Festus ambled over to a table near the middle of the room where Doc was sitting with a partial glass of whiskey.
Matt nodded at Doc and then headed to the bar and waited for big Sam to come over.
"Sam. Where's Kitty tonight?" he asked in an offhand manner belied by his pale blue eyes searching the room.
"She's up in her room, Marshal. She had another one of those bad headaches, and Doc was up there with her a little while ago."
Matt immediately turned on his heel and headed over to the table where Festus now sat with Doc, both watching him.
"Doc, how's Kitty? Is it as bad as usual?" Matt was talking before he even sat down, focusing on his old friend's face. Ever since Richard Strom had badly beaten Kitty two months ago, she had been having excruciating headaches, usually when overly tired or stressed.
"She's been resting for the past hour Matt," he said as he consulted his large, silver pocket watch. "The powders I gave her always make her sleep and relieve the pain. This one wasn't quite as bad as the last, so I'm hoping they'll eventually stop."
Festus muttered indecipherable and fierce hill man curses under his breath as he frowned and thought about the brutal Strom brother that he had saved Kitty from.
"I wisht I had gotten thar 'bout five minutes earlier and blew his head clean off 'fore he teched Miss Kitty!"
Reaching a long arm across the table, the Marshal clamped a big hand on the shoulder of his friend and often-Deputy and squeezed.
"You did just fine, Festus, just fine." These few words said everything that Festus needed to hear, and he cleared his throat and looked down at his hands still gripping the edge of the table in anger.
"I'd do anythin' fer Miss Kitty, Matthew," he whispered, loosening his hands and letting them fall to his sides. His eyes were moist as he still heard the badly injured woman sobbing in his arms and clutching his hand. The tough man hated to kill, but Richard Strom deserved being shot more than anyone he could think of.
Matt turned, signaled to Sam, and the bartender brought over another whiskey for Doc, and beers for Matt and Festus, who still had one last survey of the town to make in a couple of hours.
Time wore on, and the saloon quieted down with the cowboys and gamblers gradually straggling out. The three young, clean-cut men sitting at the back got up and headed for the swinging doors, following behind the last laughing chattering group of men. The three yawning saloon girls sat together at a table, eager to go up to their rooms.
Doc referred to his watch again, nodded at Matt and pushed back his chair.
"It's time for me to head for my bed. Think I'll go up and check on Kitty first.
Matt and Festus stood up, ready for their rounds of the town. Festus had been accompanying the Marshal lately to ensure he knew the routine for the times he filled in for his friend.
The front doors were suddenly slammed shut and locked. The three young men no longer looked so harmless as they faced Sam, Doc, Festus, and Matt with pistols drawn.
"DON'T MOVE A HAIR!" Marcus yelled as he walked in closer, staring at the big Marshal. Slim and Curly moved out to each side of their leader, eyes watching the bartender, old doctor, the whiskery Deputy, and the frightened trio of saloon girls.
"Now both of you unbuckle your gun belts and toss them over here. Try anything and I'll shoot that old man…or maybe one of these girls.
Matt and Festus complied, each furiously trying to figure out how to turn the situation around.
"Marcus, can we shoot them all now?! Can we?" Slim's dark eyes glowed feverishly as he glanced over at his boss, then back to their prey.
The young blond man frowned in thought, then shook his head.
"Not yet. Get the lawmen's guns, and the shotgun we know the barkeep has behind the bar, Slim. Curley, go get your lariat. Hurry it up!"
"Son, I'm a U.S. Marshal. It's not too late for you boys to stop this." Matt stood tall and imposing as he glared at Marcus.
"SHUT UP! And don't call me 'son' or 'boy'!" Marcus screamed, his face flushed and furious.
Matt suddenly remembered how dying Amy Sharp had described her killer as "so young," and resembling her flaxen-haired, blue-eyed son Jerry.
"How does someone callously shoot down a harmless old man and his wife, MARCUS?" Matt asked in obvious distain.
Both Doc and Festus stared at Matt in surprise, then back at the young man who looked like a boy with his father's gun.
Marcus' face smoothed out into a strange, smiling calmness as he shot the Marshal in his upper left arm.
"Like THAT! But I'm saving your final bullet for later."
Matt grimaced in pain and clutched his arm, but refused to do more than jerk back a step. The trio of saloon girls cowering at their table screamed and huddled closer together.
"MATT!" Doc sprang forward, grabbed his big friend, guided him to his chair and ripped the sleeve to expose the wound.
"Ya rotten whelp! I'm gonna git on ya like ugly on a ape!" Festus started towards the still smiling young man who then calmly shot the hill man in his upper left arm.
"STOP IT!" Doc yelled. "These men can't harm you now."
The old doctor had tied his handkerchief around Matt's wound, and now hurried over to Festus, who had gone down to one knee, but still glared at his shooter. Once he had assisted him back to his chair, Doc untied Festus' neckerchief and tied it tightly over the bullet wound.
Curly was giggling as he waved his pistol back and forth in front of Sam behind the bar when Slim returned with his lariat.
"Did I miss all the fun?!" the skinny cowboy grumbled, looking from the Deputy to the Marshal.
"Slim. Cut up that rope and tie those two lawmen hand and foot to their chairs. You girls get on over behind the bar with that ugly barkeep. MOVE! And YOU, old man, sit down and keep quiet!"
After Slim had tied up the two wounded men so tightly that their circulation was impaired, he went around in front of them and punched Matt and Festus in the face as hard as he could. Marcus nodded in approval and tossed his bandana to Slim, who used it and one of his own to uncomfortably gag each groggy man. Doc fumed and had to force himself to remain sitting, fearing even worse treatment of his friends.
Marcus then walked towards the frightened saloon girls clustered by Sam. Staring at Rita, he reached out a hand and as she flinched, softly stroked her thick black hair. When she looked surprised and ventured a slight nervous smile, the young man suddenly grabbed a handful of her hair and fiercely yanked her head up towards his face as he bent close.
"Now, little girl, are there any more of you girls upstairs?"
Wide-eyed with fear, Rita tried to shake her head. "No…no…" But as his grip tightened painfully on her hair, she squeaked out, "Just Miss Kitty!"
"Ah! And just who is this 'Miss Kitty'?" His cold eyes bored into the girl's tear-filled brown ones.
"She's my WIFE!" Sam bellowed as he strode forward from behind the bar.