A Hard Day's Night
Spring was in full bloom on the prairie but nobody in Dodge City had time to enjoy it particularly US Marshal Matt Dillon and Long Branch owner Kitty Russell. It was Saturday night May 11, 1878. The previous day brought the Bar C, the largest herd of the early cattle season, up from Texas while the lawman was out on the prairie trailing a particularly vicious rapist and robber Tucker Winslow, who'd decided he didn't want to complete his 20-year sentence. Surprisingly the death of one of the two guards he assaulted to gain his freedom after serving only a year in Leavenworth was his first murder. Somehow the others he'd attacked managed to survive.
In the marshal's absence Festus Haggen and Thad Greenwood were doing their best to keep overly exuberant cowboys and drifters mostly acting within the law. The drifters, some even with ready cash, arrived in hopes of making money off the men and boys driving the herds up from Texas. Like all Texas drovers the Bar C men and boys began enjoying themselves Friday afternoon, not long after Matt Dillon departed. They were in Dodge City to celebrate the end of three months of hard work herding cows along the Santa Fe Trail by enjoying their first taste of liquor and first sight of women.
All this pent up energy in a town with triple the winter population led to inevitable differences of opinion with the accompanying flying fists, harassment of passing ladies and firing of pistols. The two semi-official deputies did what they could to keep these celebrants from tearing the town and each other apart. Friday evening was relatively quiet, but by Saturday night Dodge City was hopping. That led to Festus and Thad filling the jail cells while Doc somehow managed to keep up with tending to all the cuts, bruises and gunshot wounds the visitors inflicted. He was kept even busier by an upswing in the usual ailments and births with which a country doctor had to cope. Even the local undertaker Percy Crump was unusually busy. Already eight men died either from stray bullets or because someone was aiming at them. Every hotel, rooming house, restaurant, gambling den, bordello and saloon was full to bursting.
The Long Branch, the classiest saloon west of Saint Louis and east of Denver, was no exception. Kitty had no time to chat with the two deputies or Doc even if they'd been able to take the time to stop in for a beer. Friendly acquaintances were unable to socialize in the crowded barroom. The Dodge businessmen, who were her regulars, were too busy to do much more than grab a quick drink while someone else watched the shop. Despite doubling the number of girls assigned to keeping her customers happy and hiring a couple assistant bartenders to double as waiters Kitty raced about the main room. The saloon owner served drinks from behind the bar while her head barman Sam retrieved more beer and whiskey from the storeroom. When Sam returned she assisted her girls, bringing drinks and pleasantries to the customers and eight dealers, who sat at designated tables for faro, blackjack and poker.
Large crowds meant money. Perhaps the influx of free spenders would lead to record high profits even accounting for the cost of replacing broken tables, chairs and glassware resulting from the periodic brawls and gunfights that occurred throughout this particular Saturday night. Kitty had no time to reflect on the odds of her income outweighing the damages or worry about Matt out on the prairie. She only hoped the crowd thinned out enough so she could close down before dawn or before she and her staff collapsed, whichever came first. Technically closing time under the newly enacted town ordinance was two AM, but reality didn't make that likely.
Somehow even the cowboys were tiring as 3 AM approached. The crowd thinned just as Sam brought another supply of beer and whiskey upstairs. That meant she and her staff could sleep in even if some elected to attend church at ten. The doors would remain closed until one and the work of bringing up a new batch for the customers to drink was done. If only she could remain awake long enough to count the take and put it in the safe until Monday morning, she'd be completely ready to deal with the smaller Sunday crowd. At least the extra help meant swamping up the place and stacking the chairs would be done quicker than when there were half the people working. She spotted Louie Pheeters in a corner eager to trade helping to clean up for a drink.
"Louie, I could really use your help tonight. I'll give you a bottle if you do a bit more than simply mopping the floor. You think you're up to it?"
"Yes, Miss Kitty. You can count on me."
While Kitty Russell was beginning to close the Long Branch for the night Matt Dillon was within five miles of the town where he made his headquarters. He'd started after Tucker Winslow immediately after receiving a wire from Fort Larned that the escaped convict was headed toward Dodge on a stolen horse. The escapee had beaten the 16-year-old boy riding it half to death. This last of three messages came a half-hour after Great Bend telegraphed to say Winslow grabbed the boy from his horse within sight of their train station. That middle wire arrived a scant ten minutes after an initial general telegram from the federal prison in Leavenworth alerted Kansas lawmen to the fact the notorious outlaw managed to hop on a westbound train as it pulled out of that town's station after assaulting two prison guards, killing one. It took time for Winslow's deadly escape to be discovered.
The marshal picked up the outlaw's trail early Saturday morning. He'd left Dodge in the early afternoon, about the time the Bar C camped along the Arkansas three miles outside town. In order to cover as much ground as possible between Larned and Dodge Matt caught only a few hours sleep during the wee hours between moonset and sunrise when it was too dark to safely ride on. It was just enough rest to see him on the trail after a quick breakfast of coffee and bacon. The early start paid off, bringing him face to face with the stolen horse from Larned and Winslow's latest victim around noon. This time it was a girl out for a morning ride. Winslow left the beaten bloody and molested body beside his spent horse, taking off on the fresh one.
There was no doubt in the lawman's mind the one who attacked this girl was the same excuse for a man he was after even before he checked on the girl and inspected the horse. The Larned wire described the boy's stolen mount as a bay gelding with a white blaze and a chipped shoe on his right hind leg. This was the same horse all right. As much as Matt wanted to catch the animal disguised as a man he couldn't leave the girl of about 18 to die while he chased her attacker. He backtracked along her trail, balancing the pretty brunette carefully in front of him while holding the reins of the spent horse. An hour's travel, trailing the gelding behind him, brought Matt to the nearby ranch where the young woman lived.
Donna Bellefont wasted no time getting to what she could do for her unconscious daughter. However, the lawman had a hard time stopping her husband Hal from riding into the town bearing his name to form a posse Matt was sure would be bent more on lynching any stranger crossing their path than letting the law take its course. Despite being sure of who was responsible – the same man he was trailing – Matt refrained from describing him. Instead, he tried his best to dissuade the livid father from doing anything rash.
"Mr. Bellefont, I understand you can't stand around doing nothing, but you can't help if you interfere with me doing my job. Your job is to go into Bellefont to send a telegram to Doctor Adams in Dodge. That's what you can best do for your daughter."
"I reckon you're right, Marshal. The Missus and I sure don't know what she needs to get well and he's the closest doc. I reckon Carrie needs both of us."
Satisfied the distraught father wasn't going to immediately take the law into his own hands, thus making his job harder, Matt bid farewell to the Bellefont family. He retraced his own path to where he'd found Carrie, studying the ground until he found Winslow's tracks. Sure enough, the skunk was heading across the prairie for Dodge. It wasn't a straight line, but there was no doubt as to the destination. Several hours later Matt spotted a horse tied to a tree along Saw Log Creek and went to investigate. It was now past four. Apparently his quarry elected to stop for the night under the mistaken impression that nobody was anywhere close enough to catch him.
Matt Dillon was more tired than he realized. Riding from Dodge City almost to Larned and nearly all the way back had taken its toll on him. He missed the signs of fatigue until it was too late. Tucker Winslow was lying in wait for him. The burly man, about three inches shorter than the six foot seven marshal flew out from behind Matt, knocking him to the ground. Matt rolled away and drew his gun in the same motion that brought him to his feet.
"Winslow, I'm arresting you for breaking prison. Once you're back there they'll decide on additional charges. Hold out your hands."
Having declared his intentions Matt came forward with the handcuffs in his left hand, the Colt still in his right. However, Winslow wasn't ready to give up. He lowered his head and charged, aiming it at Matt's stomach. The marshal managed to sidestep, but his movement allowed the escaped convict to grab for lawman's gun arm. Matt reacted by bring up his left arm to strike Winslow's side with the irons he still held in that hand. Instead of subduing Winslow, it caused the outlaw to try to get the lawman in a bear hug.
While Winslow was broader than Matt and probably outweighed him by 50 pounds, the marshal had a longer reach and slightly quicker reactions. Even so, the fight nearly cost him his life. The outlaw almost succeeded in turning his own gun against him. A last ditch effort turned the cocked pistol toward Winslow's chest. It fired, killing the convict instantly. Although he was tired and hungry Matt elected to bury the outlaw and backtrack to return the chestnut mare to her owners.
"He's taken care of. Is Doc on his way?" Matt asked Hal Bellefont.
"Yes, Marshal. I'll meet him at the Spearville station. Thanks for everything you've done. It's much appreciated."
"Won't you at least stay for supper? It's ready," Donna Bellefont added. "Maybe spend the night?"
"Thanks, but I best be getting back. Supper will be welcome though."
The lawman knew his big buckskin, as strong as that horse was, needed an hour to rest up. It was sunset before he set out again, but the night was clear and he'd already been over this same trail. Closer to Dodge he'd decide if he'd camp out under the stars or push on to the town he'd called home for more than ten years.
Matt rode straight on through despite the late hour when he reached a spot along Saw Log Creek where he might have camped, five miles out from Dodge. He didn't push, simply rode at a steady, fast walk. Looking up as he slowed while moving past the Long Branch on his way to give Buck's care over to Hank, he spotted a light in Kitty's rooms. Dropping horse and tack at the stable he carried his bedroll and saddlebags back to his office. It was now after four. This late at night and as tired as he was nicking his face was more likely than a clean shave, but he did wash off some of the dust. Kitty would accept his scratchy stubble if she were still up when he arrived. Otherwise he'd simply fall into his side of the big brass bed they shared when the duties of the badge permitted it.
Kitty was at her vanity brushing out her hair when she heard the tired, heavy footsteps along the hallway plodding toward her door from the back stairs. It was now nearing five AM. She'd quickly changed into her nightgown, but had taken her time with her hair just in case she heard that familiar tread. She'd finished stroke 100 when his key turned in the lock.
"Tell me all about how it went on the trail after we both get some sleep. Turn down the lamp, Cowboy, as soon as you're ready to climb into bed," she cooed soothingly, moving toward that large object.
"I'll turn down all the lamps when we're ready," he replied hoarsely, hanging his hat and gun belt on the peg by the door before dropping into a chair to remove his boots and socks. "I just want to hold you after two hard days and nights of riding."
"Maybe we should just go to sleep," she said as she fell into his now bare arms. "It's been a particularly hard day's nights since the Bar C arrived, though we did have a bit of a break until noon."
Matt clasped her more tightly, his mouth seeking her welcome home kiss. The work was over. Both were at peace now that Matt Dillon was home in Kitty Russell's arms.
A Hard Day's Night – John Lennon/Paul McCartney
So why on earth should I moan, 'cause when I get you alone
You know I feel ok
When I'm home everything seems to be right
When I'm home feeling you holding me tight, tight, yeah
It's been a hard day's night, and I been working like a dog
It's been a hard day's night, I should be sleeping like a log
But when I get home to you I'll find the things that you do
Will make me feel alright