My Eternal Portion
A Gunsmoke Story
By Amanda (MAHC)
"Hatred and vengeance, my eternal portion,
Scarce can endure delay of execution:
Wait, with impatient readiness, to seize my
Soul in a moment."
The Task
William Cower (1731-1800)
Chapter One: Delay of Execution
POV: Billy Justus
Spoilers: None
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Author's Notes: I've been kicking this idea around for a while. It will only have about three or four chapters, nothing too much in depth. Probably more like an episode than an epic. Still, hope you enjoy it!
Dodge City
4:13 p.m., Friday, June 18
It was time. Hard to believe, really. He had waited so long, had lived out this moment over and over in his dreams, night after night. He almost wanted to slow time down so he could savor it, suddenly considering what would happen when it was over, what would drive him then. Shaking his head, he cleared his mind of the visions and set to the task. He couldn't let foolish notions ruin the plan. Planting firmly in the dirt of the street, he eyed the broad back as the man crossed a few hundred feet away. He would call his name to get him to turn. Whatever else he was, Billy Justus was no back shooter. His hand twitched over his holster. One more beat.
"Dillon!"
The big man turned, his hand already at his gun, but Billy had the advantage of knowing what was happening. He had drawn and aimed even as the name was called out. He wanted to paint this picture in his mind for years to come, to sooth him in his old age, to pleasure him in un-pleasurable moments.
Yes, indeed. This had been a long time coming. His hunger was great, but vengeance was a tasty dish.
XXXX
12:02 p.m., Wednesday, June 16
Billy Justus peered out the open windows of the stage, brushing a hand across his mouth in a futile attempt to keep from eating too much dust. The scene outside had changed drastically as soon as they entered the outskirts of town. Buildings still framed by raw, unpainted wood told of rapid growth. Constant movement along the boardwalks and through the dirt streets gave the impression of a city on the rise. Of course, Billy already knew to expect this. He had spent the past month reading everything he could get his hands on about Dodge City. "Queen of the Cow Towns," they called her, and he could see why first hand now.
If he was inclined to find a place where he could seek his fortune, Dodge might just be the place. But Billy Justus hadn't come to Dodge to seek a fortune, or even just to see the sights. Except for one sight, and he didn't expect to see it for very long.
The stage lurched to a stop outside a hotel whose sign proclaimed it to be the Dodge House. Like a gentlemen, Billy tipped his hat to the two ladies who had shared the coach with him from Garden City, and stepped out first, reaching back to assist their egress. For his troubles, he received two flirtatious smiles, which would have been more welcome if the women had an ounce of pretty between them. As it was, he nodded, grabbed his carpetbag, and stepped behind the coach, not waiting to see if they were disappointed.
His eyes automatically began scanning the citizens of the town, a challenging task since there were quite a few. But the citizen he was looking for in particular wouldn't be hard to spot. Ten years was a long time, but he figured not so long that a tree of a man didn't still stretch right up into the sky.
No sir, not hard to spot, at all.
Cautioning himself to remain patient, he headed toward the Dodge House for a room. He didn't have much money, but that didn't matter. He wouldn't need the accommodations long.
XXXX
8:17 p.m., Wednesday, June 16
Feet propped on the porch railing of the Dodge House, Billy peered down Front Street and noticed a familiar name beckoning him. Ten years before, the Long Branch Saloon had been a place where a man could find a poker game, a cold beer, and a little companionship. He hoped it still provided those things. Glancing quickly around, he dropped his feet and headed that way, searching his memory for the name of the owner and bartender. Bill, he remembered, since it was a shared name, but the last part failed him. Didn't matter, really, he figured. Money was a better reminder than memory.
There were differences he noted right off, the main one being the fancy mirror behind the bar. Other subtle touches told him maybe Old Bill wasn't around anymore – or maybe the fellow had gotten himself hitched. This place had the touch of a woman.
A couple of card games seemed to be in full swing, friendly looking. Not his type. Six or seven cowboys perched at the bar, the dust of the trail still thick on them. He'd tried his hand as a drover once, and that had been more than enough to let him know his talents lay elsewhere. Of course, in hindsight, maybe he'd have been better off on the open plains than caged in that hellhole for more than a decade. Resentment boiled up inside him, and he fought to push it back down. There would be time for that later, when he faced Dillon again, when he needed that hatred to fuel his actions, to destroy the man who had destroyed him.
"Evenin' Miss Kitty."
Justus lifted his head at the bartender's greeting, ear pricking with the name. Kitty. Ten years was not so long that he didn't remember The Long Branch's prettiest girl. It didn't take more than a quick glance to see that she could still claim that title, although he would definitely have to refer to her as a woman now. He frowned in disappointment at the change in her clothing, though. A much-too-conservative white blouse and plain skirt did more than they should of hiding of the figure he could see was still there.
"Evenin', Sam," she returned, her voice a little lower, a little huskier. He liked it. "Been a good night?"
"Yes, ma'am. With the herds in town, we're seeing quite a bit of business."
"Hey! How 'bout a beer over here?"
Justus leaned against the counter and watched as one of the grimy, drunken cowhands waved a gun in the air.
"Calm down, mister," the bartender warned. "I think maybe you've had enough beer for tonight."
"Hell no!" the drover protested. "I'll have as many beers as I want. And if you won't give 'em to me, I'll talk to the owner."
To Justus' surprise, Kitty stepped forward calmly. "I'm the owner, mister. And you've had enough beer for tonight."
He felt his jaw drop and made a conscious effort to close his mouth. She was the owner now? Well, would wonders never cease? That made for a right interesting side note to his visit. He wondered if he'd have time before he confronted Dillon – time to get to know Miss Kitty a little better.
If he had expected any protest from the cowboy, he was disappointed. The man backed down in the face of her strong stance. "I wuz just tryin' to have a good time," he mumbled sadly.
"You go on to bed and come back tomorrow night, and you can have some more fun," Kitty assured him, her tone patient, almost amused.
With a grunt, he stumbled through the swinging doors, followed by two comrades who were either thoughtful enough to see him to bed or broke enough to be done for the night themselves.
"Thought we might need the marshal," the bartender said, smiling.
As if he had just leaped into a winter pond, Justus' blood froze in his veins at the mention of the law.
Kitty sniffed. "For him? He's just blowing off steam. We'll let Matt take the hard stuff."
Billy swallowed, whether in relief or in regret he wasn't sure. He had envisioned this trip for so long, had anticipated his moment of victory, that it didn't quite seem real anymore. Matt Dillon. The man had lived ten years longer than Justus had wanted, but his time would soon be up.
"What hard stuff?"
The deep tone spun Justus around so that he stared at the doors of the saloon, stared at the huge man who filled the whole frame, stared at what had brought him back to Dodge.
He had been right. Dillon still stood halfway to the sky, legs long, shoulders broad. If anything, he was even bigger than Justus remembered. The years had only served to make him more formidable. Shaking off the momentary uncertainty, Justus tugged his hat down a bit and watched as the marshal strode across the floor and stopped in front of Kitty. He hoped ten years and a full beard were enough to make him unrecognizable.
She smiled up at him. "Oh, you know, gunslingers and bank robbers. We'll save those for you. Sam and I can handle a few ordinary drunks."
"Ya can, can ya?" Dillon returned, pushing his hat back to show a head full of thick hair that was still dark.
Justus sipped on the beer the bartender had brought him and narrowed his eyes at the two, watching the way she looked at the marshal – and the way he looked back at her.
"Arright, mister! Ain't no city dude gonna cheat me!"
Chairs scattered suddenly, crashing back and upsetting several glasses of beer. A stocky cowboy, just as rough and rowdy as his companions, stood glaring at the man who sat across the table from him, fancy coat and ruffled shirt supporting the assessment of his origin. Justus turned curiously, sliding down the bar to avoid the imminent altercation.
"Now, hold on." Dillon stepped in front of Kitty, his hands out toward the cowboy.
But his attempt at settling things peacefully disintegrated a second later when the angry man caught up his chair and swung it hard toward the marshal. Dillon tried to duck, but he was too tall to get under the swing. Instead of catching him on the shoulder, the chair smashed against the side of his head. With a grunt, the big man was flung back against the bar, and his attacker turned the shattered remnants of his impromptu weapon on the dude. Justus grabbed his beer and retreated a little farther back to watch.
"Matt!" Kitty knelt next to Dillon, whose struggle to rise was hindered somewhat by the blood that had begun to trail down the side of his face.
General chaos followed as the patrons took sides, randomly it seemed, and hurled themselves at other bodies. Justus kept an eye on the marshal, the fight, and his beer – in that order. Chairs flew, glasses crashed, and cowboys swung. Just when Billy thought there was no hope of stopping the melee, a gunshot exploded into the air.
Across the bar, fists froze in various poised positions.
"Hold it!" The bark was loud and demanding, and all heads turned at the order.
Justus saw that Dillon had regained his feet and now stood, legs braced wide, gun pointed just over the heads of the brawlers. Billy blinked in mild annoyance. He hadn't seen the marshal draw.
"All right, that's enough," Dillon commanded through a grimace.
The fight had stopped, but as Justus watched the tall lawman swaying on his feet, he wondered how he planned to haul all of his violators off to jail. Then the doors to the Long Branch swung open again and a scruffy fellow stomped through.
"Matthew, you need enney hep?"
Dillon lifted a hand to wipe at the free flow of blood over his left eye. Justus saw Kitty take hold of his arm to try to steady him. "Take these men and lock 'em up, Festus," the marshal managed as a tall, thin young man scrambled into the room, as well. "Thad, you – help – "
"Matt!" the Long Branch owner cried out.
Long legs buckling, Dillon fell back against the bar. The two men who had entered to help him rushed to his side, but the marshal shook his head and waved them away. "I'm – all right – get them – outta here – "
Of course, to everyone who watched, it was apparent that he was not all right at all. Justus frowned, finding himself in the strange situation of hoping the marshal wasn't too badly injured. He wanted to exact his justice on a healthy, worth adversary, not one that was weak and wounded.
"Sit down, Matt," Kitty urged gently but firmly, tugging at his arm. The marshal certainly looked as if he needed to. His shirtfront was now soaked red from the steady stream of blood down his face, and Billy speculated that if the big lawman tried to push away from the bar he would find himself flat on the floor. No, tonight wasn't the night. He could wait if he had to.
"Matt," Kitty repeated, more forcefully this time. "Sit down before you fall down."
He turned to her, and Justus noticed the unusual combination of exasperation and gratitude on his face. With a reluctant nod, the marshal rested his left hand on a chair back, bracing to lower his tall frame into the seat. He didn't make it, though.
From the corner of his eye, Justus saw a rough-hewn drover ease his pistol from his holster. He was never sure how it happened or what he had been thinking, but some instinct overtook him and he yelled out, "Marshal!"
Dillon's gun leveled instantly and fired; the hapless would-be murderer was slammed back over a table and slumped against the wall before his brain even registered that he was dead.
The marshal stood unmoving for another few seconds, pistol still trained on the fresh corpse. When he lifted his gaze, his eyes met Billy's, and Justus froze, terrified that he would see recognition in the cool blue that stared back at him, wondering if he should just jab his gun into Dillon's belly right then and be done with it.
But after a couple of ragged breaths, the marshal nodded, gave him a pained smile, and said, "Obliged."
Heart pounding, Justus swallowed and nodded back, tightening his eyes at the irony of the moment. He had saved Matt Dillon's life just so he could take it himself later. Dillon had gotten a reprieve, a delay to his execution.
But only a delay. Justus had waited ten years. He could wait another few hours.
TBC
