It was dusk by the time Kitty saw the cabin looming into view, a swirl of smoke rising from its chimney into the approaching night. She followed the man who called himself Rand up to the front porch, and dismounted the horse he had given her. She pulled her cloak tighter around herself, feeling the chill of the season. Rand held the door for her and she walked in, quickly assessing the three men playing poker at the table. The tall one was in charge, and she doubted he was as smart as he thought himself to be; the stout man had probably been with the leader for a long time, for he had the ease of a sure friend; and the young one looked nervous - whatever they were up to, he was a greenhorn.

The tall one stood and smiled at her. "Welcome to Bent Creek, Miss Russell, I'm happy to see that the town talk about you bein' so pretty is more than just talk."

Kitty glared at him. "What have you done with Doc?"

He smiled at her. "I hadn't heard that you was rude, bein' a saloon owner and all."

"In this room, I doubt I'll win any competitions for being rude."

He smiled at her, ignoring the barb. "I'm Harley Timmonds," he indicated the stout fellow, "this here's Rolley," then he pointed at the young one, "and that there whelp is my nephew, Marlow." He nodded toward Rand, "And you've already meant Rand."

"I'd say it was a pleasure, but I'd be lying." She glared at him harder. "Where is Doc Adams?"

Timmonds shook his head and sat back down, returning his attention to his cards. Without looking up, he spoke to her.

"The old man's in the bedroom back there, but he ain't feelin' none too pert."

Kitty went to the door, opened it, and caught her breath upon seeing the man lying on the bed. Adams was as pale as a ghost, had on nothing but his pants, and the room was freezing cold. She closed the door, took of her cloak and went to him, covering his chest with the woolen fabric. Kitty removed the blood-soaked cloth around his neck and grimaced at the wound. She brushed a soft hand over his forehead.

"Doc? Can you hear me, Doc? It's Kitty..."

There was no response. Kitty felt the skin of his chest and arms and was alarmed by their icy temperature. Kitty stood and walked purposefully into the next room, disrupting the game.

"I need blankets, a basin with hot water, some cloths, and some wood for the fireplace in that room."

Timmonds didn't look up from the hand he was playing. "That's some order, missy, but I think you should be happy keepin' your hide." His eyes shifted to hers. "Or doesn't that suit?"

Her blue eyes narrowed to slits. "It does not. That man in there is going to die if I don't help him."

"Why should I care?"

"If Doc Adams dies, Matt Dillon'll kill you."

Timmonds laughed. "He won't do that, he's a United States Marshall..."

"If for some reason he doesn't, mister, I will."

Kitty moved into the kitchen and Rand got up, grabbing her hard.

"Let go of me!"

Timmonds laughed. "Let her go, Rand. If'n she wants to try and save that old man, let her. It'll just make it all that much more interesting when the time comes."

Kitty didn't like the sound of something 'more interesting' but she quickly gathered up the things she needed and went back into the bedroom, closing the door soundly behind her.

Matt pushed on through the cold darkness, with Chester a few paces behind. His heart was chilled with fear, and he tried to keep his imagination from running away with his logical mind, but it was an uphill battle.

"Mr. Dillon?"

"Hmmmm?"

Chester rode his horse up next to Dillon's. "Don't you think maybe we orta bed down for the night? I mean, it's gettin' hard to see, and we might get off the track this way."

Matt's brow cinched in, and he licked his lips. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Let's set up camp under those trees."

The two men remained quiet while they unsaddled their horses, made a fire and put some coffee on. Matt sat down on a rock and opened a can of beans, pouring some out on his plate and some out on Goode's. He handed Chester his plate and they ate in still silence. Chester took care of the dishes and then poured them both some coffee. He handed a cup to Dillon, who stoically accepted it.

"Mr. Dillon...you ortn't to worry so. Ya know ol' Doc's a pretty stout fella when it comes right down to it, and Miss Kitty, well, she's pretty good at lookin' after herself, and well, I just hate to see ya like this, Mr. Dillon..."

Matt looked up into the soft brown eyes that were misted with moisture and he nodded. "I appreciate it, Chester. I just wish we knew how bad Doc was hurt."

Goode took a long sip of his coffee. "There was an awful lot of blood, that's true. But ol' Doc's pretty strong for a man of his years, and if anybody can fight a good fight, it's him."

Matt stared into his coffee cup. "Yeah," was all he said.