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 Four: In a Moment

POV: Billy Justus

Spoilers: None

Rating: T

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

Dodge City

8:45 p.m., Thursday, June 17

For one of the few times in its already legendary existence, the Long Branch Saloon was completely silent. Even though the place was packed with customers, not a muscle twitched, not a throat cleared. All eyes were glued to the scene that played out before them, a scene that was not unusual to Dodge: Marshal Dillon facing down a gunslinger. Normally, that ended in the quick and efficient demise of the gunslinger. But this time was different. This time it had only been 24 hours since they had seen the lawman collapse onto that very floor. This time, he still bore the bandage and wound that served as evidence of a head injury serious enough to put him to bed – where he most likely should still have been. This time, they understood all too well that the outcome might not be quite so certain.

The two men stood, one slight and short, one broad and tall, squared off, hands dangling near holsters, guns waiting to be snatched first, to be fired first. Justus held his breath with the others, the culmination of ten years of planning and waiting mere seconds away. He almost couldn't believe it.

He wanted to look at Kitty's face, wanted to judge how she felt, what she might need when it was all over and Dillon lay dead at her feet. But he couldn't spare a glance, couldn't risk missing the moment.

Another second passed. Then another. He was behind the marshal, and couldn't read his eyes, but Hillen's flamed for just a moment, and Justus knew he was about to draw. It was time.

"Matthew, I heerd – "

The voice snapped the tense silence like the sharp twang of a broken guitar string. Hillen's head jerked around toward the door where Dillon's deputy stood. Before he could blink, Justus watched the room explode into action. Hillen ducked behind an unsuspecting patron, gun suddenly in his hand and firing toward Festus Haggen. The bullet pinged off the doorway, sending splinters of wood into the air.

Spinning to look at Dillon, Justus saw that the marshal's pistol was up and aimed, but he couldn't get a clear shot at Hillen, who was now inadvertently protected by innocent townspeople. Teeth gritted, Billy realized he was losing his moment.

Desperate, he called out, "Hillen!" in hopes that the outlaw would turn back and fire toward the marshal.

His plan worked, but not quite as he envisioned it. As he scrambled through the swinging doors, Hillen swung his arm around and aimed, but the barrel was pointed at the sound instead of the man, and Justus found himself staring straight down that tunnel of black. Well, damn! This was not how he wanted it to end – not at all.

The gun fired, and Justus briefly closed his eyes, cursing his luck. All that planning, all those year of waiting – gone in an instant of chance. But instead of the sharp pain of the bullet, or the explosive darkness that would follow, he opened his eyes to find a massive body hurling itself in front of him, a solid barrier between him and death. Stunned, he watched as Matt Dillon dived across his path, his pistol blazing in the general direction of where Hillen had stood. But his mark found only empty air as the gunman threw himself out into the night.

The big man's momentum took him on past Justus, and he crashed hard into a gaming table, its top and legs shattering around him. Looking up, Billy saw the deputy recover and sprint after Hillen. Several other customers headed outside, as well, but a few turned back toward the figure now lying sprawled amid the mangled pieces of wood and green felt.

Shaking himself back to action, Justus stepped over the debris and touched the marshal's shoulder, dragging him partially onto his back. The sight of crimson on the light blue shirt electrified him. Even though he had wanted it to happen, he found it hard to believe. Hillen had actually shot Matt Dillon. It was over. Just like that, ten years worth of vengeance was over –

"Matt!" Kitty's cry broke the silence as she stumbled through the mess and fell to her knees at the marshal's side.

Her hands ran over the bloody shirt, tearing at the cloth to get to the wound. The sheer panic and pain in her eyes struck Justus suddenly, twisted uncomfortably in his heart. He had not expected to feel sympathy for her, had only planned to take advantage of her grief – after an appropriate period of mourning, of course.

Still, maintaining his role as innocent bystander, he peered curiously over her shoulder and watched as she jerked open Dillon's shirt, unconcerned as buttons flew. Pushing the material away, she hitched up the hem of her dress and wiped at the flow of blood from his left side. Justus managed to look past the shapely legs the move revealed, but he couldn't tell how bad the wound was. Dillon looked ashen, though, making the bruising on his forehead stand out even more against skin that was uncharacteristically pale.

He blew out a breath as the shock of the moment settled over him and he realized that it could have very well been him lying there staining Kitty's skirt with his blood. If Dillon hadn't leaped in front of him –

Damn.

He stared ahead, comprehension slamming into him abruptly. Matt Dillon had saved his life. He had thrown himself in front of the sure death that sped from the end of Hillen's gun, placing his own life in jeopardy and taking a bullet that would have unquestionably gone right through Billy's heart.

He fought against the unexpected conflict inside him, shook his head at the irony that – against all his plans – Dillon himself might have fulfilled his mission for him. He stood, staring, unable to move, as voices called for Doc, as Kitty ripped the hem from her skirt and pressed it against the marshal's side in a vain effort to staunch the generous flow of blood. All this because Dillon had leaped in front of that bullet, had saved his life. And now he was dead for it. It wasn't conceivable.

But a closer look showed that the wide chest still moved, rising and falling as the lungs continued to work. He wasn't dead – not yet, anyway.

"Did it come out?" Billy found himself asking.

Kitty looked up, and he swallowed at the fear in her eyes. "What?"

"Did the bullet go through?"

Understanding, she quickly slid her hand around the marshal's side, pulling back to reveal fingers coated in blood.

Justus nodded. "That's probably good, then." If he didn't bleed out, of course.

"Where is he?"

They turned at the sharp bark from the door to see Doc Adams, in as much of a hurry as he could get, coming down the steps, hatless and coatless, but bag in hand.

"Here, Doc," Kitty called.

But before Adams could get to them, Dillon groaned and shifted. Billy stared. Not only was he alive, but somehow he was awake, as well.

Putting her hand on his shoulder, Kitty ordered, "You stay right there, Matt. Doc's here, and you just stay right there."

"Hillen," he managed through gritted teeth. Awake and talking.

"Gone," Billy supplied.

Amazingly, Dillon braced his right hand on the ground and pressed his left hand against the wound at his side. Gasping, he struggled to sit.

Her voice furious, Kitty snapped, "Where do you think you're goin', mister?"

"I'm – okay – " the marshal insisted, grimacing hard and convincing no one at all.

"Matt," Doc said, stopping beside him, "you just lie back and let me see that wound."

But the big lawman ignored them. "I've gotta – stop – Hillen."

"You're not gonna stop anybody," Adams told him. "Except yourself when ya' bleed to death."

Somehow, in spite of his companions' concerted efforts, Dillon pushed first to his knees, then to his feet, swaying precariously for a moment until he was steady enough to move. "Hand me my gun, " he ordered Billy, blood oozing through his fingers as he kept his hand over the hole in his side.

Justus stared at the ivory-handled pistol lying on the floor, let his gaze shift between Doc's and Kitty's, then looked back into the determined blue eyes again. Dillon was pretty damn impressive – especially for a dead man. Bending, Billy scooped up the weapon and slapped it into the large hand held out waiting for it. The marshal nodded and stumbled toward the door.

"What the hell are you doin', Matt?" Doc called after him. When he got no answer, he added, "Damn pig-headed fool!"

Billy expected Kitty to add her own attempt to stop him, but a quick glance back at her showed only a strange expression of resignation and sadness. He watched the marshal fall hard against the door frame, take a breath, and step onto the boardwalk.

Suddenly weak-kneed, Billy fell into one of the remaining in-tact chairs. Kitty still sat where she had briefly tended to Dillon. Frowning, the doctor rested a hand on her shoulder.

"He'll be okay, Kitty," he muttered. "You know it takes more than one bullet – " But he stopped without finishing, and Kitty didn't help him. She just sat staring at her dress, fingering the material soaked with his blood.

Turmoil churned inside Billy. He vacillated between bitter resentment and reluctant gratitude toward Dillon. What the hell had the marshal done that for? Why hadn't he just left well enough alone?

"Why'd he do it?" Justus asked aloud.

Doc frowned. "What?"

"The marshal. Why'd he save my life like that?"

Kitty looked up from where she sat and smiled sadly. "You did the same for him yesterday."

"No," Billy insisted. "I just warned him someone was drawing on him. He deliberately took a bullet – for me. Why?"

Doc exchanged a look with Kitty and, despite the concern that creased his brow, he almost chuckled. "Because he's Matt Dillon."

"What?"

"That's what he does, son. He protects." Then he added, a bit ruefully, "Everybody."

Justus still couldn't comprehend. "But he barely knows me," he protested.

Doc shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's deep in him."

He looked at Kitty again, and she seemed to gain strength from that statement. With one last glance at her bloodied skirt, she pushed from the floor and negotiated a path to the bar. "He'll need a drink when he gets back," she decided confidently, reaching for a bottle.

"At the very least," Doc agreed.

Justus continued to stare at them. Damn Dillon. He hadn't asked to be saved, had he? Didn't make the marshal leap in front of him, did he?

They waited several more minutes. Billy wasn't sure what he thought would happen, wasn't sure what he wanted to happen. He half expected to see Hillen come flying back through the doors, propelled by the toe of the marshal's boot. Then again, it could be Dillon crashing into the saloon, the outlaw's bullet finally finishing him.

As it turned out, it was neither. Ten minutes after the marshal had stumbled out, he re-appeared with Festus Haggen, who struggled under the weight of the lawman. Dillon's long arm was flung over the deputy's shoulders, and it looked as if that might be the only thing holding him up.

"Hillen got plum away," Haggen announced to those remaining in the room, voice straining as he practically dragged the marshal toward a chair. "Ain't no way we're a gonna find him tonight."

Doc Adams pushed up from the table and started toward them.

"I'm – okay," Dillon mumbled again, but as he spoke, his body slumped further in the deputy's grasp, bringing both of them to their knees.

Instantly, several hands thrust out to catch the two as Festus slid out from under Dillon's arm and tried to ease him to the floor. This time, the marshal was in no shape to refuse Doc's assistance, and the physician knelt beside him. Kitty hurried to Dillon's side, sinking down next to him and taking his head in her lap. Pushing the sticky shirt aside, she bared his torso for Doc's inspection.

"I'm – all right – Kitty," the lawman murmured, attempting – and failing – to lift a bloody hand to her face.

She stroked his hair, brushed gently at the discolored bandage on his forehead. "Sure you are, Cowboy. Sure you are."

"Went clean through," Adams muttered after a quick look. "Doesn't seem to have clipped anything important. He's damn lucky."

Justus thought he heard Kitty catch back a sob, but when he looked she still maintained a thinly veiled calm.

"He's lost an awful lot of blood, though," the doctor added. Rising, he motioned toward the onlookers. "You men stop staring and start hauling. Get him up to my office."

Billy watched as Sam, Festus, and four other men gathered up the marshal, their muscles straining under his solid weight. As they struggled with their burden, he wondered when Hillen would try again. And he would try again. Justus recognized the burn of vengeance in the dark eyes. He had burned that way himself.

Kitty followed behind them, the worry not quite as raw on her tense features. Judging from the scars he had just seen across the firm muscles of Dillon's chest and abdomen, Justus figured she'd played this role several times before. He suddenly realized how close to home he had hit with his earlier comment to her about lawmen's women just waiting for them to come up dead. Maybe she wouldn't have to live that way much longer. Knifing through his earlier confusion about Dillon's actions, he pinned his emotions on his anger at Dillon for making her live with such fear, and it gave him a strange satisfaction to know he would soon relieve her of that burden.

XXXX

4:00 p.m., Friday, June 18

It was another hot day in Dodge. Billy Justus had spent much of it inside, even though the small room at the Dodge House was only minimally cooler than standing in the middle of Front Street. At least it shaded him from the sun. The Long Branch, on the other hand, offered an enticing bonus of liquid refreshment, and he had found himself patronizing it near lunchtime. He felt confident in his relative laziness, knowing nothing would happen with Dillon shot and Hillen still in hiding.

The town was buzzing with the gossip about the previous night's shootout. A few sources related the story with comparative accuracy, but most had variations of the truth. All ended the same, though. Matt Dillon had been shot – and badly enough to land him in Doc Adams' care for what promised to be a good long while. He gathered from the talk that Dillon getting shot wasn't that strange. It seemed it occurred frequently enough not to be too sensational anymore.

"Most times," Festus Haggen had confided during a midday conversation over a beer he had wrangled out of Sam, "ol' Matthew'll jest shake off that thar bullet and head on back ta' work."

Justus doubted it was quite that easy, but he took the deputy's comment to mean that the marshal had been pretty lucky in the past, even when he was shot. This time, though, he had taken the hit right on top of suffering a head injury, surely enough to keep him out for a few days at least.

Yep. Billy figured his day would be calm and uneventful. Just enough of a break to get him ready for the showdown he figured was no more than another day or two away. With his room paid up for another two nights, he didn't see any need to be impatient. Besides, he was growing rather fond of Dodge again. And if he played his cards right, and Hillen was the one who took the wrap for killing the marshal, Billy would be in the catbird seat with Miss Kitty Russell.

Satisfied, Justus kicked back in the chair on the porch of the Dodge House and propped his feet on the rail. Closing his eyes, he whistled a tune he had heard the Long Branch piano player tinkle out the first night he was in town.

Before too long, he felt the heat of the day tug once more at him, coaxing him to consider crossing the street again for another beer. Not wanting to disturb his peace too much, he allowed one eye to peek out and take in the lazy movements of the afternoon. All seemed normal. A few folks strolled in and out of shops, but the night crowds were still a few hours off. Now would probably be a good time to –

Squinting, Billy let his gaze settle on a subtle movement just at the side of the Long Branch. He sharpened his eyes, blocking out everything except that area, then let them widen when he recognized the ugly flat Mexican hat. So, Hillen hadn't gone too far, and now he was braving the streets – or at least the alleys – of Dodge again. Justus wondered if he'd heard about Dillon, if he knew the marshal was out of commission for a few days at least. Maybe the outlaw didn't care.

But he didn't have a chance to consider that for long because at that moment, Kitty Russell walked out of the Long Branch. Billy froze, waiting to see what she did, and what Hillen did.

But he hadn't expected what happened next.

The door of the jailhouse opened, and Billy felt his mouth drop. His feet dropped, too, as he watched the tall figure step onto the boardwalk. Blinking, Justus rubbed at his eyes and leaned forward. Surely, that couldn't be –

Son of a bitch. It was Dillon. There was no mistaking him for anyone else in Dodge – or in Kansas for that matter. But how the hell could it be Dillon?

Somehow the man had not only survived the night, but had managed to convince the doctor to let him out of his clutches – or more likely had escaped when Adams was otherwise occupied. Justus watched him carefully: The long stride had shortened, the pace slowed, but the man was moving with a steady, even gait.

A few yards past the jail, Justus saw the lawman grit his teeth and step gingerly off the planks and onto the street. Billy nodded in acceptance. The scene was set, and this time nothing could stop the inevitable ending. He would kill Dillon – or the outlaw would. Either way, the marshal who sent him to prison for ten years of his life would be dead.

He drove back any doubt, any nagging reminder that Dillon had saved his life. 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.

"Matt!"

Another person called out to the marshal, but neither voice had been Billy's. Instead, Dan Hillen stood, his own gun drawn, a direct bead on the marshal. Still, it might have been almost a fair fight – Justus had no doubt Matt Dillon could outdraw a man who had already drawn himself.

Yes, it might have been a fair fight – except for Miss Kitty.

Horrified, Justus saw that Hillen had seen the woman – and she no doubt seen him and yelled a warning at the marshal. Her petticoat flounced as the outlaw jerked her against him, using her as a shield against the bullets of her own lover. He hadn't counted on that, hadn't anticipated that she would be in danger.

"Drop your gun, Marshal!" Hillen demanded.

Dillon stared, his teeth gritted, his eyes furious. Every hard muscle in his body bulged with the effort not to fling himself at the man who held his woman. But Justus saw acknowledgement stiffen the broad shoulders. The marshal was helpless. Dillon knew it. They all knew it. He couldn't fire on Hillen without hitting Kitty.

"Let her go," Dillon yelled. "You're fight's with me, not her!"

But the outlaw didn't budge. "I mean it," he cried. "Drop the gun or I'll kill her. I'll kill her right here!"

For several long moments, Justus watched, wondering if the big man had some alternate plan, calculating the odds that he could drop Hillen before the gunman could kill Kitty. But it didn't take too long for him to make his decision. Straightening slowly, the marshal took a ragged breath, then tossed his pistol a few feet away. It landed with a soft thump in the dirt.

Breath held, Justus waited for Hillen to make his move, to release Kitty and gun down the marshal before Dillon could retrieve his gun. Instead of backing away as expected, though, Hillen just grinned maliciously and tightened his grip on the woman.

"I'd a thought you wuz smarter 'n that, Marshal," he crowed. "You just give me a straight shot right at you."

A well of disgust boiled up Justus' throat. Even though he had wanted Dillon dead himself, he at least had the decency to make it a fair fight. He realized, too, that Hillen didn't intend to let Kitty go – at least not yet. He watched the finger tighten on the trigger, saw the determination in the outlaw's jaw. There was only one chance to get the gunman, only one man who could do it – but he was currently unarmed.

The battle Justus had warred with his emotions suddenly swung in one sure direction.

Knowing there was no time to contemplate the consequences of his actions, he yelled out, "Hillen!"

Startled, the slight man turned, still clutching Kitty in front of him, and fired, just as Justus knew he would. It was perhaps the first completely unselfish act Billy had ever had. As the bullet slammed into him and shoved him to the ground, he managed to keep his eyes open long enough to see Matt Dillon dive into the street, the pistol sliding up into his hand with perfect timing, the blast from the marshal's gun plunging his own bullet into the exposed shoulder of Dan Hillen.

In disbelief, the outlaw stumbled back, loosening his grip on Kitty long enough for her to stumble away from him. Dillon's second bullet tore straight through the man's heart, and he was dead before his corpse hit the dust.

A strange sense of satisfaction drifted over Justus, somehow dampening the fire that spread through his chest, as he watched Matt Dillon slowly push to his feet, half-bent over with his hand pressed to his side – but standing. With a grunt, the marshal even managed to catch Kitty as she threw herself into his arms.

Vengeance was tasty, Billy thought ironically as darkness swept over him, but it wasn't the only dish being served.

TBC in the Epilogue