, Malon needed a new plan. The sudden reappearance of Rubly, his old adversary from Omaha, convinced him it was time to leave Denver. To facilitate his departure, he needed cash—and the most likely way to get it was to cheat yet another fool. He settled on Julius Schwarts, a naive co-owner and secretary of the Great West Hotel in Denver, where both men were staying.

As reported by the Denver Republican, Malon presented several letters of introduction from Schwarts’s friends and associates in California. Recently devastated by the loss of his share in the Great West Hotel, Schwarts was intrigued by the accounts of Holliday’s arrest. Malon skillfully exploited this impression, weaving tales of substantial rewards he had received for apprehending other criminals. He borrowed money from Schwarts when his cash ran low, and the young, gullible hotel clerk happily agreed.

Malon even borrowed a twenty-dollar coat from Schwarts and a revolver from another guest. Once he had enticed Schwarts with his sensational exploits, Malon set his trap. He told the clerk a story of a murderer residing in Kansas City under an assumed name. A reward of fifteen hundred dollars awaited the captor, and Malon proposed a partnership.

The plan involved Schwarts financing their journey and bribing a woman whom Malon claimed possessed precise information about the fugitive’s whereabouts. Schwarts naively agreed. On May 27, 1882, the two men departed Denver by train, bound for Kansas City. Upon arrival, Malon announced he would venture alone to Wyandotte to investigate the wanted man.

He never returned. The local depot watchman reported seeing Malon board the westbound Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe that Sunday night. Three days later, Schwarts returned to Denver and reported the incident to the police. Malon had taken the gullible clerk for three hundred and ten dollars.

Upon returning home, Schwarts quickly discovered that Malon had also borrowed another hundred and thirty dollars from Great West Hotel resident Charles Morgan. Later, both men would learn that Malon had also swindled the former mayor of Alamosa, extracting fifty dollars and a pistol. Infuriated by his losses, Morgan believed Malon had fled to New Mexico Territory. Driven by indignation, he boarded a train for Albuquerque on June 1, 1882, in pursuit of the con man.

His quest proved futile. All of this was cold comfort to Schwarts, but a follow-up report in the June 6, 1882 Pueblo Daily Chieftain may have satisfied him a little. The newspaper declared that Malon had been apprehended in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and would be held until a governor’s requisition arrived from Colorado. There is no concrete evidence to validate the arrest or the subsequent requisition.

Nevertheless, the residents of Denver likely rejoiced at the prospect of being rid of Perry Malon. Doc Holliday, in particular, welcomed the news. He had managed to evade extradition to Arizona Territory. Colorado Governor Frederick Pitkin rejected the requisition, and Holliday was transported to Pueblo to face the fabricated fraud charges instead.

He was released on bail on June 1, 1882, and soon made his way to Gunnison to reunite with Wyatt and Warren Earp, Dan Tipton, and Texas Jack Vermillion. Always a Southern gentleman, Holliday told a reporter in Gunnison on June 18, 1882, that he would not seek revenge on Malon. “No, that is not my way of doing,” he explained. “I shall let him alone, if he does me.

” But he added that his friends did not feel as generous. Carrying a letter from the House of Comfort and Harlon in Denver, he revealed their commitment to spend up to a thousand dollars, if necessary, to ensure Malon was imprisoned. The anticipated opportunity never materialized. Despite the Kansas City depot watchman’s report indicating that Malon had boarded a westbound train, the elusive man had in fact chosen the opposite direction.

Exhibiting the true traits of a flimflam man, Malon kept moving, refused to look back, and promptly initiated another confidence game upon returning to his home state of Ohio. That scheme was unsuccessful. Malon was arrested in Toledo in late July 1882 as a suspicious person. But after just three months in the county jail, he was released—and promptly disappeared.

Holliday, meanwhile, remained in Colorado, establishing a residence in Leadville for a period before meeting his end in Glenwood Springs in 1887. Malon’s arrest of Holliday had served as sensational material for the Denver press during May and June 1882. Subsequently, other newspapers adopted Malon’s extravagant narratives, replete with fictitious claims and dime-novel portrayals of murder and vengeance. These actions inadvertently propelled Holliday’s name and reputation across the nation.

Perry Malon has faded into obscurity. But his brief moment of notoriety inadvertently—and almost single-handedly—contributed numerous chapters to the enduring legend of Doc Holliday.