Remember Me 11
I don't own these characters; I just like to spend time with them. No other profit to be had.
Author's Note: I am not a doctor, have never played one on TV and haven't even consulted with one. So please take any medical descriptions and diagnosis etc…, contained herein, for what they are. Fictional Writing.
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Kitty Russell had spent a lot of years in saloons, both as a hostess and an owner, and she had developed a sort of sixth sense about the men that frequented such establishments. Like her bartender, she could usually size a person up and tell you a great deal about them within a few minutes after they entered. She was a pretty good judge of men.
Looking at the three men who had just come in and moved in her direction, her sixth sense told her these men could be a problem. Glancing over at Sam, she could tell he felt the same way. "Keep an eye on them." She whispered when her employee stepped close. "They act up in the slightest and you go get the Marshal."
"Yes, ma'am." Sam answered quietly.
Giving the men a wide berth, Kitty stepped around the bar and headed to one of the back tables to deliver a fresh pack of cards, a bottle of whiskey and greetings to the men sitting there.
As she passed, one the ragged cowboys took notice and elbowed the filthy man next to him. "Looky there, Hudgins. Ain't that a pretty sight?" Having already consumed two bottles of rotgut at the Texas Trail along with his friends, Elmore Hudgins was feeling no pain and looking for trouble.
Hudgins grinned, showing yellowed, tobacco stained teeth. "Sure is," he agreed. "Don't know what she costs, but I betcha she'd be worth it."
The man who made up the last of the scruffy trio laughed. "You two don't stand a snowballs chance in Hades of spending the night with the likes of her. Even could you afford it, which ya cain't. I betcha that dress she's got on costs more'n a year's wages."
Hudgins glared angrily over at his traveling companion. "You saying I ain't good enough for her, Griffin?"
Milt Griffin recognized the anger in his friend's voice and decided against a confrontation right then. "Naw, that ain't what I'm a sayin' at all, Hudgins. You and me and Dunn here are just as good as anybody, it's just we ain't rich. And by the looks a her, it'd take a rich man to get her attentions for the night."
Hudgins glared at his friend and turned back to the bar. "Bartender give us a bottle down here," he demanded, "and make it quick. We got some drinkin' to do."
Sam glanced at Kitty then picked up a bottle and three glasses, delivering it to the end of the bar. "That'll be two dollars." Sam said and waited until the money was dropped on the bar top before setting the whiskey and glasses down. Scooping up the money, Sam swiftly stepped away and deposited it into the box under the bar, never taking his eyes of the trio.
Kitty shook her head and headed back behind the bar. Though Sam was quick and good at his job, nights like tonight required more than just one person to handle the work and since her other bartender was sick, Kitty was forced to fill in.
Reaching the end of the bar, Kitty had just stepped to the side when two arms wrapped themselves around her waist and she was pulled into Elmore Hudgins filthy chest as he dipped his head down to nuzzle her neck. "How's about you and me going upstairs and have ourselves a dance," he slurred.
Kitty pulled against the man, forcefully trying to disengage herself from his embrace. "Let me go," she demanded.
"Aw, now, come on," his foul breath washed over her, making her nauseous. "You don't want to be like that."
Sam saw the man grab Kitty and quickly bent down, securing the shotgun in his hands. Raising it to his chest, he aimed it squarely at Hudgins head and cocked the trigger. "Let her go," his deep baritone gave no room for argument.
Hudgins looked over at Sam then glanced to his companions, watching as Dunn moved back into a position behind Sam. Relaxing his grip on Kitty, but keeping close to her, he shrugged. "Cain't blame a feller for trying, can ya?"
Chester, who witnessed the fracas, wasn't convinced the trouble was over with and silently left the saloon in search of Mr. Dillon. Seeing him drive by in a buggy with Teresa Spencer, he hesitated at interrupting. But a muffled scream, coming from inside the bar behind him, made up his mind. "Mr. Dillon!" he yelled, hobbling as quickly as his stiffened leg would allow and waving his arms frantically.
Matt saw his assistant out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see Chester hurrying in his direction, a note of alarm in his voice and face. Pulling on the reins, Matt ignored Teresa's protests at the intrusion and steered the buggy over to where Chester stood anxiously waiting on him. "What's wrong, Chester?"
"I think you might orta look into the Long Branch, Mr. Dillon." Chester told him. "Three cowboys come in there a little bit ago and I think there's gonna be trouble for sure. They were bothering Miss Kitty."
"Matt, don't you dare," Teresa hissed, clutching at his arm.
Matt shrugged her off and quickly climbed out the buggy, all but running across the street to the Long Branch, his only thought being that Kitty was in there and maybe in trouble.
Reaching the batwing doors, Matt paused and looked in. Sam was lying senseless on the floor and two grubby cowboys had a hold of Kitty, dragging her towards the stairs, while the rest of the saloon patrons looked on in shock.
"Hold it," Matt demanded as he pulled his gun and aimed at the men. "Let her go!"
Upon seeing her knight in western armor enter the saloon, Kitty breathed a sigh of relief until she saw the man behind him, raise his gun and cock his trigger. "Matt, behind you!" she screamed.
Matt whirled around and fired, hitting the man squarely in the chest but not before Dunn was able to squeeze off one shot of his own. The shot that made its way unerringly into soft flesh of the saloon owner's chest and brought total recollection of everything to the Dodge City Marshal that loved her.
TBC