Chapter Nine
x
"Well,...Doc ain't at his office, that's for sure," reported Chester as he came limping up onto the boardwalk in front of the Long Branch ten minutes later. "How about Miss Kitty? You find her?"
Matt stood, his hands braced on his hips, his eyes absently following a lone horse and rider passing by the saloon. The cowboy's body swayed easily with the motion of his big, dark-colored horse, his rein-holding hand resting loosely over the saddle horn.
Matt scrubbed a thoughtful hand across his stubbly chin. "No," he replied slowly, "no, she wasn't in her room an' by the looks of it, hasn't been there all night." His voice was measured and calm, but his eyes betrayed his concern.
The rider was gone, but Matt's eyes continued to contemplate the empty street. Wishful thinking made him hope that Doc's buggy would round the corner any minute now, but the more rational part of his mind told him that it wasn't about to happen.
Chester cast the Marshal a troubled look of his own. Miss Kitty had gone missing once before. He remembered it all too well. It had happened almost two years ago when, unbeknownst to anyone, she had taken some eastern 'dude' by the name of Rachmil up on his offer to take a little drive out on the prairie. Their buggy had broken down, leaving the two stranded out on the prairie in the middle of the night. It had been quite a fright but in the end, he and Mister Dillon had found her unharmed.
"My goodness, what do you think could've happened, Mister Dillon?" he wondered.
At a loss, Matt raised his hat brim and scratched his forehead. His mind was racing with the usual possibilities. "I don't know, Chester...they could've slipped a wheel, maybe broke an axle. Anything's possible."
Another possibility, one that he feared even more, also played in his mind. What if they had been attacked somewhere along the way? But he chose to keep that thought to himself for now.
Beside him, Pence thoughtfully scraped at a sideburn.
"You don't s'pose, they could still be out at the Crandalls?"
Matt chewed on the inside of his cheek as he considered Bill's words. The early morning sun angling over his shoulder, kept half of his face concealed in shadow. "Well, I think there's a good chance of that, too," he conceded slowly. If he was to be honest, he couldn't think of too many reasons why Kitty and Doc would have stayed at the Crandalls, unless maybe someone had fallen ill out there. But there was no way of knowing for sure unless he rode out there.
Apparently, Chester was thinking along those same lines. "Well, I think we just oughtta ride out there an' see about it."
Matt agreed-albeit not exactly the way Chester had imagined. "Yeah, I think that's what I'm gonna do." He nudged his assistant's arm. "Go an' saddle my horse for me, will ya?"
"Yes, sir, I'll do-" began Chester and then stopped short. He regarded the Marshal, his expression questioning. "Wait...wh-what do you mean-your horse? You don't want me go with you?"
Matt shook his head slightly. "No, I think one of us'd better stay here."
Chester, now in full 'mother hen'-mode, shifted uncomfortably. "But Mister Dillon," he began to object carefully, "don't you think, it'd better if you had me come along? I mean...with you bein' as tired as you are, I kinda feel like I oughtta be goin' with you."
Matt listened patiently until Chester was finished. "You through?" he then wondered.
His tense tone was such that brooked no argument. It had a strong finality about it that wasn't lost on Chester. He shrugged-a half-hearted lift of his shoulders, but forbore to press his point any further.
"Well, yeah, I guess so," he replied reluctantly. "If you want me to stay here then I reckon that's what I'll do."
Matt tugged on the brim of his hat, settling it more comfortably on his head. "Good. Then go an' get my horse." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and began to briskly walk up the boardwalk towards the jail. The clacking of his boots against the dusty planks echoed loudly in the otherwise quiet street, his long, hurried strides betraying his concern.
For a moment, Chester stared after him. He laced a hand through his dark hair. "All right, I'll do it," he muttered unhappily. "But I sure ain't gonna like it none."
The idea of Mister Dillon making the two-hour long ride in his condition by himself, troubled him, but at the same time, he also knew that there was nothing he could do to change his mind.
"Well, I see you later, Pence," he told Bill who was looking just as troubled and then hurried after the Marshal to carry out his bidding.
x
x
A tense silence had settled over the room as Dan Biggs studied the doctor, a contemptuous sneer on his lips.
Kiley now appeared at the outlaw's side and brushed past him to where Stanton's prone form was still sprawled on the floor.
Finally, Biggs broke the silence. "You know, Adams," he snickered as he pointed to the old army colt in the doctor's hand. "That thing there goes off, someone might get hurt." His own colt remained trained on Doc as he smoothly stepped across the room, coming to a halt directly in front of him.
The sneer was gone now, his face hard, unsmiling as he held out a broad, callused hand, palm-up. The gesture didn't require any words for Doc to understand its meaning.
Silently, he turned the gun around and, holding it by the barrel, surrendered it.
The outlaw accepted it, a brief grin of supreme satisfaction flashing across his disfigured face and shoved it in his belt. Then, without warning, he struck him. It was a brutal, back-handed blow that sent the older man's head rocking to the side.
"DOC!"
Kitty's hand flew to her mouth and an involuntary cry of distress erupted from her lips as she watched the doctor stagger back a pace. She attempted to come to his aid, but was stopped short as Biggs swung his arm around and leveled the gun on her.
"Stay where you are!" he growled.
Kitty froze, her anxious gaze shifting from Biggs to the doctor.
Doc swallowed hard and straightened back up. Bringing the back of his hand to his lip, he carefully touched the fresh blood that had welled in the corner of his mouth. He spared a brief glance at the crimson smear on the edge of his hand and found that his fingers were shaking. He took a deep breath, trying to control the quickening surge of anger he felt springing up inside him. Losing his temper now, he realized, wouldn't serve any purpose, most likely only make matters worse.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Kitty's angry gaze had narrowed upon Biggs.
"That was real brave," she spat disgustedly before the doctor had a chance to stop her. "Why don't you go and pick on someone your own size?"
Doc raised his hand, his own anger quickly shriveling behind the hand of reason. "It's all right, Kitty," he reassured her quietly. "I'm fine."
Amused by the defiance in Kitty's voice, Biggs chuckled. He moved to speak, but a low groan coming from somewhere further back in the room, suddenly distracted him.
The outlaw moved his attention to Kiley who was squatting on his haunches at Stanton's shoulder. The latter, who was just coming around, was moaning softly, cradling the back of his throbbing head where Kitty's skillet had left an enormous lump.
"How's he doin'?" wondered Biggs.
At the query, Kiley looked up. "Got a knot the size of Texas on his head," he said with a quick, nasty glance at Kitty. "But I reckon, he'll be all right."
Biggs grunted an acknowledgment and then let his gaze wander between Doc and Kitty, speculatively sucking on a tooth. "Reckon Stanton ain't gonna be too happy with the two of you." His eyes came to rest on her. "Especially with you, red."
Kitty glowered at him with frosty defiance. "Why don't you just go to hell?" she snapped, her language taking a decidedly unladylike turn. Her fingers were still clenched around the handle of the skillet and suddenly, she felt very tempted to use it on him.
Biggs regarded her with a leering grin, noting with amusement how the skillet in her hand was trembling. "My, what a temper," he snickered.
It only infuriated Kitty even more. She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, a fierce light burning in her blue eyes as she withstood Biggs' gaze. "Oh, believe me...you haven't seen the worst of it yet," she retorted heatedly.
Alarmed, Doc stepped forward, instinctively placing himself between Kitty and Biggs in hopes of diverting his attention away from her.
"Now just hold on there a minute, Kitty..." His firm hand upon her arm was enough to silence her-if only for the moment.
He felt responsible for her and if anything was to happen to Kitty, he wasn't sure how he could ever face Matt.
There was a tightness in Doc's stomach which quickly began to spread to his throat. But despite it, he met the outlaw's gaze levelly. "Let me tell ya something, mister," he said, sounding considerably braver than he actually felt. "I don't know what you figure on doin' with us, but whatever it is...I don't think it's gonna do you much good. Matt Dillon's not the kind of man who'll allow anyone to blackmail him."
"That's true...he's not gonna fall for it," added Kitty angrily, knowing good and well that he would.
Biggs apparently knew it, too. His lips thinned in a cruel smile.
"He'll come," he offered with calm certainty. "I know he will...and when he does-" He made a swift cut-throat gesture across his throat with the barrel of his colt. "I'm gonna kill him."
Kitty glowered at him. There was loathing in every nuance of her tone. "You disgust me."
But as much as she hated to admit it, Biggs was right about one thing.
Matt would come.
She was fairly certain that their absence had been discovered by now. She also knew that Matt-if he was already back from Anderson's, wouldn't waste any time to come looking for her and Doc.
Kitty suddenly felt sick.
It must have shown in her face, for Biggs chuckled, his lips curling derisively. "If you're good, maybe I'll let you watch."
He turned to his partner, indicating Doc with his gun. "Tie him up, Kiley, an' make sure you do it right."
After dispensing the directive, he holstered up his gun. "You," he thensaid to Kitty, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen. "Go an' get some breakfast goin', I'm hungry."
Kitty folded her arms across her chest, every inch of her exuding defiance. "Go fix your own."
She turned away, only to suddenly feel a big hand clamp down roughly onto her forearm. Before Kitty knew what was happening, she found herself violently yanked against him. The skillet slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor with a loud clatter.
"Get...your...filthy...hands...off...me!" she snarled fiercely, each word punctuated by a blow of her fists as she drummed them against his huge barrel chest.
Her face was pressed against his shirt and she smelled the stale odor of sweat, day-old booze and tobacco emanating from the stained fabric. It made her stomach churn.
"Let...go...I said!" she ground, her breath coming in angry jerks. Calling upon every ounce of her strength, she struggled furiously, hitting out at him as hard as she could. But try as she might, Kitty was no match for his brutal strength. Holding her firmly against him, Biggs simply chuckled, amused by her futile efforts to free herself.
The more she fought him, the more he seemed to tighten his cruel hold her. She felt as if the air was being squeezed from her lungs as he crushed her small frame against his. The blood was roaring loudly in her ears, her whole world narrowing down to the one single thought of freeing herself from the outlaw's grasp.
Somewhere behind her, she faintly registered Doc's repeated angry demands for Biggs to leave her alone. A sickening slapping sound followed, like flesh hitting flesh, then there was silence.
It wasn't before long and Kitty ran out of breath. Her chest heaving, an angry sob escaped her lips as she finally ceased to struggle and sagged in his grasp.
Biggs grinned down at her. "You know, I still say you got spunk, red," he whispered hoarsely as his black eyes roved over her flushed face, lingering on her lips. "I like that." His voice dropped even lower. "S'matter of fact, I like you."
He left the words hanging meaningfully, his hungry gaze trailing from her lips, down the curve of her throat and lower still.
His unshaven face, bearing the ugly scar, was only inches from hers and the sour smell of his breath assaulted her nostrils. Utterly repulsed, Kitty tried turning her head away, but Biggs grasped her chin firmly between strong fingers, forcing her face back to his.
Kitty tensed, alarmed by the gleam of raw desire she saw lurking in the depths of his dark eyes. She knew what he wanted and, for the first time since their capture, she felt a blatant stab of fear for herself.
"Miz Kitty?"
The inquiring voice coming from the doorway, startled them both and abruptly distracted Biggs from his intentions.
Roused by the commotion, Rory stood on the threshold, his eyes widened in shock as he took in the disturbing scene before him. It shook the last of the sleep from him.
"Let go of her! Leave her be!" he screamed, and the next moment he was flying across the room, throwing himself at the outlaw.
It was like David fighting Goliath. Bare feet were kicking angrily at Biggs' shins, small fists pummeling the big man wherever they could reach. "Let go of her! Let go of her!" the little boy yelled furiously as he continued his assault on the outlaw.
Luck was on Rory's side; a not exactly intentional-but nonetheless, effective punch to the outlaw's groin efficiently achieved the desired result.
Scowling, Biggs sputtered a string of bitter vulgarities and shoved Kitty aside. Reaching down, he attempted to pry the screaming boy off of him, only to quickly retract his hand seconds later with a surprised yelp of pain.
Disbelief quickly gave way to white, hot anger when he saw the blood seeping from several deep puncture wounds that Rory's teeth had left in the back of his hand.
"Why, you little-" He yanked his hat off and slapped the boy hard across the face with it, knocking him clear across the plank floor.
The hat left red welts on Rory's cheek. Stunned, he landed on his backside and touched shaky fingers to his stinging cheek, tears of humiliation and anger burning in his hazel eyes.
"Rory!"
In an instant Kitty was at his side. Crouching down in front of him, she pulled the sobbing boy into her arms. After quickly examining his puffy cheek, she lifted her eyes and glowered at Biggs with fierce outrage. "What kind of man are you anyway?" she spat, the sudden rush of anger dispelling her earlier fear. "Why, he's just a child!"
His breathing harsh and labored, Biggs towered over her. He was sucking on his bleeding hand, his nostrils flaring. His glance was cutting as he wagged a big finger in Rory's direction.
"He tries that again, I'm gonna beat him like a mule!"
For another moment, he glared at the boy and then turned back to Kitty. "And you," he then said, pointing a threatening finger at her. "I just about had it with you. One more word outta you an' I swear, I'm gonna make you regret it!"
The muscles of his face worked furiously as he yanked the dirt-encrusted bandanna from his sweaty neck and began to awkwardly wrap it around his bloody hand, using his teeth to aid him in knotting it.
Wheeling around, he stomped across the room towards the table, the bristling strike of his heels against the floor testament to his ire. "What, the hell, you starin' at," he growled at the doctor who, helplessly tied to his chair, had been forced to witness the entire scene with horror. The left side of his face was red and swollen, bearing the unmistakable mark of Kiley's brutal hand.
Out of frustration, Biggs kicked one of the chairs aside, sending it skittering halfway across the room. He grabbed another and dropped himself down into it.
He was furious.
Part of him half-wished that they had gone directly into Dodge instead of stopping. If they had, Dillon would be dead by now and he wouldn't be sitting here, forced to content with these people. But another part of him reasoned that it was probably too late for that now. For all he knew, Dillon could already be on his way out here.
No, he decided, it would be better to stick to the original plan of using their hostages as leverage against him.
His eyes began to roam about the room and settled on his two accomplices.
A shuck dangling between his lips, Kiley was struggling to help a still groggy Stanton to his feet.
That damn woman. Dillon would pay for that, too.
His withering glare automatically leveled on Kitty and the little boy. Still cradled safely in her embrace, he was crying softly, his tears leaving dark, wet spots on the front of her blouse.
Biggs gave a snort of disgust, his charcoal eyes fired with malignant light. He dragged a grubby sleeve beneath his nose.
Yes, he would make Dillon pay, he would make him pay good for his brother's death, for all his troubles. As a matter of fact, he had a good notion to make them all pay.