James Blake got out of bed Thursday morning, and slowly dressed as he continued to picture his dealings with the young Matthew Dillon, twenty years before.

Blake had sent the kid, Matthew, home on that Sunday and fully expected to see him drinking and brawling the following Friday night if not before. He was wrong. In fact a full 6 weeks passed with no sign of the kid in the saloon. Blake has started to worry that the kid would actually follow through, and hoped that he was merely going to other saloons in order to avoid him.

Then one Sunday, early in the day, there was a knock at the door. He opened it and was not totally surprised to see Matthew standing there holding a gun belt and gun in one hand."

"Hello Mr. Blake, I did what we agreed to."

"Come in Matthew." James Blake gave a big sigh, "I'm a man of my word. Put the gun belt on and holster the gun."

The kid stepped into the room and did as he was told as Blake shut the door. He stood there looking kind of proud, gun belt on, gun holstered and hands at his sides.

Blake turned, and in a flash removed the gun from the holster, smiling as the kid flinched.

"Relax kid, I just want to take a look at your gun." Blake examined the gun and tossed it gently in his hand, "It's a piece of crap you know."

Matthew answered seriously, "It's the only thing I could afford. I'll save to get a better one."

Blake handed the gun back, "Matthew you know you can only wear the gun when you're working with me."

"Why is that?"

"Kid you can't be so stupid that you can't figure that out."

"Well it's probably because if people see me wearing a gun, they'll expect that I'm ready to use it, and I'm not."

"Good. If you were too stupid to figure that one out, I don't think I'd even try to teach you anything. Matthew, follow me."

They rode out to the countryside for a first lesson. After that they worked all day every Sunday and a couple of times during the week, during the hours when they were both free. Blake could tell that Matthew practiced in between lessons.

Now 20 years later, Blake could recall some of the things he had told Matthew over those weeks and months as they worked. Some were easy lessons, some not.

"Matthew, don't ever let an opponent position you so the sun is in your eyes."

"Matthew, stay aware; focus every fiber of your being. You have to sense the slightest movement at the beginning of the movement."

"Matthew in a fist fight you have to anticipate a man's next move. Anticipating is not the same as guessing."

"Matthew put your weight behind your punch."

"Matthew, there are times when you can use a fist instead of a gun.

"Matthew always keep your mind on your objective, don't let yourself get rattled.

"Matthew, don't shoot a man unless you have to. If you wound him, you'll cripple his body, or his mind, or both. If you kill him, that's forever."

"Matthew, wearing a gun means someday you're going to kill. Put that day off as long as you can."

"Mr. Blake, why do you say that?"

"Matthew, killing a man is something that changes you, even if you had a good reason to do it. You don't forget a man whose life you ended."

"Mr. Blake, have you killed men?"

"Yes, Matthew, a few times in fact, always in self defense. Even so, you never forget."

And so the lessons went on, week after week, month after month.

At the end of one lesson Matthew turned to James Blake, "Mr. Blake, while you are teaching me about fighting and handling a gun, would you teach me better card skills?

"What! Kid what do you want me to do that for."

"Mr. Blake, I don't want to be a hard dealer or hustler, I just want to be able to be a good player, and be able to spot a cheat."

"Matthew, the next thing I know you'll be asking me to teach you how to make a good pot of coffee, skin a rabbit and sew a button on a shirt."

Looking quite serious Matthew answered, "No Mr. Blake. I have those things covered on my own."

Blake recalled smiling a little. He had to admit to himself that he had become quite fond of the kid, "Alright Matthew, next time I'll bring a deck of cards and I'll teach you a thing or two when we stop to eat lunch."

Blake knew he had never told Matthew how astonished he had been at his fast progress, or how much he had come to look forward to the lessons.

The lessons went on for well over a year. Then the Sunday morning came when Matthew didn't arrive at Blake's door as usual. Blake remembered thinking, "Maybe the kid is sick. No that kid hardly ever gets sick, and even if he is sick he shows up and pretends he isn't"

The hours ticked by, and Blake decided to ride out to the Brass Ring ranch to see what had happened to Matthew. He had tried to convince himself that he was golng out of curiosity not concern.

He had almost reached the ranch when Jeff Springer, a ranch hand rode up to him.

"Hello Jeff, I was just going up to the ranch to see Matthew."

Springer replied, "Funny you should say that James. Matthew left early this morning. Just up and left.

"Where'd he go?"

"Don't know, he was always a funny kid. Always seemed his mind was going off in different directions. Anyway he gave me a note to give you. See you Friday, James." Springer rode off.

James Blake opened the note.

Dear Mr. Blake,

Thank you for all that you have taught me. I'll remember every lesson.

Yours,

Matthew Dillon

Blake was surprised and a little angry. He calmed himself and remembered that the kid didn't owe him anything. He had offered to give Matthew lessons under certain conditions, and the kid had fulfilled those conditions. Still he couldn't help but wonder what would come of Matthew Dillon.