Matt Accused

by dinacarter

Two vicious crimes have been committed in Dodge and strangely all the evidence seems to be pointing towards the Marshal. Is someone trying to frame Matt? He has to find out before the whole town turns against him.

Matt Accused

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Disclaimer: This fan fiction was written for entertainment purposes only and is not intended to infringe or violate the copyrights as owned by VIACOM/PARAMOUNT, nor to realize any profits.
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Summary: Two vicious crimes have been committed in Dodge and all the evidence seems to be pointing towards Marshal Dillon. Is someone trying to frame Matt? He has to find out who is behind all this before the whole town turns against him.
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Rating: strong PG-13. This story contains graphic violence, coarse language and sexual innuendo that some readers might find offensive. Discretion is advised.

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The annual Ford County Sociable was always a big event in Dodge City. Banners, announcing it had been hung all over town, and thanks to Chester Goode, the Marshal's assistant, posters had been nailed to almost every building in Dodge.

It was mid-afternoon and the tall, gangly man was just nailing his last poster to the wall of the Stage Depot office, when his attention was drawn to the familiar sounds of the Stagecoach coming down Front Street.

Chester craned his neck and watched as the coach drew closer in a cloud of dust. To him, its arrival was always filled with excitement. The thought of the places it had traveled, often made him wish he could do the same. And then of course, there were the people it always brought with it. Over the years, there had been some rather interesting ones.

He shoved the hammer into his back pocket and wiped his hands on the front of his pants. Fidgety with almost child-like anticipation, he watched as Jim Buck, the driver slowed the Stagecoach to a halt in front of the depot.

With a swift move, he shoved the handbrake forward and then proceeded to climb off the high seat.

"Howdy, Chester," he greeted the young man.

Chester nodded, smiling.

"Well, it's awful good to see you, Jim."

His eyes wandered to the door of the coach as Jim opened it.

An elegantly dressed woman in her fifties emerged, holding on to the driver's hand. She hesitated for a moment, taking in her surroundings. When she took notice of Chester, a frown appeared on her face. Disdainfully, she looked him up and down.

"What are you goggling at?" she snapped.

Startled, the young man took a step back. But before he could think of an answer, she had already turned her attention to the clerk who had come rushing from the office to meet her.

"Welcome, Mrs. Bancroft," he said politely with a funny little bow that Chester found rather ridiculous. "I already have arranged for your bags to be taken to the Dodge House."

Her arrogant eyes briefly lingered on the clerk before taking a second, closer look at the buildings that lined Front Street.

"Good," she then said. "Now if you would take me over there as well."

"Certainly, ma'am," the portly man replied eagerly, either not aware of her tone or determined to ignore it in hopes of earning a nice tip. Chester guessed the latter.

The clerk motioned the woman to follow him as began to shuffle down the boardwalk.

"Right this way please, Mrs. Bancroft."

Open-mouthed, Chester stared after her.

"Well, forevermore," he muttered astonished, "if'n that don't beat it all. She was none too friendly now, was she?"

Scratching his head, he turned to Jim Buck.

The driver rubbed his stubbly chin.

"Yeah, I s'pose that's the way them folks from back east act."

With a final shake of his head he proceeded to make his way inside the stage depot, leaving Chester to watch the woman as she disappeared around the corner.

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The big barn dance tonight was on everybody's mind and Betsy Tanner was no exception there. The young woman had hurried through her chores and was at last ready to join the rest of the town in the celebration.

Her mind was occupied with thoughts of a certain young man that she knew would be there and a smile came across her face. Humming softly to herself, she set out to take the short walk into Dodge.

The tall man stepped from the shadow of the barn suddenly and without warning.

Before she had a chance to react, he had clamped his left hand over her mouth and wrapped his right one around her waist, picking her up with ease.

Betsy struggled against him frantically as he carried her into the barn where he roughly threw her to the ground.

Terrified, she tried to get to her feet, but it was too late; the man was already upon her, pinning her to the ground with the weight of his body.

Desperately, she tried to free herself. She pushed hard against his chest, but it was to no avail.

Her eyes darted to his face, but all she could see of her attacker were his eyes glinting above his mask. Her hand reached up, trying to snatch away the bandanna, but he was too quick for her; grabbing her wrists, he pinned her arms above her head with one hand, while he used the other to tear her blouse.

She tried to scream, but his hand quickly moved back to her mouth, reducing her cry to a muffled wail.

"Shut up, or I'm gonna kill you!" he whispered hoarsely.

Wide-eyed and numb with fear, she nodded. He took his hand off her mouth. Swiftly, he grabbed a fragment from her torn blouse and stuffed it in her mouth.

Dizzy and too horrified, Betsy was barely aware of his rough hands exploring her body and his knees forcing her legs apart as his weight pressed down on her.

Suddenly, her eyes widened. She stared at her attacker's chest in disbelief.

There, under his coat, glimmering in the moonlight that was flooding the barn through the many cracks in the walls, she could see a US Marshal's badge.
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The big barn was overflowing with color, movement and noise tonight. The crowd was large and varied and it seemed as if all of Dodge City had joined in the celebration.

There were cowboys and ranch hands, homesteaders and farmers alongside businessmen and other towns folk.

The delicious smell of food was in the air and people helped themselves to the bounteous array laid out on long tables inside the barn.

Pretty soon, couples began to form on the bare dirt dance floor as the musicians swung into a spirited waltz. Tables had been set up around the make-shift dance floor to accommodate those tired of dancing or those who'd rather enjoy something to drink while engaging in conversation.

"Come on, Kitty, you wouldn't deny an old man a dance now, would you?"

Smiling warmly, Doc Adams patted the arm of the red-haired young woman seated across from him.

Kitty couldn't help but return his smile. The town doctor always had a way of making her feel better.

Only a few minutes earlier, she had been downright upset; Matt had promised to call for her and walk her to the Sociable, but instead, she had found Doc Adams and Chester Goode, the Marshal's assistant at her door.

Chester had launched immediately into a long explanation as to why Mister Dillon was going to be 'a little late' as he had so nicely put it, and that he and Doc would be glad to 'see her to the Sociable'.

Not wanting to hurt the feelings of her two friends, Kitty had accepted their offer. Now she was sitting here amidst the laughter and music, far removed from enjoying herself.

She cast the doctor a resigned smile.

"Oh, all right."

Kitty figured that she might as well try and enjoy herself-especially since the dress she wore had been made just for this occasion.

Satisfied, the physician rose and stepped behind her, holding the chair for her as she stood.

Kitty placed her hand in the crook of Doc's proffered elbow and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

With a rather sour expression, Chester watched as Doc led Kitty away. His elbow propped up on the table, he cradled his chin in his right while his left hand was absently playing with his beer mug. He simply couldn't understand why old Doc always seemed to be the one who did all the dancing; after all, he was young and eligible, not that bad looking, and he was the Marshal's assistant.

Chester let his eyes wander over the crowd, hoping that maybe one of Kitty's girls would come over and ask him for a dance.

His musings were suddenly interrupted when his eyes were drawn to the tall man that had just entered the barn.

He was tall indeed; towering over most people, Matt Dillon's eyes were searching the crowd.

Right away, Chester's arm shot up. He waved wildly at the Marshal.

"Oh, Mister Dillon, over here!"

Matt suppressed a smile and began to thread his way through the crowd.

"Hello, Chester," he said when he reached the table moments later. He pulled up a chair squeezed himself into it, struggling to fit his long legs under the small table.

"Say," he then wondered when he realized that two of his friends were missing, "where's Kitty?"

The question obviously struck a wrong chord with Chester. He jerked his head towards the dance floor.

"Well," he grumbled sullenly. "She's over yonder, a-dancin' with Doc."

Matt turned to look over his shoulder in the direction Chester was nodding.

There she was indeed, and she looked absolutely stunning, he thought. His eyes lingered on her new dark-green dress which molded itself tightly around her full figure and his heart began to beat faster. Suddenly realizing that he was staring, he cleared his throat and shifted his attention back to his assistant.

"What's the matter, Chester?" he teased with a grin, already knowing good and well what was bothering his friend. "If you wanna dance, why don't you just ask Rosie over there?"

He tipped his head towards a rather voluptuous young woman who was sitting by herself on a chair in a corner by the food tables. She was contentedly munching on a corn cob, watching the dancing couples.

Chester graced the Marshal with a rather insulted look.

"Oh, Mister Dillon, you had to bring her up now, did you?"

He certainly didn't need any help remembering. The last time the Marshal had fixed him up with Rosie Hendon, the tops of his feet had been sore for over a week.

Chester was about to launch into a long tirade when he was cut short by the arrival of Doc and Kitty. The music had stopped and the physician was leading her back to their table.

Matt half rose from his chair to greet them. He inclined his head at both of them, but his smile was only for her.

"Kitty, Doc."

Doc nodded as he held Kitty's chair while she seated herself.

"Evenin', Matt," he said.

Kitty began to smooth out her dress. Her eyes brushed the Marshal's.

"I'm glad you decided to join us after all," she remarked dryly.

Her tone caused a slight wrinkle to appear between Matt's eyes. He quickly decided that it was probably smarter to ignore it.

"Well, didn't Chester tell you that I had to wait for Sheriff Wilkerson to pick up Bates?" he said instead.

When Kitty remained silent, he added, now feeling slightly annoyed, "I have a job to do, you know."

Kitty's raised a brow, about to make a retort, when she noticed the rumpled state of his clothing.

His new shirt was stained with dirt and something else that could easily be mistaken for blood. His string tie, even though he had obviously made attempts at straightening it, looked anything but straight. To top it off, there was straw clinging to his good coat.

"Good heavens, Matt, what did you do to yourself?"

Frowning, she reached out and began to pick the straw off his coat.

Right away, Chester began to do the same, but he quickly abandoned his attempts when the Marshal glared at him rather crossly.

"Well, goodness...jus' tryin' to be neighborly," the young man muttered offended.
"You don't have to be so uppity about it."

Ignoring Chester, Matt turned to Kitty instead. He already had a feeling that it probably wouldn't do any good, but he tried to explain anyway.

"Ross Yarker and some fella were fightin' over at Moss Grimmick's," he said, "I don't even know what got it all started. They were too drunk to remember. But I tell you...they gave me a heck of a time, when I tried to separate 'em."

In an effort to appease her, he ran his hands over the front his shirt-only to find that the stains were now spreading. Matt remembered that Kitty had bought him the shirt. He cast her a guilty look.

To her credit, she didn't say a word. Instead, she simply arched her eyebrows and then pushed her chair back.

"Well," she sighed. "There's only one thing to do."

She rose and gave Matt a resigned smile.

"Come on cowboy, let's go and clean you up."

Glad, that she wasn't upset anymore, the Marshal happily complied. He quickly scrambled to his feet and followed her through the crowd towards the back of the barn. Maybe the evening was going to turn out all right for him after all.

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The gay noises and music coming from the barn carried far out into the streets of Dodge. The night was warm and clear and the moon was shining brightly down onto the yard.

Matt was leaning against a barrel behind the barn. His arms folded in front of his chest, he watched idly as Kitty wet a handkerchief at the pump.

Neither one of them was aware of the figure standing in the shadows of the building, watching them intently.

Kitty turned towards the Marshal.

"Well, let's see what we can do about this," she said resolutely.

Matt raised his arms off his chest to allow her access to his shirt. He watched as she began to determinedly rub the stains with her handkerchief.

Her expression quickly turned into a frown when she realized that she wasn't very successful. Too engrossed in her endeavor of cleaning his shirt, she hadn't realized that Matt had stolen his right hand around her waist.

Playfully, he began to run the fingers of his left along the low neckline of her dress.

"I like the new dress," he murmured huskily.

Kitty looked up at him.

His blue eyes were twinkling as he was smiling down at her.

Her face began to soften. Stains and straw momentarily forgotten, she gently wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his face down to hers to place a quick kiss on his lips.

"You sure are a piece of work, Matt, you know?"

He flashed her a sheepish grin and returned the favor by lowering his face to hers to kiss her properly.

When they broke apart moments later, Kitty held him at arms length and regarded his, now not only dirty, but also wet, shirt.

She shook her head and a sly smile began to play on her lips.

"I don't know if I want to show myself in there with you lookin' like that..."

Right away, the corners of Matt's mouth curled into a devilish smile. His eyes twinkled mischievously as he slipped his hands around her waist again, pulling her into his embrace.

"Hmmm...does that mean you don't wanna stay? I could walk you home, if you like..."

Kitty was about to reply, when all the sudden, a figure came rushing towards them from the street.

Quickly, they broke apart.

The young man was shouting excitedly, and Matt recognized him at once as Reuben Tanner's boy, Nate.

"Marshal, Marshal," he panted when he reached the two. "Pa wants you to come over quickly! They're at Doc's place, but Doc ain't there...hurry!"

The boy bent forward, hands on his knees, trying to regain his breath.

Matt put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder.

"What's the matter, Nate?"

Nate lifted his gaze, still panting.

"It's Betsy, Marshal...someone done hurt her bad!"

Matt turned to Kitty.

"Kitty, go get Doc and Chester."

With a nod, she hurried off towards the barn.

Moments later, the Marshal was on his way over to the doctor's office, accompanied by the physician himself, Kitty and Chester.

As they came up Front Street, they could already see Reuben Tanner's buckboard wagon parked at the bottom of the stairs.

The farmer came rushing towards them.

"It''s Betsy, Marshal...she's in there...found her in the barn, I did!" He pointed towards his wagon.

Matt looked over the man's shoulder into the wagon bed. The unconscious young woman was wrapped up in a blanket. As he walked closer, he could see bruises on her face. His jaw tightened.

Reuben Tanner grabbed hold of the doctor's arm.

"Please, you gotta do something, Doc," he pleaded anxiously.

The doctor nodded. He stepped up to the wagon and quickly glanced the young woman over. His expression was serious. He turned towards the Marshal.

"We have to get her up to my office, Matt."

With ease, Matt reached into the buckboard and gently scooped her into his arms.

By the time he was carrying her up the stairs, a small crowd had already gathered, curious to see what was going on.

Doc unlocked his office door and stepped aside for Matt.

Carefully, the Marshal placed her on the exam table while Doc busied himself with lighting the hurricane lamp and gathering his supplies.

Soon, they were joined by Chester and Kitty, along with Mr. Tanner and his son.

A tense silence had fallen over the room. All eyes were watching the doctor as he began to assess Betsy Tanner's injuries.

It seemed to take forever. At last, Reuben Tanner said out loud what everyone else was thinking.

"She's gonna be all right, Doc, ain't she?"

The physician didn't answer right away. Instead, he slowly removed the stethoscope from his ears and turned. He ran a thoughtful hand through his scruffy mustache.

"I can't find any obvious injuries, aside from a couple of bruises. But, by golly, that still leaves the fact that..."

He paused and drew a deep breath, rubbing his neck.

Matt took off his hat and stepped up to the doctor's side.

"What's the matter, Doc?"

Clearly flustered, the physician took off his spectacles. He folded them slowly and pushed them down into his vest pocket. His gaze fixed thoughtfully on Betsy Tanner.

"Matt, it seems like someone forced himself on her."

The Marshal frowned, not immediately understanding.

"Forced himself..." he started to repeat, but then fell silent as comprehension began to dawn on his face. Unsure of what to say, he exhaled loudly instead, running a hand through his hair.

Kitty bit down on her lower lip. She clutched Matt's arm, rather shaken by Doc's words.

"Oh, no," she whispered softly.

Reuben Tanner shook his head in disbelief.

"Are you sayin' ...you mean someone..." But he, too fell silent, unable to finish his words. The thought was just too terrible. His fists clenched in helpless anger, he shook his head. "I'm gonna kill that bastard!"

Right away, Matt placed a calming hand on the other's shoulder.

"Now wait a minute, Tanner. It'd be good, if we knew who we're lookin' for first."

As much as Matt understood Tanner's anguish, he couldn't allow him to just go out hunting for the perpetrator, maybe even gunning someone down in the process.

The farmer regarded the Marshal with fierce eyes.

"All right, you find him then, Marshal. You find that bastard and then leave the rest to me!"

Matt was about to tell Tanner that this wasn't the way the law worked, when Betsy all the sudden began to stir.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. She jolted as she became aware of her surroundings.

In an instant, Doc was at her side. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Now you just take it easy there. You're safe, Betsy...everything's gonna be all right."

For one, long moment, she continued to stare at the doctor from panic-stricken eyes. Slowly, the fear began to recede as she realized where she was. She relaxed back onto the pillow.

Matt took a deep breath and stepped closer. His hands were nervously twisting the hat they were holding.

"Betsy," he began gently, "can you tell us who did this to you?"

Betsy turned towards the Marshal. Her gaze fixed on the lawman's chest.
Suddenly, her eyes went wide. She began to scream.

Completely taken by surprise, Matt quickly retreated several steps. He looked down at himself and then back to Betsy, trying to understand what had upset her so.

Doc and Kitty tried their best to calm the young woman down, but it was to no avail; she was completely frantic now.

Kitty gently, but firmly put her arms around Betsy's shoulders and talked to her soothingly while Doc hurried off to prepare some Laudanum to sedate her.

But Betsy wouldn't have any of it. Crying hysterically, she pointed at the Marshal.

"It was HIM," she sobbed, "he done it...I-I remember THIS!"

Her finger shot out and pointed straight at his badge.

Matt stared at her in disbelief, for a moment too shocked to even think.

He was faintly aware that everyone in the room now seemed to be staring at him.

At a total loss for words, he regarded the crying young woman in stunned silence.

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The mood at the Marshal's office was extremely subdued. Chester was busying himself quietly at the stove, dividing his attention between brewing a pot of coffee and heating some beans.

Matt was leaning against the wall, silently staring out through the window into the empty street. He was still trying to understand what possibly could have moved Betsy Tanner to accuse him of the assault. He was unable to come up with an answer. He was pulled from his thoughts when the door to the office was opened and Kitty, followed closely by Doc Adams, entered.

Matt turned from the window.

"How is she?" he wondered quietly.

The physician pushed his hat back.

"Well, I finally got her to calm down. She's sleepin' now. Tanner and his lad are with her."

Matt nodded.

"Hmm...that's good."

Doc shuffled over to window where Matt was standing. He scratched his head.

"Now, why, in thunder, you s'pose she'd say a thing like that?" he wondered.

Matt simply shrugged. He had been asking himself the same question for the last hour or so. "I don't know, Doc," he said quietly at last.

Doc inclined his head towards the Marshal's chest where the shiny badge was contrasting sharply with his stained dress shirt.

"She sure's convinced her attacker wore a badge like yours."

Matt sighed heavily.

"Yeah, I know that."

The whole thing was starting to make less sense by the minute. It had taken him a long time to convince Tanner that he had nothing to do with the assault. But even now, he doubted that the farmer had really believed him.

Chester looked up from the stove.

"Ya know," he said thoughtfully as he stopped stirring his beans for a moment. "There just aren't too many folks aroun' Dodge, a-wearin' a badge like Mr. Dillon's."

Right away, Doc bristled.

"Oh, good heaven's Chester," he snapped. "Who asked you anyways? Why don't you just shut up an' go on back to makin' that dishwater of yours." He waved an irritated hand towards the stove, prompting the young man to shoot him a hostile glare.

But as much as Doc didn't want to admit it; Chester had made a good point. He was thoroughly convinced that Matt had nothing to do with this, but if truth be told, there was only one person in Dodge wearing a US Marshal's badge. This simple fact alone could be enough for some people to point their fingers.

Matt tore his gaze away from the window. He turned towards his friends.

"Well, I'm gonna go up to Tanner's barn and see if I can't find anythin'." He had the overwhelming urge to do something, even if it meant searching the barn in the middle of the night for any clues. He tugged his string tie loose and stalked over to the gun rack. When he passed Kitty, their gazes locked. Matt could read the worry in her eyes.

She reached out and picked another piece of straw from the sleeve of his jacket. For a moment, she regarded it thoughtfully before dropping it to the ground.

"Matt, I'm sure, there's an explanation for this." She tried casting him an encouraging smile, but Matt's face remained grim.

"Yeah, and I aim to find it before the whole town gets the wrong idea."

He pulled a rifle from the rack and reached over the desktop to retrieve a box of cartridges from the drawer.

"Come on, I'll walk you home, Kitty."

He placed his hand on her elbow, but Kitty shook her head.

"No, it's all right, Matt. I promised Doc I'd give him a hand with Betsy."

Their eyes met for a moment, but even though she was smiling, he thought that he sensed that something wasn't quite right. He let go of her elbow.

"All right, I see you later then," he muttered and then turned to his assistant.

"You comin', Chester?"

Chester cast a longing glance at his beans and then grabbed his Winchester. He looked at Doc.

"You can go ahead an' have 'em beans if you want 'em. They're gonna be ruined time I get back anyhow."

The expression on the physician's face was less than enthusiastic, but he refrained from commenting. Instead, he simply nodded.

Matt inclined his head at his friends from inside the open door.

"Well, so long, Doc. Kitty." He did not wait for a reply, pulling the door shut with a loud thud instead.

Doc regarded Kitty thoughtfully for a moment.

"By golly, if I didn't know any better, I'd say someone's tryin' to set Matt up."

Kitty exchanged a worried glance with him. She chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating the doctor's words.

"I know," she said at last. "The question just is...who and why?"

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The next day came early for the Marshal. The sun had just risen on the horizon, flooding the jail with its bright light. Matt found that he was unable to sleep any longer. Arms crossed behind his head, he continued to lie on his cot, listening to the lively chatter of the birds outside and Chester's even snoring.

His thoughts turned to Kitty.

Over the last five years he had spent most of his nights sharing her bed. Not so last night.

He still wasn't exactly sure why, but something had made him want to stay away for the first time. Maybe it had been the way she had looked at him yesterday before he had left for Tanner's barn. Matt was almost certain that he had seen a faint flicker of doubt in her eyes. It had downright scared him.

His mind wandered back to last night. After returning from an unsuccessful search, he had ended up walking Front Street, unable to sleep. It wasn't before long and he had found himself in front of the Long Branch. Almost on their own accord, his eyes had turned up to her window. The faint glow of her lamp had told him that she was still awake. He had known that she was probably waiting for him, but yet he couldn't muster up the courage to go and see her. Maybe he had been afraid that she would ask him, make him tell her that he had nothing to do with what happened to Betsy Tanner. No, he had decided, Kitty should know him well enough by now; if she even had to ask...

He had lifted his gaze to the window again and had seen that she had finally blown out her light. At that moment, Matt had felt lonelier than he had in a long time. Slowly, he had strolled back towards the Marshal's office. He had just passed the Dodge House when he had caught something moving out of the corner of his eye. There, in the shadow of the overhang, leaning against one of the posts, he could make out the profile of a man. He was quite tall and didn't look familiar to Matt. The man had bend his head to light a cigarette then waved out the match, tossing it to the ground. Then he had looked up. Even though it had been dark, Matt had felt the stranger's eyes on him. For a moment, he had lingered, but since there was no law in Dodge against staring, Matt had soon continued his walk.

He tossed himself around on his rickety cot as if trying to chase away his thoughts. But then his mind drifted back to Betsy Tanner. Matt figured that he might as well get up. He extricated himself from his blanket and sat on the edge of the cot. With a yawn, he stretched and then clambered to his feet. Grabbing a towel from the nearest chair, he trudged over to the washbasin.

For a moment, he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. A set of tired blue eyes, peeking out from underneath a shock of untidy dark curls, stared back at him. He frowned and ran a hand over his unruly hair in an attempt to smooth it down. He wasn't very successful. Matt made himself a mental note that it was time for a haircut.

After splashing a couple of handfuls of cold water into his face, he felt a little better. Now he was ready for a good cup of coffee. Matt glanced over to where Chester was still sleeping. He couldn't help but notice that his assistant's snoring had considerably increased in volume.

A mischievous grin twitched the corners of his mouth. He pulled the towel off his shoulder, took aim and threw it.

"Mornin', Chester," he declared loudly.

Startled, the young man jumped, frantically grabbing at the towel that had landed on his face. It took a second or two, but when he realized what had happened, he cast the Marshal a rather sour look.

"Forevermore, Mr. Dillon, did you hafta do that? I was just a-havin' me such a nice dream." He yawned loudly and then proceeded to rub the sleep from his eyes.

Matt finished buttoning up his shirt.

"Well, you can dream on the way over to Tanner's barn. I aim to have me another look around over there."

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By the time the Marshal and Chester returned from the barn, it was mid-morning. Despite the help of the daylight, they hadn't been able to find any more clues as to who could be responsible for the assault. The two men were just coming up Front Street when Doc Adams crossed their path. He nodded curtly.

"Mornin', Matt, Chester."

For a moment, his eyes studied the lawman intently. A slight frown appeared on his face.

"Say, you don't look so good, Matt. Ev'rything all right?"

Matt shrugged dismissively, not feeling much like elaborating.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Say, Doc, how's Betsy?"

The doctor tugged at his earlobe.

"Well, she's back with her folks," he said. "I saw no reason for keepin' her any longer."

The Marshal nodded pleased.

"Well, that's good."

Doc pulled out his watch and studied it for a moment. He looked up at Matt.

"Hmm...say, you're hungry?"

Matt pushed his hat back and folded his arms in front of his chest. Food was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

"Can't say that I am. But I'm sure Chester here could do with a bite."

Right away, the young man nodded agreeably, and with the physician in the middle, the three headed up the street towards Delmonico's.

They were just about to enter the restaurant when the Marshal noticed a man standing on the other side of the street. He realized immediately that it was the same man he had seen last night.

Matt stopped to take a closer look at him.

The stranger was very tall indeed. He was clad in dark clothing. He wore a black, flat-brimmed hat, the type that river boat gamblers often wore. His gun holster was resting low on his hips-proof, that he probably knew how to handle his gun.

Matt's first impression wasn't a good one. This man was up to something, he could almost sense it.

Chester came to a halt alongside the Marshal. He cast a quick glance at the stranger and then turned to Matt.

"Do you know that there fella, Mr. Dillon?"

Matt shook his head slightly.

"No. No, but I know his kind." He spoke thoughtfully, his own gaze lingering on the stranger. "He's trouble, Chester, mark my words."

If the man knew that he was being watched, he didn't give any indication. Slowly, he began to stroll down the boardwalk and had soon disappeared from view.

There was no sense in going after him, Matt figured. After all, he hadn't done anything wrong yet. Or had he?

He turned and nudged Chester towards the door to join Doc, who had already seated himself at their usual table.

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Their breakfast passed uneventfully. They discussed the events of the previous night, trying to come up with an explanation for the badge that the assailant supposedly had worn.

Just as they were about to leave, the door to the restaurant burst open and Reuben Tanner came storming in. His hands were clutching a shotgun.

Before Matt could do anything about it, Tanner had raised the gun and pointed it squarely at his chest.

Immediately, everyone froze. All conversation seized as the patrons were staring fearfully at the gun-wielding farmer.

Tanner's voice was raw with barely restrained anger.

"I shoulda blown your head off yesterday, Marshal!"

Matt tensed imperceptibly. Slowly, he raised his hands so as not to provoke the crazed man any further.

Doc and Chester stood frozen on either side of the Marshal, their eyes glued to the farmer.

"Put that rifle down, Tanner." Matt spoke calmly, but the other simply glared at him.

"Come on...I said put it down," he repeated, his voice more urgent now.

But the farmer was barely listening. He was breathing heavily, his dark eyes burning with hatred.

"Shut up, Marshal! Ev'ryone knows you done it. That fella outside figures you done it, too. Think 'cause you're a lawman, you can get away with anythin'!"

Matt's eyes narrowed. His body tightened like a coil as he tried to anticipate the other's next move.

"You touch that trigger, I'm gonna shoot you," he warned.

He knew that Reuben Tanner was no killer. Matt had no intentions of shooting him if he could help it. But he couldn't simply ignore the danger the man currently posed either.

Carefully, Matt began to lower his hands a little, his eyes intently fixed on Tanner's.
He had to keep him from using that shotgun. A shot fired in such a close space would most likely injure more than one person.

He was faced with the dilemma of potentially shooting a man that, as far as he was concerned, had never been in trouble with the law up until now.

For a moment, the two men simply stared at each other.

Suddenly, Tanner's eyes widened. In a flash, Matt's right hand went for his colt.

He lurched sideways, taking a shot before the shotgun in Tanner's hands went off.

The Marshal's well-aimed bullet struck the farmer's wrist. He staggered backwards into the door behind him. As he did, he lost his aim and the shotgun sprayed its projectiles harmlessly into the ceiling of the restaurant.

In an instant, Matt was on top of him. He wrestled the gun from his grasp and threw it aside.

A far cry from the raging madman that he had been only a moment ago, the farmer was now sitting on the floor, moaning and clutching his bleeding wrist.

Matt bent down to retrieve his hat. Then he took hold of Tanner's arm. Effortlessly, he pulled the man up.

"All right, Tanner...come on, on your feet."

Then he turned to his assistant.

"Get his gun, Chester," he said with a nod at the shotgun.

Chester shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, I ain't never seen such thing... jus' plump crazy." He bent to retrieve the weapon from the floor.

The patrons had begun to relax again and resumed their conversations when they realized that the Marshal had the situation under control. Talking loudly among themselves, some were now stealing quick glances at him, recalling to each other the events of the previous night. The expressions on some of the faces weren't exactly those of relief; on the contrary, there was suspicion on quite a few of them.

Matt was well aware of it. Grimly, he slapped on his Stetson and turned towards the physician.

"You comin', Doc?"

The doctor nodded. He grabbed his black leather bag and shuffled along after the Marshal.

Neither one of them paid any attention to the elegantly dressed woman who was standing on the boardwalk, regarding them with a strange, satisfied look in her eyes.
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A short while later, Reuben Tanner was sitting at the table in the Marshal's office, watching in sullen silence as Doc was bandaging his wounded hand. The doctor was relieved to find that the bullet had simply grazed his wrist, leaving no more than a flesh wound.

Matt was leaning against his desk, arms folded in front of his chest.

"I want you to tell me about that fella from the street, Tanner." Matt had a suspicion that it might have been the dark-clad stranger he had seen earlier.

Tanner's gaze remained stubbornly fixed on his injured arm. When he spoke, his tone was more than just a little resentful.

"I ain't got nothin' to say to you, Marshal!"

Matt took a deep breath. His frustration was more than just a little evident. He pushed himself off the desk and crossed over to where Tanner was sitting. Putting his hands on the table, he bend down to face the farmer.

"I s'pose, it wouldn't do any good if I told you again, I had nothin' to do with what happened to Betsy."

Tanner looked up. His eyes met the Marshal's gaze. Then he turned his head sideways and spat on the floor.

"Well, fer goodness sakes!" Chester frowned. "What'd ya do that for, anyways?"

Matt pressed his lips together and drew himself up. He realized that he wasn't getting anywhere with Tanner at the moment.

"Chester, I want you to lock him up. I have a feelin', I might know who this fella is and I'm fixin' to have me a talk with him."

He grabbed his Stetson from its peg and turned.

"I see you later, Doc."

With that, he slipped out the door.
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Matt didn't have to go very far; as soon as he approached the Dodge House, he saw him.

The tall man was perched on a chair on the plank boardwalk, watching the Marshal cross the street.

When Matt had almost reached him, the man stood up. His shoulder casually hitched against a post beam, he shoved his right hand into his pant pocket. As he did so, he pushed his coat back to expose his revolver. His gaze was fixed on the lawman, eyeing him with deliberate indifference.

Matt nodded, quickly sizing the other up. Now that he was able to get a closer look at him, he liked even less what he saw. The man's eyes were hard and deadly, and the deep lines on either side of his mouth gave him a distinct cruel look.

"Howdy, there," he said by way of greeting.

The stranger didn't bother with formalities.

"Somethin' I can do for you, Marshal?" he drawled lazily as he looked the lawman up and down.

Right away, Matt tensed. He didn't like the man's tone, much less the way he looked at him. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"That depends. You got business here in Dodge, mister?"

The other didn't immediately reply. With slow, deliberate movement, he pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket and stuck it between his lips.

"My business is my own. And the name's Kincaid, Ross Kincaid." He struck a sulfur match on the post and lit his cigarette. When he looked at the Marshal again, there was a silent challenge in his eyes. "Say, you got somethin' against me, Marshal?"

Matt inhaled deeply. The other's tone was not lost on him. He pulled himself up to his full height and hooked his thumbs into the top of his belt.

"No. No, not yet, Kincaid-unless your business becomes mine."

Kincaid took a deep draw from his cigarette and then blew a small cloud of smoke into the air.

"Well, then I'll have to make sure that won't happen," he replied, his voice mockingly soft.

Matt frowned at the man's insolence. "You do that," he said. Without another word, he turned and walked away, Kincaid' contemptuous chuckle ringing in his ears.

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Even though Matt knew that the Long Branch wasn't open for business yet, he still headed straight towards it.

It was almost noon by now, and he figured, Kitty would be getting the saloon ready for the afternoon crowd.

He paused just outside the batwing doors, quickly letting his gaze sweep over the bar room. Sure enough, there she was, standing at the counter, going through her ledger. Most importantly, she was alone. He pushed the swinging doors aside and entered.

Kitty looked up when she saw him approach.

Matt stepped alongside up alongside her and touched the brim of his Stetson.

"Hello, Kitty."

She gave him a fleeting smile.

"Hi, Matt." With that, she turned her attention back to her books.

Matt raised his brows. This was not quite the reception he had hoped for. The perceived lack of warmth in her tone hurt. He needed her. He needed her to believe him. He also needed her help. Maybe it would be smarter to begin with the help part, he thought to himself. He leaned his elbow onto the counter and faced her. This time, his expression was serious.

"Kitty, I need you to do somethin' for me," he said. "There's this fella, his name's Ross Kincaid...tall, dark hat, dark clothes. You won't have trouble recognizing him. I need to know who he's talkin' to...what he's up to."

Kitty looked up. She knew Matt well enough to realize immediately that he was serious. She regarded him with uneasy curiosity.

"What's goin' on, Matt? Does this have anything to do with what happened to Betsy?"

Matt shook his head slightly, his frustration evident.

"I'm not sure yet. But I know this fella's up to somethin' an' I aim to find out what it is."

Kitty glanced at him sideways. Her eyes were searching his face. She could always tell when he had had a bad night. Last night had definitely been one them.

Her face softened. Tenderly, she folded her hand over his.

"I will keep an eye out for him. But you better go and get some rest. You look terrible."

Matt cast her a weary smile.

"I'm afraid I won't be gettin' much of that until I find out who did this to Betsy."

He fell silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtfully fixed on her small hand on top of his. He didn't look up when he spoke again.

"Kitty, you know, people are startin' to talk..."

Yes. She was all too aware. A helpless anger welled up inside her as she recalled some of the remarks she had overheard earlier at Mr. Jonas' store. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Matt wasn't capable of hurting Betsy Tanner-or any woman for that matter. It was scary to think that already quite a few people in town seemed to think otherwise.

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

The silence continued as he picked up her hand and regarded it, seemingly lost in thought. "Look," he then said quietly, "you know me better than anybody..." He paused again, unable to find the right words. Then he took a deep breath and lifted his gaze to lock eyes with her. "I didn't do it, Kitty."

All day long, he had seen people stick their heads together and whisper whenever he had crossed their path. He knew exactly what they were talking about-the looks on their faces had spoken for themselves. Deep inside, Matt knew that Kitty believed him, but right now he needed to hear her say it.

Kitty gave him a smile. "You sure don't know a lot about women, cowboy," she said. "But if it helps. I believe you." She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips to back up her words.

Matt cleared his throat. He suddenly felt a little embarrassed by his neediness.

"Thanks, Kitty."

He straightened gave her arm an affectionate pat.

"Well, I better head back to the office. See you later?"

"Later, Matt," she assured him with a warm smile. He was almost through the door when she suddenly called out to him.

"Oh, Matt...about last night...I didn't sleep too good either."

He turned and stared at her for a second; he knew that it was her way of telling him that she had missed him, too. Feeling much better, he flashed her a quick smile before disappearing through the batwing doors.

Little did the Marshal know, that his troubles were just about to get worse.

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The rest of the day passed relatively uneventful. Matt and Chester had been taking turns to shadow Kincaid without much success. The man didn't do anything to indicate any wrongdoing on his part.

After an extended lunch at Delmonico's, he had simply hung around town, watching the ongoings from a chair outside the Dodge House.

Of course, Matt knew that Kincaid was aware of being watched. It somewhat defeated the purpose of doing so, but Matt wanted Kincaid to know that he was keeping an eye on him.

Eventually, the man had strolled over to Moss Grimmick's livery stable. Minutes later he had emerged with a horse. He had mounted up and rode out of town. As far as Matt knew, he hadn't returned yet.

Evening was quickly approaching. The sun had just set beyond the horizon, its weakening rays giving way to the quickly spreading darkness.

Matt rose from the chair behind his desk and reached for his gunbelt.

"Well, time to do the rounds, Chester," he said as he began to strap the holster to his hips.

The Marshal's assistant looked up from the old pot-bellied stove where he was hungrily watching some eggs sizzling in a skillet.

"You reckon' we shoulda went after him, Mr. Dillon?" he wondered, thinking of Ross Kincaid.

The Marshal considered the question for a moment. He wasn't sure whether that's what Kincaid had wanted. "I wish I knew, Chester," he finally replied with a sigh.

He decided to check with Moss Grimmick later and see if Kincaid had returned the horse yet. With that, he grabbed his Stetson and left.

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The night was warm and muggy. The moon was hiding itself behind shreds of black clouds and the summer air was filled with the incessant rasping of crickets.

Alone with his thoughts, Matt slowly strolled down one of the side streets on his way to the livery stable. All the sudden, a muffled scream came out of nowhere.

He froze, trying to determine where it had come from.

As he was listening intently into the darkness, he became aware of a faint rustle behind him. Matt started to wheel around, his hand flying for the colt at his side, but it was too late.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something coming towards him, hitting him hard on the side of the head.

His surroundings shrank out of focus and quickly dissolved into darkness as he crumpled to the ground.

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The first thing Matt saw when he came around, were the blurry outlines of several people staring down at him.

Confused, he ran a shaky hand across his face. He blinked several times, trying to bring the facess in front of him into focus. He now noticed with slight alarm that most of them were carrying guns and lanterns, staring down at him with solemn expressions.

Thinking that he was having a bad dream, he closed his eyes and shook his head before opening them again. The sharp pain, as he moved his head, was enough to pull him from his stupor. He realized quickly, that he was not dreaming.

Matt propped himself up on his elbows and began to look around.

He found that he was still in the side alley next to the livery stable. Kneeling on the ground a few feet away from him, was Doc Adams.

When Doc noticed that the he was awake, he turned towards him.

"I take it you're all right, Matt?"

It had been more of a statement than a question. Matt was puzzled by the strange, almost cool tone of the physician's voice.

"Doc, what's goin' on here?" he asked.

The physician came shuffling over and dropped down on his knees beside him. He ran a nervous hand through his mustache and, for what seemed a long time, studied the lawman in thoughtful silence. His face was serious when he finally spoke.

"Matt, we got ourselves a problem here."

Matt cast him blank look in response. He didn't understand. He began to look around. At last, he noticed the outline of a figure lying on the ground in the shadow of the livery stable; it was partially shielded from his view by Doc's body.

He tried to get to his feet, but right away, several men stepped forward. They pointed their guns at him and motioned him to sit back down.

This was too much for Matt.

"Would someone mind tellin' me what this is all about?" he growled angrily as he looked up into the familiar faces of Wilbur Jonas and some of the other men that he had come to know as his friends over the years.

But nobody said as much as a word. They simply continued to stare at him in ominous silence.

Matt was beginning to get the feeling that something terrible had happened-something terrible, somehow involving him.

Doc's eyes studied the Marshal's face. He nervously rubbed his neck, hesitating, as if searching for the right words.

"This is bad," he said at last. He swiped at his mustache and then pointed in the direction of the body. "You know who that is over there?"

Matt was beginning to loose what little patience he had left; his head was throbbing wildly, and more than anything he wanted to know what had happened here.

"No, should I?" he growled, not bothering to hide his irritation anymore.

Doc's next words came as a complete shock to him.

"It's Aggie Conlan. She was assaulted and strangled. She's dead, Matt."

Slowly, the Marshal's head turned towards the body, trying to make the connection.

As terrible as this was, it still didn't explain why he was held at gunpoint by men that he considered his friends.

Doc now took hold of the lawman's chin. He tilted it sideways a little so that he could study Matt's cheek.

"You remember how this happened, Matt?"

Matt's hand reached for the side of his face. He winced slightly as his fingers came across what seemed to be several striations. When he withdrew his hand, he found that there was blood on his fingertips. He numbly shook his head. How could this be?

But that wasn't all. Now the physician reached out and tugged at a bandanna that was tied around the Marshal's neck. It wasn't his; he had never before seen it.

Matt closed his eyes. He cradled his aching head in his hands. He felt as if he was slowly loosing his mind. What was happening here?

Doc's voice jostled him from his thoughts.

"This fella named Kincaid says he saw you stranglin' Aggie. He's tellin' everyone down at the Long Branch how he pistol-whipped you to get you off her, but it was too late."

Matt's head snapped up.

"Kincaid?" he whispered, "now wait a minute..." He was slowly beginning to make the connection.

"Doc, listen to me," he began to say, but he was cut off as Bart Anderson stepped between them.

He motioned Matt with his rifle. "On your feet, Marshal."

Matt took a deep breath. He realized, that things didn't look too good for him. The situation had been staged too perfectly to leave any doubt of his guilt. But why? Why was Ross Kincaid doing this?

"Take it easy there, Bart! Can't you see, the Marshal's hurt?" With a scowl, Doc pushed the clerk aside and bent down to help Matt up.

Slowly, aided by his friend, Matt struggled to his feet. He was still feeling dizzy, and for a moment, he tottered unsteadily. Clinging to the physician's shoulder for support, he regained his balance at last. As he let his gaze sweep over the crowd, he noticed that it seemed to be growing bigger by the minute.

Nobody spoke a word. The people were simply staring at him. Their faces were reflecting a mixture of emotions, ranging from disbelief to disappointment, to open hatred. Matt couldn't believe that this was happening to him.

"Doc, we need to talk to you!" Mr. Jonas motioned the physician to come over.

With Bart Anderson's rifle digging annoyingly into his back, Matt watched as the doctor joined the animated conversation that was taking place between a handful of men who had apparently taken charge of the situation. Finally, after what seemed a long time, the physician broke away.

"Matt, I want you to stay calm now." He placed his hand on the Marshal's arm for emphasis. "They wanna take you over to your office an' lock you up." Doc tugged at his earlobe and, not sure what else to say, lapsed into thoughtful silence.

That was the last thing Matt needed to happen. He had to go after Kincaid.

"Look, I know Kincaid set me up," he started to say, but Anderson suddenly prodded him in the back with his gun.

"Let's go, Marshal!"

Right away, Matt stiffened. His fists clenched, it took all he had to stop himself from yanking the gun from the freight clerk's hand.

Immediately, Doc stepped up.

"Now take it easy there, Matt," he said. "By golly, do as they say. We'll get this sorted out."

Matt willed himself to relax. He knew that Doc was right; it wouldn't help matters any if he lost his temper now.

With Anderson's gun prodding him along, he began to walk slowly towards the crowd, the physician at his side.

Just when he thought that things couldn't get any worse, the mob suddenly parted and Kitty emerged. She rushed straight towards him. As she came to a halt a few feet in front of him, her eyes met his.

"What's this all about, Matt?" she asked uneasily, "Kincaid's over at the Long Branch, telling everyone that you..." She suddenly broke off when she noticed the dried blood that had trailed down the side of his face from the blow to his head.

"Matt?"

Unable to think of anything to say, the Marshal chewed on the inside of his cheek and maintained a tense silence.

The look in his eyes outright scared her.

"He killed Aggie Conlan, Miss Kitty," volunteered Anderson eagerly before Doc had a chance to speak up.

The words hit her like a slap. Kitty staggered back. Suddenly, she noticed what her eyes had failed to see earlier; the body lying in the shadows of the livery stable.

She shook her head. "No," she muttered, "this can't be..."

She stared at Anderson for a second, then back at Matt.

As she was taking a closer look at him, she now noticed his disheveled appearance. His shirt was untucked and torn down the front, hanging half-way off his shoulder as if he had been in a scuffle, and for some reason his belt was unbuckled. Her heart almost skipped a beat when she saw the bloody striations on his cheek. There was little doubt as to what they were.

Kitty stood trembling as she gazed into his eyes, hoping to find an answer there. But Matt, still at a loss for words, remained silent.

"No," she finally said. Her voice was no more than a broken whisper now. "Matt?"

He felt a tight knot forming inside his stomach, and tried to say something, but before he could, Bart nudged him impatiently with the gun.

"Come on, get movin'. I'm sure you know the way, Marshal."

Matt swallowed hard and began to walk again, parting the crowd as he passed through.

He could feel the eyes of the mob burning on him as they began to whisper to each other.

Numbly, Kitty stared after him, barely aware of Doc's comforting hand on her arm.

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Chester had already been made aware of the crowd moving towards the Marshal's office before he could even see them.

Louie Pheeters had come stumbling into the jail a few minutes ago, muttering something about the Marshal being in trouble. Even though Louie was drunk-as he almost always was at this time of night-Chester had known him long enough to realize that he wasn't simply making something up.

Not quite sure what to do, he had grabbed the shotgun off the wall rack and positioned himself on the small front porch of the jail.

He was watching with uncertainty as the mob came up Front Street.

It truly was a strange procession. Apparently, half the town had joined in, many of them carrying torches and rifles. The flames were throwing ghostly shadows onto the buildings as they passed by. It only added to the strangeness of the situation.

As they came closer, he could make out the tall figure of the Marshal walking at the front.

For a short moment, Chester thought that Louie had been wrong; but as he was about to walk up to him, he noticed Bart Anderson following behind, his gun pointed straight at the Marshal's back.

Chester found himself tightening his grip on the shotgun.

"Well, for goodness sakes," he muttered to himself.

The crowd now came to a stop a few feet from him. Chester could clearly see the Marshal's grim face in the flickering light of the torches. He noticed the trail of dried blood crusted to the lawman's face, the disheveled state of his clothing.

"Mr. Dillon?" he inquired hesitantly.

Matt gave him an assuring nod.

"It's all right. Take it easy, Chester," he said. "I want you to put that gun down."

The last thing he wanted to happen, was more blood being shed. Besides, he knew that Chester wouldn't stand a chance against half of Dodge.

"But, Mr. Dillon..." Chester began to protest. His questioning eyes shifted to Doc Adams who was standing beside the Marshal.

Doc nodded.

"Go on, do as Matt says."

There was something in the physician's voice that told Chester not to question him, and he obliged.

Slowly, the muzzle of his rifle dipped towards the ground, but his eyes continued to wander anxiously over the crowd.

Anderson prodded the Marshal along towards the jail and immediately, the mob pushed forward, trying to follow.

Right away, Doc stepped up onto the boardwalk. He raised his hands.

"Now you listen to me. All of you!" he shouted above their murmuring. "You all know that Matt Dillon's brought the law with him when he came to Dodge six years ago. Most of you won't need any help rememberin' how things used to be." He paused, rubbed his neck and then went on. "Now I know how bad this might look to most of you. But let me tell you...things aren't always the way they appear."

The people began to murmur louder now and Doc raised his voice. "The law's the same for everybody-Marshal or not. We're fixin' to telegraph the Sheriff in Hays and we're gonna get this straightened out. But, by golly, I'm not about to let you take the law into your own hands!"

When he had finished, he pursed his lips and cast an uneasy look at the crowd. Everyone seemed to be talking at the same time now.

Doc turned to the Marshal's assistant. "Any of them try somethin'...you shoot them, Chester!" he growled before he disappeared into the office.

Chester nodded. He was still bewildered by all of this, but his face was set in determination. He raised the gun again and did not relax his defensive pose, his eyes firmly fixed on the crowd.

When Doc Adams stepped inside the office, he saw that Anderson had already put Matt into the jail cell next to Reuben Tanner. He shuffled over, about to enter the cell when the freight clerk grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him.

"Wait, what do you think you're doin', Doc?"

Angrily, Doc brushed the hand off and glared at him, his bushy eyebrows knitted into a frown.

"Why, get your hands off me!" he snapped. "I'm fixin' to take a look at Matt's head and don't you try to stop me!" Without waiting for a response, he yanked the door open and marched into the cell.

Not wanting to make an enemy of the doctor who had helped his family on many occasions over the years, Anderson stepped aside. "All right," he muttered in an attempt to save face, "but I'll be havin' an eye on you."

"Yeah, yeah," Doc waved him off and dropped his little black bag onto the cot. He turned to Matt who was sitting in silence, his elbows propped up on his thighs, cradling his head in his hands.

"Well, now, let's take a look here," he said.

Matt jerked away when Doc's fingers tried to examine the blood-encrusted gash above his temple.

"Never mind about that," he muttered crossly.

"For heaven's sakes, will you stop that?" Doc grabbed hold of Matt's head with both hands. "How, in thunder, am I s'posed to get a good look with you fidgetin' about like that? Now hold still!"

Matt exhaled loudly, about to retort when he was interrupted by Reuben Tanner. The farmer had grabbed the cell bars with both hands and pressed his face against them.

"How does it feel, Marshal, a-sittin' in your own jail? I knewd all along you done it. Too bad they didn't do away with you...Now I'm gonna..."

He didn't get any further. Suddenly, Doc Adams wheeled around.

"Let me tell you somethin', Tanner..." He waved an angry finger at the farmer, took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and then faltered. "Oh, why don't you jus' shut up?" He shook his head in disgust. Without paying the farmer any more mind, he shifted his attention back to the Marshal.

He pulled his spectacles from his vest pocket and put them on. His voice was low when he addressed the Marshal this time.

"You wanna tell me exactly what happened out there?"

Ignoring Tanner's continued ranting, Matt began to explain what had happened as far as he could remember. When he had finished, the physician nodded thoughtfully.

"Matt, you know I believe you. But I'm not sure how we're gonna convince those tinhorn lugheads out there."

He swiped at his mustache and took off his coat. After rolling up his shirt sleeves, he bent down to rummage through his leather bag. When his hands emerged seconds later, they were holding a surgical needle and some sutures.

"Now you just hold still there, so I can stitch you up." He cast Matt a stern look when he saw that he was about to protest.

It didn't take long for Doc's experienced fingers to sew the gash up. Matt's hands were gripping the edge of the bunk tightly. He gritted his teeth when he felt the needle penetrate his scalp. The pain wasn't bad enough though to distract his mind completely.

He knew that he had to get out of here as quickly as possible and find Kincaid; it was the only way he could prove his innocence.

Kincaid was most likely feeling pretty safe now, knowing that he was in jail, Matt figured.

His face hardened at the thought of what this man had done; first Betsy Tanner and now Aggie Conlan. And why? To frame him?

A sharp pain, as Doc knotted the last suture, jolted him back from his thoughts. He inhaled sharply.

Doc nodded, satisfied with the result of his work. "There. That oughtta do it, Matt."

The Marshal raised his head. His eyes captured the physician's.

"Doc," he whispered urgently, "you know, I can't stay in here."

The doctor studied his friend for one long moment.

"I know." He reached for his bag and then cast the Marshal a meaningful look. "I'll see what I can do, Matt."

With that, he stepped from the cell. Immediately, Bart Anderson shouldered his way past him and slammed the door shut.

The scratching sound of the key as it turned in the lock sent a chill down Matt's spine. He had heard the sound hundreds of times before, but it sounded different when you were on the other side of the door.

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The crowd outside the Marshal's office was slowly thinning out as people were beginning to consider Doc Adams' words. Most of them had known the Marshal as unwavering in his sense for justice, and they began to have serious doubts as to his guilt. Pretty soon, there were only a few remaining. Chester noticed one in particular. A young, red-headed woman was now coming straight towards him. But before she reached the boardwalk, two men suddenly stepped in front of her.

"Sorry, Miss Kitty," one of them said. "But we can't let you go in there."

For one brief moment, she stared at the man in surprise. Then her face darkened.

"You just try and stop me," she hissed icily. Resolutely, she pushed him aside and was about to walk on, when he grabbed her arm.

But before he could say anything, Chester had pushed his way between them, forcing the man to let go. "Well, now that ain't no way to treat a lady! Let go of Miss Kitty!"

For a moment, the cowboy sized Chester up. Then he simply shrugged and stepped aside.

"Well, have it your way then, Goode," he muttered and walked away.

Kitty brushed off her sleeve. Her face, still tight with anger, began to soften a little.

"Is he inside, Chester?"

Chester nodded. "Why, yes, Miss Kitty." He looked troubled. " I sure wished I knew what's goin'on an' all. They been a-treatin' poor Mr. Dillon some terrible."

Kitty was furious. As soon as Doc had finished explaining to her what had happened, she remembered some of the things that she had overheard Kincaid say at the Long Branch earlier. Almost immediately, she put two and two together. The fact that she was also ashamed for doubting Matt-even for a moment, didn't exactly help her mood either.

The four men standing guard outside the Marshal's office had witnessed the whole scene, and now respectfully moved aside for her as she advanced on them.

Resolutely, she pushed the door open and stopped on the threshold. Her eyes quickly found what she was looking for. She marched straight over to the cells.

There was a long silence as she beheld the man she loved. He was sitting slumped forward, his forearms resting on his thighs.

Slowly, Matt lifted his head when he became aware of her probing eyes on him.

Their gazes met, and Kitty bit her lip when she saw the pain in his eyes. Her anger-even though it had not been directed at him, dissipated immediately.

For one long moment, neither one of them spoke. It was Matt who finally broke the silence.

"Kitty," he began, "I know how this..."

But she cut him off in mid-sentence. "Kincaid's leaving town tomorrow, Matt," she said. "I overheard him talking to one of my girls. He said his business in Dodge here is done."

Matt rose from his bunk. He stepped up to the bars, wrapping his hands around them.

"I can't let him do that, Kitty."

His eyes quickly shot over to where Bart Anderson was sitting behind the desk-his desk, to be exact, casting them a watchful look every now and then.

He lowered his voice.

"I can get him, Kitty, but I need your help."

Kitty quickly glanced over at Bart and then turned back to Matt. She nodded slightly.

Matt's mind was working feverishly. He had to find a way out of here as quickly as possible; until then it was important that Kincaid didn't leave Dodge.

"Listen to me," he whispered, "you think you can you keep an eye on him?"

"I could try keeping him at the Long Branch," she suggested.

Matt nodded reluctantly, not liking the idea at all. He knew what Kitty would have to do. The thought of her sharing a drink or two with this murderer made him feel sick to his stomach.

His gaze wandered around the office. Chester was busy at the stove making coffee again while Doc was rummaging through his bag.

As if he could feel Matt's eyes on him, the physician now looked up. He tossed him a meaningful glance, then nodded briefly before turning his attention back to his bag.

Matt understood immediately. He turned back to the pretty redhead.

"You know," he said. "For a moment there, I wasn't so sure..." He hesitated, and Kitty finished his sentence. "...whether I'd still believe you?"

She had a bemused smile on her lips. "You still don't know much about women, do you?"

There was a faint twinkle in her eyes, and he found himself giving her a brief smile despite himself.

"Yeah, I guess," he admitted and then quickly added, "but I'm learnin'."

For another moment, Matt regarded her affectionately. Then he turned serious again.

"You better go." he said.

He wasn't sure what Doc was up to, but he knew that he didn't want Kitty around when it happened.

She nodded and gave his hand, which was still wrapped around the cell bars, a tender pat. As she was about to turn, his voice suddenly stopped her.

"Kitty, it's gonna be all right."

She smiled. "I know, cowboy."

With mixed emotions, Matt watched her leave.

Across the room, Bart Anderson rose to his feet and stretched himself. "How's that coffee comin' along, Chester? I sure could use some."

"Comin' right up, Mr. Anderson," replied Chester cheerfully.

A little too cheerfully, Matt thought to himself. And since when did Doc voluntarily help Chester fill the cups?

Puzzled, he watched as Doc approached the cells, a cup of coffee in his hand. For a second, he thought it was for him. He was about to tell Doc that he didn't want any, but the physician stopped in front of Tanner's cell.

"Go on, Tanner, here you go, have some." He held the cup out through the bars.

The farmer looked from the doctor to the cup and back. He made no attempt at accepting it.

"What's the matter? It ain't poisoned, you know," groused Doc indignantly.

When the farmer still didn't make a move, the doctor began to pull his hand back.

"Well, suit yourself then," he grumbled.

But before he had a chance to do so, Tanner quickly grabbed the cup.

Matt couldn't help but notice the satisfied smile that flashed across Doc's face as Tanner took his first sip. He knew right then that his friend had something up his sleeve.

Doc cast him a brief glance when he passed his cell. "Just a matter of time, Matt," he said with a wink before he shuffled off.

.

.

.

It was almost midnight. Bart Anderson stifled a yawn and stretched. He was too tired to notice the two pairs of eyes, watching him intently.

Doc Adams and Chester were sitting at the old wooden table, engaged in a game of checkers.

Every so often, Doc pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time, his eyes stealing quick glances at Anderson over the rim of his spectacles.

Back in his cell, Matt had taken to pacing the floor. Never before had he considered its small size, but now he was all too aware of it. He cast a look at the man in the cell next to him. Reuben Tanner was sound asleep on his bunk, snoring loudly.

A sudden thud made Matt look up. Anderson had slipped off the chair and was now sprawled out underneath the desk.

Right away, Doc pushed back his chair and clambered to his feet. "By golly, about time."

He shuffled over to where Bart was lying and stooped down next to him.

"Out like a light," he observed satisfied.

He looked up at Chester and nodded towards the cells. "Go on, get Matt outta there."

In a flash, Chester had pulled the keys off the peg and unlocked the cell.

"Some coffee, Doc," said Matt with a grin. He stepped from the cell and reached for his gunbelt.

Doc tugged at his earlobe. There was a minute smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

"Oh, I don't know," he said, "Chester's coffee coulda done just as fine a job without my laudanum."

Chester shot him an insulted look. "Well, now that ain't a nice thing to say, Doc," he complained.

But before Chester could go on, Matt held up a hand to stop the flow of words. "Go check the backdoor for me, will you?" he said.

Chester nodded and immediately scrambled off.

He finished holstering up his gun and tucked his shirt in. He frowned a little when he noticed the big tear down the front of it, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

Doc cleared his throat. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I done all I could. The rest's up to you now, Matt."

The Marshal's face darkened at the thought of Ross Kincaid. Thanks to him, he had lost the trust of his town, one woman was dead and one was injured. And why?

Kincaid had the answer, and Matt was going to make sure he would get it. His jaw tightened, his face taking on a determined expression as he strode over to the backdoor.

"Don't you worry, Doc."

Chester held the door for the Marshal.

"Ain't nobody out there, Mr. Dillon," he said. "I reckon, you still don't want me to come along?"

Matt's hand came to rest on Chester's shoulder.

"No. No, you better stay here." He hesitated for a second and then added, "Thank you, Chester."

He was about to step through the door, when Doc called out to him.

"Oh, Matt...try bein' careful out there, will you?"

The Marshal nodded. "I aim to, Doc."

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.

.
Ross Kincaid was pleased with himself. His plan had worked out exactly as he had hoped it would. All that was left to do now was to collect the remainder of the money due to him upon completion of his assignment. Then he would be able to leave this god-forsaken cattle town. He wasted no thought on his victims. As long as the money was right, he didn't care who he hurt or killed. As long as the money was right, he didn't ask any questions. In no hurry, he strolled along the boardwalk towards the Dodge House.

He was feeling a little lightheaded from all the whiskey and beer. That pretty redhead had certainly tried her best to keep him, buying him drinks and all. He almost regretted that he didn't stay to find out how far she would have been willing to go.

He grinned at the thought. He was very well aware of the fact that she was considered to be the Marshal's woman. Maybe he would pay her a visit tomorrow before leaving town. He was about to step off the boardwalk and cross the deserted street, when he suddenly saw something moving in the shadow of the alley beside the Dodge House.

In an instant, he became completely alert. He pushed his jacket back to allow his hand quick access to his gun as he continued to walk down the boardwalk. When he had passed the Dodge House, he crossed the street. His eyes were fixed on the hotel. He wondered, who could be lying in wait for him there.

The first person that came to his mind, was Dillon's crippled assistant. He gave a derisive snort at the thought; obviously fiercely loyal, but not too bright that young man, he mused. He wouldn't have trouble handling him.

When he had reached the doors to the hotel, he slowed his step. Instead of going inside, he pulled the gun from its holster and began to cautiously approach the alley.

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Matt slipped around the back of the Marshal's office. He knew that he couldn't allow himself to be seen by anybody-at least not yet.

He was relieved to find the night dark and moonless. His thoughts drifted to the man he was after. Knowing that the Long Branch would be closing soon, he figured that the best thing to do, was to wait for Kincaid outside the Dodge House. He began to make his way through the back alleys, carefully avoiding the people that were leaving the saloons and other establishments along Front Street.

Soon, he found himself in the alley next to the hotel. He crouched behind an old buckboard wagon that was sitting alongside the wall. From here, Matt had a good view of the street. All he had to do now was wait.

It wasn't before long and the streets had emptied themselves of the last of the patrons.

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Ross Kincaid stood still. He strained his ears, listening intently into the alley. He thought that it was almost too quiet. He could almost feel the danger ahead.

With his back pressed against the wall of the Dodge House, he slowly began to inch forward. When he had reached the corner of the building, he tightened the grip on his gun. With a few slow breaths to calm the tension that was beginning to build up inside him, he readied himself. Then he jumped from his cover and opened fire into the alley.

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Matt couldn't exactly tell how much time had passed, but he was beginning to feel restless. What if he had been wrong and Kincaid was somewhere else? Still at the Long Branch perhaps? The thought left him with a very bad feeling. He was about to give the matter further thought, when the silence was abruptly broken by the sharp crack of gunfire.

In a flash, Matt threw himself to the ground.

He could feel a bullet whizzing by, barely missing his head by inches.

Realizing that the wagon was hardly adequate cover, he began to retreat as more shots were fired in his direction. He made it around the corner without being hit.

Matt couldn't understand how he had missed Kincaid. It seemed that the man had turned the tables on him.

Carefully, he peered around the corner. As he did, another bullet struck the corner of the building, embedding itself in the wood with a dull thunk.

Matt took a deep, calming breath. His head was throbbing sharply from the earlier blow and the tension. He pressed his lips together as he flattened himself against the building, the colt ready in his hand.

A second later, he wheeled around the corner, firing at the same time.

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.

Kincaid was angry at himself that he had underestimated his opponent. He had realized quickly that it couldn't possibly have been the crippled Marshal's assistant. His opponent was moving too fast.

Whoever it was, he was obviously waiting for him around the back. He aimed one more shot at the corner and then quickly withdrew to the front of the Dodge House.

By now, the commotion in the street had woken up most of the people at the hotel and the surrounding buildings. Lamps were being lit, casting their glow out into the streets and the alley.

Kincaid pushed open the doors and stepped inside. His cold gaze quickly took in the confused throng of people, standing on the stairs and in the lobby. Most of them were wearing their night clothes.

When they saw the gun in his hand, they began to scatter.

A contemptuous laugh escaped Kincaid's lips. He moved to position himself in a corner by the window from where he had a good view of the door.

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.

As Matt stared at the empty boardwalk, he wasn't too surprised to find Kincaid gone. His mind was working feverishly. Kincaid had to be inside, most likely expecting him to come around the front. He saw several people afar off, standing in the street. They were murmuring loudly. Matt figured that they had probably recognized him by now, but that couldn't be helped. He pulled back into the shadow of the alley and looked around. His eyes fell on one of the main floor windows. If Kincaid was in the lobby, the best way of apprehending him would be to catch him off guard.

Matt carefully tried the window. It was unlocked and pushed up easily.

Seconds later, the tall man had squeezed himself through. Matt found himself standing inside the small hotel office. He strained his eyes, trying to penetrate the darkness. There was a desk over to his right, and a little to the left of it, was the door leading into the lobby.

Slowly, his left hand turned the door knob, and the door opened silently. Matt peeked through the crack and saw Kincaid. The gunman had his back turned to him.

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.

Still unaware of the Marshal's presence, Kincaid was leaning casually against the wall by the window, watching the front door. Carelessly, he threw the remains of his cigarette on the ground and stomped it out with the heel of his boot.

Matt let his eyes sweep over the lobby. He was relieved to find that Kincaid was the only one present. He took a deep breath. His muscles tensed as his fingers closed tightly around the grip of his colt. Matt knew that he was taking a chance, but he needed Kincaid alive. Dead, the killer wouldn't do him any good.

With one fluid motion, he kicked the door open, lifted his gun and took aim at the other's back.

"Hold it there, Kincaid!"

Any normal man would have heeded his words, but not so Ross Kincaid. With an agility, that even surprised the Marshal, the man dropped himself to the floor, rolled around and began to shoot into Matt's direction.

In an instant, Matt lurched sideways, but he was too slow. He felt Kincaid's bullet strike his arm, seconds before he was able to pull the trigger himself.

The colt dropped from Matt's hand, landing on the wooden floor with a thud as he staggered backwards into the door. Instinctively, he clutched his left over the throbbing wound. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the sleeve of his shirt quickly turning a crimson hue.

His eyes darted from Kincaid down to his colt, lying only a few feet in front of him. With speed, born from desperation, he lunged himself at it. His fingertips touched the grip, just as the tip of Kincaid's boot connected with the colt, sending it scooting across the floor and out of his reach.

A horrible sinking feeling began to spread through Matt's insides as Kincaid's cold eyes triumphantly stared down at him.

"You shoulda listened and minded your own business, Dillon. Now I'm gonna have to kill you."

His eyes were cruel and deadly-as deadly as the gun that was now pointing straight at Matt's head.

A satisfied grin spread across Kincaid's face. His thumb pulled back the hammer.

Click.

Click. Click. Click.

Slowly, Matt lifted his head.

The expression on Kincaid's face was one of disbelief mingled with rage as he once again pulled the trigger.

Click.

Matt flinched, cold sweat trickling from his brow.

Click.

Kincaid's gun was empty. The realization suddenly hit him, and immediately, Matt seized the opportunity. He sprang to his feet and hurled himself at the other.

Staring at his empty gun in disbelief, Kincaid was caught off guard as the Marshal slammed into him, knocking them both to the ground.

The gunman recovered quickly. His right, still gripping the colt, came smashing down hard onto Matt's shoulder.

With a grunt of pain, the Marshal tumbled off his opponent. Before he had a chance to get back on his feet, the other was suddenly on top of him.

His face contorted with fury, Kincaid swung back, ready to crack Matt's skull open with the now otherwise useless revolver.

In a flash, Matt's hands shot up. They were clamping themselves tightly around Kincaid's forearm, forcing it to a halt, only inches from his face.

Matt groaned with the effort. The warm, slick blood that covered his hand made it difficult for him to hold on.

Kincaid struggled furiously, trying to free his arm, but Matt was beginning to gain the upper hand, steadily pushing the gun further away from his face.

He was breathing hard with the effort, his hands shaking in exertion. With one last desperate effort, he finally succeeded and sent Kincaid's arm crashing down hard onto the wooden floor.

The gun flew from his grasp, and he yelled out in surprise and pain.

Ross Kincaid was a tough man as Matt quickly came to realize. All the sudden, he swung out with his left and landed a powerful blow to the lawman's temple, which left him dazed for a second or two.

It was enough time for Kincaid to surge to his feet and pull a knife from his boot. Breathing raggedly, he wielded the deadly blade in his right, glaring at Matt from vicious eyes.

The Marshal jumped to his feet. His legs spread apart for better balance, he was slightly crouching, a look of intense focus on his face. He was still feeling dizzy from the blow to his head, and the throbbing pain in his injured arm was becoming harder to ignore by the moment.

Slowly, the two men began to circle around each other.

Kincaid lunged at him several times without much success. Every time he did, Matt jumped back, his arms slightly raised, skillfully avoiding the sharp knife.

The gunman was beginning to get tired of the game. Soon, his attacks were getting bolder and faster, driven by pure rage instead of calculated sense.

The next time he charged, the Marshal ducked away and, whirling around, was able to take hold of Kincaid's knife arm.

Immediately, the gunman's left went for Matt's throat, wrapping itself around it tightly.

Matt began to cough. Desperately, he tried to pry Kincaid's fingers away with one hand while trying to keep the knife from getting any closer to his stomach with the other.

Their faces were only inches from each other.

Ross Kincaid's eyes were glinting madly as he put the last of his strength into attempting to drive the blade into Matt's stomach. He was grunting with the effort and saliva was spraying from his lips.

Matt could feel the sharp knife slicing through his shirt. The sensation of the cold blade against his skin send a new surge of strength through his body. He tightened his grip on Kincaid's wrist.

All the sudden, a shot rang out.

Kincaid stiffened. The hand around Matt's neck loosened, and he found himself staring into the other's eyes, now wide with disbelief.

Then Kincaid began to sway slightly. He staggered forward against the Marshal.

The knife slipped from his grasp and landed on the floor with a loud clatter.

Matt tried to hold on, but before he could get a grip on him, the man had slipped through his fingers and crumpled to the floor.

A soft moan escaped Matt's lips. He had wanted Kincaid alive.

As his eyes scanned the room, he saw a man standing near the stairs, clutching a handgun. Matt had not seen him before; he assumed that it was one of the hotel guests.

He shifted his attention back to Kincaid and dropped to his knees beside him. One look into Ross Kincaid's veiled eyes told Matt that he was dying.

"Kincaid. Why?"

The breath was coming in ragged gasps from the outlaw's lips. When he opened his mouth, a fine trickle of blood began to run down the side of it, quickly soaking into his shirt collar.

"Dillon...I-I didn't...didn't get...paid...to kill you...only to... " He swallowed. "...only to make it look...you did it..."

Suddenly, his body went rigid, his eyes opened wide for a second, and then he went limp.

Matt closed his eyes in frustration. He dropped back and took a slow breath before opening them again. As he looked up, he realized that half the town must have tried to make their way into the Dodge House. The lobby was filled with people regarding him and the dead man silently.

Matt looked up when he saw Doc Adams pushed his way through the crowd.

"You're too late, Doc."

The physician could hear the disappointment in his friend's voice. He pushed his hat back and scratched his head.

"Golly, Matt. I'm sorry."

His eyes wandered to the body, sprawled out before him. Something sticking out from Kincaid's coat pocket caught his eye.

He nudged Matt and pointed it out to him.

"Well, I'll be...will you look at that?" he muttered startled when Matt pulled a US Marshal's badge, identical to his own, from the dead man's pocket.

Slowly, Matt lifted it up and regarded it closely.

There was murmuring among the people when they began to realize the significance of the find.

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.

"Come on, I feel all right, Doc," insisted Matt for the umpteenth time as he tried once again to get off the exam table in Doc's office.

But Doc placed a restraining hand on the Marshal's shoulder and pushed him back down.

"Doggone it, Matt...you just stay put there and let ME tell you how you feel!" He harrumphed and then continued to clean the small cut on Matt's stomach that Kincaid's knife had left.

Matt made a face, but decided that it was probably smarter to co-operate. He knew that angering Doc wouldn't get him anywhere; as it was, the physician usually ended up having the last word anyway.

Automatically, his mind turned back to the recent events at the Dodge House.

Even though he and Doc had been able to convince the people that Kincaid had been the one responsible for the attacks, he had a feeling that this matter was far from being over.

He was still upset that he had not managed to take Kincaid alive. The gunman had, however, hinted to him that someone had paid him for making the attacks look as if they were the Marshal's doing.

The office door opened with a creak and Matt looked up. It was Kitty. Her face bore a worried expression as she rushed across the room.

"Chester told me what happened..."

Matt regarded her with a smile. He noticed that even though it was by now well past two in the morning, she still wore her work clothes. He knew at once that she hadn't been to bed.

He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'm all right, Kitty..." He paused to cast the physician a quick glance and then added, "if you wanna believe me...cause Doc over here sure won't."

Doc glared at him. "Don't you be smart with me, Mr. Marshal!"

Matt pushed up on his elbows . He watched as Doc shuffled over to his desk.

"You through with me?" he called after him.

The physician didn't bother turning; he waved his hand dismissively instead.

"Oh, get outta here!"

That's all Matt had wanted to hear. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the cot.

"Well, looks like I'm found fit for duty," he concluded with a grin.

Kitty raised her eyebrows but refrained from reprimanding him. She watched with slight unease as he clambered to his feet, tucked in his shirt and then strapped on his gun belt.

"Something's still not right, Matt, isn't it?"

Matt didn't look up as he continued to fasten the buckle.

"Well, Kincaid's dead, Kitty, but I have a feelin' there's a lot more to this..."

Kitty regarded him curiously.

"What do you mean by that?"

Matt straightened and began to carefully roll the bloody sleeve over his bandaged arm.

"It looks as if someone paid Kincaid to set me up."

Kitty arched a surprised brow.

"Paid him to set you up?"

He finished buttoning up his shirt and nodded.

"Yeah. But unfortunately, that's all I know." He paused for a moment. " We still don't know why he did it."

With that, he walked over to the door and grabbed his Stetson from Doc's coat rack.

He turned and then held out his hand to her.

"Come on, Kitty. I'll walk you home."

He opened the door and ushered her outside, then he turned once more.

Doc stood in the doorway to the bedroom, looking decidedly exhausted.

"I'll be at my office, if you need me, Doc," he said.

The doctor sniffed and ran a tired hand across his mustache.

"Fine. And I'll be here sleepin'. Try to stay outta trouble for the next couple of hours, will you?"

Matt cast him a weary smile.

"I'm afraid, I can't promise you that. So long, Doc."

With that he closed the door behind himself and Kitty.

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The streets of Dodge were now once again deserted and quiet. The moon was peeking through the shredded clouds as the couple made its way down to the Long Branch. When they had reached the side door, Matt pulled out his key and unlocked it. He held the door open for Kitty to step inside.

"You go on an' get yourself some sleep, Kitty. I figure I better be at the office when Anderson comes to. No tellin' what he's gonna do to Chester when he finds out what he an' Doc did to him."

He smiled amused, remembering how Doc had laced Bart's coffee with laudanum, a potent sleeping powder.

"All right, cowboy. I see you in the morning then." Kitty stepped up to him and placed her hands on his waist. Their lips met for a quick kiss.

"Night, Kitty," he said softly as he watched her disappear into the dark hallway.

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When he walked into the Marshal's office a few minutes later, he found Bart Anderson still fast asleep on the floor. Chester was over by the stove, trying to put the little cast iron door back on which apparently had fallen off. He was not very successful.

"Well, good gravy, what do you make of that? I ain't never seen such thing..." He brought the small door up to his face and began to examine it closely. When he saw Matt enter, he looked up.

"You feelin' all right now, Mr. Dillon?"

Matt nodded.

"I'm fine, Chester."

He cast a curious glance at the sleeping man under his desk.

"Still out, is he?"

Chester stretched himself, stifling a yawn.

"Well, I been a-wonderin' about that myself. You reckon' we oughtta get Doc to take a look at him?"

But before Matt could give the matter any consideration, Bart Anderson began to stir.

At first, he was quite shocked to find the Marshal out of his cell. But with combined efforts and with the help of Kincaid's badge, the two men managed to convince him of Matt's innocence.

"I'm so sorry, Marshal...but you have to understand..."

Matt raised his hand to cut him off. "It's all right, Anderson. Let's just forget about it. You men did what you thought was right." He gave the older man a friendly clap on the shoulder.

Bart nodded silently, still feeling quite ashamed.

Chester held up the battered coffee pot and looked into the round . "Would you like me to fix a pot o' coffee or somethin'?"

Bart Anderson's face darkened immediately. He cast Chester a sore look.

"Oh, no, I ain't touchin' another cup of coffee that you had your hands in. Doggone worst coffee I ever had!" He shook his head in disgust. "Anyways, I reckon' I best get goin'."

The freight clerk started for the door and the Marshal followed him, seeing the older man out.

"Well, Chester, we might as well get us some rest." Matt stifled a yawn. He ran a tired hand across his face as he trudged over to his cot.

Chester limped over to his own cot opposite the Marshal's, but didn't sit down; instead, he watched in silence as Matt took off the torn shirt.

Matt cast him a curious glance. "What's the matter?" he wondered. "Somethin' wrong?"

He knew Chester well enough to know when something was bothering him.

Chester scratched his head. "Well, I was just a-thinkin'. Don't you reckon' one of us oughtta stay up an' keep watch? I mean, if you think there's gonna be more trouble an' all..."

Matt dropped down onto his cot.

"All the more reason to rest up a bit." He yawned again and then stretched himself out on the creaky bedstead.

Hesitantly, his assistant followed suit and plopped down on his own cot.

"All right then, I reckon', I might as well," he said reluctantly.

Matt nodded sleepily. "Yeah, why don't you do that."

It took Matt a little while to get comfortable on the lumpy cot. Even though Kincaid's bullet had only grazed his arm, the wound was still causing him a fair amount of discomfort.

At last, he came to rest on his side with his head cradled on his left arm. Soon, both men were sound asleep, snoring softly.

The peace, however, didn't last very long.

An hour or so after the two men had drifted off to sleep, they were unceremoniously roused by a loud banging on the door.

Startled, they jerked awake.

"All right, all right...I'm coming!" Matt clambered to his feet and headed for the door while Chester lit the lamp. He unbolted the door and found himself face to face with Lily, one of Kitty's girls. One look at her told him immediately that something terrible must have happened. The young woman's face was pale and her eyes were wide with fear.

"Marshal! It's Miss Kitty..." was all she could say before collapsing into his arms.

Matt caught her by her shoulders before she had a chance to tumble to the floor. Even though she wasn't heavy by any means, he struggled trying to scoop her into his arms. His injured arm was painfully protesting as he carried her over to his cot.

"Stay with her Chester until she comes to."

A terrible feeling of fear was quickly beginning to spread through his insides.

Kitty.

He snatched his holster off the peg and strapped it around his waist.

Not bothering with tucking his shirt in, he pulled on his boots and bolted out the door into the darkness.

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.

Kitty sat up with a sudden start. Confused, she looked around, not sure what had roused her from her sleep. Everything was quiet and seemed in order, yet she couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that something wasn't right.

Her eyes turned to the left side of the bed. The space beside her, which Matt usually took up, was empty. Kitty's thoughts turned to the events that had taken place earlier that night. It only added to the strange uneasiness she felt.

She slipped out of bed and stood, listening into the darkness. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. A surge of fear began to well up inside her, and she closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. Maybe she was just imagining things, she thought. Slowly, she opened them again. Her heart gave a jolt when a figure suddenly stepped out from the shadows of her wardrobe.

Kitty clasped a hand over her mouth, stifling a cry. The pale light of the moon was enveloping the figure, and she could see that it was a woman. She was taller than Kitty and seemed quite a bit older. She was holding a Derringer pistol in her right hand.

"Not a word, Miss Russell," she now hissed, her voice low.

The woman moved closer, and Kitty was able to get a better look at her.

Her face bore a cold and haughty expression. The moonlight only added to her washed out complexion, making her appear almost white. Her light blue dress was simple, yet elegant. Kitty suddenly remembered having seen her in town on several occasions.

"Who are you and what do you want?" Kitty's voice was steady despite the fear she felt.

The woman ignored the query. "You are the Marshal's woman, I heard," she said instead. It was more of a statement than a question. Her disdainful eyes were looking Kitty up and down. "I was hoping to find him here with you."

It was then that Kitty realized what this was all about. For some reason, this woman was after Matt.

Kitty's eyes narrowed. Fear was giving way to anger. "He's not here as you can see. Why don't you try his office?" she replied coolly. She knew that she was taking a chance by talking to the woman like that, especially, since she was pointing a gun at her, but Kitty was too upset to care at the moment.

The woman nodded. "I could do that, Miss Russell, but I have a better idea."

There was a wicked glint in her eyes that sent shivers down Kitty's spine. "Why don't we have him come here instead?"

Kitty was puzzled. A frown began to appear on her face. "And what makes you think he would do that?"

A terrible smile started to spread across the woman's lips. "Well, let's see...if I were to threaten to kill you for one thing..."

The words caused Kitty to turn pale. She swallowed hard, her heart thumping loudly in her chest.

"Why are you doing this?"

The woman's eyes narrowed. She glared at Kitty, her eyes burning with unmistakable hatred. "Why? You ask why? I'll tell you why. Your Marshal is responsible for my son's imprisonment! I warned Jeffrey not to go out West. I pleaded with him, but would he listen? No! He had to come to your god-forsaken cow town and get involved with one of your kind!"

She shot Kitty a look of disgust. "It was her own fault that Jeffrey shot her, but did your Marshal believe him?" She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "They convicted him of murder, and now he is in prison at Fort Dodge, slowly dying a little more every day without me being able to do anything about it. All I want is justice!"

Kitty suddenly remembered who this woman was referring to. About six months ago, a young man by the name of Jeffrey Bancroft had come into Dodge and had gotten romantically involved with Blanche Colburn, one of her girls at the time.

Unfortunately, the young man hadn't understood the nature of Blanche's work. He had shot her in a fit of rage when had he found her in a rather cozy situation with another patron. Matt had been at the Long Branch that night and apprehended him. It had been his testimony that got Bancroft convicted.

Kitty's eyes widened with understanding. "You are Jeffrey Bancroft's mother."

Mrs. Bancroft looked at her coldly. "Well, done, Miss Russell. I would have been satisfied if the Marshal would have gone to jail for the assault of those women, but no...this idiot Kincaid had to make a mess of things and kill one of them and then get himself killed."

Mrs. Bancroft motioned Kitty over to the door. "I want you to call one of your girls and send her to get Marshal Dillon. I'm anxious to find out if he is willing to exchange his life for yours."

Kitty tightened the robe around herself. This woman was clearly out of her mind which made her all the more dangerous. She resigned herself to doing as she was told.

With the Derringer prodding her in the back, she walked over to the door across from hers and knocked.

It didn't take long for Lily to answer.

The young woman was so frightened that Kitty was worried she was going to pass out, but Kitty addressed her sternly, and she was able to pull herself together.

After Lily had left, Kitty turned to Mrs. Bancroft. "Now what?"

Vivian Bancroft regarded her with a condescending look. "Now we wait, Miss Russell."

.

.

.

Matt was racing down the deserted street towards the Long Branch. He had known all along that something was going to happen, but he found no satisfaction in seeing his suspicion confirmed. All he could think of was Kitty, and he picked up his pace.

When he had reached the saloon, he slowed his step. He drew his colt and stepped closer to the mullioned double doors to peer through the colored glass inside. Everything seemed normal and quiet at first glance. But as his eyes moved to scan the upstairs landing, he was able to make out two figures standing in the doorway of Kitty's room.

He was just trying to decide whether he should go around back and enter the saloon through the side door, when he saw Chester hobbling towards him, a rifle in his hands.

Matt quickly stepped away from the saloon doors and walked up to meet him. He didn't want to draw any untimely attention to himself.

Chester was out of breath and quite excited. He pointed towards the Long Branch. "Mr. Dillon," he gasped. "Mr. Dillon...I just knew there's gonna be trouble...Lily jus' came to and she done told me there's a woman in there a-holdin' Miss Kitty... she wants to see you or else she's gonna shoot her...Miss Kitty, that is..."

"A woman?" That was the last thing Matt had expected to hear.

Chester nodded and glanced anxiously over to the saloon. "Oh, what are we gonna do, Mr. Dillon?"

Matt knew exactly what he had to do. "Well, we'll just have to give her what she wants, Chester."

The young man cast him a worried frown. "You sure about that? I mean...no tellin' what she's gonna do..."

Silently, Matt agreed. But this woman was holding Kitty hostage. Without finding out who he was up against, it was hard to predict what she was going to do.

"Chester, I want you to go around back. See, if you can get inside from there. But don't let her see you."

Chester nodded and began to make his way around the side of the saloon.

With mixed emotions, Matt watched as he disappeared into the alley. Then he turned and, squaring himself, strode determined towards the front entrance.

He pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the folding doors. Then he pushed the batwing doors aside and took a few steps into the dark saloon. His gaze turned upwards.

There, standing on the threshold of her room, he could see Kitty's outline, illuminated by the moonlight from the window behind her. He could also see the second woman, standing right behind her.

"Kitty, you all right?"

She could hear the worry in his voice and was about to answer, when a sharp prod from Vivian Bancroft's gun silenced her.

"She will be fine as long as you do as I say, Marshal," the woman said coldly.

Matt didn't like the tone of her voice; he could hear the dangerous determination in it. "What's this all about? What do you want?"

Vivian Bancroft glared down at him coldly. "Take your gun and put it slowly on the floor...and no tricks, Marshal or your woman is going to die," she said by way of answering.

When he didn't comply right away, she dug the barrel of her Derringer hard into Kitty's back.

Kitty gasped and stumbled forward towards the railing.

Matt pressed his lips together. Slowly, using his thumb and forefinger, he pulled the colt from his holster. Without taking his eyes off the two women, he bent down and placed the gun on the floor.

He straightened. "All right, now what?"

"Put your hands up and step closer, Marshal...away from that gun."

Matt raised his brows but obliged. He took a few steps towards the staircase, his hands still raised.

"That will suffice," Vivian Bancroft suddenly ordered him.

"What is it that you want?" Matt asked again. So far, he had humored her. He figured that it was about time to get some answers.

There was a long moment of silence before Vivian Bancroft spoke. "Do you remember Jeffrey Bancroft, Marshal? He is my son and you put him in prison. All I want is justice. You deserve to be locked up and see how it feels to be imprisoned unjustly!"

Matt remembered at once, and it didn't take him long to put two and two together. Revenge. This was all about revenge. "Is that why you hired Kincaid?" He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it.

The mentioning of the name caused an immediate frown to darken Vivian Bancroft's features.

"Oh, that idiot! He allowed that last girl to see his face, and we couldn't have that. After all, she was supposed to identify you as her attacker."

Matt realized grimly that this woman was as cold-blooded as they came, Matt. He had absolutely no sympathy for her.

"I would have been satisfied with you going to prison, Marshal, but it seems now that I have to change my plans."

Matt had a pretty good idea as to what her plans were, so he didn't bother asking. Instead, he took a deliberate step forward and began to lower his hands. The only way to get the Derringer away from Kitty was by coaxing Vivian Bancroft into taking a shot at him.

She did exactly what he had hoped. Her brows knitted into a frown. "Stop right there, Marshal!"

Matt ignored her warning. His eyes fixed on the woman, he slowly continued to walk closer towards the bottom of the stairs.

His gaze shifted to Kitty. She looked pale and frightened, but he knew that she was aware of his intentions when she slightly inclined her head towards him.

"One more step and I'll shoot, Marshal!" Vivian Bancroft threatened.

But Matt discerned a faint tremble of fear in the woman's voice. He took another, deliberate step forward, praying that she would move the gun away from Kitty.

"Listen to me," he said calmly. "It's not too late...put that gun down."

He already knew that she wouldn't heed his words, but he had to do everything possible to keep her attention on him, instead of Kitty.

Suddenly, she shifted the gun from Kitty's back. It pointed now straight at the Marshal.

Under normal circumstances Matt would have found this quite unsettling, but in this case, he almost felt relief as he looked into the tiny barrel of the Derringer. He didn't underestimate the danger. He was well aware that a Derringer could be as deadly as any other gun. But he also knew that the little pistol only held two bullets.

"One more step, Marshal," warned the Vivian Bancroft. She adjusted her aim so that the gun pointed squarely at his chest.

Matt took a deep breath. Then he took one last step forward.

Without warning, Vivian Bancroft suddenly pulled the trigger.

The roar as the Derringer went off, echoed loudly through the saloon. In a flash, Matt had thrown himself to the floor. He could hear the bullet whizzing past him and quickly realized, how close it had come as it struck one of the chairs behind him.

There was a sudden, angry scream. Matt jerked up his head.

The moment Vivian Bancroft had pulled the trigger, Kitty had flung herself at her. With both hands clamped tightly around the other woman's arm, she was trying desperately to wrestle the small gun from her grasp. A violent scuffle ensued as they both strove to gain control of the Derringer.

Vivian Bancroft realized quickly that Kitty wasn't about to give up. With an angry scream, her left hand shot out, clawing wildly at Kitty's face. Her nails dug painfully into Kitty's cheek, spurring her anger. She let go of Vivian Bancroft's gun arm and swung back with her fist.

It all happened too fast. Kitty's fist flew forward, connecting painfully with Mrs. Bancroft's chin. The force of the impact sent the woman staggering backwards into the railing. Her arms were flailing about wildly as she tried to regain her balance. Suddenly, the banister gave way with a loud crunch.

Her eyes wide with surprise, Vivian Bancroft's hands reached out for Kitty-but it was too late. Her fingers slipped off Kitty's arm and she fell backwards. With a sickening thud, she landed on one of the tables below, the force of the impact collapsing it.

For one long moment, there was shocked silence.

Matt was the first one to recover. He jumped to his feet and glanced up at Kitty. Seeing that she was all right, he hurried over to where Mrs. Bancroft was sprawled out on her back.

He and Chester reached her at the same time.

"Oh, my goodness, Mr. Dillon..." Shocked, Chester watched as the Marshal checked her for any signs of life.

Matt was no doctor, but as he stared into her lifeless eyes, it became obvious to him that there was nothing that could be done for Vivian Bancroft. He clambered to his feet and then turned to his assistant.

"You better go on an' get Doc, Chester."

Chester nodded somberly. "Yes, sir."

For another moment, Matt's eyes lingered on the body. As much as he tried to understand the reasoning behind her actions, he simply couldn't. Three people were dead over a young man that, as far as he was concerned, should have been hung for his crime in the first place. He had escaped the gallows only because of his family's influence. But apparently, that hadn't been enough for Mrs. Bancroft. Matt turned his gaze upwards to the landing.

Kitty was standing motionless, staring down at the body.

Matt picked his hat off the floor and began to climb the stairs. When he reached her, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him.

"It's over, Kitty," he said softly.

Slowly, she lifted her head. She looked up into his eyes.

Matt pressed his lips together when he saw the bloody scratches under her eye. He could feel her body begin to tremble under his hands. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her as she buried her face against his chest. For a long time, he simply held her as she wept, comfortingly rubbing her back.

Soon, he heard hurried footsteps on the boardwalk outside the saloon. Kitty pulled out of Matt's embrace. They watched as Doc and Chester came rushing through the entrance.

With one look, the physician took in the scene. His eyes came to rest on the lifeless figure on the ground. It wasn't necessary for him to ask what had happened-Chester had already filled him in on most of it. He knew that Matt would explain the rest to him.

He knelt down next to Vivian Bancroft and began to examine the body while Chester looked on in somber silence.

Meanwhile, Matt and Kitty had reached the bottom of the stairs. His arm was protectively around her shoulders. He ushered her towards a chair in a corner from where she didn't have to look at the body.

After what seemed a long time, Doc finally rose from the floor.

"Well, seems like the fall broke her neck, Matt," he said quietly. He turned to Chester.

"Chester, you best go and get Crump over here."

Doc then looked at Matt. "Well? You jus' gonna stand there or you gonna explain to me what the devil's goin' on here?"

Matt nodded in Kitty's direction. "Doc, I want you to take a look at Kitty," he simply said.

Doc shifted his attention to the young woman sitting quietly. It didn't take him long to examine her and tend to the wound on her cheek while Matt explained what he had learned from Vivian Bancroft just before she had died.

Doc just shook his head in disbelief. "If that ain't the darnest thing I ever seen."

Matt simply nodded and they watched solemnly as Chester and Percy Crump began to carry the body from the saloon.

By the time the body had been moved and everybody had finally settled back down, the pre-dawn, with its still weak light, had already begun to stretch across the skies.

The only ones left at the Long Branch were the Marshal, Kitty, Chester and Doc.

Doc handed Kitty a small envelope. "I want you to take this so you can get yourself some sleep, young lady," he said.

Kitty looked up and gave him a weak smile. "Thanks, Doc but..."

"Oh, now you wait a minute," he interrupted her quickly when he realized what she was about to say. "Who's the doctor around here? You do as I say!"

He shook his finger at her, and Kitty cast him a resigned smile. "Oh, all right," she mumbled. She accepted the envelope and rose to her feet when the doctor's hand on her arm suddenly stopped her.

"Hold it there," he said. "I have a better idea." He turned towards the Marshal.

"Matt, why don't you take Kitty upstairs. And while you're at it, see to it that you get some rest, too."

He paused and cast Chester a quick side glance. "I'm sure Chester can manage to uphold the law in Dodge for a couple of hours without you."

The doctor's suggestion caused Matt's ears to turn a bright red. He cleared his throat, and, not sure what to do with his hands, lifted his Stetson and quickly ran a hand through his dark hair. Never before had Doc so directly hinted at his relationship with Kitty. For some reason, he felt more than just a little embarrassed by the suggestive remark.

Chester looked puzzled from the physician to Kitty and then to Mr. Dillon. He had already figured out a long time ago that Miss Kitty's room was where the lawman spend most of his nights. Even though the Marshal always tried his best to be quiet when he sneaked back into the office-usually before the sun came up, Chester had been well aware of it.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes, Chester," fretted Doc when he saw the look on Chester's face, "they're two grown people, you know."

"Well, I know that, Doc but that ain't what..." he began to say, but the physician cut him off.

"Come on, I'll buy you breakfast." He grabbed Chester by the sleeve and began to pull him towards the doors.

"That's mighty nice of you, Doc, but..." Chester stopped and turned his head over his shoulder towards the Marshal. "Mr. Dillon, what am I gonna do with Lily? She's still a-sleepin' in your bed an' that might not look so good...if you know what I mean...with her bein' in your bed an'all..."

Doc stopped dead in his tracks. "Lily? What, in thunder's, she doin' in your bed, Matt?"

Chester's comment was not lost on Kitty. Her arms folded in front of her chest, she regarded the Marshal curiously. "Yes, I'd like to hear that one myself, cowboy..."

Matt looked more than just a little puzzled. It took him a moment to realize what Chester was talking about. Suddenly, he remembered that he had left Lily on his cot after she had fainted. An expression of weary annoyance began to spread across his face. He didn't feel like explaining himself; after all, what was he supposed to have done with her? He could have hardly left her on the floor.

He was about to open his mouth in attempt to defend himself, when he saw the knowing smile on Kitty's face. Immediately, he relaxed. He turned to the physician. There was an impish grin twitching the corners of his mouth. "I let Chester fill you in on it, Doc. I think he spent more time with her than I did."

With that, Matt put his hand on Kitty's shoulder and steered her towards the stairs.

The argument that now ensued between Doc and Chester accompanied the couple up the stairs. It ended only when the Marshal loudly closed the door to Kitty's room behind himself.

.
The End