Darius Cain fought any man who failed to move out of his way, and he seldom spared a glance for a body in his path. The other man always bore blame and forced trouble. Headed for the cattle pens where he worked, Cain led his horse out of Grimmick's livery, turned round the stable door and bumped Chester coming in for his horse and Buck.
The cowboy saw Chester as a chance to plague Matt, and to loose the wrath lurking in Cain's gut like a wolf snarling and worrying the bars of its cage. Cain hated lawmen.
Chester looked into the dark pits of Cain's eyes, at his prominent cheekbones, hawk nose and long hard mouth. A little shorter than Chester, Cain had broad shoulders, a solid frame and big fists, and was known in Dodge for his orneriness.
Chester stiffened and his eyes narrowed as his heart thrilled to pounding and he went clammy cold. He backed up two steps.
"Stay out of my way." Cain's voice was bitter.
"You bumped me," said Chester. "Why don't you look where you're goin'." Moss heard their words and hurried outside to warn Chester to leave it be, too late.
"No man orders me and gets away with it," said Cain. He hit Chester. Chester fell back and lay still in the dirt, eyes closed.
"He don't tell Dillon I hit 'im, you tell the marshal," Cain said to Moss, then mounted his horse and rode away.
Moss bent over Chester, patted his face and called his name until he opened dazed, blurred eyes and lay blinking and staring at Moss. "Cain hit you," said Moss. "It's alright; he's gone."
He stepped behind Chester's head, took hold of his shoulders and sat him up. Chester leaned back against Moss's legs, and Moss looked over Chester's head into his eyes, so he saw Moss's face upside down. "Chester," said Moss.
"Moss," said Chester, in a soft vague tone.
Moss wrapped his arms around Chester's narrow torso and pulled. "Come on," said Moss. "I can't stand you up."
Chester struggled to his feet, and Moss handed him his hat. He put his hat on and listed to the side, and Moss pushed him upright. "Come in and lay a spell," said Moss. "You're muddled."
"I cain't," said Chester. "Mr. Dillon and me's ridin' to Jim Malik an' Anse Underwood's ranch."
"Come in and set while I saddle the horses," said Moss. "What's Matt ridin' out there for?"
"Farmer what lives half-mile from their ranch," said Chester. "He rode in early this mornin' and said Jim an' Anse is dead and looks like they shot each other. Mr. Dillon hasta look for hisself, calculate if maybe someone murdered 'em, and we haveta bury 'em."
Chester sat on a hay bale and rubbed his throbbing jaw. His neck hurt.
"No surprise if they killed each other," said Moss. "They were always fighting. Anse drank too much and he was a mean drunk, and Jim, he had a vile temper." Chester stood and took the horses' reins, pressing his fingers on his neck.
"You gonna tell Matt?" said Moss.
"Not lessun he asks," said Chester. "It don't break the law iffen a man hits another 'un." He felt a swelling starting on his jaw, and hoped the marshal wouldn't notice.
"Cain told me to tell Matt if you don't," said Moss, walking outside with Chester. "But I won't. Tell Matt."
"I'll tell Mr. Dillon, Moss," said Chester. "So's Cain don't hurt you none. He's jest lowdown 'nough to do it."
"You shouldn't rile him, Chester," said Moss. "When you come on him again."
"He's the one bumped me," said Chester. "I ain't gonna cower to the likes of him."
Matt was waiting at the marshal's office window when Chester walked up with the horses. "Chester," said Matt, taking his gunbelt off the peg. "You been a time. Were ya chattin' with Moss?"
"I run into Darius Cain down ta Moss's, Mr. Dillon."
Matt paused in strapping on his gunbelt to look at Chester. "He make trouble for you, did he?"
"Ah'm jest tellin' you on account of Moss said—" Chester's breath hitched. "Cain tole Moss to tell you he hit me. Cain did. Iffen I don't tell you. I'm tellin' you so's Cain won't hurt Moss."
Matt looked at the four big knuckle marks in a raised red patch on Chester's jaw. "What happened?" said the marshal.
"Cain bumped me walkin' his horse out the stable," said Chester. "We quarreled on it some and he hit me, then I opened my eyes a layin' in the dirt and Moss helpin' me up."
"I'll talk to Cain before we ride to Jim and Anse's ranch," said Matt, putting on his hat.
Chester followed Matt outside and walked with him to the cattle pens. The marshal said nothing on the way, so Chester kept quiet, too.
They sighted Cain on his horse in a corral, herding out cattle. The marshal and Chester approached the pen and stood at the fence, watching the cowboy. Matt planted his boots apart and hooked his thumbs in his belt.
Cain rode out of the corral, dismounted and looped his horse's reins around a fence post. Two drovers rode up and herded the cattle away.
"Marshal," said Cain. "Chester tell you, did he?"
"He did," said Matt.
"Tell 'im to stay out of my way." Not looking at Chester, Cain's dark eyes bored into Matt.
The marshal wanted to hit Cain, harder than the cowboy hit Chester, and Matt warned himself to hold back, knowing he could break Cain's jaw.
"Cain, bumping into a man doesn't give you a right to fight him," said Matt. "When you knock him senseless, particular."
"Tell me what I can't do, maybe I'll knock you out, too, Marshal," Cain bit out.
Anger flared in Matt's chest. "You beat one more man for bumping into you, Cain, I'll bust your hide, tie you to your horse and run you out of town."
The cowboy's hard mouth tightened to a slash and curved down at the corners, so Matt saw it coming. Although tough with big strong fists, Cain was no nimble boxer. Matt blocked the blow and punched Cain. He staggered, and Chester backed out of the way.
The marshal rammed his left fist into Cain's muscled belly, and Matt's right fist hammered Cain's jaw. Knees buckling, Cain's boots scrabbled the dirt, and he sat down hard on the ground.
Looking up at Matt, Cain's dark eyes burned hatred. He climbed to his feet, pulling himself up by the corral rails. "It's all coming down on friend Chester's head," Cain growled.
The marshal grabbed Cain's vest and jerked him up close to Matt's face. "Any grudge you got is with me," said Matt. He slapped his palms on the cowboy's chest and shoved, and Cain stumbled back, almost losing his footing again.
Matt walked fast toward Front Street. Chester hesitated, looking curiously at Cain as at some strange species of vicious animal. "What're you LOOKIN' at!" Cain rasped, thrusting his head at Chester.
Chester started, his brown eyes staring wide at Cain, and Matt turned. "Come on, Chester," said Matt, his steady voice freeing Chester from the smoldering dark wells of Cain's eyes.
Chester hurried to Matt, and limped quickly to keep pace with the marshal's long strides. "Try and stay away from him," said Matt. "If he comes after you again, let me know."
"Yessir," said Chester. "What d'you calculate he meant by it's all comin' down on my head, Mr. Dillon. Should I put a gun in ma belt?"
"No," said Matt. "If Cain wants to fight, he knows he'll have to fight me."
"Cain's not a feller to respect the law," said Chester.
"I wouldn't worry, Chester."
"You ain't the one he cursed, Mr. Dillon." Matt patted Chester's shoulder.
At the Malik and Underwood ranch, the marshal couldn't figure how the men died. The bodies appeared to lay where they had fallen in front of their house. A six-gun was on the ground by Jim's hand, and Anse's fingers were wrapped around his gun butt. Each cylinder contained five bullets, so Matt guessed Malik and Underwood had each pulled the trigger once.
The two men had worked their small spread alone, so there was no one to question. The bodies lay a few feet apart, almost side by side, suggesting that rather than shooting each other, they fired at a third man who shot them both. Matt found blood only on the corpses, and staining the dirt under them. Whoever shot them had escaped without getting hit, and there was no supposing if he'd murdered the two ranch owners, or killed them in self-defense.
Matt and Chester buried the bodies, and rode to the neighbor who found them dead. Matt asked the farmer to move Jim and Anse's livestock to his land, and the marshal and Chester rode back to Dodge.
"We need provisions, Chester," said Matt, seeing Chester move to the bed. "It can't wait. We're out of most everything." Worn down from the trouble with Cain and grave digging, Chester heaved a sigh.
"You want lunch, first?" said Matt.
"We got no food," said Chester.
"I was thinkin' Delmonico's," said Matt.
His face droopy, Chester looked at the marshal and yawned. "I best go to Jonas's afore lunch, Mr. Dillon, if I can stand to make it, recollect what we need and carry it all back. Cain't do it on a full belly. I'll fall out plumb asleep on the street," said Chester.
"Well, Chester, I'd go with you, but I want to get the report on Jim and Anse written while it's fresh in my mind," said Matt. "Why don't you fix some coffee before you go, help wake you up."
"No . . . no," said Chester, yawning. "I'll go now and get it over with. I kin fix coffee fer you, Mr. Dillon, you want some."
"I'll make the coffee," said Matt. "You go on."
Headed for Jonas's store, Chester stopped still as he saw Cain approaching from further down the walk. "Oh, my goodness," Chester said. Cain quickened his pace. He'd seen Chester.
The cowboy had finished his day's job at the cattle pens early and collected his pay, and was going to the barbershop for a bath. He carried a clean change of clothes in a sack.
Chester looked back the way he had come and wondered if he should hightail it to the marshal's office, as Mr. Dillon had told him to try and stay away from the cowboy. The thought of running from Cain was shaming, and Chester set his mind to get himself through the store's opened doors before Cain caught up with him.
He limped fast, and Cain broke into an easy run, coming at him. Chester had nearly reached the store when Cain ran past the doors, straight at Chester, who hopped off the walk into the street.
Cain stopped, and the two men eyed each other. Chester walked past Cain, turned and moved cautiously toward the doors. Jonas was tidying up a row of boots inside the store, and he looked at Chester. He couldn't see Jonas's eyes, just his spectacles reflecting the early afternoon light.
Facing Chester, Cain moved to stand in the doorway, blocking the entrance and Chester's view of Jonas, who stepped to the side, looking out at Chester. Mr. Dillon had sent him for the provisions, and he would try his doggonedest not to return empty-handed.
Chester stepped onto the walk. "Move out of the way, Cain," he said quietly.
"I guess you didn't learn at the livery this morning not to tell me what to do," said Cain.
"I'm gettin' powerful tired of you, Cain. I wanna go in and yer blockin' the doors," said Chester, raising his voice. "Now, move."
"You go on home to Dillon, errand boy," said Cain. "Let 'im know I'm raisin' a ruckus."
Chester edged around Cain. Cain grabbed him, and they tussled in the doorway as Jonas watched. Cain tried to push Chester off to take a swing at him, but Chester clung to the cowboy, forcing him back into the store. Chester threw his weight against Cain, who toppled over backward with Chester on top of him.
"Get off me." Despite Cain's larger size, his struggling slowed as he lost breath. He couldn't shake Chester loose.
"Gimme yer word," said Chester.
"What," said Cain.
"Take your li'l knapsack and git out. Leave me be whilst I buy ma provisions," said Chester.
"I can't unless you let me up," said Cain.
Chester let go of him, and Cain picked his sack up off the floor. "Who do you think you are, talkin' to me like that," said Cain. "Man like you."
"You gonna leave?" said Chester.
"Sure. I'm gonna leave you somethin' to tell the marshal."
Cain looked at Jonas. "If friend Chester don't tell Dillon, be sure you do," said Cain.
"Tell Marshal Dillon what," said Jonas.
"Don't pay 'im no mind, Mr. Jonas," said Chester. "He hates lawmen. He's houndin' me to rile Mr. Dillon, and I ain't standin' for it."
"You got no choice," said Cain. With one swift movement, he drew his gun and whacked Chester's head.
Chester stood there stunned, feeling no pain at first, only a trickle of blood sliding down his face from the gash in his temple.
Cain holstered his gun. "You remember what I said, Mr. Jonas. See Dillon finds out about this." He walked out.
"I – I'll get a cloth for your head, Chester," said Jonas. "You best get to Doc's straightaway."
"It's like that. With him," said Chester.
"Just – just take it easy, Chester," said Jonas, wetting the cloth.
"It was the same with Moss," said Chester. "Cain told Moss to tell Mr. Dillon he hit me. Cain did. So I have to. Tell Mr. Dillon. So's Cain won't come after you."
Jonas took off Chester's hat, handed it to him, and mopped his temple. "Well, I keep a loaded shotgun under the counter there," said Jonas. "I know how to use it, and I will if I have to. You should tell the marshal, anyway, Chester. Cain split a big cut in your head, here."
"I have to," Chester repeated. "Tell Mr. Dillon."
"You go to Doc's," said Jonas. "I'll tell the marshal. Press the rag against your head so the bleeding stops."
The cut was burning now, and Chester's head started throbbing. He handed Jonas a slip of paper with the provisions list. "Mr. Dillon said stock up on ever'thin'," said Chester, feeling a mite swimmy-headed.
"I'll take care of it," said Jonas. "It's a wonder you didn't fall out in the floor when he hit you."
"Why," said Chester.
"I don't know. You expect a man to fall when he gets pistol-whipped, I guess," said Jonas.
"I have a hard head," said Chester.
Repeating the gesture more times than he realized, Jonas anxiously patted Chester's arm. "You go on to Doc's, now."
The headache grew steadily worse, and Chester felt dizzier as he walked to Doc's. Chester's eyes clouded every minute or so, clearing when he blinked hard.
The sight of Miss Kitty coming Chester's way heartened him. She paused as she saw him, and walked faster. Miss Kitty looked shrouded in mist to Chester. The boards under his boots seemed to tilt on the side where his head was split, and the gash hurt like razors cutting.
"Chester," said Kitty. He held a bloodied rag to his head, blood staining his fingers, clutching his hat in his other hand. "You're falling." Kitty put her arms around him. "What happened?"
"Darius Cain hit me with his gun," said Chester.
"That mad animal," said Kitty. She walked with Chester, holding onto him. "Matt oughta kill 'im," she said. "If Matt doesn't, maybe I will."
"Cain is gettin' ta be a menace," said Chester, his voice tremulous. "I wouldn't mind at all if Mr. Dillon shot 'im dead. I'd drink a beer to it, after. Where was you goin', Miss Kitty? Afore you showed ta help me."
"To the marshal's office. To see if Matt wanted to lunch at Delmonico's," Kitty panted. Chester was leaning on her, and she braced herself, pushing at him to keep him upright. It surprised her, how a lean man with a spare frame like Chester's could feel that heavy.
A cowpoke, tall and burly, rose from a bench on the walkway and stepped in front of them. Not quite of an age to be called old timer, he'd clearly seen many years, wore a dust coating and had a kindly face.
"Ma'am," he said, tipping his hat. He took Chester's hat from his hand and gave it to Kitty, slung Chester's arm over the cowboy's wide shoulder, and took hold of Chester's waist. "Now then, son," said the cowpoke.
"It's Doc Adam's place," said Kitty, moving to Chester's other side. "Straight ahead." Chester's head had drooped so his chin rested on his chest, and he raised his head, staring at the cowboy's cheerful weathered face.
The man looked into Chester's expressive round eyes and grinned. "A stranger won't put anything over on you, huh?" said the cowboy.
Chester could think of nothing to say to that, and his head hurt too much to try, so he just said, "Much obliged."
"Sure," said the man.
Kitty rushed ahead of Chester and the cowpoke up the stairs to Doc's and opened the door. Doc looked up from his English translation of Encyclopedie Anatomique. "Kitty," he said.
"Doc, it's Chester."
Doc took off his spectacles and put them on the desk as the cowboy came in, supporting Chester.
"Help him up on the table, there, if you will," said Doc.
The cowboy did, and tipped his hat again to Kitty.
"Thank you," said Kitty.
"Ma'am," he said, and left.
"I guess Mr. Dillon'll be here, soon, maybe," said Chester. "Mr. Jonas said he'd tell 'im."
"What happened," said Doc, smoothing Chester's hair away from the cut.
"That beast Darius Cain pistol-whipped him," said Kitty.
Chester sighed and closed his eyes. "Ahm swimmy-headed," he murmured.
"Lay back and relax, Chester," said Doc, helping Chester to lie down.
"I cain't, Doc. Not with that hammer poundin' ma head."
"I'm gonna give you something to ease the pain while I stitch that gash," said Doc.
Chester gazed into Kitty's eyes, his own half-closed. "I'm passin' out, now, Miss Kitty," he said peacefully, and held out his hand to her.
Kitty pressed his hand between her palms. "Doc?" she said.
Doc lifted Chester's head and put a cup of water with morphine to his mouth. "Come on, Chester," Doc urged. "Drink it down." Chester drank, the last mouthful dribbling down his chin.
"Doc?" Kitty repeated.
Doc pried open Chester's eyelid.
"Is he asleep?" said Kitty.
"He fainted."
Matt came in as Doc cleaned the gash before stitching it. The marshal moved to the table and looked down at Chester. His friend's face was slack, a shade paler than its normal tan hue, his mouth slightly open.
"Doc?" said Matt.
"He's unconscious," said Doc, stitching the cut. "Concussion."
"Will he be alright?" said Matt.
"Yes," said Doc. "I'll keep him here for bedrest, 'til the headache and dizziness clear away."
"Mr. Jonas told me what happened," said Matt.
Doc finished stitching, cleaned the wound again, and sprinkled healing powder. "Matt." Doc wrapped the bandage while Kitty held Chester's head up. "Cain's an angry man, which means he's dangerous," said Doc. "I can't count the number of men come here needing patching up cuz they accidentally bumped Cain or he bumped them. Why you haven't run 'im out of town, I don't know."
"He's too busy tryin' to heat my dander to leave town," said Matt, "and I can't force him. Cain doesn't listen to threats."
"Why don't ya kill 'im," said Kitty.
"Be doin' this town a favor if you did," said Doc.
"What I can do is jail Cain," said the marshal. "Chester's comin' to."
"Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "My head don't hurt no more. You done a good job, Doc."
"That's the morphine, Chester," said Doc. "You'll have headaches and dizzy spells a day or two. You have a concussion. Matt can help you to the bed in there."
"I'm throwin' Cain in jail," said Matt, helping Chester to the bedroom.
"Judge won't give more'n 'bout three days fer pistol-whippin'," said Chester. "A fortnight maybe if Cain had cracked ma head bone. Takes 'bout five days for the court to hear a case like that, and the judge'll turn 'im loose for time served."
Chester settled into Doc's pillows, looking up at Matt. "Cain's one hatin' bloodhound, Mr. Dillon. Only way to stop 'im is to kill him."
