The Watch

by dinacarter

Kitty buys a pocket watch from a gambler in need of some quick cash. Soon afterwards, strange things begin to happen.

THE WATCH

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Disclaimer: This fanfiction 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: Kitty buys a watch from a young gambler in need of quick cash and gives it to Doc for his birthday. Soon afterwards, strange things begin to happen.

Rating: PG-13

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"You know, you really oughtta see Doc about that tooth, Chester."

Concerned, Kitty Russell eyed Chester Goode's cheek.

For the past couple of days, the Marshal's assistant had been complaining about a toothache, but no amount of talking or coaxing from his friends had been enough to get him to allow Doc Adams to take a look at it. Now it was Thursday night and he was sitting at the Long Branch along with the Marshal and Miss Kitty, nursing his beer, busy pretending that there was nothing wrong with him.

Matt casually draped his left arm over the back of Kitty's chair and leaned back.

"Yeah, why don't you let Doc take a look at it? He knows what he's doin'."

Right away, Chester added a frown to to the already rather pained expression on his face.

"Well, that's easy for you to say, Mister Dillon...it ain't your tooth. I know what he'd wanna do. Pull it. I know that's exactly what he's gonna do, and I ain't gonna let him do that."

Matt shook his head. There was no sense in arguing with Chester; he could be as stubborn as a Missouri mule when it came down to it. He turned to the pretty redhead sitting next to him.

"Well, maybe he needs a few days to think it over." He winked at her and then cast Chester a quick side glance. "By then, his cheek's probably gonna be three times its size."

Matt reached for his beer.

"And once the fever starts to set in-"

He cast his assistant a meaningful look, purposely leaving his sentence unfinished and then took a drink.

Kitty caught the mischievous twinkle in Matt's eyes and tried hard not to smile; she knew exactly what he was trying to do. Sometimes it worked with Chester and sometimes it didn't.

This time, it didn't.

"Oh, Mister Dillon...you're givin' me the horn, ain't ya?" he grumbled. But there was a slight uncertainty in his voice as he spoke. Carefully, he began to massage his cheek and right away, his face screwed up in pain.

Matt was about to say something else, when a man suddenly stepped up to their table. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, of average height and build and dressed rather nicely. The dark three-piece suit and the flat-brimmed hat gave him the distinct look of a southern dandy.

"Pardon me," the stranger said politely as he nodded into the round. "You gentlemen wouldn't happen to be interested in a beautiful pocket watch?"

In his right, he dangled a golden pocket watch on a chain. The thinly wrought gold cover sported an intricate design, and everyone could see immediately that this was not just an ordinary time piece.

Matt looked up at the man standing between him and Kitty. He suddenly remembered having seen him earlier when he and Chester had entered the saloon. The young man had been sitting at a table close to the door, engaged in a game of cards with several others.

"How come you wanna sell it, mister?" he asked.

"Thorpe. The name's Will Thorpe," the man introduced himself. He nodded at the Marshal and Chester and lifted his hat to Kitty. "Let's just say...I could use some quick cash."

Chester eyed the time piece longingly, his tooth momentarily forgotten.

"Sure's a mighty fine watch, Mister Thorpe," he said. He had always wanted a pocket watch, but the eight dollars that Mister Dillon was able to pay him for his duties was certainly not enough to afford such luxuries.

"Yes, sir," Will Thorpe agreed readily, immediately seeing a potential customer in the Marshal's assistant. "I'd be willing to let it go for fifty dollars."

He brought it closer to Chester's face, inviting him to take a better look.

"Fi-fifty dollars?"

Chester gulped and the smile on his face began to fade.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure it's worth ev'ry cent but...I ain't got that kinda money." Disappointed, he looked into the round.

Thorpe's face twitched for a moment, but he quickly caught himself and turned to the Marshal.

"How about you, sir?" he wondered hopefully as he held the watch out to him.

Matt glanced from the watch to Thorpe and then shook his head.

"I'm afraid not, Thorpe."

He didn't have fifty dollars either, but he figured that wasn't any of Thorpe's business.

"Too bad Doc's not here though," he added instead. He nudged Kitty's arm. "He'd probably like it."

His thoughts turned to his friend, Doc Adams. He knew that the physician's watch had been giving him some trouble recently. But be it as it may, Matt was pretty certain that Doc didn't have fifty dollars either.

Kitty pursed her lip in thought.

"Say, Matt," she exclaimed. "You know that's a wonderful idea."

A smile began to spread across her face as she looked up at Will Thorpe.

"May I see it?"

The man was all too glad to comply and quickly handed the watch over.

Kitty regarded it appraisingly. It was indeed nicely made. She pressed the catch and the cover sprang open to reveal a beautiful face with roman numerals and golden hands. It was definitely worth the fifty dollars, she decided.

"I'll take it," she said at last with a resolved smile. She pushed her chair back. Right away, Thorpe reached for her chair, holding it as she rose.

She thanked him, and accompanied by the astounded looks of Matt and Chester, she began to make her way through the crowded saloon towards her office, Will Thorpe following behind.

Chester made a face. He turned his inquiring gaze on the Marshal, his aching tooth now completely forgotten.

"Well, now...I declare,...what do you make of that, Mister Dillon?"

Matt shrugged and took another sip from his beer.

"I don't know, Chester."

He replaced his glass to the table. Well, he had a faint idea what Kitty had in mind, but he decided to leave it up to her to fill Chester in on it.

Moments later, she returned. She placed the watch on the table in front of her and then resumed her place beside the Marshal.

"You think he's gonna like it, Matt?" she wondered.

Matt had to smile; he had already figured that Doc Adams was the reason why she had bought it.

"I'm sure he will, Kitty."

He patted her arm affectionately; Kitty sure had the biggest heart, and he couldn't help but admire her for it.

Chester looked confused from the Marshal to Kitty.

"Well, now who, in the world, are you talkin' about, Miss Kitty?"

"It's Doc's birthday this Saturday, Chester," explained Kitty. "Don't you think this'll make the perfect present?"

"His birthday? Oh." Chester looked from Kitty to the watch, amazed, how she always seemed to remember all these things.

"Well, yeah...I reckon, he might like it," he reluctantly agreed. There was a tiny twinge of jealously in his voice. "It sure's a mighty fine watch."

Kitty picked up on his tone immediately and smiled. She reached across the table and gave the young man's hand a consoling pat.

"Be good and Santa Claus might bring you one for Christmas," she told him with a wink.

Matt grinned. Kitty was just the woman to make sure of that, too.

He allowed his gaze to wander over the crowd, letting it come to rest on the table where Will Thorpe was once again participating in the card game. Personally, the Marshal had never understood the fascination of gambling, but he figured to each his own.

"Well," he said as he braced his hands on his thighs, ready to get up, "time to make the rounds, Chester." He grabbed his Stetson from the table and turned towards Kitty to hold her chair as she rose as well.

The hat in his left, he gently took hold of her upper arms.

"I'll be by later," he said, keeping his voice low. Even though most people at the saloon probably knew that Kitty was his woman, Matt still was a man of discretion.

Kitty smiled up at him. Her blue eyes twinkled.

"All right, Matt."

Her words were simple, but her eyes were conveying a silent message, intended only for him.

He understood. Smiling down at her, he put on his Stetson and crossed over to the batwing doors where Chester was waiting. On his way out, he passed the table where Will Thorpe was still engrossed in the poker game. His luck seemed to have turned, Matt observed, noticing the small stack of bills which was piled in front of the young man.

Pushing the batwing doors aside, he stepped out into the warm and muggy night air.

"Well...come on, Chester." He gave his assistant a friendly nudge, but then suddenly halted.

"Say," he exclaimed as he began to eye the young man's face with interest. "Looks like that cheek's gettin' bigger already-"

A grin on his lips, the tall lawman started down the plank sidewalk.

"Are you serious, Mister Dillon?"

Scowling, the young man fell into stride alongside him, his left hand carefully fingering his cheek.

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Where was Chester?

Matt made a face, trying to imagine how long it could possibly take to have a tooth pulled. After a week of fussing and arguing, the pain had become virtually impossible to ignore and this morning, Chester had finally given in, reluctantly making his way over to the physician's office.

Now it was almost noon and his assistant still had not returned.

With a sigh, Matt put the circulars down he had been leafing through and rose from behind his desk. It was almost time for lunch and Chester usually didn't miss an opportunity to fill his belly. Matt decided, it was time to go looking for him.

He crossed over to the window and glanced out. No sign of his assistant anywhere. Matt grabbed his Stetson from the peg and ducked out the door.

For a moment, he stood on the small porch of the office, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight.

Front Street was bustling with activity on this warm summer morning as people went about their daily business. Farmers were loading their wagons with supplies at the mercantile and the clanging of a hammer as it hit the anvil sounded from the blacksmith's shop up the street.

Matt pulled the brim of his Stetson down over his forehead and began to head down the sidewalk towards Doc's office. He had just passed the dress shop when all the sudden, a familiar voice called out his name.

He spun around and found himself face to face with Kitty.

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

"Hello, Kitty," he greeted her with a tip of his head. "I'm lookin' around for Chester.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and smiled down at her.

"You know, I think he's hidin' on me."

Kitty raised a questioning eyebrow as she began to open her parasol.

"Hiding on you? Why would he do that?"

Matt shrugged.

"Well, I don't know. He was s'posed to see Doc about that tooth of his. He left this mornin' and I haven't seen him since."

Kitty gave Matt a knowing look.

"Well, I'd be surprised if he even made it to Doc's," she mused. "Come on, I'll go along with you."

The lawman nodded agreeably, not at all opposed to her company.

"All right, let's go an' find out."

He gently took hold of her upper arm, making sure to keep a safe distance from the little sun umbrella in her hand.

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As they came up to the Stage Depot, they found a small crowd gathered on the boardwalk. The stage had just arrived and most of the people had their eyes expectantly fixed on the door as Jim Buck, the driver opened it. One by one, the passengers filed out. There were excited shouts of recognition as friends and loved ones were reunited.

Matt led Kitty ahead of him, trying to guide her through the crowd when suddenly, someone tapped him on the arm.

"Excuse me, could you tell me, where the Dodge House might be?"

Matt stopped and turned.

The man who had spoken was tall, almost as tall as the Marshal himself, dressed quite nicely, wearing a gray, three-piece suit and black hat. A gun belt, half covered by his suit coat, was strapped to his hips.

Somehow, the stranger looked vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn't place him.

"You can't miss it." Matt pointed to the hotel across the street. "It's right over there, mister."

The stranger thanked him and, retrieving a small valise from the sidewalk, set out to cross the street.

Kitty shifted her curious gaze from the stranger to the Marshal when she noticed that Matt's eyes continued to follow the stranger.

"What's the matter?" she wondered.

Matt pressed his lips together.

"I'm not sure, Kitty."

His thumbs hooked into the front of his belt, his eyes thoughtfully continued to follow the man as he approached the double doors of the Dodge House.

"I've seen that man before. I just don't know where."

He allowed his gaze to linger on the stranger for a little longer until he disappeared inside the hotel, then he turned to Kitty.

"Well, let's go and see if we can't find Chester."
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Howie Uzell looked up from his ledger at the stranger who had just entered the hotel.

"Can I help you?" he asked politely.

The man gave the hotel clerk a tight smile.

"I hope so," he said. "Which room is Will Thorpe in?"

His tone was guarded as his gray eyes bored into Howie's.

The clerk didn't have to look it up; Will Thorpe had been at the Dodge House for almost two weeks now.

"Top of the stairs, room twelve." Howie pointed to the staircase leading to the upper level.

The stranger thanked him with a curt tip of his head and began to climb the wooden staircase.

It didn't take him long to locate the room. With determined strides, he headed for the door, halfway down the hallway.

"Who is it?" came the query from the inside of room twelve moments later when a series of loud knocks roused Will Thorpe unceremoniously from his sleep.

There was a brief silence before the voice from the other side of the door replied.

"Open up, Will."

The creaking of the bedstead was followed by the soft thudding of footfall and moments later, the door was opened.

Before the occupant of number twelve could do anything about it, the stranger had shouldered past him and stepped inside, quickly shutting the door behind himself.

"Hello, little brother."
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The loud singing coming from Doc Adams' office, drifted through the open window and out into the street. Passersby stopped, casting curious glances up to where the sounds were originating from, wondering what was going on up there.

Matt immediately recognized the voice as he and Kitty arrived at the bottom of the stairs.

"Well, looks like we found him."

There was an uneasy slant to his voice and Kitty picked up on it immediately.

She raised a bemused brow.

"Yes...and judging by the way he sounds...he's not by himself either."

Matt's brow wrinkled. He motioned Kitty to climb the stairs ahead of him.

When they reached the small landing, they found the door cracked. He didn't bother with knocking and swung it open, ushering Kitty inside.

"...ma daddy came west to Kansas...to make his home in Kansas...Oh, hello, Mister Dillon!"

Chester hick-upped loudly and waved an unsteady hand in the Marshal's direction.

"But all he made, was his own grave..."

There was a lop-sided smile pasted to his face as he continued singing, slurring the words almost beyond recognition.

The Marshal blinked, not quite believing what he was seeing. There was his assistant, obviously very drunk, curled up on the cot underneath the window. He was cradling an empty whiskey bottle in his arms as if it was extremely dear to him.

Matt took off his Stetson and slid a hand through his hair as he exchanged an astounded glance with Kitty.

"Doc," he then boomed quite unnecessarily since the physician already came shuffling from his bedroom, "you mind tellin' me what's goin' on here?"

"Oh, hello, Matt...Kitty."

The doctor sniffed and took a quick swipe at his mustache. His eyes came to rest on Chester and he shook his head with disapproval.

"It's all my fault. I shoulda known better," he muttered as he walked over to his desk.

"..ma daddy... hick... came west to Kansas..."

"Shoulda known what?" Matt wondered patiently as he raised his voice above Chester's singing.

"...To make his home...hick...in Kansas..."

Doc didn't reply right away. Obviously flustered, he rubbed his neck instead as if trying to find the right words.

"...but all he made, was...hick... his own grave, when he crossed the path of...hick... killer Dave..." sang Chester.

The physician's eyes suddenly narrowed.

"Oh, fer heaven's sakes...SHUT UP, CHESTER!" he bellowed exasperated.

Matt rolled his eyes in weary annoyance. He folded his arms over of his chest.

"Well? You care to explain?" he then demanded in the sort of voice that indicated he had better get a quick answer.

"Oh, dad blast it...you know how fidgety he gets!"

Doc waved his hand towards Chester. "I figured, a bit of whiskey'd ease his fear some. By golly, I was wrong, Matt."

He looked up at the Marshal now almost apologetically and, tugging at his earlobe, added, "it took more than just 'a bit'."

He shook his head and shuffled over to the exam table. He picked up a pair of forceps from a metal tray, the bloody remains of a tooth still tightly in its pincers. "Here, take a look at this."

Curiously, the Marshal stepped closer to examine the tooth, and suddenly, his face broke into a grin.

"Is that what's been botherin' him?" he asked incredulously. "Well, I'll be...can you beat that?"

He motioned Kitty to come closer.

A broken tooth held little fascination for her, but nevertheless, Kitty gave it a quick glance to make Matt happy.

"That's nice," she murmured with an acknowledging nod. "But what are you gonna do about him, Matt?" She tipped her head towards Chester.

This was something, he hadn't given any thought yet. Matt glanced at the young man who had finally succumbed to the effects of the alcohol and was now snoring rather soundly.

"Do about him?" he said. "I'm not gonna do anythin' about him. He can just stay here until he's sobered up."

With a shrug, he slapped his Stetson back on and turned towards the door. He was hungry and there was paperwork waiting for him at the office. He most definitely didn't feel like lugging a drunken assistant back with him.

Right away, Doc straightened, alarmed.

"Now wait a minute, Matt," he began as he stepped in front of his friend. He looked up at the tall lawman.

"He can't stay here." His eyes quickly darted to Chester. "I got patients to look after."

But his words did little to impress Matt.

"Well, you shoulda thought about that before you liquored him all up," he replied coolly. "I'll be at my office if you need me. So long, Kitty...Doc."

The edges of his mouth twitched slightly as he tossed a final glance at the doctor and marched out moments later, thudding the door shut behind himself.

Kitty was the first one to speak. She heaved a resigned sigh.

"Well, come on Doc. I'll give you a hand with him."

Putting her parasol onto the exam table, her eyes began to search the room. She quickly located the coffee pot, sitting on the stove.

"You got any coffee in there?" she wondered. "I have a feeling, we're gonna need lots of it."
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"You know what you have to do, little brother," said Frank Thorpe tensely. He sat on the cast-iron bedstead in room number twelve, watching as Will shaved.

Will glanced annoyed at the reflection of his older brother in the mirror. He raised his chin, running the blade of the straight razor along the strong outline of his jaw.

"I know, Frank," he muttered tightly through clenched teeth.

"Don't disappoint me. I want it back," the older Thorpe advised him warningly.

"Don't worry."

Will flicked the soap from his razor, swishing it around in the washbasin.

"I told you, I'll get it back for you."

He wished, his brother would just leave him alone and let him do this his own way.

But Frank wasn't ready to drop the subject just yet.

"What if she doesn't want to?" he challenged. There was a strange glint in his eyes as he stared at his younger brother's back.

Will turned to face his sibling, using a towel to wipe the remaining soap from his chin. His lips were drawn into a humorless smile.

"I can be very persuasive."

Frank regarded his younger brother, his expression unreadable.

"I hope so. For your own sake, little brother." He put a mocking emphasis on the words 'little brother'.

Right away, Will's jaw whitened with anger.

"Quit callin' me that, dammit!" he burst out.

But Frank simply regarded the young man with mocking amusement. Then he laughed; it wasn't a pleasant laugh.

He rose from the bed and picked up a shirt from a nearby chair. He shoved the shirt into his brother's hands, giving him a condescending smile.

"Get dressed."
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"Well, mornin', Chester."

There was a touch of amusement in Matt's voice when he noticed that his assistant had finally woken up. He had just returned from breakfast at Delmonico's and was carrying a pot of steaming coffee.

The young man was perched on the edge of his cot, cradling his head in his hands.

"I swear to goodness. I ain't never gonna have another drink as long as I live..."

Matt struggled to suppress a grin.

"Chester," he said cheerfully as he pointed at his friend, "what you need is a good cup of coffee."

Without further ado, he turned, placing the coffee pot on the stove and reached to retrieve a cup from the top of the safe.

"Fresh an' hot," he informed his assistant as he proceeded to pour some of the steaming brew into a cup.

The mere thought of more coffee made Chester's stomach churn; he had his fill yesterday as Doc and Kitty had attempted to sober him up enough so that he could make his way over to the Marshal's office on his own two feet.

"Mister Dillon," he suddenly moaned, looking rather green. "I think, I'm gonna be sick-"

With that, he hastily clambered to his feet and ran out the back door.

Matt shook his head; he certainly didn't feel too sorry for him. With a grin, he took a sip from the cup and turned his attention to the window. Planting one booted foot on top of the wood bin, he began to idly glance out into the busy street.

Suddenly, an all too familiar redhead caught his attention; she was standing on the sidewalk across the street in front of Mister Jonas' store, and-she wasn't alone.

With her was a man who Matt immediately recognized as Will Thorpe, the young man, who seemed to spend his nights at the various saloons of Dodge, gambling and getting himself acquainted with the girls there.

Matt raised his brows. He took another sip from his coffee and contined to eye the two with interest.

What could Will Thorpe possibly want from Kitty, he wondered as he watched their animated conversation. He was a little surprised that she was up already; when he had left her room earlier, she still had been fast asleep.

A buckboard suddenly pulled to a halt in front of the store, blocking the Marshal's view.

A slight frown creased his forehead, and he craned his neck, trying to look over it. He could have saved himself the trouble; Kitty was just now stepping out from behind the wagon and prepared to cross the street, heading straight towards the Marshal's office.

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

"Hello, cowboy," she greeted him smiling.

Matt gave her a friendly nod.

"Kitty."

"Where's Chester?" she wanted to know as her eyes began to search the room.

Matt jerked his head towards the back door.

"Oh, he's out back," he replied.

"Sick," he then went on to elaborate when Kitty raised a questioning eyebrow. He stepped up to her.

"So…I saw you talkin' to Will Thorpe out there-"

Even though he tried his best to keep a casual tone, Kitty caught on to him right away.

She arched a brow in amusement and her eyes were sparkling mischievously.

"Does the Marshal always keep tabs on all the girls in this town?"

Matt glanced down at her.

"Not on all of them," he teased. "Only on one."

Grinning impishly, he watched her over the rim of his coffee mug as he took another sip.

"Well, I'm flattered."

There was the faintest touch of sarcasm in her voice. She knew Matt to be jealous at times, and she always found it rather amusing when he tried to cover it up; he was never very good at it.

Her smile suddenly faltered as she remembered why she had come to see the lawman.

"You know," she said as she began to thoughtfully chew on her bottom lip. "Thorpe just made me the strangest proposal-"
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The streets of Dodge were quiet tonight and he contributed the absence of any trouble-makers to the lingering heat. Even though it was well past one in the morning by now, the night hadn't cooled off much, leaving the air sticky and laden with humidity.

Alone with his thoughts, the Marshal strolled down Charity Street, heading for the corner where it connected with Front Street. The Long Branch was usually his last stop when he was making his nightly rounds and more often than not, he ended up there for the night.

Tonight wasn't any different; there were no prisoners to look after and Chester was already sound asleep at the jail.

He smiled inwardly as he turned into the side alley of the saloon, his hand fishing for the key inside his vest pocket. Quickly, he unlocked the back door and stepped inside.

Moments later, he found himself in front of her door. Matt hesitated; everything was dark and quiet, and he realized that she was most likely already asleep.

Carefully, he placed the key inside the lock and turned it slowly. The bolt sprang back with a soft click and he entered her room. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. He turned his gaze towards the bed. The steady sound of Kitty's breathing carried across the room, telling him that she was indeed fast asleep. He tiptoed to a nearby chair and began to take off his boots and gun belt.

After making short work of the rest of his clothing, he quietly slipped into bed beside her. He flinched as the bedsprings squeaked loudly in protest under the added weight.

Kitty made a disapproving noise but shifted a little to accommodate him. Matt rolled onto his side, shushing her as he pulled her into his arms.

For a moment, he was terribly tempted to wake her, but he fought off the urge when he remembered that she had looked quite tired earlier. He placed a soft kiss in the crook of her neck instead. With a murmur of content, he then nestled against her back, gently resting his chin on the top of her head as he held her close. It wasn't before long and he was fast asleep, too.

The peace, however, didn't last very long as a loud banging noise suddenly startled him awake.

Immediately, Matt disentangled himself from the covers. He eased out of bed and reached for his pants.

The clamor roused Kitty as well.

Confused, she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

"What's the matter-" she began to say, but Matt silenced her with a wave of his hand.

"Stay here," he whispered as he pulled the colt from its holster and headed for the door.

Cautiously, he cracked it open and listened into the darkness. He was sure that the noise had come from downstairs. Swiftly, he approached the banister.

For a moment, Matt stood silently, his eyes searching the dark bar room below. He didn't see anything. Slowly, staying as close to the wall as possible, he began to descend the stairs. He was glad that he hadn't bothered with putting on his boots-this way, he was able to walk in complete silence.

He had almost reached the bottom when he caught a sudden movement to his left out of the corner of his eye.

Immediately, his head jerked around in alarm-but it was too late.

Before he realized what was happening, a chair came crashing down hard, breaking into pieces as it smashed into the back of his head. The colt slipped from his grasp and landed on the plank flooring with a loud thud.

He lost his balance and tumbled forward as his surroundings quickly began to shrink out of focus and dissolve in a blur.

The last thing Matt registered before he lost consciousness, was a dark, shadowy figure disappearing through the back of the saloon, then everything went black.

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"Matt, it's Doc...golly, wake up."

Slowly, the Marshal opened his eyes and found himself squinting into the worried face of Doc Adams. With a groan, he pushed himself up on his elbows, trying to remember what had happened.

"How do you feel?"

Doc's concerned voice seemed float to him from somewhere far away.

A groan was the response as Matt exhaled loudly. He ran a somewhat shaky hand across his face.

"I felt better, Doc."

His mind was a complete blur, and for the life of him he couldn't remember what had happened to him.

"What happened?" he wanted to know when he realized that he was sitting at the bottom of the staircase.

A hurricane lamp on a nearby table was casting flickering shadows onto the walls and furniture and his eyes fell on the broken remains of a chair, now scattered across the wooden floor.

The physician took a quick swipe at his mustache and then proceeded to examine the back of Matt's head.

"Looks like you got thumped in the head, Marshal."

Matt blinked a few times, trying to bring the doctor into focus.

"Yeah, I remember now."

The soft thudding of footfall caused him to look up, and he saw Kitty approaching from the kitchen. She was dressed in her frilly robe and carried a wet rag in her hand. Her face bore a worried expression as she knelt down beside him.

"Here, Matt."

Gently, she placed the rag against the enormous lump that was quickly forming on the back of his head.

The lawman gave her a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Kitty."

Slowly, unevenly, he began to clamber to his feet. For a moment, he tottered unsteadily, prompting the physician to grab hold of his arm and usher him into a chair.

Matt turned to Kitty again, this time all Marshal.

Say, anythin' missing, that you know of?" he wondered.

The young woman shook her head.

"Well, the office's a mess but it doesn't look like anything's missing...the safe's untouched." She brushed a strand of flaming red hair from her face. "What do you think they were after, Matt?"

The Marshal did not reply right away. For a moment, he thoughtfully chewed on the inside of his cheek, absently watching as Doc took hold of his wrist to check his pulse.

"I don't know," he replied at last with a slight shake of his aching head. He wished that he had a better answer but as it was, he hadn't even been able to get a good look at his assailant.

Silently, he continued to watch as the physician pulled the watch from his vest pocket. Suddenly, a thought struck him. He straightened.

"Thorpe-" he muttered.

"For heaven's sakes, hold still, Matt," groused Doc annoyed as the Marshal pulled the wrist from his grasp in the process.

"Will Thorpe…I don't know why I didn't I think of that before," Matt said again, this time a little louder as a look of sudden understanding passed across his face.

Kitty regarded him curiously, but Doc didn't understand.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

Matt pointed to the golden timepiece in the physician's left.

"Your watch, Doc. Will Thorpe wanted to buy the watch back this morning. He was pretty upset when Kitty refused."

Then he frowned as another thought came to his mind.

"Kitty, did you tell him what you did with it?"

She shook her head.

"No, I didn't figure it was any of his business, Matt."

"That means, he doesn't know Doc has it."

Matt nodded slowly, and Kitty, now understanding, added. "Which means, he came looking for it here."

Doc swiped a quick hand across the bristles of his graying mustache, his bushy brows knitted into a frown.

"Well, what, in thunder, are you two talkin' about?" It was almost five in the morning and he was in no mood for guessing games. His eyes shifted from Kitty to the Marshal, waiting for an answer.

Matt nodded at Doc's new watch.

"Thorpe offered Kitty a hundred dollars for that watch, Doc," he went on to clarify.

The physician glanced at the beautiful timepiece in his hand.

"That's a lot of money," he mused.

Matt couldn't agree more. It was time to do a little investigating.

"Well,...I think, I'm gonna have me a little talk with Thorpe," he said decidedly as he began to clamber to his feet.

He had taken no more than a determined step forward when Doc's hand on his forearm suddenly stopped him.

"Don't you think, you oughtta get some clothes on first, Marshal?" he pointed out, chuckling.

Matt made a face, suddenly realizing that he was wearing little more than just his pants.

Kitty raised an amused brow.

"Doc's got a point, you know."

Matt's complexion visibly turned a few shades redder.

"All right, you two," he grumbled. "Sometimes I forget what clear, level-headed thinkers you are."

With that, he started to climb the stairs.

But halfway up, the lawman suddenly stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed the three saloon girls leaning over the top banister, eyeing him with frank appraisal.

All of the sudden very self-conscious, his foot hovered indecisively above the next step as he looked up at them, an expression of outright embarrassment on his face.

Matt cleared a throat that felt somewhat restricted, and mumbling something that remotely sounded like, "Ladies," he made his way past the staring trio with as much dignity as a half-dressed Marshal could muster.

Their giggling followed him all the way into Kitty's room after he had closed the door behind himself with a little more force than necessary.

Her features a mixture of mild amusement and annoyance, Kitty shooed the giggling women back to their rooms before seeing the physician out. Somehow, she had the bad feeling that this watch was going to be a lot more trouble than it was worth it.
.

.

The sun had just risen over the rim of the horizon, but already the air was warming up quickly, giving indication that this new day was going to be as hot and humid as the previous one.

Matt was standing inside the open door of the Marshal's office. His gaze came to rest on his assistant who had just opened his eyes at the lawman's entry.

"Chester, I need you to keep an eye on things around here for me. I'm going over to the Dodge house to have me a little talk with our friend Thorpe."

Chester rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn. The action brought a slight frown to Matt's face.

Do me a favor an' don't go back to sleep, will ya?"

The young man levered himself to a sitting position.

"Oh, don't you worry none," he mumbled through a yawn. "I'm gonna make us some coffee here right aways."

With that, he slowly clambered to his feet and stretched his gangly frame.

Matt nodded, pleased.

"Good, you do that. I won't be long."

With that, he slapped on his Stetson and slipped out the door.

A short moment later, he stepped into the lobby of the Dodge House. Matt quickly scanned the room for the clerk when he didn't se him behind his desk.

"Howie?" he called to announce his presence.

A door to his left opened and a sleepy-eyed Howie Uzzell appeared. The clerk quickly ran a hand over his hair in an attempt to smooth it down.

"Mornin', Marshal," he greeted Matt. "What can I do for you?"

Matt came straight to the point.

"What room's Will Thorpe in?"

"Room twelve, Marshal," the clerk replied immediately. He didn't bother with adding which floor the room was on; he knew the Marshal to be quite familiar with the layout of the hotel. "Is there a problem?" he added cautiously after a moment.

"I don't know yet," Matt replied neutrally. He was certain that he could handle Thorpe if it came down to it, and there was no need in worrying the clerk unnecessarily.

Swiftly, he began to climb the stairs.

When he reached the upper level, he headed straight for room number twelve. Loudly, he rapped on the door with his fist.

"Who is it?" came the query from inside a few seconds later.

"Thorpe...it's Marshal Dillon...open up."

There was no reply, but Matt could hear the creaking of the bedstead, followed by muffled footsteps as someone approached the door. Moments later, it was opened, barely enough for Thorpe to put his eyes through the crack. The young man opened it a little more when he saw that it was indeed the Marshal.

"What do you want?" he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

"You mind tellin' me where you been last night?"

For one brief moment the young man studied the lawman in silence. Then he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind himself.

"What if I mind?" he challenged at last.

Matt pulled himself up to his full height. His head was still throbbing dully, and he was in no mood to play games with Thorpe.

"I don't think you wanna find out," he growled with deliberate clarity.

"All right," Thorpe relented with a shrug. "I have nothin' to hide, Marshal."

He ran his hand through a tuft of unruly brown hair.

"I was over at the Lady Gay until about two, I'd say..."

Matt's eyes bored into Thorpe's.

"Anybody see you who can back you up on that?"

"Sure," the young man replied immediately. "The barkeep, along with a dozen other fellas..."

Matt folded his arms in front of his chest.

"How about afterwards?" he probed further.

The young gambler was becoming visibly annoyed. He expelled an exaggerated breath.

"I came straight here."

Matt was about to say something else, when suddenly the door was opened from the inside.

"What's the trouble, Will?"

The brunette put a hand on Thorpe's shoulder and began to eye the Marshal with mild interest.

"No trouble, Rose," Thorpe quickly assured her as he reached up to pat her hand. He turned to Matt and nodded towards the girl at his side.

"Marshal...you know Rose."

Of course, Matt did. He turned his attention to the pretty saloon girl, acknowledging her with a brief nod.

"Hello, Rose."

The proprieties out of the way, he turned back to Thorpe.

"I s'pose, she's gonna tell me that she's been with you since you left the Lady Gay," he asked somewhat wearily.

"That's right, Dillon."

Thorpe's answer was immediate and Rose nodded in confirmation.

"Say, what's this all about anyway?" he then added.

"Nothin' to concern yourself with, Thorpe," replied Matt evenly. There was no reason for him to tell the young man, especially since he obviously couldn't have been involved in the incident. Without another word, he turned and left.

Little did Matt know that Will Thorpe could have provided him with some answers.
.

.

Delmonico's, though not the only eatery in Dodge, was quite crowded on this early afternoon. Like the Marshal, most townfolks had figured out quickly that it definitely was one of the better ones; the prices were small, the portions were big and the coffee wasn't too bad either.

"I'll have that biscuit if you don't want it Mister Dillon," mumbled Chester through a mouthful of stew as he pointed across the table.

The Marshal looked up as if startled from his thoughts. For a second, he stared at his assistant in obvious confusion, the fork in his hand frozen above his plate. When he noticed the lonely biscuit sitting on a plate beside his own, he smiled and handed it over.

"Go right ahead," he said.

Chester accepted the biscuit and tore it in two.

"It sure looks like we don't have much to go on," he said to no one in particular.

Kitty nodded in agreement.

"Well, Will Thorpe sure has a good alibi," she mused as she put her coffee cup down onto the red and white-checkered tablecloth. "Maybe we were wrong about him after all."

Matt didn't look up.

"Maybe...maybe not," he said as deftly poked the tines of his fork into a potato. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that Thorpe somehow had his hand in the break-in at the Long Branch-alibi or not.

The restaurant was quite crowded today, every table taken, and neither Matt nor his friends paid any attention to the man sitting at the table next to theirs. The mentioning of Will Thorpe's name caused his cup to pause in mid-air. He stole a quick glance at the lawman.

"What do you mean, Mister Dillon?" asked Chester, oblivious to the man sitting so close by, hanging on their every word. "You still reckon, he's the one that done it?"

He used the remains of his biscuit to sop up the last of the stew before stuffing it into his mouth.

Matt looked up from his plate and put his fork down. He pulled the napkin from his shirt and placed it on the table.

"Well, I'm pretty sure, he had somethin' to do with it."

Kitty put her own napkin down.

"What if it was just a coincidence, Matt?" she suggested. "After all, we don't even know if it was the watch they were after."

Matt didn't reply right away; he had just noticed the stranger at the table next to theirs. For one brief, intense moment, their eyes locked and then the man broke the gaze, turning his attention back to the plate in front of him.

The Marshal recognized him right away; it was the same man that they had run into at the stage depot. He allowed his eyes to linger a little longer. Matt still wasn't sure why he looked so familiar to him, but for some reason, the stranger was making him feel uncomfortable.

"You know him, Mister Dillon?" wondered Chester when he noticed the lawman's interest in the stranger.

Matt turned his attention back to his own table.

"No. No, I don't, Chester," he replied quietly, "but I tell ya, there's somethin' strange about him."

Kitty cast a quick glance at the stranger over the rim of her coffee cup.

"I think I remember him, Matt," she said softly. "He seemed a little strange, didn't he?"

Matt nodded.

"Yeah, but I don't want you to worry." He leaned back in his chair and turned to face her. "I think I'll have me a little talk with Howie later on, see what I can find out about him."

Kitty agreed.

"That's a good idea, Matt."

The Marshal pushed his chair back and readied himself to get up.

"I'll keep a close eye the Long Branch tonight," he assured her. "If Thorpe's somehow behind this, he might try again."

"Unless he found out that Doc has the watch now," Kitty pointed out.

Matt shook his head slightly, about to reply, but out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly saw that the stranger was now standing up. He carelessly tossed a coin onto the table and prepared to leave.

Matt's gaze followed him until he had disappeared out into the street. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but something was telling him that he should keep a close eye on this man from now on.
.

.

.

The Lady Gay saloon wasn't as nice as the Long Branch, but it suited Will Thorpe just fine. He initially had liked the Long Branch better, but he had grown increasingly uncomfortable with the seemingly constant presence of the Marshal there. Saloons were plenty in Dodge, and so he had begun to frequent the other establishments.

The unexpected arrival of his older brother in Dodge had been quite unsettling for Will. Even though it was only early afternoon, he was already sitting at the Lady Gay, trying to ease his troubles with the help of a bottle of whiskey.

This was where Frank Thorpe found him. He swiftly pushed open the doors and paused for a moment, his glance quickly sweeping the saloon. His mouth twitched imperceptibly as his gray eyes fixed on his younger brother. He strolled over to the bar and ordered a beer, tossing a coin onto the counter. Moments later, the coin was replaced by a beer as the barkeep thumped the glass down in front of him.

Frank picked up the foamy beer and turned around, leaning on the bar as he took a long drink. His contemplating gaze was once again fixed on the younger Thorpe. Slowly, he started walking towards his table.

Will didn't look up as his brother came to a halt in front of him and placed his beer on the tabletop.

"Kinda early for you to be drinkin' whiskey."

Frank's lips were drawn into a mocking sneer as he pulled out a chair and dropped himself into it.

Will Thorpe didn't reply; pressing his lips together, he continued to stare into his drink. His lack of response, however, didn't deter Frank any.

"Looks like the redhead didn't tell you ev'rything, little brother," he hissed in a low voice as he leaned closer.

Frank knew that he had his brother's attention when he saw Will's fingers tighten around the whiskey glass, the knuckles turning white with the force of his grasp.

"Now...who might this fella by the name of 'Doc' be?" the older Thorpe now mused out loud. It was more of a statement than a question since Frank knew all too well who Doc Adams was; it hadn't taken him long to find out after the Marshal had dropped the name at the restaurant earlier.

Slowly, Will Thorpe lifted his gaze.
.

.

.

"Ya know," muttered Chester contentedly as he stretched out in his chair and crossed his arms behind his head, "this is the part of ma job, I like best."

He closed his eyes, deeply inhaling the warm, fragrant night air.

Matt opened one eye to glance at his assistant.

"Yeah...I figured you might," he replied lazily around the straw stuck between his lips. Fingers interlaced on his broad chest, he was slouching in the chair beside him, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

Sometimes, Dodge seemed even more lively to him after dark than it did during the day. The people that frequented the streets and its saloons at night were usually cowboys and farmers, looking for a little diversion from their daily grind. Most of the time they were peaceful, but every now and then a brawl would erupt in one of the establishments and he had to intervene.

So far though, it had been quiet. The bright lights and raucous laughter of men, mingled with music, spilled from the saloons out into the street, drifting up to the Marshal's office. A group of cowboys, laughing and carrying on among themselves, emerged from the livery and headed down the street towards the Long Branch.

Then their tranquil moment ended abruptly.

"Matt!"

The hurried thudding of footfall as Doc Adams came rushing up the boardwalk, caused the Marshal and Chester to look up in alarm. Pushing his Stetson back, Matt spit out the piece of straw and clambered to his feet.

The physician was quite excited.

"Matt," he gasped a little out of breath as he pointed vaguely down the street. "I was on my way back from the Steven's just now and, by golly, somebody took a shot at me!"

Immediately, the Marshal's eyes narrowed.

"Did you see who it was?"

"My goodness," muttered Chester, looking at Doc with concern.

The physician swiped an agitated hand across his mustache. He shook his head.

"No...no, I sure didn't."

Matt looped his thumbs around the buckle of his gun belt, his intent gaze on the doctor.

"Where'd you say this happened?"

Doc thoughtfully rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, let's see...I'd say about two miles south of town."

He looked up at his friend. "What're you gonna do about it?"

Matt's jaw tightened. He suddenly had a pretty good idea who was behind this.

"Look, Doc," he said, "I want you to stay here with Chester."

"Where are ya goin', Mister Dillon?" Chester wanted to know right away.

"I'm gonna find Thorpe," replied Matt grimly and with that, he turned to go. If Will Thorpe had been the one who ambushed Doc, he only had a slight head start.

"Matt," Doc Adams' voice carried after him, "be careful."

With long, determined strides, the lawman headed down the street towards the Lady Gay. This had gone too far already and he resolved to put an end to this.
.

.

Moments later, the Marshal stood inside the open doors of the Lady Gay saloon. The place was packed tonight and quite lively.

His eyes searched the bar room and quickly found the man he was looking for. Matt took a deep breath and entered.

Will Thorpe was unaware of the approaching lawman. He was sitting at a table, engaged in a game of cards with three other men. One of the saloon girls was leaning over Thorpe's shoulder, watching the game with idle curiosity.

As the Marshal came to a halt in front of the table, his shadow fell onto the scarred top of it, and the men couldn't help but notice him; they glared up at him, obviously not too pleased with his arrival.

But Matt didn't care-all he was interested in at the moment was Thorpe.

Somehow, Will Thorpe instinctively knew that it was him who the tall lawman was looking for.

He licked his lips nervously as he looked up, his fingers subconsciously tightening around the cards in his right.

"Hello, Marshal."

Thorpe tried to sound nonchalant, but there was no mistaking the slight tremble in his voice.

Matt glared down at him, his face hard with restrained temper. He stood firmly, his thumbs tucked into the front of his gun belt.

"How long have you been sittin' here, Thorpe?" he growled, eyes narrowed.

Will put his cards down and heaved an exaggerated sigh.

"Are we playin' question and answer again, Marshal?"

His tone was slightly mocking as he eyed the Marshal with a bored expression.

That had been the wrong thing to say. Almost immediately, Matt could feel the anger rising within him. He stepped up and, placing his hands on the table, bent down to Will Thorpe, shoving a finger into his face.

"Thorpe, let me tell ya somethin'-"

His face was now only inches from the young man's. "I'm in no mood for this, so you better gimme some straight answers before I loose my temper-"

His voice carried distinct hint of a threat which was impossible to miss.

Will Thorpe swallowed hard, his confident demeanor suddenly gone. He opened his mouth to say something, but the cowboy sitting to the right of him, suddenly spoke up.

"Now, Marshal, this here young fella's been a-sittin' with us for the last hour or so...ain't that right, men?" He looked to the others who nodded and murmured in confirmation.

"That's right, Marshal," a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair nodded in agreement.

Matt straighten up and glowered at Will Thorpe.

"That so?" he asked slowly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to believe these men or not.

Thorpe nodded.

"Yes, I've been here all evening, Marshal. Ask her-"

He tipped his head towards the blonde saloon girl who was still standing by his side.

Matt pressed his lips together in annoyance, casting her a quick glance. He already knew what she was going to tell him so he didn't bother asking her. He briefly considered telling Thorpe outright what he was accusing him of, but then he thought better of it.

The young man would most likely simply deny any involvement, leaving the lawman no better off than before.

Will Thorpe looked up.

"Don't you think, I have a right to know why you keep botherin' me, Marshal?"

Judging by the tone of his voice, he had apparently regained his confident manners in the face of the support of his fellow card players.

A frown darkened Matt's features.

"Thorpe...I want you outta Dodge," he growled, ignoring the young man's question. "There's a stage goin' out at noon day after tomorrow. You're gonna be on it if I have to put you on it myself."

His tone left little doubt as to his willingness to carry through with the threat, and luckily, Will Thorpe had the self-preserving sense to remain silent.

But Matt had not expected an answer anyway. Without another word, he turned and stalked from the saloon.
.

.

.
When he returned to the jail shortly afterward, he found the office dark and empty. There was no sign of Doc or Chester. Matt figured that they probably went down to the Long Branch.

He blew out a tired breath and began to walk down the boardwalk towards the saloon.

His assumption had been correct. Stopping just outside the batwing doors, his eyes quickly searched the bar room, and he soon saw the two sitting at their usual table in a corner.

"Figures," he muttered to himself. He resolutely pushed the swinging doors aside and entered.

"Hello, Mister Dillon," greeted him Chester when he saw the lawman approach.

Matt stepped up to the table.

"I thought I told you to stay at the office," he said irritably as he pulled up a chair and dropped himself down, straddling it.

"By golly, we would've," Doc spoke up before Chester had an chance to answer, "the only problem was, there was nothin' to drink there, Matt."

Matt frowned slightly but didn't say anything. He took off his Stetson and dropped it onto the table.

"Here, you sure look like you could use one."

A foamy beer was suddenly placed in front of him, and Matt looked up to find himself face to face with Kitty.

The pretty redhead gave him a warm smile, giving his shoulder a quick pat before she seated herself beside him.

Matt allowed himself to return her smile even though he didn't feel much like it.

"I take it, things didn't go too well," she remarked when she noticed the frustrated expression on his face.

"No. No, they sure didn't."

He cast her a rueful smile.

"What you got in mind now, Matt? What're you gonna do?" Doc wanted to know as he eyed his friend from across the table.

Matt didn't reply right away. Picking up the beer, his eyes regarded the mug thoughtfully.

He was still unconvinced by Thorpe's denials, but how could he get him to admit? Then suddenly, Matt had an idea. He lifted his gaze to the physician.

"Doc, I'm gonna find out just how bad Thorpe wants that watch."

Kitty, Doc and Chester regarded him curiously, and Matt leaned in, motioning his friends to move closer. He didn't bother with lowering his voice as he began to reveal his plan.

Had he known that they had an uninvited listener, he would have been more cautious, and so, Frank Thorpe didn't have to strain his ears too much to find out what the Marshal had in mind.

"Well, come on, Chester," said Doc as he seized the young man by his shirtsleeve when the Marshal had finished explaining, "looks like we're gonna have to do our drinkin' elsewhere tonight."

He clambered to his feet and walked around the table.

"Here Matt," he said as he unlatched his pocket watch from the chain and handed it over to the Marshal, "you better take care of it. I want it back when this is all over."

Matt nodded.

"Don't worry. I'll see to it."

The physician gave a curt nod and took a quick swipe at his mustache.

"I sure don't like the idea of fillin' my belly with that watered-down stuff they're sellin' over at the Lady Gay," he grumbled as he began to shuffle after Chester who was already waiting for him at the door.

Kitty watched as her two friends disappeared into the night. Then she turned.

"You're sure about this, Matt?" she wondered as she placed a gentle hand on his forearm.

At first, she had liked the idea of Matt taking possession of the watch and letting Doc and Chester spread the word at the Lady Gay that the physician had lost the time piece to the Marshal in a bet. Now, as she thought about it some more, she realized that Matt was setting himself up for a potentially deadly ambush.

The lawman heaved a sigh.

"I know, I'm takin' a chance on this, but I don't see how else to draw Thorpe out."

With one big swallow, he finished his beer and put the empty glass back down.

Kitty didn't reply; she knew that he was right. It seemed to be the only way to find out whether Thorpe had anything to do with it or not.

Matt slipped the watch into his shirt pocket and pushed his chair back.

"Well," he said as he reached for his Stetson, "time for my rounds, Kitty."

He rose to stand and then bent down to Kitty to place a hand on her shoulder.

"I told Doc and Chester to meet me at the office later on," he told her as he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You might not wanna wait up for me."

Kitty understood. She looked up at him, a worried expression on her face.

"Be careful," she replied as she reached up to fold her hand over his.

"I aim to," Matt assured her smiling before he turned to go.

Her eyes followed the tall lawman as he made his way through the crowd.

Suddenly, she had the unsettling feeling that something bad was about to happen.

.

.

.

It was only shortly after midnight, but Will Thorpe was already on his way back to the Dodge House. This had not exactly been one of his lucky nights; he had lost a substantial amount of money in a short period of time. Fortunately, he had had enough sense to quit before he would have lost it all.

He was just about to step up onto the plank sidewalk in front of the hotel when a voice, coming from the alley next to the Dodge House suddenly called out to him.

Will stopped, a feeling of dread suddenly washing over him as he recognized it. Closing his eyes, he took a calming breath before he turned to step into the alley.

"I thought I told you to leave me alone, Frank," he said in a low, weary voice to the figure who was standing in the shadow of the hotel. "I'm through."

Frank Thorpe stepped away from the building. He tutted reprovingly.

"Too late for that now, little brother."

Slowly, he began to circle around the younger man, never taking his eyes off him.

Will swallowed hard and turned to match his brother's movements.

"Look, I heard that doctor and the deputy talkin' over at the Lady Gay tonight," he said. "He doesn't have it anymore. The Marshal's got it now. I'm sorry, Frank."

Frank feigned surprise. He stopped in front of his brother and regarded him speculatively.

"Really?"

Will nodded,

"Yes, he does. And I'm not goin' after Dillon. I'd be crazy."

"Crazy?" Frank repeated. He shook his head. "Well, but that's exactly what they were hoping you'd do."

Will didn't understand.

"What're you talkin' about?"

Frank enjoyed having the upper hand.

"Dillon set you up," he stated matter-of-factly. "They're hoping you'd come after the watch."

"Well, they're wrong 'cause I'm not gonna do it!"

"I figured as much," replied Frank shrugging as he walked back into the shadow of the wall. "That's why I have another plan,"

He calmly leaned himself against the building and pulled a cigarette from his vest pocket.

For a second, Will glared at his brother in silence, then he squared himself.

"I don't care what you do...just leave me out of it!"

Up to now, he had been trying to humor Frank, but this was slowly beginning to get out of hand. Without another word, he spun around and stalked off.

"I will, little brother...don't worry...I will."

There was a strange glint in his eyes as he raked a match across the wall and held the flare to the tip of his cigarette.

The watch. It was rightfully his and he would do anything to get it back.
.

.

.

Stifling a yawn, Matt's gaze traveled over to the door. Doc and Chester had been gone for several hours now, and he hoped that they would return soon.

He gave the colt, he'd just finished cleaning, one final appraising look and then shoved it back into its holster before rising from his cot.

Just then he heard the muffled thudding of footfall outside on the front porch. Moments later, the door swung open with a sharp creak of the rusty hinges.

Doc Adams was the first one to step inside, followed closely by Chester.

"How'd it go?" Matt greeted them. "did you two spread the word?"

"By golly, let me tell ya," replied Doc loudly. He looked a little unsteady as he shuffled over to the table where dropped himself rather heavily into the nearest chair.

"If that Thorpe-fella didn't hear us, he must've been either deaf or stone-drunk."

With a quick swipe at his mustache, he gave the lawman a satisfied nod.

Matt was pleased.

"Good. All we have to do now is wait."

Meanwhile, Chester had made his way over to the small pot-bellied stove.

"The coffee's still good, Doc," he announced after he had taken a cautious sip. "You want some?" He held out a cup to the physician in an inviting gesture.

But the doctor was apparently in no mood for such a treat.

"Goodness gracious, Chester...I had enough watered-down concoctions tonight to last me for a week. I sure don't need your brew on top of it!"

Right away, Chester's face scrunched up.

"Well, forevermore...if that's the way you feel about it," he mumbled insulted.

Shooting the doctor a rather unfriendly glare, he took a big swallow from the cup.

But the physician didn't pay any more attention to him.

"Say, Matt, that reminds me," he said instead as he wagged a finger at the Marshal who was about to sit down on his cot. "When're ya gonna get around to shuttin' that place down? I don't know what it is they're sellin, ' but I'm tellin' you it sure ain't no whiskey."

The mere thought of it was enough to sent a shiver of disgust run down his back

Matt paused and looked up at his friend, brows raised.

"Come on, Doc...you know I can't do that."

But Chester, eager to get his two cents worth in as well, disagreed.

"Well, I don't see why not, Mister Dillon? You shut the Lady Gay down, there's gonna be whole lotta less trouble, that's fer sure."

Automatically, Matt made a face, thinking of the rough clientele that frequented the saloon.

"Yeah, and what do you s'pose those cowboys are gonna do? Where'd you think they're gonna end up?"

At the Long Branch," he added with a frown, his mind painting the disconcerting picture of the Long Branch's furnishings being demolished by a pack of drunken cowboys.

But Chester still didn't get it.

"Well, yeah," he said, trying to defend his point, "but it'll mean more business for Miss Kitty."

Matt heaved a sigh, his voice taking on the patient tone of a parent trying to explain something to their child.

"Look, Chester, I don't think Kitty'd want that kinda business."

Chester pursed his lip, thinking hard.

"Well, I reckon, you're right, Mister Dillon. The Long Branch's just too high class fer them fellas anyway."

With that, he considered the subject closed.

"So," Doc suddenly spoke up as he came shuffling over to the cots. "Which one am I gonna sleep on?"

He put his hand on Matt's cot and pushed down on it several times as if to check its firmness.

Matt regarded him surprised.

"Sleep on? You plan on stayin' here?"

He watched with a frown as the physician now moved over to Chester's cot and did the same there.

"That's exactly what I was plannin' on, Marshal," replied Doc matter-of-factly.

"I wanna see you arrest that fella. Besides..it's you he's after now. I've got nothin' to worry about."

He swiped a quick hand across the bristles of his graying mustache and then pointed to Chester's bedstead.

"I'll take that one."

The was a short moment of stunned silence as Matt and Chester simply stared at each other. But the Marshal quickly realized that he was fighting a loosing battle and decided, he might as well let Doc have his way. Besides, the physician didn't look very capable of making his way back to his own office anyway.

Matt shrugged, trying hard to conceal the grin that was tugging at his lips.

"Well, looks like it's the jail bunk for you tonight, Chester."

Right away, a frown began to crease the young jailer's face.

"Now if that don't beat the hen a-peckin'. I swear!"

He glared at the physician who had already stretched himself out on his cot.

Doc pulled his hat down over his eyes, and with a contented grunt, folded his arm over his chest.

"Well, good night," he mumbled to no one in particular.

But Chester just continued to stare at the doctor in disbelief.

Matt sighed.

"Good night, Chester," he said pointedly as he lowered himself down onto his own cot. Then he nodded towards the hurricane lamp on the table.

"Go and blow that light out, will ya?"

Chester shook his head.

"What's he gonna do next? Move himself in here?"

With a grunt of discontent, he did as he was asked and then stomped off into the nearest cell.

Wearily, Matt put his head onto the pillow. He closed his eyes, his fingers tightly wrapped around the grip of his colt. He dearly hoped that he had been right about Thorpe.

.

.

.

Kitty closed the door to the office and blew out the hurricane lamp sitting on the counter. The moonlight was filtering brightly through the big panorama windows of the saloon, bathing the bar room in a soft glow.

Business had been rather slow tonight, and Kitty had decided to close the Long Branch a little earlier. Clem the barkeeper had already left. The saloon girls had retired to their rooms while Kitty remained downstairs to balance the books and lock the cash into the safe as she did every night.

Gathering up her skirts, she prepared to climb the staircase when a faint rustling noise caught her attention. Kitty froze and strained her ears, her right hand clutching the hand rail.

The sound didn't repeat itself and, shrugging it off, she commenced to walk up the stairs.

Suddenly, there it was again, this time more clearly; a distinct scuffling noise.

A slight frown began to appear on her pretty face. She was sure the noise had come from the hallway leading to the alley.

Cautious, but not afraid, Kitty turned around and slowly walked back down.

Her eyes fixed on the counter, underneath which she always kept the shotgun. Years of working in saloons had taught her a variety of skills; knowing how to handle a gun was one them.

When she had reached the bottom of the stairs, Kitty paused briefly, glancing down the dark corridor. The sounds had ceased, and she couldn't make out anything unusual.

Nevertheless, she wanted to be on the safe side. Her hand reached under the counter for the gun.

"I wouldn't do that," hissed a soft voice suddenly from behind her.

Kitty gave a startled cry which was immediately muffled by a hand which quickly draped itself over her mouth.

For a second, she tried to wriggle herself free but a gun, pressing now meaningfully against her side, caused her to cease her struggle.

"You scream, I'm goin' to kill you," the man whispered warningly.

Kitty understood and nodded slightly. The hand moved away from her mouth and clutched her upper arm, turning her to face him.

The moonlight fell onto his face, giving the man an almost ghostly appearance.

A look of utter surprise began to spread across the young woman's face when she saw who it was.

"What do you want?" Kitty demanded, now more angry than afraid. "If it's money-"

But the man cut her off before she could finish.

"It's not money that I want," he hissed. "It's you. You're goin' to help me get back what's mine."

Although it was dark, Kitty could clearly see the dangerous glint in his eyes, and before she knew what was happening, he was already prodding her along towards the backdoor.

Stiffly, the revolver still pressed against her ribs, Kitty stumbled through the door.

There, waiting in the dark alley, were two horses.

Kitty watched as he pulled a rope from the saddle.

"What are you gonna do with me?" she asked.

Her captor didn't reply; with swift, brutal skill, he bound her hands in front of her.

"I hope you know how to ride," he said, and not waiting for an answer, seized Kitty around the waist and hoisted her up into the saddle of the nearest horse.

Taking hold of her horse's reins, he then swiftly mounted the other one.

Moments later, they were galloping down the abandoned street, quickly disappearing into the night.

.

.

.

Outside, the birds were chirping and the early morning sun shone brightly through the windows into the Marshal's office.

Matt groaned and lifted his head, for a moment confused as to his whereabouts.

It didn't take him long to realize that he was sitting at his desk.

Shafts of dust-speckled light were dancing across the desktop, warming his face, and automatically, he squinted at its brightness.

As he came to full wakefulness, he found that his fingers were curled tightly around the grip of his colt, and he remembered at once.

The watch.

Quickly, his hand reached for his pocket.

It was still there.

Matt sat up, a little stiff from his awkward sleeping position.

Will Thorpe hadn't come for it last night as he had hoped, he realized.

He pulled the timepiece out and regarded it thoughtfully. Could it be that they had been wrong about Thorpe after all?

He slipped the watch back into his pocket and pushed the chair back to clamber to his feet.

The sounds of soft snoring told him that Chester and Doc were still asleep. That was fine with him-it was still quite early anyway.

Matt stretched himself and ran a hand through his rumpled hair as he quickly glanced out the window into the deserted street.

His mind was still occupied with thoughts of Will Thorpe as he trudged over to the washbasin, and so he didn't notice the folded piece of paper that was lying on the doorstep.

He poured fresh water from a pitcher into the basin and began to splash his face.

Feeling refreshed and definitely more awake now, Matt grabbed a towel from the nearby chair and began to dry himself.

As he did, his eyes suddenly caught sight of the note. Immediately, he reached down to retrieve it.

It took him mere seconds to read its content.

The hand, holding the note, slowly dropped to his side and his face hardened. His fingers involuntarily clenched themselves around the paper, crumpling it up into a ball and shoving it into his pocket.

With long, determined strides, Matt crossed over to his cot to grab his shirt and boots and began to dress.

He was just about to holster up his gun belt when Doc Adams began to stir.

"Mornin' Matt," the physician mumbled as he levered himself upright.

His eyes quickly scanned the office.

"Where's that Thorpe-fella?" he wondered.

He glanced at the Marshal, and right away, Doc knew that something bad had happened; the look on Matt's face spoke volumes.

"By golly, what's the matter?"

Matt fished the wrinkled-up note from his pant pocket in reply and shoved it into Doc's hand.

"Here, take a look at this."

It took the doctor a few seconds to smooth it out so he could read it. When he was done, the color drained from his face.

"What're you gonna do now, Matt?"

The lawman continued buckling up his gun belt and didn't bother looking up.

"I'm gonna see Thorpe," he replied curtly as he shoved the end of his belt into the keeper with a little more force than necessary.

"Matt."

Doc looked up at his friend as he pointed to the paper in his hand.

"You know this isn't signed," he pointed out carefully.

"Does it have to be?"

"No, but I wouldn't exactly call this incriminating evidence..."

Matt didn't answer.

He snatched his Stetson from its peg and opened the door.

"Look...go an' wake Chester up, will ya?"

He motioned with the hat in his hand towards the jail cells and then, without another word, slipped out the door.

Doc Adams was not sure who to worry about more; Kitty, Matt or Will Thorpe.
.

.

.

His face hard with barely restrained anger, the Marshal crossed the street with long strides. When he reached the Dodge House, he pushed the door open and stalked into the lobby.

"Good mornin', Marshal," greeted Howie him from behind the counter, but Matt marched right past him without as much as a glance. Taking two steps at a time, he literally flew up the stairs.

He was furious.

He was angry.

He was scared.

Number twelve. Matt drew a deep breath, for a second staring at the brass numbers on the door. Then, with a swift, powerful blow of his boot, he kicked the door in and entered.

The splintering of the wood as the door lock was ripped from the frame, roused Will Thorpe unceremoniously from his sleep. Confused, the young man jerked up in his bed. His eyes widened with alarm when he saw the gigantic Marshal, eyes ablaze, charging at him.

"Where is she?"

The words erupted like a growl from deep within his throat as Matt roughly seized Thorpe by the front of his shirt and yanked him from the bed.

The young man looked at a genuine loss.

"What 're you talkin' about, Marshal?" he croaked as he wrapped his fingers around Matt's arm, trying in vain to pry him off.

"You gonna tell me where she is or do I have to beat it outta you?" raged Matt, ignoring Thorpe's query.

Without effort, he hoisted Will up and dragged him over to the nearest wall, forcefully slamming him into it.

Stars began to explode inside the young man's head.

He was beginning to get scared. His eyes were wide with fear.

"I swear...I-I don't know what you're talkin' about!" he stammered.

The response was another forceful shove against the wall.

"I'm talkin' about Kitty Russell, Thorpe! What'd you do to her?"

Thorpe's eyes went even wider.

"I don't know where your Miss Russell is!" he howled in despair, convinced that this crazy lawman was about to kill him.

Marshal tightened his grasp on Thorpe's shirt and slammed him into the wall again.

"That's one lie...I s'pose you tell me another one!"

Suddenly, Will's face fell. He sagged in Matt's grasp.

"Oh, no," he muttered to himself.

Matt looked at him hard.

"What?" he demanded.

Thorpe closed his eyes in frustration.

Frank-"

"Frank?" repeated Matt. "Who're you talkin' about?"

He shook Will slightly when he didn't answer him right away.

"I'm waitin', Thorpe," he warned impatiently.

Will Thorpe's face was extremely pale and droplets of sweat had begun to form on his face. His throat moved convulsively as he stared at the Marshal.

"Frank…he's my brother."

"Your brother?"

Matt wasn't quite sure what to make of the confession.

"Now you better spell that out," he said tensely as he let go of the young man and took a step back.

Thoroughly shaken, Will slumped against the wall and carefully began to massage his abused throat.

"I'll explain it to you, Marshal..."

.

.

"Well, here we are, Miss Russell."

Frank Thorpe made a sweeping gesture before he swiftly dismounted his horse in front the old barn.

Kitty's eyes took stock of her surrounding. She recognized immediately where they were; this was the old Harper homestead, an abandoned farm, a good thirty minutes south of Dodge.

But why did he bring her here?

"I found this place the other day," stated Frank casually as if reading her thoughts. "I must say...it's just perfect."

Kitty didn't bother with asking him what he thought it perfect for; she already had a pretty good idea.

She watched as Thorpe stepped up to her and, wrapping one arm around her waist, lifted her from the saddle.

With her hands tied, she lost her balance and tumbled into his arms.

Thorpe held Kitty for a second, regarding her appraisingly before setting her upright.

"I hope for your sakes that Marshal has enough sense about him and gives me back what's mine. Sure'd be a waste if I had to kill you."

His hand reached out and touched a stray strand of her hair, regarding it thoughtfully for a moment. Then he abruptly pulled the revolver from his holster.

He nudged Kitty along towards the barn.

"Go on."

Kitty stopped and turned instead.

"What makes you think you're gonna get away with this?" she challenged him.

The pretty redhead was not necessarily intimidated by Frank Thorpe, but she had to admit that there was something about him that was a little unnerving.

He laughed.

It was an unpleasant sound, underlaid with menace.

"Who's goin' to stop me?" he challenged back. "My father tried that, too, but Frank Thorpe always gets what he wants. Now go on."

He prodded her impatiently with the revolver and added. "I have a surprise for you in there."

The wicked glint in his eyes sent shivers down Kitty's spine.

.

.

The minutes were slowly ticking by as Doc Adams and Chester awaited impatiently the return of the Marshal. It seemed that Kitty had been kidnapped by Will Thorpe and all they could do was sit and wait.

The physician had taken to nervously pacing the office floor, stopping by the window every minute or so to check for any signs of the Marshal.

"Now, why don't you just sit yourself down somewhere, Doc," complained Chester as he looked up from the newspaper he was too upset to seriously read. "You're makin' me nervous."

Doc's head snapped up and for a second he glared at the Marshal's assistant, a stinging reply on his lips, but then he thought better of it; he knew that Chester was just as worried about Kitty as he was.

"Oh, never you mind," he mumbled instead. He made a dismissive gesture and, shaking his head, commenced his pacing.

For the next several minutes, a tense silence hung over the office.

"Oh, my goodness!" Chester suddenly exclaimed loudly. He was staring in disbelief at the paper in his hands.

Doc turned from the window.

"Now what?" he grumbled irritated.

Chester waved him over to the desk.

"You oughtta take a look at this, Doc..."

For one brief moment, the physician's bushy eyebrows knitted into a frown, but then he decided to humor the young man and shuffled over to where he was sitting.

"You remember that fella from the Long Branch?" Chester queried now. "You know, the one that was lookin' at Mister Dillon kinda strange-like?"

He held out the newspaper.

But Doc didn't remember.

"Oh, fer heaven's sakes, Chester," he began to grouse, but then quickly thought better of it.

"Well,...let me see," he then added in a more conciliatory tone.

He pulled his spectacles from his vest pocket and put them on before grabbing the paper.

For one, long moment the physician studied the photo Chester had pointed to.

"I don't believe it," he muttered at last.

"That's him all right."

Doc suddenly remembered seeing the man depicted at the Long Branch on several occasions.

"Yeah, but did you see his name?" wondered Chester now as he leaned across the Marshal's desk to point to the article.

"Franklin D. Thorpe III..." Doc began to read out loud. "Wanted in St. Louis for the murder of his father, Franklin D. Thorpe II, co-owner of the Peabody & Thorpe Coal Company." He paused, briefly before reading on. "...allegedly strangled his father in an argument over a pocket watch?"

The physician looked up, not quite daring to make the connection yet.

"...Considered to be mentally unstable and dangerous..." he now finished the article.

Doc dropped the newspaper and looked at Chester.

"The watch, Chester...by golly, do you know what that means? Go an' find Matt, go on!"

The jailer didn't need to be told twice. Quickly, he surged to his feet and headed for the door. He was almost knocked to the ground as Matt suddenly pushed the door open and entered.

Chester caught himself and recovered quickly.

"Oh, Mister Dillon," he gasped excitedly, "we've got somethin' to tell ya-"

His eyes quickly darted over to the physician. Doc nodded.

"Take a look at this, Matt."

He held out the newspaper.

Matt frowned slightly but obliged. He took a quick glance at the picture.

"Yeah, I know," he muttered darkly. "I found Will Thorpe. He's told me all about his brother."

Doc looked at him surprised.

"Well? Where, in thunder's, Kitty?"

The mentioning of her name caused the Marshal's face to harden again.

"She's with Frank Thorpe."

He hooked his thumbs into the front of his belt and nodded towards the newspaper.

"Did you read all of it?"

Doc Adams nodded. "He sounds dangerous, Matt. No tellin' what he's gonna do."

"Yeah, I know," replied Matt grimly.

He pushed his Stetson back and rubbed his forehead. From what Will had told him, he was pretty certain that Frank wouldn't harm Kitty if he got the watch back, but he wasn't willing to take a chance on that.

Swiftly, he turned to the gun rack and pulled one of the Winchesters down.

"Chester, go an' have Moss get my horse ready."

The physician watched him with increasing discomfort. "Matt...you don't plan on goin' out there by yourself?"

"Yup," came the short reply. He was perched on the edge of his desk, briskly slipping one cartridge after the other into the loading chamber of his rifle.

Chester scratched his head.

"Well, that's jus' plump crazy, Mister Dillon..."

Doc agreed.

"Now you just hold it there a minute, Marshal," he said he stepped up to him. He stabbed his finger at the lawman's chest. "I'm gonna drive out there with you. He's a sick man...maybe I can talk some sense into him."

"Talk?"

Matt looked up at his friend and Doc could see the worry in his eyes.

"Talk doesn't mean anythin' to him." He took a deep breath. "No, you two stay here. I'm not gonna take a chance on him gunnin' for you or Chester."

When the physician showed no signs of agreeing, Matt put a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Look...I want you to stay clear."

His eyes bored into Doc's for a second, but then he abruptly turned towards the door as someone else entered.

It was Will Thorpe.

"You ready, Marshal?"

"Yeah, I'm ready, Thorpe."

Matt's face was stony and resolute. The rifle in his hand, he walked past him out the door.

"Let's go."

.

.

.

The sun was quickly climbing in the sky, burning down hotly onto the two riders and their mounts. The old Harper homestead lay straight ahead and Matt reined the buckskin down to a halt. The horse was covered with foam and sweat from their sharp gallop and the Marshal quickly gave its neck a series of soothing pats as he waited for Will Thorpe to come up alongside him.

Matt nodded towards the abandoned farm, less than half a mile straight in front of them.

"Well, there it is," he said.

Will stretched himself to get a better look as he pulled tightly on the reins. His horse was restlessly milling underneath him, and not being an experienced rider, he had trouble controlling it.

Thorpe nodded, licking his lips nervously.

He wasn't exactly afraid of his older brother, but Frank had proved once again that he was dangerous when he had strangled their father shortly after he was released from the asylum.

The watch.

Frank had always been obsessed with their grandfather's watch. Ever since he had been a little boy, he had been convinced that it was going to be his one of these days.

The resentment Frank harbored when the watch was given to their father after the old man's death, had made his already sick mind even more unstable, and he had tried to murder their father. His family had finally realized that he needed help and sent him away. Now he was back and more dangerous than before.

"You gonna be all right, Thorpe?" Matt asked when he noticed the other's pale face.

Thorpe gave a brief nod.

"I'll be fine, Marshal."

But there was a definite uncertainty in his tone, and Matt began to wonder whether it had been a good idea to bring him along after all.

He picked up the reins and nudged the buckskin into an easy canter, eager to cover the last few hundred yards that separated him from Frank Thorpe and the woman he loved.
.

.

.
The rhythmic clumping of hooves on the dry, dusty ground, drifted into the barn, drawing his attention.

Frank Thorpe turned towards the opening in the hayloft.

"Ah, here he comes now," he observed when he saw the two riders approach. But moments later, he tutted reprovingly as the two men rode into the overgrown yard.

"Although I'm a little displeased that he chose to bring my little brother along."

Kitty didn't reply; she simply graced the older Thorpe with an icy glare.

Damn him, she thought to herself as she once again tried in vain to loosen the ropes which held her hands firmly behind her back.

For a moment, Kitty seriously considered to simply throw herself at him and try to knock Frank Thorpe off the hayloft and down into the yard, but then she thought better of it; if she didn't succeed, he might end up killing her-she wouldn't put it past him.

Reluctantly, she abandoned her idea.

At least Matt was here now, she consoled herself. He would do everything in his power to make sure that nothing happened to her; Kitty was sure of that.

"Well, time to get you set up, red," Frank suddenly announced as he began to busy himself with a rope which Kitty hadn't noticed before. The rope was strung over one of the rafters above her head, and her eyes went wide when she noticed that the end of it was fashioned into a noose.

Kitty swallowed hard to dislodge the lump which, all the sudden seemed to have formed in her throat.

"What's that for?"

She was surprised at how shaky her voice suddenly sounded.

Thorpe chuckled menacingly soft as he approached Kitty.

"Need you ask?"

Frantically, she tried to back away, but Frank was too quick.

She struggled madly against his grip, but he simply dragged her along. Before she could do anything about it, he had slipped the noose over her head and pulled it taut.

Then Frank as he grabbed her by the shoulders and guided her onto a wooden trapdoor, half-covered with straw.

"Now if you kindly step over here."

Too shocked, to even think, Kitty watched as Thorpe bent down to brush the straw aside, revealing the latch of the trapdoor which had one end of a pair of handcuffs attached to it.
.

.

Matt tensed as his intent gaze traveled slowly across the old homestead; there were too many places a man could hide if he wanted to ambush another.

He guided the buckskin towards the old farm house. An uneasy feeling that they were being watched, suddenly began to creep over him. With a gentle tug on the reins, he brought his mount to a halt in front of the farm house and eased his right leg over the croup, letting himself down.

Will followed suit and the two men tethered the horses to an old hitching beam in front of the porch.

Unsure of what to do next, Matt took a few steps into the yard and began to cautiously glance around.

"I'm glad you made it, Marshal."

Startled by the sound of the elder Thorpe's voice, Matt spun around. His right hand hovered readily above his colt as his eyes moved slowly around the yard, eventually settling on the barn.

"I'm goin' to have to ask you to take that gun belt off, " Frank's voice called out to him again, and Matt was pretty certain that it had indeed come from the barn.

He squinted across the sunny yard towards the building.

"Where's Miss Russell?" he demanded, ignoring Thorpe's request.

There was a brief moment of silence.

"I'm all right, Matt," came Kitty's hesitant assurance.

Matt pressed his lips together. He could hear the fear in her voice and suddenly, his throat felt tight. He would kill Thorpe if anything was to happen to her.

"Now that we established that the lady is fine, would you kindly do as I asked."

Thorpe's tone was jovial, almost friendly, but Matt wasn't deceived by it. His jaw tightened in anger, but he silently complied. He reached down and his right fumbled with the buckle until it came loose. With a soft thud, the holster dropped to the ground.

"Now put your hands up and start walkin' towards the barn...slowly."

Matt took a deep breath and raised his hands slightly. His boots crunched on the hard ground as he began to walk towards the barn. But although it was hot and the sweat-soaked shirt clung uncomfortably to his back, for some odd reason, he suddenly felt cold.

Up to now, Will Thorpe had remained silent. Now he took a few steps towards the barn.

"Let Miss Russell go, Frank," he called out to his brother.

Frank snorted in reply.

"You're tryin' to trick me, little brother? Is that what it is?"

Matt slowed his step. When he looked up, he saw the older Thorpe standing in the opening of the hayloft.

Hands slightly raised at his sides, Will took another careful step forward.

"I'm askin' you to let her go, Frank."

The roar of a gun suddenly shattered the silence as a bullet struck the ground a few feet in front of Will Thorpe, kicking up clumps of dirt.

The Marshal jolted and wheeled around to see if Will was hurt and then, a second shot rang out.

This time, Frank didn't miss.

The bullet struck Will Thorpe square in his upper thigh.

With a cry of pain, the young man dropped to the ground.

"You traitor!" Frank's crazed voice echoed through the yard. "You want it for yourself...just like the rest of them...but you're not goin' to get it!"

The elder Thorpe was now standing in plain view, the gun in his right pointed straight at the lawman.

Matt froze in his tracks, his eyes shifting from Frank Thorpe back to Will.

The young man was lying on the ground, moaning and clutching his injured leg. Dark blood was quickly seeping out from beneath his fingers, staining the fabric of his once expensive trousers a deep crimson hue.

Matt started towards him, when Frank's voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Leave him be, Marshal," he called out coldly.

Matt hesitated, his hands still half-raised.

"Go on, Marshal...do as he says," the younger Thorpe grated through clenched teeth. "I'll be all right."

When Matt hesitated, the young man gave him an encouraging nod, beckoning him to go on.

Matt straightened and blinked, brushing away the sweat that had run into his brow. If he wanted to avoid any more shooting, he had to keep Frank calm.

The lawman took a deep breath, forcing his voice to remain calm.

"I got your watch right here, Thorpe," he called out as he pointed to his pant pocket. "I'm gonna bring it to you now...just take it easy."

It worked.

The prospect of the watch seemed to pacify the crazed man somewhat.

"Don't you play any tricks on me, Marshal," he warned.

"No tricks, Thorpe," Matt assured him as he continued to walk slowly. His eyes remained fixed on the man in the hayloft.

The realization that Frank could simply gun him down and take the watch, suddenly occurred to him, and he felt a cold sinking in his stomach.

"Come on inside, Marshal," said Frank when Matt had reached the barn. "There's a ladder to your left...climb it."

There was a look of tense uncertainty on his face as Matt prepared to climb into the hayloft.

.

"Easy now, Marshal," Frank Thorpe warned when he saw that the lawman had reached the top of the ladder.

Matt stopped. He quickly let his eyes wander around the hayloft. There was Thorpe, and, standing next to him was Kitty.

She looked pale and frightened, but otherwise seemed unharmed, except for-

Matt's heart gave a jolt when he noticed the noose around her neck. He felt himself go rigid, involuntarily tightening his grasp on the rungs.

He swallowed the heavy lump which seemed to have suddenly formed in his throat and then his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Is that what you call 'not harmin' her'?" he growled. His voice was hoarse with barely restrained anger.

Frank simply shrugged.

"Just a necessary precaution, Marshal."

He took a step away from Kitty, the gun still pointed at the Marshal and his face twisted into what he thought to be an amicable smile.

"I promise you, her life is going to be entirely in your hands."

The older Thorpe had spoken softly, but there was a distinct hint of menace in his voice.

Matt didn't like the sound of it.

Carefully, so as not to startle Frank, he eased himself onto the straw-covered floor of the hayloft and then clambered to his feet.

Frank took a step back and motioned the Marshal with his gun to join Kitty.

"Go on, Marshal."

Slowly, his hands half-raised, Matt began to walk, never taking his eyes off the colt.

He came to a stop in front of Kitty.

She didn't say a word, but her eyes were speaking for themselves.

Immediately, Matt could feel tight, hard anger rising within him.

"It's gonna be all right, Kitty," he promised her.

The pretty redhead simply nodded in reply, giving him a shaky smile.

Kitty knew that Matt wouldn't let anything happen to her if he could help it, but she also realized that things didn't look too good for them at the moment.

"See those handcuffs on that trapdoor in front of you?" Thorpe now said. "Fasten the open end to your right wrist, Marshal."

Matt looked down. It didn't take much for him to realize the vicious set-up. He lifted his gaze at Frank Thorpe, hesitating.

But Frank was running out of patience.

"Marshal," he hissed threateningly, "I'm not a very patient man-"

He moved the gun to Kitty's head to make his point.

Alarmed, Matt raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. The last thing he wanted to do right now was make Thorpe any angrier than he already was.

"All right...just take it easy, Thorpe," he tried to appease the irate man.

With a final glance at Kitty, he then crouched down in front of her.

Thorpe had certainly planned this out well, he thought grimly as he took a closer look at the trapdoor. One end of the handcuffs was attached to the metal ring on the latch which held the trapdoor shut. If he was cuffed to it, he wouldn't be able to move much without causing the latch to release, and, in the process-

He shuddered at the thought.

Hesitantly, he reached out and placed the cuff over his right wrist. With a soft click, the locking mechanism snapped shut.

Thorpe had not lied-Kitty's life was indeed in his hands now.

Frank gave a short laugh which sounded decidedly insane to Matt.

"You see," he declared with a satisfied smile. "I kept my word. Her life is in your hands...or should I say...wrist?"

Thorpe giggled at his own joke.

Matt didn't bother answering; instead, he crouched as closely as possible to the latch, afraid that he might involuntarily release it.

It was all too obvious that Frank Thorpe was clearly out of his mind which made him unpredictable and extremely dangerous. Matt knew that he had to control himself, no matter how difficult it was.

Frank took a few steps towards the Marshal. He held out his left hand expectantly.

"Now, Marshal, if you don't mind…my watch, please."

That damn watch.

This whole thing was so utterly crazy that Matt still would have trouble believing it, were it not for the fact that he and Kitty were in this predicament.

His free hand dug into his pant pocket and fished out the watch.

Immediately, Frank snatched the timepiece from Matt's extended hand and took a step backwards.

"Thank you."

There was a removed expression on his face as he holstered up his gun and regarded the watch lovingly.

Almost reverently, his fingers began to stroke its cover and he smiled.

He, Franklin Thorpe, had finally done it; the watch was now his.

Unfortunately, Frank's triumph was rather short-lived. As he took another absent step backwards, he suddenly tripped over the tines of a hay fork which lay forgotten and half-covered by straw.

He lost his footing.

With a startled outcry, he tumbled backwards, and the watch flew from his hand.

Kitty gasped when she saw Frank disappear through the opening in the hayloft.

"THORPE!"

Instinctively, Matt reached out, but immediately thought better of it.

His heart was thumping wildly in his chest when he realized what he had almost done.

"Matt!"

Kitty's sudden cry caused him to look up at her in confusion.

She was looking down at him, her eyes wide and then she nodded towards the opening.

Somehow, Frank had managed to grab the edge of the hayloft floor and was now barely holding on with one hand.

"Marshal...help me," he moaned. His voice was filled with terror.

Matt knew that the man couldn't hold on much longer.

"Hold on, Thorpe," he urged as he dropped down onto his stomach. Flattening himself against the floor, he reached out with his left.

Almost.

Matt could almost touch him. He groaned with the effort, stretching his arm as far as he could.

"Help me, please," Frank cried out again as his fingers slowly began to slip off the edge.

Matt gave it all.

He could feel his fingers brushing against Thorpe's, and with one final effort, he managed to clamp his left hand around the other man's wrist.

With silent horror, Kitty's eyes fixed on the latch at her feet; the handcuffs were so taut now that if Matt was to move another inch, the latch would release.

"Matt," she whispered, barely audible.

The Marshal was all too aware.

"It's all right, Kitty," he grated through clenched teeth.

He was sprawled out on his stomach, his arms painfully stretched to their capacity, unable to even turn his head.

Matt realized what must be going through her mind right now, and he found himself faced with a terrible dilemma; Kitty's life was in his hands as well as Thorpe's, and he already knew that most likely, he wouldn't be able to save them both.

Soon, the strain was becoming almost unbearable, and Matt's arm felt as if it was about to be pulled from its socket. Sweat was running down his face, stinging as it ran into his eyes, but he couldn't do anything about it.

Underneath his grasp, he could feel Thorpe's hand slipping steadily.

Matt closed his eyes and drew in a lungful of air, putting the last of his strength into trying to pull Frank Thorpe back into the safety of the hayloft.

He almost made it.

But suddenly, his body slid forward on the straw-covered floor and the trapdoor latch gave a dangerous creak.

"MATT!"

Kitty's anguished cry caused his head to jerk around in alarm.

The latch was still holding-but barely.

"I-I got it..."

He strained to get the words out as the fingertips of his right crawled towards the latch, slowly pushing it back into place.

"I can't...hold on anymore," wailed Thorpe all the sudden.

Matt could feel the other's fingers slipping from his sweaty grasp.

"Thorpe!" he called out alarmed, desperately clutching for the man's hand. But it was too late.

Kitty's outcry mingled with Frank Thorpe's as he fell.

Seconds later, they heard the sickening thud as he landed on the dusty ground below.

A moan escaped Matt's lips.

Almost on its own accord, his head dropped down into the straw, and he closed his eyes in helpless frustration.

"Matt?" came Kitty's hesitant query moments later.

Slowly he opened his eyes and clambered to his hands and knees, his chest heaving. His throat felt too dry and too restricted to speak, so he simply nodded.

Then he proceeded to sit up to check the latch to make sure it was still secure.

It was.

There was a long moment of silence which was broken only by Matt's heavy breathing.

Kitty glanced down at the lawman still crouching at her feet.

"What are we gonna do now?"

She knew that she would definitely feel a lot better if that noose around her neck was gone.

Still a little out of breath, Matt looked up at her.

"I don't know, Kitty."

He turned his attention to the handcuffs. Carefully, he tugged at the metal band around his wrist, but it was to no avail.

"I don't s'pose you know where the keys are," he asked without much hope.

Kitty shook her head slightly.

"I'm sorry, Matt."

Her legs were beginning to get tired, and she wished that she could sit down.

"Well, looks like we're gonna be here for awhile," he conceded with a frustrated sigh.

Having nothing better to do, he tried again to wriggle his hand from the restraints of the handcuff. It didn't do any good. Soon, his wrist was rubbed raw and bleeding, and he finally gave up.

Matt began to think.

Maybe Thorpe had lost the keys when he fell. His gaze began to travel across the straw-covered floor and suddenly, he noticed something shiny only a few feet away.

But it was only the watch. That damn watch.

All the sudden, he had the overwhelming urge to pick it up and smash it. Disgusted, he pressed his lips together.

Suddenly, Kitty's voice demanded his attention.

"Matt, I think someone's coming."

Matt lifted his head and listened.

"Sure sounds like it," he agreed when he heard the distinct sound of hoof beats.

Carefully, Kitty craned her neck, trying to see who it was.

"It's Chester," she exclaimed happily when she saw the Marshal's assistant coming around the bend in the road.

Matt breathed an inward sigh of relief. Now he could see him, too. He watched as the young man rode into the yard, straight towards the barn.

They could hear him dismount and moments later, the crunching of boots told them that he had entered the barn.

"Mister Dillon? Miss Kitty?"

His familiar voice carried a hint of apprehension as it echoed through the barn.

"Are yen's in here?"

Matt cast Kitty a quick encouraging smile.

"We're up here...in the hayloft," he called out.

Everything was going to be all right now.

There was some shuffling and rustling as Chester searched the barn for a way up. He quickly found the ladder and began to climb it. Moments later his hat, followed by his face appeared above the edge of the hayloft floor.

"Oh, my goodness," he exclaimed startled when he saw the predicament his friends were in.

Hurriedly, he clambered off the ladder and rushed towards Kitty.

"Oh, my goodness, Miss Kitty," he muttered shocked. Quickly, he began to loosen the noose and then swiftly lifted it over her head.

Her knees suddenly felt weak and she would have dropped, had Chester not held on to her.

He glanced down at her concerned, suddenly realizing that her hands were still bound.

"You all right there, Miss Kitty?"

Kitty regarded him gratefully.

"I'm fine, Chester."

Gently, he lowered her to the ground and then pulled out his pocket knife. Within seconds, her hands were free and she began to carefully massage her wrists.

Chester turned his attention to the Marshal.

"Mister Dillon?"

Matt gave an nod of assurance.

"I'm all right, Chester. How's Frank Thorpe?"

Chester scratched his neck.

"Well, he sure looks none too lively, I can tell ya that," he said, confirming Matt's worst thoughts. "Will Thorpe came a-ridin' into town a while ago. He told us what happened."

"Say," Chester then went on, suddenly noticing the handcuffs, "what's he done that for?"

In few words, the Marshal related to him what Thorpe had done.

"Now if that don't beat all-"

Astounded, the young man shook his head.

"I ain't never heard of nothin' like that...just plump crazy."

He shifted his gaze from the Marshal to Miss Kitty. "Tryin' to hang you, Miss Kitty?" A look of fierce outrage passed across his face. "Why,...I would've hung that fella myself if he'd hurt you any."

Kitty had to smile at the young jailer's passionate declaration, and she gave his forearm a quick pat.

"Thank you, Chester."

Matt cleared his throat held up his right hand which was still handcuffed to the latch.

"How about gettin' these handcuffs off me?"

"Well, sure," agreed Chester readily, "but I don't see how...unless you know where them keys are, Mister Dillon."

Matt made a face. Of course, he didn't know where the keys were.

Suddenly, Kitty's face lit up.

"Say, Chester...why don't you try Thorpe's vest pocket?"

She was pretty sure that she had seen Frank put the keys there earlier.

The young man scratched his head.

"Well, I reckon it's as good a place as any."

With that, he made his way back to the ladder.

Kitty waited until Chester was gone.

"Matt?" she wondered hesitatingly as she glanced over at the lawman sitting next to her on the floor.

The Marshal stopped fumbling with the latch.

"Yeah?"

The pretty redhead looked decidedly uncomfortably.

"Oh, Matt! Remind me to never buy anything from any gambler ever again," she blurted out miserably.

She leaned her head against his broad chest and drew a shaky breath. Even though she knew good and well that what had happened had hardly been her fault, she still felt terrible because she had bought the watch in the first place.

Matt couldn't help but smile.

Kitty was the most head-strong woman he had ever met. He had learned long ago not to interfere when she had her mind set on something, and he would certainly not start now.

Knowing that telling her this would most likely start an argument, he decided it was safer to keep his thoughts to himself. He draped his left arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze instead.

"Well, it's not your fault, Kitty. Sometimes there's just no accountin' for people."

She sniffed against his shirt as he continued to pat her back in a comforting fashion.

A short moment later, Chester's excited declaration that he had found the keys, brought their quiet moment to an abrupt end.

Moments later, they heard him shuffling back up the ladder and they broke apart.

.

.

.

It was early afternoon as Doc Adams, on his way back to his office, walked past the Long Branch. Several days had gone by since Frank Thorpe's unfortunate demise and things had, for the most part, returned back to normal.

The physician was about to pass the saloon, when he suddenly had a change of mind. He stopped, and taking a few steps backwards, came to a halt in front of the batwing doors.

His eyes quickly swept the almost empty saloon. There, sitting at their usual table, were Kitty and Chester, enjoying a nice, cold beer.

Doc decided that a cold beer was just the right thing to cool him off a little before he headed out to call on his last patient for the day.

Decidedly, he pushed open the swinging doors and shuffled over to their table.

"Hello, Doc," greeted Kitty him when she saw him approach. She smiled and pointed to the empty chair beside her.

"Come on over here and have a seat."

Chester gave him a friendly nod from across the table.

"Hello, Doc," he said.

With an acknowledging nod into the round, Doc plopped his medical bag onto the table and then seated himself in the offered chair.

"How about a beer, Doc?" wondered Kitty, "you sure look like you could use one."

Doc sniffed and scrubbed a quick hand across his mustache.

"Don't mind if I do."

Kitty turned and motioned the barkeep.

"Clem, bring us another beer for Doc."

She turned back and her eyes settled on the physician's vest.

"I see you got your old watch back."

Doc took another quick swipe at his mustache.

"I sure do. And now that it's been cleaned it works just fine, too. I don't know why, in thunder, I didn't think of that sooner."

He looked up and thanked Clem for the beer he'd just placed in front of him.

Kitty gave him a little smile. "Well, I'm glad."

"I still don't understand why you had to give that Thorpe-fella his watch back," said Chester now, thinking of the pretty golden pocket watch Kitty had bought from Will Thorpe a week earlier.

Right away, Doc graced the Marshal's assistant with a disgruntled look.

"By, golly...I don't expect you to, Chester."

Sensing the beginnings of another inevitable argument between her two friends, Kitty quickly spoke up.

"Yes, I think that was a very nice thing you did there, Doc," she said, patting his arm.

The physician harrumphed loudly in a half-hearted attempt to shrug off her comment.

"Yeah, well...I don't know about that, but it sure was the right thing to do."

His gruff declaration didn't fool Kitty; she knew that he would have never kept the watch after knowing that it had been more or less responsible for two deaths.

"Well, I'll drink to that," she declared as she lifted her glass in a toast.

Their little disagreement forgotten, the two men joined in and lifted their glasses in a toast.

"Say, where's Mister Dillon anyway?" Chester suddenly wondered as he put his beer down. "I haven't seen him around since he saw that Thorpe-fella off on the stage this morning'."

Kitty shrugged.

"I don't know. He stopped by here for a little while afterwards, but that's the last I saw of him."

Doc cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck.

Chester regarded the doctor curiously.

"You seen him, Doc?" he wondered.

"Well, I might know where he is," admitted the doctor slowly and then quickly added, "but I ain't gonna tell ya."

Chester regarded him surprised.

"What do you mean...you ain't gonna tell?"

Doc's bushy brows knitted into something resembling a frown.

"Chester," he said, sounding a tad annoyed, "there's a little somethin' called 'confidentiality between a doctor an' his patient. Ever heard of such a thing?"

"Now wait a minute, Doc," Kitty now joined in, beginning to sound a little concerned herself. "What do you mean by 'patient'...is he sick or somethin'?"

Chester was clearly confused by now.

"Yeah, Doc, don't ya think you oughtta let us know if Mister Dillon's sick?"

Now Doc was definitely annoyed.

"Well, confounded...I never said he was sick," he declared. "Here you go, always jumpin' to conclusions."

He ran a swift hand through his mustache and then his gaze suddenly fixed on the batwing doors.

"Why don't you two ask him yourselves?" He pointed towards the entrance. "There he comes now."

Kitty and Chester turned.

The Marshal had just stepped through the doors and was crossing over to their table.

"Hello, Kitty...Doc...Chester," he nodded into the round and pulled up a chair from the table behind him.

Doc half rose from his chair and scooted towards Chester to make room for the tall lawman.

"Hello, Matt," he greeted the young lawman as he watched him squeeze his chair between his own and Kitty's.

It didn't take Matt long to notice the curious looks that Kitty and Chester were casting him.

"What's goin' on here?" he wondered, a little confused.

Kitty studied him closely.

"You all right, Matt?" she inquired, a little worried.

He looked at her surprised, not quite sure what to make of her query.

"Well, yeah...just fine," he replied slowly. He tried giving her an assuring smile, but for some reason, it looked rather pained.

Doc made a scoffing sound.

"You betcha," he muttered under his breath, causing Matt to cast him an irritated glance.

Kitty raised an inquiring eyebrow. Her gaze shifted from the Marshal to the physician.

Chester shook his head.

"You sure don't look so good, Mister Dillon."

"Yes, Marshal," agreed Doc, chuckling. "I'll say-"

Kitty looked from Doc to Matt.

"Matt? What's he talkin' about?"

"For Heaven's sakes...he's gotta toothache...that's what's ailin' him, Kitty," Doc blurted out impatiently before the Marshal even had a chance to even open his mouth. "And I'll be doggoned if he'll let me take a look at it!"

The physician shook his head, remembering the fuss Matt had put up a little earlier when he had tried to examine the tooth.

Kitty's eyes widened with sudden understanding. Now that she looked closer at him, his left cheek seemed a little swollen.

"A toothache?" echoed Chester blankly.

Matt's face screwed up in annoyance.

"Thanks a lot, Doc."

Clearly not happy with the turn of events, he suddenly didn't feel much like company anymore.

He pushed his chair back and snatched his Stetson from the table.

"You know...you sure aren't helpin' matters any," he grumbled as he rose to his feet and slapped his hat on. "I'm goin' back to the office."

The last thing he needed right now on top of his toothache, was a lecture from his friends, and he wasn't about to give them the opportunity to do just that.

"Kitty."

He tipped his head at her, and a slight frown suddenly creased his forehead when he noticed the expression of barely concealed amusement on her face.

Chester was grinning from ear to ear.

"You know Mister Dillon," he said. "You know what you oughtta do? You oughtta let Doc here take a look at it. Yes."

He nodded earnestly, but his eyes were twinkling as he cast the physician a quick side glance. " After all...he really knows what he's doin'."

Without another word, not quite trusting himself to speak or even think, Matt briefly glared at his assistant before he turned around and stalked from the saloon.

.

.
THE END