Disclaimer: I don't own Gunsmoke.
Note: Here, have all my Fergus feels.
. . .
Festus didn't have a head for dates. No being able to read and generally not having anything to do, he had no need of them. But there was one date that stuck in his mind and he always knew when it was without the aid of a calendar. June 6th was the day that he lost Fergus. June 6th was the day that Fergus Haggen-his brother, his twin-crawled through the front gate of their mother's house in Tennessee and died in his arms, gasping his last words.
"It was Uncle Jack," Fergus grasped at Festus' handkerchief. "The guards at that bank in Sunset Gulch got me in the leg. 'N then Uncle Jack's horse went lame 'n he threw me off mine 'n took the money," he bared his teeth in a savage grin. "'N t' top it all off he yelled back at me that we went together-a lame horse for a lame boy. But I fooled him. I fooled him. I swore that I'd get back home 'n I done it, Festus, I done it."
Fergus slumped against Festus' chest. "I done it," he whispered, eyes closing.
Festus Haggen never had any trouble remembering the sixth of June. It was a year exactly after Fergus died that he caught up with their Uncle Jack. He was standing in front of a lake, washing Matt Dillon's blood from his hands when his uncle dared to say Fergus' name. His blood boiled. "Don't you ever say his name again."
He was angry enough to kill Black Jack Haggen with his bare hands. But he held back because a Haggen never breaks his word. Especially when he gives his word to the law and the law is watching. So bided his time and, in the end, the law took his revenge for him.
But it didn't end the feeling that he always got on June 6th. June 6th always felt like there was something missing, like half of him was gone. After a few years living in Dodge, he established a tradition. Every June 6th he would buy two beers and sit alone at a corner table and drink. Drink to the memory of Fergus and the somewhat tarnished memory of his Uncle Jack. His friends eventually noticed, but they didn't ask. It was as if they knew on June 6th Festus was off limits to the world.
After he finished his beer, he would go fishing at his favorite spot and do nothing for hours on end. It always had a calming effect. The hours of fishing soothed the sorrow and anger boiling just beneath his skin. Festus knew that if he stayed in town on June 6th he would get drunk and break something-possibly something in the Long Branch. He would never be able to face Miss Kitty if he did.
It was better for all if he spent June 6th alone with his thoughts-and Fergus.