The
Gentleman
Gunfighter
By: C.F. Allison


This book is comprised of fictional events based on facts of history surrounding the colorful life and times of the man known as “The Gentleman Gunfighter, Clay Allison.” These events do not appear in the order of the actual history surrounding them. Clay had a sense of humor that was unparalleled by any other at the time and was really quite a character in his own right. Who else can it be said about, that they were so special as to have a cemetery all their own. On his headstone it reads “Robert C Allison, Gentleman Gunfighter.” His private cemetery is in fact located in Pecos, Texas.

This book is dedicated to the memory of that colorful character of the west, and to all of his descendants who cherish his memory and sense of humor.

Additionally, I would like to also dedicate this book to the loving memory of my brother Roger W. Allison who was in his own time as much a character as Clay.

I would also like to give a special thanks to my beloved wife Kimberly for her support, and to my little sister Elizabeth for assisting me in gathering my research for this book.

The Author of this book can be contacted at caluphallison@yahoo.com with comments, questions, or request.

I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it.


It was September 1840. The dew had frosted across the fields and the cold wind blew across the prairie as the wagons made their way westward across Tennessee. It was unusually quiet as the children rode in the back of the wagon to protect them from the cold. All of a sudden, Out of nowhere a chilling yelp came and the kids saw the arrow as it pierced into their father’s side. Then there was three more instantly appear it seamed as if from thin air. That’s just how fast they fly when shot from the bow of a Cheyenne brave. It seemed like the battle went on forever to the kids as they heard the screaming of the adults outside and the crying of the children from the other wagons as everyone outside was being slaughtered. Then, the back flap of the wagon was opened and an Indian brave stood looking in at the children. The kids were so frightened; they didn’t know what was going to happen next. They knew their mom and dad were dead. They saw them murdered by the arrows when the battle started. The brave took them from the back of the wagon and they rode horseback with him and some other Indians to their village and then the children were given to the women there to be taken care of. There, the kids spent the next three years of their lives.

On this beautiful autumn morning the young boys were playing in a nearby grove to the village when they heard the soldiers bugle sound and the gunfire begin. Clay and his younger brother ran to the teepee they had been living in with the woman named Little Fawn that they had come to regard as their mother, and Spirit Hawk the holy man they had come to call father. They were inside hiding with mother when the soldiers came thru the flap of the teepee. There were five of them. They took turns holding Clay and his brother back as they raped Little Fawn, then as the last soldier finished and was getting up, The Sergeant pulled his revolver and shot her in the head killing her in front of the boys.

Clay began to cuss the soldiers in Cheyenne and started fighting with them, trying his best to kill the soldiers, but he was only a small boy and he really didn’t even seem to be bothering them at all. He vowed to himself he would kill them if it were the last thing that he ever did.

The boys were loaded into an army wagon and taken back to the fort. The entire Indian village was wiped out, except for the hunting party that had left the day before for food to supply the village. The boys saw the women and other kids laying dead everywhere when the soldiers took them from the teepee to the wagon and they couldn’t believe anyone could have such little regard for life. How they could just kill everything in sight without even thinking about it. How could such beast exist? Spirit Hawk had told them of such men when they were younger, even though he died when Clay was only five, Clay had always remembered what had been taught to him by the old holy man.

The boys were turned over to the pastor at the town nearby to the fort. The minister’s name was John Allison. John Allison Sr was a quiet sort of man. A Presbyterian minister, cattle, and a sheep rancher. Nancy Allison, Clay’s mother was a dedicated wife and mother. Both parents worked hard to provide for the nine children they had. Lord knows it certainly wasn’t easy. The years to come would prove to be even more trying as Clay seemed to have a will of his own. It was at an early age, Clay and his brothers all understood it was up to them to take care of their mother, and sisters. John died shortly after adopting the boys bringing the total of children in the house to nine. The boys were the men of the house, and it was their place to do so. They realized manhood much quicker than youngsters should have too. They grew up with a profound respect for women having been raised by their mother, as well as a respect for youngsters looking at their own experiences of right and wrong in growing up. Nothing could ever change those views for Clay, and everyone should have the same values as far as he was concerned.

A sense of duty was instilled in him as well, so naturally, when ‘The War Between the States’ broke out, he was among the first to volunteer. His quick temper and own way of handling things however brought that to a quick end in only three months after he enlisted. The Surgeon General for “Mental Deficiency” discharged him. ‘Looking back on it, it could have been handled differently I suppose’ thought Clay… “What the hell do you mean we’re not going to run ‘em down and kill ‘em!” Clay shouted at his commanding officer when he ordered the pursuit of the union soldiers halted. “We got the yellow bastards on the run.” He said. “Maybe I oughta just shoot your ass, you coward!” Clay shouted in anger. “That’s enough Allison,” commanded the Colonel, “We’re tired, and we can get ‘em on another day. You can bet they’ll be back.” The Colonel thought to himself, wow this guy has something wrong with him. “Allison, go see the doc and get those wounds looked at.” They’re just scratches sir.” Replied Clay. “Maybe so, but I don’t want my best fighter getting an infection taking him out of action.” Said the Colonel. He really wanted the doctor to see if Clay was mentally fit for duty. Unknown to Clay, the Colonel had already sent one of his aides ahead with a message to the doctor to check this unpredictable soldier for just that. As a result Clay was discharged from the Confederate Army just three and a half months after enlisting on medical release for mental deficiency. The doctor said he had a maniacal streak causing him to be ill tempered and unpredictable in combat, therefore unstable as a reliable soldier.

‘Who needs them cowards anyway’? Clay thought to himself. ‘I’ll go to an outfit where there are no cowards, and let those yellow bellies run as far as they want. They’ll get what’s coming to them one day’. He rested up a few days in town, drinking, fighting, gambling before he decided to move on to join that outfit he had in mind.

Word had spread somewhat of his time in town though, his fighting and how well he could handle a knife. He had gotten into a disagreement with a man over a dealing of the cards, so him and the other gambler had gone outside the town limits, dug a hole which they both jumped into. That’s when they pulled out their knives and settled the argument. The winner of which got to fill in the hole with the other still in it. That was a long tiring night for Clay, but he walked away the winner of the hand.

Arriving at the camp of General Nathan B. Forrest, Clay managed to talk his way into being a scout for the General’s outfit arguing the point he was good with a knife and if he had to fight his was out of a fix, the enemy wouldn’t hear any gunfire to tip them off we were even close. The General, a quite intelligent man didn’t have to think about Clay’s proposition long to know he was right, and would be a valuable asset to his unit. Even though word of Clay’s temperament and wild ways had reached him, he agreed. He figured what the hell, maybe the enemy had heard the tales too, and wouldn’t believe anything Clay told them anyway if he was captured. A nice deal all the way around.

Clay made a heck of a scout. He’d go out and sure enough, within three or four hours here he came with some kind of intelligence or another. Usually some pretty good stuff too. On top of that he usually had a suggestion on how to make a winning battle out of it too, and the plans were good ones. ‘This guy is no nut.’ thought the General. ‘He’s a little vicious, but no nut.’ It was August, Clay was on his way out of camp to scout ahead and see what lay in the bushes waiting. “Hold up Clay” a voice came from one of the tents. It was the General’s tent. “Take Jones with you this time.” He said. “He needs the experience.” Clay didn’t like the idea 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 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 just broken even at cards and the evening was starting to set in. He told John he was going to go down to the livery and see to happenings down there. John said he’d like to tag along and check that out himself. They each got a fresh bottle of whiskey apiece and walked to the stables where they could here the dance in progress. When they got to the entrance to the barn they could see all kinds of people dancing, drinking, and socializing. Just having a good time in general with their neighbors and friends. Then they noticed that there were even a few blue bellies in there laughing and going on as well. Clay still didn’t care much for them. He remembered what they did to Little Fawn every time he saw that uniform. He had drank just enough whiskey to get him into a harassing mood about it.” Well John” Clay said, “Everybody else is having fun. I recon I will too.” He then began dancing around the floor with himself and stomping on people’s feet as he made his rounds. John of course thought this was the funniest thing he ever saw, followed his brother’s lead, and began doing the same thing.

In the meanwhile, someone had already fled the dance in search of the Sheriff. Deputy Charles Faber was the first lawman to arrive on the scene. When he saw John he mistook him for the well-known gun fighter so he started to level his scattergun on him as to catch him off guard and get the drop on him before calling his attention. From the other end of the barn Clay saw a man raising a shotgun up from behind his brother. In that instant, a shot rang out and Faber hit the floor dead. John was hit by a blast from the shotgun when Faber was struck by the fatal bullet from Clay’s six-shooter. He had tensed his finger on the trigger as he fell, and the weapon went off striking John in the middle of his back. John’s wound wasn’t serious though Clay found out when he went over to see about his brother.

The High Sheriff had arrived on the scene by then. He took advantage of Clay’s concentration on his brother and snuck up behind him. He knocked him out cold with the butt end of his own six-shooter and had some volunteers drag him off to the local jail.

The sun was streaming in though the cells barred window and was glaring onto Clay’s face when he came too the next morning. Jail time was not kind to Clay. The Sheriff made it a point to torment him several times a day about the killing of his deputy and good friend. Every time he came into the jail he’d go to Allison’s cell and let him know he was going to hang for the killing. The Sheriff would go into detail of what happens to the human body when that rope snaps tight and the body reacts to it. The Sheriff kept telling Clay “I’m gonna see you hang for killing Charlie if it’s the last thing I do.”

Almost a week had gone by of the sheriff’s taunting when the circuit judge came into town to preside over the case in court. He could hear the town’s people talking as they walked pasted his cell window about how this judge was a hanging judge when it came to murderers and cattle thieves. Others passing by his window he could hear them say how fair he was on the evidence presented to him.

Clay was beginning to become a little more than concerned about weather this judge would be fair, or was he a friend of the sheriff. At least a good enough friend to get Clay’s neck stretched. All Clay kept hearing over and over in his mind was the sheriff saying “I’ll see you hang if it’s the last thing I do.” As the hours passed, Clay began to believe his time on earth was growing short. The sheriff came by his cell that evening to reassure Clay of his impending doom. He said “You get to go to court tomorrow and get your hanging date set. The circuit judge has been talking to all the witnesses all day, and going over your case file.” He went on to say. “You’re set for first thing in the morning to see the judge.” Clay felt sick at his stomach as his nerves balled up, but he would be damned if he was going to let it show. He just grinned at the sheriff and lied his head back on his pillow, pretending to go to sleep as if to say “Oh well.”

Clay had gotten no more than three hours sleep that night when the sun peeked its way over the town’s horizon the next morning. When his breakfast was bought to him Clay really didn’t have much of an appetite even though the ham and eggs really looked and smelled good. He was trying to get himself pulled together before he had to face the judge. He didn’t want to go into court unprepared, or looking scared or guilty.

It wasn’t very long before the sheriff and a couple of his deputies appeared in the doorway to collect him for his trial. They chained him up with wrist and ankle shackles and instructed him on how to proceed. Where to walk and how to walk. They also informed him to the fact that if he made one step in any direction other than where he was told to, then there would no longer be a need for any trial.

They then began their walk out of the jail and started down the street toward the local saloon about a block away. The town had no courthouse therefore as the law allowed for the times, all legal matters such as trails, and town meetings were held at the local saloon. There was no drinking or gambling allowed. Saloon girls were not allowed either during the proceedings. No saloon business of any kind was allowed to take place in fact to be in compliance with the law. This was the state law for towns with this kind of arrangement.

When Clay and the deputies walked into the saloon/court room everyone got quiet. It was an eerie silence that sent a chill down Clay’s spine that made him shiver. There were two tables facing another table in front of them. Each one of them had two chairs, a pitcher of water and some glasses on top of them and an ink well with a pen. On the table facing them there was a chair on each side of it and the same stuff as the other tables. To the right side of the room were twelve chairs with men sitting in them. In behind the two side by side tables were a bunch of chairs with the town’s people filling them up. There was also a bunch of people standing around because there were not enough chairs for everyone.

John was sitting at one side of one of the tables. The deputies ushered Clay over to sit next to him and he noticed John was not shackled. “What the hell are you doing here? You aint killed nobody John!” Clay inquired of his brother. John just looked at him and said “I’ve been mending at the doc’s place but they got me charged with disturbing the peace.” Right then, a deputy bellowed out “Shut up you two, court’s fixing to start up!” Then the other deputy began announcing “Here ye here ye, be it known to all persons this court is now in session. Remove all your hats. The bar and brothel is now closed until adjournment of this trial. All rise for the honorable Nathan Forrester presiding.” Having finally heard the name of his would be executioner, Clay almost fell out of his chair. When he saw the former commander of his army unit enter the room and take the judges seat. He found it really hard to keep from smiling or grinning from ear to ear, but his old comrade shot him a look that he remembered from the war telling him to just sit still and be quite.

Other than that, the judge didn’t look in his direction again as he started reading from a folder he had in his hand. “Defendant John Allison. You are charged with disturbing the peace. How do you Plea?” John, having been raised to be man enough to admit his wrong doings and face his consequences for them when caught. Another part of his childhood education was he was taught to tell the truth. “I was brought up to tell the truth judge” he said, “I got to say guilty your honor. I was drunk and I stomped on some people’s feet because I thought it was funny.” The judge slammed the gavel down on the table and said “Defendant John Allison, by your own admission then I find you guilty of disturbing the peace and drunk and disorderly. I hereby sentence you to five days in jail. I’m going to suspend that sentence though since you have been confined to the doctor’s office and give you credit for your time served. You sir are free to go.”

The judge still not having paid any more attention to Clay had Clay beginning to worry. Wondering if it mattered to his old war commander just who it was that he had it the hot seat. ‘Surely he remembers me from the war.’ Clay was thinking to himself.

“The next case is the State of New Mexico versus Robert Clay Allison on the charge of murdering Las Animas deputy sheriff Charles Faber.” The judge called out. “I’m not even going to ask for a plea on this case from Mr. Allison.” This gave the sheriff a big grin as he thought to himself ‘Yes! He’s going to hang that Son of a Bitch!’ The judge then continued “I have reviewed written statements, and spoken to a number of witnesses in regards to this matter. I have thus come to the conclusion with the sworn testimony and sworn written statements that the state has neglected to show legitimate cause or reason, and has no evidence to support a charge of murder. It is the testimony of all the witnesses to the incident that deputy Faber never identified himself as a lawman or announced his intentions to anyone before he leveled a deadly weapon at a third person, namely the younger Mr. Allison. Therefore, it is the judgment of this court that from the location Mr. Allison was as opposed to where Mr. Faber was standing, it would have been impossible to see Mr. Faber’s badge or for him to have known Mr. Faber was a lawman. Therefore it is the ruling of this court that this is a shooting case of self-defense and hereby orders the immediate release of the prisoner Mr. Robert Clay Allison. This case is dismissed. Court is now adjourned.” Hitting his gavel once again to close this case out too. Judge Forrester then looked at Clay and said to him in a cold and level tone, “Mr. Allison, you have made your self an enemy to the law here in this town. I would strongly recommend you gather your property as quickly as possible and leave. I would also highly recommend you never return here or to this State for that matter.” Facing the judge with a solemn look of his own Clay replied, “I believe your right judge, and I believe I’ll take that advice. Much obliged to you for being a fair man Your Honor.” With that being said, Clay gathered his property and he and John turned and walked out of the saloon wasting no time leaving town.

“Well big brother, where to now?” John asked. “Being how we missed the work back there I figured we’d head back up toward Dodge City. I heard the McNulty Company is in need of trails hands for a big cattle drive and round up.” Nodding his head in agreement John replied, “Sounds like a plan to me. Let’s make some distance.” Both of them giving their horses a gentle kick the horses began to gallop and they turned northeast towards Dodge City.

A couple of days into the journey Clay began to suddenly notice a dust free, fresh air smell. He told John “We need to try and make that small valley we camped in on our way down. There’s a storm brewing and we’re going to need the cover of those trees.” Not very long after that the sky began to darken, and the wind began to blow harder and harder. That wasn’t far away though and Clay still had his small pup tent from his days in the confederate army. It was rolled up and attached to his saddle next to his bedroll.

It was already starting to rain when they reached the pond in the small grove of trees. Clay quickly rolled out his pup tent and set it up faster than he could ever remember getting it set up before to keep from getting soaked from the fast approaching rain storm. The tent may have been small, but it was large enough to accommodate the brothers and protect them both from the furious storm and violent rain that came fast and hit hard trying to wash away everything in its path. The brothers decided they had might as well rest up so they could drive on whenever the rain stopped. The storm didn’t pass until late that evening so the brothers decided to go ahead and rest up through until the morning and just get an early and fresh start then.

Clay woke to the smell of meat and eggs cooking, and the smell of fresh brewed coffee made its way through the air. “Where the hell did you get meat and eggs from little brother?” Clay asked John. “There’s a big nest up that there tree, probably a Hawk’s nest, and I caught me a Rabbit this morning with one of my home made snares. I thought you might fancy a nice hot breakfast for a change.” Clay nodded with appreciation and a smile to him and replied, “You’re sure right about that. I aint eat in so long my belly buttons telling my back bone that my throats been cut.” They hadn’t eaten since they left Las Animas after their trials, and both of their stomachs were having a fit of protest.

After breakfast they put out the fire and cleaned up their campsite. Washed out the pots and pans, and rolled up the little pup tent. It was still pretty early as they once again started northeast toward Dodge City in search of work. The sun shimmered bright and you could almost see the heat generated off of it. The day was starting to heat up to become a scorcher as it got closer to noon or one o’clock. The two men could see the steam coming up from the ground in some areas so they decided to take it slow and easy to save the horses from exhaustion. Walking with them instead of riding them at intervals. Stopping in shaded areas along the way and letting them drink to allow the animals to rest in the heat as well so they could cool down. Finally the long hot day ended and they made camp for the next nights rest. Clay had shot a deer earlier that day, so they got to have another hot meal for supper instead of settling for jerky. They made deer jerky out of the left over meat to keep it from going bad and to fill their bellies in the long trail ahead. Knowing that a hot meal may not come again for a while was a reality Clay was planning ahead for. Clay made a pot of coffee and they sat around getting fat, and talking. “This sure is the life aint it brother?” Clay said looking up at the stars as he rolled himself a cigarette. John just nodded his head and said nothing admiring the clear starry night himself. Clay lit his cigarette and sipped his coffee taking in the beauty of the night. He often enjoyed relaxing to the nighttime outdoors.

“Hey in the camp!” a voice called out from the darkness. “Mind if I come in?” it shouted. The brothers jumped to their feet and Clay shouted back, “Do it slow, and with empty hands. Keep ‘em where I can see ‘em.” A shadowy figure began to appear leading a horse and holding his other arm straight out from his body. Ever so slowly he entered into the camp from the darkness. As he came into the light he said “I could smell your coffee and it sure smelled good. I thought I’d see if I could trouble you for a cup.” John invited the man to have a seat and get a cup of the coffee. “You’re welcome to some of those beans too if you’re a mind. My name’s John, and this here is my brother Clay. What do they call you stranger?” The young stranger drew closer to the firelight and it became unmistakably apparent to the brothers that this was a young, clean-cut black man. “Much obliged for the vittles and coffee. Now you can see I’m black, am I still welcome to try them?” he asked. “Of course you are that’s a stupid question.” Clay responded. “You sit yourself down and get your fill mister. What’s your name?”

“My name’s Jack, and my little brothers name is Mario. He’s waiting out yonder to see if I’m gonna get killed or beat for being black and walking into a white camp.” The stranger told the brothers. John called out to the shadows inviting the younger brother in. “Mario, come on in and fill your belly.” Jack called out too. “Its ok Mario, They’re friendly.” Clay told Jack, “Y’all are welcome to camp with us if you’ve a mind to. Too many things crawling about and sneaking around in the night to be riding on. Where you boys headed too?” he then asked. Jack and Mario cautiously looked and each other then Jack replied. “Well sir, not trying to set you off or anything. We’re trailing some white men, and when we catch ‘em. We’re gonna kill ‘em.” Clay got a serious look on his face and asked the brothers, “What you gonna go and do some thing like that for boys?” That’s when Jack began to explain their intentions and reasons to him. “Well mister, my brother, and me were coming in from the fields when we saw them riding off. When we got back to our cabin we found my wife and daughter had been raped and murdered by the bastards. Now we aim to find ‘em and kill ‘em for it.” Clay kept his solemn look as he glanced toward John and told Jack, “Me and my brother don’t much abide by men treating women and children that way. Don’t matter what color they are. I believe we’ll be riding with you if you don’t mind.”

“That’s a mighty kind offer of you mister, but I’d feel powerful bad if one of you got hurt on our account.” Jack responded. “These men are dangerous men.” John busted out laughing which made Jack and Mario get a very confused look on their faces. That only made John’s laugh harder. Clay broke in with a smile to explain his brother’s humor in what Jack had said. “Let me re-introduce ourselves to you.” He began with a sort of snicker of his own. “My name is Clay Allison, and that’s my brother John Allison.” The confused look on Jack and Mario’s faces turned into a look of shock and fear. They couldn’t believe they had actually stumbled on to the famous gunslinger’s camp. Then to top it off they had been invited in for coffee and beans by the man. Not only that, but this man with the horrible reputation wanted to help them get justice from these men they were after. “I just hate ignorance in a man.” Clay said. “Any man that could do things like that to a woman and a child needs to be gilded, and then shot. I’d like to track down these skunks with you boys. If y’all kill ‘em you’ll hang for it, but if I shoot ‘em, well, that’s justice. Now before you tell me no and be pig headed about it for revenge, I promise you, I’ll see to it you get revenge before I do anything. But get it my way, deal.” Clay stretched out his hand and Jack shook it. “You have a deal Mr. Allison.” He said.

John butted in and said, “Come on now boys, get your selves something to eat and some coffee. It’s time to relax a spell. We’ll get an early start in the morning to go find them murdering cowards and get us some justice.” The conversation turned to more pleasant subjects and carried on for a good while into the night, until they all finally drifted away to sleep.

The morning came with a new since of purpose for Clay. He felt as if it were his duty to right the wrong that had been done to his new friends. If only to show them that all white men were not like these outlaws. He picked up the renegades trail before they had been riding for very long. It seemed that the fresher the trail got, the more anxious Clay became. It was almost dusk when Clay told John and his new friends to make a cold camp. John knew that meant Clay felt they were close to the rapist / killers. “I’m gonna scout ahead and see what’s out there.” Clay told them. Jack started to say something but Clay interrupted him by holding his hand up. “Don’t worry my friend. I gave you my word and I’m a man of my word.” He told Jack, and then rode off ahead out of sight.

Just over the next ridge Clay came into view of a campfire. He tethered his horse to a near by bush and eased up on it as quiet as a church mouse. It was them all right. He could tell from the description of the men Jack had given him the night before. Clay snuck his way back to his horse and rode back to his own camp to get the others.

When he got back to his own campsite John was still setting things out that would be needed for camp that night. “Don’t bother little brother, let’s mount up.” Clay ordered. With out a word or a question, the three of them climbed on top of their horses and followed Clay’s lead. “The men we’re tracking have a camp just over the next ridge.” Clay told everyone. “What I want to do is cover it from four corners so we can get the drop on ‘em. I’ll walk into their camp, and when you see me slap leather, I want you three to cock your rifles. That will get their attention enough I won’t have to kill ‘em right then and there. Everybody got it?” Everyone acknowledged the plan in confirmation. Clay asked if there were any questions before the plan went into action, and everyone said it was perfectly understood.

Again, Clay tethered his horse at the small bush he had tied to before and the three partners did the same. Clay showed each of them where exactly he wanted them to be positioned before calling out to the camp. Then he called out to the men around the fire. “Hey you in the camp there. Mind if I come in?” One of the men called back to him, “Yeah, we mind.” Clay walked into the light anyway and said, “Now that’s not very neighborly of you mister.” The two men grabbed for their pistols but Clay had out drawn and cocked his before they had even gotten their hands on the butts of theirs good. As they heard the sounds of rifles cocking all around them Clay said, “Now that’s really not very neighborly of you boys.” The two men decided they weren’t fast enough to win so they raised their hands in surrender. “Now you two, put them pistol belts on the ground real slow you hear me. I want to count them hairs on your hands doing it.” Clay ordered. The two outlaws complied reluctantly. “Come on in boys!” Clay called out to the others. They sent Mario to go and get the horses, and Clay wandered off in a different direction in search of something else. All he would tell anyone was that he would be right back and for Jack and John to tie the two men up and wait until he returned before doing anything.

Mario had already returned with the horses, and John had made some coffee when Clay returned to the campsite. He was holding a couple of short tree braches. John gave him a cup of the coffee and asked what he intended with the branches, but Clay just grinned and whittled on them as he sipped at his cup looking towards the two tied up woman killers every once and a while. Jack went and sat beside him. After a short while he asked, “What’s the plan now Clay?” Clay smiled and replied to him, “Patience my friend, you’re going to like it, I promise you.”

It took twenty minutes before Clay finished making the two newly fashioned arrows. “Get a horse and drag that big log over there into the light.” As John did what he was told, Clay told Jack and Mario to yank the britches off of the two prisoners. “And you two good for nothings let ‘em!” he ordered. One of the men shouting out in protest, “What you fixing on doing? You aint bending me over no log you sick bastards!” He shouted in desperation. Clay hit the man in the mouth with his rifle butt knocking out a few teeth with the move, then pointed the barrel straight at the man's head saying in a low calm voice, “Not another word, you hear me. You two are the only sick bastards around here. I got some good news though. We’re the cure for what ‘ails ya.”

John had gotten the big log into place like Clay had instructed him to do. Clay told Mario and Jack to walk the two bottomless men over to it. The men didn’t try to resist. Neither one of them wanted to taste the rifle butt again. “Now boys, I want you to sit on that big stick like it’s a horse back to back and about a foot apart.” Clay ordered the men. He then had John tie their ankles together so they couldn’t dismount the wooden steed. Then he handed Jack the two short hand made arrows. He had Mario, and John hold the prisoners still one at a time as he and Jack took a pistol butt and nailed each one’s manhood to the giant log. He kept telling the two men, “Shut up you cry baby! You weren’t whining when you were raping and killing this mans family you cowards!” Slapping each man in the head while he was yelling at them. Sometime during all this the two men passed out from the pain being inflicted on them. After Jack was finished nailing them to the log, the four avengers sat around and drank some whiskey they had found in the two men’s supplies and discussed what was to be done next while they waited for their prisoners to come too.

“You sure were right Clay, I liked the shit out of what you did. Are we gonna cut ‘em off after those boys come too?” Clay smiled a big evil looking grin and said, “Nope, they are.” Jack just couldn’t imagine in his wildest thoughts how Clay was going to manage to get them to do that with all the fuss they made about being nailed to the log. “You’ll see.” Clay said stabbing a large Bowie knife in front of each outlaw. Then he untied their hands and went back to waiting for them to wake up while he drank more whiskey.

The prisoners started to come around with the help of John throwing some water on them from a nearby creek. They saw the knives stunk into the log in front of them and began to wonder what to expect next horrified at the thoughts running through their minds. Clay called Jack to one end of the log, and Mario to the other handing both of them a match. Then he dowsed each end with Kerosene snickering and looking at the rapist while he did it. After a brief moment, he told Jack and Mario, “Light ‘em up boys and you two can cut ‘em off or burn.”

The four of them sat around the campfire drinking what was left of the whiskey and watching in anticipation of what the two outlaws were going to do. They could hear the two men cursing and whining about their situation, but had no compassion for them. The fire was getting real close to the men when one of them, now getting burns suddenly grabbed the knife in front of him and plunged it into his own chest killing himself. “I didn’t see that one coming.” Clay laughed. Right then the other man shouted, “Well Shit!” And sliced off his manhood crying out in pain. Clay laughed out even louder at this development and looked at Jack saying, “Brings a whole new meaning to the term weenie roast don’t it.” Then he turned his attention to the second rapist quickly drawing his six-shooter and putting a bullet between the man’s eyes.

The four executioners only dug one hole and threw both scoundrels into it. In their opinion these two didn’t deserve a grave of their own, or a decent burial. They made a sign to mark it though that said, “Here lie’s two rapist / murderers. They don’t deserve a tombstone with their names on it. Piss here to water the grass. May their souls rot in hell.”

The next morning came, and the four of them had overslept from having such a late night the evening before. The four of them decided to keep traveling together, and they all started off towards Dodge City late in the afternoon in hopes there was still a need for trail hands there. Clay and John’s new friends were quiet for most of the day. Clay figured it was because they had never been involved in killing a man before. That sort of thing takes getting used too, and some men just aren’t made to handle doing it. That was nothing to be ashamed of. It was just how things were. Justice was served, but it had left a bad taste in Jacks mouth. It just wasn’t as satisfying as he thought it would be. He had a sick at his stomach feeling and thought he was going to throw up at any time. He didn’t really know how it was going to make him feel, but he certainly didn’t think it was going to be a feeling like this.

The day was starting to pass on by fairly quickly and the uneasy feeling in Jack’s stomach was starting to ease somewhat. At least, it didn’t seem to be bothering him like it was earlier in the day. A small town was beginning to come into sight and Clay suggested they rest there for the night before pressing on. They could sell the two horses and personals they had picked up the night before, and re-supply their selves. Then get a fresh start in the morning.

They arrived in town and made their way toward the local hotel. They got checked in and decided to get something to eat. Clay wanted to get a quick drink before dinner so he went to the local saloon. As he walked in, as usual he looked around to scope the place out. It looked like your average small town poker hall. Poker tables, Piano, a Bar and furnishings such as that. Behind the bar was a large mirror. You could see everything going on behind you in it while you enjoyed your favorite drink and relaxed. Clay liked that. He had gotten into the habit of never leaving his back open for anyone to sneak up from behind him and shoot him in the back. A habit most gunslingers got into. A good practice to be in if you had very many notches on your pistol too. It seemed there was always a son, brother, or cousin looking for revenge. Clay knew he had his share of those to look out for. This seemed like a friendly sort of town though, and Clay wasn’t too worried about it. Clay ordered himself a whiskey and looked around for a card game to join in on. There wasn’t but three card tables in the small saloon, and only one of them had a game going at it.

Clay decided to go on to his room and get a good nights rest for an early start tomorrow instead. Sometimes it was just better to call it a night he thought to himself. Besides, there’ll be plenty of card games once they got to Dodge City. “Just give me a bottle for the road Barkeep.” He ordered and left to go to his room at the hotel.

Clay’s pocket watch read one o’clock as he and his group of trail friend’s road into Dodge City. The day had turned blazing hot and their shirts were soaked with sweat and caked with trail dust turned to mud from the dripping wet shirts. Well, I reckon I’m going to get me a drink and a friendly card game before I go find Mr. McNulty. What about y’all.” John answered back “Sounds like a plan to me Clay.” Jack told Clay though, he thought him and Mario had better pass. “They aint going to serve no black men in these saloons here in Dodge. There’d be trouble if we tried it.” He said. Clay thought about it for a minute and then said “You’re most likely right there Jack. I’ll get a couple of rooms at the back entry of the hotel so you and Mario can have a room too. And I’ll bring you two by a bottle in a bit. How’s that.” Mario stepped up with a big grin on his face “That will suit us just fine. Thanks Clay.”

Clay went to his favorite hotel, got two rooms reachable from the rear entry and gave Jack the key to his and Mario’s room, then made his way down the street to the Long Branch Saloon. He bought a bottle and took it along with forty dollars to Jack and Mario. The cash was from the sale of the two horses, guns and holsters he had gotten from the two women killers.

They accepted the bottle, but refused to have anything to do with the cash. “That’s blood money.” Jack said. “I don’t want it. No offense meant Clay.” He continued. Clay gave Jack a look and replied “No offense taken my friend. It was just fair to offer it.” Then he left for the steak house. He had already given John some money so he could get a bath and a shave so his time was his own now. Everyone had been taken care of.

Clay finished up his steak and headed down to the Long Branch Saloon to find a good card game and a bottle of whiskey. He was feeling fat and sassy and was ready to relax. He walked through the winged shaped swinging doors and the first thing that caught his eye was the unmistakable figure of a man he had crossed trails with the last time he was in Dodge city. It was Wyatt Earp. He hadn’t changed any at all over the last few months. He still had those narrow gunslinger eyes and the bushy moustache. “How do?” he said as he walked past Clay on his way out the door. “Top shelf Marshal.” Clay replied. Apparently, the famous marshal didn’t remember him. That was just fine with Clay. He was there to have fun not to fight. He went onward up to the bar and got a bottle. Had a couple of shots from it and began looking around the long narrow bar for a friendly game. Of poker to join in on.

The saloon was pretty packed so Clay knew it might be a little while before a table would have a spot open up, so he got a deck of cards from the bar tender and walked over to an empty table in the corner. Something else he had learned early in his gun-fighting career was to always sit with his back to the wall. If you didn’t, eventually, someone would put a hole in it.

He was sitting by himself shuffling the cards and playing Solitaire as some other gentlemen approached the table looking for a game. It didn’t take long at all for enough men to sit down and get a game going. “Well gentlemen, let’s play some poker.” One of the men said with a smile and a friendly southern accent. Clay was looking the stranger over kind of sizing him up sort of speak in case he needed to know about him later. The man seemed to be gentleman like enough, but something about him told Clay this man was no tender foot. For one thing, the man took the other chair that backed against the wall. He even motioned one of the other men to move so he could have it. His pistol rig was a cross draw set up. Those were popular to a lot of gun fighters. The man was sickly though with a chronic cough. He was what most people referred to as a “Lunger.” He was wearing fancy clothes and hat. ‘Definite ear marks of a gun slinger.’ Clay thought to himself. Clay finished sizing him up with some light conversation while they played.

“Names Clay” he said to everyone at the table. The two cowhands introduced themselves but the southern gentleman to Clay’s left just replied “Whiskey.” Clay sent the man an annoyed look and said “Odd name for a man, Whiskey.” The man busted out laughing and replied “No, The name’s Holiday. I want some whiskey. My friends of course call me Doc.” His eyes turned cold and his face became serious. “Are you my friend Mr. Clay Allison or should I start hating you now and avoid the rush?” he said as he stared Clay down with the cold killer’s look of a gun fighter. “Not unless you’ll be my friend back Mr. Doc Holiday.” By that time the two cow hands had already gotten up from the table and backed away slow and careful being sure not to make any moves that could be mistaken for aggression or a challenge. The two gunmen saw the look of terror on both of their faces. Clay and Doc both laughed in agreement that they just hated it when that happened. Clay glanced to the chair at the right of him and just about fell out of his laughing. Doc, dying to know what was so damn funny rose up to see a small puddle standing in the seat of the chair where one of the cowboys had been sitting just minutes before. Doc started laughing too until that annoying cough came back and took over the moment. Clay poured him a shot to try and help subdue the cough and it did to a degree. “Damn Doc. You need to do something about that cough my friend.” He said handing Doc another shot of whiskey. “I’m afraid there is nothing that can be done my new found friend. The cough is from my Tuberculosis.” That made Clay snap a fast look at his new friend in reply “Damn Doc, I hate to hear that…” he started to say something else but Doc interrupted him saying “Lets play some cards friend.” Taking the hint, Clay dealt the cards and they began to play five-card stud and talk about other things.

The two famous gunmen played poker well into the night without anyone else even acting like they were going to try to join the game. Almost everyone in the saloon watching to see which one would lose their temper first and draw down on the other. That never happened though, even as they played well into the night and got as drunk as anyone could possibly get. The two of them remained perfect gentlemen and kept their manners about them with each other. It truly was a friendly game.

The next afternoon when Clay woke up he began trying to remember just how it was he had managed to get to his room the night before, or rather that morning. The images that ran through his mind from the night before were a mere blur past the third or fourth bottle he and Doc had opened. John had left the room earlier that morning and was still gone when Clay woke up. Clay felt as if someone had beaten him in the head with a pistol butt. He knew no one had, but his head was pounding just the same. He tried to remember what had happened the night before, but the images were just too blurred to make out. He decided the only way to get rid of his headache was to drown it with some whiskey so he pulled his boots on and was going to start toward the Long Branch. ‘Hair of the dog.’ He thought to himself. As he put his hat on to walk out the door, he noticed a hole in the front of it that hadn’t been there the night before. ‘Where the hell did that come from?’ he asked himself. ‘Looks like a damn bullet hole’ he thought. He went ahead and put his hat on and started to the saloon.

“How’s your hat band Huckleberry?” Clay heard a voice call out from the corner table as he walked through the swinging doors of the bar room. He turned to look and saw his new friend Doc Holiday sitting by himself against the back wall. Once again, Clay got his own bottle and joined him. Noticing the hole Doc had in the front of his hat, Clay had to ask “Doc, what the hell is the deal with the holes in the hats do you remember?” Doc laughed and replied “Damn Huckleberry, you really don’t remember do you?” Clay shook his head with a puzzled look on his face. Doc laughed again and said “It was indeed a hot time in the old town last night. We made one hell of a bet.”

Just then, Marshal Earp came strolling thru the doors and walked straight over to the table where they sat. “Now Doc,” he started “You’re one hell of a friend, but I’ve already told you I cant have repeat from last night with you two.” He finished. “Now Wyatt, You look like a rooster with his feathers positively ruffled. What ever has set you off?” Doc replied smiling at his friend. “I gave you my word as a southern gentleman that we would not again showdown on a bet in your town streets.” Wyatt began to get red in the face as his temper heated up and he shouted “I don’t want it happening in my saloons either!” Doc began laughing and looked at Clay, “We can both give our word to that as southern gentleman now can’t we Huckleberry.” Clay nodded in puzzled agreement. After Marshal Earp had left the saloon satisfied the two would 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 chimed in. “Yes. I believe I’ll put my twenty dollars in on that bet as well Huckleberry.” Clay, seeing the gauntlet of challenge thrown down on the table in front of him felt compelled to answer the challenge by picking it up.

Clay came busting out of the stable doors at a full gallop a top of his bare back steed wearing nothing but his hat, his gun belt, and his boots. He was shooting his six-gun into the air and screaming “Yee Haw!” at the top of his lungs. Down Main Street he came racing. Tipping his hat at the ladies when he passed by the Long Branch. John and Doc stood on the wooden sidewalk in front of the saloon and laughed as they enjoyed the show Clay was giving everyone.

Wyatt came running up the sidewalk and shouting, “Doc, what the hell was that?” Doc laughed again and told him. “I don’t rightly know Wyatt. I think it was a wild Indian.” It wasn’t very long and Clay came walking up to the three of them. “You didn’t happen to see a wild Indian down that way did you Allison?” Earp asked the approaching gunman. “No I sure didn’t marshal.” Clay replied. The marshal, frustrated, grunted to himself and said, “Well if I see him again I’ll put a bullet in him.” And then turned and walked back towards the jail. The three of them, Doc, Clay, and John laughed as they went back inside the saloon to finish their bottles and play some more cards.


It was around three o’clock when Clay and John excused themselves and went back to their room at the hotel so they could rest up. They wanted to at least be at least semi fresh when they reported to the bunkhouse on the next day. Jack and Mario had already turned in for the night.

The bright morning light came beaming in on the brothers as they woke up. The both of them were blurry eyed and felt as if they were wearing fur coats on their tongues. Clay still had part of a bottle left so the two of them had a couple of shots to cure the effects from the night before.

The brothers then gathered their gear and went down to the dining room for some steak and eggs before heading out to the ranch. They walked into the café and saw Doc was there. It looked like he had just finished eating and was smoking a cigarette while he nursed a cup of coffee. “Well good morning there Huckleberry. How y’all fairing on this fine sunny morning?” Clay and John sat down with Doc and called the waitress over while they said their good mornings back to Doc. The waitress took their order, they both wanted Steak and Eggs, “and some Taters with lots of Coffee.” Clay was sure to add. They sat for a while having coffee with Doc after having ate their breakfast. They told Doc they were going out to the McNulty Ranch to ride heard.

It was early afternoon before Clay, John, and their two new travel companions arrived at the ranch and report in to the foreman to get their bunkhouse assignment so they could get settled in. As they all walked into the bunkhouse, the foreman, Donny Dodd began introducing himself to the four of them as well as all the other newly hired cowhands. Everyone was getting settled in while he explained the routines around the ranch, “Chow is at six o’clock, lunch is when you get hungry out riding, and supper is at sundown. I hand out the work assignments for the day. As long as you do the jobs I give you the best as you know how and can, and don’t buck me on what I tell you to do for the day, then we’ll all get along just fine, and you’ll have a job as long as you want one.”

‘It all sounds good to me.’ Clay thought to himself as he stored his gear and got settled in at his bunk. It was really going to be nice to not be a drifter for a change. He was tired of drifting and the problems it caused. Depending on his gambling skills, or his hunting abilities for survival. He also thought of how nice it would be to not have to worry about getting shot in the back on some town’s Main Street. That was something that was not very likely on a cattle drive.

The work was hard and steady, but Clay and John had done it before on their parent’s ranch in Tennessee when they were growing up. That made it no new big thing for them to get used too. The ranch foreman and even Mr. McNulty noticed the two of them were hard workers and was very pleased at having hired them. Not at all what they had expected to find in a known gunfighter. They were as surprised as well as pleased with the quality and amount of work Clay got accomplished. He had turned into a valuable asset to the McNulty Company.

It wasn’t long before Clay found himself being put in charge of work crews. Riding fence lines. Rounding up strays in the North Forty acres. It was shortly after noon on a Friday. Clay was on his way up a hillside chasing after a calf when he heard a shot ring out behind him. Clay dropped down out of his saddle spinning around with his gun in his hand before landing on his feet. He saw Mike Griffith about twenty feet behind him. His six-gun falling to the ground. “He was going to back shoot you Clay!” Jack called out as Mike himself slumped and fell from his saddle hitting the ground as well. “Well Jack, he’s about as stone cold dead as you can get. Much obliged.” Clay said as he examined the lifeless body of his would be assassin. “Is swear Clay, he was going to shoot you in the back.” Jack shouted out again. “Easy does it my friend.” Clay said. “I believe you. Like I said I’m much obliged to you.” He added. “Well who is he?” Jack asked. “Just a nobody wanting to be a somebody I reckon.” Clay answered.
Clay and Jack dug a hole and threw the body in it. They kept the pistol belt and pistol along with what cash the cowboy had. Again, Clay offered the bounty to Jack but again Jack declined it saying it was blood money. Clay insisted he take the six-shooter and belt though saying Mario was going to need one for the cattle drive ahead. Clay told Jack he would teach Mario to use it so he wouldn’t have to rely on that Winchester he carried around. “Sometimes on a drive you got to be faster than you can pull a rifle from the saddle.” He explained.

Clay tethered Mike’s horse to his own so he could sell it when he got back to the ranch house or on his next trip into town. Either one would work for Clay. He didn’t care which.

It was after nightfall before Clay and Jack finished rounding up the strays they were sent after and made it back to the bunkhouse. “Where’d you get the pony Clay?” A voice called out from up by the ranch house. It was Mr. McNulty. “Had to kill me a bush whacker Mr. McNulty.” Clay responded. “You wouldn’t want to buy it and the saddle for a fair price would you?” Mr. McNulty told him to put them in the barn and come on to the house and settle up. Clay did as he was told. After settling up with Mr. McNulty he walked over to the bunkhouse to get something to eat.

The morning came too quickly for Clay. It seemed as if he had just laid down when the sun came peeking over the hillside and beaming through the window. “Well Jack, time to make another day.” Clay said. “You ready?” Jack nodded as he rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. “I suppose so.” He replied. The men gathered the gear they would need for the day and walked over to the chow hall.

After filling up on Ham and Eggs with the home made Biscuits and Gravy Cookie made, they reported to Donny to get their assignment for the day. “Allison. Get two men, fill a buckboard with enough supplies and take some barbed wire. I need you to ride the fence all the way around the ranch property. Fix the downs and breaks.” Clay chose Jack and Mario to do the job with him. They loaded the wagon as they were instructed to do. Got their bed rolls and started out to tend to the fences around the perimeter of the ranch.

As they got out of site of the ranch house Clay told Jack and Mario to begin at the main entrance to the ranch and work their way west down the fence line. He was going into town he explained to pick up some extra supply’s they needed but didn’t have. He took off towards town at a fast gallop. “I thought we had all we needed on the wagon Jack.” Mario said. “Don’t ask me.” Jack replied and kept steering the wagon to where he was to go. They arrived at the main entry to the ranch property before long and began the trek down the fence line to survey for damage to repair.

It was mid afternoon before they caught sight of a single rider coming towards them. It was Clay alright. “Boy he sure ran that horse hard if he’s done been to town and back this quick.” Jack commented. “Yeah.” Mario answered back. “I wonder what he had to go and get in town.” He added as Clay got closer to them. “I don’t know, but I bet we’ll find out before long.” Jack said. “He’s almost here. Keep working.” They had found a small place in the fence where the post had rotted and was in the process of repairing it.

Clay reached the pair of workingmen and tossed a supply bag into the back of the wagon as he walked past it to approach them. “You men had lunch yet?” He asked. Both Mario and Jack told him no so they stopped what they were doing and made a fire to cook some coffee and beans. Clay had also picked up three Porterhouse steaks while he was in town and three large pieces of apple pie at the café, but the bag in the back of the wagon still had secret contents in it. Jack and Mario figured maybe it was personal items Clay needed for himself. At any rate, they figured Clay would tell them if he wanted them to know what was in the bag.

When they had all finished eating and Jack was cleaning up the campsite, Clay called Mario over to him and began to work with him on his handgun skills. Much to Clay’s surprise there wasn’t much that needed to be taught to the young man. What he and Jack hadn’t told Clay was that he and Jack served in the war as Buffalo Soldiers.

The Buffalo Soldier’s were a regiment of black men that had been recruited by the Union Army during the war to fight for their side. They were kept apart from the white soldiers, but had the best of training in warfare. These soldiers were known as the ‘Can do! Will do!’ Units of the northern fighters. After finding this out Clay knew that all Mario needed was a little tuning up on his quick draw skill. “Speed aint nothing if you shoot your toe off while yanking your pistol out.” He told Mario. Not telling him that he had personal experience in that particular area.

After everything was loaded into the wagon and they made sure the campfire was put out properly they began working their way down the fence line once again looking for more rotten post or downed barbed wire.

It turned nightfall and they hadn’t found any more breaches in the fence so they decided to set up camp and get a fresh start in the morning. As Jack got a fire going and supper started, Clay worked with Mario some more on his fast draw. Mario was getting to be a fair draw already and Clay thought to himself the boy was a natural.

Morning came and the cowboys had broken camp. They had been riding for about four hours and were getting ready for a lunch break when they came up on a fairly good size opening in the fence. There were downed post and cut barbed wire, and it stretched as far as the eye could see. Clay rode along the breach to find a clue as to what may have caused the breach. He already had a feeling but he needed to verify it before sending Mario for reinforcements. He had ridden about a hundred yards when he crossed trails with several hoof prints. He turned his horse around and galloped back to where Mario and Jack were waiting. “Looks like about a dozen riders came in here. Rustlers most likely.” He said. “Mario. You grab a horse and go back to the ranch house and get Mr. McNulty to send for the law. Then bring him back here with a few more hands to help round these cattle thieves up. I’m going to track ‘em and I’ll meet everyone back here. Be sure to hurry up about it. I think they’re still on the property. I didn’t see any tracks going out and the tracks look fresh.” Mario rushed to saddle a horse as Clay started out tracking the trespassers. Mario rode out toward the ranch house like he was told to do and Jack Took up watch station on the fence line from behind some nearby woods.

It was almost dark when Mario arrived at the ranch house and alerted Mr. McNulty of what was happening. He relayed Clay’s message just like Clay had told him. The he and Mr. McNulty went over the bunkhouse to alert the foreman. When they arrived at the bunkhouse it didn’t take long to locate Donny and tell him what was going on. Donny called out. “Ok boys, Clay thinks we got rustlers on the ranch. Get your guns and gear. We mount up and ride in five minutes to go meet with him and track ‘em down.”

Clay and Jack were running a cold camp when Mario returned to them with Donny and the other ranch hands. Clay filled the boss in on what he had found and let him know he had lost the trail in the dark. He told him he was planning to scout the trail out again first thing come sun up and see about finding the trespassers then. “They shouldn’t be too hard to catch up too if they’re driving a herd.” Donny called out to a couple of the men to stand watch and ordered some others to relieve them every two hours. “The rest of us need to rest up in case something happens.” He said.

Morning came and when Donny woke up he saw that Clay had already left along with Jack. The two of them had left when the sunrise first began to peek over the ridge. They had picked up the trail they sought after early that morning and had been trailing the trespassers ever since then. It was mid afternoon when they caught up to the crew that had been rounding up cattle to rustle all that day and the day before.

Jack and Clay slid back from their vantage point trying to be careful not to be detected and Clay instructed Jack to ride back and get the others while he kept a watchful eye on the rustlers. Jack rode hard and fast back to the rest of the ranch hands to report and show them a shortcut to where Clay was. “It looks like rustlers alright.” He told Donny. “They got themselves a pretty good size herd rounded up and they’re already changing the brands on the critters.”

It hadn’t been very long when Jack, Mario and the rest of the crew caught up with Clay. Clay caught Donny up on the activities of the camp below and suggested a plan for approaching the cattle thieves. Donny liked Clay’s plan for capturing the crooks so he gathered all the ranch hands together to set it into motion.

One third of them went to the north side of the camp. One third went to the southeast, and the final third to the southwest. All three groups spread out into twenty five foot intervals and tightened the circle until the thieves were trapped and couldn’t escape. They had them surrounded. The plan came off without a hitch and the ranch hands managed to capture the entire gang without firing a shot.

Donny sent one of the ranch hands off to meet Mr. McNulty and to bring back four wagons. He had all the would be rustlers disarmed and tied up by then and all they had to do was guard them and wait for the ranch owner to give the order to hang them. “These scoundrels aint going no where.” He said. Then he ordered two men to stand guard on the prisoners while the rest of them made camp. He added, “Might be morning before the boss gets here with the sheriff.”

Mr. McNulty arrived the next morning with the four wagons that Donny had told the trail hand to bring back. It was shortly after breakfast and Clay and Donny met him with a cup of coffee in their hands. They talked for a few minutes and then walked with him over to look the captured gang over. He recognized two or three of them. “These here used to work for me. I don’t recollect ever seeing any of the rest of them.” He said. “Well boss, you want us to take ‘em into town or hang ‘em here?” Donny asked. “Hang ‘em here.” The older boss man said. “And let the wolves feed on their carcasses. I’ll go into town and make a report of this to the marshal so it’ll be legal. Don have some of the men start making nooses, and trim some of the branches on those trees over there in that grove to make room for the ropes.

When that had been done, Donny told the ranch hands to allow the gang to make peace with God and to grant them a last request as long as it was with in reason while they waited for Mr. McNulty to return with the judge’s order. An older man among the crew asked to see the boss to make his final wish.

Early afternoon had come and the thieves had all almost finished eating their lunch and making their various requests. Some riders were approaching from the direction of town. It was Mr. McNulty, Marshal Earp, and the town Judge. There were three other riders and not very far behind them was a lone rider. The lone rider turned out to be Doc Holiday. ‘We’ll I’ll be damn.’ Clay thought to himself. ‘I didn’t think he ever left town.’

When all the riders had arrived at the campsite, Donny called Mr. McNulty over to speak with the old rustler and hear his last request. Mr. McNulty had a reputation of being a man of conscience and principle. He was known for his fairness in everything he did. The old rustler had prayed earnestly the Mr. McNulty would grant his last request.

“I appreciate you hearing me before I hang sir.” The old man started. “I’ve done a lot of things in my lifetime I’m not proud of and I’ve been praying to the Lord All Mighty to help me be man enough to do something right before I leave this world for Hell. My last request is not for myself Mr. McNulty. It’s for my Grandsons over there. I want to request you let them go sir. The only reason they’re here is because I am. One of them is thirteen and the other one if fourteen. They’re way too young to hang. They have their whole lives ahead of them and I think when they see us hang, it will be a law abiding one. Please sir, have mercy on them boys, and let them go. It’s the right thing to do.”

The old man had finished pleading his request to Mr. McNulty and was again praying for mercy that God would touch the ranch owner’s heart and grant his last wish for the boy’s lives. Mr. McNulty walked over to Marshal Earp, and the Judge and told them the ages of the two boys the old man had pointed out. He told them he didn’t believe it to be the Christian thing to do if they were to hang with the rest. A youngster that age needed a whipping, not a hanging. The judge agreed with him so the old rustlers wish was granted.
“It took some tall talking Old timer.” Mr. McNulty said to the old man. “But the Judge and the Marshal finally agreed to giving the boys a whipping and making them watch the hangings. Load the first four in the wagons boy’s.” He then yelled out.

“Gentleman. I am Judge Mosley of Dodge City.” The Judge started speaking. “I have been informed of the charges against you all and shown the proof. I have hereby found you all guilty of cattle rustling and sentence you all to death by hanging. May God have mercy on your souls. If any man here wants to contest these charges now is the time to speak up.”

Only one of the outlaws stepped forward and spoke. He claimed he was just passing through when the gang offered him a job as a ranch hand. “I swear to you I didn’t know these here cows didn’t belong to these boys.” He proclaimed. “I’m innocent I tell you.” Mr. McNulty walked over to the old rustler and asked him if the man was telling the truth. The old thief shook his head and said, “No sir. You’re a fair man that deserves the truth. That Son bitch there is the boss and he’s lying thru his teeth.” Mr. McNulty nodded in appreciation to the old man and turned back around to face the Lead Thief. Looking him straight in the eye he called out, “Clay, I want this one hung first. After all, bosses should get to go first. Besides, I don’t want to listen to him whine.” Clay responded with a grin and a yes sir.

The cow thief was drug onto the wagon kicking, screaming, and crying like a baby. He called out for his mamma as the ranch hands fought to get him to his feet. Seeing how restless and upset he was making the rest of the rustlers, Mr. McNulty called out to Clay. “Allison, just shoot that tit baby!” Clay gladly obliged. Afterward, the ranch hands began hanging the rustlers four at a time giving each of them the option of taking the coward’s way out which was to be shot in the head instead. Some chose being shot and others fought against the ranch hands as they were drug to the ropes for their execution.
They were down to the last five outlaws when Mr. McNulty instructed the two boys to be removed from the rest and tied to a couple of nearby trees. The two boys objected as they were drug to the trees. They didn’t know about the plea their Grandfather had made for their lives and demanded to know what was happening. “You two go the distance.” Mr. McNulty told the youngsters. The younger of the two boys began to sob as he looked around at all of his dead friends hang with his Grandfather hanging from the closest tree. It was as if for the first time, he was realizing that this was no game. The oldest youngster, seeing his little brother breaking down began to crack as well. The remainders of the rustlers were loaded into the wagons as the two boys watched in horror. They got a clear look of the ropes stretching tight and strangle the life from last of the gang. They saw their feet kick in search of something to stand on and heard the choking sounds coming from them while the life drained out of their former friends.

“Now for you two.” Mr. McNulty said turning to the boys. “That old man hanging there thinks you two might be worth saving. He did some mighty tall talking on your behalf’s and I promised him I would spare your lives. You two will get a whipping though so you’re going to wish you were dead. Donny, you and Allison whip ‘em.”

The whipping that Mr. McNulty had in mind wasn’t one to be taken lightly. Donny collected two horse whips from the wagons. Each one of the boys was to receive ten lashes. This would keep their minds sharp about what had happened today. As if they would ever forget it anyway but the boys had to be punished for their part in the rustling. The lashes were administered as ordered, and when finished the boys were barely able to stand. “Cookie.” Mr. McNulty called to the outfit’s cook and trail Doctor. “Tend to these boys.” He ordered. “Yes sir.” The cook replied.

Both boys had severe cuts on their back from the horse whipping. Clay and Donny didn’t take it light on them. If anything they were more intense. They wanted to be sure these boys turned to more legal means of making a living.

Mr. McNulty walked up while Cookie was still putting the Lanolin on their wounds. “How long have you two been with your grandfather?” He asked. “Ever since we was little bitty.”
The oldest boy answered. “Our ma and pa was kilt by injuns and he took us in. We been with him ever since. Now what happens to us?” Mr. McNulty thought for a few minutes before speaking again. Then he said, “I tell you what boys. I seriously doubt you two have the know how to make an honest living. I hate to see your grandfather’s gift of a second chance for you to go to waste so I’m going to offer you both a job with my outfit. It will give you honest work for fair pay. It’s your choice though. You can work for me or go with the marshal and he’ll find a good Christian family to take you both in until your old enough to fend for yourselves. I’ll let you two talk about what y’all want to do, and you can let me know after we finish burying these men. I’d like to teach you an honest means of living though if you’ll give me a chance.” Then he turned and walked away.

Cookie had finished doctoring the boys long before the burial work was done. The boys talked over Mr. McNulty’s proposal and decided to sign on with him. They walked over to Mr. McNulty and the oldest boy spoke. “Mr. McNulty sir, we would be much obliged to you if you would give us a chance to work for you.” He said. “The jobs are yours.” Mr. McNulty replied. Then he called Donny over. “This is your new boss boys. Do what he tells you and you’ll work out just fine.” The ranch owner instructed. The boys acknowledged their instructions and followed Donny off to help with the work. They, of course were a little slow about moving. The twang of the whipping still burning in to them. Mr. McNulty told Donny to take it easy on them until they recovered.

The first thing Donny assigned them to do was to fill in their grandpa’s grave. The old timer was the only one that Mr. McNulty had authorized a marker for with his name on it. The rest of them just had “Cattle Rustler” on them. The only reason he did for him was for the boy’s benefit. Mr. McNulty let the boys have their grandfather’s belongings as well. The ranch hands got to divide the rest of the gang’s property.

Donny approached the boys after he saw they were through with putting their grandfather to rest. “You boys got names?” He asked them. Again, the oldest was the one to speak. “Yes sir, mine is Ricky, and this is my little brother Joey.” Then Donny asked. “I suppose y’all know how to rope and ride?” The boy responded with a yes sir and told Donny to just let them know where he wanted them. The foreman thought about it for a few minutes then he shouted, “Hey Clay.” Clay started walking over to them and he continued. “I want Ricky here to work with you, and Joey can ride with me for now. Until we see what you boys can do anyway.” The boys acknowledged their instructions and got ready to mount up. Clay, Jack, Mario, and now Ricky set back about the business of riding the fence line beginning at the large breach.

By the time they finished repairing the fence where the now dead outlaw gang had came onto the property, it was almost sunset. Clay, keeping in mind the boy now with them had taken a man’s whipping earlier that day. He decided to go ahead make camp for the night right there.

“I aint never ate with no niggers before.” Ricky said as Mario handed him a plate of beans and Ham Hocks. “That’s alright boy.” Jack replied. “We aint never ate with a cattle thief before either. I guess it’s a first time for both of us aint it?” He finished. “Do me a favor though if you would please. Don’t call us niggers. We’re men just like any other man and we have names. Or do you have a problem sharing a fire with a black man?” He asked the youngster. “If you do your more than welcome to go sit your skinny little ass on that rock over there and eat by yourself in the dark.” The boy, with a look of surprise on his face explained to Jack he had no problem with black men. “That’s all I’ve ever heard ‘em called sir. I won’t call that word again. Powerful sorry if I made you mad.” Clay interrupted by saying, “No harm done boy. Finish eating your beans. We got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” Everyone finished eating in silence.

The sun rose the next morning and Ricky woke to the smell of coffee and bacon cooking. It seemed to him as if any direction he moved he could feel the flesh being torn from off his back. “Oh Jesus!” He cried out when he tried to get up from where he had been sleeping. Mario went over to him and offered to help him up for which he was grateful. “I know how it feels the day after a whipping from when I was a slave.” Mario told him as he extended his hand. “No one is going to think you’re a baby for needing help.” Clay told Ricky to ride in the wagon with Mario for the day so it wouldn’t be so ruff on him. Mario doctored his wounds again after breakfast and they loaded up the wagon to continue on their work.

The day progressed without incident or episode. The minor breaches in the fence line were easily repaired. Ricky and Mario seemed to be getting along real well as they worked together. Clay noted that Ricky was a hard worker even though he tended to talk the whole time he was doing his job. Mostly about his grandfather and his past. He did his job well enough though Clay thought.

“How long you been riding with this outfit?” Ricky asked Mario. “We’ve been with Mr. McNulty about a month,” Mario replied. “But me and Jack have been riding with Clay and his brother almost six months.” Ricky was surprised at his answer. He told Mario that he did his job like he had been doing it a long time. Mario explained to him, “You get the hang of it after a couple of days. Fixing fences aint that hard.”

“Well, what’s his story?” Ricky asked Mario turning his attention toward Clay. “Is he always this uptight?” Mario gave a small laugh as he gave Ricky the answers. “Believe me my new friend. He’s not uptight. You’ll know when he is I’m telling you. It’s just the way his voice carries and the way he holds himself that makes him seem that way. No different than any other gunfighter I suppose.” Hearing that, Ricky’s look snapped from Mario to Clay. “He’s a gunfighter?” The youngster asked in amazement. “He sure is. A good one too.” Mario answered. “Aint you ever heard of Clay Allison? Well, that’s him.” He said. Ricky got pale in the face and sickly looking. “I almost drew on him under the trees yesterday. I’m glad I didn’t now. Wow! God really did want me to have a second chance.” He said. Mario and Ricky worked the rest of the day beside each other carrying on a long conversation about their task master.

Mario told Ricky of how him and Jack came to meet the famous gunfighter and how he helped them carry out their justice. “He’s really a man with good morals.” Mario said several times before the day was over.

The sun was beginning to go down and dark was closing in on the work crew. Clay had been gone a few hours now leaving Jack in charge of the boy’s and the work at hand. Jack was the only one he had told he was going into town to get some supplies for the night. Beef steaks, potatoes, some whiskey, and some sasperilla for the boy. He didn’t know if Ricky had been introduced to whiskey yet in his life or not. In Clay’s opinion though, the boy way too young to drink it. He did know however, Mario didn’t drink whiskey, so the sasperilla was for them. He planned to get enough for the both of them to have a couple each. They had both put in a full day of man’s work so Clay thought they both deserved a treat.

Clay returned from town with the goodie’s just as the sun started disappearing over the rise. The sky had become red as he looked across the prairie and it seemed all was at peace with creation. There were only a few clouds scattered in the skyline giving it majestic sort of a view.

The four of them sat around the camp fire talking after finishing off the food Clay had brought from town. Clay and Jack were drinking on the bottle of whiskey and the boys enjoying their sasperilla. “I’m not used to getting to eat like this without, well, you know.” Ricky said. “Thank you Mr. Clay. It sure was good.” Clay smiled at the youngster and told him he was welcome. “You worked hard today boy. You deserved a good meal.” He said as he finished rolling a cigarette and lit it. “I don’t mind doing for honest and hard workers.” He continued speaking to the youngster.

“Hello in the camp.” A voice called out from the darkness. “Can I come in for some of that coffee I smell?” The voice continued. “Keep your digits where I can see ‘em and come on in.” Clay called back to the voice. A single shadow came into the light of the fire. He was in his late twenties Clay guessed. Not a bad looking kid. He looked familiar even though Clay couldn’t place where he had seen him. This put Clay on his defensive. He hated when he got those feelings. The young man was about five foot five, had long black pony tails braided down each side of his head. He had on a black outfit decorated with silver and his pistol belt sported two chrome six shooters on each hip. The stranger looked to be a half breed. Half black and half Chinese. “Names Jason. Much obliged to you for sharing your fire and coffee.” He said in a low smooth voice. “I was told the McNulty spread was out this way. You wouldn’t know which way it is from here would you?” He asked. “You’re on it.” Clay answered. “What’s your business with it?” Clay asked the smooth talking stranger.

“I’ve heard they got a fella there I’ve been trying to track down for some time. Maybe y’all know where I can find him. His name’s Clay Allison. Do y’all know if he’s working out there?” Jason inquired further. Clay told him that Mr. Allison was still working there then asked him, “You gonna kill him. I noticed your iron is tied down. Are you a gunfighter looking for a reputation mister?” Jason cackled a little and replied laughingly. “Well, I only use these when I absolutely have too, and then I only aim for the hands or arms. I’m a man of God so I don’t kill. I do owe Mr. Allison a dept though and I do intend to pay him.” Clay, sizing the man up kept asking questions. “What kind of dept mister? You plan on shooting him in the hands?” The stranger continued answering, “No, not at all. I was living in Virginia a couple years back with my wife when four union soldiers came on our farm. They beat me down and put me in the barn and were fixing to have their way with my wife when this stranger rode up. My eyes were filled with blood and I could hardly see him, but he stood across from the soldiers and called for ‘em to draw on him. Craziest thing I ever saw. That stranger shot all four of them down before the first one ever cleared leather. I never did get a good look at the strangers face, but I found out later it was a man called Clay Allison. That man saved mine and my wife’s lives that day and I intend on thanking him proper. Not with some letter from a name he wouldn’t know if he read it.”

“What you don’t know stranger is those same four soldiers raped and killed my ma and pa when I was a youngster. I saw them in one of the battles we were fighting in the war and started trailing them. I killed those bastards because of that. You don’t owe me anything. It was a pleasure all my own. But, so you don’t think me rude, your welcome. I’m Clay Allison.” The known gunslinger said. “You’re welcome to camp the night here and we can talk in the morning. We got some whiskey if you’d rather have that than coffee.” Jason reminded Clay he was a man of God with a thanks and said the coffee would do just fine.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a gun slinging parson before.” Jack interrupted. “Especially a half black and half Chinese one.” He said. “That’s half Korean and half black Jack. Mr. Allison, thank you just the same for saving me from becoming a killer. I believe God sent you to me in my biggest time of need on that farm and I’m grateful you listened to him. I’ve had you in my prayers every since that day and will continue to pray for you until I die.”

“So how is your wife doing these days Jason?” Clay asked changing the subject. Everyone around the camp was starting to relax a little now the tension was lifting. “I lost her a last year to pneumonia. The Lord took her home.” He replied. “She never forgot what you did either. She prayed for you everyday just like I did.” Clay gave a look of condolence and replied, “Sorry to hear about your loss. Get yourself some steak and taters to go with that coffee if you’re a mind too and tell me what the deal is with the gunfighter look. That is one fancy outfit you and your horse have on. You look like your in one of those rodeo shows. No offence meant. What’s the idea?”

“That’s a story all in itself Mr. Clay. After my wife passed over to the Lord, I sold off everything we had. I bought that horse and rig. Then I bought this outfit and pistol belt. I had the gunsmith special make me four of these six shooters.” Then he walked over to his saddle and untied a package that was fastened to it. He brought the package to Clay and said, “This is for you sir. It would be an honor for you to accept it from me and mine.” Clay opened the package and inside he found a two gun pistol belt and an oak box. Inside the oak box was two chrome Colt .45 caliber pistols. They were the finest pair of hog legs he’d ever seen he said as he strapped on the gun belt. The balance on them was perfect and the action was the smoothest he’d ever felt on a six shooter. He loaded the two guns up and tied the quick draw straps down. He walked over some distance from the camp fire and lined up some targets to try them out. Ricky and Jason were amazed at the lightening speed and accuracy of Clay’s deadly draw as he shot the targets into oblivion. Of course so were Jack and Mario, but they had seen Clay in action once before. “My wife said you were fast but I really had no idea you were that fast.” Jason said. “Like I said I had blood in my eyes when you killed those soldiers so I really couldn’t see that well. They never had a chance did they?” Clay didn’t answer. Ricky just sat quiet. He was awe struck by what he’d just seen the gunman do. Clay walked back toward the campfire and as he passed Ricky the young cowboy said, “My God, that’s the most unbelievable thing I ever saw.” That got a wicked looking smile from Clay as he walked up to Jason and said. “These are the nicest pistols I think I’ve ever had the pleasure of shooting. The balance is perfect and the barrels are true. I can’t accept these though. I would have done the same thing for any man, besides, I just don’t like Blue Bellies anyhow.” Everyone laughed as he said that but Jason insisted he take the guns. He told Clay that he had promised his wife on her death bed that he would give Clay something that would always protect him, and those were all he could think of to do it. “Besides, your initials are carved into the handgrips.” Jason finished. Clay pulled one of the guns out and saw a “C.A.” carved into the cherry wood grip and inlayed with pearl. He hadn’t noticed that before. “Well, I don’t suppose it would be right for me to stand in the way of you keeping a promise. I’m much obliged to you for the presents. They’re real nice.” He noticed his initials were inlayed on each holster too. “It is entirely my pleasure”. Jason said.

“Well now that’s settled. Let’s see you shoot there Mr. Fancy Pants.” Clay said laughingly. “Nah, I’m not near as good as you.” Jason replied. “Come on now.” Clay insisted. “I’ll bet you aint no slouch either.”

Jason walked over to where Clay had been standing when he was trying out his new hardware. He loosened a little bit and as Ricky blinked his eyes, Jason’s six guns went off in unison. The flower bulbs on a distant cactus exploded to signify that Jason’s aim was deadly to go with his speed if he so chose it to be. “Wow!” Ricky couldn’t help but let the word of admiration slip out. “Did you see that Mario?” He asked his new friend. “Yeah I did.” Mario replied. “I think your just plain modest, or you’d make one hell of a poker player Jason. Which is it?” Jason just smiled and said, “All I do is practice everyday. After that day the soldiers came I swore I would never be defenseless again. Now I mostly practice in case I ever need to step up for someone like a stranger once did for me.”

“Well you know we got to see who’s fastest. Me or you.” Clay said. The mood in the camp got serious and the tension mounted. “Clay! That man is a friend to you!” Jack shouted. “Oh hell, not that way.” Clay responded. “The way me and Doc Holiday did. How fond of your hat are you Jason?” He asked. Jason gave Clay a puzzled look and answered with a question. “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” Clay began to explain. “me and Doc had us a contest of speed with the agreement that we’d only aim for the hat. Are you interested?” Jason thought for a minute or two and then said, “Why not. Sounds like it might be fun to see who wins.”

The men walked out from the camp a few paces. Staying within the light of the fire so they could see each other’s hats. As they faced each other Clay said, “I’ll give you the first move youngster.” As he took his stance.

The two men stood across from each other for what seemed like an eternity to the onlookers. Suddenly with lightening speed Jason made his move. As his pistol was about to reach its mark, His hat went flying off like a bird with a good tail wind. “I think Clay was just toying around with everybody when he was target practicing a while ago.” Ricky said to Mario. “Oh I knew he was. I’ve seen him draw and shoot when he was serious.” Mario told the young blonde cowhand. “Wow Mr. Clay. I guess I’ve got a need to keep practicing. You made that challenge just to teach me something didn’t you?” Jason said with a smile. “I like you Jason and I want you to stay in good health.” Clay started. “I felt obligated to give you the benefit of my experiences. You just learned lesson one. Lesson two is never let an enemy know just how fast you really are. A good gunfighter always holds back just a little bit unless he’s in a shootout with another man.” Clay told Jason solemnly. “I appreciate the good advise Mr. Clay.” The Godly young man responded. “I’ll never forget the lessons.” He said.

The next morning they all had a good breakfast before Clay and his crew set about their work, and young Jason saddled his horse and rode off his own direction.

The day had lingered for what seemed like forever. The heat made the workers feel as if they were slow roasting in the sun. At one point Jack even said that now he knew what a pig felt like. The next few days that followed were the same and it seemed like there would be no end to the heat wave. When they reach back to where they began riding fence, it was a welcome sight indeed. The crew had mended so many breaches in the fence line Clay was surprised Mr. McNulty hadn’t lost more cattle than he had.

Mr. McNulty, being very pleased with the crew, and grateful for the capture of the cattle rustlers gave the fence crew, except for Ricky of coarse a bonus and the weekend off. Clay, not caring what the rest of the crew did on their time off collected his bonus and rode off towards town.

Clay hadn’t seen Doc or Marshal Earp since he had gotten to town. He heard they were off looking for some guy that robbed the stage coach. Clay thought to himself that it must have been some guy that Doc didn’t like because he didn’t do the lawman thing.

Clay got himself a bottle and found a nice corner table to get a friendly game going. It didn’t take long to get enough people for the game to start. Clay was having a fair run in the game and enjoying himself when a farm hand came in talking about how some other farmer went crazy and killed his wife and kids and was running loose somewhere.

Clay finished his hand and got up from the table. He began to organize a posse to go and find the mad man. After organizing all the volunteers he could get, the men rode out to the farm to talk to the witnesses and pick up any trail they might be able to find.

The scene at the farm house was a gruesome one. The woman had been hacked to death with an axe. It looked as if the children were killed in their sleep. Clay’s temper flew out of control when he saw the dead family. “We’ve got to put this Mad Dog down.” He said to the posse. “Any man that would do this to a woman and children is out of his mind. He’ll be like a cornered animal when we find him men. Be ready.”

One of the men riding with Clay picked up the trail leaving the south side of the farm. He signaled the others and the hunt began for the killer. They had been trailing the man for about four hours when another posse member found the bloody axe used in the murders. That reassured the men they were on the right trail.

Clay had ridden ahead of the posse when he heard the sound of someone talking off to one side of the trail. He saw a horse wandering loose a few yards ahead so he stopped and dismounted from his steed. He walked closer and could see a figure pacing back and forth behind some brush with a pistol in his hand.

It was their killer alright. He was covered in blood and rambling “I’ve got to go back and get the rest of the women and kid’s safe. The lord will protect them when I send ‘em” Clay tip toed up behind the man and knocked the gun from his hand. “No you won’t. I got something better in mind for you. Why don’t you go wait for ‘em.” Clay tied the crazy mans hands behind his back and threw a lasso around his neck. He tied the other end of the rope to his saddle horn. Then Clay kicked his horse in the flanks and took off with his prisoner dragging behind him. As he rode past the rest of the posse he shouted, “We got him boys. Look at that, here he comes now.” Then he gave out that maniacal laugh he was so well known for.

The men in the posse looked at one another with shocked looks all around. One of then asked, “Well do we go after him?” Another replied. “Not me brother, I aint stupid. You go arrest him if you want to.” The men mounted up and started back to the farm house to give the murdered family a Christian burial.

There were people running outside of the saloons and diners as Clay rode into town shooting his six guns into the air and dragging the long dead family killer behind him. He stopped at a light post and threw his rope over the top of it. Using his horse he pulled the dead mans body up and then tied it off so it would hang there. Around the dead mans neck he hung a sign that read, “This is a killer of women and children.” After that Clay returned to the Long Branch and got another bottle.

Clay had gotten another card game going when he heard a familiar voice ring out, “Well Huckleberry, I see you’ve been busy.” It was his good friend Doc Holiday. “You know Wyatt’s going to be in here to ask you about that display in the street.” He said. “I don’t care; he can ask all he wants.” Clay replied back. Clay continued with his game it seemed without a care in the world. The truth was. He really didn’t care. A chair opened up at the table and Doc sat down to join the game.

Marshal Earp came in and walked over to the table. “Allison, you want to tell me about that body hanging off the lamp post?” He asked straight forward. “I like a man that’s to the point Marshal.” Clay answered. “The man was a murderer of women and children, and I heard him say he was planning to murder some more of ‘em so I stopped him from doing it. Saved the town from having to feed him while I was at it. I aint broke no laws Marshal. I felt it my duty to save lives.” He finished stating his case. “Good enough for me.” Marshal Earp said and he turned and walked away.

Clay awoke to the sound of some men in the street taking down the body he had hung up the night before. It was a clear and warm morning and Clay thought he would take a little walk before going to the diner for some breakfast. As he walked out the door of the motel he passed by Doc sitting in a chair watching the goings on. “Morning Doc.” He said. “I’m headed down for some breakfast. Care to join me?” Doc told him that he had eaten his already, but would see him later at the card table. “Be sure and bring your money now Huckleberry.” He said.

It was close to noon when Clay walked into the Long Branch. Doc was sitting at his usual corner table and was waiting for enough people to sit down for a card game. Clay got a bottle and walked over and sat with him for some conversation while they both waited for more players to show.

Sheriff Masterson came into the saloon with two of his deputy’s. He walked directly over to the table where Doc and Clay were sitting. “Clay Allison, I’m here to arrest you for the killing of that farmer we had to cut down this morning. You need to surrender you guns and come with me.” Clay and Doc looked at each other with grins on their faces. Doc looked at the sheriff and said. “Now Bat. Why did you find it necessary to wait for Wyatt to leave town to try this? Could it be he told you the matter was settled? And don’t you think the playing field is a little uneven? You may want to get a couple of more deputies’ to make it a fair fight. I promised Wyatt I wouldn’t kill you, but I don’t believe this gentleman has given any such word.” Clay interrupted with a few comments of his own. “Sheriff, I don’t think I like you, and I don’t think I’ll let you arrest me today. In fact I think you might want to leave town until the real law gets back for your own protection. If I see you again I’m just going to half to kill you. Now git!” Clay drew his pistols and began shooting knocking the six guns out of their holsters on the gun belts of all three law men. The men ran out of the bar and left town to go find Marshal Earp in fear that Clay might decide to start aiming for something a little more essential to them.

Clay got back to the ranch late Sunday night played some cards with John and the others before turning in. Morning came and Mr. McNulty sent for Clay. “I heard you got into a little bit of a hassle with Bat Masterson over the weekend.” He said to Clay as he walked into the main house. “I need you to go on an errand for me. It’ll probably be best for you to be scarce around here for a few days anyhow.” Clay began to object but Mr. McNulty was not hearing any of it. “I’m not going to have one of my best men in jail or dead when we start this drive. I need you to go to New Mexico for me and that’s final.” Finally Clay agreed to go but he insisted on stopping off in town to let everyone know where he was going in case Bat wanted to look him up he said.

Clay had gotten settled in and was enjoying a card game before handling his business for Mr. McNulty in the morning. The saloon doors swung open and in walked a familiar face. Clay knew this man from his past. He had beaten the man’s uncle almost to death while escaping from the union army a couple of years back. Zachary Colbert was a ferryman at the Red River crossing Clay had used to escape. Clay later found out the ferry operator gave pursuing soldiers direction of his trail. Chunk Colbert was a mouthy and disrespectful sort of man and had vowed revenge in the name of his uncle. He was always rude to the ladies and mean to the kids. Clay could hardly control his anger when he saw how Chunk did. He even once walked up Chunk and asked him, “How are you when they come with a little muscle?” So Chunk didn’t much care for Clay either. Chunk was already known for killing seven men with his gun skills, and thought Clay would make number eight.

“Pull yourself up a chair Colbert.” Clay said to the man as he approached to table. “Have a drink and speak your mind.” The man sat down and poured a drink. “What brings you to this neck of the woods Allison?” Colbert asked. “You know how much I want to kill you.” He said. “Yeah I know, and my body’s all a tremble.” Clay answered back. “I just figured we’d get a drink and a steak before we go to killing.”

The day passed by and the two went to the diner for a steak dinner. As they were eating Clay suggested they meet in the street first thing in the morning. “Nah, I’m tired of looking at you now.” Colbert said going for his gun. He barely had time to finish speaking before Clay responded by putting a bullet between the would be killers eyes. Luckily for Clay that time his adversary’s gun hit the bottom side of the table and went off prematurely. If it hadn’t been for that, Clay would have been caught off guard and probably killed.

The Sheriff and his deputy’s rushed in with their guns in hand. He closed on Clay asking what happened. Clay explained they were drinking and eating and discussing when to have a gunfight to end their feud once and for all. “If you two hated each other so bad what the hell did you buy him supper for?” Clay looked back at the Sheriff and simply answered, “I didn’t want to send him to hell on an empty stomach.” All the Sheriff could do was shake his head in disbelief and say. “Damn if I aint heard it all now.” Clay sat back down and finished his steak as the deputy’s hauled out the body to take to the Mortician.

It was almost sun down when Clay rode past the entrance of the ranch. He was returning with the two thoroughbred horses that Mr. McNulty had sent him after. They were fantastic specimens of horse flesh but Clay really didn’t understand why he had to go get them. ‘I guess the old goat just worries about me.’ He thought to himself. He turned the horses over to the stable hand and went to the bunk house.

“Well did Chicken and his Chicks come looking for me after I left?” He asked John as he sat down to eat some stew. “No, but Marshal Earp came thru and said he would consider it a personal favor if you’d not scare Bat anymore. He said he’d appreciate you not killing him either.” John replied laughingly. Clay just laughed and finished his stew.

Morning came and Mr. McNulty was waiting outside after everyone had finished breakfast. He divided the men up into four crews and told all of them they were going to be putting their herd in with another herd from the adjoining ranch. The men were assigned the task of rounding up the remaining strays and then moving the whole herd to the west end of the ranch property. The Siringo ranch was going to be moving their herd to the east side of their property and the two herds would be made one. He told them the drive was set to start three weeks from Monday.

The Siringo Ranch had around fifteen hundred head of cattle of its own. Adding that to the two thousand head of Mr. McNulty was going to make for a sizable drive. Mr. Siringo didn’t have as many cowhands as Mr. McNulty did so the drive wasn’t going to be easy. But everyone felt they could handle the job.

The crews dispersed and went to work as they were told. Clays crew had John, Mario, Jack, Ricky and couple of others. Hoyt and Tex were two of the cow hands Clay had become good friends with. Besides that, those two were suckers at the poker table but couldn’t resist a game. They spent all week rounding up strays and moving them to the west end of the ranch. When Friday came a rider approached the crew from the ranch with word that Mr. McNulty said for them to take the weekend off and a skeleton crew was going to watch the herd and they would get the next weekend off. The rider told Clay it was up to them who got the first weekend of his crew.

Clay enjoyed the quiet with Mario and Ricky as the weekend rolled by. Not much to do but sit around and play cards by the camp fire light, help Mario some more with his hand gun skills, and talk about things done in the past. Ricky was the one asking all the questions. Clay decided that this would be the one and only time he would talk about his past to anyone. Besides he’d always heard it was good for the soul to tell of your own wrongs to another and he knew these boys wouldn’t tell anyone else. Even if they did, who ever they told would dismiss their stories as tall tales.

“Who’s the first man you ever kilt?” Ricky asked Clay wanting to hear all about it. Clay, not wanting to disappoint his young audience thought for a minute before answering. “The first men I ever killed was during the war. My squad was shooting at their squad. We ran out of bullets and had to fight hand to hand. That was when I found out I was really good with a knife. It’s a feeling I hope you boys never have to feel. Knowing you took another mans life. It turned me cold to the way other people feel and that’s a hollow living.” He told the boys. “I know that’s not exactly the story you had in mind so I will tell you about a man named Johnson. I had started myself a little spread outside of Cimarron with three hundred head that I had earned as a bonus from the L.G. Coleman and Irvin Lacy. This guy was trying to steal my water rights and I wasn’t having it. We decided to dig a grave that the two of us would get in with our knives and settle it like gentleman. We agreed the winner would fill the hole in on the loser.” Ricky’s eyes were wide and full of anticipation as he listened. “Wow” was all he could say as Clay kept talking.

“Of course you know once you’ve killed a man, you have to grow eyes in the back of your head to watch for his friends. After I buried that water thieving scamp I wound up getting in several fights. Cut up a lot of men. Got cut by a couple of them. Shot a few men and sent ‘em to their maker. But I always managed to keep upright. I always had better morals then them I shot down or whooped. In fact I wrote a news paper once and got ‘em straight. They said I was a vicious killer and robber and I told ‘em real quick. ”I never robbed nobody, and I never killed any man that didn’t need killing." I also told ‘em where they could find me if they wanted to discuss the matter and I would be glad to explain it to ‘em.”

Clay got quiet and the boys could tell he was getting irritated with that memory, so they changed the subject to ranching. “What happened to your ranch Clay?” Mario asked. “Oh I have a friend running it so I could move around a while. I figured out I wasn’t ready to settle down yet.” Clay answered. “Still lots of this country I aint seen.” Clay went on to tell the boys he had built his ranch into a quite profitable operation.

The weekend had rolled by and the crew was back hard at work getting the last of the strays gathered up and relocated to the west fence line. Clay partnered with Ricky, answering most of the questions the boy had and trying to guide him in the right direction of the law. Other than the annoyance of the youth the week passed uneventful. They killed a few snakes along the way. Ricky was fascinated with the way Clay could draw and shoot the rattlers without his horse ever missing a step. Clay didn’t have the heart to tell him it was no trick or skill to it. A snake will strike at a bullet; all you have to do is get it within striking range of the snake.

The two herds were joined and the drive started right on schedule. “Ok men lets go north and make some money.” Mr. McNulty said as they started out driving the massive herd. Clay was sure to stock up on whiskey and jerky on his time off the prior weekend. He stocked up on his possibles as well. Shaving necessities and grooming goods. Things of that nature. He had also bought a new deck of cards just in case he had a chance at a game on the trail.

Most of the first day seemed to drag by. He and John were put on drag (The end of the herd). They ate dust for the entire time and it was their job to catch any stragglers that wandered away from the herd. It was a filthy job, but everyone would have a turn at it. It was the boss’ plan that each two-man team would work their way up from the end of the herd to the front. The two-man team on the front would drop the end. Each placement would be worked at one day intervals the team would move to the next position the next day. It seemed a fair way to disperse the work.

Clay didn’t mind working drag though. It gave him a chance to sip his whiskey when he wanted without anyone else noticing. That way he didn’t have to share. ‘I just hate sharing my whiskey.’ He thought to himself.

A few stragglers here and there kept clay and John busy somewhat. At the end of the day they were glad to spread out their bed rolls and relax. It had been a full day in the saddle nonstop and quitting time was welcome. The “Chuck Wagon” had fixed beans and corn bread. Coffee was made at all of the four camp fires that had been set.

The men sat around and relaxed. Clay pouring a shot of whiskey in each cup of coffee he drank and rested from a day like he hadn’t had in some while. The last cattle drive he was on had been a few years so the non stop riding had him a little sore.

Six months on the trail driving cattle will make a man of anybody in Clay’s opinion. He was looking at Ricky and Mario in a different way now. These boys had become men along the way. When there was a brawl in one of the towns they had passed thru the boys stepped up with the rest of the trail hands to help settle matters. They did the jobs assigned to them with no complaint and never backed down from a challenge. ‘The makings of fine men.’ Clay thought to himself.

The end of the drive was near and Clay was considering going his own way again. He had made friends with the cowhands on the drive, but the urge to drift was getting to him again not to mention he wanted to check on his own spread. He loved the trail and the adventure that came with it. Besides, he knew McNulty would hire him back if he ever needed a job again.

As the herd was counted and ranged at the local cattle broker in Cimarron Clay told Mr. McNulty the news. He invited the entire drive crew to his ranch to rest up and celebrate for a few days before going their own directions. He rode ahead to the ranch to get a cow slaughtered and started on a slow fire for the cowhands to eat. He had his brother pick up plenty of whiskey and beer for the occasion telling him to be sure and get sasperilla for the younger hands.

It was almost sundown when the trail crew started arriving. Some of them were already feeling the effects from celebrating in town. Clay didn’t mind that though. He had poured himself a few belts as well. The side of beef was almost done and everything was ready for his visitors. The bunkhouse was even ready and the extra rooms in the house for the two Kansas ranch owners.

“Clay that was some party you threw last night. You sure know how to treat your visitors.” Mr. McNulty said at the breakfast table the next morning. “This is a pretty nice spread you have here. Why didn’t you tell me you had a ranch of your own?” He asked. Clay answered, “Well, I figured if you knew you wouldn’t have hired me. Besides that I figured I was headed this way anyhow, might as well get paid for making the trip.” Everyone laughed and agreed that Clay had some sound thinking.

The crew had been resting for a couple of days when a man rode in from town telling the story of how a posse had caught a robber and murderer that was wanted in the area. Cruz Vega was a nasty sort of man. He didn’t care who he killed or when. He didn’t even care who saw him do it. Everyone around was afraid of the outlaw and he knew it.

“I guess it tore it whenever he killed that Methodist circuit rider last week. The sheriff finally got enough of him.” The man from town continued. “You just don’t go killing preachers around here and think to get away with it.” He finished.

That night Clay and a group of his friends from the cattle drive, after drinking a considerable amount of whiskey, rode into town for some old fashioned justice. As they approached the jail and the sheriff saw the mob leader he stepped aside and Clay with some of the cowboys drug the screaming man out of his cell and threw a rope over a nearby tree branch.

“I don’t reckon I’ll waste my words on asking God for mercy on you. I don’t reckon he has that for preacher killers.” Clay said as he slapped the horse out from under the killer. Vega kicked his feet for a short while then he became still. After that Clay cut him down and set fire to his body saying, “Welcome to hell you Son of a Bitch.” The mob, having done what they intended rode back to the ranch for some more drinking and cards.

It was late in the afternoon the next day and Sheriff Abernathy rode up to the main house where Clay and some of the cowboys were sitting and relaxing with a drink. “Afternoon Clay.” He said as he got down from the saddle. “Sheriff” Clay replied. “Hot afternoon for a ride. Want a drink?” Clay offered. “What brings you out to these parts?” He asked the lawman. “Well Clay, there’s a man in town by the name of Griego. Poncho Griego. Says he’s a friend of Vega’s and he wants to find you. Says he’s going to kill you for what you did to his friend. I checked him out Clay. He’s a gun slinger too. Killed a few men from what I hear.” Clay thanked the sheriff for letting him know but assured him he wasn’t worried.

Clay was standing in the corridor when Griego opened the door to his room and stepped outside. “Poncho!” Clay shouted. As the gunman spun around drawing his pistol Clay shot him dead in a flash. “Well I don’t reckon he wants to kill me anymore.” Clay said with a laugh walking past the front desk of the St. James Hotel. The men in the lobby ran upstairs to find the gunslinger lying dead in the hall with a bullet hole in his chest and a look of surprise on his face.

Clay was getting restless and tired of just sitting around the ranch so he decided to deliver a thoroughbred horse he had sold to a rancher in St. Louis himself. He gathered the gear and supplies he need for the journey and again leaving his brothers in charge of the ranch, he set off for the trail.

The trip was uneventful and ‘pleasant for a change’ Clay thought to himself as he arrived in St. Louis. He met with the rancher and delivered the horse. The rancher had plans on training the animal for racing. Clay had a reputation for raising fast animals as well as a fast gun.

Once paid, Clay made his way to the local saloon for a bottle and a game. When he got there and settled in at a table, he saw the front page story on a newspaper that someone had left behind. It read like a horror story to Clay because it was talking about a former friend and coworker. It had been a story picked up from the Dodge City Globe and reprinted in the paper. The article was talking about a man named Guadalupe Flores. It read; ‘An unidentified policeman pounded a Mexican prisoner in the head without mercy using his six shooter Thursday night. The lawman shows neither much manhood or bravery considering the “Greaser” was sitting on a bench almost helpless from the effects of a previous beating. We don’t think even a Dodge City policeman has the right to walk deliberately up to a man without provocation and knock out one or two of his eyes.’ The article went on to say, ‘The lawmen of Dodge City are out of control. Day before yesterday another Texas cowhand was gunned down in cold blood by four local policeman in the streets of Dodge. Tex Williams was in town selling some stock and playing cards when he was killed for breaking up a 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 peaceful place in his thoughts and was content as he rode on into the prairie.

“I thought I smelled a skunk.” Clay heard a voice call out from the porch as he approached the ranch house. It was John. He was drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a cigar. He always enjoyed the outside after he finished his supper. “Well come on up here and get you a cup of this coffee brother.”

Clay secured his horse to the hitching post and walked up the steps to join his brother. They talked and drank coffee well into the night, catching up on everything of interest. Clay asked John if he had heard anything from Mario or Jack since he had taken over Clay’s ranch. “No, the last I heard from them they were still with the McNulty Company.” John told him. “I stopped by there on my errand, but I didn’t see ‘em.” Clay replied.

Clay and John talked for some time until John finally decided to go on inside and retire for the night. Clay stayed on the porch a little longer, switching to whiskey to help him nurse a molar on the bottom right. The tooth had been giving him some trouble for a while, but Clay didn’t care much for dentist and was dreading the trip to go and see one, but it was time to quit putting it off. The pain was getting more and more unbearable. Tomorrow was Saturday and Clay decided he would bite the bullet sort of speak and go on into town and get it taken care of.

The roosters around the ranch house had no mercy when the sun came up. With the pounding in Clay’s head from the almost full bottle of whiskey he had polished off the night before. It seemed all of them intentionally congregated around his window just to assist the hammer on the anvil feeling he was experiencing.

Clay was saddling his horse when John emerged from the house, “Where you off too big brother?” He asked. “I got to run into town and get this tooth looked at.” He answered with a slight distortion on his face. “I’ll be back by sunset.” He added as he mounted up and began to ride off towards town.

It wasn’t but a few minutes after noon when Clay got to town and he thought to himself, ‘Might as well get a little bracer before going to see the dentist.’ He went into the local saloon and downed a quick six or so shots then walked on down the street to the first dentist he could find. At least now that hammer beating on the anvil in his head had stopped and he could hold he face straight for the time being.

He walked into the dentist office. Inside he saw the dentist, a young fellow, nice looking for a dentist Clay thought. ‘This guy can’t be too long out of doctoring school.’ Clay thought to himself. “Can I help you sir?” The young man asked. “I hope so.” Clay responded. “I got this tooth that’s giving me a nag once and again.” He continued. “Well then,” the young dentist began. “Hit a seat and let’s take a look at it.” He said.

Clay sat down in the ‘barber’s chair’ as he called it and opened his mouth wide for the doctor. The young dentist walked over and used his mirror to take a look at the ailing molar. “My goodness. I bet that dude is giving you fits. We can fix you right up.” He gave Clay some Ludlum and grabbed his extraction tool. After a few minutes he told Clay to open wide and began to jerk and pull.

It was only a second or two before Clay realized that this guy had no idea what he was doing. The first clue was the incredible pain he was beginning to feel and when he heard the sound of a tooth breaking off, that was the clincher. Clay jumped up from the seat and ran out of the office hollering “Stupid bastard!” Along with a few other obscenities.

He made his way to yet another dentist office, now in severe pain. The older, more experienced dentist requested he leave his gun belt at the door but Clay only replied, “You don’t hurt me, and I wont hurt you.” Keeping his pistol belt on Clay sat in the chair and the dentist numbed his mouth thoroughly and began to pull both the bad tooth and the tooth damaged by the young man Clay had first seen across town. “Mr. Allison.” He said. “Don’t be going back to that goof anymore now, you hear. You have any more trouble you just come to me.”
“Don’t worry Doc, I like the way you work.” Clay replied. “You’re the only one I’ll be coming to from now on out.” Clay left and went to the local saloon for a bottle from there, and to contemplate what he was going to do about the idiot that was pulling the wrong tooth. About half way through the bottle it came to Clay what would be proper revenge. He laughed to himself and thought, ‘I know just what that quack needs for a lesson’.

Clay stumbled his way down the walk to the young dentist he had made the mistake of visiting first. When he got there he went right inside to find the doctor in the beginning of treating another patient. “I wouldn’t let him touch me if I were you mister.” Clay said. “The man’s an idiot.” He finished. “Now see here…” is all the young dentist managed to get out before Clay hit him in the head with the barrel of his Colt pistol. “I think I’d be leaving now if I was you fella.” Clay said to the man still sitting in the chair with a look of disbelief on his face. The man quickly got up and ran out the door, apron still hanging around his neck and cotton still in his mouth.

The young dentist was still unconscious when Clay slung him into the barbershop chair. He took the tape from the shelves in the room and wrapped them around the dentist wrist, waist, and ankles so the young man couldn’t get up from the chair. Then he taped the doctor’s head down so he couldn’t move it either. Clay saw a pitcher on the nearby tower, filled with water. He took the pitcher and tossed the water on his young prisoners face. The man woke up and began shouting, “What the hell is going on here.” Clay just laughed that cenacle laugh he had so many times before and said, “So you have a tooth that’s ailing you do you? Well lets see what we can do about that.”

Clay pulled a table over to himself. It had all kinds of different looking things on it. Strange things. Tool looking things for working with teeth. “Lets see Here, what does this do?” Clay asked picking up the tool that looked kind of like a fence line cutter. Plier looking things with a curved end on them.

Clay grabbed the funny looking pliers and pried the young dentist mouth open. He began to pulled the mans teeth out while he shouted, “How do you like it you stupid bastard!” After he had pulled about five teeth and the dentist was screaming in pain, nonstop now, the sheriff came running in and stopped him. “That’s enough Clay. I think he’s learned his lesson.” He said. Clay gave out a laugh and dropped the tool, then walked out the door.

Clay walked through the door of the saloon with a sense of satisfaction about him. He picked up the bottle he had been nursing earlier and proceeded to finish it off. The bartender had put behind the bar to hold on to it for him when he left to go see the dentist. He knew Clay would be back from his reputation around town and would want it.
“I do believe I see a Rebel rouser in here. I just hate Rebel Rousers.” A voice called out from the doorway. Clay looked up to see who was picking a fight with him and saw a tall familiar figure looking him over. “Doc! What the hell are you doing in Cimarron?” Clay shouted. “Get yourself over here and have a drink old friend.” Doc walked over and sat down and Clay asked again what he was doing in town. Doc explained that he had been to Louisiana and thought he would make the trip out of the way to see an old friend. He was actually on his way to Tucson to meet up with Wyatt. “Wyatt’s taken to being the law there and I heard he was overwhelmed with troubles. I thought I’d go help out if I could.” He finished.

Clay and Doc sat and drank. Playing cards until well after sundown. They had talked and caught up on old times and were having a nice time in general when John appeared in the doorway. “I got a little worried about you big brother. You said you’d be home before dark.” Clay explained to him all that had happened that day and invited him to sit down and join them. John sat down and had a few drinks then invited Doc to come out to the ranch house and spend the night. “Beats the hell out of a hotel room and you’re always welcome at our place.” He said. After Clay insisted Doc finally agreed and they all left to go home.

Morning came and they all sat and visited for a while after breakfast before Doc left to continue on his journey. Clay had filled Doc’s flask with whiskey for him. A sort of going away gift he said. It just wouldn’t be ‘Southern Hospitality’ if he didn’t fix him with something to drink on his ride he told Doc. “Around these parts we don’t send nobody off without preparing the necessaries.” Clay said. “You have a safe ride Doc.” He told him as Doc rode away. “Watch you backside Clay.” Doc replied and rode off into the desert.
Clay thought about riding with him but decided against it keeping in mind the events of the last meeting with Wyatt. He decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. Instead Clay decided to go into town for a while and just relax and have a good time. As Clay saddled his horse John came out and asked what was going on. All Clay said was he needed to spend some time in town with himself. He said he had to contemplate what was running through his mind. John left it at that and told Clay to have a good time.

Clay decided on his way into town not to stay there. He really wanted to spend time alone and the saloon was not the place to be for that. He decided instead he would pick up some supplies and head out into the wilderness so he could be with nature. It had been a long time since he had done that and it seemed to be what he needed. At least that’s what he was thinking.

Clay arrived in town and went straight to the Mercantile to get the supplies he need for his time out. Then he went to the saloon for a couple of bottles of his favorite whiskey. He bundle all his goods and secured them to his horse. ‘Might as well get a drink for the trail.’ He thought to himself so he went back in for a quick shot or two.

Clay wound up staying a little longer than he had planned. It was four hours later when he finally decided to leave and begin his journey to nature. This was a ‘Spirit Quest’ he was leaving to begin. It was a journey known to the Cheyenne as a hunt for the demons that haunt ones soul and to confront and expel them. It was a ritual taught to Clay by Spirit Hawk, his Indian father and he had never forgotten it. Even though he was very young when the soldiers liberated him he had seen it while he was in the army and that kept his mind fresh on what needed to be done and how to do it.

Clay rode out into the desert after gathering his needful things. He knew what he had to do before he could have his spirit quest but he also knew that he had drank too much and wouldn’t get very far. He didn’t make it five miles outside of town before he decided to go ahead make camp. He’d just get a fresh start in the morning.

The morning came. Clay rolled up his bedroll and made sure his campfire was well put out. He finished picking up all his camping goods and saddled his horse for the day’s journey. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day Clay noticed as he mounted up and began to ride out into the dessert.

Clay had rode most of the day before he found the spirit root that he had been searching for. He needed it to smoke after he finished building the sweat lodge for his spirit quest. Peyote grew wild in the desert but it was hard to find if you didn’t know how to find it. It was a needed ingredient though in order to make a successful spirit quest. You can’t reach the spirits without it. He picked what he thought would be enough for his needs and rode on to find a suitable place to do what he needed done.

Clay had been riding for four days, gathering a small tree branch here and there. He needed then to build his sweat lodge with. He came upon a small grove with forked rivers in the middle of it. He thought to himself, ‘This is the perfect place.’ It was down in a gulch so a rider passing by wouldn’t see his campfire even at night. The key was not to be disturbed while he was in the spirit world. “Perfect.” He said out loud as if talking to someone else standing there.

Clay settled in and began at his task of making the makeshift tent/sweat lodge, then began setting up his campsite. He tethered his horse close to the forked rivers and made sure it had plenty of grass to feed on. He wasn’t sure how long his vision would last once he went into the sweat lodge and smoked the peyote. He decided to rest the night and begin in the morning. That way he would be well rested for his vision quest.

Morning came and Clay had a good breakfast. He gathered the water he needed for pouring onto the hot stones and the timber for putting beneath the stones. He had already put the peyote and pipe inside the sweat lodge the night before. After getting everything he needed together he went inside the lodge to begin his spiritual journey.

Clay hadn’t been inside the lodge very long before he began to realize how strong Peyote was. He had forgotten. It had been so long since his last time smoking it. A haze came over him and his head became light. As if floating on a cloud above his body, in the makeshift room of the lodge.

His frame of mind was becoming quite mellow when things began to happen. First a huge wolf stuck its head inside the entrance, but ran away when an eagle let out a commanding yell. That’s when it became interesting. A large snake. Unlike any snake Clay had ever seen before came into the lodge. It stopped as it centered itself in front of where Clay was sitting cross-legged with his hands on his knees. As it coiled and its head began to raise up enough for the two of them to see eye-to-eye its head became flat as it rose. 'Like a frying pan.' Clay thought to himself. Clay began to wonder if he was going to leave the lodge alive. Just then the snake struck Clay in the throat. Clay could feel the impact but felt no affect from the venom.

He looked and as the snake withdrew it began to change form. Clay realized as he saw the transformation. The sound that chased the wolf away wasn't an eagle, it was a hawk. The figure was becoming more and more familiar and Clays vision was sharpening. It was Spirit Hawk. At the same time it was not. It couldn't have been. After all Spirit Hawk died when he was only six and the soldiers came. How could this be. Was he dead himself now?

Spirit Hawk began to speak as he now sat across from Clay. "Why have you waited so many seasons to come to your brothers Washita?" He said in a stern voice. "I was taken from our people by the long knives and raised as a white my father." Clay answered. "I am afraid I lost the way for a long time. But now my head fills with demons and visions of my deeds." He finished. Clay could hear the hawks flying above and speaking as if in communication with Spirit Hawk. Spirit Hawk asked Clay another question then. "Have you kept the Agular in your mind as these deeds were done"? Clay thought to himself for a few seconds then answered. "The Agular has always been true in my nature. I have never killed a man that didn't need killing. In either wrongs done to women and children, or in defense of myself or the weak." he answered. "In that you are clean of spirit Washita. Your brothers will cleanse your mind as well. You must journey to the sacred lands where your brothers once hunted before going to the spirit world. The lands before the long knives came. There you will find the peace you seek and again become whole with your mind and spirit. You must make this journey without killing any living creature. In return you will be free of your demons and visions". Spirit Hawk began to fade lighter and lighter until he vanished completely. Clay heard the cry of the hawk again and then passed out.

Clay awoke to the sounds of nature outside the lodge. Animals scurrying around and playing and things of that sort. He thought to himself, 'Rabbit sure sounds good for breakfast.' As soon as he walked out of the lodge he saw two of them playing not far away. He grabbed his six iron and was just about to pull the trigger when he remembered the last words Spirit Hawk said to him. "You must make the journey without killing any living creature." 'Oh damn it!' Clay thought to himself. 'This aint gonna be easy.' Clay gathered himself a few berries, mashed them into a gel, and made himself some biscuits instead. After all, coffee and biscuits are a good breakfast too.

Clay was gathering his possibles after filling his stomach to begin his quest to the sacred lands when he heard his brother’s voice call out to him. "Damn it brother. You had me worried sick. I didn’t know what happened to you. You shouldn't just up and disappear on me like that. You told me you was just going to town." John said. "I had things to do little brother. Now I have to go somewhere else to finish it up." Clay told him. "Nothing to do with you." He explained. "Just something that had to be done." John didn't want to pry so he settled for his brother’s explanation and bid him safe travel. "When you gonna be back Clay?" John asked. "Don't rightly know John. Whenever I'm done with what I gotta do I suppose."

Clay decided to make another pot of coffee for him and John to drink while they sat and visited before going their own ways. John going back to the ranch, and Clay going to the place he called home before the soldiers came. Clay didn’t know what to expect when he got there. He thought it would probably just naturally come to him once he arrived what it was he had to do.

John had long left and Clay was once again gathering his goods for his journey to the sacred lands. He began his trip shortly after noon and knew he had a long way to go before he got to the place he was headed. All day he thought about what it was he was going to have to do once he got there, but by the time he was ready to make camp he decided, ‘I’ll just do what ever needs to be done.’

Clay had spent three weeks in the saddle before reaching the site where the Indian village he remembered once stood. It was a hollow feeling he felt in the pit of his stomach. Full of an emptiness and a sickly sort of feeling. The total waste of human life that happened there so many years before still haunted these once great lands. The buffalo had long since been gone from there, but Clay could still see the remains of the bones lying in the prairies.

Although he was only six years old when he left here the memories of what happened that day came racing into his mind. The screams of the women being raped and killed, and yells of the warriors fighting off the murdering soldiers. Then the memory of what he witnessed happening to Little Fawn came back to him.

Anger engulfed Clay like a spreading wildfire. Out of control and consuming him and all he was. He knew why Spirit Hawk had sent him back to this place now. This anger must be extinguished once and for all or else it would destroy him. He began walking the village grounds looking for a release valve to his anger. It must be there or Spirit Hawk wouldn’t have sent him. But what could it be.

Clay saw a stream of smoke rising up to the sky from over the next hill. He decided to go check it out and see what its source was. Hopefully it was someone’s camp and not a prairie fire. He was leaning more towards a camp. It just didn’t seem to be the type smoke for the prairie to be a blaze.

When clay rode over the hilltop his face fell and a blank expression came over it. He was numb at the site of a small town that had been built over the rise from the former village. It all became clear now why the soldiers had attacked and killed everyone in site on that day. The white man wanted the lands for themselves and they knew relocating the Cheyenne that held it would only start a war. If they killed them all though, there would be no one left to retaliate. Or so they thought.

Clay sat on his horse looking at the town and stewing things over in his mind for a while before deciding to ride down into the town and look things over. As he rode into the town limits he saw the sign “Welcome to Savage Junction”. This inflamed his temper even more. His first thought was to start shooting everyone in site, but then his good sense stepped in and took over. He realized the people in this town probably had nothing to do with the slaughter of his then friends and family. He rode on until he sited a saloon halfway down one of the side streets.

Clay decided to go inside and get a drink and listen to the goings on to get a general idea of how long this town had been here. He walked inside the saloon and what he saw inside inflamed him beyond self-control. He saw pictures on all the walls of the establishment of dead Cheyenne braves, women and children. He couldn’t believe that someone would put this kind of memorials up. The horror of that day flooded back into his mind again. This time the memories were more anguish than anger.

Clay didn’t understand why he didn’t feel angry any longer he just knew the anger was gone. He knew something had to be done about the decorations but at the same time he knew it must be done without his anger flaring. He thought to himself for a little while and then decided what to do.

Clay walked over to the bar and ordered a bottle. “Who owns this saloon barkeep?” He asked the man behind the counter. “That would be me mister.” The man replied with a grin. “I noticed you admiring my accomplishments when you came in. My name’s Freedman. Colonel, United States Calvary retired.” He said. “I led the raid you see all over these walls. It cleared out all the redskins in this area and made it a safe place for decent white folks to live.” Clay couldn’t believe his ears hearing what the man was saying. Just the same though, he held his temper. “My name’s Allison.” Clay began, “My friends call me Clay.” The man behind the bar got an excited look on his face. “Well! Welcome to Savage Junction Mr. Allison. What brings a famous person like you to our humble town?” Clay grinned back and the man and said, “Oh I’m here looking for the yellow dog that killed my family and friends when I was young. Come over here a minute I want to show you something real interesting.”

The retired Colonel reluctantly came out from behind the bar. Now with a look of worry on his face and walked with Clay over to one of the pictures hanging on the wall. “You see this picture here of that soldier putting those two boys in that wagon?” He asked the man. “Yes sir,” the man replied. “We rescued a few captive children in the raid. Those boy’s were two of them.” Clay stood and looked at the picture for another minute then led the former Colonel to another picture on the wall. “This picture here of this man.” Clay began once more. “Is of a Holy Man being murdered. His name was Spirit Hawk, and he was my father while I was living with the Cheyenne. Those boys over there were me and my brother John. I am also called Washita of the Cheyenne Nation.” The man’s face turned white and he began to stutter. “Mr. Allison, I aint armed.” Clay gave a serious look to him and said, “I’ll come back in tomorrow and if you still have this place decorated with the slaughter of my family and friend’s you might want to be. The only reason I don’t kill you where you stand is because I believe you thought you were doing the right thing at the time. I do have one thing to tell you before I leave though. These people never killed anyone that didn’t threaten them or their families first. They were no different than anyone else in the territory.” With that having been said Clay turned and walked out the door.

Clay put his bottle in the saddlebag on his horse and mounted up. He rode through some more of the town then returned to where the Indian village once stood. Once there he began setting up camp and thinking about how he had handled things earlier that day. Even he was surprised at his reaction to the day’s events but he felt himself to be in a good place spiritually.

“Yatahey.” Clay heard a voice say. “Can I approach your fire sir?” Clay turned to see an older looking Indian standing not far away. “Of course you can father.” He replied to the elderly man. “Why do you call me father?” The old man inquired with a puzzled look on his face. “I am Washita of the Cheyenne nation.” Clay told him. “In my eyes all elders are father and always welcome in my camp.”

“Why you come to these sacred grounds Washita?” The old man asked. “I am on a spirit quest father.” Clay answered. At that the old Indian stood up and said, “I must leave you then and not hinder you on your quest.” Clay quickly stopped him and said, “No father. You are part of the reason for my visions and are welcome to stay. Please share my camp and your wisdom with me.” Clay and the old man spoke with each other deep into the night. Clay told him about his vision and what had happened in town. He told him how he used to handle those type things and how he handled it this time. The old man told Clay, “It sounds like your spirit is finally at peace and you have handled the confrontation in town the right way.” He said, “If the pictures of town are still there though, then the white firewater man is trying to trapped the spirits of the dead forever on his walls. That is true harm to our people to not be able to pass into the spirit world. To kill him would be a great thing for our people. It would be right with the Great Spirit.” Then the old man became quiet and made himself a place to lye down across the fire from Clay.

Morning came and Clay woke up to find the old man gone. Normally that wouldn’t seem strange to him but the plate he fed the old man with, and the cup the old man drank from were in their place inside his pack as if they had never been used. Clay looked around the campsite and couldn’t find as much as on single footprint that anyone else had ever been there no trace of any kind at all. Even the place the old man slept seemed to be undisturbed. ‘Was this a spirit from the spirit world or another vision?’ Clay wondered to himself.

All morning long Clay thought over the words that the old man said the night before. It was almost ten o’clock before he finished getting his camp picked up and his belongings put away. Clay mounted up and began his ride into town. He took his time going into town though he wanted to make sure the barkeep had plenty of time to get the pictures down.

He rode through the streets looking over the various businesses to see if anyone else had any pictures hanging up but they all just looked like your everyday run of the mill establishments. Clay made his way down the street to the saloon from the day before tied his horse to the hitching post and went inside.

“Mr. Allison welcome back sir.” A voice from behind the bar called out. “As you can see sir, all the picture have been taken down and piled over there in the corner.” He said pointing at the pile. “They are all yours to do with what you want. My gift to you. Call it an apology of sorts.” Clay thought it over for a minute and replied to the bartender, “Much obliged to you Colonel.” Then he ordered a bottle and told the Colonel he would return for the pictures in a little while.

Clay went down the street to the livery and rented a wagon for overnight with a team. He left his horse for collateral along with a hefty deposit to insure the livery owner he would return. He drove the wagon first to the Mercantile, then down to the saloon to get his pictures.

Clay returned to the old village site and began gather wood for a bonfire and set up his camp for the evening ceremony he had in mind. He meditated for a few hours and then unloaded the goods from the mercantile. Kerosene, some meat and a few other odds and ends.

After setting up his campfire and finishing his supper with a few drinks of whiskey done, Clay set at the task of meditating again to get into the spiritual frame of mind. He lit the bon fire and began the ritual Indian Dance to pay tribute to the Great Spirit. As he danced he began tossing the pictures into the bon fire to free all the trapped spirits that were within them. After he finished his task he looked around the old village and saw a light fog that had lifted about twelve inches off the ground. He could hear the sounds of the wild animals all calling out as if in harmony to sound a release. He 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 trail was a long and dusty one but Clay made his way closer to his destination without incident. This was the way this ride went all the way to Sedalia.

Clay got into town and met up with John at the hotel. He got checked in and the brothers decided to go down to the saloon so Clay could wash a little bit of the trail dust down. Walking through the doors of the long narrow establishment Clay sized the place up like he always did when he went into a new town. He didn’t see anything he considered threatening or that he should keep and eye on. Namely the ‘Young gun’s wanting to make a name for themselves’ that he usually saw in almost every saloon.

Clay got the table while John went to the bar and ordered a bottle each for them. There were already some cards on the table and Clay began counting them to see if they were all there. After counting fifty-two he began a game of Solitaire to occupy his time while he waited for John.

“Say stranger. Mind if we sit down for a friendly game?” A voice said and two men stood by the table. Clay had watched their approach and had already decided they were no threat to him so he allowed it. The two of them looked like a pair of ‘Dude’s’ Clay thought to him self as they walked up. “Come ahead and grab a chair boys.” Clay replied. “My brother will be here in a minute and we can start a game.”

John finally reached the table with his and Clay’s bottles. “This is my brother John. My name’s Clay, and you are?” Clay asked. “I’m Doc Longwell and this is my friend Dennis Wilson.” One of the men spoke up. Wilson was giving Clay the look of disgust which made Clay take an instant dislike to the man. “I don’t think I much care for the way your friend is looking at me Mr. Longwell.” He said. “I believe he best move on. I don’t care for cards with him.” Clay finished. Wilson Quickly got up and left having realized who’s table it was he was sitting at. But it was already too late. Clay had been left in a foul mood from the incident and was spoiling for a fight. John tried to convince him to shake it off. That the man didn’t mean anything by it and by the time they finished their bottles Clay decided to agree with him to shut him up. Clay decided to leave and go on to the county clerks office so he could find the whereabouts of the Young Ranch for the stock purchase in the morning.

Clay walked into the surveyor’s office and spoke to the clerk inside. “Excuse me mister can you tell me where I might find the Young Ranch?” He asked. The clerk turned around and saw it was the famous gunfighter that everyone in town was already talking about. “I aint telling you nothing fella. Your no good and I aint gonna tell you where to find nobody.” This only inflamed Clay’s already foul mood so he reacted by grabbing the clerk and shoving him up against the door facing pinning his sleeve to the trim with the Bowie knife he carried. The man struggled in fear and finally broke loose and ran out the door down to the doctor’s office to hide. Clay followed with the intention of getting his information from the guy one way or another.

“Hide me Doc!” The clerk shouted as he ran into the office. “Better yet. Give me your gun and I’ll shoot ‘em when he comes up. We can say it was self defense.” He kept ranting. “Now Lee you don’t want to go and do that. That man will kill you dead and there won’t be nothing I can do about it. Let me go out and talk to him. You go on and hide now.” Doc Longwell told him as he walked out the door.

“Evening Mr. Allison. How can I be of assistance to you tonight?” The doc asked Clay. “You can start by sending that yellow belly clerk out to face his medicine.” Clay answered. “I need some directions and he won’t give ‘em up.” He said. The doc asked what directions he need and Clay told him. “If I give you these directions will you let the clerk off the hook this time and let it go?” The doctor requested and Clay agreed. The doctor gave Clay the directions he needed and Clay reluctantly went on his way keeping his word and leaving the clerk alone.

The next morning came and Clay and John saddled up to go out to the Young Ranch to look at this stock that was supposed to be such a good deal. When they got there it didn’t look like anything special. In fact they didn’t even see any livestock at all. They thought maybe they had gotten there too late to get in on any deals. The ranch foreman rode out to meet them and find out what their business was. The brothers explained they had heard of some good deals on livestock and they wanted to look at some. The foreman escorted them to the ranch house and introduced them to the boss.

“I know who you are.” Mr. Young said as Clay tried to introduce himself and his brother to the man. “What’s your business here?” he asked. Clay explaining he was interested in the stock that was up for sale when two very lovely young ladies walked out onto the porch and stood beside their father. Now Clay could face down any man with a gun, but when it came to women he was as shy and timid as a baby cub.

“These are my daughters Dora and Lois McCullough.” The rancher said to Clay and his brother. “Go in the house girls.” He told them. They obeyed but it was too late Clay and John had already been smitten by the girls, it was love at first site. They had a natural beauty and charm about them the Clay had never encountered before. Mr. Young excused himself and went into the house to get his hat so he could take the brothers to where the livestock was being held.

Clay and John rode out to the south pasture with Mr. Young and his foreman. They looked the livestock over and haggled the price with him before buying a hundred head of prime beef and a dozen horses. “We’ll close the deal by celebrating tonight with a dance some eating.” Mr. Young invited the brothers. “Y’all will come won’t you?” He asked. Of course Clay and John accepted in hopes of seeing the girls again.

Clay and john returned to town to clean up and recruit some help to drive their newly acquired livestock to their ranch. They had gotten everything done and it was time to return to the Young ranch so they started out that way. They got to the ranch and tables and food had been setup outside for the celebration. There was a few of the ranch hands playing some instruments and making some pretty good music.

Clay immediately asked Dora, the older of the two sisters to dance. John noticed the look of disapproval on Mr. And Mrs. Young’s face but being as smitten as he was himself with Lois, he didn’t care if they approved or not. As far as that subject goes, Clay didn’t care either. Clay and John danced and talked with the sisters for most of the night and by the end of the evening the four of them had made plans to elope to the local judge and marry. The girls made plans to sneak out of their bedroom window at midnight and meet the boy’s in the field behind the house.

“Do you think they will really come out Clay?” John asked excitedly. “Look for yourself John here they come.” Clay answered. The girls came running up and kissed they're soon to be husbands. “Lets go see the judge.” One of them said and the group loaded into the wagon Clay had rented earlier in town.

They pulled up in front of the judge’s house and Clay beat on the door until the justice answered. “What is it?” the judge asked the group. “We aim to get hitched up judge.” Clay told him. “We’ll pay you for your trouble.” He explained that they were eloping. “Alright, alright. Come on in.” The judge finally agreed.

The two couples went to the hotel after taking their vows. The plan was to go out to the ranch in the morning to get the girls belongings and to let the Young’s know what had happened.

The two couples arrived at the ranch around noon and announced the4y had been married the night before. Mr. And Mrs. Young didn’t try to hide their disapproval. They had heard of clays exploits in the west and didn’t much care for him. Mr. Young even made it a point to say so to Clay’s face. He wasn’t one to speak out like that to people, but he was angry and spoke out anyway.

Clay took that into consideration and out of love for his new bride didn’t retaliate with either words or actions. He merely apologized for the way they had gone about getting married and for not asking his permission before doing it.

“Well it’s done now.” Mrs. Young finally said. “Y’all might as well come in the house and get something to eat.” It was around lunchtime and eating did sound like a good idea. Clay was starting to get hungry and he knew if he was everyone else must be too.

Everyone ate and the conversation was at a mild tone and the subject mostly stayed at a question and answer session. The young’s asked Clay questions and he answered them the best he could saying many times, “My hand on the bible.” As he began in his answers.

With the meal having been ate. Them men went outside for a smoke and some whiskey over a conversation of what was called ‘men talk.’ Clay told Mr. Young a little more about himself. Explaining that he couldn’t believe everything he reads in the newspapers or nickel novels. “I never killed a man that didn’t need killing.” He told him. “I won’t see a woman or a child mistreated, and I won’t tolerate ignorance in a grown man. I won’t be wronged or made fun of either. I don’t do these things to other people and I won’t have them done to me or in front of me. It’s against my upbringing.” He told the rancher.

This brought a whole new way of how he was look upon by Mr. Young. Now he was receiving looks of respect instead of loathing. Mr. Young apologized to Clay about having judged him before hew got to know him. Clay only shrugged and replied that he was used to that kind of treatment, but he was glad they had gotten it cleared up. Finally Mr. Young gave Clay his blessing on his marriage to his daughter. “Dora’s a good woman. You take good care of her now or I’ll come hunting ya.” He said laughing. Clay just smiled at him and assured him he had nothing to worry about.

With mornings light Clay and John loaded their new brides belongings onto a wagon they had bought in town the day before. The men they had hired to drive the livestock were arriving at the ranch as instructed and they were getting ready to begin the journey home. They had the wagon loaded by nine o’clock but all the hired hands hadn’t shown up yet. John had told everyone they had hired to be there by ten so Clay and John visited with the new in laws while they waited for the rest of the hired help to arrive.

It was close to one o’clock before they actually began their trek home with the livestock and all the hired help. The girls had said their goodbyes and the men had reconciled the hard feelings that Mr. And Mrs. Young had against them and all seemed to be well for a change in the lives of the Allison brothers.

It didn’t as long as Clay thought it would to get the herd back to their ranch. Clay and john got the girls settled in and the herd turned out to their prospective grazing areas they wanted them in. After paying off the trail help, Clay and John began at the task of becoming good husbands for their new brides. Asking if there was anything the girls needed from town to make the house a little more homey or to add a ladies touch to make them more comfortable.

Clay collected the request from the ladies and rode into town to get the goods that they wanted, and a bottle or two for him-self of sipping whiskey. It was July third and he thought he’d surprise everyone and get a few things for a fourth of July celebration there at the ranch. He stopped at the General store and got the things the ladies wanted along with a few fireworks. Then he went to the feed store to get some feed to fatten up the fresh livestock they had just brought in. The last stop he made was at the saloon. He had a few shots of whiskey before picking up two bottles to go and some sarsaparillas for the ladies.

Clay began his journey home for a change without getting drunk. He was as happy as he had ever been in his life. He had found the true love he had always sought after finally and was thinking life could get no better.

Clay returned to the farm with the goods he had bought in town. Dora loved the new dress and all the surprise celebration things Clay had gotten. We’re going to have the wingding of the century Clay proclaimed as he unloaded the wagon. “I invited a few friends from town to come out and celebrate with us.” He said. “I’m going to catch a calf and put in on the spiket to barbeque over night.

The celebration the next day was fantastic. Half way through it Clay announced the news he had just purchased some land outside of Pecos Texas for him and his Dora to ranch of their own. Clay and John had discussed separating the two families every since the trip home from Sedalia so John was trilled at the announcement.

Clay and John split the heard half way down the middle. They thought this to be fair between them since Clay mostly paid for all the livestock anyway. Then Clay went into town to hire a few hands to help with driving the stock to Pecos. He was anxious to get the ranch of his and Dora’s own going and get a start of their home.

The years passed and Dora semi trained Clay to her ways of thinking. There’s nothing like a woman to influence a man to become a better person. Clay began going to church regularly and trying to get along better with other people. The girls Dora had he was his pride and joy and that was one of the only ways you could still really get him riled up. He did however still like a tug on the whiskey bottle on occasion.

It was once again coming up on the fourth of July and Clay wanted to have an old fashioned celebration like in the good old days. “Dora,” he said. “I think I’m going to go into to town and get the girls some fireworks for tomorrow and invite a few folks out to eat with us.

The morning came and Clay hitched up the wagon for his ride into town. He surveyed how much feed he was going to need and started into town to get the goods.

In town he saw a few friends and invited them out to celebrate the fourth with him and the family then started his trek home to Dora and the girls.

‘My lands this road is bumpy with a load on the wagon.’ Clay thought to him-self as he drove home thinking of how Dora would love the new dress he bought her for the fourth of July. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the feed bags begin to slip off the side of the wagon so he lunged to catch it and keep it from bursting on the ground.

Clay’s right boot slipped on the buckboard and Clay fell head first to the ground hitting his head on a rock. It knocked him unconscious and he lay on the ground while the wagon kept moving. The rear wheel rolled over his head cracking his skull and causing his brain to hemorrhage.

In Clay’s final thought we would like to believe he felt something like this, ‘Lord, I have done a lot of things in my life. Help my Dora understand I love her. Forgive me for my wrongs. Thank you for my life…………’

Clay Allison died on July fourth, 1887. A beloved husband and friend. He was buried in a cemetery that was made just for him alone.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 22.10.2009

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