TEXAS RED

Chapter 1

To those who knew him, Matt Dillon didn't seem to be a man prone to reading. Sure, he read the wanted circulars that came around on an all too frequent basis, and was diligent about keeping up with the occasional reports that came out of Washington. Chester had even seen him look things up in a law book a time or two, but it wasn't often that he was seen working his way through stacks of newspapers. He'd started making ever more frequent trips to the Santa Fe depot and the Overland Stage office, looking for newspapers coming out of any little town in Kansas, Texas or other nearby states and territories. He was even becoming a regular customer at the telegraph office, sending wires to sheriffs and deputies located anywhere within the surrounding townships. He was seeking information on bank robberies, murders, and any killings - even ones that seemed justified. The marshal was especially interested in news of a hired gun by the name of Red Larson.

His exhaustive daytime reading had begun to slip over into his night-time sleep. Several times he found himself awake in a cold sweat with his heart beating wildly in his chest. He hadn't actually witnessed the murder of John Hicks and his deputy, but his mind worked overtime in the dark of night. He watched helplessly, time and again, as the two lawmen walked unknowingly into the shadowed recesses of an alley. From behind them two men would appear. Guns were raised and two rapid shots were fired. He could only watch, unable to do anything to stop it. Time and again the two lawmen would fall lifeless to the ground. He'd tried to call out to warn them but he had no voice. He tried to see the killers but they were faceless beings generated by his guilty mind.

Dillon had no reason to feel guilt. He had done his best to bring the men responsible for those deaths to justice, but his best had not been good enough. There was still a man out there, a man who was an image on a circular. Matt had studied it so many times during the last three months that he could close his eyes and see that face in every detail just as clearly as he could see his own in the shaving mirror.

Kitty began to notice something wasn't quite right. The first time or two it happened, she put it down to the stress of the trip to Great Bend followed by the less than satisfactory outcome to the trial of Carp and Holcombe - at least it was less than satisfactory according to Matt Dillon's way of thinking. He usually came to her rooms after his late night rounds. He still came, but seemed even more preoccupied than usual. His conversation was limited to one or two word replies to her attempts at getting him to talk. At first this didn't upset her too much, after all she was used to his long periods of silence.

It was a month or so later when she awoke sometime in the darkness of night. He was lying in the bed beside her, calling out, trying to warn someone. He was even reaching to his hip for a gun that wasn't there. At first she couldn't wake him, but as he flailed and struggled against the sheets that covered them both, she managed to get out of bed and light a lamp. In its pale light she could see his face covered with beads of sweat and his breath coming in short rapid gasps.

Carefully she laid a hand on his chest. "Matt, wake up," she called, softly at first, then repeating it a little more loudly. Her gentle touch became much firmer as she began shaking his shoulder. Suddenly he was awake, and for a moment there was a look in his eyes that alarmed her. He was still expecting to see the demons from his sleep.

"It's all right Matt!" She touched him again, trying to calm him. "You're safe. It's Kitty. You're here with me." She spoke quickly, trying to reassure him, while at the same time pushing him down onto the bed.

Slowly his mind came back to the present. "I'm…I'm sorry Kitty. What happened? Did I wake you?" For a moment he seemed confused, but slowly his expression cleared.

"You were dreaming, Matt. You wanna tell me what it was about?"

The marshal closed his eyes and shook his head to clear the already fading images from his mind. Somehow, he couldn't quite remember the details now, but he knew something bad had happened. One thing he knew for certain was that he didn't want to talk about it.

Kitty had gone to the wash stand. She poured a little water from the pitcher into a bowl and soaked a cloth in it. She squeezed it out and handed it to him.

"Here, the cold water will help clear your head."

Gratefully he accepted the offer and wiped the cool rag over his face and neck. She was already pouring a shot of whisky.

"Drink this, Matt," she said, as she handed it to him. Gratefully he swallowed the liquid in one gulp.

"Thanks Kitty," he murmured quietly, staring fixedly into the now empty glass. "Sorry I woke you."

Somehow they managed to settle down once more, eventually slipping back into an uneasy sleep. Daybreak ushered new light and a new day into the room and the marshal left the bed, dressed, and went to make his morning rounds. He still felt tired, just as if he'd been fighting drunken cowboys all night. He thought about a cup of Chester's coffee and how that would wake him up for sure.

()()()

A week or so later Matt was carrying papers to a ranch located about ten miles to the east of Cimarron. It was barely a three-hour ride from Dodge, but because of many frustrating delays, he didn't get started until early afternoon. By the time he handed over the documents he'd been carrying, he knew it was too late to make it all the way home before dark. The rancher had offered him a bed for the night - but he turned it down, preferring to camp somewhere along the trail on the way back to Dodge.

It had been a while since he'd slept outside. He pulled over at a campsite he'd used many times before. It was right beside the Arkansas River and fortunately no other traveler had gotten there before him. After taking care of his horse, he lit a small fire and set out his bedroll. Then amongst the familiar noises of the night-time prairie, he settled down to rest. Dillon never really slept out here. He often said he never closed both eyes, and in a way that was true. Just to lay and listen to the wild sounds of night and watch the familiar stars as they followed their well laid paths across the sky was almost better than sleep.

The sky was so clear tonight. In Dodge City the dust together with the foggy light from the lamps on Front Street, obscured this familiar sight. Here the air felt clean, and the constant noise from out of tune pianos was pleasantly absent. It gave a man room to lie back and think. Of course, what he began thinking about was Red Larson. He pulled the creased and crumpled poster from his pocket - it had become his constant companion since leaving Great Bend. In all the newspaper articles he had read, and answers to all the telegrams he had sent, no one had heard of Red Larson since the killing of Sheriff Hicks. There was one man whose name he had come across several times, however - and that was Texas Red. Whether it was the same man or not, he had no way of knowing, but it was a place to start looking, especially since, as far as he could tell, Texas Red hadn't been heard of before Red Larson disappeared. He folded the poster and returned it to his pocket, then pulled the thin trail blanket over himself and settled down to sleep.

That night the dreams came again. He could see John Hicks and his deputy walking into that dark hollow of an alley. There were two men creeping out of the shadows behind them. He tried to call out and warn the lawmen, but no one could hear him. He grabbed his gun and fired. The sound echoed in the silence and he sat bolt upright. As he opened his eyes he saw that the fingers of his right hand were clasped tightly around the Colt pistol that usually hung by his hip. It had been fired and the barrel was still hot to the touch. It took him a few minutes to realize what had happened, then he understood the significance of it all. If anyone else had been with him out here, he might have killed them. He felt cold but there was sweat dripping off his forehead and he wiped it away with his sleeve. He knew that he had to find the killer he was after, because as long as the man was out there free, the dreams would continue.

()()()

He rode into Dodge a little before noon. He was tired and exhausted from the visions that had robbed him off a night's rest. Furthermore, he was scared to go to sleep now because he knew the images would come again. It was as if he himself carried the guilt for what had happened.

He pulled the buckskin over to the rail outside the office and grabbed his rifle and canteen. He was planning to have Chester take the horse down to Moss Gimmick's, but when he opened the door to the jail, his assistant was nowhere to be found. The place was in a mess too, with mail and newspapers scattered over the desk. The stove was cold and there was no coffee. He was irritable and angry for no reason he could tell, but the moment Chester came in through the back door, he took it out on him.

"Where have you been? What do I pay you for?" It was a tone of Mr. Dillon's voice that Chester was not used to hearing directed at him.

"Er.. I'm sorry Mr. Dillon, I didn't know when to expect you. You wan' me t' see t' yer horse…"

"Yeh, do that, Chester." Matt raised one hand to his head and took a few breaths. "I'm sorry I yelled…. just tired I guess." He lowered his hand to the buckle of his gun-belt and began unfastening it from around his waist.

Chester studied his boss for a moment. The marshal had never acted quite like that before.

"You all right, Mr. Dillon? You do look a mite peaked - yer not takin' sick or somethin' now, are ya?"

"No, Chester. I didn't sleep so good last night, that's all. I'll be fine. Just go on and take care of my horse for me and I'll get the stove going."

He turned to hang the holster on the peg by the entrance to the cells, feeling bad that he had taken out his frustration by yelling at Chester. After all, the man was his trustworthy assistant, loyal to a fault. It was because of his own failing that Red Larson was still out there somewhere, not Chester's.

()()()

Dillon felt himself becoming irritable and abrupt with everyone. Even Kitty. He couldn't understand why or figure a way to fix the problem. He would just have to be aware and try harder to control his outbursts.

He planned to ask Kitty to have lunch with him so he could try to set things right with her. Last night she had asked what was wrong with him, why he was acting strangely - getting really upset at little inconsequential things like he'd done two nights ago? He'd backhanded some cowboy. The man had been a little drunk, but nothing out of the ordinary for a Friday night. He had made a couple of comments about Dodge City and the law being too strict around here. Matt had got up from the chair where he had been sitting talking with Kitty, and landed a backhand right across the cowboy's chin. The man had fallen to the floor and the marshal had ordered his assistant to take him to jail and lock him up. Looking back on it, he knew that wasn't right. He didn't usually try to stop people from expressing their opinions - good or bad - unless they were seriously disturbing the peace or trying to get a mob stirred up. He knew deep down that the words of some half-drunk cowhand didn't count for much. Still it had angered him enough for those few moments and he'd lost his temper. He knew better. In his job, control was all important. He never knew when someone was out there looking to challenge him. Control and vigilance were important if he wanted to stay alive.

()()()

For once the meal had been good. Kitty commented that they must have hired a new cook, but her words seemed to go unnoticed. She continued talking, something about some new lamps she planned to purchase for the Long Branch. Giving up on getting his attention with regular conversation, she resorted to the outlandish.

"Doc and I are running away to New Orleans tomorrow."

At first there appeared to be no response from the tall lawman sitting across from her. Then slowly there came a change of expression on his face.

"What did you just say, Kitty?"

"I was beginning to wonder how to get your attention. You're about as much company as that wall over there."

"I'm sorry Kitty. I was thinking."

"That's all you do these days. Still contemplating Red Larson no doubt. Matt I can understand you wanting to take him down, but it's become an obsession with you."

"I'm sorry," he repeated for lack of something better to say. "Look, I need to go down to the depot. I'll get Chester to come and walk you back to the Long Branch."

She could hardly believe what he had just said. She looked across the table at him, a mild anger showing in her eyes. "You brought me here, Matt and I'd be grateful if you'd be so good as to see me home. Five minutes is not going to make much difference to you or Red Larson."

"You don't understand how important this is to me."

"Aren't I important too, Matt? You've been ignoring or yelling at everyone lately. You can't go on like this. Supposing you never find him?"

She had put her fork down and was staring directly into his face. He held her gaze for a moment then abruptly stood up from the table, pushing his chair back so forcefully that it almost fell over.

"Don't say that, Kitty. Somehow I have to find him and bring him to justice. I owe that much to John Hicks and his deputy."

Kitty looked hastily around. His outburst had been sudden and loud. Heads turned away from their food to watch the usually stoic marshal as he picked up his hat from the chair next to him.

"Matt, sit down and finish your meal," she began in a loud whisper - almost as if correcting a recalcitrant child, but it was too late. He had already gathered his hat and was turning to leave the cafe.

"I'll get Chester to come and walk you home," he murmured quietly as he passed the back of Kitty's chair.

"Matt!" she called after him but he didn't seem to hear her.

Her eyes followed him, wondering. Something was eating away at her normally calm, caring and considerate escort. All she could do was watch as he left Delmonico's, and act as if it was all in a day's business. She knew everyone's eyes were on her now, but that wasn't too unusual a situation for Kitty Russell and it didn't bother her. But she did worry for Dillon.

TBC