Thirty-six

They'd lost four men, among them young Willie Roniger. Three were badly injured, Newly was tending to them. Despite the rain, smoke still curled from the burned out stable and a portion of the cabin roof.

Piled in a haphazard fashion by the wagon, along side the dead mule were the six members of Sharlow's gang killed in the shootout. Somewhere in that pile was Homer Sinclair as well. Several Dodge men were busy digging graves, for they had no plan to bring the dead outlaws back to town with them. The remaining outlaws, most suffering from some form of injury, were bound and pleading for either help or to be put out of their misery. Nathan Burke stood guard, his face was hard and grim and it took all that was in him not to put a bullet through the head of each one of them.

Inside what was left of the cabin, Matt and Festus kicked their way through the debris, sifting through evidence and gathering anything that might help to convict the remaining members of the outlaw band to a long, long prison term. There was nothing to be found amidst the destruction to confirm Kingston Sharlow had been there and for the moment not one of the remaining outlaws was willing to confess they were part of the Sharlow gang.

Dillon faltered in step and then sat down abruptly on a lopsided three legged stool. "You ought have Newly take a look at that there shoulder Matthew." Festus advised.

"I'm alright."

"You're a'bleedin' like a stuck pig."

"I'm alright, I said."

"Pshaw, my left hind foot you're alright ..."

Matt got up from the chair and walked on unsteady legs to the door, there he stood looking out at the carnage his actions had wrought. He watched as two Dodge men carefully lifted the lifeless body of young Willie, placing him gently in the wagon.

Festus saw what he was looking at and his heart went out to Dillon, "Shoot Matthew, I know how you feeled about Willie, but you gived him the chance to head on back to Dodge, he didn't wanna go."

"I should've made him."

"Aw fiddle, you couldn' a done that. He wanted to be here, he wanted to fight along side you, it was his choice as a man."

His words came out angry, "As a man? He was a boy, just a boy. How am I going to tell Bessie and Will …" He took a deep painful breath. A storm of emotion flooded his usually stoic features. He leaned against the doorway and his blood stained the wood. "He was Kitty's godson, she loved that boy."

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It was another warm night. Her bedclothes stuck to her body. Her damp hair clung to her neck. In the distance thunder rumbled and the thought of cooling rains was almost enough to bring comfort. But the thunder had been rumbling for days now with no result. She got up from bed and opened the connecting door to Matilda's room. The child was sleeping, her face almost angelic in repose. Sydney adjusted the cotton sheet providing cover and then returned to her room. Her room had been his room. She'd decided it might be better to switch with the Marshal so that she'd have the connecting door to Matilda's room. Although at the moment she wished for her old quarters and its better cross ventilation. No doubt, once he got back, he'd find a reason to grumble even though he'd made out the better in the bargain.

He'd been gone for eleven days now. The only information they'd had was when three of the posse returned earlier in the week with word of Dillon's plan. There had been subsequent speculation and now everyday eyes looked to the south of town hoping for some sign that the Dodge men were returning. She tried her best to keep Matilda busy during the day so that the little girl wouldn't have time to fret about her father's fate. Even old Dr. Adams had offered to take Matilda on a call to her friend Annie's house, where the family was expecting another baby. The time had provided both the old man and the child a chance to get to know each other. Later, Dr. Adams had confessed to Sydney how pleased he was to see so much of her mother in the child's personality.

"She's strong willed." Sydney had concurred.

"She'll need all the strength she can muster as Matt Dillon's daughter."

Sydney had nodded and Doc had reached out and patted her hand, "So will you, my dear."

She wondered now, in the middle of this interminable night if it was just the empty philosophy of an old man or if Adams was preparing her for something, if he knew more than he was letting on.

A gust of wind sent her curtains dancing, and she moved closer to enjoy the breeze. She looked out the window at Front Street below, for as far as she could see, the street was dead quiet. The thunder was growing louder, lighting flashed across the sky and the wind began to blow in earnest. The gaslights swayed as the skies finally let loose the rain. It pelted the hard packed street and slammed against the windows like pebbles tossed on ice. Despite the perspiration which drenched her body, she shivered as she thought about the posse and hoped they'd managed to find shelter, where ever they were.

From outside her room she heard Ma's hurried foot steps coming down the hall, she sounded like a street crier as she called out, "Shut the windows, shut the windows - don't let that rain get in on my nice wood floors. Shut the windows."

Sydney slipped on her housecoat and then did as Mrs. Smalley had requested. She followed suite in Matilda's room before coming out in the hall to help Ma make the rounds of the rest of the boarding house. Together the two ladies saw to it that all windows and doors were secured against the weather. Then Sydney had helped Ma slop up the floor where the rain had come in the parlor window. The work completed, they paused together on the front porch, sheltered from the wind and rain.

"Feels like it's cooling off right nicely." Ma commented. "Tomorrow should be a pleasant day for a change."

"Yes." Sydney had agreed and then before she had a chance to say more, Ma's hand caught at her arm and held tight.

"Oh my dear Lord!" the old woman exclaimed. "Look over there by Doc's office, by the Marshal's office too! They're back."

Without a word, Sydney pulled free from Ma's grasp to run out in the rain, and down the muddy street.

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They'd been on the muddy trail back to Dodge for over a week. With the wagon, the going was painfully slow, for the heavy rains caused the dry creek beds to flood. By the time they got back to Dodge, those who'd been wounded were feverish; those who'd suffered no wound of the flesh were physically and mentally exhausted.

The supply wagon, pulled by the remaining mule and Willie Roniger's horse had been home to both the dead and the wounded and it reeked with the smell of rotting flesh. Driving the wagon, Nathan Burke pulled up in front of the General store, and several men began the arduous task of unloading the injured, "Get them on up to Doc's." Matt ordered. "Newly you better go with them, Doc's gonna need you. Burke, when that's done, take the wagon over to Percy Crump's."

To the rest of the posse, Dillon directed, "Alright men, let's fill the jail cells." Festus took over, grabbing handcuffs and keys and directing the traffic as the four cells were filled with nine remaining outlaws. Matt nodded his thanks to the posse, "You can head on home boys, when you're finished." Home, for the moment the word held no meaning to Matt Dillon and his only thought of comfort was to collapse on the unforgiving cot in his office. He was sick. His shoulder infected and like an old hound dog he wanted only to curl up in some corner far away from everyone and lick at his wounds. That wasn't going to happen at least not for some time. There were matters to attend to, the badge pinned to his chest said so.

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Bessie Roniger had been staying at the Dodge House the last several days, leaving her sizable brood in the care of her older children and husband Will. When he had objected, she'd said simply, "Something's wrong, I feel it. I need to be there when my boy comes home." She too, had been minding the window that night, the way mothers do when one of their own is not accounted for. Searching the dark, peering into the shadows, seeing what wasn't there in the hope that it would materialize just by the mere act of wanting. Her heart hurt, her ample bosom pained and her arms felt useless without a child to hold. "Willie, my Willie boy." She breathed. And then in a flash of lighting she saw the wagon and riders appear on the far end of the street. She grabbed her shawl, pulling it up over her head and rushed down the stairs, awakening Howie, the clerk, who sat at the front desk. "Mrs. Roniger," he called, "You can't go out like that, you'll catch your death." She didn't listen, but rushed out the door and began running, she slipped on the slick boardwalk and fell to her knees and then pulled herself up and began running again.

There were tears and rain on her face and her chest ached from the exertion but she could not stop until she was with her child again. Dillon saw her coming and moved to step in her way, reaching out to her he pulled her into his arms before she reached the wagon.

"Let me go, I need to be with Willie."

"No."

"I need to be with my boy."

"No."

Intuition, denial and truth met in hard reality, "No! No … oh my God .. NO, not my boy … not my Willie boy … no …" She slipped from his hold falling to her knees again, she folded her arms tight across her breasts, rocking her body back and forth, sobbing a requiem lullaby, "my Willie boy, my Willie boy …" Matt Dillon stood helpless to her sorrow.

In the shadows of the jailhouse porch where she'd been standing and watching, Sydney stepped forward and knelt in the mud beside Bessie. "Mrs. Roniger." She said, placing an arm around her shoulder, "Bessie … come on now … let's go on over to the Boarding House."

"My Willie …"

Sydney reached her hand to cradle Bessie's wet cheek. "He's fine Bessie, isn't he? He's in the arms of the Lord now, safe and warm. You needn't worry any longer. Come now."

Matt helped pull Bessie to her feet again and watched as Sydney lead her down the street to Ma's.