"He is my man….and I'll do anything to keep him alive."
—Kitty Russell, "The Bullet: Part 2"
Home
"My Daddy come west to Kansas….
ta make his home in Kansas.
But all he made was his own grave….
when he crossed the path of Killer Dave."
Chester rode the trail towards Hays with eyes peeled for any sign of Mister Dillon, softly singing his favorite little ditties, trying to quell the angst brewing inside of him.
It wasn't working.
Chester had been on the trail for a few hours, and had come through a brief storm about an hour back. He figured he was now a little under fifteen miles from Dodge. Chester wondered for the hundredth time if he should have taken some men with him out on the search for his boss. He hadn't, as he'd already been uneasy leaving town after Mister Dillon had asked him to watch things; he'd wanted to keep as many good men in Dodge as possible, in the event that any trouble cropped up in town.
But what would Mister Dillon have done?
Chester always tried to think that way, always tried to act accordingly when Mister Dillon was out of town. He was so proud that Mister Dillon left him to keep an eye over Dodge while he was gone, he could bust a shirt button. Sometimes he couldn't believe the amount of faith the big man placed in him.
There were quite a few in Dodge that didn't take Chester seriously—he knew that. Quite a few who judged him, based on his stiff leg and the way he talked and his lack of….well, he wished he knew what it was exactly that he lacked with the ladies. Yes, more than a few in Dodge cast judgement upon him. But Mister Dillon never did. Oh, he teased him like a brother would once in a while, but Heaven help any man who threatened Chester in front of Mister Dillon.
Chester knew he wasn't quite as light-footed as some men, or maybe always as smart, especially in the book-learning sense. But he always tried to be just as brave, just as dependable for his boss, hoping that would maybe make up for things he lacked. He tried to be there for Mister Dillon—to help protect him even—as best he could. Chester had been by Mister Dillon's side through quite a few hairy situations, and he'd continue to be by his side, doing whatever he needed him to do. Trouble was, sometimes, like now, it didn't seem clear to him what Mister Dillon needed. So, he just did the best he could by Mister Dillon. He hoped and prayed that was enough. Especially today.
Chester kept riding, and softly started up another ditty….
"Run rabbit run, the dogs'll catch you, run rabbit run, ya better get away…."
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Matt Dillon heard the horse approaching….not that he was able to do anything about it.
Every single inch of his body hurt. His eyes wouldn't open, his ears were ringing, he was terribly thirsty, and he felt very, very cold. Matt idly wondered if the rider coming into camp was friend or foe. Not that he figured it would matter for much longer, the way he was feeling right about now. Matt tried to stay awake, tried to hear any signs of whether he might be getting some help. But help was a far off prospect at this point, and Matt Dillon felt weaker by the moment. He felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of maybe not making it back alive. Back to Dodge. Back home. Back to Kitty.
Kitty.
Her beautiful face was the last thing he saw before, once again, everything went black.
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Chester stopped singing as he spotted smoke rising from an apparent campsite in the distance. He rode a bit closer then dismounted his horse and pulled his rifle from its sheath.
"Hello….?" He cautiously approached the camp, more than aware of an eerie silence blanketing the area. When he came closer, he saw two bodies out on the ground. Chester leaned down and checked the men. Dead. A chill went down his spine. Suddenly, a horse whinnied a short distance away. Chester looked up to see a familiar buckskin, with an equally familiar form lying on the ground next to him.
"Oh my goodness," he said to himself, heart in his throat as he approached the big man. Chester reached his friend, and turned him over onto his back. His heart squeezed when he saw the shape his boss was in. But Mister Dillon was breathing, so he wasn't yet too late. Chester knew Matt Dillon needed help. And soon.
"You hold on, Mister Dillon. You just hold on, now," he said, voice threatening to break, as he rose to go rig up a travois.
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"Chester's back! Chester's back in town!"
It was just before sunset and Kitty had been sitting, staring off into space at a table just inside the batwing doors of the deserted Long Branch, when she heard those words shouted out on Front Street. Word had of course spread through Dodge that Chester had gone out of town to look for Matt, so the commotion upon his return was not unexpected. The town had been holding its collective breath with the news that Matt Dillon might be missing. Dodge loved its young, brave Marshal, after all.
Looking back on it later, Kitty would have sworn that her heart actually stopped beating in that moment, before it wildly started up again. She rose from her table and walked to the batwing doors. Pushing through, she walked out onto the boardwalk. Kitty looked down the street, towards the very edge of town. She brought her hand up over her eyes and squinted against the setting sun. She could make out four horses, only one with a rider. Chester rode slowly, his silhouette only distinguishable because of the right leg stretched out straight to the side. Another horse had a travois rigged up behind it, and the other two were carrying dead men slung over their backs.
Please. Please, God. No.
Not Matt.
Kitty stood out in the middle of Front Street, frozen, trembling, her heart about to beat out of her chest. She watched, arms hanging loosely at her side. Afraid to move, afraid to breathe. Waiting. Waiting until she could differentiate which one was Matt.
Please.
A moment or two later she saw that Buck was pulling the travois…. then, she saw them, slung over two unfamiliar horses, two bays. She first looked at one, then the other. She didn't know who those men were, but she knew who they weren't.
Thank God.
As if released from a cannon, Kitty began to run. She ran until she reached Chester, now nearing the jail. Chester pulled the reins of his horse and brought him to a stop.
"Somebody go get Doc, the Marshal's hurt!" He shouted to the crowd of onlookers that had started to form. Chester looked down at Kitty, her blue eyes wide, brimming with tears, mouth open, terrified.
"I brung Mister Dillon home, Miss Kitty, but he's in bad shape," Chester said softly to Kitty, so that only she could hear. "Looks like these two worked 'im over purty good 'fore I got there."
Kitty slowly walked around Buck to look at the big man on the travois. What she saw made her gasp and draw her hand up to her mouth.
"Oh Matt," she whispered.
Her tall, handsome Cowboy lay unconscious on the travois. Bruised. Bloody. Beaten. His head had a large gash, and dried blood was covering his face. His left eye was purple and swollen, almost completely shut. He was ghostly pale, his lip was split, his nose was swollen, and an ugly bluish-purple bruise covered the left side of his jaw. Her eyes scanned the rest of his body—what she could see of it—and it didn't appear to have fared much better. His torso was bloody and covered in mud, his shirt was halfway torn from his body, and his hands were scraped raw.
Kitty knelt down on the ground and pillowed Matt's head against her breasts, carefully holding his shoulder with one arm and gently stroking his head and face with the other. "Oh, Matt," she said again, leaning down to touch her face to his. He was so very, very cold.
"Alright, alright, let me through! Let me through to my patient!" Doc's gruff voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd. He came around the side of Buck and took in the scene before him. Kitty looked up at him from her position on the ground, arms around Matt. The tears poured down from her sapphire eyes.
"Doc?" she asked imploringly, bottom lip slightly trembling, not wanting to say the words.
"Let me see him, Kitty…." he replied kindly.
Kitty moved out of the way, letting Doc kneel down next to Matt, looking on anxiously.
Doc briefly looked at Matt, felt his pulse, and sadly shook his head. "Chester—you and a couple of other men get him up to my office."
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Kitty entered Doc's office, close behind Doc, Chester, and the rest of the men carrying Matt into the room and onto the table.
As the other men were leaving, Kitty readied some hot water, soap, and bandages while Doc and Chester removed Matt's clothes. When she turned around with her basin of water and supplies, the sight in front of her stole her breath and sent a stabbing pain through her heart.
Matt was deathly pale and was covered in blood, lacerations, and ugly bruises. It was now obvious, the extent to which he'd been beaten. Brutally. Precious little of his body had been spared. Kitty bit the inside of her mouth to hold back sobs and sat next to Matt's head with her cloth and the basin of hot soapy water, beginning the task of carefully cleansing his body.
Doc stood, brow furrowed, next to Matt, listening to his heart, lungs, and abdomen with his stethoscope. He was febrile, tachycardic, and had fluid at the bases of both lungs. Doc gingerly palpated the left anterior portion of Matt's rib cage and felt tell-tale deformities over the ninth and tenth ribs. Fractured. He then placed his steady, skillful hand over the left upper quadrant of Matt's distended abdomen where a particularly ugly set of purple bruises were, one in the form of a boot print. Although still unconscious, Matt winced. His abdominal muscles tensed of their own accord as Doc palpated the area. Not good. Doc shook his head angrily.
"They stomped him," Doc said, almost to himself. He swiped his chin, trying to control the emotions boiling up within him. "Men who did this are dead, Chester?" Doc asked, his mouth tight.
"Ya, Doc, they're dead," Chester's brown eyes watched him steadily, a grimace on his face.
Doc just nodded his head. He turned around, rolled up his sleeves, and poured his carbolic acid into a basin. "Kitty, I'm gonna need to operate. I think the spleen may be lacerated."
He stopped for a moment, hating to ask but not able not to. Matt would have his best chance if Doc had an assistant during this surgery. And Kitty, whether or not she was in love with Matt Dillon, had proven herself to be a good one. He looked up at Kitty and looked at her pointedly, "I need your help, Kitty."
Kitty returned the washcloth to the basin, looked at Matt, and swallowed hard. She felt a tiny little part of her wither away and die, but she resolutely lifted her chin, turned to look Doc in the eye, and said, "Tell me what to do first, Doc."
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Matt awoke to the warm sun beating down upon his face. He heard murmurings in another room—soft, familiar voices that put the small corner of his mind that was awake at ease. His eyes fluttered and he began to take in his blurry surroundings. A window with sun streaming in to the left, a white wall straight ahead, a soft bed underneath him. The smell of disinfectant and coffee.
Doc's office.
The door then opened and someone entered the room. A familiar, comforting scent made its way into his nostrils, up into his brain, and down to where it squeezed his heart.
"Kitty."
"Matt! Oh, Matt," she breathed. She was instantly at his side, gently running her fingers through his wet curls, tenderly stroking his injured face. "Matt, we were so worried…." she whispered, "I was so worried."
"How long?" he asked.
"Four days."
The weariness in her voice brought him the rest of the way from his fogginess. His eyes now open and no longer blurred, Matt Dillon turned his head and looked up at his girl. His heart ached and his jaw tightened as he saw how drawn she looked, how tired. But she was still the most beautiful girl in the world. "I'm sorry I worried you, Kitty," he said earnestly.
Kitty smiled down into the beautiful face she loved so much, valiantly trying to keep the tears from brimming over her eyes and the sobs from escaping her throat. Unable to resist a moment longer, she carefully leaned over and tenderly placed her mouth on the lush lips she'd been missing for well over two weeks now.
Matt kept his eyes open as their lips met, then eagerly opened his mouth to her, desperate to kiss his sweet girl. He pressed the tip of his tongue against her teeth, tasting her salty tears that had fallen down over their joined lips.
Kitty savored his warm breath on her mouth, the taste of him, the feel of his tongue against hers. She took his supple bottom lip into her mouth and gently sucked it. After a few moments of their achingly tender kiss, Kitty reluctantly pulled back, before the kiss could grow out of control.
Matt slowly lifted his hand to her silky cheek, and gently brushed away the mutant tears that had fallen. He then reached for her small hand and took it in his huge one, placing it over his heart. His clear, steel-blue eyes steadily gazed into her shimmering, sapphire ones. "I missed you, Kitty," his still raspy voice told her, threatening to break.
She again looked into his shining eyes, the love in her heart threatening to overwhelm her.
"Welcome, home, Cowboy. Welcome home."
tbc