In
Pace Requiescat
A
Gunsmoke
Story
The stranger reappeared at the Long Branch the next four nights, always sitting at the same table, requesting the same wine – the Amontillado – and settling for plain sherry, reading the same book. He had invited Kitty over to hear him read more of Poe each night, but she politely declined, insisting she had to work on her books and help Sam with the customers. Truth was, she was finding him a bit maudlin.
"You've been so kind to me these past several evenings, Miss Kitty. I would appreciate the opportunity to repay your hospitality."
"It really isn't necessary. Just part of the warm welcome to Dodge and the Long Branch."
Rising, he placed his hand on her forearm and squeezed a little. "Oh, I think it's more than that. Perhaps you'll accompany me to dinner and I can show you how much I appreciate your kindness. I've heard that this DelMonico's offers a tempting fare."
"Tempting fate, maybe."
The joke was lost on him. "I'm afraid I must insist," he said, his voice no louder, but his tone edgy.
Kitty looked at him, truly uneasy for the first time. "I really can't. We're very busy and I have a lot to do tonight. There's another trail herd due in town any day. Now, if you'll excuse me."
She tried to turn, but he didn't relinquish the hold on her arm. "Miss Russell, I could – I could open up a world to you – a literary world of adventure and intrigue – and passion."
"Look, I'm sure you are wonderful company, but I really can't get away tonight."
His tone softened a bit, assuming a pacifying lilt. "Of course. How about breakfast, then?"
"I don't think so," she said, no longer trying to be courteous. This guy was really becoming a nuisance. "Now, I really must get back to the bar." Any lingering interest she might have had with his unusual ways was obliterated as she jerked her arm from his grasp.
He stared at her as she walked away, his eyes suddenly hard, but he didn't try to follow.
Stopping at the bar, she leaned close to Sam and told him she was going to her office and to let her know if either the man left or Matt came in. Sam nodded.
"My beautiful Annabel Lee," the stranger quoted as she disappeared behind the door.
XXXXX
Half an hour later, she was finishing her work on the ledger when a knock on the door startled her.
"Come in," she invited, wary that it might be her creepy poet, but smiling in relief as soon as she saw the familiar, tall figure whose wide shoulders practically blocked the light from the other room.
Matt Dillon returned her smile. "Sam said you wanted to see me."
"I did, Matt. That Montressor fellow was in again tonight. Maybe you saw him. That's every night this week. He's starting to give me the willies. He wanted to take me to dinner, and when I declined, he didn't take the rejection well at all."
"I think I'll see what I can find out about this guy. Did he say where he was from?"
"No, I don't think so, but his accent sounds more east coast, Chesapeake Bay area, or somewhere close."
"All right. I'll send out a few telegrams and see what turns up." He paused and looked down at her, those sharp eyes softening. "Okay if I come back later for a nightcap?"
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't, Cowboy."
He nodded once, the heat of promise on his face.
XXXXX
When Matt pushed through the doors of the Long Branch two hours later, it was approaching closing time and the Long Branch was almost empty. Tuesdays were usually one of the slower nights. Doc Adams nodded to him from their usual table, Kitty next to him. The Marshal dropped into an empty chair and leaned back, his tired body ready to feel the softness of a bed – and the softness of a certain redhead's arms.
"Marshal!"
His muscles had not even completely relaxed when Barney barreled through the batwing doors waving an envelope.
"Well, for Heaven's sake, Barney," Doc scolded, "where's the fire?"
"Marshal Dillon, got a reply to one of them wires you sent. Think you'd better look at this."
Matt let the front legs of his chair return to the ground and took the paper Barney was waving about. "Where's it from?"
"Baltimore. It don't sound too good."
"What does it say, Matt?" Doc asked.
The Marshal's eyes scanned the contents quickly. "It's about that Montressor fellow." His jaw hardened. "Real name's Barton. Colin Barton. The Pinkertons are after him."
"Pinkertons!" Kitty exclaimed. "What for?"
Matt swallowed, his eyes rising slowly to meet her gaze. "Seems he's supposed to be committed to an asylum back East."
"An asylum? You mean an insane asylum?" Kitty's voice shook suddenly.
Matt nodded. "He – uh – he supposedly found his wife and his best friend – well – he killed them both and buried them under his bedroom floor. They were discovered when the neighbors complained of the smell."
"Oh my God!"
Doc spoke up. "Well Matt, you gotta find him."
"He was here all afternoon and evening, nursing another bottle of sherry," Kitty remembered, shaken. "But he left over an hour ago."
The Marshal stood, towering over everyone. "Did he mention where he was staying?" When there was no response from the table, he continued, "I think I'll take a trip over to Ma Smalley's and then by the Dodge House."
On his way out, Matt stopped at the bar and spoke briefly to Sam, who simply nodded as he continued drying shot glasses for the next day. This did not go unnoticed by Kitty.
As the Marshal exited through the batwing doors, Doc finished off his whiskey, made a date with Kitty for breakfast, and wished Sam goodnight. Finally, only Sam and his boss were left to lock up.
"Sam, why don't we call it a night? We can finish this in the morning," she offered, glancing involuntarily toward the front doors as she made her way over to the bar with the empty whiskey glasses. "Just let those air dry Sam. Nobody's gonna notice a spot or two."
"All right, Miss Kitty," Sam agreed, reluctantly setting the towel on the bar. "I've got a case of empties to take down, but I'll wait until you're upstairs to leave. I don't like the sound of that stranger being wanted like that. I'll finish up down here."
"Thanks, Sam." Having already taken the cash box to the vault and locking the doors in the back, Kitty began to make her way over to the stairs.
"Would you like me to check the upstairs doors Miss Kitty?"
"I'll do it Sam, but thank you anyway," she assured him as she ascended the staircase, although her heart felt anything but sure.
As she entered her bedroom, she looked around cautiously, feeling a bit silly, but wary nonetheless. Finding herself alone, she closed and locked the door. Despite her burning eyes, throbbing feet, and heavy limbs, she trudged over to her dressing screen and noticed the three dresses she had laid out on the bed earlier that needed to be hung out on the balcony to air. Although she ran the most popular saloon in Dodge, or maybe even Kansas, the staunch smell of tobacco smoke was something she had just never gotten accustomed to. It took days of outside airing to rid her wardrobe of the stench that permeated her clothing. But, it was well worth the time required for the autumn breezes to replace the foul odor of smoke with the distinctive smell of fall.
Matt had built the small balcony last spring and had added what amounted to a fancy hat rack to hang her dresses on that would spin with the breeze. He knew she liked to hang them outside, but he also knew summertime didn't often afford her such a luxury. Dust from the numerous trail herds, combined with the heat and humidity of the open prairie, made the balcony all the more practical. It was off the main street and hidden from view. The tall buildings on both sides of the alley created a nice shadow for most of the day. Only when the sun was directly overhead did the balcony get any sunshine at all. This helped prevent her dresses from fading. The wind meandered through the alley and created a nice breeze back there, even on the hottest days of summer.
They had kept it a well-guarded secret. Being the owner of the Long Branch did have its privileges, and the balcony was one of them. She and Matt often sat out there until sun-up watching the stars and talking about the various goings-on around Dodge. Sometimes they even slept out there on a pallet of blankets. Hopefully, if she played her cards right, tonight would be one of those nights. She selected her pussy-willow dress from her chiffonier for the next day and hung it by the dressing screen, knowing it was one of Matt's favorites.
Her eyes glanced toward the clock on the wall as she sat at her dressing table. She hoped Matt wouldn't be too long. She yearned to feel the security of his solid embrace, the tender touch of his lips and fingers. But as she combed through her hair, the unnerving news about Montressor – or Barton – weighed on her mind, so much so that she almost didn't get to her one hundred-stroke requisite. Pulling on her nightgown, she gathered the three dresses from the bed, and with the addition to the one she had just taken off, stepped out onto the balcony. Perhaps the cool night breeze would expedite the airing process tonight. Rain was coming and she didn't know when she would get another chance to hang them out here. Reentering her room, she locked the door behind her and then waited anxiously on the bed for Matt to arrive. She needed the company, but she also looked forward to him paying her back for his earlier shoulder massage.
XXXXX
The full moon was briefly obliterated by the black and purple clouds that passed over the bright orange orb. He shuddered as he pulled his coat tighter around his neck. Never a man who took to superstition, he was embarrassed to admit to himself he was more than a little spooked this late October night. Of course, the disturbing telegram about this Montressor fellow was enough to spook anyone. Matt had made sure to tell Sam to lock up good and tight before he left. Unfortunately, checks at Ma Smalley's and the Dodge House had proven futile. No Colin Barton, nor any Montressor, was registered anywhere in town. Frustrated, he made the last of his rounds as quickly as possible and was heading for his usual 'unofficial' last stop, the back stairs of the Long Branch. The wind that whipped through the alleys sounded more like howling ghosts voicing their unhappiness in purgatory. They had been blowing all day, bringing into view pregnant rain clouds on the western horizon. As he crossed the alley between Doc's and the Long Branch, a voice called to him.
"Marshal, if you ever want to see the lovely Annabel again, you'll do as instructed."
Blood chilling at the smooth voice, he peered into the darkness of the alley, taking a few cautious steps toward the voice.
"Stay where you are," it warned him. "Remove your firearm from its holster and discard it toward the back of the alley. Then, take off the gun belt and do the same with it."
Matt obeyed, the threat of harm to Kitty dictating his moves. "Annabel? You mean – Kitty?"
"I much prefer Annabel. Now, lie face down with you head toward the street and place your hands behind your back."
With effort, Matt knelt on his good knee, and then stretched out his long frame in the dust of the street, his mind racing, trying to figure out Barton's plan. When he was on his belly in the shadows of the alley, hands swiftly began to bind his wrists together. He contemplated overpowering the man right then and there. Barton would be no match for him. But, uncertainty about Kitty's safety was enough to make him surrender to his assailant. The rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. The storm brewing on the horizon paralleled the storm brewing in Matt Dillon. If they harmed one hair on her head –
"What do you want, Barton?" he asked, voice sure and calm, in spite of his predicament.
The smoothness sharpened. "It's Montressor," he insisted, surprised at the use of his real name.
"What do you want?" Matt repeated, not giving him the satisfaction of addressing him as ordered.
"You'll discover that soon enough, Fortunato."
Suddenly, Matt's eyes narrowed in horrific understanding, his heart pounding.
"Ah!" Barton breathed, "So you have read Poe? Impressive I must say. I wouldn't think a man in your line of work would find the works of Mr. Poe appeasing or gratifying."
"You won't get away with this, Barton."
"It's Montressor!" the man snapped, but that's all Matt heard, because at that moment pain exploded in his head, and blackness engulfed him.
XXXXX
Kitty Russell woke to the sounds of a rain crow and the wind whistling through her window. Between the dog days of summer and the heat of the open prairie, the past few weeks had been almost unbearable and she had welcomed the past few days of cooler temperatures. She had left her window open last night to enjoy the crisp air and refreshing smell that always accompanied autumn. As she lay there, she could hear a rumble in the distance. A storm was blowing in and the streets of Dodge would probably be muddy messes by nightfall. Sam had mentioned last night that he could smell the coming rain, and when she stepped onto the boardwalk for some fresh air, she had smelled it too. Now, the rain crow that woke her this morning was also warning of wet days ahead. When she had first heard Sam talk about being able to actually smell the coming rain, she was sure he'd had one too many that day, and she certainly didn't think a bird could forecast the weather. Over time, however, she had learned to trust both Sam's nose and the rain crows. They were almost always right, and over the years she had learned to notice the changing smells in the air as well. Sam was a great teacher when it came to things of that nature.
Suddenly, disappointment settled over her as she realized that Matt had not come by last night, or if he had, she didn't remember it. Perhaps he had come by and didn't want to disturb her; he was funny that way. Lord knows he had been roused countless times in the middle of the night by someone who needed him. He had told her on more than one occasion that he would never wake her, especially if it had been a long day, and even when she insisted she wouldn't mind.
As she lay there listening to the sounds of morning and the approaching storm, she remembered the dresses on the balcony. Groaning, she reluctantly left the warm confines of her bed to retrieve them. The cool planks of the balcony made her shiver when her warm feet met them for the first time. Before she could lift the garments from the balustrade, though, a hand clamped around her face and over her mouth. The hard end of a gun pushed insistently into her back, and a voice laced with sherry whispered in ear, "If you ever want to see that marshal friend of yours again, my dear, you'll cooperate. Do you understand?"
Heart pounding, she forced herself to nod slowly. She had let her guard down and now it had cost her. Barton manhandled her down the stairs, never taking his hand away from her mouth nor the gun from her back. When they reached the bottom, he half-threw her up into a waiting wagon and warned her that any sound she made would be her last. As he snapped the reins, the horses headed out of the deserted alley and made their way quietly through the empty streets. Fighting back tears, she was determined he would not see her weak. Kitty looked back over her shoulder as the buckboard pulled away – and wondered where Matt was.
TBC