TWELVE

He made his final rounds that night with a full stomach. Mrs. Frumpton had given him a basket of leftovers which he took with only a twinge of remorse. He pacified his guilt by sharing the bounty with Doc and Chester later that day. Justice was served to some extent because now, he walked the near deserted streets of Dodge City, with a belly riddled by gas.

The temperatures had been moderate throughout the day, melting the recent snow until only the drifts against the buildings remained. The streets of Dodge City, which in the best of times was nothing to brag about were now frozen and rutted mud. He hated this time of year, the off again on again snowfall, the thawing and freezing and the mud which made everything more difficult.

He had checked the last lock on Front Street and turned to head back to his office when he heard muffled voices coming from the back alley behind the cobbler shop. There was a narrow walkway between Miss Helgemoe's and the Frumpton business. He drew his gun, pulled in his shoulders and began a slow and stealthily creep down the path. At the corner of the building, he stopped. Hidden in the night shadows, he observed two lovers locked in a passionate embrace. The lawman's stomach rumbled and gurgled and for a moment he feared he would give away his position. He clenched his muscles to hold back a possible explosion. With tensed body he studied the lovers in the shrouded moonlight trying to determine who they were.

It wasn't until they spoke, that their identities were revealed, "Oh Daryl - I wish we didn't have to keep on pretending."

"Gladys, my dearest love, it won't be much longer. Have faith, all will work out as we have so carefully planned it to. We shall be together and with our parents' blessings at last." Mr. Dudley replied and then claimed Miss Frumpton's lips with his own.

The Marshal took one step backward and as he did the moon, which had been hiding behind clouds appeared to cast a glow on the ardent pair. The two were lost to all but each other. Dillon scowled as he watched. Random thoughts of confusion, betrayal and even jealousy swept over Matt Dillon, along with one overwhelming compulsion. He had to tell Kitty. It was the right thing to do, it would be wrong not to. She had to know Mr. Dudley was, for want of a better word, a scheming cad!

He crossed the street and walked to the rear of the Long Branch, several upstairs windows were dimly lit in red, indicating some of the girls were working tonight. He noted no light in the window that belonged to Kitty Russell. He took the outside stairs to the second story and used his own key to let himself in. He heard the squeak of mattress springs coming from several rooms as he walked down the hall to her room. The thought hit him, even though no red light glowed from her window, what if he heard those same noises? He stopped at room number three and with his ear pressed to the door, he listened. Silence. Good.

He rapped lightly on her door, waited for a moment, nothing. He rapped again, a little harder this time, still nothing, finally he gave a full knuckle knock. "Go away!" was the chorus he heard from not only number three but rooms number two and four as well.

He tried to soften his voice to a whisper, "Kitty, it's me, Matt."

Now, he heard her bed springs. "Whatdyawant, it's the middle of the night?"

"I need to talk to you."

"Can't it wait 'till mornin'? Oh hell! Just give me a minute." The bed creaked again, he heard the muffled sound of her feet hitting the floor, the hissed curse as she ran into a chair and then the door opened and she stood before him. Sleep tousled and sweet smelling, she caused more than his senses to stir.

"Well?" She asked, standing in the doorway, blocking entry. "What's so important, you need to wake me up for?"

"Can I come in?"

She studied him, considering her options and then wordlessly stepped aside.

He took off his hat and twisted it in his fingers, while Kitty turned up the lamp and grabbed a yellow ruffled peignoir. Keeping her back to him, she shrugged the sheer garment on and tied a ribbon belt around her waist before turning to face him.

"Well?" She asked again and her irritation was apparent in both voice and expression.

He shook his head, "I don't know how to tell you this," and then he did.

She listened stoically to his revelation. With his last word, she moved forward, not to him, but to the liquor carafe sitting atop her dresser. She poured a drink and then as an after thought asked, "Do you want one?"

He shook his head and watched as she downed the whiskey in a single gulp and poured another. She was hurt, her pride mainly, he guessed. She turned her back to him, her head was down and shoulders momentarily burdened. He stood silently watching as she gathered herself. It was several heartbeats before she faced him again, standing straight and tall, "Why would they do this?" She asked, not with the self pity of a jilted girlfriend, but more the questioning of a clear thinking mind in search of a logical explanation.

Dillon winced. Their plan had become obvious to him, which wasn't usually the case in matters of the heart. "Clear as I can figure, Mr. Frumpton wants a shoemaker apprentice for a son-in-law and Mrs. Dudley wants an eastern schooled blue-blood dubutante for a daughter-in-law. What better way for Gladys and Dudley to get their parents to soften their demands then to offer the exact opposite of what they want."

She bit her lip and nodded, "You're no shoemaker, that's for sure and I lost any shot of being a blue blood when my mother fell in love with a riverboat gambler." There was an infinitesimal arch to her left eyebrow, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and her lips lifted in a closed and knowing smile.

The change in her countenance so subtle, that most people wouldn't have noticed. He did. He had watched her play enough hands of poker to know when she'd discovered a weakness, an ace in the hole. "What?" He asked. "What are you thinking?"

Her smile broadened and her eyes sparkled with mischief, "What say, you and I call their bluff?"

He had to grin back at her with a look of frank admiration. Nothing kept his Kitty Russell down for long. She had an indomitable spirit and zest for living that made him proud. To top it off, she was smarter than any man or woman he'd ever known. He quickly amended his thought, she was not 'his' Kitty Russell. Right or wrong, he'd seen to that.

It occurred to him, that maybe he should have waited to tell her about Mr. Dudley until the morning. He felt guilt at disturbing her precious sleep. He knew in her line of work, it was a rare commodity and how she coveted it. "I'm sorry." He said.

The subtle eyebrow raise, the slight smile, although gentle now, almost tender - the look was there again for him to see, but this time, he missed it. "Sorry for what?" She asked, hoping for the singular answer that would have made things completely right between them.

"For being the one to tell you about this." He answered.

She gave an inaudible sigh and poured herself another drink. "I'm glad you did." She swirled the liquid before handing the glass to him. "Here, you drink this Cowboy, I need a sober head to work out a plan."