Chapter One

Moss

I knew straightaway the stranger was a gunman. I seen it in his deliberate movement, and the face. This one had dead dun-colored eyes and a face like a stone carving. "My horse is worn out," he said. "I need to trade him for a fresh one." He spoke measured, with no feeling in his deep voice, his talk striking the same low note. "Got my eye on your slate stallion there," he said. "I'll pay the difference."

The thought of refusing this brawny growed-up fellow made my nerves thrum. The stallion was my prized loan horse, over sixteen hands and strongly muscled. "He's not for sale," I said. "You can borrow 'im. Seventy-five cent, one day, as he's the best I got. You wanna cheaper loan, another horse'll cost you sixty cent."

"Don't want a loan, old-timer," said the stranger. "I'm buying, and that stallion's the only horse in your stable catches my eye. Name your price."

"He's not for sale, Mister," I said. "I told you."

"I won't waste time bickering," he said. "You won't name your price, I'll give you what I think he's worth."

"I ain't takin' your money," I said, as he pulled out a wallet.

"You can tear up these bills and use 'em for straw for all I care," he said. "I'm taking that stallion. I calculate fifty dollars plus my gelding. He's a fine Morgan, just four years. He'll have his spirit back with a good feed and some days rest. Thing is, I need a fresh horse on hand every minute of the day and night. I may have to leave Dodge sudden." He held the money out to me.

"No," I said. "I got horses to sell, that's what you want. But not the stallion."

"Stubborn old man," he said. He folded the bills and stuck them in my shirt pocket. "It's done," he said. "The Morgan's yours. Next time I come here, I'm saddling that stallion. He's mine now."

A darkness hung in the stable in the stranger's wake, like a cloud of locusts blown on a draft. Not on account of his face, which wasn't bad-looking in spite of the odd eyes and lack of any expression. He just gave a body a cold shuddery feeling that hovered after he left.

I wanted to keep my stallion, so I told the marshal. I handed him the stranger's fifty dollars, and described him.

"There are two other liveries in town," said Matt, as Chester poured me coffee. "This man can stable his gelding at one of them. I'll let him know he's going to jail if he shows up at your place again, Moss.

"Chester, go with Moss and get the stranger's horse, and tie 'im to the hitching rail outside the office there. Then find this man and tell me where he is. You say he's a gunman, Moss?" said Matt.

"Looks like one, sure. Got big eyes like a corpse's and a hard still face. Looks to think on every move before he makes it.

"Not meanin' to tell you your job, Matt," I said, "but if Chester tracks this stranger, he best be careful. Fella's a big one, tall too. I bet you'd have a time beatin' 'im in a fight, Matt."

"Should I oughter carry a shotgun with me, Mr. Dillon?" said Chester.

"No," said Matt. "He might take notice of you with a shotgun. You find him, don't say anything to 'im. Come tell me."

A foretelling hit me, then. Matt would kill the man. He seemed set on things his way, if the wrong way, no matter to him, and Matt wouldn't stand for it.

Matt

I figured I'd have to find the stranger. Doc treated me and Chester and Kitty to lunch at Delmonico's, and Chester was sleepy afterward. He said he needed a nap in the sun to get his wits about him. He slouched in the chair outside the office and snored past an hour. I was about to strap on my gunbelt, when Chester rushed in wide-eyed and breathing hard, leaving the door open.

"What is it, Chester," I said, as he limped fast to me. He didn't answer, just stood close by me and looked at the doorway.

A burly fellow stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and I saw right off he was the stranger, and like Moss said, a gunman. "I asked you a question," the man said to Chester.

"Just a minute," I said. I moved in front of the man. Though his shoulders were broad as mine, and his frame bigger, I had a good three inches on him. "You got anything to ask, Mister, ask me," I said.

He looked at my badge. "I traded that horse tied to your hitching rail for a stallion at Grimmick's Livery," he said. "I'm wondering how the gelding got here. Thought he might know," said the man, nodding at Chester.

"He shook ma shoulder to wakin' and yelled in my face," said Chester.

"I'm not a hollering man," said the stranger. "You were sleeping so sound, it was needful to raise my voice."

"What's your name," I said.

"Thorpe," said the stranger. "Judd Thorpe."

"What's your business in Dodge, Thorpe," I said.

"I work for the United States government," he said. "I'm an assassin. Know what an assassin is, Marshal?"

I calculated he thought like most of his breed that he was real smart, compared to lawmen particular. I looked into his dead eyes, and wanted to kill him. "Mm-hmm," I said. "You're a gun for hire."

"An assassin's not any hired gun, Marshal," said Thorpe. "I work for the Department of the Interior. There's dispute about whether to kill me, since the department paid me to shoot one of their own, and I know too much. They're afraid I might tell important people in Washington, like the president. For a price, that is. So the ones who want me alive and on the payroll told me to disappear for my safety. They'll wire me to come home when they resolve the family quarrel."

"Why'd you disappear to Dodge?" I said.

Thorpe shrugged. "It's lively," he said. "Saloons, gambling, pool. And plenty of cheap gals, though I've only the one use for women."

"You'll abide by the law here or I'll throw ya in jail, Thorpe," I said. "Way I see it, you're a murderer, even if the government pays you to do it."

I handed him the fifty dollars Moss gave me. "What's this for," he said.

"That's your money back," I said. "Moss isn't selling his stallion, and he doesn't want your business. You take your horse out there and find another livery. Stay away from Grimmick's."

He looked at me a moment. "A U.S. marshal," he said. "It's not worth the risk. Not over a horse."

"If you mean gunplay," I said, "don't try it. You'll end up dead." I want him to try it. I want to kill him.

"I died a long time ago, Marshal," said Thorpe. "Maybe I've always been dead. Always thought I had something missing, even as a youngun." He left the office, untied his horse and walked away, holding the reins.

Chester moved to the window and looked after him. "He's trouble, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "I jest know, like ta feel it. He scared me so bad out there, I near had a heart attack. D'you figure on havin' to kill 'im?"

I wanted to say, "I hope so," but it seemed the wrong thing to say to Chester, or anyone, that I wanted to kill a man. "Yes," I said instead. "I figure I'll have to kill him, Chester."

Ma Smalley

I had no wish to board one gunman at my place, much less two, so I appealed to the marshal when he came in after his rounds.

"There's one gunman came to town today, Ma," he said. "Big fella name of Judd Thorpe."

"Well, yes, he's one of them," I said. "A strange man, even as gunmen go. His features aren't bothersome; it's not that. They're clean-cut, and regular enough. It's—"

"I know, Ma," said Marshal Dillon. "I met Thorpe. You don't want him stayin' here, why not tell 'im?"

"Well, I couldn't think of a reason to tell him not to stay here," I said. "His money's good. Same with the other one came here a coupla hours after him."

"What other one," said the marshal.

"Marshal," I said, "that's what I'm trying to tell you. I know he's a gunman, too; I could see it without him saying so. He's a gaunt man with haunted eyes. Shadowed eyes. His name is Taff."

"Taff?" said the marshal. "That his last name?"

"He says that's his only name," I said. "They're both peculiar, Marshal. I know they'll make trouble; gunmen always do. I want them out of here."

"Tonight?" said Marshal Dillon. He looked tired, and I felt a bit guilty for not waiting 'til morning to tell him.

"I s'pose they can sleep the night here," I said. "They paid for their rooms."

"Alright," said the marshal. "I'll tell them come morning."

Though he never asked for a late-night snack after his rounds, if I was still up when he came in, I usually carried a bite of something to his room. Unless sick or too tired, he always ate what I fixed.

That night, I prepared hot apple pie and cheese, and hot cider with a brandy splash. Marshal Dillon had refused my cider for awhile, saying, "I'd rather just have coffee, Ma, if you got some made." I figured coffee would keep him awake, so I flavored the cider with whiskey or brandy, and he drained the cup.

When I climbed the stairs to his room and knocked, he opened the door, and I set the pie and cider on his bedside table. "That looks good, Ma; thanks," said the marshal. I smiled, about to say goodnight, when a shot cracked out from down the hall.

The marshal had taken off his gunbelt for the night, and he grabbed his gun from the holster. "Stay here, Ma," he said. "Lock the door and don't open it 'til I get back."

Matt

The boarders came out of their rooms, crowding the hallway and stairs. "Go back in your rooms and lock your doors," I said. They paid me no mind, but I had to say it.

A smoke curl drifted through the crack between the closed door of Judd Thorpe's room and the frame. I opened the door, my gun raised. The room was dark, and Thorpe stood over a man sitting on the floor and clutching his shoulder. Thorpe held a six-shooter in each hand.

"Drop those guns," I said. He dropped them.

"I'll pick the guns up for you, Marshal," said a man from behind me. Though I recognized his voice and face, I couldn't recollect his name at the moment.

Passing so close to Thorpe that her arm brushed his, Ma lighted the lamp, and a knot of frustration twisted my gut as my hold on things slipped. I don't know why I expected her to stay locked in my room when her boarders thronged the doorway to Thorpe's room. There was no telling Ma to do anything; she always did what she wanted to do.

"I made the mistake of not locking the door when I went to bed, Marshal," said Thorpe. "Taff there tried to kill me. One of those guns you told me to drop is his."

I looked at the man on the floor. His thin face was grayish, and dark circles ringed his eyes. "That true?" I said.

"Yes," Taff said faintly. "I work for the War Department. I had my orders, Marshal. Judd Thorpe killed a general."

"I was hired to kill that general," said Thorpe. "By the Department of the Interior."

"Can two of you men carry him to the jail?" I said. "And one of you get Doc."

"You can't jail me," said Taff. "I was following orders."

"I'll send a letter to the Justice Department, see if I can find out what's going on with you two," I said. "You're staying in jail until I get a response, Taff. Maybe longer, depending on what they say."

"Why don't you arrest Thorpe," said Taff. "He's killed more men than I have."

"You confessed to me that you tried to kill Thorpe," I said. "In my jurisdiction. There's no wanted poster on him, so you're the one goin' to jail."

"I can walk," said Taff, pulling away as two men tried to lift him. "The bullet went clean through my shoulder." He fainted, and the men carried him out.

"You folks go on back to your rooms," I said to the boarders. "Thorpe, Mrs. Smalley wants you out of here. Come sunup, leave."

Thorpe shrugged. Though his eyes showed no more feeling than two rocks, he somehow had the look of a man who just won a hand. I figured he counted himself lucky that I wasn't locking him up.

"Why don't you go back to your room, Ma," I said.

"Well . . . alright," she said. "As long as he's gone, first light." Thorpe hadn't glanced at her from the time she entered the room, and he didn't look when she left.

"Your enemies found you, Thorpe," I said, "and all of Dodge will know what you are in a few hours. You have no reason to stay in town."

"I'll leave when I get ready, Marshal," he said impassively.

I looked into his dead eyes and wanted to hit him. I supposed it wasn't his fault, as in the short spells I talked to him, his voice sounded stuck on the same flat key. He was just telling me how it was with him.

Thorpe blinked hard and backed up a step. He must've seen my dander was up. "I could beat you in a fight, Marshal," he said. "Not hardly a man alive can beat me, but I'm guessing you don't want to fight in the old lady's house. Seems to me you're fond of her."

"Why stay in Dodge," I said.

"I never liked running and hiding," said Thorpe. "Makes more sense to wait in one spot and kills who's after me. I meant to kill Taff, but my shot was off in the dark. I was about to strangle him and finish the job when you busted it up."

"If that's what keeps you in town, forget it, Thorpe," I said. "The first time, you shot in self-defense. Shoot Taff again, you'll either join 'im in jail or get shot yourself, and I might be the one pullin' the trigger."

"Taff will try to kill me again when he's free," said Thorpe. "Which won't be long. Washington will send someone here to take custody of Taff, and turn 'im loose soon as they're out of Dodge."

"Maybe not," I said. "When the Justice Department reads about all this in my letter."

"If you think they can stop the Army from gunning for me, you're naïve, Marshal," said Thorpe. "Like Taff said, I killed a general." He put a carpetbag on the bed and started packing his clothes, and I didn't remind him he had until sunup to move out of Ma's place.

"Where'll you bunk when you leave here," I said.

"Dodge House," he said. "I chose Miz Smalley's first off because I like home cooking. Oh, well. An assassin is welcome nowhere. My employers can't stand the sight of me."

He paused his packing to look at me again. His large barren eyes had no unsettling effect on me, except to make me think the more that like every gun for hire, he needed killing. Government assassin notwithstanding. I wanted to kill him, yet I shrank from the thought of killing him, or any man. It wasn't anger that prodded me to it, though he did rile me some. Thorpe's death was essential.

"You can't stand the sight of me either, can you, Marshal," said Thorpe.

I figured to say, Men like you have no right to exist. Though that was the just answer to his question, for some reason, I said nothing.

"The government paid me to kill some real bad men," said Thorpe. "You're paid to do the same thing."

"There's a big difference, Thorpe," I said. "I only kill when I have no other choice. I don't do it for money."

Strapping on his gunbelt, Thorpe opened his mouth, then shut it. "You're right," he said after a moment, putting on his hat. "I guess I was born devil's spawn, Marshal. My pa always said so."

Jonas

As I was used to gunmen patronizing my store, Judd Thorpe made me only a little uneasy. A lot of them looked that way . . . the empty eyes and whatnot. Though like most folks in Dodge, I wanted him out of town, I waited on him like any customer.

I was bagging a box of bullets for Thorpe when old Captain Upton came in the store. He was retired from the Army, and I feared trouble with Thorpe. It was all over town that Thorpe was a government assassin who'd killed a general.

Captain Upton moved to the counter as I handed the bag to Thorpe, and stared at the gunman. "You have a problem, old man?" said Thorpe. He set his bag down, and I backed to a corner away from the counter.

In his mid-seventies, Captain Upton wore a gun. He moved slowly from the rheumatiz and had trembly hands. He was fixing to beg trouble, and I was staying the deuce out of it. I didn't know him well and had no fondness for him, and beyond the obligatory respect, cared little for his age or title. I treat my patrons the same, and those I dislike, less so. If the captain wanted to act foolhardy, that was his business. I'd have naught to do with it.

"It's you, isn't it," the captain said to Thorpe. "You're that assassin who murdered an Army general."

"I was paid by the government to kill him," said Thorpe. "It's my job. Not that it's your affair, but that general used his rank as a cover for robbery. He worked with more than one renegade gang. War Department refused to oust him, said there wasn't enough evidence. So Interior hired me to kill him."

"It's not true." The captain pounded his fist on the counter. "An Army general would never turn rogue. You're a lying murderer."

"What's it to you," said Thorpe. "You don't know who the general was."

"Makes no never mind who he was," said Upton. "I am an Army captain. This is a matter of honor."

"You mean you were an Army captain," said Thorpe. "You're nothing but a dried-up old man, now."

Captain Upton planted his boots apart and squared his shoulders. His hand trembled over his gun butt. "Draw your gun," he said.

I saw that his bullet might miss Thorpe and hit me, so I sidled alongside the shelves, closer to the door facing Front Street.

"You're senile," said Thorpe to the captain. "You want to commit suicide, go ahead and draw. I won't waste a bullet on you unless I have to."

The captain took hold of his gun butt. Thorpe shot him through the heart before he could start the draw, and he crumpled behind the counter.

"Old fool," said Thorpe, holstering his gun. I stayed where I was. Thorpe crouched behind the counter a second, then straightened up. "He's dead," said Thorpe. "I'm going to the Long Branch. I take no pleasure in killing an Army officer, an old man particularly, if he was a demented idiot. I need whiskey. You'll tell the marshal he tried to draw first?"

I nodded.

Sam

"Miss Kitty," I said, low, as the big man pushed through the batwings. "He looks like that assassin fella everyone's talking about."

"I'll ask 'im," she whispered.

"Ask him what," I said. Miss Kitty could be bold.

"If he's Judd Thorpe," she whispered.

The man placed his hands palms down on the bar with an almost graceful motion. "You folks are talking about me," he said.

"We're wondering if you're Judd Thorpe," said Miss Kitty.

"I'm Thorpe," he said. "Whiskey. Marshal Dillon will be along soon to chat with me, barkeep. I just killed an old man. He drew first."

I glanced close up at Thorpe's face and wished I hadn't. His lifeless look, the eyes particular, gave me a chill. His eyes met mine, and it was strangely hard to look away. "You're filling it too full," he said.

I quickly tilted the bottle upright and set it down. His mouth curved up in a tight grin, no mirth reflecting in his eyes.

Miss Kitty poured herself coffee, and left the bar to sit at a table near the batwings. I knew she hoped the marshal would show up fast.

"She's a beautiful woman," said Thorpe, leaning on the bar.

To discourage his attention from Miss Kitty, I said nothing.

"A lot of men tip their hat to women," said Thorpe. "I don't. I don't tire myself giving women a hard time, either, so don't worry."

Marshal Dillon walked through the batwings, and I stifled a sigh of relief.

"Ah, Dillon has arrived," said Thorpe, reading my expression, and he turned to face the marshal.

Matt

"The storekeeper tell you it was self-defense?" Thorpe said to me.

"He did," I said. "He also told me Captain Upton had no chance to lift his gun. You had time to clamp his wrist and stop him from drawing, Thorpe. Or at least shoot his hand or shoulder instead of his chest."

"Why," said Thorpe. "He was a self-righteous old fool. Even the storekeeper didn't like him, though I imagine the storekeeper had the decency not to say so to you. I don't."

Thorpe picked up his whiskey, and I swiped it out of his hand. With most men, I could see in their faces a swing coming before they made a fist. Thorpe caught me off guard, his expressionless face working in his favor. He moved fast for a big man.

His fist hammered my jaw, and the floor seemed to slant upright and slammed my back and head, knocking the wind out of me. My neck hurt more than my jaw, and the light dimmed in the Long Branch, though it was mid-afternoon and sunny. I heard Kitty gasp as I hit the floor, and shame overcame everything else.

Thorpe was quick alright, and he packed a punch like a kick from an ox, yet with his muscled frame and heavy bones, I calculated he wasn't too agile. As his face loomed over mine, his hands balled into fists, I rammed my leg into his boot. His boots tangled and he fell.

I climbed to my feet while he fought to get his breath back and raised my fists, waiting for him to stand. He barely rose when I hit him, and he staggered. I hit him again, back-fisted, on the other side of his face. He fell again, then sat on the floor and looked at me, his eyes glazed.

"Get out of Dodge, now, Thorpe," I said, "before I have to ship you back to Washington in a coffin."

"No need for that," he said, grunting as he stood up. "Boot Hill will do fine. That big oak is a nice touch."

Sam thumped a beer on the bar. "Marshal," he said.

"Thanks, Sam," I said.

"Give me a whiskey, Sam," Thorpe ordered.

"I have unfinished business in Dodge, in case you forgot, Marshal," said Thorpe.

"A death wish is what you have, Thorpe," I said. "I told you what'll happen if you try to kill Taff."

"And I told you, I'm already dead," said Thorpe. "I just need someone to pull the trigger."

Kitty

Matt and Chester would scold me for showing up at the marshal's office. Unless I needed him for something that couldn't wait until he came to see me, Matt asked me not to visit while the assassin called Taff was in jail and Thorpe was in Dodge, since Thorpe threatened to kill Taff.

Times I got a hankering though to see and talk to Matt, and had no peace 'til I did. I was curious to get a peek at Taff, besides, though Matt wouldn't want me near him.

Matt and Chester both were out. Matt said he had the whole town to protect, and no time to sit all day guarding Taff, and Chester said, 'I got important things to do, too, Mr. Dillon,' before Matt could ask or order him.

Though he usually obeyed Matt directly, Chester balked now and then, and lost his head if Matt tried to force him. With no friend to talk to, it was hard for him to stay confined indoors, except when he felt like being to himself or could sleep the hours away.

The marshal's office smelled of coffee. Chester had left it warming, meaning he or Matt would be back soon. The door to the jail cells was closed. Feeling nervous, I took a deep breath, moved to the door, turned the knob and cautiously pushed the door open.

Taff lay sleeping on his back. He wore pants, but no shirt over his union suit, which covered the bandage wrapping his arm and right shoulder where Thorpe shot him. He wasn't skeletal with hollowed cheeks like Ma's boarders said, just very thin, mid height and fine-boned. I guessed Delmonico's meals had filled him out a little, and lightened the circles the boarders described as black around his eyes. He was neither noticeably handsome or unpleasant to look at.

I stepped through the door to get a better look. No commonplace gunman, he was only the second government assassin I'd seen, Thorpe being the first. Taff was about Matt or Chester's age. With his face relaxed in sleep, Taff looked ordinary, if sickly.

His eyes blinked open and looked into mine. The townsfolk said he had haunted eyes. Dark in color, his eyes just looked sad to me. He gazed at me, saying nothing, and I turned to go.

"Must you leave?" Taff said softly. I turned back round.

"You're lovely," he said. "What's your name."

"Kitty Russell." I had to get out of there. He'd mention me to Matt or Chester. That I'd looked in on Taff at all, much less talked to him, would displease and worry Matt. Had Taff not been wounded, and not had sad eyes, I would've found leaving easy. That's what I told myself.

"Kitty Russell," he said. He sniffed the air. "The marshal's man makes good coffee," he said. "You know him?"

"Chester?" I said. "Sure. You want some coffee?"

"Please," said Taff. "Chester treats me well. I was jailed other places, like federal jail. Never had it more charitable than here. The marshal treats me well, too, but he thinks I need killing. I see it in his eyes, even though he said he'd try to protect me from Thorpe. Not that I'm complaining. Dillon's a lawman; I don't take it personally. Dodge has a fine doctor, too. Tended me no different than an honest citizen. You know Doc . . . Mrs.?"

"Miss," I said. "Doc's a friend of mine. So is Chester. And . . . Marshal Dillon. I'll get your coffee."

When I returned with a steaming cup, Taff had put his arm in a sling and sat on the bed, his bare feet on the floor.

"You'll have to pick it up," I said. "I can't unlock the cell door or hand it through to you."

"I don't expect you to," said Taff. I placed the cup inside the bars on the floor, and backed away from the cell. "It's hard, getting shot through the right shoulder when you're right-handed," he said. "I have to be careful not to hurt myself when I do things like drink hot coffee. I'm obliged to you, Miss Kitty."

I nodded and gave him a little smile. "I have to go," I said. "I came to see Matt, but he hasn't got back."

"You're not in any trouble, I hope," said Taff. He sat on the bed and sipped his coffee.

"No," I said. "No trouble. Just visiting."

"You the marshal's woman?" he said.

"You could say that," I said.

"Then it's not a surety," said Taff.

"I have to go," I said, with another tepid smile.

Sipping his coffee, he looked into my eyes, and I knew he wouldn't say 'Bye,' or any such politeness. I figured Taff wanted me to stay and talk to him long as I would.

I turned and left the jail, closing the door, and my heart jumped when I saw Thorpe's dead eyes peering through the office window.

Had Taff been any other gunman, I'd have run off, sent a boy to look for Matt, and gone about my business, and Chester or Matt would tell me later what happened. I wasn't sure what made Taff's life matter, except he was helpless and alone in that jail cell, and he liked me; he wanted my company.

I picked up a shotgun, backed against the jail door, and aimed the shotgun at the front door. The door opened and Thorpe came in, holding a gun at the ready. My heart racing and palms sweating, I pointed the shotgun at his chest.

"What do you think you're doing, woman," said Thorpe. "Put that shotgun down and move away from the door."

"No," I said, trying not to gasp. I didn't want him to know how afraid I was.

"You're the Long Branch proprietess," said Thorpe. "What the deuce are you doing guarding a prisoner. Is Dillon off his head?"

"You get outa here," I said, "or I'll shoot."

Thorpe hesitated. "I never shot a woman," he said. "Not that it'd trouble me any, but I'd look bad. Although I already have a murderous reputation. I can't look much worse."

I started to feel a fool for not running away when I had the chance. I had no wish to die for Taff, particularly as Thorpe would kill him anyway, after he killed me. Taff was a stranger to me, and he killed men he'd never met for money. He wasn't worth sacrificing my life.

"You've got sense after all, haven't you," said Thorpe. "I don't want to shoot you, woman. Just put the gun down and leave."

Chester walked in, scarce a boot length away from Thorpe. I thought of shooting Thorpe, but feared hitting Chester. As Thorpe whirled, I screamed, "Look out, Chester!"

Chester grabbed Thorpe's gun hand. "Run, Miss Kitty, run!" Chester shouted, struggling with Thorpe.

I leaped forward, rammed the shotgun barrel against Thorpe's temple, and pulled back the hammer. He froze, and Chester took the gun from him, stepped back, and leveled it at him. "Git your hands up," said Chester, and Thorpe raised his arms.

I lowered the shotgun. I wanted to swing it at Thorpe's head, though not for Taff or me. I wanted to whack Thorpe for almost shooting Chester.

"Alright, Miss Kitty?" said Chester.

"I'm fine," I quavered, hoping Chester wouldn't see me shivering. He had enough on his hands with Thorpe.

As Chester locked Thorpe in the other cell, I moved near the jail doorway, to see Taff's reaction. He gripped the bars and stared at Thorpe. Unlike Thorpe, Taff had an expressive face and eyes. He looked pale and scared.

Chester closed the door to the jail, sighed and looked at me.

"I'm fine, Chester," I said. He nodded, looking at me. I didn't know what else to say to ease his mind, so I laid my hand on his arm. "Let's have coffee and wait for Matt," I said.

Chester nodded again. "You set," he said. "I'll fetch it. Miss Kitty, I dunno what you was doin' in here when Mr. Dillon asked you not to come whilst Taff was in the jail," he said, pouring coffee. "Mr. Dillon tole you Thorpe was gunnin' for Taff."

"I know, Chester," I said. "I'm so sorry. Thorpe might've killed us both, 'cause of me." I felt my eyes fill, and Chester looked alarmed.

"Oh . . . heavens," he said. He set the coffee cups on the table, sat down and patted my hand. "Please don't cry, Miss Kitty," he said. "Twasn't none of it your fault, none at all."

"It wasn't?" I said.

"Not at all," said Chester. "Truth be told, if you hadn't a been here to warn me, I might be dead now. Thorpe might've shot me."

I hadn't thought of it that way. I squeezed his hand, and gave him a tremulous smile. "Oh, Chester," I said.

"Don't fret none, Miss Kitty," he said. "That Thorpe's locked up, ain't goin' nowheres. You and me'll keep company easy, and wait on Mr. Dillon."

"Alright, Chester," I said.

"Jest wish I knew what you was here for, to put yerself in danger," said Chester. "When Mr. Dillon said not to."

"I wanted to see Matt," I said, looking into my coffee cup. "To pass the time. And I wanted to see what Taff was like. He wanted coffee and talk, so I gave 'im some coffee—"

"My gracious, Miss Kitty," Chester said.

"Well, I didn't unlock the cell door, or hand it to 'im," I said. "I didn't see any harm in putting a cup through the bars on the floor. Then I saw Thorpe through the window, and I just couldn't run away and leave Taff alone to die."

"Oh," said Chester seriously, nodding. He sipped his coffee and looked at me, waiting, I guessed, for me to let him know what we should talk of next, if anything. Now that we were safe and calm, I saw that he felt overwhelmed.

"We'll wait for Matt, Chester," I said. Matt walked in, then.

"We been waitin' fer you, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "You were a spell comin'."

"Kitty, what're you doin' here," said Matt. "I asked you not to come while Thorpe's in town, biding his time to show up and shoot Taff."

"Oh, Thorpe ain't a danger no more, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "I throwed 'im in jail."

"Ya did," said Matt.

"Yessir. He showed when Miss Kitty was here and you and me was out. He was fixin' ta shoot Taff, but Miss Kitty, she held a shotgun on 'im."

"Kitty," said Matt.

"Then I come in," said Chester, "and Miss Kitty screamed 'Look out,' and Thorpe and me wrestled for his gun, and Miss Kitty—" Chester sucked in a breath. "Miss Kitty, she put the shotgun to Thorpe's head."

"You alright, Kitty?" said Matt.

"I'm fine," I said. "So is Thorpe, unfortunately. I wanted to kill 'im. He almost killed Chester."

"Chester?" said Matt.

"Alright, Mr. Dillon."

Matt opened the door to the jail, glanced at Thorpe, and closed the door. "Well, I don't like you putting yourself in harm's way, Kitty," said Matt, "but I'll rest a lot easier knowing Thorpe's locked up. You and Chester did good work here. I wish you'd reconsider hiring on as deputy," he joked.

"No, thanks," I said. "I already have a job."

I realized after what happened that I was in no state for visiting, even with Matt. I needed to go to my room at the Long Branch, lock the door, change to a dressing gown, and lie down and rest.

"I'm going to my room, Matt," I said. "Maybe I'll see you tonight."

"Alright, Kitty."

"Can I walk you to the Long Branch, Miss Kitty?" said Chester.

"No," I said. "I'd rather go by myself." I wondered as I walked if being Matt's girl was worth the troubles of owning the Long Branch and living in Dodge City. Matt showed no sign of asking me to be his wife. I wondered if he ever would, or if I was willing to wait uhtil he did.