A/N: Another prequel to "After the Gallows." I think this is complete but there might be more to come.
CBS owns Gunsmoke. The original characters and creative content belong to me
I have no beta. All my fubars are belong to me.
~~Chapter One
Dodge City had been dry as buffalo bones. We were nearly to the point of wringing water out of the mud at the bottom of the well when the rain came out of the hard blue sky and the four-year drought ended with a deluge, the likes of which could best be described in a parable from the Bible.
I was in my office cleaning weapons, preparing for the water war that was likely to start in the next day or two, when I heard a sound like muffled cannon fire and the building began to shake. A moment later, I heard the whoops and hollers of cowboys in the street. The floor vibrated beneath my boots and the windows rattled in their frames. I jumped from my chair and crossed the room in one leap. I flung open the door and stepped out onto the boardwalk, fully expecting to see stampeding cattle. I could barely see anything. The world seemed shrouded in a veil of gray. Everyone, not just cowboys, was spinning and jumping in the street with their arms raised and their faces turned to the sky. Colonel Honeyman, a supply wagon and a small contingent of troops trotted past the jail. The scene was so confusing that my second thought was that this was an Indian uprising. I had actually put my hand on my gun before I finally realized that it was raining.
I stared dumbly at the dense cloud overhead. Rain was coming down hard, in sheets and from every direction.
Chester was in the street in front of the Long Branch dancing a bouncing hoedown waltz with a drunken trail hand.
"Ain't it grand, Mr. Dillon," he shouted.
Wilbur Jonas came out of his store yelling frantically and lugging an enormous tin cauldron. People came to their senses and rushed to roll rain barrels to downspouts and put out buckets and pots and anything else that could catch the rain.
Honeyman and his troops stopped at Doc's office. He ordered his sergeant to supervise unloading the wagon and spurred his horse over. He grinned at me from beneath the dripping brim of his hat.
"That cloud seemed to follow us all the way from the Fort then opened up like God Himself dumped a bucket of water," he said, holding up his hand. Water poured from his palm. "I've never seen anything like it."
"I hope it lasts," I said.
"If it's raining like this up north, the run-off will fill the creeks."
I pointed my chin toward Doc's office. "You have supplies for Doc, do you?"
Honeyman pursed his lips and looked away. "We're installing the new auditor in that little storefront. The Army owns that block of buildings, you know. It will be a War Department office like any other." He coughed lightly into his fist. "There's a kitchen in the back and rooms above. I'm sure it will be nice for him and his boy. He's a Frenchman. And he's some kind of priest. Which is good after the Ridge Town embarrassment." He trailed off, still unable to meet my eyes.
"I see." I kept my voice neutral.
"I'd have him at the Fort if I could but my hands are tied." He lifted his chin. "We there are no Negro troops at Fort Dodge and I need him here, not clean out at Abilene."
"Makes sense."
"I believe it does." He wheeled his horse around and looked up. "Yes. I hope this rain stays with us a week or two." He started forward then stopped. He finally met my eyes. "Could you... that is to say... the padre's boy looks a little frail. Eyes big and grey like a fledgling barn owl's." He cleared his throat. "Er, Texas drovers and such..."
I nodded. "I'll keep an eye on them," I said.
"Thank you, Matt."
He high-stepped his horse back to the office and loudly ordered his sergeant around, making a big show of installing the new auditor, sending a message to the town that the new man had the protection of the Calvary, even if they could not reside under the same roof.
I squinted through the downpour and saw a man wearing a priest's collar carry a small trunk into the storefront. He was tall and angular and did not look Negro from where I stood. A horse shied and created a space where I could see a black boy standing at the foot of Doc's stairs. His over-sized clothes were plastered to his body. He tugged down his knitted cap and folded his arms across his chest, though the rain was warm as bath water. He bent gracefully and picked up something from the ground. He peered at it, tilting his head, exposing the soft hollow where his jaw met his long neck.
He was as dark and delicate as a new violet.
I blinked, startled by the thought.
I stepped off the boardwalk into the rain to clear my head. I looked back at the boy. He was gone.
I went into my office, took off my boots and socks then dragged a chair into the street. The rain beat against my scalp and shoulders. I turned my face up and opened my mouth. I drank my fill for the first time in over a month. I sat in the chair and stretched out my legs, intending to let the rain wash through the dust and the sweat in my clothes and on my body.
There was a ruckus down by the Lady Gay. A cowboy wearing only his boots and hat sat in the mud and washed his armpits with soap, singing "Old Dan Tucker" at the top of his lungs. I sighed, picked up the chair and walked into the jail.
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