Okay – busy week. (So, what's new?) Here's Chapter Two. Thanks for all your wonderful feedback. Enjoy!

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 Two: With Impatient Readiness

POV: Billy Justus

Spoilers: None

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters (but I wish I did).

Dodge City

10:48 a.m., Thursday, June 17

The Long Branch was slow in the morning, Billy Justus noted, sipping carefully at his drink, the knowledge of his limited resources nagging at the back of his mind. It seemed as if evening would never come, and he tried not to fidget waiting for night, waiting for his moment. Of course, he realized it might not happen still. The talk around town was that the marshal had a concussion and the town doctor had ordered him to bed after he stitched up his head. Justus frowned at the inconvenience of that bit of bad luck.

Still, it had given him time to step back and take in the scenery. At the moment, the scenery was made up solely of the striking woman who was seated with an older man at one of the back tables. With a second look, Justus realized it was Doc Adams, who had tended Dillon the night before. He sat a discrete distance from them, seemingly lost in thought and beer. Experience had taught him that a man could learn a great deal that way.

" – go back up later and sit with him," Kitty was saying.

"Well, he'll be okay, but I doubt he'll protest your company, Kitty," the doctor returned. Then he leaned closer. "He needs to rest, still, though."

She scowled at him. "Why, Doc, of course he'll rest. What do you think I'll do?"

"It's not what I think you'll do," Doc told her, raising his brow.

"Listen, I can handle Matt Dillon."

"Ya' can, can ya'?"

At the sound of the deep voice, Justus choked a bit on his beer and turned to see the tall lawman standing at the swinging doors. Except for the wide, white bandage around his head, he looked none-the-worse-for-wear, smiling over at Kitty and the doctor.

"What in thunder are you doin' out of bed, Matt, much less dressed and downstairs?" Doc growled, standing and confronting the marshal as if he had a two-foot advantage instead of a two-foot deficit.

Dillon shrugged gingerly and stepped into the saloon, his eyes tightening slightly. Maybe not completely none-the-worse-for-wear, Justus re-assessed.

"I'm fine, Doc," he protested, waving away the doctor's steadying hand. "Just a little bump on the head. Not like it hasn't happened before." With caution, he pulled out a chair and eased into it, not very successful at masking the grimace that movement caused.

"Just a little bump on the head, huh?" Adams repeated, tugging on his ear. "A little bump on the head that cost you seven stitches and a concussion. Not to mention the strained backs of the six men it took to haul you up to my office after you passed out in the middle of the Long Branch last night.

The marshal winced. "I feel all right, Doc. Besides, I wasn't doin' any good lying in that bed."

Adams' scowl deepened. "Well, you won't be doin' much good lying sprawled out on the floor of this saloon, either."

Apparently sensing he wouldn't win that particular argument, Dillon chose not to answer. Instead, he sighed and turned toward the woman at the table.

"Okay, fine, then, " Doc blustered, throwing up his hands and shuffling toward the doors. "Maybe the next marshal will listen to his doctor." They could still hear him rumbling about stubborn lawmen as he ambled down the street.

Justus watched him go, then allowed a quick glance back at the table. Kitty had scooted close to the marshal, her slender hand resting lightly on his forearm. As they talked, Dillon leaned in closer, and Billy got the distinct impression that, had they been alone, he would have kissed her. He hadn't heard anyone say the marshal and saloon owner were married, didn't see any wedding rings on either of them, but they might as well be, judging from the heated looks they exchanged.

He clicked his tongue softly and stifled a strange thrill. Miss Kitty would make a right pretty widow. Yessiree. Right pretty.

Her voice was low, but carried just enough so that Billy heard it. "I thought I left you in bed," she told Dillon, soft admonition in her tone.

The marshal cleared his throat and glanced around. Justus pretended to nod sleepily.

"I'd rather you join me there, instead," Dillon murmured back.

Billy clamped down on the urge to stare at them as his suspicions were confirmed. Ten years ago, he had sworn Matt Dillon had no weaknesses – and maybe ten years ago he didn't. But he sure enough had one now.

He chanced a quick glance.

Kitty's eyes had grown sultry. "You would, huh?"

Dillon's gaze didn't falter from hers. "I would."

"Well," she conceded, "you do need to be in bed – "

Billy felt a jolt of desire flash through him at the intonation. He would kill to have a woman look at him that way, talk to him that way. He suppressed a humorless chuckle – he was about to do just that.

Suddenly, he didn't want to wait; suddenly, the night lay too far in the future. Carefully, he dropped his hand to the side, fingering the bit of leather that held his gun in place. Dillon seemed well enough this morning to meet his opponent evenly, he justified. Justus wouldn't be taking advantage of a weaker man. His thumb brushed the butt of his pistol; his finger slid down toward the trigger. He would have to be careful, didn't want to hit Miss Kitty. He had plans for her later.

"Matthew!"

Frowning, Justus raised his head to see the scraggly deputy clang into the room. He eased his hand away from the gun and continued sipping at his beer, swallowing hard to slow the furious pounding of his heart.

"Festus," the marshal returned easily, unaware that he had been only seconds away from death.

Festus touched the brim of his soiled hat and nodded. "Miz Kitty."

"Mornin' Festus," she greeted, her lips turned up in an amused smile. Billy allowed himself to gaze at her beautiful face, fantasizing over how they would be together after Dillon was gone.

"I thought you wuz still ailin', Matthew," the deputy frowned.

Dillon pressed his lips together for a moment, then sighed. "Not you, too."

"Wael, ol' Doc sed – "

"I don't care what ol' Doc said, I'm fine."

The deputy studied his boss doubtfully. "If'n you say so. I run inta Doc on th' street, an' he said you wuz here. I jes come ta tell ya 'bout this chere telee-gram what come a few minutes ago." He waved a yellow piece of paper in front of them.

"What's it say?" the marshal asked, eyes tightening. Justus couldn't tell if it was from pain or simply interest.

"'Course ya' knowd I wouldn't go around lookin' at other folks' messages – "

Kitty shook her head. "What's it say, Festus?"

He dropped the pretense and bent forward, voice sharp. "Dan Hillen's escaped."

The woman turned toward Dillon and frowned. "Dan Hillen? Isn't he that gunfighter you sent off to prison last year, Matt?"

Without looking at her, he nodded. "Yeah. You say he escaped, Festus?"

"See, I read in that telee-gram that's the word th' warden at the Territorial Prison in Laramie sent fer ya'."

Kitty's brow rose. "You read?"

"Wael," Festus admitted, "maybe Thad hepped th' least little bit. Ennyway, bin a week or so. Thought you mite be interested." He leaned closer to Dillon. "You worried he mite come after ya', Matthew? He wuz shore hollerin' 'bout getting' back at ya' after th' trial."

"Matt?" Kitty squeezed his arm, alarm sweeping her features.

Straightening, Dillon shook his head, stopping abruptly and wincing before he spoke. "Now, there's no reason to think Hillen's coming back here. He's probably high-tailin' it ta' Saskatchewan by now."

"But he sed – "

"I know what he said, Festus," Dillon snapped, then caught himself and continued more calmly. "Listen, I'll head back to the jail, and you tell Thad to keep an eye out for any new folks coming into town."

"We'll do 'er, Matthew."

Bracing a hand on the table, Dillon pushed his tall form up from the chair, throwing a slight smile down to Kitty. "I'll see you later – "

But he didn't finish. Instead, he brought a hand up to his head as he stumbled a step or two forward. Instantly, Kitty rose, and Festus lunged for him, but the big man was too heavy for them. Instinctively, and inexplicably, Justus jumped from his own chair and caught the man's wide shoulders, lending his own strength to the others' to steady him. From the close vantage, he saw the sheen of perspiration on the marshal's forehead.

"Matt, please – " Kitty urged.

Teeth gritted, the marshal allowed them to ease him back into the chair he had just left.

"You are undoubtedly the most stubborn man I have ever known," Kitty complained, but Justus saw the concern on her pretty face. "I told you – "

"I know," Dillon acknowledged, catching his breath. "You told me." Raising his head, he looked up at Justus. "It appears I'm obliged again, mister," he breathed.

Disgusted with himself, and still worried that the marshal would recognize him, Billy dropped his gaze and cleared his throat. "It's arright," he mumbled.

"I'll get Doc," Festus announced, disappearing through the doors before the marshal could protest.

"How about a drink, Cowboy?" Kitty offered, sliding her hand along his shoulder and squeezing gently.

Dillon nodded and closed his eyes. "I could use one." When she had slipped behind the bar, he opened them again and returned his attention to Billy. "You know," he said, voice tight against the pain, "I don't think I ever heard your name, mister."

No, Justus thought. Not in ten years anyway. He suppressed the mild panic that fluttered in his gut. "It's – uh – it's William. William Ju – Jones," he stammered, remembering the name he had used on the Dodge House register. "William Jones."

"Well, Mister Jones," Dillon said, thrusting out a hand, "Thanks again."

With only a momentary hesitation, Justus took the huge hand and shook it, marveling at the strange and ironic turn of events. He wondered what Dillon would do when they faced each other for the final moment, wondered if the marshal would feel foolish for having trusted the man who was about to kill him, wondered if Miss Kitty would fight him too much when he claimed his right to her as spoils.

The marshal's cool blue eyes narrowed suddenly and he peered more closely at Justus' face. "We, uh, we haven't met before, have we?" he asked.

Billy stiffened, envisioning his hand dropping to his gun. "No. No, I don't think so."

"You've never been to Dodge before?" Dillon wondered.

Deflecting the question, Justus said, "I'm from Yuma."

"Yuma? I spent some time there a few years back. You know Jim Sullivan?"

Justus swallowed. Why had he chosen Yuma? "No."

"What about Dick Weylinger?"

Billy shook his head. "No, can't say as I do, but I left there when I was just a young'un. Hadn't had no real home since."

Kitty returned with a whiskey and set it on the table. Dillon turned his attention from Justus and smiled up at her. "Where are you staying while you're in Dodge, Mister Jones?" she asked.

Silently, he thanked her for the distraction, deciding not to follow through with his mental image. "I stayed at the Dodge House last night, but I'm a little short on cash to keep that room. Figured I'd try a boarding house for tonight."

"How long are you planning to stay?" Dillon wondered, taking a careful swallow of the whiskey.

Billy shrugged, trying to keep his nerves from exploding. "Another day or so. Depends on – well, just depends."

The doors to the saloon swung open again and a visibly agitated physician re-entered, shadowed by the deputy. "What good is a doctor if the patient just ignores his advice? I told you you'd end up on the floor of the Long Branch again, Matt."

The marshal flushed and grimaced. "I just got a little dizzy, Doc. Nothin' big."

"Nothing big except that stubborn streak of yours. You understand you have a concussion, right? You understand that means that dense brain of yours slammed against your skull and is basically bruised? You understand that another concussion too soon could kill you?"

They all stared at him, even Justus, who had never heard exactly what a concussion was. Despite himself, he winced.

Smoothly, Kitty stepped in front of the marshal, almost as if she were protecting him from the angry physician. "He didn't pass out, Doc. Just got dizzy. He promised me he's going to go back to bed."

Dillon opened his mouth to protest, but one look from Kitty shut it again, and he nodded reluctantly. Justus marveled at the power this slender female had over such a man. Yes, Matt Dillon did, indeed, have a weakness.

"Well," Doc hedged, "if you're goin' back to bed – "

"He is," Kitty affirmed confidently, shooting another glance at the marshal, who could only wince in acquiescence. "Can you help him, Festus?" Kitty asked the deputy, then surveyed the empty saloon until her eyes lit on Billy. "And you, too, Mister Jones?"

"I don't need – " the marshal started to say as he stood, but stopped abruptly and pressed a hand against the bandage. A small stain of red had appeared.

"We'll git him thar, Miz Kitty," Festus assured her, beckoning to Justus to help.

Unable to do anything else, he took the marshal's right arm as the deputy caught the left, wondering if they actually had any chance of helping the giant of a man if he really did pass out. Fortunately, with Doc Adams' supervision, Dillon was able to manage mostly on his own, and they deposited him safely on the narrow cot in the jail – a compromise to returning to the physician's clutches.

For a moment, Justus peered at the man lying wounded on the bed. It would be so easy; just one shot would do it. His finger itched to pull the trigger. But his sense of fair play kept his gun in the holster. Surely Dillon would be better that night and more of a worthy opponent. Besides, Billy figured graciously, a man ought to have a full day, if it was going to be his last.

As he stepped onto Front Street, he shook his head in amazement at the entire situation. Here he was, in Dodge again after ten years, ready and waiting to take his revenge on the man who had sent him to prison for that long, long decade, and now twice he had found himself helping the very person he was there to kill.

Life was a peculiar journey.

XXXX

12:48 p.m., Thursday, June 17

The Dodge House provided an almost adequate respite from the heat of the day. Fingering the few remaining coins in his pocket, Justus sighed and stepped to the counter.

"Good day to you, Mister Jones," the clerk greeted.

"Howdy. What time is check out?"

"Are you leaving us so soon?"

Justus flushed. "Your rates are a little stiff for a drifter, if you know what I mean. Is there a good boardin' house in town?"

The thin man frowned. "Well, there's Ma Smalley's, but there's no need for you to go anywhere."

"Kain't you hear, mister?" Billy said, irritated. "I ain't got enough money to – "

"But you're paid up through the end of the week," the clerk told him.

"What?"

"Your bill is paid through Saturday night."

"I don't understand."

"Miss Russell, the owner of the Long Branch, came in a few minutes ago and took care of it."

He frowned, confused. "She paid for my room?"

"Through Saturday."

"Why?"

"Well, you'd have to ask her that," the clerk smiled, "but I have a feeling it has to do with you saving Marshal Dillon's life last night."

Justus bit his lip. "Why would she – "

The clerk leaned over conspiratorially and whispered, "They don't make much over it publicly, but let's just say the marshal and Miss Kitty are – friends." His eyes widened behind the small spectacles he wore. "Real good friends," he added pointedly.

Not letting on that he had already figured that bit of information out, Billy touched his hand to his hat and smiled. "Well, in that case, I guess I'll just have to be obliged to Miss Kitty."

The clerk smiled back, happy in his bit of gossip and pleased to keep a customer.

XXXX

2:24 p.m., Thursday, June 17

As he lay in his bed that afternoon, absently braiding strands of rawhide, Billy contemplated the confusing developments. Kitty was grateful to him for saving Dillon's life, even to the point where she paid for his room. That was promising, but what would she think when he killed her marshal? For the first time, Justus' carefully constructed plan developed a crack. It was mighty appealing to think that Miss Kitty could feel kindly toward him, but that was something that would certainly change if his bullet blasted a hole through that big lawman's chest.

No, she might not appreciate him so much then.

Closing his eyes, he let his thoughts bump around, searching for a better solution. After a few moments, he opened them again and pursed his lips in satisfaction. What if he could kill Dillon without anyone knowing he had done it? What if he could make it look like someone else did it? Then maybe Miss Kitty wouldn't hate him; on the contrary, she would be a widow – or bereft lover, anyway – in need of comfort. And he would be happy to provide solace for her.

There was just one hitch. Where would he find a scapegoat to be the murderer of Matt Dillon?

TBC