Timmonds spat out his tobacco on the ground near his captive's head. "You done him good, Rand, but I told you not to hurt him."

Rand shrugged, "Who cares if the old goat dies, it's not like Dillon's gonna know until it's too late."

Timmonds grabbed Rand's lapel, pulling the man into himself. "The whole point was makin' him watch the old man die knowin' I was the one that done it."

Rand squirmed slightly. "All right, Timmonds, I got a little rough, but that old rooster ain't as easy as he looks."

Timmonds spit once again. "Sure he ain't. He's an old man, how much trouble could he have been?" Rand wisely chose to keep his mouth shut, and Timmonds continued, "To top all, you let him drip blood all down his saddle and onto the ground leavin' Dillon a clear trail."

"I don't see what difference it makes, Timmonds, you want him to find us anyway..."

Timmonds shoved the man away. "When I choose the time, Rand. And the time ain't yet."

Rand looked over at the pale man on the ground. "Well it don't look like he's got a lotta time left, so's maybe we better let Dillon find us."

"It'd take two of you to be simple-minded, you know that?" Timmonds began to pace, thinking, then he turned back to Rand as a small smile lit his lips. "You know, this might've worked out better at that... I want you to go on back to Dodge and get me Dillon's woman."

"We don't need her, we got the doc..."

Timmonds bellowed. "I don't pay you to think, Rand, I pay you to do what I say. Go back to Dodge and bring the woman to Bent Creek. Marlowe, Rolley and me'll head to the cabin there. And Rand, don't leave a trail. I want it to take a little while for Dillon to find us." His eyes looked over at Adams' still figure. "I need a little time to fix up the doc a mite."

Rand shook his head as he walked toward his horse. "Don't make no nevermind to me, but I don't understand what difference none of this makes..."

Rand hopped into the saddle and took off at a good canter. If he took the back trail, he'd be back to Dodge by nightfall.

The sun was setting by the time Chester and Matt found the remnants of the camp. Dillon knelt by the blood-soaked earth, and felt his stomach leap into his mouth.

"Mr. Dillon, if he weren't still alive, they woulda just left him here, ya know. The fact that he ain't here's a good sign."

Matt's eyes looked up into the sincere face, and he nodded. "You're right, Chester." He looked back down at the blood. "But if anything happens to him..."

Dillon let the thought go unfinished, but then, he didn't have to put the sentiment into words.

Chester's voice was filled with understanding, "Me too, Mr. Dillon."

Matt stood up and placed a hand on Goode's shoulder. "Come on Chester, let's see if we can pick up a trail before it gets too cold."

It was well into the wee hours of the morning before Matt and Chester rode into Dodge, long since having lost the trail of the men they sought. The little hairs on the back of Dillon's neck were standing straight up on end even before he spotted the lights in the Longbranch and the tall man hovering nervously in the doorway. He kicked Buck slightly and the horse trotted over to the saloon. Before Dillon could dismount, Sam ran toward him.

"Marshall, I sure am glad you're back..."

Dillon glanced nervously around, "What's wrong, Sam?"

"It's Miss Kitty..."

Matt's gaze bore into the bartender. "What about her?"

"She's not here, marshall."

"Well where did she go?"

"I don't know where she is, no one does. She went upstairs about eleven, said she'd be back down before closing."

"And?"

"That's it, marshall. She never came back down, and when I went up to check on her, she was gone, vanished." Before Matt could ask, the man continued, "There was no sign of any kind of struggle. Her cloak and riding clothes were gone too, so I'm guessing that she went along willingly."

Matt grimaced, muttering, "Well she would if she thought she could help Doc somehow." He looked at Sam. "Her riding clothes, huh..."

"Yes sir."

Matt nodded and turned to his assistant, who was sitting patiently on his horse. "Chester, go stock up on provisions. I'm going to check Kitty's room, and then we're headin' out after them."

"Anything you say, Mr. Dillon."

Chester turned toward the jailhouse and Matt dismounted and walked into the Longbranch with Sam on his heels. Dillon felt his stomach flip-flop: it was now obvious that the intended target of the unknown men was him. The thought of negotiating with scum to keep Kitty and Doc safe seared him with anger; but Matt Dillon knew he'd give anything to keep those closest to him alive, including his own life.