Chapter One
When The Honourable Oswald Flintridge condemned to the gallows Mad Les Hicks' older brother, a hired gunman, Les rose from his chair in the Dodge courthouse, drew his gun, and shot the judge. With bandages wrapping his torso where Doc had removed the bullet from his side, Flintridge lay in bed, his piercing, imperious eyes tracking Doc as he tidied the room.
"About time you cleaned this hole, Doc," the judge said. "Those clothes have overflowed the basket goin' on two days."
"The launderer only picks up once a fortnight," said Doc. I can't afford to pay him more often."
"He's Chinese, isn't he," said Flintridge.
The hot soreness that had compressed Doc's temples and smarted his eyes through the five days he'd tended the judge spasmed in his head. "What does that have to do with anything," said Doc. "He's the best launderer in town."
"I was just making conversation," said Flintridge. "You're not gonna accuse me of that, Doc."
"Accuse you of what," said Doc, raising his voice and leaning over Flintridge. "I haven't accused you of anything."
"Stop squeezing that sponge," said the judge. "You're dripping dirty water on me. You're trying to give me pneumonia. What're you tempering about, Doc? You look like you want to kill me. You almost did when you butchered my guts digging out that slug. I've never felt such pain. And the wound still hurts like a mongrel's fangs when you clean it."
"You're still alive, aren't you," said Doc.
"No thanks to you. I've a strong constitution, though I should be dead, the way you neglect me."
"Neglect you," said Doc. "I've given you more attention than all my patients together, and I'm sorry I have." Doc slid his arms under Flintridge's shoulders, helped him sit up, and supported him with one arm while plumping the pillows and arranging them against the headboard. "Yes, sir," Doc snapped in Flintridge's face, when the judge glared at him. Doc settled Flintridge against the pillows. "I've been givin' you preferential treatment at the expense of other infirm and injured folk because you're a judge," Doc said. "And I regret it, by thunder. Cuz you don't deserve it."
"Don't shout at me, Doc. Show some respect," Flintridge commanded. "You refused to take that plate of slop back to Delmonico's last night and get me something edible. The stewed rabbit was overcooked."
"I'm not gonna jump at your beck and call," said Doc. He dipped a comb in a basin of warm water, soaped the comb's teeth, and undid the rawhide tie holding the judge's plentiful silvered hair in a tail. Though Flintridge looked young for his forty-six years, he'd grayed early. Doc combed the judge's hair back from its widow's peak.
"Folks call me the hanging judge, Doc," said Flintridge. "I just do my job."
Doc sloshed a cloth in the water, wrung the cloth, and smoothed it over Flintridge's hair.
"You do your job, alright, by gum," said Doc. "I have no doubt of that."
When Doc appeared at the Long Branch midday and ordered a two-jigger whiskey in place of lunch, Kitty proposed a picnic with "just you and me, Doc. I need to get away, too."
"Who do you need to get away from, Kitty," said Doc.
"Cain Wellington," said Kitty. "The speculator. Not for tryin' to sell me somethin'. That I'd understand. He's courtin' me, and he's too persistent, if you call what he's doin' courtin'. I call it hounding."
"And you're not interested at all, are you?" said Doc. "He's rich, ya know. Wears fine duds, not bad lookin' . . . . "
"He's abrasive," said Kitty. "You ever seen a shark, Doc?"
"Not a live one. I've seen 'em in pictures."
"That's what Wellington brings to mind," Kitty said. "He looks like a handsome shark."
"He does. Well, he bothers you anymore, you just come tell me," said Doc, patting Kitty's arm. "I'll handle 'im."
"Thanks, Doc," Kitty said. "I will."
"I wonder Matt lets you get into scrapes with these fellas," said Doc.
"Matt has all of Dodge to protect," said Kitty. "Besides, he thinks my besotted admirers are funny. He jokes about it. I'll just have to rely on you to defend my honor, Doc," she said, taking his hand.
Kitty ordered from Delmonico's fried chicken, potato salad and iced tea with strawberry slices floating in the bottle, and paid a boy to drive Doc's horse and buggy from Grimmick's livery to the Long Branch. As Judge Flintridge's wife nursed him when Doc went out, Kitty told her Doc had to make a call outside of town.
"Mrs. Flintridge wants to know when her husband can go home," Kitty said, as Doc helped her into the buggy. "I don't think she's comfortable tending the judge at your office."
"She's not comfortable," said Doc. "No way she can want His Honour out of my office any more than I do, by golly."
Doc handed the blankets and picnic basket to Kitty, and climbed into the buggy as she tucked and smoothed the skirt of her green-sprigged, white lawn dress. The sun shone warm these early days of harvest season, the air growing crisp by twilight. Kitty would soon replace her outdoor lawns and light wraps with woolens and cloaks.
Doc took the reins and chirruped, setting his horse off at a brisk walk down Front Street. "If I tell the judge he can go home before he's mended proper, and he comes down with infection and fever . . . well, he's just like to go after my practice, knowin' him," said Doc.
"Uh oh," said Kitty.
"What," said Doc.
"Chester's settin' outside the office with Matt. This picnic's special for just you and me, Doc," said Kitty.
"You wanna invite Chester?" said Doc. "Matt won't come. All he likes to do is sleep the day away."
"Oh, Doc," Kitty said. "We need time alone to talk. If Chester fusses, I'll promise to go fishin' with him later."
Chester stood up as the buggy passed the marshal's office. Matt slouched with his hat brim over his eyes, his arms crossed and his long legs blocking the walk.
"Miss Kitty. Doc," Chester called. "Where're you headed?"
Matt pushed up his hat brim, his blue eyes half-closed and tinted sleepy gray. He straightened up and brightened as he blinked and Kitty came into focus, exquisite and smiling in her smart outfit and matching flowered hat. Matt returned Kitty's smile as Doc reined in the horse.
"You goin' on a picnic, are ya?" said Chester, seeing the basket.
"Doc and I are goin'," said Kitty.
"I'd a thought you'd ask me along," said Chester, "seein' as it's jest Doc you're with, not Mr. Dillon. I had nothin' for lunch 'cept cold fatback and pone."
"Doc and I want time to talk," said Kitty. "Just the two of us."
"Oh," said Chester. "Well . . . ." He backed away from the buggy. "If I'll be in the way . . . ." His head lowered, Chester put his hands in his pockets and slowly started walking.
Squinting in the sun, Matt looked at Chester, while Kitty and Doc watched him from the buggy.
"Where you goin', Chester," said Doc.
"Nowheres particular," Chester said.
"I wanna get as much warm sun as I can before the cold sets in," said Kitty. "I figure I'll go fishin' tomorrow, Chester."
Though Chester wanted to keep walking and not answer, he turned to face her. He couldn't imagine being unmannerly to Miss Kitty. "Well . . . you and Doc have a good time, tomorrow, too," he said shortly.
"Will you come with me?" said Kitty. "Won't be any fun by myself."
"Is Doc comin'?" said Chester.
"I don't think Doc has time for an outing two days running," said Kitty. "I thought just you and I could go, Chester. If Matt doesn't need you tomorrow."
"It's alright with me," said the marshal.
"Good," said Kitty.
Doc clucked to the horse, and Kitty smiled at Chester as the buggy started moving. Chester waved, sighed and leaned against a post, settling the image of Miss Kitty to look at in his mind—holding her parasol, her warm blue eyes gazing into his brown ones.
"Don't wander off, Chester," said Matt. "Since you're takin' the day off tomorrow, you need to wash the windows before it starts snowin'."
"Snowin'," said Chester. "The sun's high, Mr. Dillon. Like as summer. T'won't snow two months of Sundays at least, not with harvest time jest startin'."
"Get it done before you go fishin' with Kitty," said Matt. "Fill the coal hod and clean the stove, and don't forget the blacking. And air out the mattress tickings in the jail. They're stinkin'. Lock Les Hicks in the other cell first. He's more addled since he shot Judge Flintridge for sentencing his brother to hang.
"And scrub the floor," Matt went on. "Best get it all done now for when the cold sets in."
"Well, I can't, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "Not the whole today, all. I jest can't."
"Do what you can today and finish early tomorrow mornin'," said Matt.
"Ain't none of it work for a man," Chester grumbled, heading to the rear of the office for the pail. "I'll never get it done afore Miss Kitty leaves to go fishin'. Not and take care of Mad Les, too."
"Don't mind Les," said the marshal. "I'll look out for him 'til the work's done."
K
Kitty and Doc sat in the shade of an oak while orange, yellow and red leaves drifted around them. "I'd like to go home today to a cottage on the far side of town," said Doc, "with a picket fence, a cobbled walk winding to my front door, and a peachleaf willow in the yard."
"Sounds nice," said Kitty.
"I'd hire in the cleaning and cooking and errands," said Doc, "and do nothin' 'cept sit out on warm days, and rock by the fire on cold. Always have a few books on hand to improve my mind. And I'd never treat or nurse people like His Honour Flintridge, by thunder."
"Why don't you retire and build that cottage, Doc," said Kitty, wrapping the leftover chicken for him to take back to the office. "You might be a lot happier. I know you'd be more rested."
"Maybe before too long," said Doc. "Seems to me I've got somewhat to do first."
"Like what?" said Kitty.
"Like petition the judge who sentenced Les Hicks to commute his prison time to confinement at an asylum," said Doc. "Les wouldn't survive at the State Penitentiary. The other convicts would kill him inside of a year."
"From what I've heard of state asylums, it'd be a mercy for Les Hicks to get his head bashed in against a prison cell wall instead," Kitty said.
"No . . . ." said Doc. "He'd get moral treatment at the place I have in mind. It's a private establishment founded by Quakers. They take charity cases, non-Quakers some of 'em, when they have the beds."
"Really," Kitty said. "What's the name of this place."
"Asylum for the Relief of Persons Deprived of the Use of Their Reason," Doc recited.
"That's a mouthful," said Kitty. "Help me up, Doc," she said. "We better get back to town."
Doc rose from the blanket surrounded by brown prairie grass, and helped Kitty up in one agile movement, his small hand impressively strong. "This place where I hope to send Les," Doc said, as they shook out the blankets. "They call it Friends Hospital for short."
Doc told Kitty he'd meet her at the Long Branch for a beer, and took the leftover chicken upstairs to his office to put in his cupboard for a late-night snack.
"What did you salt away there in your cabinet, Doc?" asked Judge Flintridge, as Doc changed the dressing on his wound. Flintridge was smoothly muscled, in fine form for his years, and ate like an ox despite his injury. Mrs. Flintridge had brought her husband rump roast and yams for dinner, which the judge had only just consumed before his wife's departure.
"That's fried chicken," said Doc. "I'm going to the Long Branch. I'll share the chicken with you, you're still awake when I get back. Young Abel's gonna watch you while I'm out tonight, in case you need anything." There weren't many townsfolk that Doc could cajole into tending the judge, and eighteen-year-old Abel insisted on a quarter in payment even when Doc was out of the office under an hour.
"Hmmph," said Flintridge, as Doc helped him into a clean nightshirt. "Well, at least young Abel behaves himself tolerable. Ah, there he is now," said the judge, as they heard the office door slam. "No point telling him again not to bang that blasted door and get my nerves in a buzz. At his age, they don't even realize when their slamming a door."
D
Cain Wellington approached the table where Kitty and Doc sat in the Long Branch that night, and wrapped his arms around Kitty's shoulders from behind. "Hello, Miss Kitty," Wellington said. "You look beautiful tonight as always."
Kitty pried his arms from her shoulders, her mouth tightening. "You get away from me," she said through clenched teeth. "How many times do I haveta tell you."
"Why d'you have to be so high and mighty?" Wellington said. "You've not had one drink with me ever." His hard handsome features never showed any feeling beyond his habitual mercenary expression, and his eyes reflected the light like shards of dark glass.
Doc stood up. "The lady doesn't want to drink with you, Wellington," he said. "You move on now."
"Mind your own business, Doc," said Wellington. "This don't concern you.
"Why d'you prefer Doc over me," Wellington said to Kitty. "He can't satisfy the needs of a spirited gal like you."
"You shut your fool mouth," said Doc. "That's no way to talk to a woman."
"Listen, you," Wellington retorted. "No one tells me how to talk. I know how to handle this woman." He clamped his hands on Kitty's arms, pulled her to her feet, and kissed her.
At forty years old and six feet tall with a strong trim frame, Wellington was younger, much taller, and bigger than Doc. Doc had to protect Kitty. He knew that if he tried to hit Wellington, the fellow would block the blow and most probably knock Doc out, and wrestling Wellington would be just as ineffective. So as Kitty turned her head away from Wellington's mouth and struck his shoulders with her fists, Doc put his arms around her, pulling her backward and to the side away from Wellington.
Wellington wound up to swing at Doc, and Doc slapped Wellington's throat. He clutched his throat and leaned over, coughing. "Your gullet'll stop burnin' in a few minutes," said Doc. "You might have a sore Adam's apple 'til morning."
"That was a dirty move," Wellington choked. "You're a yella fighter, Doc."
"I couldn't make you leave Kitty alone with a fistfight and you know it," said Doc. Stroking his throat, Wellington shuffled away.
"You alright, Kitty?" Doc put his arm around her.
"Yeah," said Kitty, vigorously rubbing her arm over her mouth to wipe out the taste of Wellington's whiskey kiss. "Let's get a fresh beer, Doc."
"Wish I hadn't had to do that," said Doc, watching Wellington push through the batwings. Doc shook his head as though to erase the memory. "I didn't like doin' that at all," he said.
"Well, I'm glad you did," said Kitty. "He would've hurt you if you tried fightin' 'im, Doc. Maybe now he'll leave me alone." She hugged Doc's waist as they moved to the bar.
C
Chester finished by dinnertime the work Matt ordered him to do except scrubbing the floor, which he did early the next morning in time to meet Kitty and go fishing at Rattlesnake Creek. He walked to the livery for his horse and Kitty's, tied them to the hitching rail in front of the Long Branch, and went inside.
Kitty sat at a table sipping coffee. As she didn't want fried chicken and potato salad for lunch again, the picnic basket held turkey sandwiches, apple pie and lemonade. For an extra twenty cents, Delmonico's delivered the lunch fresh as a special favor to Kitty despite the early hour. She'd ordered biscuits and bacon for them to eat on the way to the creek.
"Mornin', Miss Kitty," Chester said, tipping his hat.
"Chester," said Kitty. "You look like you could use some coffee."
"I could," said Chester. "I had no time to fix none afore I got done a scrubbin' the floor."
"Scrubbing the floor," said Kitty. "This early in the morning?"
"Mr. Dillon give me a heap of work yesterday directly after you and Doc left on your picnic," said Chester. "Mr. Dillon said I had to do the whole if I wanted to go fishin', and I couldn't finish afore dinner, so I waked myself afore sunup and did the floor scrubbin'. Mad Les in the jail didn't like it one bit on account of I disturbed his sleep, and he sat up in bed and howled like a sick dog 'til I plumb near lost my wits worse'n him."
"Oh," Kitty sympathized. "I bought biscuits and bacon for us to eat ridin' to the creek, but why don't you sit, and we'll eat 'em now while they're warm. I'll get you some coffee."
When Kitty returned to the table with two steaming cups, Chester had eaten only a few bites. "Aren't you hungry?" she said.
"Too wore out to eat, I guess," said Chester. "Coffee smells good, though."
"Chester, if you're too tired, we can go fishin' tomorrow," said Kitty. "You can go back to the office and get some more sleep."
"Well, no," said Chester. "I'm never too tired to go fishin' with you, Miss Kitty. I'm some sore is all. You ready?" Chester rose stiffly, wincing, and pressed his fingers into his back.
"You really are tired, aren't you," said Kitty. "What's got into Matt, workin' you so hard. I'm gonna talk to him."
"Oh, that work weren't really so very hard, Miss Kitty." Chester untied the horses, and helped Kitty mount her mare. "I'm jest not used to so much all to once, is all," he said. He mounted his horse. "Farm women do that much and more every day," Chester said.
"Which is why I'll never be a farm woman," said Kitty.
Kitty could talk, work, or just be quiet with Chester; it was all the same to him. At times she thought he regarded her like a tonic, or the sun to soak in, or curative hot springs.
Whereas Doc shared ideas with Kitty, thoughts about his work, and decisions he considered. She wondered if Doc expected from her a sagaciousness she'd never given him and did not in fact possess, save in business affairs. Kitty would listen attentively, and say, "You'll do what you think best when the time comes, Doc," or "If this is what you need to do, Doc, what you want to do, then do it." Though Kitty's advice seemed woefully inadequate to her, Doc never showed dissatisfaction.
As for Matt, his tall strong frame exuded a surety that comforted Kitty even when she was out of sorts with him. Patient and easy in conversation, Matt would listen to whatever Kitty said, while not always granting her words the credence she desired. He wouldn't speak of their love or show her the affection she craved, and when she lightly reproved him, he'd respond with a small grin, say "See ya, Kitty," and leave. Kitty sat in the crackly grass on the banks of Rattlesnake Creek, with Chester sound asleep on his back close beside her. She'd taken the fishing pole out of his hands, and set her own aside, as she cared nothing for fishing on her own, though she loved being outdoors when the sun shone and the air was warm.
Kitty closed her eyes and tilted her face to the sun, which she dared not do in summer, for fear of burning her fair skin. When the speculator's wily voice cut like a maelstrom through the reverie drifting wispily through the brightness behind Kitty's eyelids, she startled and her eyes opened wide. She put her hand to her chest and looked up at Cain Wellington, who bared his teeth at her, knowing he made a fine figure as he jauntily sat his horse.
"Miss Kitty Russell," said Wellington, dismounting. "As I live and breathe."
Kitty shook Chester's shoulder. "Chester," she hissed. "Wake up."
He woke and saw Wellington. "Oh, my goodness," Chester said. He scrambled to his feet, and held out his hands to help Kitty up.
"I'm headed back to Dodge," said Wellington conversationally. "I just bought a rocky dried-up piece of land from an old timer. He doesn't know the rocks on his property are rich with iron ore. I hired a surveyor to spy out the land while the old man was in town. I bought his place at a steal, and I stand to reap a huge profit," Wellington boasted.
"You really are a shark, Wellington," said Kitty. "You just robbed an old man of the chance to live comfortably the rest of his life, and you're braggin' about it."
"He don't need money," said Wellington. "He thanked me for takin' the farm off his hands, and said he's goin' to live with his sister and her husband in Savannah. He'll probably die soon, anyway.
"I wish you'd call me Cain, Miss Kitty."
"I'm not calling you anything," said Kitty. "All you do is swindle innocent people."
"You're a sanctimonious creature, aren't you," Wellington replied, scowling.
Chester didn't know what sanctimonious meant, but he knew Wellington had insulted Kitty. "Why don't you climb up on your horse and git on to home," Chester said.
"Don't tell me what to do," said Wellington, "or I'll wash your face in the mud.
"We didn't get to spark much last night at the Long Branch." Wellington stepped closer to Kitty.
"You leave Miss Kitty be," said Chester.
Wellington hit Chester, knocking him down. "I warned 'im," said Wellington.
Kitty gasped. "You animal," she said, and slapped Wellington. He grabbed Kitty and tried to kiss her, and she took hold of his ears, dug her nails in, and pulled as hard as she could. He yelled and cursed.
Chester jumped up as Wellington pulled Kitty's hands loose and pushed her so she lost her footing. Chester leaped on Wellington from the front, and they both fell to the ground. Chester sat on Wellington, backhanded him, and pinned his arms down. Wellington struggled. He was the heavier man, but Chester clung to him.
Wellington finally lay still, winded, and Chester stood up, letting him go. "You git on your horse and ride outa here," Chester said breathlessly.
Wellington lifted his head, supporting himself on his elbows. "What if I'm not done here," he said. "Maybe I'm just takin' a breather."
"You're done alright," said Kitty. Chester and Wellington looked at her. She held a shotgun aimed at the speculator. "Mount up and get out of here. Reach for your gun and I'll shoot. Move," Kitty said, as Wellington stared at her, open-mouthed.
He slowly rose, arms raised, shaking his head. "I'd never shoot a woman, Miss Kitty," Wellington said. "You're a beautiful woman. I'd never shoot you."
He mounted his horse. "Not a woman alive so strong and brave as you," he said. "I'll see you tonight at the Long Branch." He rode toward Dodge at a gallop.
"He can't keep houndin' you thataway, Miss Kitty," said Chester, as she handed him the shotgun. "Mr. Dillon oughta run him outa town."
"He hasn't hurt me, Chester," said Kitty. "Not really. And he only tries to force himself on me when Matt's not around. If I complain to Matt, he might just joke about it. He'll think Wellington's just another zealous suitor I want nothing to do with, like most of 'em."
"That's not true at all," said Chester. "You jest don't understand, Miss Kitty. If you tell Mr. Dillon that Wellington's the kinda man what forces hisself on women, Mr. Dillon'll run 'im outa town directly."
Chester's devotion to Matt irritated Kitty at that moment. "Let's go home, Chester," she said, trying to suppress the sharpness in her voice.
Chester helped Kitty mount her mare. He thought Kitty was mad at him, and didn't know why. He longed to say something to set things right, but kept quiet, afraid of riling her more if he talked. When he helped her dismount in front of the Long Branch, Kitty's face looked soft, her pretty blue eyes seeming to gaze at a far-away place.
"Can I see you tonight, Miss Kitty?" Chester said.
Kitty's eyes returned from the distant place, and she smiled at him. "Of course," she said. "You know you can come see me any time."
"Oh," Chester said, looking relieved. "I will. I'll come tonight."
Kitty wanted to hug him of a sudden, but thought that would make him uncomfortable, so she touched his arm instead. "We'll look forward to it," she said. "Beer's on me tonight." Chester smiled back at her, took the horses' reins, and hummed tunelessly while he walked to the livery.
Doc was in the marshal's office with Matt when Chester opened the door. "Mr. Dillon. Doc," said Chester.
"Chester."
"Is it lawful for a judge to overturn his own sentence?" Matt said to Doc.
"I don't know," said Doc. "I'm no attorney, Matt. But that's what Judge Benedict did, and it says so in this letter right here." Doc waved the paper at the marshal. "Benedict's nothing like Judge Flintridge," Doc said. "I told Benedict I understood he might have trouble with Flintridge, since Les Hicks shot 'im, but I could see Les lost what little reason he had after Flintridge condemned his brother, and the humane thing would be to send Les to an asylum that provides moral treatment.
"This letter from Judge Benedict officially releases Les Hicks to my custody," said Doc, "with the understanding that I'll turn him over to a temporary caretaker, who'll travel with him to the Friends asylum in Philadelphia. I made arrangements this morning to pay a fellow to make the trip. He's planning to meet me at the depot to put Les on the 3:30 train.
"I can handle Les, Matt," Doc said. "So far as anyone knows, the only time he shot a man was when he shot the judge for sentencing Les's brother to hang. Les is no danger long as he's kept away from guns."
"He gets agitated, Doc," said Matt. "Ask Chester. He can tell you."
"Not like as to hit anyone," said Chester. "He howls and shakes the bars, or hides 'neath the bed if his peace is troubled. Or he'll set on the floor a huggin' his legs and rock. Times too he twirls hisself round gettin' swimmy-headed, and I haveta make 'im stop afore he falls and busts his head."
"This fellow I'm paying as caretaker tended men who lost their senses in the war," said Doc. "He'll know how to take care of Les, and I can walk him to the depot, Matt. I've treated lunatic men before."
"How do you know this place in Philadelphia has room for Les?" said Matt.
"They're holding a bed for him," Doc said. "I telegraphed the hospital awhile back."
"How'd you set this all up the way you wanted it, Doc?" said Matt, grinning. "That's a trick I'd like to learn."
"Well," said Doc, considering with furrowed brows, "I can't say exactly. Things came together of themselves, just about."
"Chester, go get Les," said Matt. "I'm walkin' with you and him to the depot, Doc."
When Chester unlocked the cell, Les lay curled on his side asleep, his young face slack and untroubled. He was a sound sleeper, not plagued by nightmares. "Les," said Chester. "Wake up."
Les opened his clear, keen brown eyes, blinked sleepily at Chester, and yawned.
"You're goin' on a journey," said Chester. "On the train."
"Will you go with me, Chester?" Les asked in his soft voice. "I cain't go alone." Though at twenty-four years old Les had never shaved, his light-brown face was smooth as a child's. Of medium height and slim build, he had even features, his nose and mouth a little long, his lips thin, and his hair thick and coppery brown. Folks called him Mad Les, which seemed incongruous to his appearance, as he didn't look feeble-minded.
"I won't be goin' with you," said Chester. "Another feller will. He'll take good care of you. You don't need to worry at all. Mr. Dillon and Doc's gonna walk you to the depot."
Les gulped and adamantly shook his head. "I cain't, Chester," he said. "I don't know no other feller. And I'm afeared of Marshal Dillon."
"Now, you know you got no call to be afraid of Mr. Dillon, Les," said Chester. "He ain't never yelled at you nor roughed ya up, nor said one harsh word to you."
Les pondered a moment. "I reckon you're right, Chester," he said. "I'll walk to the depot with Marshal Dillon. I don't know Doc, though, Chester. I cain't walk with him."
"Sure you can," said Chester. "Doc's a doctor."
"Oh," said Les. "That's right. I can walk with Doc. But I can't go on the train with no other feller."
"This is a nice feller, Les," said Chester. "He won't hurt you."
Les pondered again. "Well," he said, "if you say so. I can go on the train with this other feller." Les carefully smoothed his hair back and put on his hat. He sat on the bed, tightly gripping the mattress and looking down at his boots.
Chester stepped up to Les, took his hand, and gently tugged. Les closed his fingers around Chester's hand, and walked with him out of the jail.
"He needs his hand held onto," said Chester. "So's he won't be scared to walk out."
Doc took Les's hand without hesitation. "You're Doc," said Les.
"That's right," said Doc. "I'm Doc."
Chester followed them out of the marshal's office.
"We goin' to the depot, now?" said Les.
"We're goin' to the depot," said Doc.
Les turned and waved to Chester as he held Doc's hand, walking between Doc and the marshal. "Bye, Chester," said Les.
"Bye, Les."
"Judge Flintridge doesn't know about any of this, yet," said Doc. "He thinks you're ridin' with Les to the State Penitentiary tomorrow, Matt."
"I cain't ride to the State Penitentiary," said Les.
"You're not ridin' to the State Penitentiary, Les," said Matt. "You're takin' a trip on the train."
"Like Chester said?"
"Like Chester said," said Matt. "You're not tellin' Judge Flintridge about this, Doc?"
"I'll tell 'im," said Doc. "After the train pulls out of the depot. I'm not read up on the law; I don't know if Flintridge can reverse Judge Benedict's decision to send Les to Friends Hospital instead of prison, since Les shot Flintridge. I'm not takin' any chances, Matt.
"Flintridge is mended enough to leave my office. Soon as we see Les off on the train, I'll tell Flintridge everything, and send 'im on home. He'll be riled," said Doc. "Nothin' he can do about it, though."
"I'll go with you when you tell Flintridge," said Matt.
The news so angered Judge Flintridge that he was overcome by pain from his bullet wound, which bled through his shirt. Though he'd dressed with Doc's help and sat in a chair, he clearly now was in no condition to leave Doc's office.
"Help me get him back to bed, Matt," said Doc. "I should've foreseen this."
"You'd not have done anything different even if you knew it'd kill me to hear of it," Flintridge said to Doc. "What kind of a doctor are you. Just wait'll I see that durn Benedict," Judge Flintridge ranted, hobbling between Matt and Doc to the bed. "That Benedict's a disgrace to the judiciary. He had no right to overturn the prison sentence of a man who shot a justice," Flintridge gasped, his knees buckling.
"Easy," said Doc. He and Matt helped Flintridge into bed. "I won't be at the Long Branch tonight," said Doc, unbuttoning the judge's shirt. "I have to dress his wound and give him morphine, and watch his breathing close."
"Think he'll be alright, Doc?" said Matt. The judge's face was pale, his eyes closed and his mouth open as he fought for breath.
"He'll come through," said Doc. "He's had a shock, but he's strong." Doc shook his head. "I should've known this would happen," he said. "I'd of waited to tell him when he was healed up more."
Matt patted Doc's shoulder. "Nobody's perfect, Doc," the marshal said.
"