Ray Dunning's Revenge

by dinacarter

After Matt is forced to shoot the son of Raymond Dunning, the wealthy rancher has the Marshal kidnapped. It is now up to Doc and Chester to find and free him before Dunning can carry out his plan of taking Matt's life in retaliation.

"GUNSMOKE"

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Ray Dunning's Revenge

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

Summary: After Matt is forced to shoot the son of Raymond Dunning, the
wealthy rancher has the Marshal kidnapped. It is now up to Doc and
Chester to find and free him before Dunning can carry out his plan of
taking Matt's life in retaliation. /

Rating: PG-13. Please be advised that this story contains some graphic
violence, language and sexual innuendo, which some readers might find
offensive.

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So far, the day had been a quiet one. Matt Dillon, the US Marshal in Dodge City had spent most of it in his office doing some routine paper work. He didn't care for it very much and it was obvious; the papers had been piling up on his desk for the past several weeks until they finally threatened to overflow, leaving Matt no choice but to deal with them.

The sun had just set beyond the horizon and the darkness was slowly beginning to take over when he at last decided to call it a day.

Matt rose from behind his desk and stretched his six-foot seven-inch frame. He had never been exactly fond of sitting behind a desk for longer periods of time and the last thing he could picture himself doing was being a clerk. He chuckled a little at the thought as he grabbed his Stetson off its peg and slipped outside.

Standing on the small porch, he surveyed the almost deserted street and took a deep breath. The warm June air was infused with the scents of early summer and Matt felt like a nice, cold beer.

His gaze wandered down the street towards the Long Branch saloon. He knew that by now he would probably find Doc and Chester there and, of course, Kitty. The thought of the pretty redhead brought a smile to his face. He stepped off the porch and began to head down Front Street.

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The Long Branch was packed on this Saturday night with cowboys and hired hands from the surrounding farms and ranches, eager to spend their hard-earned pay. Stopping just inside the batwing doors, his gaze quickly traveled over the raucous crowd for any signs of potential trouble. Seeing none, he relaxed and prepared to enter.

"Over here, Matt," he heard Kitty calling out to him from their usual table in the far right corner.

Smiling, he began to make his way towards it.

"Hello, Kitty...Doc. Mind if I join you?" He nodded at his two friends, and not waiting for an answer, squeezed himself into a chair between them.

Doc peered at his friend over the rims of his reading spectacles.

"Evenin', Matt," he said with a curt nod of his own.

Kitty's eyebrows knitted into a slight frown.

"You've made yourself quite rare the last couple of days."

Matt exhaled wearily, carelessly dropping his hat onto the table.

"You tell me," he grumbled in reply, "I never knew bein' a Marshal meant bein' a clerk as well."

Right away, a bemused smile began to play on Kitty's lips.

"Let me guess, you let the paperwork pile up again."

The lawman made a face, prompting a husky laugh from her.

"You want me to get you a beer, Matt?" she offered, skillfully changing the subject.

That was definitely more to Matt's liking.

"Sure...thanks," he replied. Smiling, he rose to his feet to hold the chair for her.

His eyes followed the petite redhead as she began to thread her way through the crowd towards the bar. To Matt, Kitty was the most beautiful woman he had ever met and sometimes he found it rather difficult to conceal his love for her in public.

Doc Adams smiled knowingly when he caught the Marshal's gaze; he had been Matt and Kitty's friend for almost four years now and their confidant ever since their relationship had moved beyond simple friendship.

A short moment later, Kitty returned.

"Thanks, Kitty," the lawman said when she placed the foamy beer in front of him.

Kitty gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before reclaiming her seat, the simple gesture sending a slight shiver to his very core.

He gave her a quick smile and then let his eyes slowly travel over the crowd; there were definitely a lot of new faces tonight he noticed.

One of them stuck out to him in particular; it was a young man, probably no older than twenty, he guessed. He was dressed nicer than most of the other cowboys and he wore a fancy two-gun holster with two rather expensive-looking .44 colts in it. He was surrounded by four or five men, obviously part of his entourage. They were enjoying themselves with two of the saloon girls, freely buying drinks and hoping for a little
more than just a peck on the cheek.

Matt noticed that the young cowboy didn't participate in their carousing. With a brooding look on his face, he swished the whiskey around in his glass.

Something told Matt that he could be trouble. He made himself a quick mental note to keep an eye on him before turning his attention back to his two friends.

"You two seen Chester tonight?"

Kitty shook her head.

"I haven't seen him since this afternoon, Matt. I thought he was with you."

Doc shrugged.

"Don't look at me," he grumbled, running a quick hand across his graying mustache, "I haven't seen him since this mornin' when he tried to get me to drink that lousy coffee of his."

He shook his head in disgust at the thought of it.

Matt's face broke into a grin. He remembered all too well. This morning, Chester had lectured Doc on the proper way of making coffee and wouldn't take 'no' for an answer when the physician refused to drink his concoction. In the end, Doc had stormed from the Marshal's office with Chester, carrying the coffee pot, in pursuit.

He was just about to say something in Chester's defense when he spotted his assistant entering the saloon.

The tall, gangly man was slowly making his way past the counter, friendly greeting people along the way, when he was suddenly pushed by someone passing and in the process accidentally knocked the glass out of the young cowboy's hand.

Before Chester knew what had happened, he found himself being roughly grabbed by the front of his shirt.

"Can't you watch what you're doin'?" the young man hissed angrily, shoving Chester hard against one of his friends.

The other took obvious offense to that, swung out with his fist and struck Chester square on the jaw. The jailer stumbled backwards, accompanied by the rough laughter of the men.

Within seconds, Matt had pushed his chair back and rushed to his friend's aid.

"All right, that's enough," he growled, watching the men carefully while Doc and Kitty helped Chester back to his feet.

The young man pushed his friend aside and eyed the Marshal provocatively.

"Really? Says who?"

Matt hooked his thumbs into the front of his gunbelt, evenly meeting the young man's gaze.

"All right, cowboy, I think you had enough for tonight," he said.

For a moment, the kid just glared at him then his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Nobody tells me what to do, Marshal," he hissed as he began to step back slowly, his hands hovering readily above his guns.

By now, most people had started to draw away from the counter when they realized what was about to happen.

One of the young man's friends, an older cowhand, now stepped up and tried to intervene.

"Come on Will," he started to say ,"let's get-"

But the young man only brushed him impatiently aside.

"Nobody tells Will Dunning what to do!" he declared hotly, sweeping several beer mugs off the counter.

With a crash they shattered as they hit the floor.

There was dead silence in the saloon.

All eyes were on the Marshal and the young cowboy.

Will Dunning continued to step backwards while Matt slowly inched closer, his right hand above his colt.

He came to a stop.

"I want you and your friends outta here, Dunning," he said calmly, nodding towards the batwing doors. He knew he was being baited by the young man and tried to ignore his outburst.

All the sudden, Will Dunning raised his hands. A disrespectful grin began to play on his lips.

"All right, all right...you win, Marshal...we're leaving."

He lowered his hands and started to turn but then suddenly wheeled around, pulled his guns and began to shoot blindly into the Marshal's
direction.

Luckily, Matt had anticipated the attack.

He lurched sideways and drew his colt in one unhurried motion, taking Will Dunning down with one shot.

For one brief moment, the young man stared at the Marshal in disbelief then he dropped his guns and crumpled to the floor.

Within seconds, the crowd unfroze. Everyone was talking at the same time as they gathered around the body on the ground.

Immediately, Kitty rushed to Matt's side, her face still reflecting the fear she had felt.

Silently, she put her hand on his arm.

"Mister Dillon...you all right there?" queried Chester as he came limping closer, still massaging his abused jaw.

The lawman gave a brief nod, his troubled gaze on Doc who had crouched down next to the lifeless figure.

It didn't take him long to determine that there was nothing that could be done for young Will Dunning. He looked up at Matt and slowly shook his head.

The Marshal took a deep breath, his eyes still fixed on the body. This had been so utterly senseless; he hated it when he was forced to draw on someone-especially one that young.

Kitty sensed his distress and gently squeezed his arm.

He acknowledged her gratefully by briefly folding his hand over hers.

The voice of one of Dunning's friends suddenly rose above the murmuring crowd.

"You killed him, Marshal! Raymond Dunning's not gonna like that."

The man, a beefy fellow with a big mustache which curved down around the corners of a firm, cruel mouth, regarded him with obvious dislike, and Matt noticed that his hand was close to his gun.

"Well,...I trust you tell Mr. Dunning what happened here," he replied calmly.

Matt continued to eye the man with a steady look. He could feel the mounting tension in him. For a moment, it looked as if the cowboy was going to draw on him as well, bu then he suddenly dropped his hand, turning to his friends instead.

"Tom, Red...get him outta here," he barked at a short, wiry fellow and a young man with reddish hair.

As the men struggled to pick up the body, the cowboy turned once more to Matt.

"We'll meet again, Marshal, and next time you'll be on the receivin' end."

With that, he wheeled around and stalked from the saloon.

"An' well be here a-waitin' for y'ens!" Chester hollered after him as soon as he was sure the man was out of earshot. "Right, Mister Dillon?"

Matt pressed his lips together and smiled grimly.

"Right, Chester."

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"Why do you always have to leave so early, Matt?"

Kitty mumbled sleepily into her pillow, watching with one eye as the tall man beside her
slipped out from underneath the covers and began to pull his pants on.

He sighed and turned towards her.

"You know I like to be outta here before the whole town wakes up, Kitty."

If truth be told, he'd rather stay here with her. They had been sharing the same bed for almost four years now and whether it was after a night of passionate lovemaking or simply a night of making up for some badly needed rest, the end was always the same; he left before the sun came up, sneaking down the backstairs into the alley behind the saloon, back to his cot at the Marshal's office.

It was an arrangement born out of necessity. Over time, Matt had made plenty of enemies, and the less people knew about their relationship, the better. The last thing he
wanted to happen, was for one of them to use Kitty as leverage against him.

Kitty made a disapproving noise and pulled the cover over her head.

Matt raised his eyebrows and a mischievous smile started to play around his lips. Slowly, he peeled the cover back a little then suddenly pulled it all the way off.

Kitty let out a yelp as the cool air came in contact with her naked skin.

"That's NOT funny, cowboy," she started to complain, but Matt didn't give her a chance to continue; leaning over her, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her deeply. Her resistance lasted only seconds; soon, she was pressing herself against him, returning his kisses and caresses with equal passion and desire. It wasn't before long and his pants ended up in a crumpled heap on the floor again as they continued to engage in a
repeat of their earlier lovemaking session.

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By the time Matt finally descended the stairs to the back alley, the sun was close to rising. Smiling, he locked the door behind him and turned towards Front Street.

Suddenly and without warning, several figures stepped out from the shadows and before he had a chance to react, they jumped him. A fist connected painfully with his jaw and sent him staggering backwards into two men behind him. He dodged another jab and was able to land his right fist in his opponent's face. There was a nasty crunching sound and blood began to gush from the man's nose.

The man, a husky fellow, howled with pain and anger and charged. If it had not been for the others standing behind Matt and suddenly grabbing him, he might have had a chance-but as it was, they twisted his arms behind his back and held him firmly.

The one with the now broken nose was furious and it showed. His first blow hit Matt square on the mouth, splitting his lip. The two men holding him laughed and roughly pulled him back up so that the other could continue his assault on the Marshal.

"Let him have it, Rand," one of them egged Matt's assailant on.

Desperately, the lawman tried to loosen their grip on him. He barely dodged another blow. With the next one, however, he was not so lucky.

Rand aimed a brutal swing at Matt's head, and before he could get out of the way, the fist slammed into his brow. Stars began to explode inside his head and without a chance to recover, another blow, this time to his stomach, send him doubling over in pain.

Rand was about to come at him again when he suddenly froze. Someone else
had stepped into the alley.

"That's enough, Rand!" the figure barked loudly, "I told you, Mr. Dunning wants him alive, you fools!"

"Just havin' a little fun, Sikes," one of the men still holding Matt, scowled.

Breathing hard, the Marshal raised his head, trying to bring the figure in front of him into focus; he was certain that he had heard that voice before.

Feverishly, he tried to remember where. Then suddenly, it occurred to him; it was the cowboy from the Long Branch-the one that had threatened him after he had been forced to shoot Will Dunning a couple of days ago.

"I warned you, Marshal. I told you that Mr. Dunning would want a word with you."

He stood and watched with a cold smile as the others wrestled the lawman to the ground.

Matt struggled and tried to break free but it was no use; one man knelt on his neck while the other continued to painfully twist his arms back so that the third one could tie his hands. With swift, brutal skill, he bound the lawman's hands tightly.

When they were finished, Matt was forcefully pulled back to his feet and found himself face to face with the man they had called Sikes. It was indeed the same burly man with the big mustache, only now he was holding a rifle in his hands.

In an act of desperation, the Marshal lunged at him head first, but he didn't get very far; without effort, Sikes pulled back with the rifle, and slammed the stock against Matt's head.

He could feel the impact and suddenly, his surroundings shrank out of focus.

Unconscious, he crumpled to the ground.

For a moment, Sikes' eyes rested contemptuously on the figure, sprawled at his feet.

"Let's see how brave you feel now, Marshal."

He spit on the ground before turning to the others.

"Pick him up an' let's get the hell outta here," he said as he left the alley.

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In the meantime, the commotion down in the alley had not gone unnoticed. At first, Kitty had thought that Matt had run into some drunk, sleeping out his stupor between the empty kegs and crates which were stored behind the saloon. She had figured, that he could handle that on his own and had turned around, trying to go back to sleep. But the noises continued and it sounded as if there were more than two people involved.

Now curious, she abandoned the warm bed and pulled on her robe. She walked over to the window and looked down. Unfortunately, her window was facing Front Street and she wasn't able to see into the alley.

Kitty noticed a wagon sitting in front of the saloon though. As she craned her neck, she saw a figure emerging from the alley, carrying a rifle. Following him closely were three more men dragging a fourth one towards the wagon.

The one being dragged looked awful familiar.

"Matt?" she whispered in disbelief as she watched the three carelessly throwing him into the wagon bed and then jumped in after.

By now, Kitty was fully awake.

"Matt! NOOO!" she yelled as the wagon pulled away.

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"Well, now...just calm yourself down a little there, Miss Kitty," Chester mumbled sleepily through a yawn as he rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. He was still trying to get his wits about him and understand what exactly was going on.

Kitty had stormed into the Marshal's office a few minutes ago, and shaking him awake, trying to tell him that something had happened to Mister Dillon.

The young man pulled up his suspenders and his eyes wandered to the Marshal's cot. Sure enough, it appeared as if it hadn't been slept in. This in itself wasn't unusual since he knew that Mister Dillon often spent his nights at the room he kept at Ma Smalley's.

His gaze traveled over to the rifle rack and he counted. They were all there. He turned back to Kitty.

"Now, Miss Kitty...you think someone was a-draggin' Mister Dillon into a wagon? Why would anybody want to do a thing like that to Mister Dillon? You sure it wasn't maybe you were a-dreamin'?"

"Chester," growled Kitty, trying hard to hold on to her quickly fading patience, "I do not THINK that someone dragged Matt off-I SAW it! Now...are you gonna do something about it or not?"

She graced him with an annoyed look.

Chester scratched his head, still not quite convinced by her story.

"Well, yeah, but…I just don't understand this at all...did you think to check his room at Ma Smalley's?"

By now, Kitty had it. She loved Chester and was usually able to put up with his sometimes peculiar ways but this was about Matt; she knew that his life was in danger and something needed to be done now.

"All right-if you're not gonna do anything about it, I'll find someone who will!"

Angrily, she stomped from the jail, loudly slamming the door shut behind herself. With determined strides, she headed down the plank sidewalk towards Doc Adams' office.

Chester blinked startled, definitely awake now and suddenly it occurred to him that maybe she didn't have a bad dream after all. Quickly, he finished dressing and then grabbed his hat, limping after her as fast as his stiff right leg would allow him.

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Matt woke up with his head throbbing.

It took his fogged brain a little to form a clear thought and remember what had happened, but when the full memory came back to him, he was wide awake.

The realization of his predicament was less than comforting, and the fact that his hands were still bound behind his back didn't do much to improve the situation.

Something tickled his face, and he found that he was lying on straw.

Carefully, he rolled on his back and began to survey his surroundings. He realized quickly that he was in some sort of barn.

There was a hay loft above and over to his right, he was able discern the big barn doors in front of him. Broken rays of sunshine were coming in from underneath the doors and from in between the cracks in the walls. So far so good, he thought to himself; at least he was alive, and he would take it from there.

He rolled back on his side, pushing himself up to a sitting position and began to take a mental inventory of his injuries. His ribs were sore and bruised, but he didn't think that any were broken. His head hurt the worst. He remembered having taken several blows to it, and he was sure that the last one had broken his skin. His thoughts were confirmed as he glanced down and saw the dried blood staining his shirt collar.

Carefully, he ran his tongue over the cut in his bottom lip. It was swollen, and he could taste the blood in his mouth.

Matt was furious that he had allowed himself to be captured just like that. Until this morning, he hadn't wasted as much as a thought to the name of Raymond Dunning. Now he wished, he had.

He knew very little about Mr. Dunning. He had been vaguely aware that the rancher had moved into the area a few months ago and that he was quite wealthy. He had never seen him or any of his family in Dodge until that fateful night when he was forced to shoot Dunning's son in self-defense.

The creaking of the barn doors as they were suddenly swung open, interrupted Matt's thoughts. He was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the sunlight as it flooded the barn and he had to close his eyes.

"Marshal Dillon...I hope you rested well," a smooth voice addressed him.

Slowly, Matt opened his eyes to squint up at its owner.

The voice belonged to a tall, older gentleman with wavy, gray hair and a mustache. He wore an expensive-looking gray suit and a matching, flat-brimmed hat. There were several rings on his fingers and in his hand he carried a carved walking stick with silver embellishments.

Even though he sounded quite jovial, the man had a threatening air about him and Matt knew at once that he must be Raymond Dunning.

"I understand, it's you, I have to thank for taking my son William from me."

His voice, despite sounding calm on the surface, had a definite dangerous undertone to it.

"I'm sure your men told you what happened," Matt responded, "your son drew on me first. It was self-defense, Dunning."

"So I heard, Marshal, so I heard...nevertheless...I believe you owe me something."

Ray Dunning leaned heavily on his cane and began to slowly walk around Matt, never taking his eyes off him. When he spoke again, his voice was surprisingly soft.

"Have you heard of the old saying 'An Eye for an Eye', Marshal?" he wondered as he came to a halt in front of the lawman.

"A life for a life," he went on, now speaking in barely more than a whisper. "Your life belongs to me now."

Leaning on his cane, he bend down, looking straight into Matt's face.

"And I'm going to take it, just as you took William's...but I'm not going to do you the favor of ending it quickly."

Dunning drew a quick breath.

"NO," he then burst out suddenly, "I'm going to take it slowly...I'll make you suffer-just like I'm suffering now!"

His voice had slowly increased in volume and by the time he had reached the last words, he was shouting madly.

His face was only inches from Matt's, and his breathing was harsh and ragged as he stared at the lawman, his eyes burning with hatred.

Unimpressed by the rancher's outburst, the Marshal held his gaze.

"You're outta your mind, Dunning...you're not gonna get away with that."

"Oh? Am I not?"

Raymond Dunning straightened, looking completely composed again.

"We shall see, Marshal...we shall see."

Casually smoothing out his sleeves, he turned towards the entrance.

"Rand...Sikes," he addressed two of the men standing in wait there, "why don't you show the Marshal what we can get away with."

He turned towards Matt once more.

"I'll be seeing you later, Marshal."

Dunning smiled smoothly, but Matt could see the insanity reflected in the man's eyes.

Without another word, the rancher wheeled around left.

As soon as he was gone, Sikes and Rand stepped away from the entrance and began to approach Matt, grinning broadly.

The Marshal readied himself for another barrage of kicks and punches, but they never came. Instead, Sikes simply regarded him with arrogant contempt as he pulled a bull whip from his belt.

Casually, he began to repeatedly slap the whip into the palm of his hand.

"Didn't I tell you, Mr. Dunning wouldn't take too kindly to you killin' his boy," he snickered.

Matt felt anger rise within him. He glared up at Sikes.

"You could've told him the truth."

The other shrugged.

"Maybe so, but that ain't my problem, Marshal, ain't it now?"

He gave Matt a malevolent grin, showing a row of chipped teeth.

"I only follow orders, Dillon and mine come from Mr. Dunning."

Matt didn't reply, his face reflecting the tense nervousness he felt as he began to wonder what they were going to do to him. The sound of footfall caused him to look up and he saw that two more cowboys had joined them.

"Take him over there, boys!"

Sikes pointed with the whip towards one of the walls.

Rand was all too glad to comply. Thanks to the Marshal he now had a broken nose and he was eager to repay the lawman.

Roughly, they seized Matt by his arms yanked him to his feet. His legs still felt weak and he tried to steady himself, but the men didn't give him any time to do so; they simply dragged him along to the wall where Sikes was waiting, now pointing a gun at him.

As he regarded the wall closer, he noticed that there were several metal rings fastened to it above his head, and he suddenly began to get a good idea of what they were about to do to him.

Forcefully, the men shoved him into the wall. Matt inhaled sharply as his face made contact with the rough barn board.

Then Rand stepped up behind him. Digging his left hand into the Marshal's hair, he firmly held his face against the wall while he used a knife to cut the ropes binding his hands.

"Go ahead...try something, lawman," he whispered provocatively into Matt's ear.

If he would have been in better shape, he probably would have taken his chance but as it was, his hands were still numb from being tied up for so long and then there was Sikes, still pointing a gun at him.

He pressed his lips together, knowing that whatever they were going to do to him, they wouldn't kill him-not yet anyway. Dunning had made that very clear.

All Matt could do was hope that somebody back in Dodge would miss him soon.
Automatically, his thoughts wandered to Kitty. He had promised to meet her for breakfast at Delmonico's.

His mind was suddenly jolted back to reality as the other two men roughly took hold of his arms again.

With a smirk, Rand grabbed the front of Matt's shirt and ripped it open so that the buttons sprang everywhere.

"Take it off!" he barked, his hard eyes alight with sadistic glee.

Knowing that there was nothing to be gained by angering them any further, Matt silently complied, dropping the shirt to the ground after he had taken it off.

Rand grinned pleased.

"Now hold out your hands," he commanded. Quickly, he began to wind a leather rope tightly around Matt's wrists.

When he was finished, the two ranch hands pushed him face-first into the wall again, spreading his arms upward. Rand gave him a nasty grin as he began to lace the ropes through the metal rings and then pulled until they were taut.

Matt struggled to fight down a growing sense of apprehension. He knew that it would probably do no good, but he tried anyway.

"You can still let me go, Sikes...you don't have to do this."

Sikes simply laughed.

Matt could hear the rustle of straw as the foreman took a few steps back. He tried turning his head but couldn't; the ropes were extremely tight and they were beginning to cut painfully into his wrists with every move.

The swishing, as Sikes unraveled the whip, measuring the distance, cut into his thoughts, and Matt couldn't help the tight knot that was beginning to form quickly inside his stomach.

He dragged a deep breath into his lungs and his muscles tensed as he tried to steel himself for what was about to happen, determined not to give his tormentors the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

Over the years, the Marshal had been in his share of fights and was no stranger to injury, but nothing was able to prepare him for the pain as the bull whip came down hard on his back, tearing his skin and leaving a bloody welt. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, trying to fight down the dreadful need to scream.

Sikes frowned at the Marshal's silence. He swung his arm back and with a grunt of effort, released the whip forward with all the strength he could muster.

The force of the impact drove Matt hard into the wall and a sharp gasp escaped his lips as the leather ripped into his back, leaving another bloody mark. Droplets of sweat had begun to form on his forehead, running down his face in long rivulets.

He gulped in a lungful of air and gritted his teeth, trying to push the pain from his mind.

By now, Sikes was clearly irate for not being able to coax a scream from Matt's lips. The fact that Rand and the other two were snickering, didn't help matters either. Furiously, he lashed out at the Marshal, over and over.

Again and again, the blows ripped and tore into his shoulders and back, and soon, Matt could feel the blood running down his back, soaking into the waistband of his pants. His mind still stubbornly focused on refusing to give Sikes what he wanted, he clenched his teeth, not allowing a single sound to come across his lips. The fire burning on his back was quickly draining all the resources of his strength both of will and body and suddenly, his surroundings began to dissolve in a blur.

He lacked the strength to fight the sensation and soon surrendered himself to it, welcoming the darkness that quickly drew him into its depths.

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It didn't take Kitty long to convince Doc Adams that something indeed had happened to the Marshal. Since Doc knew about their relationship, Kitty was more comfortable to freely tell him why Matt had been in the back alley behind the Long Branch and how she saw what had happened to him.

Doc paced the floor as he was listening to Kitty's account with ever increasing uneasiness. He knew her well enough to realize that this hadn't simply been a bad dream. He stopped in front of her when she had finished talking.

"I want you to think, Kitty," he said, rubbing his neck, "did any of them look familiar to you at all?"

Kitty pondered the question for a moment.

"It was still dark, Doc...I'm not sure..."

She paused and suddenly, her face lit up.

"Wait-the big one with the mustache…I think I remember him..."

Her mind went back to that night at the Long Branch when Matt was forced to shoot Will Dunning and immediately, the color drained from her face.

She looked up at the physician.

"Doc...I do hope I'm wrong, but do you remember the night when Matt shot Will Dunning? The big fella that threatened Matt? I think it was him."

For a moment, Doc regarded her in thoughtful silence. He was about to speak when the door to his office suddenly burst open. It was Chester. Standing in the doorway, he was gasping, trying to regain his breath.

"Miss Kitty...I'm just as sorry as I can be," he began to apologize between breaths, "I never meant to say you didn't see what you saw, cause you said you saw it,... an' that makes it true, right?"

If the situation wouldn't have been so serious, Kitty would have laughed-but as it was, Matt's life was in danger and all she was able to do, was give him a weak smile.

Doc graced Chester with a rather irritated look and motioned him inside.

Obediently, the young man closed the door and limped over to Kitty's side.

"Chester, do you know where Dunning's ranch is?" he asked.

Chester nodded slowly.

"Why...sure, Doc, it's about an hour's ride south from here...why you wanna know? You reckon Mister Dillon went there?"

The doctor's face darkened.

"Well, he went there all right, but not on his own will, I'm afraid."

When Chester quizzically furrowed his brow, Doc recalled to him the incident with Dunning's son.

"Now if that don't beat all," declared the young man outraged when the doctor had finished explaining. "I'll be a-goin' out there right now an' have me a talk with that Dunning fella...and don't yen's try to stop me!"

He pulled himself up to his full height, a determined look on his face.

"Such a good man, Mister Dillon-tried to protect me, an' look what it's got him."

"You won't do any such thing," Doc immediately set him straight, "a foolish thing to do, goin' out there by yourself...by golly, you're liable to get yourself killed!"

He studied Chester for a moment and suddenly, he had an idea.

"Chester, I want you to go out and get a posse together-the more men, the better. Tell 'em what happened, then meet me at Moss Grimmick's."

Then he turned to Kitty.

"Now I know Kitty, you're not gonna like this, but you'd better stay here in Dodge. I'll be goin' to pay Dunning a visit. I heard, someone there called for a doctor."

He winked at her and then turned back to the young man.

"Go an' have Moss get my buggy ready for me, Chester."

Although he wasn't sure what it exactly was that the doctor had in mind, Chester was more than eager to comply.

"Yes, Doc,...I sure will," he nodded and immediately set out to Doc's bidding. He was about to step through the door when he suddenly halted.

"Don't you worry none, Miss Kitty. We'll bring Mister Dillon back...and they better not've hurt him any-I'll blow 'em in half, if they did...such a good man-"

Doc gave him a warning look.

"Chester!"

"Well," Chester cleared his throat, giving Kitty a sheepish smile, "I reckon, I best get goin'."

With that, he disappeared to do as he was told.

.

.

Water. The first thing that came to his mind as he slowly began to regain consciousness, was water. He wasn't sure, how long he had been out-it could have been five minutes, it could have even been an hour. Be it as it may, it didn't really matter; he didn't care-all he wanted was some water.

Slowly, the Marshal opened his eyes, for a moment mercifully unaware of his surroundings. Then gradually, the awareness set in and he remembered at once where he was. Once again, he was lying on the straw-covered barn floor, but this time, he was sprawled out on his stomach.

Carefully, Matt lifted his head a little, and his eyes fell on his right hand. His wrist looked raw and bloody from the leather ropes, but at least, he wasn't tied up anymore. Carefully, he tried moving it a little to get the circulation going. Then he did the same for his left hand.

Soon, the feeling had returned to both of his hands.

After a few minutes, it began to dawn on him that he hadn't heard any of his tormentors. Matt began to wonder, whether is was safe to sit up.

Taking a deep breath, he began to push himself up on his hands and knees.

He didn't get very far. The pain was excruciating, and he couldn't help but cry out with the intensity of it. As long as he had been lying still, his back had seemed fine, but now as he tried to move, every fiber of his body seemed to scream in protest. This was by far
worse than what he had imagined.

Nevertheless, Matt was determined to sit up. Taking a few slow breaths, he readied himself and shakily, he managed to draw himself up on his hands and knees.

By the time he was finally sitting, he was covered in sweat, breathing heavily. His eyes began to search the barn, and he noticed his shirt lying in the straw just a few feet away. Slowly, he reached for it.
Though the buttons were gone, it was still better than nothing, Matt figured. Carefully, he began to pull it over his bloodied back and shoulders.

There was an almost unnatural silence about the barn without any sign of Dunning and his men. The fact that they hadn't bothered with tying him up, told Matt that they weren't too worried with him escaping.

He realized that now was probably his best chance to get out of here, but he wasn't sure if his legs would carry him. Determined to try, he began to slowly pull himself up on one of the stall partitions. His legs felt weak and for a moment he tottered unsteadily, clinging to the wall for support.

Suddenly, he heard the creaking of the barn doors. Moments later, the barn was once again flooded with the bright light of the afternoon sun as the doors swung wide open.

The straw was rustling and someone was approaching.

"It's good to see you up, Marshal," remarked Raymond Dunning arrogantly when he saw that the Marshal was standing.

"You enjoyed Sikes' company, I trust?"

Glaring at the older man, Matt maintained an angry silence; he wasn't going to play Dunning's game any more than he had to.

Undeterred by the Marshal's lack of response, the rancher stepped closer. He swept Matt with his insolent gaze.

"My, it looks like you worked up quite a sweat there," he remarked
sarcastically.

He turned to a man standing a few feet behind him.

"Rand...give the Marshal some water."

Rand grinned wickedly in response.

"Yes, sir," he managed to growl around an enormous wad of chewing
tobacco.

Swiftly, he lifted the bucket he was carrying, throwing the water at the Marshal.

Matt tried to move aside but was too slow; the cold water splashed into his face, drenching him. He clenched his teeth, fighting to control his urge to hurl himself at his tormentors. Luckily, common sense prevailed and he silently wiped the water off his face instead, wetting his cracked lips with it as best as he could.

"Surely you must have recognized by now that I mean business, Dillon."

Dunning fixed Matt with his cold stare.

"You're a murderer and will be dealt with as such. I miss my son. I wonder if anyone will miss you, Marshal? You don't have a family, do you? You don't know what
it is like to loose a son."

He paused, studying Matt for a moment, then he abruptly turned.

"Sikes, make sure he's chained up-we wouldn't want to loose our guest."

Without another word, Dunning turned around and left.

Matt tensed instinctively as Rand and Sikes approached-he knew they wouldn't exactly be gentle with him.

"All right, Dillon, move!" bellowed Sikes. He was still extremely irate because the Marshal had defied him earlier.

Matt loosened his grasp on the partition and stumbled forward, taking several unsteady steps. Apparently, he wasn't fast enough though; irritated, the two men grabbed him by his arms and began to drag him towards an empty stall.

"You don't look so good, Marshal," said Rand mockingly as he shoved Matt roughly inside.

The Marshal lost his balance and gave an indrawn hiss off pain as his torn back hit the floor. Suddenly, something snapped in Matt and with an angry outcry, he threw himself at Rand's legs, knocking the other man off his feet.

Before Rand realized what had happened, the Marshal was on top of him, landing several good blows to his face.

But unfortunately, Matt's luck ran out fast. Weakened by his earlier ordeal, he wasn't fast enough to avoid a vicious kick to his side by Sikes, knocking him off the other man.

This gave Rand a chance to turn the tables; when he saw that his nose was bleeding again, he let out a furious scream and cast himself at the lawman.

Determined not to go out quietly, Matt fought the best he could. Under normal circumstances he probably would have stood a fairly good chance, but as things were standing now he realized quickly that his chances were slim. Soon, the blows and punches were raining down on him, and all he could do was block them as best as possible.

.

.

.

Worried. Worried and angry. That's exactly how Doc Adams felt.

By now it was late afternoon and he was driving his buggy down the dusty trail towards the Dunning Ranch. If Chester had been correct, he should be able to see it any minute now.

The day was beautiful. It was warm and a gentle breeze was blowing, but the physician wasn't aware of any of it. His mind was occupied with thoughts of his friend, the Marshal. He was worried that Matt was hurt, or even worse-

A shudder ran through him at the thought. How could he possibly return to Dodge telling Kitty that this time, Matt wasn't coming back? No, it will be all right-it just has to be, he stubbornly thought to himself.

Then his mind turned to Chester. The young man was supposed to meet him about twenty minutes west of the Dunning Ranch, at the old Harper homestead. It had taken them the better part of the day, but eventually, they had managed to get about twenty or so men together all eager to help find and bring back their Marshal.

Secretly, Doc was hoping that they would be able to avoid a violent confrontation with Dunning and his men. He had stopped carrying a gun a long time ago, dedicating his life to healing and helping others, but he knew how to use one and he would, if need be. His jaw was set in determination as he lightly flicked the reins down on his horse's back
and urged it on.

.

.

.

Katherine Dunning was walking reluctantly towards the old barn, carrying a small basket with food. Her father had insisted on her taking something to eat to the man that had murdered her step-brother.

She couldn't understand why her father had brought him here instead of letting the Marshal in Dodge deal with him. Then again, her father hadn't made much sense lately, and it had gotten progressively worse since Will had died.

Heaving a sigh, the young woman pushed a wisp of stray hair from her face. She and Will had never been particularly close; at only nineteen, her step-brother had been wild and violent beyond his years and their father had done little to discourage his behavior.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she suddenly found herself standing at the barn doors.

As she stepped inside the gloomy building, she could hear the tell-tale sounds of fighting.

Hesitantly, Katherine walked closer, not sure what to expect. Her heart almost skipped a beat when she approached an empty stall and saw Sikes, their foreman and Rand Wallace, a hired hand, beating and kicking a third man curled up in on the floor.

Outraged, she immediately cried out for them to stop.

Startled, they both spun around and abandoned their assault on the Marshal.

"Miss Katherine," exclaimed Sikes, red-faced and out of breath, "you
shouldn't be here..."

The young woman glowered at him in response.

"My father send me here to bring this man some food and I find you trying to kill him!"

Angrily, she pushed past the two men and crouched down beside their victim.

She was appalled and shocked by what she saw.

"Get out...both of you ...now-or my father will hear about this!"

Completely unflustered, Sikes studied her for a moment and then turned his eyes on the Marshal. They had given it to him pretty good-maybe a little too much. Mr. Dunning would be less than pleased if Dillon was to die right now. He decided, to let her have her way-at least for now.

"All right, Rand," he said turning to the man beside him, "leave him
be...he ain't goin' nowhere now."

Grinning, he motioned his ruddy-faced partner to follow him and then turned once more to the young woman.

"Miss Katherine," he said, nodding mockingly before he left.

But Katherine wasn't paying any more attention to him; her eyes were fastened on the moaning man before her.

Murderer or not, this was no way to treat a human being, she thought, appalled. She placed a tentative hand on his shoulder to get his attention and asked,

"Mister...you think you can sit up?"

Matt groaned in response, not sure if he could.

Slowly, he uncoiled his aching body and rolled onto his back. The dull throbbing alongside his ribcage quickly turned into a sharp, stabbing pain as he did, and he found himself crying out in agony.

Katherine's face creased with concern.

"All right," she quickly compromised, " how about you just stay right there and I'll get
you some water."

Hastily, she rose to her feet and left.

.

When Katherine returned a short moment later, she found that he had managed to prop himself up against the stall partition.

Matt looked up at her. His breathing was ragged, and he was pretty certain by now, that they had broken at least one of his ribs.

Katherine felt anger welling up inside her as she took a closer look at the man before her. Deep red blood was still trickling from his nose and from a gash above his left eye. The front of his blood-stained shirt appeared as if it had been torn open, revealing a number of bruises and bloody abrasions.

Her anger quickly gave way to compassion and she knelt down beside him. Gently holding a ladle filled with water to his lips, she encouraged him to drink.

The cool water felt good as it trickled down his parched throat and Matt gulped it down greedily.

With a thankful nod, he indicated to her when he had enough and Katherine returned the ladle to the bucket.

Matt's eyes followed the young woman's hand as she now pulled a handkerchief from the basket. She wetted it a little and then began to carefully wipe the blood from his face.

As she did, Katherine couldn't help but notice his eyes; they certainly didn't look like they belonged to a murderer. Gently, she continued to clean his battered face, frowning as she revealed several more cuts under the crust of quickly drying blood.

"Thanks," the Marshal mumbled hoarsely as he carefully leaned back
against the partition.

Katherine gave him a little smile. Wanting to assess the full extent of his injuries, she began to carefully pull his torn shirt aside.

The young woman gave a startled gasp and her hand flew to her mouth in shock. This man's back was a mess, covered in bloody welts and lacerations-too many to count.

Katherine knew at once who was responsible for this atrocity.

"Sikes did this to you, didn't he?" she whispered. It was more of a statement than a question. She had seen Sikes bull whip a man once before but his back hadn't look nearly half as bad.

Matt forced his eyes open, focusing on the woman in front of him. He nodded slowly.

"Courtesy of... Mr. Dunning..."

His reply startled the young woman.

"My father ordered this to be done to you?"

Matt was equally startled.

"You're... Raymond Dunning's... daughter?"

Katherine nodded.

For a moment, neither one of them spoke as they both tried to come to terms with what they had just learned. Finally, Katherine broke the silence.

"Do you mind my asking your name?" she wondered uneasily.

Matt took a careful breath.

"Dillon," he replied, his voice fading to a whisper as the pain in his ribs began to rise to an almost intolerable level. "Matt Dillon...I'm the...Marshal in Dodge."

This was the last thing that Katherine had expected to hear, and at first, she thought she might have misunderstood, so she repeated it back to him.

"You're Marshal Dillon?"

Not able to form another word, Matt simply nodded in confirmation.

Even though the revelation shocked her, somehow, she had known from the beginning that there was more to it all than what her father had been willing to tell her. She took a deep breath and searched out Matt's eyes. She had to know.

"Did you shoot my step-brother, Marshal?"

Holding her inquiring gaze, Matt strained to get the words out.

"Your… brother...he drew...on me first...I-I had...no choice."

Each breath he drew caused him extreme pain, and Matt wished, he didn't have to talk anymore.

For a moment, Katherine regarded him in thoughtful silence. She knew that he needed a doctor badly, but she wasn't sure how to go about it. Surely, her father wouldn't listen to reason; he already had his mind set on killing the Marshal. Somehow, she had to get help.

"I'll try to get you some help, Marshal...I'm not sure how yet, but I'll find a way."

For one brief moment her hand came to rest reassuringly on his shoulder, then she quickly rose to her feet.

"I'll get something to bandage you up some...try not to move too much," she warned him.

All Matt could do was smile weakly in reply.

"I-I wouldn't...want to… try."

.

.

.

The black buggy came down the trail just as Katherine was about to enter the house and Katherine realized at once that her task of getting help for Marshal Dillon just had become easier. Unfortunately, her joy was short-lived; Sikes had seen the buggy as well and quickly made his way past her into the house to call for her father.

Moments later, the buggy had reached the ranch house. Katherine saw that the driver was an older gentleman. He was dressed in a gray suit and a black hat which he wore pushed back, showing his wavy, graying hair. His blue eyes were regarding her friendly from behind his spectacles.

Quickly, Raymond Dunning stepped in front of his daughter, cutting the stranger off from her view. Katherine felt a twinge of disappointment. Surely, Sikes must have told him what had happened in the barn. She was afraid, her father knew her too well to allow her to even speak to the stranger.

Katherine's thoughts were quickly validated as Ray Dunning turned to her and ordered her to keep quiet.

Politely, but distant, Raymond Dunning addressed the doctor.

"What can I do for you?"

Doc studied the rancher carefully, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"My name's Doc Adams...you Ray Dunning?" he asked.

He considered himself a pretty quick judge of character and something about this Dunning fellow did not sit right with him.

Dunning's eyes narrowed.

"I am Raymond Dunning, doctor. What brings you out here?"

Doc shifted a little, running a quick hand through his scruffy mustache. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable under Dunning's scrutiny.

"Well, didn't you call for a doctor?" he asked, trying his best to evenly met Dunning's piercing gaze.

The physician's unexpected query caught the rancher off guard. He turned towards Sikes and Rand, who had joined him on the porch.

"Did any of you men call for a doctor?" he demanded harshly.

With the men momentarily distracted, Katherine desperately tried to get the doctor's attention. She knew that he might be her only chance if she wanted to save the Marshal.

She looking at him intently, searching out his eyes.

Luckily, it didn't take long for Doc to notice it. He looked at her quizzically as she nodded her head vaguely towards the barn, mouthing something that sounded suspiciously like…"Marshal Dillon".

Comprehension suddenly dawning on his face, he quickly nodded back.

Unfortunately, Sikes had seen the doctor's gesture as well. One quick look at Katherine Dunning, confirmed the foreman's suspicions. His face hardened immediately. He stepped up to Dunning and began to whisper into his ear.

Almost immediately, the Rancher's face went dark. Then he nodded slightly and smiled. It was not a warm smile but a cold and dangerous one.

"Forgive me, Doctor Adams," he began as he stepped off the porch and came limping closer," how could I have forgotten-we do have a sick man here, and he needs your attention."

Right away, the color drained from Katherine's face. She frantically shook her head and motioned Doc to leave-but it was already too late.

Before he could do anything about it, Doc's buggy was surrounded by several men. One of them grabbed his horse by the reins while the others stood close by, making escape impossible.

By now, Dunning had reached the buggy as well, but instead of addressing the doctor, he turned towards his daughter.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Katherine. Please go inside now," he said calmly, but the even tone of his voice couldn't hide the menace that was lurking beneath it.

For a moment, the young woman looked at her father defiantly but then she decided it was better to obey him; the last thing she wanted to do right now, was to anger him. She knew what he was capable of after seeing what he ordered to have done to Marshal Dillon.

She turned abruptly and walked back inside the house.

Doc Adams was upset at himself; how could he have been so naive and think that this would work?

He had found out that Matt was here all right, but even now that he knew, there was little he could do for him. Angrily, he glowered at Raymond Dunning.

"What the devil's, the meaning of this, Dunning?" he thundered.

"The meaning of what, doctor? You came out here to tend to an ailing
man, didn't you? Well, I have one for you in there-"

The rancher pointed with his cane towards the barn.

"I'm afraid my men got a little too carried away with him and now he's not fit to stand for
his execution."

A horrible feeling began to spread in Doc's stomach. He suddenly had a pretty good idea, who Dunning was referring to.

"Now...if you'll excuse me, Doctor, I believe, I need to have a few words with my daughter."

With that, Ray Dunning turned his attention towards Sikes.

"Be so kind and escort the doctor to our prisoner. Make sure he fixes him up properly...I want him back on his feet by tomorrow."

Sikes mumbled a confirmation and then turned to grab the physician by the shoulder.

"Get your bag, Doc-you'll be a-needin' it," he said gruffly.

"Why...get your hands off me!" snapped the doctor as he angrily shrugged the foreman's hand off.

He pressed his lips together, realizing that he didn't have a choice but to go along. Escape was obviously out of the question, so he decided that seeing after Matt would be the best thing to do at the moment.

He started to reach for his bag when his eyes fell on the old army colt he always kept under the seat. He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should try for it but Sikes was obviously reading his thoughts.

"I wouldn't do that, if'n I were you, Doc-not unless you know, how to stitch yourself up."

Grinning, the man reached out and pulled the gun out from under the seat and shoved it in his belt.

Without a word, Doc went on to retrieve his bag. He turned to Sikes, waiting to be shown where to go.

Casually, Sikes pulled his own gun and pointed towards the barn.

"In there...go on."

.

It took Doc's eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light of the barn. Searching, he looked around.

"This way, Doc..."

Sikes prodded him towards an empty stall and there, propped up against the wall, was Matt. His head was slumped forward and Doc wasn't sure whether he was simply asleep, or-

He drew a sharp breath, his face darkening with anger.

"Damn beasts!" he blurted out as he rushed to his friend's side.

For one terrible moment he thought that he had come too late, but then he saw Matt's chest slowly rising as he drew a labored breath.

"I'll leave yen's alone now...can't stand the site of blood," Sikes snickered, " but don't you get no ideas now-" he warned the doctor
before he left, "I'll be right outside..."

But Doc wasn't even listening; all he cared about was Matt.

Crouching at the lawman's side, he immediately began to assess the extent of his friend's injuries. One thing was for sure-Dunning hadn't exaggerated. Never before, in all his years of practicing medicine, had he ever seen anyone who had been so savagely beaten.

Carefully, Doc placed a hand under the Marshal's scruffy chin and lifted his head slightly to get a better look his friend's face.

The sight of the many cuts and bruises caused a shuddering breath to expand Doc's chest. He quickly ran a shaky hand through his mustache.

"Darn it, Matt," he whispered, "I told ya, this'd happen one of these days-"

Shaking himself from his stunned stupor, he then gently took hold of the lawman's wrist to check his pulse. As he did, his eyes fell on the bloody abrasions that the ropes had left and he began to wonder what they all had done to him.

Doc decided to try and wake him.

"Matt," he queried, cautiously shaking his friend's shoulder, "it's Doc...can you hear me?"

The Marshal moaned feebly in reply. A few seconds later, he slowly opened a swollen eye.

"Doc?" he whispered hoarsely, not sure whether he was dreaming, "is-is that…really you?""

Giving the lawman's hand a gentle pat, Doc hushed him.

"You better not talk so much, Matt,...right now, we have to try and fix you up-looks like you took quite a beatin'."

Although Doc tried to keep a light tone, he wasn't too surprised at how shaky his voice sounded.

Matt smiled weakly.

"Yeah, but you-you should see... the other fella," he managed to get out.

The physician frowned at the lawman's attempted quip.

"Seems to me you're feelin' better already," he grumbled in response. But there was a
minute smile twitching in the corners of his mouth. He pulled a stethoscope from his bag.

"Well, let's see," he said as he began to carefully pull Matt's bloody shirt aside.

"Well, what, in the name of thunder-" he started to exclaim startled, but
then fell silent, too appalled to finish his sentence.

Immediately, Matt caught on.

"That bad, huh?" he gritted.

To be honest, he had no idea how his back looked, but he knew that if something left
Doc speechless, it was indeed bad.

Without a reply, the physician began to examine the Marshal's rib cage.

It didn't take him long to confirm that three of Matt's ribs were indeed fractured. He began to rummage through his bag and produced a small brown bottle.

"Here, take this,...it'll help some with the pain," he said as he held a spoon to the Marshal's mouth.

Matt made a face as the bitter-tasting liquid trickled down his throat.

Soon, the sharp pain in his ribs was replaced by a dull throbbing, and he was beginning to feel a little better.

"Let me get this straight," he said as the physician continued to wrap his ribcage, "you came here to help me and... they caught you, too?"

Matt was definitely less than pleased with the turn of events and it didn't take him long to realize that their only hope now was Chester.

The way Matt had understood it, Dunning's mind was set on executing him sometime tomorrow-provided, he could manage to stand on his own feet.

What they needed was more time.

Matt figured that they might be able to buy some time if he pretended to be too sick. After the beatings that he had taken he figured that wouldn't be too difficult. He told Doc about his plan.

"I just hope Chester gets the idea if I don't show up," Doc worried after Matt had finished, "you never know which way his mind is goin'..."

Secretly, Matt had to agree, but it was the only hope they had.

.

.

.

Katherine waited until she was sure everyone was asleep. She was determined. Determined to put an end to her father's lunacy.

The young woman had exchanged her dress for a pair of riding breeches and a blouse. Now she was sitting by the window in her darkened room, her alert eyes intently watching the farm yard.

Everything was quiet; the only sounds were the chirping of the crickets and the rustling of the leaves as the wind blew gently through the trees.

Finally, Katherine decided that it was time. She stuffed the revolver, she had taken from her father's room into her belt and then proceeded to quietly climb out the window. The night was perfect for what she was about to do; the moon was hiding behind the clouds, making itself an unwitting ally.

Carefully, the young woman slid down the roof and climbed onto a trellis. Within seconds, she had reached the ground. Smiling, she looked back up at her window; ever since she had been a little girl, she had liked to climb, and it definitely came in handy tonight.

With her back pressed against the wall, she cautiously peered around the corner. The barn was maybe fifty yards away. Slowly, she began to inch her way past the wood shed.

Looking around to make sure that nobody had seen her, she took a deep breath and then dashed towards the barn. Her heart was beating wildly as she carefully opened the left door. She knew that this was the one that didn't creak.

For a moment, she stood and listened intently. Then she began to head towards the stall where she remembered the Marshal to have been.

She cringed as the straw was rustling loudly under her feet, no matter how careful she stepped. Katherine strained her eyes to see. Luckily, just then, the moon began to peek through the clouds, sending its silvery light through the cracks in the wall and the opening in the hayloft.

There they were, right in front of her, asleep on the ground.

Displeased, she noticed that they had tied up the physician's hands and feet. Then her eyes fell on the lawman. She felt tremendous relief when she saw the fresh bandages covering his rib cage. With a deep breath, she readied herself to the wake the two men.

"Doctor Adams, please wake up," she whispered as she gently but firmly began to shake
his shoulder.

Doc made a grumbling noise, and for a second, it looked as if he was just going to turn, but suddenly, his eyes sprang open and he found himself face to face with Miss Dunning.

Quickly, she put a finger to her lips.

"Sshh...I'm here to help."

With that, she began to untie the ropes that bound his hands, and soon the doctor was rubbing his wrists, trying to get the circulation going again.

"How's Marshal Dillon?" she asked as she was untying his feet.

Doc massaged his numb ankles.

"Well, he's got a couple of broken ribs and needs plenty of stitches-nothin' that won't heal, if it's properly taken care of," he answered.

A smile of relief flashed across her pretty face.

"I'm so glad, Doctor...I would never been able to forgive myself if-"

Her voice suddenly faltered, but she managed to compose herself quickly, remembering that time was of the essence right now. She had to try and get help as quickly as possible.

"Tell me what I have to do, doctor."

Doc took a quick swipe at his mustache, his eyes thoughtfully contemplating the sleeping Marshal. Matt need to know of this new development.

Carefully, he tapped his friend's shoulder.

"Matt, by golly, wake up."

Slowly, the lawman opened his eyes. For a moment, he was disoriented.

"My head," he muttered as he reached up to run a hand across his sore face. Then suddenly, he took notice of Katherine. Confused, he turned to Doc.

"What's goin'on-" he began, but the doctor and Katherine hastily put their fingers to their lips and hushed him.

"Miss Dunning here's gonna get help, Matt," explained Doc.

Matt's eyes moved back and forth between the two. He wasn't so sure if this was such a good idea, but he also realized that they most likely wouldn't be able to get very far if they tried to take him along. Yes, it seemed that their options were quite limited. They probably would stand a better chance with Miss Dunning getting help from Dodge.

Slowly, he nodded.

"All right."

Doc turned back to Katherine.

"There are several men from Dodge at the old Harper homestead," he began to explain, "it's a good twenty minutes ride west from here...they're waitin' for me. You need to find Chester Goode and tell him what happened."

Katherine regarded the doctor doubtfully.

"You're sure, you want to stay here?"

Doc rubbed the back of his neck. He was less than fond of remaining here at the mercy of this madman Dunning, but he also knew that Matt was in no condition for such an undertaking and he refused to leave him here by himself. They just had to bide their time and hopefully hold Dunning off long enough for help to arrive. Resolved, he nodded curtly.

"The sooner you leave, the better."

Katherine rose and with one last worried glance at the two men, disappeared into the night.

.

.

.

Chester Goode was beginning to feel restless. For hours now, they had been sitting at the old Harper homestead, waiting for Doc Adams to arrive. Now it was well past midnight and there was still no sign of him.

Some of the men had started a fire and had begun to make coffee.

Alone with his thoughts, Chester sat on the porch, staring out into the darkness. He had made Miss Kitty a promise, and he felt that so far he hadn't done much to live up to it.

His reflections were suddenly interrupted as a man approached him.

"Do you s'pose somethin' happened to ole Doc?"

Fred Wilcox held out a tin cup with steaming coffee. Thankfully, Chester accepted
it and took a sip.

"I been a-wonderin' that myself, Fred." His worried gaze continued to search the night.

"The men are gettin' tired of waitin' around, Chester. If'n it weren't for the Marshal-"

Fred's voice trailed off meaningfully, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Chester knew as well as he did that these men considered Mister Dillon their friend. The Marshal had saved the lives of several of them in the past and his unwavering sense for justice had been making life in Dodge safer for all of them over the last five years.

Chester looked up at him. There was a fierce resolve in his eyes and his voice was firm as he spoke.

"If yen's wanna go back to Dodge, that's fine by me... but I ain't gonna
let Mister Dillon and Doc down...I'm gonna find 'em and bring 'em back."

Without another word, he clambered to his feet.

"Don't get yer dander up, Chester," Fred quickly calmed him, "whoever said anythin' 'bout going ho-"

He was abruptly cut short as Chester suddenly waved his hand and motioned him to be quiet.

"Listen," he whispered, "sure sounds like someone's comin'."

His eyes stared intently into the inky darkness, trying to discern where the clatter of hoof beats was coming from.

.

.

.

The horse was galloping swiftly through the moonless night, carrying its light load with ease.

Her legs pressed tightly against the horses' warm sides, Katherine Dunning held on to its dark, thick mane as they made their way to the old Harper homestead.

Shivering, she realized how lucky she had been to be able to leave the ranch undetected. When she had tried to lead her horse from the stable she had accidentally knocked over a wheelbarrow, spooking the other horses. The clamor had woken up some of the cowboys and soon, one of them came to investigate.

She had hid in one of the stalls, afraid that the thumping of her heart might give her away.

But the man, too tired to thoroughly investigate, thought that one of the many cats occupying the stables had caused the trouble and soon he had retired back to the bunkhouse.

She had remained in the stable for a long time afterwards, too afraid to make her move. Finally, when she thought she couldn't stand it any longer, she resolved to try again; this time, she made it without any problems. Not bothering with a saddle, she had swung herself onto her horses' back and took off as fast as she could.

Katherine reined her horse to a halt. Looking around, she tried to determine where she was. The homestead couldn't be too far off, she figured. She was right; less than half a mile straight ahead, she could suddenly see the faint glow of a campfire.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she urged the mare on.

.

Soon, she was able to discern a group of men sitting around the fire. There were several more over by the house, sitting on the porch.

She slowed her horse down to a trot when she suddenly noticed a man, standing only a few yards in front of her. He was tall, although not quite as tall as the Marshal. The flickering campfire was bathing him in its reddish light and she could make out the dark suspenders of his trousers in stark contrast with the light shirt he was wearing.

Katherine realized that he was looking straight at her, a rifle clutched tightly in his hands.

Resolved, she headed towards him.

.

.

.

Chester had firmed his grip on the rifle when he had first noticed the rider. For one brief moment, he had thought it was Doc Adams, but he quickly realized that it was not so.

As the horse came trotting closer, he saw to his amazement that its rider was a young woman. She didn't appear very threatening so he lowered the muzzle of his rifle to the ground.

When she reached him, Katherine swiftly dismounted her horse.

"I'm looking for Chester Goode," she said urgently.

Chester stared at her with open astonishment.

"Well,...golly... you just found him, miss," he stammered. Embarrassed, he quickly turned his gaze to his boots when he realized what he was doing.

"Mr. Goode...I need your help-Marshal Dillon and Doctor Adams need your
help."

Quickly, she began to tell him in detail what had happened.

By the time she was finished, Chester was shaking with anger.

The other men had seen the rider as well and now they came flocking around Chester and the young woman.

Forcing himself to remain calm, Chester repeated back to them what Katherine Dunning had told him.

There was outraged murmuring among the men when he was done.

"Now let's not loose our heads," Chester warned, even though he felt like doing just that, "we need to have a plan here, fellas."

Talking loudly among themselves, they followed the Marshal's assistant as he limped resolutely towards the fire.

The group gathered around the flames and began to discuss the situation. Chester realized that Mister Dillon was hurt and pointed out that they had to take it in consideration. Several men had made the suggestion to summon the Sheriff from Hays but that idea was quickly abandoned; by the time he would make it there, it could be too late for Mister Dillon and the doctor. No, the quicker they acted, the better.

After mulling their options over for a good half hour, they came to the conclusion that they had to try and free the Marshal and the doctor as soon as possible.

It was agreed on that Chester and Zeb Dalton, a tall and burly homesteader, would go in and free the two men while the others, led by Wilcox, would cover their backs. The remaining men were to watch the bunk house and the ranch building.

Katherine had listened in silence for the past fifteen minutes. She was feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of going back.

Chester sensed that something was bothering her. He regarded her worriedly.

"You all right there, Miss Katherine?...You haven't been a-sayin' a
single word."

She gave him a small smile.

"I'm afraid of going back there, Chester...afraid of what's going to
happen."

Her back to the fire, she took a few steps into the darkness.

Chester understood how she felt; after all, the man that had kidnapped Doc and the Marshal was her father and she had betrayed him by coming here.

He stood up and followed after her. Stopping by her side, he found himself unable to look into her eyes. Instead, he simply stared out into the darkness alongside her.

"Look Miss Katherine...you don't have to come with us, if you don't
wanna. I understand, how you feel about Mr. Dunning bein' your father
an' all."

He took off his hat and ran a nervous hand through his dark
hair before going on.

"You could stay right here until it's all over, an' all an' I could be back for you later,...if you like, I mean."

Katherine turned and gave him a warm smile which made him blush.

"You're a nice man, Chester Goode, but I'm afraid, I have to go with you."

Without another word, she began to walk over to her horse, leaving Chester to stare after her.

In the meantime, the last of the men had finished saddling their horses. Every gun was now loaded and there was extra ammunition in every pocket.

After the final man had mounted his horse, Chester rode up to the head of the group.

"Well, if yen's are ready-there ain't no sense in waitin'."

With that, he dug his heels into the chestnut's flanks and galloped off into the darkness, followed by twenty- three men and Katherine Dunning.

.

.

.

It didn't take the riders long to reach the Dunning Ranch.

When they had first headed off, there had been a lot of talking, but now as they were getting closer, a tense silence had taken over. Each one of the men seemed occupied with his own thoughts as the anticipation of the unavoidable confrontation was slowly building.

The night was drawing quickly to an end and soon, the dawn would begin to lighten the skies. Realizing this, Chester urged the men on.

Soon, they came across the first corral.

Swiftly, the men dismounted their horses in silence. The ranch house was still a good ways off but Chester saw it wise to walk the last couple of hundred yards; drawing attention to themselves too early would eliminate their advantage of taking them by surprise.

Stealthily, their guns drawn, the men moved in closer. When they had almost reached the farm yard, they crouched behind the brush that was running along the edge of it.

Everything was quiet.

The yard was still and peaceful and no lights were lit in the house; apparently, everyone was still asleep. The only sounds heard were those of the crickets and the gentle breeze rustling through the trees.

It seemed so peaceful to Chester that he could have easily forgotten why he was here if it hadn't been for the fact that his two best friends' lives were in danger. He took a deep breath and turned to Katherine.

"You reckon, you can you show me where they're a-keepin' Mister Dillon
and Doc?"

Without hesitation, she pointed towards the big barn ahead.

"Chester-''

Katherine put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Make sure you use the left door...the right one makes an awful lot of noise."

For a brief moment, his eyes were fixed on her hand then he quickly lowered his gaze and, clearing his throat, nodded.

He waved for Zeb to join him while Wilcox divided the others up into groups and showed them their positions. Swiftly, the men began to disperse.

The Marshal's assistant suddenly felt as if a weight was pressing down on his chest and made it difficult for him to breathe. His earlier anger and outrage were suddenly replaced by uncertainty and fear.

Katherine sensed the young man's worries. She gave him a reassuring smile.

"It'll be all right, Chester,..I know it will...now go. Go and get your
Marshal and Doctor Adams."

Not knowing what to say, he shyly returned her smile, his eyes lingering on hers for a moment. Then he abruptly turned and motioned Zeb to follow him.

With mixed emotions, Katherine Dunning watched the two men slowly make their way to the barn.
.

.

.

He wasn't sure, what had woken him; it could have been a mouse scampering across the barn floor or one of the many cats, prowling for its supper.

A little awkwardly, Doc Adams scrambled to sit up and began to listen intently into the darkness.

But the sound didn't repeat itself. His eyes wandered over to the sleeping Marshal sprawled out on the straw-covered ground beside him, his bruised torso covered by the doctor's coat.

Matt's breathing was shallow but steady. The physician had fixed him up
with a generous dose of laudanum so that the Marshal could get some badly needed rest.

But still, Doc was worried. He knew that he had to get Matt to his office as soon as possible to treat him properly; he needed better bandages for his ribs and some of his cuts definitely required stitches. Unfortunately, they were still at the mercy of the madman Dunning and mercy was something that this man obviously was not familiar with.

There it was again-a faint shuffling noise, almost as if someone was sneaking along the outside walls.

Doc held his breath.

His thoughts immediately turned to Katherine Dunning. Could it be that she had been able to get to Chester? He wasn't sure how much time had passed since the young woman had left but it must have been at least several hours.

Suddenly, he could hear someone fumbling with the door.

Carefully, Doc began to rouse his friend.

"Matt, wake up," he whispered.

Groaning, the Marshal opened his eyes and squinted at the physician.

"What's goin' on, Doc?"

Matt's voice was still thick with sleep as he tried to lever himself to a sitting position. He gave an indrawn hiss of pain as his ribs protested the unwelcome movement.

Doc's voice betrayed a strong sense of urgency.

"I think, someone's out there, Matt."

Seconds later, the barn door was quietly opened and they heard the soft crunch of boots on the straw-covered floor.

Right away, Matt tensed. He motioned Doc to stay down when he noticed that the physician was trying to peer around the corner of the stall partition.

Now the doctor could see their silhouettes, illuminated by the pale light of the moon. There were two of them, both carrying rifles and the one on the left walked with a rocking gait that looked quite familiar to the him.

"Mister Dillon? Doc?"

When Doc Adams heard the voice, he knew at once who it belonged to. Relieved, he emerged from behind the stall, waving.

"Over here Chester!"

Now Doc was able to recognize the other man as well; it was Zebedee Dalton, a local homesteader and friend of Chester's.

"By golly, about time, Chester," groused Doc, the relief he felt obvious
in his voice.

But Chester wasn't paying any attention to him-he had just taken notice
of the Marshal.

"Boy,... I'm sure glad to see you, Mister Dillon!" he exclaimed happily.

His stiff right leg stuck out at an odd angle as he awkwardly squatted
beside the lawman.

"Don't you worry none, ...we're gonna get y-"

His voice suddenly died and the rest of the sentence seemed to be stuck in his throat; he had just now noticed the Marshal's battered and swollen face and the bandages around his ribs.

"Oh, my goodness...Mister Dillon-"

He inhaled deeply, running his hand across his forehead, momentarily at a loss for words.

"Oh,.. I'll blow them fellas in half, I will...oh, Mister Dillon,...I'm-" His voice was shaking with impotent fury at the sight of his friend.

Matt attempted a smile.

"It's good to see you, too, Chester."

"Chester!" Doc suddenly hissed sharply, "you might get your chance sooner than you like, but right now, we need to see about getting Matt outta here."

The young man quickly composed himself.

"Why, of course, Doc."

He handed his rifle to the physician and then turned towards the Marshal again.

"You think, you can stand up, Mister Dillon?"

The Marshal nodded.

"I'll sure give it a try, Chester."

The doctor gave his ear a nervous tug.

"Now you take it easy on him-he's got a couple of broken ribs," he warned.

The young man nodded and gently put his hands under the lawman's arm; Chester was by no means a short man, but the Marshal was even taller and weighed a lot more as well.

Chester realized quickly that he wasn't able to do it on his own.

Quickly, Zeb leaned his rifle against the wall and came to his aid; together, they carefully hauled Matt to his feet.

As much as he tried not to, Matt couldn't help but cry out as his broken ribs shifted with his movement. He wrapped his left arm tightly around his ribcage, trying to add some support as he leaned his back against the wall.

Doc frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, regarding the Marshal with
deep concern.

"You think you gonna make it, Matt?"

His face pale but determined, the Marshal clenched his teeth and simply nodded. Glistening beads of sweat began to stipple his forehead as he clung heavily to Chester's shoulder in an attempt to steady himself.

He motioned at Zeb Dalton to take the lead.

With a nod, the homesteader picked up his rifle and started to head towards the doors.

Suddenly, they heard a gunshot, followed seconds later by several more.

Soon, there was an almost continuous volley of shots, and the men quickly realized that they were now trapped inside the barn.
.

.

.

Fred Wilcox was relieved when he saw Chester and Zeb finally disappear into the barn. He was hoping that they would be able to free the Marshal and Doc Adams without any bloodshed. Even though he knew how to handle his gun, he had always been hesitant to use it against others.

His hopes were crushed minutes later when he saw two men leaving the bunk house and head towards the barn.

One of them was clutching a rifle.

From the cautious way they moved, Fred could tell that they were obviously suspicious of something. When they had reached the barn the second man drew his colt and motioned his partner to stand at the other side of the door.

Fred Wilcox had a decision to make and he had to make it fast. Determined, he positioned the rifle stock against his shoulder, took aim and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed loudly through the night and the bullet found its target.

With a cry, the man with the rifle dropped to the ground, now grasping his injured shoulder. His partner, however, quickly recovered from the shock, and throwing himself behind a wagon, began to shoot blindly into Wilcox's direction.

Within seconds, lamps were lit in the bunk house and more men appeared. Soon, there was a steady exchange of gunfire between the men from Dodge and Dunning's gang.

.

Katherine Dunning had watched the whole scene unfold with increasing horror. She knew her father's henchman all too well. Men like Sikes and Rand were ruthless, capable of anything.

She had to get down there. Quietly, she slipped from Fred Wilcox' side.

.

.

.

The men inside the barn were unsure of what to do next; the one thing they had all hoped to avoid, just had happened; they were trapped.

Carefully, Zeb Dalton attempted to peer through one of the cracks in the barn walls. As he did, there was a sudden splintering sound next to his ear; a stray bullet had ripped through the wood and lodged itself in one of the stall partitions.

"By golly, get yourself over here, Zeb Dalton," groused Doc immediately,
"I don't feel much like diggin' a bullet out of your head!"

Chester nodded towards the nearest partition.

"We best git ourselves back behind that stall, Mister Dillon," he suggested.

Matt agreed. There was no sense in standing out here and waiting to be struck by a bullet. He gritted his teeth as he slowly, with Chester's help began to take the few steps back behind the partition.

The pain was quickly beginning to get the better of him as the laudanum was beginning to wear off. Exhausted, he leaned his back against the wall, breathing shakily.

The physician shook his head in silence as he watched his friend. By all reason, Matt shouldn't even be standing. He knew that broken ribs had a bad habit of puncturing lungs or other vital organs if the injured moved around too much-and that definitely applied to Matt at the moment. But realizing, that pointing this out would most likely do no good, he simply bit his tongue.

The doctor's expression didn't go unnoticed.

"I'm all right, Doc," Matt tried to assure him, but his voice faltered as he suddenly began to cough uncontrollably. The attack left him doubled over with pain.

Doc shook his head. His bushy brows knitted into a frown as he took hold of Matt's wrist to check his pulse.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I sure wish, I knewd what's goin' on out there," Chester suddenly muttered loudly.

He was beginning to get worried about Miss Dunning as well, but he didn't say it out loud.

The others agreed; they realized that there was no way for them to leave the barn safely as long as Dunning's men were out there shooting. They remained behind the partition, their guns drawn, keeping a watchful eye on the doors.

Suddenly, Chester turned his heads upwards to the hayloft. He was certain, he had heard something rustling. When Doc and Zeb looked at him quizzically, he put a finger to his lips, then pointed upwards.

They understood and nodded.

He handed his rifle to Doc and pulled a colt from his belt. Slowly, Chester stepped backwards, his eyes fixed on the hayloft above.

Nothing.

Maybe he had been wrong, he thought to himself. But suddenly and without warning, something came plummeting down, knocking him hard to the ground.

Earlier, Sikes had noticed someone sneaking up to the barn and when he and another man went out to investigate, somebody had opened fire on them. He had emptied several rounds into the darkness, and when he had run out of ammunition, he had made his way to the back of the barn and had climbed up into the hayloft.

Before anyone could react, Sikes had grabbed Chester's gun. Brutally, he pulled the stunned man to his feet and put a strangle-hold on him while pressing the revolver against his temple.

His face was distorted with anger.

"Havin' some friends over, Marshal?" he hissed, "well, sorry to intrude. Now…drop your guns, if yen's want the cripple here to live!"

Zeb hesitated and glanced at the Marshal. Matt gave him a quick nod; he knew that if anyone was capable of murder, it was Sikes.

Quietly, the homesteader handed over his rifle.

Sikes quickly looked to lawman up and down.

You're lookin' good, Marshal," he spat, "good enough for your execution."

Matt tried hard to ignore the pain that speaking caused him,

"The night's not over yet, Sikes," he gritted. "My men are out there an' they're not gonna leave without us-you can count on that."

Dunning's foreman just laughed; it was a terrible, dangerous laugh.

"Really...well,...we'll just have to see about that."

He gave Chester a hard push forward, nodding to the rope on the ground.

"Go ahead, tie your friends up, cripple...an' make sure you do it right!" he demanded, the gun now aimed squarely at Chester's back.

Angrily glaring at Sikes, Chester slowly bend down to pick up the rope. As he did, his eyes fell on the chain that they had used to shackle the Marshal earlier. Now it was lying forgotten and covered by straw.

Suddenly, Chester had an idea.

All he needed now, was a distraction. The rope in his hand, Chester slowly stood up and asked Zeb to put his hands behind his back. As he began to loosely tie his friend's hands, he tried to make eye contact with the Marshal. He coughed and shuffled a little until, finally, Matt looked at him inquiringly.

Quickly, he glanced down at the chain and back at the Marshal.

Luckily, Matt understood right away and he knew just what to do.

With a loud moan, he suddenly sank to the ground, holding his broken ribs tightly.

It worked.

For a second, Sikes took his eyes off Chester, turning his attention to the Marshal.

As he did, Chester quickly grabbed the chain and swung it towards Sikes' legs, wrapping it around the man's feet. Then he gave it a good yank.

Before Dunning's foreman knew what happened, he had lost his balance and landed painfully on his back. With an angry outcry, Chester jumped him and wrestled the gun from his grasp. Doc and Zeb immediately followed suit, and it didn't take them long to subdue Sikes.

Moments later, a panting Chester stood above a furious Sikes, pointing
the gun at him.

"Well, looky here who's seein' about it now, mister!" he declared
triumphantly.

Ignoring the foreman's ranting and raving, Zed began to tie him up.

When he was finished, they dragged the screaming foreman behind the stall and deposited him there.

Now Sikes yelled even louder than before. Without a word, the homesteader marched back over to him. Seconds later, a soft thud was heard, followed by Sikes' soft cry, and then there was silence.

When Zeb emerged from behind the partition, he had a sheepish grin on his face.

"Cain't stand that kinda talk."

"Well,... forevermore-" Chester started to say as he stared at him dumbfounded, but Zeb quickly waved him off.

"Naw,...jus' put him down for a nap."

Grinning, he took the pistol by the barrel and showed them how he had pistol-whipped Sikes upside the head.

Chester rolled his eyes and was about to lecture his friend when he was interrupted by the Marshal.

"You...better give... me a hand here, Chester-"

Matt strained to get the words out as he was trying to get back on his feet again. He quickly realized that he couldn't manage on his own.

Immediately, Zeb and Chester were at his side, carefully helping him up again.

"Sure sounds like the shooting's 'bout stopped," said Zeb suddenly.

The others listened. He was right. The gunfire had just about ceased. Unfortunately, it was difficult to tell whether this was a good or a bad thing.

The Marshal said out loud what everyone was thinking.

"We better be on the guard," he warned.

They all agreed, but before anyone knew what was happening, the doors to the barn suddenly flew open.
.

.

.

Raymond Dunning woke up with a start. Gunfire. He was sure he had heard gunfire.

As he listened intently into the night, his observation was quickly confirmed by the sounds of more shots being fired. Immediately, he left his bed and dressed.

He didn't like what he was hearing. It could only mean one thing; the people of Dodge had already come for their Marshal.

His face darkened as he strapped the fancy tooled two-gun holster around his hips. He wasn't about to give them what they came for; the Marshal was a murderer as far as he was concerned and he would see to it that justice would be served.

Swiftly, he inspected his guns and made sure all the chambers were loaded. For good measure, he filled his coat pockets with another handful of cartridges. Satisfied, the rancher left his bedroom and headed towards the door.

When he stepped onto the porch, he could see his men kneeling behind barrels, wagons and other various objects that promised them cover, firing at their invisible opponents that seemed to be hiding behind the bushes that lined the property.

Dunning's eyes wandered across the yard, trying to locate Sikes. He was nowhere to be seen. That was fine with him-he certainly didn't need his foreman to help him deal with Dillon. With determined strides, he stalked towards the barn, oblivious to the gunfight raging around him.

It was sheer luck that the rancher wasn't hit by any bullets. Moments later, he reached the building. Colt in his right, he yanked the door open and entered.

His eyes quickly took in the scene before him.

There was the doctor, standing alongside two strangers. The Marshal was standing amidst them, leaning heavily on one of the stranger's shoulder.

Dunning pointed the gun in his right at the Marshal while his left drew the other colt from its holster.

"Leaving so soon, Marshal?" he addressed Matt coldly.

The Marshal didn't reply, which did not deter Dunning any.

"I suggest, you gentlemen drop those guns, unless of course, you would like to see your Marshal's miserable life end right now," he hissed.

His voice had a definite dangerous edge to it as he slowly began to advance on the group.

Chester realized quickly that there was no taking chances with Dunning and he hurriedly complied.

Zeb followed his example, angrily eyeing the rancher as he dropped his rifle as well.

"Now that's better," Dunning remarked jovially, still edging closer. He motioned Doc and Zeb to stand behind the Marshal.

"So, Marshal Dillon,...I see you recovered well enough to stand," he said pleased. "That speaks for you, Doctor Adams."

He gave Doc a quick nod of approval then focused his attention back on Matt.

"Unfortunately, I have to inform you, that your execution has been moved up, Marshal-due to unforeseen circumstances, that is."

His eyes glinted madly.

Oddly, Matt felt no fear, and his voice was steady as he replied.

"You're insane, Dunning."

Raymond Dunning's eyes narrowed dangerously. Then suddenly, he shifted his gun hand a little to the right and pulled the trigger.

The blast of the gunshot sent echoes rocking through the barn as the bullet grazed Chester's upper arm and then embedded itself in the wall with a dull thunk.

With a surprised outcry, the young man staggered backwards, and the Marshal stumbled at the sudden loss of Chester's supporting shoulder.

"Leave him!" snapped Dunning as he swung his hand around so that the gun in his left was now pointing at the physician who was trying to come to Chester's aid.

Furious, Doc glared at Dunning for a moment.

"What kinda man are you anyway?"

He turned his attention to Chester.

The young man was pale with shock, his right hand clasped tightly over the bullet wound; he was staring in disbelief at the bright red blood that was oozing out between his fingers.

Matt could feel an incredible rage building inside and it afforded him tremendous effort to remain calm.

"Listen to me, Dunning...there's no need in hurtin' any of them. You got
me...that's what you wanted."

The rancher pointed his gun back at the Marshal. He was about to answer when he was suddenly interrupted by the creaking of the barn doors.

Dunning didn't bother with turning to see who it was. His mind was focused on the only thing that mattered to him right now-avenging his son.

"Father."

Raymond Dunning wasn't surprised to hear his daughter's voice.

She had been at odds with him ever since her mother had died and now that this Marshal Dillon had murdered her brother-his only son, he couldn't understand that she didn't want to see justice carried out. The poor child was blinded by her compassion for everything and everybody-just like her mother, he bitterly thought to himself.

Without turning, he acknowledged her.

"Hello, Katherine. Have you finally come to your senses? I'm glad you-"

"No, father," she interrupted him, "I'm afraid that's not why I'm here. Please put those guns down."

Her hands were trembling and she had to grip the colt with both hands to steady it as she pointed it at her father's back. She had never shot at anything or anybody before and she was outright scared. Her eyes met Chester's, and she gasped when she saw that he was wounded.

No, she couldn't allow her father to continue this; she had to stop him by whatever means necessary.

"You know, I cannot and will not do that, Katherine...He murdered your brother, don't you understand?"

"I will shoot, father," she threatened, her voice shaking.

"Then do so, if you must," he replied calmly, his back still turned to her. Deep inside, he was convinced that she wouldn't shoot. No, not her own father.

Matt was beginning to feel the tension building inside him to an almost unbearable level. The pain from his broken ribs and other injuries made it almost impossible to concentrate. He was slumped against the wall, one hand still tightly wrapped around his ribcage while the other was grasping the edge of the stall partition.

He was holding Dunning's gaze intently; it was the only way for him to gauge when the rancher might pull the trigger.

He already knew that he most likely wouldn't be able to avoid taking a bullet or two, but he was determined not to go without a fight.

Slowly, Matt drew a deep breath, wincing as his expanding lungs painfully pushed against his broken ribs.

He was ready to throw himself at Dunning the second it looked as if the rancher was going to open fire.

"Well, Marshal...say 'good-bye' to your friends," Dunning suddenly announced casually as he adjusted his aim so that the barrel of his gun now pointed squarely at Matt's chest.

Suddenly, a shot echoed loudly through the barn, mingling with Katherine Dunning's terrified scream.

.

.

Raymond Dunning looked at the Marshal with disbelief then he began to waver slightly. When he opened his mouth, a fine trickle of blood began to run down his chin. He staggered backwards, dropping his guns in the process.

His eyes wide with shock, he started to gasp for air. All the sudden, his legs buckled and he slowly sank to his knees.

Without hesitating, Doc hurried to Dunning's side but when he touched him, the rancher fell face forward into the straw. Everyone could see the dark, shiny stain that began to spread quickly where the bullet had entered his back.

For one brief moment, all eyes were fastened on Raymond Dunning as Doc checked for any life signs, but it was too late; slowly, the doctor shook his head.

Suddenly, a small whimper drew their attention-it was Katherine Dunning.
Still clutching the gun with both hands, she was staring wide-eyed at the body of her father. Her shoulders were shaking as she wept silently.

His bleeding arm momentarily forgotten, Chester rushed to her side. Gently, he pried the colt from her fingers.

"Miss Katherine," he said softly, "you won't be a-needin' this anymore."

He tucked the gun into his belt and tenderly put his arm around her shoulder, leading her away from the body.

When they passed the Marshal, she stopped.

Matt regarded her tear-streaked face, and he found himself wishing, there was something, anything he could do or say, but he knew that there wasn't anything that would make a difference. Instead, he pressed his lips together and gave her a small nod.

Doc rose to his feet and began to look around for Chester. To his surprise, he saw that Katherine Dunning had already taken it upon herself to tend to his wound. For one brief moment, his brow furrowed but then a smile began to curl the edges of his mouth.

"Marshal, I think the fightin' stopped!" Zeb Dalton suddenly exclaimed loudly. The homesteader was back at the door, bravely peeking through
the cracks in the wall again.

"Yup,...there's Wilcox, Marshal... an'Anderson!"

Unable to contain his excitement any longer, he let out a whoop and disappeared through the barn door.

Carefully, Matt drew a shaky breath and closed his eyes, gingerly leaning his back against the wall.

Now that the tension was beginning to subside, it was impossible for him to ignore the pain any longer. Beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead, stinging as they came in contact with the gash above his brow.

His hands, though still tightly wrapped around his broken ribs, were now shaking. He found that his legs would no longer carry him and slowly, he began to slide to the ground.

When Doc became aware of it, he hurried to his friend's side.

"I'm all right, Doc," Matt tried to wave him off, but the physician knew better; his face grew dark as he studied the lawman's battered features. Matt had kept him rather busy over the past several years, but never before had he seen him in such bad shape. Dunning's men certainly had done their job well, he thought grimly to himself.

Soon, the men from Dodge, lead on by Fred Wilcox, were beginning to file
into the barn. Zeb had already informed them in detail of what had happened.

"Marshal,...I'm sure glad to see you alive," said Fred as he approached Dillon and squatted down next to him. "We've got most of Dunning's men
tied up outside...a couple of them might need Doc's attention though."

He cast Doc a glance and the physician inclined his head in response.

"We've got two wounded on our side-Harlan Rhodes an' Sam Mathers," he
then added.

Matt nodded his acknowledment; it was all he could do.

Doc removed his coat and laid it across the Marshal's chest.

"Now you just stay put there, Matt," he advised him sternly as he rose back to
his feet.

"Can you see about gettin' me a wagon?" he then addressed some
of the men that had formed a half-circle around them. "I can't take the
Marshal back to Dodge sittin' in my buggy."

Quickly, two of them hurried off to do his bidding.

Doc picked up his bag and prepared to follow Wilcox to tend to the injured men outside.

On his way out, he passed Katherine and Chester.

"Looks like you won't be needin' my services, Chester," he grumbled, briefly glancing at the bandage on the young man's arm. Katherine Dunning had indeed cleaned and bandaged it expertly, he had to admit. He gave her a quick wink before walking on.

She lowered her gaze bashfully, but Doc noticed the shy smile on her lips.

Chester turned to her.

"Miss Katherine, you think, you could get us some blankets for Mr. Dillon?"

"Of course," she replied, glad to have a reason to leave the barn.

Chester was relieved when he saw her heading towards the house. Not that he didn't like her company-on the contrary; he had grown quite fond of her. However, he didn't want her to be around when they carried her father's body from the barn.

Suddenly, loud shuffling could be heard, followed seconds later by a tirade of obscenities.

Sikes; they had almost forgotten about him. Chester frowned as he recalled what this man had done to the Marshal.

"Zeb," he called out to his friend, "that Sikes fella's still behind that stall yonder...make sure he's taken care of."

Zeb shot Chester a big grin.

"Don't you worry none about him," he said, and immediately began to make his way over to see to Dunning's foreman.

Chester shook his head.

"That fella oughtta be hung for beatin' a man like that," he muttered to himself as he limped from the barn to check on the wagon for the Marshal.
.

.

.

By now it was early morning. The sun had just risen over the rim of the horizon, bringing with it a new day and quickly fading away the night.

A buckboard wagon had been hitched up and was ready to transport the Marshal back to Dodge. Leaning heavily on Fred and Zeb's shoulders, he slowly made his way from the barn. Katherine had found several heavy woolen blankets and had lined the wagon bed with them.

The ride back to Dodge would be a bumpy one and Doc wanted to make it as gentle as possible on the wounded Marshal. He was afraid that Matt had already punctured one of his lungs if his labored breathing was any indication.

When he finally was secure in the wagon bed, Chester climbed in after; he had taken it upon himself to watch over on the way back.

Doc helped Miss Dunning into his buggy; she didn't want to remain at the ranch by herself so she decided to go along into Dodge for the time being. Chester had already offered his help when she was ready to deal with the ranch and she had gladly accepted.

With a click of his tongue, Doc flicked the reins down onto his horse's back and the buggy jerked into motion, slowly rolling down the trail after the others.

With a lingering glance, Katherine Dunning watched the ranch slowly disappear from view when the buggy went around the first bend in the trail.
.

.

.

It was quite a sight as the party slowly made its way down Front Street several hours later. Fred Wilcox and some of the other men were riding in the lead, along with their prisoners. Next came Doc in his buggy, followed by the buckboard with Chester and the Marshal. Zeb Dalton and the rest of the men brought up the rear with another wagon which carried some of the wounded that were unable to ride their horses.

.

It was still early morning, but Kitty Russell was already up and dressed. She hadn't slept much the night before-her mind had been too occupied to allow her any rest. Every time she had closed her eyes, she could see those men dragging Matt off to that wagon.

Her gaze fell on her reflection in the mirror when she stopped pacing the room for a moment. Blue eyes, now red and puffy from crying, stared back at her.

Kitty bit down hard on her lip, attempting to stop the fresh flow of tears. Of all the eligible men in Dodge she had to be in love with the one that was constantly shot at, beaten, threatened or otherwise in danger of losing his life, she miserably thought to herself.

Suddenly, Kitty was brought back from her thoughts by a loud clamor coming from the street. Curiously, she walked over to the window. Coming down Front Street she saw what appeared to be a large group of riders. At once, she grabbed her shawl and wrapping it around her shoulders, hurried downstairs.

.

By the time she made it onto the boardwalk, the riders had reached the saloon. Kitty recognized the familiar faces of Fred Wilcox and some of the others, but her eyes were looking for someone else. There was Doc in the company of a young woman she had never seen before, but he was not with him.

Her gaze fell on Chester, riding in the next wagon and she let out a small gasp when she noticed the bloody bandage around his arm.

Anxiously, she looked on; where was he? Fear began to grip her heart like a vice; he wasn't among the riders, either. Neither was he in the last wagon as far as she could tell.

Numb with fear, she watched the group slow down to a halt when they reached the Marshal's office.

Kitty was too afraid to walk over and meet them, yet she found that her feet were doing just that. She had almost reached Doc's buggy when he spotted her.

Climbing off the seat, the physician waited for her to approach; he noticed right away that she had cried.

"Kitty."

He nodded curtly, pressing his lips together as he ran a nervous hand through his mustache.

"Doc-" Kitty began to say, her face reflecting hope and fear all at once and suddenly, her voice began to fail her.

Gently, the physician reached for her hands. He clasped them tenderly when he noticed that she was trembling.

"Kitty,...I wanna talk to you about Matt," he said softly and suddenly, she wasn't so sure whether she wanted to hear him out.

"Dunning's men," he went on to explain, "they didn't exactly treat him kindly-"

She closed her eyes at his words.

"I'm tellin' you this, because he's lookin' pretty mashed up, and-"

"You mean, he's alive?" Kitty's eyes sprang open and she pulled her hands out of his clasp, now looking at him with disbelief and outrage.

"Doggone it, Kitty...I never said he was dead-"

Pushing his hat back, Doc scratched his forehead, regarding her confused.

Her anger left as quickly as it had flared up-Matt was alive and that was all that mattered.

"Now look here, young lady," the physician now reprimanded her, wagging his finger in her face, " I'm just tryin' to warn you before you go over
there and see him-"

"Where is he?" she interrupted him impatiently.

Doc sighed in resignation and pointed to a wagon, parked in front of his office. All she could see though, was Chester still sitting on the high seat.

Puzzled, she turned back to the physician.

"Well, go on," he encouraged her, gently nudging her towards the buckboard.

As she came closer, Chester greeted her with a big smile.

"Mornin', Miss Kitty," he said, tipping his hat at her.

Kitty nodded to the bloody bandage.

"That arm doesn't look so good, Chester," she remarked concerned.

"Oh, ain't no more than a scratch, Miss Kitty...Doc says-"

He stopped abruptly, when he saw the expression on her face; she had just noticed
the sleeping man in the wagon bed.

"Well, I reckon, I better give Fred a hand with them prisoners," Chester muttered awkwardly as he began to climb off the buckboard; he realized with a tiny stab of jealousy that it wasn't him that Miss Kitty was interested in at the moment.

"Matt?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper as she beheld the man she loved. Kitty bent over him and gently brushed a damp curl from his forehead. He looked so pale-paler than she had ever seen him before.

Her eyes wandered over his face, painfully taking in every cut and bruise and her hand trembled as she hesitantly placed it on his cheek. She was afraid to find out how the rest of him looked.

She turned to Doc.

"What did they do to him?"

"Well," Doc scratched his neck, "I told you, those thugs roughed him up pretty good...he's got a couple of broken ribs, probably enough cuts to
use up my year's supply of sutures, and-" he hesitated. "they took a bull whip to his back."

The thought of it alone, made the physician feel angry all over again.

Kitty gasped.

"Will he be all right, Doc?" she finally wondered, almost too afraid to ask.

"Oh, sure," the doctor nodded, pursing his lips, "provided he'll get plenty of attention, that is."

There was a distinct twinkle in his eyes when he said those last words, and she knew right then that Matt would be all right.

Tears began to fill her eyes once again but this time, they were tears of relief.

Suddenly, Matt began to stir.

"Kitty?" he whispered hoarsely as he shifted a little, trying to free his hands from the restraints of the coarse blanket.

"I'm here, Matt," she replied softly, gently placing her hand on his chest. "You just lie still there."

"Chester," said Doc when he saw that the Marshal was finally awake, "gimme a hand here with Matt...we need to get him up to my office."

Tenderly, Kitty squeezed his hand one more time before stepping aside for Doc and Chester.

Carefully, they helped Matt up; it didn't take long and he was perched on the edge of the wagon bed. Sitting slumped forward, he had his left hand wrapped tightly around his ribs while he was bracing himself with his right on the wagon. His lips pressed together, his eyes shut tightly, he waited for the pain that sitting up had caused him, to
subside.

"Wait," he grated, waving Chester aside as the young man attempted to help him to his feet.

Kitty clasped her hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp when she saw the full extend of Matt's injuries; the white bandages shone brightly through his torn shirt, contrasting with the many bruises and bloody abrasions that were scattered across his upper body. She remembered Doc's words and dared not to look at his back.

When Matt saw the pain and distress in her eyes, he gave her a weak smile; he wished, she didn't have to see him like this.

"It's gonna...be all right, Kitty," he whispered between labored breaths as he lifted his
gaze to her.

She drew a shaky breath and suddenly couldn't help the tears that now began to sting her eyes again. With a sob, she drew close and gently wrapped her arms around his neck, carefully resting her face against his shoulder.

Matt could feel her body quiver against his chest. Tenderly, his hand encircled her waist, holding her close. Exhausted and overcome by emotion, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, not caring that he was sitting in the middle of Front Street with half of Dodge watching. He closed his eyes and his hand began to tenderly caress her back in a
soothing fashion.

The softly spoken words that came from Kitty's lips moments later couldn't be heard by anyone-they were intended for his ears only.

"Welcome home, Matt."

~THE END~