The Witness

Chapter 11

"Kinsley"

It had been an unusually dry fall in Kansas, and the ground was hard. Matt unrolled his blanket next to the dying campfire and slipped on his heavy coat and gloves. Days were pleasantly warm when the sun was shining, but nights got down into the 40's.

He had made it more than halfway to Kinsley, not a record by any means but impressive given his late start. He knew this country like the back of his hand and had stopped at his regular spots for Buck to graze and drink. His horse was tied up nearby, taking a well-deserved rest. Lying under the stars, Matt figured his fatigue would win over the elements and he would be able to sleep well. He couldn't help but wonder where Byron was laying his head tonight, suspecting that it was somewhere considerably more comfortable than his own accommodations. A man born with a silver spoon in his mouth probably wouldn't know how to eat cold beans from a tin plate.

The information he had gathered was sparse, and there wasn't much more than speculation about where Krug might have headed after his clever escape. Playing to his strengths—lying, and pitching a fit—he had convinced a guard that he was in agony due to complications from his old gunshot injury, and when the guard bent down to help the man curled up on the floor, he grabbed his gun from the holster and knocked him out. With no one else on duty at the time, Byron had been able to quietly slip out of the jail and steal a horse tied up in front of a nearby saloon. A man stumbling out of the establishment at the time had seen it happen and thought the man was heading south out of town, but he admitted to being directionally challenged at the time and couldn't be positive.

Heading south would have made sense. With his brother in jail—Byron undoubtedly considered Gordon dead weight and a hindrance to the plan—his only living relative seemed to be his sister Rebecca, who still lived in Kinsley with her husband James Finley according to available records. All indications were that there was no love lost between Byron and his sister, but with no friends to speak of and few options to access his sizeable funds without the risk of getting caught, she might be his only hope. Gregory Hardy surely wasn't stupid enough to risk his career by harboring a wanted criminal, and Rebecca was his own flesh and blood. It was not hard to imagine that she could be talked into helping him escape the rope, especially if he managed to convince her that he was innocent.

Matt figured he would get there before the posse even though they'd gotten a head start on him. Kinsley was a good thirty miles farther from Hays than Dodge, and he was making good time. With any luck he would be there tomorrow by early afternoon. Kinsley made Dodge look like the big city, so chances of finding someone who knew Rebecca and could direct him to her house quickly were pretty good.

That had been his last thought before drifting off to sleep. The next thing he knew, the sun was rising and he felt well-rested to continue his journey. He broke off a large piece of jerky for breakfast and took a swig from the canteen he had filled at the spring where he had watered Buck. He then filled a bowl and made sure his horse was able to quench his thirst before they found the next stopping point. When he was finished, Matt saddled up and secured his supplies before heading off to Kinsley.

Thankfully, he continued to be blessed with good weather. By late morning the sun provided enough warmth that he was able to remove his heavy coat, which made riding less restrictive and more comfortable. Though anxious to get there, he made sure that Buck had proper resting time and enough to eat and drink. Aside from the obvious need to keep a horse healthy for riding, he had become quite attached to the animal.

It was just past high noon when Marshal Matt Dillon unceremoniously rode down Main Street, a name that humorously called attention to the size of the town. It housed a post office, general store, restaurant, and one saloon, and a horse could get from one end to the other in less than a minute. Matt had visited several times on business and was on a first name basis with some of its residents. The tiny Kinsley Post Office seemed like a good place to start in his quest to find Rebecca, so Matt tied up his horse and went inside.

Roger Parsons, with his toothy grin and back woods accent, could have been Chester Goode's brother. He recognized his customer right away and welcomed him warmly.

"Marshal Dillon! Now, what brings you to Kinsley this fine afternoon?" he wondered.

"Hello, Roger," Matt returned amiably. "I need to find someone, and am hoping you can help me. Her name is Rebecca Finley."

"Why sure, I know Mrs. Finley, and her husband too. Real nice folks. She ain't in any trouble, is she?"

"I certainly hope not," Matt responded. "I can't talk about it right now, but it's important that I find her as soon as possible. Can you tell me where she lives?"

"I sure can," he said helpfully. "Go past The Tipsy Cow Saloon on the corner and take a right. The Finley place is about a mile down the road. Little white house on the left, can't miss it. They have a couple of dogs that bark at strangers, but they don't bite.

"Thanks Roger," he said gratefully. "Say, have you noticed anything unusual the past couple of days? Any strangers come into town?"

Roger thought for a moment and shook his head. "No sir, not that I know of." He suddenly lowered his voice and leaned in toward the marshal. "What should I be looking for?" he asked inquisitively.

Matt wasn't in the business of starting rumors or needlessly worrying people. "Oh, nothing in particular," he said vaguely. "Thanks again for your help, I appreciate it."

"Any time, Marshal," Roger replied sincerely . Matt headed out to mount his horse and follow the only lead he had on Byron Krug's possible whereabouts.

The Finley house was exactly where Roger had indicated, complete with two barking dogs. Matt extended his hands and let each of them get a sniff. Apparently they were satisfied that the blended aroma of leather, jerky and horse was non-threatening and began to happily wag their tails. Matt briefly scratched their ears before walking up to the porch, his new friends trailing behind him.

He knocked on the door of the modest dwelling, thinking how this must contrast with her childhood home. There was no answer, and he knocked again a little louder. He couldn't swear to it but thought he heard muffled voices inside. Maybe they didn't open the door to strangers.

"Mrs. Finley? My name is Matt Dillon, and I'm the marshal in Dodge City. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."

This time he was certain he heard voices before the door finally cracked open. He could just barely see her face, but he knew right away that he had the right person. She bore a striking resemblance to Byron, the same light complexion and expressive brown eyes, but her features were less pronounced and much more attractive than Byron's. She did not appear happy to see him.

"What can I do for you, Marshal?" she asked in a tone that indicated she wasn't particularly interested in the answer.

"I'm sorry to bother you Ma'am, but your brother Byron escaped from jail in Hays two nights ago. Have you heard from him?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm afraid my brother and I have not been on good terms for some time. I doubt he would come here."

Matt knew the first part of her statement was true, but there was something odd about her behavior. He decided to press on. "Do you know of anyone who might be willing to help him hide out? Does he have any relatives other than you and Gordon?"

She shook her head again, this time more quickly as if she was trying to get rid of him. "No one to speak of. We have distant cousins in Boston, but we've never met them. Our parents' families were not close."

Matt nodded his understanding but was bothered by her demeanor. He didn't know Rebecca Finley so he couldn't say for sure, but she seemed either preoccupied or nervous. It was worth checking out.

"Do you mind if I come in and have a look around? It's standard procedure in these cases," he lied, trying to sound casual and hoping to get a foot in the door.

"Now is really not a good time," she answered quickly, offering no further explanation.

"I can get a search warrant," he informed her.

"Then I guess you'll have to do that," she responded flatly, slamming the door shut and audibly turned the lock.

Matt stood on the porch for several seconds, pondering his options. He could get a search warrant, but how long would that take? His gut told him something was desperately wrong, and he didn't have time to find a judge.

The two front windows had their curtains drawn, and there was no way to peek inside. Matt returned to his horse and decided to ride out toward town, far enough that anyone watching would assume he was gone. When convinced that he was safely out of view, he secured Buck to a large branch and headed back toward the house on foot. He had a gun in his holster and pieces of beef jerky in his pocket, both potentially important if his instinct was right.

Matt began darting through trees and bushes, crunching brightly colored autumn leaves that had fallen in the thick woods surrounding the Finley property. As he approached the house from the back, he whistled ever so lightly. In the front yard, two pairs of slightly floppy ears stood at attention and took off running toward the solicitous sound. As he had hoped, the curious mutts did not bark as they headed toward the guest they had just welcomed a short time ago. He offered each of them a big, chewy piece of jerky, which they happily began gnawing.

Matt heard voices as he made his way toward a large window that had a noticeable space between the curtains. The voices were male and female, and they were clearly arguing. He backed up against the house and drew his gun before peering through the gap. Byron Krug was having an animated conversation with his sister, who appeared none too pleased with whatever he was saying.

Desperate men with nothing to lose didn't surrender without a fight, and Matt knew what he had to do. He could only hope that Rebecca stayed out of the way. He positioned himself in front of the back entrance and unleashed a single hard, explosive kick. The wood around the latch splintered as the door flung open, and both Byron and Rebecca jumped. "Hold it!" Matt yelled as Byron reached for his gun. Byron had never obeyed anyone in his life, and he wasn't about to start now. He proceeded to pull the weapon out of his holster, and it became the final act of defiance in a short, wasted life.

TBC