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GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Fortunately for Dodge, the rain had not only doused the
prairie fire, it’d also kept the Drag-R cowboys out of trouble. They’d kept to
their cards and their beer and stayed out of the rain like sane men. But with
the skies clearing and the day heating up again, and money in their pockets,
the reprieve was going to be a short one.

I went by the Dodge House the next morning. Mr. Green avoided
my eye when I came in, then thought better of it and came over. “Good morning,
Marshal.”

“Mr. Green.”

“I heard about last night’s excitement. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” It was lucky, Howard’s bullet had barely nicked
me. But still I was wearing a sling. Doc had said I’d be more hurt if he’d
thrown the bullet at me – though that didn’t stop him from talking up the
dangers of infection and the need for rebandaging. I didn’t mind – the United
States government paid Doc’s fees, not me.

“Still, it seems there’s plenty around to keep you busy,”
Green observed.

“Sure,” I said. “Is Shiloh around?”

Green nodded quickly. “He’s out back with that little
runaway. They’re talking about going out hunting again.” Green was clearly glad
I hadn’t stopped by to see him. Maybe he thought I’d come to strong-arm him.
But I had told them – there was only one way for them to learn, and that was to
get what they wanted. Be careful what you wish for – who’d said that?

“Has the kid been any trouble?” I asked.

“No, Marshal,” said Green, “not a bit. He’s always askin’
‘bout you, though. I think there’s a touch of admiration there.”

I nodded. “It’d be real flattering,” I said, “if he didn’t
feel the same way about anyone quick with a gun.”

I didn’t feel like talking with Green for too long. I was
still sore about things. But I was feeling pretty good about life in general as
I walked out back. The Dodge House sits right beside Moss Gremmick’s stables,
and sure enough, Shiloh and the kid were saddling up a pair of Moss’ horses.

I’d met Shiloh a couple of times out on the prairie before
I’d come back to Dodge, and had rode herd with him once from Amarillo up as far
as Wichita. He was a good man, with at least twenty years on me. He’d stopped
riding about a year ago, and had taken a job at the Dodge House last winter to
pay for his grub and give him a bed until he figured out what he was going to
do next. He’d worked hard for Green, so I figured it wasn’t too hard for him to
take a couple days off – as long as he was back in town when the round-up
started in a couple of weeks.

“’Lo, Marshal,” said Shiloh. He had a slow way of talking, as
if he wasn’t in a real hurry to say anything.

“Mornin’, Shiloh,” I said. “Hello, bub.”

“Hey, Mr. Dillon!” The kid saw me and came running over,
leaving the saddle dangling unstrapped on the horse’s back. Shiloh moved over
and finished getting the horse ready.

“Are you hurt, Marshal?” asked the kid, seeing my arm in the
sling.

“It’s nothing,” I said. To prove it I took my arm out and
wiggled my fingers. “Doc insisted on the sling, but I’m gonna take it off this
afternoon.”

“Good thing it’s not your gun-hand,” said the kid.

“Yeah,” I said. “I guess it is.”

“People are saying you blew Howard up!”

“Nope,” I said. “It was just one of those things.”

“You didn’t dynamite him? The body was real burned.”

“Now, bub, where would I get dynamite to blow someone up with?
That’s a pretty fool idea.”

“I bet you could do it, though,” he said. “And with all the
action here in Dodge, I bet it could help.”

“It would sure break up a crowd,” murmured Shiloh.

“Look, bub,” I said, shooting Shiloh a dark look, “the past
couple of days have been a little more – active, than usual. It isn’t regular.”

“By God, I wish I was there with you last night,” said the
kid, his eyes bright with the thought of it. “You coulda made me a deputy, too,
and then I coulda shot all the men I wanted to.”

I looked over at Shiloh, who shrugged at me. “Heading out for
another hunting expedition?” I asked him.

“Yep,” said Shiloh, swinging up into the saddle. “I’m gonna
teach him how to shoot buffalo. If’n we find any,” he added.

I tipped back my hat. “It’s a long way to the nearest buffalo
trail.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” said Shiloh with a wink, “and we’ll
run across some strays. Or, if’n we don’t, maybe I’ll teach him to rope a
steer.”

I nodded. The kid’s obsession with guns was bothering Shiloh
too. If he could teach the kid to do something with his hands, something
useful, maybe we could angle him away from a life as a gunfighter.

“That’s a good idea,” I said. “Maybe I’ll come out and join
you.”

“Really?” asked the kid.

“Sure,” I said. “There’s nothing for me to do in town,
anyway. Which way are you riding?”

“I was thinking of heading over towards the river,” said
Shiloh. “There’re bound to be some cowboys moving across, and maybe they’ll let
us help in exchange for some grub.”

“Be careful,” I said. “They may think you’re a pair of
chicken-hawkers.”

Shiloh nodded. “We’ll be careful.”

“But we’re not gonna hook up with any cowboys,” said the kid.
“Not if’n we see any buffalo.”

I knew that the nearest buffalo trail was almost a day’s ride
away. Shiloh knew it, too. But we let the kid think he was in charge of the
plan.

“Look,” I said, “I’ve got some paperwork back at the office.
When I get that done, I’ll come out after you.”

“Sounds fine, Marshal,” said Shiloh. “Say, kid – whyn’t you
run inside and grab us a hunk of cheese. I’ll be here waitin’.”

“Sure,” said the kid, who dashed inside.

“How’s he doing?” I asked.

“Kid’s a sponge,” said Shiloh. “Soaks up ever’thing an’ then
some. But this thinkin’ ‘bout guns and shootin’ all the time – it ain’t
healthy. I known some fellas like that, Marshal. They was dead before they grew
their first beard.”

“Or else they were hanged.”

“Yeah,” said Shiloh. “Or else they was hanged.”

“Yeah,” I said. “This is a good thing you’re doin’, Shiloh. I
appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” said Shiloh. “I figure I owe you somethin’ for not
comin’ with you and Chester last night.”

“No,” I said, “you don’t owe me anything.”

“I shoulda known you’d pick the right side.”

I shook my head. This was the response I’d gotten from
everybody in town. “It’s not a matter of picking the right side, Shiloh,” I
told him. “It’s a matter of following the law.”

Shiloh looked at me for awhile, then he shook his head.
“Law’s not all it’s cracked up to be, Marshal. We got along fine without it
where I come from.”

“Law’s the only thing that keeps us from being animals,
Shiloh.”

“We are animals, Marshal,” he said. “Look at that kid. All
he’s interested in is killin’.”

“We’re gonna try and break him of that,” I reminded him.

“Yeah,” he said. “Don’t know how much luck we’ll have, but we
can try.”

“And that,” I said, “is what makes us better than animals.
They don’t even know to try.”

Shiloh shrugged. “Or else’n it makes us worse,” he said.
“Since all of us know, but most of us don’t try anyway.”

I had no answer for that.

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 

We rode back to Dodge through the downpour. I had my hat
pulled low and my shoulders hunched. I was wearing my coat again, the one that
now had a hole in the left pocket the size of a finger.

“It’s sure not lettin’ up, Mr. Dillon,” said Chester.

“No.” It was like the skies had stored up all the water we
had been waiting for all summer and was now dumping it down on us. Jackson was
worried about some of his herd getting stuck in the mud and drowning. We’d left
him and his boys circling them up on the burnt ground that was all the remained
from Howard’s land. Jackson’s men had cheered when we rode by, and whether it
was for us or the rain, I couldn’t tell. But there was one group of cowboys who
were going to have a lot of leeway in Dodge. I didn’t care if it was fair –
they’d earned it.

Then I remembered I wasn’t in charge of the law in Dodge
anymore. But even that couldn’t sour my belly tonight.

We were still quite a ways from Dodge, Chester and me, and we
could barely see the trail. “Ah, let’s swing over by the bluff, Chester, and
find a place to wait it out for awhile, huh?”

Chester smiled. “That’s what I was hopin’ you’d say.” He
hadn’t brought a coat and his shirt was soaked through.

I clicked my tongue so my horse would know I was talking to
him and said, “C’mon, boy.”

We found a place in the lee of the wind, and we sat on our
horses, looking out into the darkness at the rain and the swinging branches. We
listened to the storm as it raged over and around us.

“Well,” said Chester, “it took a long time to break loose,
but it’s sure makin’ up for lost – wow. I never saw lightnin’ this big before.”

“It usually let’s up once the rain starts. I guess it’s just
a freak storm anyway…”

For a split second I thought the sound was thunder. But the
sound of a bullet ricocheting off a rock is pretty unique.

“Off your horse, Chester! Flat on the ground!”

He was already moving, and we dropped to the earth and lay
there, almost under our horses, and stared out at the darkness.

“I saw the flash, Mr. Dillon,” whispered Chester. “It come
from that lone cottonwood tree.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s a bad spot. He’s got cover and we
haven’t. Well, I guess we found out what happened to Mr. Howard.” I raised my
voice. “Alright, Howard! Come out with your hands up! You’re under arrest!”

“Why dontcha come and git me, Dillon!” It was Howard, all
right. He was just waiting for another lightning strike to show where we were
to loose off another round.

I took a chance and stood, and I pulled by rifle out of the
boot on the saddle of my horse. Kneeling down again, I leaned in close to
Chester and whispered. “I’m gonna flip a shot at the tree, Chester. Roll away
as soon as I fire.” I’d kept one eye closed, just in case lightning flashed
again and ruined my night-vision. Now I opened it and aimed at where I thought
the tree was. “Alright, now,” I said, and fired off one shot before moving
right.

There was a dull thwack as my bullet hit the tree. Howard
fired back immediately, aiming for where he’d seen my flash. I fired again from
my new position, but I’d barely gotten it off when a second shot came out of
nowhere and clipped my left shoulder. I sagged back and rolled again, back to
where I’d fired first.

“Smart, Dillon!” shouted Howard. “But not smart enough!”

He’d anticipated my ploy and hadn’t even bothered aiming his
first shot. He’d fired wild, then rolled around to the other side of the tree
and tried to take me out when I fired again, knowing I’d be slower to move.
He’d almost got me.

“That was close,” said Chester. “Why, Mr. Dillon, you’re
bleeding.”

“It’s a scratch,” I said. “But Howard’s another matter. He’s
got all the odds. He keeps it up, he’ll get us sure.”

“Maybe we might as well rush ‘im, Mr. Dillon,” suggested
Chester. “We haven’t got much to lose.”

I was thinking the same thing. “It’s an outside chance,
Chester,” I said. “He’s bound to get one of us.”

Beside me I could feel Chester’s shrug. “Yeah, but this way
it’s both.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Alright. We’ll go in on the count of three.
Stand up, move fast. And, ah – good luck, Chester.”

“Yessir. Same to you, Mr. Dillon.”

We stood. I slipped my rifle back into the boot and
unholstered my pistol. “Alright,” I said softly. “One. Two. Th-“

Lightning flashed, so bright that I was almost blinded. It
was like it was right next to me. All I could think about was being caught out
in the open, standing like a buffalo waiting to be shot. I dove for the ground,
and Chester did the same, as our bodies shook with the thunder that was so much
a part of the light it seemed to rip open the air around us. Our horses reared
and bolted away. We would have a devil of a time finding them again in this.

At the same time I heard Howard scream.

We lay there in the mud, Chester and I, waiting. It was a
long second or two before Chester said, “Mr. Dillon! What happened?”

Slowly I stood. The cottonwood tree was on fire. I walked over
a few steps until I was sure of what I saw. “It was lightning!” I called out to
him. “Struck the tree! I think Howard’s lying over there on the ground. Come
on.” Chester was up and following me with that lazy walk of his. We both
reached the tree and knelt down beside the charred remains of Ike Howard.
“Yeah. He’s down, all right,” I said.

Chester had a handkerchief out and was holding it over his
nose. “He said he’d be struck dead before he ever gave in,” he said. “Well, he
was.”

“By Heaven, I think he was,” I said. Then I remembered using
that expression earlier. “Second time tonight.” I sat quiet for a minute,
looking at the sky and feeling the rain that still pelted us. Then I shook my
head.

“You know, Chester – I think I’m gonna change my ways.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 

Getting
a fire started on dry grass isn’t all that hard, but it would have been easier
if I’d had one of my father’s old flintlock muskets – we could have gotten a
spark off of that, the way they did in the old days. But since there was
already a fire blazing, I sent Chester and some of Jackson’s men up with
branches and they brought them back burning.

Using those flames, I had the men
make a backfire, a fire along the inner edge of a blaze that consumes any fuel
and changes its direction. I’d seen backfires used once or twice to stop prairie
fires. I just hoped I’d gotten it right. 

Howard's house and barn were between the backfire and the one he'd started, but I didn't much care what happened to his property at the moment. We set fires in patches, then beat out our side quickly, leaving a dead zone that Howard’s blaze couldn’t cross, for
lack of anything else to burn. What we ended up with wasn’t a proper backfire.
It was more of a scratch line. I just hoped it held. But the wind had me
doubting.

I ran along the backfire, keeping an eye on the flames and
watching as the wind made Howard’s blaze dance as it came for us. The
occasional shot still winged past our heads, and we fired back through the
flames at the men on the other side, but it was impossible to tell where the
shots were coming from. Lucky for us, that was true for Howard’s men, too. But
after awhile, as we lit fires then stamped them out, the shots stopped
completely. Howard’s men had vanished.

“I dunno, Mr. Dillon,” said Chester, reloading his rifle. “I
dunno if we’re winnin’ or losin’.”

“Well, if that backfire holds, then we’re winning,” I said.
“Otherwise…” I let my voice trail off. I had my coat in my hands, the one Doc
had given me. It was scorched and covered in ashes, but it’d protected my
hands.

“Couldn’ta been a worse time,” said Chester. “The prairie’s
dry as gunpowder.”

“Well, at least that herd’s safe,” I said. “They wouldn’t
leave that pond if the whole world caught fire.”

Pecos came running up. “Any orders for the boys, Mr. Dillon?”

“Yeah, just have ‘em keep working along the edge of the
backfire there, Pecos. Beat out any sparks that get across.”

Pecos saluted. I wondered what army he’d served in. “Right,
Marshal. I gotcha.”

Before he left, I grabbed his arm. “Have you seen anything of
the Howard gang?”

Pecos shook his head in the flickering light of the fire.
“Not a sign. I guess they figured they done all they could.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Chester looked up at the sky. “Mr. Dillon, I could swear a
storm’s about to break. I can halfway smell the rain.”

I looked up, and the sky was bright from the flames, but I
didn’t see anything that looked like rainclouds. “I don’t know about that,
Chester.” I looked down again at the fire Howard had set. “But it’s doing one
thing that won’t help us.”

Chester glanced at me. “Whaddya mean?”

I pointed. “Look. The wind’s shifting, it’s starting to drive
those flames across the backfire.”

It was true. Sparks were floating through the air, carried by
the wind, to the other side of our scratch line. Pecos’ men were trying to deal
with it, and for the moment they had things under control. But if that wind
kept up…

Chester was thinking the same thing. “Well, if it catches there
again, it’ll get clear away from us.”

“It sure will,” I said. “Come on, let’s grab some more of
Jackson’s boys and start working behind them.”

We turned to head back to the pond, then stopped, staring
into the barrel of a gun. Fenton stood there, his pistol in his hand. He had a
couple more of Howard’s boys with him.

“Don’t move, Dillon!” he shouted.

“Well, Fenton,” I said. “I figured you’d be halfway to the
Mexican border by now.”

“You figured wrong,” snarled Fenton. “You keep your hands
still, both a’ya! One move and it’s your last move!”

I had my coat balled up in my left hand. There was a pistol
in the pocket. If I could use it. “That’s about the way you planned anyway,
isn’t it? I figured you for a backshooting bushwacker.”

“Drop your gunbelts, both a’ya.”

“No,” I said. Chester stood a few feet away from me. He
didn’t drop his gun.

“Hold still, then,” said Fenton. “Rice, go fetch their guns.”

“Rice, if you try it, you’ll die first,” I told him.

Fenton shook his head like a bull does when something’s in
its eyes. “You wiped us out, Dillon!” he shouted. “That backfire a’yours took
the ranchhouse and the barns. There’s nothin’ fer us to do now but drift! Only
first I’m gonna kill you –”

Lightning struck a mile or so away, and the roll of thunder
that followed it was loud. Fenton’s eyes flickered, thinking it was a gunshot
behind him. I shoved Chester with my left hand while I darted right. “Hit the
dirt, Chester!” I fired the gun in the coat with my left hand. Rice dropped to
the ground. At the same time Chester rolled and came up with the rifle at his
shoulder. He fired once, then dropped the rifle and rolled again, drawing his
pistol. Fenton’s other man screamed as his face exploded. “Damn,” I heard
Chester mutter.

“Hold it, Chester!” I threw the coat aside and let my hand
hover over my holster. “Fenton! Drop the gun, you’re under arrest!”

Fenton’s gun was low by his side, aimed at the dirt. His face
was red with rage. “I’m droppin’ you first!”

He started to lift the gun and I jerked. My left hand went to
the hammer and I fanned it twice. Fenton bucked like a wild steer, then fell to
his knees.

“Dillon, I –“

He fell on his back, still trying to lift his gun. Then he
let it go and lay there, limp.

Chester brushed himself off and retrieved his rifle. “Well,
you warned ‘im, Mr. Dillon.”

I turned around. “It doesn’t matter much now. Look, Chester.”

The wind had taken the sparks of Howard’s fire and blown it
over our little patch of dead earth. “Yessir!” cried Chester. “It’s jumped the
backfire! With that wind drivin’ it, it’ll burn the whole prairie from here
clear to the river!”

“And Dodge City along with it,” I said. My voice was choked,
but not from the smoke. “Not a way in the world of stopping it, either.”

Jackson came running up. “I heard the shots, Dillon! Are you
alright?”

I stared at the fire. “I’m sick at my stomach, that’s all.
Dodge City’s gonna burn, Jackson, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jackson stopped in his tracks and watched the blaze grow. “I
sure didn’t figure on this,” he said. “I’d let him have the herd, gladly!”

“No,” I said. “It’s my fault. I should’ve jumped him first.”

“A man does what he has to, Marshal,” said Jackson. “I don’t
think that’s your way.”

“Maybe my way’s the wrong way,” I said sourly. My face felt
hot and wet at the same time. “The burning of ten thousand acres of prairie and
a whole town, there must be something wrong –“ I turned away.
Then I stopped thinking of the city, and began to think of the people. One
person in particular. “Where are the horses? Maybe I can beat it back –“

Chester grabbed my sleeve, holding me back. “Wait, Mr.
Dillon!”

“Let me go, Chester!”

“I told you!” he shouted. He sounded perversely happy. “I
told you! I could smell it!”

“Smell what? What the devil’re you -?”

Then I felt it. There was a slight pattering against the top
of my hat, and the wind brought a few drops under the brim. They landed on my
face, and in my open mouth. “Rain!” I shouted.

“Yessir!” said Chester in delight.

I looked up at the sky, but it was hidden by the smoke. I
turned to Chester and Jackson. “By Heaven,” I said, “it’s starting to rain!”

Jackson grinned and took off his hat. “By Heaven might be the
right expression!”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The laughter just welled up
inside me and came burbling out like water from a spring. “Well, I don’t know
about that, but I do know that it’s about the only thing that can save Dodge!”
I took off my hat, too, and lifted my face to the water that was coming faster
and faster. I shouted with all the voice I had. “Well come on, rain! Faster!
Let loose and rain, willya!”

I was answered by a low, long rumble of thunder.

Chester had his hat off, too, and he was skipping around with
a huge grin on his face. “It’s doin’ it, Mr. Dillon, look at it! Beatin’ down
on that fire!”

“Rain!” We were all laughing now. The rain gave me another
reason to be grateful, now, as I was crying like a lost little boy. But they
were tears of wonder, not fear. I took in a long breath. “You know, Chester –
out here, at times like this, it makes you wonder if, maybe –“ Chester and
Jackson were both looking at me, grinning. “Well, I don’t know,” I said. “Come
on, Chester. Let’s find our horses.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 

It was pretty dark before we got close to Howard’s land. “It
must be close to nine,” I said. “Hope they don’t jump the gun on us, Chester.”

Chester thought about it for a second. “I figure that
Jackson’ll stick by his word, Mr. Dillon.”

“If Howard lets him,” I said.

There was a crack of lightning, followed by a roll of
thunder. It was the fourth in about ten minutes.

“You know,” said Chester, “we may get a break from this heat
if that storm comes this way.”

I wanted to agree with him, but had to shake my head. “No,
I’d say it’s only heat lightning. All thunder and no rain.”

Chester sighed. “Well, if this goes on a few more weeks, this
prairie’ll be dried right down to the nub.”

The sun had vanished entirely now, and the lingering blue air
was turning purple, and about to change to black. There was no moon, tonight,
of course. That would’ve been too much luck. The only light we had was from the
lightning, a few miles off.

We were close to Howard’s fence when we heard a voice call
through the darkness. “Alright! Hold it! Pull up them horses!” It was Fenton.

There was another flash of lightning, and Chester whispered
to me, “He’s right there by the fence, Mr. Dillon.”

“Yeah, I saw him.”

“Who’s there?” shouted Fenton. “Well, speak up!”

I raised my voice and said, “I usually answer bushwackers
with a six-gun. This is your lucky night, Fenton.”

Fenton even sounded apologetic. “Oh, Marshal! I – I didn’t
know…”

“Where’s your boss?” I called.

“I’m right here,
Dillon!” Howard came riding up to the edge of the fence. “‘Bout time you got
here. That mob may try to rush the fence any minute now.”

Jackson wasn’t so far away he couldn’t hear us. “Not yet,
Howard,” he said. “I told the Marshal nine o’clock! You got five minutes yet.”

“Come on over here, Jackson!” I shouted, riding my horse
close to the fence. “I want you to hear this too!”

Jackson rode over slowly and looked me over. “I kinda wish
you’d stayed outta this, Marshal. Rather not’ve fought against ya.”

“Nevermind,” I said. “Mr. Howard – by the authority vested in
me as a US Marshal, and under the territorial laws and ordinances of the United
States, I’m hereby declaring a state of acute emergency, due to the drought.”

Howard squinted at me. “What’re you talking about, Dillon?”

“I’m invoking the US Territorial Ordinance Schedule of 1858,
Section 7-21-C,” I said. I had the book in my hand, but didn’t have to
reference the number. I’d memorized it on the ride out.

Howard looked suspicious – as well he might. “What’re you
tryin’ to say?”

“Just this,” I told him. “For the duration of the emergency,
I’m taking charge of Cottonwood pond in the name of the United States
Government. And I’m allocating use of it to Mr. Jackson here, to water his
herd. Now, if you want to try to make a deal with him, you’ve got five minutes
before I cut the wire and open the fence.”

Jackson didn’t crack a smile, though he was sitting a little
taller in the saddle. He looked at Howard. “I’ve never bought water before –
but I’ll give you ten cents a head, Howard. How ‘bout it?”

Howard looked back and forth between Jackson and me, then
spat. “I’ll see ya dead first. And I’ll be struck dead myself before I see one
head of your stock onta my property! Dillon, I don’t know what’s behind this
move. Maybe you sold out, made a deal o’yer own…”

“Easy, Howard,” I said.

“If not, then you’ve lost your mind!”

“Your five minutes are running out,” I said. “Now what are
you going to do?”

“Fight!” shouted Howard. “What’dya think I’m gonna do?”

“Gonna resist the law?”

Howard shook his fist angrily. “You call it the law, I don’t!
Dillon, I’m givin’ my boys orders to shoot any man who lays a hand on this
fence! And that goes for you, too!”

“Listen to me, Howard,” I said, leaning forward in my saddle.
“You’ve got a chance to do something that costs you nothing and means life or
death to somebody else, and you’re refusing to do it! Now, I’m sorry you see it
that way. But in any case, this herd gets water.”

Howard gave me his best dead eye. “Maybe they will.” He
turned his horse around and call out loudly to his men. “Alright, boys, you
heard it! Keep that fence covered!” They cheered him. He’d already gotten them
pretty riled up – probably promised them a part of the herd once Jackson and
his men were dead. ”If they want a fight,” cried Howard, “they’ll get one!”

I turned to Jackson and sighed. “I guess I’m gonna need some
deputies.”

Jackson smiled, though his eyes didn’t soften any. “Well, I
got twenty-five men here, Marshal. They’re yours if you want ‘em.” As we rode
towards the men they cheered us, Jackson and Chester and me. I guess both sides
were pretty riled up. And I was going to be the match to this fuse. But at
least I was fighting on the right side.

“Alright, boys,” I said to the cowboys. “Will you all raise
your right hands.” They did. “Do you swear to uphold the Constitution,
ordinances, and bylaws of the United States to the best of your abilities, so
help you God?”

Jackson led them in saying, “I do.”

“Alright, now,” I called. “You’re all temporary deputy
Marshals, acting under my orders. Now bunch the cattle this way and start ‘em
through the fence as soon as I open the wire.”

“They won’t need much startin’, Marshal,” said Jackson’s
wrangler – I’d heard Jackson call him Pecos. No wondering where he was from. He
was a big man, and looked like he could wrestle any of his steers to the
ground. “They’ve been smelling that water for hours,” he said.

I dismounted. So did a few of the men. Most would have to
keep their horses to guide the steers through the hole I was going to cut in
the fence. Chester and I hobbled our horses on a sad-looking little tree about
thirty yards from the fence. I had a second pistol in my saddle-bag and I
dropped it in the pocket of my coat. I checked the load in the one at my hip.
“Now, men, don’t shoot unless you’re fired on. If you are, then protect
yourselves and your herd.” I looked around at them. They were about as ready as
could be. “Alright, let’s go!”

There was no way to disguise the fact that a hundred or so
steers were getting ready to rush the fence. I only hoped Howard’s men wouldn’t
know exactly where to shoot until we were through. The darkness was helping us
– for the moment. Still, the men were free to make as much noise as they
wanted. I heard Jackson call out to Pecos. “Keep those flankers close and the
men toward the openin’ here. If’n they crowd on that fence, they’ll cut
themselves to ribbons!”

“Right, boss!” I heard Pecos call. “C’mon over this way!” he
called – either to the cowboys or the cattle, I couldn’t tell.

“Chester,” I said. “C’mere a minute.”

Chester came ambling up with that lazy walk of his. Nothing
seemed to hurry him. “Yessir.”

“You got the wire-cutters?” I asked.

“Yessir,” he said. “Here y’are, Mr. Dillon.” Holding out my
hand I could barely see the outline of the wire-cutters as he passed them over.
They were cool in my sweaty palm. “You know,” said Chester, “I think we got a
fight on our hands.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “Alright. Keep me covered.”

“Yessir, Mr. Dillon.” He lifted the gun out of the rifle boot
by his saddle.

Jackson had dismounted, and he came up to us. He’d heard me
give Chester his orders. “Chester, was it?” he said. “I’ll watch the left over
here.”

“Alright, Mr. Jackson.”

I crept up to the fence, keeping low, to a place right in
line with the pond. It was where they’d suspect I’d make the cut, but I wanted
to create a straight line between the steers and the water. The last few feet I
snaked along on my belly, my gun at my hip, the wire-cutters low by my side,
under my coat. It was a good thing, too. One of those flashes of heat-lightning
ripped the sky open behind me, but there was nothing for Howard’s men to see
except a large lump on the ground – no man walking forward, no reflections off
a gun-barrel or wire-cutters. I waited for my eyesight to adjust back to the
darkness, then I crouched as low as I could and cut the bottom piece of
barbed-wire. It made a sound like a guitar-string when it snaps, but over the
noise of the cattle, I was pretty sure Howard’s men couldn’t’ve heard it. Well,
there was one strand gone. I raised myself up just a little bit and opened the
jaws of the wire-cutter for the second strand. That was when the lightning
revealed me to the thirty or so guns on the other side.

I heard Fenton shout, “They’re cuttin’ the fence, Mr.
Howard!”

Howard’s response was immediate. “Let ‘em have it, boys!”

The shooting started. The air around me was alive with little
lead flies darting past me, humming through the air or pelting the earth. So
far, none of them hit me, though one smacked into the fence-post beside me.

As I cut the second strand, I remember thinking, Alright,
Chester, fire at the flash, and I imagined I could hear him murmur, Yessir.
Then Chester and Jackson and a few of Jackson’s men opened fire, and I could
hear at least one scream from the other side of the fence. I cut the third
strand.

Chester rolled up closer to me and snapped off another shot.
“Oh my gracious,” he said. “I wish there was a moon.”

“One more strand,” I told him. He shot and rolled away as a
hail of bullets came his way, drawing the fire away from me.

“Where’s Howard?” asked Chester, a little louder. He was
answered by a shot.

I heard Jackson shout from somewhere on my other side, “I
spotted ‘im.” His words were followed by a shot of his own and another shout.
It didn’t sound like Howard, but you never know what’ll happen to a man’s voice
when he’s been shot.

I clipped the last wire. Then, gathering the four barbed-wire
strands in my handkerchief, I dashed off to the other fence-post, opening up a
wide gap. “Now!” I called out loud.

Jackson stood and shouted, “Alright, boys! The fence is open!
Bring ‘em through!”

I ran through the gap I’d made, Chester folowing close behind
me. “Come on through, boys!” I called.

The cattle didn’t need much prompting. At the first shouts
they started pushing and bumping each other through the open fence. Some of
Jackson’s men took up positions in lines on either side of the fence, funneling
the steers through the gap. The cowboys hollered and whooped it up as their
herd raced past them towards the water.

I was listening for shouts from the other side. What
surprised me was the fact that Howard’s men weren’t shooting anymore.

“Heads up, Chester,” I said, drawing my gun for the first
time. “They won’t give in this easy.”

“You can hear ‘em out there,” said Chester, “but you can’t
see ‘em through the dust.” The cattle were kicking up quite a cloud, and a wind
was blowing the dust in, towards Howard’s men, covering them even in the
flashes of lightning that were coming more and more often now.

“Well, come on,” I said. “Let’s try to find Howard. I’m gonna
take him in for attempted murder.”

We ran along the inside of the fence, then turned inward,
putting ourselves between Howard’s barn and the pond.

“Last time I heard ‘im,” said Chester, “he was down along the
fence here, somewheres.”

That was when I saw the bobs of light coming towards us. It
wasn’t lightning. It was a torch, coming from around behind the barn. The first
torch was followed by another, and another.

“Alright, boys!” came Howard’s voice through the dust. “Fire
the grass!”

Beside me, Chester said, “Lookit them torches, Mr. Dillon!”
Both Chester and I fired into the dust, aiming at different torches. When the
first two torches fell, I thought we’d hit them. But then all the torches went
down, and the fire rose up.

“They’re setting fire to the grass!” said Chester,
disbelieving.

“Yeah,” I said. “As dry as it is, they’ll set the whole
prairie blazing.”

The shots were coming again. Now that they’d dropped their
torches, they had lifted up their rifles and continued to shoot at us.

“Come on, Chester!” I turned and ran back to the fence.
“Jackson!” I called. “Get your herd through the fence! They’re trying to
stampede them!”

Jackson looked at me in the dim light from the growing fire.
“It’ll take more’n fire to turn those cattle away from water.”

I looked at the herd, and nodded. “I guess you’re right. But
that fire is real trouble. Look, send as many of your boys as you can to help
me. We gotta get that fire stopped and fast.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was getting late. The summer sun was sinking, and we
weren’t any closer to finding an answer.

“I don’t know, Chester,” I said, flipping another page. “It’d
take a man a year just to learn what these words mean.”

Chester was frowning as he leaned over one of the law books.
“Well, I sure can’t help you, Mr. Dillon,” he said. “Lookee there – ‘tort’.
‘Re-plev-in.’ ‘Stat-u-tory mal-feas-ance.’ Why don’t they write the laws out in
English?”

“Be no work for lawyers, then,” I said. I lifted a book and
opened to a page I’d marked about an hour before. “The only thing that might do
it is this one – and I’m not too sure of what it means.”

That was when Doc arrived. I’d sent for him. “Evenin’, Matt!”

“Doc!” I said without standing from my desk. I waved him
over. “Come on in here, willya?”

He chuckled and opened the screen door and came in. He lifted
a bottle from the inside of his coat. “Heh. I figured I’d bring you a little
courage for the battle. There might be snakes out at Cottonwood pond.”

I had to laugh. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Yessir,” said Doc. “Caramel and Irish Whiskey. No doctor
west of the Mississippi oughtta be without ‘em. The caramel is for the woman,
you understand.”

“Yeah, Doc,” I said. “Sure.”

Doc found a couple of tin cups on the shelf over the couch
and poured out two fingers of whiskey into each. “Of course a bottle of Jameson
might not cure a patient, but it sure makes him enjoy his illness.” He handed
one cup to me and the other to Chester. Then he sat down, bottle in hand.

“Thank you kindly, Doc,” said Chester.

I set the cup aside. “Look, Doc – you’ve been to school,” I
grinned. “At least, I guess you have.”

“Oh, well,” said Doc, “I guess I browsed through a couple of
‘em.”

I leaned forward with the book in my hand. “Well, listen to
this, now, and tell me what you think of this paragraph right here.”

Doc read the name off the cover. “Let’s see – ‘Schedule
territorial ordinances of judicial precedents. Handbook for local law
administrators.’ Well, Matt,” he said sourly, “I didn’t go to law
school.”

“No,
no,” I said, “but you’ve read books and you know big words. Now, listen to this
– ‘The local administrator or other duly constituted authority in a territorial
division is hereby empowered to declare a state of acute emergency in case of
riot, rebellion, or any natural catastrophe which threatens the general
welfare.’ Now, Doc, would you say that I’m a duly constituted authority?”

Doc clucked his tongue a few times. “Well, ah, in Dodge City,
I guess you’re about the only authority.”

“Until Mr. Green and the rest appoint a sheriff, anyway,”
said Chester.

“Not now, Chester.” I didn’t want to get side-tracked. “Now,
Doc, would you say that this drought we’re having is a – a ‘threat to the
general welfare’?”

Doc nodded vigorously. “I’ve never seen a worse’n. But –“

“Alright, now listen to this. ‘During a period of such
emergency, the officer in charge is allowed to seize, confiscate, allocate or
otherwise administer critical materials and facilities in accordance with the
common need and his own discretion.’”

Doc sat up straighter in his chair and set the bottle of
whiskey aside. “Oh! Right, Matt! Water is a material!”

“Yeah,” I said.

“And as far as keeping cattle alive are concerned,” he said,
“Cottonwood pond is a facility.”

I closed the book. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

Doc’s eyes were far away, considering. “I don’t see how it’ll
help you, though, Matt. Howard’ll never stand for it. You’re still gonna have a
pitched battle on your hands.”

“Maybe so, Doc, maybe so,” I said. “But at least I’ll be
fighting the way I want to fight. Well, come on, Chester, let’s go. It’s eight
o’clock already.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I cornered Mr. Pepper when he came out of the town hall and
sent him off with Chester. Then I stopped by the Dodge House where Shiloh was
staying and saw the hare that he and the kid had caught and skinned. I asked
Shiloh if the kid could stay at the hotel for the night, things being what they
were. Shiloh said sure, but when I asked him if he’d be interested in becoming
a temporary deputy, he shook his head. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t feel much
like carrying a badge right now, myself.

I went over to the Texas Trail. I try not to eat in the same
place two nights in a row – don’t want to give the townspeople the impression I
was soft on any one place. But I wasn’t really interested in what the
townspeople thought of me at the moment. And the Texas Trail was where I wanted
to be. I ordered a beer and leaned up against the bar, staring out the open
doorway at the bright, piercing sunlight.

“Matt.”

“Eh? Oh, hello Kitty.”

She was wearing a yellow dress. It fit rather tight in some
places, and it suited her fine. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Bad liquor or
a busted stake?”

“Oh, neither, neither,” I said. “How are you?”

“Eager,” she said. “But you probably noticed that before.”
She laughed, giving me my first smile of the day. “Seriously, though, what’s
wrong?”

“Plenty,” I said. “The townsmen have all gotten it in their
heads that I’m too rough with the cowboys. They want me to back off enforcing
the law here in town.”

“Well, Matt, I don’t know you that well, but that sounds like
something you’ll have a hard time doing.”

“You know me better than you think. And on top of things, one
of the bloodiest little range wars you ever saw is about to break.”

“Out at Cottonwood pond,” she said. “I heard about it.”

“Did you hear, too, that I’m backing the wrong side?”

Kitty put a hand on my shoulder. “Here, pull a stool up to
the bar. Sam, a drink for Mr. Dillon.”

Sam, his arm in a plaster cast and a sling, started to pour
me a whiskey. I waved him off.

“No, Sam,” I said. “Thanks anyway.”

Sam shrugged as if it made no difference to him, but left the
whiskey on the bar next to me.

“I can’t stay, Kitty,” I said. “I’ve got to try and round up
some deputies. And try is about as far as I’m gonna get. Whole town’ll be
siding with the Texas cowboys against Howard. And against me,” I added. This
was shaping up to be a real lousy week.

Kitty took the stool she’d dragged over for me and sat on it
herself. She looked at me, and again I felt that connection. “Maybe you oughtta
switch sides, Matt.”

I leaned back against the bar, facing the door. “Oh, sure, sure,
I know I ought to,” I said. “But I can’t. If I started making my own rules it’d
be the end of law and order in Dodge. I just can’t do it, Kitty. Much as I’d
like to.”

Kitty’s forehead creased for a moment, and the skin around
her eyes crinkled. Then she shrugged. “Well – not for me to say. You’re the one
who has to decide…”

Chester came in through the door. “Mr. Dillon?”

“Yeah, Chester? What’d you find out?”

I already knew by the sag of his shoulders. “Mr. Pepper down
at the railroad depot checked clear through to Topeka. They can’t get enough
cattle-cars to load that herd outta here ‘til the day after tomorrow,” he said.

I turned and downed the whiskey Sam had left for me. “Well,
that’s that,” I said. “It was an outside chance, anyway. I thought we might
load ‘em up fast, Kitty, and run ‘em up to Walnut Creek. It’s still got a
little water in it.”

Chester bellied up to the bar and Sam poured him a beer.

“Matt,” said Kitty, “there’s something wrong with a law that
upholds a lowdown scheme like this.”

“What Howard’s doing is legal,” I said. “I gotta find a legal
way to stop him.”

Kitty laughed. “I bet a lawyer could find a way of some kind.
Too bad this town doesn’t have one.”

I snorted. “Heaven forbid.”

The door opened and a burly man with an ill-kept beard came
through it. He had eyes that looked too small, too recessed in his pudgy face,
to actually see anything. He had the look of a brute who liked doing brute
work. Seeing me, he came over and loomed over Kitty and Chester, facing me.

“Marshal Dillon?” he said.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“My name’s Fenton. I’m range boss fer -”

“Yeah,” I said, “I know. You work for Ike Howard. I saw you
out there today.” I wanted to add something, but it didn’t suit a peace
officer. “Well, what’s on your mind, Fenton?”

“Well – Mr. Howard figures you oughtta be arrangin’ to
protect his property.”

“Tell Howard I’ll be there in plenty of time. Jackson gave me
his word he’d lay off until nine tonight,” I said.

Fenton made an ugly face. It might have been a smile. “His
word? Sure. But Mr. Howard figures it’d be a good idea for you to deputize his
riders –“

“Fenton,” I said, “get out.”

Fenton took a step back. “Now wait a second, Marshal –“

I came up off the bar and walked at him. “Go on, get out!
When I want Howard’s advice, I’ll ask for it. Now go tell him that.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Go on! Get out. Move!” I watched him leave, and then
listened to the sounds of conversation start up again softly around me.
“Deputize his riders,” I muttered as I went back to the bar. “Sure, he’d like
that.”

“Well, it just may come to that, Mr. Dillon,” said Chester.
“I couldn’t get anybody else.”

I felt my jaw clenching. “You know, I ought to just throw
this badge away, for all the good it does me. Green and Howe would be happy
enough, and I’d could go out there and help Jackson cut that fence!”

Kitty laid a hand on my arm. “Matt, I still think what you
oughtta do –“

“I know, I know, I oughtta get a lawyer. Well, Kitty, the
only lawyer Dodge City ever saw was that young fella from Boston who died here
last month on his way to –”

Kitty looked at me, sitting there with my mouth hanging open.
“What is it, Matt?”

“Chester,” I said, “what happened to those books of his?”

“That lawyer fella’s?” he asked. “Well, nobody ever claimed
‘em. There’re still in the back of the jail there, somewhere.”

“It’s a long shot, but –” I snapped my finger and laughed.
“Kitty, you’re wonderful.” I reached out, took hold of her shoulders, and
kissed her once on the cheek.

She put her hand up and touched her cheek with a vaguely
shocked smile. “Matt!” she said.

But I was already headed for the door. “Come on, Chester,” I
said. “Let’s find those books.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 

We were back in Dodge. It was almost one o’clock. I had eight
hours to figure out a solution to Jackson and Howard’s spat, or else a range
war would break out, with all the cowboys on one side and all the ranchers on
the other. I’d been a part of a few and they were always bloody and useless.
The fretting made me forget Clay Richards and Rance and the rest. But when we’d
rode back in, Shiloh had spotted me and reminded me that his boss, Mr. Green,
was waiting for me over at the town hall. I felt like cursing, but he had the
little runaway with him so I thanked him instead. Chester and I dismounted and
hitched our horses in front of the jail then walked over towards the town hall.

 “You sure you
want to go in there, Mr. Dillon?” asked Chester. “Oughtn’t we be tryin’ to
figure out –“

“I expect it won’t take long, Chester. Besides, we need to
talk to Pepper, and he’ll be in there with the rest of them.”

“You want me to go in with you, Mr. Dillon?”

“Ah, no,” I said. “No, Chester, you better wait outside.”

“Okay, sir,” said Chester. “What d’ya think they’re up to,
anyway?”

“Well, Green told you it was a businessman’s meeting, didn’t
he?”

“Yessir.”

“Then I expect they’re worried about business.” We reached
the town hall door. “Here we are. I’ll be out shortly.”

“Yessir.” Chester took up a place leaning against the wall.
He took out a wad of slippery elm from his shirt pocket and fitted it neatly
inside his lower lip. He started chewing. I went inside.

Inside were several of Dodge’s leading businessmen – Green,
Howe, Hightower, Gremmick, Pepper, Witherspoon, Torpe, Summers, Denton, and the
rest of them. They were all working themselves up, muttering and grumbling and
nodding at each other. I walked in wearing my undertaker’s coat. Warm as it
was, it had the pleasing effect of shutting them up.

Mr. Green came forward a little hesitantly. He managed the
Dodge House, the city’s main hotel and restaurant. It was the only place folks
from out east felt comfortable in Dodge City, because Green was from Boston and
ran the place just like they did back home. I’d never been to Boston. I
wondered if everyone there was like Green – nice suits and real friendly, but
not too much spine. He was a man famous for not wanting trouble.

As the one who
had invited me, he obviously felt he had to take the lead. “Hello, Marshal,” he said.

“Mr. Green,” I said, touching the brim of my hat.
“Gentlemen.”

They muttered their hellos but kept their eyes on the wall,
or on the floor, or on my badge. This wasn’t looking too good for me.

“Well, Mr. Green?” I said. “I don’t have a lot of time. You
asked me to come here.”

Green coughed and said, “Well, ah, yes. We all did, Marshal.
Mr. Pepper, ‘n Mr. Howe, and, well, all of us. Practically every man who does
business in Dodge is here.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Not Howard, but he’s a little busy. And I
don’t see Rance. He says he does business here.”

Howe stepped up then, much more confidently than Green. He
was a Kansan. “He sure does! That’s what we want to talk about.”

“Well,” I said. “Go ahead.”

Green coughed again. “Well, ah, we – we’ve had a meeting,
Marshal, and, ah, we’ve decided you’ve gotta go easier on these cowboys when
they’re in Dodge.” He seemed relieved to have gotten it out.

“Oh,” I said. I waited a moment, then said, “Why, gentlemen?”

Green looked around. It was Howe who answered. “We can’t
afford to lose all that business. That’s why.”

The other men muttered their agreement, but this time they
summoned up the nerve to look at me as they did.

“There’s always some trouble the first day or so when a herd
reaches a city,” I said. “All I have to do is buffalo a few of the wildest and
gradually the rest of the cowboys calm down a little bit.”

Green said, “But they won’t stand for your sluggin’ men and
throwin’ them in jail.”

More mutters of agreement. It wasn’t so much that they were
looking at me now, as looking through me. All the way to the bank.

“Nobody got killed last night, did they?”

Green shook his head. “Well, that’s not the point.”

“According to the law,” I said, “it’s a pretty good point,
Mr. Green.”

Howe chimed in. “The law’s a fine thing, Marshal. But we’re
also interested in business.” The mutters again.

I bit back my first answer to that. “You’re scared because
one hard-headed trail-boss has threatened you, Howe. They’re not all like
Rance, you know.”

“There – there’s no use arguin’, Marshal,” said Green,
spurring himself on by balling up his fists and letting them go again and
again. “We got our minds made up. You’re just too rough with those men.”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “Tell me something, Mr. Green. Would you
like to run this town?”

Green blanched as his courage disappeared. “Why, why, why, no
– ‘course not. No, not me. But, well, we thought maybe if you kinda – leave
Dodge alone ‘n do your work in the country – like this thing with Mr. Howard.
That’s what we need you for. You deal with them cowboys out there. Then, for
town, we’ll hire somebody the cowboys’ll – take to a little better. Ah, you
know what I mean.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Good thing for me I’m employed
by the government, isn’t it?”

“Oh, now, Marshal,” said Green. “We’re just makin’ a
suggestion, sorta…”

“Oh yeah, sure, sure.” I looked around at all of them, and
this time none of them met my eye. I turned back to Green. “You know what, Mr.
Green? You’re all actin’ like fools.” They didn’t like that. At least, from
what I got from the mutters, they didn’t sound like they agreed with me. “Yeah,
yeah, it’s true. And there’s only one way you’re gonna learn. Well, gentlemen,
I won’t make anymore arrests in Dodge City until you ask me to. It’s your town
and you can blow it right off the map if you want to. Good day.”

I turned and walked out and left the door of the town hall
open to let in the flies. That showed them.

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Ike Howard had no call to fence that pond there, Mr. Dillon.
There’s enough water there for all the trail herds in the next ten years.”

“It’s on his ranch, Chester,” I said. “He’s got a right to
fence in his own range.”

“A right, maybe,” said Chester, “but no decent rancher would
take advantage of it. And he’s the one who set fire to those poor sod-busters’
homes last month, just so’s he could buy up their land.”

“We couldn’t prove that, Chester.”

“I know, Mr. Dillon, but Howard’s mean. Just down-right mean.”

I shook my head. “I think it’s more than that, Chester. It’s
the old business of making two dollars grow where one dollar grew before. I
think Howard figured on something like this when he strung that fence last
month. The trouble is –“

Chester was squinting against the sun at the trail ahead. He
pointed. “Look! Look yonder, Mr. Dillon!”

I looked to where he pointed. There must have been fifty or
sixty riders facing each other across Howard’s barb-wire fence.

“Looks like a couple of armies,” said Chester.

“Well,” I said, “it wouldn’t be the first range war that
started over water rights.” I spurred my horse. “Come on, boy.”

It looked like we’d arrived just in time. The shouting and
name-calling was getting pretty nasty, and under it all was the sound of some
pretty miserable steers begging for a drop of water. They tried to eat the
grass around them, but it was too dry and only made them thirstier.

Howard, the farm owner, was a slender man with a pinched face
and a big round buckle on his belt. There was a pistol stuck in the belt, the
way I never wear a gun, and in his hands he held a Sharps rifle. He sat at the
back of his men, with them protecting him in case shooting started.

Over the fence from Howard’s men, atop a strong but
tired-looking horse, was a man just as lean as Howard, but far more active
looking. His skin was brown and he had the look of a decent cowpoke. He
kept his hands free as he shouted at Howard. “The river’s dry as a bone!
Cottonwood pond’s our last hope for water for the herd.”

“T’ain’t my problem!”

The cowpoke shook his fist. “I been bringin’ cattle up here
to Dodge city for 12 years. Drought or no drought, the pond’s always had water
– water we need!”

“Again I say, ain’t my problem!” shouted Howard. “I made you
an offer!”

“You’re tryin’ t’ steal my cattle, get ‘em for nothin’!” The
cowboy looked glanced around at his herd, and his men bristled with guns.
Across the fence, Howard’s men were holding their rifles a little too ready.
“If you don’t let us through – !”

“Alright boys!” I said, riding right up to the fence. “Hold
it! Hold it, I said! Now put away the guns! Party’s over!”

The cowboy squinted at me. “Who says so, mister?”

“I do,” I said.

Chester rode his horse to another point on the fence, where
he had a clear angle on both leaders. I didn’t take my eyes off the lead
cowboy.

The cowboy looked at me. “Who’re you?”

“Dillon, U.S. Marshal out of Dodge.”

From my other side, at the back of his gang around the fence,
Howard spoke in that thin tone of his. “Marshal, that man and his gang are
threatenin’ to break through my fences and trespass on my property. I demand
the protection o’ the law!”

“You’ll get it, Howard,” I said sourly. “You the owner of
this herd?”

The man nodded. “That’s right, Marshal. Jack Jackson from the
Circle C spread down in the Big Bend. Maybe you can make this fella see reason.
I got a herd a’ cattle here that’s dyin’ like flies for lack a’ water. Over there
a hundred yards is plenty a’ water. Only this sneakin’ crook has fenced it in.
How about it, Marshal?”

“It’s his land, Jackson,” I said. “The law gives him the
right to fence it.”

Jackson stared at me. “Law? Right? Everythin’ I’ve got in the
world’s tied up in the herd. There’s twenty-five riders there in the saddle I
can’t even pay wages to if I lose these cattle. Does the law uphold pushin’ a
man against the wall an’ wipin’ him out?”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t intended to. Howard! Whyn’t you
ride up here to the fence and talk, eh?”

Howard rode through his men with a nasty smile. “Why, sure,
Marshal! No objections at all. My fence, ain’t it?”

“Nobody’s doubting it,” I said. “Now, look, is there any
reason you can’t get together with this man and let him take that herd in and
water it?”

“I made him an offer,” said Howard. “He turned it down.”

Jackson spat. “An offer! A doller a head a day for water or
buy the herd himself for three dollars a head!”

That was when I knew I was right about Howard. “Those’re
pretty stiff terms,” I said.

Howard stared at me like a dead fish does. “Better’n losin’
everything, like he’s gonna do,” he said.

Jackson stood up in his stirrups. “Why you dirty, low-down –“
Both men started to move towards their guns.

“Hold it! Both of you!” I shouted. “Now, look, if there’s any
gun-slinging starts, I’m going to be in on it too, you understand?” They backed
down, but only Howard looked disappointed. “Howard, I just don’t understand
you,” I said. “Most people out here stick together when trouble starts. They
don’t kick a man when he’s down. And they don’t look on a drought or a blizzard
as a chance to make a personal cleaning!”

“Just a minute, Dillon,” said Howard. “You call yourself the
law in Dodge. Alright, does the law say I can fence in my own land?”

I held his gaze for a long minute.

“Well, does it?”

“It does.”

“Then nevermind your opinions, Marshal,” said Howard. “All I
want outta you is enforcement of the law.”

The heat and my temper. But I’d shot a man yesterday. That
has a sobering effect. “Alright, Howard, you’ll get it. And that’s all you’ll
get. Jackson, you better have your boys start the herd circling.”

Jackson studied me. “This mean you’re backin’ him up,
Marshal?”

There was a bad taste in my mouth. “I’m backing up the law,
that’s all, Jackson.”

“Then I don’t think much of your laws up here,” he said.

“I only enforce ‘em, I don’t make ‘em.”

“Y’know,” said Jackson, “there’s a fella named Rance…”

“I’ve met him,” I said.

Jackson was still studying me. “He says Dodge’s become a no
good town. He said it was the fault of the new Marshal there.”

“I know what he says, Jackson. Now you better circle that
herd.”

On the other side of the fence, Howard said, “I’ll say you
better! I’m orderin’ my men to shoot the first man or steer that comes through
that fence!”

That did it. “Chester, you cover Howard.”

“Yessir, Mr. Dillon.” Somehow he made the draw look lazy, but
his gun appeared in his hand like it’d been there all along.

“If he orders any of his men to fire a shot – kill him.”

Chester nodded, his face blank. “Be a pleasure, Mr. Dillon.”

Howard stared at me with wide eyes. “What’s the idea,
Marshal?”

“You wanted the law enforced? Alright, you’re getting it! But
I’m gonna do the enforcing, Howard, not you. So if you’re smart you won’t give
any orders about shooting.”

Jackson pursed his lips, then he nodded slowly. “Alright, Dillon.
You got a tough job. I guess you’re tryin’ to do it fair and square.”

It was the kindest thing anyone’d said to me since I’d moved
back to Dodge. “Man does what he has to do, Jackson.”

Jackson nodded. “I know. Like with me. That herd o’ mine beds
down without water, most of ‘em won’t get off the ground in the mornin’. So,
law or no law, we’re goin’ through that fence.”

“I’ll have to stop you,” I said.

“I know you have to try,” he said.

“Jackson,” I said. “Give me some time.”

“We ain’t got a lot of time, Marshal. We’re losin’ fifteen
head an hour, now.”

“Just give me some time, Jackson, to try to figure out
something.”

Jackson blinked a couple times. “Tell you what, Marshal. I’ll
give you ‘til nine o’clock. But then we’re rushin’ that fence.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Well, Clay was shot, all right,” said Doc, “but from the
meat of the wound and the quagginess of the blood, I’d say it happened sometime
the day before yesterday – the day of the robbery. I’d say the cashier’s bullet
didn’t go wild after all.”

That didn’t make any sense. “Doc, how could a dead man gallop
away?” I asked.

Doc held up a hand. “But the wound wasn’t what killed Clay.
The ball hit the ribcase and bounced off. Twenty-two caliber, it was. What did
kill him was the stab in the back, right through the spine, inflicted sometime
early the next morning. Now, near as I can tell, by a small blade – oh, two,
three inches long. It could have been a Barlow knife.”

“A knife.” I stood up from my desk and started to pace. I
remembered the Dutchman saying he didn’t even own a gun. I suppose he could’ve
knifed Clay – but Pete Ziegler didn’t seem the sort to stab a man in the back,
no matter how desperate he was for the reward. A shooting, maybe. But a knife?
A knife takes work, a knife takes will. No, the more I thought about Clay, the
less I liked Pete for the killing.

There was also Francie and the lie. Clay had been celebrating
something two days before he’d shot two men while trying to steal a hefty chunk
of cash. Then he’d been stabbed in the back. It all added up to something I
didn’t like.

The Doc watched me as I paced the room. “You call the inquest
any time you’re ready, Marshal,” he said.

“Yeah, Doc,” I said absently. “Thanks.”

“Marshal, you’re giving yourself a case of nerves. Prob’ly
been shot at too many times.”

I stopped and smiled. “You think so?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Doc. “You’re getting’ to act like a spooky
old horse that’s jumpy ‘n gun-shy. Now you take me. I don’t rant and rave
against Fate. I just sit back and take what comes.”

“Yeah, sure Doc. Sure you do.”

“I do! If I get a patient I steal ‘im blind, and if I don’t,
well, I keep my hand in, settin’ a broken leg on a dog or a broken arm on a
bartender or something.”

“How is Sam?” I asked.

“He’s fine, Marshal. Clean break. He can still pour from a bottle.”

I nodded. “Well, as you’ve already pointed out, Doc, you
aren’t doing so poorly this week.”

“Oh, I can use another fee or two – I owe some money over at
the Oasis. Not plannin’ to shoot anybody else, are you, Marshal?”

From another man – Mr. Hightower, for instance – I’d’ve
knocked him down. But Doc just sat there grinning at me. I grinned back and
tugged at the collar of my shirt. “If this drought doesn’t break, I’m in the
mood to shoot myself.”

Doc nodded. “It’s a bad one, all right. I don’t think I’ve
ever seen the prairie as dry as it is this year.”

Chester came running into the room. “We got trouble, Mr.
Dillon.”

“Rance or Ziegler?”

“Neither, Mr. Dillon. Ol’ man Howard just sent a rider in.
Another trail drive’s pulled in from around the Big Bend. They’re threatenin’
to cut his fences so they can water the cattle at Cottonwood pond.”

“Well, there’s a fine blow up,” said Doc, “a real head-on
smash. A thirsty herd against that skinflint Howard.”

“That’s all I need,” I said, “more trouble with cowboys.”

Doc rubbed his hands together. “Ah, maybe I can get myself a
few more fees out of this before it’s over.”

Chester looked at me. “Good ol’ Doc,” I told him, “always
hoping for the best. Come on, Chester, let’s ride out to Cottonwood.”

GUNSMOKE - Welcome To Dodge - Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

The day was another scorcher. The drought out in the prairie
was the worst I’d ever seen. Everybody in Dodge was a little edgy about a
prairie fire, and I couldn’t blame them. All it would take was one fool with a
cigar and the whole of Dodge could burn to the ground. But that wasn’t the kind
of thing a Marshal can do something about. The law only reaches so far.

The kid was with Shiloh for the day – I’d convinced the
ex-cowboy to take the boy out hunting, with instructions to keep to traps and
away from guns. If he was determined to keep running, catching some game would
be a useful lesson. There was still no sign of anyone looking for him.

I sent Chester over to Clay Richard’s place to ask Francie to
come see me when she was feeling up to it. I knew if I went over to her place
the day after her husband had been shot I’d only make things worse for her in
town, and I probably wouldn’t get anything useful out of her.

While Chester was out I went through the answers to my
telegrams about the kid. There were a few runaways folks were looking for, but
none that matched mine. I wondered if I should even be bothering. Another
couple of years and he’d be off West without a care anyway. But I’d hate to
have his ma worrying about him.

Chester came in. “She’ll be here in a minute, Mr. Dillon. She
said she wasn’t feelin’ too well, and for me to go ahead.”

“I suppose that’s understandable,” I said. “After all that
happened yesterday. Francie’s always had a delicate constitution.”

Chester nodded and said, “And I ran into Mr. Green from over
at the Allafraganza. He asked if you could come over to the town hall ‘bout
one, Mr. Dillon.”

“Did he say what for?”

“He said they was havin’ a businessman’s meetin’, and they’d
appreciate it if you’d drop by.”

“I’m sure they would.”

Chester nodded and glanced out the door behind him. “Here
comes Mrs. Richards,” he said. “Do you want me to leave, Mr. Dillon?”

I stared at him. “You stay right where you are, Chester.”

“Yessir.” It was almost sheepish.

Francie had finally put on mourning clothes, though perhaps
there was a little too much ankle showing. She looked like she’d dressed
up for a play where she was acting the widow.

“Hello, Matt,” she said.

“Hello, Francie. Come in, come in.”

“I shouldn’t be here, Matt,” she told me. “You shouldn’t’ve
asked me here.”

“Couldn’t be helped, Francie,” I said, holding out a chair
for her.

She sat down and glanced at Chester, who was busy brushing
his hat. “Matt – I hear you shot Adam.”

“He didn’t give me a choice, Francie,” I said. It wasn’t
quite true. I’d pushed him, just like those bums had. I’d lost my temper. I’d
stopped the mob from rushing the jail. That was something. But it didn’t stop
me from feeling raw about it.

“I know,” she said, though she didn’t. “Matt – I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For asking you to –“

“Throw Ziegler to the mob?” I said. “That’s alright, Francie.
You weren’t thinking clear. But now I’ve got to ask you a few questions. About
Clay.”

“You already asked me, the day he –“

“I asked you where he might go,” I said. “There wasn’t time
for anything more. But now that it doesn’t matter, I’ve got a few more things
I’d like to know. Like this – why did he try and rob that bank?”

Francie shook her head. “How would I know?”

“You’re his wife, Francie. Wives know their men. Even if they
aren’t friendly,” I added.

“He wasn’t a bad man,” said Francie. “But he had his moods.”

“Most men do.”

“He beat me.”

“I know,” I said.

“I should’ve come to you, but –“

“I know. He was your husband.”

“Yes.”

She’d done well, not crying. But the tears were there behind
her eyes. I was sitting on the edge of my desk and she fell against me. Her
breath was coming in sobs and her shoulders shook. I held her and tried not to
smell her hair. It was the smell of my youth. Chester was focused on some
invisible spot on his hat.

“You had a fight with him, over me,” she said.

“I told him not to hit you,” I said. “That’s all. There
wasn’t any fight.”

“How did you know?”

“Francie,” I said, “everybody knew.”

She looked down at her hands. “And if I’d come to you?”

“I’d have put him in jail.”

She looked into my eyes. “Just that?”

“I might have hit him once or twice. But no more than that.”

“Matt!” Doc came bursting through the door. “Matt! I – oh.”

I didn’t recall ever telling him to call me Matt. “Yeah, Doc,
what is it?”

Doc face broke into a broad grin. “Am I interrupting?”

“What is it, Doc?” I said again.

“Heh. Autopsy’s finished. I examined his liver and lights as
–“

“This is Mrs. Richards, Doc,” I said.

Doc’s hat popped off his head like I’d shot it. “Oh!” he
said. “I beg your pardon ma’am. You know I meant no disrespect for the
departed.”

Francie sniffled and I said, “Can you come back in a few
minutes, Doc?”

“Sure, sure.” Again with the grin.

“Thanks, Doc.”

On his way out, the Doc bowed to Francie. “Please accept my
condolences, Mrs. Richards.”

“Chester,” I said, “close the door. Now, Francie, I’ve still
got to ask you – do you know why he tried to rob that bank?”

She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief and said she didn’t.

“He was out the other night,” I said, “and he was celebrating
something. Do you have any idea what that was?”

“Celebrating?” she asked. “No. No, I’ve no idea.”

It’s always hard to tell with women, but I thought she was
lying. I’ve been lied to a lot. You get to know the feeling.

I tried for another few minutes, but there was nothing else
to get out of Francie – at least, nothing I wanted that she would tell me. She
had lots to say about Clay, but none of it helped me. I let her cry her fill,
then sent her home with Chester while I sat back and thought about what a man
could celebrate that his wife wouldn’t know about.

Or that his wife would lie about.