They had been riding east on the plodding mule for an hour when Chester saw approaching dust clouds from their left. Kitty had been keeping her head against his chest in an attempt to lessen the jostling of her aching head, but sat up straighter as the mule stopped.
"What is it Chester? MATT?!" She shaded her eyes with her hand as she tried to see the riders.
"Meybee, but theys comin' from the north. Who else could they be?" Chester nervously hefted the buffalo rifle into firing position after handing the reins to Kitty and having her lean forward.
"Indians," they both whispered. When he saw that there were at least a dozen men in war paint, he lowered the rifle with a sigh.
The war party reached then and came to a halt surrounding the man and woman on the mule. The apparent leader, wearing the most elaborate headdress, conferred with the warriors on either side of him, occasionally glancing over at Chester and Kitty. The man on his right rode over and grabbed the big rifle from Chester and brought it back to the Chief, who looked it over carefully. The dignified older man glared at his captives and spoke angrily to the attentive young Indian man, who then turned back and addressed Chester.
"Squaw Beater's gun! Squaw Beater's white-ear mule!" the young man who had taken the rifle exclaimed. "Where's Squaw Beater?! You his friend?" he asked with narrowed eyes.
"Ya mean Ender Strong? That big buffalo hunter?" he asked, thinking that an evil man like Strong probably had beaten and hurt more women than Kitty. "Uh, NO! We ain't his friend! Yeah, that's his rifle and this is his mule. He was hurting Miss Kitty here and I killed him!" Chester angrily exclaimed. He had been through just about enough lately to have to put up with anything else. He was ready to take on the whole tribe before letting them hurt Kitty. He glared at the Chief and tightened his grip around her waist.
The young Indian turned to the others and translated what Chester had said, listened to his Chief, and turned back.
"How'd you kill Squaw Beater? With gun?" The handsome man looked at Chester approvingly, then at the flame-haired woman he was so protective of.
"I strangled him. Like I said, he was ahurtin' this lady here and I hadda stop him." Chester sat up straighter, ready for battle.
The young Indian let out a loud whoop, raised his lance over his head, than yelled his translation to those around him. Riding up to Chester, the warrior stiffly held out his right arm, then swung it back across his chest. "I am Two Tongues. I speak your talk from living with my White mother when a boy. Chief Flying Eagle and our men here are on way to kill Squaw Beater. He and his bad brother hurt Black Bear's woman two days ago. We kill brother out on prairie last night." As he spoke, the Chief approached and held the buffalo rifle out towards Chester. "Chief give back gun to new friend. Go in peace."
Chester felt Kitty relax against him with an exhalation of relief. She had been stiffly readying herself to fight to the death along with Chester before allowing herself to be hauled off. He squeezed her waist in reassurance. "Two Tongues, please tell the Chief here that he kin keep that gun. We sure would take it kindly iffin you could point us the way to Dodge. We're mighty hungry, too!"
Two Tongues told the Chief what Chester had said, and the older man pulled the big rifle back with a smile. He spoke to another man who rode over and handed a small bag of deer jerky to Chester.
"Come. Chief Flying Eagle says we will take you close to your town," Two Tongues said.
Chester and Kitty chewed on the fresh jerky as the mule, surrounded by the now protective war party, took them towards Dodge.
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When Matt spotted the small shack in the midst of the small stand of trees, he urged his horse into a gallop and only slowed down when he got near the well. Leaping from his still slowing horse, he looped the reins around a branch, pulled his pistol, and carefully approached the silent house. The first thing he noticed was the fresh-looking rock grave beside the house on his right. He went up onto the porch and saw the scuff marks of a recent struggle. Then he spied a small bit of color under the crooked wooden bench under the window. Reaching down, he picked up a torn scrap of yellow material. His heart lurched as he recognized it as being from one of Kitty's favorite "country girl" dresses she would wear on their rare picnics. Pushing through the half-open door, he scanned the room in his firing position. "KITTY! KITTY, are you here?!"
The squalid interior was silent. Prodding the trash with his boot tips, he fruitlessly searched every corner for a clue. Then he went out to the grave and rolled away enough rocks to see one large, moccasin-wearing foot. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding in, went up to the other end, and uncovered the distorted face of a man he didn't recognize. Bending closer, he noted the severe neck bruising of a strangulation. "Whew! He died hard! And the strength it must've taken to do that to such a big man!" Before leaving, he replaced the rocks over the dead man's head and foot.
With mixed feelings of relief and disappointment, the Marshal walked back to his horse, head down but determined. After watering the animal, he mounted up and turned his horse south once again.
"Only about an hour or so of daylight left," he thought as he noted the position of the high summer sun. Urging his horse on, he soon saw a group of riders ahead of him about a half of a mile away. "Indians." But as he got closer, he thought he had seen a flash of red hair in the middle of the riders. Pausing for a moment, he pulled out his bandana, wiped the sweat from his eyes, and stared ahead. "KITTY! And Chester in back of her! Are they captives? Looks like a war party to me."
Two of the Indians near the back had turned around and were already galloping back towards him. The tall young one near the front glanced back and joined them. The rest of the war party halted and waited, all heads turned back to watch. Matt slowly raised both hands in surrender and waited.
"Who are you? Lawman from Dodge?" Two Tongues asked while keeping his lance pointed at the big man wearing the shiny badge.
"Yes. Matt Dillon. U.S. Marshal outta Dodge. Friends of the young man and woman on that white-eared mule. I've been searching for them for many hours and many miles."
Two Tongues lowered his lance. "Come." He spoke to the two other Indians, and all headed back to the waiting group.
Kitty squeezed Chester's arm and he whispered, "Stay real still now, Miss Kitty."
The three Indians and Matt reached the group, and Two Tongues rode up to talk with the Chief. Matt sat silently on his horse, staring intently at Kitty and Chester. He tried to tell them with his eyes how happy and relieved he was while waiting for the Chief, who he recognized as a friend.
When Two Tongues and Flying Eagle rode up, the older man was smiling. "Big Star!" Then he and the Marshal "spoke" with sign language after gripping each other's right wrist in greeting.
Two Tongues looked over at the young man and woman anxiously watching from the mule. "All is well. Big Star is a friend. He will take you," pointing at Chester, "and his flame-haired woman home."
At a sign from the Chief, the war party rode off to the north and home, leaving the Marshal on his roan, and Kitty and Chester on the mule watching. Matt quickly dismounted and strode over to the mule and looked up at its passengers.
"Are you two all right?" He was concerned about Kitty's pallor and bandana-wrapped left wrist, and Chester's badly swollen and darkly bruised right cheek.
Kitty nodded slightly and smiled down into those eyes she loved to have looking at her. Chester shrugged, scratched his stubble-covered chin and grinned. "Yes Sir, Mr. Dillon, but we sure could do with some decent food and coffee!"
Matt reached up for Kitty, awaiting Chester to hand her down. Instead, the bruised and battered young man sat still, keeping his arm around his passenger's waist.
"Mr. Dillon, Sir. I made a vow ta ya. A vow ta bring Miss Kitty home ta Dodge. All the way home. We ain't there yet, Sir." His voice was soft but firm as he looked down into the Marshal's eyes.
Matt looked from Chester to Kitty, who nodded her head again with a smile. He smiled back, knowing she was in excellent hands. His welcome could wait. The big man looked down to hide his grin, then, hooking his thumbs over the top of his gun belt, he looked back up at his loyal assistant and friend.
"Let's get going. We want to get home before dark." He turned and walked back to his waiting horse. He could feel the warmth of Chester's big, proud grin on his back.
On the ride home, Kitty laid her head back against Chester's warm chest and slept. Chester carefully guided the mule to make the ride as smooth as possible for his precious passenger. Matt watched with grateful affection, and thought about the importance of making a vow, and then of honoring it.