Another Mystery Solved…
Or Why Matt Dillon Always Wears a Red Shirt)
Author's Note: This is not an original idea but a variation on a theme. It has served me well in the classroom…as Foghorn Leghorn used to say, "That's a joke, son."
The marshal of Dodge City was known far and wide by any miscreant in the state of Kansas and beyond. They knew him for his size for he was a giant of man. They knew him for his speed with a gun that was like lightning. They knew him by the same buckskin horse he always rode. They knew him by his voice the minute he commanded them to "Hold it!" And they knew him by his red shirt.
Now, a man couldn't change his size and speed with a gun was achievable by practice. A fellow just didn't change horses any more often than he changed his hat. And the tone of a man's voice was backed up by a speedy six-gun – many a bad man had the same command of language. But the shirt…why couldn't a man change his shirt?
It was a question pondered by not only those weak in morality but by the marshal's closest friends.
The big lawman had once again left his friends to their beers and had disappeared to conduct his nightly rounds. Chin in hand, a gloomy expression on her face, Kitty Russell sighed heavily. "I wonder if Matt is ever going to wear that new shirt I got him for his birthday? It's been nearly two weeks now-"
"Iz it red, Miss Kitty?" asked Festus politely.
"Now why in thunder would she buy him another red shirt?" grumbled Doc Adams, cutting into the conversation.
Festus glared at him. "Cuz he won't ware nothin' bur a red shirt er ain't ya noticed, ya ol' scutter."
The doctor blinked. "Exactly why is that? Has the U.S. government passed a special regulation requiring the wearing of a red shirt for U.S. marshals?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm but there was a hint of curiosity behind it.
Festus shook his head. "Naw, there ain't no reg'lation 'bout warin' no red shirt – ya don't see me warin' one do ya?"
"No, but you aren't a marshal."
Kitty attempted to disarm the argument. "Festus, why does Matt always wear a red shirt?"
The deputy squirmed a little. "Wall, it's like this, doncha see…Matthew always wears a red shirt 'cuz he don't always want certain folks to know iffen he's been hurt er shot er somthin' when he's been dealin' with them ya-hoos he haster deal with. Lotsa times thar's more of them than thar is of him"
"He what!" exclaimed Kitty. Adams merely wiped his mustache and ducked his head slightly.
"Doncher see, Miz Kitty? Iffen some outlaw wuz ta know that ol' Matthew wuzn't up ter snuff, they might jest fight even harder instead of jest givin' up, figgerin' either they'd missed er Matthew wuz jes' too tough fer em….an' besides, you'd worry somethin' fierce iffen yuh wuz to know ever' time he got a little banged up – " the deputy finished lamely. He was well aware of the woman's temper.
She glared at Festus and then noticed how quiet the doctor had gotten. "So you were in on this, too, Curly." It was no question. "Red shirts to hide the blood…so no one will know…so I won't know…" She shrugged and vowed to herself to buy only red shirts from now on. "I suppose the next thing you'll be telling me is why he always wears brown pants."
Both Festus and the doctor ducked their heads.
She sighed and signaled to Sam. "I need another beer."
