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

bar fight between two cowboys in the street outside the Long Branch Saloon.’

Clay’s temper became inflamed. He screamed “Son of a bitch! Those boy’s never hurt a fly!” This caught the attention of everyone in the saloon. Most of the patrons knowing of Clay’s reputation, decided it was time to leave before things got worse. “I think its time to go to Dodge City.” Clay said as he got up and walked out towards the stables.

Clay turned the corner to see a quick glance of the stable just before seeing an oak axe handle swing around and hit him between the eyes. He fell to the ground with a heavy thud and a man began kicking him repeatedly. Another man kicked the pistol from his hand as he brought it out from its holster to shoot his attackers. The beating seemed to last a lifetime until finally he lost consciousness.

“Mr. Allison” he heard a voice say as he awoke, his head splitting with a headache. His ribs felt as if he was stomped by a horse and his whole body was reeling with pain. “I am Dr. Wallace. You have been severely beaten. Did you see who did this to you?” He asked. Clay lied to the doctor knowing it would be pointless to name the local lawman as his attackers. Not to mention he knew they would come for him in his weakened state if he let on he knew who they were. He figured he probably wouldn’t survive if they did. He was helpless like he was and didn’t want to chance it. “It doesn’t matter I suppose. You just get some rest and try to heal.” The doctor told him.

Clay was thanking the doctor for looking after him and keeping him safe as he gathered his belongings to leave. It had been three weeks since his beating and he was still sore, but felt like he could travel. He paid his bill and left making his way down the sidewalk to the Sheriffs Office. He had a score to settle before going to Dodge City and he was determined to settle it.

“Sheriff,” he said walking into the jail. “You got a couple of cowards working for you I’d like to have a word with. Where can I find ‘em?” He asked. “Well Mr. Allison” the sheriff answered back. “Those two boys quit and left town after they found out just who it was they put that beating on. I reckon they could be anywhere by now. They didn’t bother to tell me where they were going to.” Clay thought about it for a minute then told the sheriff he had no reason to think he was lying so he’d be on his way. “But I’ll be back if I find out they’re here.” He promised.

Clay stopped off by his former employer’s ranch on his way in to Dodge City. Mr. McNulty gave him a warm welcome and offered him a room in the main house while he was in town. “No thanks, I’m making it a point to stay in town. I’ve been reading about what’s been happening and I’m here to put a stop to it.” Clay said. “I just don’t understand why Marshal Earp lets this kind of thing go on.” Mr. McNulty told Clay that Marshal Earp was basically one of the main police that was doing the beatings. “Not as bad as Lupe got beat, but he’s whipping on cowhands too. Seems one of the cowboys beat his brother pretty bad and he don’t know which one did it so he’s beating on all of ‘em.” He said. “I don’t care who’s doing it. I’m here to put a stop to it.” Clay replied. “I will stay tonight though if you don’t mind.”

After breakfast Clay saddled his horse and gathered his gear to ride into town and check in at the hotel. When he arrived in town and got settled in, he decided to behave himself and get a look around before exacting his revenge on the lawmen. He decided a little recon was never a bad idea.

Clay went to the Long Branch for a game and a bottle. He wanted to see if Doc was still in town too so he could get his take on the goings on. He got his bottle and settled into a corner table. When he asked the girl working she told him Doc hadn’t been in town for quite some time. She told him that Doc had moved on about three months before.
Clay decided he would have to take care of this problem on his own, along with the cowhands he enlisted to help him while he was at the ranch of course. Tomorrow was Saturday and the extra help would be in town to assist him then to get the law straightened out. Until then he intended to enjoy his cards and whiskey.

“Marshal Earp, Clay Allison’s in town. He’s down at the Long Branch Saloon right now with a bottle and playing cards.” Wyatt’s deputy said as he walked into the jail. “Well has he shot anybody?” Wyatt asked. The deputy shook his head no. “Has he whooped anybody?” Wyatt continued questioning. Again the deputy shook his head no. “Well hell boy! Is he disturbing the peace, shouting, or acting up in the least?” Once again the deputy indicated no. “And what do you propose I do to a man that’s doing nothing wrong? Get out of here, and just keep an eye on him.” Wyatt directed to young deputy. “Let me know if he starts something.”

All that day though Clay was a perfect gentleman. He didn’t as mach as argue or even give a cross look to anyone. ‘A virtual chesterfield.’ Marshal Earp told one of the newspapers later on when interviewed about the visit. ‘But the next day, hell came to town.’ He told them.

Clay was at the meeting place he had arranged with the ranch hands when the sun came over the rise the next morning. It wasn’t very long before the cowhands started showing up. Even some of the help from the Siringo spread showed up to help out. It seemed that they were tired of their friends going to town for a beating too. All together there were about thirty cowhands ready to exact justice for the wrongs done by the town lawmen. The gang had breakfast and made their plan of action, then mounted up to head into town with Clay riding in the lead.
When they reached town they began shooting out store front windows and spooking horses. Clay was having a great time it seemed shooting the hats off of people that were running for cover. All of the men were calling out for the lawmen to come out in the street to take their medicine but no badges were seen by anyone.

Clay gathered everyone together and they began searching the saloons one by one. They started at the north end of town and worked their way south stopping at every bar, hotel, and store along the way. Clay was shouting out repeatedly, “Come on out you cowards and take your whipping like a man or are you only a man when there’s just one of us!”

Clay and his group of riders never could get any takers out into the street. It was as if there was no law in the town of Dodge City that day. No matter where they looked there was not a badge to be found. By the time the sun was starting to go down most of the cowboys had given up on their justice and left to go back to the ranch.

Clay was walking down the sidewalk and made the corner of the Long Branch on his way for a bottle when he met face to face with Wyatt Earp. The two of them stood with their back against the building and their pistol hands ready to move. In low voices they spoke to each other for a while then Clay noticed five rifle barrels pointing at him from the roof top across the street. “Reckon I’ll be going now Marshal.” He said as he started backing his way to the corner of the building. “I reckon you better.” Earp said.

Clay had made it to the stable and was riding out on his horse. He boldly rode it up to Main Street where he knew the marshal was. When he reached the middle of the street twenty yards up from the Long Branch he saw Wyatt still standing there. “Hey Marshal, come here I want to tell you something.” He shouted. “I can hear you just fine right here.” Wyatt replied. “I think you came hear for a fight with me and you can have it right now if you want.” He finished. Clay raised his right hand and held his reigns in his left. “Watch you back Marshal.” He said. “Your so called friends hired me to come kill you. You seem to be a fair man like I once said before. I don’t think I want their money. Beware of skunks.” Clay didn’t speak again; he just turned his horse and rode out of town.

Clay caught himself thinking of what he considered to be the good old days as he rode through the countryside on his way back home. He couldn’t help but wonder what ever happened to the days when things seemed to be a lot clearer. He had his true sense of what was right and what was wrong. Yes, things were a lot simpler back in those days. How could he let himself be bought by a bunch of hooligans to kill a fine man such as Wyatt Earp? He was glad he came to his senses before he went through with it. Oh well, he thought. What’s done is done. He had his morals still in tact and that’s what mattered.

He thought of his old friend Reverend Tolby and how it was so easy to decide to kill the scoundrels that murdered him, Vega, Griego, and that crew. Cimarron was a simpler place and time indeed. Someone committed a wrong to someone else, and they paid the price for it. This killing for hire just didn’t set well with Clay anyway. ‘That’s not who I am.’ He thought to himself.

He remembered how Vega tried to beg and even offer up information on the killing when they caught up to him. Clay played it cool and got the information Vega had before him and the rest of the vigilantes beat him to a bloody pulp then hung him from a telegraph pole just outside of town. Now that was proper justice for killing a preacher. Once again Clay found himself in a