I had a friend in Arizona who told me that his grandpa, when a boy, saw Wyatt Earp out and about in what is now Earp, California (across the river from Parker, Arizona). His grandpa told him that he was a little intimidated by Wyatt, as he had a very cold manner about him and a very cold stare. I’ve read that many others thought the same thing.
Sounds about right. Sure he spent most of the rest of his life watching for some bozo to try to even the score or to get 15 minutes of fame.
Guess he just wasn't your friend's Huckleberry.
On a somewhat related note, I fly-fished with Patrick Hemingway (Ernest's son) on the Missouri River near Wolf Creek, MT.; and B.S.'d with Larry McMurtry in the Grand Forks N.D. airport, waiting for his plane to arrive for a literary conference.
Nearly an hour. He was a chatty fellow, the women loved him, and Lonesome Dove (as I remember it) was just about to debut, so I wasn't even carrying a copy, though I had one back in Montana, which I NEVER managed to get signed.
Recently, and totally by accident, I was invited to an impromptu dinner with Paul Maclean, grandson of the Norman Maclean of "River Runs Through It" Fame.
Seems I've spent a lot of time around books.