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

me if they wanted to discuss the matter and I would be glad to explain it to ‘em.”

Clay got quiet and the boys could tell he was getting irritated with that memory, so they changed the subject to ranching. “What happened to your ranch Clay?” Mario asked. “Oh I have a friend running it so I could move around a while. I figured out I wasn’t ready to settle down yet.” Clay answered. “Still lots of this country I aint seen.” Clay went on to tell the boys he had built his ranch into a quite profitable operation.

The weekend had rolled by and the crew was back hard at work getting the last of the strays gathered up and relocated to the west fence line. Clay partnered with Ricky, answering most of the questions the boy had and trying to guide him in the right direction of the law. Other than the annoyance of the youth the week passed uneventful. They killed a few snakes along the way. Ricky was fascinated with the way Clay could draw and shoot the rattlers without his horse ever missing a step. Clay didn’t have the heart to tell him it was no trick or skill to it. A snake will strike at a bullet; all you have to do is get it within striking range of the snake.

The two herds were joined and the drive started right on schedule. “Ok men lets go north and make some money.” Mr. McNulty said as they started out driving the massive herd. Clay was sure to stock up on whiskey and jerky on his time off the prior weekend. He stocked up on his possibles as well. Shaving necessities and grooming goods. Things of that nature. He had also bought a new deck of cards just in case he had a chance at a game on the trail.

Most of the first day seemed to drag by. He and John were put on drag (The end of the herd). They ate dust for the entire time and it was their job to catch any stragglers that wandered away from the herd. It was a filthy job, but everyone would have a turn at it. It was the boss’ plan that each two-man team would work their way up from the end of the herd to the front. The two-man team on the front would drop the end. Each placement would be worked at one day intervals the team would move to the next position the next day. It seemed a fair way to disperse the work.

Clay didn’t mind working drag though. It gave him a chance to sip his whiskey when he wanted without anyone else noticing. That way he didn’t have to share. ‘I just hate sharing my whiskey.’ He thought to himself.

A few stragglers here and there kept clay and John busy somewhat. At the end of the day they were glad to spread out their bed rolls and relax. It had been a full day in the saddle nonstop and quitting time was welcome. The “Chuck Wagon” had fixed beans and corn bread. Coffee was made at all of the four camp fires that had been set.

The men sat around and relaxed. Clay pouring a shot of whiskey in each cup of coffee he drank and rested from a day like he hadn’t had in some while. The last cattle drive he was on had been a few years so the non stop riding had him a little sore.

Six months on the trail driving cattle will make a man of anybody in Clay’s opinion. He was looking at Ricky and Mario in a different way now. These boys had become men along the way. When there was a brawl in one of the towns they had passed thru the boys stepped up with the rest of the trail hands to help settle matters. They did the jobs assigned to them with no complaint and never backed down from a challenge. ‘The makings of fine men.’ Clay thought to himself.

The end of the drive was near and Clay was considering going his own way again. He had made friends with the cowhands on the drive, but the urge to drift was getting to him again not to mention he wanted to check on his own spread. He loved the trail and the adventure that came with it. Besides, he knew McNulty would hire him back if he ever needed a job again.

As the herd was counted and ranged at the local cattle broker in Cimarron Clay told Mr. McNulty the news. He invited the entire drive crew to his ranch to rest up and celebrate for a few days before going their own directions. He rode ahead to the ranch to get a cow slaughtered and started on a slow fire for the cowhands to eat. He had his brother pick up plenty of whiskey and beer for the occasion telling him to be sure and get sasperilla for the younger hands.

It was almost sundown when the trail crew started arriving. Some of them were already feeling the effects from celebrating in town. Clay didn’t mind that though. He had poured himself a few belts as well. The side of beef was almost done and everything was ready for his visitors. The bunkhouse was even ready and the extra rooms in the house for the two Kansas ranch owners.

“Clay that was some party you threw last night. You sure know how to treat your visitors.” Mr. McNulty said at the breakfast table the next morning. “This is a pretty nice spread you have here. Why didn’t you tell me you had a ranch of your own?” He asked. Clay answered, “Well, I figured if you knew you wouldn’t have hired me. Besides that I figured I was headed this way anyhow, might as well get paid for making the trip.” Everyone laughed and agreed that Clay had some sound thinking.

The crew had been resting for a couple of days when a man rode in from town telling the story of how a posse had caught a robber and murderer that was wanted in the area. Cruz Vega was a nasty sort of man. He didn’t care who he killed or when. He didn’t even care who saw him do it. Everyone around was afraid of the outlaw and he knew it.

“I guess it tore it whenever he killed that Methodist circuit rider last week. The sheriff finally got enough of him.” The man from town continued. “You just don’t go killing preachers around here and think to get away with it.” He finished.

That night Clay and a group of his friends from the cattle drive, after drinking a considerable amount of whiskey, rode into town for some old fashioned justice. As they approached the jail and the sheriff saw the mob leader he stepped aside and Clay with some of the cowboys drug the screaming man out of his cell and threw a rope over a nearby tree branch.

“I don’t reckon I’ll waste my words on asking God for mercy on you. I don’t reckon he has that for preacher killers.” Clay said as he slapped the horse out from under the killer. Vega kicked his feet for a short while then he became still. After that Clay cut him down and set fire to his body saying, “Welcome to hell you Son of a Bitch.” The mob, having done what they intended rode back to the ranch for some more drinking and cards.

It was late in the afternoon the next day and Sheriff Abernathy rode up to the main house where Clay and some of the cowboys were sitting and relaxing with a drink. “Afternoon Clay.” He said as he got down from the saddle. “Sheriff” Clay replied. “Hot afternoon for a ride. Want a drink?” Clay offered. “What brings you out to these parts?” He asked the lawman. “Well Clay, there’s a man in town by the name of Griego. Poncho Griego. Says he’s a friend of Vega’s and he wants to find you. Says he’s going to kill you for what you did to his friend. I checked him out Clay. He’s a gun slinger too. Killed a few men from what I hear.” Clay thanked the sheriff for letting him know but assured him he wasn’t worried.

Clay was standing in the corridor when Griego opened the door to his room and stepped outside. “Poncho!” Clay shouted. As the gunman spun around drawing his pistol Clay shot him dead in a flash. “Well I don’t reckon he wants to kill me anymore.” Clay said with a laugh walking past the front desk of the St. James Hotel. The men in the lobby ran upstairs to find the gunslinger lying dead in the hall with a bullet hole in his chest and a look of surprise on his face.

Clay was getting restless and tired of just sitting around the ranch so he decided to deliver a thoroughbred horse he had sold to a rancher in St. Louis himself. He gathered the gear and supplies he need for the journey and again leaving his brothers in charge of the ranch, he set off for the trail.

The trip was uneventful and ‘pleasant for a change’ Clay thought to himself as he arrived in St. Louis. He met with the rancher and delivered the horse. The rancher had plans on training the animal for racing. Clay had a reputation for raising fast animals as well as a fast gun.

Once paid, Clay made his way to the local saloon for a bottle and a game. When he got there and settled in at a table, he saw the front page story on a newspaper that someone had left behind. It read like a horror story to Clay because it was talking about a former friend and coworker. It had been a story picked up from the Dodge City Globe and reprinted in the paper. The article was talking about a man named Guadalupe Flores. It read; ‘An unidentified policeman pounded a Mexican prisoner in the head without mercy using his six shooter Thursday night. The lawman shows neither much manhood or bravery considering the “Greaser” was sitting on a bench almost helpless from the effects of a previous beating. We don’t think even a Dodge City policeman has the right to walk deliberately up to a man without provocation and knock out one or two of his eyes.’ The article went on to say, ‘The lawmen of Dodge City are out of control. Day before yesterday another Texas cowhand was gunned down in cold blood by four local policeman in the streets of Dodge. Tex Williams was in town selling some stock and playing cards when he was killed for breaking up a