Dry Route to Dodge

A Gunsmoke Story

by MAHC (Amanda)

Chapter Six: Time to Shield

POV: Matt

Spoilers: None

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I did not create these characters, but I love them.

Marshal Matt Dillon had never held much fondness for stages. Could be because it seemed like every time he got on one, something bad happened: bandits attacked, bridges washed out, coaches crashed. Given his druthers, he would saddle up Buck and ride for days on end before he chose to trust his existence to the vulnerable – and uncomfortable – accommodations of the Santa Fe Line.

Still, he couldn't very well haul Kitty up behind him on the big dun – and even if he could, her multitude of trunks still presented a problem. He should have insisted on the train. At least they would already be in Dodge. But Kitty seemed pleased to provide the stage tickets, and it had promised more time with her.

As he looked down at her now, though, he kicked himself for not listening to his instincts. Although her skin was white and clammy, he felt the fever radiating from her, and realized entirely too late that she was sick. Very sick.

So intent on simply being there to comfort her when he arrived in Kansas City, he hadn't asked too many questions about her father's fatal illness, but now he wished he had. Did she have the same thing? Would she end up –

Clenching his teeth, he refused to consider that. She would be fine, just needed to get home and in her own bed. Groaning, she moved against him restlessly, drawing the eyes of the other two passengers.

"She looks worse, Mister," the thin man observed. "Reckon she'll make it ta Dodge?"

Damn right, she will, Matt wanted to say, but instead he just nodded.

"Mighty sorry she's ill," the other man offered, as if he needed to pull his weight in sympathy.

Matt acknowledged him with a thrust of his chin, then pulled Kitty into his arms more securely. At the same time, he kept his peripheral vision on the man in black, gauging his intent, his actions. Able to inspect him more closely in the stagecoach, the marshal had confirmed his instincts from Council Grove. The man was wanted. But they were well out of Larned, at least twenty miles, almost halfway to Dodge, and Kitty was sick. Any arrest could wait until they reached Dodge. His main job now was to keep Kitty from getting worse before they got to Doc –

With only a second's warning of screeching wheels, he found himself thrown up into the stage roof, then back against the side, his brain trying to take in the chaos that had exploded around him. Through the coach windows, the world tumbled by, at first right side up, then sideways, then upside down. Wood cracked and splintered, chains clanged together, horses bellowed in confusion and fear.

"Kitty!"

He heard his own hoarse cry, as if it came from someone else, and reached out his hands to grab for her. With another lurch, the coach landed on its side, slamming his right knee into the doorframe. Fire burst up his leg and he fought to keep conscious, intent on what was happening with Kitty, on keeping her safe. Just as his fingers found her wrist, a sudden, sharp pain against the side of his head wiped out any other conscious thought, and he swirled down into darkness.

XXXX

"Mister?"

Somewhere deep in his brain, he tried to stop the steady beating of a very irritating drum. It pounded again and again in rhythm with his heart. And all he wanted to do was sleep.

"Mister? Can ye hear me?"

Just a few more minutes, he thought. Just a little while longer. He'd cuddle up to Kitty and wake in a leisurely manner, letting the fresh sunlight streaming through her windows bring them to consciousness.

Just cuddle up to –

"Kitty!"

"I think he's comin' around."

"Looks that way."

Matt blinked against the glare of the sun, then squinted, his muddled brain trying to take in the situation. He lay sprawled on the baked earth, a few yards away from a very battered, very unusable stagecoach, no horses in sight. Above him, the faces of the skinny man and the outlaw, peered on more in curiosity than concern.

But only one thought leaped to his mind. "Kitty?"

The outlaw nodded to his left. "Got her in the shade of the wreck. Thought she might do better there."

He sat up abruptly, waiting out the dizziness.

"You hit yer head. Got a nice gash right above yer ear. Don't look too bad, but it bled mighty fierce."

Reaching up a hand to assess his injury, he pulled it back and noted that it did seem to be covered in a fair amount of blood. Not that it was unusual for him. Categorizing the wound as insignificant, he pushed off the hot ground, intent on striding over to Kitty, but found himself right back on his rear, his right leg shooting fiery pain that started in his knee and spread both toward hip and ankle.

"'Peers ya hurt yer leg, too," the thin man noted superfluously.

"Really?" he muttered. Unfortunately, it wasn't the first injury that leg had seen. Gritting his teeth, he reached up toward the two men. "Give me – a hand."

Two arms extended, and he grabbed both, levering himself up on his left leg and gingerly testing the other. If he was careful, he could place minimal pressure on that limb and at least hobble enough to endure the pain for the few seconds it took his other leg to regain his weight. Somehow, he managed to make his way to Kitty's side without landing on his face.

She lay mostly on the ground; the two men had pulled a carpetbag from the wreckage and used it to pillow her head. The thoughtfulness surprised Matt, but he didn't take much time to evaluate it. Her breath came in shallow, struggling gasps, broken occasionally by weak coughing spells. At least she seemed to have escaped major injury from the crash – externally, anyway. He prayed that there was no internal damage.

Grimacing, he knelt on his good leg and tenderly brushed a few stray locks of hair from her face, white beneath the smudges of dirt. "Kitty?"

His only answer was a fluttering of eyelids and a soft moan.

"Kitty?" he tried again, this time cupping his large hand against her cheek and shaking gently.

Another moan left her lips, but this time it was accompanied by a word, spoken so softly he almost missed it. "Matt."

Glancing around quickly, he determined that no one else had heard her. Obviously, the outlaw didn't know who he was. He'd just as soon keep it that way for a while.

"I'm here," he assured her quietly, letting his fingers caress her jaw. "I'm here."

"Tired," she managed, then her head lolled against his hand and she lost consciousness again.

Matt fought back the despair that threatened to overwhelm him. Now was not the time to surrender to the emotions of a lover. Now was the time to shield himself and her with the strength of a lawman. He willed that mantle to drape over him, to bolster the weakness of his worry and plow through to do what was necessary – just like he always did. He just needed an opportunity, even a small one.

"Kin you walk?"

He turned and squinted up to look at the thin man who stood above him. If it would save Kitty, he could walk to Garden City. "What'd you have in mind?" he wondered.

"There's a stage stop 'bout five miles on down from here. Hard walkin', but it's the closest thang to help we got. Skinner runs it. He'll have some vittles n' water. And a bed fer her."

All right. There it was.

"What's your name, Mister?" Matt asked him.

"Dooley Higgins."

The marshal considered their options. It didn't take long. "Well, Dooley, doesn't look like we have much choice."

Leaning against a cracked wheel, the man whose face was too familiar to Matt lifted his chin toward the small group. "Gonna be tough to get her there."

"I'll manage," he snapped, eyes darkening.

Glancing quickly between the Matt and the man in black, Dooley bent down next to Kitty. "I'll help you pick her up," he offered.

Matt nodded gratefully, knowing Higgins was way too small to carry her himself. Bracing as much of his weight as he could on his left leg, he slid his arms under the slender figure, waiting until Dooley had done the same on the other side, and pushed up. For a moment, his vision swam with the pain that stabbed through his knee, but he gulped back a groan and stood until he was relatively sure he wouldn't go back down.

"Ya got her?" Dooley asked warily.

The big marshal could only nod, not able to spare any energy from his fight to stay conscious. Kitty's head lay against his shoulder, and he looked at her face, letting the need to save her feed his strength. After a minute or so, he took a step, forcing the leg to move, fighting the agony that surged through his body. Then, he took another, and another, and soon the small band of survivors made their way slowly down the stage line amid the swirling dust and baking heat of the prairie desert.