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

man sitting across from Clay on the top of his head. “It’s time for you to be getting home aint it Sod Buster.” Steadily tapping the man on top of his head trying to intimidate him. “But I got…..” the man started to say, but before he could finish what he was trying to say, the cowboy hit him with a backhand. The slap knocked the farmer out of his chair, leaving him unconscious lying on the floor. At the same instance, before the cowboy had even pulled his hand back from hitting the man, or the man even hit the floor, Clay was on his feet pressing the barrel of his six gun hard into the right side of the cowboys head. The cowboy heard that eerie sound of the hammer being pulled back. That unmistakable double click of death closing in to claim another victim. “You just cost me a damn good hand mister!” Clay shouted with a red face of anger at the cowboy. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the City Marshals Earp, Masterson, and a couple of their deputies come into the saloon through the batwing doors in the front of the business. Having this in mind, Clay told the trail hand “I guess this is your lucky day fella.” And then slammed the barrel of his pistol against the cowboy’s forehead knocking him out and leaving a large gash across his face.

Seeing this happen, Earp, and Masterson walked over to the table and demanded Clay explain him self, and what was going on. “What seems to be the problem pilgrim?” Earp said with that assertive voice of his. He was looking Clay over with those narrow eyes of his. He was a tall man, Thin himself, with a thick mustache. Clay thought to himself that there was no mistaking him that was Earp alright. “That stupid bastard cost me a damn good hand marshal!” Clay said angrily. “He came up in the middle of the hand, knocked that man out trying to steal his place at the table, and I had a full house. That’s why I gave him a lesson in manners. He’s lucky you came in marshal, I was fixing to shoot his dumb ass.” Earp looked at the other players around the table and inquired with each of them if that was how it happened. Everyone around the table backed the statement that Clay had given the marshal. The tall thin marshal summoned the two deputies over to the table and ordered them to drag the cowboy’s unconscious heap out of the bar and off to Jail for disturbing the peace. One grabbed his hands the other took the cowboy’s six-gun from its holster and got his feet and they carried him out. “Well that’s fine and dandy for him marshal, but what about my pot?” Clay inquired to the lawman. Earp laughed and exclaimed “You’ve got brass mister, I’ll give you that.” Earp made a round of the table going player to player looking at each of their poker hands and having them lay their cards on the table for everyone to see. He picked up the hand of the injured player from the floor and laid them down as well. “Looks like this pot goes to old sleepy down their mister, He’s got four of a kind.” Clay gave a sigh and said “Well that figures marshal. You’re a fair man, and that’s all I ask of anybody. I appreciate you settling the hand.” Clay went ahead and picked up what winnings he did have on the table from the other hands, and went on out of the saloon and down the street to his room. He was thinking this might be this best thing to do. He was starting to get the impression his luck was starting to wear thin and he didn’t want to push it.

When Clay woke the next morning he decided to go ahead and move on before he was pushed into having to kill that cowboy and have to deal with the lawmen again as a result of it. So he gathered his gear up together, bought a few supplies, and headed southwest toward New Mexico. He had heard that there was plenty of work down there, and the range was wide open for a man looking to make a fresh start for him self. It had been said that the cattle business was booming and a man could buy land and stock cheap to drive north to Colorado and sell high. After all, this was the dream he had for himself to accomplish before the war. He had experience in that line of work too, so that helped.

The sun was bright and blistering hot as he rode southwest toward New Mexico. Somehow it seemed though, the further he rode, the more the hair on the back of his neck stood up. The stronger the feeling of something to beware of got. He had learned to respect that feeling long ago. When he was scouting for the army and he got that feeling, it was almost always right, and danger was lurking nearby. This feeling had kept him from getting captured or even killed many times. As he rode he kept watchful eyes off to the hills to his right and the rise to his north to see if he could find the cause of this uneasy feeling. Maybe even get a glimpse of a pursuer. He was also watching for a good spot to lay in waiting that he could duck into quickly for an ambush for whoever was trailing him. He couldn’t help but wander if it was the cowboy from Dodge City, or maybe one of the cowboy’s friends. ‘I knew I should’ve killed that son of a bitch’ he thought to himself.

After riding for about three hours Clay spotted a large boulder as he topped the ridge. ‘This is a perfect spot to get that bastard’ he thought to him self. He stopped beside the big rock, grabbed his Winchester rifle, his canteen, and some jerky from his saddle bag, climbed up on top of the rock and gave his horse a violent slap on its hind quarter to insure the horse would run for a ways before stopping. This was a trick he had used many times in the army to get the upper hand on following enemy soldiers and it always worked. The first clear shot he could get, he would take out who ever followed, and use their horse to recover his own.

A little over an hour had passed when Clay finally spotted trail dust rising up through the air in the distance. It looked to be that the rider was two, maybe three hours away, but his premonition was definitely confirmed. There was definitely a rider trailing him. He was glad he grabbed his canteen. The sun was getting hotter and it seemed as though he was going to be in for a long wait.

It was half way through the second hour when he heard a horse fixing to top the ridge about fifty or sixty feet away from where he had positioned himself. He got ready his rifle to take aim at his latest victim of this old war trick. Just as he was starting to squeeze the trigger and send his latest victim to hell, He recognized the rider. It wasn’t the cowboy he expected to see much to his surprise. “Damn it John! I almost blew your fool head off!” Clay shouted at his younger brother. “Well, I’m glad to see you too big brother.” John called back to him. “I’ve been trying to catch up with your sorry ass since you left Dodge City this morning.” Then as if to drop a subtle hint to his older brother to imply he wanted to ride along with him he asked. “Where we headed to big brother?” He idolized his older brother and it meant everything to him if his brother would let him tag along, just to be along side of him. Catching the hint Clay replied, “They got some work down in New Mexico for cattle hands. Thought we could ride down that way and see about punching some cattle. Think you’d want to head down there with me and sign on to an outfit?” John quickly agreed that they were good at that kind of work and told Clay he would like that. They both climbed up onto John’s horse and set off to go find Clays animal.

It was late by the time they located Clay’s horse. He was in a small valley under some shade trees grazing beside a small pond. The brothers decided to secure their horses for the night and make camp there. A fresh start in the morning seemed to be a good idea, and it would give them a chance to catch up on life with each other and how the rest of the family had been, as well as what was going on with them.

Morning came and the brothers set out once again for New Mexico. John finished catching Clay up on how everyone was doing while he was gone and Clay told some more tales of his career in the army. It was a nice time the brothers were having just riding and talking. ‘A pleasant change’ Clay thought to himself. It had been a long time since he had just had a conversation to pass the time, he couldn’t remember when the last time it was.

After a few days riding on the trail, the two of them finally made it into Las Animas, New Mexico. It seemed to be a small but bustling town that was having some kind of celebration going on. It was Saturday afternoon and there were tables with food on them in the square. Pitchers of Lemonade and water, and kegs of beer were at the ends of the tables. Glasses for anyone who wanted to get themselves something to drink or a brew. There were signs hanging everywhere telling of a barn dance planned at the livery stable for that night. It was the biggest celebration they had ever seen. Even the town they had been raised in had never had a celebration this size.

They walked around and socialized with the residents on the town and finally learned the celebration was to commemorate the official end of the War Between the States. It was finally over and all the men folks were on they’re way home. This street party and barn dance was to welcome them back home.

Clay decided to go to the local barbershop for a shave and a bath. Then he thought he would get himself some whiskey and a woman before catching a friendly game of poker. Maybe later on, he’d go and check out the barn dance and see what was going on there. John decided to go on to the saloon and get a bottle. He’d meet up with Clay there and decide what he wanted to do then.

Clay had