The West Wind

A Gunsmoke Story

By Amanda (MAHC)

"O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being.

Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,

Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,

Pestilence-stricken multitudes."

Percy Bysshe Shelley

"Ode to the West Wind"

1819

Chapter Four: The Right Other Woman

POV: Solana

Spoilers: None

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters (but I wish I did).

Relieved that the persistent prairie wind had taken a rest, even if it was only temporary, Solana Satterfield paused long enough to push a wayward strand of hair back into her otherwise perfect coif before she strolled over the threshold of the U.S. Marshal's office. As was her practice, her dark eyes took in the surroundings with a simple glance, noting the sparseness of the room. It was neat, clean, and efficient – much like its inhabitant, she figured.

She, of course, did not expect to find the Marshal there, having heard from the town doctor – a rather charming, but frustrating gentleman – that he was convalescing from the wounds he had grudgingly admitted to her on the stage. She was surprised, then, to find that the outer room was not empty.

On a cot that butted the wall, a crumpled figure lay, his beard scraggly, his eyes closed, and his mouth open. His snores resounded impressively throughout the jail, so much so that she was amazed she hadn't heard them outside. At first she thought he might be the town drunk sleeping it off, but a closer look revealed a silver badge on his chest. With a mental shrug, Solana accepted this little surprise quickly and moved on.

"Excuse me," she tried, in between snores.

The figure was not phased.

Moving closer, she touched his shoulder gently. "Excuse me."

Still nothing. With a little more force, she pushed at the shoulder. "Excuse me!"

And almost jumped out of her skin when the man bolted upright, pulling his gun from the holster and pointing it right at her.

Eyes wide and glazed, he asked, "Whaizzit?"

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, clutching at her chest in a genuine attempt to calm her pounding heart. "Oh, I am so sorry to have startled you, sir."

The eyes that had widened now squinted, and the man stared at her for a moment before his brain seemed to comprehend the situation. Frowning, he re-holstered the gun, which afforded her more than a little relief.

"Wael, thet'uz a fool thang ta' do," he fussed. "I cud'a drilled ya' plumb through. If it'd bin Matthew – " He paused, getting a better look at his guest. His voice softened. "I mean, ya' need ta' be more keerful, ma'am."

"Oh, I assure you, Marshal – "

"Deputy," he corrected. "Deputy Festus Haggen. Pleased ta' meet ya'."

"Likewise, Deputy." She extended a hand. "I am Solana Satterfield."

"Miz Satterfield," he returned. "You wuz lookin' fer th' Marshal, wuz ya'?"

"I was," she lied. "Is he not in?"

"Oh, no ma'am. He come in yes-terdy a mite roughed up from tekkin' in a no-count."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Solana professed passionately. "He's not terribly hurt, I hope."

"Ol' Doc sez he's got hisseff some busted ribs and sich."

"How terrible."

"Oh, Matthew's had worse."

"Poor man. How long will he be invalided?"

"In –?"

"Unable to fulfill his duties as Marshal."

"Oh. Doc sez two weeks, but Matthew don't never listen ta' Doc. I figger he'll be back up an' around in a couple of days."

"A couple of days? That doesn't give me much – " She stopped herself abruptly, irritated at the lapse. "Uh, is that wise?"

"Ain't nobody kin talk Matthew outta nothing onest his thankin's on it." He smiled slightly. "'Ceptin' Miz Kitty, I reckon."

Solana narrowed her eyes. Kitty again. Brushing past that bit of irritation, she awarded Deputy Haggen her best smile. "I'll bet you have lots of interesting stories about keeping the peace in this rowdy town."

"Wael, I reckon I cud spin a yarn er two."

"This seems like such a depressing place to talk, though. Perhaps we could – share a beverage at one of your local establishments?"

"Uh – "

"May I buy you a beer, Deputy?"

"Oh! That'd be jest fine."

"You have a suggestion of where?"

"The Long Branch is the best in town, but ain't gone be no shemales – ladies, thet is – in thar. 'Ceptin' Miz Kitty, of course."

"If it's good enough for Miss Kitty," she said, trying not to grit her teeth. "The Long Branch it is." Smiling sweetly, she slipped her hand into the crook of the deputy's elbow. "It's rather chilly outside. Do you mind?"

He glanced down at the delicate hand on the rough material of his shirt and flushed. "I don't s'pose I do, ma'am."

"What are we waiting for, then?"

XXXXX

The Long Branch was just on the edge of filling up for the evening. Miss Kitty Russell was nowhere to be seen. Solana wasn't sure if she was disappointed or relieved. More than a few eyes regarded her with surprise. Festus seemed to know everyone in there, so Solana guided him to an empty table, hoping for few distractions. Perhaps if she kept the beer flowing, she could keep his attention long enough for her purposes.

"I've heard a great deal about Matt Dillon," she noted casually, ignoring the stares. "The papers back East seem to paint him as a great heroic figure, but sometimes when one finds out the truth, one realizes the papers occasionally – exaggerate."

"Oh, no, ma'am," the deputy assured her. "Them papers is rite as rain. Marshal Dillon is the best lawman I ever seen – an' I seen plenty, I kin tell ya'."

"I've heard he's ruthless in bringing in prisoners," she prompted.

"I'll tell ya' one thang, I shore am gratified ta' be on Matthew's good side, thet's fer sartain. He don't abide too much by ones whut run afowl of th' law."

"He's pretty rough with them, huh?"

"Rough?" Festus echoed, warming to his subject. "I seen him tek on five outtielaws an' shoot 'em all stone dead without even breakin' a sweat."

She took a breath. "My. That is remarkable."

"Other times I seen him tek two er three bullets an' still be standin' to plug th' other feller rite through th' heart."

Despite her vow not to get emotionally involved, she couldn't help but be impressed. "Goodness. I wonder why anyone would even think of crossing him."

"There's fools everwhar, Miz Satterfield."

"I suppose there are. How do the citizens of Dodge feel about having such a – violent man among them?"

Festus blinked. "Violent? Wael, I guess you cud say thet, but this 'chere part of th' country is rougher n'a porcupine's backside. Teks a hard feller ta' tame it."

"And Matt Dillon is a hard fellow?"

Festus shrugged. "He kin be, 'ceptin' when it come ta' Miz Kitty. I reckon she's 'bout th' onliest one whut kin soften him up some."

"Miz Kitty? By Miss Kitty, you are referring to Miss Kitty Russell, proprietor of this fine establishment?"

"Shore."

"She and the Marshal – "

He hesitated, and she sensed that he realized he had perhaps said too much. "Wael – "

"I saw them together yesterday," she added quickly, smiling. "They certainly make a lovely couple."

"Wael – "

"How does she feel about her man – about the marshal being in such a dangerous job?"

"Uh – "

"Well, I can just imagine. How about another beer, Deputy?" She had heard enough not to keep pushing – for now.

His teeth showed under his beard. "Thet's rite genrus of ya', Miz Satterfield."

"Not at all."

XXXXX

By the next afternoon, Solana had talked with enough Dodge citizens to gather a fairly complete picture of Marshal Matt Dillon. She had almost grown weary of hearing the countless tales of his courage and honor and strength. Only the occasional sour note was sung by some disgruntled shopkeeper or visiting drover – but those were the ones that interested her the most.

Still, she had no confirmation of her suspicions about the nature of his relationship with Kitty Russell. Everyone just hinted at it, talked about their "friendship." For that reason mainly, she found herself sitting at a side table in the Long Branch once more, this time with a woman as her companion.

Delia was the only name the girl would share, but Solana didn't mind. Her story was much more important than her name. She was a typical dove, from what Solana had read about them: heavy make-up, gaudy clothes, coarse language. Still, there was something almost eager about her voice. Perhaps Solana's interest in her was enough, or maybe the small monetary token had helped warm up her vocal cords, as well. Whichever the reason, Delia seemed more than happy to talk about Dodge, Matt Dillon, and especially Kitty Russell.

"Miss Kitty treats us girls well," she volunteered before Solana could ask. "Real well. She pays the best of any place in town, and she don't make us do nothin' we don't want to do – if you know what I mean."

Solana cocked her head. "Does Miss Kitty – uh – do any business personally?" Her brow rose to make her suggestion clearer.

"Oh, no." Delia cut her eyes toward the bar where the bartender – Sam, she remembered – was serving the few customers that had wandered in early. "Well, I don't guess it's any real secret, even though it's supposed to be."

"What's not any real secret?" Solana asked, trying not to leap eagerly at the lead.

"Miss Kitty and the Marshal, of course."

Feigning ignorance, Solana prompted, "Marshal Dillon? And Miss Kitty? You mean, they – "

Delia nodded. "For a long time, now, since way before I started here, even."

At last. She smiled in satisfaction at the affirmation. "How do you know, then, that they're – "

The woman laughed. "How could I not know? You seen 'em together? You can feel it in the air."

Indeed, Solana had experienced those sparks personally at the depot, but she feigned innocence. "Really?"

"Sure. Oh, they're real careful."

Not that careful, Solana mused silently, since everybody in town seemed to know about them.

"They don't do nothin' too obvious in public, but – " She leaned in, lowering her voice, conspiratorially. "But I've seen things."

Skin tingling with the possibility of some valuable insight, Solana asked, "You have?"

"Oh, yeah. Sometimes, I help Miss Kitty close up. You know, when I'm not – uh – occupied. Anyway, if the Marshal's in town, the Long Branch is always his last stop." Her eyes widened. "And it's a long stop."

"He leaves late?" Solana guessed.

"More like he leaves early," Delia amended. "Early the next morning."

"You don't say."

"Yep. 'Course, I don't blame Miss Kitty none a'tall. No, ma'am, none a'tall. Ain't a female in Dodge, who does, I suppose. Even those high falootin' biddies who put on airs that they're better than other folks. I see their eyes following him when them long legs take him down that boardwalk."

It was an appealing vision, Solana had to admit.

"Fact is, if I thought that big man would pay me any mind a'tall, I'd forget Miss Kitty was my boss and go after him right fast. He sure is some more good ta' look at."

Despite herself, Solana felt the blush creep into her cheeks. "Yes," she agreed quietly. "He sure is."

Delia's voice grew even softer. "Once, I'd been – occupying – a gentleman over at the Dodge House, and I was coming in late. I used the back way 'cause Sam had already locked the front. Soon as I got in the hallway, I heard these noises comin' from Miss Kitty's office. I was worried something might be wrong. Not everybody around here is a Christian person, you know," she confided.

Solana raised a sardonic brow.

"Anyways, I eased open the door, and – " She blushed, a reaction contrary to her station. "Well, let's just say I won't look at Miss Kitty's desk the same way ever again."

Mouth dropping, Solana asked, "Her desk?"

"Oh, yeah. I got a big old eyeful – and I mean big. I know why Miss Kitty ain't gone lookin' for nobody else all this time, that's for sure."

"Oh, my." This was more than she could have expected. Swallowing, Solana savored the image that swelled in her mind before she asked, "What – what did they do?"

"Oh, they didn't see me." Delia smirked. "They were – busy. I slipped back out quick as I could."

"My goodness."

"Anyway, to answer your question, Miss Kitty don't entertain nobody except the Marshal. And even though other women have tried, he don't want to be entertained by nobody except Miss Kitty."

Solana arched her brow suggestively. "Maybe he hasn't met the right other woman, yet."

With a raucous laugh that drew a few too many glances, Delia said, "Honey, even if he did, I'd pay good money ta' see what she looked like when Miss Kitty got through with her. Yes'm, good money."

And despite her determination to do whatever it took to reach her goal, Solana couldn't suppress a flinch at the thought. After another drink, she thanked the chatty woman, sent her on her way, and sat back to muse over the various stories she had heard.

Some were told with admiration, some with awe, and some with accusation, but all led to two clear conclusions. First, Matt Dillon was not a man to have as an enemy; second, if you did make an enemy of him, there was just about only one area of vulnerability you could target:

Miss Kitty Russell.

TBC