Chapter One
Chester stared blankly into his beer, the staccato beat of the player piano thrumming in his head as he stood by Kitty at the bar that muggy summer night. The Long Branch was moist and stuffy, and the chatter and strident laughter rang in his ears.
"Alright, Chester?" said Kitty. She touched his back. "Chester," she said in his ear. He raised his head and gazed vacantly at her.
"Why don't you go outside and get some air," said Kitty. "It's awful hot in here."
"It is. Powerful hot," Chester foggily muttered. "I'm a tetch swimmy headed. I think I will get some air, maybe, Miss Kitty. Out back's some quieter."
The air had cooled at sundown from the blistering daytime heat, though the night remained warm and sticky, and lingering rain clouds veiled the moon and stars after a noon shower. Save for a patch of ground illumined by lamplight shining through an upstairs window, the alley behind the Long Branch was too dark to see anything but shadows. Chester leaned against the wall, away from the light. Crickets chirped, and the dirt smelled sharp and clean.
Boot steps crunched the dirt, and Chester clearly saw the man as he walked through the pool of light, his arms raised. Chester had noticed the man playing cards in the saloon. His holster was empty, his face ashen and his eyes scared.
Chester heard the metallic click of a gun hammer, and the man's eyes bulged. "No," he said in a strangled whisper. "Please." The man at his heels pulled the trigger, and he fell on his face in the dirt.
The man who fired the shot holstered his gun, bent down beside the fallen man and pulled a wallet from his pocket, removing a thick wad of bills. The shooter stuffed the bills in his pocket and stood up in the lighted area. Chester recollected him at cards in the Long Branch with the man he'd just shot.
Of medium height and build, he had intense eyes like gold coins, thick wavy hair the same hue long on his neck under his hat, and clean-cut features in an angular face. He was dressed like a two-bit gambler.
The clouds drifted past the moon as he rose to his feet, and he saw Chester in the moonlight. They looked at each other a second, and the man reached for his gun.
He was slow on the draw, giving Chester time to jump backward and crouch behind a barrel as the man fired, his bullet whizzing past the spot where Chester stood an instant before.
Chester heard steps running toward him, pounding the dirt, then faster, lighter steps racing away from him. He peered over the top of the barrel. The man who'd shot at him was gone, and Matt leaned over the man on the ground.
Chester stood up. His heart hammered so he could hardly draw breath, and his legs felt weak. "Mr. Dillon," he gasped.
"Chester," said Matt. "You alright?"
"Yeah," said Chester. "He shot at me, but he missed. He shot that poor feller in the back and took a big roll of bills from 'im. Then he seen me standin' here and shot at me too. I jumped back outa the way behind the barrel there."
"See where he went?" said Matt.
"No, sir. I seen how he looked, though, clear as day."
"Well, he's wanted for murder, as of now," said Matt. "This man is dead."
"Matt?" Kitty approached them, followed by Sam holding a shotgun. "We heard shots," said Kitty. "Chester? You two alright?"
"Alright, Kitty," said Matt.
"I'm fine, Miss Kitty," said Chester.
"No use tracking the killer in the dark," said Matt. "Give me a description, Chester, and I'll look for 'im come sunup, starting here in town. You're a witness, and he already tried to kill you. I'm afraid he'll be gunnin' for you."
"He's mid-size," said Chester. "Yellow-brown eyes what look hard at you, and a thicket of same color ringletty hair most to his shoulders, and a sharp face. Don't hardly look like no killer; jest a gambler down on his luck." Chester sounded winded, and his face looked pale under the tan.
Kitty put her arm around him. "Come on, Chester," she said. "Let me buy you a drink."
"I sure could use one, Miss Kitty," said Chester.
"Wait a minute, Kitty," said Matt. "I want you and Sam to take a look at this fella." Matt turned the body over.
"He was playin' cards tonight with the man what killed 'im," said Chester.
"That's Mark Temple," said Kitty. "He owned a fortune in iron ore mines. He said he was here on business—something to do with a big sale to the railroad."
"He liked to flash his money around," Sam added.
"I warned 'im not to do that," said Kitty.
"The man playing cards with Temple tonight is Marty Callum, Marshal," said Sam. "A gambler and drifter from Texas. He spent his last dime on a beer. Said Temple won all his money. He didn't have much to begin with, from the look of him."
"Chester better come with me," said Matt, as Kitty turned to go back inside the Long Branch, her arm still around Chester. "We need to wake the undertaker to bring his wagon," the marshal said.
"Waal . . . if you need me along, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "I sure could use a whiskey."
Kitty hugged his waist. "I'll see you later, Chester," she said. "You go on ahead with Matt."
Matt didn't want Chester out of his sight until he could hire a guard for his friend. The marshal spent the night at the office, rose before daybreak, and woke Chester to do his morning ablutions while Matt wrote a report on Mark Temple's murder.
"Forevermore," said Chester, his voice muffled by the mattress. "I had no sleep at all. Need two hours more at the least." He pulled the blanket over his head.
"Get up, Chester," said Matt. "You're going with me to meet a man I'm gonna ask to guard you while I search for Marty Callum."
Chester threw off the blanket and sat up. Dark half-circles shadowed his eyes, and he looked cross. "Guard me. I can take care of myself, Mr. Dillon," he said quietly. "All I need's a gun and holster. Not no guard."
"Chester, Callum's out to ambush you," said Matt. "Unless he kills you, your testimony will send him to the gallows if he's caught. You're the only one who can identify him as Mark Temple's killer. I'm putting a guard on you whether you strap on a gun or not."
"I don't see why I haveta go with you to meet 'im," Chester argued, his voice growing louder. "Like I said, Mr. Dillon, I didn't get no sleep at all. I'm bone tired."
"You can come back here and sleep after we go meet the guard," said Matt. "His name's Phineas Ryder."
Chester said nothing a moment, looking at the marshal. "You don't think I can fend for myself one little minute, do you, Mr. Dillon," said Chester, his tone again soft.
"Well, ordinarily I do, Chester," said Matt. "But—"
"All the trailin' outlaws I done with you." Chester rose from the bed. "And me dead-on target with a shotgun."
"Which means nothing if Callum bushwhacks you," said the marshal. "He sees me or a guard with you, it might give 'im pause."
"Well . . . ." Chester looked away from Matt. "I know you're doin' this cuz you care what happens to me," he said. He looked into Matt's eyes. "But I'm goin' with you to find that Callum, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "Seein' as it's me he's gunnin' for. I'm not jest gonna set here hidin' out."
"Alright," said Matt. "When you're not with me, you'll be with Phineas. And don't give him any trouble."
Chester pumped water in the wash basin. "I ain't like to give 'im no trouble," he said. He still looked tetchy when he'd dressed and Matt had finished his report. "I hope we can git breakfast sometime this mornin'," Chester said, strapping on a gunbelt. Matt watched as his partner put a loaded six-shooter in the holster.
"Chester, why don't you take a shotgun instead," said the marshal. "You're not practiced with a revolver."
"Shotgun's too unwieldy to carry round the day long, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "I aim to practice ma draw down to the depot."
"There's too much open space at the depot," said Matt. "Callum could hide out anywhere there and you and Phineas wouldn't see 'im."
Chester sighed heavily. "Then I s'pose I won't practice none," he said, his voice strained. "But I'm wearin' the gun anyway."
"Alright, Chester." Matt patted his friend's shoulder. "We'll see Phineas and go to breakfast. Maybe he'll come with us."
Phineas Ryder's maternal grandmother was Cheyenne. Taller than Chester and shorter than Matt, Phineas was muscle bound with a large frame. He wore his black hair long and tied back in a tail below his shoulders, and had bright black eyes, a long nose with a hawk bridge, high cheekbones and a bronze complexion.
Men rarely dared bedevil Phineas about his ancestry. He earned enough as a guard, tracker and guide to own a two-level house and small plot of land not far from Ma Smalley's. He was a fast draw and deadly fighter, and folks said he had the sharpest eye and surest aim in Kansas.
When Matt knocked on Phineas' door, he invited the marshal and Chester in. Phineas enveloped Chester's hand in a strong grip. "You won't need the gun," said Phineas. "I see you're not used to wearing one."
"I'll wear it jest the same," said Chester.
Phineas grinned. "Suit yourself," he said. He was cooking breakfast, and the aromas of bacon and eggs, flapjacks and coffee filled the house. "My cooking's a heap better than Delmonico's," he said. "I can fix up enough for two more in no time. Come on in the kitchen."
Matt watched the tenseness fade from Chester's face as they ate. He hadn't told the marshal about the knot of fear in his belly that chilled him since the night before, despite the hot weather. The fear dissolved around Phineas, and Chester felt more heartened with each bite.
"Way I see it," said Phineas, "I can either just guard your friend here when he's not with you, or look out for Chester and help you fellas track down this Marty Callum at the same time, Matt. I've done a bit of sleuthing. Would've joined the Pinkertons, only they won't have me on account of my grandmother being Cheyenne. I thought the Marshals might hire me, since they signed on Bass Reeves in Oklahoma Territory, but no can do. I won't charge you extra for tracking time."
"Well, I don't know, Phineas." Matt sipped coffee and pondered. "Callum could try to ambush Chester anywhere. I don't want you distracted sleuthin'."
"It's up to you," said Phineas. "I can easy do it all at once. I'm like a hound on the scent. If Callum comes within a stone's throw, I'll know it."
Matt frowned in uncertainty and looked at Chester, who sat drowsy-eyed from a surfeit of breakfast, gazing through the window at the neat rows of blooming fruit and vegetables on Phineas' land.
"I can't swear no harm will come to him, Matt," said Phineas. "No man could. But I can guard him good as any man alive, and help you catch Marty Callum, too."
"Alright," said Matt.
"You know where Callum was staying before he killed Temple?" said Phineas.
"I'm guessin' outdoors on the ground," said Matt. "In Dodge or the outskirts. Or in a shack near town."
"How about Chester and I look here in town, Matt, and you search roundabout," said Phineas. "The killer likely won't be so bold to take a potshot at Chester on the street in daylight. Callum might chance it on the prairie, though."
Chester and Phineas headed down Front Street, and the marshal followed awhile instead of walking to Grimmick's livery to saddle Buck and search for Callum. Until he captured or killed Callum, Matt wanted to order Chester to stay with Phineas at his house, but the marshal knew that hiring protection at all had already hurt Chester's pride.
"Where'll you start lookin' for Callum," Matt said to Phineas.
"I'm looking as we speak," said Phineas. "For signs." He stopped walking and turned to face Matt, who almost bumped into him. "You don't need to worry, Matt," Phineas said.
"You're not gonna hunt Callum outside town, Mr. Dillon?" said Chester.
"I'm gonna hunt him 'til I find 'im, Chester," said the marshal.
Matt searched empty shacks, sheds and cabins, and rode five miles out alongside the Arkansas River and creeks near Dodge. The sun was high and blazing white when he saw the man kneeling on the bank of Rattlesnake Creek and splashing water on his head, his horse tied to a hickory tree.
Riding Buck, Matt approached the man from behind. He had thick waving hair long on his neck, like Chester's description. Matt dismounted by a stand of cottonwoods some yards away from the man, and moved stealthily to a spot within a few feet of him as he filled his canteen from the creek.
"Marty Callum?" said Matt.
The man's body jerked and he dropped his canteen in the creek, jumped to his feet and whirled to face Matt. The man's eyes were yellow-brown, as Chester said. "N-no," the man said, shaking his head. "That ain't me, Marshal. Y-you got the wrong man."
"What's your name," said Matt.
The man's eyes narrowed, his chest heaving under a frayed vest. "Name's Smith," he said. "Joe Smith."
"Joe Smith, huh?" said Matt.
"Yeah." The man's eyes darted from side to side.
"Don't try to run," said the marshal. "You won't get far."
"W-why'd I run? I done nothin'."
"You know a man named Mark Temple?" said Matt.
The man's head snapped back, his eyes widening. "No," he said, shaking his head again. "I know no one named that."
"Temple was murdered behind the Long Branch in Dodge last night," said Matt. "Shot in the back. The man who did it stole a lot of money from him. A friend of mine saw it happen, and the killer shot at him, too. He missed."
The man stared at Matt without answering. "You got any money in your saddlebags?" said the marshal.
"No. I got no money. I'll show you." The man moved to his horse.
An overgrowth of vegetation and willow trees lined the creek just ahead of where Matt and the man stood. He reached his hands toward a saddlebag, then leaped, plunged into the flora and disappeared.
Matt heard leaves rustling as the man scurried through them. He was much shorter and smaller of form than the marshal, who decided not to go in after him. Matt knew his size wouldn't let him navigate the brush with the same speed and agility, and the man might easily shoot from concealment in a cloak of leafy vines.
Matt opened the saddlebag flap, and his fingers closed around a big stack of bills. He put the money in his own saddlebag, untied the man's horse, mounted Buck, and walked his horse along Rattlesnack Creek, leading the man's horse by the reins. When he reached the place where the flora flattened into prairie grass, the man was nowhere in sight. Matt searched for him until twilight, then rode back to Dodge.
Chester and Phineas were playing checkers in the marshal's office when Matt returned at sundown. "Mr. Dillon." Chester looked expectantly at the marshal.
"Matt," said Phineas.
"Did you catch Marty Callum?" said Chester.
"No," said Matt. "I talked to a man by Rattlesnake Creek who matched your description, Chester. He ran into the brush there and I lost 'im. He had a lot of money in his saddlebag. I'm sure he's the killer. If he's still gunnin' for you, and we have to assume he is, I'm guessing he won't wander far from Dodge. I stabled his horse at Moss's."
"Callum will lie in wait for Chester under night cover," said Phineas. "I calculate he's hiding in town now. You'd best keep Chester in the office tonight, Matt."
Chester didn't want to stay in the office. He wanted a beer, so he hatched an idea. "If Callum's hidin' in town, I should show my face outside and bait 'im," he said. "Then when he comes out after me, you shoot 'im, Mr. Dillon." Matt looked at his friend a moment.
"It's the fastest way," said Chester. "You talked right at Callum's face in daylight and he slipped plumb away from you. If he sees me on the street and points his gun at me, you got 'im sure."
"Chester, I couldn't arrest him just on your description," said Matt. "He might've been the wrong man for all I knew at first sight. And I didn't take you with me to identify him on account of you'd make an easy target on the open prairie with no one else around but me. My plan was to find the money on 'im so I'd have enough evidence to take him in. When I see Callum again, I'll bring 'im in directly."
"Mr. Dillon, I don't wanna pass another night with Callum runnin' round loose waitin' to shoot me," said Chester. He stood up from the table. "I got my gun ready in the holster there," he said. He lifted the gunbelt off the peg. "I can look out for myself without you nor Phineas," he said, strapping on the belt. Phineas scraped back his chair and quickly stood, looking at Matt.
Chester moved to the door, and the marshal stepped in front of it. "Chester, you could get yourself killed if you go out there now," said Matt. "Do you know how hard it is to see a man hiding in the dark?"
"Matt's right, Chester," said Phineas. "We'll look for Callum again come sunup. He won't dare try to bushwhack you in daylight with folks out and about."
Chester shook his head. "He might get away again tomorrow, like as he did today. I cain't take no more of this."
The marshal knew that if he moved away from the door, Chester would open it and go outside. Matt figured he had one of three ways to go—wait Chester out until he tired and went to bed, lock his partner up for the night, or go out with him.
While his friend normally tended pliable to Matt's orders, when Chester set his mind on his own way, he hated for Matt to interfere or force him into anything. With a sinking feeling in his gut, the marshal decided to walk out with Chester.
"Alright, Chester," Matt said. I'm goin' with you. You can go on home, Phineas."
"I'd walk on the street side, Matt," said Phineas. "Have Chester stay close to you on the inner walk. Callum might not be so bold to shoot a U.S. marshal."
"We'll head for the Long Branch," Matt said to Chester as they walked along Front Street. "We're not gonna stand in the street waitin' for Callum to start shootin'."
"I surely could use a beer," said Chester.
"Is that what this is about?" said Matt. "You're risking your life for a beer?"
"Well, it's not such a powerful big risk, Mr. Dillon. It's one of Callum to us two."
"You're not thinkin' on this straight, Chester," said Matt.
Chester stood still on the walk and looked at the marshal. "You kin head back any time, Mr. Dillon," said Chester.
Matt felt a hot temper twinge in his chest. He took hold of Chester's arm and pushed him forward a little. "Keep movin'," said the marshal.
A shot exploded from behind them. Chester staggered and slapped his hand to his head as searing pain stabbed his right ear. Matt pivoted and drew his gun. They heard running steps in the alley back of the buildings.
"Chester?" said Matt.
"I'm alright. It jest sliced my ear."
"Can you get to Doc's?" said Matt.
"Yeah."
Matt ran down a passage between buildings to the alley, saw the running man at a distance, and followed him. The marshal's strides covered a long stretch of ground, but he was not a fast runner and was soon gasping. He lost sight of the man, who ran a straight line toward the end of Dodge and the prairie. Matt stopped and turned around to walk to Doc's.
Doc's office was empty when Chester climbed the stairs and opened the door, his hand held to his ear. He didn't want to wait by himself. His ear burned, and blood seeped through his fingers and dripped down his neck onto his collar.
Chester found a roll of cloth Doc used to bind wounds, tore off a length, pressed it against his ear and headed for the Long Branch. He was in front of the batwings when he saw Matt approaching, and walked to meet the marshal.
"Doc's not in?" said Matt.
"He was out when I went up," said Chester. "He's in the Long Branch, maybe. Did you kill Callum, Mr. Dillon?"
"I couldn't catch him, Chester," said Matt. "I think he ran out of town."
"Oh. He'll be back, though," Chester said slowly. "To make sure I'm dead. He musta saw I kept my footin' when he shot me." Holding the bloody cloth against his ear, Chester looked at the marshal and waited.
"Let's see if Doc's inside," said Matt, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder.
Doc and Kitty rose from their chairs as the marshal and Chester pushed through the batwings. "Chester," said Kitty.
"Tisn't nothin', Miss Kitty," said Chester. "Marty Callum shot at me and nicked ma ear."
Doc pulled Chester's hand with the cloth away from his ear. "Your lobe's torn," said Doc. "Needs a few stitches. The blood makes it look worse than it is."
"It don't hurt much, now," said Chester. "Felt like 'twas afire when the slug ripped through."
"Put that cloth back over it, Chester, and come on to my office," said Doc. "We'll get you sewed up."
"Well, I want a beer, first, Doc," said Chester. "It's so hot I'm parched."
"Not now," said Doc. "Your ear's bleedin' too bad."
"But, Doc, I come out for a beer," said Chester. "I got shot cuz I come out for a beer. Me and Mr. Dillon figured to use me as bait to root Callum out from hidin'."
"Matt!" said Kitty, putting her hand on Chester's back. "How could you," she said.
"Oh, it's not Mr. Dillon's fault, Miss Kitty," said Chester. "Twas my idea. Mr. Dillon come with me so's I wouldn't be out alone."
"Go with Doc like he told you, Chester," said Matt.
"Then I don't get a beer?" said Chester.
"I'll bring you one at Doc's, Chester," said Kitty, rubbing his back. "You go on, now, and I'll be up in a minute."
"Well . . . alright," said Chester.
Matt walked with Chester and Doc. The marshal thought Callum hid close to town and planned to sneak back into Dodge the following night and kill Chester. Though Matt had little doubt that Callum had bedded on the prairie for the night, until he was jailed or dead, the marshal resolved to stay close by his friend except when Phineas was guarding Chester.
"I reckon I should tell you, Mr. Dillon," said Chester the next morning, as they waited for Phineas to show at the marshal's office. "Afore you ride back out to track Callum some more. I'm not easy in my mind holdin' it from you, seein' as you told me not to target shoot near the depot and I said I wouldn't, howsoever I storied you 'bout it."
"Phineas let you shoot at the depot yesterday?" said Matt.
"He don't bear blame, Mr. Dillon. He told me not to, and I said I would anyways, so he went with me and learned me how to draw fast and shoot with the revolver straight as I do with a shotgun."
"Well, don't go back there, Chester," the marshal sternly said. "That's the easiest place in town for Callum to ambush you. And I told you not to give Phineas any trouble." Matt's jaw was set, his face tightly drawn with half-moon shadows under his eyes.
Chester took a long breath. Though Matt never had tempered at him in his remembrance, defying the marshal made him nervous.
"Mr. Dillon, I'm a sight eased in my mind 'bout this knowin' I can defend myself better," Chester said, adjusting the six-shooter at his hip. "Phineas said he'll learn me at practice some more today."
His dander heating up, Matt looked down into his friend's large soulful eyes. Doc had wrapped Chester's wounded ear in a thick wad of cloth, which was dotted with dried blood. Matt's anger faded as he looked at Chester, who took a step back and turned his gaze to the floor, his face flushing a little.
"So you got your head fixed on going out by the depot again, do ya?" said Matt.
"Yessir. I am," said Chester.
Phineas walked in. "Matt," he said. "Chester."
"Phineas," said Chester.
"Marty Callum shot you," said Phineas, looking at Chester's bandaged ear. "Glory be, Chester. How much ear you got left?"
"It's naught but a little nick," said Chester. "Doc sewed it up so's it grows back new. Mr. Dillon lost Callum again last night. Callum outrun 'im down the alley outa town."
"Well, dadblasted," said Phineas in a soft, meditative tone.
"Phineas, you didn't tell me you helped Chester target shoot near the train tracks yesterday," said Matt.
"He was that set on goin', Matt," said Phineas. "I tried to talk him out of it. Figured no use troubling you about it when you're thinking on catching Callum."
"He says he's goin' there again, today," said Matt.
"I am," said Chester.
"Thought as much," said Phineas. "Try not to worry too much, Matt. If anyone can protect a man, I can." Matt headed to the livery to saddle Buck and ride out searching for Callum.
"You going out a'ready?" Phineas said, seeing Chester put on his hat. "I'm figurin' to walk the town, make sure Callum's not holed up under a staircase."
"I gotta git to practicin' ma draw, straightaway," said Chester, walking out. "If I shoot the cans jest a short spell more, I could easy outgun Callum. Seen some bottles in the trash barrel by the depot I kin shoot at"
Phineas smiled. "You sure are enthusiastic for it," he said.
"Waal, a man don't amount to much, 'lessen he kin take care of hisself," said Chester.
"You're not gonna have a showdown with Callum, Chester," said Phineas. "You're not thinkin' on that, are you? Matt or me will do the shootin', come to it."
"Never can tell how it'll play out," said Chester, hitching at his gunbelt.
He lined up three bottles and three cans, then drew his gun and rapid- fired, hitting all the cans and shattering the bottles.
"Your aim's sure enough dead-on," said Phineas. "Draw's faster than yesterday, but it still needs practice." Phineas pushed his hat to the back of his head and looked intently at Chester.
"What?" said Chester.
"Part of the speed's in the leg movement, Chester. Balance . . . the whole body goes into it. You're right-handed. The leg slows you down," said Phineas.
Chester nodded, his face untroubled, and Phineas exhaled a quiet breath of relief. "I always been knowin' that," Chester said easily. "Marty Callum's a slow draw, though. He's no crack shot, neither. If he was, I'd be dead now or layin' abed up to Doc's."
"You can't let the fear weigh your limbs," said Phineas. "Can't hesitate once the other fella goes for his gun. And if you let your mind skitter off, you're dead."
Phineas squinted in the sunlight, scanning each man and object as Chester practiced his draw. Dodge used the area as a freight yard and dumping ground, and it needed cleaning up. Looking several yards in front of them at a big pile of scrap metal, Phineas saw the top of a man's hat behind the mound. "Chester, get down on the ground," said the guard.
Chester looked at him, then followed his line of sight. "Where is he," said Chester, raising his gun.
"Yonder, behind that pile of scraps," said Phineas. "I saw a man's hat move."
The hat bobbed up again. "I see it," said Chester.
"Could just be some fella rootin' around back there," said Phineas, "or it could be Callum."
Chester took a step forward, and Phineas jumped in front of him. The guard faced the heap of metal, his back to Chester, who stopped still and waited, holding his gun.
A man's face rose above the pile, and a gun barrel appeared atop it. Phineas drew his gun and fired over the man's head. The face and barrel disappeared. "Did you hit 'im?" said Chester from behind Phineas.
"No," said Phineas. "I fired above his head."
"Aren't you goin' after 'im?" said Chester.
"No. That'd leave you an open target for his bullet."
"I'll take cover," said Chester. "I got my gun."
"Matt hired me to guard you," said Phineas. "That comes first."
"Who's gonna catch Callum, then."
"Matt is."
"Mr. Dillon's nowhere's by. He's out on the prairie huntin' Callum," Chester argued.
They heard a gunshot from a stand of elm near the train tracks. Phineas fired a shot in that direction. "Take cover behind that storage shed," he said, turning to run for the building. Chester hopped away from Phineas and bolted toward the elm trees.
"Chester, no." Phineas grabbed for him, and Chester sprang away, aiming his gun at the trees. The guard ran after him.
"You're a coward, Callum!" Chester hollered at the elms. "You wanna kill me, come on out and show your face!"
Phineas wrapped his arms around Chester, turned so the guard's back faced the trees, and forced Chester forward. "Holster your gun so you don't pull the trigger accidental," Phineas ordered, walking Chester ahead of him.
Chester holstered his gun. "I'll come right back here after sundown, Callum!" Chester yelled. "I'll be here!"
"That's enough target practice," said Phineas. He walked Chester to the bustling area between the depot and the tracks and let go of him.
"You shoulda run Callum down and killed 'im, Phineas," said Chester.
His face impassive, Phineas looked at Chester. "Callum likely didn't hear what you said about comin' back to the target shootin' spot tonight," said the guard.
"Yeah, well, I'll be back there come nightfall, anyway," said Chester. "If Mr. Dillon ain't caught Callum by then."
"Matt might have something to say about that," said Phineas.
"Mr. Dillon cain't stop me."
"Sure he can." Phineas grinned. "He can lock you up."
"He won't do that," said Chester, breathing hard. He was red-faced and sweating.
"Your ear bandage is bloody, Chester," said Phineas. "You het yourself up, the blood gets to pulsing in your head. Makes the wound bleed." He put a hand on Chester's shoulder. "Let's go to Doc's, have him clean it up," said the guard. "Then we can walk the streets, see if Callum's hiding anywhere. Don't reckon he is, though. I figure he'll stay away from town 'til tonight."
"If we saw Callum, you wouldn't do nothin' 'bout it," Chester accused as they headed to Doc's. "You would've gone after 'im behind the depot were you so inclined."
"If I can catch Callum and protect you at the same time, I will," Phineas said calmly. "I won't run off from you to go after him. Matt told me not to lose sight of you for a minute, Chester. You wearin' a gun no matter."