The Observer
I don't own these characters; I just like to spend time with them. No other profit to be had.
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Leaning back in his wooden chair at the table in the back, The Observer took a sip of his water and looked around at the other people occupying the bar room. From the beautiful redheaded owner to the craggy faced bar keep, to the little man in the ragged clothes standing near one end of the bar with an empty glass and a hopeful look on his face, he watched them all.
He noticed the gambler, sitting at a middle table, pull the ace from his sleeve and place it in his deck. He also noticed the cowboy, opposite him, pull his gun and lay it on his lap. Somebody was about to be killed.
Idly he wondered whether he should take a hand in it and stop it or take a step back and watch it. His decision was made for him though, as the tall US Marshal pushed his way into the saloon. The cowboy, seeing him, put his gun back into his holster and rose from his chair, throwing his cards on the table, demanding the Marshal take care of the problem.
With a small smile on his face, he relaxed and poured himself another glass of water from the pitcher in front of him. He didn't care for spirits, at least not the liquid kind. Pulling his sweat-stained hat down low on his forehead, he watched as the Marshal stopped at the table with the gambler and cowboy. He didn't need to hear what was said, in the noisy saloon, to know the results.
In a moment, the gambler rose to his feet, grabbed his hat and huffed out of the saloon, his money left untouched on the felt covered table. Better to walk away than be carried away. With a grin, the cowboy and the other men at the table, divided the money between them and started another game.
Trouble averted, the big man with the shiny star, pushed his hat back on his head and walked quickly to the L-shaped end of the bar where the lovely proprietress stood.
Once again he didn't need to hear the conversation to know what was being said. Those two had a language that superseded all words. And though they stood close to each other, and barely touched, touching wasn't needed either, at least not here in this crowded, noisy place. When the tall, dark haired, ruggedly handsome lawman leaned low against the bar and locked clear blue eyes with the blue eyed, red haired beauty, he could see their connection was deeper than mere physical contact or quiet conversation.
For several minutes, they stood and talked to each other while the big man drained a beer and the lady ate a pretzel. But all too soon, their companionable encounter was interrupted by a grizzle faced man, as he hurriedly made his way across to their side. "Matthew! Matthew!" His nasally twang could be heard in every corner of the bar room as well as outside. "Ya best come quick, they's trouble over at the Bulls Head."
Slapping his beer mug onto the bar, the lawman nodded to his lovely companion and turned, hurrying off after the hillbilly with the squinty eye and odd looking hat. Glancing back at the woman, he saw a complicated look cross her face, before she carefully tucked it back in behind her mask of tough businesswoman. Although it was brief, that look told a great deal about the saloon owner and the Marshal. Because that look was one of fear, and love and something else, he couldn't readily identify. Hope, maybe? Yes, definitely hope and perhaps a prayer or two for his safety.
However, the look was gone now as she turned her attention to an older man who'd just walked in. From his appearance, the wrinkled old man with liver spotted hands wasn't much on the scale of things. Short, with a shambling gait, ragged old suit and a habit of constantly brushing his mustache or tugging at his ear, he wasn't what one thought of when envisioning one such of his profession.
But The Observer saw something in the old fellow that a lot of people might not. He saw the professionalism the physician displayed in every facet of his job. He saw the concern when the old man would tend a patient and the joy in his eyes when that patient not only survived, but thrived, under his care, or a new baby was born with his assistance. Oh, the doctor put up a good front of being grumpy and irritable most of the time, but The Observer saw beneath that.
Especially when he looked at the red head. Just like the lawman, the doctor was completely besotted by the beguiling woman, though not in the same way. No, the doctor looked upon her with a tenderness that only father would have for a daughter. And gauging by the soft look she gave her elder, she felt towards him as a beloved child would feel towards her parent.
"Miss Kitty." The deep voiced bar man called from across the room next to where The Observer sat.
Patting the old man on the hand, she stepped away and went to her employee. As the tall bar keeper in the silk vest talked to her, The Observer saw once again the respect and love for the lady that the lawman and the doctor showed, only once again in a different guise.
As The Observer sat and watched, he realized most people that interacted with the stunning red head, treated her much the same way. There were a few, full of liquor and poor manners, who made advances towards her, but she deftly handled most of those with little more than a smile and a word or two. The few not discouraged, soon found themselves on the wrong end of either her temper, the bar man's shotgun or the lawman's fist.
Having dealt with her employee's concerns, the woman, Miss Kitty, her employee had called her, passed right by him as though he wasn't there. The Observer wasn't offended though. Miss Kitty was busy and he knew her night had just barely started.
Over the next few hours, The Observer watched while she dispensed liquor, smiles, a lesson or two on cards or checkers and a hearty laugh at an outlandish joke. She also gave out something more though, that intrigued The Observer.
Three times, while under his silent scrutiny, she went to her cash box and pulled out money, exchanging it for a pocket watch, a pistol and a small piece of paper with a large X scrawled across its front. Each recipient of the money was admonished by her to spend the money on food or supplies and given a drink on the house to insure that they would. Of the three, not a one broke her trust and left, heading quickly over to the general store or the café.
"I wish I had all the money she's loaned out over the years." He heard a man remark from the next table.
"Me too." His companion agreed. "I know she hasn't gotten half of it back but she doesn't seem to care so long as the people she loans to, use the money for food instead of liquor or gambling. I mean look at old Louie over there. I reckon he'd be dead by now, if she didn't help him out from time to time. And of course when you consider the money she pours into charities around town, it makes me wonder how she has any money left at all to take care of herself."
The Observer smiled. He liked hearing that about the woman he'd grown fond of watching.
Seeing an empty chair nearer to the front, The Observer moved up just as the law man with sparkling blue eyes, followed by a young brown haired, brown eyed man entered and made their way back over towards the saloon owner. "Hey, Cowboy, Newly." She smiled at them. "Care for a drink?"
"No," he shook his head. "But I do need to ask you a question."
"Okay. What?" She looked at him inquisitively.
"Have you seen a blonde haired man come in here tonight? Has a scar on one cheek and wearing a fur coat."
She stood in thoughtful silence for a moment before shaking her head. "No, no, not that I recall. Why?"
"Well, he was overheard by a couple of people over in the Bulls Head making threats against me." He paused and gave her a certain look that The Observer understood. The fearless man's concern wasn't for himself. It was for her. He was afraid that anyone looking to get him might hurt her.
"Hmmmm." The Observer thought, with a pleased smile.
The saloon owner shook her curls regretfully. "Sorry, Matt, but I sure haven't seen him and I've been in here all night."
The Marshal took a deep breath, his eyes locked with hers for another moment, conveying more than his words. "Well, alright. But if you should…"
He was interrupted by a loud voice coming from behind him. "Dillon!"
The always prepared-for-anything Marshal whirled around, his hand hovering just over his gun. "Get back, Kitty." He whispered urgently behind him and threw his left arm out as a shield for her, until she was safely out of the way.
Looking towards the entry he saw the man he'd just been asking about. "I'm Dillon." He said calmly. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"I've come to kill ya." The man threw back the ragged edges of his coat and dropped his hand to his pistol. "You done for my brother and I come to do for you."
The Observer, unlike the other bar patrons, including the young man named Newly and Miss Kitty, maintained his station as he watched, fascinated by the events unfolding in front of him.
The lawman showed no fear of the loathsome man at the door. Jaw clenched and hand at the ready; he stood watching his opponent, almost as though he were waiting for a sign of some sort to tell him when to fire. "I have no idea who your brother is." He told the ragged stranger.
"You mean you done killed so many, ya cain't remember their names?" The man practically spat out the words. "Tuck! Tuck McKinnon. You killed him without never giving him no chance at all."
As the lawman and his would-be assassin stood taking each other in, The Observer looked to his left. The red head, wasn't watching the little drama as everyone else was. Her attention was focused on another man, standing behind the Marshal, whose attention was fixed solely on the fur coated bandit.
The Observer looked the man over and suddenly understood what had captured the woman's attention. The second man already had his gun drawn and though keeping it low, he was ready to fire on Marshal Dillon, regardless of the first man's actions. The observer's gaze returned to the Marshal. The veteran peace officer saw nothing but the man in front of him.
Suddenly both Dillon and Tuck McKinnon's brother cleared leather, firing almost simultaneously. For several long moments, both men stood perfectly still, until finally, a small frown creased McKinnon's face and with a small sigh, he pitched forward onto the floor. The lawman put his gun back into his holster, certain the danger was passed.
But The Observer wasn't so sure. Turning his attention once again to the second man, he saw that his gun was now raised, his finger reaching towards the trigger.
"Matt, behind you!" The red head quickly yelled.
Spinning around, Dillon reached for his gun once again but this time, he was just a hair too late. His second opponent was already pressing the trigger when the woman's yell startled him and he jerked his hand towards her, firing at the same time.
The Marshal pulled his pistol a second time and fired even as he jumped in front of the bullet that was speeding its way towards his red headed warning system.
But he didn't quite make it.
With a soft gasp, and a look of pain and confusion, Miss Kitty looked down at the blood that was beginning to soak the front of her blouse before crumpling towards the floor.
"Kitty!" Came the anguished cry from the lawman's lips as he dived forward and caught her in his arms. "Someone get Doc!" He cried. "Hurry!" Looking back down at Kitty, he swallowed hard as she gave him a loving look and closed her eyes, her breath leaving her body.
The Observer stood from his seat and took in the scene before him. The look of agony on the big man's face and the pale, lifeless form in his arms, were agonizing to behold. With a wave of his arm, he turned and left the saloon. He had seen what he had come to see and done what he had come to do. His job there was completed.
The batwing doors barely moved as the unseen stranger exited the tavern, and if asked, no one would be able to even claim to have noticed him.
But his presence, though unseen, was never the less felt. For as he had waved his arm, a light breeze passed through and the deathly pale woman whom the grief-stricken officer was certain had died in his arms, slowly opened her eyes to gaze into the stunned face of the man she loved. "Ma… Matt?" She looked around her and then back at the man who held her. "What happened?"
"Kitty?" Matt swallowed hard. "I… you… you were shot. You di…" He didn't finish that sentence as it obviously wasn't true.
Kitty looked strangely at him and then down at the front of her blouse. She noted the blood but not the pain, she knew, she should feel. "No, Matt." She protested. "I wasn't shot. Honest. Help me up. I'm fine."
But Matt refused to relinquish his grip and shook his head, certain she was in shock and that the pain of her grievous wound hadn't yet been felt by her. "No, Kitty." He told her. "Just lay still. Doc will be here in a moment. Don't move."
But the red head repudiated his assertions and pulled away from him, getting unsteadily to her feet just as Doc pushed his way in. "Matt! Kitty!" His tone was full of fear for what he would find. But what he saw was not what he expected.
Having stood, with Matt's help, Kitty was looking down at the blood staining her clothes with confusion. "Doc?" She gave him a puzzled look. "I know I wasn't shot, but…"
"It's your arm." Doc said; pointing.
Kitty looked down and saw a small tear in her sleeve. Pulling the material away, she saw a slight cut, so slight she hadn't even felt it.
To her side was a busted beer mug. "Must've got hit by a piece of glass." Doc said as he gently took her arm and examined her injury. "Not sure why it bled so much, but the cuts small. I won't even have to stitch it. I will need to clean and bandage it, though. You come on over to my office and I'll take care of it for you."
As Doc turned to leave, he didn't see the looks exchanged by the lawman and the redhead.
Matt knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Kitty had been shot. He had been holding her in his arms when he literally felt her breath leave her body. But there she was, whole and alive and the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.
Kitty, although she hadn't felt pain of any kind, was just as certain that something, besides a small cut, had happened to her. And she knew, from the look on Matt's face, that it hadn't been good. But what ever it was didn't matter. The only thing that did matter was that they were fine and together, and everything else, could be dealt with later.
As the lawman and his lady collected themselves and the two dead men were carried from the saloon, The Observer stood before his superior, head bowed, waiting for an opinion on his actions.
"You are certain she was worthy of the gift you gave?" His leader asked. "And the law man as well?"
He nodded, "Yes. I have never seen two people more deserving of life and happiness than these two." He smiled, thinking of the love he'd seen written so clearly on each of their faces as they looked at one another.
"The woman runs a saloon, though, isn't that true? A saloon where men are parted with their money, sobriety and good sense?"
He nodded again. "Yes."
"And the lawman uses his gun to take lives?"
Again he nodded. "Yes. But the lawman has saved more lives than he has ever taken. He draws his gun only when he has no other choice. And the woman has done more good in her establishment than she might've outside of it. She has seen to the well-being of many of her patrons and even tried to stop some from drinking at all. And often she has taken profits from her saloon to benefit many more people in the town. Despite their jobs, they are two of the most Godly people I have seen in some time."
"That is high praise indeed." His superior noted.
"Yes. And well deserved, I believe."
"Very well," his leader smiled and patted The Observer on a gossamer wing. "I accept your assessment of these two and I agree that they deserve life and happiness. You have given them life tonight. Now, it is up to them to achieve happiness. Do you think they will?"
The Observer nodded with a smile. "I believe they already have." He answered.
The End
For He will command His angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways...Psalm 91:11