Matt lie on the cold bunk in the dark, watching the figure in the cell toss and turn in a disturbed sleep, his only consolation in the fact that his friend was able to sleep at all. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, a generous amount of moonlight pouring in from the one window, throwing shadows from the wind blowing in the branches outside. Dillon pulled his blanket up higher, unable to rid the chill that had plagued him all night. He looked over at the old man once more and wondered if maybe that was why his sleep was so restless. Quietly Dillon arose, opened the connecting door, gently picked the keys off the peg and unlocked the cell. He silently entered, and carefully covered the doctor with the two blankets that were on the end of the bunk.
After watching Doc settle down slightly, Matt locked the door, returned the keys and put his clothes and boots on. Careful not to make a sound, the marshall put on his hat, coat and gloves and left the jailhouse. There was no destination in mind, only the need to get some air and clear his head. With his hands shoved deeply into his coat pockets, Dillon walked through the pristine snow, slowly making his way to the edge of town. The moon was bright and reflected off the white blanket on the ground, and it reminded him of Dodge, and happier times. A gust of wind blew harshly down the street, tossing whiffs of fresh snow into Dillon's face. Suddenly feeling tired, Matt sat down on a bench on the boardwalk in front of the barber shop.
He doubted sincerely that Ruth Bradley would come around, as much as he doubted that Doc could be convinced to tell about his family in court; and his heart felt sick. Even in the cold of the night, and the beauty of the snow-covered earth, Matt felt as if he could no longer breathe. He looked down at the silver badge pinned to his coat lapel. For most of his life, Matt Dillon had abided by the law; he had served the principles behind the symbol he wore on his chest, and he had for the most part, done it gladly. But this was different. Matt Dillon could no longer see his path in front of him; there was only doubt, sorrow and fear. He knew in his heart that when it came down to it, he would be unable to stand by and watch Doc Adams hang. And Matt started to remove the badge.
But his old friend haunted him, and his hand froze in mid-motion. Doc would be the first person to tell him to let the law do what it must; that he was merely an instrument, and that he needed to stay true to it in order to live with himself. Matt's eyes filled with tears, and he shut them trying to hold it in. He was certain that Doc Adams had no idea how much he meant to all of them, and to Dillon, that was the saddest fact of all. And there, on the bench in front of the barber shop in Hays City, in the windy cold of winter, Matt Dillon wept.