The Debt

by dinacarter

A mysterious acquaintance from Chester's past arrives in Dodge with questionable intentions.

THE DEBT

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Disclaimer: This fanfic was written for entertainment purposes only and is not intended to violate or infringe on the copyrights as owned by VIACOM/ PARAMOUNT, not to realize any profit.

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Summary: A mysterious acquaintance from Chester's past arrives in Dodge with questionable intentions.

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Rating: PG-13

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Tongues of flames shooting up into the air, crackling and hissing, quickly devouring the dried timber of the wooden structure.

"Let go of me...I gotta help him! Tom!"

Strong hands holding him back. "It's too late, Chester! You ain't gonna make it!"

Suddenly, the roof collapses with a deafening rumble, sending sparks shooting high up into the night sky. Hands tighten firmer around his arms. Words echo in his ears.

"Too late, Chester!"

"NOOOOO!"

Chester Goode sat up with a start, eyes wide with the fresh terror of his nightmare. His heart was pumping wildly in his chest as he stared bewildered into the semi-darkness of the Marshal's office. The breath was coming in short, ragged gasps from his lips. Slowly, he began to realize that it had only been a dream and he relaxed a little.

With a groan, he ran a shaky hand through his sweat-soaked hair. It had seemed so real. Exactly as it happened seven years ago.

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The tall man ducked from the side door of the Long Branch saloon and pulled it shut behind himself. For a moment, he paused, his eyes quickly scanning the side alley.

Not that he was especially worried about being seen; after all, it wasn't a secret in Dodge that Kitty Russell, the co-owner of the saloon, was his woman. It was more of a habit he had acquired about a year ago after he was jumped by a handful of cowboys.

The alley was empty, containing nothing to arouse his suspicion save the usual beer kegs and crates. Satisfied, he fished the key from his vest pocket and locked the door.

Replacing the key, Matt Dillon turned his gaze upward and squinted against the bright blue morning sky. The birds were chirping merrily and the June air was still misty with the early morning dew. Even though the sun had just risen over the rim of the horizon, it was already quite warm.

A nice day to do some fishing, he found himself thinking, but he knew at the same time that his job as US Marshal rarely allowed him to indulge in his favorite pastime.

He pulled the brim of his Stetson down lower over his forehead as he stepped from the alley and out into a still deserted Front Street. Maybe if things remained quiet in town he could leave Chester in charge and see if Kitty wanted to sneak away with him for a couple of hours.

Somewhere nearby, he heard a door being opened, followed by the muffled sound of voices. Dodge was waking up and Matt picked up his pace. He didn't exactly hide his relationship with Kitty, but he knew that if people saw him leaving the Long Branch regularly in the wee hours of the morning, it would give some of those so-called "respectable" citizens of Dodge all the more reason to gossip. He didn't care much for that; he was a private man and liked to keep his personal affairs out of the public eye as much as possible.

Of course, Kitty was a consideration, too; even though over time she had earned the respect of most of the people in town, there were still some that were all too eager to point their fingers and talk. It was something that Matt hated. He was extremely proud of her and what she had accomplished over the years-especially becoming co-owner of the Long Branch along with Bill Pence about three years ago.

Kitty. A contented smile flashed across Matt's face at the still fresh memory of the previous night and almost involuntarily, a picture of how she had looked when he had left this morning, came to his mind. She had still been asleep, seductively sprawled out on her back, her beautiful red hair fanned out on the pillow, a relaxed look on her freckled face. Her petite form had been covered only by a thin sheet which actually had revealed more than it had hidden.

Matt swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a familiar lurch in the nether regions of his stomach. For a moment, he was seriously tempted to turn back around, but he found that he was already standing on the small front porch of the jail.

He squared himself and opened the door.

Chester looked up from his cot when the door to the jail suddenly swung open, allowing the bright rays of the morning sun to spill into the office.

"Mornin' Chester," boomed Matt cheerfully as he stepped inside. He carelessly slapped his Stetson on its customary peg and closed the door behind himself.

Chester looked up.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Dillon," he muttered quietly.

Matt couldn't help but notice how tired the young man looked. He raised his eyebrows.

"What's the matter with ya?" he wondered.

But Chester, too embarrassed to tell him about his dream, shook his head dismissively.

"Oh, it ain't nothin'," he said as he began to awkwardly clamber to his feet. "Just didn't sleep too well, I reckon."

For another moment, Matt regarded him curiously, then he turned his attention to the stove.

"Say, no coffee?" He picked up the empty pot and shook it slightly. Usually, his assistant always had a pot brewing by now.

Chester stopped pulling his suspenders up and turned.

"Oh, forevermore," he said, sounding a little embarrassed. "I plump forgot. Well, I'll make us some here right aways, Mr. Dillon."

He finished pulling up his suspenders and limped over to the stove.

Matt folded his arms in front of his chest and perched himself on the edge of his desk. Chester definitely looked a little worse for wear this morning. He decided to try and cheer him up a little.

"Tell you what," he said as he pointed at Chester. "What do you say, we head on over to Delmonico's for a decent breakfast. You look a little off your feed there, ya know."

At his words, Chester looked up.

"I do?"

The coffee forgotten, he turned and gazed at his reflection in the small mirror behind the door. A set of tired brown eyes, surrounded by a rather white-looking face, stared back at him.

"Well," he admitted as he continued to stare at himself. "I reckon, I could do with a bite."

A small smile flitted across his face and he quickly ran his fingers through his dark hair in an attempt to tidy it a little.

Matt nodded satisfied.

"Good," he said as he picked up a "Wanted" poster from his desk and idly glanced at it. "Just do me a favor an' don't take too long." He had just realized how hungry he was.

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About an hour later, after an extensive breakfast, the two left Delmonico's in the company of Doc Adams. Matt noticed with satisfaction that Chester had regained his color and seemed in better spirits now.

Contentedly chewing on a toothpick, he was strolling down the boardwalk, tagging after Doc and Chester who were engaged in a rather lively conversation.

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Matt wasn't paying much attention to his friends' good- natured bantering, but he caught bits and pieces as they carried back to him whenever either one would raise his voice.

"...goodness gracious, Chester," he heard Doc grousing. "I told you a hundred times, you oughtta put some greens into that belly of yours instead of fillin' it with all that dried pork an' beans all the time..."

Chester looked at him sideways, frowning.

"Well, now look...an' I told you that I ain't no cow, Doc..."

The physician made a scoffing sound. He shook his head.

"Oh, I don't know why I even bother..."

"Well, neither do I," retorted Chester indignantly.

Doc stopped abruptly, causing Matt to almost run into him. For a second, the doctor glared at Chester and then turned to the Marshal.

"Did you just hear that?" he snapped. "He comes to me, askin' for free advice..."

Matt took the toothpick from his mouth, struggling to suppress a grin.

"Now hold on a minute, Doc," he said as he raised his hands to stop the flow of words. "I'm stayin' outta this."

The doctor's eyes narrowed. He took a quick swipe at his mustache.

"Figures." He turned back to Chester. "Now let me tell ya..." he started to say, but stopped dead when he realized that the young man wasn't paying any attention to him.

Chester was standing frozen, his gaze fixed intently on a rider that was just now passing them, coming down Front Street.

"Oh, no...it can't be..." he muttered.

Curiously, Doc's eyes followed Chester's stare.

The rider, a middle-aged, stocky-looking fellow with a crop of reddish-brown hair peeking out from underneath a black Stetson, didn't look familiar to him at all. With a swipe at his mustache, he turned, casting the Marshal an uncomprehending glance.

Matt folded his arms in front of his chest and simply shrugged; he had never seen the man before either.

Chester watched the rider until he was out of sight. Then he slowly turned. Right away, Matt could see that something wasn't right; the color had completely drained from his friend's face.

"Will you be a-needin' me this mornin', for anything, Mr. Dillon?"

The Marshal hooked his thumbs into the top of his gun belt and straightened himself, ignoring the question. He regarded his assistant suspiciously.

"Is there a problem, Chester?" he asked instead.

Chester hesitated. He tugged haplessly at his neck, his eyes on the tips of his boots.

"Well, n-no," he finally stammered, doing his best to avoid Mr. Dillon's probing gaze.

"I was just a-thinkin'...there's a few things, I-I need to look after."

Matt eyes lingered on his assistant. It was quite obvious that he was holding something back. But he didn't want to press any further; he knew, Chester would tell him on his own when the time was right.

He regarded his assistant with mild concern.

"All right, I see ya later then," he said slowly.

"Thank you, Mr. Dillon," muttered Chester. Then he turned and hurried off, quickly limping down the plank sidewalk into the direction the rider had disappeared.

Doc gave his earlobe a thoughtful tug as he stepped alongside the Marshal.

"Now, what in the name of thunder, you reckon, that was all about?" he wondered astonished.

Of course, Matt didn't have an answer to that. Puzzled, his gaze followed Chester until he had disappeared out of sight around the corner of the livery stable.

"I don't know, Doc," he finally said, "but I sure like to find out."

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"How long you figure on givin' him, Sounders?"

The young cowboy eyed the man crouching by the fire across from him. Even though they had been waiting here at the creek, a good ten miles north of Dodge for only a short while, he was getting nervous and was ready to move on.

Hank Sounders lowered the tin cup from his lips and tossed its remaining contents into the fire. With a hiss and a cloud of steam, the coffee evaporated as it hit the flames.

"As long as it's gonna take," he replied tensely. He expected his men to follow him blindly, doing as they were told. He didn't like it when they asked too many questions.

But the cowboy apparently decided to push his luck. He began to idly stoke the flames with a stick.

"You reckon, we can trust him?" he asked now.

"We'll see, won't we?" answered Sounders calmly, a touch of annoyance tingeing his voice. Coggins was slowly beginning to get on his nerves.

Mel Coggins either still didn't get it or he must have felt extremely brave; undeterred, he went on.

"Well, I don't trust him. Maybe I should go down there just to keep an eye on..." he began to suggest, but he didn't get to finish.

Before he knew what had happened, Sounders had jumped up, reached across the fire and seized him by the front of his shirt, roughly pulling him to his feet.

Oblivious to the rising heat of the flames, Hank Sounders jerked the young man towards him so that their faces were now only inches from each other above the fire.

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I'm beginnin' to get the feelin' that you ain't payin' attention, Coggins," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I reckon, by now our names an' faces oughtta be on ev'ry "Wanted" poster from here to Denver!"

He paused briefly and then finished, his voice taking on a mocking tone.

"An' you...you figure on walkin' into Dodge, pretty as you please."

He chuckled derisively and turned to look into the faces of the other six men that were watching him and Coggins intently.

His words were met with roaring laughter. Unlike Mel Coggins, most of them had been with Sounders long enough to know that it was safer not to cross him. Now it looked as if the young man would learn the hard way.

Satisfied with their reaction, Hank Sounders turned his attention back to Coggins who by now had begun to sweat profusely-and not just from the rising heat the flames emitted.

He brought his face even closer to the young man's.

"Let me tell ya somethin' my friend," he whispered, placing a sarcastic emphasis on the word 'friend'. "You open your damn mouth one more time an' I swear, I'm gonna shut you up for good!"

He suddenly straightened, forcefully shoving the young cowboy from him.

With a surprised outcry, Mel Coggins stumbled backwards and landed hard on his backside, accompanied by the rough laughter of the others.

Sounders didn't pay any more attention to him, but Coggins' words had planted a tiny seed of doubt in his mind; what if he couldn't trust Danby to do the job?

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Chester stopped in front of the livery stable.

Suddenly, he was not so sure anymore whether he wanted to see him. He came to a halt just inside the big double doors. What was he going to say to him? What if he just came to Dodge by chance and wasn't even looking for him? Suddenly, he remembered the unsettling dream he had had the previous night; it sent a chill down his spine.

"Mornin', Chester!"

The suddenly spoken words caused the young man to jump, startled.

Moss Grimmick wrinkled his forehead and regarded him strangely.

"What's the matter with ya?" the old livery man asked. "You sure are jumpy this mornin'!"

He pushed his hat back, and without waiting for an answer, shuffled off into the depths of the stable.

The Marshal's assistant stared after him. His heart was pounding loudly.

"Fer goodness sakes, Moss," he called crossly. "You just about scared me to death there!" He shook his head and then began to limp after him.

It took Chester's eyes a moment to get used to the dim light inside the livery barn. The straw was crunching loudly under his boots as he made his way deeper into the stable. Searching, his eyes wandered from box to box. He had to be in here somewhere. Sure enough, as soon as Chester approached the last box, he saw him.

Even though the man undoubtedly had to be aware of Chester's approach by now, he didn't turn; instead, he continued to unsaddle his horse.

"Hello, Chester Goode," he said without turning.
Chester nervously rubbed the back of his neck. His voice sounded uncertain when he spoke.

"Hello, Joe."

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"If you wanna have a chance at catchin' that fella, Matt, I wouldn't nail his face to that announcement board."

The colt in the Marshal's right froze in mid-air. He turned to face the doctor and raised an inquiring brow.

"Oh, and why's that?"

Doc didn't answer right away; he dropped his little black leather bag into the nearest chair and then turned to study the poster more closely.

"Hmmm...Hank Sounders, " he muttered. He ran a quick hand across his scruffy mustache.

"Well, now, you see here...two-thousand dollars is a pretty big reward," he went on to explain, "probably has ev'ry bounty hunter from here to St. Louis out lookin' for him."

Doc glanced up into the tall lawman's face.

"You ain't gonna see him aroun' here. Take my word for it."

He waved his hand dismissively began to make himself comfortable in one of the chairs lining the brick wall of the Marshal's office.

Matt made a face. He tightened his grip on the barrel of his colt and swung back, driving the nail deep into the wooden board with a single blow.

"You're probably right," he admitted as he pushed his Stetson back with his forearm to wipe the sheen of sweat off his brow. "But I tell ya one thing...I'm still gonna keep my eyes open."

He holstered up his gun and pulled up a chair beside the doctor's, stretching himself out on it.

It was only mid-morning, but the sun was already burning down hotly onto the town and the dusty streets. There wasn't the slightest breeze and specks of dust were glittering in the shimmery warm air. It was, in other words, just another typical Kansas summer day.

Doc glanced over at the lawman who had crossed his hands behind his head and stretched his long legs out before him so that they almost reached the edge of the small front porch.

"Is that what you call keepin' your eyes open, Marshal?" he teased good-naturedly.

In response, Matt pulled the Stetson down over his face in an attempt to keep the sun out.

"Hmm," he murmured sleepily.

Doc shook his head.

"Oh, never you mind, Mr. Marshal."

He pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and began to mop his forehead with it.

"Ya know," he then continued when Matt remained silent. "Sometimes I wish, I had your job."

That remark, though having been made by the physician countless times, always worked, moving the Marshal to respond in one way or another.

Matt pushed his hat back and squinted sideways at his friend from underneath the brim.

"Oh, really?" he said. "Well, remind me next time someone takes a shot at me."

He made a soft noise of disbelief and gave the brim a sharp tuck, pulling it back down over his face.

For a while, the two friends sat in agreeable silence. Doc was chewing idly on a toothpick, watching the ongoings on Front Street while the soft snoring noises coming from underneath the Stetson next to him indicated that the Marshal apparently had dozed off.

Suddenly, Doc straightened. He lowered the hand holding the toothpick to nudge Matt with it.

"Well, by golly! Will ya look at that..." he exclaimed astounded.

Matt protested as he was unceremoniously roused from a rather pleasant dream.

"Hey...what's the idea?"

Stifling a yawn, he sat up and pushed the Stetson off his face. He let his eyes wander to where Doc's hand, still holding the toothpick, was pointing.

There, across the street, walking down the plank sidewalk, was Chester-and he was not alone; walking with him was the cowboy that had rode into Dodge only a short while ago.

The stranger was carrying his saddlebag slung over his shoulder, laughing and carrying on, while Chester limped alongside him, obviously doing more listening than talking.

When they came up to the Dodge House, Chester walked ahead and held the door open. His companion entered and the young man followed closely behind.

The doctor exchanged a surprised glance with the Marshal.

"Well, what do you make of that?" he wondered.

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Chester closed the door to room number six behind himself and turned to its occupant.

"All right," he said moodily. "I wanna know what no-good scheme's brought you to Dodge, Joe...an' don't you go tellin' me, you came here on the account of me."

The stocky cowboy had carelessly thrown his saddlebag onto the bed and had begun to inspect the room.

He stepped up to the window and pushed the curtains aside with the back of a strong, callused hand, idly surveying Front Street below.

At Chester's words he turned, his face assuming a look of hurt. He raised his arms in what was meant as a jovial gesture.

"Oh, now...Chester, my ole friend," he proclaimed. "I done already told ya...it was pure chance that brought me here."

A crafty smile turned the corners of his mouth upwards and the Marshal's assistant noticed it at once.

Almost immediately, a frown appeared on Chester's face.

"Oh, now, don't you 'good-ole-Chester' me," he grumbled unconvinced. He knew Joe too well to believe a word he said. "An' besides," he then added resentfully, "we never was no friends."

Right away, the lines around Joe's eyes deepened and the smile on his weathered face disappeared, giving way to a cold, calculating expression.

"Seven years ago, Chester," he hissed softly, his gray eyes fixed intently on the young man's. "Seven years ago. Don't you remember?"

Chester flinched at the words and swallowed hard, suddenly looking stricken.

The other man saw it, too and he smiled pleased.

"I see you do remember, my friend."

Chester nodded numbly, remembering the dream. He hadn't forgotten; after all, how could he possibly?

Joe nodded pleased.

"Good," he declared softly. "Don't you ever forget."

His eyes bored into Chester's as he poked a meaty finger into his face.

"You owe me, Chester Goode."

The words had a profound effect on the Marshal's assistant. He suddenly hung his head and his shoulders slumped as a harsh breath shuddered his body.

For a short moment, Joe continued to stare at him calculatingly. Then his anger disappeared as quickly as it had flared up and the toothy grin flashed across his face once again.

"Oh, c'mon now," he coaxed, striking a more conciliatory tone. "Just had to make sure we understand each other, eh?"

He laughed lustily and gave Chester a boisterous slap on the shoulder, the force of which sent him staggering forward.

"How about takin' your old friend for lunch?" he then wondered, and it was obvious that this wasn't a request.

He firmly draped a strong arm over the young man's shoulder and began to usher him towards the door.

"I bet you can't wait to tell old Joe Danby what you've been up to since we've seen each other last."

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Ed Daggett checked the clipboard in his hands.

"It's confirmed, Marshal," he said. "The shipment's scheduled to come in on the six o' clock train on Friday."

The elderly railroad clerk pushed his half-moon reading spectacles up on his nose and squinted at the tall lawman who was standing beside him, thumbs hooked into the front of his gun belt.

Matt nodded in acknowledgment.

"Well, we'll be ready for it."

It was a monthly occurrence that the railroad payroll came in on the train from Wichita en route to Lamar, Colorado. It usually remained in Dodge overnight and was picked up by the stage the next day which took it to its final destination; the railroad camps south of Lamar.

This time, however, the amount was almost triple its usual. This was partly owing to the fact that the railroad recently had acquired several large parcels of land along its new projected route north of the New Mexico border.

This had Matt somewhat worried. He knew that this type of news had a strange way of spreading like wildfire, arousing the interest of every crook and outlaw from here to Lamar.

Ed Daggett apparently was thinking the same.

"I'm not tryin' to tell you how to do your job, Marshal," he said. "But you are aware that this month's shipment is quite larger than usual..."

Matt understood the other's concern.

"Yeah, I'm aware, Ed."

After giving the matter some brief consideration, he decided on taking the money box over to the jail and locking it into the safe there, instead of simply leaving it at the train station office where it usually remained.

He informed Daggett of his intent who seemed visibly relieved that the lawman was willing to take the responsibility from him.

"That's just fine with me, Marshal," he said. "I'm gonna be sleepin' much better for that."

Matt smiled.

"Yeah, I reckon you will." He pushed his Stetson back and gave the clerk a brief nod. "Well, I'll be seein' ya tomorrow, Ed."

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It was now early evening. The day was fading quickly, the sinking sun casting long, sharp shadows onto the streets of Dodge. It had been a stifling hot day and the night looked as if it wasn't going to be any better. The breeze less air was already beginning to feel sticky and heavy with humidity.

Matt decided that a nice, cold beer was just about what he needed right now. With that in mind, he directed his steps towards the Long Branch.

The raucous banter of men, along with the gay laughter of the saloon girls greeted him moments later as he walked up to the saloon. He paused for a moment, his hands grasping the top of the batwing doors as he quickly let his gaze sweep over the bar room with his customary caution. His eyes took in the crowd of patrons standing up at the bar and thronging the tables where games of Poker and Faro were being dealt.

Everything seemed normal and in order, and he relaxed imperceptibly. He pushed the swinging doors aside and entered.

It didn't take him long to locate Doc and Kitty, sitting at their usual table in the far back corner. Smiling, he shouldered his way through the noisy crowd towards it.

"Hello, Kitty...Doc," he greeted his two friends when he came to a halt in front of their table.

Kitty looked up at him smiling as he pulled up a chair and squeezed it between hers and Doc's.

"Hello, Matt," she said.

Doc gave a curt nod.

"Evenin', Matt," he replied gruffly.

The physician half rose and moved his chair a little to make room for the lawman.

Matt used his shirtsleeve to mop the perspiration off his brow before he dropped himself into the chair.

"Boy, sure's hot today."

Doc and Kitty, looking not too comfortable themselves, murmured in agreement. Then Kitty turned and raised her hand to address the barkeep behind the counter.

"Clem, bring us another beer over here for the Marshal."

She shifted her attention back to the tall man beside her. Resting her chin in the palm of her hand, she regarded him with idle curiosity.

"So, what have you been up to all day?"

Matt shrugged, comfortably leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, not much," he replied truthfully. His fingers were absently tapping on the table top as he smiled at her. He loved the silky, black sleeveless dress she was wearing tonight, and he wanted to tell her so. But somehow, he didn't think it was quite appropriate with Doc sitting next to him, watching and listening.

Kitty must have read his thoughts, or more likely noticed the twinkle in his eyes. She slightly raised her brows, giving him that certain look which she reserved only for him. It always made him squirm a little.

"I see," she said, smiling bemused. "Must be the heat. I haven't seen a single man out there working all day. but you know...they suddenly all started re-appearing after sunset." Her blue eyes were twinkling mischievously.

Matt turned to thank Clem for the beer. His lips were twitching with amusement when he shifted his attention back to Kitty.

"That a fact?"

He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long drink. The cold beer felt good going down his throat.

Kitty nodded.

"Well, you and Doc are living proof," she replied, thinking of how she hadn't seen neither one of them all day long.

"Oh, now you hold on there a minute, young lady," groused Doc immediately. "I don't know about him... " He waved his hand towards the Marshal. "But I've been out there all day in the heat, seein' patients."

He gave his mustache a quick swipe, his brow now furrowed in mild annoyance.

"Unlike some of us..." He cast Matt a quick side glance. "...I have to work for a livin'. I'm not so lucky to get a regular paycheck from the government."

Matt couldn't help but roll his eyes.

Must be the heat, he thought to himself, that made the doctor even more cantankerous than usual. Nevertheless, he never could just sit there and take it. He put his beer down, a retort on his lips, when Kitty suddenly spoke up.

"Now listen," she said, sensing the beginnings of another, inevitable argument between them, "I'm not gonna sit here all night and listen to you two bicker at each other."

Matt made a face, but Kitty quickly changed the subject.

"Say, Matt," she said as she nodded vaguely towards a table across from them. "Have you met Chester's friend yet?"

She placed a strange emphasis on the word 'friend' which didn't go unnoticed.

Matt turned his head to where Kitty had pointed.

"No. No, I can't say, I have," he answered slowly.

Indeed; Matt was surprised that he hadn't noticed them earlier. There, sitting at a table over by the window, was Chester along with the stranger that had rode into Dodge this morning.

He couldn't get a good look at the man since he had his back turned on him, but Matt couldn't help notice the uncomfortable look on Chester's face.

He shifted his attention back to Kitty.

"You got any idea who he is?" he wondered.

Almost immediately, a frown appeared on Kitty's face.

"His name's Joe Danby," she said, and Matt could hear by the tone of her voice that she obviously didn't approve of him. "Chester introduced us."

What she didn't say was the fact that Danby had literally undressed her with his eyes earlier when Chester had introduced them.

Matt scratched his head.

"Joe Danby," he repeated slowly. The name didn't sound familiar to him.

"Let me tell ya, Matt," said Doc now, leaning closer, his earlier disagreement with the lawman forgotten. "I don't exactly know what it is, but there's somethin' about this fella..."

He didn't finish his sentence, lapsing into thoughtful silence instead.

The doctor usually considered himself a quick judge of character, and Joe Danby struck him as rather shady at the very least.

Matt raised a brow.

"Well, now you made me kinda curious," he said. "Maybe I oughtta go over an' meet this Danby.

Without waiting for a reply, he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.

Neither one of the two men was aware of the approaching Marshal. The stranger still had his back turned on him, and Chester was staring at the beer mug in his hands, listening to the other man talk.

When Matt had almost reached their table, he was able to catch bits and pieces of what Danby was saying.

"...trust you to let you watch that kinda money, " he could hear him say.

Immediately, the Marshal's eyes narrowed. He came to a halt in front of their table.

Joe Danby must have sensed his presence because he suddenly fell silent.

"Hello, Chester."

The lawman's voice startled the young man, and his head jerked up.

His thumbs hooked casually around his beltbuckle, the Marshal was towering over the table, looking down at his assistant.

"Oh, h-hello, Mr. Dillon."

Chester lifted his gaze, and Matt was immediately alarmed by the weary, almost fearful expression on his friend's face. His eyes narrowed. He cast a quick glance at Danby whose face he still couldn't see and then turned back to Chester.

"I haven't seen ya around all day," her said.

"Oh, well," Chester stuttered, attempting a not terribly convincing smile. "I was...I mean-we was..."

Matt raised his brows when he realized the awkwardness his question had obviously caused. He nodded towards Danby.

"Say, who's your friend here? Won't you introduce us?"

The young man's eyes quickly darted across the table and then back to the Marshal.

"Mr. Dillon...Joe Danby. Joe, this is Marshal Dillon," he muttered without much enthusiasm.

Slowly, the sitting man rose to his feet and turned, allowing the Marshal to get his first good look at him.

It wasn't a good first impression, and Matt at once remembered Doc's words. Danby was of average height but built rather stout and muscular. His weathered face with its heavy lines around the eyes and mouth made him appear to be in his mid-forties.

The thing that bothered Matt the most though, were the man's eyes; there was a strange, almost predatory gleam in them. A gleam that he found quite disconcerting.

"Marshal...pleased to meet you."

Joe Danby's voice jostled him from his thoughts, and he realized that the man held out a meaty hand.

Matt took the proffered hand and shook it, a little surprised by the man's strong grip.

"So," he then said, letting go of Danby's hand. "You've known Chester long?"

His eyes bored into Joe's, liking him less with every passing second.

Danby casually held the Marshal's gaze.

"We go back quite a spell," he replied, his brash tone failing to conceal a touch of obvious apprehension. He looked down at Chester. "Don't we, Chester?"

There was the faintest hint of a threat in Joe's voice and Matt caught it at once.

Sensing the developing tension between the two men, Chester began to scramble to his feet. He nervously tugged at his collar.

"We was workin' for the same ranch...ya know...before I came to Dodge to work for you, that is, Mr. Dillon," he explained. "The Circle M in Las Animas...out in Colarader."

Matt was surprised.

"I see," he said. This was indeed news to him. He knew that Chester had worked for the 'Flyin' J', out on the Arkansas River several years ago, but until now, he had never mentioned the 'Circle M'.

Chester's explanation was followed by a long, awkward silence as neither one of the men seemed to know what else to say.

Finally, the Marshal cleared his throat and pushed his Stetson back.

"Well," he said, glancing at the two men. "I reckon you two have plenty to talk about."

He had seen and heard all he needed.

"I'll see ya at the office, Chester," he said to his assistant and nodding at Joe, he said, "Danby."

With that, he turned and left.

.

.

.

It was well past midnight when the door to the jail was opened.

The Marshal who was sitting behind his desk, engrossed in a book, looked up. It was Chester. Matt put his book down.

"Hello, Chester."

Chester closed the door behind himself and hung his hat on its peg.

"Mr. Dillon," he muttered. Without as much as a glance, he hobbled over to his cot and plopped himself down on it.

Matt raised his brows. Unusually subdued and quiet, it was more than obvious that something was troubling his assistant. He already had a pretty good idea what it was.

"Had a good talk with your friend?" he wondered casually.

At his words, Chester lifted his head. He looked rather insulted.

"Oh, now...really," he grumbled. "You don't hafta go on pretendin' with me, Mr. Dillon...you know good 'n' well that I know that you know that Joe Danby ain't no friend of mine."

Chester's peculiar choice of words caused an amused smile to flash across Matt's face despite the seriousness of the situation.

"Well, if that's how you wanna put it...yeah, I noticed."

Matt tried to keep a light tone, but Chester didn't catch on. He sullenly lowered his gaze, staring fixedly at the tips of his boots.

The smile disappeared from Matt's face, giving way to a more serious expression. It was apparent that Chester didn't want to disclose who exactly this Joe Danby was. He rose from behind his desk and walked over to the nook which housed their cots.

"Look," he began, "you don't have to tell me who he is, but if there's anythin' I can help you with-"

Matt looked genuinely concerned, but Chester interrupted him.

"I sure appreciate it, Mr. Dillon, but there ain't nothin' I need help with."

Matt leaned his back against the brick wall and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He regarded Chester intently.

"All right," he then said, "you're not in any kind of trouble, are you?"

Chester shook his head slightly. He ran a nervous hand through his hair.

"No,...I ain't in no trouble...it ain't that-"

He kept his gaze fixed on the floor, now purposely avoiding the Marshal's eyes.

Matt could see that the yoiung man was obviously struggling with something. He decided it was time to switch tactics.

"Tell me," he wondered, "what exactly did the two of you do at the Circle M?"

Surprised, Chester looked up.

"Well, I was a-workin' the chuckwagon an' the kitchen, an' Joe,...he was just one of them drovers, ya know...workin' the cattle...like his brother Tom."

He suddenly stopped himself as if realizing that he had said something wrong. Slowly, his mouth opened but nothing came out and then, composing himself, he quickly closed it again.

Matt nodded.

"I see," he said slowly, trying to put it all together.

Danby's strange remark came to him again, and he began to wonder where it all fit in.

But Chester, realizing that he probably had said too much already, was determined to put an end to the subject.

"Well, I reckon, I best be turnin' myself in. I don't know what it is, but I'm just plump worn out."

He attempted another smile which again came out rather unconvincing and began to busy himself with pulling off his boots.

Matt realized that his friend was through talking. He decided not to push him any further-for now anyway.

He nodded.

"All right, you do that."

He turned to pull his gunbelt from its peg and began to buckle it up. Then he crossed over to the door and grabbed his Stetson, slapping it on.

"I'm goin' on rounds, Chester."

Relieved that the Marshal seemed to have dropped the issue, Chester looked up at him.

"You want me to wait up for ya, Mr. Dillon?" he queried, this time, almost sounding like his old self again.

Matt shook his head.

"No. No, you can lock after me," he said.

He had already planned on spending the night at Kitty's-even though he had to admit that the jail, with its thick brick walls, was quite a bit cooler than Kitty's upstairs bedroom at the Long Branch. It was somewhat of a trade-off, but it was one that he didn't mind one bit.

Chester allowed a brief smile to flit scross his face.

"Well, night then, Mr. Dillon."

The Marshal dipped his head in acknowledgment and then stepped out into the hot and muggy night.

.

.

.

Joe Danby's nervous eyes darted out into the empty street.

"You can tell the boss that ev'rything's goin' just as planned, Carter," he whispered annoyed.

Even though it was almost one in the morning now, there was still the odd cowboy stumbling around, trying to find his way home after a long night of drinking and gambling in one of the many saloons that lined Front Street.

"Boy, I sure hope you're tellin' the truth, Danby," the other man hissed warningly. He regarded Danby doubtfully. "For your own sakes-"

He hadn't liked Joe Danby from the beginning, and he still didn't trust him.

Danby was angry and insulted that Sounders had sent Carter to check on him.

His gray eyes glinted dangerously as he turned them on the man next to him.

"You go an' remind him of who's sittin' here in the lion's den, doin' all the dirty work, while he's sittin' safely somewhere out there, waitin' to do the easy part," he growled.

The other didn't reply. His face was stony and didn't gave any clue as to what he was thinking.

His eyes fixed on Joe Danby, he pulled a cigarette and a match from his shirt pocket.

The loud thud of a door being shut, suddenly startled them both.

"Someone's comin'...quick!"

Danby gave Carter a hasty push, shoving him back into the shadows of the alley which ran along the side of the Dodge House. His back pressed tightly against the wall, he peered around the corner and out into the street.

There, right across from him, illuminated by the light fixture on the brickwall, he saw the Marshal stepping from his office. He watched as the tall lawman strode down the plank sidewalk, eventually disappearing into the alley next to the Long Branch saloon.

A grin began to spread across, Danby's weathered face.

"Ah...that's how it is. Good to know where to find you, Marshal," he whispered to himself.

He turned back to Carter, only to find that the other man had already disappeared. Shrugging, he made his way back to the front of the hotel.

.

.

.

"I just don't understand why Chester seems to be goin' out his way to please him."

Kitty was, of course, referring to Joe Danby as she replaced her coffee cup on the red and white checkered tablecloth.

It was Thursday morning and she was sitting at Delmonico's where she and Matt had joined Doc for breakfast.

"Did you know," Kitty then went on, speaking to neither one of them in particular, "that Chester paid for all their drinks last night?"

Matt looked up, his interest peaked.

"Did he really?" he mumbled through a mouthful of fried eggs and bacon. "Looks like I missed somethin' there..."

Apparently, Kitty didn't think it was funny. She gave his arm a little slap.

"Oh, Matt," she scolded him annoyed. "I'm serious."

Matt's face broke into an impish grin.

"Well, so am I," he retorted flatly.

He knew good and well what Kitty had been driving at, but sometimes he just couldn't resist teasing her a little. Besides, she already knew what he was thinking, having discussed Chester's strange behavior in detail last night.

Doc thoughtfully swiped at his mustache.

"Ya know," he said. "Maybe Chester thinks, he owes that fella somethin'..."

Little did the physician know, how close he had just come to the truth.

Kitty tapped her chin with her forefinger. She nodded in agreement.

"Yes, that's what Matt was sayin', too."

She remembered how it had come up in their conversation last night. She figured that it was a very good possibility.

The Marshal finished the rest of his coffee with one big gulp. He tugged the napkin from his shirt and placed it on his empty plate.

"Yeah. The question now, is just 'why'."

He looked from Doc to Kitty, his tone now one of slight annoyance.

"Trouble is...the one person that could tell us what's goin' on, won't talk."

Kitty suddenly realized that she hadn't seen Chester all morning. Usually, the young man rarely missed an opportunity to join them for breakfast.

"Say,where's Chester anyway?" she wondered.

Right away, Doc's brow furrowed.

"Oh, I tell ya where he is, all right," he grumbled. "I saw 'em earlier. He's out there, showin' that Danby-fella around Dodge." He waved his hand vaguely towards the door.

Doc's words got Matt's attention. He raised his brows; this was rather interesting.

When he had returned to the jail early this morning, he had found Chester's cot empty, and there hadn't been any coffee on the stove either, which was quite unusual. Chester seldomly neglected his self-appointed duty of brewing a pot of coffee.

Matt rubbed the back of his neck.

"He sure seems mighty interested in Dodge."

"You noticed that, too, Marshal...huh?" quipped Doc, his voice carrying a distinct touch of sarcasm.

Matt made a face. He cast the doctor a slightly annoyed look, about to retort, but then he suddenly remembered the incoming train tomorrow and the preparations he still had to make. He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.

"Well, I better go and find Chester and head on over to the train station."

Doc looked up at his friend. He chuckled a little and his eyes were twinkling with humor.

"Good luck, Matt," he said. "Ya know...you might need to deputize that Danby-fella, too if you can't pry him away from Chester."

Doc's words, though spoken jokingly, made the Marshal suddenly realize something.

"I have a feelin', he'd welcome that," he replied thoughtfully as he fished in his pant pocket for some change and threw the coins on the table.

When he realized that the doctor and Kitty were now regarding him rather curiously, he quickly pulled himself together.

He nodded at his friend.

"Well, so long, Doc."

Then he turned to give Kitty's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I see you later, Kitty."

"Later, Matt," the pretty redhead assured him smiling, giving his hand a quick pat.

She had noticed the thoughtful look on his face and wondered what had brought it on. With mild concern, she watched as he walked from the restaurant.

.

.

.

A rather troubling thought began to quickly form in the Marshal's head as he set out to take the short walk to the train station which was located at the edge of town; could it be possible that Danby was using Chester to get to the railroad payroll? If so, why wasn't Chester aware of it? Or maybe he was but didn't want to tell him. It just didn't make any sense, Matt thought frustrated. Either way, he didn't really have any proof-unless, of course, he wanted to count Chester's strange behavior.

Matt resolved to have a serious talk with his assistant as soon as possible to get some answers.

The heels of his boots were crunching loudly on the dusty street. It hadn't rained in well over a week and the ground was hard and cracked from the lack of moisture.

A little rain wouldn't hurt, Matt found himself thinking as he came up to the train station.

His gaze wandered to the platform. Since there wasn't a train scheduled to arrive until later this afternoon, it was abandoned and empty. He turned his eyes on the small building to his left which housed the office, the ticket booth and a small waiting area. Matt didn't see anyone there either. He headed towards it.

As he came up to the entrance, he could suddenly hear an all too familiar voice; it sounded somewhat anxious.

"-oughtta be gettin' back to the office, Joe. Mr. Dillon's probably wonderin' where..."

Chester suddenly stopped dead when he found himself unexpectedly face to face with the Marshal.

"Mornin', Chester," said Matt, able to keep from sounding too surprised.

He stopped on the threshold. His eyes quickly scanned the room, and he noticed Joe Danby standing behind his assistant. Immediately, he remembered his earlier suspicions.

Matt turned back to his assistant.

"You plannin' a trip or somethin'?" he wondered, though knowing very well that this wasn't the reason why Chester was here.

"A trip?"

For a moment, Chester looked genuinely confused. Then he suddenly realized what the lawman was getting at. He tugged at his shirtcollar and chuckled nervously.

"Oh, Mr. Dillon, you know, I ain't goin' nowhere. I was just a-showin' Joe here the train station."

He wagged his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at the man behind him.

Matt raised his brows. He cast a quick glance over his assistant's shoulder. Joe Danby gave him a smile, showing a row of big, yellow teeth. But even though he was smiling, his eyes were not, and Matt noticed once again the strange, cold gleam in the man's eyes.

"Ah. I see," he replied slowly, finding his suspicions confirmed.

No, he silently decided, he didn't like Danby one bit. Matt figured it was definitely time for a serious talk with his assistant.

"Is there anythin' you need me for this mornin', Mr. Dillon?" Chester suddenly interrupted his train of thought, looking at him expectantly.

Matt cleared his throat.

"As a matter of fact, I do." He looked Chester firmly in the eye. "Why don't you go on over to the office and wait for me there. I gotta see Daggett first."

He pointed towards the door, leading to the railroad clerk's office.

The tone of the lawman was firm, leaving no room for any objections.

Chester nodded.

"Yes, sir," he muttered as he watched the Marshal make his way past him, heading for the back of the building.

Matt could almost feel Joe Danby's eyes burning on him as he walked past him, and he suddenly felt a strange sensation of uneasiness.

.

.

.

"What are you gonna do if you find out that he's wanted, Matt?"

Kitty's hand, holding the hairbrush paused in mid-stroke, halfway down the length of her beautiful red hair as she gazed at the Marshal's reflection in her vanity mirror. He was perched on the edge of the cast-iron bedstead, tugging on his boots. He had just finished telling her that he had sent out a telegram to the Sheriff in Las Animas, regarding Joe Danby.

At her words, Matt looked up.

"Well, I guess, I'm gonna have to lock him up then."

He shrugged and turned his attention back to his unyielding boots. He was certain by now that Danby was up to something-it was just a matter of proving it.

His reply didn't satisfy Kitty. She put the hairbrush down and turned to face him. She looked at him inquiringly.

"But isn't the payroll already comin' in tomorrow?"

She was fully aware that the chance of getting a reply to his telegram by tomorrow was pretty slim.

Matt glanced up at her, still tugging at one boot.

"Yup."

Kitty arched a brow, watching with a slight frown as he continued to struggle with his rather stubborn footwear.

"Well, that doesn't exactly leave you a lot of time," she remarked.

This time, Matt did not look up.

"Nope," he replied shortly.

Finally, the boot yielded to his effort, eliciting a satisfied grunt from the Marshal. He placed the boots beside the bed.

Kitty was beginning to feel a little annoyed with his brief answers. She folded her arms in front of her nightgown-clad chest.

"So," she said, now sounding somewhat testy. "What are you gonna do? You got a plan?"

Matt stuffed his socks into the boots.

"Well, I have an idea," he said, ignoring her tone as he began to unbutton his shirt.

"But I need your help, Kitty."

That wasn't exactly what Kitty had expected. She arched a brow in surprise.

"My help?"

She regarded him curiously as he began to shrug out of his old undershirt with the cut-off sleeves.

Matt nodded, smiling mysteriously. He sat down and patted the mattress beside him.

"Well, how about you come on over here so I can tell you?"

.

.

.

Chester scratched his head.

"I jus' don't understand, Mr. Dillon...you want me to watch the railroad payroll here at the office?"

Matt poured himself a cup of coffee and nodded.

"That's exactly what I want you to do, Chester."

It was Friday morning-the day, the railroad payroll would arrive in Dodge.

Matt gave his assistant an encouraging smile.

"Two men from the railroad are gonna bring it over here. There's no reason to worry-nobody's expectin' the money to be at the jail. I shouldn't be too long. In the meantime, all you have to do is keep the door locked an' have that shotgun ready."

He took a sip from his coffee.

"Say," he said pleasantly surprised, "that's a mighty good cup of coffee."

Chester beamed at him.

"A new pot...made it freshly this mornin."

Matt gave another grunt of appoval and turned his attention to the window, gazing out into the busy street.

He felt a little guilty for setting Chester up like that but at the same time, he was certain that he had judged Danby correctly. If he was wrong-well, then there was no real harm done, or so at least he thought.

"Well, if you don't need me anymore, Mr. Dillon, I'll be a-headin' fer the Dodge House."

Chester paused and then added almost apologetically, "I promised Joe to take him to Delmonico's for breakfast."

Matt turned from the window.

"Why are you lettin' him do this to you?" he wondered, referring to the way Danby seemed to be taking advantage of him.

Right away, a frown appeared on Chester's face.

"Forevermore...I don't know what you're gettin' at, Mr. Dillon," he muttered defensively.

"Oh, come on, Chester, I know how you been holdin' Joe Danby out, payin' for his room at the Dodge House, buyin' him drinks an' meals..."

Matt stopped himself when he realized that his temper was beginning to get the better of him. He took a deep breath before adding more calmly, "all I wanna know is, 'why'."

The young man's face was turning red.

"Now looky here, Mr. Dillon," he said loudly. But his voice was slightly shaking with unmistakable nervousness. "I don't rightly know what's on your mind, but this ain't any of your business an' I wish, you'd jus' stay out of it an' let me deal with it ma own way!"

For a second, Chester stared at the Marshal as if having trouble believing what he had just done. His whole body now seemed to be shaking. He had never spoken to Mr. Dillon like this before, and he suddenly half-expected to be hit for it.

The Marshal, of course, had no such intentions; rather surprised by the unexpected outburst, he studied his assistant in silence, a look of genuine concern on his face.

No, Matt wasn't upset with Chester; instead, he found himself wondering what Joe Danby possibly had on his friend that was so powerful.

Slowly, Chester realized that Mr. Dillon wasn't going to strike him, and he suddenly felt ashamed. He drew a shaky breath.

"Well," he said uncertain, an apology on his lips. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to say it. "I'll be seein' ya later, Mr. Dillon," he uttered quietly instead before hurriedly slipping past him out the door.

"Yeah, see you later, Chester," replied Matt thoughtfully as the door thudded shut.

The moment of truth was still several hours away, but he suddenly almost wished that he was wrong about Joe Danby.

.

.

.

He hated Hank Sounders and he would show him.

A malevolent grin began to spread across Joe Danby's weathered features as he thought of the plan he had devised. Only a few short hours were separating him from his ticket to a new life.

It was mid-morning and he was waiting at the edge of town. His eyes searched the prairie surrounding him for any sign of Carter.

He still couldn't believe how easy it was going to be to get the money. According to Chester, the Marshal had left town this morning on some important business and wouldn't be back until later tonight. Since apparently everybody expected the railroad payroll to be kept at the train depot as usual, he didn't see a problem with leaving Chester in charge to guard it at the jail until he returned.

This would definitely be the easiest money he had ever earned, Joe gleefully thought to himself; he pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and wedged it between his lips while his hands patted down his pockets in search of a match.

Suddenly, a sulfur match flared up beside him and was held up to his face.

Danby startled momentarily as the acrid smell of the sulfur assaulted his nostrils, but he quickly regained his composure when he saw who it was.

A vicious gleam entered his eyes again.

"Hello, Carter," he hissed, the cigarette still dangling from his lower lip. He brought it closer to the offered match, setting it alight.

The outlaw, whom Danby only knew by his last name, didn't reply. He waved out the match and threw it carelessly onto the ground, never taking his eyes off Joe.

"It's happenin' tonight," Danby said, keeping his voice low even though nobody else was around. "It's comin' in on the six o'clock train and they're keepin' it at the train depot office."

Carter's eyes narrowed.

"They're keepin' twenty-thousand dollars at the train depot? You tryin' to fool us, Danby?"

Danby shook his head.

"I'm tellin' the truth," he replied hastily. "I thought the same at first, but Chester's done told me that the Marshal figured that ev'rybody expects such a large amount to be kept at the jail for safe keepin'."

"...so he's doin' just the opposite," finished Carter, suddenly understanding-or so at least he thought. A grin began to appear on his face. "Pretty damn smart that Dillon."

Danby was smiling even broader as he gave the other man a hearty slap on the shoulder.

"But not smart enough for us, eh?"

It was too bad that Carter didn't see the strange, satisfied glint in Danby's eyes or he probably wouldn't have been so easy-going.

"You tell the boss to be at the train depot an hour after sunset. I'll be meetin' yens there."

With a satisfied nod, Carter disappeared between the trees that made up the small grove on the edge of town. He was closely watched by Danby. As soon as the outlaw was out of sight, the grin disappeared from Joe's face, giving way to a cold and calculating expression.

"Adios, my friend," he said softly, waving into the direction Carter had disappeared in.

"No hard feelings, but twenty-thousand dollars goes a lot further if one doesn't have to share it."

With that he set out to make his way back into town. He wanted to make sure that he kept a close eye on Chester.

.

.

.

The fiery, orange globe of the sun had just set beyond the horizon, but already the darkness was spreading fast. A nice, cool breeze had sprung up a little while ago, bringing with it the promise of rain.

It couldn't be more perfect, Joe Danby thought pleased; the night would cover his escape while the rain would help erase his tracks.

He realized that he had to act fairly quickly. He only had an hour to get the money and leave Dodge with it before Sounders and his gang would ride into town. It most likely wouldn't take them long to figure out that he had double-crossed them and he definitely wanted to be gone by then-

With that in mind, Joe picked up his step as he set out to cross the street, heading for the Marshal's office.

Front Street was as good as deserted at the moment, but he knew that soon it would come to life again with cowhands, farmers and all kinds of other folk, seeking a cold beer along with some entertainment in one of the many saloons that Dodge had to offer.

He stepped up onto the small front porch of the Marshal's office and quickly glanced up the street where he had tethered his horse to a hitching post, making sure that it was still there.

Danby took a deep breath, squared himself and then walked up to the door. His cold gray eyes moved left and right once more, scanning the street and then he knocked.

"Who is it?" called the Marshal's assistant cautiously from behind the locked door moments later, his hands wrapped tightly around the shotgun.

"It's Joe, Chester...won't you let me in? I wanna talk to you."

Chester's stomach gave a slight lurch at the sound of Danby's voice. He hesitated.
He didn't really want to let him in, but at the same time he knew that Joe wouldn't give up so easily.

He definitely didn't want to anger Joe. What if he told Mr. Dillon about the fire?

His mind was made up quickly. Chester lowered the shotgun, unbolted the door and quickly took a step back.

Immediately, Danby pushed it open and shouldered his way in.

"What's with the locked door?" he said, feigning surprise.

The young man quickly limped around him, locking the door again.

"What is it that you want, Joe?" he wondered uneasily, ignoring Danby's question.

Joe began to speculatively regard his fingernails.

"Your help, Chester," he said slowly. "I want your help."

The young man didn't like the sound of it.

"My help?" he repeated Danby's word. "What do you want me to do?"

He automatically took a few, careful steps back, his grasp on the shotgun involuntary tightening.

Danby was still regarding his fingernails without much interest.

"I figure it's about time you repaid me, Chester."

Chester still didn't understand.

"Repay you?" he echoed, "fer goodness sakes. I already told ya, I ain't got a cent to my name."

Joe finally lifted his gaze.

"Oh, I know that," he said casually. "But luckily, there's more than one way to repay a debt."

His eyes quickly darted to the safe next to the side door and then back to Chester, looking at him meaningfully.

Comprehension suddenly dawned on Chester's face.

"Oh, no, you ain't," he said quickly as he raised the shotgun, taking a few protective steps backwards towards the safe. "I ain't gonna let ya do that!"

Joe Danby merely smiled. It was a rather unpleasant smile that sent chills down Chester's spine.

"Chester, Chester," he said, still smiling as he began to advance on him. "What do you think's gonna happen if your Marshal hears about what you did to my brother seven years ago?"

His face assumed a look of mock-sadness. He shook his head and his voice was soft.

"Murder is murder, Chester, no matter how long ago it happened."

Chester took another defensive step backwards.

"NO," he shouted desperately, "it was an accident...you said it yourself-"

His voice suddenly faltered as he felt the back of his legs touch the safe.

"It was murder, my friend," hissed Danby as he continued to come closer. "An' you're gonna hang for it!"

"No!" whispered Chester mortified, his eyes staring blankly past Danby as the horrible memory of that night suddenly flooded over him again. He was faintly aware of Joe's strong hands wrenching the shotgun from his grasp.

"Now...open that safe for me," said Danby tensely.

.

.

.

The incessant rasping of the crickets which filled the night air and the rustling of the leaves as the wind rushed through the trees, made it difficult for Matt to make out exactly what the two men inside the jail were saying, but it didn't take long for him to realize that he had been right about Joe Danby all along.

The Marshal had been hiding out at the Long Branch all day, making Chester and Danby believe that he had gone out of town. When the night had begun to fall, he had made his way through the alleys to the back of the jail where he had been waiting for Danby to show up. The man hadn't disappointed him.

Matt still didn't quite understand what it was that Danby was using against Chester, he had only been able to make out the words 'brother' and 'seven years', but it didn't really matter at the moment; he had to act quickly and take the man into custody before Chester opened that safe.

Matt ran a hand across his forehead to wipe the perspiration off before it had chance to run into his eyes. His sweaty shirt clung uncomfortably to his back, and he realized that he wasn't just sweating from the heat.

His right hand swiftly drew the colt from its holster with customary ease while his left one simultaneously reached for the door knob of the side door which lead into the Marshal's office.

Ever so slowly, his fingers turned the knob. Without as much as a sound the door inched open.

What the Marshal saw, made his heart give a slight jolt.

There, to the left of him, he saw Chester, already kneeling in front of the safe, fumbling with the combination lock. Joe Danby had positioned himself directly a foot or so behind him, the shotgun readily pointed at his assistant's back.

Slowly, Matt pulled the door by again. His mind was working feverishly, quickly trying to adjust to the changed situation. He couldn't help but feel a little angry at himself for having waited too long, but at the same time he realized that he had to allow Danby to show his true colors first.

He tightened his fingers around the grip of his colt, his thumb readily on the hammer. Taking a slow, calming breath, Matt readied himself. His whole body tensed with anticipation-there was no room for mistakes.

With one fluid motion, he gave the door a swift kick, sending it flying open and raised his gun, taking aim at Joe Danby.

"Hold it, Danby!" he yelled as he came to a halt just inside the door.

Joe Danby was as cold-blooded as they came, and he wasn't overcome by surprise at the Marshal's unexpected entry. Quickly, he adjusted to the situation.

Before Matt could do anything about it, Danby had pressed the double barrel of the shotgun painfully between Chester's shoulder blades.

His eyes gleaming with dangerous determination,

"You stay where you are, Dillon," he warned, "or this is gonna be the end of Chester!"

"Shoot him, Mr. Dillon!" Chester suddenly urged savagely. "Never you mind about me! You shoot him!"

His determined eyes fixed on the Marshal's, and although they were wide with fear, Matt could detect something else in them. It was a glimmer of desperation along with fierce anger.

Suddenly, Danby clamped a meaty hand down onto Chester's shoulder and yanked him roughly to his feet while at the same time, digging the shotgun barrel deeper into his back.

"SHUT UP, CHESTER!" he yelled angrily.

"Now what'll it be," Joe hissed, breathing heavily. "You gonna drop that gun or not?"

Matt's eyes darted from Danby to Chester, quickly weighing his chances. He realized that it didn't look too good.

He certainly could take Danby down with one shot, but at the same time, he knew that Danby would pull the trigger. The blast from the shotgun would kill Chester for sure.

No, he couldn't take that chance.

Firmly holding Danby's, gaze the Marshal slowly lowered the hand, holding the colt. Then he carefully bent down to lay the gun onto the floor. Never taking his eyes off the other man, he straightened, hands now half-raised.

Chester looked aghast, disappointment written all over his ashen face.

"You shouldn't 've done that, Mr. Dillon," he muttered weakly.

Grimly, Matt pressed his lips together; even though Chester might think so, this was far from being over as far as he was concerned.

"That was mighty smart of you, Dillon," Joe informed him coldly. "I woulda shot him, you know."

"I don't care if you shoot me, Joe," Chester suddenly flared up again, by now really meaning it. " You ain't nothin' but a no-good, lyin', thievin'..."

Danby smiled coldly.

"Ya know, Chester," he interrupted the young man's rant, "I'm afraid, I'm gonna have to shoot the two of you after all. But before I do, I might as well let you in on a little secret, my friend."

He motioned the Marshal closer to the safe."

Step over here, Dillon where I can have a better eye on you."

Matt did as he was told and Danby turned his attention back to the Marshal's assistant.

"It wasn't you Chester that killed Tom...it was me."

Chester's head suddenly snapped up, his whole body going rigid.

"You?" he whispered, completely taken aback. He tried to turn, but Danby warned him not to.

"Ya, well...I had to get my money back from him somehow," said Joe, shrugging. "Remember how he cleaned us both out that night?"

Chester remembered all too well. They had played a game of poker that night, and by the time midnight had rolled around, Tom Danby had cleaned him and Joe clear out of two weeks' pay. He had left soon afterwards and faintly remembered getting drunk with another drover, but he never knew where Joe had gone to.

"You killed Tom for the money?" he said incredulously.

"If that's how you wanna put it," Danby replied casually. He paused briefly.

"Of course, I had to cover it up somehow," he then went on to explain. "And that's where you came in, my friend." Joe made a scoffing noise. "Stumblin' into the bunkhouse drunk as you were, droppin' that lamp-my, you set the place on fire, killin' my poor brother."

His tone was sarcastic as he shook his head with badly feigned sadness.

Chester's heart was pumping wildly, his mind was racing as pictures suddenly began to pop up in his head.

Tom sitting at the table, slumped forward; he, stumbling in, intending to check on him, putting the lamp down, something-or someone suddenly hitting him on the back of the head; waking up outside, sitting in the grass, the bunkhouse ablaze; Joe holding him back when he tried to go back inside to save Tom.

And suddenly, he realized; it hadn't been his fault. He didn't kill Tom Danby.

It was as if a seven-year-old weight which had lurked forgotten in the depth of his mind, was suddenly lifted off his shoulders. A secret, well-guarded by his mind that was no more.

Despite the predicament he was in, Chester found himself laughing; a single tear ran down his cheek, remaining undetected as it mingled with the perspiration that covered his pale face.

Matt had listened with increasing astonishment.

"You just don't care about anything, Danby, do you?" he growled with barely reined in anger. By now, he was more than ready to take this man apart.

"Enough time wasted!" Joe spat suddenly, paying no heed to the lawman's remark. "Dillon...open that damned safe!"

It took the Marshal a second to re-focus his mind. He had been so absorbed in Danby's confession, finally realizing why Chester had acted the way he did, that he had almost forgotten about the money.

His gaze shifted from Chester who by now looked as if he was ready to kill Joe with his bare hands himself, to Danby who looked rather impatient.

Matt prayed that his assistant wouldn't try anything stupid and get himself shot after all as he began to crouch in front of the safe. He already knew that Danby wasn't going to be too pleased with what he would find in a moment, and he feverishly tried to think of what to do as his fingers fumbled with the lock.

There was a tense silence hanging over the office, broken only by Danby's heavy breathing and the soft clicking of the wheels within the steel door of the safe as the cogs one by one settled into their proper position.

Finally, the last wheel came to rest with a metallic click. The Marshal withdrew his hand and turned his gaze upwards, hoping that Danby would open the door himself, but he was disappointed.

"Come on, Marshal...open it and hand me the money!" demanded Joe harshly, giving Chester prod with the gun barrel to make sure his point was taken.

Although Matt's heart was thumping loudly in his chest by now, he managed to retain a calm demeanor.

He could feel Chester's and Danby's eyes on him as his hand reached for the handle, slowly pulling the door open.

For one brief moment, ominous silence reigned as Danby beheld the safe. Then his eyes went wide with surprise.

"Where is it?" he murmured, refusing to believe what he was seeing. His eyes darted from the empty safe to the Marshal's face.

"Where is it?" he demanded again, this time more loudly, his voice full of menace.

His face darkened, his body stiffened. With slow, measured tread, he stepped forward, prodding Chester along with him.

"My goodness...it ain't in there," Chester whispered, speaking out the obvious. He was just as surprised as Joe to find the safe empty.

Joe's extreme disappointment was strangely satisfying to Matt.

Slowly, he began to clamber to his feet.

"It's not here as you can see, Danby," he remarked, his eyes coldly holding the outlaw's.

A vein began to flicker dangerously on Joe's temple as he drew a deep breath, but before he could say anything, the door to the office was suddenly flung open and the events began to overturn themselves.

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"Matt, by golly, you better hurry...they're robbin' the train depot!" Doc Adams gasped excitedly as he came stumbling through the door. But he suddenly fell silent when Danby swung around at him, wielding the shotgun.

"Now, what in the name of thunder..." the physician began surprised, but he didn't get to finish.

"GET DOWN, DOC!" yelled Matt as he lunged himself at Joe Danby a split-second later, knocking the momentarily distracted man off his feet.

Danby didn't see it comin' nor was he prepared. The force of the impact as the lawman plowed into him, was enough to sent them both crashing to the floor.

Luckily, Doc and Chester recovered quickly from their surprise and had enough sense to scramble out of the way as the muzzle of the shotgun in Joe's hands was now uncontrolled waving through the air, threatening to discharge its deadly load at any given moment.

The two men were violently rolling across the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, fighting for the weapon.

Danby was grunting madly, refusing to give it up, and Matt had his hands full, trying to keep Joe from blasting him with it.

His lack of success enraged Joe to the point of unrestrained fury which in turn seemed to lend him that extra ounce of strength he needed to gain the upper hand.

Suddenly, his right hand withdrew from the shotgun and bunched into a fist; Danby swung back and landed a vicious blow to Matt's face with it, eliciting a grunt of pain from the lawman.

Joe howled in triumph, but it was short-lived; before he knew what happened, a chair suddenly came smashing down onto the back of his head, knocking him out instantly.

The shotgun fell from his loosening grasp and his limp body crumpled, burying the Marshal underneath it.

It took Matt a moment to realize what had happened as he tried to disentangle himself from Danby's unconscious form. Out of breath and a little unsteadied from the punch to his eye, he remained stooped over, hands braced on his knees.

Doc hurried to his friends side.

"You all right, Matt?" he queried concerned as he placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Matt's chest was still heaving.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm all right," he managed. His fingers carefully began to examine the quickly swelling eye, and he flinched, inhaling sharply.

The physician frowned when he saw the small trickle of blood trailing down Matt's cheek where Danby's punch had broken the skin under the left eye. But he refrained from commenting on it, knowing that there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.

Matt looked up and his eyes met Chester's who was looking down at him with a strange mixture of satisfaction and barely concealed anger.

"Thanks," he said as he straightened himself.

Chester looked rather pleased with himself.

"My pleasure."

He held the Marshal's colt out to him.

Matt accepted the gun and holstered it up, at once shifting his attention to the physician.

"Any idea how many there are?" he wanted to know, referring to the men at the train station.

Doc shook his head.

"I couldn't tell ya, Matt, but you better be careful-"

Matt nodded and swiftly pulled two Winchesters from the rifle rack, handing one to Chester. Then he reached over the desktop and pulled open the drawer, retrieving a box of cartridges.

He turned to the physician again.

"Doc, do me a favor...stay here and when he comes to, lock him up for me."

He pointed with the rifle at the still unconscious form of Joe Danby.

Doc reached for the shotgun Chester was holding out to him.

"Well, sure," he replied gruffly. "Nothing'll give me more pleasure,"

The doctor cast a quick glance at the unconscious man. He couldn't help but remember the first impression he had of Joe Danby. He pulled up a chair and sat down, the shotgun pointing squarely at Joe's head.

Quickly, Matt retrieved his Stetson from the floor, slapped it on and headed over to the door where Chester was waiting.

"Make sure you lock up," he reminded the physician before he slipped out into the night after his assistant.

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As they stepped out into the street, the two men were greeted by a gusty breeze, the harbinger of a quickly approaching thunderstorm. A single bolt of lighting suddenly flashed across the sky, followed moments later by the still distant rumble of thunder.

The breeze felt good on their hot faces, refreshing and reviving them as they began to make their way to the train station.

The two men walked in silence, each one occupied with his own thoughts, wondering what they would find once they got to there.

Soon, the train depot came into view and they slowed their step. It was difficult to make out any details in the darkness, but Matt was sure that he counted at least five, maybe even six horses standing outside the building.

Another flash of lighting suddenly lit up the sky, for the fraction of a second rendering the night as bright as day. Then everything lapsed into darkness again. The thunder that followed soon after, sounded a lot louder and closer now as it rumbled threateningly through the night.

Chester turned his gaze upward as the first big drops of rain hit his face.

"The weather sure ain't gonna help us none," he grumbled as he pulled his hat down tighter onto his head.

Matt nodded in agreement as his eyes fastened on the front of the train depot again, looking for any sign of the outlaws. Some of the horses had begun to neigh nervously, stamping and scraping their hooves, milling about restlessly as another forked bolt of lightning briefly lit up the night.

He had to come up with a plan and he had to come up with it fast. He knew that Ed Daggett was most likely inside and that complicated matters further. Simply barging in there and opening fire was not an option in this situation.

"How you figure on takin' them, Mr. Dillon?" asked Chester, raising his voice over the angry rumble of the thunder that had just erupted above their heads.

Matt continued to watch the entrance to the depot building.

"I want you to stay here an' cover the front. I'm goin' around back," he replied with turning.

He remembered having seen a door in the back of the depot office on his last visit to Daggett. Maybe he would be able to get inside unseen.

Chester nodded in acknowledgment and positioned himself behind an old buckboard wagon, maybe fifty yards from the building entrance. His eyes briefly followed the tall lawman as he began to make his way around the side of the building and then turned to the front entrance again.

Big drops of rain were beginning to fall faster, splashing loudly as they hit the dry ground. Chester's eyes were pinned to the front of the building, watching for any signs of the outlaws. Suddenly, a bright rectangle of light appeared as the door was opened.

Immediately, Chester crouched lower behind the wagon, the rifle resting readily on the wooden side rail of the buckboard. His heart was beating faster with anticipation as he watched a man step out and approach the horses. He relaxed somewhat when he realized that the outlaw wasn't suspecting anything and had just come out to calm the nervous animals.

A heavy gust of wind suddenly buffeted the wagon and seconds later, the heavens opened, releasing a torrent of rain.

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In the meantime, the Marshal was approaching the back of the building. Needles of rain were pounding the ground around him, and he picked up his pace. His shoulders hunched against the rain that was pelting his face, he strained his eyes to penetrate the solid curtain of water. It didn't help much, and he stumbled more or less blindly along through the darkness towards the blurry outline of the train depot, praying that no one would see him. He made it safely, but by the time he had reached the side wall of the building, he was soaked.

As much as the rain was needed, Matt found himself wishing that it would have held off for another few hours. With his back tightly pressed against the wall, he quickly glanced around, trying to get his bearings.

The only good thing about the thunderstorm was the fact that the men inside wouldn't be able to hear him as easy, he thought to himself as he prepared to edge around the corner.

Slowly, he lifted his rifle and started to inch his way along the wall. His wet clothes clung uncomfortably to his skin and rainwater was running off the brim of his hat in small rivers. Annoyed, Matt paused and took off his Stetson, using a hand to quickly brush the hair back which was plastered to his forehead before replacing the hat.

An enormous bolt of lighting suddenly flashed across the black sky, followed immediately by a deafening boom of thunder, and he realized that the thunderstorm was almost directly above them now.

Matt cocked the lever of his Winchester and then rounded the corner. The big orange rectangle of a lighted window reflected itself on the sea of rainwater that had already begun to cover the compacted dirt ground.

Carefully, he peered inside. He quickly counted five men standing around Ed Daggett, the railroad clerk who was crouching in front of the safe.

The incessant pounding of the rain, along with the deafening rumble of the thunder, made it impossible for Matt to overhear what they were saying, but he didn't really have to-it was quite obvious that the outlaws were extremely agitated.

One of them, Matt guessed that he was their leader, was gesturing wildly at a very fearful-looking Ed Daggett and pointing to the safe.

Matt knew exactly why. He realized that he had to act quickly before they could possibly hurt the clerk.

His back flattened against the wall, Matt quickly made a decision. He leaned the rifle against the wall and drew the gun from his holster. He had to be quick and accurate and there would be no room for mistakes; the colt was the better choice for that.

Ever so slowly, his left hand reached for the door knob, turning it a little. It was unlocked.

Matt drew a deep breath; every fiber of his body seemed to tense, and he could feel his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He tightened his grip on the colt, his thumb readily on the hammer.

Five men and six bullets.

Although he hoped that it wouldn't come down to it, deep inside he already knew that the outlaws most likely wouldn't give themselves up without a fight.

With one swift motion, he kicked the door open, raised his gun and took aim.

"Hold it right there!" he yelled as he came to a halt just inside the open door.

Right away, the men's heads jerked around in alarm and for an instant, they froze.

Three of them immediately threw their hands up, beseeching the Marshal not to shoot, while the fourth and fifth one who had their guns already drawn, suddenly opened fire.

Matt had anticipated their reaction and was on the guard.

In a movement, almost too swift to follow, he lurched sideways, firing at the same time.

The first bullet struck the man to his left squarely in the chest, killing him instantly while his second shot hit the other man's shoulder, causing him to drop the revolver and stumble backwards into the open safe.

Two of the outlaws seemed to see their chance and suddenly bolted from the office in hopes of making a run for it, but they didn't get very far.

Moments later, they returned, along with the third man who had been watching the horses, their hands raised up high. They were followed by a grim-faced Chester who was limping along closely behind, the rifle in his hands readily pointing at their backs.

"Well done, Chester," Matt quickly acknowledged him before turning his attention to the wounded outlaw. His face suddenly went wide with surprise.

"Well, I'll be doggoned," he muttered astounded when he realized who he was looking at. It was Hank Sounders, the outlaw from the 'Wanted' poster.

Sounders glared at the Marshal through narrowed eyes, his left hand clutching his bleeding shoulder.

"You set us up, Marshal," he hissed through gritted teeth, "you damn set us up!"

That wasn't exactly what Matt had done. Well, he had set up Joe Danby, and since he wasn't sure what Danby would do, he had decided to take the railroad payroll and keep it in the safe at the Long Branch with Kitty.

Catching Hank Sounders in the process wasn't something he had counted on, but it certainly wasn't any less welcome.

"Not exactly, Sounders," he said grimly. "but I reckon you had no way of knowin' that the money wasn't here."

The Marshal's words caused Chester to cast him an uncomprehending glance.

"But Mr. Dillon...what'd you do with it?"

Mat cast him a brief smile.

"I'll explain it to you later, Chester. First, we have to get this bunch over to the jail."

"Danby," Sounders suddenly whispered, comprehension dawning on him. "That little bastard set us up!"

His jaw dropped, and he slowly shook his head, remembering Mel Coggins' warning words.

The rain was falling softly as the Marshal and Chester lead their prisoners back to the jail.

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It didn't take very long and Hank Sounders' wounded shoulder was tended to by Doc's knowledgeable hands and the men were locked up. Sounders finally had his chance to vent his anger at Danby over the betrayal-though not exactly the way he would have liked since the Marshal wisely had put them in different cells. A torrent of raw expletives burst from Hank Sounder's lips that were certainly descriptive, if not entirely possible.

Matt was quickly becoming thoroughly annoyed with the ranting.

"Chester," he growled, "go and shut that door, will ya?"

He jerked his head slightly towards the jail door which had been left ajar, prompting a noise of protest from Doc who was trying to clean the nasty laceration under Matt's left eye which Danby's fist had left there.

The doctor shook his head.

"Well, I tell ya," he muttered as he dabbed the cut with some gauze, causing Matt to flinch. "Those two sure deserve each other."

The Marshal couldn't agree more. Both men were cold-blooded killers and they certainly deserved everything they had coming to them-especially, Joe Danby.

He couldn't help recalling what this man had done to Chester, and Matt could feel hot anger welling up inside him again.

"Did I hurt you?" Doc wondered concerned when he noticed how the Marshal suddenly tensed.

Matt shook his head a little.

"No. No, it's not that." he replied quietly.

He glanced over at Chester who was pouring himself a cup of coffee, and Doc knew right away what was on his friend's mind.

The physician already had a theory about Chester's behavior and why the 'Circle M' never came up in conversation, and he decided to share it with Matt as soon as possible.

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"Ev'rythin' all right, Kitty?"

Matt regarded her concerned as he gently folded his hand over hers. Their conversation had been quite pleasant until it had turned to last week's events. Now she suddenly seemed very quiet.

It was early afternoon and the Long Branch was still empty save for the two of them and Clem, the barkeep who was busy down in the cellar taking inventory. Matt had stopped by a little while ago to tell her about the telegraph he'd just gotten from Las Animas. His suspicion, that Joe Danby was indeed wanted, was now officially confirmed. Apparently, his brother Tom hadn't been the only man he had on his conscience; he was also wanted for the murder of a gambler there.

She jolted slightly at his words as if suddenly being pulled from her thoughts and gave him a sad smile.

"You know, Matt...I can't help to think," she said thoughtfully, "seven years is a long time to carry such a terrible feeling of guilt around."

Matt pressed his lips together and gave her hand a tender squeeze; he had known Chester for five years now, but he'd never seen any indication, pointing towards the secret that the young man was harboring.

The conversation, he had with Doc a couple of days ago started to replay in his mind. The physician had explained that it was entirely possible to block a bad memory from your mind and go on living normally without remembering that it was even there until something suddenly triggers it-which in Chester's case, as the young man had later confessed, had been the nightmare he had the night before Danby arrived in Dodge.

It had made sense.

Matt smiled as he continued to gently rub her hand.

"You know, Kitty...I think Doc's right...Chester probably didn't even remember until last week."

His assuring words brought Doc's explanation to her mind as well. It made her feel a little better.

Over the years, Chester had become an important part of her 'family' here in Dodge along with Matt and Doc, and she often found herself thinking of him as the brother she'd never had.

She sighed and then smiled at him.

"I'm sure you're right, Matt."

She paused for a moment, and then added almost defiantly, "but I still hope they hang him!"

Matt had to grin at her keen sense for justice. And with that the tense moment was past and the old sparkle had returned to her eye.

"Well, I need a drink," Kitty decided resolutely as she rose to her feet. "How about you, Matt?"

Matt pursed his lips.

"Oh, I reckon," he replied slowly as he looked up at her, and suddenly, he couldn't help it. A mischievous grin began to twitch the corners of his mouth.

"If that's all you have to offer-"

His words elicited a soft noise of surprise from her. It wasn't often that Matt so openly flirted with her-especially when there was a chance of someone potentially overhearing it.

Unfortunately, resisting him wasn't exactly one of Kitty's strengths. She looked down at him, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"What did you have in mind, cowboy?" she wondered, privately already knowing good and well what he was thinking.

Almost without realizing it, her hands found their way to his shoulders where they gently began to stroke the nape of his neck.

"What does a fella have to do to get served around here?" Doc Adams' voice suddenly boomed loudly from across the table causing them both to jump, startled and they quickly broke apart.

A bemused smile was playing across the physician's face when he realized what he had walked in on, but he was in a good enough mood to refrain from commenting on it. He carelessly plopped his medical kit onto the table instead and pulled out a chair.

Kitty was the first one to regain her composure. She smiled at him warmly.

"Hello, Doc."

"Doc." Matt nodded at him, not exactly enthusiastically.

"How about a beer, Doc?" wondered Kitty, all hostess now.

"Whiskey, if you don't mind."

Kitty smiled at him in acknowledgment and made her way over to the bar.

"So," said Matt slowly, and he couldn't help sounding a little smart-alecky as he leaned back in his chair, idly tapping his fingers on the table top.

"I'm never gonna see Hank Sounders in Dodge, huh?"

Immediately, Doc bristled, his good mood slowly beginning to disappear.

"Well, a fella can make a mistake now, can he, Marshal?"

He graced his friend with a challenging glare from across the table and then added with a quick swipe at his mustache. "Or is that against the law?"

Matt grinned at the doctor.

"No, no, it sure isn't, Doc," he admitted, finding it quite satisfying that he had the doctor all riled.

Doc harrumphed loudly.

"Good. Seems to me, that you, of all people, oughtta know that," he retorted as he accepted the whiskey from Kitty with a nod of thanks.

Now it was the Marshal's turn to bristle. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"What's that s'posed to mean?"

Doc seemed to welcome the challenge.

"By golly, I tell ya what it means," he shot back immediately. "It means that if you woulda listened to me in the first place about that Danby-fella, you woulda found out about Sounders a lot sooner!"

He followed up with a curt nod to make sure his point was taken.

Doc's logic astounded Matt.

"That so?" he wondered slowly, not at all agreeing.

Doc was about to open his mouth, ready to administer another verbal blow when Kitty, tired of their bickering, broke in.

"All right, you two," she said firmly, "will you stop it now."

It was immediately clear that this wasn't a request, and there was something about the tone of her voice that told Matt and Doc they had better take her serious and they both fell silent.

"Say," Kitty then wondered, skillfully changing the subject. "When's Chester supposed to get back. I kinda miss having him around."

"Well, I don't," muttered Doc irritably, still feeling a little cantankerous. But he didn't say anymore when Kitty threw him one of her 'I'm-serious-and-don't-you-joke-about-it'-looks'.

Slowly, his face softened a little; although he didn't want to admit it, he missed Chester, too.

"Well," said Matt as he turned to the pretty redhead sitting beside him. "He oughtta be back anytime now."

He had insisted upon Chester taking a couple of days off and get away for a little while. It had taken some coaxing but finally, the young man had reluctantly agreed and set out for Fort Dodge to pay an old friend there a visit.

Suddenly, as if on cue, the batwing doors of the saloon swung open.

"I kinda figured on findin' yens here," the familiar voice of Chester sounded as he approached their table.

"Miss Kitty...Mr. Dillon...Doc."

He beamed down at his friends and then, turning back towards the entrance, he called, "You can come on over here, Pete!"

Everyone's eyes turned to the man that came shuffling towards their table.

He was about Doc's age and rather scruffy-looking with long gray whiskers covering his chin.

"I want yens all to meet, Pete Fletcher," Chester said, still beaming broadly as he motioned towards the man standing beside him. "I run into him up in Fort Dodge. Remember, Mr. Dillon? Pete an' I used to work for the 'Flyin' J' outfit down by the Arkansas River."

"Flyin' J? Arkansas River?" repeated Doc slowly, sounding rather astounded and Matt, immediately catching the mischievous expression on the physician's face, added with feigned surprise. "You never mentioned that."

It sounded decidedly suspicious to Chester. Suddenly, he looked alarmed.

"I didn't?" he uttered uncertain, failing to see the conspiratorial wink that Doc gave the Marshal.

Chester stared at his two friends who clearly struggled to keep a straight face. He remembered distinctly that Pete had been the subject of numerous conversations between them, and suddenly, he broke into a sheepish smile.

"Oh, forevermore...you're funnin' me, ain't ya..." he said carefully. "I know, I told yens about Pete before."

Chester cast the old cowpoke, who by now was staring at him rather uncomprehendingly, an apologetic side glance before turning to the Marshal.

"Mr. Dillon?" he pleaded, his face almost comically confused.

For a second, Doc's and Matt's faces were twitching and then they broke out laughing.

"By golly, you sure did Chester," said Doc, his eyes twinkling with humor. "We really had you there for a moment, did we?"

He stood up and gave the young man a friendly clap on the shoulder. Then he turned to the still bewildered Pete Fletcher.

"Pleasure to met ya, Pete," he boomed, grabbing and shaking the stunned cowpoke's hand.

Matt immediately followed suit, offering his own hand as well.

"Come on an' have a seat," he said as he pulled up another chair. "Chester sure's told us a lot about you."

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THE END