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

knew now he had completed his spirit quest and sat to rest at his campfire. He finished the bottle he had been working on before starting the ceremony and ate a little more of his dinner.

Clay woke with the sun blaring in his eyes and a couple of strangers coming into his camp. One of them shouted out, “That was a hell of a show you put on last night mister. What the hell are you, some kind of half breed or something?” Clay, still half drunk from the night before stood up and strapped his gun belt on as he replied back to the two men the invited themselves into his camp. “What was that you said sod buster? I’m a little hard of hearing and didn’t catch it.” He said sizing the two up for trouble. “You heard me half breed, get your ass back to the reservation where you belong.” Clay gave that maniacal grin he was so well known for and simply told the man, “Now son, you need to close that hole in your face before something bad happens to you.” The larger of the two laughed out loud to the other one. “You hear what this half breed said to me Dave? Sounds like he wants to play.” Right then the man reached for his pistol and before he could even touch the butt of it Clay had drawn his and shot the man’s hat off his head. “Now like I said sod buster. If you don’t get quiet, that cut under your nose aint never going to heal.” The man with a shocked looked on his face shouted out, “Just who the hell are you mister?” Making sure to hold his hand as still as he possibly could. Clay with the grin still on his face and his pistol back in its holster just calmly responded, “Name’s Allison. My friends call me Clay. As far as being a half-breed I’m not. Let’s just say I just have a respect for the race that once lived here.”

A blank face that was white as a sheet now looked at Clay and the man put his gun hand on the top of his head so no mistakes would take place. “Please accept my apologies Mr. Allison. I didn’t realize what was going on.” Clay told the men to relax and to put their guns in their saddle bags, then they were welcome to join him for some coffee at the fire. The men did as they were told with no objection, and then tied their horses off to nearby bushes. They walked over and sat down with Clay for some coffee then the men began to talk. The visit went without anymore incident until they all decided to close up camp and go into town for a few drinks.

The three of them rode into town and to the same saloon Clay had visited before. Clay knew the setup of the place and was comfortable there. Again, just like before, Clay chose the corner table he had become accustomed to and sat with his back against the wall. They ordered a bottle each and a deck of cards1, which the bartender quickly brought over.

They sat and played cards, drinking bottle after bottle of whiskey for hours. There was some kind of fight brewing across the barroom but Clay decided to be a by-stander this time and watch what unfolded. Two men were having a heated discussion regarding some cards from the bottom of the deck.

Clay and the other two men watched as the first fist flew and the fight was on. When the second man threw his return punch he swung his arm so hard an Ace of spades fell from his sleeve and hit the floor. When the first man saw this he quickly drew his pistol and shot the cheater dead on the spot then walked up to the bar and ordered himself another drink.

It wasn’t long, just a couple of minutes before the local Sheriff came running into the saloon to investigate what had happened. When he saw the dead man on the floor he turned to Clay with his gun in his hand pointed it at Clay and shouted, “Damn it Allison I told you not to start any trouble in this town! Now you’re under arrest.” All Clay did though was to raise his left hand and point at the man drinking his whiskey at the bar. “Wasn’t me this time Sheriff. You need to talk to that man over there. I got witnesses everywhere. I’ll tell you what though. A month ago I would’ve killed you for pointing that hog leg at me. Be proud I’m in a good mood and at peace right now. But don’t push your luck.”

Clay sat back down and finished his shot ignoring the sheriff from that point on. The other two men eased their ways back to the table and started to relax as well. “I just hate ignorance in a man. Can’t abide by it and won’t tolerate it.” Clay said to them pouring him self another shot of whiskey. Both of the other men agreed with him and began drinking as well neither of them saying anything aloud.

It was starting to get late when Clay finally stood up from the table and excused himself saying he had to get an early start in the morning and had a long way to go. He stopped at the bar and picked up two more bottles for the trip he was to begin the next day. He made his way out the door acting drunker than he actually was. Even though he had been drinking all day with his two new friends. He still really didn’t know anything about them and didn’t trust them.

Clay got to his campsite and rolled out his bedroll putting some various goods under his blanket to make it appear as if he were sleeping in it. An old trick he had used many times before to keep himself from being shot dead while he slept. Many times it paid off and did save his life a time or two he would say. He made his way to a small hill not very far away where he felt he could drift off into a light sleep and be safe from bushwhackers. Just something wasn’t right Clay felt and he was seldom wrong when he got those feelings.

Clay woke up to someone kicking him in his side to rouse him. It was the sheriff. “What the hell do you want?” He asked the tall lawman. “I want your ass on a pole you Son of a Bitch.” The sheriff replied. “Imagine that. I snuck up on the great Clay Allison. Nobody calls me down in front of other people and makes me look like a coward. Not and lives to talk about it anyway.” The sheriff continued. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” He said. Just at that time a noise came from where Clay had laid out his bedroll. The Sheriff gave a quick glance in that direction and that was all the break Clay need. He drew his pistol and fired it killing the bushwhacker dead in one lightning fast move.

“Hold your fire Mr. Allison. It’s Charles and Sam.” A voice called out from by the camp. What are you doing here?” Clay asked the two men he had spent the day drinking with as he approached them. “We heard the sheriff was planning to come out here and teach you a lesson so we thought we’d warn you.” Charles replied. Clay holstered his pistol and told the two that the sheriff wasn’t a very good teacher. “He’s laying over there on that hill just plumb exhausted.” Clay laughed. “And I didn’t learn a damn thing.” Sam walked over to where the sheriff lay and called back, “Yeah he’s exhausted alright. He done wore a hole clean through to his brain trying to explain something I reckon.” Sam laughed too.

The three men closed up the camp and tied the dead man to his horse. When they finished the three of them started into town. The first stop they made was by the Sheriff’s office where they delivered the dead official and explained what had happened to the deputy that was there. “I knew this was going to happen when he left. He told me he was on his way to school you in manners Mr. Allison and I know how he does people he don’t think he can best.” The deputy said. He also told Clay not to worry about any kind of charges being brought that he had done the town a service. Apparently the sheriff was a low caliber of a man. The next stop the three men made was at the saloon for a drink. Clay felt he needed one but didn’t want to get into his travel supply of hooch.

Clay sat at the usual table and ordered a bottle. Charles and Sam had gotten distracted along the way by a couple of working girls in the saloon. Clay sat and pondered the earlier events and wondered if his demons would come back to haunt him again. He was about half way through the bottle before he started thinking ‘Oh well if they do.’

Clay decided to send John a telegram asking him to meet up in Sedalia, Missouri. He overheard some of the cowboys in the saloon talking about a fellow there that had some real good deals on some stock and Clay wanted to go and check it out. Maybe even buy a few head of cattle and a couple of horses. He had had some good luck at the poker tables and had a little money he wanted to spend in that direction.

It was early morning when Clay packed up his horse with his supplies and left town in the direction of Sedalia. He wanted an early start so he could make some distance before nightfall. He knew the deputy said there would be no charges, but just the same he thought he should go. He certainly didn’t want to push his luck on the matter.

Clay had made good progress by the end of the day. He had laid down about thirty miles between him and the town of Savage Junction. It had been a long hard day but Clay was satisfied with the progress he had made none the less. Clay set up his camp then went to hunt for some game for his supper. He managed to bag himself a rabbit and made some stew to go along with his whiskey. The night went uneventful which was a pleasant change Clay thought. He spent his night enjoying the stars and sky. Something he hadn’t been able to do in a long while.

Morning came and he closed up his camp and began his trek towards Sedalia for the day. As usual the