David Blixt's Blog, page 13

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I cut straight down to the Arkansas and followed it west. I
rode close to the water where I could use the sound of it for my cover. It
wasn’t much of a flow here, but there’s something comforting to the sound of
running water. Too bad I was in no fit state to be comforted. There were night
birds and other animals around, and they were probably friendly to listen to.
But all my energy went to slowly stalking along the Arkansas River, looking for
two men and their horses. Stobo and Trevitt.

From what people were saying, it didn’t sound like I’d have
much trouble with Trevitt. It was Stobo who I was going to have to look out
for. In my imagination now it was Stobo who threw the rope around Chester’s
ankles. Big, they said of Stobo. Big and mean.

Good. I didn’t want this to be easy. If it was too easy, I’d
have to find someone else to break. I hoped Stobo put up a real good fight.

After an hour or two of following the river, I spotted a
hobbled horse, alone. It had to be one of them. Stobo and Trevitt must have
separated. If they intended to travel together, there was no point in camping
away from each other that I could see. Unless it was to trap whoever was
chasing them. Because they had to know I’d trace them. Even if Chester never
mentioned me, they knew there was a Marshal in Dodge. They’d gone back to camp,
gathered their gear, and run for the hills. They had to know I was coming.
Maybe this was a trap for me. Maybe I was supposed to think they’d separated,
while one lay in wait further back in the trees with a rifle.

Part of me wanted to walk right up to whoever it was and
start kicking him until he couldn’t walk. But if I got shot that would mean
that they would get away scott free. That was something I couldn’t abide
thinking of. So I dismounted and back-tracked the trail of the hobbled horse
until I saw where the two horses split up. It was hard work and it hurt my
eyes, but I finally found the spot – it was a good ways away from the river,
and the second horse had made a sharp turn. It wasn’t a trap. They had split. I
hoped that didn’t make it too easy.

I already knew where one of them was, so I decided to retrace
my steps and take him first. Whichever one he was, Stobo or Trevitt.

When I got close to the hobbled horse again, I got down off
of my horse and followed a man’s tracks as best I could until I caught the
dying coals of a campfire on the bank ahead. On this side I could make out the
huddled figure of a man asleep in his blanket.

I felt the old wildness again. I’d thought that taking a
badge would wash it out of me. Guess I was wrong.

It took a long time to crawl to his head. From just four feet
away I saw the weasel-face of the man, Trevitt. His gunbelt lay on his saddle-blanket,
in easy reach. I stood up and heaved it out into the river. Trevitt heard the
sound and his eyes opened. As he sat up with a snap I kicked him back down.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” he cried, gasping and blinking at
the darkness. All he saw was me looming over him.

“You sit up again and I’ll smash your skull, Trevitt!”

“Don’t kill me, don’t kill me.”

“Shut up! Now, where’s your rope?” Trevitt started to sit up
again and I kicked him in the throat. “I told you to lie down! Now where’s your
rope?”

Trevitt lay gasping for a minute or so before he could
answer. “Under my saddle there,” he pointed, this time making sure to stay on
the ground. “You gonna lynch me?”

I walked to where his saddle was sitting, a few feet on his
other side. Sure enough, there was the rope. I lifted it and walked back
towards him. “No,” I said. “I’m not gonna lynch you. But you may hang legally
if you live that long. Now keep your arms in that blanket and lie still while I
get you roped up here.”

He did as I told him, but that didn’t stop him from talking.
“Who – who are you mister?”

“Let’s just say I’m a good friend of that man you dragged
outta Dodge this morning.” I finished binding his arms to his sides, then
started on his legs. “There, that’ll do it.”

“Stobo was in on that too,” said Trevitt, real fear in his
voice. “It was his idea, he did it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find Stobo.” I stood and walked away.

“Y’ain’t – gonna leave me like this?” Trevitt called after
me.

“I’ll be back,” I said.

I walked as far as my horse and Trevitt’s, and led them both
back to where the little weasel was lying, hog-tied and ready for a little
justice.

As I stepped back into the glow of the burning embers he
noticed for the first time that I wasn’t armed. “You – ain’t even carryin’ a
gun.”

“Too bad for you I’m not,” I said. I dragged him up to his
feet. “Now, Trevitt, I’m gonna throw you across my horse and tie you on. He’ll
take you into Dodge, right up to the jail. When you get there, tell Shiloh who
you are, if you can still talk, and he’ll give you a nice, clean cell.”

“You’re the Marshal,” said Trevitt. He was a bright one.

I lifted him up and threw him over my saddle. “I’ll be back
when I find Stobo,” I said.

As I began lashing Trevitt to my horse he kept whining. “You
can’t do it, Marshal. I’ll die in that sun. Ride like that, across a horse? No,
no, now listen – Stobo’s ‘bout a mile upriver. We had a row and I left him.
See? I told ya, Marshal. Let me go now?”

I took my own rope from off my saddle and walked around to
look Trevitt in the eye. “Trevitt, how’d you like to go back to Dodge behind my
horse with a rope around your heels?”

Trevitt began shaking. “No no no, no no! Don’t, Marshal,
don’t kill me!” Any minute now he was going to disgrace himself across my
horse.

“Save your water,” I said. “You’re gonna need it.”

I slapped my horse’s rump and started him off in the
direction of Dodge. Then forgot about Trevitt.

Stobo was next. 

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Riding gives a man lots of time to think. Some men fill up
that time with whistling or humming or low singing. Some men talk to
themselves, or their horses. I knew a man once who’d recited verses of poetry
he’d memorized – Shakespeare and Virgil. But I like it quiet, mostly. It’s
never a bad thing to be alone with your thoughts. I’ve always suspected the men
who are noisy in the saddle are the men who don’t like what’s rattling around
in their heads.

But imagination can be a terrible thing sometimes. Even
though I was looking at the Kansas prarie, all my eyes could see was Chester,
walking up to two cowboys over on Front Street. I couldn’t get the scene out of
my head. I could even hear the conversation.

The big one – Stobo, Kitty had said – calling out, “Hey lady
– you ever been to Texas? Real men down there. Not like these short dressed
Kansans.” Then he’d laugh, and his friend would laugh. Trevitt. Stobo and Trevitt.

I could almost hear Chester’s slow, lazy cadence. “Alright,
boys. Now, that’s enough.”

“Who’s this?” Stobo would ask.

“Preacher, maybe,” Trevitt would answer.

Then Chester would say, “Boys, Marshal Dillon sent me down
here.”

“And we’re gonna send you right back to the Marshal,” Stobo
would answer, his piggish eyes gleaming. “With a message.”

But Chester would just plow on. “Mr. Dillon said you can have
all the fun you like, but leave the ladies alone.”

Trevitt would look at his friend and say, “That’s the whole
trouble with these Dodgelings – they’ve been left alone too long.”

Stobo would laugh and say, “Yeah! What they need is a couple
of big-handed Texas men.”

Chester would know I didn’t want any shooting, so he’d try to
calm things down. “Look, why don’t you go over there to the Allafraganza. I’ll
buy you both a beer.”

Stobo would like that offer. He’d think it was weak. “You
will, huh? Well, that’s mighty thoughty of you, mister.”

“We
just don’t want any trouble, that’s all,” Chester would say. And Stobo would
nod and smile real big and say, “Sure we don’t. And I’ve got an idea how we
won’t have any. Wait’ll I get on my horse here. Stay with our friend a minute,
Trevitt - ”

Or maybe it was Trevitt who went to get the horse and Stobo
who stayed behind to distract Chester. It didn’t matter to me. They were both
going to pay. One of them had roped him, and yanked him off his feet, making
his gun spill out of his holster. And then they’d dragged him, dragged him
right past my office, while I was sitting in there playing cards with Doc and
letting Chester do my job.

I kept seeing the same scene again and again, with small
changes each time. Every time it was worse.

That’s why I started talking outloud. It wasn’t anything
important, just talking about the scenery, and women I’d known, and guns I’d
owned. If the kid had been with me, he’d have gotten me to name all the men I’d
killed. But he wasn’t, and so I thought instead about the places I’d seen –
Amarillo, San Antonio, Laredo. I talked about anything that would keep my mind
off of the image of Chester lying there in the scrub, facedown, with a rope
around his ankles. I talked and I talked, and sometimes what I said even made
sense.

“Funny how everything feeds into something else,” I said at
one point. “Streams feed rivers. Kindling feeds a fire. And violence and
shooting feeds into more violence and shooting. I try to do something right in
town, I teach the city a lesson about the importance of law, and because of
what happened while I was teaching that lesson, a couple of Texas cowboys drag
Chester three miles from the back of their horses.”

My horse didn’t say anything.

“Funny. Yeah, funny. Funny how I don’t feel like laughing.”

I got back to talking about places, but I ran out of places
I’d been, so I started listing places I’d heard about – far off places like
Paris, and Egypt, and China. Then I thought about the Chinese cook who’d been
killed by Clay Richards in the bank, while he was trading shots with the clerk.
I wondered how a man could travel so far, just to be killed in a chance fight
by a stray bullet. I wondered about his family, and about his plans, and what
kind of a future he’d wanted.

That got me back to thinking about the clerk, Fred Grinnell.

“He wasn’t a big man,” I said. “Not brave, really. Fred never
even wore a gun. Matter of fact, I’m surprised he put up a fight at the bank.
I’d’ve thought he would just have handed over the money without a fuss, and be
happy to escape with his life. But maybe he just didn’t like Clay. Maybe it made
him mad that it was Clay robbing him. I mean, the night when Clay’d been
celebrating, Fred was looking murder at him…”

It was then that all the pieces clicked together. It’s like a
train that’s stopped, and all the parts look solid and separate. Then the next
minute the train starts moving, and everything runs smoothly, gliding along
over the rails, and everything fits. Everything about Clay fit now. I suddenly
felt really bad about that poor Chinaman. We already knew he’d been in the
wrong place at the wrong time, but now I knew he never stood a chance. The
flying lead was preordained, by both Clay and Fred.

Of course, there was nothing much I could do about it. I’d
talk to Francie when I got back to town, but I was pretty sure there was no one
left alive to arrest. And the warm feeling solving that puzzle gave me didn’t
last long. All I had to do was think of Chester lying up at Doc’s place, with
that horrible wheezing breath, and I was back to the dull anger I’d started
with. I stopped talking to my horse, since it wasn’t helping. The horse didn’t
seem to mind.

By nightfall I’d reached the camp of the Crowtrack herd. I
rode in slow, looking around, but I knew even if I saw Trevitt and Stobo I
probably wouldn’t recognize them. One with a weasel-face, one big. That’s all I
had.

A couple of cowboys saw that I was a stranger and guns
appeared.

“Who are ya, mister?” shouted one of them. “Stop there!”

I stopped my horse and dismounted. “Who’s the trail boss
here?” I asked. “Where is he?”

One of the cowboys stepped forward. He was older than most of
the riders, as trail bosses tend to be, and he wore a scruffy beard. Unusual
for a Texan. “Here I am,” he said. “You might as well turn around, stranger. I
don’t need any riders.”

“Maybe not,” I said, “but you got two riders I need.”

“How’s that?” The bearded trail boss looked confused. “Just
what do you want, mister?”

“This is the Crowtrack outfit, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m looking for a couple of your men. Called Stobo and
Trevitt.”

The beard bristled a little as he looked me up and down.
“They ain’t here, mister.”

“Then where are they?”

The trail boss thought again, then made up his mind. “They
come back this afternoon, picked up their gear and left. Didn’t even wait to
get paid off. I’m tellin’ you this just ‘cause they’re no good and I’m glad
they’re gone.”

“Which way’d they go?”

He spat on the ground to show me how much I mattered to him.
“I wouldn’t tell you if I knew, mister.”

“I didn’t think you would. Even though I saved one of your
men from bleeding to death last night, I didn’t come out here expecting any
favors.”

“Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m a US Marshal out of Dodge.”

The man blinked, then looked at my belt. That made him smile.
“That so? Well, I don’t know what you want them for and I don’t care, but
how’re you gonna take them, Marshal? Put salt on their tails?” Behind him his
men laughed. “You ought to at least take a club if you’re goin’ after that
Stobo. He’s mean ‘n he’s big – besides bein’ a Texan!”

There were laughs and scoffs and cat-calls from the cowboys.
I just stood there, looking at them. I thought I was being pretty Indian-like,
standing, waiting, without expression. But there must have been something in my
face to let them know what was inside me, because the laughter slowly died away.

“We’ve hung Texans up here before, mister,” I said, then
turned my back and remounted my horse. I walked it away from them slowly. I
heard the ususal whispers behind me, but I was busy wondering which way I
should go to follow my quarry. There was still almost no moon, and it was too
dark to try and find their tracks in all this mess. I’d probably have to make a
camp and wait for morning.

I was pretty well away from the Crowtrack camp when I heard a
voice whisper to me. “Marshal?”

I turned in the saddle, and I saw a young man, no more than
seventeen. He was thin and reedy and looked like a stiff breeze could knock him
over.

“Yeah,” I said.

The young cowboy took off his hat and whispered, “I heard
Stobo and Trevitt say they were headed west, followin’ the Arkansas.”

I studied him hard. “Where you from, son?”

He looked down at the ground. “Texas, near Waco.”

“What’re you snivelling around, informing on these men for?”

The teenager raised his head in anger, then saw my face and
ducked it down again. “That Stobo kicked me. Knocked me down and kicked me.”

Like I said, I’ve been lied to before. I get lied to a lot.
I’m pretty good at telling when I’m being lied to. I don’t always know what the
lie means, like with Francie. I just know it’s a lie. And this scared, willowy
teen wasn’t lying. Stobo had kicked him, alright. Probably one of a hundred
indignities heaped on him since he left Waco. Hell, the way I was feeling, I
wanted to kick him, too.

“Alright, son,” I said. “I’ll ride along the Arkansas. But
you go back to Texas and learn how to fight your own battles.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I stopped pacing when Doc came out of his back room. “How is
he?”

Doc sighed. Somehow it was worse than a head-shake. “He’s in
bad shape, Marshal,” he said.

He wasn’t calling me Matt. That was an even worse sign.

“The worst is,” he said, “something’s botherin’ his
breathing. I don’t know what it is. We’ll just have to wait and see if it goes
away. If he lives the next few days, he’ll pull through.”

I felt my throat close. “Aw, Doc…” I croaked.

Doc opened his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I know, I
know.” He patted my arm. “I’ll stay right here with him.”

I balled up my hands into fists and turned to the window.
“Why did I have to send him? Why didn’t I go?”

Doc laid a hand on my shoulder. “Now, don’t blame yourself,
Marshal…”

“I told him to go, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes, but…”

I turned back around. “Can I talk to him?”

Doc shook his head firmly. “No,” he said. “No, Marshal, no.
Not today.”

I nodded, my jaw clamped shut. I bit my lower lip for a
second, then said, “Alright, then, will you tell him this for me? I’m going
after those men, and I’m gonna bring ‘em back. Alive.” I squinted, and I
couldn’t see anything but those two men dragging Chester behind them. They were
outlined in a red haze. “Or at least half-alive.”

I left Doc’s and went into the street. Outside waves of heat
moved back and forth, making things seem unreal. Like Chester lying up there at
Doc’s. That seemed unreal somehow. I walked down to the jail and I went inside
and I sat there for awhile. Then all at once I got up and unbuckled my guns and
I hung them on a peg behind the desk. And I went over to the Texas Trail.

Kitty waved the moment I came in. “I’m over here, Matt.” I
crossed to her. “Sit down,” she said. I did. “Matt, I heard about Chester. How
is he?”

“Doc doesn’t know for sure.”

My voice must have told her more than my words. “Oh.”

“They were in here bothering you. Who were they, Kitty?”

“I never saw ‘em before. One was a kinda weasel-faced man
named Trevitt.”

Trevitt. “And the other?”

“Big man. Real brute. Named Stobo, I think.”

Stobo. Trevitt and Stobo. “I see. What outfit? They say?”

Kitty looked down at the table, thinking, then back up at me.
“Would it be the Crowtrack?”

“Yeah. The Crowtrack’s holding a herd up the river.” My chair
scraped as I stood up. 

Kitty stood up too. “Matt - they said that one of their men
had been gunned down here the other night and that you hadn’t done anything
about it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “In a fight with one of Rance’s men. He’s the
one that Doc patched up. I guess, since Rance’s boys moved out, they decided to
take things out on the first lawman they saw.” My eyes regained their focus,
and I looked at her. “Thank you, Kitty.”

She grabbed my arm. “Wait a minute, Matt.”

“Yeah?”

She let go of me and cocked her head. “No business of mine to
ask, but – where’re your guns?”

I looked her in the eye. “It’ve been easier for Chester if
they’d’ve shot him and killed him.”

Kitty stared at me like I’d just come down from the moon.
“But I don’t see – ”

“So I’m not gonna shoot them. If Chester dies, I’ll see them
hanged. Otherwise…”

“Otherwise what, Matt?”

“I don’t know. But I’m gonna bring them back. Then we’ll wait
and see.”

“You’re taking an awful chance.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, Matt,” she said. “Please be careful.”

“Sure,” I said. “Ah, Kitty – look in on Chester once in
awhile, will you?”

“Of course I will. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you, Kitty.”

“But don’t forget, Matt, you owe me breakfast. If you don’t
come back, I’ll never forgive you.” She gave me a weak smile.

I nodded, but I didn’t feel like smiling. “I’ll do my best,”
I said. “So long.”

I left the Texas Trail and walked back to the jail. My horse
was still saddled and ready to go. I walked inside and grabbed a bag of water
and tossed it into my saddlebag.

Just as I was mounting, Shiloh walked up, the kid right
behind him.  “Ah, Marshal?”

“What is it, Shiloh?”

“Marshal, I want to ride out after them coyboys with you.”

“I want to go, too,” said the kid.

“No,” I told them. “I’m going alone. But I could use you both
here, at the jail.”

“Here?” asked Shiloh.

“I’m gonna take two prisoners,” I said. “I don’t know when or
how, but they’ll need a jailer when they come in.”

Shiloh said, “So I’ll bring ‘em in with ya, then I’ll…”

“No. That’s something I have to do alone.”

“Marshal, you’re a stubborn man.”

“I also need you to look after the kid.”

“I don’t need lookin’ after,” said the kid.

“Doc can do that,” said Shiloh.

“Doc has enough to do,” I said.

Shiloh thought about it, then said, “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Keys are in my desk. I’m going now. Kid, you look after the
jail. I’m leaving it up to you and Shiloh here.”

“Yessir, Mr. Dillon,” said the kid. It gave me a real pang of
guilt and pain to hear Chester imitated so perfectly.

I turned my horse about and got ready to kick my spurs. The
kid came running up to the side of my horse. “Wait a minute, Marshal – you’re
not even armed.”

“I know it, bub.”

“But – how’re you gonna take ‘em without shootin’ ‘em?”

“When I’m through with them, they’re going to wish I’d
brought a gun.” I kicked my spurs. “G’bye.” 

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

By mid-afternoon I was back sitting in my office. The heat
was back and almost unbearable. The kid was off with Shiloh again, though
they’d be back any minute. They were just rubbing down Clay Richard’s strawberry
roan, which the kid had taken quite a shine to. The kid hadn’t stopped talking
all night about my little run-in with Rance. He wasn’t able to understand my
not shooting it out with him. I tried to explain, but it fell on deaf ears. I
was worried about that kid.

Chester was sitting on the long couch in the office, across
from my desk, where I sat with my feet up. We were both staring out of the
closed screen door.

“Sure is hot today, Mr. Dillon.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Rain sure didn’t cool it off for long,” said Chester.

“Nope.”

“Used to get hotter in Sweetwater, though.”

“Texas?”

“Yessir,” he said. “But I wasn’t there very long.”

“What’d you do there, Chester?”

“Oh, I was a salesman, Mr. Dillon.”

“Salesman? Well, what’d you sell?”

“Lightnin’ rods.”

“Lightning - ? Oh…” I started to laugh.

“Well, now, they’re good things to have, Mr. Dillon. Why, I
had a line of lightnin’ rods…”

“Don’t explain it to me, Chester. It’s too hot.”

“Maybe if’n Howard’d had a lightnin’ rod out away from ‘im,
he wouldn’ta died the way he did.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But then where would you and I be, Chester?”

Chester thought about that for a minute or so. “That’s a fair
point, Mr. Dillon. A fair point indeed.”

“Chester,” I said. “It’s too hot to talk.”

Chester nodded. “Well, I’ll go get us some beer, maybe
that’ll help.”

“I don’t think I want any beer, Chester.”

“Well then, why don’t you go take a siesta, Mr. Dillon? I’ll
stay here in the office.”

I chuckled. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

Chester shrugged. “Alright, Mr. Dillon.”

We sat. After awhile Chester whistled a little tune. I
recognized it, but couldn’t place it until he started it up again. It was the
same tune he’d been humming while Howard’s men had been shooting at us.

“What’s so funny, Mr. Dillon?” he asked.

“Nothing, Chester,” I said. “You just go right on whistling.”

Chester looked at me dubiously. “No, sir,” he said. “Reckon
I’m finished.”

Doc came in the screen door and closed it behind him quickly
to keep the flies out. “Marshal…” he said anxiously, but with a gleam of
wickedness in his eye.

“Yeah, what do you want, Doc?”

“Couple of cowboys are feelin’ their liquor, over at the
Texas Trail,” he told me.

I shrugged and fanned myself with an unopened letter. It was
from the government, so it couldn’t have been all that urgent. “That’s what
saloons are for, isn’t it?” I said.

“They’ve been givin’ Kitty a bad time,” said Doc.

I stopped fanning myself and placed my feet on the floor.
“Oh?”

“She got rid of them, though,” Doc added. “But they’re down
at the end of Front Street now, makin’ remarks and pesterin’ the town ladies.
It just might lead to trouble.”

I put my feet back up on the desk. “Well, I’m not gonna walk
down there in this heat to lecture a couple of hard-nosed cowboys.” I figured
after last night – hell, the past couple days – I’d proved myself enough.

Chester was still laying on the couch. He looked at me. “I’ll
go, Mr. Dillon,” he said.

“Oh, good, Chester,” I said, closing my eyes. “You go, huh?
Just tell them to take it easy and leave the ladies alone.”

I heard the couch springs creak as Chester stood up. “Yes,
sir, I will, Mr. Dillon.”

“Stick around, Doc,” I said. “It’s too hot to be doing
anything much but sitting around.”

“True enough, Matt. As long as you’re not giving me any more
patients to doctor, I might as well pull up a chair.”

The cards lay out where Chester and I had left them the night
before. I heard Doc start to shuffle them. “Ah – want to play a hand or two?”

I opened my eyes. “Why not?”

A few minutes later I heard a ruckus outside as a couple of
horses raced past the window, but I didn’t see anything more than a couple of
cowboys. They shouted and looked like they were racing. At least they were
leaving Dodge.

“Chester must have gotten rid of them,” said Doc.

“Yeah,” I said. “Call.”

We laid down our hands, and I saw Doc holding three kings. “I
swear, Doc,” I said, “I’m gonna start insisting that we play in shirtsleeves.
That way I’ll know you’re not slipping cards in on me.”

“It’s your deck,” he said, sliding his cards over to me with
one hand as he snatched up my two bits with the other. “And your deal.”

The kid came running into the office through the front door.
“They got Chester, Marshal!”

I looked at him blankly for a second. “Wha - ? Who got
Chester?”

Shiloh came in behind the breathless kid and said, “Couple of
cowboys, they roped him an’ dragged him outta town!”

I jumped out of my chair and grabbed my gunbelt off the wall.
“Well, which way?”

Shiloh pointed. “West!”

Doc was already out the back door. I followed him, and both
Shiloh and the kid raced along at my heels.

I started pulling at my horse’s bridle and freed the reins.
“Stay here!” I shouted at the kid.

He shook his head, a huge smile on his face. “I’m goin’ with
you! I can catch ‘em faster! Gimme a gun!”

“No,” I said, climbing into my saddle. The boy and Shiloh
were both running for Moss Gremmick’s stables to grab a pair of horses.

“Hurry!” cried Doc, clambering up onto the back of Chester’s
horse. “Draggin’ll kill a man!”

I kicked hard. There wasn’t time to argue with the kid. I
angled my horse out of town and tried to see the tracks of the horses that’d
pulled Chester along behind them. “C’mon, boy!” I shouted, and kicked again.

The trail wasn’t hard to follow. There were the tracks of two
horses, and behind one of them were the marks of a body being dragged. It was
hard to think of that being done to Chester. I’d seen the results of dragging.
I’d even seen the body of a man who’d been drawn and quartered. I tried not to
think of it. All I was focused on was catching up to the cowboys. And finding
Chester.

Shiloh and the kid caught up to Doc and me pretty quick.
Shiloh had a good grip on the lead to Clay Richard’s strawberry roan, so the
kid couldn’t race out ahead of us. I don’t know how Doc managed to keep up –
the pace was brutal, and it couldn’t have been doing his old bones any good.
But, as I’d said the night before, nothing gets between Doc and a patient.
Especially if that patient is a friend.

I was looking at the tracks, glancing up every few seconds to
check the landscape ahead. One of those glances up showed me two figures. I
blinked, and they were still there.

“There they are!” I shouted.

Shiloh’s eyes must have been better than mine, because he
said, “But they’re not draggin’ anything!”

He was right. They were riding right out, with nothing
holding them back. “They must’ve cut him loose. Slow down!” I called, waving a
hand.

We scanned the trail ahead, and I saw him. “Yeah, there he
is, by that sagebrush there!”

I reached him first, almost jumping off my horse to reach his
side. I rolled him over and saw what they’d done to him. They’d lassoed his
feet, so for the whole last three miles he’d been dragged on his back and
shoulders and chest and head. It showed.

“Chester! Chester?”

He didn’t answer. I couldn’t tell if he was even alive.

Shiloh knelt down next to me. “How bad is it?”

“Get that rope off his feet,” I said. “Chester?”

Chester’s mouth opened a crack and his eyelids fluttered –
though it was hard to tell through all the blood.

“He’s alive!” I shouted. “Doc, get over here!”

“Ah…” said Chester. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to talk.
I think he was too far gone to put words together.

Doc came running up. “Let me see him,” he said. I was amazed
at how calm he sounded.

I took a step back and watched as Doc examined Chester. “Look
at him,” I said, my voice choked. “He’s bleedin’ all over. They cut him to
ribbons!”

Shiloh looked at me. “I’ll stay with ‘im and Doc, Marshal, if
you’d like to…”

I knew what he was going to say. “No, Shiloh,” I said. “You
and the kid go get our horses. We’ll gotta get him back to Dodge right away.”

Shiloh watched me for a second, then said, “Alright,
Marshal.”

“Matt!” called Doc.

“How is he, Doc?”

“We’ve got to get him back to my office.”

I reached down and lifted Chester up in my arms. “But how is
he?”

Doc shook his head. “We’ve got to get him back,” was all he’d
say.

Chester groaned again. I hoped that was a good sign. “It’s
over now, Chester,” I said. “I got you now. We’ll be at Doc’s real soon.”

He didn’t do much more than groan in Shiloh’s arms as I
mounted. The kid wiped his face with a water and a handkerchief. When I was in
my saddle Shiloh handed Chester up to me. There was a twinge from my wounded
shoulder. I ignored it.

“Easy, Chester,” I said. “Easy, fella. Easy, now.” There was
an evil rasp to his breathing that scared me more than all the blood.

The others mounted and we started off at a slow pace back to
Dodge.

As we rode, Shiloh pulled his horse up next to mine. “I’ll,
ah, carry him when you get tired, Marshal,” he said.

“I won’t get tired, Shiloh,” I said. “Not for a long time.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

After I finished having breakfast heaped on me, I said thank
you to Ma Schnieder and her grand-daughter and rode back to Dodge with Kitty.

“You old liar,” said Kitty as soon as we were away from the
house. She was smiling at me out of the corner of her eye.

“What does that mean?”

“You didn’t ride all the way out here to check on me,” she
said. “You wanted to pick at Ma, see if she knew anything about the Richards.”

“Well, I did learn something I didn’t know before,” I said.

“Yeah,” said Kitty. “I hadn’t heard that either. Until last
night.”

“Last night?” I said.

“Yeah,” said Kitty. “After I got to Ma’s place, we settled in
to talking and I asked her about your friend Francie. She told me about the
pregnancy. I figured that’s what Clay was celebrating at the Texas Trail the
night you saw him.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“But it doesn’t make sense, does it?” said Kitty.

“No,” I said. “No, it doesn’t.”

“I mean, why would he be so happy about it, then try to make
her lose it?”

“And don’t forget, the next day he tried to rob the bank.”

“Well,” said Kitty after a moment, “that makes more sense
than the middle bit. If he was worried about money and the baby, he might rob
the bank.”

“He wasn’t doing so poorly,” I said. “Besides, why rob the
bank in broad daylight, with a dozen witnesses outside?”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s pretty queer too,” said Kitty. “It’s
too bad about Francie, though. I mean, her losing her husband and her baby like
that.”

I looked at her. “Tell me,” I said. “Why were you asking Ma
Schnieder about Francie?”

“You asked me about it the other night, at the Texas Trail. I
thought I could help.”

“I appreciate it,” I said.

“Yeah, well, you spoiled things by coming out here this morning,”
she said. “I was looking forward to walking into your office and laying the
whole story out on you.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“You should be,” said Kitty.

We rode along for awhile, looking at the morning. The heat
was getting bad again, but I didn’t think about taking off my coat. I’d sewn up
the bullet hole in the pocket, though not very well, and I’d brushed it until
it was pretty decent looking. I realized that, more than what the townspeople
thought of me, it matter what Kitty thought of me. And somehow that didn’t
bother me at all.

“Kitty,” I said.

“Yeah, Matt?”

“I’m not a liar.”

She gave me a confused, searching look. “What does that
mean?”

“It means that, even if I wanted to ask Ma Schnieder some
questions… I mean, well… I could’ve sent Chester, couldn’t I?”

The skin around her eyes crinkled as she smiled. She started
nodding. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess you could’ve at that.”

We rode along for another mile or so in silence.

“I was going to ask you to breakfast,” I said.

“But that was before Ma Schnieder started stuffing you with a
whole suckling pig.”

“Yeah,” I said.

She thought for a minute. “How about tomorrow?”

“I’d like that, Kitty,” I said.

She frowned, and I saw that, unlike a lot of her expressions,
this one wasn’t playful.

“What about the regular folks?” she asked. “I mean, you just
got them on your side, Matt. Do you really think it’s a good idea – I mean,
don’t you think it’ll look bad for you to be seen outside the saloon, with a -
”

I cut her off. “People’ll just have to get used to it. I do
things my own way.” I waited a moment before adding, “And my way includes being
friends with you, Miss Kitty.”

She blinked a couple of times. If she wasn’t as tough a woman
as I’d ever met, I could have sworn those were tears in her eye.

“It’d be my pleasure, Marshal Dillon.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Early the next morning I rode out to Ma Schnieder’s place. I
left Chester in the office, with instructions to cut Rance loose when he woke
up. I was pretty sure there’d be no more trouble from the Drag-R herd. At least
not this year. And maybe word would get out that Dodge wasn’t a lawless town.
Maybe the other herd-drivers would hear and stick to cards and booze and girls.
Maybe there wouldn’t be any more shooting. I was sick of it. I knew the town
only thought of me as a gunman with a chip on his shoulder. Well, maybe they
were right. But maybe that wasn’t all there was to me. In fact, that’s why I
was riding out to Ma Schnieder’s place. I had a few questions to ask her.

And it was an excuse to see Kitty, away from the town.

It bothered me a little that I thought I needed an excuse to
see her. It bothered me a lot that I worried what the townsfolk would say -
those chatty little birdlike women and their stuffy balding husbands. It
bothered me even more that I wanted them to think well of me as a person, as
well as a lawman. I knew it was wrong. I knew there that nothing good came of
wanting to be liked. So I decided then and there to ride back into Dodge with
Kitty beside me, and take her out to breakfast at the Dodge House. That’d show
them.

Of course, then I got to thinking that if I was doing it to
show them, it was still wrong. I just couldn’t win an argument with someone as
stubborn as myself.

As I rode I shrugged my left shoulder around a few times. It
was still sore, and the bandage I’d put on this morning was a little tight. But
I’d taken Doc seriously about infection – in the army I’d seen men lose limbs
from wounds less serious than the graze from Howard’s bullet. It wasn’t hurting
much, just ached some. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances.

I came up to Ma Schnieder’s place just as the sun was
clearing the horizon. Already the hands were out, hard at work. One of them
spotted me and yelled to the others. Their heads turned, and I waved once. One
of them recognized me, and they all started to converge on the house, just in
case there was trouble.

Ma Schnieder must’ve heard the yell, or else she’d seen me
coming, because she was standing on her front porch when I got there. Her
grand-daughter was there with her, and so was Kitty. I noticed that Mrs.
Schnieder wasn’t holding her shotgun, but it was within reach. A cautious
woman, Ma Schnieder.

“Mornin’, Marshal,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Morning, ma’am,” I said, nodding to her, then to Kitty and
the grand-daughter. “Ladies.”

“Ladies?” asked Kitty. The grand-daughter giggled.

Ma Schnieder half-turned her head. “An’ why not, ladies?
What, ain’cha lady-like? What, do you carry a six-gun and get drunk and fight
like ever’ fool man in this world?”

Kitty smiled, but the grand-daughter looked down at the
ground and said, “No, ma’am.”

“That’s right,” said Ma Schnieder. “What’re you here for,
Marshal? Is there trouble?”

“No, Mrs. Schnieder,” I said. “No trouble. Just wanted to
check in on you and your guest.”

Mrs. Schnieder looked at her son and the hired hands. “Well,
you heard the man. There’s no trouble, so git back t’work, you lazy fools,
a’fore I find whichever one a’ya hid my whip!”

The men scattered, some of them smiling, some of them
terrified. Her son was one of the latter.

“Well, come in, Marshal,” said Ma Schnieder. “There’s coffee
on the stove, and I expect I c’n find some eggs from somewhere.”

I dismounted and hobbled my horse on the front rail of the
porch. Kitty just stood there grinning at me, and I was smiling, too. The
grand-daughter looked back and forth between us, and her own smile grew from
looking at ours.

“How’s the town, Matt?”

“It’s fine, Kitty.”

“You go after Rance?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not hurt?”

“Nobody got hurt, much,” I told her. “Rance’ll be free later
today.”

“Is that safe?”

“Should be. Even if he wants to make trouble, his boys won’t
let him.”

From inside Ma Schnieder shouted, “Are you comin’ in,
Marshal? Or should I jus’ put’cher food in the pig trough!”

“We’d better go in,” said Kitty, laughing.

“Yeah,” I said. “We’d better.”

Inside it smelled like woodsmoke and bacon and coffee. It was
a collection of smells that made a man feel at home wherever he was. I took off
my hat and sat down to breakfast with the three women. They asked me more about
the trouble last night, and the business out at Howard’s ranch. I gave them
decent-sized answers, knowing how hungry ranchers always are for news. I knew
they’d eventually get around to the subject I’d come for.

It was Mrs. Schnieder herself who brought it up. “And that
poor Francie. Is it true that the Dutchman killed her husband?”

“It looks that way,” I said.

“Will he hang?” asked the grand-daughter.

I sipped some coffee. “I doubt it.”

“Should be given a medal,” said the old lady sourly.

“Oh?” I said.

“Now, Marshal,” said Ma Schnieder, putting her hands on her
hips. “Don’t sit there eatin’ my food and drinkin’ my coffee and tell me you
didn’t know what was goin’ on in that house!”

“I knew,” I said. “I even had a talk with Clay about it. But
unless she wanted to press charges, there was nothing else I could do.”

Ma Schnieder shook her head. “An’ that’s the problem wit’the
law.” She said the last word with scorn.

“Law’s a good thing, Ma,” said Kitty.

“Now, don’t you go defendin’ ‘im, Kitty,” said Schnieder,
shaking a spoon at Kitty.

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m defending the law. I don’t think
the Marshal needs defending from anything except more of this coffee.”

I cringed for a moment before I heard the old woman’s cackle
and realized she was laughing. She patted Kitty on the shoulder and went back
to her stove.

“Say, Mrs. Schnieder,” I began.

“Call me Ma, Marshal,” she said. “Ever’body else does.”

“Okay, Ma,” I said, feeling uncomfortable. “Did Francie ever
come out this way?”

“Sure,” said Mrs. Schnieder, “whenever he got to beatin’ her
too hard. She was here last week, as a matter a’fact. Just before he tried to
rob that bank.”

I looked up. “He hit her last week?” I asked. “When?”

“Oh, the night before the stick-up, I guess. She spent the
night here, then went back to Dodge to find the whole city lookin’ for her
husband.”

I remembered Francie saying something about not knowing where
her husband had been the night before the robbery, but I’d thought at the time
that she’d been home, and he’d been out. “I saw her,” I said. “She didn’t look
beat up.”

Ma Schnieder looked at me. “You think a black eye is the only
way a man has of beatin’ on his wife, Marshal?” she asked me darkly.

“No,” I said. “I guess not.”

“No,” she said, agreeing. She brought over some more bacon
and laid it on my plate. Neither Kitty nor Schnieder’s grand-daughter were
eating. They were just watching and listening, the girl fascintated, Kitty with
a keen look in her eye.

“How’d he hit her, then?” I asked.

“He didn’t hit her, Marshal,” said Schnieder.

“What then?”

“He kicked her. Kicked her in the belly.”

I felt sick. “Why on earth would he do a thing like that?”

Ma Schnieder turned away from her eggs to look me in the eye.
“To kill her baby, Marshal.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I waited for half an hour while Green and the others spread
the word to close up the saloons. The lights gradually went out up and down the
street, and I left the office. Alone.

I found Rance in front of the Texas Trail, and I was able to
reach him before I was recognized. I stood ten feet away, half-shadowed, while
Rance and his boys stood in the glow of a streetlight.

“Rance,” I said.

Rance gave a sort of drunken grunt of laughter, though he
wasn’t at all amused. “Marshal’s back,” he said slowly, working to get the
words out. “Let’s shoot him, men.”

One of Rance’s men took a step forward. “You better get outta
here, Marshal,” he told me. “We ain’t in no mood to fool.”

“Neither am I,” I said. “The street’s closed, Rance. Now go
on back to your camp.”

Rance peered at me through the half-light of the lantern and
tried to see just one of me. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

“It’ll open up again tomorrow night,” I told them. “You’re
welcome to come back then.”

Rance shook his head like a mule. “There won’t be no town by
tomorrow,” he said. He turned his head to his boys. “Let’s set it afire, men.”

“Rance,” I said. “Shut up.”

He looked at me kind of stupidly. “I won’t shut up,” he said.

“Then you’re going to jail,” I told him.

“I’m – what?”

Rance’s man said, “Leave ‘im be, Marshal.”

I stepped into the light. They could all see that I was
armed, but that my gun was in the holster. “You want to fight, mister?” I said.
“Rance here’s too drunk, he wouldn’t have a chance, but you might.”

Rance thought for a minute, then nodded. “He’s right, Pete,”
he said, looking at the man who’d spoken to me. “I’d never make it. You draw on
‘im.”

There was a tense moment while all of Rance’s boys looked
nervously at the man called Pete. Rance’s voice swelled with anger. “Go on,
shoot ‘im!”

“Well?” I said. “I’m waiting, cowboy.”

Pete shook his head. “I ain’t no gunfighter.”

Rance shoved him in the small of the back, prodding Pete
towards me. “Go on, ya coward!”

Pete eyed me once more, then turned his back on me to face
his boss. “No,” he said. “Why should I die? T’ain’t my business, anyway.” And
he walked to the side of the street and waited.

Rance glared at Pete, and I thought for a second he was going
to draw and gun down his own man. In which case I would have dropped him, drunk
or no. But he regained a little control and looked around at the rest of his
boys. “Somebody do it, then!”

I took another step forward, my hand easy by my side. “I’ll
fight any man here,” I said. “And I’ll fight him fair.”

There was a chorus of “not me”s and “no”s.

Rance staggered towards me. “Then I’ll have to try it
myself.”

Pete took a step back towards his boss. “Don’t do it, Rance!
He’ll kill ya.”

“Get outta here, ya coward!”

Pete and two other men closed in on Rance, and stood in front
of him.

“Get outta my way,” growled Rance. I thought I heard him
reach for his gun.

“No you don’t!” shouted Pete, and suddenly the four men were
struggling. I took a half-step to the side and angled my body to make a small
target. Fair is fair, but a drunk with his gun out already was a stupid way to
die.

Rance was slugging his men and shouting. “Gimme that gun,
Pete!”

I saw Pete step back and stick something in his belt. “I’ll
keep your gun,” he said.

Rance lunged at him. “Gimme it!”

“Cut it out, Rance,” said Pete, his voice pleading, “or I’ll
slug ya!”

Rance swung at him, and Pete side-stepped and wallopped Rance
behind the ear with his fist. Rance fell to the ground like an dead ox.

“That was smart of you, mister,” I said. “But he’s still
going to jail.”

Pete looked at me. “You’ve got a lotta nerve, Marshal,” he
said, “buckin’ a crowd like this.”

“I’m not bucking a crowd,” I told him. “I’m one man, against
any other one man here. You cowboys aren’t built that way. I’ve been in Texas
too, mister.”

Pete thought about that for a minute, then shrugged. “Guess
you win, Marshal.”

“Yeah,” I said, “it looks that way. Do you want to take Rance
to jail, or do you want me to do it?”

Pete looked around at his friends. “Well, his head might be
less lumpy tomorrow if we do it, Marshal.” He and a couple of other cowboys
dragged Rance up to his feet. The trail boss was hardly conscious, and Pete had
to help him get his legs moving. “Start walking, Rance,” he said.

I watched the other cowboys spread out and find their horses.
I waited there in the street, watching them go, but I stayed in the half-light.
Once they were out of Dodge I walked over to the jail and put Rance in a cell.
Pete and his friends left without a word, and I watched them ride out of town.

That was when I opened my bottom desk drawer, pulled out a
bottle and a glass, and had a shot of whiskey. In fact, I had more than one.
After the third, I lifted my glass and looked around my office.

“Here’s to Dodge,” I said, then I corrected myself. “Here’s
to law in Dodge.”

From the back room Rance snored loudly.

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It was after two o’clock in the morning. Doc had finished his
surgery about an hour before, after working like the devil to save the cowboy’s
life. Chester and I had come back down to the jail so that when the trouble
really started people’d know where to find us. I’d told the kid to go to sleep,
and he was laying on a blanket on the floor of the back room, though if he was
asleep or not I couldn’t tell. I was pacing a rut in the wooden boards of the
floor in the front office, waiting.

Chester was standing by the window of the jail, looking out
into the street. “The crowd’s thicker’n ever, Mr. Dillon. Come over here and
take a look.”

I stopped my pacing and walked over to stand beside him. Together
we watched the chaos in the streets. “Yeah,” I said. “Another hour and they’ll
really be outta hand.”

“Yeah,” said Chester. “Hey, look yonder there, Mr. Dillon.”
He pointed. “There’s Miss Kitty coming across the street.”

“What?” I said.

Sure enough, there she was, coming our way. There were no
other women in the streets now, and her being there was like putting a raw
steak in front of a starving dog. “Wait here, Chester,” I said, opening the
door and stepping quickly into the street.

From somewhere to my right I heard a man shout, “Hiya, Kitty!
What’s new?!”

“Meow!” shouted another drunk.

Kitty’s eyes were fixed on me. She might as well haven’t
heard them at all. “Matt,” she said.

I took her arm and eased myself up along side her, blocking
her from the view of most of the men. “What’re you doing out here, Kitty?”

“I was tryin’ to find you,” she said.

I led her towards the jail. “Come on, let’s get out of the
street.”

Kitty and I went inside and Chester closed the door behind
us.

“Phew,” said Kitty. “It’s getting’ worse. Hello Chester.”

“Hello, Miss Kitty,” said Chester.

I looked her up and down. She looked all right. Of course,
she looked a lot more than all right, but she looked unhurt. “You shouldn’t’ve
gone out in the street, Kitty,” I said.

Kitty laughed. “It’s no worse than the Texas Trail.”

“Then you oughta go home,” I said.

“I am,” she said. “I’m all through ‘til somebody puts a lid
on this town. That Rance is over there right now, getting’ drunk and callin’
for blood.”

“Mine, I’m sure.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s been enough blood around here already.”

“How is he?” she asked. “The one you got outta there?

“Well, Doc was down a while ago,” I told her. “Said he got
the bullet out and thinks he has a chance.”

“Oh, good.” She said it with real relief. She was a hard
woman – I guess she had to be – but she still cared what happened to people,
even strangers. It made me like her even more. It was a strange feeling. With
all the chaos out there in the street, I was standing there in my office
feeling mighty warm. Maybe it was just a warm night.

“You say Rance is working up trouble?” I asked.

“He’s tryin’,” said Kitty. “Guess he didn’t take to your
bashing him on the head.”

“Well, it quietened things down for a little while, anyway.”

Kitty shook her head sadly. “They sure got that poor
constable treed. Willard What’s-His-Name.”

“Bann,” said Chester. “He’s a nice fella. I hope they don’t
hurt him none.”

“When I left they had him dancin’ on the bar,” said Kitty.
“He looked about to cry.”

Chester smiled a little. “Well, that’s harder on the bar than
‘tis on Willard,” he said. “He’s about the fattest peace officer I ever did
see.”

Kitty’s voice was wry. “He’s gonna be fatter’n ever after
tonight. Everytime he opens his mouth to talk, somebody pours a glass of beer down
him.” She looked at me. “It’s sorta pitiful, Matt.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s worse than that, Kitty.”

She nodded. “I know. That’s why I got outta there. You can
kinda feel when a crowd like that gets real mean.”

Her words were punctuated by gunshots from somewhere down
Front Street.

Chester whistled. “Just listen to them out there.”

Kitty raised her shoulders and made up her mind. “I’m not
even stayin’ in town tonight,” she said. “I’m goin’ up to Ma Schnieder’s.” Ma
Schnieder was a little old woman who lived just outside of Dodge on a ranch
that used to be owned by her husband. He left her enough money when he died to
hire a few hands, and her son ran the place, but there was no doubting who
owned it. If you wanted to debate it with her you’d find yourself staring into
the barrel of a shotgun. She had a habit of taking in stray or beaten women. In
fact, it struck me that Francie had been there a couple times in the past few
months.

“That’s a good idea, Kitty,” I said. “Chester, you go along
with her.”

“Alright, sir.” Chester started for the door, but glancing
out the window he looked back at me. “I better stick around,” he said.

The front door opened. I wasn’t worried. Chester’s voice had
told me who it was likely to be. Hightower and Pepper came in, followed by
Green and Howe. The first two were carrying the huge form of Willard Bann
between them, his feet barely on the ground. His face was a mess of bruises and
cuts. The second pair were carrying a man clear off the ground. He was
bleeding, too, but from somewhere around his middle. There was no life in him.

“Who is this?” I asked.

Howe looked at me, anguish in his eyes. “My brother,
Marshal,” he said. “My kid brother.”

Howe’s brother was about thirty-five, but I guess in some
families the nick-names stick. And it was sure that Howe’s kid brother wasn’t
going to do any more growing. “He dead?” I asked.

“Yeah, Marshal,” said Green, when Howe couldn’t. “He caught a
stray bullet out back o’ the Longhorn. It’s too late for Doc to do anything.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Alright,” I said. “Lay him on the
couch.”

“Look at Willard,” said Chester, drawing out each sound with
a soft kind of sorrow in them. He pulled out a chair for the poor fat
Constable.

“Rance beaten me up,” mumbled Willard through a broken face,
falling into the chair. It creaked under him, and for a second I thought it
might break. “Beaten me up bad.”

“He certainly did,” said Green. “We found him lying in the
street with them taking potshots at him, seeing who could shoot the closest
without hitting him.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. There wasn’t much else for me to say. This
was their deal. I was waiting for their call.

Green knew it and looked me right in the eye. “And, Marshal,
we come here to ask ya –“

“Wait a minute, Mr. Green,” I said. “Chester, take Willard up
to Doc’s.”

“Yessir, I sure will,” said Chester. I could tell from his
voice that he felt really sorry for the humiliated ex-cowboy. “Come on,
Willard.” He helped Constable Bann to his feet. Willard managed something that
sounded like, “Thank you,” then allowed Chester to lead him towards the back
door.

“Then come back here for Kitty,” I called after him. I heard
his light, “Yessir,” and then the door shut after him.

I turned back to my visitors. “Alright, Mr. Green,” I said.
“You wanted to ask me something.”

The kid poked his head in. I guess he had been sleeping, even
through the gunfire, but Chester must have woken him up. “What’s goin’ on, Mr.
– is that man shot?” he asked, excitedly.

I looked at Kitty. “Kitty, would you mind…?”

She gave me a sour look, and I guessed that she didn’t much
care for children. But still she shooed him into the back room, followed him,
and then closed the door.

Green looked at me. “You gotta stop ‘em, Mr. Dillon.”

“Yeah?”

Green kept staring at me – I guess he was trying to convey
his misery. Hightower and Pepper stood looking uncomfortable. Howe was sitting
on the edge of the couch, looking down on his dead brother. It was Howe who
spoke. “We shouldn’ta interfered Marshal. We’ll trust your judgement from now
on.”

“Yeah,” said Green, “we’re all behind ya now, ain’t we,
gentlemen?”

Hightower and Pepper nodded and muttered a couple of yesses.

Green just kept staring at me, his desperation getting more
blatant. “You’ll do somethin’, won’tcha, Marshal?” he asked.

I thought about it for a minute. I wasn’t trying to make it
worse for them. I was just trying to think if there was anything I could do at
this point. Things were pretty close to the point of no return, if they hadn’t
passed it already. But it was my job.

“Alright,” I said. “It’s pretty late, but I’ll try.”

The three businessmen standing all sighed with relief. Howe
didn’t even seem to hear me.

“And I’ll start with Rance,” I said. “He’s the worst of the
lot. I’ll go get him and put him in jail. But before I go I want every
saloon-keeper in Dodge to put out his lights and close up. Now you gentlemen
will have to pass the word for that one. I don’t want to be seen until I go for
Rance.”

Green nodded vigorously. “Oh, we’ll do it, Marshal,” he said
quickly. “We’ll do it right now.”

“Alright,” I said to them, “then get going before it’s too
late.” I walked up to Howe. “Mr. Howe? Let’s get him over to Doc’s.”

Howe nodded absently. He and I lifted his brother’s body and
carried it out the back way. The kid followed us, asking questions, though
Kitty did her best to quiet him. Once we had the body laid out in Doc’s front
office, I left Howe there, and sent Chester and the kid to take Kitty out to Ma
Schnieder’s. None of them knew I was heading out to look for Rance, and I kept
it that way.

Always something to prove.  

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The government paid for my office and the jail behind it, so
I stayed there. I was sure that Constable Willard Bann, fat, broke, and humble,
wasn’t going to manhandle any randy Texas cowboys and throw them behind bars.
And the first twenty-four hours passed peacefully enough. Rance and his Drag-R
outfit were busy moving their herd across the Arkansas and didn’t get into
town. Chester and I spent the afternoon with Shiloh and the kid, out by
Jackson’s herd, teaching the boy how to throw a rope. Jackson told us that a
third herd was coming to Dodge – the Crowtrack bunch. But it wasn’t too large a
herd, and Jackson told us it wasn’t going to hurt his prices any.

The next day the Drag-R herd was safely grazing and ready for
sale. Jackson had sold his first and so had gotten the best price, but Rance
didn’t do so poorly. There would be herds coming to Dodge for the next month or
so.

Rance’s boys were paid out, and that night it seemed like all
of Texas had come to Dodge. By midnight no man should have been on the street
unless he was armed and ready to fight.

Shiloh had dropped off the runaway with us, figuring there’d
be less shooting at the Marshal’s office than around the Dodge House, if things
got bad. I told him I hoped he was wrong, for his own sake, and told him to
look after himself.

“Sure, Marshal,” said Shiloh, and he ruffled the kid’s hair.
The kid ducked and pulled out a comb. He liked his hair neat, it seemed.

After Shiloh left, Chester and I sat in the office playing a
little two-handed twenty-one, with the kid watching us. Every now and then I
let him play my hand. He learned quickly and clearly liked cards, but he wasn’t
very good at being patient, or at knowing when not to press his luck. Eager.
But then, what kid isn’t?

The kid lost a hand and I took the next one, letting him
watch my play. Chester dealt.

“How long d’you think, Mr. Dillon?” he asked.

“Not long, Chester,” I said. “A few hours, maybe.”

We finished that hand quietly, then it was my turn to deal.

“There’s somethin’ else botherin’ you, ain’t there, Mr.
Dillon?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “It’s this Clay Richards business.
Still doesn’t sit right with me.”

The kid looked at me. “You know that Ziegler fella kilt’im,”
he said. “He said he didn’t even have a gun.”

“Yeah, I guess. Still, doesn’t seem like something Pete could
do,” I said. “But that’s not what’s eating me. It’s Clay and the bank. He
wasn’t a thief – hell, I think he had about as much money as any man in Dodge.
He wasn’t rich, but he was doing alright.”

“Oh,” said the kid. He seemed easier in his mind than I was
at the thought. But then, he hadn’t known Clay.

“I guess that’s true,” said Chester.

“I just can’t figure on why he did it.”

“It sure is a shame, though, Mr. Dillon. Fred Ginnell and
that Chinaman both, for no reason.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s funny, Grinnell was at the Texas Trail
the same night as Clay, when Clay was celebrating –“

I stopped talking. Thinking back, I remembered Grinnell
watching Richards.

“What is it, Mr. Dillon?” asked the kid and Chester at the
same time. It was pretty funny, but I was too busy remembering Grinnell’s
behavior that night.

“He was sitting in a corner,” I said, “sipping beer and
watching Richards, real dead like.”

“Do you think he knew something, Mr. Dillon?”

“I don’t know how he could have, Chester.”

“And even if he did, why didn’t he come to you? If he knew
something was coming, why did he let himself get killed?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”

“Why does it matter?” asked the kid. “If he was dumb enough
t’get shot, he deserved what was coming to him.”

I looked at the kid. “I hope you never have to find out the
hard way, bub,” I said.

The door to the office opened and Doc came through, closing
it behind him. He looked flushed and angry. “Oh, it’s a fine thing when the US
Marshal holes up in his office,” said Doc, “when men are gettin’ shot up and
knived all over town.”

The kid stood up, eagerly. I looked over at Doc. “I hope
that’s not true, Doc.”

“It is true!” insisted Doc. “I just come back from tryin’ to
save the second victim. The first one’s already dead.”

“Someone got shot?” asked the kid.

“Cowboys, or citizens?” I said.

“Cowboys,” said Doc. “If they’d’ve been citizens I suppose
those dunderheads would’ve been in here on their knees, beggin’ you for help.”
What I’d said to the city council was pretty much common knowledge in town.

“I don’t want them on their knees, Doc,” I said.

Doc shook his head. “I know, Matt, but it’s gettin’ worse!
Why, that last fella, they wouldn’t even let me bring him back to my office.
They said he might as well die, right there on the floor of the Texas Trail.”

“They did?”

Doc slammed his hand against the wall. For all his jokes
about fees, I knew there was nothing he hated more than losing a patient. “They
sure did. And they ran me right out of there.”

I bolted up out of my chair. “They what?”

“They took me by the arms and they half-dragged me as far as
the door. Obviously, I called ‘em everything I could think of while they were
doin’ it.”

I walked over and grabbed my coat. I didn’t even bother
pinning the badge to the front. “You think that man’s dead yet, Doc?”

“He will be soon, if I don’t get him to where I can work on
him.”

“Alright,” I said, “we’re going over there and get him. Bub,
you’re staying here.”

“But Mr. Dillon…” the kid began.

I shut him down fast. “You can promise to sit here for ten
minutes until we come back, or I can lock you up. I don’t have time to argue.”
The kid’s shoulders slumped, but he sat back on the couch and nodded. “Come on,
Chester,” I said.

Chester was already up and moving for the door. “Yessir.” He
held the door for Doc and me.

“I told them I won’t make any arrests and I won’t,” I said,
walking out into the street, “but nobody’s going to stand between Doc and a
wounded man.”

There were shouts coming from all over Front Street, and a
block or so over I could hear the occasional gunshot as the cowboys let fly at
the moon or at streetlamps. The streets were crowded with men and a few women.
I didn’t recognize more than a few faces. Every man had a gun.

“You get in the middle, Doc,” I said. “Walk between me and
Chester.”

Doc did as I told him, and we began elbowing and shoving our
way down the street. “I wish there was a tunnel under the street,” said Doc.

“I don’t see Willard anywhere,” observed Chester. “He oughtta
be out here talkin’ his head off, if’n that’s his plan.”

Doc snorted. “He’s lucky if he doesn’t get hung tonight.”

I was eyeing the street with a dead face. I wasn’t seeing
individual people, I was watching the mob. And it felt like they could sense me
coming. Even the ones who didn't see me moved out of our way. It was like they
could feel my anger.

Someone brushed up against me hard, and I elbowed them away,
keeping my hand over my holster. “Watch your gun, Chester,” I said. “Don’t let
anybody grab it.”

“No, sir,” said Chester. “I’m carryin’ my hand on it, Mr.
Dillon.”

We pushed our way through the open doors of the Texas Trail.
I needed to watch the crowd, but I couldn’t help looking for Kitty first. She
was over on the side of the saloon, sitting with some regulars. That meant she
was pretty safe.

Doc started pushing his way through the crowd. “He’s right
over there, Matt. Lyin’ in front of the bar.”

“Alright,” I said loudly. “Alright, get out of the way.” I
started clearing a path for Doc. “Come on, make room here. Move.” I shoved the
last of the drinkers our of the way. There was a man, lying right there in
front of the bar. One of the Drag-R men had practically been standing on top of
him. “Alright, go ahead, Doc, see if he’s still alive.”

Doc knelt while Chester and I stared outward at the sullen
and angry glances from the drunk Texans. “Alright,” said Doc. “Let me look at
him here. Oh, he doesn’t look very good.” Doc set to checking the man’s vitals
and putting a stop to his bleeding.

From somewhere in the back of the crowd I heard a voice say,
“I thought you’d quit, Marshal.”

“I haven’t quit, Rance.”

He came pushing up through his men. “What’re you doin’ here,
then?”

“A man’s dyin’,” I said.

“It was a fair fight,” said Rance, coming to a stop just far
enough away from me. He’d been drinking, but he wasn’t drunk yet. He didn’t
weave. He was sober enough. “We believe in dyin’ where we fall, Marshal. We
don’t need no help.”

“Was he one of yours, Rance?”

“Naw,” said Rance. “He come up with that fool Crowtrack
outfit.”

I nodded. The rest of the Texas Trail had gotten real still.
I could feel Kitty’s eyes on me but I didn’t look over. I knew Chester’s hand
was free, and behind the bar Sam surely had his shotgun ready at hand – though
how well he’d fire it with a broken arm I wasn’t too keen to find out. And if I
started shooting, it would ruin my little object lesson to the town.

But you can’t go into trouble thinking you’re not going to
shoot. Everyone’s got to believe you’re ready and willing to pull that trigger.
Everybody, including you.

“You leave ‘im be, Marshal,” said Rance with some force.

“I won’t even argue with you, Rance,” I said, raising my
voice a little, “but the first man that interferes with Doc’s gonna die on his
feet, and if you can’t understand it any other way, just put it that Doc’s a
friend of mine. Is that clear enough for you?”

Rance was giving me the dead man’s stare and he half-figured
to go for it. But that was the half that’d been drinking. The sober part of his
mind told him that he’d die before he cleared leather. And though one of his
men would probably shoot me in return, Rance wasn’t the kind of man who’d be
comforted by that thought.

He was just trying to figure out how to back off without
losing face when Constable Willard Bann came through the open doors. “Now, now,
men,” he said, trying to sound confidant, but there was a fearful warble in his
throat. He was aware of it, and ashamed of it, but to his credit it didn’t stop
him. “Let’s not have no trouble in here. Let’s talk it over and settle this
thing peacefully.” He pushed through the crowd, smiling and patting men on the arm.
Then he saw me. “Oh. It’s you, huh, Marshal?”

“Hello, Willard,” I said.

“Howdy,” said Chester.

Willard’s smile vanished and he looked at me miserably. “Oh,
I’m havin’ a terrible time, Marshal.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I can see that.”

At my back I heard Doc say, “Matt.”

“How is he, Doc?” I asked over my shoulder.

“He’s bad,” said Doc. “But I just might save him.”

“Okay, Doc,” I said, then eyed the Constable. “Willard?”

“Yes, Marshal?”

“Help Chester carry this man over to Doc’s office, will you?”

Willard nodded eagerly. “Sure, Marshal, sure.”

Rance reached out a hand and grasped Willard’s arm. “Leave
‘im be, Constable,” said Rance.

“That’s enough, Rance,” I said.

Rance looked at me again. “Let ‘im die in peace, is what I
say.”

“Rance,” I said, walking slowly up to him, “I’d throw you in
jail but I said I wouldn’t make any arrests.”

“Then why don’t you get outta here,” said Rance. “While you
still can.”

I nodded. “I’ll get out.” I stepped to his side and he made
way for me. I jerked my gun out of my holster and clubbed Rance hard on the
side of the head. Then I spun the gun around in my hand so it was pointing out
at Rance’s men. Chester’s was out as well, covering my back.

“Alright!” I shouted. “Now I’ll shoot the first man that
touches a gun!” I eyed them all, but no one was looking for a fight against
both of us, with our guns already drawn. “Chester, Willard,” I said,
“get moving. You lead the way, Doc.”

Chester holstered his gun and together he and Willard lifted
the bleeding man and headed for the door. Doc trailed behind them. “Let’s
hurry,” said Doc. “That man won’t live long if we don’t.”

I went out behind them, walking backwards with my gun at hip
level. I made sure not to look at Kitty as we left. It would be trouble she
didn’t need if I singled her out in any way. Then I was out of the door and
through it I saw Rance’s men rush to his side. They’d prop him up and pour
whiskey down his throat and in another hour he’d probably come looking for me –
unless he was the kind of man who’d lay in wait and shoot a man in the back.
I’d just have to wait and see.

I turned around once I was outside, and up the street I saw
the kid slip back into my office. He’d been watching from outside the saloon
window, like I’d known he would. I was glad I hadn’t had to shoot anyone.

But the night was still young.

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

Chester dropped a small pile of circulars and telegrams on my
desk. “I got the mail, Mr. Dillon – what there was.”

I was finishing my report on the events at Howard’s ranch.
“I’ll look at it later, Chester,” I said. “I have a lot of time.”

“Yessir,” said Chester. He sat down on the couch and
stretched his legs out in front of him. “You think Mr. Green an’ them know
what’s comin’?”

“Probably not,” I said.

“Well, you just wait’ll word gets out that Dodge is wide
open,” said Chester. “There’s gonna be nothin’ but trouble.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But this is the only way I can handle it.
They won’t listen to me otherwise.”

“But, after all that happened last night, don’t you think all
the cowboys’ll see you – y’know, differently? More friendly-like?”

“If anything, Chester, they’ll think I’m weak. To them it
looks like I switched sides because either I was scared or I took a bribe.”

“But Mr. Jackson knows that ain’t so!”

“Doesn’t matter, Chester. Last night we did the right thing.
Never expect credit for that. No, the town council is going to have to learn
things the hard way.”

At that moment a fat man I’d never seen before poked his head
into my office door. He was tanned, but soft, like a saddle that had melted in
the sun instead of hardened. His belly was pushing at his shirt and looked like
it was trying to spill over his belt all the way around. “Excuse me, Marshal,”
he said.

“What for?” I said.

“Well,” said the stranger, “I don’t wanna bother you none,
but I thought I’d better come and see ya.”

“You’re not bothering me,” I said.

“I sure hope not,” he replied. He was having trouble getting
through the door, and had to squeeze sideways inside.

I leaned back and put my feet up on the edge of my desk.
“Well, what can I do for you?”

“Well, Marshal, you don’t know me, but I’ve heard about you.”

I looked over at Chester. “Seems like a lot of people have,
lately.”

“I – I know,” said the fat man. “Marshal, I –“

“Well, go ahead, mister,” I said. “There’s nothing to be
afraid of.”

“Uh – I’m the new constable.”

“What?” I said, taking my feet back off the desk.

“The new constable,” he said, miserably. “They picked me,
Marshal. I had to take it, sure, I’m so broke ‘n all.”

“You sound like you’re apologizing.”

“Well, I guess I am,” he said. “I didn’t want you to be mad
at me. I needed the money, and that’s why I’m doin’ it.”

“It’s alright, somebody had to take the job,” I said.

“You sounded angry,” he said.

“No,” I said. “Surprised, mostly. Just didn’t know they were
going to call it ‘constable.’”

“Well, they want it to sound as peaceful as possible, I
guess.”

“Yeah, sure. What’s your name, mister?”

“Willard.”

“Willard?”

“Yessir,” he said. “Willard Bann.”

I stood to shake his hand. He cowered at first, like he was
afraid of me, but when I put out my hand and it didn’t bite him, he took it
with a little more conviction.

I leaned back against the edge of my desk. “Where’re you
from, Willard?”

“Well, sir,” he said, “I used to be a cowboy, but then I got
so fat ‘n all, I just sorta work around wherever I can. I been awful broke –“

“Yeah, you mentioned that.”

He ducked his head. “Yessir.”

“How
come you’re not wearing a gun?” I asked.

“Oh, shucks, Marshal, I don’t ever wear no gun. I don’t even
know how to use one very good.”

“Then you’re a whole lot better off without one,” I said.

“I don’t aim to get in any fights, Marshal,” said Willard.
“If there’s any trouble maybe I can just sorta, ah, talk ‘em out of it.”

From the couch, Chester looked over at me. I cleared my
throat and said, “Yeah. Yeah, maybe. Well, Willard – I wish you a lot of luck.”
We shook hands again.

Willard brightened up quite a bit when he realized I wasn’t
going to shoot him. “Well, thanks,” he said. “I gotta get goin’, Marshal, I’m
on pay already.”

“So long,” I said.

“So long, Marshal,” said Willard, heading for the door. “So
long, mister!”

“So long,” waved Chester. The door opened and Willard edged
through it, then closed it behind him. Chester looked at me with a sad smile.
“Oh my goodness, Mister Dillon.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I agree, Chester.”

“They will ruin that poor feller if he tries to stop ‘em.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “He won’t even raise his voice
against them. But they sure might ruin Dodge.”