David Blixt's Blog, page 12

Penman Interview

For those who missed it, I was just interviewed by the marvelous Sharon Kay Penman. Instead of telling you about it, I'll just send you over to her page to read it. It's quite wonderful, as she is a delightful person and eerily talented writer. And she said many flattering things, the best of which was this: "For anyone who has not yet read one or more of David’s novels, you are about to hit the literary lottery. Yes, he is that good." Swoon!

 So click here to read, and enjoy!

Nook Books

Three Blixt novels are now available for the NOOK!

THE MASTER OF VERONA

VOICE OF THE FALCONER

and HER MAJESTY'S WILL!

Master Of Verona just $0.99 today on Amazon Kindle!

Today on Amazon Kindle - THE MASTER OF VERONA is just $0.99! Get your copy before midnight CST!

Based on a single line from Romeo & Juliet, David Blixt explores the origin of the Capulet-Montague feud. But that's just the backdrop to a sweeping story with thrills, intrigue, battles, romance, betrayals - everything you want from a novel. Dive in and lose yourself in this rich world of 14th century Italy!

Get your copy HERE!

In honor of Shakespeare's birthday, HER MAJESTY'S WILL is free today!

In honor of Shakespeare's birthday, HER MAJESTY'S WILL is free on Amazon Kindle today! You're welcome. Pass it on!

Click HERE!

VOICE OF THE FALCONER available in Trade Paperback today!

For the first time in print!

VOICE OF THE FALCONER

Sequel to 2007's THE MASTER OF VERONA. 

Italy, 1325. Eight years after the tumultuous events of THE MASTER OF VERONA, Pietro Alaghieri is living in exile in Ravenna, enduring the loss of his famous father while secretly raising Cesco, bastard heir to Verona's prince, Cangrande della Scala.

When word of Cangrande's death reaches him, Pietro must race back to Verona to prevent Cesco's rivals from usurping his rightful place. But young Cesco is determined not to be anyone's pawn. Willful and brilliant, he defies even the stars. And far behind the scenes is a mastermind pulling the strings, one who stands to lose - or gain - the most.

Born from Shakespeare's Italian plays, this novel explores the danger, deceit, and deviltry of early Renaissance Italy, and the terrible choices one must make just to stay alive.

"David Blixt is a man of many talents--an actor, director, author. In his hands, history comes to bright, blazing life." - SHARON KAY PENMAN, The Sunne In Splendour and Lionheart

 "David Blixt is one of the masters of historical fiction. Dramatic, vivid, superbly researched, VOICE OF THE FALCONER captures Renaissance Italy in all its heady glamour and lethal intrigue. This is a novel to savor - and then read again!" - C.W. GORTNER, The Queen's Vow and The Tudor Conspiracy

Buy your copy on Amazon today! Just $11.17 (regularly $16.95)!

CLICK HERE to buy on AMAZON! 

Or HERE to buy at BARNES & NOBLE! 

(This edition is revised from the Kindle version, with some new material!) 

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

A half hour later I was walking back to my rooms to change
clothes before heading to the Texas Trail when Doc saw me and cornered me. “You
going to let me take a look at you?” he asked. “Or do you want to go on
bleeding?”

“Doc, I’d rather bleed to death, if I didn’t know you’d get a
fee for my body.”

He laughed. “Come along,
then, Matt. I’ll sew you up. Who knows, with a new shirt and the miracle of my
medicine, you might even look human again.” His wicked old eyes gleamed at me.
“Or maybe you were hoping Kitty could doctor you.”

I sighed. “Lead the way, you old buzzard.”

A buggy came riding down Front street. Perched on the seat
was a pretty homely looking woman in her working clothes. She wore a pretty
decent bonnet, but she had an apron over her dress and looked like she’d just
come from a barn. She stopped the buggy and looked down at Doc. “Can you direct
me to the Marshal’s office?” She pretty well ignored me.

Doc smiled at her and pointed. “Yes, ma’am, right there, on
the corner.”

I shot Doc a dark look. “Can I help you, ma’am?” I said. “I’m
Marshal Dillon.”

She looked me up and down like I’d made a mess in her
kitchen. I suppose I wasn’t much to look at just then. She said, “I left home
as soon as I got your telegram. Where’s my boy?”

“Oh!” I said, smiling. “We have him, ma’am, safe and sound.
Here, let me help you down.” I reached up a hand. She looked at it dubiously,
then thanked me and stepped down. I hitched the horse to a rail, buggy and all,
and led her towards the jail. It was the last place I’d seen him, and I figured
he’d be waiting there to tell me again how I should have just shot Stobo and
had done with it.

“Right this way, ma’am,” I said, opening the door to the
office. She followed me in, with Doc trailing behind.

The kid’s mother seemed to thaw a little to me when she saw
that I really was who I said I was. “I’m sorry he put you to all that trouble,
Marshal,” she said. “Truth of the matter is, he’s a wild one, and no mistake.
Takes after his father, one scrape after another.”

“He was no trouble at all,” I said. “I like children fine –
like to have ‘em around. And he was fine – not a mite of trouble. Isn’t that
right, Doc.”

Doc smiled at her, his best undertaker’s grin. “Oh, yes, a
real angel, that’s your boy.”

“Bub?” I called. “Bub, your ma’s here. Son?”

Just then Shiloh came walking in to the office. “You lookin’
for the kid, Marshal?”

“Yeah, Shiloh. This is his mother, come to take him back.
Ma’am, this is Shiloh – he’s been looking after your boy the past couple days.”

The woman nodded. “Thank you, mister.”

“Shiloh,” I said, “is the kid over at the Dodge House?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask you, Marshal. Have you seen
him?”

“No – I thought he’d either be here, or with you.”

“Well, I left him here after that ruckass earlier – I figured
he’d rather be with you for the day.”

“Yeah,” I said, walking into the back room, past the cells.
The back door was open.

“He gone, Marshal?” asked Shiloh.

“Looks that way,” I said.

The woman said, “He seen me and he high-tailed it, the
devil.”

 I chuckled.
“We’ll round him up for you, ma’am, don’t worry.” I pulled out a chair for her,
and she sat down heavily.

“Oh, I don’t know why I bother hauling him back,” she said.
“If he’s run away once he’s run away a thousand times. This time he ran ‘cause
I wouldn’t buy him a gun. He wanted a real one. That boy’s just gun crazy, I
swear. I got him a nice Bowie knife instead.”

Doc looked over at me, his eyes wide. They weren’t full of
laughter anymore.

“Bowie knife?” I said, my stomach sinking.

The woman nodded. “I reckon it wouldn’t signify, and off he
run.”

“Bowie knife?” asked Shiloh. Between Doc’s expression and my
voice, we’d tipped him off that something was wrong.

“Shiloh,” I said grimly, “find that kid.”

The mother looked up at me, her face real worried. “Marshal?
Has he done somethin’ bad with it? I told him to use it careful. He promised to
use it careful!”

That was when we heard the hoofbeats outside. They weren’t
the slow pace of a casual rider. It was someone getting out of Dodge as fast as
a horse could carry him.

Shiloh was over at the door and he saw the rider. I saw him
too, from the window. It was the kid.

Shiloh bolted through the door, then looked back at me.
“Marshal!”

“Nevermind, Shiloh,” I said. “He’s got Clay Richard’s
strawberry roan. He’s a lot lighter than we are. Even if I was in any shape to
chase him, we’d never catch up. He’s gone.”

The mother was still talking, more to herself than to us. “I
try to bring him up right, I tell him to be good, but he don’t listen! He just
don’t listen!”

“Now
calm yourself, ma’am,” I said, “just calm yourself. Doc,” I said, tossing him
my keys. “Open my desk drawer and look inside, will you? Chester locked the
kid’s little bundle in there. I want to have a look at it.”

Doc unlocked the drawer and pulled out a little bundle,
roughly tied with twine. “Here it is,” he said, handing it over. 

It was pretty heavy. I felt sick. “Here,” I said, passing it
back to him. “You’re better at knots than I am. Open it, will you?”

The woman just kept on talking. “Since the moment he was born
he’s been nothing but tribulation to me.”

“Now, please, ma’am,” I said, patting her arm. “What’s he got
in there, Doc?”

“Shirt, stockings, piece o’ sausage. An’ this.” Doc pulled
out a pistol.

“44 double-action,” I said.

“Why, so it is. Does that mean something, Matt?”

“Yeah, Doc,” I said. “I guess Ziegler was telling the truth
from the start. It’s Clay Richard’s gun.”

Shiloh looked at it, and his face showed what I felt. “Sonny
didn’t manage to keep it long, did he?”

“No,” I said. “Well, if he wants a gun that bad he’s bound to
get hold of another one somewhere, somehow. Shiloh, will you call Mr. Hightower
over.”

Shiloh nodded and stepped outside into the hot sun. He was
gone less than a minute, and during that time Doc and I were quiet. The kid’s
mother kept mumbling to herself, but I didn’t want to hear what she had to say.

Hightower, all five foot four of him, came into my office,
with Shiloh trailing behind. “Yes, Marshal?”

“Mr. Hightower, it appears that I have business for you after
all. Get some paper and a pencil. I want some notices printed.”

“Right away,” said Hightower with that mercenary gleam in his
eye. Last week it had made me angry. Now I just felt old. Old and tired. 

Hightower sat on the edge of my desk, licked his pencil, and
said, “Go ahead, Marshal.”

“Wanted for murder -”

“Wanted for murder…”

I turned to the boy’s mother. “What’s the boy’s name?”

She sniffled and looked at me. “Same as mine. Bonnie. William
Bonnie.”

“William Bonnie.”

“William Bonnie…”

“Age twelve, height, about five feet. Hair light. Eyes blue.”
I looked at Mrs. Bonnie. “I don’t suppose he’s known by any other name?”

Bonnie shook her head. “No. Everyone just called him Billy.
Or the kid.”

“Also known as Billy, the Kid.”

 

THE END

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Kitty came into my office a few minutes later, after the
crowd had gone.

“Matt?” she said.

“Yeah, Kitty.” I had a bottle open, and I was gingerly
sipping at my glass. The whiskey wasn’t doing my lip any good, but it warmed my
middle. There are worse trade-offs in life.

“You oughtta have the Doc take a look at you,” she said.

“In a few minutes,” I said. “I’ll go up and talk to him in a
few minutes.”

“And see Chester,” she said.

“Yeah. And see Chester.”

“You two’ll make quite a pair. A matched set.”

I squinted up at her. “That bad?”

“Well,” she shrugged, “I wasn’t drawn to you for your looks
anyway.”

I laughed. It hurt, so I stopped pretty quickly. Even smiling
was painful, but around Kitty I had trouble not smiling.

She pulled a chair towards my desk. “Are you all right?”

“Sure,” I said. “The face always hurts, but it’s not anything
that won’t heal. Stobo will be in pain a lot longer than I am.”

Kitty took in a breath. “That was pretty incredible.”

“You didn’t think I could take him?”

“No,” she said. “I was pretty sure you could. But I think the
townsfolk were impressed.”

“Yeah,” I said. “They thought that Washington had sent them
just a shooter.”

“Now they know you’re something more,” said Kitty.

“Yeah,” I said sourly. “Now they know I’m a bigger brute than
Stobo.”

Kitty leaned forward and took my bruised hand. “No,” she
said. “Matt, you know what they’re saying? They talking about how lucky they
are. They didn’t know before, but they do now. You taking the side of the
cowboys the other night with Howard, you letting the town council have their
way even when you knew they were being fools, you taking on Stobo without a
gun, because of the way he’d taken Chester – they’re proud of you, Matt.
They’re proud to have you.”

I looked at Kitty out of my one open eye. “Yeah?”

She nodded, then that wicked smile came out and she laughed.
“Of course, you better lay low untl your face heals up. They may be proud of
you, but they won’t want to be seen with you until you look a little more
human!”

I laughed again, careful not to take my hand out from under
hers. I placed my other hand on top of her hand, and grinned at her. “I suppose
that’s true,” I said.

She patted my hand, then stood. “You go see Chester, then
come by the Texas Trail. I’m sure Sam and Big Kate’ll want to buy you a few
drinks.”

I stood and looked into her bright green eyes. “I’ll be by,”
I said.

“Good,” she said. Then, with a smile and a swing to her hips,
she left. Watching her go, I felt warm inside. It wasn’t the whiskey, which I
locked up in my desk. As I stowed it away, I saw the bundle that little runaway
had had when Chester’d brought him in. I wondered if I should give it back to
him. It’d been almost a week, and there was no sign of anyone looking for a
runaway. There had been no answers to the telegrams Chester had sent out. And
the kid seemed to be settling in all right, hanging around with Shiloh and
Chester and me. It might be nice to have a kid around town. Maybe we could get
him a job at one of the stables. He’d certainly taken to Clay Richard’s
strawberry roan – though that was hardly a surprise. It was one of the fastest
horses I’d ever seen.

Yeah, I thought as I left the jail and walked up the stairs
to Doc’s, if we can get him thinking about horses and not guns, maybe the
kid’ll settle down and like it here.

Doc wasn’t in when I got to his office, so I walked up to the
door of the back room and knocked. “Chester? Can I come in?”

“Yessir, Mr. Dillon.” I came over and sat by the side of
Doc’s sickbed. Chester’s face was a mass of cuts and yellow and purple bruises,
but his eyes were clear. He saw my face, which must’ve looked a little like a
mirror to his own just then. If anything, mine was probably worse. 

“My,” he said. “What happened to you?”

“I, ah – I been lecturing a couple of hard-nosed cowboys,” I
said. “One in particular.”

“Oh,” said Chester. “I see. Well, I’m sorry, Mr. Dillon.
Those two sure got the drop on me.”

“Yeah, they sure did.”

“Mr. Dillon?”

“Yeah?”

“I been – thinkin’. And – and I –“

“What is it, Chester?”

“Well, Mr. Dillon – I- I’m not much help to you here. An’
with my hands all a mess, and my knee – Doc says maybe I won’t ever draw the
way I used to. I wasn’t no help before, and now…maybe I better just…”

“That’s enough, Chester,” I said.

“Well, but I been thinkin’ –“ he said.

“Well, just stop thinking.”

“Yessir, Mr. Dillon.”

“Now, look, Chester,” I said, “I’m gonna tell you something.
I, ah – I need you, here. You see - you’re the only man in Dodge I can really
trust. The only one.”

It was true. There was Doc and there was Shiloh and a
half-dozen other decent men, men I’d have a drink with, or play a game of cards
with, or maybe go to if there were some easy trouble. But if for anything real
– anything I didn’t think I could handle alone – well, there was only one man I
wanted at my back.

Chester’s voice was quiet at first. “Yessir. Well, you - you
can trust me, Mr. Dillon.”

“Yeah, I know I can. I’m – thanking you, Chester.” I slapped
my hand on my knee. “But, listen, you’re sure no help to me lying there,
y’know! No help at all!”

“Well, I don’t aim to stay here long. The Doc says I’ll be up
and around again in –“

“Look, Chester,” I said, “I’ll tell you what. I’ll go get
patched up, then we’ll get Kitty to come over and fix us some steaks, and we’ll
have us some beer too, eh? What do you say?”

“My, that’d be fine, Mr. Dillon,” he said. “My, I’d sure like
that.” He studied me for a moment. “Say – isn’t that the shirt I gave you?”

“Yes, Chester. Yes, it is.”

“That was a new shirt, straight from Boston,” he told me.

“Well,” I said, “it still is.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 32

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 

After lunch Shiloh and the kid came back to the jail and cut
me loose from watching Stobo and Trevitt. I went straight up to Doc’s.

“Hello, Marshal,” said Doc as I came in. He looked tired, but
his eyes were bright. I couldn’t tell what that meant.

“Doc,” I said in greeting. I took off my hat. “Well, what is
it? Tell me.”

Doc scratched his chin. “Chester,” he said. Then he chuckled.
“Heh. He’s gonna be alright.”

It was like I hadn’t been breathing for twenty-four hours,
and now I had air again. “You sure?”

Doc grinned wide. “Why, o’ course, Marshal! His breathing
suddenly changed – the pressure’s off somewheres. Aw, he’s gonna be fine.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s good, that’s good.”

Doc shusshed me. “Of course, he’ll be in some pain for awhile
yet, but…”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, grinning.

“And there’s something else, Matt,” said Doc, his pleasure
lessening some. “I was too worried about his breathin’ to mention it before –
cart before the horse, and all that.”

I sobered up. “What is it, Doc?”

“Well, his knee is in pretty rough shape – he’ll walk with a
limp for awhile yet. But the real problem…”

“Yeah, Doc?”

“It’s his hand, Matt,” said Doc. “His gun hand. He must’ve
tried to cover up his face with his hands.”

I blinked. “Is he going to lose it?”

“No no, no,” Doc said quickly. “But it’s been damaged some.
Hard to tell how bad, but he can barely move it. Matt – he won’t carry a gun no
more. I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to draw one again.”

I nodded, and that sick feeling came back. My fault.
Chester’s hand. My fault.

“Alright, Doc,” I said. “I’ll come see him in a little
while.”

“I’ll tell him for you, Marshal,” said Doc. “Before you go,
though, let me take a look at that shoulder.”

I took off my shirt and Doc peeled the bandage away. I hadn’t
changed it since before heading out to look for Stobo and Trevitt, and he
clucked his tongue and changed the dressing. When he was done, I put my shirt
back on and tucked the tails into my trousers. “Thanks, Doc,” I said.

“Just try not to get too banged up for the next couple of
days, Matt,” he said. “I was thinking about going on a vacation, once Chester’s
on his feet again.”

“Where would you go, Doc?” I asked.

“I was thinkin’ of goin’ fishing, Marshal,” he said.

“Doc,” I said, “when Chester’s back on his feet, I think
we’ll both join you. You know how he loves his catfish stew.”

Doc chuckled, and for a moment it felt like everything was
back to normal. Then I remembered about Chester, and my smile slowed faded.
“Tell Chester I’ll be back soon,” I said. Doc nodded and headed for his back
room.

I couldn’t talk to him yet. It’d been my laziness that had
got him hurt. I couldn’t talk to him until I’d made things right. Or at least,
as right as I could.

I put my hat on and went downstairs and out into the street.
Then I walked around to the front door of the jail and went inside. I looked at
the kid. “Bub,” I said. “Get me the keys to that cell.”

The kid walked to the peg they were hanging from and brought
them to me without a word. His eyes were wide.

“What’s up, Marshal?” asked Shiloh. I didn’t answer him as I
walked into the back room and unlocked the door to the cell. I pulled out my
gun and swung the door wide open.

“Alright,” I said, leaving the barrel of the gun floating
somewhere between the two of them. “C’mon, Trevitt.”

Trevitt stood but didn’t move towards me. “Where to?”

“Come on, I said.”

Stobo looked at me and said, “What’s up, Marshal?”

“I’ll be back for you, Stobo. Come on, Trevitt.” I jerked my
gun and he came out of the cell. I locked it behind him and pointed towards the
back door. “Now get going. Go on!” I shoved him a little and he walked to the
door and opened it. Once we were outside I closed the door behind me and
holstered my gun. Trevitt tried to look at me over his shoulder. He thought I
was going to shoot him in the back.

“It was Stobo did it, not me,” said Trevitt. “You can’t do
anything to me –”

“Shut up,” I said. I grabbed him and turned him around to
face me. “Trevitt, your horse is down at the National stables. Go and get on
it.”

Trevitt blinked, disbelieving. “You - you’re turning me
loose?”

“Get on your horse and ride. Don’t ever come back to Dodge,
not while I’m alive. Now go on before I change my mind.”

Trevitt started nodding and running at the same time. “Yeah,
yeah, sure. Sure. I’ll go!” He was around the corner of the jail and out of
sight before I reached the door. One thing about Trevitt – he could run.

I walked back inside and unlocked the cell door again. This
time I swung it wide and left it open. We weren’t going to need it anymore.
“You’re next, Stobo.” I had my gun out again.

Stobo stood, his arms folded. “What’d you do to Trevitt?” he
asked. “Put a knife in him? I didn’t hear no shot.”

“I turned him loose,” I said. “Now come on, get out of that
cell.”

“Am I free, too?”

“You will be,” I said. “In a little while.”

We walked through the front office and Shiloh said, “Where’s
Trevitt?”

“Turned him loose,” I said.

The kid saw the gun and said excitedly, “What’re you gonna do
with Stobo?”

Stobo grunted. “Gonna shoot me in the back, probably. That
right, Marshal?”

“I’m gonna do what I should’ve done three days ago when I
sent Chester after you.” I holstered my gun and nodded to Shiloh. “Bring him
outside.”

Shiloh drew his pistol and prodded Stobo. “Let’s go, Stobo.
Slow and easy.”

“What’re you gonna do, Marshal?” asked the kid.

“Bub,” I said, “for the week you’ve been here, you’ve been
gun crazy. I’m gonna show you something that might put an end to that.”

By the time I got outside a crowd had already started
gathering.

“Bring him over here, Shiloh,” I said.

Stobo looked around. Someone was leading a horse and he said,
“You’re gonna drag me, is that it? You try that and I’ll –”

I cut him off. “That’s what you’d do, isn’t it, Stobo?”

“Don’t try it!” he said.

“Nevermind!” I unbuckled my gunbelt. “Here, Shiloh, hold my
guns.”

Shiloh stared at them and said, “What?”

The kid grabbed my arm. “What’re you doin’, Mr. Dillon?”

Stobo started laughing that sick, rat-tat-tat laugh of his,
like a repeating rifle. “Oh-ho-ho! I get it! You’re gonna fight me! Marshal,
you’re crazier than I thought!” He flexed those huge muscles of his. “Why, I’ll
tear your throat out!”

“If he wins,” I said, “let him go, Shiloh.”

Shiloh eyed Stobo. “Maybe I will…”

“I said you’ll let him go.”

Shiloh shrugged. “Alright, Marshal, alright. I guess maybe
you are crazy, but this is your party.”

The crowd had made a ring for us – a wide ring, considering
Stobo’s size. Stobo was grinning as he pulled off his shirt and threw it into
the dirt. “Come on, Marshal! I’ll make it short for you! Real short!” He swung
his arms around a couple of times to warm them up.

I took off my hat. And my vest. And my badge. I unbuttoned my
collar another button. That was about as much as I was prepared to give.

“Make ‘em keep back, Shiloh,” I said. The kid had run off,
which surprised me. I’d have thought, with his longing to see a fight, he’d
have stuck around.

Shiloh walked the perimiter of the crowd, shooing them back
like cattle. “You heard the Marshal! Stand back, everybody! Get back, d’ya
hear?”

I walked into the center of the street, with the ring of
people around me, all watching the show. Well, this time I wanted to give them
one.

Stobo was watching me with a huge grin on his face. I decided
that was what I’d start with. I’d stop him from grinning.

“You’re big, Stobo,” I said. “But you’re stupid. You’re ugly
stupid.”

Stobo’s grin vanished as his lips turned down into an ugly
sneer. “Why you…!” And he swung. It was a huge roundhouse, and I’d expected it,
but Stobo was faster than I’d expected and as I stepped back his knuckles
grazed my chin. It turned my head, but my left arm was already moving.

Most men hit with their fists, which is about as dumb as
kicking a man if you’re not wearing boots. There’re too many bones in the hand
to break – I know, I’d learned the hard way when I was about fifteen. Sat all
summer with a plaster cast on, and I never wanted to do that again.

No, the fist is only if you have to reach out. Instead, I
stepped into Stobo and brought my left elbow up into his ear. It’s a hit that
could knock a normal man off his feet, or at least down to one knee. But Stobo
wasn’t a normal man. He staggered maybe two steps, then lashed out with the
back of his right fist. It was what I’d wanted him to do, and I ducked and gave
him two short jabs in the gut. There are no bones in the stomach – nothing to
break your hand on. Then I backed away fast as he brought his left hand down to
club me. He missed, and I stepped around, circling him. He followed me with his
eyes, and he cuffed sweat from his forehead, to keep it for blocking his
vision. I felt my own sweat spreading through my shirt already. I was beginning
to loosen up. Under the hot Kansas sun, my mouth was still wet. I wasn’t
parched yet, which is always a good sign. Time was on my side. Stobo was big
and quick, but he wasn’t too smart. And he was already smacking his lips. He
hadn’t had enough water – probably refused to drink what Shiloh brought to him.
Ornery, that’s what Stobo was. Well, I’d have to beat that out of him.

I was busy feeling smart when Stobo lunged, and though I
dodged to my right I didn’t get away fast enough. Stobo got ahold of my shirt
and spun me around. With that meaty paw of his he clubbed my face, first the
right side, then the left. I threw up my arms to block him, trying to angle
them so his fist would bounce off without breaking my forearms. He still had
hold of me with his right hand. I ducked down, but he hauled me back up. Again
with the clubbing, right, then left. My lip split open, and I knew my eyes were
going to puff shut in a minute. The crowd was cheering, but if they were
cheering him or me I couldn’t tell. Again with the club. Another minute and I was
going down. I pushed backwards, trying to get out of reach, while my left arm
tried to break the grip he had on my shirt. If I didn’t buy such good shirts it
would’ve ripped by now, and I’d’ve been free. Then I remembered, it’d been
Chester who’d bought this shirt. Chester and his new shirts.

Stobo was pulling me towards him, and he was laughing that
evil, sick twitter of his. He pulled back his arm to club me again, and I
lunged forward and pushed up off my feet. I drove my forehead up into his nose.
He howled and reeled back. I stumbled off to the side, my vision blurred with
dancing lights. Head-butting a man is never without those stars, and I hate
doing it. But I was back in the fight before Stobo was. He was holding his
head, or maybe just his nose, and there was his belly, wide open. I didn’t feel
like getting in close again, so I put the heel of my boot into Stobo’s soft
middle. His air rushed out of him with hardly any voice to it, just the wind
from a bellows, and he went down, landing on his backside. The crowd gasped.

I staggered. For some reason I had trouble getting that leg
back under me. But I managed to straighten myself. I spat some blood out of my
mouth, tasting that strange copper flavor blood has. It hit the dirt and made a
little sound. It was hotter now and I imagined that the sound was my blood
boiling right there on Front Street.

“Come on, Stobo,” I said. My words weren’t slurred, but
that’s because I was working hard at it. “Get up.” My eyes were both puffing
up, and it was getting harder to keep them both open. But the right one was
worse than the left, so I focused on keeping the left one wide.

Stobo clambered off his tail and stood holding his gut,
shaking his head clear. I’d rung his bells pretty hard, but he wasn’t a man
who’d stay down long. He wasn’t even bleeding yet, except from his nose. I’d
probably broken it. But noses bleed a lot, and when he cuffed his face he saw
the blood and stared at me and growled. “I’ll. Kill. You!”

This time I didn’t have to say anything to egg him on. He
came at me like a locomotive, his huge arms open so he could grab me and
squeeze me to death. I feinted to the right. He fell for it, and I slipped
around his other side and punched him in the kidneys with everything I had
behind it. He arched his back and grunted, and the big arms came backhanding at
my head again. I caught it against my right elbow and my whole arm shuddered
and my hand went numb. I brought my knee up into his belly, and as he doubled
over I brought my left elbow down where his shoulder met his neck. He folded,
but he folded over me, his arms around my waist. With the cry of an angry
buffalo he surged forward, carrying me off my feet and flat on my back. I tried
to roll away, but he held me down with one hand and his other fist went back.
My only luck was that he was a brute scrapper. He only thought about big
swinging punches. If he’d taken the straight shot at me from his shoulder
I’d’ve been done. But he brought that beefy paw around at my head. I hunched up
and took the blow on my left shoulder. I couldn’t help yelling when he hit the
wound made my Howard’s bullet the other night, but I was already reaching for
his eyes. My arms weren’t as big as his, but they were just as long. I jabbed
at his face with my fingers, and between gouging at his eyes and twisting his
broken nose, his grip on my shirt loosened. I felt it and threw my weight
against that arm. He was using it for balance, so he fell and I rolled over him
and back to my feet.

“Kick ‘im!” shouted someone in the crowd. “Kick ‘im,
Marshal!” It soon became a chant. “Kick him! Kick him!”

I stood back to let him find his feet. I don’t care what a
man’s done. I won’t kick him while he’s down. Even though Stobo derserved it.
It wasn’t a matter of who he was, or what he’d done. It mattered who I was, and
what I was willing to do.

Stobo didn’t get up, though. He lay there on the ground, his
hands out in front of him grasping the dirt, like I’d hurt him bad.

“Are we done, Stobo?” I asked. He said something, but it was
muffled, and I took a step closer to hear him. When he saw my shadow near him
he spun and threw the dirt in his hands into my face. My right eye was still
shut, but the dirt got into my good left eye. I pulled back, and knowing what
was coming, I dropped to my knees and rolled. He must have surged right past
me, because I breathed in a cloud of his dust as I heard his scream of anger. I
cuffed at my left eye and pried my right eye open. Stobo had turned and was
about to come at me again. I stood up and ran forward and put a shot into his
broken nose. It surprised him, me coming at him. I hit him again, right in the
face, trying to puff up his eyes the same way he’d closed mine. I wasn’t
worried about breaking my hand anymore. I wasn’t worried about much of anything.
My blood was pumping and my face felt like a raw steak but my arms and legs
were loose and my breathing was coming easy. Stobo was panting. I figured that
any fight he’d ever been in had ended after the first couple punches. If I
could last longer than him, I would win.

But that wouldn’t be much of a victory. It was the kind of
win that a man like Stobo would scorn. And I wanted him to know he’d been beat.

He tried to bring his arm around to grab me but I slapped it
away and in the same move elbowed him in the jaw. He turned, and I hit him with
my fist in the side of his huge neck. His hands came up, but to hit me or stop
me I couldn’t tell. I hit him again, a backhand to the face, then three good
punches to his stomach. He folded and went down to his knees.

“Stay down, Stobo,” I said. My words sounded strange in my
ears, and I realized that they didn’t sound much like words at all.

Stobo must’ve understood, though, because he shook his head
and struggled up to his feet again. I let him come for me, though now it was
his turn to have trouble seeing and he tried to find me more by feel than by
sight. I ducked under his arms and put two good punches into his ribs, a right
then a left. He staggered, and his huge arms came around limply, like he wanted
to swing at me but just couldn’t muster the energy. I stepped back out of his
reach, then walked right up to him and gave him a solid straight arm punch to
the jaw. I was lucky I didn’t break every bone in my hand. But it worked. He
stumbled back a few paces then fell on his back, barely breathing, his eyes
closed.

I could hardly stand, and my feet were weaving under me. My
nose was broken, and probably a couple of ribs. The sweat stung my swollen eyes
and the tips of my hair hung down and half-blocked my sight. But I was still
standing. Stobo wasn’t.

“Gimme my guns, Shiloh,” I said through my broken lip.

Shiloh handed them to me. “Here,” he said. He looked down at
Stobo. “He don’t look too good, Marshal. I better get the Doc –”

“He’s hurt but he isn’t dead,” I said, buckling my guns back
on. “If he can’t ride, throw him on a stage, but get him outta here. If I see
him again, I’ll shoot him.”

The crowd made way for me as I walked back into my office.
Even the kid didn’t come with me.

Always something to prove.

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The next morning I woke at dawn and got dressed. I picked out
a shirt that Chester had given me the last time he’d gone shopping. He’d
ordered one of his fancy shirts, but when it’d come it’d been too big for him,
so he’d given it to me. It was brown, and had some fancy stitching over the
pockets. I felt a little silly, but Chester had given it to me, so I put it on
and skipped breakfast and went straight to the jail. Shiloh was there, waiting
for me.

“Mornin’, Marshal,” he said.

“Everything alright, Shiloh?”

Shiloh shrugged. “Doc looked over your prisoners. Trevitt’s
pretty sick, but Stobo’s alright. He’s got a few burns, is all. Nothin’ could
hurt that moose.”

“A hanging might,” I said.

“Sure,” said Shiloh. “But what if Chester pulls through?”

From the back room, on the cot in the cell, Trevitt had been
listening. He called out, “You can’t hold us then, Marshal. There’s no law that
says –”

I turned my head. “I don’t like the sound of your voice,
Trevitt.”

“But you can’t hold us –”

“Be quiet,” I told him. And he was.

But Stobo wasn’t. “Don’t worry, Trevitt. There’s nothin’ he
can –”

“You, too, Stobo!”

“Aw, now, Marshal,” laughed Stobo. “Don’ be that way!”

“Shut the door, Shiloh,” I said. “I don’t want to look at
‘em.”

Shiloh did, then looked at me. “That Stobo’s a mean one. But
I feel kinda sorry for Trevitt.”

I sat down behind my desk. “Then go cry about it someplace
else. I don’t feel sorry.”

Shiloh walked up to my desk and stood opposite me. “Don’t you
take it out on me, Marshal,” he said. “I didn’t send Chester off to do my job.”

I bit back my first answer. But he wasn’t out of line. I was
just feeling pretty raw. “I – Yeah. Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry. You’ve been
a big help to me this week. Where’s the kid?”

“Sleepin’,” said Shiloh. “He likes to sleep late, now that he’s
got a bed to sleep in. I figured I’d roust ‘im about noon.”

“That sounds fine, Shiloh. Thanks. Go get some breakfast, eh?
I’ll, ah, I’ll wait here now.”

Shiloh nodded. “I’ll be back later.”

I watched him leave, then sat behind my desk feeling about as
low as I ever had. I sat there hating my badge, hating Dodge, hating Shiloh for
being right about what was eating me. And I guess I was hating myself most of
all. But there was nothing I could do about it until Chester either improved,
or… Well, there wasn’t anything else I could do about Chester. But I could
still follow up on Clay Richards.

I leaned out my office door and got a stablehand from Moss
Gremmick’s place to run over to Richard’s house and tell Francie I wanted to
see her. While I waited I spent the time trying to find some balance. I
couldn’t go around tearing the heads off everyone I saw. As much as I felt like
it.

Francie came in, and now, I saw, she was wearing black. She
was in mourning. But I was the only person in Dodge who knew what she was
really mourning. Or whom.

“Morning, Francie,” I said, pulling out a chair. “Have a
seat.”

“Morning, Marshal,” she said, very formal-like. I was glad. I
didn’t want her to call me Matt. Not today.

“How’s Chester?” she asked.

“Doc says he might know later today,” I told her.

“I hope he’s all right,” she said.

“Me too, Francie. Thanks.” There was no easy way to start, so
I just spurred ahead. “Francie, Ma Schnieder tells me that you’re pregnant.”

Francie went pale, and for a moment her white face was a perfect
contrast to the black dress. Then she flushed and looked at her hands. “I was,”
she said.

“And Clay knew. That’s what he was out celebrating, that
night.”

“Yes.”

“But then he kicked you, tried to make you lose the baby,” I
said. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, Marshal.” She was still looking at her hands.

There was no other way but to ask. “It’s because he found out
it wasn’t his. Isn’t it?”

Francie seemed to shrink in on herself.

“That’s it, isn’t it, Francie?”

From out of a huddled lady I heard the voice of a frightened
little girl. “Yes.”

She’d never sounded that way back when we used to go
together. She’d been bright and vibrant and full of confidence. It’s amazing
what just a few years with a man like Clay could do to a woman’s spirit.

“It was Fred Grinnell’s baby.”

That was when she looked up.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

“How – how did you -? Matt, how did you know about Fred?”

“I guessed it. Clay didn’t go in there to rob the bank, did
he?”

Francie shook her head.

“My guess is that somehow after that night at the Texas Trail
he figured out that Fred Grinnell was the baby’s father, and he tried to get
Fred to draw. But Fred never wore a gun – except when he was working at the
bank. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Francie in a dull voice.

“So the only way for Clay to have a fair fight with Fred was
to draw on him in the bank. He went in there early, when no one else was
supposed to be there – ”

Francie went back to looking at her hands.

“And he challenged Fred to draw. But he couldn’t’ve known
that some poor Chinese cook would come walking in and think it was a robbery.
He probably tried to draw on Clay, and Clay had to kill him. Fred shot once,
hitting Clay in the arm, and Clay shot Fred dead.”

She was crying now, blubbering little hitch breaths.

“Clay knew that he might’ve had a case for self-defense
against Fred, but by killing the cook, he must’ve figured that no one would
believe he wasn’t trying to rob the bank. So he ran. And was killed that night
by the Dutchman’s knife.”

Francie wept outright into her hands.

“Three men dead,” I said. “All over you.”

She just sat there, weeping and shaking, her body wracked
with sobs. Slowly I reached out and lifted her up and held her, letting her cry
on me. We stood that way for a long time, her thinking about the men she’d
loved, me thinking about the last time I’d held her this way. Back then, I’d
thought the world could end, as long as she was in my arms. Now she was just
someone I used to know, who’d seen some trouble. No, I stood there, with her
clutching me, and there was only one woman I was thinking of. She had red hair
and a spirit that just wouldn’t quit. And the way I felt when she looked at me
could power a hundred steam engines. It was like the kick of a mule.

But I was the Marshal. There were things I couldn’t do.

Francie shifted against me and brought my thoughts back to
her. I sure didn’t blame her for seeing Fred Grinnell, who’d been a pretty good
man. I hoped he’d been the one to tell Clay whose baby Francie was carrying. I
hoped he’d at least tried to step up and take care of things. But I figured it
was probably Francie who told her husband. He’d been hurting her for so long,
and she finally had a way to hurt him back. She hadn’t broken any law – or at
least, none that I was going to enforce. She’d paid enough. Her husband, her
lover, and her baby, all gone in a week.

I wondered if I should have leaned on Clay a little more. No,
probably not. It would just have made him hit her more, which would have sent
her running to Grinnell. No, this was one of those times that the law was
pretty much a show-horse. All leg, no step.

After awhile Francie’s crying slowed, and she stepped back.
“You ain’t gonna tell anyone, are you, Matt?”

“No, Francie,” I said. “Don’t see much point. But maybe you
want to sell your house and leave Dodge. Start over somewhere else. There’s too
much history here.”

“What about you, Matt?” she asked. “What about your history?
Our history?”

This time I knew what she was asking. “I’m here to stay,
Francie,” I said. “I’ve got nowhere else to go. Besides,” I added, “it’s my
job.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

I rode west on Trevitt’s horse, with my own rope hung over
his saddlehorn. I was probably going to need it for Stobo, if he was as big as
they said. As I rode, I kept fussing with the rope, and before I knew what I’d
done, I’d made a noose. It scared me a little. There’s nothing I hate more than
a lynching, but my hands seemed to have done my thinking for me.

Dawn was just breaking when I saw Stobo, crouched behind a
campfire, cooking breakfast. He was big alright, bigger than I’d even hoped. He
had meaty paws and a beefy face and shoulders like an ox. He was a good three
or four inches taller than me. His nose had been broken, and his face was
scarred and veiny.

Yeah. Stobo would do just fine.

His horse was saddled and stood nearby. He must have planned
to ride right after breakfast. Too bad for him he’d waited to eat. He might
have lasted another day, with me trailing him. But now he was going back to
Dodge. Alive. Hurt, but alive. I’d promised.

I rode straight up, got down, and walked over.

Stobo looked at me warily, and kept his gun hand free. “You
lost, stranger?”

“No,” I said, stopping just across the fire from him. “I’m
not lost – Stobo.”

Hearing his name he drew his gun and pointed it at my belly.
“No tricks, mister,” he said. “I don’t see a gun, but no tricks.”

“Relax, Stobo,” I said. Repeating his name was important,
like I had to keep reminding myself of who he was. “I’m unarmed.”

Stobo wasn’t afraid of me, armed or not. But he did like
having the advantage. Scornfully he asked, “Who are you?”

“Matt Dillon,” I told him. “I’m a US Marshal out of Dodge.”

“You’re a long way from Dodge, Marshal.”

“Stobo, you and your pal had some fun with a friend of mine
yesterday. You hurt him bad. Maybe you killed him.”

Stobo’s laugh was ugly. It came in short little fits, then
built into something real nasty. “You rode out here without a gun to tell me that?
You’re the craziest Marshal I ever saw.” He laughed in another short triple
burst. “I’m gonna shoot you, Marshal, and bury you in the river. What do you
think o’ that?”

“I expected you would.”

That confused him. He was big and he was mean and he had an
animal’s sense of self-preservation. But he wasn’t smart. “Eh?”

“Yeah,” I said. “But unless you want it on your conscience
you refused to feed a man on the trail, you better give me a piece of that pork
first.” I nodded to his breakfast.

Stobo smiled like a man who apprecates a good joke. “You’re
about the coolest man I ever saw, Marshal.”

“Do I eat?”

Again with the short little guffaws before he answered. “Sure
you do. Sure. You just stand right there across the fire and don’t move or I’ll
have to shoot you before you been fed.”

“I know.”

He kept his gun out as he moved toward the fire. “It’s too
bad I only got one dish for your last meal, Marshal.”

“A man can keep sassy on meat alone, Stobo.”

Again the guffaws. “Yeah, yeah, he sure can.” He bent forward
and used his left hand to poke at the meat with a stick. “Well, looks about
done – at least this here piece is. You can’t –”

I kicked the fire, hard. Coals went flying up and struck
Stobo in the face and on the arm. As he reeled back screaming I came at him
with both fists and hit him four times in the belly. He tried to bring his gun
hand around and I slapped it away. His gun fell and I kicked him in the knee.
He collapsed to the ground. I picked up his gun and pointed it at him. He
couldn’t see me because he was still cluching his face.

“Alright, I got your gun, Stobo,” I told him, “so don’t try
anything!”

“You burned me, you burned me, you burned me! You sonofa -”

“It’s just a few coals,” I said. “It won’t hurt you. Now shut
up and get on your horse!”

Stobo opened his eyes, then, and there was no laughter now,
but a pure animal rage. “I’ll kill you for this. Marshal! You can’t hurt me
like that – ”

“On your horse!” I shouted. He wasn’t afraid of me, but he
was afriad of the gun. I waved it at him again. “Go on, now! Get up there!” He
did. “Now you just sit there, Stobo.”

I remounted and took my rope from the saddlehorn of Trevitt’s
horse. Now I knew why I’d made the noose. “I’m gonna throw this noose around
your neck, so keep your hands down!” One throw and it was on him. “There now.
You ride towards Dodge. You do anything I don’t like and I’ll jerk you off your
horse and drag you the rest of the way. Now ride.”

We rode that way for the whole morning, Stobo just ahead of
me, a noose around his neck, and his gun pointing at his back. It was hot and
tiring work, but that was alright. I had plenty of water. For some reason,
Stobo didn’t ask for any. Maybe he wasn’t thirsty. Or maybe he wanted to prove
how tough he was. Or maybe he knew that I wouldn’t have given him any, even if
he begged.

We didn’t say a word until we reached Dodge.

“Jail’s on the left,” I said. “See it?”

Stobo nodded and said in a croaked voice, “I see it.”

I tugged on the noose. “Alright, pull up.” Stobo stopped his
horse, and I stopped Trevitt’s. “Shiloh?” I called. “Bub! Shiloh!”

The kid came tearing out of the jail, with Shiloh trailing
along behind him. “Mr. Dillon!” cried the kid.

“Well, hello, Marshal,” said Shiloh. “This the other one?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Trevitt get here?”

“He sure did!” the kid told me.

Shiloh nodded. “More dead ‘n alive, but he’s here.” Shiloh
eyed me in a way he never had before. “It was rough, Marshal. Real rough.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Shiloh – how ‘bout Chester? Tell me.”

Shiloh just shook his head. “Doc ain’t sure yet, but he’s
alive.”

I nodded. “Lock Stobo up. I’m going over to Doc’s.”

Shiloh reached down and pulled out his pistol. Stobo was too
much of a brute for any sane man to take chances with. “Alright, you, get down!
Walk straight or I’ll shoot you through both knees.”

Chester was asleep, but the Doc let me take a look at him.
Seemed to me he had more trouble breathing than before. But Doc said another
day might see him out of it. There was nothing I could do, so I went up for a
steak at the Texas Trail, where I told Kitty and the kid what I’d done. The kid
was real excited, but Kitty just looked at me with a strange look that I didn’t
really like, so I finished my food and took the kid back to Shiloh. Then I went
to bed.