The Traveller.
The stranger arrives in Dodge by train. No one knows who he is, or why he is here. He seems pleasant enough. The only thing he knows is that he has a job to do before he can go home.
Prologue
Finally he is able to leave work. He tucks the few tools of his trade into an old black gym bag and changes into a pair of comfortable jeans and a long sleeve shirt. It is one of those rare summer days for this city, when the thermometer reaches the ninety-degree mark. He makes the short walk to the station, and gets the train that will take him home to the suburbs. Finding a vacant seat he pulls out some reading material, but soon the rhythmic noise from the rails and the oppressive heat dulls his senses.
A little later the traveller opens his eyes, unsure of what is going on. The air is smoky and there is a constant rattling and swaying. He finds he is sitting on a hard bench. There is an odd assortment of people around him dressed in clothes he had only seen in movies and on old TV. He is still on a train, but from the noise and the soot, he concludes that this one is powered by steam.
A man dressed in some sort of uniform is walking towards him.
"Dodge City next stop, Dodge city!"
Some of the people on the train start gathering belongings from overhead racks and from under seats.
Wanting to escape the dirt and the soot from the engine he grabs the old gym bag and joins the other passengers leaving the train.
Chapter1
As I step down into the hot humid air there is dust everywhere. Horses and wagons are present in such numbers that the place has an air of confusion and chaos. Fortunately my clothes do not attract undue attention – jeans and a grey long sleeve shirt blend in well. I am walking away from the steam and soot coming from the locomotive and find myself on a busy street. There are wooden buildings on both sides – except for one brick building on my right, which proclaims itself to be the US Marshal's Office.
Three people sit there, sprawled in three chairs. They are apparently watching the horses and wagons stir up even more dust as they pass by. The man farthest from the door to the Marshals office is chewing on a toothpick and reading a newspaper. I can just make out the date, August 1875 and one word of the title, 'Kansas'. Now I know for sure.
I watch the three men for a few minutes. They are apparently having some kind of argument, at least two of them are. The third is just watching them with a look of long suffering tolerance. He has a badge of some sort pinned on his shirt and although he is seated I can tell that he is an unusually tall man.
This must be the center of the town. There is a Mercantile, a telegraph office, and some kind off freight office that is situated next to a building that bears a board listing arrival and departure times for towns whose names I remember from childhood movie screens. Wichita, Topeka, St. Louis. I am familiar with the sound of those words.
I don't know how long I will be here. Usually I get a feeling that tells me when I am about to leave, but never more than a few hours notice.
I feel in my pockets and find a handful of notes and a few coins. There is also a smart phone and a rail pass, both of which will be useless in this place. Hopefully the currency is correct. Usually it is.
There is a sign saying Dodge House Hotel. I get a room there and pay for a week in advance. The room isn't bad considering that there is no indoor plumbing. A pitcher and bowl provide the only bathing facilities.
Later that day, following the recommendation of the hotel clerk, I am eating at a café called Delmonico's. The food is terrible, but there is no shortage of customers. The same three men I saw earlier this morning are there, but now they are in the company of a beautiful red headed lady. She is wearing a green dress with a small cameo broach at the neckline. Her hair is perfectly arranged and crowned by a hat designed to complement the dress. By the look in her eyes when she talks to him, she has a strong attachment to the tall man with the badge.
After a few minutes, the tall man excuses himself from his companions and walks over to my table.
"Howdy there, Mister. Name's Matt Dillon." He holds out his hand. "I'm the Marshal here in Dodge, I don't think I've seen you around before." I take the offered handshake, "Thomas Kedworth," I tell him.
"I wondered what you were doing here in Dodge." The words themselves are harmless enough, but it is obvious from his manner that Matt Dillon expects an answer.
"Nothing much, I just thought I would stop off here for a while. You know, just looking around."
The Marshal's eyes hold mine with a steady stare. "C'mon over and join us for coffee, a man needs some company after eating a meal in this place." He signals me to follow him.
Casually he introduces the tables other occupants, Doc Adams, Chester Goode, and Miss Kitty Russell.
"Thomas Kedworth," I tell them. I turn to the lady and tilt my head, "Miss Russell."
She laughs, an extremely pleasant sound. "Just call me Kitty." She smiles and her whole face lights up so that I can't help but notice the color of her eyes.
I take a seat at the table and listen to the conversation for a few minutes. It seems to be about how much money the Marshal owes the Doctor. I get the feeling that although the words sound serious – the mood is light hearted. More like teasing. They all seem to understand the joke.
When they exhaust that tack, the Doctor turns to me, "So Thomas, where are you from?"
That was a difficult question to answer. 'When' would be a more appropriate word.
"Oh .. er. From way back east of here." I am trying to remember how they talked in those old movies. The last thing I want is to be too conspicuous.
Doc looks over at me and squints his eyes a little. I can already tell that the older man knows there is something different about me. The Marshal is eyeing me too. These four people have a strong connection. Unwittingly they work together to try to figure me out. I can feel it, but know there is no way to tell them the truth – they wouldn't believe it anyway.