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

behave themselves, Clay looked at Doc and asked, “Just what the hell went on last night with us?” Doc grinned and leaned forward to explain the events of the prior evening the two of them had been involved in.

“Well Huckleberry. We got tired of people watching every move we made to see which of us was going to kill the other so we put on a little show for them. We made them all think we were arguing and went out into the street for our showdown. We had done agreed of course to aim strictly for the hats.” Doc laughed again and continued. “After which we spun around shooting everybody’s hats. We even had a bet on who would miss the first hat. Unfortunately, neither of us missed before Wyatt came along and killed our joy.” Clay laughed and said, “Yeah it sounds like we had a ball alright.” As he took another drink from his bottle of whiskey. “You’re alright for a Rebel Rouser Huckleberry.” Doc said laughingly.

The two of them were enjoying themselves with conversation and whiskey, and thought of getting a card game going if they could find anyone willing to join them. Not too many people care to play poker against a known gunfighter, much less two of them. Most folk’s feared repercussions if they won too much and were, well, to be honest, terrified of the pair. They had seen the shooting exhibition in the streets the night before. It was not only fantastic shooting, but it was unbelievable. They had witnessed these two quick drawing and shooting the hats off of men’s heads with the intended targets at a dead run. That was enough to make any man nervous about offending either of the two gunmen. It really made it difficult to find poker players.

They were discussing the matter of politics when a tall, thin cowboy with a freshly healing gash on his forehead approached the table they were sitting at. Clay jumped up from his chair quickly and the cowboy threw his hands up shouting “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Mr. Allison. I aint looking for a fight. I just wanted to apologize for my behavior the last time I saw you sir. I didn’t know who you were when I was acting that way.” Doc looked at Clay, “A friend of yours I presume.” He said. “A crossed trail Doc.” Clay replied. That told Doc that Clay didn’t trust the man and for him to watch his back as well. “Have a seat cowboy. Were trying to get a game going.” The young man grabbed a chair and sat down across from Clay. “Much obliged.” He said as he rested in the seat. Doc looked him in the eye, sizing him up and said, “I’m afraid you have us at a disadvantage sir. You know who we are, what do they call you from where you hail?” The young Hombre answered back, “They call me Mike Griffith sir, and the pleasure is all mine.” Clay started to relax a little as he no longer saw the man to be as big a threat as he did at first. The conversation turned back to politics and the three of them began to drink on their whiskey once again.

“Well gentlemen,” Clay said four hours later. “I hate to leave such good company, but I have some things to tend to so I will bid you two a good day for now. I’ll be back later on when I’m finished with my business.” At that he returned the cork to his current bottle, picked it up at started towards the door. With a wobbly sort of walk Clay made his way through the swinging doors and to the left he went. Once he was past the windows on the front of the saloon his walk straightened up and he ducked down the side of the building to lay in wait and see if young Mike was going to come out of the saloon behind him. He had learned several years before to never take people at face value. Most of the time people approaching to meet him had a hidden agenda for wanting too. He wanted to know for sure the young cowhands intentions. He waited for what he thought was long enough then continued on to find the McNulty Company’s foreman.

He happened on to John, Jack, and Mario who had just left the foreman and signing on. “You did say the McNulty Company didn’t you big brother?” John asked. “Yeah little brother, that’s right.” Clay answered. “The foreman’s in that saloon right over yonder.” John began. “We start on Monday. He told us to be at the bunkhouse By Sunday night so we could get settled in.” Clay headed of towards the saloon John had pointed out to him to get signed on.

The foreman looked at Clay with concern and a bit of hesitation after reading the newest name signed on recruitment paper. “What’s the problem?” A voice called out from the direction of the bar. The foreman picked up the register and scurried over to the man asking the question. After looking at the paper, the rather large man said “So what. I’ve never heard of the man robbing anyone. I’ve certainly never heard of him rustling any cattle. Can you rope and ride Allison?” The man asked Clay. “Sure can.” Clay replied. “You’re hired then. My name’s McNulty. Welcome to my crew.” He told Clay to report to the bunkhouse by Sunday night as well so he could start on Monday with the rest of the new hires. They were rounding up the heard to drive them on to market.
“I aint got to worry about you going off and killing my help do I Allison?” Clay’s new boss said laughingly. “Not unless they start something with me.” Clay answered straight-faced. Mr. McNulty laughed and told Clay, “You don’t have to worry about that Mr. Allison. I don’t hire fools or idiots to work for me.” Once Clay had left to go and rejoin Doc and his new friend the big man instructed the foreman to make sure everyone at the ranch knew that this was the famous Clay Allison and not just someone with the same name so no one would unwittingly sign their own death warrant. Clay wondered if they would still be there.

Doc was still sitting in the same chair as when clay had left earlier. Mike was nowhere around as far as Clay could tell in the crowded bar room, and there were three other men sitting at the table with Doc. They all seemed to be in the middle of what looked like a pretty good poker game. Clay didn’t see any other open tables so he just walked to the end of the bar and ordered a whiskey to pass time until an opening came up somewhere.

After an hour or so Clay saw a chair open up at a table in the corner and its back was to the wall. He walked over and asked if the three men still at the table minded if he had a seat for a friendly game. They all invited him to join them. Clay got another bottle and settled in to try his luck. The game was going pretty well when all hell broke loose up toward the front of the bar room. Clay stood up just in time to see Doc shoot a hole in the forehead of one of his co players. “I just hate a liar and a cheat!” He shouted to the on lookers. The Sheriff, Bat Masterson came running into the saloon, gun in hand to find Doc towering over the dead man. After hearing Doc’s side of the story he checked the dead man to find an Ace in one sleeve, and a King in the other. “This is a good killing.” He announced to the crowd. “This man is a card cheat.” He finished. Then he recruited two men from the crowd and told them to carry the dead man down the street to the Mortician.

It was then Marshal Earp came storming into the saloon. The Sheriff met him before he got inside too far and filled him in on what had happened. Wyatt looked at Doc and just shook his head. Doc returned his look and shrugged his shoulders as if to say the man shouldn’t have been a cheat.

“I truly didn’t mean to be a kill joy Wyatt, but I just hate a card cheat.” Doc said. “I know Doc.” Wyatt replied. “It’s ok, I hate ‘em too.” Bat had already left since he and Doc didn’t get along. Bat had shot and killed one of Doc’s friends some years before. The only reason Doc hadn’t killed him for it was because of a promise he had made to Wyatt not to retaliate. Playing the favor for a friend bit. Doc resented Wyatt for doing that, but respected him more than the resentment. Doc always said he never had a better friend than Wyatt Earp. A deputy came in with a report of another disturbance at another saloon forcing Wyatt away from his friend. “Try to behave yourself Doc.” He said as he left.

Since the table Doc was sitting at had cleared out, Clay excused himself from the game he was in and went to sit with his friend. “Looks like you got to have some fun anyway.” Clay said. “Yeah.” Doc answered. “It just wasn’t challenging enough. Life just so lacks challenge anymore. It’s just so boring.” At that Clay inserted his own opinion. “Yup it is. Wish there was something to do that wouldn’t get your marshal friend sideways at us.”

John came in and sat at the table with the two men. Doc stiffened and said. “Excuse me sir. It is plain rude to just wander in and sit at a man's table without invitation or announcement so be gone with you.” Clay quickly butted in and explained it was ok. “This is my little brother John. John, this is Doc Holiday.” He made the introductions. “Entirely my pleasure Mr. Holiday.” John said. “No, no sir. The pleasure is indeed all mine.” Said Doc. John ordered a bottle of his own and the three men began discussing the beauty of the South.

The three of them were getting well past drunk and discussing their boredom. Clay was telling the story of how he had escaped Yankee captivity from the Union Fort during the last days of the war when John came up with a bet of all bets to relieve their boredom. “I’ll bet twenty dollars against Clay if he loses the next hand, he will strip off all his dud’s and ride around the whole town on bare back horse.” Doc busted out laughing and