Chapter 11 – Time to Reflect

Not only was Dodge City still standing when they arrived home at 11 AM, it was peaceable. Quint and Sam were there to meet the stage to assure their friends that all was truly well. No epidemic was wreaking havoc, no property was destroyed, nothing was robbed and nobody was killed. In fact, there weren't even any fistfights or crockery broken for the fun of it while Doc Adams, Kitty Russell and Marshal Dillon were away. Still, it was strange that Matt didn't fret over the possibility of such things when he rode out of town on official business. He only worried when he took time off to be Matt the man. Now that he was home, the badge took over and he peered at Front Street in search of those who could mean trouble for his town, his friends and him.

Grant Halliman, who the marshal may have looked on as a source of trouble, first attempted to make a living as a cattle buyer in Sedalia. Every season since the War he traveled from his native Chicago to that Missouri town to buy meat on the hoof for the slaughterhouses back home. Because he felt comfortable with his chosen way to earn a living he made certain he was aware of every change. He studied the relationship of the live cattle market's geographic shift with the westward expansion of the railroad. It was why he traveled to Dodge City in this year of 1875. However, it wasn't why Grant watched its passengers disembark at the stage depot from his Dodge House hotel room. The reason was his unrequited affection for the saloon owner and, by extension, a benevolent interest in those close to her.

Grant noted the current state of Matt Dillon's health. The lawman wasn't wearing a sling like when he left for Larned. The shoulder seemed to be less stiff and stronger. Dillon used both arms to reach for Kitty Russell's trunk atop the coach. He didn't rely on his assistant Chester like he had three days earlier to raise it up for the driver to secure it to the coach roof. Even so, Dillon still required the jailer's help carrying it to the Long Branch. Halliman concluded the marshal would be unable to defend himself if confronted by a gunman since his right arm bore the weight of Kitty's main luggage while his left hand held onto his own carpetbag.

Chester left town with Mrs. Clippard as soon as all Miss Kitty's luggage was inside the Long Branch for others to carry upstairs to her rooms. He wasn't about to turn down a home-cooked meal in exchange for driving the old woman's buggy to her farmhouse. He'd tied his saddled horse to the back so he could ride home after eating his fill. That left the other three to enjoy a leisurely meal together as soon as each of them took care of whatever immediate business awaited. Work couldn't be neglected for three days without accumulating.

Although he shied away from greeting Kitty at the stage depot, Halliman had few qualms about securing a table next to her, Matt and Doc a couple hours later at Delmonico's. The buyer, at loose ends for up to another week, eagerly strained his ears to listen in on the private conversation at the next table. His curiosity outweighed his manners.

"Matt, how did you and Chance wind up being fostered at the same ranch? You were nearly 15 when you rode off after I patched you up from that beating, determined to make it on your own."

"I mostly did, Doc. It was a bit more than a year later when I was near starvin' that I called on family friends. My family came west with Walt Farron's family. We were close. The Farrons had a son John, just a year younger then me. We parted ways in Seneca Missouri where pa felt his abolitionist sermons would have real impact. Mr. Farron continued on to try his hand at ranching in Texas. Pa sent me to the Farron ranch every summer since I was ten until my folks died."

"Wasn't that first summer when Elias Dilborne gave you a near fatal thrashing because he thought you stole something from him?"

"Yeah Kitty," Matt replied. "That first year pa took me there to regain my strength. He was so pleased with the results he took me every summer – always through Indian country. The annual trips and the hard work on a cattle ranch toughened me up and exposed me to things I'd never have experienced on our farm."

"You could have spent the whole time after your folks died in that fire on the Farron ranch. Why didn't you?"

"For the same reason I didn't stay in Seneca or Dodge, Doc. I needed to prove myself. Learn to fight my own battles and maybe help others fight theirs along the way better than I could after I was left for dead by the river."

"How did Chance fit in?" Kitty asked.

"He was a kid from town who liked to hang around the ranch. He only had his pa, the local blacksmith. His ma passed birthin' him. When Brady Hopper died Walt Farron took his friend's boy in. One too many kicks from a mule that didn't like being shod killed Mr. Hopper. Chance was ten, like I was the first time I came to the Farron ranch. He remembered me from past summers."

Grant learned what was important to these three from what he overheard. Actually, he felt a bit ashamed of himself for not previously researching the details of the lives of the two men for both business and personal reasons. If he had, he might have known Kitty Russell was unavailable. It didn't mean foreknowledge would have prevented any heartache. He'd have still been attracted to her. He realized business wasn't why he'd eavesdropped. She was.

Abashed, Grant deliberately tuned out their conversation to concentrate on his own meal rather than what was in essence a family dinner at the next table. It didn't seem to matter they had no actual blood or legal ties. The trio was a father, his daughter and her beau, whom the father wished would become his son-in-law, sooner, rather than later. He already treated him like a son. No wonder, with the first herds a week or so away, those three and Chester Goode, whom they treated like the marshal's younger brother, had gone to "cousin" Chance Hopper's wedding. By Grant's reckoning Chance fit into "the family" by virtue of being raised with Matt Dillon when the older boy came to visit each summer starting when the new bridegroom was four and the marshal ten.

Five days later the first trail boss arrived from the Texas panhandle to seek the best price he could get for his herd of over 600 head of relatively fat longhorns. Halliman drove a hard yet fair bargain. He'd see to it the steers would get even fatter in the loading pens before being shipped east at a price commensurate with their weight upon arrival in Chicago. Since Grant didn't plan on moving them on to railcars until later herds crowded them out of the pens, he'd more than make up for it by the significantly higher price he'd sell them for at the slaughterhouse. Halliman decided to celebrate his first sale of the season with a few drinks, a poker hand or two and perhaps a wee bit of platonic attention from Kitty.

Ned Talbot was paying the saloon owner an altogether different sort of attention when the buyer entered the Long Branch. The trail boss Grant had been negotiating with wasn't taking no for an answer. Halliman was ready to interfere, even if it killed the pending deal. The Dodge blacksmith and Kitty's bartender were also ready to act. Before Halliman or Sam could move in response to Kitty's emphatic no and attempt to pull free, Quint Asper left his barely touched beer on the bar. In three strides he was beside the saloon owner and her harasser. With a strength gained from his occupation, he pulled Talbot away from her and spun him around. Behind the bar Sam stowed the shotgun and went back to polishing glasses. Grant turned his attention to the cards he'd been dealt.

"Git yer breed hands off me!" Talbot shouted as he recognized the man who'd brought his forcibly amorous intentions to an abrupt end. "I thought it was against the law to serve Injuns firewater! If the owner's willin' to ignore somethin' basic as that, she's got a nerve bein' choosy 'bout the men she entertains privately."

Quint said nothing in response. He simply knocked the Texan to the floor, picked him up by the collar, shoved him toward the exit and tossed him through the batwing doors. Talbot wound up sprawled on the Front Street dirt at Matt Dillon's feet. The marshal made no effort to help the man rise. As the cattleman pulled himself to his feet Matt looked at him and Quint, standing in the doorway, quizzically.

"Marshal," Talbot began, thinking he owed the local law, even if it was Kansas law, his take on things. "You'd best arrest that man!" he exclaimed pointing at Quint. "He attacked me. I'll gladly swear out a complaint. While you're at it, you might fine the owner for servin' him."

"Quint," Matt, now glaring at Talbot, spoke quietly. "What's this all about?"

"He wasn't accepting the fact Kitty didn't want anything more to do with him," Quint replied, stepping onto the boardwalk. "I threw him out for her."

At that point Grant Halliman, who'd left his poker game and come to the doorway, spoke up. He comprehended the meaning that lay beneath the blacksmith's words. Ned Talbot had worn out his welcome.

"Talbot, I'm not one to sit back and see a business deal go by the wayside. If you don't want to be forced to accept a drastically lower price because you have to drive your herd farther on, I'll pay you off right now," Halliman remarked.

Talbot looked about him. Only the representative of Kansas law was heeled. He was ready to complete Halliman's deal. First, though, he'd put this Injun lovin' cow town marshal in his place. Talbot spread his feet apart for better balance, his right hand against the butt of his six-shooter. Before he moved his 44 an inch, Matt had his Peacemaker out and aimed at Talbot's heart.

"Get out of Dodge. I want you and your boys headed back to Texas as soon as you're paid. I'm sure from what Kitty's told me about Halliman here, he'll be more than fair with the terms of the bill of sale."

Talbot knew where things stood. He rounded up his boys. Then, once Dillon read it over, Talbot signed the bill of sale and Halliman handed him the money. Finally, he and his drovers got out of Dodge as ordered. Hence, Talbot wasn't around to steam while the cattle buyer enjoyed a drink with Matt Dillon and his friends.

"I'd planned on making Dodge City my home if sales went well. It's why I've been observing those who live here. I saw how you folks look out for one another, even that Chance Hopper fellow. 'Course he's not a total stranger. I reckon that's how come you all, 'cept Quint and Sam, went to his wedding. It set me to thinkin'."

Grant Halliman accepted a new bottle of rye from Sam and poured. Keeping one hand lightly on Sam's arm so he couldn't refuse, Grant handed the barman a full glass. He then raised a spare one that replaced his beer mug in a toast.

"Here's to family, no matter its makeup, and friends who always have your back! I nearly forgot it's what I have in Chicago. I'll head home when I'm done for this year, but I'll keep returning to where I can make a living at what I know I'm good at and to visit with friends."