The reformed bank robber tending bar confounded Kitty's patrons and gals. With Sam away, she hired Merse Nation as a favor to Matt. Kitty trusted Matt's judgment and would do almost anything for him, provided her generosity did not in any way jeopardize her freedom.
"Marshal Dillon vouches for him going straight," Kitty assured those who quizzed her about Merse. "The judge pardoned him on the marshal's plea for clemency on condition Merse works while he's in Dodge. He has another chance, and he's too smart to steal again and ruin it for himself. He isn't violent; he never shot a man. No, he's not replacing Sam. Merse will help me out here 'til Sam comes back."
"I think this young fella will work out fine," said Doc. "He's well-mannered enough." Matt had told Doc and Kitty about Merse revealing how the marshal's former wartime friend Eli Sinclair, a burly man bigger than Matt and almost as tall, belittled Chester to his face and roughed him up when Matt hired Eli as special deputy while the trail herds came through town. Though Eli threatened Merse, who was jailed at the time, he nonetheless bore witness against the deputy to Matt, so the marshal, Doc and Kitty were beholden to Merse.
"Figure a man name of Merciful Nation would turn good before many years of his life went by," said Doc. "Being of Puritan stock."
Reckoning he'd find the straight and narrow easier going with a virtuous woman by his side, Merse telegraphed his father's brother's daughter, his cousin Chloe Nation in Boston, begging her to leave her comfortable job at the family bookshop to travel to Dodge and marry him. "Cousins marry each other habitual among my folks," Merse explained. "I'm expected to ask for Chloe's hand."
Chloe agreed to journey West. Merse needed her, and from her earliest memory she'd never let him down, though she had yet to decide if she would marry him, as he'd always been wayward.
"Can you use a hostess, Miss Kitty?" Merse pleaded. "I won't earn sufficient tending bar to take care of Chloe like she's used to. She won't wear a costume or paint her face as she's a lady, but she's pretty and obliging. Book-learned and highbred too, and just twenty-five years old."
"Well Merse," said Kitty, smiling, "If she's that accomplished, I don't think she'll wanna go near the Long Branch."
"Oh, she'll do it for me," said Merse. "Chloe will do about anything for me. And she'll take to the job; I know she will."
Gazing into his bright, vital dark eyes, Kitty realized she couldn't refuse. Though not tall or strong like Matt, Merse at twenty-eight years was neatly formed and nimble, the height and build of most men and somewhat slim yet not skinny. Kitty found Merse's pert regular features, clear light-gold skin and curling dark hair attractive, and beyond the appeal of his looks and disposition, she wanted to accommodate him for risking his skin to help save Chester from that brute Eli Sinclair. The Long Branch needed more refinement, and Kitty counted herself lucky to hire a cultured lady like Chloe.
Chloe looked like a female version of her cousin Merse, resembling him closely enough to be his sister, and the two were openly affectionate in an intimate way. Despite Chloe's comeliness, because of her brown complexion Merse had just two rivals in Dodge for her attentions, and only one serious suitor, though most of Kitty's patrons dallied with Chloe, and many asked to share a bed.
A cordial young woman fond of men, she patiently tolerated their caresses and embraces until they tried to kiss or propositioned her, at which point she rebuffed them. She'd never lain with a man, as she wanted to come to her marriage bed in purity.
Whether she'd marry Merse, whom she'd loved tenderly since they were babes, or the beautiful young rich man who'd asked for her hand fifteen minutes after meeting her, Chloe did not know. The only other admirer showing an interest in her beyond dallying and carnal lust had such an easy way about him, she doubted if he'd ever propose. Tall and slim, he worked for the marshal and sparked all the pretty gals.
The rich one, named Tristan Wayland, and the other, who was poor but had kind eyes and a sweet manner, sat with Chloe at a table, while Merse watched them with sober vigilance from the bar and the orange sunlight of early November brightened the Long Branch. Chloe never drank beer or whiskey. She sipped steaming coffee sweetened with three brown sugar lumps and cream, and her two companions had nearly full beer mugs.
Their attention shifting every few minutes to Merse to gauge his reaction, Matt, Kitty and Doc stood at the bar and with lively curiosity regarded Chloe and Tristan. Merse had acquired modest fame in Dodge for robbing the bank, receiving a pardon at Matt's request and working as barkeep while Sam was away, Tristan's father was a Chicago industrialist and millionaire, and Merse, Chloe and Tristan, young and singularly attractive, were newcomers to Dodge.
"That Tristan fella's even younger than Chloe," said Doc. "He looks like a young'un."
"Chloe said he's twenty-one, only just," said Kitty. "She said his father's ashamed of him and exiled him out West soon as he came of age. His kinfolk think he's addled somewhat. Said it in front of the boy since he can remember. According to him, anyway."
"Hard thing, for a boy to hear that all his life," said Doc. "His kin callin' him lunatic would make him slip his moorings even if his head was rock steady."
"Well I don't know about you and Kitty, Doc," said Matt, "but there's something not quite right about that boy from what I see. He's staring so intently at Chester sparkin' Chloe, he hardly blinks. Scarce moves, even."
"What's odder than that," said Doc, "He don't appear riled, or anything while he's lookin'. Has no expression at all."
"He could be a sculpture, sitting there," said Kitty. "A strange breathtaking sculpture."
Untouched by the curiosity stirred in his friends, Chester was not disquieted by Tristan's relentless stare. A mid-sized man on the lean side, Tristan was about the same height and build as Merse, with a gentle patrician face and large eyes soft at their depths, though they now shone hotly, enamored of Chloe. Dandified with proper speech, he had a quiet intonation that sounded peculiar to Chester, who'd never been to Chicago and thought Tristan had less sense than a young'un half his age.
Chester took a big swallow of beer to embolden himself, pushed his hat to the back of his head and leaned on the table to move closer to Chloe. "I was thinkin' you might like to go picnickin' sometime, maybe," he said, smiling.
Tristan turned his gaze from Chester to Chloe. "You'll do well not to waste time on this fellow, Miss Chloe, since I am here seeking your hand," said Tristan. He took her slim fingers in a soft white hand that matched the fair complexion of his face. He had small hands and unmarked silky skin that a woman would envy. Most women with paint and powder could not replicate that stainless unvarying hue, tinted pink on his cheekbones.
Chloe thought of Merse's adept bronze hands, barely larger than Tristan's yet so much stronger. She knew Merse watched from the bar, and wondered with concern if he'd feel very distressed. When Merse was six years old and Chloe three, he told her they'd marry when they grew up, and he'd considered her his betrothed ever since. Merse wouldn't give her up easily if she decided to accept Tristan. Her cousin pursued anything he wanted with hound-like tenacity.
"Chester has not my advantages," said Tristan. "Or my breeding or education, and he doesn't look nearly so well as I. He's not a whit handsome as I am, nor a whit serious about courting you, either, my dear."
Chester was not insulted, as he knew Tristan spoke truth. The younger man's tone was so soft and mild, a body would as soon take offense at a lady of the same age, which of course was nearly unthinkable. Chester had no wish to turn foppish for any woman, and too much book learning just gave him a headache and a well of confusion. He surely had no desire to look pretty either, and as for courtship, he wasn't thinking on marrying as he couldn't provide for a wife.
"All that don't mean Miss Chloe and me cain't picnic if the notion takes us, ain't that right, Miss Chloe," Chester said easily.
"The weather's growing cold to sit out, Chester," said Chloe. "It's chill here in the Long Branch, even with the sunbeams shining in; I must wear woolens and a wrap to keep warm. I don't see how Kitty's girls stand going about in those skimpy outfits."
"You see?" said Tristan to Chester. "Miss Chloe wants none of your plans. Why don't you join your friends at the bar, or talk to Merse?"
"I'll talk ta Merse sure 'nough," said Chester, unruffled. He couldn't spark Chloe as he wanted to with the boy there, so gossiping about Tristan appealed to him more at the moment. " 'Scuse me, Miss Chloe." Chester tipped his hat, rose and picked up his beer.
Mr. Dillon stood close to Miss Kitty at the end of the bar, with Doc at her other side, and Chester hoped Doc would let him shoulder in next to her. "Dah-oc," said Chester, with a wide smile.
Feigning vexation, Doc jerked his head back and looked up at Chester. "What in blazes are you grinning about, Chester."
"Oh nothin', nothin' at all," said Chester. "Jest lookin' forward to chattin' with ya, Doc. D'you mind if ah wheedle in here aside Miss Kitty?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do mind," said Doc. "This one time, you're not takin' the best spot at the bar."
"Aw now Doc . . . ." said Chester.
"Oh Doc," Kitty laughingly said. "Let him stand beside me if he wants to. Come here, Chester."
"Well of all the . . . ." Doc said, as Chester pushed in next to Kitty.
"You lost out on your conquest over there, didn't you," Doc said to Chester. "So now you wanna come crowding up here when there's plenty of room at this bar where you can stand."
"Well I need to stand here, Doc. I got somewhat important to say. You oughter hear it, too, Merse," said Chester, as Merse sidled closer to them, listening in.
"It's about that dandy boy trying to steal my fiancée, ain't it," said Merse. "I'm minded to go direct to that table and horn in."
"You best watch out for him, Merse," said Chester. "Addlepated feller like that, there's no tellin'."
Merse snorted. "I'd soon fear a little girl as him."
"He's set on Miss Chloe b'longin' to 'im, what I mean," said Chester. "If you let 'im know she's yer intended, irregardless. He's afflicted with mad passion. You'll all see the truth of it right along," he grimly predicted when his companions laughed.
"He's kissing Miss Chloe at the table there now," said Matt in an amused, disinterested tone. Whether or not Tristan Wayland was mentally ill, Matt thought Chester was acting alarmist as he often did. Tristan seemed to the marshal like a pampered boy, younger even than his twenty-one years.
Leaning on the bar, Matt straightened up and watchfully eyed Merse, who scowled at Tristan holding Chloe in his arms. He'd taken off his hat and she sat in his lap, her fingers playing with his soft, waving brown hair. With no sign of the childlike mien so visible a moment ago, Tristan kissed her with a sureness borne of experience and a knowledge of his charms. He kissed her fervently yet tenderly, desperately yet not wildly.
"He knows how to give a woman loving; I'll say that for him," Doc said drily. "Nothing boyish about 'im there."
"I'm gonna put a stop to it," said Merse.
"I don't want any fighting in here, Merse," said Matt.
"Won't be no fight to speak of, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "Tristan cain't hit none from the look of 'im."
"Please don't, Merse," said the young woman standing near them at the bar. She was Sophie Talbot, one of Kitty's girls. "He's just a boy in love."
"Chloe and I've had an understanding since we were knee high, Sophie," said Merse. "I won't hit Wayland unless I need to."
"Can't you stop him, Marshal?" said Sophie, as Merse moved to the table.
"He hasn't done anything yet, Sophie," said Matt.
Immersed in fondling each other, Tristan and Chloe did not notice Merse standing over them until he spoke. "Unhand my fiancée, Wayland," Merse ordered.
Chloe rose from Tristan's lap and stood between the two men, putting her hands on Merse's shoulders. Her closeness affected him as it always had, even when he was a little boy and she an unformed girl with curls escaping her braids and swirling round her head every which-way.
Where most men considered Chloe girlishly pretty and bright, to Merse she was stunningly beautiful, and he was utterly easy with and comforted by her beauty and at rest in her presence, unlike with other women. Her face mirrored his own; she was in every way part of him. Compelled to touch her when they were this close, Merse took hold of her waist.
"You're relations," said Tristan, "You look just alike. You're brother and sister. That's indecent!"
Merse's hands slid to Chloe's arms and he moved her to the side, then backhanded Tristan. "Watch your tongue," said Merse. "We're cousins."
Clearly not used to being struck, Tristan grabbed his face and leaned on the table. "Stay away from her," said Merse. His hand closed possessively around Chloe's arm. "Come to the bar and keep me company, Chloe," he said.
"No." Chloe pulled her arm away. "You didn't have to hit him, Merse."
"He insulted you," said Merse.
"He didn't mean to."
"Miss Chloe did not tell me she was engaged to be married," said Tristan, rubbing his face where Merse hit him.
"I'm not," said Chloe.
Tristan pushed back his chair and stood. "Then I will continue courting her with the intention of marriage," he said, "if it means a duel between you and me, Nation. I'd rather die than not have her."
"You fool boy," said Merse, as Matt moved toward them. "You're not even wearing a gun."
"I'll buy one and strap it on at once," said Tristan.
"I don't hold with gunplay in this town, Wayland," said Matt.
Tristan looked up at Matt. The marshal's pale-blue eyes appeared concerned and decisive, but not the least hard or cold. Overlying the gentleness in Tristan's eyes, Matt saw an intensity of mania of a deep-rooted sort which the marshal figured had ailed the boy long before he met Chloe.
"Not to worry, Marshal," said Merse. "I won't draw on him."
"I will shoot you, anyway, Nation," said Tristan, "if you try to keep me from Miss Chloe."
"You're not shooting anyone," said Matt. "You keep up that kind of talk and I'll have to ask you to leave Dodge."
"I won't leave, Marshal," said Tristan. "You cannot force me to leave here. I'm going to Mr. Jonas's store and buy a gun and belt and bullets." He put on his hat and left the Long Branch.
"There's somewhat wrong with that boy, sure," said Merse.
"Be careful around him, Merse," said Matt. "Try not to rile 'im."
"I won't let him make love to Chloe," said Merse.
Matt looked at Chloe. "Tristan's obsessed with you, Miss Chloe, and he's not right in the head. You'll do him and Merse a favor if you stop encouraging the boy."
Chloe's face flushed and her lovely dark eyes sparkled with anger. "I saw right off Tristan's not mentally sound, Marshal," she said. "I think because he needs a woman's love, not contrariwise. He needs a good wife to care for him. And he won't want to shoot Merse if Merse leaves him alone and quits stirring up trouble. I will fall in love with whomever I please, Marshal," said Chloe. "And that goes for you, too, Merse."
Matt looked at Chloe and made no reply, thinking how smart and bold and pretty she was, while Merse regarded her in consternation, his mouth parted. The thought of losing her made him freeze still.
The anger faded from Chloe's face and her eyes went soft. "Don't look so, Merse," she said. "I love you, too." She put her arms around his neck and kissed him.
"Then you won't marry Wayland?" Merse implored. "You'll marry me, honey? I love you so much, Chloe. All my life." Feeling an intruder on their privacy, Matt moved back to the bar.
"I know," Chloe said to Merse. "I haven't decided though whether to marry you. But I'll come to the bar and keep you company liked you asked." Arms around each other, they walked to the other end of the bar from where the marshal and his friends stood.
"Miss Chloe Nation is one headstrong woman," said Matt. He took a long swallow of beer. "She won't listen to reason about Tristan. If she ends up marrying Merse, he has his work cut out for him."
"Doc and I and Chester heard it all," said Kitty, "and I think Chloe might be right about Tristan needing a good wife to take care of him. He's young for his age, but he's not a boy, Matt. And I don't know why you're blaming this on Chloe. Merse is the one to blame."
"Merse is in love with her," said Doc. "Can't fault a man for gettin' his dander up when he sees the woman he loves in the arms of another man. Chloe's playin' 'em against each other, looks to me, and it won't end well, she don't stop it."
"She's not engaged to Merse, Doc," said Kitty, "so she doesn't have to stop anything. Chloe has a right to spark as many men as she wants, and I want her to. It's good for business. If Merse and that swoony Tristan get hot-headed over her, it's their doing. Maybe they'll kill each other, leave Chloe free to catch a better man than a near cousin she's known all her life, or a lunatic."
"Now, you don't mean that, Kitty," said Doc.
"Maybe I do," said Kitty.
" 'Tain't Merse's fault nor Miss Chloe's," said Chester. "Miss Chloe's a fine obligin' lady, Doc, and you oughtn't find fault with her." Though he hadn't taken to Mr. Dillon's hard words about Miss Chloe either, unless he was a sight distressed, Chester had a time getting out the words to tell Mr. Dillon when he'd said something disagreeable, which in Chester's opinion was almost never anyway.
Kitty smiled smugly at Doc. "You don't know a thing about it, Chester," said Doc.
"That mad Tristan Wayland's ta blame, not Miss Chloe," said Chester. "He throwed hisself at her and spelled her with them soft addled eyes."
"The man's mentally sick, Chester," said Matt.
"Mr. Dillon, he ain't like them daft ones to the asylum, dunno what they're about," Chester argued. "I knowed he was trouble early on."
When Jonas sold Tristan the costliest six-shooter in his store, a solid silver gun with a long slim barrel and butt sheathed in mother-of-pearl, and a gunbelt cut from the finest cowhide with a silver buckle, Jonas did not consider whether the young man meant trouble. Tristan seemed rather strangely excited, and his soft brown eyes had the look of one who'd smoked an opium pipe and been overcome at a sideshow, but Jonas not uncommonly saw men, women and children in town and regions roundabout who'd lost their wits, and he was neither surprised or disturbed. It was hard to live off the prairie, which in many places was barren, and Dodge City could be harsh, with frequent eruptions of violence—beatings with any weapon imaginable, people of every age—female and male—caught alone and violated, fights and gunplay.
Although Tristan had never lived in the country or done anything resembling work in his life, according to Ma Smalley, who'd heard about Tristan from Miss Chloe Nation, who boarded at Ma's. Young Wayland had been raised in luxury, and only just traveled to Dodge from Chicago. Ma said he was born unsound, that it was in his blood.
"He hasn't the faintest idea where he's headed in life," Ma told Mr. Jonas when she visited his store to pick up her light shipment of sundries. She sifted through a basket of neatly stacked sunbonnets as she chatted. "Not that it matters. Rich folk don't need direction, or they can take as many paths as they please for the fun of it. Miss Chloe says Tristan has twenty million, and he'll inherit more on his father's passing. Tristan's staying at Dodge House in their best suite, but he doesn't know if he'll settle here in town. He doesn't know where he'll settle, if anywhere.
"The boy's mother died of wasting sickness from women's complaint when he was a year old, or she might have nurtured him and kept him close instead of sending him away to fend for himself when he came of age like his pa did, seeing as Tristan has a plaguing infirmity. It's just inside his head where it doesn't show," said Ma.
"Well, he's hardly fending for himself with twenty million dollars," said Jonas. "I wouldn't have to do a lick of fending the rest of my days if I had just twenty thousand, long as I lived modest."
"That's so," said Ma, unfolding an orange-brown calico bonnet.
"Now that's a nice one for harvest season," said Jonas. "The catalog says the color is autumn leaves."
"It is nice, isn't it," said Ma, adding it to the stack of bonnets she'd set aside. "I shouldn't buy too many, though, with winter coming soon. I'll be wearing hoods, then.
"You heard about the fracas at Delmonico's yesterday, Mr. Jonas?"
"It's been all over town," said Jonas. "Young Wayland was at the center of it, wasn't he?"
"Him and that bank robber, Merciful Nation. Why Marshal Dillon asked the judge to pardon him, I can't begin to think. Merse is like a half-tamed colt never properly trained. For all he's gentlemanly and he's Miss Chloe's cousin, so he must have some good breeding."
"D'you know what exactly happened at Delmonico's, Ma?" said Jonas. "I musta heard ten different accounts if I heard one."
"Miss Chloe was there and she told me everything," said Ma. "The marshal was there too, with Chester and Kitty Russell. I got some of it from Chester when he came to my place for breakfast this morning, but I think Miss Chloe's account more reliable. You know how Chester exaggerates, and he mixes things up somewhat. I didn't bother asking the marshal, though he rooms at my place. It's like pulling teeth to get more'n a word or two from him about fights and such," Ma said.
Ma followed Mr. Jonas around the store while he cleaned and tidied, arranged merchandise and worked in the stockroom, logged purchases and expenditures and waited on patrons, who all listened raptly as Ma related the Delmonico's incident. She loved to gossip and chat, loved an audience, and despite a rather flighty manner at odds with her efficiency, keen level head and hardworking nature, she had book-learning and proved an interesting storyteller and surprisingly good conversationalist.
"Yesterday was Miss Chloe's day off from her hostess job at the Long Branch, and Tristan came calling at luncheon time to invite her to dine with him at Delmonico's," said Ma. "I noticed he wore a gun, as he hadn't on his earlier visits, a beautiful model all of polished silver with a lovely grade of pearl on the butt—if one may describe a gun that way—and the finest gunbelt with a silver buckle. I hoped he wore it just to show off, and wouldn't use it and get himself in trouble.
" 'Tristan's affliction does not affect him speaking well in society, and we had a pleasant time until Cousin Merciful showed at the restaurant, Ma,' Chloe told me. 'Merse was raised in the same surroundings as myself; none of the family can imagine how he turned out wayward. He defied our conventions even as a little boy.' I knew whatever Merse did at Delmonico's riled her as she frowned and her eyes glittered when she spoke his name, and red color flooded her face, which is the loveliest light-golden shade.
" 'Tristan is sweet and soft-spoken with aristocratic manners, natural to his bones and like a fine portrait to look at, and I can't help but love him, Ma, although I've always loved Merse and still do,' Chloe confided to me. 'My love for Merse is different, though, like we're joined twins sharing one heart, even when distance separates us. Merse is so very familiar, and Tristan is wonderfully strange and new.'
" 'When I walked in Delmonico's on Tristan's arm,' Chloe said, resuming her story, 'Marshal Dillon was seated at a table with Kitty and Chester.
'Kitty smiled and called out a hello, so Tristan led me to their table so he could bow and acknowledge her greeting. 'What a pleasure to see you here, Miss Kitty,' he said. 'You look ravishing.'
" 'Kitty thanked him,' said Chloe, 'and he greeted the marshal and Chester. Marshal Dillon responded only by saying 'Tristan,' and Chester said 'Howdy' dismissively, without meeting Tristan's eyes. I know Westerners on the whole can be a taciturn people, Ma, particularly the men. As a Bostonite from a literary family whose father is an English professor and bookshop owner and mother a society matron—my folks are comfortably prosperous but not rich—I find it hard accustoming to their manners, though the marshal and Chester are fine men and gentlemanly. Marshal Dillon takes some liberties, I think, speaking his mind to younger women, and he has a thought or two that aren't at all progressive. I'm happy you and Miss Kitty aren't at all taciturn, Ma; you especially are quite the other way, so I have friends I can really talk to and confide in.'
"Well I should think so!" I said. "You'll find too that Chester's the best of friends if he likes you, and he's clearly taken with you, my dear. Once he figures in his mind you're a worthy body, he chats up a storm."
" 'Oh yes, I've found that out,' said Chloe, smiling. 'I'm fond of Chester, but I doubt he's a suitable match for me. I think he's too poor to support a wife, and he's not seriously courting me, besides. And I certainly don't mean to imply that Marshal Dillon stands anywhere but high in my estimation, either. He's a very good man; I'm sure of it, and so strong and steady. Just being in his presence makes me feel safe, Ma, like no one and nothing can hurt me.'
"Yes, I think all the womenfolk feel like that around the marshal, I said. I surely do. But do continue your story, dear.
"Chloe and I sat in my parlor over tea at the time, you know, Mr. Jonas.
" 'Yes, well, anyway, where was I,' said Chloe.
"You and Tristan had greeted the marshal and Chester and Kitty at Delmonico's, I said.
" 'Oh yes,' Chloe said. 'Did I mention that Kitty's girl Sophie Talbot was lunching at Delmonico's then, too? She was sitting by herself. Kitty hired her out of charity, I think. Sophie's plain and thin and unmarried at thirty, so people don't take much notice of her, but being devoutly raised I should know better. My uncle's wife, Merciful's mother, is from a Puritan family, so Uncle Luke became Puritan, too. But I'm rambling.'
" 'Tristan and I seated ourselves at a table of our own,' said Chloe. 'The waiter served our water and coffee, and we ordered the prairie grouse with sweet potatoes and peas.
'That's when Merse walked in. It was his day off too, I guess. Always alert, he spotted us at once, glared, then hesitated as though making up his mind to do something. Knowing him well, I desperately wished he wouldn't do it, whatever it was.'
" 'Kitty later told me that Marshal Dillon kept a fixed eye on Merse, and the marshal tensed to spring up and keep order if he had to,' Chloe said.
' 'Matt feels responsible on account of he petitioned the judge to set Merse free after he held up the bank,' Kitty explained. 'Chloe, I know Merse is your cousin and I like him,' said Kitty, 'but he should try harder to rein in his feelings about you and Tristan, if only out of gratitude to Matt. It'll reflect badly on him if Merse and Tristan fight or shoot it out. Matt knows that and it troubles him.'
" 'I suppose you know it's no secret how dearly Kitty loves the marshal, Ma,' said Chloe. 'Kitty won't straight out say so, but her eyes light up like blue gemstones in the sun and she smiles a little in a musing way whenever she speaks of him. Kitty has a beautiful expressive face; don't you think so, Ma?'
" 'And Marshal Dillon stays very close to Kitty at the Long Branch,' said Chloe, when I affirmed Kitty's beauty. 'They look into each other's eyes a lot, and he has a wide smile he gives only to her.'
"Folks here know Kitty's the marshal's woman, I said. So what did Merse do next, Miss Chloe?"
'He moved to our table, took off his hat and said, 'Hello, Chloe. Tristan. You don't mind if I pull up a chair and join you? So I'll have someone to talk to.' One side of his mouth turned up in a smirk.
'Merse, really, I said. You weren't invited.
' 'And Mr. Wayland here was not invited to seduce my lady,' said Merse.
'Tristan stood up, and Merse with his keen quick eyes saw Tristan's new gun as the early afternoon light shining through the windows scintillated off the silver.
' 'Matt saw the gun too, Chloe, when you and Tristan came to our table,' Kitty later told me.
' 'That boy's actin' a fool,' Matt said. 'That fancy silver six-shooter will attract riffraff eager to tease or rough him up at best, or beat and rob or kill him, or worse things I won't mention in front of you, Kitty. Tristan's probably never shot a gun in his life.'
'And Chester said, 'Are you gonna take the gun from Tristan, Mr. Dillon? Recollect he threatened to shoot it out with Merse.'
' 'Not yet, Chester,' Matt said. 'If I take the gun now, Tristan will just buy another. I'll see how it plays out before I step in.' '
Ma Smalley paused telling the story to take a deep breath, and dramatically touched her hand to her chest. "Hey there, son," Jonas said to a young'un who'd just purchased a sack of gumdrops, "run to the stockroom and fetch Mrs. Smalley a dipper of water from the pump." He couldn't remember the child's name as he belonged to a family of sixteen children, seven of them under eleven years old. Jonas did not want to fetch the water himself, as Ma had finally reached the part when the fracas at Delmonico's likely started.
A crowd now filled the store and surrounded Ma, and she was in her element. Jonas knew she wouldn't stop or follow him if he left the room. He did hope all the folks would want to buy something else to refresh themselves when Ma finished the story—some jerky and crackers and hardboiled eggs, and maybe some bottles of sarsaparilla.
"Well Mr. Jonas," Ma said, "My heart just tripped as I waited for Miss Chloe to say what happened next. My little hired girl carried into the parlor a fresh pot of tea and hot buttered sweet rolls, and looked like she wanted to stay and listen, but I shooed her away by promising to add twenty cents to her pay that week if she prepared the rump roast and put it to cook in time for supper."
"So then Chloe said, 'Tristan said to Merse, 'You will please to take yourself off at once, sir. I asked your cousin to dine with me, and she accepted. You have no right to intrude.'