The Idea
Any objective observer watching the vivacious redheaded woman owner racing about the classiest saloon in the bursting at the seams cow town where we live would think she had time only for business concerns. I'm not exactly objective. She's my boss. It sure didn't stop me from watching her flit from table to table, a friendly nod here, a stern word of warning there, while shouting orders to the bar girls and me, Sam Noonan her head barkeep. I enjoy observing her doing her best to keep the customers satisfied. That would be enough to keep things running smoothly in a high-class saloon back east, but not in a cow town on the frontier like Dodge City. I've had to bring out the shotgun from behind the bar and so has she to try to regain control before the place is destroyed.
Miss Kitty knows she can't control everything. On this particular night someone standing at the crowded bar was bound to bump the man next to him, spilling his drink. Odds also favored at least one of the cowboys risking his hard-earned wages gambling was bound to accuse the man opposite of dealing from the bottom of the deck. Either scenario meant a fight. If our luck held no gunfight would follow, but a free-for-all could easily require the services of the local law as well. While dead bodies cause less damage to the property bullet holes and blood are harder to deal with than smashed furniture. I wish that weren't so. A lot of that cleanup falls to me.
Kitty Russell's touch is visible to anyone who enters her saloon. A close look reveals a delicacy to the décor that overlays the expected masculinity of a saloon. Though often taken for a better dressed dance hall girl by strangers, her confident manner and expectation of prompt obedience to her requests soon sets them to rights. If attitude isn't enough then hearing her announce she'll be in her office and then watching her stride in that direction ends any speculation for most strangers.
Then there's the table left empty at our most crowded times with at least two chairs by it that sits in the back against the stairs. Only those who haven't been told it's reserved for the owner and her special customers, particularly the towering figure of a cowboy now entering through the batwing doors, his US Marshal's badge hidden by his vest, would attempt sitting there. "Sam," she tells me as the big man strides inside, "We'll need a couple of beers."
By the time I bring their drinks this particular Friday evening he's holding out a chair for her to sit in as any gentleman would for a lady. Even to the casual observer this man is more than a favorite regular. The badge on Matt Dillon's chest is one reason. Their personal relationship is subtler. To the privileged few like me it means the owner and her man are taking their ease for as many moments as they can manage.
Their short respite tonight as always ended far too soon for them, but not with trouble in the Long Branch. The presence of the big lawman makes the troublemakers think before acting. Gunsmith Newly O'Brien rushing in to let our marshal know he was needed to quell yet another brawl in the seedy Bull's Head Saloon caused Mr. Dillon to hastily leave. I glimpsed her slower rise to follow the two men through the batwing doors into the only slightly fresher air outside. I knew she would sit on a chair beside the door and watch busy Front Street hoping her man would come out of the latest need for his services unscathed. Mr. Dillon might have to forsake a bit of relaxation for the duties of the badge at a moment's notice, but my boss has a bit more leeway. She used his leaving as an excuse to put off getting back to work. I happened to be by the door while Rudy took over behind the bar so I overheard a familiar voice belonging to our town doctor start a conversation.
"Will you come inside so a man who just delivered a baby and set the broken arm the newborn's older brother suffered rushing to secure my services can have a much deserved drink with the fetching owner of this establishment?"
"You're in luck. I've been sitting here waiting for a citizen of your high standing in the community to seek out my company," Kitty replied in answer to Doc Adams jocular query.
She allowed the rumpled doctor to escort her back into the noisy, smoky saloon to the special table she'd left unoccupied when our marshal was called away. Miss Kitty signaled for me to bring a bottle and two glasses to it before the two remaining chairs were grabbed for use by a couple of the strangers pouring into town for the annual cattle season. The men at the next table were so quick there would have been no place to sit if not for a bit of fast thinking by a pal of theirs who'd been here last year. That exuberant customer recognized the doctor and saloon owner and stopped his buddies, in town for the first time, from grabbing them. He continued to act the total gentleman by graciously holding onto the chairs until Doc and Miss Kitty were seated.
The moment the newly hired young blonde Tilly, who brought over a bottle and glasses, left to cater to her next customer Doc and Miss Kitty were deep in conversation. Although they were practically shouting nobody else could hear what they were saying. She repeated it for me when we finally closed down for the night at three in the morning, but that was unnecessary. I've come to know them well enough to have guessed the gist of it.
"You ought to think about dropping that overgrown public servant to marry me. He's far too busy protecting the citizens from the riff raff that give this town its bad name to regale you with the amount of attention you deserve."
"Maybe I should consider giving all this up to retire with a man ready to take his ease," Kitty replied with a sweeping gesture that encompassed the room. "Then again, what fun would it be without broken glass and furniture and maimed and dead bodies?"
"Keeping boredom at bay is something to consider. Let's leave things as they are until after these Texas cowboys and their hangers on leave for another year. Then we can approach the future with cooler heads. Even who represents the law in this town would agree things are much too busy now for either of us to properly court the prettiest and most eligible woman in Dodge."
"Aren't you afraid that tall lawman will come to his senses before you're through waiting? At 15 years your junior he has some attractive qualities. By the way, he'll turn 40 on Wednesday. That's in five days."
"I take it you'd rather wait for the young Lochinvar to disavow his reckless lifestyle. I think we should make plans during moments you can spare and he's preoccupied, like now."
"That's just what I was hoping, Curly. I want to plan a surprise party for Matt. Festus, Sam and Newly can help us pull it off. I might be able to enlist Bess and Will as well."
"We don't have much time."
"True Doc, but the longer the time we have to plan it the greater the chance Matt won't be available to be surprised."
I'm glad to do my part. Keeping our marshal in town can be very tricky.