Dell tripped on the landing of Doc's office, but the fresh, powdery snow that had been falling for the past hour muffled any sound it might have made. He tried to open the door, only to find it locked.
"Damn sawbones," he slurred loudly.
He jiggled the doorknob, but even in his drunken state, came to the conclusion that it wasn't going to open. He backed up slightly, and threw himself against the door, busting it open. Dell stumbled into the office, and swayed on his feet for a second, trying to figure out why he was alone. But in the next moment, the door to the back room opened, and an angry doctor appeared.
"What in the hell is going on out--" Doc stopped in mid-sentence when he realized that it was Dell Stevenson standing in the middle of the room.
"You...meddlin' old quack. Where's my daughter?"
"She isn't here."
The drunken man glared at the much smaller doctor. "Whaddya mean she ain't here?"
Doc licked his lips. "Marshal Dillon's keeping an eye on her tonight. If you want Cassie, you're gonna have to see him about it."
Stevenson took several menacing steps toward Adams. "You wouldn't lie to me, wouldja old man?"
Doc's hands slid into his pockets. "You can believe me or not, Stevenson. I can only tell ya how it is."
Dell nodded toward the bedroom door. "Who you got back there?"
"Just an outlaw. Marshal brought him in with a gunshot wound, not that it's any of yer business!"
Adams glanced over at his desk then, looking for the .36 Colt, only to remember that Matt had taken it from him hours before. He felt his mouth go dry; if Dell didn't buy what he was selling, the doctor had few choices for defense against such a burly man. Adams looked around his office for something he might use, and his eyes landed on his surgical instruments. He hated the idea of using a tool meant to save life for taking it, but Adams had never shied away from doing what he had to in the face of death.
Dell moved another few steps closer, glaring at Adams. "I wanna see this outlaw you got in there..."
Doc snorted, and moved in the general direction of the surgical tools. "I don't give two rocks and and a codfish bone what you want; you ain't goin' in there disturbin' one of my patients!"
And Adams almost slipped by him, but all the noise had awakened Cassie, and she opened the bedroom door, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
"Doc? Doc, what's--" Her eyes opened in alarm. "No! Doc!"
Adams dove for the small table with the scalpel, but he didn't make it. Dell grabbed him by the shirt collar, and roughly tossed him into the nearest wall, knocking the wind out of the smaller man. Adams fell to his knees, trying to catch his breath, and Stevenson picked him up by the front of his shirt, painfully smashing his hand across Doc's face. Adams threw a punch into the big man's midsection, causing him to grunt, further infuriating him. Dell gripped Doc's neck between his two hands, and rammed his head through the glass of one of the medicine cabinets, the chards slicing into Doc's head and face. Adams fell to the floor, unconscious.
Cassie knelt next to him, sobbing. "Doc? Doc please wake up!" Dell Stevenson started to pick the doctor up once more, but the young girl grabbed his arm with her hand. "Please leave him be!" She tried to swallow down the bile in her throat. "I'll go with you," she stated quietly. "I'll go with you if you leave him be..."
Stevenson smiled. "He couldn't take much more nohow." He grabbed the young girl roughly. "Come on girl, git..."
Cassie looked back toward the still figure on the cold floor, as Dell pushed her through the door, and she prayed that Doc was all right. Even though Doc hadn't said the words, she knew that he loved her in his own way. In her heart, Cassie Stevenson knew that.
"Clem, you lock up for me, all right?"
"Sure thing, Miss Kitty."
Chester helped Kitty with her coat. "Now Miss Kitty," Chester asked, "are you sure you don't mind checkin' in on Doc?"
Russell looked away for a moment, guilt flooding her. "Yes, Chester, I'm sure." She looked up at him then. "I owe him at least that..."
Goode didn't understand the reference, but he knew enough not to ask. "Well all right then, I'll see you over there on my way to the office."
As Chester escorted Kitty across the street to Doc's, the snow continued falling softly to the ground. At the bottom of the stairs he turned to her.
"Are you sure you don't want me ta go up with ya? Doc's been awfully cranky lately, and--"
"--Chester, it's all right. But thanks anyway."
"Sure thing, ma'am."
Chester tipped his hat, and as Kitty started up the stairs, he headed toward the Marshal's Office. Kitty glanced toward Doc's front window, and by the amount of light coming from it, she figured he was still awake. Upon reaching the landing, she knocked on the door, and to her surprise, the door swung open. Kitty peered inside, and spotted Doc lying on the floor.
"Doc!" Her panicked voice yelled down toward the street, "Chester! Chester!"
Kitty ran into the office, and knelt next to the old doctor, who was lying face down amidst broken glass. As gently as she could, she turned him over, and gasped when she saw the blood covering his face.
"Oh Doc..."
Matt and Chester appeared then in the doorway, stunned expressions on their faces.
Matt quickly moved into the room. "Kitty?"
Her crystal blue eyes met his shimmering ones. "It looks bad, Matt."
His voice was all business, and bore none of the emotion his heart was experiencing, "Have you checked on Cassie?"
Kitty shook her head, and drawing his weapon, Matt cautiously went into the back room. A moment later, he walked back out, holstering his gun.
"She's gone," he said simply.
"Dell Stevenson," Kitty said.
Chester's voice was tinged with fear, "Oh Mr. Dillon, if he's got Cassie..."
Matt knelt next to Kitty, who had pulled Doc's upper body into her lap. "Will you stay with Doc?"
She looked intensely into his face. "Of course."
"Thanks." He turned to Goode. "Chester, saddle the horses and get a couple of shotguns."
"Yes, Mr. Dillon, right away!"
Chester left quickly, and Matt gently picked Doc's body up and placed him carefully on the exam table.
Adams groaned, his voice weak. "Matt?"
"Take it easy, Doc..."
The panic lit his timbre, "Matt, he's got her..."
Dillon gently gripped Adams' arms. "Chester and I are headin' out there now, Doc. Don't you worry about a thing,."
"Matt...he's intoxicated. There's no telling what he'll do to her..."
Dillon couldn't remember hearing such fear in his old friend's voice, and he ran a soothing hand over Doc's brow. "I want you to rest easy. Leave Dell Stevenson to me." Matt looked at Kitty then. "See that he stays put."
"I will," Kitty responded. Dillon headed to the door, but her voice caused him to turn once more. "Matt? Be careful..."
He nodded and walked out, closing the door behind him.
The horses pounded through the snow, even as freezing wind and ice flew into their faces. Dillon pushed Buck hard, not bothering to look behind to see if Chester was keeping pace. Goode watched as Buck pulled farther and farther away, and he spurred his horse.
"Come on ya old glue bucket! Let's go!"
The horse picked up speed, but Chester didn't know how long the old gelding could maintain it. Dillon appeared as a man possessed, and Goode didn't have to think too hard to find a reason, for he felt just as guilty. If they hadn't taken the Colt from him, Doc would have had a means of defense: Dell would probably be dead, but Cassie would still be at Doc's, and the old man wouldn't be lying on his own table half-beaten to death. Chester forced himself to shelve his spiraling emotions; he had to catch up to the marshal before Dillon reached Dell Stevenson's homestead.
As carefully as she could, Kitty cleaned the cuts on Doc's face with alcohol, and for what seemed like the hundredth time to her, he winced in pain.
Her voice was soft, "I'm sorry, Doc."
He let out the breath of air he'd been holding. "It's gonna sting. Just ignore me and get it done."
The coldness of his voice made her heart shudder, but she didn't know what to say to him. It felt awful: a man she had known so well, and so comfortably, was suddenly beyond her reach. But then, she realized it was of her own making; and that thought made Kitty feel even worse. She turned her attention to the large wound on his forehead that was still bleeding. He flinched in pain as she started to clean it, and Kitty's hand instinctively recoiled.
He glared up at her. "Well come on, get on with it..."
As quickly as she could, Kitty cleaned up the cut, and bandaged it. When she was finished, she gently ran her hands down his arms and legs, and was about to do the same to his ribs when he stopped her.
"There ain't nothin' broken."
"Doc, you were hit awfully hard, and--"
"--I'm a doctor fer cryin' out loud, I'd know if somethin' was busted."
He started to sit up, but she restrained him. "Oh no ya don't! Where do you think you're going?"
He glared at her. "I'm gettin' on my horse and heading out to the Stevenson place, that's where I'm goin'." His eyes narrowed in anger. "And you aren't gonna stop me."
Once again he started to sit up, and as he did so, he moaned in pain, his hand reaching to support his left side.
Kitty's voice was lit with reproach, "Nothing broken, huh?" She moved her hand under his vest to gently check his ribs, and he shuddered. "That's pretty tender, Doc."
He stood, painfully holding his left side. "It'll be fine," he ground out between clenched teeth.
She watched him slowly walk across the room toward the coat rack, and as he extened a hand for his coat, she took it from him.
"Let me at least wrap up those ribs if you're hell-bent on doing this..."
He shook his head. "No time for that." His eyes shifted up to hers then, an emotion she couldn't name residing in them. "Help me with my coat?"
She sighed, unable to resist the pale eyes quietly entreating her. "Against my better judgment ..."
Kitty put his coat on him, followed by his scarf, gloves and hat. He reached for the doorknob and grunted slightly, reaching for his ribs. She shook her head, seeing what every movement was costing him; riding a horse was going to be agony. She put her hand over his.
"Please don't, Doc. Let Matt and Chester handle this."
He shook his head. "I can't do that, Kitty." He glanced at her. "And you know I can't."
Silently, she removed her hand, and he walked out the door. Kitty felt regret: she had wanted to tell him that she was sorry she'd been so hard on him, and that she missed him. It was the reason she'd gone to his office in the first place; but discovering him in the condition she had, with Cassie gone, she could no longer find the courage. Kitty looked out the window, watching him gingerly clear the bottom step, and worry filled her.
She choked back her tears, as she whispered, "Be careful, Doc."