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)
Epilogue
POV: Billy Justus
Spoilers: None
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Dodge City
9:47 a.m., Friday, June 25
The stage for Wichita waited in front of the Dodge House, its team of horses fresh and ready. Standing just off the boardwalk, Billy Justus took a breath and nodded to the driver, who had loaded his single bag. He was leaving Dodge. What he had come there to accomplish was finished – in a different way than he had expected, but finished, nevertheless. He let his gaze swing toward the Long Branch, that center of fate for many a visitor to the "Queen of the Cowtowns," and Billy was no exception. His epiphany had blossomed there before it eventually came to flower in that moment of decision on the dust of Front Street.
At mid-morning, the activity was minimal in the saloon, only a few townsfolk sneaking an early drink, or left-over cowboys nursing hangovers from the night's carousing. A turn executed a little too quickly brought a wince to his eyes, and he took another breath to force away the worst of the pain from his wound. Despite that, he figured he'd live. A week's stay at Doc's office had gotten the better part of healing done for him before he decided it was time to move on.
Turning back to the stage driver, he asked, "How much longer?"
The man looked up from tying off the various bags on top. "Oh, at least another thirty minutes."
Thirty minutes. Time for a final beer before they headed out into the dry country. After all, Miss Kitty had told him drinks were on the house for the rest of his stay, and he hadn't had the chance to take her up on that offer, yet.
The smell of hops and leather and sawdust greeted him as he stepped into the relative coolness of the saloon. The barkeep – Sam, he remembered – threw a craggy but friendly smile his way. "Come for that beer?"
"Sure did," Justus nodded.
"How're ya' feelin'?"
"A sight better. Seems Doc Adams knows what he's doin'."
Sam chuckled and tilted his head toward a table near the stairs where the physician himself sat. "He gets his share of work. Have a seat. I'll bring it to ya'."
Easing his way through the chairs, Billy cleared his throat as he neared the doctor, who appeared to be daydreaming into his beer. "Howdy, Doc."
The older man looked up, then smiled politely. "Well, Will, thought you were headed out on the morning stage."
Justus smiled at the name. Over the course of a week, Doc had decided that Mister Jones was too formal, had started off using "William," then shortened it to "Will."
"It's running a little late," Billy explained. "Half hour or so."
Adams pulled out a pocket watch and held it at arm's length. "In that case, it's an hour earlier than usual. This is your lucky day. Have a seat."
"Thanks." He lowered himself into a chair and glanced around, trying to sound casual. "Miss Kitty around?"
Although she had visited him a few times at Doc's and brought him some broth from the cafe, he'd found out from Festus that she had been nursing the marshal for most of the week. He sighed as he imagined the benefits to having Kitty Russell as your nurse over Doc Adams.
Doc pursed his lips for a moment before answering. When he did, his eyes cut just briefly toward the upstairs rooms of the saloon. "She's around."
Catching the hint, Billy accepted what that meant and took a gulp of the beer Sam had set before him. "I'd like ta' thank her before I go. You know – for the room and all." He paused, then added. "I guess I need ta' thank you, too, Doc."
Adams waved away his gratitude.
Consciously keeping himself from looking toward the upstairs rooms, Justus asked, "How's the marshal?" In truth, he still wasn't quite sure why he had helped Dillon there on Front Street, tried to tell himself it was merely to save Kitty's life, but as he lay up in Doc's old iron bed for the better part of a week, his reflections nagged him to admit that there might have been more to it. He had to acknowledge that the vengeance that burned his soul for ten years had somehow faded to quickly ebbing embers.
Adams shook his head and grunted. "Oh, he'll live, thanks to the expert skills of his personal physician."
"That's good," Billy said, almost surprised that he meant it. He had been fighting himself for several days, trying to push back the persistent admiration for Dillon. After all, he'd come to kill the man, hadn't he? It just hadn't worked out like he planned. And now –
"He's a right tough fella," Billy observed.
"He's too ornery to die," Doc complained, but Justus heard the affection and relief through the rough tone.
"I hafta say, though, I sure wasn't expectin' ta' see him up and about the mornin' he shot Dan Hillen. Didn't figure he'd be healed up by then."
Doc lifted an eyebrow in acknowledgement. "He wasn't – not by a long shot. By golly, that man has more stubborn in him than a team of mules. Maybe even more than Festus." Looking up suddenly, he added, "But don't tell either of 'em I said that."
Billy smiled. "That's why I was surprised you cleared him."
Doc's eyes opened wide, and he slapped the table. "Cleared him my foot! If he wasn't so blasted big, I woulda sat on him to keep him in that bed!"
A frown pulled down Justus' brow. "Then why – "
Tugging at an earlobe, Doc took another sip of beer. "Matt didn't want to take a chance on Hillen gunning down someone else while he waited. So, he set himself up as bait." Shaking his head, he added, "Damn fool thing to do."
Doc's words from a week before echoed in Billy's head again: "That's what he does, son. He protects – everybody."
"Fool or brave," Justus clarified, the grudging respect continuing to punch holes through his crumbling shield of resentment and bitterness.
The doctor swiped at his mustache. "Do you know how much blood he lost? Dad-blamed fool shouldn't even have been conscious – much less parading down the middle of the street as a target for some gunslinger. Just ignored my advice – same as usual."
"You run a strict hospital, Doc. I can attest to that." He brought a hand up to brace the healing wound on his upper chest.
"Yeah, well, you followed orders, see, and now look at ya' – almost well and ready to head out on that stage." Movement drew his eyes to the balcony above them. "Too bad all my patients can't be so cooperative," he said loudly.
Justus followed the doctor's gaze and saw the intended recipient of his pointed remark. Matt Dillon stood at the top of the steps, one hand gripping the banister so tightly that the knuckles were white, the other hand bracing his side. Kitty Russell stood just behind him, an arm around his waist. As soon as he saw that they had an audience, though, he eased away from her and straightened, dropping the hand from his side. The one on the rail remained, probably out of necessity. Justus heard Doc click his tongue.
Despite the effort to mask his discomfort, Dillon could not avoid a grimace as he made his way slowly down the steps, Kitty matching his careful pace. Billy watched pride and concern battle in her expression and wasn't sure which won. He considered how magnificent it would be to have a woman look at him the way she looked at Dillon.
Letting out a careful breath as his boots stepped onto the floor of the Long Branch, the marshal pushed a smile to his face, and greeted Justus.
"Hear you're leavin' us, Mister Jones," he said. Although his voice still held the same full, deep tone, the timbre was a little too tight. "Doc's lettin' ya' out of his clutches?"
"Some folks pay attention to their physicians and actually heal," Adams noted.
Justus scratched at his beard. He had suffered the dedicated mother-henning of the doctor for the better part of a week, and, although he certainly appreciated all Doc had done, he was more than glad to get out of there.
"Doc, I'm fine," Dillon protested.
Adams cast a dubious look at the still-pale face and pain-tightened eyes. "Don't know why I even bother," he muttered.
"Ya' gotta have somebody to practice on," the marshal reminded him with another smile that was not quite so forced.
Adams snorted. "Well, you – you sure enough give me that. I could write a book." Fingers snapping suddenly, he looked up. "By golly, I think I will. Maybe a whole series. One for every bullet."
Dillon winced as he eased his big frame into a chair. Justus noted that he wore his six-gun. He wondered if the lawman ever took it off.
"It's deep in him," Doc had said. Billy had seen first hand what that meant.
"We'll call 'em the 'Dillon Dime Novels'," Adams continued. "They could just go on forever!"
His delighted smile faltered a bit with the glare from a distinctly un-amused Kitty. "Doc, that's not even a little funny," she scolded.
Justus didn't know how the physician managed to look chastised and amused at the same time.
"Uh, it's about time for the stage, isn't it?" Dillon announced with a timely distraction.
"Nevermind," Kitty told him, giving Doc a final scowl before she turned sweetly to Billy. "I see you have your beer already, Mister Jones."
"Yes, ma'am, and I'm obliged."
"You want one, Matt?" she offered.
Dillon looked toward Doc. "Okay?"
The physician studied the marshal carefully, apparently not particularly liking what he saw. "I think I'll make it doctor's orders."
"I'll get it," Kitty answered, letting her hand slide gently down Dillon's arm as she left.
Justus watched the marshal watch Miss Kitty, and his eyes widened at the unexpected tenderness that touched Dillon's handsome features. He thought back to that day over a week ago when he'd had the revelation that Matt Dillon did have a weakness, and now he wondered if even the marshal realized just how much of one it was.
Letting his gaze admire her as she walked to the bar, Justus observed, "Woman like Miss Kitty – she sure is somethin'."
"She is that." Doc agreed, lifting his glass slightly in a private toast.
"I can't figure how she ain't married." Oh hell. He hadn't really meant to say that aloud.
Adams lifted his head. "Yeah, how 'bout that? I've wondered the game thing myself plenty of times. " He turned to the marshal. "You ever wondered that, Matt?"
Dillon's lips pressed together, and his blue eyes darkened in clear warning. The doctor ignored him.
"Well," Billy figured, trying to climb out of the hole, "I just meant that if she was my woman – "
"She's not."
He swallowed at the sharp tone and saw that Dillon's gaze had turned even darker. Billy had only dug himself in even deeper. No one spoke for a long moment, not even Doc, who had suddenly developed a deep interest in his beer. Justus wondered if, after all that had happened, they might yet get that showdown. As it turned out, though, Kitty herself solved the problem.
Gliding back from the bar with a beer in each hand, she quickly surveyed the situation and asked, "Everything all right?"
"Oh!" Now that reinforcements had arrived, Doc jumped in eagerly. "Well, we were just having an interesting conversation. Weren't we, gentlemen?"
"Uh – yeah," Billy agreed tentatively.
Kitty's eyes narrowed. "What about?"
Almost gleefully, Doc answered for them. "Marriage!"
Dillon flinched.
"Marriage?" Kitty echoed, surprised lifting her eyebrows. She glanced at the marshal, who scooted down a little lower in his chair.
"Yes, ma'am," Doc continued, clearly enjoying himself. "Will was just askin' why – "
Any revelation he was about to make was lost, however, in the sudden appearance of the coach driver at the swinging doors. "We're about to head out, Mister Jones," he announced without entering the bar.
Before Justus could respond, Dillon cut back quickly, "Thanks, Jim. He's comin'."
"Don't you want to finish your conversation?" Doc asked, but the big lawman had already pushed to his feet, not even bothering to mask the grunt that escaped him.
"Matt?" Kitty questioned.
"It's time for Mister Jones' stage," Dillon explained, all too eagerly. "Don't want him to be late, do ya'?"
He held the door for Kitty, who threw him a curious glance as she and Doc walked out. Justus eased by the big man as quickly as possible, thankful for the chance to slink out of that hole.
Kitty and Doc waited by the stage, eyeing him curiously, and he realized suddenly that it was time. Ten days after he had arrived in Dodge, a mission of vengeance burning in his heart, Billy Justus – now known to the townspeople as Will Jones – was leaving.
She stepped away from Doc, leaned in and kissed Justus on the cheek, her soft lips leaving a tingle of warmth. "You take care of yourself, Will."
Trying to commit the sight of those clear blue eyes to memory, he assured her, "I will, ma'am."
She smiled and moved to the side to make room for Adams. The doctor patted him on the back. "Good luck in Wichita, son. You can always come back here if things don't work out."
No, I can't, Justus answered silently, darting a glance toward the marshal, who was just joining them. Aloud, he just said, "Thanks."
"Mister Jones," Dillon said, extending his right hand. Justus took it, and they nodded to each other for the length of the shake. When it was over, Justus climbed carefully into the coach and took his place by the window.
Then, he leaned out and called to Dillon. "Can I tell you somethin', Marshal? In private?"
The lawman took a step forward, thumbs hooked in his gun belt, hat pulled down over his eyes. "What is it?"
"I've been thinkin'."
"Yeah?"
He swallowed. "I've been thinkin' that sometimes revenge blinds a man to the thing he needs to see the most."
Dillon lifted his chin and studied Justus. After a moment, he said, "That so?"
"That's so," Justus confirmed. "Just wanted you to know. Could you, uh, could you tell Miss Kitty something for me?"
"You don't want to tell her yourself?" Dillon wondered, tilting his chin toward Kitty and Doc.
"No. I'd like for you to tell her."
The marshal caught his lower lip between his teeth, then nodded once. "Okay."
"Tell her I was – I was wrong."
"Wrong?" Dillon asked, frowning.
"Yes, sir," Justus said. "I was wrong about – lawmen. In more ways than one."
Both of Dillon's eyebrows rose, and he cocked his head slightly, an unspoken question on his lips.
"Would ya' tell her that, Marshal?"
After a beat, he nodded. "I'll tell her."
Justus gave a smile of satisfaction, expecting the marshal to step back and let him go, but Dillon didn't move. Instead, the lawman leaned in closer, placing one hand on the stage window. "There's just one more thing."
Justus caught his breath, a tremor of anticipation and fear rocking his insides at the calculation on those firm features. Dillon looked out from under his hat just enough to hold Justus' eyes with his own.
"Good luck," he said quietly. Then, with a single nod, added, "Billy."
Justus' jaw dropped and he stared, heart pounding, breath caught in his throat. He found his fingers twitching in reflex over the butt of his gun. He opened his mouth to answer, to question, to dispute, but nothing came.
Billy.
With his eyes still locked on Justus, Dillon raised two fingers to touch the brim of his hat in a casual salute. Billy continued to stare, too shocked to register fully what that simple farewell meant. Somehow, over the pounding of his heart, he heard the stage driver call out to the team of horses. Dillon took a step back, out of the way of the coach, breaking his gaze with Justus, who watched as the lawman moved up onto the boardwalk next to Kitty and Doc.
Good luck – Billy.
Justus looked out the window again, a final view of the town that had changed his life twice. He watched as Dillon leaned down and whispered something in Kitty's ear. She looked up at him, then turned toward the stage, those beautiful eyes meeting Billy's. The smile she gave him wasn't quite the same one he had seen her give Dillon, but it was good enough for Billy.
He nodded and smiled back, then watched as she hooked her arm around the marshal's, stretched up on tip toe and let her lips brush across his cheek. If Dillon was surprised by that public demonstration, he didn't show it. On the contrary, he demonstrated himself that he could be quick on the draw in ways other than gunplay. While her lips still touched him, he let his head turn to capture her mouth with his. It wasn't a long kiss, but Justus could almost see the sparks that snapped between them. When Dillon pulled back, Kitty stared up at him, amazement and love plain and unmasked on her face. Then the marshal, realizing that they had drawn more than a few stares of interest, straightened and cleared his throat, while Doc stood by, grinning widely.
Billy found himself grinning, as well, even past the lingering twinge of jealousy as the coach lurched forward, and the tall marshal and his woman disappeared from view. Within minutes, the last buildings of the town fell behind, and the dry, flat prairie stretched endlessly out before them.
As the dust of Dodge was knocked off the wheels by the prairie grass, Billy felt the last vengeful embers ebb, replaced by the spark of respect he had failed to douse. His soul, which had been seized by hatred and vengeance ten years before, was now tempered by what he had seen of humanity and sacrifice – and love.
Ten years hadn't made a difference, but ten days had.
Maybe he would come back to Dodge one day. Maybe in another ten years he'd return to see if Matt Dillon had survived the men to come. Men whose souls burned. He couldn't help but believe somehow that, when he did come back, the man would still reach halfway to the sky, still pack a knockout punch, still draw lightening fast. And still have Kitty Russell by his side – one way or another.
Billy Justus – Will Jones – figured that was enough for any man's soul.
