Dust billowed through the morning air warm in the wake of summer, as wagons, buggies and riders filled Front Street in the first days of harvest season. The cattle drives had invaded Dodge City, and folks packed the walkways, restaurants, stores and saloons.
Hurrying to meet Mr. Dillon riding in from Fort Dodge on the stage, Chester saw strangers who looked rough, and some were drunk despite the early hour. He took care not to jostle them as he wove his way through the crowd. Not knowing he worked for the marshal, a few men sneered at Chester, one laughed and another eyed him like he was a rabbit in a snare.
Breathing hard, he reached the station as the stage rolled in. Chester greeted Matt with a smile as he stepped down from the coach. "Mr. Dillon."
"Chester." Matt looked up at the stage roof and caught his carryall as the shotgun rider tossed it to him. The man picked up a small trunk and threw it to a burly fellow who descended from the stage behind Matt.
"Did yer ride go easy?" said Chester, taking the marshal's bag.
"Fine," said Matt. "This is Eli Sinclair. I'm signing him on as special deputy marshal while the trail herds come through, 'til wintertime. Eli's a friend of mine from the war, Chester. He was working as a guard at Fort Dodge."
Sinclair's crystalline reddish-brown eyes were long with peculiar points at the corners, making Chester think of knives. About three inches shorter than Matt and two inches taller than Chester, Eli was four or five years older than the marshal and bigger, with thick bones and muscles bulging through his suit. He had chiseled even features, a strong jaw slashed with a deep cleft, a tightly set well-formed mouth and clean light-tan complexion.
He looked impassively at Chester, who felt a wriggle of foreboding in his belly. He thought Sinclair appeared stern and un-neighborly, and wondered why Mr. Dillon would like or trust him. Chester did not extend his hand for a shake, and Matt regarded him quizzically, mildly annoyed.
The cattle drives and cooler weather incited more fights, robbery and gunplay in Dodge. The marshal needed Eli's steady head, limber reflexes, hard fists and fast draw, and Matt needed Chester to get on with Sinclair and take his orders with no fuss. Eli was an imposing, at times forceful man of the sort that made Chester wary, and Matt figured he should have anticipated trouble from Chester.
"You be sleepin' nights at a roomin' house, will you?" Chester said to Eli.
"I'll sleep at the jailhouse," Eli said in a resonant bass voice. "Dodge will have a lawman there from now on, sunup to sunup." He held out his trunk to Chester, who made no move to take it.
"Reckon you kin manage that," said Chester.
Matt gave Sinclair a watchful look. "I calculate I can," said Eli, his eyes boring into Chester's.
With Chester and Eli on either side of Matt, they walked to the marshal's office. "From now on," said Chester. "But yer workin' with us jest 'til wintertime?"
"That's right," Matt answered for Sinclair.
Chester opened the door and stepped aside for Matt and then Eli to go in ahead of him. He put Matt's carryall on the desk, pulled a badge from the drawer and handed it to the marshal, who passed it to Eli.
"There's coffee a simmerin'," said Chester. He poured cups for Matt and Sinclair.
"Thanks," said Matt.
Eli took the steaming cup. His bright eyes looking hard at Chester, he removed his hat and held it out. He had plentiful, waving chestnut hair worn long on his neck, nearly the same color as his eyes and carefully combed to best effect.
Chester did not take the hat. "There's a spare peg by the door," he said. "Ah'll drug a bed fer you out from the jail."
"The cells are empty at the moment," said Matt, as he and Eli sat at the table.
"Won't be long," said Eli. "Front Street's none too peaceful, and the rest of town is likely rowdier."
"Back street's the worst," said Matt. "There's a shoddy saloon row selling three-cent beer and six-cent whiskey. A coupla opium dens. And carnal houses."
"That so." Eli uncovered sizable teeth in a dazzling grin. Setting up the jail cell bunk against the wall across from his bed, Chester thought Sinclair looked like a wolf baring its fangs.
"I might visit those houses betimes, Matt," said Eli. Matt chuckled.
Chester poured a cup of coffee and joined them at the table. Eli's smile vanished and he looked askance at Chester, who suppressed an impulse to dash his coffee in the deputy's face. He looked at Chester like he was a mouse that scuttled up on the table, so he felt hot to his bones and his face burned. Sensing the tension between them like tightly stretched barbed wire, Matt wondered if he'd acted unwisely in hiring Eli.
A gunshot cracked in the distance, followed by a burst of drunken laughter. The marshal and Sinclair had not removed their gunbelts, and when Matt rose from his chair, Eli quickly stood up, as did Chester.
"Stay here and man the office, Chester," Eli ordered. "Someone might show needing help, or to report a crime."
"You want I should come with you, right, Mr. Dillon?" said Chester.
"That's alright, Chester," said Matt. "Eli will patrol with me."
"I don't haveta stay shet up in here, do I?" said Chester.
"No," said Matt. "I never tell you to sit in the office all day unless I need you here for a sound reason, and it makes no sense to tell you now."
"Oh," said Chester, relieved. "I guess maybe then I'll go see Miss Kitty."
"Who is Miss Kitty," said Eli.
"A friend." Refusing to meet the flinty gaze, Chester felt Eli's eyes like pricking icicles.
"Kitty owns the Long Branch," said Matt.
"You drink and chat on the job then, Chester?" said Eli.
"I always assist when Mr. Dillon needs me. Ain't that right, Mr. Dillon."
"You do fine, Chester," said Matt. "Go on and see Kitty; have yourself a beer."
"Thank you. I will," said Chester, with a dignified air. He put on his hat, went outside and merged with the crowd on Front Street. He had no desire to take another stroll in Eli's company, and limped fast to move ahead of the deputy and Matt.
"He's a character, that one," said Eli, walking beside the marshal. "I recollect you take in strays, Matt. Remember in the war, that ancient slave we came across near starved, trying to make his way north? You fed and clothed him and put boots on him, and wouldn't let a one of us say a harsh word to him. You took care of him until that Sioux mission in the north of Dakota Territory took him in. Never saw a white man so respectful to a black man as you were to that old-timer."
"I couldn't let the old man die," said Matt. "He had no one else."
"Chester's not much use to you, is he."
"He's of great use to me. He's the only man I trust in this town except the doctor, Doc Adams."
"And me," Eli laughingly said. "You're leaving me out."
"I don't know about you yet, Eli. I trusted you when we fought together in the war. I'm just realizing how much you've changed."
"War does things to people," said Eli. "But you can trust me to do a good job, Matt. Is this on account of what I said about Chester? I see you set store by him, like all of 'em you take under your wings. Like beloved pets."
Matt stopped walking and gestured to a passage between the milliner's and barbershop. "Let's talk over here," said the marshal.
"You gonna hit me?" said Eli, following Matt into the passage. "Job or no, any man hits me gets hit a sight harder. You have two, three inches on me, Matt, but I'm bigger than you."
"I won't hit ya unless I see the need," said Matt. "Chester's no lackey, Eli. You want this job, you best change your ways around him. You give him an order, do it man to man or not at all."
"Alright," said Eli. "Though I can't imagine him carrying out any save the most menial duties without mucking it."
"That's how you think, then maybe you're not the man for the job," said Matt. "Maybe hiring you was a mistake."
"It was no mistake. I can't help what I see, but I can keep it to myself. Hard to believe you'd let that sort of fellow jeopardize our friendship, Matt."
Matt felt his dander kindle like a hot flicker in his chest. Folks at times belittled Chester to the marshal, and Matt never could accustom himself to their derision without feeling at least a little riled.
"If our friendship is jeopardized, it's your doing, Eli," said Matt. "You head for the back street and I'll walk Front Street. We'll meet at the center of town near the surveyors and cattle buyers, find Chester and lunch at Delmonico's."
The marshal had decided not to invite Kitty and Doc to join them for lunch. Matt knew that Chester, in that pitiable way he had when his feelings were injured, would detail at length to Kitty every insult Eli had inflicted on him. Kitty would either refuse to dine with Eli, or if she did, act cold to him, as she made no effort to abide anyone who hurt Chester.
As things were, Matt figured she'd temper at him for hiring Eli, and the marshal wanted to delay her scolding, hoping time would pacify Kitty. And not yet knowing if he'd tell Eli to turn in his badge, Matt saw no reason to introduce him to Doc.
"You dine out with your jailkeeper?" said Eli.
Matt blew out his breath in an exasperated gust. "Eli, when did you become so confounded conceited," he said.
"Alright easy," said Eli. "I'll eat lunch with him if that's what you want. It surprises me is all. I thought we'd patrol the streets together, Matt. You implied that at the office."
"We'll get it done faster apart," said Matt.
A trail hand ran toward him a moment after Eli left. "Marshal! Marshal!" the cowboy shouted. "A fella's holding up the bank!"
Matt broke into a run, the cowpoke at his heels. "Don't follow me,"Matt panted. The drover paid him no mind of course, not that one man staying clear of danger would make a difference. Men and women hemmed the bank like circusgoers watching an escape artist.
A man tore through the spectators, his gun leveled in one hand and two bulging sacks in the other. Matt whipped out his six-shooter and the onlookers backed away, the men holding onto their womenfolk. "Hold it!" Matt yelled.
Like a light-footed dancer, the man pivoted to face Matt. "Drop the gun!" said Matt. The man stood motionless, staring wide-eyed at the marshal.
"Drop it," said Matt.
"Lord, please have mercy on my poor soul," the man jabbered as Matt aimed his gun at him. "I repent of all my sins, including this here." The man heaved in a breath. "I'm just holstering my gun, Marshal. I won't shoot, swear."
"I said drop it," said Matt.
The robber cautiously holstered his gun. "Ain't never killed no one, Marshal," he said. "Never even shot a man."
Matt took a long slow step closer to him. The man shrugged. "What the deuce," he said. He jumped off the walk into the street and ran, still holding the money sacks. Mid height and build and tending on the slim side, he looked less than thirty years old and was quick. Not a fast runner himself, Matt knew he couldn't overtake the man that way.
Though people crowded the walkways, the street in the direction where the man ran was for the moment empty. Matt ran after him and rapid-fired into the dirt around his boots. Gripping the money sacks, the robber sprang away from the bullets as though dancing a jig, which slowed him down.
Holstering his gun as he ran, Matt caught up to the man, snaked the robber's gun from the holster and grabbed his arm. He bucked like a wild mustang, and Matt stuck the robber's gun in his belt to free both hands. "Drop those bags and quit struggling or I'll chop ya one," Matt commanded.
More from exhaustion than surrender, the man dropped the sacks and sagged in Matt's grip. "What's your name," said Matt.
"Nation. Merciful Nation."
"Merciful?" Matt said.
"My parents are Puritan," said Nation. "Folks call me Merse."
"You're going to jail, Merse."
When Matt arrived at the marshal's office with Merse, Eli had locked up a cardsharp who'd pistol-whipped a player for accusing him of palming cards at a back street shack of a saloon called The Two-Shot. "He goes by Griswold," said Eli. "That's the only name he'll give me. All the players saw him palming cards, and he went after the one who called him on it. No thanks to him, the man he beat will survive. Doc said the man has a severe concussion."
"You met Doc?" said Matt.
"I did, and it was a pleasure. He seems a good doctor, first impression."
"The best," said Matt.
"I figured we'd save some time if I met up with you here instead of the center of town," said Eli. "I'll drag the bed Chester set up for me back in the jail cell." He took hold of the bed and started moving it as he spoke. "Merse has to have a bunk," he said.
"I'm deputy marshal and Chester has no ranking," Eli said after he returned the bed to the cell. "That means he bunks on the floor."
"It does not," said Matt. "That's Chester's bed and you're not taking it from him. You can afford a room, Eli."
"You trust him to man the jail alone nights with the trail herds in town and lawbreaking on the rise? That's irresponsible, Matt."
"Chester's slept here by himself with the drives comin' through before, and everything ran smoothly," said Matt.
"I'll stay here nights anyway," said Eli. "You don't know but something might come up he's not fit to handle. I'll sleep on a bedroll on the floor."
"Suit yourself," said Matt.
"I gather your trusty assistant's been drinking all this time at the Long Branch," said Eli. "Shall we fetch him and go to lunch?"
"We feed the prisoners first," said Matt. "Jerky for lunch, and Chester fried up some pone this morning we can give them cold. Water and hot coffee, every meal."
"That's the jailkeeper's job, Matt," said Eli. "Since he pulled a disappearing act, I'll help you do it."
"Chester doesn't know we arrested two men," said Matt.
"Well, Matt, if he was any good at the job, he'd come by once in a while and check."
Matt felt an irritating tightness like a cramp in his head, pressing his temples. "Eli, I value your help, but if you don't like the way I do things here, you're free to take off the badge and leave."
Eli shook his head. "No. You have a man don't pull his weight, you need me more than ever. I'm staying, Matt."
They fed Merse and Griswold, and were about to head for the Long Branch to meet Chester when he walked in the office. "Chester," said Matt. "We're goin' for lunch. You comin'?"
"Yeah . . . ." said Chester. Though he had no wish to eat with Eli, he'd seen the sign outside Delmonico's with the day's lunch menu—chicken pie, with sugared berries in cream for dessert.
"This is opportune for you," Eli said to Chester. "Marshal Dillon and I feed the prisoners, and you show up when we're ready to go to the restaurant."
"Well ah . . . I di'n't knowed we had no prizners," Chester said sheepishly. "I had a lot ta talk 'bout with Miss Kitty, Mr. Dillon. If I'd a knowed there was men to see to in the cells, ah'd a comed straightaway."
"That's alright, Chester," said Matt. "The one in the near cell's a bank robber. Name of Merciful Nation."
"Uh . . . Merciful?" said Chester.
"Huh?" said Merse from the jail cell, his mouth full of jerky.
"He goes by Merse," said Matt. "The other's a cardsharp, pistol-whipped a player who caught him cheating. He's just called Griswold."
Chester nodded, then looked into Eli's crystal-hard eyes. "I calculate now both cell bunks in use, you'll git yaself a room somewheres," said Chester.
"I will not," said Eli. "Marshal Dillon says I'm not to take your bed, so I'll bunk on the floor." His eyes wouldn't let Chester look away.
The marshal touched his shoulder. "Come on, Chester," said Matt.
When Eli said he'd go with Matt to the Long Branch for a beer that night, Chester told the marshal he would stay at the office, though he visited Kitty most nights, even when he'd seen her earlier in the day. He knew he couldn't rest easy and enjoy Miss Kitty's company with Eli there trying to trick Mr. Dillon and Miss Kitty into thinking he was affable by baring his teeth in that grimace he passed off as a smile.
From what the deputy said at lunch, he had wormed into Doc's affections too, praising Doc to Mr. Dillon to deceive the marshal into thinking Eli was honorable when he was a snake in truth. Doc likely would be at the Long Branch, and Chester figured that to keep Mr. Dillon's good graces, Eli would butter Doc up, knowing Doc was important in town.
Eli scared Chester. He felt tense and cold with anxiety at the thought of passing nights alone with the deputy while Mr. Dillon slept in his room at Ma Smalley's. Chester had told Miss Kitty all about Eli's stern haughty ways, and knew she would see through his sham friendliness to his devious heart. Miss Kitty had no use for that breed, and Chester felt gratified knowing she'd snub Eli with Mr. Dillon and Doc there to see her do it.
Kitty recognized Eli from Chester's description before Matt introduced him, and beyond Chester's criticism of the man, she instinctively disliked him. Sitting at a table with Doc, Kitty watched Matt and the deputy.
"There he is, Doc," said Kitty. "Eli Sinclair. The snobbish brute. How dare he treat Chester that way."
Matt and Eli moved to the bar to order beers. Doc looked at Kitty's set chin, her mouth tightened to a thin line and her smoldering eyes darkened to midnight blue.
"You might wanna give Eli a chance, Kitty," said Doc. "He's Matt's friend; they served in the same regiment. And Matt appointed him special deputy U.S. marshal. It's a respectable position."
"Doc," Kitty snapped. "That's just what I'm talking about. Who cares about . . . position. He's a prideful ass."
"Didn't seem prideful when I met him this morning," said Doc. "Nice . . . well-spoken fella, seemed to me."
"He's fawning up to you because you're the only doctor in town and that makes you prestigious," said Kitty. "How can you admire him when he insulted Chester."
"That's kind of unfair, Kitty," said Doc. "You haven't even met Eli. You're going entirely on what Chester said, and you know how he gets things in a jumble."
"Doc, how can you. You're . . . demeaning . . . Chester, just like Sinclair is."
Doc jerked his chin at Kitty. "I most certainly am not," he said. "I never . . . demean Chester, never. He jumbles things and you know he does, Kitty."
"I know," said Kitty. "I'm sorry, Doc. I just don't think he's confused about Sinclair."
"Here they come," said Doc.
"Hello, Kitty," said the marshal, tipping his hat. "Doc."
"Matt," said Doc. "Eli."
"Kitty," said Matt, "This is Eli Sinclair."
"Ma'am." Eli smiled and touched his hat brim.
Kitty nodded, not returning his smile. "Have a seat," she said to Eli. "Matt, can I talk to you at the bar?"
"Sure," said Matt, bracing himself for her displeasure. Matt sensed her distress, and figured Chester had unburdened his feelings to Kitty about Eli.
Holding his beer, Matt followed her to the end of the bar. "Matt," said Kitty, "why don't you thrash that man good and run 'im outa town."
Matt grinned. "He hasn't said anything objectionable enough to warrant a thrashing, Kitty, and if he does, I'll be hard put to give it to him. I doubt there's a man in Kansas can best Eli Sinclair in a fight."
"I don't think you understand what Sinclair is," said Kitty. "I don't think you're seeing him clearly, Matt. Cuz I know how you care for Chester."
Matt sobered. "Kitty, you just met the man. You're goin' on what Chester said."
"That's what Doc told me," said Kitty. "You both seem to think Chester's too simple-minded to know what he's talking about."
"I didn't say that, Kitty."
"You didn't have to. Chester has his own way of seeing things, but he's not feeble-minded, Matt. He knows when someone's trying to break him."