Clay Allison
1840 - 1877
It was seldom that a successful cattleman of the Washita, and at times
an elegant southern gentleman, could also have the glittering
reputation of being a top gunfighter. But Clay Allison did.
He was a hater of a stranger chained with bullets and swinging guns and
bragging. He'd hunt him down and have a street shootout to unbelt
the wretched bloodletter. Yet this Texan himself, six feet two,
was a vain and ballooned personality. Originally, he hailed from
Tennessee and had been a soldier in the Confederate Army where he
learned about easy-go killing. As a guerrilla he became adept at
the art of gunslinging. He liked black horses and loved to ride
through town with spurs a-jingle observed by the ladies.
He did some bloodletting in Indian Territory, cut down the
breed type of competition, then moved down through Texas where he
killed more men looking for gunpowder prominence. Then on up into
New Mexico to unlimber his guns again and back to the Panhandle.
Tragedy and humor are cousins, so they say, and Clay
liked to keep his teeth in good shape, but when the dentist pulled the
wrong one he found himself jammed down into his own chair and his
uppers pulled one by one. Clay also used the county funds to keep
a hung-up jury in hard liquor. He also rode through Canadian
without a stitch of clothing on, shooting at those who peeked during
his frolic. A lot of old-times knew about the time he thundered
into court on his black so as not to be late and disturb the judge.
New Mexico bred a gunfighter by name of William Chunk, who drank
deep at any bar he happened to frequent and then invited any man alive
to out-gun him. A few spins of the weapon and a shoot-out of a
bottle or two would punctuate what the man had declared quite
dramatically, while he looked down his red nose at his trembling
admirers. This was the kind of flea-bitten, gunpowder gent Clay
liked to bite into.
So the two met. Clay rang out change
for a few rounds of drinks and then invited his surprised guest to
dinner. The dining room cleaned out in a hurry of those who love
to linger over their food, for they saw that glitter in Clays' eye and
heard the thickness of his tongue and knew what to expect. Clay became
suddenly irritated at the uncouth chomping of his guest's jaws and
stopped them as still as death with a salad fork sticking out as he polished
off Mr. Chunk. He left him lying at his feet, and then went on to
complete his dinner, dessert and all and a second cup of coffee.
Wyatt Earp, while sheriff of Dodge, met up with
this handsome gunslinger, but before Clay could make his play he felt
the hard muzzle of Earp's gun in his belly pressing persistently and
those cold blue eyes telling him to get on his black horse and get out
of town, which he did. He came back sometime later, with permission
from Earp, to transact a cattle trade, and then left with no trouble.
Clay was a man by tall acts who created tall
tales, most of them true, and any respectable tobacco chewing bench
philosopher or blacksmith shop commentator would tell you Clay was
destined to die by the gun. But the wheel of fortune put him on the
seat of a freighter wagon. It struck a chuckhole, the reins went every
which way and when Clay fell down under the great wheel his back popped
under the crushing weight, killing him instantly.
Calamity Jane |
Clay Allison |
Curly Bill |
Dave Mather
Doc Holliday |
Jesse James |
Jim Courtright |
Joaquin Murrietta
John Ringo |
John Wesley Hardin |
King Fisher |
Luke Short
Old Man Clanton |
Pat Garrett |
Wild Bill Hickok |
Wyatt Earp
OK Corral |
Artist - Lea Franklin McCarty
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