April 16 - Last Showdown: The Truth About Bat Masterson’s Final Gunfight
Laying Down Our Weapons
This is the day Bat Masterson fought his last gun battle in Dodge City, Kansas in 1881.
In today's lesson, we will explore the profound spiritual implications of knowing when to walk away from battles that are no longer ours to fight. What weapons might God be asking you to lay down? How does spiritual maturity reveal itself in surrender rather than continued conflict? Bat Masterson's final gunfight offers us a surprising window into the power of knowing when one chapter must end for another to begin.
"Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it." - Psalm 34:14 (NIV)
This Date in History
Gunshots shattered the morning quiet of Dodge City as Bat Masterson stepped off the train, Winchester rifle in hand. The famed lawman had traveled all night after receiving a desperate telegram from his brother Jim: "Come at once. Your enemies are numerous." Without hesitation, Bat had boarded the first available train, driven by the fierce loyalty that defined his relationship with his siblings. Within hours of his arrival, Masterson found himself in a tense standoff with political rivals who had threatened his brother's life and livelihood. As bullets flew across the dusty street, bystanders scrambled for cover, witnessing what would become a pivotal moment in Western history – the final gun battle of one of America's most legendary frontier figures.
Behind Bat Masterson's steely gaze lay a complex man whose life had been shaped by both violence and compassion. Born in Quebec in 1853 as Bartholomew William Barclay Masterson, he was the second of seven children in a close knit family. His protective instinct toward his siblings manifested early and would define many of his actions throughout life. The Masterson brothers shared more than blood; they shared a path through the dangerous American frontier, with Bat, Ed, and Jim all serving as lawmen in various Kansas cattle towns. When Ed was killed in the line of duty in 1878, Bat's dedication to protecting his remaining family only intensified, explaining his immediate response to Jim's call for help.
By the time of the Dodge City incident, Bat Masterson was already a living legend whose exploits featured prominently in the popular "dime novels" of the day. Though barely 27, he had served as sheriff of Ford County, worked as an Army scout, survived multiple gunfights, and developed friendships with other frontier icons like Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday. Unlike the cold blooded killers often portrayed in fiction, contemporaries described Masterson as intelligent, well dressed, and surprisingly gentle outside of his professional duties. He was known to use his guns only when necessary, preferring to rely on his reputation and psychological intimidation when possible.
The conflict that brought Masterson back to Dodge had deep roots in the community's changing dynamics. His brother Jim had remained in Dodge City as a lawman while Bat pursued opportunities elsewhere. A new political faction led by Mayor A.B. Webster and businessman Al Updegraff sought to reshape the town, seeing the Masterson influence as an obstacle. When they forced Jim out of his position as a city marshal, threatening violence if he resisted, they underestimated the bond between the Masterson brothers. Jim's telegram reached Bat in Tombstone, Arizona, where he had been working as a faro dealer, and without hesitation, he embarked on the long journey back to Kansas.
Upon arriving in Dodge City on the morning of April 16, 1881, Masterson headed straight for the railroad office where his brother had taken refuge. Learning that Updegraff and his allies were across the street at the Lady Gay Saloon, Bat confronted them directly. "I've come to settle this for my brother," he reportedly announced before the shooting began. The ensuing gunfight saw Masterson take cover behind a nearby rail car, exchanging shots with Updegraff. When the smoke cleared, Updegraff had suffered a minor leg wound, but miraculously no one was killed. Bat's restraint was evident even in battle; several witnesses later testified that he had clear opportunities to take lethal shots but chose not to.
The aftermath revealed the changing nature of the West. Marshal Charlie Bassett, once Masterson's own deputy and friend, placed him under arrest. The awkward encounter underscored how Bat had become a man increasingly out of time. Judge Jeremiah House, recognizing both the legitimate threat to Jim and the need to maintain order, imposed only an $8 fine for disturbing the peace. The dispute itself reached a negotiated settlement: Jim would leave his position but would not be harmed, while Bat was required to leave town within 24 hours. Before departing, Bat secured a position for his brother with the railroad, ensuring his financial security.
This final gunfight triggered a remarkable transformation in Masterson's life. Something shifted within him during those tense moments in Dodge City. Perhaps it was the realization that his way of life was ending, or maybe it was the sobering experience of being arrested by a fellow lawman he once supervised. Whatever the catalyst, Bat began methodically rebuilding himself. He briefly returned to his former career, serving as a deputy U.S. marshal in New York state. However, his intellectual curiosity and natural writing talent soon led him to journalism. By 1891, he was covering sports for George Hearst's New York Morning Telegraph, focusing particularly on boxing, which he had long followed as a fan and occasional referee.
In his later years, Masterson seldom discussed his frontier days, preferring to present himself as a sophisticated urbanite. When friends from the old days visited him in New York, they often expressed surprise at his transformation from frontier lawman to respected columnist who moved comfortably among politicians and celebrities. His reputation remained untarnished enough that President Theodore Roosevelt, who admired Masterson's frontier ethics, appointed him as a U.S. Marshal in 1905. Until his death in 1921 while working at his desk at the Telegraph, Masterson straddled two worlds: the violent frontier that shaped him and the modern America he helped create. When asked near the end of his life about the number of men he had killed, Masterson, who likely killed fewer than the legends claimed, responded cryptically, "It is not important how many notches I had on my gun, but rather how I used it to bring peace."
Historical Context
The American frontier of the 1870s and 1880s was experiencing its final tumultuous years as the untamed West gradually yielded to civilization. This transition created natural tension between the old order, represented by frontier justice and individual gunfighters, and emerging civil institutions with formal legal systems. Kansas cattle towns like Dodge City stood at this crossroads, having evolved from violent outposts to increasingly structured communities with competing political and business interests. The cattle drives that had defined these towns were declining as railroads expanded westward, diminishing the economic importance of once crucial cattle trail endpoints.
Dodge City itself exemplified this evolution. Founded in 1872 near Fort Dodge, it quickly gained notoriety as the "Wickedest Little City in America" during its early boom years. By 1881, however, the community was actively working to shed this reputation and attract permanent settlers and legitimate businesses. This transformation created a fault line between those who had prospered during the wild frontier days and newer residents who sought respectability and eastern investment. The political struggle that ensnared the Masterson brothers reflected this broader societal shift, with established figures like the Mastersons representing an era that progressive elements increasingly viewed as an embarrassing history to overcome rather than celebrate.
Did You Know?
Despite his reputation as a deadly gunfighter, historical records suggest Bat Masterson likely killed only one man in his entire career—Sergeant Melvin King during a dispute over a woman in 1876—making his restraint during his final gunfight consistent with his actual history rather than his sensationalized reputation.
The popular image of Masterson walking with a cane (which contributed to his "Bat" nickname) stemmed from a fabricated story in a dime novel; in reality, he was athletic and never used a walking aid, having acquired his nickname in his youth due to his fondness for using a bat-like club when fighting.
After leaving Dodge City, Masterson maintained correspondence with his former rival Al Updegraff, eventually reconciling with him completely, demonstrating Masterson's pragmatic approach to former enemies.
President Theodore Roosevelt and Bat Masterson developed a strong friendship based on their similar views of frontier justice and personal courage, with Roosevelt describing Masterson as "a man who had never failed a friend or feared a foe."
During his journalism career in New York, Masterson became one of America's foremost boxing authorities, writing a regular column called "Masterson's Views on Timely Topics" that focused primarily on boxing rather than his Western adventures, allowing him to completely reinvent his public identity.
Today’s Reflection
In the dusty streets of Dodge City, Bat Masterson fired his final shots in what would be his last gunfight. He was successful in defending his brother and himself. But something deeper shifted that April day in 1881. Though still young and skilled with firearms, Masterson made a surprising choice: he walked away. He laid down his weapons, not in fear or failure, but in recognition that another kind of life was calling him forward.
"Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it." Psalm 34:14 (NIV)
Masterson's decision offers a powerful metaphor. It reflects a truth many believers face: sometimes, spiritual maturity means learning which battles to stop fighting. His choice reminds us that not all withdrawal is retreat. Sometimes it's surrender—but surrender to God, not surrender to fear. And that distinction matters. Holiness isn't found in avoiding conflict. It's found in yielding to the will of God, even when that means laying something down.
The journey of faith is not a straight line of endless combat. While faithfulness will always involve courage, it also requires discernment. We are not called to charge into every fight or defend every hill. The Christian life involves conflict, but it is not sustained by it. We're called to faithfulness, not fueled by constant confrontation. Instead, we're called to walk by the Spirit, who leads us not just into battle, but also into peace. Scripture reminds us of this rhythm.
"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens... a time for war and a time for peace." Ecclesiastes 3:1, 8 (NIV)
Masterson's transformation from gunfighter to journalist wasn't inherently holy. But it illustrates something worth pondering. When we lay down our weapons in obedience to God, He often redirects our energy, not just removes it. The same resolve that once enforced law on the frontier was repurposed into thoughtful commentary and civic involvement. His gifts weren't wasted. They were redirected.
That's the crucial spiritual distinction. It is God who does the redirecting. True surrender is never simply a decision to walk away. It is a decision to walk toward the purposes of God. When the Lord asks us to lay something down, He is often preparing to lift something else up. Obedience is not passive. It is a turning—from self-reliance to divine dependence.
God rarely asks us to abandon our gifts. But He often asks us to change how they're used.
The intensity that once fueled arguments may be redirected toward intercession. The strategic mind sharpened in debate may now build ministry or guide leadership. Our energy, our voice, even our pain—none of it is wasted in God's hands. But it must be surrendered to be transformed.
Many believers resist this surrender. We've become so identified with our battles that we fear who we'll be without them.
The parent fighting for justice after a child's injury. The advocate battling a particular social evil. The theologian entrenched in defending a doctrine. Each has a season for the struggle. But sometimes, the time comes to release the sword and embrace something new.
Even Peter had to be told to put away his blade.
"Put your sword back in its place," Jesus said to him. "For all who draw the sword will die by the sword." Matthew 26:52 (NIV)
Peter wasn't fighting for himself. He was defending the Son of God. Yet even in that righteous impulse, Christ said no. Jesus did not lack strength. He laid down His power in obedience to the Father. That's the kind of surrender we're called to emulate. A surrender that trusts in the higher purposes of God, even when it costs us something we think we need to hold on to.
The hardest weapons to lay down are often internal ones: pride, bitterness, the need to be right, or the hunger for vindication. These don't show up in open conflict, but they rage silently within us. When we cling to grudges, rehearse old arguments, or live for the last word, we keep battles alive that God may be calling us to end. These inner weapons feel like protection. But they're a poison to the soul.
Paul knew this struggle. He wrote of a different warfare.
"We take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ." 2 Corinthians 10:5 (NIV)
The battlefield is often the mind. Winning it requires not more fighting, but more surrender. Thoughts become strongholds. Attitudes become chains. When we bring them to Christ, we are not losing the battle. We are winning it in the only way that matters.
Laying down our weapons doesn't mean compromising truth or surrendering to evil. Masterson didn't stop valuing justice when he left the streets. He simply found another way to serve it. Christians are not called to silence convictions or turn away from suffering. We are called to ask harder questions. Are the battles we're in still ours to fight? Are our weapons still Christlike? Or have they become tools of pride and control?
Not every hill is Calvary. And not every fight bears fruit.
This is where maturity grows. In the humility to release what once defined us. In the courage to walk a quieter path. In the faith to believe that God still has work for us, even when the weapons are no longer in our hands.
"Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." Matthew 5:9 (NIV)
Peace is not passive. It is a choice. A calling. A testimony. It takes strength to walk away when your instinct says fight. It takes vision to believe that God is doing more in silence than you could in conflict. And it takes faith to trust that laying something down can be the very thing that lifts you up.
So ask yourself: what weapons is God asking you to release? What battle have you kept fighting out of habit or fear? What if the next step of obedience isn't a charge, but a surrender?
Like Masterson at that decisive moment in Dodge City, we face a choice: will we cling to familiar weapons, or trust God enough to lay them down and embrace the new path He has prepared? Because what defines you is not how long you fight. It's how fully you trust the One who calls you to peace.
Practical Application
Take time to prayerfully identify one "weapon" you've been clutching too tightly. It might be a grudge against someone who hurt you, a need to control outcomes, or a battle you keep fighting out of habit rather than calling. Write it down, along with what it might look like to lay it down in surrender to God. Then perform a simple symbolic act of releasing it: physically write the issue on paper and then destroy it, delete a digital file you've been holding onto, or place a meaningful object on an altar or prayer space as a tangible reminder that you're entrusting this matter to God rather than continuing to fight this battle in your own strength.
Closing Prayer
Heavenly Father, we thank You for the profound wisdom in Your call to lay down our weapons and pursue peace. You understand our instinct to fight, to defend, to hold on tightly to what feels important. Yet You invite us into a deeper surrender, not to surrender to evil, but to trust in Your higher purposes.
Lord, reveal to us the battles we're fighting that are no longer ours to wage. Give us the courage to release the weapons that have become too familiar: the pride that keeps conflicts alive, the bitterness that poisons our hearts, the need to be right that damages relationships. Replace these with Your gifts of discernment and peace. Help us to trust that in laying down what once defined us, we open ourselves to the new work You have prepared. In Jesus' name we pray, Amen.
Final Thoughts
True spiritual maturity is measured not by how fiercely we fight but by how willingly we surrender. The greatest acts of faith often look like retreat to the world but are actually advances in God's kingdom. When we lay down our weapons in obedience to Christ, we discover that what we thought was protection was actually a weight, and in letting go, we find ourselves not diminished but free to embrace the fullness God intended all along.
THIS IS THE DAY Last Year
April 16 - Michael Jordan: When Basketball’s Greatest Player Left the Court
This is the day Michael Jordan, the legendary basketball player, played his final NBA game in 2003.
Author’s Notes
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Completely smitten by this article.
Yes it's very difficult to lay down the things we take pride on. But when we are walking in spirit and become a living sacrifice, the same thing becomes effortless.
It's all about obeying and letting the spirit to acquire the soul.
Wonderful and well done. Recently a pastor was giving me grief about my conceal carry permit and standing on guard for the Church. I explained that I do not give a rat’s patoot about my personal safety but I care for the lives around me.