Surprise
Bartenders like lawmen are observant or else they'll fail at their jobs. I could see that Matt Dillon was more than surprised. He was amazed Kitty and the rest of us at the table managed to pull off a party with a bit of outside help without his getting wind of it. I could tell he felt gratified that the people of Dodge City and Ford County and even some Texans appreciated his service to the people in the area enough to want to honor him. Our marshal chewed quietly on his devil's food cake with white spun sugar frosting. I wondered if he would open his presents before departing on his rounds. If he made a wish he was certainly keeping the contents to himself.
The skinny otherwise nondescript man who approached him couldn't have been part of any wish. He grabbed hold of the lawman's right arm just as Mr. Dillon placed another forkful of Miss Kitty's cake in his mouth. The fellow's grip despite his obviously partially crippled right arm was surprisingly strong. None of us at the table acting alone could loosen it. There was nothing we could do in the crowded room without causing at least one of us harm but find out what was so important to him.
"Marshal, we've never met and I hate to be the one to spoil your birthday celebration but I need to warn you!" he exclaimed. "My face or name, Cole Bridges, won't mean anything to you either because I'm not now nor have I ever been on a wanted poster. That don't signify. What's important is I come here to help you," he said as the big man chewed cake that was packed around the fork in his mouth.
"How can you help me except to let go so I can get this fork out of my mouth?" Mr. Dillon managed to say despite the impediment. "I admit your grip is strong, but you make Doc here look big," he added when Bridges finally let go of the marshal's wrist.
"I was at the bank holdup in Coldwater. It's why my arm and hand don't move so well. I know that same gang plans to hit the Dodge City Bank and also get back at you."
"What's your part in this Bridges? How come you know so much?" our guest of honor replied, all business now.
"I'm a school teacher on my way to take up a post in Cimarron. They offered me more money than Coldwater was paying. Besides, who'd want to remain in a town where the barber botched removing a bullet," he stated rather than asked. "The local Doc couldn't do anything for me by the time he got back from making the rounds of Comanche County. To get back to the point I earned extra writing and reading for those who can't. I did that for the man leading the gang that robbed the bank but wound up being caught in the crossfire. I'm afraid though I've retained the strength in my right hand I can't write as legibly now."
"That still doesn't explain how you know they're gonna rob the bank here or that their leader is after me. Let's go to my office. We'll talk there."
Matt Dillon's birthday gifts from those closest to him remained wrapped on the table as the lawman led Bridges to the jailhouse. Festus and Newly followed after them. They had rounds to make. The birthday celebration was over causing those who wouldn't be in a saloon otherwise to filter out. Suddenly only rowdy Texas cowboys and the usual drifters were left. I didn't have to be told; I knew we had to find a way to let them know drinks were no longer on the house. It wouldn't sit well with Miss Kitty.
I didn't notice until after I joined Rudy behind the bar that our boss had disappeared with the presents. She must have slipped them into the large bag Ma Smalley had used to bring over the sheet cake. I hadn't noticed her thoughtfully place it under the table earlier so the marshal would have something to carry his gifts home in. I knew home wasn't his rented room or the cot at the jail; it was her rooms upstairs. She simply got them to their ultimate destination by the most direct route. I wondered, not for the first time, how many actually knew and how many merely guessed that the red-haired saloon owner and the US Marshal headquartered in Dodge City were as devoted a couple as any happily married man and woman in Ford County. All they lacked was the formality of a preacher. Those two put on a good show, but just about everyone saw what was so poorly hidden.
We didn't know it until later, but a neatly written note had been tacked to the jailhouse door. It read, "A surprise awaits you at the bank if you can get there on time". This was the same note the gang leader had given the banker back in Coldwater. If Bridges hadn't been with him, Mr. Dillon would have been perplexed by it. Instead he locked Bridges in a cell and headed for the bank, leaving his two deputies to handle anything the Texans got into with the locals at whatever places remained open. All the shops were closed for the surprise party. The sound of gunfire caused customers and employees to race out of the saloons, dancehalls and restaurants.
The shooters had aimed at Mr. Dillon as he approached the bank but instead of hitting him shot each other. The crowd of onlookers gathered along Front Street in time to see the gunmen quickly taken into custody by Newly exiting the Oasis and Festus leaving the Bull's Head upon hearing gunfire. That left only the leader with Mr. Bodkin for Matt Dillon to handle.
"Dillon, that teacher was too smart for his own good," the gang leader, holding onto Mr. Bodkin, remarked as if it was all going as planned. "He kept us from getting away with any money in Coldwater. I let him be after the barber butchered him. He'll have no problems from me in Cimarron. I'll be in Mexico. Those two your deputies are putting in jail weren't with me then so you're welcome to 'em. If you try for me, you'll hit your banker, but I have a clear shot at you," he jeered.
"Let him go and take me instead. I'll make a much better hostage than a banker," Mr. Dillon offered.
Matt Dillon's offer made James Patrick Kelly hesitate just a bit allowing our marshal to walk toward the outlaw. The robber, known on wanted posters as J P Kelly, shoved the banker aside and into the dirt while Mr. Dillon continued his forward movement. Kelly was caught completely off guard when the tall lawman's long legs brought him within reach of the man's already drawn gun. Within seconds the pistol, stolen money and JP were under Mr. Dillon's control.
That sequence of events produced a quick end to the excitement, fast enough that the drovers had no time to act up. While Marshal Dillon locked up the gang leader I spotted Miss Kitty heading back into the Long Branch and followed her. There was still work to do. She was coming down the stairs with the parcel full of gifts just as Mr. Bodkin, obviously recovered from his ordeal, entered. He carried a long package. We both walked toward the guest of honor table by the stairs arriving at the same moment as the saloon owner.
"I hope the attempted bank robbery didn't put an end to the surprise party you so carefully arranged," the banker began. "At least all his presents are on the table, including his gift from the grateful citizens of Dodge City and Ford County that I forgot to bring earlier."
To everyone's amazement and delight as the party patrons returned of their own accord so did the guest of honor. The celebration was back in full swing with people helping themselves to more cake, calling for more drinks and good-naturedly demanding the marshal open his presents.
Mr. Dillon began with the one sloppily wrapped in brown paper that was so used it was practically transparent in places. He ripped it off with ease to reveal a box containing not quite round hand-carved and painted checkers and a carefully chiseled board with alternatingly colored by red stain and black paint squares. The marshal grinned as he thanked Festus.
The nature of the next gift was obvious and there was no mystery as to who was giving it - me. The man charged with keeping the peace in these parts unwrapped a personalized beer mug with the occasion and it's date etched into the glass. He told me to keep it under the bar for whenever he wanted a cool drink and actually had time to down it. Newly's gift was only obvious once it was unwrapped and the padded case opened. Of course the gunsmith would give him a hand made pistol – an exact replica of the one currently in his holster, except Colt didn't craft it, our new gunsmith did. The box contained the same commemorative three-line engraving as the beer mug "Happy 40th Birthday to Marshal Matthew Dillon May 26, 1880.
There were three gifts remaining but the lawman sensed two of them were connected. One was mostly square but somewhat large with a slightly hard bulge. The other was a small hard square with colored wrapping paper in contrast to the brown paper of the larger package. Mr. Dillon decided to unwrap the large one first. Inside was a card with the message: "Doc and I decided you needed a new outfit to compliment our other gift." Accompanying the note was a tan leather vest with two pockets, a blue shirt the same color as Miss Kitty's eyes, brown pants that would hide prairie dust far better than his light tan ones and boots with a matching belt the same shade of dark brown as his hair. They were both hand tooled as if reddish threads, the color of the highlights in his hair and of Miss Kitty's tresses, intertwined together with no discernable pattern to his untrained eye. The belt buckle was a replica of his badge but instead of US Marshal it said "Mostly Here When Needed".
"This has to be your doing, Kitty," the man chuckled as he gave her the little boy smile she so loved. "Doc, where do you fit in with all this?"
"I agreed with Kitty that you needed a set of clothes without patches over bullet holes," the doctor quipped. "The sentiments that come with the smaller package are shared equally and explain the belt buckle."
Mr. Dillon felt himself starting to blush so he bent down over the small package as if opening it required super concentration. He thought he had his emotions under control when he lifted up his head to reveal the second part of the joint gift – a gold pocket watch that fit snugly enough to not accidently fall out of one of the vest pockets. He opened the casing to reveal the timepiece on one side and yet another message etched into the other – "A bit of help remembering where you need to be when now that you're 40, May 26, 1880."
It left just one more gift, Mr. Dillon knew from the shape what it was and whom it was from. He suspected that like the pistol gunsmith Newly O'Brien had crafted it. When he unwrapped the finest shotgun he'd ever seen Matt found himself nearly choked by emotion. This would never do. Miss Kitty saw the trouble he was having so she leaned in to loudly whisper in his ear "Cowboy, it's just another gun for you to play with. The only difference is this comes with an inscription. Read it and maybe the people who chipped in to buy it won't demand a speech."
He read the dedication aloud. "To our Marshal Matt Dillon on his 40th Birthday from the Citizens of Ford County, Kansas May 26th, 1880." Alas the cries of "speech" were too insistent. He'd have to say something however short. "I don't know what I can say except thank you all. I don't deserve the tribute this gift represents. Everyone go back to your drinking. I've got work to do."
With that Mr. Dillon rose to make his rounds along with his deputies. He left the gifts on the table knowing Miss Kitty would put them in her office until he returned. She knew this though the only thing he said quietly enough so only she and I next to her could hear was "See ya later."
Somehow none of the revelers got out of hand. There were a few heads our peace officer had to knock before dragging them to a cell to keep it that way while the trail bosses kept their drovers in line and nobody blatantly cheated at poker. The festivities in his honor seemed to keep a damper on the possible violence at the start of the cattle season. It meant Marshal Dillon could call it a night around 2 AM. He left Festus in charge of the jail with Newly on call if needed. Only in a dire emergency were they to disturb him for the rest of the night. The town was quiet. A few saloons and bawdy houses remained open, but his destination, the Long Branch was already closed. I'd seen to that as soon as the invited guests helped convince the party crashers they could continue their fun elsewhere.
I was heading home to my own rented room when I saw a slightly inebriated Matt Dillon uncharacteristically trip going up the back stairs. Good thing nobody wanted to call him out. He might not have fared too well. Quickly compensating for his current state he continued up the stairs toward home where I knew Miss Kitty was waiting. Once inside her rooms I can easily imagine her giving him a come hither look accompanied by a simple "Now it's time for your private present." He'd be absolutely willing to please her by pleasing himself.