CHAPTER 10

TREE THIS TOWN!

Chester didn't even have the time to scream as three bullets pierced his chest. The shotgun fell from his hands and clattered on the hardwood floor. Chester's lifeless body shortly followed, blood already seeping out into a puddle.

"Holy shit!" Zim shouted. He hugged the wall closer.

"What happened?" Mac asked.

"The gimp tried to shoot me," Dennis said, "but I got him. He's dead."

"Great! That means there's no one else in there! Let's just walk in and kill them at point blank range!"

"That's a good idea. I'm glad I partnered up with you, Mac."

"I'm a great idea man," Mac said. From the grunts Zim heard, he thought Mac might have been doing karate moves.

The gun withdrew from the window, and Zim heard the sound of running feet. It was at that point that Paladin rushed in, his gun drawn. He crouched like an animal, trying to make the smallest target possible. When he saw there was no one in here but the Zims, he went to Chester's body. He turned it over so he could see the face, and he was not surprised to find it was blank, eyes staring into infinity. He was about to close them when Zim shouted Paladin's name. "Look out!"

Paladin whirled around just in time to see Dennis and Mac stepping into the office, guns at the ready. He fired once, and both assailants scattered, taking cover to either side of the door.

"Holy shit, dude!" Mac said. "I thought you said there was no one in there!"

"That guy wasn't in there at the time!" Dennis yelled.

Paladin scowled. "If you leave now, you have a chance of living. There is no way you can get to me, not bottlenecked as you are."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know. I wasn't listening."

Zim's calf cramped up, and he realized that he was no longer in danger, so he stretched out both legs. As a result he accidentally knocked over a cup of water, which distracted Paladin for just a moment.

It turned out to be a crucial moment. Dennis and Mac both chose this moment to attack, purely by happenstance, and they were able to get a few shots off before Paladin could react. Mac fired wildly, sending most of his lead ricocheting all over the place, but one bullet managed to find Paladin's chest, dropping him to one knee. He let out a roar of pain, gripping his wound with his free hand. Dennis fired his last two bullets, and one of them went into the back door. The other also found Paladin's chest, and the gentleman gunfighter fell backwards, rolling over onto his stomach. His gun flew from his hand and skittered across the floor, far out of reach. He writhed for a moment, and then he stopped moving.

"We totally killed that guy!" Mac said. Grinning, he mimed firing his empty gun at Paladin's body.

Dennis walked into the back room with a swagger. "Guess this guy thought he was hot shit." He reached down to Paladin's body.

"Wait," Mac said. "Maybe I should give him an ocular pat-down first."

"Oh shut up." Dennis turned over Paladin's body.

Paladin jabbed his hand forward, and Dennis was shocked to see that it contained a tiny Derringer. It popped, and Dennis's belly opened, spilling blood down the front of his pants.

Zim reached between the bars and managed to get a hold of Paladin's gun. He'd seen enough movies to know how to fire a single-action revolver, so he drew the hammer back and fired at Dennis. He missed, and the bullet ricocheted off the wall and landed in Paladin's leg.

"Argh!" Paladin roared. He pulled the trigger of the Derringer again, and he sent another bullet into Dennis' belly.

Dennis fell backward, out of the room. When Mac saw what was going on, that one of the Zims had a gun, he grabbed Dennis under the arms and dragged him away. Zim didn't have a clear shot, and Paladin was out of bullets, so they managed to get away.

"Are you all right?" Zim asked.

Paladin looked down at his wounds, at the bloody mess of his black clothes. "Cris Zim, I believe I need a doctor."

Other Zim emerged from the fort of his cot. "Where are the keys?"

"They're on Chester's belt." Zim pointed. "Can you reach 'em?"

"I'll try," Other Zim said. He got down on the floor and stretched his hand out to Chester's belt, but he was drawing up just a little bit short.

"Paladin," Zim said, "can you help him?"

Paladin's eyes were not focused. It looked like he was about to pass out from the pain. He feebly moved one of his hands, but it was without direction and pointless.

Other Zim withdrew, and he broke a leg off of his cot, which he used to slide through the key ring on Chester's belt. Before long he had the keys and was shoving them one by one into the lock. On the third try, the door opened.

"Awesome!" Zim said. "Now get mine."

Other Zim looked at Chester's corpse, then to the badly wounded Paladin and up to Zim. Finally his eyes settled on the keys. He considered his options for a moment and then tossed the keys back into his cell. "Fuck that, buddy. I'm gettin' while the gettin's good. I don't know who you are, but you're on your own."

"At least get the doctor!" Zim shouted.

"Nope. Good luck."

Other Zim stepped out the door without a look back. Zim lifted Paladin's gun, aiming it at his ancestor, and he almost pulled the trigger before realizing what he was doing. With an angry roar, he threw the gun as hard as he could, and it landed in another cell, far from anybody's reach.

Then he remembered that Mac was still out there somewhere, unharmed, and he might consider coming back to finish the job on a weaponless Zim.

Zim grabbed the bars and shook them with all the might in his body. They did not give in the slightest, but Zim did. He gave in and sank to the floor, muttering under his breath about how much he hated the Old West. Why hadn't he just left well enough alone? Why did he have to take Fitz's flask? Somewhere Fitz was probably laughing it up, getting drunk, having fun, doing all the things that constantly eluded Zim.

This was Fitz's fault. Fitz shouldn't have left that flask thing out where anyone could grab it. If not for Fitz's stupid trip to the future, none of this would have happened.

Zim let out a tremendous sigh.

Meanwhile: Matt Dillon was too far out of Dodge City to have heard the gunshots. He was about a half-mile out when the skirmish had taken place, and all he heard was a distant rumble that could have been thunder.

He knew he was getting close to the camp when he smelled cow shit. The air was thick with the pungent odor, and it was almost enough to make Matt want to turn back. He soldiered on until he found himself zigzagging around beevs. It wasn't long before he found the camp itself. A few cowhands were lounging around, but one was standing by the fire, sipping from a tin cup of coffee and staring out at the longhorns.

"Howdy," Matt said. He took off his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead. "Hot day."

The man nodded. "I'm Gil Favor, trail boss. Can I help you?"

"I hope so. You're the man I came out here to see. Matt Dillon, U.S. Marshal." He dismounted and offered his hand.

Favor took it. "Nice to meet you, Marshal. What can I do for you? Coffee?"

"No thanks. I hear tell that some of your men were talking about starting some trouble with a fella by the name of Cris Zim."

"I heard the name. Killed a woman and her family, didn't he?"

"That's what he's been charged with," Matt said. "I met with your ramrod in town, and he had some of your men with him. Yates seems to be a responsible kind of man, but the others were pretty aggressive. One of them almost pulled a gun on me. I wanted to give you a warning to keep your men in line."

Favor nodded. "That shouldn't be a problem. I'm only interesting in pushing beevs, not causing trouble. The men know that."

"Some of them might need to be reminded," Matt said. "I also heard tell that a gunfighter by the name of Remington is traveling with you."

"Nope. No Remington."

"He might be using a fake name. Have you picked up any new hands recently?"

"Just three," Favor said. "Charlie Kelly, Dennis Reynolds and a man by the name of Mac. But those fellas aren't too bright. I don't think any of them would be a gunfighter."

"Know anything about them?"

"Just their names. They're good at their job, but they're not good at staying out of trouble."

Matt nodded. "All right. I didn't expect much, but thank you."

"I hope you find this Remington, Marshal," Favor said. He then straightened out as a thought occurred to him. "Wait a minute. We do have someone else traveling with us. He's not a drover, though."

"What's his name?"

"Frank something or other," Favor said. "He's moving out to Sedalia with his daughter Dee. That's their wagon over there." Favor pointed, and Matt saw a horribly squat bald man with thick spectacles looking down at them. A willowy woman with blonde hair who looked kind of like a bird stood next to him.

"Much obliged," Matt said. He started making his way toward the wagon. As he approached he watched the dwarf climb up into the covered wagon and out of sight. "Ma'am," the marshal said. He tipped his hat.

"Afternoon, Marshal," she said. "I'm Dee . . ." She sighed. "Dee Toboggan. Can I help you?"

"I'd like to talk with your father," Matt said.

"Just climb up into the wagon."

Matt nodded, and he went to the back of the wagon. He put his foot up on the gate, and just as he went to open the flaps, the barrel of a rifle emerged, aimed directly at his head. Instinct kicked in, and Matt slapped at the barrel, but not in time. There was a loud crack as Frank Toboggan pulled the trigger.

Meanwhile: in the doctor's office, Galen "Doc" Adams just finished up his duties as gynecologist for Miss Kitty Russell, owner of the Longbranch saloon. After having pronounced her healthy, he went to wash his hands while she got dressed.

"Thanks, Doc," she said. "The usual payment?"

"I'll stop by later for the whiskey," he said.

Doc finished drying his hands when the door to his office crashed open, and a wild-eyed young man rushed into the room, gun drawn. Kitty gasped, as she was still tying together her girdle, but this newcomer didn't seem to be interested in her. "Doc! Where are you?!"

Doc came out of the other room. "Can I help you, son?"

Mac thrust the gun into Doc's face. "My friends need your help. They've been shot and beaten, and I don't have time to argue with you."

"Get that thing out of my face," Doc said. "I'll go with you. I'm obliged to, so you don't have to threaten me. Just—"

Mac cocked the hammer back. "Quit talking and grab your bag."

Kitty, angry that her friend was being threatened, gave up on her girdle. "You have no call to threaten Doc."

Mac cracked her across the face with the back of his hand, and she fell to the floor, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. She hit her head on the way down, and she was unconscious before she came to a stop.

"Kitty!" Doc tried to rush to her side, but Mac stepped between them.

"Forget the whore. My friends need you more." He laughed. "I'm a poet, and I don't . . . understand it."

"Fine," Doc said. He grabbed his bag. "Take me to your friends."

"They're downstairs. Help me get them up there."

"If they're shot, it might be a good idea to not move them. There could be internal injuries."

Mac was about to shout that he didn't care when Charlie appeared at the door with Dennis slung over his shoulder. "This the doctor?" Charlie asked.

"Charlie, you've got a head injury. You shouldn't be carrying Dennis."

"I feel fine," Charlie said. A bubble of blood came out of his nostrils when he said that.

"Come in," Doc said. He put on his spectacles. "Let's have a look at the two of you."

Charlie put Dennis down on the bed and sat down next to him while Mac closed and locked the door, keeping a watchful eye on the outside world. It was the perfect place to hold a couple of hostages, and he was afraid that they might be here a while.

Meanwhile: as Josh and Maverick headed out of the Longbranch and for their horses, they heard gunshots coming from the marshal's office. They rushed across the street just in time to see Mac dragging Dennis away and around the corner. Josh knew that Maverick wouldn't be much good in a fight. "Check the prisoners," he said. "I'll go after those two."

Maverick nodded and rushed into the marshal's office while Josh continued his pursuit. Just as Maverick stepped in he ran directly into Other Zim as he made his escape. The two collided, and Maverick fell backwards and to the side, where he landed on his broken arm. The pain was so intense that he blacked out immediately.

Other Zim looked both ways, then picked one at random. He went around the corner, having no idea that his assailants and Josh Randall had just gone that way. He didn't get very far before he almost literally ran into Josh.

Josh, who had given up on the chase because the trail had gone cold, turned around and was starting to head back to the marshal's office when he saw Other Zim running toward him. The prisoner looked up just in time to come to a screeching halt.

"Hold on there, son," Josh said. "Let's get you back into your cell before someone sees you."

Other Zim smiled. "You can't blame me for trying. Besides, those guys almost killed me."

Josh nodded. "Let's go."

By the time they were back at the office Maverick had stood up and grimaced as he repositioned his sling. He saw Other Zim and shook his head. "After everything we've tried to do to keep you safe," he said.

"Me?" Other Zim said. "Or the money you can get off of me?"

Maverick was about to go on when Josh held up a hand. "We'll save that argument for another day. Let's just lock him back up."

They entered the marshal's office, and the stink of gunsmoke and blood assailed them. They rushed to the back room to see Chester's body. Paladin sat with his back to the back door, breathing heavily.

"What happened here?" Maverick asked.

Paladin tried to speak, but he didn't have the energy for words.

"Welcome back, parasite," Zim said to his ancestor. "Good to see you."

Other Zim shrugged. "I don't want to be hanged. Do you blame me for trying to get away?"

"Yes. All you had to do was unlock my door."

"Enough, the both of you," Josh said. He bent down to examine Paladin's wounds. "These are pretty bad. Maverick, would you lock that guy up and then get the doctor?"

"Sure," Maverick said. "Come on, you." He pushed Other Zim into his cell, picked the keys up off the floor and locked him back in.

Josh tore up some sheets from the cot in one cell and folded them together as a bandage. He pressed down on the wounds and closed Paladin's shirt around them. "It's not much, but it'll do till the doc gets here."

Paladin nodded his thanks.

"Josh!" Maverick called out. "We have a problem!"

"Great," Josh said. "Just great." He stood and headed for the front office, bracing himself for whatever problem was going to come next.

Meanwhile: in the Longbranch Rowdy joined up with several fellow drovers, and they all wanted to hear the story of what had happened when he and the other guys confronted the marshal about the woman killer, Cris Zim. So he told the whole thing as he sipped at a whiskey, leaning against the bar. Even the gentlemen playing poker in the corner listened to his tale. Just as it was getting good, right at the point where Charlie was getting ready to draw down on the marshal, a man in a faded yellow shirt and a mare's leg strapped to his waist walked in and talked with one of the gamblers. The two then left the saloon.

It threw off Rowdy's story a little, but he got back to it readily. He retold about Charlie's hand, tight on the butt of his gun, and then, just as he was getting ready to draw . . . gunshots. Real ones, from across the street.

"What the hell is that?" Quince asked.

"Someone's shooting someone up," Pete Nolan, the scout, said. "Dodge is a rough town."

"No kidding," Wishbone said.

"Get back to the story, Rowdy," Joe Scarlett said.

"Anyway," Rowdy said. He told them the part about how the marshal had buffaloed Charlie and had ordered him and Mac and Dennis out of town.

"Wait, he did what?" Quince asked. After Rowdy repeated it, Quince shook his head. "Now, I don't like them fellas, but the marshal just can't go around beating up drovers. Especially in defense of a skunk like Zim."

"We should do something about it," Scarlett said. "I've had it with these cow towns looking down their noses at us."

"Calm down, everybody," Rowdy said. "We're drovers, not vigilantes. Let's just finish our drinks and get back to the herd."

"The herd can wait," Quince said. "That's good grazing ground over there. This won't take but a day."

"Why don't you explain that to Mr. Favor?" Rowdy asked.

"You know what I think?" Teddy said. "I think we should tree this town. They'll know not to mess with us drovers ever again after that."

There was a general sound of assent when Rowdy waved his hands up and down in a silencing gesture. "We're going back to our jobs. Let's go!"

The men ignored him except for Pete Nolan, who took up next to Rowdy at the bar. "I think we're going to have some trouble."

"Yeah, Quince's mouth's too big," Rowdy said.

"There's no way we're going to corral these men," Pete said. "Let's get Mr. Favor."

"That's a long ride, Pete. It'll take at least forty-five minutes."

"It's the best we can do."

Just then all the men drew their guns and started shooting at the ceiling. They poured out of the Longbranch and onto the streets, where they began to riot. They threw lassos up onto streetlight posts and pulled them down. Store windows shattered, and as they whooped and hollered, Dodge City began to burn.

"Let's get our horses," Rowdy said. The two of them rode hell-bent for leather back to their camp.

Meanwhile: Josh Randall looked out the front window to see that a group of drovers had gathered in front of the marshal's office. They held torches, and the leader of the pack held a noose in his hand.

"Send out Cris Zim!" Quince yelled. "We got a necktie party we want him to attend."

"Maybe we could give them one of 'em," Maverick said. "You know, the one who says he's from the future."

Josh shook his head. "Can't do that."

"You have five minutes!" Quince yelled. "If you don't give us Zim we'll burn this building to the ground!"

Zim heard the whole exchange, and he looked across the room to Other Zim. He looked to Chester's corpse and then to Paladin, who was undoubtedly dying. Josh was a good man; he knew the bounty hunter wouldn't give up either Zim to a lynch mob, but that meant they were going to be set on fire.

Could this situation get any worse?

"Oh fuck," Zim muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."