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

of being saddled with a rookie, but he had learned to follow orders from the first time he enlisted in the army. He didn’t want that to happen again. He enjoyed serving. Where else could he get away with killing, and get paid for it to boot. To top it all off, it was legal too.

Nick Jones was just a kid really, but eager to make his mark on the world. The problem was he didn’t listen to good when he was told to do something. Like be quiet. This was another thing that bothered Clay about him coming along. “Look kid” said Clay, “If I tell you to keep quiet, and you don’t, I’ll kill you myself. You understand?” “ Yes sir” replied Nick, “I’ll do what you say.” They rode off to the north to see what was stirring. They had only been riding a couple of hours when they saw smoke over the next ridge. “Reckon its Blue Bellies?” shouted Nick excitedly. “Could be, we’ll find out soon enough if you don’t quit yelling.” Replied Clay. Just then, a gunshot sounded, and Nick fell from his horse hitting the ground with a thud. He was dead alright. With a hole in his head the size of a fist. “Damn it boy, I told you to be quiet.” Said Clay dropping down from his own horse with a pain in his right shoulder. “Now you done gone and got us both killed.” Darkness closed in on him.

The sun came blaring into the infirmary when Clay came too. A throbbing pain in his shoulder told him he was at least, still alive. More than he could say for the kid so he was grateful for that. His gratitude quickly faded though as he became more aware of his surroundings. He was in a Yankee hospital. That was not a good thing he thought. ‘I got to get out of here before they start their interrogation’ he thought. He saw a scalpel lying on a tray not far away. ‘The next time the guard leaves the door, I’ll get it.’ He planned his escape laying out in his mind step by step just how to get away. “Charles” a voice called from down the hallway, and the guard stepped away from the doorway. That’s all the break Clay needed. He quickly grabbed the scalpel and dashed back towards his bed before anyone noticed he’d moved. He stuck the instrument between the mattresses until the time was right. Then he would make his move. In the mean while, he drifted off, back to sleep. His right shoulder screaming with pain.

When next he awoke the sun had been replaced with darkness. All the scurrying heard earlier in the hallway outside his room was now quiet. Clay slipped out of his bed, trying to be as quiet as a church mouse. Tip toed over to the doorway and peeked around the opening to find his guard sleeping in a chair right outside the door. Sneaking his way around the guard and down the hallway he wandered if the whole fort was asleep. He couldn’t be that lucky. He had thought of killing the guard for his clothes but didn’t want too make too much noise and arouse attention. He’d have to make due the way he was, at least for now. Outside the building there were a few soldiers here and there, he could see the stable from where he was and the main gates appeared to be open. Darting from bush to bush making his way quietly toward the stable, the stickers in the grass created a whole new level of pain, almost taking his mind completely off his shoulder. Finally reaching the stables, he slipped through the side door looking all around for movement inside. Seeing none he moved inside and found a place to sit and pick the stickers out of his feet.

“What the hell?” a voice yelled out. “Where the hell is your clothes soldier?” a pot bellied Sergeant said laughingly. Clay, stunned at the sudden appearance of the rather large man stuttered “Uh, I lost ‘em at the card game sarge.” The big guy laughed again and said “Jesus Christ, where the hell do they get you people from.” Turning away. “Well they had to shoot me.” Clay said as he grabbed the sergeant’s forehead and slid the scalpel across his throat. ‘Shit I can’t wear this guys clothes, he’s huge. Well, got to do what I got to do.’ So he saddled a horse, grabbed the dead soldiers six shooter mounted up and bolted for the main gate.

“Jeb, did you see that?” one of the soldiers in the courtyard said to the other. “See what?” replied Jeb. “A naked guy just rode a horse out the gate.” Jeb looked at his friend and said “Ok private, give me some of what you’ve had.” About that time another voice shouted, “Escaped prisoner. Prepare to mount for pursuit!” Jeb looked at his friend and said “Told ya so. I aint chasing no naked man. I don’t care if they court marshal me. He can just keep right on riding.”

It was nearly nightfall by the time Clay had gotten his directions straight and finally figured out which way to go. Once he found where he was, the direction to go in was easy to figure out. It took almost a day and a half, and a sneak thief visit to a homestead for some clothes, but he finally made it back to General Forrest’s camp. He went straight for the General’s quarters to report in.

“Jones is dead general” reported Clay. “I know” replied the General. “The war is all but over Clay. I’m marking your agreement as scout satisfied. Go home and make a life for yourself.” The general looked weary. Fatigued, tired from battle as if he hadn’t slept in a lifetime. He looked years older than he did six weeks ago when Clay had last seen him. “We’ve lost and I don’t want them to recapture you. They’ll hang you. Besides, I can’t pay you. They captured the payroll carrier.” Clay responded. “Guess your right General. Think I’ll head towards Kansas and Wrangle cattle like my pa did. It’s been a real pleasure sir serving with you. If you ever need me, I’ll be toward Kansas.” Then Clay turned to go gather his gear and go his own way thinking to himself ‘Can’t pay me my ass, I’m going to get paid one way or the other’. On his way out of the stable he saw two of the armies Mules. ‘Hmmmmm’ he thought. ‘There’s my pay right there’. He opened the gates on their stalls, and drew his gun to scare them into running out, but when his pistol fired, the gun had not cleared the holster, and its bullet went straight into Clay’s foot. Not Exactly what Clay had in mind. In Fact, Kind of Embarrassing. It wasn’t long before soldiers started pouring into the stable. The General shouting “What the hell’s going on in here!!” One of the soldiers reported “Allison shot himself sir.” The General responded “What happened Allison?” Clay told him “To be honest general, I was getting paid. I figured a couple of these mules would cover what I was owed.” Laughingly, the General said “Allison, you take the cake. Take the mules after you get your foot looked after. Take him to the infirmary Sergeant.”

It was a long dusty trail to Dodge City, but Clay figured he would need to get use to that if he was going to be a trail hand. It was almost noon when he arrived in Dodge. A ruff and rowdy town with a reputation for no tolerance for lawbreakers. The town Marshals were known for being fast with a gun and swift to deliver justice. Names like Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson were the ones to be feared if you planned on breaking the law in that town.

Now, Clay was no stranger to the big city, and he wasn’t worried about if he could handle himself or not. He, by that time had already gotten a reputation in the west as a man with a quick temper, a fast gun, and no fear of using it when he was set off on a tangent. In the same token though, he didn’t want to push his luck and have to face off with the peacekeepers of Dodge City. If he could keep from anyhow. He had heard how they tended to gang up on a fellow to set him right with the law. He had heard how they were over zealous when they did so too. How they had already beaten several cowboys nearly to death to teach them to obey the laws of Dodge City. The beatings had spawned a definite discipline in that town. Obviously their way of thinking had some kind of merit to it, it worked. Don’t be mistaken, Clay was not afraid of facing one or the other of the famous lawmen he was sure he could handle himself, but only a fool would try facing off with both of them at once. He was no fool.

It was getting late and Clay had certainly had his fill of whiskey. He had already been to see the local saloon girl, and now he found himself in the mood for a nice quiet and friendly game of poker. Having sold the mules he had acquired from the General when he first hit town, he had three Double Eagle pieces in his pocket to spend still. He was feeling lucky, and thought he might add to his grub steak.

When Clay walked in to the Long Branch Saloon he could see the place was bustling with life. He chose this particular saloon because he had heard of the no talent poker players with deep pockets full of silver. He got himself forty dollars worth of chips and started looking for a table to join. It wasn’t very long and he spotted a table from across the bar with an empty chair. From the way it looked, there were three nice looking pigeons’ sitting in the other three chairs waiting to be plucked. He began to whistle a tune to himself and walk over to the table to begin the plucking. Arriving at the table he asked the three gentlemen if he could sit down and join the game. All three men readily agreed and invited him to have a seat, each of them thinking they had their selves a fresh pigeon. He grabbed the other chair and made himself comfortable for what he figured to be a nice long and profitable night.

The four of them had been playing cards for about four hours, and Clay was doing a pretty good job of lightening up their pockets when a tall thin cowboy approached the table and tapped the