Matt sensed a current drifting through the doorway with the stranger, like smoke from a fired gun sucking at the hot moist air in the marshal's office. The man left the door open to the blazing sun. As Chester dozed on the bed after a breakfast of cold pone and coffee, Matt put his copy of the Dodge City Times on the desk, rose from his chair and moved to face the stranger, looking down some seven inches into intense eyes of a curious bright gold shade.
"You mind closing the door there?" said Matt. "The heat's comin' in."
"Sure," said the man. "You're Marshal Dillon."
The unfamiliar voice roused Chester from his light sleep. His straight dark hair mussed over his forehead, he sat up and rubbed his eyes, staring at the stranger.
"He your deputy?" the man said to Matt.
"What's your name, stranger?" said the marshal.
"Ranger. Hec Ranger."
"What can I do for you, Ranger?"
Ranger bared white teeth in a smile. A lean handsome man in his mid-thirties with classically sculpted features and a clean brown complexion, he wore a dove-gray linen suit with matching hat and tie, and a pale-blue silk shirt and vest. "You can fight me, Marshal," he said.
Chester stood up. "You the marshal's deputy?" said Ranger.
"You joshin', Mister?" said Matt. "I don't have the time if you are."
"Looks to me like you have plenty of time. Him, too." Ranger nodded at Chester. "And I aint joshin'."
"You mean a fistfight?" said Chester.
"Nope. Gunfight."
"Gracious," said Chester. Ranger chuckled.
"I don't know what your game is, Ranger," said Matt, "but if you expect me to just go out in the street and draw on you, you're a fool."
"Heard tell you're fast, Marshal. I calculate I can beat you. Both of us bein' fast, can't no witness track who draws first. Follow me?"
"You're saying you'll draw first," said Matt.
"I aint saying. If I say it, he witnesses my words." Ranger nodded at Chester again. "I'm not wanted for anything. Figure Dodge for a favorable town to headquarter in my line of work. That is, if you're dead, Marshal."
"Where're you staying, Ranger," said Matt.
"Dodge House."
"Pack your bag and get out of town. I'm not fighting you."
"No." Ranger shook his head. "I heard about that trick of yours, snatching a fella's gun from his holster. You try that with me, Marshal, I'll shoot you before your fingers touch my gun butt. You fight me now in the street or I'll shoot you and him right here." He jerked his head at Chester. "There'll be no witnesses," said Ranger. "You try and hit me, I'll pull the trigger before the punch lands."
"Alright," said Matt. He felt no trepidation, only anger burning his gut at being forced to fight, which riled him enough to want to kill Ranger. The marshal reached for his gunbelt and strapped it on.
Ranger opened the door. "After you, Marshal," he said, gesturing.
"You're the one wants a fight, Ranger," said Matt. "You go out first."
Ranger narrowed his eyes and looked from Matt to Chester. "I don't wanna get shot in the back," said Ranger.
"I don't shoot men in the back," said Matt. "You want to fight, you walk out first."
Ranger walked into the street, turned left and paced twenty long steps. Front Street was deserted, the townsfolk indoors away from the scorching sun. Not the slightest breeze stirred the dust outside.
"What are you waiting for, Marshal?" Ranger shouted. "You yella? You and your friend try to bushwhack me, it won't work. I have eyes like a hawk; I could pick you off from fifty paces!"
Matt hesitated, seeing Chester was desperate to talk to him and do something the marshal thought might jeopardize his friend's life. Whatever it was, Matt had to tell him not to do it.
"I'll get a shotgun, Mr. Dillon," Chester said breathlessly. "We'll ambush him through the windows."
"No." Matt took hold of Chester's arm as he lunged toward the row of weapons on the wall. "You know I can't do that."
"I can," said Chester. "You go on out an' stand off from him, and I'll shoot 'im through the window 'fore he kin draw."
"No," said the marshal. "That'd be murder, Chester."
"I don't care," said Chester. "Aint a body out there anywheres to see me shoot 'im 'cept you, so you won't haveta throw me in jail. He said he's faster'n you, Mr. Dillon."
"I don't think he is," said Matt. "If he was so fast, I would've heard of him."
"Cuz you aint heard of 'im don't mean he isn't fast," Chester argued.
"Dillon!" Ranger yelled. "You get on out here or I'm comin' in after you!"
"My gun's jammed," Matt hollered through the window. "Just a minute."
"Better be a short minute!" Ranger shouted.
"Stay inside, Chester," said Matt.
"I won't set by whilst he shoots you down like Dan Grat done," said Chester, his voice low and shaking. "I'm drawin' a bead on Ranger through the window."
"No," said Matt. He tried to stare Chester down, waited for him to say "Yessir." Chester said nothing. He set his jaw and glared into the marshal's eyes until Matt stalked out.
As Matt walked with a measured tread into the street, his boots crunching the powdery hot dirt, Ranger's voice buffeted his ears, taunting him. "It's about time, Marshal. Thought you were too scared to fight, or you and your man were gonna shoot me through the window."
Matt's anger faded, replaced by an intensified alertness. He knew with a strong innate surety that he would outdraw Ranger, and that knowledge in itself would quicken the marshal's hand. Ever since Dan Grat's bullet nearly killed him, Matt had practiced his draw in the clearing behind the depot, and invoked the assurance deep within himself with every succeeding fight.
The marshal could not explain it to Chester, who wouldn't understand, as fear fueled Chester's courage. Fear rarely touched Matt. He felt instead an almost painful invigoration of his nerves and senses, like the time three ruffians encountered him on the open prairie without Buck or a gun.
With the sun burning his back through his vest and shirt, Matt planted his boots apart, squared his shoulders and waited for Ranger's lean form to jerk forward for the draw.
Chester closed the door behind Matt, rushed to pull a shotgun from the wall and loaded the weapon, his heart hammering. Sheltered inside the office, he felt no fear of Ranger at the moment. If the gunman fired at him, Chester could duck below the window and shoot Ranger from cover. What scared Chester was the thought of Ranger shooting Matt.
Choosing to face a riled marshal instead of a dead one, Chester positioned the shotgun barrel through the window, aimed at Ranger and heaved a deep breath. "Ranger!" Chester shouted. "Over here!"
Knowing at once what Chester was about, the marshal forced his eyes to stay riveted on the gunman. Matt drew his gun a heartbeat faster as Ranger spun to face the window and raised his six-shooter at Chester holding the shotgun.
Two against one threw the stakes off balance, which was not what Matt wanted although Ranger had compelled him to fight. Matt saw no point in yelling Hold it at the gunman, who clearly thought Chester would shoot him.
The marshal figured that Chester did not intend to shoot Ranger. To turn the game in Matt's favor, Chester would dive below the window as Ranger shot at him. Though Matt wanted a fair one-on-one fight, he couldn't be sure that Chester would duck Ranger's bullet in time to miss getting hit, so Matt knew he had to shoot Ranger before the gunman fired at Chester. So long as Chester didn't pull the trigger first, the maneuver for a lawman would pass muster in the eyes of any judge.
Calculating it all in the shade of an instant after Chester shouted at Ranger, Matt shot the gunman as he aimed at Chester in the window. Matt's bullet struck Ranger's left side before he could shoot at Chester, who as Matt expected ducked below the window without firing a shot.
Ranger's body jolted and he dropped the gun, pitching forward on his face. His hat bounced off as he hit the ground. Matt holstered his gun. Though Ranger had driven him to fight and Chester had acted against his orders, the gunman's unsavory character aside, Matt felt he'd played Ranger a dirty trick.
Matt approached Ranger as Chester opened the door and stepped onto the walk. Chester reached Ranger first, took hold of his shoulder and turned him on his back. He was alive, his gold eyes filmed over and squinting in the sunlight. Framed by close-cropped, wiry dark curls, his handsome face was contorted.
Matt picked up Ranger's gun and stood looking down at him. "Coward," Ranger said feebly. Matt flinched before he could stop himself. "Your bullet's up under my ribs," said Ranger.
"Go find some men to carry him to Doc's," said Matt, not looking at Chester, who noted that the marshal did not address him by name as Matt habitually did when he gave Chester an order.
"Yes, sir," Chester said quietly, and hurried away to find the men. Mr. Dillon had spoken in his normal calm steady tone, his face showing no anger. Sensing rather than seeing the marshal's displeasure, Chester rushed to two ranch hands who looked strong enough to carry the slim gunman.
Matt's ire aroused no dread in Chester. Believing he had to disobey orders to save Matt's life, Chester had braced himself to endure aloofness and chiding. The prospect of Mr. Dillon turning him out, though, of losing the marshal's friendship, chilled him to his bones. He dripped cold sweat just thinking about it.
With Chester at his side, though somewhat further away from him than usual, Matt walked to Doc's ahead of the two cowboys carrying Ranger. Chester figured Doc might need his help digging out the bullet.
Chester's interference in the fight stunned Matt. He had to make his friend understand that if Matt couldn't trust him, the marshal could trust no man in Dodge, except of course Doc, and how Chester had endangered himself, and how it wasn't a fair fight with Ranger because he interfered. Hardest of all, Matt had to explain the whole without hurting Chester, who the marshal knew had risked his disapproval to save his life, though Matt hadn't needed saving.
"His name's Hec Ranger," Matt said as Doc unbuttoned Ranger's bloody vest and shirt. "He had no chance to pull off a shot. All he did was threaten, call me out and draw his gun. If he survives, he goes free, Doc."
Doc paused in collecting his surgical implements to give Matt a surprised look. "Really," said Doc. Matt nodded, gazing at Ranger, whose face had gone pallid under his brown skin.
Doc turned his keen eyes on Chester, who was rolling up his sleeves to help with the operation, glanced again at Matt, and looked back to Chester. "You up to this, Chester?" said Doc. "You look peaked."
"I'm fine, Doc," said Chester, not meeting Doc's eyes. "Jest got a li'l too much sun, maybe."
The marshal looked at Chester, and guilt smote Matt like a punch to the gut. I didn't say anything to him yet, Matt protested at himself.
"You think this fella will come after you again, Matt?" said Doc, his forceps probing the wound between Ranger's ribs. Blood seeped from the wound, and Chester sponged it.
"I don't know," said Matt. "The way you're mangling him, I won't have to worry about that a spell."
"Only way to get the bullet out," said Doc. "He's not feeling it. I'll dose him with morphine when he wakes out of the chloroform." With a look of triumph, he held up a blood-coated bullet pinched in the forceps. Blood spilled from the hole in Ranger's side, and Chester pressed the sponge against the wound as Doc threaded a needle with catgut.
"He'll survive unless infection kills him," said Doc. He pressed the lips of the wound together and started stitching. "There's usually some fever with gunshot. Young fella like this should come through alright. It's a fairly deep wound, but the bullet missed his organs somehow. He's lucky. Since he's still a free man, particular."
"Chester," said Matt. "We're going to the office."
"You need fer me to come with you straightaway, Mr. Dillon? I was fixin' to see Miss Kitty. Ah'm wore down of a powerful thirst for a beer."
"Straightaway," said Matt.
"What about lunch?" said Chester.
"After," said Matt.
As he bandaged Ranger's ribs, Doc looked from Matt to Chester. "Must be mighty important, you have to put off lunch," said Doc.
"Yer hungry too, Doc?" said Chester.
"Cold sausage and biscuits will do me for today," said Doc. "My patient here needs tending."
Chester trailed Matt down the stairs from Doc's. Not looking back or waiting for Chester to catch up to him, Matt strode through the brilliant sunlight toward the marshal's office.
Making no effort to keep pace with Matt, Chester took his time. As Matt passed the Long Branch, he heard Chester mumble and his limping gait halted. Matt impatiently turned. Chester stood in front of the batwings, his round brown eyes glimmering reproachfully at Matt.
"Oh, for heaven's sake," said Chester. "I wanna see Miss Kitty."
"Well, come on in, Chester. Why are you standing out there in the sun." A light yet belly-deep thrill swelled through Matt as Kitty's voice wafted on the hot air to his ears, and he knew of a sudden that he too needed to see and talk to and be near her.
He also knew he couldn't relax in Kitty's company until he talked to Chester alone and had done with it. If Matt and Chester passed the time with Kitty now, she'd at once discern the strain between them and demand to know what happened.
Kitty invariably sympathized with Chester in trouble, and she'd end by berating Matt. On the strength of Kitty's affection for himself, Chester might well dismiss the lecture Matt had laboriously rehearsed in his head. Any solicitude from Kitty raised Chester's spirits above Matt's infrequent reprimands.
Kitty appeared and looked out at them, her pretty face puzzled, and as Chester touched the batwing to push through into the Long Branch, Matt took hold of the swinging door and held it still.
"Matt." Kitty smiled a little from the other side of the batwings. "What's going on?"
"Chester and I need to have a talk, Kitty," said Matt. "We'll see you later on."
"What's so important to talk about, you two can't stop in for a beer?" said Kitty.
"That's jest what Doc said, Miss Kitty," Chester said sorrowfully, nodding.
"Doc didn't say that," said Matt.
"Oh he did too," Chester snapped.
Kitty stepped out on the walk and stood between them. "Matt, did you two bicker?" she said. "What's wrong with Chester?"
"It ain't nothin', Miss Kitty," said Chester. "Don't worry 'bout me. I'll be back to see you right along, maybe."
"Why don't you go back inside, Kitty," said Matt. "It's too hot to stand around on the walk."
"You're not gonna yell at him, are you, Matt?"
"No, I'm not gonna yell at him."
"Well, you're already yellin' at me," said Kitty.
"Kitty, I didn't even raise my voice."
Alarmed, Chester held up a supplicating hand. "Now, Miss Kitty, don't fret," he said. "It's 'tween Mr. Dillon an' me."
"Don't fret about what?" said Kitty.
Matt touched her arm. "I'll tell you later, Kitty," he said.
"I cain't talk none if ah'm parched," Chester said to Matt as they continued walking.
"It's hot, but we're not havin' a drought," said Matt. "There's plenty of drinkin' water."
"A body needs more than water to go on," said Chester.
"This won't take long," said Matt. "You'll survive."
They each drank from the dipper when they reached the office, then Chester fired up the stove to boil coffee. "It's too hot for that, Chester," said Matt. "I'm streaming sweat as it is."
"Mr. Dillon, I cain't face you yellin' at me on an empty belly with no coffee," Chester said in a composed tone. "I kin bile some up in two shakes of a lamb's tail."
"Chester, I said I won't yell at you."
"Yeah . . . waal . . . ." said Chester.
Matt sat waiting at the table. Chester poured two cups of coffee, set a cup in front of Matt and moved with his cup to the bed.
"Not on the bed," said Matt. "We'll talk here at the table."
"I'm gettin' almighty tired," said Chester. "The bed's a sight more comfortable."
"This won't take long," Matt repeated. "I figure you know what it's about."
"The gunfight. I guess," said Chester.
"That's right," said the marshal. "If I can't trust you, I can't trust any man in Dodge. Except Doc."
"You don't trust me no more, Mr. Dillon?"
"Chester, I want to. But I didn't think you'd interfere in my fight, when I told you not to, particular. I was faster than Ranger and I knew I was faster. You made it two against one, so it wasn't a fair fight," said Matt.