Wanted: Matt Dillon

by dinacarter

A harmless fishing trip turns into a nightmare for the Marshal and Kitty when they are taken by a group of bounty hunters who mistake Matt for a wanted man.

WANTED: MATT DILLON
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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 PARAMOUNT/ VIACOM, nor to realize any profits.

Summary: A harmless fishing trip turns into a nightmare for the Marshal and Kitty when they are taken by a group of bounty hunters who mistake Matt for a wanted man.

Rating: definitely PG-13

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"You know, Matt," said Kitty Russell as she checked her line for the umpteenth time just to make sure, she hadn't maybe missed a bite, "that sure was awful nice of Chester to give you a day off."

The Marshal raised his head to glance over at her.

"Yeah, let's just hope I still feel that way when we get back to Dodge tonight."

The tall lawman was comfortably sprawled out on his back in the soft grass underneath the shady branches of a large cottonwood tree, his hands clasped behind his head.

A blanket beside him still held the remains of their earlier lunch which had consisted of cold chicken, sandwiches, watermelon and dried apple pie.

It was a beautiful, warm July day and the first time this year that Matt and Kitty had managed to sneak away from Dodge for a couple of hours together. Not that they hadn't tried; there had been plenty of attempts on their part, but something or somebody had always managed to thwart their plans-usually at the last minute.

So far, the week had been rather quiet and Matt had seized the opportunity and taken Chester up on his offer to watch the town for a couple of hours. He knew that once the cattle herds started to come in, he'd have his hands full.

This morning, he had rented a wagon from Moss Grimmick and they had taken the short drive out to Turtle pond, a nice and secluded spot, about an hour south of Dodge.

Matt and Kitty both shared a common love for fishing, so what better was there to do than just that. Everything was perfect-except for the fact that the fish weren't biting.

Kitty expertly sent her line back into the pond with a swift flick of her fishing pole.

"Oh, Matt," she replied, "that's not a nice thing to say."

She knew that he hadn't been really serious, but she was a little put out by the fact that she hadn't had a single bite yet; normally, she had no trouble outfishing him, but apparently not so today.

Matt knew exactly what was bothering her.

"Yeah, I s'pose," he mumbled without much conviction as he relaxed back into the lush grass. He closed his eyes, enjoying the tickling sensation as the warm rays of the late afternoon sun caressed his face.

A gentle breeze was rustling through the treetops above, mingling with the singing of the birds and the lazy buzzing of insects, and he felt blissfully content and at peace with himself and the world. His badge was tucked away in his desk drawer and his gun belt, along with the colt, was lying nearby in the grass. For a few short hours, he had put the Marshal aside and allowed himself the rare luxury to simply be Matt Dillon.

At last, Kitty had had enough. She put down the fishing pole and rose to her feet.

"Looks like it's goin' to be steak tonight after all," she sighed as she sat down beside him.

Matt squinted up at her.

"Well, that's all right. With Emmett Bowers now supplyin' Delmonico's, the meat's liable to get better."

But Kitty had her doubts.

"Yeah, as if-" she snorted and then added, looking down at him sideways, "you know, I sure admire your optimism, Matt."

He cast her an amused grin.

"You do, do you," he murmured as he rolled on his side and propped himself on his elbow so that he was facing her.

Kitty was beautiful all right when she was all made up for work, but he found her even more attractive when she was without make-up. He loved those girlish freckles which stuck out so distinctly against her fair skin, running along beneath her eyes and across her nose and frankly, he couldn't understand why she always took such great care to cover them up. Her beautiful red hair was braided in a single plait today and she had dressed in a simple blouse and skirt for the occasion.

Regardless what she wore, just the mere sight of her was sometimes enough to elicit all kinds of potent reactions in his brain and other certain parts of his anatomy.

For some reason or another, Kitty found his grin a little annoying.

"Of course," she offered, casually, speculatively regarding her fingernails, "I've heard people call it other things, too-"

"Oh? An' what's that?"' said Matt lazily, still grinning and not really expecting clarification.

"Ignorance," she supplied dryly with deliberate provocation. But her eyes were sparkling mischievously and Matt knew at once that she was teasing.

He raised his eyebrows, pretending to be mildly offended.

"That so?" he replied slowly. His mouth was twitching with amusement.

"You know," he then went on, a rather devilish twinkle now entering his eyes, "I think I'm gonna have to teach you to respect the law a little more."

Before her mouth could even frame a response, Kitty suddenly found herself on her back in the grass with Matt looming over her, trapping her between his arms. He gazed down at her from intense blue eyes, smiling impishly.

"Hey, you!" she protested half-heartedly as she struggled briefly to get him off, but her protests died quickly when he bent down and kissed her deeply.

"You learned your lesson yet?" he queried huskily when he came up for air moments later. The mischievous gleam in his eye was now gone and replaced by one of passion and deep desire.

"Not quite," Kitty breathed playfully, her own blue eyes sparkling out a challenge as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back down. "How about helping me out a little?"

That's exactly what Matt had hoped for; looking down at her with tender affection, he smoothed a stray wisp of red hair back from her forehead before lowering his face to hers again. He could feel the soft, moist warmth of her lips under his own as his mouth gently covered hers.

Not often had they the opportunity to enjoy each other's company outside the confines of Kitty's room which usually forced them to more or less remain mindful of their neighbors and soon, the beauty of their secluded surroundings began to work its magic; swept up in steadily mounting passion, his lips pressed harder against hers until she willingly parted them to him, inviting his penetration.

The subtle scent of her perfume, mingled with the sweet smell of the grass, intoxicated him, and her touch, as she threaded her fingers through his hair, drew a deep sigh from the depths of his throat.

"Hmm, nice," he growled softly, his breath hot against her cheek. He tightened his embrace on her, burying his face in the curve of her neck.

His body lay half across hers now, their legs entwined, and it was impossible for Kitty to ignore the all too obvious evidence of his desire for her. She felt the gentle nip of his teeth against her skin and the insistent touch of his hand as it impatiently tried to find its way beneath the thin fabric of her blouse. She arched her body into his in response, welcoming his weight as he pressed her down into the soft grass.

Soon, their surroundings faded into the background; nothing else mattered anymore save the two of them, locked together in their own, private world.
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"You asleep, cowboy?" queried Kitty softly as she slid her hand with slow enjoyment over the fuzz of soft curly hair that stretched across his chest between the nipples.

"Hmm," came the mumbled response as Matt stirred a little so that he could look down into the face of the pretty redhead who felt so good in his arms.

He smiled a warm, contented smile as he brought his arm around her freckled shoulder, caressing it gently.

"You're beautiful," he murmured against the curve of her neck.

Kitty propped herself up on his chest and his hand slid off her shoulder, coming to rest on her waist where it continued its lazy caresses.

"I think you just had a bite," she said matter-of-factly.

"Huh?"

The magic of the moment was suddenly gone. Matt opened his eyes and raised his head, staring at her in obvious confusion.

"Your fishing pole," she went on to clarify, nodding towards the bank where they had set up their fishing rods this morning.

With a grunt, signaling understanding, Matt levered himself upright on his elbows to direct his gaze at the edge of the pond.

"Well, I'll be!" he exclaimed astounded when he saw that his fishing rod seemed to be gone.

He scrambled to his feet, buckling up his belt as he made his way over to investigate.

And gone it was indeed. Matt made a face, his disappointment obvious; clasping his fingers around his beltbuckle, he expelled an annoyed burst of air through his lips. He had been quite proud of that pole, having fashioned it himself, and now it had disappeared.

Kitty cast him a bemused smile as she, too rose to her feet and began to smooth down her rather wrinkled skirt, brushing the grass from it.

"Well, let's hope you're right about that steak," she chuckled.

Matt sighed. He looked up at the sun to gauge the time.

"Well, we best start packin', Kitty, it's gettin' late," he said.

The sun was quickly beginning to sink in the west, and he knew that they only had a few short hours of daylight left.

His searching gaze lingered on the surface of the water for another moment while his fingers absently fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

Reluctantly, he finally resigned himself to the idea to count the pole as a loss. Shoving the hem of his shirt back down into his pants, he turned.

"I'll go an' get the wagon ready," he said as he snatched his Stetson from the blanket.

Then he disappeared between the trees.

Kitty gave a nod of acknowledgment as she continued to straighten her clothing, tucking her blouse back in the waistband of her skirt. Then she tried to rearrange her hair which had come undone from the plait and was now looking rather disheveled.

But despite her efforts, she was afraid that it would be embarrassingly obvious what she and Matt had been doing.

Well, at least it would be dark by the time they got back to Dodge, she consoled herself, still wishing, she had a mirror though.

Suddenly, she heard a twig snap.

Startled, she froze in position and listened, her eyes intently searching the nearby brush where she thought the sound to have come from. The noise didn't repeat itself and soon, Kitty relaxed a little, thinking that it must have been an animal.

She brought her hands back up to her hair, attempting to tuck away a few stray strands of red hair when suddenly, a strong hand roughly seized her around the waist from behind while another one laid itself heavily across her mouth, drowning out her surprised outcry.
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Ten minutes later, the Marshal had hitched up the mare and returned, ready to load their belongings into the buckboard.

But as he looked around, he found that Kitty apparently had made no attempts at packing anything; their food basket still sat unpacked beside the blanket and her fishing pole was still propped up on the mossy bank of the pond.

She wasn't anywhere either. His relaxed demeanor was suddenly gone and his face tensed with slight alarm.

"Kitty?" he called with a growing sense of unease. His gaze traveled over the campsite and the surrounding trees and bushes, intently scanning every inch for her. She didn't answer him.

"Kitty?" he tried again, this time louder.

There still was no answer and he knew immediately that something wasn't right; quickly he crossed over to where his gun belt was still lying in the grass.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Matt's head jerked up and he froze in position. The brush, maybe twelve feet to his right was now rustling loudly and seconds later, a man emerged from it.

He was a rough-looking fellow, solidly built with a strong, broad-shouldered body. His dark eyes were sharp underneath a shock of untidy, dark brown hair which was covered partially by a wide-brimmed hat, the type that buffalo hunters often wore. His clothing looked dirty and uncared for, tell-tale sign of a life lived mostly out on the trail.

The Winchester in his hands was pointing straight at Matt.

Though cautious, the Marshal wasn't intimidated. He slowly turned.

"You better put that gun away, mister," he said, pointing to the rifle.

But the stranger simply laughed. His lips drawn into a derisive sneer as he lazily sized the lawman up.

"Seems to me, you're hardly in the position to make any demands here," he replied unperturbed.

As much as he hated to admit it, the stranger had a point, Matt thought, and then his thoughts turned to Kitty again. He tried to ignore it but he couldn't help noticing the tense knot that quickly seemed to be forming inside his stomach.

"The woman...there was a woman here with me. Where is she?"

His query was met with a mean chuckle.

Matt glared at the man through narrowed eyes.

"Where's she?" he asked again.

Suddenly, as if on cue, two more men stepped out from behind a cluster of trees. One of them was holding Kitty. His left hand had a firm grip on her left upper arm as he pushed her ahead of him while his right was pressing a revolver against her side.

Fear and confusion were written all over her face as she locked eyes with him.

The lawman felt hot, tight anger welling up inside. He quickly glanced her over to make sure she was unhurt, giving her an assuring nod before shifting his attention back to the first man.

"Who are you men anyway and what d'you want from us?" he demanded angrily.

It was one thing to threaten him, but seeing Kitty held at gunpoint, brought out the worst in Matt.

"Who says, we want anythin' from you?" the one, holding Kitty challenged in reply.

Staring straight at Matt, he provocatively ran the barrel of his colt up and down her side, laughing as she angrily tried to twist away.

The meaning of his words, combined with his action was all too clear.

His jaw tightening, his muscles twitching, the Marshal took a quick, threatening step forward.

"Let her go!"

His attempt was immediately rewarded with a vicious blow to his stomach as the first man suddenly lashed out with the stock of his rifle.

Matt doubled over with a gasp of pain.

"MATT!"

Kitty's shocked outcry elicited a bout of nasty laughter from their three captors.

His assailant glared down at Matt from narrowed eyes.

"I'm beginnin' to get' the feelin', you're gonna be a lotta trouble, Masters," he growled.

"Masters?" gasped Matt confused between short breath as he looked up at the other, his left hand still protectively draped over his now painfully convulsing stomach. "I don't follow you."

The man simply snorted.

"You can cut it out Masters, it ain't gonna do you no good."

The third man now stepped up.

"Yeah, we been trackin' you for the last two months an' I believe, we earned ev'ry damn cent of those two-thousand dollars, Mr. Ruthledge put up for you," he addded.

Two-thousand dollars? Bounty hunters, Matt suddenly realized. Obviously, they were thinking that he was this 'Masters' they were after.

Carefully, he straightened back up.

"Look, fellas, you got the wrong man. My name's Matt Dillon, I'm the Marshal over in Dodge City."

With a little movement of his head, he indicated where the town was lying.

But his words did little to impress his captors.

"Marshal?" the one with the rifle sneered, "if you're a lawman then why ain't you a-wearin' a badge, 'Marshal'?"

The words prompted a collective chuckle from his partners, and Matt suddenly remembered that his badge was in his desk drawer back in Dodge.

"He didn't need no badge for what they was doin', Ned," the one, holding Kitty remarked meaningfully with a crooked grin. He swept his eyes over her body with a slow deliberateness that made the Marshal positively want to snap him in half.

Matt could feel the blood rush to his face. He inhaled deeply, unable to keep himself from wondering how long exactly they had been watching him and Kitty. But his initial embarrassment quickly faded in the light of their predicament.

"Mister," he then addressed the first man harshly, not bothering to contain his anger anymore, "let me tell you somethin'. I don't like bein' ambushed! Now put that gun away and we might forget about this."

His words only drew a nasty chuckle from men.

"Pretty demandin', ain't you?" the third one replied amused.

The one, they called Ned regarded Matt coldly.

"Jock Ruthledge's son didn't like bein' ambushed either, Masters, but that sure didn't stop you from killin' him, did it?" he said.

Matt really had it now.

"Look," he snapped, "I don't know what you're talkin' about!"

But Ned was clearly tired of arguing.

"Save your breath for Mr. Ruthledge, Masters," he spat as he suddenly hauled out with his rifle again.

This time though, Matt was prepared for it; he quickly ducked sideways and struck out with his right, his fist painfully catching the bounty hunter's chin.

With a surprised grunt, the man staggered backwards from the powerful punch, and the Marshal threw himself at him, grabbing for the rifle.

Unfortunately, Matt had forgotten about the third one; he quickly became all too aware of him though as the man suddenly bore down on him from behind. Wielding his colt by the barrel like a club, he smashed the butt of the gun into the back of Matt's head with brutal force, knocking him out instantly.

"You Coward! You dirty pig! How dare you!"

Kitty's blue eyes were flashing with clearly more outrage than fear. She struggled madly against her captor's strong grip, twisting like an enraged cat.

"Let go of me!" she hissed angrily.

Somehow, she managed to wriggle herself free from his grasp, and before the skinny bounty hunter could stop her, she had hauled out with her right and slapped him painfully across the face.

"WHY YOU, LITTLE-" the man growled angrily as his left hand instinctively reached for his burning cheek where her nails had left several bloody striations.

Immediately, Kitty bolted from his side and dropped to her knees beside the unconscious form of the lawman.

"I'm gonna teach you a lesson, missy!" the humiliated bounty hunter spat furiously.

But his words only ignited her temper even more.

"You just try, mister," she hissed icily, throwing him a look that outright dared him, "I'll scratch your eyes out!"

But before anything else could happen, Ned suddenly stepped between them, still massaging his sore chin.
"Leave her be, Will," he growled.

His partner's words caused Will Finney to stop dead in his tracks. Reluctantly, he obeyed and backed off, but not without throwing Kitty, who was now cradling Matt's head in her lap, a murderous look.

Ned turned to Kitty.

"You better control that temper of yours, missy, or you might end up bein' real sorry," he warned.

Kitty didn't reply, but if looks could kill, the three men probably would have dropped dead on the spot as she pierced them with a glare of utter disgust and contempt.

But the bounty hunters simply laughed it off.

The first one now began to rummage through the inner pockets of his grubby buffalo skin vest. Moments later, he produced a folded piece of yellowed paper.

He crouched down beside the unconscious Marshal, and Kitty watched with uneasy curiosity as he began to unfold it.

Though smeared with dirt and distorted by deep crease-marks, it clearly showed the picture of a man who indeed bore a surprising resemblance to the lawman; the name below the picture read: Rick Masters.

Before she could protest, Ned had already dug his big, beefy hand into Matt's hair, roughly jerking his head up so that he could study his face. His eyes wandered to the poster then back to the lawman and he gave a satisfied grunt.

"Yup...sure's him all right," he concluded pleased.

He let go of Matt's hair so that his head dropped back down into Kitty's lap.

Kitty glared up at Ned.

"You're wrong," she snapped. "Why don't you wanna listen?"

But neither one of the three paid any more attention to her. Kitty was forced to watch helplessly as they began to make sure that their 'prisoner' wasn't going anywhere, roughly shackling his hands with heavy iron bands that one of them had fetched from his saddle bag.
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Once again, Chester Goode's eyes fell on the telegram on the Marshal's desk. Ever since Barney had delivered it two hours ago, he had been wanting to open it, but even though Mister Dillon had left him in charge, he still didn't think it quite proper to open a message addressed to the Marshal; what if it wasn't official business but personal?

"Oh, forevermore," the gangly young man muttered to himself as he limped over to the stove to pour himself the last cup of coffee.

As he glanced out the window, he noted that the dusk had already settled over the streets and buildings of Dodge and soon, the night would fall.

He was expecting the Marshal back anytime now. The nights could be quite raucous at times, especially when the cattle herds started to come in, and Chester wasn't exactly keen on facing a bunch of drunken cowpokes alone.

This afternoon, the first outfit from Texas had unexpectedly arrived a week ahead of schedule and had made camp just outside of town.

Soon, the streets and saloons would be bustling with cowpunchers and drovers, all eager to enjoy the comforts, a place like Dodge City had to offer to man who had just spent three lonely months on the trail.

The muffled thud of footfall outside on the small front porch of the jail caused him to turn expectantly towards the door. A moment later it was opened. But it wasn't Mister Dillon as he had hoped; it was Doc Adams.

"Hello, Chester," the physician greeted the young man as stepped inside, "Matt back yet?"

He closed the door behind himself, plunked his medical kit down onto the table and shuffled over to the stove.

Chester shook his head, his tone betraying his disappointment.

"No, Doc, he ain't back yet but I sure wish he'd hurry up. Them drovers out there sure are makin' me nervous."

The doctor's forehead creased in a slight frown when he realized that the coffee pot was empty.

"Makin' you nervous?" he echoed curiously.

Chester shuffled a little.

"Well, you know," he said, "they're just a little bit crazy...the way they're carryin' on. I just know there's gonna be trouble soon."

Doc sniffed and ran a quick hand across the bristles of his graying mustache.

"Well, by golly, shouldn't you be out there then, makin' sure that doesn't happen?"

Chester gave a snort of exasperation.

"Oh, now...Doc, you know, I ain't no good at that."

But that apparently wasn't a good enough reason for the doctor; he scratched his neck.

"Well, goodness, gracious," he said, "isn't that why Matt left you in charge?"

Chester knew that Doc had a good point. Gracing the physician with a not exactly friendly look, he limped over to the gun rack and pulled one of the rifles down. Then he grabbed his hat and opened the door.

"Oh, all right," he muttered crossly, "I reckon, I better get out there an' see about it then."

Doc quickly grabbed his medical kit from the table.

"Hold on a minute. I walk with you. I was on my way to the Long Branch anyway."

But Chester knew better; it was free coffee that the doctor had been after. He held the door for the older man, waiting for him to step through.

"Yeah...I bet you was," he murmured under his breath.

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Ned Lucas reined his mount in at the edge of a large grove of trees. After quickly scanning his surroundings, he turned to the rest of his small party.

"We'll make camp here for the night," he said.

Kitty was relieved at Lucas' words; although she was glad that they had allowed her to ride in the wagon with Matt, she wasn't sure how much longer she would have been able to stand the rocking and bumping of the buckboard as it had rolled over the rocky, uneven ground of the prairie.

The wagon came to an abrupt halt and Will Finney jerked back the brake. He turned to Kitty.

"Don't you get no ideas now, missy. You just stay where you are," he warned before he climbed off the seat.

Kitty's face darkened at his words; she had no intentions of leaving-not without Matt anyway.

He was still unconscious, his head cradled in her lap in an attempt to make him more comfortable. Her hand, which was draped protectively across his chest, now automatically tightened its hold, and her eyes wandered down to his face, searching for any signs of returning consciousness.

The deep sleep, though brought on by an act of violence, had stolen away the tense expression and there was an unguarded vulnerability about his features, making him almost appear like a lost little boy.

Almost without realizing it, a tender smile flashed across her face as she gently slid her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. She could feel the enormous lump that Merv's pistol grip had left on the back of his head, and suddenly, the fear was back. She was afraid; not so much for herself but afraid of what they would do to him.

After the three men had shackled him and roughly thrown him into the wagon, all the while ignoring her pleas and desperate attempts to explain that they had the wrong man, it had become painfully clear to her that they weren't going to listen. Their only interest were those two-thousand dollars, and they didn't care what they had to do to get it.

When she had realized that she wasn't getting anywhere, she had told them who she was, had offered them the amount of the bounty money, plus some if they would take her and Matt back to Dodge, but the men, having never been to Dodge, much less seen a female saloon owner, hadn't believed her, thinking it some kind of trick.

"C'mon, lady, off you go!"

Ned's impatient voice suddenly pulled her from her thoughts. He reached for her arm but Kitty eluded his grasp.

"Don't you touch me, mister," she hissed, twisting away, but the bounty hunter was faster; grinning, he firmly grabbed hold of her arm and, accompanied by the rude laughter of the other two, pulled the struggling redhead towards him.

For one long moment, he held her tightly in his grasp, looking her up and down.

"You sure are a high an' mighty one, ain't you?" he hissed with a hint of amusement.

Then he unceremoniously deposited her on the ground, his huge hand still firmly wrapped around her upper arm.

"You might as well get used to us now, missy. It's still a long way to Lubbock."

For another moment, Kitty continued to furiously fight against his strong grip, but she quickly ceased when she saw the other two approaching the buckboard.

Without any consideration, they pulled the unconscious lawman from the wagon bed, simply letting him roll off into the grass in front of their feet.

Kitty's breath caught at their obvious lack of compassion and disregard for Matt's life.

She was forced to watch helplessly as the men now brutally jerked him up from the ground and grabbed him under his arms, dragging him over to some nearby trees where they simply dropped him.

"You know, Doc, I'm just plump worried. It just don't seem like Mister Dillon to be gone that long."

Chester turned a troubled gaze on the physician who was standing beside him at the bar.

By now, it was well past nine and the Long Branch was bustling with cowhands and drovers, more than ready and eager to spent their hard-earned, three months pay in three nights on whiskey, gambling and girls. But although the crowd was large and quite raucous, it was surprisingly peaceful-so far anyway.

For once, Doc had to agree. He thoughtfully scratched his ear.

"Well, it sure does seem a little strange," he said, "by golly, I figured they'd be back by now."

The young man nodded in agreement and turned his eyes as he had done countless times already, towards the batwing doors.

"Maybe they slipped a wheel or broke an axle," he mused out loud.

Doc pursed his lips. His gaze was on the half-empty beer mug in his hands.

"Sure...it's possible," he said, thoughtfully, and then added, his eyes now twinkling with humor, "or then again...maybe Kitty finally convinced Matt to give up that badge an' take up farmin'."

The fact that the doctor still seemed to make light of the situation was not sitting well with Chester.

"Oh, come on now, Doc," he groused, "You know good an' well, he ain't gonna do that."

He fingered his glass restlessly and then turned, leaning his back against the bar as he began to scan the crowd again. A very tall cowboy suddenly caught his attention.

The man sat by himself at a table close to the window, an almost empty whiskey bottle in front of him. His face bore a brooding expression and he sported a prominent scar above his left brow, partially covered by a shock of dark, curly hair.

For some strange reason, the man looked familiar, but try as he might, Chester couldn't place him.

"I s'pose they're not back yet?"

Bill Pence's voice jostled Chester from his musings. The co-owner of the Long Branch let his gaze wander curiously between the two while his hands skillfully continued to polish the glass they were holding.

Reluctantly, Chester tore his gaze away from the cowboy. He shook his head.

"No, Bill, they sure ain't," he replied.

He was beginning to get more concerned with each passing minute, but he didn't want to admit it out loud to Pence, afraid that the doctor would start poking fun at him again.

"Well, they're probably havin' a good time," said Bill with a wink and a smile before his attention was drawn away by a customer who was waving his empty whiskey glass at him from the other end of the bar.

But if Pence's lightly spoken words did anything, they made Chester worry even more; he knew the Marshal too well. Matt Dillon would never neglect his duties unless circumstances beyond his control prevented it.

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Grinning, Ned held out a dented tin plate, heaped high with dried pork and beans.

"Want some?"

Kitty simply glared at him in response, wanting to tell the bounty hunter to go to hell, but knowing that it would most likely just provoke him and make matters worse, she simply muttered, her face set, "No, thanks."

Her arms hugged around her middle, she turned her gaze back to the campfire. She didn't want anything from these men except hers and Matt's freedom.

For a moment, the bounty hunter's eyes narrowed. Then he simply shrugged.

"Well, suit yourself, missy," he said before shoving a large spoonful of beans into his mouth.

Busy with their meal, the three men didn't pay any more attention to the young woman.

Kitty's eyes wandered over to the prone body of the Marshal, still lying motionless underneath a tree a few yards away. More than anything, she wanted to go over and check on him, assure herself that he was all right, but she knew, they wouldn't let her; she had tried several times earlier and each time, her plaintive entreaties had been met with refusal.

"You know, you can do better than him, red. I could help ya there-"

Will's suggestive remark caused her to turn. She glared at the man, her face hard, unsmiling.

"Why don't you just go and crawl back under that rock you came out from?" she snapped coldly.

Ned and Merv snickered at the embarrassed expression on Will's face, but Kitty found no satisfaction in it; disgusted, she turned away so that she didn't have to look at them anymore.

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With a groan, Matt slowly began to stir, caught up in those milliseconds between unconsciousness and awareness. He lifted his head and propped himself up on his forearms. His brain felt clouded and he shook his head, trying to clear it.

The movement immediately sent a bolt of pain streaking through the back of his head like lightning. He inhaled sharply, instinctively lifting his hands to reach for the spot where it hurt the most, only to find that they were restrained by heavy iron shackles.

For a second, he stared at them in obvious bewilderment; what, on earth, he began to wonder, his mind desperately trying to sort out what had happened, and suddenly, he remembered.

The bounty hunters, Kitty.

Kitty.

Determined, he struggled to his feet, reaching out for the tree trunk to steady himself. For a few seconds, he fought to keep his balance as the world around him began to spin dangerously and his legs threatened to give out on him, but overwhelming concern for her compelled him to fight the sensation.

Soon, the dizziness had passed. Carefully lifting his head, Matt blinked several times to focus his blurry vision and began to study his surroundings; he realized quickly that they weren't at Turtle pond anymore.

Maybe thirty feet away, a campfire was burning brightly, and he could make out Kitty's small outline reflected against the flickering flames.

"Kitty!"

His throat was dry and it came out as little more than a croak, but Matt could see her lift her head in response.

His call also drew the attention of Ned and Merv. The two bounty hunters rose to their feet and came strolling over.

"Worried about the li'l lady, Masters?" sneered Ned.

"Don't fret, we ain't gonna hurt her none...unless of course, you decide to give us trouble," added Merv, his voice trailing off meaningfully.

Matt felt a cold sinking in the pit of his stomach; they were intending to use Kitty to keep him in line. He couldn't allow that to happen.

"Let her go. I'm not gonna give you any trouble," he strained hoarsely.

Ned snickered.

"I'm sure you won't, Masters."

There was a dangerous undertone in Ned's voice that told Matt immediately that they had no intention of letting her go.

"Look. I'm tellin' you again...you're makin a big mistake, mister."

Matt's voice, though hoarse, was tinged with frustrated anger.

The bounty hunter's sharp eyes glinted cold

"The only one who's makin' a mistake here is you, Masters," he said, "you keep it up an' we're gonna put you outta your misery right now."

"Yeah, dead or alive, the reward's still the same," Merv threw in from beside his partner.

"Maybe so. But I know one thing-this…Ruthledge won't pay you a cent for the wrong man," retorted Matt tensely.

With a muttered curse, Merv's hand shot out, grabbing the front of Matt's shirt. His eyes bored into the Marshal's, flashing dangerously.

"I'm gonna kill you right now if you don't keep your damn mouth shut!" he threatened through clenched teeth.

Outwardly calm, Matt met him stare for stare.

It was perceived as outright defiance; Merv's eyes narrowed and then, without warning, the bounty hunter buried his fist in the lawman's stomach.

Matt had almost half-expected it but was too slow to block the punch; his stomach muscles tensed instinctively, warding off the worst of the blow, but it was enough to knock the breath from his lungs and drive him to his knees.

"MATT! NO!"

Kitty clapped a shaking hand over her mouth and started for him, but Will was on the guard; grabbing her arm, he roughly pulled her back.

His eyes now alight with sadistic glee, Merv pulled back with a heavy boot-clad foot, dealing the Marshal a brutal kick to his side just as he tried to clamber back to his feet.

"How's that feel, Masters?" he snickered mockingly.

It was a massive kick, forcing an agonized moan from Matt's lips, and he immediately felt hot, searing pain spreading through his side.

Gritting his teeth, his shackled hands clutched protectively at his now wildly throbbing ribs.

He tried his best to avoid several more kicks that followed in close succession but wasn't too successful. Instinctively, he curled up, trying to shield his aching side as best as he could. He was faintly aware of Kitty's frantic cries, coming to him as if from a great distance, pleading with the man to stop.

"Wait, Merv, don't go killin' him just yet," Ned suddenly spoke up.

Merv's mouth twisted with contempt.

"Damnit, he's trouble, Ned. I say we do away with him now!"

"You do as I say," snapped the other immediately, a sharp edge to his voice, "it's still a long way to Lubbock an' I don't wanna have to lug a body along!"

With obvious reluctance, Merv ceased his assault on the Marshal. For another brief moment, he glared down at the prone figure at his feet, then he turned to his partner.

"Damn you, Ned…damn you!" he muttered angrily as he stalked past him and off into the darkness.

Ned's eyes followed him for one brief moment before turning to the half dazed lawman on the ground before him.

"Remember, you better watch yourself from now on, Masters," he warned, "or somethin' bad might happen to the l'il lady." He punctuated his remark by spitting a stream of yellowish tobacco into a nearby bush before heading back to the fire.

Matt was hurting; his ribs were throbbing sharply and his head was spinning. But as dazed as he was, he didn't miss the meaning of Merv's words.

Carefully, he rolled himself onto his back and right away, his face screwed up in pain as his ribs protested the unwelcome movement.

An immense feeling of helpless anger washed over him as he listened to the crunch of their footsteps slowly die away, leaving him to deal with irrational thoughts of guilt. Guilt because Kitty's life was in danger on account of him.

.

.

.
It was almost eleven and Front Street was alive with the raucous banter of drunken cowboys and drovers. Cajoling and whooping, they clambered up and down the plank sidewalks, hollering in delight whenever they discovered yet another saloon to leave a few dollars in.

The moon above shone down brightly from a clear, star-studded sky onto the streets of Dodge, providing the amusement-seekers with plenty of light.

For the last two hours, Chester had been making the rounds of the town, looking out for any signs of trouble but so far, he had been lucky; the few cowpunchers, he had been forced to warn to take it easy, had taken his advice seriously and settled down.

By now, he was extremely worried for the Marshal and Miss Kitty; never before had they been gone that long. Surely, something bad must have happened.

He finally decided to head for Moss Grimmick's livery stable again to see whether they maybe had returned by now.

But Moss still didn't have better news for him. He lifted his head to scratch his head.

"No, Chester," he said, "they ain't come back yet."

Chesters face tensed with concern.

"Well, you make sure to let me know right aways if you hear anything'," he replied.

With that, he limped back out into the noisy street, silently praying that it really was as simple as a broken wheel or a slipped axle that delayed his two friends.
.

.

.

Slowly, Matt lifted his head to let his eyes drift over to the dying fire.

Ned and Merv were sound asleep, their heads cradled on their saddles while Will had been designated to guard their prisoners.

The bounty hunter threw a chunk of wood into the flames in an attempt to revive them, sending a shower of sparks heavenwards.

Matt's eyes settled on the woman huddling beside him, her knees tucked up to her chest, her arms hugged around them. Her eyes were staring despondently into the darkness.

Their captors had allowed Kitty to bring him some water a little earlier and hadn't bothered with calling her back to join them.

Matt pressed his lips together in silent frustration; it seemed that the one thing that he had dreaded the most for the last five years had finally happened; somebody was using Kitty as leverage against him. Only, it wasn't as Matt had always imagined on account of his badge. As he thought on it some more, he realized that his badge would have probably been the one thing that could have prevented the whole mess in the first place had he not taken it off this morning.

Well, it didn't really matter anymore; the only thing that was important now, was to find a way to get her out of this predicament; her safety was all he had been able to think about for the past couple of hours and the mere thought that one of them might harm her, was making him sick to his stomach.

"Kitty," he whispered carefully, "Kitty, listen to me. We have to find a way to get you outta here."

She didn't even look at him.

"Sure."

It had come out less than enthusiastically, telling him immediately that she had no intentions of leaving his side.

Matt frowned inwardly; knowing Kitty all too well, he had already half-expected her to say something like that.

"Look," he whispered, more urgent now. "I mean it. It might be our only chance."

She turned to look at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice. Blue eyes, filled with deep concern-concern for her, reflected back at her in the firelight.

Matt hadn't been the only one thinking along those lines; the thought of escaping and getting help had been on Kitty's mind as well. Not so much for herself; it was his life that she feared for the most. It was also the reason why she was hesitant to try. The three men had made very clear to her what would happen to Matt if she attempted to get away.

Her own, distress-filled eyes lingered on his face. Part of it was illuminated by the wavering glow of the campfire and she couldn't help notice the stubble that was beginning to darken the outline of his strong jaw. Tiny beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead and on his upper lip where they mingled with a crust of dried blood from his nose.

No, she didn't really want to leave him-especially now, after she had seen how brutally they had treated him earlier.

A picture, of how Merv had repeatedly kicked him when he was on the ground flashed through her mind and suddenly, she felt the warning prickle behind her eyes; she bit down hard on her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

Matt noticed it and it stabbed at his heart; he hated to see her cry, see her in pain-especially on account of him.

He reached out, folding a shackled hand over hers and then a small ghost of a smile flickered across his face; he would make sure that she got back to Dodge safely, no matter what.

"It's gonna be all right, Kitty. I promise."

The gesture, along with his encouraging smile revived her confidence. Kitty answered with a shaky smile of her own when he nodded, his eyes assuring.

"I know, Matt."

There was no doubt in her mind that he meant it. She would trust Matt Dillon with her life if it came down to it. He was a man of his word, one who defended fiercely what he cared for and believed in; he had proven that to her more than once in the last five years.

Satisfied, he withdrew his hand and stole another quick glance at the bounty hunter who was still sitting by the fire. A plan quickly formed in his mind.

"Those trees over there, Kitty. I want you to head for those trees."

He nodded towards the grove, about a hundred yards away.

"They're not gonna be able to find you in there in the dark."

Her lips pressed together, Kitty's eyes traveled over the black, shadowy mass of the grove; it didn't exactly look very inviting, especially in the dark, but she trusted him and would do as he asked.

Matt slightly motioned with his head towards Will.

"All right, listen. I want you to call him over here now," he whispered, "pretend that something's wrong with me."

He paused and took a deep breath, his eyes capturing hers. "When I tell you to run, I want you to do just that. I don't want you to look back, Kitty, no matter what. I know folks back in Dodge are missin' us by now and it won't be long before they come lookin' for us."

His blue eyes were probing hers intently, willing her to acknowledge his words.

"You understand?"

She felt a cold shiver run down her back; his words were evoking in her an unspeakable fear for his safety. Reluctantly, she finally nodded.

He gave her one final encouraging smile before he closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree.

Kitty knew what she had to do. Feigning concern, she leaned over him, pretending to try and shake him awake.

"Matt? Please wake up," she called, just loud enough to draw their captor's attention.

It worked. With a discontented grunt, Will clambered to his feet and came shuffling over to see what was going on. He was tired and not in the best of moods, and he definitely felt inconvenienced by having to get up and see about their troublesome prisoners.

"What's the matter, red?" he gruffed as he came to a halt in front of them.

He was about to haul out with his boot to give the seemingly unconscious lawman a kick, when Matt's shackled hands suddenly shot out, wrapping themselves tightly around Will's ankles. With a quick jerk, the Marshal sent him toppling over. The bounty hunter crashed to the ground with a startled outcry.

Immediately, Matt threw himself at the stunned man, shackled hands going for his throat.

"RUN, KITTY!"

In a split-second, Kitty was on her feet, but she hesitated when she saw that the bounty hunter had quickly overcome his initial surprise and was now fiercely fighting back.

Matt turned to Kitty when he saw that she wasn't moving.

"KITTY-NOW!" he yelled again.

The brief moment of inattention cost him a painful blow to his already sore nose.

The urgency in his voice suddenly jolted her into action. Kitty spun around and began to run blindly through the darkness towards the treeline which promised protection.

She didn't dare look back as she flew past the other two men who were unceremoniously roused from their sleep by the clamor.

There were confused and angry shouts behind her, and she was faintly aware of one of the bounty hunters yelling for her to stop.

Kitty didn't care and by the time, she had reached the edge of the trees, her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. The sounds coming from the camp site quickly grew dimmer, swallowed up by the denseness of the grove as she plunged down deeper into its safety.

Suddenly, she became aware of the heavy thud of boots and the clinking of spurs behind her; someone was coming after her!

A whimper escaped her lips and Kitty tried to run faster; tree limps were mercilessly slapping her in the face, scraping her skin and her long skirt kept getting caught on protruding bushes as she tore blindly deeper into the grove, escape her only thought.

The pounding of her pursuer's footsteps was ringing in her ears and mixed with the sound of her own labored breathing.

He was gaining on her; she could tell by the sound of his steps.

Fighting down the surge of panic that was threatening to overwhelm her, Kitty forced herself to run even faster.

Suddenly, a large tree root sent her sprawling, and before she could struggle back up, her pursuer was upon her.

"Not so fast, red," Will gasped, still out of breath from the chase, "you know, that wasn't very nice what you did back there!"

Desperately, Kitty fought to free herself, angrily pummeling his chest with her fists, but she was no match for his brutal strength as his powerful hands unmercifully restrained her wrists, pinning them above her head.

"Go to hell!" she snarled defiantly.

Her blue eyes were dark with fury as she glowered at him, his thin, unshaven face now only inches from her own.

.

.

.

Pain. His first conscious thought was of a dull, throbbing pain racing through every fiber of his body as he slowly struggled to wakefulness. Dazed, Matt blinked several times, trying to get his wits about him.

His head was thumping agonizingly with each beat of his heart, and he found himself groaning out loud. Carefully, he uncurled and rolled onto his back.

As much as he tried, Matt didn't remember much of his rather short-lived scuffle with the three bounty hunters.

Apparently, he had passed out quickly after the other two had come to their partner's aid. It was obvious that they had worked him over pretty good though. There wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt, and his ribs protested with a sharp stab of pain as he attempted to raise his hands, intent on wiping away the sticky blood he could feel on his face.

But it all mattered little; Kitty had been able to get away, and to Matt the beating had been a small price to pay for her safety.

He could feel the coppery taste of blood in his mouth and on his lips and he desperately wished for a drink of water, but he kept silent, already knowing that asking the men most likely wouldn't do him any good.

Slowly, he became aware of their voices as they drifted over to him from the fire. They were apparently discussing his fate, judging by the shreds of conversation he was able to overhear.

"...put him out of his misery now," Merv's deep, sullen voice carried to him.

"...still a long way to Lubbock...told you...don't wanna drag a body along." He heard Ned argue.

"...don't care what you do with him," Will now spoke up, "but I wanna keep the redhead."

Redhead.

In a flash Matt's eyes snapped open and, ignoring his aching ribs, he stubbornly pushed into a sitting position.

She didn't make it, was all he was able to think. Matt could feel his throat tightening as his fuzzy vision anxiously swept over the tiny campsite. The moon was momentarily hiding itself behind black shreds of clouds and he had to strain his eyes to see. He could make out the forms of the three bounty hunters as they huddled around the flickering campfire but she didn't seem to be with them.

Matt licked at dry lips and tried to swallow but his throat wouldn't cooperate and he broke into a wild bout of coughing which wasn't exactly appreciated by his abused ribs.

It drew the attention of his captors though.

"Well, well," gloated Ned Lucas as he leaned over the Marshal, "looky here who's awake."

The heavy-set man was towering threateningly over him, glaring down at Matt with unmistakable hostility. His face was bloodied, and judging by the crooked and swollen appearance of his nose, it was most likely broken.

The realization, that despite having undoubtedly taken the worst beating, he still had been able to land a few good punches himself, was somewhat satisfying to Matt, but his mind immediately turned to Kitty again.

"Where's she?" he croaked hoarsely as he unevenly struggled to gain his feet, preferring to face his captor standing.

"Where's who?" Ned mocked him, feigning surprise. "Oh, you mean the l'il lady?" he then pretended to realize. He turned back towards the others.

"Hey, Merv, bring the lady over here!"

He spat a stream of tobacco sideways onto the ground and then ran a dirty sleeve over his mouth, wiping away the brown juices that now stained his scruffy chin.

He cast Matt a nasty grin.

"Don't say we didn't warn you," he added meaningfully.

Matt didn't like his tone, and he watched with mounting unease as a short moment later, Merv began to approach with Kitty, roughly shoving her along in front of him.

His heart began to pound against his ribs, a sick feeling twisting his stomach into knots when he saw her.
.

.

.

The streets of Dodge had slowly emptied themselves as most of the cowboys and drovers had eventually found their way to their sleeping quarters. Those, too drunk to remember where they were supposed to go, had found themselves a more or less comfortable spot in one of the many side alleys of Dodge or the livery stable where they were now sleeping off the effects of the alcohol.

Other than a small brawl at the Texas Trail saloon between two rowdy ranch hands with too much liquor and excess energy, the day had ended comparatively peaceful and Chester didn't have to find any occupants for the empty cells back at the jail. Under normal circumstances, he would have been quite pleased with himself, but he was too worried about the Marshal and Miss Kitty to care.

It was well past two in the morning now and they still hadn't returned. Deeply troubled and lost in his thoughts, the gangly young man was standing on the small front porch of the Marshal's office. He was gazing up Front Street into the direction, Mister Dillon and Miss Kitty had driven their wagon this morning.

"Nothin' yet?"

Too absorbed in his thoughts, Chester hadn't even noticed that the physician had stepped up onto the porch.

Chester shook his head slowly, his absent gaze directed at the peppermint-stick pole of the tonsorial parlor down the street.

"No, Doc, nothing'," he replied.

"Well, I don't like this," answered the doctor, thoughtfully shaking his own head, "no sir, not one bit." He sniffed and quickly brushed a hand across his mustache.

Only a few short hours ago, he had made light of the situation, and now he felt a little guilty for having dismissed Chester's concerns so easily.

Chester turned to glance at the physician.

"You know, Doc," he said, "I just feel like I oughtta be doin' somethin'. Maybe I oughtta go out there an' try to look' for 'em. "

"Well, I think," the physician started to reply when he was suddenly cut off.

"Chester! Chester!" the excited voice of Louie Pheeters echoed loudly through the empty street as he came rushing towards them.

"Chester," the town bum gasped again, a little out of breath from running and undoubtedly too much whiskey.

"Bill Pence wants you to come down to the Long Branch...quick...there's a fella makin' trouble!" He wagged an unsteady hand towards the saloon while he braced himself with the other on the hitching beam.

"Oh, for goodness sakes," muttered Chester exasperated, "well, I reckon, I better head on down there."

A slightly apprehensive expression had begun to settle over his eyes, but he bravely squared himself and stepped down into the street.

"I see you later, Doc," he muttered, giving the distinct impression of a man going to his own execution.

Doc sensed his unease and decided that the young man could use some moral support.

"Oh, no, sir," he said, "you see some more of me right now. I'm comin' with you."

Chester didn't feel like arguing, besides, secretly, he was glad to have Doc along.

"Oh, all right," he grumbled and then quickly added, "but you keep out of it." Just to make sure the doctor knew who was in charge here.

As soon as they drew closer to the Long Branch, they could hear the commotion, and when they arrived at the saloon moments later, they were greeted by a chair which came flying through the batwing doors. It probably would have taken Chester's head clear off had it not been for Doc Adams seeing it coming and quickly pulling him aside.

"Well, I swan," mumbled Chester astounded.

Carefully, he peered inside to make sure there weren't any more chairs following. It seemed safe, and he quickly slipped inside, Doc and Louie close on his heels.

His eyes quickly took in the whole mess; the saloon was empty, save for a rather tall fellow who was standing in the middle of the bar room amidst broken chairs and upturned tables. The man was swinging his fists at Bill Pence, telling him to leave him alone. Obviously very drunk, the cowboy was swaying dangerously like a tree in a storm, ready to topple over at any given moment.

Chester recognized him right away; it was the same man that he had seen earlier, sitting at the table by the window.

"Well, now, mister...that's enough of that!" he said with all the authority he could muster.

He took a few careful steps towards him and raised the Winchester, silently praying that he was getting his point across without having to use the gun.

The sight of the rifle seemed to sober the raging man somewhat. He stared at Chester from ufocused eyes.

"I wanna stay here," he slurred. "I ain't goin' back to Texas!"

He shook his head vigorously. The motion caused him to lose his balance and he stumbled sideways against the bar where he slumped face down onto the counter.

"I swear to goodness," muttered Chester as he cautiously inched his way towards him, "he sure's oiled up, ain't he?"

Bill Pence shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, no wonder," he said, "he's been puttin' away one bottle after the other. I ain't never seen a fella drink so much."

Doc stepped alongside Pence. He gave his earlobe a thoughtful tug.

"What're you gonna do with him, Chester?"

"Well, I reckon, I'm gonna have to jail him 'til he's sobered up," the young man replied, slightly uncertain. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the cowboy had no intentions of coming along peacefully.

Carefully, he tapped him on the shoulder with the muzzle of his rifle.

"Come on, fella," he coaxed, "I gotta nice bed waitin' for you."

The cowboy turned his head, his face still pressed against the countertop. Slowly, he opened one eye.

"All right," he mumbled agreeably, "but I ain't goin' back to Texas."

"Don't you worry none about that," Chester assured him,"we ain't goin' to Texas tonight."

That seemed to be good enough for the man; slowly, unevenly he began to straighten up and Chester nudged him towards the swinging doors.

"Go, on now, the jail's down the street, mister."

To Chester's relief, he began to stumble along peacefully, all the while exclaiming that he wasn't going back to Texas.

Ten minutes later, the drunken cowpuncher was stretched out comfortably on a bunk in one of the jail cells, sleeping soundly.
.

.

.

Kitty.

The color drained from Matt's face. He swallowed hard at the sight of her.

Although it was dark, the nearby campfire provided enough light for him to clearly see that she had been in a struggle; her hair had fallen from its plait and was now loosely hanging around her face in wild disarray. Her blouse and skirt were torn in several places, covered in dirt and grass, but her face was the worst; painfully, he took in each bloody scrape and his jaw tightened.

What had they done to her? An anger, unlike any he'd ever known suddenly began to surge through him.

Ned took cruel delight in Matt's all too obvious tortured thoughts. He didn't bother setting the record straight, instead letting Kitty's appearance speak for itself, leading the lawman to believe that they had done this to her.

"Warned you, didn't we?" he sneered, quite pleased with himself.

Matt's face turned dark.

"What kinda man are you anyway, Lucas," he growled, his voice husky with rage, "I swear, so help me...I'm gonna kill you for this! "

Right away, the ugly grin slid from Ned's face.

"Big words, Masters. How you figure on backin' them up?"

Matt didn't reply but there was no give in his eyes either; nothing to hint that he would back off even an inch. Enraged blue eyes locked with Ned's.

Despite the pain that was coursing through his body, he forced himself to stand up straight. His hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists and the muscles in his arms were twitching, He was ready to kill them, kill every last one of them with his bare hands for hurting her.

Ned cast him a derisive glance and raised his Winchester.

"Well? What's it gonna be, big man?" he taunted provocatively as he slowly shoved the tobacco around inside his mouth.

"Matt! Don't!"

Kitty's fear-filled eyes locked with his, silently pleading with him not give in to his anger. It was all too obvious what the bounty hunter wanted Matt to believe; it was nothing but a poor attempt at provoking him, forcing him into a fight that she knew he had no chance of winning.

Ned ceased chewing, pushing the wad of tobacco to one cheek.

"Maybe you oughtta listen to her, Masters," he smirked without taking his gaze of the lawman, "you might live a little longer. But then again-maybe you'd rather take a bullet now than hang from the end of a rope in Lubbock."

Matt continued to glare at him, struggling against his fury, his expression that of a man pushed well beyond his limits.

But his mind retained enough clarity to quickly realize that Kitty was right; he had to control himself, no matter how hard it was. Dead he would be of no help to her.

The intense anger seemed to quickly drain his already weakened body of what little energy he had left and suddenly, he slumped slightly and his hands dropped.

Right away, a nasty grin spread across Ned Lucas ruddy features. He turned his head and spat into the dirt.

"Smart boy," he said, and then, without warning, he struck him, a brutal blow with the back of his hand.

Matt staggered backwards, barely managing to catch his balance; determined to remain upright, he silently straightened back up. With a slow movement of his hand, he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth to show his contempt for the bounty hunter. The defiant gesture infuriated Ned even more. In a movement, almost too swift to follow, he lashed out with his rifle.

Matt saw it coming and ducked away, raising his shackled hands in an attempt to shield already injured ribs. His action blocked most of the blow, but he was unable to bite back a cry of pain as the rifle stock raked across his side.

"STOP IT!" Kitty screamed when she saw Ned raise the rifle again; it was obvious that Matt couldn't take much more of their abuse. She fought furiously, trying to wrench her arm from her captor's grip, calling on every ounce of her famed and sometimes feared Russell-temper; but it was to no avail.

Merv's hold on her didn't loosen and he simply laughed, taking cruel and deliberate pleasure in her futile efforts to free herself.

Though her outburst didn't accomplish her release, at least it caused Ned to cease his assault on Matt.

The bounty hunter shifted his dark eyes from the Marshal to her.

"You don't like that, do you, missy?" he hissed softly, bringing his face closer to hers, "You don't want me to hurt him, do you?"

A look of disgust settled over Kitty's face and she tried twisting away, utterly repulsed by him.

But Ned caught her chin in a painful grip, forcing her face back to his.

"Answer me," he demanded harshly.

Defiantly, she met him stare for stare, her eyes blazing, her fingers curled into claws.

Kitty could feel the tension in him, the violence but she was determined not to meekly back down. Her first instinct was to spit in his face and then claw his eyes out, but then she thought better of it, realizing that it would only make things worse for Matt.

"No," she finally hissed through gritted teeth.

Ned Lucas' mouth curled in a triumphant grin; her answer wasn't as satisfying to him as the fact that he had been able to force it from her.

"Good." he said, his eyes boring into hers, "then you'd better keep in line from now on!"

Kitty bit her lip, knowing that no answer was expected of her.

"Let her go, Merv," he then said and with a final, derisive glance at her, added mockingly, "you ain't gonna leave him again, ain't you, red?"

Merv snickered and suddenly released his hold on her, shoving her towards the Marshal.

"She's all yours, Masters."

Unprepared, Kitty lost her balance and staggered into him. Matt immediately grabbed for her and managed to break her fall, her weight, though slight and his sore ribs almost dragging them both to the ground.

"Kitty."

His voice was hoarse with pain but she could hear the worry in it. "You all right?"

She nodded weakly, suddenly feeling exhausted, drained of the last of her strength. She drew a shaky breath, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a sob as Matt gently lowered her down into the cool grass.

He gingerly dropped to his knees in front of her and his hands took hold of her upper arms.

"What happened, Kitty?"

His eyes, full of concern searched hers intently, not the least bit worried about his own condition. His need weren't important. Right now, Matt's only concern was for her.

The flickering light of the campfire cast a copper glow onto her face, accentuating the offensive cuts and scrapes on her cheeks. He swallowed hard at the sight.

Kitty raised her eyes to his and she could see the unspoken query in their depths. Slowly, she shook her head.

"I'm fine, Matt. They didn't touch me-I fell. He just wanted you to believe that-" She fell silent, not wanting him to know how close she had come though.

Kitty gave an involuntary shiver at the memory; who knows what Will would have done to her after he had captured her, had it not been for Ned Lucas angrily yelling for his partner to get back.

For another second, blue eyes, still filled with deep concern, a concern born from his love for her, continued to stare at her as he tried to decide whether the words had been simply spoken for his benefit.

Kitty seemed to read his mind.

"Matt. I'm all right…really," she assured him again with gentle insistence. She folded a small hand over his for emphasis.

His face was still troubled but his hands loosened their hold and slowly began to slide off her arms.

Matt knew, she wouldn't lie to him. The worst of his tension began to subside, quickly giving way to an exhausted weariness. Carefully, he shifted himself into a more comfortable position, his hand pressed protectively against his side and closed his eyes.

Settling quietly beside him, Kitty gave him a side long, assessing look.

He definitely looked the worse for wear, she realized with anguish. His face was smeared with dirt and blood-it was hard to tell which was which in the dim light. One of the men's boots had left an ugly laceration above his left ear which was still oozing blood and his nose had bled again, too, judging by the rusty red stains that speckled the front of his light blue shirt.

"Matt. How bad is it?" she pressed gently.

"Don't worry...it's nothing'," he tried to dismiss her, but his face, tense with pain, said otherwise. He attempted a weak smile, hoping it didn't come across as bad as he felt.

Matt was used to dealing with pain, having been shot, stabbed and beaten too many times to even count. He was by now certain that Ned's boot had probably cracked or even broken a rib or two when they had worked him over earlier, but he didn't see a reason to tell her this and worry her even more.

Kitty wasn't that easily fooled though; she arched an eyebrow.

"Nothing sure seems to be giving you a lotta trouble," she replied with soft reproach.

He grimaced slightly but didn't answer, watching as she began to tear a piece of fabric from her skirt. Working as gently as she could, she began to wipe the blood and dirt from his face.

The voices of the three men carried over to them from the fire as they loudly argued among themselves over who was going to keep the next watch.

Kitty tried to shut them out, ignore them but when a moment later, they began to joke about what they could possibly do to Matt without killing him, she suddenly lost it and the fear came on again, complete and overwhelming; her carefully erected facade of self-control began to crumble.

"Oh, Matt," she suddenly choked as she felt warm tears slowly running down her cheeks, "what're we gonna do?"

Seeing the light of hope fade from her eyes was more painful to him than his bodily injuries. A heavy breath of air expanded his chest, before slowly emptying from it. It hurt and Matt scrunched up his face.

"I don't know, Kitty," he said quietly, "I don't know."

He was angry. Angry at the bounty hunters for forcing her to come along, he was angry with himself at the fact that he hadn't been able to stop them from taking her.

Self-accusing thoughts, blaming himself that Kitty got caught up in all this, kept racing through his mind. Matt desperately wished that there was something, anything that he could say or do to make her feel better, but he knew that there wasn't.

Kitty sniffed. She had always thought of herself as strong, strong enough to do whatever was necessary. She usually wasn't one to falter easily in the face of adversity and danger but right now, all the fight seemed to have gone out of her. Emotionally and physically drained, she closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder.

Matt couldn't remember ever having felt so helpless before.

"Come here," he instructed her softly, not knowing what else to do.

Carefully, he lifted his shackled hands over her head and gathered her in his arms, holding her close. He would never admit it out loud but right now, he needed her comfort as much as she needed his.

She pressed her hand to his heart; its steady rhythm was reassuring, calming, and although his hands were shackled, she felt safe and protected in the shelter of his arms.

"Try and get some rest, Kitty," he whispered, pushing the pain that her weight on his bruised chest provoked, from his mind.

Daylight was still several hours away and there was still time to think of something.

Neither Matt nor the bounty hunters were aware yet that they weren't alone anymore. Somebody else was out there, watching closely their every move.
.

.

.

Matt woke up with a start.

The once brilliant stars above had faded to a dull glow as the gray light of the predawn was slowly beginning to stretch across the sky.

It took his fogged mind a moment or so to remember where he was; the realization quickly shook the last of the sleep from him.

Matt's eyes wandered down to Kitty. In sleep, their bodies had relaxed and found more comfortable positions. He was now sprawled on his back, still holding her safely against him within the confines of his arms.

Stiffly, he tried shifting a little and immediately, his face screwed up in pain as his bruised body protested any kind of movement. He clenched his teeth, suppressing a moan; if there was any part of his body that didn't hurt, Matt couldn't name it.

His gaze drifted towards the campfire which was by now nearly burnt out, smoldering lazily. Two of the bounty hunters were still sound asleep while the third one was perched on a toppled tree trunk close by, stoking at the dying embers with a stick.

Something wasn't right. Matt could almost feel it.

Gingerly, he levered himself up on his elbows and listened into the night.

Aside from the incessant rasping of the crickets which filled the warm night air and the occasional hoot of an owl, he couldn't make out anything unusual; and yet it was as if a cloud of impending danger was hanging over them, foreboding and threatening.

Somebody was out there, Matt was sure of it. He decided to wake Kitty.

"Kitty," he whispered, gently shaking her shoulder, "Kitty, wake up."

Soon, she began to stir, lifting her head in confusion when she found herself confined by his arms.

"Sshh," Matt hushed her quickly, "I think, we got company."

His words caused her to look at him with a tiny glimmer of hope.

"You think, it could be Chester?" she whispered back.

"I'm not sure," he confessed, but after quick consideration added, "but it's possible."

Deep inside, he had his doubts, but he didn't want to destroy what little hope she'd just found. Carefully, he lifted his arms so that she could extricate herself from him. The relief was enormous as she slid off his bruised chest; he gritted his teeth, not wanting her to notice.

Slowly, he struggled to a sitting position, fighting to ignore his aching ribs.

Their movements drew Merv's attention, but the bounty hunter simply cast them a quick, indifferent glance before he clambered to his feet. His boots crunched loudly as he took a few steps away from the fire. His rifle raised, he was slowly, intently scanning his surroundings, and Matt realized that he hadn't been the only one who noticed that someone was out there.

Matt's own searching gaze quickly examined the immediate area. He could discern no immediate hiding places, but the brush maybe twenty yards ahead, seemed suitable enough.

"Kitty," he said, keeping his voice low as he nodded towards the thick undergrowth., "if anything happens, I want you to get behind those bushes over there."

No sooner had he said it than suddenly all hell broke loose; the silence was shattered as a volley of gunfire erupted all around them. It roused the two sleeping bounty hunters instantly; cursing and swearing, they scrambled for their weapons.

Immediately, Matt nudged Kitty along.

"Go!" he urged, pushing her towards the thick undergrowth ahead.

She didn't have to be told twice; in a second she was on her feet, scrambling for the safety of the brush.

He waited until she had disappeared between the bushes and then he turned, his gaze quickly scanning the trees surrounding their camp site.

Bright orange flashes of gunfire flared up all around them and Matt quickly estimated that they were surrounded by at least six to eight men.

Whoever it was out there, they weren't firing on him, but he figured it best to get as much distance between himself and the shooters for the moment.

He cast the bounty hunters a quick glance to make sure they weren't watching him. But the three men were too busy defending themselves to pay any attention to their prisoner.

Fighting to ignore the agony in his side, he scrambled to his feet and limped for the thick brush where Kitty had disappeared moments earlier as fast as his abused condition allowed.

It was only twenty yards but it might as well have been miles; he was within ten yards of his goal when he suddenly stumbled. Unable to catch himself with his hands bound, Matt tumbled to the ground.

Shaking his head to clear it, he desperately struggled to gain his feet again. Suddenly, he became aware of the crunch of boots behind him.

"Where d'you think you're goin'?" a voice, unknown to him demanded harshly as the cold muzzle of a rifle was pressed against his back.

Matt froze.

The gunfire had ceased and more voices were now drifting over from the campfire, voices that were new to him. He suddenly had the sinking feeling that whoever they were, they hadn't come to his and Kitty's aid.

The moon had ended its solitary journey and the dawn was breaking, streaking the gray sky with the faintest tinge of pink in the east.

Matt found himself huddling around the smoldering remains of the campfire along with the three bounty hunters. Ned seemed unhurt, but Merv had taken a bullet to his stomach and was lying curled up on the ground, moaning. Will wasn't moving at all. Matt definitely didn't feel too sorry for the men, especially after what they had done to Kitty and him.

Kitty.

Cautiously, he stole a glance around the campsite and then over to the brush where she had disappeared a little while ago. He was relieved that he couldn't see her anywhere and took it as a sign that this time, she had finally gotten away.

The next question that now burned foremost in his mind was: who were these men?

His gaze traveled over the seven men that had surrounded them. They didn't exactly look very trustworthy, giving him the impression that they were maybe bounty hunters themselves.

A big, barrel-chested fellow with wild bushy whiskers covering his chin, now stepped forward.

"Well, Lucas," he said mockingly, "I didn't figure on seein' you again so soon."

There was an air of self importance about him as he planted his bulk in front of Ned Lucas. His words prompted some of his men to snicker.

Ned spat out in front of the whiskered man's feet.

"Go to hell, Baxter," he hissed contemptuously.

Baxter didn't seem to take offense; he briefly curled his lip in dislike but then simply laughed it off. He turned his eyes to the Marshal.

"So. You found him," he said with a nod.

The statement caused his accomplices to suddenly fall silent and shift their own eyes to the lawman.

Right away, Ned Lucas fixed the other with a hateful glare.

"Damn you! He's ours, Baxter! You stay the hell away from him!"

Matt didn't like where this was going; he felt like going from the frying pan into the fire. But then again, maybe this Baxter was a little smarter and more likely to listen to reason. He decided, he had nothing to loose.

"Look, mister," he said to the man, Ned had addressed as Baxter, "I'm not this Masters you're after. My name's Matt Dillon, I'm the Marshal over in Dodge."

"Shut up, Masters!" snarled Ned immediately.

"Quiet, Lucas!"

Baxter was in no mood for arguments. His speculative gaze came to rest on the Marshal.
Stooping down, he dug a rough hand into Matt's hair, forcing his face up to his own.

Right away, the others pressed in closer for a better look, curiously gathering around their leader.

There was a long moment of silence. Everyone's eyes were fastened on Baxter as he studied the lawman's face, his own features stony and expressionless.

Suddenly, the bounty hunter broke into a laugh. A short, barking laugh with a mocking ring to it.

His hand let go of Matt's hair and the Marshal sank back down on his heels as Baxter straightened up.

The others regarded their leader with perplexed expressions, not quite daring to ask what he found so amusing.

"Well done, Lucas," said Baxter, plainly not meaning. "Well, done."

He shook his head once more and then suddenly turned serious.

"This ain't Rick Masters," he hissed, disappointed and angry, "Masters has a scar above his left eye."

In the cold gray light of the pre-dawn, Matt could see Ned Lucas blanch.

"What're you talkin' about? That's Masters right there. I got his picture!"

"I don't give a damn what you got. I'm tellin' you, this ain't Masters!" Baxter spat disgusted. "This man's worthless!"

By now, he was extremely disappointed and made no attempts at trying to hide it; two-thousand dollars was a lot of money but Jock Ruthledge wouldn't pay it for the wrong man.

Suddenly, a wiry, little Mexican stepped up to him. He was grinning broadly, exposing a row of white, chipped teeth. He meaningfully wielded a long knife in his right and then pointed with it at the Marshal.

"Jefe, no problem...scar's made easily, si?"

"How about me givin' you a scar across your throat, Rodriguez?" Baxter snapped at him immediately, his black eyes flashing angrily. "There's no foolin' Ruthledge...Masters worked for him, he knows him too well."

Right away, the grin slid off the man's face at the harsh reproach and his bushy mustache drooped. Clearly sulking now, he shoved the knife back into its sheath, the mocking taunts of his comrades ringing in his ears.

"Baxter," Matt suddenly called out to him, "how about lettin' me go?"

The bounty hunter turned at his words. He gave the Marshal a lingering look, full of insolence and disdain.

"Sorry, but you ain't my problem. I ain't got no time to waste, I got me two-thousand dollars to earn."

He motioned his men. "All right, let's get the hell outta here!"

In an almost eerie silence, the bounty hunters swiftly mounted their horses and disappeared in a cloud of dust, as sudden as they had arrived.

Immediately, Matt pushed up on his feet, the rush of adrenaline overwriting the sharp pain in his ribs. Though this hadn't gone quite the way he had hoped, it wasn't all lost either. At least the odds were a little more even now.

His eyes quickly judged the distance between himself and Ned Lucas.

The bounty hunter did the same and for a brief, intense moment, they locked eyes, both men frozen in position.

"So. You really are a lawman."

The Marshal's eyes were watching the other intently.

"That's what told you."

"They're dead," Ned then said, nodding to the bodies of his partners sprawled out around the fire. He lifted his gaze to Matt. "They're dead because of you."

"You know that's not true an' you're a fool if you believe it."

"It's all your damn fault, lawman!"

The bounty hunter's hands suddenly flew down to his boot and came back up seconds later, clutching a knife.

Matt tensed.

"Throw that knife down, Lucas. Don't make this any worse."

He could tell that they had arrived at a critical point and Ned clearly looked as if he could loose it at any given moment.

The bounty hunter laughed mirthlessly. His eyes darted from the bodies of his partners back to Matt.

"Make this any worse?" he said incredulously. "It's all your damn fault. They're dead because of you!"

There was no reasoning, no rational thinking behind Ned's words anymore.

Matt's eyes never left his opponent's.

"Don't be a fool," he said, "killin' me's not gonna bring your friends back."

"Shut up!" raged Ned as he slowly began to advance on the lawman.

Matt could see by the way he skillfully wielded the blade that the man probably knew how to use it.

Despite the sharp pain twisting in his side, he was standing firmly, legs slightly apart, his body coiled like a spring. He knew that he was at a definite disadvantage on account of his injuries and the shackles; if possible, he would prefer to end this without a fight.

"Don't do it." Matt's voice was low, persuasive.

"I said, shut up!"

With an insane bellow, Ned suddenly lunged, the knife hand outstretched.

Matt saw it and acted. Quickly, he dropped sideways and the knife that had been intended for his chest missed, slashing the air instead.

Ned caught himself and whirled around, his dark eyes glinting insanely.

"Bastard!" he hissed, throwing himself at the lawman again.

The blade in his right, he lunged with it once, sending Matt to one side, then lunged again, quick and hard, hoping to catch him off balance.

But Matt, expecting the second lunge, avoided it. He saw the flicker of astonishment on Ned's face and he quickly followed up with a two-handed blow that slammed down onto the back of the bounty hunter's neck.

With a grunt, Ned dropped to his hands and knees. Momentarily stunned, he shook his head like a cornered bear.

Panting, Matt stood over him, fighting to remain on his feet. His ribs were throbbing wildly, literally robbing him of his breath. Suddenly, a hand clamped itself around his ankle and yanked. Caught off guard, he crashed to ground.

In a flash, Ned was upon him. His left hand went for Matt's throat, his right raised the gleaming blade above his head, ready to plunge it into the Marshal's chest.

There was no time to think. His instinct overwriting the almost mind-consuming pain his fall had caused, shackled hands flew up, grasping Ned's forearm in a grip of iron.

The bounty hunter was grunting madly in response, lips peeled back from yellowed teeth. His rage seemed to have lent him additional strength as he steadily inched the knife closer towards the Marshal's throat.

Matt gave it all; his hands were shaking with exertion, trying to keep the blade from cutting his throat. He felt as if his heart was about to jump from his chest. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, running down his cheeks in long rivulets. His face contorted with pain from the other man's weight on top of him, he focused every ounce of strength and willpower he had left into holding off the knife.

But as hard as he tried, Ned's force, driven by unrestrained rage, prevailed, edging the gleaming blade closer still.

Soon, it was only inches from his throat.

Seeing his death above him, Matt tried jerking his head away in one last futile effort to evade the knife, Ned's triumphant chuckle ringing in his ears.

Then, suddenly, the world around him exploded.
.

.

.

The roar of a gunshot crashed in Matt's ear like thunder. He was faintly aware of the brief flash of flame coming from somewhere only a few yards in front of him.

With a startled grunt, Ned's lips jerked back from clenched teeth as the bullet ripped a path through his back. He arched his body backwards. For a second, his eyes widened in surprise then glazed over as death quickly claimed him.

The knife slipped from suddenly gone limp fingers, clattering uselessly to the ground, and before Matt could do anything about it, Ned had collapsed forward, trapping him underneath his now inert body.

Groaning, the Marshal pushed at the motionless man, trying to extricate himself from his bulk. He felt the warm, slick blood underneath his fingers as he shoved at Ned's back and with the last of his strength, managed at last to roll him off into the grass beside him.

Dizzy and exhausted, he sagged back down and closed his eyes. Although the blood was still coursing wildly through his veins, throbbing dully in his aching side and head, extreme fatigue quickly began to settle over him, dragging him into a state of semi-consciousness. Too drained, physically and emotionally, it didn't even occur to him to wonder who it was that had shot the bounty hunter.

He barely registered the soft crunch of footsteps as someone approached and moments later, dropped down into the dewy grass beside him.

"Matt?"

Kitty spoke his name but got no response.

"Matt?"

A small hand tentatively came to rest on his scruffy cheek, its touch soft and gentle.

It was several long moments before he finally moved his head. With effort, he forced his eyes to open, settling his blurry vision on the figure in front of him.

"Kitty?" he muttered confused, then suddenly, the significance of her presence striking him, he struggled to sit up.

His head spun wildly and he nearly nose-dived into her, but he managed to catch himself, his hands clutching for her shoulder.

Kitty's own hands quickly reached out, steadying him.

"Kitty, what..." he began but then he saw the colt, his colt, lying by her side and suddenly, the realization hit him; she had shot Ned Lucas.

His face widened with understanding. Looking up into her pale face and seeing the anguish and the relief all at once reflected in her eyes, he found himself at a loss for words.

It didn't matter whether they were bad or good, deserved to die or not; it was never easy for Matt to kill anybody, and he could only begin to imagine what Kitty was going through right now.

He gazed at her, his expression one of helplessness and worry and he muttered the only thing he could think of.

"It's all right, Kitty. It's all over."

She stared him for a second and it sank in for the first time that she had just killed a man. The fact that it was a man she hated, a man who had hurt her and tried to kill Matt, didn't entirely balance out the horror of it.

"Oh, Matt!"

All her emotions seemed to be wrapped up in the one single word as she buried her face in his shoulder.

It was over. It was finally over.

As the words slowly began to take hold in her mind, the helpless anger, worry and fear she had felt, began to fade. A great wave of relief began to flow through her.

They were safe now.

Not bothering to fight the tears anymore that were stinging her eyes, she let them flow unchecked.

"Shhh...it's all right," he assured her softly as she clung to him, "it's all right."

He could feel her small body shaking with each sob against his own and he wanted to gather her in his arms, hold her and soothe away her pain but his shackled hands were bracing his injured ribs and all he could do was use his voice to offer her comfort.

Oblivious to the throbbing agony in his side, he continued to assure her until he no longer had the strength to form words. He buried his face in her hair, patiently waiting until her sobs became less frequent and eventually ceased completely.

Finally, she broke away. Smiling through the tears that were still shimmering in now red-rimmed eyes, she gently cupped a slender hand to the side of his bruised face.

"You look terrible."

He forced a weak grin.

"I feel terrible."
.

.

.

"Now remember, Shiloh," Chester instructed the older man sternly. "You keep a good eye on things here while I'm gone."

But Shiloh just waved him off.

"Don't fret yourself, Chester. You just see to it that you find the Marshal an' Miss Kitty."

For another second, the young man's eyes contemplated Shiloh thoughtfully, hoping that he had made the right decision by leaving him in charge, but then he remembered the Marshal and Miss Kitty.

He picked up his Winchester and water canteen from the table and moved for the door.

All night long, he had been pacing the floor, worrying himself into a fit as the hours had passed without any sign from his two friends. When the first rays of the sun had begun to lighten the streets of Dodge, he knew that he couldn't wait any longer; he had to go and find them.

He was about to step into the livery stable when he heard it.

Faint at first but quickly growing louder, the sound of wagon wheels crunching over the hard, dusty surface of the street, drifted to his ears.

He blinked startled and then his face lit up with hope.

Quickly, he limped into the middle of the street, craning his neck to where the road leading south, disappeared on the horizon.

And then he saw it.

The buckboard, as it came slowly rolling closer, couldn't have been a more welcome sight to Chester and unspeakable relief flooded over his face when he recognized the two people sitting on the seat.

He dropped the Winchester and flung the water canteen to the ground.

"Mister Dillon! Miss Kitty!" he couldn't help but shout excitedly as he began to rush towards them, half- limping, half-running.

By the time, he had reached the wagon, he was gasping for air.

"Oh, Mister Dillon...Miss Kitty," he panted, clutching on to the wooden side rail as he looked up at the two, "I was just plump worried-"

He suddenly broke off and his face fell in complete shock as he finally took notice of their appearance.

For another second, he continued to gape at them, then he suddenly remembered to breathe. He swallowed hard.

"What, in the world, happened to you?" he blurted, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

"It's…it's a long story, Chester," Matt grated through clenched teeth. His left hand was protectively pressed against his side while his right held on to the reins. The task of loading the three bodies into the wagon and then the constant jarring and rocking of the buckboard on the way back to Dodge had been sheer torture on his injured ribs.

As glad as he was to be back, he didn't feel much like talking right now.

"Do me favor…an' get Doc...bring him…over to the office, will ya?"

He suddenly started to cough and immediately grimaced in pain.

Even the strongest, toughest man had his physical limits and Kitty knew that Matt had reached his hours ago. Gently, she placed her hand on his back, silently urging him to hold on just a little longer.

Chester stood frozen, regarding the Marshal anxiously.

"You sure, you gonna be all right?" he queried uncertain, his voice filled with doubt and worry.

Matt took a slow breath and nodded.

"Yeah. Now go on."

Hesitantly, the young man finally tore his eyes away from the two and began to move; slowly at first but he quickly broke into a strange combination of running and hobbling on account of his stiff right leg and soon, he had disappeared down the street.

Taking a careful breath, Matt braced himself to take the buckboard the last few hundred yards down to the jail. He rested his forearms on his thighs and gathered up the reins, flinching as the wagon sharply jerked into motion again.

By the time, Chester and Doc arrived at the jail, Shiloh had already helped the Marshal inside and was now taking the bodies of the three bounty hunters over to Percy Crump's for their final journey to Boot Hill.
.

.

.

Although Chester had thoroughly prepared him for what to expect, the doctor was still shocked when he laid eyes on his friends.

"Now, what in the name of thunder, did you two do?" he groused in a not very successful attempt to cover up how shaken he was. "Fight a war single-handedly?"

His remark elicited a smile from Kitty and even the Marshal's mouth twitched slightly.

Matt wouldn't let Doc even near him until he was satisfied that Kitty had been tended to properly. Luckily, her cuts and scrapes were only superficial and it didn't take the physician long to see to them.

"By golly," Doc muttered for the umpteenth time after Matt and Kitty had finished relating to him what had happened, "if that ain't the doggonest thing I ever heard."

He shook his head in astonishment and Chester, for once, had to agree.

"Well, I declare...that's just awful...just terrible... I sure never heard of anythin' as crazy as that in all my born days," he supplied, equally astounded.

It took him quite a while to clean, sew and bandage the Marshal's various injuries but finally the doctor was satisfied with the immediate results.

"There...that's about all I can do for ya," he said when he had finished wrapping the gash on Matt's head. Taking a step back, he regarded his handy work, wiping his hands on a towel.

One hand carefully pressed to his now neatly bandaged ribs, the other braced against the brick wall for support, Matt tried to clamber to his feet.

"Thanks, Doc," he said.

Almost immediately, the physician's expression turned into a suspicious frown.

"Now wait a minute, where, in thunder, you think you're goin'?"

"I'm gettin' up," replied Matt without stopping what he was doing.

Immediately, the frown on the doctor's face deepened.

"Oh, no, sir! Oh, no you're not," he objected, pointing sternly to the Marshal's cot, "now you just lie yourself right back down there."

But when his patient didn't seem to have any intentions of following his advice, he firmly placed his hands on the lawman's shoulder, easing him back down.

"Go on," he groused, "lie down, I said. Don't you know, you're all mashed up in there? Well, goodness gracious, you got a couple of broken ribs an' I'm not gonna have ya take a chance at puncturing lung or somethin'. Now do as I say!"

Matt scowled but grudgingly obeyed, watching as the doctor turned his attention to his bag.

"Tell me somethin', Doc," he couldn't resist saying as he carefully stretched himself out on the small cot, "you ever been wrong with a diagnosis?"

The doctor glared at him over the rim of his spectacles.

"Now what kinda fool-question is that?"

He harrumphed indignantly and then added, "of course not!"

He shook his head and commenced to fill a spoon with the contents of a large, brown bottle.

"Here take this," he then ordered, holding the spoon to Matt's mouth.

The Marshal regarded it doubtfully.

"What is it?"

"Well, never mind what it is," countered Doc irascibly, "just take it!"

He waved the spoon impatiently, spilling some of its contents onto the Marshal's blanket.

Matt made a face but figured it better not to push the doctor any further; he opened his mouth and immediately, his face scrunched up in disgust as the objectionable liquid ran down his throat.

As he looked up to complain, he couldn't help notice the meaningful glance that Doc and Kitty quickly exchanged.

"I think you're right, Doc," she said slyly with a wink at the physician, "seeing that there aren't any prisoners to look after, maybe we should move him up to your office."

"Well, that ain't quite so, Miss Kitty," Chester began to object carefully, "there's one fella back there. I had to jail him last night."

"Oh? What'd he do, Chester?" Matt immediately wanted to know.

"Well," the young man stuttered nervously, quickly sliding a hand through his dark hair, "he was kinda drunk last night an'-"

He looked at Kitty, grimacing apologetically, "well,...he sorta busted up the Long Branch-"

Kitty's eyes went wide.

"What?"

"Oh, now don't you worry a thing, Kitty. It's not as bad as you think," Doc quickly spoke up, casting Chester an extremely sore look. "Pence's already got it all taken care of."

Kitty's eyes shifted suspiciously from the doctor to Chester, trying to decide which one to believe.

"Oh, what do you know, I plump forgot about that," Chester suddenly exclaimed loudly in an attempt to diffuse the situation. He quickly snatched up the telegram still lying on the desk and carried it over to the Marshal.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Matt accepted it and tore it open. It didn't take him long to read it.

"Well, I be doggoned-"

He slowly lowered the hand holding the telegram and then lifted his gaze to Kitty.

She raised a puzzled eyebrow in response.

"What's it say, Mister Dillon?" wondered Chester curiously as he sidled a little closer to him.

"Here," the Marshal said, ignoring his assistant as he held the telegram out to her instead, "take a look yourself."

Kitty accepted it and began to read.

"What's it say, Miss Kitty?" Chester piped up again as he inched his way over to her, attempting to take a peek.

"Now what do you now-"

She looked up, locking astounded eyes with Matt.

Chester made a face, not liking to be ignored and the physician definitely felt the same by now.

"Now would you two mind tellin' us ignorant folk what, in tarnation's, in that telegram?" he groused impatiently, his eyes moving back and forth between Matt and Kitty.

The Marshal turned to Chester.

"You coulda opened this you know...it's from the Sheriff down in Lubbock...he's askin' me to keep an eye out for a fella named Rick Masters-" He cast Kitty a quick meaningful glance and then went on, "Masters s'posedly shot some cattle rancher's boy in a squabble and the father put an illegal bounty on Masters' head."

"Two-thousand dollars," Kitty threw in to clarify.

"He's believed to have joined an outfit headin' for Dodge," Matt now continued, " I'm s'posed to take him into protective custody so he can get a fair trial."

"Well, does it say what that Masters looks like?" Doc now wanted to know, quickly brushing a hand across the bristles of his mustache.

"Oh, he's tall, real tall," Kitty said with a bemused smile, "dark hair, kind of curly-"

"A scar above his left eye," added Matt .

Doc's face scrunched up in thought-it seemed that he had seen this Masters before somewhere.

Chester was thinking the same.

"You mean, a real tall fella," he wondered, looking at the Marshal, "like you Mister Dillon...but with a scar?"

"Yeah, Chester...with a scar," Matt confirmed nodding.

Comprehension suddenly dawned on the young man's face.

"Oh, my goodness!" he sputtered.

Without another word, he opened the door leading to the jail cells and disappeared inside.

"Mornin', there," he said when he saw that the cowboy he had arrested the previous night was now awake, perched on the edge of his bunk. The drover just moaned in reply, cradling his face in his big hands-he didn't remember much about last night but his aching head reminded him painfully that he certainly had drunk a lot.

Chester stepped up to the bars. "Say, fella...I didn't get your name last night-"

The tall cowboy looked up, confused by the many faces that were staring at him curiously from the other side of the bars.

"My name's Masters," he revealed as he slowly, suspiciously looked from face to face, "Rick Masters...but I ain't-"

"I know, I know," Chester interrupted him wearily, "you ain't goin' back to Texas."
.

.

.

Ten days later.

It was still quite early and the sun had just risen, edging its morning rays over the buildings of Dodge but Matt was already up. Accustomed to rising early when he spent the nights at Kitty's, he found that he couldn't sleep much longer whenever he stayed over at the jail. Besides, his slowly healing ribs still prevented him from getting a good night's sleep.

Comfortably slouched in his chair on the small front porch of the office, he was idly nursing a cup of coffee, watching and listening as Dodge slowly came to life.

Hearing the thudding of foot steps on the plank boardwalk, he didn't even bother to look and see who it was, instinctively knowing who came to join him so early in the morning..

"Mornin', Matt," gruffed Doc as he came shuffling up onto the porch. With a grunt, he lowered himself into the empty chair beside him.

Matt nodded a greeting and then glanced over at his friend.

"Kinda early for you, isn't it?"

"Oh, I gotta drive out to the Steven's here in a little while," explained Doc, scratching his ear, "one of their young'uns came down with the whoopin' cough the other day."

"I see," Matt acknowledged him and then lifted the cup to his lips, taking a sip from his coffee.

"Say, you got some more where that came from?" Doc now wanted to know.

Matt pursed his lips.

"Sure," he replied, staring into the dark brew contained inside the cup he held, "if you don't mind drinkin' my coffee."

"Why'd I mind?" asked Doc, frowning, "can't be any worse than Chester's."

He scrambled to his feet, about to go inside and help himself to Matt's coffee when a thought struck him.

"Say,...where's Chester anyway? He usually doesn't miss an opportunity to sit around an' be lazy-"

Matt shrugged.

"No idea...he asked yesterday if he could have the day off."

He settled back in his chair, flinching as his ribs reminded him that they weren't quite healed yet. He was about to raise the cup to his lips again when a buggy, coming down Front Street suddenly caught his attention.

Surprised, he lowered his hand when he recognized its occupants.

The buggy now pulled to a halt in front of the jail.

"Mornin', Matt," said Kitty smiling, watching as he, a little awkwardly, scrambled to his feet. "Doc," she then added when she took notice of the physician standing on the threshold.

Matt's eyes traveled from Kitty to a clearly somewhat embarrassed Chester who was sitting beside her, hanging on to the reins.

"Well, mornin' there," he then said, hoping he didn't sound as surprised as he felt, as he clasped his thumbs into the top of his belt.

Chester flashed him a quick, slightly flustered grin.

"Mornin' Mister Dillon."

Matt made a face, quickly sliding a hand through his hair.

"Say...where you two headed?" he wondered, making every effort to sound indifferent where, in truth, he was extremely interested in where they were going.

But Kitty, knowing him all too well, caught on to it immediately.

"Oh," she answered, smiling serenely, "I thought it'd be a perfect day to go fishin' and I didn't want to go by myself so asked Chester to come along."

Beside her, the young man vigorously nodded in confirmation; for some reason, it suddenly being important to him that the Marshal knew that it had been Miss Kitty's idea that he come along.

"I see," said Matt slowly, making Chester squirm uncomfortably under his probing gaze.

He suddenly felt rather put out and wasn't even sure exactly why. Granted, he had told Kitty a week ago that he had lost his appetite for fishing for a while but that still didn't justify her taking Chester without even bothering to ask him first.

He gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"So, you're takin' Chester along. That's fine...real fine."

Chester wasn't quite sure what to make of the Marshal's expression.

"Don't you worry none, Mister Dillon," he tried to assure him, "I'll see to it that nothin' happens to Miss Kitty."

Matt folded his arms in front of his chest.

"Yeah, well, you better watch yourself," he said slyly, "you remember that Slim Boggs fella?" He jerked his head towards the announcement board on the brick wall. "I got word that he's been seen hangin' around Dodge."

"Oh?" said Chester, not quite sure what the Marshal was driving at.

"I bet he's got all kinds of bounty hunters out lookin' for him since they raised the reward on him," Matt elaborated further, fixing his assistant with a penetrating stare.

Chester looked at him blankly.

"You two look a lot alike, you know," Matt added significantly.

Chester frowned, his confusion evident and Kitty suddenly raised an understanding eyebrow, though not sure yet whether to find the obviousness of his attempt to keep Chester from going with her, amusing or annoying. She fought down the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Doc turned his attention to the announcement board to study Slim Boggs' Wanted-poster.

He sniffed and quickly brushed a hand through his mustache then turned to the Marshal.

"Golly, I don't think he looks like Chester at all!"

Matt shot him a cross look.

"Really? You ever seen him in person?"

The doctor scratched his forehead.

"No. No, I can't say I have," he admitted, "but I've just seen his picture. That's good enough for me, and I'm tellin' you, he doesn't look anything like Chester here."

He wagged his finger in Chester's direction for emphasis.

"Pictures can be misleading, you know," retorted Matt challengingly.

"What'd you hang 'em up for then, Marshal?" the doctor piped back defiantly.

Kitty cast Chester a weary glance.

"Come on, Chester, we might as well go. It sure doesn't look like they're gonna miss us any time soon."

The young man nodded obediently and with a click of his tongue and a flick of the leathers, the little buggy lurched forward as the horse broke into an easy jog.

Their sudden departure brought Matt and Doc's bickering to an abrupt end.

"Thanks, a lot, Doc" grumbled Matt. He stared after the buggy as it quickly disappeared down Front Street.

"You betcha," the physician replied gruffly, not really sure what Matt was thanking him for. He allowed his own gaze to linger on the buggy for a brief moment before settling back down into his chair.

"Wait," he said when he saw that the Marshal was about to go inside, "where you goin'?"

"I'm gettin' me some more coffee," said Matt, pointedly holding up his cup.

"You mind gettin' me some while you're at it?"

The Marshal took a deep breath and held it for a second before wearily expelling it.

"No. No, I don't mind," he then muttered resigned, though his voice clearly suggested the opposite.

Doc caught it and raked a thoughtful hand across his mustache as he watched Matt disappear inside.

"By thunder, I sure like to know what's got him so riled this mornin'', he muttered, shaking his head. Then he suddenly had an idea.

"Oh, Matt," he hollered after him, "maybe you oughtta go an' do a little fishin' yourself...it'll do you good...relax you!"
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THE END