Matt groaned in the cold darkness, his head pounding mercilessly. He rolled
over slowly, trying to assess his situation. He knew he was on a wooden
floor, but it was so dark in the room that he couldn't see anything. Slowly
Matt pulled himself to a sitting position, leaning against a wall. He
touched his hand to his head, and it was wet. Blood. In the dark he pulled
a bandana from the pocket of his pants, and held it to the wound, grimacing
in pain. After a minute or so, he leaned his head against the wall. It hurt
so badly, he could barely think. He knew he needed to find a way out of
wherever he was, but he couldn't muster movement.
His eyes closed, and Matt Dillon passed out.
***********
Festus walked up and down Front Street several times, but there was no sign of the marshal. The snow was coming down heavier and faster, quietly covering the ground, and any tracks the deputy might have followed. Pursing his lips in thought, he started toward the marshal's office; perhaps Matthew had simply lost track of the time while catching up with paperwork. Pulling his hat down lower against the cold, Festus quickly walked to the office. As he approached, he saw a piece of paper tacked to the wooden door; Matt must have run some darned errand after all, and left a note. It sort of annoyed Festus that the marshal hadn't simply saved everyone a heap of worry by walking over to the Long Branch and telling them, but at least the mystery of where he had gone off to would be solved shortly. He tore the note from the nail holding it in place, and quickly worked his way through the snow over to the saloon.
The party was in full swing, but the deputy noticed the disappointment on Kitty's face when he entered alone. He walked over to Doc and handed him the note.
"Matthew done left us a note, although what kinda errand was so important to be runnin' on Christmas Eve, I just don't--"
Festus stopped his rambling when he saw the look on Doc's face as he read the note. The old physician had turned a pale shade of white. Festus swallowed hard, and his voice was filled with anxiety.
"Doc? What is it? You look like you just lost your prize heiffer to a butcher."
Adams looked up at his friends, worry shining in his steely blue eyes. "Matt's been taken--"
"--Taken? What do you mean, taken?"
"Taken hostage, Kitty. Note says we either pay ten thousand by midnight tomorrow, or he's dead."
The Long Branch came to an abrupt stop. There was no more noise, no celebratory air. Marshal Matt Dillon was in the hands of the unknown, and therefore, so were the citizens of Dodge.
Festus was among the first to recover from the news, "Does it say how the varmints 'spect to get the money and how we get Matthew back?"
"Says they'll send someone to tell us tomorrow night."
The fear in Kitty's voice was evident, "Ten thousand dollars. Where are we going to get that kind of money?"
Festus placed a gentle hand on Kitty's shoulder, "Don't you worry none, Miss Kitty, we'll find Matthew afore then, and them kidnappers'll be lookin' down the wrong end of my shotgun barrel." He turned toward O'Brien, "Newly, you and Burke organize a search party. I want every inch and corner in Dodge looked over. Don't leave nothin' to chance. Matthew's life may be dependin' on us."
The men in the Long Branch quickly moved out in search of the marshal. Doc moved to Kitty, and guided her to a chair. He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing away the tension.
His voice was soothing, "They'll find him. Festus is one of the best trackers this side of the Mississippi, and you know how he feels about Matt. He'll find him."
With false bravada, she patted one of his hands, "I know."
His eyes closed, and Matt Dillon passed out.
***********
Festus walked up and down Front Street several times, but there was no sign of the marshal. The snow was coming down heavier and faster, quietly covering the ground, and any tracks the deputy might have followed. Pursing his lips in thought, he started toward the marshal's office; perhaps Matthew had simply lost track of the time while catching up with paperwork. Pulling his hat down lower against the cold, Festus quickly walked to the office. As he approached, he saw a piece of paper tacked to the wooden door; Matt must have run some darned errand after all, and left a note. It sort of annoyed Festus that the marshal hadn't simply saved everyone a heap of worry by walking over to the Long Branch and telling them, but at least the mystery of where he had gone off to would be solved shortly. He tore the note from the nail holding it in place, and quickly worked his way through the snow over to the saloon.
The party was in full swing, but the deputy noticed the disappointment on Kitty's face when he entered alone. He walked over to Doc and handed him the note.
"Matthew done left us a note, although what kinda errand was so important to be runnin' on Christmas Eve, I just don't--"
Festus stopped his rambling when he saw the look on Doc's face as he read the note. The old physician had turned a pale shade of white. Festus swallowed hard, and his voice was filled with anxiety.
"Doc? What is it? You look like you just lost your prize heiffer to a butcher."
Adams looked up at his friends, worry shining in his steely blue eyes. "Matt's been taken--"
"--Taken? What do you mean, taken?"
"Taken hostage, Kitty. Note says we either pay ten thousand by midnight tomorrow, or he's dead."
The Long Branch came to an abrupt stop. There was no more noise, no celebratory air. Marshal Matt Dillon was in the hands of the unknown, and therefore, so were the citizens of Dodge.
Festus was among the first to recover from the news, "Does it say how the varmints 'spect to get the money and how we get Matthew back?"
"Says they'll send someone to tell us tomorrow night."
The fear in Kitty's voice was evident, "Ten thousand dollars. Where are we going to get that kind of money?"
Festus placed a gentle hand on Kitty's shoulder, "Don't you worry none, Miss Kitty, we'll find Matthew afore then, and them kidnappers'll be lookin' down the wrong end of my shotgun barrel." He turned toward O'Brien, "Newly, you and Burke organize a search party. I want every inch and corner in Dodge looked over. Don't leave nothin' to chance. Matthew's life may be dependin' on us."
The men in the Long Branch quickly moved out in search of the marshal. Doc moved to Kitty, and guided her to a chair. He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, gently rubbing away the tension.
His voice was soothing, "They'll find him. Festus is one of the best trackers this side of the Mississippi, and you know how he feels about Matt. He'll find him."
With false bravada, she patted one of his hands, "I know."