Chapter 9

A Pair of Giants

Matt was pouring his second cup of coffee when he caught a glimpse of Brontë going into the Long Branch. It had been two days since his arrival. Although he was spending most of his time at the fort, he was still bedding down at the Dodge House.

The ironstone cup rested in the palm of the marshal's hand while he mulled over the attributes of the handsome soldier. Chandler had grown up with the proverbial silver spoon. He was born into a wealthy, prominent family and graduated from West Point. "Probably with honors." Matt grumbled that last thought out loud.

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Brontë paused momentarily after pushing through the bat wing doors. The saloon hadn't really changed much but without the beautiful redhead it seemed drab, lifeless. He started toward the bar when he heard someone call his name.

"Mr. Chandler come have a seat." Newly motioned to the empty chair across from Festus. "I surely owe you a drink after what you did for Calleigh and her mom. Pete can we have another beer over here?"

Brontë accepted the offer with a smile. "I'm just grateful to have been in the right place. It was Newly and Festus, am I right?"

Festus was quite pleased that his name had not only been remembered but pronounced correctly. "It surely is. Like Newly said, we sure are obligen to ya for what ya did." He gave Pete a nod of thanks for bringing the beers but made no move to pay for them.

"I know my wife was sure impressed. She couldn't stop talking about how you just snatched Miss Kitty right out of the jaws of death. Calleigh can be very dramatic." Newly was in awe of the man's actions but still, he would feel better if Brontë would move on. His presence was making the marshal awful unhappy.

"I'd have to thank Jack for helping me out. He just senses where I need him to go." The two men were polite enough but Brontë sensed a little tension circling around the table.

"So ya must be in a real hurry to get back home. I'm sure as grateful as Matthew is he sure wouldn't want to tie ya up here none."

"Festus!" Newly wanted to ask but he was hoping to be a bit more subtle. "I think he meant you're a pretty important man, and well I'm sure you're missed back home."

Pete had made his rounds to gather up a few empty glasses when he stopped at their table. "The boys here are right; we certainly appreciate what you did. Do you plan on signing the treaty soon?"

Brontë silently contemplated the three eager faces. Matt Dillon had some true friends, all of whom were worried about the mysterious man in Kitty Russell's past. A little small talk managed to survive the awkwardness allowing them to finish their beers. An offer was made to buy another round but Brontë begged off with a thank you and a smile.

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Matt continued to stare in the cup but he couldn't find any answers hidden in the black liquid. No answers but the questions just kept mounting up.

It must have seemed like Chandler was offering the world to Kitty all those years ago. Money, prestige and most of all – marriage. The marshal of Dodge City looked around his office. Not just a casual glance but a real hard honest look. It appeared pretty much the same as it had fifteen years ago – small and run down. Hardly the type of elaborate work place that would impress a beautiful young woman.

Matt's troubled gaze wandered back to the desk. But it wasn't the battered old piece of furniture that cornered his thoughts. It was the object buried deep in the back of the top drawer. Granted, he wasn't much of an expert on diamonds but it was pretty easy to figure that Brontë had spent at least a hundred dollars for the sparkly piece. That would have been almost a year's salary for a young marshal. Kitty had never been a woman of great materialistic demands but she was young and beautiful and the valiant soldier obviously could provide her every desire.

The same fear that had gripped him when he stood beside Hadley's bed seized his heart again. For five years he had clung to the belief that the badge and family didn't mix and this perfect man came along offering her everything she wanted. Why didn't she accept Chandler's proposal? It was another five years before the unyielding lawman came to his senses. But still, she had waited. Why had he been so lucky, so blessed that Kitty chose him?

Guilt pulled him back to his chair; shame forced him to open the drawer. At first the contents appeared to be what one would expect to find; several crumpled old wanted posters, a couple of unsharpened pencils, a few loose bullets and a napkin from the Prairie Rose. But there, nestled deep in the corner laid the "forgotten" necklace. The truth was, after a few years, he truly had forgotten or more likely, managed to block it out.

And obviously Kitty had forgotten as well but now that Chandler had entered the picture, she would surely remember. Strong fingers trembled as they reached for the piece but his attempt to retrieve it came to an abrupt halt when the office door opened revealing none other than Brontë Chandler. With a shocked expression identical to that of a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Matt slammed the drawer shut.

Chandler paused, slightly confused by the marshal's actions. "Did I interrupt something?"

Matt cleared his throat as he rose to his feet. "No, I was just…no" Plagued by feelings of inadequacy, the marshal pulled himself to his full height to tower ever so slightly over the soldier. "What can I do for you?"

"As you know, I was sent here to sign the new peace treaty but it is my understanding that there have been some problems with what I hope is just a few renegades." He tone reflected genuine concern.

Matt suddenly felt at ease as he slipped back into the role of US Marshal. "You think maybe Iron Horse has changed his mind about signing the new agreement?"

"It's possible that's why I came to see you. What can you tell me about these attacks?"

Matt motioned for him to take a seat and returned to his desk. "So far it's just been a few horses stolen and some shooting."

"They have guns?" Chandler seemed more surprised than worried.

"One of the farmers said he was chased by a couple of them a few days ago." A trace of a smile surfaced when he remembered Calleigh's description of Chum. "That's one of the reasons Newly and I didn't want the women to go out to the Benson farm alone." No sooner had the words slipped so innocently from his tongue than he regretted bringing Kitty into the conversation.

With more familiarity than Matt wanted to hear, Chandler unthinkingly blurted out his own memories. "She can be very headstrong."

Two sets of wide eyes met and then immediately bounced off in opposite directions. Both men rose to their feet, Matt was the first to find a voice. "Why don't I take you out to talk to Chum, he's the one that claims to have been chased by Indians."

"I would appreciate that."

Matt snatched his hat from the hook and nodded for his rival to exit first. Both men were eager to escape the small confines and the subject of a certain redhead.

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The ride out to Chum's was polite to say the least. The conversation began, naturally, about the new peace treaty, and then it ventured to such innocuous topics as the weather, the plans of the railroad to cross the entire country, and horses. The long ride did seem to ease the tension between the two.

"Do you think the railroad will change Dodge much?"

Matt offered a half grimace with a shake of his head. "I doubt that it will ever be tamed completely but I think the railroad will help. Must be a lot different than where you come from."

Brontë chuckled as he readjusted himself in the leather saddle. "Let's just say we handle our differences a little less violently. Maryland is a pretty peaceful place but to be honest, I'm not home much. My mother says I'm more of a fireman than a soldier." He glanced at Matt. "The army is always sending me somewhere to put out a fire."

"A traveling soldier? Humm." The marshal was still confused.

"I'm not exactly a soldier." Brontë seemed hesitant to reveal his true profession. "I'm a legal advisor to the military."

"You're an attorney." The words fell somewhere between a statement and a question.

Brontë nodded, not wanting to pursue the subject any further. He appeared more embarrassed than conceited.

Matt pulled his hat further down over her forehead and peered over at the man from Maryland. Damn. He's such a terrific guy; I'd almost marry him myself.

Silence seemed to be the best option as the two men continued to ride side by side. Chum's farm was south of town, in the opposite direction of Fred Benson's place. Unlike the barren road the women had taken a few days earlier, this one was littered with trees, a hearty mix of Cottonwood and Black Walnut. The shooter chose the giant Cottonwood for cover, when he fired at the backs of the lawman and the soldier.

Matt wasn't sure which he heard first, the echo of the rifle or Brontë's groan. It was the second shot that brought the soldier to the ground. Matt returned fire but he knew he couldn't leave a wounded man to go chasing after the back shooter.

Jack had stood protectively over his master, nuzzling the unconscious man in an attempt to roll him over. Matt quickly dropped to the ground and pushed the long brown face aside. "Let me help ya there big boy." He rolled the wounded man over, relieved to see he was still alive. The first shot had caught Chandler in the back and the second graced his left temple.

Matt hoisted the big man up and laid him across his saddle. He wished there were another way but there wasn't time to build a travois and he had to get him back to Dodge as soon as possible.