the Gentleman Gunfighter, C. F. Allison [best e reader for android .txt] 📗

The
Gentleman
Gunfighter
By: C.F. Allison


This book is comprised of fictional events based on facts of history surrounding the colorful life and times of the man known as “The Gentleman Gunfighter, Clay Allison.” These events do not appear in the order of the actual history surrounding them. Clay had a sense of humor that was unparalleled by any other at the time and was really quite a character in his own right. Who else can it be said about, that they were so special as to have a cemetery all their own. On his headstone it reads “Robert C Allison, Gentleman Gunfighter.” His private cemetery is in fact located in Pecos, Texas.

This book is dedicated to the memory of that colorful character of the west, and to all of his descendants who cherish his memory and sense of humor.

Additionally, I would like to also dedicate this book to the loving memory of my brother Roger W. Allison who was in his own time as much a character as Clay.

I would also like to give a special thanks to my beloved wife Kimberly for her support, and to my little sister Elizabeth for assisting me in gathering my research for this book.

The Author of this book can be contacted at caluphallison@yahoo.com with comments, questions, or request.

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.


It was September 1840. The dew had frosted across the fields and the cold wind blew across the prairie as the wagons made their way westward across Tennessee. It was unusually quiet as the children rode in the back of the wagon to protect them from the cold. All of a sudden, Out of nowhere a chilling yelp came and the kids saw the arrow as it pierced into their father’s side. Then there was three more instantly appear it seamed as if from thin air. That’s just how fast they fly when shot from the bow of a Cheyenne brave. It seemed like the battle went on forever to the kids as they heard the screaming of the adults outside and the crying of the children from the other wagons as everyone outside was being slaughtered. Then, the back flap of the wagon was opened and an Indian brave stood looking in at the children. The kids were so frightened; they didn’t know what was going to happen next. They knew their mom and dad were dead. They saw them murdered by the arrows when the battle started. The brave took them from the back of the wagon and they rode horseback with him and some other Indians to their village and then the children were given to the women there to be taken care of. There, the kids spent the next three years of their lives.

On this beautiful autumn morning the young boys were playing in a nearby grove to the village when they heard the soldiers bugle sound and the gunfire begin. Clay and his younger brother ran to the teepee they had been living in with the woman named Little Fawn that they had come to regard as their mother, and Spirit Hawk the holy man they had come to call father. They were inside hiding with mother when the soldiers came thru the flap of the teepee. There were five of them. They took turns holding Clay and his brother back as they raped Little Fawn, then as the last soldier finished and was getting up, The Sergeant pulled his revolver and shot her in the head killing her in front of the boys.

Clay began to cuss the soldiers in Cheyenne and started fighting with them, trying his best to kill the soldiers, but he was only a small boy and he really didn’t even seem to be bothering them at all. He vowed to himself he would kill them if it were the last thing that he ever did.

The boys were loaded into an army wagon and taken back to the fort. The entire Indian village was wiped out, except for the hunting party that had left the day before for food to supply the village. The boys saw the women and other kids laying dead everywhere when the soldiers took them from the teepee to the wagon and they couldn’t believe anyone could have such little regard for life. How they could just kill everything in sight without even thinking about it. How could such beast exist? Spirit Hawk had told them of such men when they were younger, even though he died when Clay was only five, Clay had always remembered what had been taught to him by the old holy man.

The boys were turned over to the pastor at the town nearby to the fort. The minister’s name was John Allison. John Allison Sr was a quiet sort of man. A Presbyterian minister, cattle, and a sheep rancher. Nancy Allison, Clay’s mother was a dedicated wife and mother. Both parents worked hard to provide for the nine children they had. Lord knows it certainly wasn’t easy. The years to come would prove to be even more trying as Clay seemed to have a will of his own. It was at an early age, Clay and his brothers all understood it was up to them to take care of their mother, and sisters. John died shortly after adopting the boys bringing the total of children in the house to nine. The boys were the men of the house, and it was their place to do so. They realized manhood much quicker than youngsters should have too. They grew up with a profound respect for women having been raised by their mother, as well as a respect for youngsters looking at their own experiences of right and wrong in growing up. Nothing could ever change those views for Clay, and everyone should have the same values as far as he was concerned.

A sense of duty was instilled in him as well, so naturally, when ‘The War Between the States’ broke out, he was among the first to volunteer. His quick temper and own way of handling things however brought that to a quick end in only three months after he enlisted. The Surgeon General for “Mental Deficiency” discharged him. ‘Looking back on it, it could have been handled differently I suppose’ thought Clay… “What the hell do you mean we’re not going to run ‘em down and kill ‘em!” Clay shouted at his commanding officer when he ordered the pursuit of the union soldiers halted. “We got the yellow bastards on the run.” He said. “Maybe I oughta just shoot your ass, you coward!” Clay shouted in anger. “That’s enough Allison,” commanded the Colonel, “We’re tired, and we can get ‘em on another day. You can bet they’ll be back.” The Colonel thought to himself, wow this guy has something wrong with him. “Allison, go see the doc and get those wounds looked at.” They’re just scratches sir.” Replied Clay. “Maybe so, but I don’t want my best fighter getting an infection taking him out of action.” Said the Colonel. He really wanted the doctor to see if Clay was mentally fit for duty. Unknown to Clay, the Colonel had already sent one of his aides ahead with a message to the doctor to check this unpredictable soldier for just that. As a result Clay was discharged from the Confederate Army just three and a half months after enlisting on medical release for mental deficiency. The doctor said he had a maniacal streak causing him to be ill tempered and unpredictable in combat, therefore unstable as a reliable soldier.

‘Who needs them cowards anyway’? Clay thought to himself. ‘I’ll go to an outfit where there are no cowards, and let those yellow bellies run as far as they want. They’ll get what’s coming to them one day’. He rested up a few days in town, drinking, fighting, gambling before he decided to move on to join that outfit he had in mind.

Word had spread somewhat of his time in town though, his fighting and how well he could handle a knife. He had gotten into a disagreement with a man over a dealing of the cards, so him and the other gambler had gone outside the town limits, dug a hole which they both jumped into. That’s when they pulled out their knives and settled the argument. The winner of which got to fill in the hole with the other still in it. That was a long tiring night for Clay, but he walked away the winner of the hand.

Arriving at the camp of General Nathan B. Forrest, Clay managed to talk his way into being a scout for the General’s outfit arguing the point he was good with a knife and if he had to fight his was out of a fix, the enemy wouldn’t hear any gunfire to tip them off we were even close. The General, a quite intelligent man didn’t have to think about Clay’s proposition long to know he was right, and would be a valuable asset to his unit. Even though word of Clay’s temperament and wild ways had reached him, he agreed. He figured what the hell, maybe the enemy had heard the tales too, and wouldn’t believe anything Clay told them anyway if he was captured. A nice deal all the way around.

Clay made a heck of a scout. He’d go out and sure enough, within three or four hours here he came with some kind of intelligence or another. Usually some pretty good stuff too. On top of that he usually had a suggestion on how to make a winning battle out of it too, and the plans were good ones. ‘This guy is no nut.’ thought the General. ‘He’s a little vicious, but no nut.’ It was August, Clay was on his way out of camp to scout ahead and see what lay in the bushes waiting. “Hold up Clay” a voice came from one of the tents. It was the General’s tent. “Take Jones with you this time.” He said. “He needs the experience.” Clay didn’t like the idea