Loose Ends

August 2013

Chapter 1

Matt didn't know for sure how many days it had been since they'd arrived back in Dodge. Indeed the train journey and much of the time in the old warehouse and telegraph office at Miller's Crossroads were very much a blur. When he first became aware of what was going on he recognized that he was in Doc's office. He didn't have much to do except lie there and think, and that led to his growing sense of frustration. The fact that there was another man running his office was hard to accept and although he had been told that Tom Gilmore was a pleasant enough individual and had kept the town in good order, Dillon felt that Dodge was his responsibility and he should be the one out there taking care of it. He could not just lay around and watch someone else do his job.

It was early afternoon and Doc had left several hours ago to check on a patient or two just outside of town. Before leaving, the Physician had warned him not to put a foot outside of that bed for anything short of a fire raging loose in the office.

Dillon had stared at the ceiling for a while, then watched the window curtains flutter slightly in the early fall air. Kitty had been to see him that morning and had brought Ginny along. He could hardly recognize her now – all cleaned up with her hair neatly styled, to say nothing of the new clothes that Kitty must have bought for her. Dillon had promised her that as soon as Doc let him up out of this bed he would start working on locating her Aunt in San Francisco. The girl assured him she was in no rush. She was enjoying the new freedom she had found since she was no longer subject to Colter's whims, and had struck up quite a friendship with Kitty and Chester – and even Doc.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to make his body relax, his leg still throbbed – maybe he should have accepted the powders the physician had offered him – but they clouded his mind and he didn't like that feeling.

He thought went back to the day he had first ridden into Dodge as a very green young Marshal. He'd never forget it. The ride north from Fort Worth, through the Nations and on into Kansas, had been a hard one. It was summer and the air was hot and still, he was dusty and trail-worn, but determined to arrive ahead of two cattle drives that were rapidly bearing down on Dodge City. The reputations of the Texas drovers had preceded them. They were a tough bunch of men who wanted to let their hair down after three months on the trail, and didn't much care for any law that would curb their fun, especially Kansas law. Sure he'd served his time as a deputy and learnt a lot by doing so, but suddenly he was on his own, having to make his own decisions and not expect any help to back him up. It took him several months to figure out the best way to control the wild cow town. At first he had isolated himself away from everyone else who lived here, but then as he became more confident in his abilities to handle drunken ranch hands, crooked gamblers and bands of drovers who inundated the town in waves, he relaxed a little and took time to look around. He personally went and introduced himself to all the business owners in the town, then he rode out to the homesteads and ranches in the surrounding area just trying to get to know the people he was protecting. Mostly they were hard working individuals of tough heritage. They fought the prairie and its whims to raise enough crops to feed themselves, their families and their livestock and if they were lucky have a little left over to sell in town so they could buy merchandise they could not grow. Many of these folks had travelled west to start a new life, following the inspiring promises that the new frontier held out to them. Sadly most of those promises were never kept.

Being a US Marshal in a frontier town was not an easy task. Sure there were many people who were grateful for his presence here. The business people and residents of the town felt safer with a permanent lawman based in Dodge and many of the ranchers and homesteaders out on the surrounding prairie had reason to appreciate his hunting down cattle rustlers and horse thieves. Of course there were always those individuals who thought the law had no right interfering with their lives, and they resented his presence. As for Dillon, he enjoyed feeling that he was making a difference in peoples lives and bringing some kind of order to this new land. He was committed to the badge he wore and what it stood for – even though that commitment came at a price. Law did not come easily to the wild ways of the prairie and many times he had finished up in this very bed recovering from a bullet wound or other injury acquired in defending it. How many outlaws, rustlers and bandits bore him a grudge and would willingly pay a professional gunslinger to end his life? He would never know the answer to that but fortunately he had a few skills and a lot of luck on his side and these had somehow seen him through, how long was it now, six maybe seven years?

He tried once more without success to find a comfortable position. Kitty said she would come back and spend time with him after the lunchtime rush was over. He looked forward to that. He thought about the feel of her gentle hands and soft lips until sleep finally eased his mind.

-xx-

The last two days had been the worst, he was awake most of the time now, but still Doc had kept him virtually confined to bed. He was only allowed to leave it to attend to the essentials of nature and even then with strong warnings as to the dire consequences he could expect if he put any weight at all on his leg. The personalities of the two men clashed relentlessly in the confined space until finally, by mutual agreement with the physician, he had been allowed to move to Kitty's rooms above the Long Branch.

-xx-

He had not slept much that first night back in the familiar brass bed above the saloon. Now it was that quiet, still time just before the dawn. Hardly any light made it's way through the lacy curtains that covered the windows facing Front Street. They hung still and limp patiently waiting for any slight breeze to stir them to life. The frustration brought on by the forced inactivity was bubbling to the surface despite his efforts at controlling it. He did not want to wake Kitty, but finally he could stand it no longer and swung his legs to the floor so he could reach for the hated crutches.

A soft groan came from the other occupant of the bed. In her sleep Kitty had felt the shift in weight as he changed position, then, as she realized what was going on, she sat up and looked directly at him with those piercing blue eyes.

"Matt Dillon, just what do you think you're doing?"

Her voice was more commanding than any army sergeant he had ever heard and it made him freeze in his tracks. He took a breath,

"I have to get moving Kitty. I can't spend another day just lying around, besides I think I can small coffee, Sam must be here already." He was unashamedly pleading with her now.

"Just wait till I can get some clothes on and I'll get him to come and help you." She reached for the blue cotton robe that hung by the bed and began wrapping it around herself.

"I can manage." The words crept out softly as if they knew the reception they would receive. As expected she stopped what she was doing and looked him straight in the eye.

"Don't you dare! Either you wait for Sam or I will go get Doc. He'll have you back in his office before you know what hit you."

Dillon waited reluctantly – he had heard how she had faced Colter there in St. Louis, and didn't doubt her words for a minute. According to what he had been told, Colter and two of his hired guns had approached the warehouse where he and Ginny had been hiding. They had not taken her seriously when she told them to come no further, she was protecting her man and young Ginny and under no circumstances would she back down. He smiled to himself at the thought of her small gentle hands around the grip of the Colt Peacemaker – hands that were not designed for the heavy pistol. It was his gun that he had used to bring down many an outlaw, not a weapon for a lady. She had brought it with her from Dodge and when Colter had showed up she had not hesitated to use it. The Counterfeiter hadn't thought the woman standing in front of him would actually fire the six-shooter and made the mistake of drawing against her. She had squeezed the trigger and sent an accurately aimed bullet on its way to find a new home in the center of Colter's chest. He was probably dead before he hit the ground. His two henchmen thought twice before facing this red headed fireball and in the end turned tail and left the scene as fast as their horses could carry them.

He reached over to retrieve his clothes from the chair where he had left them the night before and slowly eased into his shirt, then, a little more awkwardly managed to work his way into his pants. One leg had been slit up the side to accommodate the large dressing Doc had applied, but Kitty had worked some magic with a few buttons and some thread so he could appear decently clad in public. He sat there waiting, feeling the frustration rise within him again. He knew it was not anyone's fault- they were trying to do what was best for him, but all this fussing and mollycoddling was getting to him.

-xx-

He would not have admitted it but he was grateful for Sam's help. There seemed to be many more stairs than he remembered and the effort of negotiating them left him a little weakened. He was glad that it was not far from the bottom step to the table where everyone was gathered, and still feeling a little clumsy on the new crutches, he made his way to join Kitty and Doc. Tom Gilmore was also sitting there. Not only was the temporary Marshal running his town and his office, now it looked like he was taking over his friends as well. It irked him to see the man occupying what was rightfully his place at the table. Doc looked over at him trying not to offer unwanted help.

"Come and join the party Matt," he said as he pulled out a chair between himself and Kitty. He patiently watched as Matt settled himself at the table, then, once his friend was safely seated he took the crutches and propped them in the corner out of the way.

Kitty smiled at the blue eyed Marshal and touched his arm,

"I guess you never met Tom Gilmore, Matt – he's been keeping this town in line while you were gone."

Somehow Matt could not feel friendly towards the man he thought of as usurping his place in Dodge. Reluctantly he managed a smile and reached across the table to shake hands.

Kitty passed him a cup of coffee, and the conversation at the table resumed. Apparently Gilmore had to ride to Hays City to deliver a prisoner to trial, and planned to be gone for about four days. Matt did not usually enjoy that trip but today he envied the man. He would willingly fulfill that responsibility right now but knew it was going to be a long time before Doc would let him ride anywhere. He missed the feeling of being out there alone on the prairie, hearing the coyotes, feeling the air move around him, even the loneliness of nights spent under the stars appealed to him. Gilmore was going to be doing his job.

The acting Marshal of Dodge City was getting ready to leave and pushed back his chair.

"I think Chester should have the horses and my gear ready by now so I'll see you all in a few days." He smiled to the occupants of the table and tipped his hat towards Kitty. Their goodbyes followed him to the door but Matt's stare followed the man long after he was out of sight. He seemed to be a little older than Dillon, certainly not as tall, but he had an air of quiet authority about him.

"So how's he been doing?" Matt's gaze returned to the others at the table. He was trying not to sound too jealous.

Doc looked at him, "It hurts your feelings doesn't it Matt, to watch someone else doing your job?"

Matt just looked at him, not deigning to offer any reply to that question. He played with his coffee cup for a while, deep in thought and not looking at either of his friends.

"Matt, how about we go fishing this afternoon," Kitty volunteered, trying to divert the conversation after a few seconds of awkward silence. She understood what Doc was doing. He was prodding at the Marshal in his own way, trying to keep him alert and functioning during this time that was so difficult for him but she understood Matt's ways also, how he felt about this town, how he needed his "alone time" out there on the trail. Somehow he used that time to 'reset' himself whenever maintaining the law came at a high personal cost. Right now that time was denied him and he was becoming more withdrawn by the minute.

The tall man just looked at her. Normally spending an afternoon fishing, particularly with his beautiful red head would be a special treat, but in these circumstances it seemed like a consolation prize.

"Seems to me," Doc continued, "someone with some time on their hands could work on tracking down the family of Genevieve Gitano. The poor girl has been living over at Ma Smalley's for almost a week now."

Matt had to admit he had not given much thought to that problem. Ginny had been to visit him a few times since they had been back, and he knew Kitty had taken her shopping all it was her quick thinking that had saved his life.

"Is Chester around?" he asked.

"He's probably still down at the jail," Kitty offered.

They all sat drinking the last of the coffee until finally the physician reached for his hat and his bag.

"I have to go make some house calls this morning, but I'll see you later Matt," he said pointedly in the Marshal's direction. Then he smiled sympathetically to Kitty as he got up to leave. "You too Kitty."

She returned his smile. "Be careful out there, Curly," she called after him. She turned to look at Matt and touched his arm again.

"So what are you going to do today?"
"I was thinking of going to find Chester, maybe follow Doc's suggestion and work on locating Ginny's family. At least while Gilmore is out of town I can use my office."

"That's a good idea, Matt. I have to go through the stock and make out some orders, so just stay out of trouble." She looked around and located the crutches and handed them to him. Getting a good grip on them he hauled himself up on his good leg. He stood there a minute trying to get his balance. Somehow he was going to make it along Front Street to his office.

-xx-

Tom Gilmore had been a US Marshal for more than a dozen years. He had spent much of that time assigned to the region around St. Joseph, Missouri. It was a town that had gone through a lot of rough times in the days before the civil war. Since the railroad had headed farther west it was no longer the 'end of the line' where all the dregs of humanity fell out of rusted rail cars, but the river ensured that the town still received its full measure of excitement. At one time he had been married, but he had been a lot younger then. They had moved to "St. Joe" when he had still been a deputy. His wife Melinda was not happy living in what was then not much more than a frontier town itself, and wanted to move back to her home in Illinois. Their marriage had not been a particularly happy one and one morning she had packed her bags and boarded the train. Fortunately they had no children and although he felt his life was missing something he was soon promoted to a full marshal and found that the badge he wore filled that void. A year or so ago he had started to look for new challenges and at his request the Marshal's service was sending him to places that needed help for a month or so, either to train a new lawman or maintain the peace until a permanent man could be found. He was of stocky build and standing just over six foot, had a height advantage over most. If necessary he could talk a crowd down, but when he had to he could use his fists effectively and knew how to stand his ground. If required he was faster than average with a gun, but certainly not as fast as Dillon – at least according to the stories he had heard. He was also a very careful, organized man. He hated clutter around the office, he liked the jail cells cleaned after each use, and the cots made up with a clean blanket. He always left his desk cleared of paper work before he went back to his room at night and all reports were filed on time or sooner.

He had almost got as far as the office and he could see the two horses tied up in front waiting for him, one was his and the other belonged to Jud Hawkes who was going to Hays to be tried for murder. A young man, dressed like he just arrived from some eastern city was looking in the windows of the jailhouse as he walked up.

"Can I help you mister?" he asked.

The young man turned to him in surprise, "I was just looking for the marshal." Gilmore was wearing a light trail coat and the newcomer had not seen his badge.

"Well you've found him, what can I do for you."

The city boy looked him up and down, "You sure you're the Marshal… I mean I thought there was a man called Dillon here."

"I'm sorry, I'm the Marshal here. Now if there's nothing I can do for you I have to be on my way."

He walked past the man and went into the office where he made his way towards the rifle rack. He took one of the Winchesters down and loaded it, putting spare ammunition in his pocket.

"Go get the prisoner Chester," he said as he checked his six-gun and replaced it in its holster.

The prisoner emerged from the cells followed by the jailer. Gilmore had Jud face the desk and from behind checked all his pockets, then he turned him around and clicked the handcuffs in place.

"Any trouble from you and I'll fasten your hands behind you and your ride to Hays will be pretty miserable." He made to usher him out of the door, but turned to Chester.

"There was some young city boy out there on Front Street looking for Dillon – you might tell him to keep an eye out. I haven't seen his face on any wanted posters and he didn't look like he was carrying a gun– but you never know."

"I'll be sure and tell him Mr. Gilmore, have a safe trip."

The jailer watched for a while as the two men mounted up and disappeared into the distance, then he turned and went back into the office.

TBC