A Deadly Mistake

by dinacarter

There's a new girl in town and Chester falls for her head over heels. At the same time, Matt is faced with several, inexplicable crimes and an obnoxious prisoner. Soon, he begins to realize that they somehow tie together.

A DEADLY MISTAKE

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Disclaimer: This fan fiction was written for entertainment purposes only and is not intended to violate or infringe on the copyrights as owned by VIACOM/PARAMOUNT, nor to realize any profit.

Summary: There is a new girl in town and Chester falls for her head over heels while Matt is faced with several inexplicable crimes and an obnoxious prisoner. Soon, he begins to realize that they somehow tie together.

Rating: PG-13 for graphic violence and adult language
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The old Conestoga wagon rattled along the dusty dirt road towards the old Finnegan homestead.

They had finally made it.

Sitting on the high seat next to her father, Jenny Stoner stretched herself to get a better look. The abandoned farmhouse was rundown and sorry-looking as it sat in the middle of the Kansas prairie, surrounded by several decrepit outbuildings.

As they drew closer, she could see that most of the glass in the windows had been broken out, but she didn't mind-she was used to living in places like this. As long as she could remember, they had been roaming the country, her father and two brothers, always looking for a quick way to make money. Most of the time, their ways were not exactly legal, keeping them more or less always on the run. They had been lucky so far, until
last month when their luck had run out in Hays.

The wagon now pulled to a halt in the overgrown farm yard.

"Howdy, Pa."

Tab Stoner's voice jostled the young woman from her thoughts. Tab, although nineteen, had the simple mind of a young child which often left him vulnerable to the taunts of his father and older brother. Jenny smiled at down at him as he reached up to lift her off the wagon. She was very fond of him, having been both mother and protector to him ever
since the death of their mother.

By now, Lyle Stoner had walked up to the wagon as well. He was a little shorter than his younger brother, but what he lacked in height, he made up in muscle. His face was lean and hard beneath a crop of dark-brown hair. An old Sharp's carbine rifle was resting casually in the crook of his arm.

Walt Stoner's cold, gray eyes fixed on the rifle in his firstborn's hands.

"'Specting trouble, son?" he wondered

The young man squinted up at his father.

"No, sir. But it's like you taught us Pa...always be on the look-out."

The elder Stoner grunted in approval and then began to climb off the wagon. He nodded at the pile of goods that was sitting inside the wagon bed.

"You boys hurry on up an' git that stuff in the house; your sister's got important business in Dodge."

He cast the young woman a quick, meaningful glance before walking towards the farmhouse.
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"Look Wheeler," Matt Dillon tried hard to sound patient as he opened the door to his office and stepped inside, the rancher following closely at his heel, "go on home an' give your men a break."

He flung his Stetson onto the peg by the door and turned towards his assistant who was sitting at the old wooden table, cleaning a shotgun.

"Mornin', Chester. Any trouble while I was gone?"

Chester brought the barrel up to his face to peek inside.

"No, Mister Dillon, ev'rything's been real quiet-like around here."

Satisfied with the results of his work, he laid it back onto the table.

"But I tell ya one thing," he then added, "that Bowers fella in there is beginnin' to gall me a little...he jus' keeps on complainin'." A slight frown creased his forehead and his voice was indignant as he nodded towards the jail cells. "Always seems to be a-wantin' more of this an' more of that. What does he think this is anyways? A hotel or somethin'?"

Matt suppressed a grin and glanced over to the cell which housed Cal Bowers. Ever since he had arrested him six days ago, the man had been determined to get the better of his assistant. Apparently, he had finally succeeded.

"Don't let it bother you, Chest-" he began to say, but he broke off when Clyde Wheeler suddenly stepped between them.

"Well, how about it, Marshal?" he demanded, determined not to take 'no' for an answer.

Matt took a deep breath and exhaled loudly, this time not bothering to hide his irritation.

"Look, Wheeler...I already told you,...if the rain wouldn't have washed away those tracks last night it'd be different, but as it is, there's nothing' more we can do."

Without waiting for Wheeler to reply, Matt walked over to the rifle rack and restored his Winchester.

Clyde Wheeler was livid. For the second time this month someone had stolen horses from his best stock and it seemed that once again, the thieves had gotten away. And now, to make matters worse, the Marshal was refusing to help.

The rancher planted himself in the lawman's path, his hands challengingly at his hips.

"You mean to tell me you're not goin' back out with us?"

Matt stopped and glanced annoyed at the other man, for a moment seriously contemplating whether he should just throw him out.

"I'm afraid so," he then said instead. He was definitely too tired to argue with Wheeler at the moment; all he wanted was some much needed rest.

"It might be news to you, Wheeler," he added, "but I also have a town to look after."

Without paying further attention to the other, he simply side-stepped him, unbuckled his gun belt and hung it on the peg by his cot.

Finally realizing that he was not getting anywhere, the rancher stared at the Marshal for a short moment before angrily stalking towards the door. He opened it, but before he left, Clyde Wheeler turned once more.

"You can't blame honest citizens for takin' the law into their own hands, Dillon. Don't tell me I didn't warn you!"

With that, he forcefully slammed the door shut, sending the Marshal's and Chester's hats flying off their pegs.

Chester frowned.

"Well, for goodness sakes," he declared surprised.

He rose from his chair and bent down to retrieve the hats. As he hung them back into their place, he glanced out the window, watching as Wheeler mounted his horse.

There was a quick exchange of words between the rancher and his men before they suddenly wheeled their horses around and galloped down Front Street, the pounding hooves raising lingering clouds of dust.

"I swear to goodness," he declared with a slow shake of his head, "you sure didn't make a friend of him, Mister Dillon."

Matt felt a yawn coming on and didn't bother to suppress it. He simply was too tired to care-at least at the moment.

"Yeah...I guess, I didn't," he said as he stretched himself.

Wearily, he dropped down onto his cot. The events of the night had left him badly in need of some sleep, and he hoped to catch maybe an hour or two.

"Chester, why don't you go over to the telegraph office and see if anything from Hays has come in yet," he muttered, hoping to get rid of his assistant for a little while.

Not bothering with taking his mud-encrusted boots off, he stretched himself out on the small bed with a contented grunt, arms crossed behind his head, and closed his eyes.

Chester acknowledged him with an obedient, "yes, sir", silently deciding that the Sheriff from Hays couldn't pick Bowers up too soon to suit him.

He was about to walk out the door when a thought struck him.

"Oh, Mister Dillon?"

Reluctantly, Matt opened one eye.

"Yeah...what is it, Chester?"

"Well...I was just a-thinking'-there's a few things I oughtta git from Mister Jonas while I'm out."

Yawning again, Matt waved him off and turned onto his side, facing the brick wall.

"Sure...go ahead...anythin' you need," he mumbled as he closed his eyes again.

"Well...that ain't all though," Chester stammered uncomfortably, "you see...I'm kinda broke right now an'-"

Without bothering to turn, Matt rolled his eyes in weary annoyance.

"All right, just put it on the bill then, Chester."

That was all Chester had wanted to hear.

With another quick 'yes, sir', he grabbed his hat and slipped out the door.

Matt sighed and closed his eyes again. Soon, he had fallen into an exhausted sleep.
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The peace, however, didn't last very long.

He had been asleep for no more than maybe twenty minutes when the door opened with a sharp creak of the rusty hinges as Doc Adams entered the office.

The physician's eyes fell on the lawman who was sprawled out on his back with his left leg drawn up at an angle, his left arm lying across his chest while his right one was dangling off the small cot. There was a relaxed look on his face, and he was snoring softly.

Doc contemplated his friend for a moment, trying to decide whether he should wake him; he knew that Matt had been out all night and was undoubtedly tired, but he had some important news he wanted to share with him.

The decision was unexpectedly made for him when all the sudden, Cal Bowers began to yell from his cell.

"Hey, Marshal! Wake up! Where's ma breakfast?"

To make sure his point got across, the prisoner loudly dragged the tip of his boot along the iron bars at the bottom of the cell door.

Startled, Matt jerked awake, his hand automatically reaching for his gun. His eyes darted around the office and came to rest on the doctor. He relaxed at once.

"Well, now...don't look at me," groused Doc. He rubbed his neck as he came shuffling closer. "You can thank that one in there for wakin' you up."

He motioned with his hand towards Bowers' cell as he pulled up a chair and sat down next to Matt's cot.

"How about ma breakfast, Marshal?" Cal Bowers insisted, his smirking face now pressed against the iron bars.

Matt ran a tired hand through his rumpled curls.

"Oh, shut up, Bowers," he muttered irritated.

It definitely wasn't difficult to see why the prisoner was getting to Chester.

"Mornin', Doc," he mumbled then through a yawn as he stretched himself, trying to relieve some of the soreness he had woken up with.

"Say, you look like you could use some sleep, too," he remarked when he noticed the tired expression on the doctor's face.

"All I need is a good cup o'coffee, Matt," replied Doc gruffly. He turned his head towards the stove. "And, by golly, I already see, I ain't gonna get one here." He frowned disappointed when he noticed the absence of the coffee pot.

Matt shrugged.

"Well, I'd go over to Delmonico's with you, but I have to wait 'til Chester gets back."

He swung his legs over the edge of the cot and readied himself to get up. Matt had the bad feeling that those twenty minutes were all the sleep he would be able to get today.

Nodding, the physician ran a hand through his mustache. He knew that Matt didn't like leaving the office unattended when he had a prisoner.

Slowly, heavily, Matt clambered to his feet and began to brush some of the dried-on mud from his pant legs.

"Why don't you go on ahead?" he suggested to his friend.

Doc rose from his chair, wrinkling his nose at the little clouds of dust that were rising from the lawman's pant legs as he vigorously brushed them with his hands. He pulled his watch from his coat pocket.

"Suit yourself there, Mr. Marshal."

He pressed the catch and the cover sprang open to reveal the face. Nodding once with a curt motion, he snapped it shut again and put it back in his pocket.

"Well, all right then. I better hurry. Wouldn't want to keep a lady waitin'."

Matt's brow furrowed quizzically.

"A lady?"

Doc rolled his eyes.

"Well, good heaven's, Matt. You're slow this mornin'! I'm talkin' about Kitty, of course."

Matt nodded.

"I see." He made every effort to sound casual, but inwardly, he sighed. He very much would have liked to have breakfast with the two of them-well, especially Kitty.

Doc made his way towards the door.

"Well, I'll be seein' you later," he muttered with a dismissive wave of his wand. He had made it half-way across the room when he suddenly paused.

"Oh, Matt," he said, with a quick swipe at his mustache as he suddenly remembered the reason why he had come by in the first place. "I meant to tell you; there's some folks moved into the old Finnegan place."

Matt looked up surprised. That was indeed news to him.

"The Finnegan place? Why...that's been sittin' empty for the last...what-four years?"

Doc shook his head slightly.

"Not anymore," he said, " I went by there this mornin' when I came back from the Miller's. Thought, you might wanna know."

Matt nodded.

"Thanks, for tellin' me. I might just ride out there later on."

Doc turned to go.

"You do that. Well, I'll see you later, Matt."

"So, long, Doc."

Matt watched as his friend disappeared out the door. He suddenly realized, how hungry he was and hoped, Chester wouldn't take too long."
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Wilbur Jonas looked up from his ledger when he was done adding Chester's purchases to the already rather long list.

"Now you make sure, you tell the Marshal, Chester," he said.

The lawman's bill had remained unpaid for the past several weeks and was slowly but surely beginning to add up.

Wilbur Jonas was a kind man and didn't like the idea of reminding the lawman; after all, he sooner or later always ended up coming in to settle his balance, but the proprietor figured a little hint wouldn't hurt.

Chester looked slightly hassled as he tried to organize his purchases into a manageable stack.

"Yes, Mister Jonas, I sure will," he mumbled. He was quickly beginning to feel a little guilty because he had charged quite a few things over the last two weeks and conveniently 'forgot' to mention it to Mister Dillon.

Wrapping his arms around the coal oil tin and the packages on the counter, he scooped everything up and turned, ready to go; as he did, he suddenly bumped into a young woman who had walked up behind him. The force of the impact was enough to send the packages flying from his arms, scattering them across the plank flooring.

"Oh, I'm-I'm sorry, ma'am...I-I didn't see you there," he stuttered embarrassed.

Their gazes locked and at once, he realized his mistake.

"I mean...miss," he quickly corrected himself, lifting his hat in an awkward greeting.

His left arm still tightly wrapped around the coal oil tin, he then hastily squatted down to retrieve his belongings.

Apparently, the young woman had the same idea, and he suddenly found himself face to face with her as she stooped across from him.

She smiled.

"I'm so sorry...it's all my fault," she apologized.

Chester chuckled flustered when he noticed that they had both grabbed the same packet and that their fingers were now touching.

"Oh, no...goodness, no! It sure ain't your fault. I-I wasn't watchin' where I was goin'."

She let go of the package and he snatched it up, quickly stuffing it into his heavily laden arms. Carefully, so as not to loose anything else, he then straightened himself.

The young woman rose as well and placed the last package in his arms.

"There you are, mister-," she said.

Her expression was one of expectant curiosity, and Chester suddenly realized, that he hadn't introduced himself yet.

"Oh, the name's Goode, miss. Chester Goode."

Right away, her smile widened.

"Jenny-Jenny Stoner. It's nice to meet you, Chester Goode."

Chester's head bobbed in acknowledgment.

"How'd' you do, ma'am...I mean, miss," he found himself stuttering in reply, all too aware of the frank curiosity she regarded him with.

He hastily lowered his gaze as if suddenly intrigued by his toes.

There was a brief moment of awkward silence. Finally, Chester cleared his throat.

"Well, I reckon, I best get goin'. Gotta take them things back to the office."

His ears burning, he nodded vaguely over his shoulder.

Jenny took one look at the dangerously shifting load in his arms and nodded understandingly.

"Well, it was nice meetin' you, Chester Goode."

She smiled at him brightly, giving him a slight nod since she could hardly shake his hand without causing him to loose his purchases again.

"Yeah, well, it sure was-I mean-the pleasure's all mine, Miss Stoner."

He adjusted his grip on his load and began to retreat backwards towards the door, his eyes fixed entranced on the young woman. There was a silly grin on his face as he continued to back away, his progress suddenly halted as he painfully plowed into the open door.

The clamor drew the attention of Mister Jonas and the other customers.

Immediately, Chester's face screwed up in a painful expression at the unwanted attention. He tried to mumble something, but unfortunately, his nerves left him tongue-tied, and all he could do, was give her a smile that was tinged with embarrassment before turning and rushing out the door.
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Matt looked up from his desk when his assistant entered the jail moments later.

"Well, about time, Chester."

Chester didn't reply; completely lost in his thoughts, he headed straight for the table and relieved his, by now, extremely strained arms of their load. A song was softly flowing from his lips as he began to unwrap the packages, completely unaware of the Marshal's presence.

Matt raised his brows and rose from his chair. He thought that his friend was acting rather strangely-strange even for Chester, that was.

"Chester?"

He walked around his desk and planted himself directly in front of his assistant. Arms crossed over of his chest, he regarded him curiously.

At last, Chester took notice of him.

"Oh, Mister Dillon," he exclaimed startled, "I thought you was a-sleepin'."

He quickly glanced over at the empty cot which was really quite unnecessary, since the Marshal was obviously standing right in front of him.

Matt sighed as he turned his attention to the goods spread out on the table.

"Yeah...I tried that," he grumbled wearily.

He picked up a small package and began to idly examine its contents.

"Say, anything from Hays yet?"

The other shook his head as he began to pile his purchases into a small cabinet under the window.

"No, not yet, Mister Dillon. But Barney says he'll let us know right aways if'n anythin' comes in."

Frowning at the dried beans his package had contained, Matt tossed it over to his assistant who caught it skillfully. He was hungry all right, but not hungry enough that he was tempted to eat dried beans-well, not yet anyway.

Chester had taken to singing again. Without missing a note, he continued to stuff the small cabinet with his acquisitions while the Marshal walked over to the window and let his gaze wander over the busy street.

The young man was about to fall into the second verse of 'She's Got Them Big Eyes' when the voice of Cal Bowers suddenly rang from his cell.

"Damn it...cain't ya make him stop, Marshal," the prisoner complained loudly.

To Matt's surprise, Chester seemed to take the reproach quite well, to be more precise, he didn't seem to have taken notice of it at all.

Matt knew that when Chester acted like that it usually meant his mind was occupied with something very important-something like a girl, for example.

"All right, you gonna tell me what's on your mind?" he wondered.

Startled, Chester looked up. He was squatting in front of the now dangerously overstuffed cabinet, attempting to close it.

"Wh-what'd you say Mister Dillon?"

"I asked, what's on your mind, Chester," repeated Matt patiently.

"My mind?...What do you mean?"

With the cabinet finally shut, he straightened and ran a hand through his hair as he glanced confused at the Marshal.

An amused smile began to play around Matt's lips.

"Come on, Chester, you're not foolin' me one bit."

Grinning nervously, Chester tugged at his collar, trying to decide what to say. He knew all too well that there was no pulling the wool over the Marshal's eyes.

"Say, Mister Dillon," he began, suddenly having an idea, "did you know there's some new folks in town?"

Matt was eyeing Chester with obvious interest.

"Yeah, now that you mention it; Doc said somethin' about someone takin' over the old Finnegan spread. I take it, you met them already?" he said.

Chester lowered his gaze. He was now nervously scraping his thumb along the nape of his neck as he felt his ears turn red again at the thought of the pretty young woman.

"Well, yeah...I mean...I reckon, I might've," he managed.

The Marshal couldn't help but chuckle; it was just too obvious.

"So. You gonna tell me her name?" he wondered, grinning, "or am I gonna have to find her an' ask her myself?"

Chester looked up into the Marshal's eyes. They were twinkling with amusement.

"Well, she said her name was Jenny Stoner. I ain't never seen her in Dodge before...I jus' assumed...you know."

Had the two men paid any attention to their prisoner, they would have noticed the surprised look on Cal Bower's face at the mentioning of the young woman's name.

A dreamy expression settled over Chester's face.

"Oh, Mister Dillon, she sure's a lovely girl."

Grinning broadly, Matt nodded.

"I bet she is."

He turned towards the door and grabbed his hat off the peg. He figured he had embarrassed Chester enough for the time-being, and his stomach was telling him in no uncertain terms that it was time for lunch.

"I'm fixin' to ride out to Wheeler's later on and the Finnegan place is right on the way...I might just stop by then and introduce myself," he said.

He slapped the Stetson on and pulled the brim down a little.

"But first, I'm havin' me somethin' to eat."

He was about to step out onto the porch when he suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, Chester," he said, nodding towards Bower's cell, "make sure you feed our friend in there...he's been riled up all mornin' about his breakfast."

Chester watched as the door thudded shut behind the lawman.

Leave it to Bowers to ruin what began as a perfectly nice day, he resentfully thought to himself as he cast the smirking prisoner a dark look.
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It was well past eleven when the Marshal was finally on his way over to Delmonico's. He just stepped up onto the raised sidewalk, when he saw Kitty and Doc leave the restaurant.

For one brief moment, Matt felt a small stab of disappointment, but he quickly shook off his thoughts as the two came to a stop in front of him.

"Mornin', Matt," the pretty redhead greeted him smiling.

He tipped his head, smiling down at her affectionately.

"Kitty."

Kitty's eyes locked with his, and Matt knew right away that she had already heard what had happened.

"I saw you comin' in with Wheeler this morning," she said.

He placed his hand on her upper arm and ushered her aside to make room for the people trying to pass them on the narrow boardwalk. Matt sighed.

"Yeah. I reckon, he wasn't too pleased...and frankly, I don't blame him. "

Matt thought of the fuss Wheeler had put up yesterday. The still fresh memory of the incident caused his face to darken a little.

Kitty nodded understandingly.

"Knowing Clyde Wheeler...I guess he wasn't too happy. That makes it what-the second time that someone stole horses from him?"

Matt gave a grunt of confirmation.

"Well, I'm gonna ride out there this afternoon again to have me another look around."

He already had a feeling that it probably wouldn't do any good, but he knew it would appease Clyde Wheeler.

"Say, you plan on payin' them newcomers a visit, Matt?" Doc now joined
in the conversation.

Matt leaned his shoulder against a post beam behind him.

"Yeah, I had thought about it," he said. "Why you're askin'? You thinkin' of
comin' along?"

He grinned at the physician, knowing exactly what was on his mind.

Immediately, Doc bristled. He ran a quick hand through his mustache.

"Now that you mention it...yes...the thought had crossed my mind," he groused. "That is, of course, if the public servant has no objections."

Matt's grin widened and he quickly lifted a pacifying hand.

"No, no, Doc...you just run on along. S'matter of fact, I wouldn't mind the company."

Matt suddenly remembered his earlier conversation with his assistant.

"You know, I think Chester might 've already met one of them."

His tone was purposely casual, intended to draw the attention of his two friends.

Of course, Kitty took the bait.

"What do you mean?" she wondered curiously.

For a moment, Matt enjoyed the expectant looks on their faces, and he chuckled.

"Well, for heaven's sakes...you gonna tell us or you just gonna stand there an' gloat?" growled Doc impatiently.

Kitty was in agreement; she gave Matt's arm a friendly slap.

"Come on now," she coaxed, her eyes twinkling. "You started it...you might as well finish."

Matt raised his hands defensively, but the impish smile on his face belied the gesture.

"All right...all right," he said. "It seems that Chester ran into this girl; her name's Jenny Stoner." He paused for a moment and then added, "apparently, she made quite an impression on him."

Doc's bushy eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Well, I'll be-"

He sniffed and quickly swiped at his mustache.

"What's she look like, Matt?"

Ever since he had known Chester, the young man's bad luck with women had been the subject of numerous, rather 'interesting' conversations.

The Marshal shrugged, a mischievous grin twitching the corners of his mouth.

"I got no idea...haven't seen her yet."

Doc was very excited.

"Come on, Matt. Get yourself somethin' to eat and let's take a drive out there," he said. "By golly, I can't wait to see her."

He put his hand on the Marshal's back and started to push him along towards Delmonico's.

Kitty made a face; she found that the two grown men were acting just like little school boys.

"You two oughtta be ashamed of yourselves," she scolded them, "I'm sure
this Jenny's probably a very nice girl."

"Oh sure," chortled the doctor, "and her nose is prolly a little off-center, too."

Kitty threw the physician a withering look which he simply shrugged off.

But her chiding tone somewhat sobered Matt's mood.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm sure she is, Kitty," he said in a conciliatory tone as he turned towards her and gently took hold of her upper arm. "Look, I better get goin'. See you later?"

Kitty looked up at him and her face lightened.

"All right, later, cowboy. Now go and get yourself something to eat."

She gave his hand, which was still holding her arm, a tender pat and nodded encouragingly towards the restaurant.

Doc glanced at her apologetically, his hand still on the Marshal's back. He had planned on walking her down to the Long Branch, but the prospect of getting a glimpse at Chester's latest flame, was just too tempting.

"Hope you don't mind, Kitty," he said.

Kitty waved the physician off with a resigned smile. Men, she thought to herself.

"Oh, go on," she said out loud, returning the smile.

For a moment, her eyes followed the two as they disappeared into the restaurant, then she turned and headed down the boardwalk towards the Long Branch.
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"Two-hundred dollars is all you got fer them horses?"

Walt Stoner couldn't believe it; apparently, he had raised two idiots as sons. Angrily, he slammed the small stack of bills onto the rickety table. His hard gray eyes, demanding an explanation, fixed on his two sons.

"Look, Pa," Lyle Stoner tried to defend himself, "it's gettin' kinda hard to sell them horses around here. Ev'ryone knows where they came from."

Tab Stoner came to his older brother's aid.

"Yeah...and Bellows is the only one who's still willin' to even take 'em," he added.
"Besides, he says it costs money to take 'em all the way down to Texas."

Walt considered his sons for a moment; the horse business wasn't the reason why they were here. Nevertheless, it served its purpose, providing them with the much-needed money to live on.

Abruptly, he pushed his chair back and then shouldered past his sons, the money clutched tightly in his hand. He turned to his youngest son.

"Tab, get the wagon ready an' fetch your sister in town."

The thin young man scowled and opened his mouth, about to protest, but then he suddenly froze.

The rattling of wagon wheels, accompanied by the clattering of hooves out in the yard, drew his attention. Quickly, he crossed over to the window. His face turned pale.

"It's that Marshal, Pa."

Walt Stoner shoved the roll of bills into his pant pocket and began to think.

"Lyle, you stay inside," he quickly began to issue orders. "kKeep your rifle ready just in case. Tab, you keep quiet."

Then he made his way over to the window to watch as the buggy and the rider came to a halt in front of the house.

"Who's the old fella in the wagon?"

"That there fella is Doc Adams...I sawd him in town, Pa," explained Lyle. He scratched his stubbly chin, wondering what the doctor was doing with the Marshal.

Walt Stoner watched as the Marshal dismounted and tethered his horse to the hitching beam while the physician climbed off the buggy.

The measured thudding of footsteps as Matt and Doc walked across the wooden porch was followed seconds later by loud knocking on the door.

Walt Stoner cast his sons one last warning look before he opened.

"You boys remember what I told you."
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"Hello again, Chester Goode."

The young woman's voice startled Chester.

He had been sitting on the edge of the raised sidewalk in front of the Marshal's office, engrossed in the attempt of practicing a new knot with his rope.

His head jerked up and the rope fell from his hands as he found himself staring up into the brown eyes of Jenny Stoner. Immediately, he sprang to his feet, pulling himself up on one of the post beams.

"M-miss Stoner," he stuttered surprised, "fancy seein' you here..."

One arm still casually wrapped around the pole, he self-consciously ran the other hand over his hair, giving her a flustered smile.

She laughed lightly in a pleasant way.

"This is my first time in Dodge. There sure's a lot to see."

"Oh, yeah-yeah...there sure is," agreed Chester eagerly, desperately trying to keep from staring at her; his eyes seemed to all the sudden have taken on a life of their own.

If she was aware of his nervousness, Jenny Stoner didn't give any indication; looking around, she just now seemed to take notice the sign on the brick wall of the building.

"Oh, this is the Marshal's office," she exclaimed excited as she turned back to Chester. "Are you the Marshal?"

There was a hint of admiration in her voice, and the young man chuckled nervously, obviously flattered by her assumption. He quickly glanced at the sign, then back at her.

"Who? Me?" he stammered. "Well, not exactly."

A noticeable look of disappointment began to settle on her face and Chester quickly added.

"I'm the Marshal's assistant though. Sure's a mighty important job, ya know...watchin' them prisoners an' all." His head bobbed up and down earnestly in an attempt to lend his words more meaning.

Curiously, Jenny now sidled closer to the door.

"Is that where you keep those bad men?" she wanted to know as she curiously peered inside.

Right away, Chester was beside her, quickly pulling the door shut.

"Well, yeah,...I reckon, you could say that." He began to awkwardly fumble with his collar; the last thing he wanted was for Cal Bowers to lay eyes on her.

Jenny cast him a puzzled look, prompting Chester to elaborate.

"That there fella in there sure ain't fit to be around a lady, Miss Stoner."

"I ain't afraid of him, Chester Goode-not with you here."

She cast him a sweet smile and placed her hand on his lower arm for emphasis. The Marshal's assistant melted immediately.

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Doc Adams glanced over at the Marshal who was riding alongside his buggy.

"What's on your mind, Matt?" he wondered.

The lawman hadn't said a single word since they had left the old Finnegan farm a little while ago, and Doc could tell that something was bothering him.

The Marshal drew level with the buggy.

"Walt Stoner and those boys of his," he replied thoughtfully. "I'm not sure what to make of them."

"I know what you mean, Matt," agreed Doc. "By golly, they sure didn't look like farmers to me."

The Marshal nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, you're right about that," he said, at the same time making himself a mental note to go through the stack of 'Wanted' posters as soon as he got back to his office.

The two men continued on in agreeable silence until they reached a fork in the dirt road.

Matt reined his horse to a halt and the physician stopped his buggy.

"Well, I don't expect you to come out to Wheeler's with me, Doc," he said.

Doc took a quick swipe at his mustache.

"I wasn't planning on it, Marshal. I wasted enough time gallivantin' around the
prairie after some elusive girl of Chester's. I have patients to look after."

It was all too clear that he was still disappointed that he hadn't been able to get a look at Jenny Stoner during their rather short-lived visit to the farm.

Doc's complaint was met with a grin. If truth be told, Matt himself had been little curious himself about the girl, and he was slightly disappointed that he didn't get to see her.

"Well, I see you back in Dodge," he said. "So long, Doc."

With swift tug on the reins, he turned his mount around and then spurred the buckskin forward into an easy canter, leaving the physician to finish the remainder of the short trip back to Dodge on his own.

.
.

The Long Branch was bustling with activity tonight. Fridays usually meant payday for most of the cowboys and hands from the surrounding farms and ranches, which in turn, translated into good business for Kitty Russell and her business partner, Bill Pence, co-owners of the saloon. After a week of hard work, the men were always eager to leave their dismal lives behind for a couple of hours and spent their hard-earned money on whiskey, cold beer and occasionally the favor of one of the beautiful saloon girls.

For the last hour, Kitty Russell had been rather busy, helping Clem, the barkeeper fill orders. Finally, she decided, it was time for a break.

A cold beer in her hand, the pretty redhead began to thread her way through the noisy crowd to join the Marshal and Doc Adams at their usual table which was set a little further away from the others in a corner.

A gale of laughter greeted her as she drew nearer, and she could see that the two men were engaged in an animated conversation, shaking their heads and laughing.

Matt rose when he saw her approach and held her chair while she seated herself.

"Quite a crowd you got there tonight," he remarked approvingly as he dropped himself back into his own chair.

Kitty smoothed out her dress.

"Yeah...we're doing all right," she replied smiling.

There was a barely suppressed grin on Matt's face which was not lost on her.

"Say, what are you two laughin' at?" she inquired curiously.

The Marshal exchanged a meaningful glance with the physician and Doc began to chuckle again, causing Matt to loose his composure and do the same.

Kitty's expectant gaze wandered between the two.

"All right, will someone please tell me what's so funny?"

"Well?" she prompted, raising her brow.

Matt's eyes fixed on the beer glass in his hands, studying its contents with interest.

"You tell her, Doc," he mumbled, forcing down the grin with effort.

"Well, for heavens sakes, he's your assistant," argued Doc immediately.

Matt lifted his gaze.

"But you saw them," he shot back.

Kitty heaved a sigh; the way this was going, she would probably never find out. She rose from her chair.

"Tell you what," she said, "I'll be back when you boys settle this."

"Oh, all right, goodness gracious," grumbled Doc and motioned her to sit
back down.

"Well," he then began, "I was on my way over to Ma Smalley's to check on that Eagan
fella. You know, the one that busted his leg last week, fallin' off the buckboard, drunk."

He paused briefly, waiting for Kitty to acknowledge him.

"Anyways...I was comin' up to Matt's office, when-"

He cast a quick glance at the Marshal who was pressing his lips together, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

"Who'd you think I saw?"

Kitty shrugged; so far, she failed to see what was so amusing.

"I don't know, Doc," she answered.

"Well, there was Chester with that Stoner girl...standin' right close by her, he did...tryin' to teach her one of his rope tricks."

He took a quick swipe at his mustache.

"Sure got flustered when he saw me walkin' up."

Doc's eyes met the Marshal's and he could hardly contain himself.

"By golly, he got so flustered that he fell backwards over the hitching post into the water trough!"

Doc began chuckling, barely able to finish his sentence before he completely lost his composure.

As if on cue, Matt joined in, and the two were now howling with laughter, loudly slapping their hands on the table top, sending the beer mugs dancing across its smooth surface.

Kitty's eyes narrowed and her lips thinned in annoyance. She folded her arms in front of her chest and glowered at the two men in silence. Impossible; they were simply impossible, she thought to herself.

Matt was the first one to notice that she wasn't laughing, and his mood sobered considerably when his eyes met hers. His face suddenly took on the expression of a young boy caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar He guiltily lowered his gaze and began to clear his throat, trying to get the physician's attention.

Kitty's lips thinned in annoyance.

"Matt, I never thought I'd say this, but you are impossible."

She turned her attention to the doctor who was busy wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"And that goes for you, too!"

She graced the two men with a withering look.

"Have you two given it any thought how poor Chester must feel?"

Her query was met by an uncomfortable silence.

"Yes, just as I thought," she said stiffly.

Without another word, she pushed her chair back and left, leaving the two humbled men behind.

Doc fixed the Marshal with uncomprehending eyes.

"Well, for heaven's sakes," he said. "What, in thunder's, gotten into her...'poor' Chester?"

Matt scratched his head and grimaced slightly.

"Not sure," he replied after a moment's consideration, "but I'm fixin' to find out."

He silently resolved to go and check on Chester later. But first, he had to make amends with Kitty.

He was about to rise from his chair when his attention was drawn to the batwing doors; a cowboy had just come stumbling through, and his eyes were now darting wildly around the saloon, obviously in search of someone. He quickly found who he was looking for.

"Marshal Dillon! Marshal Dillon!" he now shouted excitedly, waving his
hand above the crowd.

Immediately, Matt surged to his feet to close the short distance between them. He listened with mounting unease as the cowboy began to gasp out a tale of someone setting fire to their barn and making off with several horses.

Matt's jaw tightened. He knew the cowboy to be one of Jake Worth's hands. The Worth's ranch was a good fifteen miles east of Dodge. His eyes settled on the bloody bandanna, the young man had wrapped around his upper arm.

He turned towards the physician who had just stepped up alongside him.

"Take care of him, will you?"

Without further delay, he hurriedly left the saloon, heading straight for the livery stable.

Somehow, he had the bad feeling that this was going to be another long night.

.

.

The acrid smell of burning wood and pitch had been permeating the night air for the last mile of his ride. As the Marshal now came up to the Worth's ranch, he could see the ominous glow illuminating the night sky ahead, rendering the brilliant sparkle of the stars almost invisible.

His gaze was drawn to the big barn. It was a mass of fire and smoke. The flames were crackling and roaring angrily, quickly devouring the dry timber.

Matt reined the buckskin in, trying to calm the animal as it began to skitter nervously at the smell of smoke.

The yard was bustling with activity. Cowboys were running between the bunkhouse and the stables, yelling orders to each other, while several more were engaged in the effort of keeping the fire from spreading to the surrounding buildings.

Matt's sharp eyes quickly searched his chaotic surroundings and came to rest on a small party of riders which had assembled in front of the main house. He dug his spurs into the buckskin's flanks and headed straight for them.

As he approached the riders, a single man broke away from the group and came walking up to him.

Matt at once recognized the heavy-set, middle-aged man as Jake Worth. His dusty, sweat-stained face was tense in the flickering light of the flames.

He came to a stop alongside the lawman's horse and looked up at him, his expression grim.

"I'm afraid, you're too late, Matt."

.

.

Several days had passed since the incident at the Worth's ranch and the Marshal was no closer to an answer as to who was responsible for it than he had been before. The more he thought about it, the less sense it seemed to make; why did the thieves waste time with setting the barn on fire and risk detection if they were just interested in the horses?

Those were the thoughts that Matt found himself pondering as he sat at his desk, attempting to complete the report. Writing it was a matter of slow deliberation for him, especially since there were so many unanswered questions.

He turned his attention back to the half-empty piece of paper in front of him, about to frame the next sentence when he heard someone fumbling with the door. His head jerked up and he laid down his pen again just as the door was opened and Doc Adams walked in.

The doctor tipped his hat.

"Hello, Matt," he greeted him as he shuffled over to the table, carelessly dropping his bag onto it.

Matt returned the greeting and leaned back in his chair. He folded his arms over his chest.

"Anything I can do for you?" he wondered.

Doc grabbed an empty cup from the safe. He turned his attention to the pot of
steaming coffee and began to pour himself some.

"No, no. Just thought I'd stop by," he said.

Matt raised his eyebrows and motioned with his head towards the stove.

"There's some coffee, Doc, just help yourself," he said.

The Marshal's quip went straight over the doctor's head. Cup in hand, he shuffled back over to the table and made himself comfortable on one of the chairs.

"Find out anything new about those horse thieves?" he wondered as he idly began to arrange the game pieces on the checker board.

Matt heaved a weary sigh,

"I'm afraid not."

He rose from behind his desk and picked up his own empty cup.

"You know, the whole thing just doesn't add up." He began to refill the mug with steaming coffee.

Suddenly, something occurred to him. He turned to the older man.

"Say, you didn't happen to treat any gunshot wounds lately?" he wondered.

Right away, Doc's face scrunched up.

"For heaven's sakes, Matt...the answer's 'no'. The same as it was yesterday and the day before," he groused annoyed. "I already told you, you'd be the first one to know."

Matt shrugged.

"Well, just asking."

He took a sip from his coffee and began to thoughtfully gaze out the window. There had been three different incidents over the last eight days, all involving the theft of horses as well as the senseless destruction of property and no sign or trace of the perpetrators.

Jake Worth's foreman was certain that he had shot at and wounded one of the thieves as they made off, and Matt had hoped that the man might come to Doc for medical attention. So far, that hadn't been the case.

"They'll make a mistake sooner or later," he muttered.

His musings were suddenly interrupted as his gaze fell on the gangly figure of his assistant. Chester was crossing the street, approaching the jail at a brisk pace.

Matt turned from the window towards the door as it was opened moments later.

"Well, I didn't expect you back so soon," he greeted the young man.

This morning, Chester had asked to take a couple of hours off in order to have lunch with Jenny Stoner.

Chester's face darkened. There was a slight edge of disappointment in his voice as he spoke.

"Yeah...I hadn't planned on bein' back so soon either, Mister Dillon," he said, "but Jen-Miss Stoner, I mean," he quickly corrected himself, "well, her Pa came to get her on the account of that brother of hers. He done hurt himself some terrible the other day and this mornin', he started runnin' a fever."

Chester's words drew Doc's attention.

"What do you mean...he hurt himself?" There was a look of uneasy curiosity in his eyes.

The young man scratched the back of his neck, trying to recall the finer details of his earlier conversation with Jenny Stoner.

"I reckon, she said somethin' about him hurtin' his arm or something like that."

Matt, too, was suddenly very interested in what Chester had to say.

"Hurt his arm?" he repeated. "How'd he hurt his arm?"

Clearly flustered by the sudden interest of the two men, Chester's eyes wandered from the doctor to the Marshal.

"Good gravy, Mister Dillon... if I'd of known it was that important..." he said, sounding slightly defensive.

"When'd you say this happened?" Matt persisted.

Neither one of the three men was paying any attention to Cal Bowers who had stepped up to the cell door and was now listening intently to their conversation.

Chester scratched his head.

"Well, I ain't so sure. A couple o' days ago, I reckon."

"Now, why in thunder, didn't they bring him by my office or send somebody to get me?" wondered Doc.

Unable to think of a good reason, Chester simply shrugged.

"I don't know, Doc."

The physician rose to his feet.

"Matt. I think, I better hitch up an' get right out there."

With a nod, Matt put down his cup.

"All right, I'll ride along with you."

"Good. I meet you over at Moss Grimmick's."

With that, the physician grabbed his bag and hurried out the door.

Matt stopped on the threshold and turned towards his assistant.

"Do me a favor an' keep an eye on things here, will you?"

"I'll keep an eye on Chester fer ya, Marshal," Cal Bowers suddenly sneered from his cell.

His remark drew a murderous look from the Chester.

"Now looky here, mister...I'm getting awful tired of you," he grumbled indignantly.

"Chester." Matt cautioned him immediately. He knew what Bowers was trying to do and unfortunately, his assistant was falling for it, allowing himself to baited by the man.

He cast the smirking prisoner a warning glance.

"And you better ease off, too, Bowers."

Chester took a deep breath. He didn't want Mister Dillon to think he couldn't handle Cal Bowers.

"Don't you worry none, Mr. Dillon," he tried to assure the Marshal.

Matt heaved an imperceptible sigh.

"Well, you make it kinda hard not to sometimes," he replied.

Deep inside he knew that Chester was loyal and dedicated, and he trusted him completely. He nodded at his assistant, slapped on his Stetson and stepped out onto the plank sidewalk-only to suddenly find himself face to face with Kitty.

She raised a bemused brow.

"My, you sure are fast," she remarked, thinking that he had come to meet up with her. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

"Well, let's go then if you're that hungry."

Right away, Matt felt a wave of guilt was over him. He had completely forgotten that he had promised to take her out for lunch at Delmonico's. He cleared his throat and turned towards her, gently taking hold of her arm.

"Yeah, well...about lunch," he found himself stammering. "I'm sorry, Kitty, but something came up."

She regarded him curiously. Deep inside, Kitty knew that he wouldn't break their date unless he had good reason to. But still, she couldn't help to feel a little put out by the fact that he did.

She sighed, but her expression softened a little when she saw the look of genuine regret on his face.

"All right, cowboy, what is it this time?"

The Marshal breathed an inward sigh of relief.

"Doc and I are headin' out to the Stoner's. Seems that one their boys got hurt."

Kitty's eyes narrowed suspiciously; if he saw it necessary to accompany Doc on a call, there was obviously more to it. She decided not to barrage him with questions, knowing that he would tell her soon enough. And he usually did, mostly at night when they were alone. Then he was simply Matt Dillon, the man she loved and not the Marshal of Dodge who had to keep his guard up at all times.

She gave his arm a tender pat.

"Well, you know where to find me," she then simply said.

Matt smiled down at her, for a short moment, loosing himself in her blue eyes. But the spell was quickly broken as she turned to leave.

He heaved an imperceptible sigh.

"Well, see you later, Kitty."

She smiled an acknowledgment and went on her way. Matt's eyes followed her for one brief moment. He knew that he could consider himself lucky; lucky to be able to call her his woman.

He quickly shook off his thoughts and stepped down into the street to cross over to the livery stable.

He wasn't sure what to expect once they got out to Stoner's, but he had a distinct feeling that the Stoner's wouldn't appreciate another visit from him.

.

.

"What's it that you want, Marshal?"

Walt Stoner's gray eyes fixed suspiciously onto the tall lawman. The elder Stoner had opened when Matt had knocked and stepped out onto the porch, quickly closing the door behind himself, making it very clear that he didn't want him or Doc inside his house.

Matt hooked his thumbs into the front of his gun belt. He studied the other man's face carefully. He had already figured that Walt Stoner wouldn't exactly welcome him, but there was something in the man's eyes that gave him slight cause for alarm.

He gave the other a perfunctory nod.

"Stoner," he said, "your daughter told my assistant that one of your boys got hurt."

Immediately, Stoner's eyes narrowed.

"I don't think that's any of your business." He cast the physician a hostile glance. "An' I don't remember calling for a doctor either!"

Suddenly, the crack in the door widened and Jenny Stoner timidly peered out.

"Pa, don't you think Doc Adams could take a look at Tab, since-" she began to say, but she didn't get a chance to finish her sentence.

In a flash, her father had spun around.

"You stay outta this," he hissed at her sharply. "Get yourself back inside where you belong!"

The fierceness, with which he spoke, caused her to retreat fearfully and quickly close the door again.

Matt exchanged a brief, but meaningful glance with Doc before turning back to the man in front of him.

"Come on, won't you let Doc here take a look at your boy," he said.

He spoke calmly despite the fact that by now he felt more like beating some sense into the man.

But old man Stoner wouldn't have any of it.

"Marshal...like I said...we don't need your help."

By now, Doc had heard enough. He stepped in front of the Marshal.

"By golly, don't be such a fool, Stoner," he said, "let me take a look at your boy."

If the young man inside was indeed running a fever, it meant that an infection had already set in and it could be a matter of life or death.

Immediately, the other bristled at the physician's reproachful words. His voice was low, intense and filled with hostility when he spoke.

"Seems to me, someone else's the fool around here...tryin' to meddle in other folk's business."

Doc's eyebrows knitted into a frown.

"Well, now you listen to me..." He shoved his finger into Stoner's face, about to thunder on, but the sudden touch of the Marshal's restraining hand on his shoulder caused him to fall silent.

"Wait a minute, Doc. Let me handle this." Matt gently pushed the doctor aside.

"Listen to me, Stoner," he began, unable to keep the anger and frustration from his voice any longer. "I can't force you to let Doc take a look at your boy, but let me tell you one thing...if he dies, he's gonna be on your conscience."

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence, and Matt could feel the tension between them. For a second, he thought that Stoner might reconsider, but he immediately realized that it wasn't so.

Stoner's eyes glistened coldly.

"You said your piece, now get outta here!" he hissed.

Matt realized that it was senseless to argue the point. He knew that he couldn't force Stoner to allow the physician to look at his son.

Doc had the same thought. Casting Stoner one final, disgusted look, he resolutely tugged at the Marshal's shirtsleeve.

"Come on, let's get outta here, Matt," he muttered quietly, and not waiting for an answer, stepped off the porch and shuffled along towards his buggy.

Matt's jaw tightened.

"I didn't figure on you bein' such a fool, Stoner."

With that, he turned around and walked off after the doctor.

Motionless, his expression giving no clue to his thoughts, Walt Stoner watched the Marshal mount his horse. When the two men had left the yard, he turned and went back inside.

Disappointed, Lyle Stoner lowered his rifle as his father entered the house moments later. He had hoped that pesky Marshal would give him a reason to cut him down. He turned from the window, about to complain, but the elder Stoner didn't pay him any mind. Instead, he headed straight towards his daughter.

"What the hell's wrong with you," he bellowed when he came to a halt in front of her. He grabbed her arm and began to shake her angrily.

"You wanna ruin ev'rything for us?"

His face was only inches from hers and Jenny recoiled her father's hateful words. She lowered her head, tears now stinging her eyes.

"I was just a-thinkin' of Tab, Pa," she whispered, trying to justify herself, but the elder Stoner wouldn't have any of it.

"Don't do any more thinkin'," he hissed at her, "that Doc Adams ain't no fool an' neither's that Marshal. Don't you think they recognize a bullet wound when they see one?"

She didn't reply. She knew that her father was right, as much as she hated to admit it. But be it as it may, it still didn't change the fact that her brother was lying next door with a bullet in his back. He needed a doctor. Suddenly, she wished that she could put an end to this madness.

It almost seemed as if Walt Stoner was reading her thoughts. His grip on her arm tightened painfully. He pulled her closer and grasped her chin between his fingers, forcing her to look at him.

"You ain't havin' the fool notion of quittin' on us now?" he asked softly.

Jenny's eyes were locked with her father's. She felt her resistance fade. After all, she knew what he was capable of. Slowly she shook her head.

"No, Pa," she whispered.

Satisfied, Stoner let go of her arm.

"Good. You just make sure you stay close to that crippled friend o' yours; that's all I'm askin' you to do."

He gave a derisive snort at the thought of Chester. He could not understand why a man like Dillon didn't have what he considered to be an able-bodied deputy.

Her father's words stung, but she wasn't brave enough to admit that she thought Chester Goode was a very nice man. Instead she quietly muttered another 'yes, Pa' and then headed for the back room to check on her brother.

Her father's voice stopped her abruptly.

"Jenny, next time, watch your mouth...a man likes to look at a woman more than he likes to hear her talk. I'm sure, that Chester ain't no exception there."

Lyle Stoner cast his sister a shameless grin.

"If'n he was a real man, that is," he chuckled.

The young woman felt herself blush with anger. She wanted to tell them that Chester was probably the nicest man she had ever met, but Jenny knew that it would be foolish to do so. Silently, she opened the door and disappeared into the bedroom.

.

.

"Still thinkin' about those Stoner's, hmm?"

Comfortably propped up on the Marshal's broad chest, Kitty gazed up into his eyes. Despite the semi-darkness, she could almost see the thoughtful look on his face.

Matt considered her words for a moment.

"Yeah," he replied quietly at last.

He was lying on his back, his hands crossed behind his head.

"You know," he then said as he brought one hand forward to place it on her freckled shoulder. "I'm just havin' trouble understanding men like Stoner."

The fact that he couldn't comprehend Walt Stoner's reasoning, was quite frustrating to him. Granted, he didn't have any children, but Matt knew that if he did, he definitely wouldn't just stand by if one of them got hurt.

Kitty's fingers tangled idly in the curly hair that covered the Marshal's chest.

"Well, maybe he just hates doctors, she mused. "Just look at Shel...it took him a while, but he came around."

The thought of his friend, Shel Tucker caused a brief smile to flash across the Marshal's face. Sadly, Shel's hatred of doctors had cost him the life of his wife. But Kitty was right, he eventually had come around, even asking Doc Adams for help when he had suffered an infected tooth.

Matt's fingers began to absently draw little circles on her back. He sighed.

"I wish you were right, but I have a feelin' that there's more to it."

"You have any idea, what caused his injury?" Kitty wondered. His touch made her skin tingle and she squirmed a little.

He didn't answer right away. True, he had his suspicions, but unfortunately, he also had no way of proving them.

"I don't know, Kitty," he said thoughtfully. "I could be dead-wrong about this, but I think that boy might have a bullet hole in him."

"A bullet hole?"

His words caused Kitty to lift her head in surprise. She regarded him curiously.

The moon was momentarily peeking through the quickly moving clouds outside, its pale light filtering through the window into the bedroom and she could see how troubled he looked.

"Yeah...a bullet hole that Jake Worth's foreman put in him."

His fingers ceased from drawing circles and began to caress her back in long, lingering strokes.

"But you can't prove it," Kitty concluded, already knowing what was coming next.

Matt exhaled loudly. His voice was now sounding slightly frustrated.

"No. Not unless Doc can get a look at the boy. "

His hand came across a strand of her long red hair and he began to twirl it around his fingers.

For a long time, neither one of them spoke and they continued to lay in comfortable silence.

"Maybe it's time I have a talk with Stoner's daughter," Matt finally broke the silence, saying out loud what he had been thinking for the last several minutes. He shifted a little, his mind briefly distracted as his feet jammed into the footboard of the cast-iron bedstead.

Kitty pulled the blanket tighter around herself.

"Well, maybe you should," she mumbled sleepily.

Anxious to put an end to the unpleasant subject, she slid off his chest and snuggled contentedly into his arms, cradling her head on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and had soon drifted off to sleep while Matt, once again deeply absorbed in his thoughts, continued his caresses.

.

.

"Well, mornin' Mister Dillon."

Chester sat up and yawned when he noticed that the Marshal was already sitting at his desk, leafing through a stack of 'wanted' posters.

"I didn't see you come in last night."

He rose from his cot and stretched his lanky frame.

Matt lifted his head, about to reply when Cal Bowers suddenly took it upon himself to answer in the Marshal's stead.

"He came in this mornin', Chester," the prisoner informed him eagerly. There was a smirk on his face. "Must got himself a girl somewhere."

Matt slapped the circulars down that he had been looking at. Their prisoner was slowly beginning to irritate him more than he cared to admit.

"All right, that's enough outta you, Bowers," he growled.

"Wait...I forgot...it's you and the redhead, ain't it?" Cal Bowers chuckled. "She sure's pretty, Marshal...probably quite a handful, ain't she?"

His face stuck to the cell bars, he grinned provocatively at Chester, giving him a conspiratorial wink.

Matt's eyes narrowed.

"I said that's enough!"

"Well, I declare," said Chester outraged. He limped over to door that separated the cells from the office. "He's just askin' for it, ain't he? Talkin' about Miss Kitty like that."

He wished once again that the Sheriff from Hays would get here soon and take Bowers off their hands.

Cal Bowers simply laughed it off and decided to rest the issue-for right now anyway. He knew that if he pushed too much, Chester might conveniently forget his breakfast.

Chester closed the door with a loud bang, causing Matt to flinch.

"Chester," he said as he turned to his assistant. "There's somethin' I wanna talk to you about."

Matt stood and stepped around his desk.

"It's about Stoner's daughter." He watched with a slight frown as Chester commenced to make coffee in his own peculiar way.

Chester looked up curiously.

"Jenny? What about her, Mister Dillon?"

"You think you could bring her over here next time you see her?"

Chester shrugged, not seeing a problem with the Marshal's request.

"Well, yeah...I reckon, I could," he said. "What's it that you want her for
anyways?"

He began to spoon generous amounts of freshly ground coffee into the pot.

"I need to know how her brother got hurt."

Leaving it at that, Matt walked over to the door and grabbed his hat.

"I'm goin' down to the telegraph office," he said, and with a rather unfriendly side glance at the door, leading to the cells, added, "maybe somethin' from Hays finally came in." He slapped on his Stetson and pulled the door shut behind himself.

The rest of the morning passed relatively uneventful. Matt spend most of it at the office, doing some routine paperwork while Chester was out, looking for Jenny Stoner. Feeling rather hungry by now, since his breakfast had consisted of not much more than Chester's coffee and some eggs, he decided to see if Doc wanted to have lunch with him.

As he was about to leave the office, the door suddenly swung open. It was Chester.

"Mister Dillon," he announced rather proudly, "look who I got with me."

He made a sweeping gesture towards a pretty young woman who was standing in the doorway behind him, smiling.

Matt gave her a friendly nod.

"Miss Stoner, come on in."

Jenny thanked him and obliged.

"Chester said, you wanted to talk to me, Marshal."

"Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about your brother."

Jenny regarded the lawman nervously.

"My brother?"

Matt caught the change in her tone and realized quickly that he had struck a nerve. He clasped his fingers around his belt buckle, never taking his eyes off her.

"Miss Stoner, you mind tellin' me how your brother got hurt?"

She didn't reply right away, and he could see that she seemed to be fighting with herself. It gave him all the more reason to believe that her brother's injury was more than just a mere accident.

Finally, Jenny looked up, but her eyes were avoiding the Marshal's; instead, she fixed her gaze on the badge, pinned to his shirt.

"Marshal, I know I shouldn't be telling you this, but...Tab was shot."

.

.

"You sure about that, girl?"

Walt Stoner's eyes bored into his daughter's. He held her firmly by her upper arms, studying her intently.

"Yes, Pa," Jenny answered fearfully. His hold on her was tight and his fingers were digging painfully into her flesh. She squirmed.

"I'm tellin' you the truth. I was with Chester when he picked up the telegram. Please, let go...you're hurtin' me..."

Walt Stoner didn't reply, but he let go of her arms and began to pace the floor.

"What're we gonna do now, Pa?"

Lyle was sitting at the table, running an oiled rag over the barrel of his rifle. He looked up at his father. "If that Sheriff from Hays is comin' in on the Stage tomorrow-"

"So what!"

Walt Stoner suddenly stopped pacing. He came to a halt in front of his son. "We just gonna have to change our plans, that's all."

He bent forward and placed his beefy hands on the table top to stare down into Lyle's face.

"I'm gonna get my hands on him. He owes us, boy an' he's gonna pay up!"

The young man didn't dare reply, he knew better than to enrage his father any more.

Satisfied, the elder Stoner straightened and moved over to the window.

"Lyle, you go out an' do your business at that Wheeler ranch as planned."

He ran a hand over his stubbly chin and gazed out into the yard.

"I reckon that place is out far enough to keep Dillon busy for a while. We meet an hour after sundown on the north edge of town."

"What about Tab an' Jenny, Pa? An' how about that Marshal's assistant?" Lyle wondered reluctantly.

He almost instantly regretted it when he saw the irritated look on his father's face.

Walt Stoner's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"I don't give a damn about that crippled deputy!" he hissed angrily.

"Pa? Why can't we just do as we planned?" Jenny now timidly spoke up.

Slowly, Stoner turned towards his daughter. He studied her intently for a moment and then suddenly laughed harshly.

"Well, I shoulda known...you really fancy him, do you?"

He took a few threatening steps towards her.

"I shoulda known from the beginnin' that this was a bad idea...lettin' you cozy up to that cripple. I changed my mind...we don't need him anymore."

He stopped in front of her, fixing her with his angry eyes.

"Tell me...how far did it go between the two of you, eh?"

Jenny did not hear his last words; all she could hear was that Chester was not needed anymore. Panic began to well up inside her.

"No, Pa, please," she pleaded. "I can do it. I can get the keys and..."

But the elder Stoner wouldn't have any of it.

"No, you won't! You're gonna do exactly as you're told from now on and leave the rest to your brother and me!"

The young woman shook her head.

"Please, don't hurt him, Pa!"

Stoner's face contorted with anger. His eyes blazing, he gripped her shoulder tightly, ignoring her wince of pain.

"Not another word outta you! Now go on...get packin'. Lyle's gonna hitch up the wagon for you an' Tab. You meet us at that creek, a couple of miles northwest of town, you understand, girl?"

He shook her roughly.

Tears began to run down Jenny's cheeks. Unable to look him in the eye, she kept her gaze directed at the floor.

"Yes, Pa," she sobbed quietly.

Stoner regarded his daughter speculatively for a few seconds.

"Good," he said at last, "now get busy...we don't have much time."

He let go of her and without another word, stalked from the room.

.

.

"Any luck, Chester?" Matt wondered as his assistant came to join him on the boardwalk in front of the Long Branch.

It was late afternoon and the two men had just spent the last several hours trying to find Doc Adams. They hadn't been very successful. Chester had just returned from the livery stable where Doc usually kept his horse and buggy.

"No, Mister Dillon," he grumbled, a rather sour look on his face.

He had been to the livery on at least six different occasions today, questioning Moss repeatedly whether Doc had returned yet. The old man had become less co-operative each time.

On his most recent visit, Moss had answered his query by hurling a curry comb at him, informing Chester in no uncertain terms that Doc wasn't back yet and that he wouldn't tell him even if he was.

Matt's voice was tinged with disappointment.

"Well, let's head on back to the office," he said, "I reckon, I have to ride out there by myself."

"You sure that's a smart thing to do, goin' out there by yourself an' all?" Chester queried as he limped alongside the Marshal, trying to keep up with his long strides. "I mean...no tellin' what old Stoner's gonna do."

Matt stepped up onto the small front porch of the office. He pulled the key from his pocket.

"Well, it's a chance I have to take."

Chester watched the Marshal unlock the door.

"I sure would feel better if you'd let me ride along, Mister Dillon."

"No, Chester."

Matt quickly crossed over to the gun rack and pulled one
of the Winchesters down.

"I need you here to keep an eye on him."

He nodded towards Cal Bower's cell and then perched himself on the edge of his desk to load the rifle.

The prisoner jumped from his bunk and stepped up to the cell door.

"Where ya goin', Marshal?" he asked as if he had a right to know. "Seein' that pretty gal o' yours? Say 'hello' to her from me. Maybe I'll pay her a visit sometime."

A devilish grin began to spread across the prisoner's face.

"Show her what it's like to be with a real man."

At Bower's words, Matt's head snapped up as if struck. His eyes narrowed. He knew that Bowers was baiting him, but there was only so much he could put up with. Setting the rifle down onto the desk, Matt rose to his feet and began to advance on him.

"Bowers," he growled in a low, intense voice which caused the prisoner to instantly loose his smirk and retreat from the cell door. "I'm gonna take you apart."

But his progress was halted as Chester suddenly stepped in front of him.

"Mister Dillon," he carefully interjected, his hands raised in an appeasing manner. "He ain't worth it."

Matt stopped and took a deep breath, giving his assistant's words quick consideration. Chester was right; he had more important matters to attend to than to allow this cowboy to get the better of him. He cast the, by now, very quiet prisoner a disgusted glance.

"Yeah," he muttered reluctantly. He moved to retrieve the rifle.

Chester turned towards the prisoner.

"You keep quiet or I'll pull the kinks outta you!" Then he slammed the wooden door, separating the cells from the rest of the office, shut.

The Marshal turned his gaze to the window and realized that the sun had already begun to set. He had hoped to get out to Stoner's while there still was some daylight left, but obviously, it was too late now.

Nevertheless, he knew that he had to pay Walt Stoner another visit. He made his way over to the door, but stopped on the threshold.

"Make sure you keep the doors locked while I'm gone, Chester," he reminded his assistant.

"Yes, sir, I sure will." Chester nodded, silently regretting the fact that he had to remain behind. Guarding a prisoner wasn't exactly the most exciting thing to do, and he would have rather gone along with the Marshal.

Little did Chester realize that he was about to get more excitement than he had bargained for.

.

.

The night was very dark, with only occasional glimpses of moon floating between the black clouds as the Marshal was galloping along the road back to Dodge. He was eager to get back into town.

Maybe there he would be able to find the answer to the question that was now burning foremost in his mind.

Where had Walt Stoner gone? When he had arrived at the farm a short while ago, he had found the old Finnegan homestead dark and empty. There had been no sign of Walt Stoner or his family.

The more he thought about it, the clearer it became to him that his suspicions about Stoner were valid. He began to wonder if the man and his sons didn't have a hand in the thefts of those horses and the other strange crimes which had been occurring over the last ten days.

With that thought, Matt dug his heels into the buckskin's flanks and urged him on.

He was just coming up on the edge of town when he suddenly noticed a rider coming straight towards him.

Despite the darkness, the Marshal could see that the man was riding along at a swift gallop, the rhythmic beat of the hooves stirring up a clouding of dust as they hit the dry, hard ground.

Matt reined his mount in and pulled the colt from its holster. His eyes were cautiously fixed on the quickly approaching rider.

As the man came closer, he slowed his horse to a trot and the Marshal realized that it was Clyde Wheeler's foreman, Chuck Benning. His face bore a worried expression as he firmly tugged on the reins, causing his mount to skitter to an abrupt halt alongside the buckskin.

"Marshal, I'm sure glad I found you. Chester done told me you were out here," he gasped excitedly as his horse milled restlessly underneath him. "They set the ranch on fire...we need you out there!"

Somehow, the foreman's words didn't come as too much of a surprise to Matt; he had been wondering all along what was going to happen next.

Grimly, he holstered up his gun and turned the buckskin around.

"We're better off gettin' some help in Dodge first, Chuck."

If this was as bad as it had been out at Jake Worth's, they most definitely could use every man available.

"Already done it, Marshal," the foreman replied. "I reckon, half of Dodge must be out there by now."

Matt gave a brief nod of acknowledgment.

"All right, let's go then."

With that, he spurred his horse forward into a gallop, and the foreman followed closely behind.

Although he would have preferred to deal with the Stoner's first, Matt knew that they just had to wait.

He had no way of knowing that waiting was exactly what they were doing.

.

.

Lyle Stoner shifted restlessly in his saddle. They had been sitting at the edge of town for the last hour or so, waiting in the shadow of the buildings for the last
of the townsfolk to head out to the Wheeler ranch. He glanced at his father.

"You reckon, now, Pa?"

"Have some patience, dammit," Walt Stoner growled at his son. He had been waiting too long for this opportunity to risk everything now by acting hastily and making a wrong move.

The thought of Cal Bowers caused his face to darken. A traitor, that's what he was. A thief and a traitor.

He had cheated him and his sons out of their share from their last robbery in Hays, running off with the money. Luckily, it hadn't taken him long to find out that Cal Bowers had been arrested in Dodge and was now awaiting extradition back to Hays.

There was a vicious gleam in Walt Stoner's eyes as he began to think of all the things he would do to Bowers as soon as he got his hands on the money.

His gaze wandered down a deserted Front Street towards the Marshal's office.

With Dillon out of the way, he didn't anticipate any trouble in dealing with Chester. Walt Stoner's face set in determination as he tapped his boot heels against his horse's sides and guided it out into the open street.

He turned towards his son and motioned him to follow.

"Let's go."

There was an almost eerie silence about the town as the two men rode down the dark street. The clatter of hoof beats bounced off the surrounding buildings and reverberated with unnatural loudness. The music which had sounded from the Long Branch earlier, had now ceased since most of the patrons had left for the Wheeler ranch.

Walt Stoner reined in his mount when they reached the Marshal's office and dismounted. Lyle quickly followed suit and they tethered their horses, as well as the extra one they had brought for Bowers, to the hitching beam.

The elder Stoner quickly cast a careful eye around the street and then turned his head to survey the other end. Nothing. Everything was still quiet. He turned to his son.

"Remember, Lyle...no shootin' if we can help it. I'm sure there's still plenty of folks in town an' we wouldn't wanna draw their attention."

Lyle nodded nervously. His fingers tightened around the rifle in his hands. He followed after his father.

.

.

Inside the Marshal's office, Chester had taken to pacing the floor. He wished, he was out there at the Wheeler ranch being of help, instead of sitting here and guarding Bowers. He was hoping that Chuck Benning had met up with the Marshal on the road to Dodge.

A series of loud knocks suddenly roused him from his thoughts. Startled, Chester looked up.

"Who is it?" he called cautiously.

"Chester?" came a voice from the other side of the door. "It's Walt Stoner. I need your help."

There was a brief pause.

"It's Jenny, Chester," Stoner then added. His voice sounded quite urgent now. "She done hurt herself bad and we cain't find the doctor anywhere."

His words had the desired effect. Almost immediately, the color began to drain from Chester's face. He rushed towards the door.

.

.

Jenny Stoner sent the reins smacking down hard onto the horse's back as the wagon continued to rock and rattle down the road through the night. Her face was tense with fear at the thought of what she was about to do.

The moment she turned off the main road, Jenny could see the ill-boding red glow which seemed to lighten up the night sky ahead like a monstrous dawn. She slowed the Conestoga down and quickly turned to check on her injured brother. The sight of the unconscious young man in the wagon bed strengthened her resolve and she decidedly urged the horse on.

She had to find the Marshal.

There was nothing that could have prepared her for the sight that greeted her moments later as she drove the wagon into the yard of the Wheeler ranch. The barn, as well as several other outbuildings, were ablaze, engulfed in flames. The intense heat radiating from the fire, along with the acrid smell of smoke which hung heavily in the air, quickly made it difficult for her to breathe.

The excited shouts of men were mingled with the frantic neighing of horses as they panic-stricken pounded around the yard, looking for a way to escape the fiery trap. Cowboys were running to and fro, opening stable doors to free trapped animals, while others had already formed a long line, passing buckets of water, trying to contain the blaze and keep it from spreading to the ranch house.

Jenny Stoner's eyes desperately began to search her chaotic surroundings. How was she supposed to find the Marshal in this?

Suddenly, her eyes fell on a figure, standing close to the barn. The man was tall, towering over the rest of the others. She recognized him immediately. Hastily, she climbed off the high seat and rushed towards him.

As she drew closer, she could feel the immense heat beginning to engulf her, taking her breath away. Pressing her shawl to her nose and mouth, she continued on.

Startled, Matt spun around at the sudden touch of a hand on his arm. A look of utter surprise quickly began to spread across his sweat and soot-covered face.

"Jenny," he exclaimed, his initial surprise quickly giving way to a frown, "what're you doin' here?"

He could tell that she was overwhelmed by the heat. Quickly, he took hold of her arm to lead her away from the barn. When they were a safe distance away, he turned to face her.

"Jenny, what's wrong?"

The feeling of the slightly cooler air on her face, along with the pressure of Matt's fingers on her shoulders, seemed to bring her out of her daze.

"Marshal," she pleaded urgently, "you have to get back to Dodge...now!"

The wavering glow of the flames cast wavering shadows on her face, and Matt could see the fear in her eyes.

"Get back to Dodge? Why?"

He regarded her intently, his eyes boring into hers, willing her to answer him.

"Marshal, they're gonna kill Chester!" Her hands grabbed at his shirtsleeves in desperation.

Matt was not quite understanding.

"Kill Chester? Who're you talkin' about?"

A moan of desperation escaped Jenny's lips.

"It's Pa and Lyle...they're after Bowers...please...you have to hurry!"

Matt let go of her shoulders. His eyes came to rest on the Conestoga behind her.

"Is your brother in there?" he wanted to know as he lifted his Stetson, using his sleeve to wipe the sheen of sweat from his brow.

She nodded. Her voice sounded thin and faint as she looked up at him.

"We're supposed to meet Pa at that creek, northwest of town, but Tab ain't gonna make it, Marshal."

Matt nodded towards the house.

"Look. Doc's over at the ranch house...he'll take care of your brother," he said, and without wasting any more time, he hurried off to get his horse.

Jenny Stoner's gaze followed the buckskin as it moments later thundered down the road to Dodge, the Marshal atop spurring him on. She prayed that he would not be too late.

.

.

The instant Chester opened the door, he realized his mistake. But it was too late.

The two men had already shouldered their way in. Immediately Lyle bolted the door from the inside. Chester's eyes went wide with surprise at the sight of the rifles that were now pointed at him.

Walt Stoner fixed him with his cold stare.

"Hello, Chester."

Chester took an involuntary step backwards. His eyes darted desperately to his rifle which was leaning uselessly against the stove.

The elder Stoner immediately caught it.

"Don't even think about it," he warned as he took a few more threatening steps forward.

Chester swallowed hard.

"Where's Jenny? What'd you do to her?"

Old man Stoner gave a mean chuckle.

"Jenny ain't here, Chester, but she sends her best."

"What do you mean by that?" Chester was confused; he couldn't imagine that she was in on this.

"Chester, Chester."

Walt shook his head sadly as he continued to advance on the young jailer.

"You really ain't very smart." He came to a stop.

"What I'm tryin' to say is...you ain't man enough for her."

His eyes shone malevolently and his voice was filled with scorn. "In other words...the courtship's off!"

As he spat out those last words, his arms suddenly flew forward, ramming the rifle stock hard against Chester's head.

The maneuver caught Chester completely off guard.

He could feel the impact as the wooden rifle stock slammed against his forehead. His surroundings quickly dissolved in a blur, and he crumpled to the floor.

With a shake of his head, Walt Stoner stepped over the unconscious man to head straight for the peg which held the keys to the cell doors.

In the meantime, Lyle Stoner had taken to searching the drawers of the Marshal's desk. He carelessly began to throw their contents onto the desktop.

"Looky here, pa," he called out excitedly when he found Bower's revolver.

Walt Stoner didn't pay any attention to him; his only interest at the moment was the man inside the jail cell. He pushed the wooden door, leading to the cells open and entered.

Cal Bowers immediately surged to his feet when he saw who had just stepped inside.

"Stoner!" he exclaimed startled at the sight of him. There was not a trace of his usual cockiness in his voice now.

Walt Stoner regarded the other in silence. There was no mistaking the hostility in the glance directed at the prisoner.

Bowers began to squirm a little.

"Come on, Stoner," he broke the uncomfortable silence, "you know, I wasn't running out on you."

Stoner's expression was one of utmost contempt. He slowly raised his hand and placed the key in the lock, but didn't turn it. Instead, he raised his rifle and pointed it at Bowers.

"The thought had crossed my mind, Cal," he replied pleasantly, obviously enjoying himself, "but you can prove me wrong by givin' me back what's mine."

The key made a scratching noise as it was turned inside the lock, but Cal Bowers wasn't sure whether to be glad for it or not.
.

.

.

By the time the Marshal could finally make out the faint lights of Dodge, his stomach was knotted with fear and anticipation. It seemed that he had been riding for hours, even though he knew it couldn't have been more than forty minutes. He could feel his horse's sides heaving underneath him as the buckskin strained to keep up the pace Matt demanded from him.

Moments later, they reached the edge of town. He slowed the horse down to a walk as they rode past the first buildings.

Dodge was quiet, almost deserted, he observed grimly. Stoner was smarter than he had given him credit. Setting the fire at the Wheeler ranch had been a sure way of emptying Dodge of most of its male citizens, including himself.

Matt still didn't exactly understand why Stoner was after Bowers, but it was a minor detail at the moment. Right now, his priority was to make sure that Chester was all right.

He reined his mount in and let his gaze wander towards the office. The light of the oil lamp inside was casting flickering shadows through the windows onto the boardwalk outside. Matt dismounted and led the buckskin to a nearby beam where he tied him up. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he knew that he had to be very careful.

Stealthily, his colt drawn, he made his way down the boardwalk. When he reached the jail, he paused for a moment. Everything was quiet-almost a little too quiet for his taste.

His back pressed against the brick facade, Matt inched his way forward towards the first window. Cautiously, he peered inside. At first, he didn't see anything unusual; the door, leading to the cells was shut, making it impossible for him to determine what was behind it. His eyes continued to search the office, noting the mess that was piled onto his desk. But there was no sign of Chester.

Suddenly, his gaze fell on something that he hadn't noticed before. There, on the floor beside the table, was what appeared to be a small, reddish puddle. Matt's jaw tightened. His throat suddenly felt dry at the sight of it.

He didn't know whose blood it was, but he had a feeling that he would find out soon. He turned and headed into the alley towards the backdoor. Matt was relieved to find it unlocked.

Slowly, he cracked the door open a little. He flinched at the creaking noise it made and his mind automatically turned to Chester. He had asked him to oil the hinges a couple of days ago, and apparently, he had forgotten. He opened the door a little further and stuck his head through to cautiously glance around. The office was deserted.

Still careful, he stepped inside and then crossed over to the table. He squatted down next to the puddle on the floor. He dipped his finger into it and brought it up to his face to examine it. His thoughts were quickly confirmed; it was definitely blood. Matt pressed his lips together as he used his thumb to rub the sticky liquid off his finger.

His gaze turned towards the closed door behind which the jail cells lay. Mattt uddenly had the feeling that he might find someone in there other than Bowers. He desperately hoped that it wasn't Chester.

Matt straightened. He crossed over to the door and listened. Nothing. Not a single sound.

He took a deep breath and readied himself. He gave the door a swift kick so that it flew open and jumped in, his gun aimed into the room. But the room was empty. Empty, except for-

Matt's heart gave a slight jolt as his eyes fell on the figure of a man sprawled out face down on the floor inside the first cell.

Chester.

He wasn't moving and the Marshal immediately noticed the small puddle of blood that had pooled beside his head.

He tugged at the cell door only to find it locked. Desperately, his eyes darted around the room. The keys! They had to be somewhere. And indeed, there they were, lying on the ground in the next cell.

Matt found that his hand was trembling as he clumsily fumbled with the lock. A motion, he had performed countless times in the past without thinking. Finally, the bolt sprang back with a loud, metallic click. He yanked the door open and rushed inside.

"Chester," he whispered anxiously as he dropped down on his knees beside him. He grasped him by the shoulders and gently rolled him over on his back.

"Come on, Chester," he pleaded, trying to rouse his friend.

With a feeble groan, Chester finally opened his eyes.

"Mister Dillon," he muttered weakly when he realized who it was. Shakily, he tried to prop himself up on his elbows.

"It's all right, Chester," Matt assured him as he helped him to sit up.

"Oh, Mister Dillon." Chester pressed his hand against his forehead, attempting to ease the pain that was coursing through his head. "I'm not too proud to admit this...but I let them Stoner's in. They said Jenny was hurt an'..."

He paused, his face taking on a pained expression.

"Oh, Mister Dillon, I'm just as sorry as I can be."

"I know, Chester, it's all right," Matt cut him off gently. "Don't go blamin' yourself. You did what you thought was right."

It really hadn't taken much to figure out how the Stoners had talked their way in, and frankly, he couldn't blame Chester; he probably would've done the same thing.

"You think, you can stand up?"

Chester nodded determined, and with the Marshal's help, managed to gain his feet. For a moment, he tottered unsteadily, and Matt immediately pulled his arm across his shoulder. With a little help, he made it back into the office where he gratefully sank into a chair.

It didn't take Matt long to see to Chester's injury. Satisfied, he regarded the make-shift bandage he had tied around Chester's head.

"Well, I think that just about oughtta do it."

He gave his assistant a friendly clap on the shoulder.

"Look, I'm gonna send Kitty over...she can stay with you until Doc gets back."

Chester looked decidedly miserable.

"You fixin' to go after them, ain't you, Mister Dillon?"

Matt nodded once.

"Yup."

There wasn't much more to be said; he already had a pretty good idea where to find his missing prisoner. He was eager to get him and bring him back where he belonged.

"You just take it easy there, Chester," he said to his friend before he headed back out into the night.

.

.

"She ain't gonna show, Stoner an' you know it."

Cal Bowers voice was dripping with scorn as he idly stoked the small fire in front of him. They had been waiting too long already. He cast the other who was squatting across from him a calculating glance. Bowers knew that his chance for survival had been much better if he had stayed at the Dodge jail, but he intended on improving his odds.

True, he had run out on the Stoners, but what Walt didn't know was the fact that the money was gone. Not that there had been a lot to begin with. Stoner never had a chance to count it and would probably not believe the fact that it had been a lot less than what they had hoped for. A measly twelve-hundred dollars was all they had been able to take from the Bank in Hays. Now it was all gone, most of it gambled away.

He realized that the prospect of the money was the only thing that was keeping him alive. It would be foolish to break the truth to Stoner-unless he had the upper hand.

Walt Stoner rose abruptly and let his gaze wander across the vast prairie.

"We'll wait."

The black sky above was clear and bright, sprinkled with a myriad of stars shining down brightly onto their camp.

Deep inside, he knew that Bowers could be right. Soon, the Marshal would return to Dodge and find his deputy locked up and Bowers gone. If he judged Dillon correctly, he wouldn't waste any time trying to track them down.

He turned and fixed his eyes on the man crouching by the fire.

"Tell me where the money is, Bowers."

The sudden question and the force with which it was spoken, caused the other to look up, startled.

"Whoa there, Stoner..."

Bowers slowly rose, carelessly flicking his cigarette into the flames. "Don't you think, we oughtta discuss the terms first?" He had always prided himself on his ability to negotiate by means of bluffing. Most of them time, it had worked well for him-except maybe around the gambling table.

"Terms?" Walt could not believe what he was hearing. "My terms are that I'm gonna put a bullet hole in you if you don't tell me where the money is," he growled as his hand moved for his gun.

Undaunted, Cal Bowers simply laughed.

"I don't think so, Walt. You kill me now...you'll never find the money."

He grinned confidently at the man towering across from him. His eyes quickly judged the distance between himself and Stoner. Slowly, he stooped back down by the fire to pick up a heavy stick and commenced to stoke the flames with it.

Walt frowned. His hand brushed over the grip of his revolver.

"Who said anythin' about killin'?" he replied pleasantly. "But maybe you're more willin' to talk with a bullet or two in you leg?" He flashed Bowers a malevolent smile which left no doubt as to his willingness to carry through with his threat.

Cal Bowers face hardened immediately. He had no intentions of allowing Stoner to shoot him up, and he was about to let him know.

In a movement, almost too swift to follow, Bowers jumped up and hurled the stick with its brightly glowing tip at Stoner's face.

With a startled outcry, Walt staggered backwards. The last thing he registered, was a hand, ripping his colt from its holster, followed by the roar of shots being fired.

.

.

Silver Creek.

The name alone evoked memories in him. They were definitely pleasant ones, and Matt couldn't help the brief smile that passed across his face as his mind almost involuntarily painted a rather intimate picture of him and Kitty entwined in each other's arms, lying on the mossy banks. But the picture didn't last very long. It was suddenly replaced by the image of Stoner and his brood. And Cal Bowers.

Matt knew that the Stoners, as well as Cal Bowers wouldn't return to Dodge with him voluntarily. The thought of what he might have to do, caused a heavy weariness to settle over him. It was never easy for him to aim his gun at any human being and pull the trigger; no matter how much they deserved it.

Straight ahead, Silver Creek now came into view, its tree-lined silhouette outlined darkly against the star-studded night sky.

Matt reined the buckskin to a halt and stretched himself tall in the saddle, his intent gaze slowly surveying the vast landscape in front of him. The last thing he wanted to happen was to stumble upon the Stoners by accident.

Suddenly, the quiet was broken by the sharp crack of gunfire.

The horse skittered nervously at the noise, but Matt quickly brought him under control. In a flash, he had dismounted and pulled the Winchester from the scabbard. It wasn't hard to tell where the shots had come from; maybe a hundred yards ahead, he could now make out the faint glow of a campfire.

Matt began to move towards it. He wasn't sure what he would find, but it seemed quite obvious that there had been some disagreement.

Silently, he continued to inch his way closer to the fire and soon, he was able to discern the outlines of several horses staked out between the trees.

Matt counted.

The fact that there were three, confirmed what Jenny Stoner had told him. Cautiously, he began to back away; the last thing he wanted to happen, was to spook the animals and draw untimely attention to himself.

Cautiously, he continued to circle the camp and finally crouched behind some bushes, only a few yards away from the fire. What he now saw, made his blood run cold. The flickering light of the campfire revealed the motionless figures of two men sprawled out on the ground. The one closer to the fire was on his back while the other was lying face-down a few yards away.

Matt's jaw tightened. It looked as if Bowers had a strange way of repaying the men that had freed him.

The silence that hung over the camp, was broken only by the rasping chirp of a lonely cricket and the occasional hoot of an owl. As his eyes continued to search the site, they found the third man. Rummaging through a saddlebag, Cal Bowers moved unhurried, obviously not too concerned with being detected.

That was good as far as Matt was concerned. As long as he had the element of surprise on his side, he knew that he was at an advantage.

Never taking his eyes off Bowers, he moved a little closer. Only a few yards were separating him now from the unsuspecting outlaw.

Suddenly, a twig snapped underneath Matt's boot. Bower's head jerked up in alarm.

The Marshal flinched. He suppressed a curse as he crouched even lower behind his bush, praying that the other hadn't noticed him.

Bowers stood frozen. He listened intently into the night, his alert gaze searching the thick undergrowth. Slowly, he began to take a few cautious steps forward into the direction he believed the sound to have come from.

The clicking, as the outlaw cocked the hammer of his gun, cut sharply through the silence. Matt tensed when he realized that Bowers was heading straight towards him.

It would have been an easy thing to shoot the man, but Matt wanted him alive. He holstered his colt back up.

Only a few more feet and Bowers would be right on top of him.

Matt's face was taut, his heart was hammering loudly against his ribcage. Rivulets of sweat were running down his dust-streaked face. Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten with anticipation as he watched Bowers come closer.

Now.

With incredible speed, the Marshal surged to his feet and jumped from his cover.

Cal Bowers gave a startled cry when he suddenly felt two strong arms wrap themselves around his waist, knocking him sideways to the ground. The revolver flew from his grasp.

Before the outlaw had a chance to get a good look at his assailant, a fist connected painfully with his chin, sending his head reeling.

Momentarily stunned by the powerful blow, he felt a strong hand seize the front of his shirt and haul him to his feet.

A look of utter surprise began to spread across Bowers face when he found himself face to face with the Marshal from Dodge.

Matt's face was hard with restrained temper.

"All right, Bowers," he growled, "let's go."

Without further ado, he began to drag the dazed man along towards the fire.

But Matt had underestimated his opponent. Cal Bowers was far from willing to give himself up so easy.

A sudden surge of newfound strength, undoubtedly born from desperation rose up within him. The outlaw's right fist shot upwards, catching Matt off guard and hitting him hard on the side of his head.

The lawman staggered backwards. He lost his grip on the other's shirt. Immediately, his right went for his colt as he tried to shake off the blow. He had it halfway drawn when an unexpected kick from Cal Bowers' boot sent the gun flying from his hand.

Matt didn't have a chance to retrieve it; he suddenly had his hands full, dodging Bower's angry jabs. A hard punch penetrated his defense, grazing his cheek. He retaliated by driving a quick straight left to the other's chin.

His ex-prisoner proved to be one tough customer as the Marshal came to realize.

A curse on his lips, Bowers hurled himself at Matt, knocking them both to the ground.

The wiry outlaw wasn't very tall, but extremely fast, and desperation seemed to have lent him extra strength. The Marshal suddenly found himself under a barrage of blows and punches from the man sitting on top of him.

The outlaw's lips curled in triumph as he managed to land a blow to Matt's nose, drawing blood.

But the pain only spurred the lawman's anger. With a growl, his hands shot up and dug into the fabric of Bowers' shirt, lifting and throwing the smaller man off with ease.

Immediately, Cal Bowers scrambled to his feet again, his eyes desperately darting towards the Marshal's colt, but Matt had caught his glance.

In a flash, he had launched himself at the outlaw. Grabbing him around his knees, he sent him toppling over again.

But Bowers wasn't ready to give up just yet. He kicked out hard, and the heel of his boot slammed into Matt's face. He cried out in pain and recoiled as blood began to ooze from a deep gash above his eye, quickly obscuring his vision.

Desperately, Matt's hand rubbed at his eye while the other reached out blindly and managed to take hold of Bowers' leg before the man had another chance to clamber to his feet. Trying his best to ignore the erratic kicks and punches that Bowers was directing at him, he continued to hold the outlaw in a grip of iron.

Somehow, Bowers managed to grab Matt's arm and the two were now fiercely wrestling with each other, rolling madly across the dusty ground.

Neither one of them was aware that they were coming dangerously close to the campfire.

Suddenly, they plowed into the rocks encircling the fire pit, sending a shower of sparks and ashes heavenwards. Bowers yelped in pain when a smoldering chunk of wood burned his arm.

Matt immediately saw his chance.

Though still half-blinded by the blood, he swung out with his now free fist and sent it crashing down hard into Cal Bowers' temple.

The outlaw cried out in surprise, twitched and then his body went limp.

Exhausted, Matt dropped himself to the ground beside the unconscious man. His chest was heaving as he gulped in big lungfuls of the cool night air. His head was still spinning wildly from the kick to his brow and blood was still trickling from his nose, mingling with the sweat and dirt covering his face.

After a few minutes, his body began to relax. His breathing and heart rate were starting to return to normal.

Still quite shaky, Matt slowly, unevenly struggled to his feet. He glanced down at Bowers. The outlaw was still out cold, he noted with relief.

His hand fished around his pant pocket and came up with a crumpled bandanna. He used it to wipe the blood from his face before pressing it firmly against the gash above his eye in an attempt to stanch the bleeding.

His gaze now turned to Lyle Stoner. Matt began to stagger towards him. He quickly realized that the young man was beyond help when he turned him over.

A sudden, feeble moan caused Matt's head to jerk up. It was the elder Stoner. As fast as he could, he stumbled over to his side and sank down on his knees.

Stoner turned to face the Marshal, his eyes already glazed over by death.

"Dillon," he whispered.

"Yeah, Stoner?" Matt quickly glanced him over. His jaw tightened when he saw the bullet hole in the man's chest. He knew immediately that Stoner was dying.

"Marshal," whispered Stoner again, his voice now hoarse and broken. "I'm-I'm a damn fool." He coughed and blood sprayed from his lips. "Bowers...he lied...the money-" His hand suddenly shot up, firmly grabbing the Marshal's arm.

"Yeah, I know." Matt nodded quietly. It hadn't taken much to put the rest of the puzzle together. It was the money that Stoner had been after.

Suddenly, the man's eyes went wide and his grasp on the Marshal's arm tightened for a second. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Then his body went limp. His hand slowly slipped off the Marshal's arm.

Matt took a deep breath. He looked into the man's broken eyes.

Stoner had been a fool indeed.

He and his son had died for absolutely nothing. He had known from the beginning that no more than twelve-hundred dollars had been taken from the bank in Hays. Sheriff Smith had wired him the information, along with a description of Bowers shortly after the robbery had happened.

Slowly, the Marshal rose. He looked over to where the horses were tethered. He was glad to see that his own mount had joined the others, contentedly nibbling on the dewy grass alongside them.

His eyes began to search the ground, and he quickly located his colt lying only a few feet away from him in the grass.

Casting Bowers one more glance to make sure that he was still out, he then walked over to his horse to retrieve the handcuffs that he had brought along.

.

.

Matt shook Sheriff Smith's broad hand.

"Well, he's all yours, Tom...just do me a favor an' don't loose him, will you?"

He cast a quick at Cal Bowers who was sitting handcuffed inside the stage coach, ready to return to Hays for his trial.

Almost a week had passed since Bowers' short-lived break-out and the Marshal was more than happy to finally turn their prisoner over. He remembered all too clear Chester's disappointment when the Sheriff had failed to show up on the stage last week, leaving them no choice but to hold on to Bowers a little while longer.

"Don't you worry, Matt...I haven't lost one yet." Tom Smith followed up his handshake with a brisk clap on the Marshal's shoulder before he squeezed his bulky frame through the narrow opening of the stage door.

Matt took a few steps back to join Chester who was leaning comfortably against a post beam in front of the Stage office, chewing on a toothpick.

"Well, I tell ya one thing, Mister Dillon..." The young man took the toothpick and pointed with it towards the stage. "Hanging's just too good for a man like that Bowers."

Matt hooked his thumbs into the top of his belt. His face bore a grim expression. Bowers definitely deserved everything he had coming to him, that was for sure. But out loud he simply muttered, "yeah."

The two men watched as Jim Buck, the driver, closed the door and then took his place on the high seat. With a flick of the reins and a shout, the stage coach jerked into motion. Rolling down Front Street, it gradually began to pick up speed and had soon disappeared from view in a billowing cloud of dust.

Matt gave his assistant a friendly nudge.

"Well, let's go on back to the office."

He started up the street and Chester fell into step alongside him, struggling to keep up with the Marshal's long strides.

Matt slowed his step when they reached the red brick building which housed the jail. He noticed Doc Adams standing on the front porch.

"Hello, Doc."

The physician spun around at the Marshal's voice.

"Oh, there you are, Matt," he exclaimed.

"What's the matter...one of your patients run out on you?" Matt teased with a grin.

Right away, the doctor bristled. He sniffed in annoyance, quickly dragging a hand across his mustache.

"For your information...I came here lookin' for you 'cause I wanted to tell you somethin'. But, by golly, if that's the way you wanna be...go on, just forget about it!"

Matt tried hard to suppress a grin. He was about to appease the irate doctor, but Chester beat him to it.

"Well, now, Doc...don't you fret," he said with his most sincere expression. "You jus' tell us who he is an' we'll fetch him for you, right, Mister Dillon?" glance. Chuckling, he cast the Marshal a quick glance.

"Oh, shut your mouth, Chester!" Doc's harsh words caused the grin on the young man's face to turn into an indignant frown.

Quickly, Matt placed a calming hand on the physician's shoulder.

"Now, take it easy there, Doc," he tried to pacify his friend. "What is it that you wanted to tell us anyway?"

Doc took another swipe at his mustache.

"Yeah, that's as much sympathy as I'd expect from you," he grumbled.

"What I came to tell you," he then added, his ton a tad calmer now, "is that the Stoner boy seems to be over the worst...I think it's safe to say that he's gonna be all right."

Matt nodded.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that."

That was indeed good news. A couple of days ago, Doc had given young Tab Stoner not much of a chance. He watched as the physician made himself comfortable on one of the chairs lining the brick wall of the office.

"When do you think we can move him?" Matt dropped himself into the chair next to him.

The doctor pondered the question for a moment, thoughtfully tugging at his earlobe.

"Well, I'd say give him another week an' he'll be ready."

Matt leaned back against his chair. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, interlacing his fingers on his chest.

"That's good enough for me," he replied satisfied as his thoughts turned to Tab Stoner.

The kid was only nineteen and obviously not the brightest. Matt knew that he had not had much of a choice but to go along with his father and Bowers. He sincerely hoped that the judge and the jury would see that and be easy on him.

"Well, hello, there."

Kitty's voice suddenly startled him from his musings. He looked up to find her standing in front of him, a wrapped package in her arms.

Her gaze quickly swept over the three men.

"What are you three up to?" she inquired curiously.

"Oh, not much." Matt shrugged and then rose from his chair to offer it to Kitty. "Here, why don't you sit down."

Kitty declined his offer with shake of her head.

"Thanks, but I'm on my way over to Jonas. I just wanted to drop this off for you."

She handed him the neatly wrapped package.

"It's your laundry," she explained when he regarded her a little puzzled.

"Thanks." Matt smiled and placed the package in his chair.

Right away, Doc saw his chance to get even with the Marshal.

"Well, by golly! Now will you look at that Chester," he exclaimed loudly. "He's already got Kitty doin' his laundry. Next thing you know he'll have her make his breakfast and clean the office."

He paused for effect and then added with a sniff and quick swipe at his mustache,
"won't be long an' you'll be outta your job."

Right away, the smile slid from Chester's face, giving way to a rather stunned look. His expression prompted Kitty to burst out laughing.

"Oh, now don't you worry, Chester." She patted his shoulder consolingly. "I wouldn't dream of it ...unless of course..." Her eyes now twinkled with mischief. She cast the Marshal a meaningful glance. "...we're talkin' about a more serious commitment here."

Matt frowned for a second, not immediately understanding. Then he did.

The realization caused an amused smile to flash across his face. He raised his eyebrows and lifted his Stetson, running a quick hand through his dark hair. A reply was on his lips, but he quickly swallowed it when he noticed that Doc and Chester were regarding him rather curiously. He cleared his throat instead.

Kitty found the awkward gesture rather amusing.

"What's the matter, cowboy?" she teased.

Looking down into her blue eyes made him want to tell her all kinds of things, most of them definitely not intended for Doc's or Chester's ears.

"Well, " he started to say, but he suddenly broke off, something behind Kitty capturing his attention.

Confused, Kitty turned. Her eyes followed his stare.

Coming up Front Street and heading straight for the Marshal's office, was an old, battered-looking Conestoga wagon. The driver was a young woman with her wavy, brown hair casually tied back in a ponytail.

Moments later, the wagon came to a halt alongside the jail. Immediately, the smile on Chester's face faltered, giving way to a rather serious expression. He limped around the hitching post and reached up to help Jenny Stoner off the high seat.

"Hello, Chester," she said quietly.

"Jenny."

Chester's muttered reply was followed by a long moment of silence. He knew that the dreaded moment to say 'good-bye' had finally arrived. But although he had carefully rehearsed his words, now that it was here, he found himself at a loss, unable to speak.

It was Jenny, who finally broke the silence.

"Well," she began, twisting her hands nervously, "I just stopped by to say 'good-bye' and thank you again for ev'rythin' you done, Chester Goode." Her trembling hand brushed a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. "It's a long ways to Wichita an' I have to get goin' soon."

"It sure is," agreed Chester nodding. "Your aunt an' uncle sure are good folks...I mean...takin' you in like that an' payin' for your schoolin' an' all."

He haplessly tugged at his neck, not knowing where else to put his hands.

"Yes, they are," Jenny replied quietly.

"I reckon, they're gonna learn you all them things a lady oughtta know." His gaze was now fixed on the tips of his boots. Somehow, he found it easier to speak to her without looking her in the eye.

"I don't know, Chester." Jenny heaved a sigh. "I ain't never gonna be no lady."

"Well, I declare," Chester suddenly lifted his gaze. "You sure are a lady, Jenny...an' a mighty purdy one, too at that,...if you don't mind my sayin' so."

The was nothing but complete sincerity in his words and the way he now looked at her.

"Thank you, Chester."

Her hand reached out and gently brushed the side of his face.

"I'm gonna miss you," she whispered, unable to keep the tears back any longer.

He swallowed hard to dislodge the lump that suddenly seemed to have formed in his throat.

"I'm gonna miss you, too." He gently took the hand that she extended to him.

She brought her face closer to his, and Chester felt her lips brush softly against his own.

He closed his eyes, savoring the gentle touch and then, almost hesitantly, they broke apart.

Finding himself unable to move, he watched numbly as she climbed back onto the seat and picked up the reins.

She said her good-byes to the Marshal, Kitty and the doctor before turning once more to Chester.

"Good-bye, Chester...don't forget-you promised to look me up when you come to Wichita."

For one, brief moment, her gaze lingered on him, then she flicked the reins down onto the horse's back and the wagon jerked into motion.

"So long, Jenny." Chester continued to stare after the wagon as it rolled down the street, slowly disappearing from view.

Matt made no attempt to approach his friend. He knew that there was nothing he could do or say that would make a difference. He silently put his arm around Kitty's shoulders instead, pulling her close.

It was Doc Adams who unexpectedly made the first move. Loudly clearing his throat, he stepped up and gave Chester a fatherly clap on the back.

"Come on, I'll buy you a beer," he said in his usual gruff tone. But this time, there was an unmistakable, gentle undertone present, that was impossible to miss.

Chester sighed heavily and then turned.

"All right, Doc." He allowed a brief smile to play across his lips.

Pleased, the physician gave him another clap on the back and began to usher him along towards the Long Branch. When they had almost reached the saloon, Doc abruptly stopped in his tracks.

"Just to make this clear," he groused as he turned to face the Marshal who had followed closely behind. "I said, I'm buyin' Chester a beer." He quickly swiped at his mustache and then stabbed a finger at the lawman's chest. "You can buy your own." With a curt nod, he turned back around and commenced to usher Chester along.

Kitty gazed up at the tall man beside her. There was a touch of amusement in her voice when she spoke.

"Would you say, you just've been kinda stepped on, Matt?"

Matt glanced down at the pretty redhead holding on to his arm.

"Now I s'pose you find that funny," he grumbled.

Kitty bit down on her lower lip to keep from laughing; she found that he looked rather funny when he was sulking.

"I'm sorry, Matt. " She gave his forearm a consoling pat. "Come on, I'm gonna buy you a drink."

At her words, a toothy grin began to spread across the Marshal's face.

"Say, you gonna buy me dinner, too?" he inquired hopefully.

Kitty glanced up at him affectionately and gave his ribs a playful jab with her elbow.

"Don't push your luck, cowboy."

Matt chuckled. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close as they commenced to follow Doc and Chester to the saloon.

.

.

~THE END~