Chapter Six

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What, on earth, was keeping Chester?

The young man had assured him that he would be right back and that was almost an hour ago.

Anderson's ranch was a good three hours ride west from Dodge and Matt had wanted to get started as soon as possible. His thoughts automatically drifted to the rancher again. Cattle rustling was one of the crimes that he had been forced to deal with quite frequently lately—especially out at Anderson's—and he was seriously beginning to wonder whether the perpetrators weren't part of the rancher's own crew.

One foot propped on the edge of the wood box, his palm braced against the brick wall, Matt cast another impatient glance through the dusty window panes, watching random morning activity unfurl around him. Across the street, Jonas was sweeping a broom back and forth across the plank boards in front of the mercantile, the methodical swipe producing a sibilant hiss that could be heard clear through the closed windows of the jail.

People were walking up and down the sidewalks, going about their daily business, but there was no sign of his assistant anywhere. Matt decided that he might as well get ready; with or without talking to Chester first, he had to get on his way soon. He turned from the window and crossed over to the rifle rack where he unlocked the chain to pull one of the Winchesters down. Perching his hip on the edge of his battered and paper-strewn desk, he reached across its width to retrieve a box of cartridges from the drawer.

Just then, he heard the thudding of approaching footsteps outside on the porch. A short moment later, the door swung open.

Matt looked up to see his assistant enter. "Well, about time, Chester," he said, unable to keep himself from sounding a trifle sour. "I was just about to send a search party after you." He shoved the remaining cartridges into his vest pocket and pushed off from his desk. "What's been keepin' you anyway?"

Chester blinked confused. "I-I'm sorry, Mister Dillon," he immediately began to apologize. "But I just went to get us some coffee." He held up a small sack in explanation, adding, "It's a good thing I did, else we wouldn't have none."

Matt arched a brow, far from appeased. "And that took you almost an hour? The last I checked, Jonas' store was right across the street." A curt nod indicated the window and the mercantile lying beyond.

Chester scowled. There had been just enough bite in the words to draw a flicker of disapproval through his brown eyes. "Well, I know that," he said, now sounding slightly defensive. "But I just run into Moss Grimmick outside. He was over at the Dodge House, you know, readin' the paper like he always does. Anyways, he's tellin' me about this fella from Abilene that just rode into town."

Matt crossed his arms over of his chest, still less than impressed. "That so? That must've been mighty important."

Chester shook his head and raked a hand through his hair in exasperation. "Well, you'd understand if you'd just let me finish explainin' here, Mister Dillon..."

Expelling a 'here-comes-the story' sigh, Matt motioned with his hand in weary resignation. "All right. Go ahead...I'm listenin'." He had been waiting long enough, another minute wouldn't make a difference now.

"Well," Chester began immediately, scratching his neck. "Like I said, this there fella from Abilene I was tellin' you about, was tellin' Moss that he run into Dan Biggs down on the Cimarron an' I figured, I better go an' have me a talk with him."

The Marshal frowned in momentary confusion. "With Dan Biggs?"

Chester made a face, not sure whether the Marshal was serious or just leading him on. "Oh, Mister Dillon," he said. "Not Dan Biggs...my goodness, I sure ain't that crazy. With that fella from Abilene, of course."

Matt's face widened in sudden understanding. "I see."

He lapsed into silence as he chewed over this interesting bit of information. About a month or so ago, Jim Biggs, Dan's younger brother had come to Dodge and had wasted no time in picking a fight with another man at the Texas Trail saloon. When he was called to intervene, Biggs had foolishly pulled his gun on him, leaving him no other choice but to draw and, unfortunately, in the process, kill him.

"Now let me get his straight," he followed up. "This fella told you that Dan Biggs is comin' to Dodge?"

Chester's head bopped up and down with grave certainty. "Yes, sir, that's what I been a-tryin' to tell ya. Dan Biggs is comin' for you." He pointed to the door. "You want me go an' fetch that fella so's you can ask him yourself?"

Matt raised his hand. "No...no, it's all right Chester."

He didn't really see the benefit in questioning the cowboy himself; it seemed that Chester had already done that sufficiently. Besides, he had already figured that it would only be a matter of time until the older Biggs got word of his younger brother's untimely demise and show up in Dodge. The Biggs brothers' reputation as notorious troublemakers, always tethering at the very edge of the law, was well known throughout the Kansas territory and beyond. But be it as it may, he would have to deal with Dan Biggs when the time came—right now, he had other matters to attend to.

"Ya know, Mister Dillon I sure don't feel too sorry for that brother of his—that Jim, I mean," mused Chester. "S'matter of fact I wouldn't feel too sorry for Dan Biggs either. Those two sure are a worthless pair if you ask me."

Matt nodded. "Well, you're right on that one." He let his breath out slowly and drew another one as he straightened. "Look...I better get started for Anderson's...it's a long ride out there." He grabbed his canteen and rifle from the desk and moved for the door.

Chester looked clearly taken aback. "Wh-what do you mean? What're gonna do about Biggs?"

Matt reached for his hat and put it on, adjusting it on his forehead. "I don't know, Chester," he replied calmly. "I guess I have to decide that when the time comes. Right now, I got other things to worry about." His fingers curled around the door knob, but before he could turn it, his assistant's voice stopped him again.

"Wait,...when you think, you'll be gettin' back?"

Matt thought on it briefly, terribly tempted to point out that he could've been halfway there by now, but then he said instead. "All goes well, I should be back some time tonight."

Leaving it at that, he stepped outside where his horse was waiting, dozing at the hitch rail. He slipped the Winchester into the rifle boot and slung the canteen over the saddle horn. After a quick check of the cinch strap, he took up the reins and toed the stirrup, swiftly drawing his large frame up into the saddle.

Chester had followed him outside and was now standing on the small front porch of the jail. The Marshal's indifferent attitude still puzzled him, and he couldn't understand why he wasn't more concerned that the elder Biggs was on his way to Dodge.

With gentle guidance from the reins and slight pressure from his knee, Matt backed his mount from the hitch rail. "Look after things for me til I get back, Chester, will ya?"

Chester shook off his thoughts and lifted his gaze. "Don't you worry none," came his confident—albeit not exactly enthusiastic assurance. "I'll take care of things."

"Well, so long then." Matt gave a quick nod in parting and pulled the horse around. He wasn't too worried; he knew that he could trust Chester to keep an eye on the town while he was gone.

The jailer raised his hand and waved. "Good-bye, Mister Dillon."

Matt nudged his spurs across the horse's flanks and the buckskin broke into an easy jog down Front Street.

Chester stood and watched as the Marshal passed the last building and then turned out of sight down the trail leading out onto the prairie.

A sudden chill stole over him. The thought of Dan Biggs coming to Dodge filled him with a disturbing sense of unease. He knew that Biggs was going to cause trouble. Big trouble. He just knew it.

With a shake of his head, he turned and headed back inside, glad that Biggs was still a good two days ride from Dodge.

Or so at least he thought.

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Doc Adams knew his way around the various trails and dirt roads that criss-crossed the Kansas prairie surrounding Dodge, and he even swore on occasion that he could travel them blindfolded. The trail to Cross Creek was no exception there. He had traveled it countless times before, whether it had been on his way out to the Beckers—a seemingly ever expanding family of German settlers—or to greet the Crandalls when they had first bought their little homestead about a year ago.

He let his gaze wander across the vast landscape as the little black buggy continued to rock and bounce along the deeply rutted dirt road.

The prairie with its tall grass, interrupted here and there by groves of trees, was peaceful and quiet on this summer day, and the sky overhead was brilliant blue, streaked by a low lying fleece of clouds. The air—though warm—was not yet muggy, alive with the buzzing of insects and the gay chirping of birds. It was simply that kind of day that made a man feel good and glad to be alive. Doc was no exception there—the happy tune that was softly spilling from his lips, was proof of that.

Soon they came across a fork in the dirt road. He knew that the left one would lead them to Cross Creek and several other isolated homesteads. He steered the buggy down the path.

The song ended and the doctor stole a glance at the pretty redhead sitting beside him. Her long, red hair was pulled back in a simple braid today, secured by an emerald green ribbon. A soft white blouse and tan-colored skirt completed the outfit. He thought that it made her look both, elegant and earthy—if any such thing was possible.

Kitty caught his gaze. She offered him a smile and Doc took the opportunity to break the companionable silence they had been traveling in for most of the last hour.

"She sure's a cute little thing, isn't she?" he remarked with a nod at the sleeping toddler curled up in her lap.

Kitty smiled down at Carrie. She fondly stroked her curly hair. "Yes," she agreed softly. "And you know somethin' else? She has good taste when it comes to picking her men."

Her remark prompted Doc to cast her a puzzled glance. "Men? Golly, Kitty, don't you think she's a little too young for that?"

Kitty gave him an amused smile. "Oh, I don't know about that. From what I've seen, she's got quite the case on Matt."

Doc gave a grunt that sounded suspiciously like disbelief. "I don't know if I'd wanna call that 'good taste'...more like misguided."

"Oh, Doc, that was mean!" Kitty slapped his arm in a half-hearted attempt at outrage, but Doc only chuckled in response.

A comfortable pause ensued and lengthened. When Doc spoke again, his voice held a quiet, more serious tone. "Say Kitty, you ever think of havin' some of your own?"

Kitty wasn't thrown or even too surprised by his question. Knowing Doc as she did, she had already somehow half-expected that this was what he was gearing up to. As she reflected upon it, she was reminded once again that she was far from ready for this kind of commitment.

"I have, Doc," she answered him truthfully. "But you know as well as I do that a saloon is no place to raise a child."

Come to think of it, neither was a Marshal's office, she thought to herself.

"Besides," she then added, raising a brow. "It takes two...you of all people oughtta know that."

Doc sniffed and brushed his free hand across his mustache, thinking once again what a fool he thought Matt was for not just marrying her. A thought crossed his mind that caused a mischievous gleam to brighten his blue eyes. "Golly, Kitty...if I was twenty years younger—"

"—if you were twenty years younger, Matt might have something to worry about," the pretty redhead finished amused. She winked at him and they both chuckled at the turn their conversation had taken.

Doc gave the reins a practiced flick, and the horse broke into an easy jog as the buggy continued to lumber over the uneven road. Content, he settled back against the seat and began to softly hum some obscure melody.

Kitty used the opportunity to study the man sitting beside her.

Just how old was Doc anyway? she found herself wondering.

She'd never really thought of it before. It had somehow never seemed important. Almost old enough to be her father, she decided. There were times when he was fun-loving and youthful, and then there were other times when the weight of the years showed heavily in his eyes. At those times, he seemed like a man who carried the weight of the world's sick and wounded on his own shoulders. It was the one thing that set him apart the most from his counterparts; a genuine love and compassion for his fellow man. It didn't matter whether they were rich or poor, paid him in cash or vegetables and promises, Doc treated them all the same.

Kitty smiled to herself, silently deciding that the world could use a few more like him.

They continued on at an easy pace for another twenty minutes until suddenly, the small dirt road went over a low rise and then fell off abruptly, leading directly down into a little valley. A dry creek bed, its edges lined with a mature stand of cottonwood trees was located at the center of it. Cross Creek.

The buggy rattled down the rocky path, its occupants swaying in the grip of the jarring ride.

Kitty shifted a little, careful so as not to wake little Carrie. The black leather seat was hot from the sun and it made her skirt cling uncomfortably to her skin.

"I'm not complaining Doc, but how much further is it?"

The doctor pointed straight ahead.

"We're almost there. See it?"

She craned her neck and let her gaze follow in the direction his finger was pointing.

There, less than a quarter of a mile ahead, she caught sight of several buildings nestled amongst the trees. As they drew closer, a small, one-story board and batten farm house with a covered front porch came into view. To the left of it was a barn with a corral attached to it as well as two more, smaller outbuildings.

The little boy who had been sitting quietly in the backseat for most of the trip, suddenly stood up.

"That it, Doc Adams?" he wondered excitedly as he thrust out his arm to point at the house.

Doc nodded. "It sure is, son. That's your aunt an' uncle's farm down there."

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A short while later, the buggy rolled into the bare dirt yard and the doctor reined it to a halt in front of the main house. A huge tabby cat lay on the porch steps, dozing in the sun. Another one, black with a white tip on its tail was prowling across the yard. Chickens were scratching in the dry dirt, some scattering and clucking loudly in protest at the unwelcome intrusion into their domain.

Doc's eyes quickly scanned the yard, searching for any sign of the owners. He noted a saw and remnants of recently cut lumber lying next to a half-finished chicken coup as well as a toolbox sitting beside it, but there was no sign of the Crandalls. He moved his gaze to the house and noted the absence of any smoke rising from the stovepipe.

After quickly securing the reins, he climbed off the buggy.

"Why don't you wait here while I have a look around," he told Kitty.

She nodded in silent agreement.

The doctor shuffled up onto the sun bathed porch and knocked loudly several times. The seconds passed but no one came out to greet him.

His bushy brows drew together in a slight frown.

"Hello? Anybody home?" he called out as he rapped on the door again, this time louder.

But still, there was no answer.

He turned back to Kitty and shrugged. This was rather strange, he thought. He attempted to peer through the small windows on either side of the door, but the dust-streaked panes had been covered from the inside and Doc wasn't able to make out anything.

His mind was made up quickly and he reached for the doorknob. He was surprised when it turned easily in his hand. The worn hinges creaked loudly as he slowly swung the door inwards and stuck his head inside.

"Hello? Mrs. Crandall?" he called out to make his presence known before stepping all the way inside.

Doc's eyes wandered around the dimly-lit room. Heavy, rough-woven blankets had been nailed over the two windows, allowing only a trickle of muted daylight to filter through. The house was small, the main room serving as focal point, encompassing both, living and dining areas. Although most of the furniture was old and well worn, the interior appeared clean and well-maintained and didn't exactly give the impression of having been abandoned. A table, covered by a red and white checkered table cloth sat at the center of the room, surrounded by four chairs. A stone-built fireplace with a rough hewn log mantle took up the greater part of the wall to his right. Boxes filled with supplies were stacked in one corner of the kitchen nook to his left and a coffee pot, along with two cups, was sitting on the big cast-iron stove.

Upon closer inspection, he learned that the coffee, though cold by now, was still fairly fresh. Doc scrubbed at his mustache, not sure what to make of it all.

As he began to look around some more, he noticed that there were two more doors towards the back of the house.

But to his disappointment, the two small bedrooms turned out to be empty as well. One showed definite signs of having been occupied recently while the other appeared to have not been used in a while.

At a loss, Doc turned and headed back outside.

"Golly, I just don't understand this, Kitty," he said, thoughtfully rubbing his mustache. "There's nobody here."

Kitty could see a faint glimmer of uneasiness in his eyes.

"Well, where do you suppose everyone is?" she wondered.

Doc shoved his hands down into the pockets of his worn trousers. He skimmed his gaze over the yard again. "I wish I could tell you," he said slowly, thoughtfully.

"You mean our uncle ain't here?" Rory now piped up from beside the buggy where he sat squatting on his haunches, petting the fat tabby cat.

Doc pulled out a hand and scratched his ear.

"That's sure the way it looks, son," he said and then turned to Kitty again. "Well, we're here, so we might as well wait. I got a feelin' they haven't gone too far."

Kitty agreed. It certainly would be foolish to turn around and go back to Dodge now.

"Do you think they'd mind if we wait inside?" she asked, fanning her heated face with her hand. "I sure like to get out of the sun for a while."

Doc pursed his lip and shrugged.

"Hmm...I don't see why they would. Here, why don't you let me take her?" He reached up and carefully lifted the sleeping child from her lap. Then he held out his other hand to assist Kitty off the buggy.

"You go on ahead," he said after he had passed Carrie back into her waiting arms. "Rory can help me unhitch the buggy."

He turned to the little boy beside him and placed a hand on his small shoulder. "How about givin' me a hand, son?"

The boy stuck his thumbs in the straps of his trousers and straightened to his full height of an impressive three foot and eleven inches.

"Yes sir, doc," he replied eagerly as his head was bopping enthusiastically on his skinny neck, causing Doc and Kitty to exchange an amused glance.

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While the physician and Rory were tending to the horse, Kitty began to inspect the interior of the small house. It was indeed very clean and well kept, and she found it quite inviting—except for the blankets that were nailed over the windows. It didn't take her long and she had taken them down, allowing the bright spray of afternoon sunlight to flood the inside of the house.

Satisfied, she turned her attention back to the little girl who was sitting on the colorful hearth rug, playing with her doll. Kitty bent and scooped her up into her arms.

"Well, come on, Carrie," she said. "Let's see if we can't get us some water to wash that dust off."

"Dusty," the toddler confirmed solemnly as she waved a little hand in front of her face and wrinkled a stubby little nose that was covered with nearly as many freckles as Kitty's.

Carrie's action brought forth a little chuckle.

"Yes," the redhead agreed affectionately, gently tapping her on the nose. "We're both pretty dusty. Your aunt and uncle are gonna be here soon and I think we ladies oughtta make ourselves a little presentable."

But as the afternoon began to slowly and surely slide into evening, it became increasingly clear to Doc and Kitty that maybe the Crandalls might not return so soon after all.

Outside, the dome of the sky was a deep, true blue with the sunlight slanting steeply down from the west. It lit the little homestead with a soft, golden light.

The doctor's face showed concern as he finally turned from the window. He extricated a hand from the pocket of his rumpled trousers and scrubbed it across his chin.

"Golly, I figured, they'd be back by now," he muttered to no one in particular.

He pulled out his pocket watch, as he had done so many times already, and checked the time once more. With a shake of his head, he snapped the cover shut again and returned the time piece to his vest pocket.

Kitty glanced up from the table where she sat with Carrie in her lap, reading to her from a children's book she had purchased at Jonas' store this morning.

"You sure you don't have any idea where they could have gone to?" she wondered.

Doc shook his head once more.

"Kitty, if I could tell you, I could tell myself."

"You know, I find this rather strange."

The physician nodded in agreement. "So do I,...golly, so do I."

She lowered her voice a little, not wanting Rory who was sitting outside on the porch, to overhear her next words. "Do you think it's possible that something happened to them?"

Doc gave her words brief consideration. "Well," he said at last, his voice measured and low. "I sure hope not...but we can't rule it out either."

The thought had crossed his mind before, but having seen no evidence of a struggle anywhere, he had quickly put the unsettling notion to rest.

"Well, I better go and hitch up, we might as well head on back into Dodge. There's no sense in us waitin' around here any longer.

Kitty agreed.

"Yes, and I think we oughtta let Matt know about this." Her uneasy glance met the doctor's.

Doc nodded. "Kitty, why don't you go ahead and write a note to let the Crandalls know where they can find those young'uns...just in case."

"Sure, I'll see to it," Kitty assured him. Her eyes followed him as he walked from the house.

"Well," she then said to Carrie, setting the book aside. "Looks like Ma Smalley's gonna get to enjoy your company for another night after all."

Little did Kitty know that this wasn't about to happen.

to be continued...