RESCUED: CHAPTER 14

Matt knew it was a good morning, because Buck was still tied next to him and even if he was still unconscious, Frank was alive. No man could ask for more. When he stood to pull the last of his jerky out of his saddlebags, Buck nickered at him and pawed the ground, the old, dried-up hay long gone. The horse looked tired, his flanks ganted up from lack of water. Matt knew he could go the whole day without more hay, but water was another matter. Then there was the fetid odor from the dead sheep, borne constantly now on the soft breeze that filtered in from the south. The situation was horrid: sheepers with their livelihood destroyed, now all killed by Comanches who stood nothing to gain but the satisfaction of revenge.

He had to get both of them out of here, and quickly. There was enough hay, but hay without water was a real quick way to kill a horse, so he ignored his traveling partner, knowing he couldn't provide what the horse wanted. They just HAD to get back to Bluff Creek. He could almost taste the fresh, cool water and smell the fresh green grass that waited for Buck there. And the trail that bordered the creek held the promise of them at least seeing another human being.

He walked the grim farmyard looking for anything useful to make a travois. There were plenty of slats he could rip off the lean-to, but not a piece of round wood on the place to make shafts. Coffee would no doubt help him think, but without water it was only a dream. His eye fell on the harness in the lean-to, picturing it on a horse. He pulled it off the wall and laid it out on the ground. The collar would fit Buck with room to spare and the only other pieces he needed were the tugs. If he wasn't in such dire straights his idea would have been downright comical: A riding bridle, a work collar, and tugs running across the fenders of his saddle. It'd look like a makeshift mess, but it just might work. But how to hook the tugs to the slats on the travois? The answer proved to be his nemesis from the night before: the short pieces of wire he'd removed from Frank's wrists and ankles. He hauled the pulling collar and tugs back to his horse, all the while designing the rig of salvation in his head. Even with fingers sore from his work late into the night, he deftly laced the travois together with his lariat and covered it with the the tarp that normally protected his bedroll. He used the bedroll to fashion a pillow for Frank's head, then stood back to admire his creation. It just might work. He treated himself to three big swallows of fresh water from his canteen, knowing he'd have to ration it for a good half-day ride in the sun back to Bluff Creek.

"Frank?" He nudged his deputy and spoke softly to him. No response. Frank's face was covered with sweat now, sweat Matt knew all too well was probably the result of fever. All the more reason to save water in case they couldn't make it to Bluff Creek. He studied Frank's hideously painted chest. Why wasn't the stab wound from the badge bleeding? Doc must have told him something at some time, but he just couldn't remember. He blew out a breath, trying to rid his nose of the vile smell of necrosis. They had to get out of here.

One step at a time, he told himself. One step at a time. He found Frank's shirt in the dust, ripped off by the Comanches in such fury that not a button or sleeve was left. Without a second thought, he carefully removed his own shirt, raised Frank up and put it on the unconscious man so it could protect him from more of the sun that had already caused blisters. He put the collar on Buck, who tossed his head unceremoniously at the idea but remained ever compliant. The saddle and his gear were another matter. Buck pawed furiously at the ground until Matt laid a hand on his neck and stroked him gently. "I'm gonna get you some water, son," he said softly. "Won't be long now." Next were the tugs, which he fastened to the collar and draped over the saddle. Finally he eased the bridle onto his head, rubbing him softly all the while. He dropped the reins, relying on the strong training that kept Buck completely quiet in a ground tie. It was the first time he'd ever been grateful that the big animal was tired and dehydrated. The horse had to remain completely still while he pulled the tugs down and attached the travois. Two twists of the repulsive barb wire from the tugs through each stirrup, and he was committed. He dragged Frank carefully onto the travois, grateful that he didn't have to utter a single "whoa." He double-checked his rigging, then snugged up Buck's cinch and stepped on.

The first hour out on the prairie proved to be the tipping point. Even at Buck's slowest walk, it must have been the relentless bouncing of the wobbly travois that shook Frank out of his insensible state. Matt twisted in the saddle and looked back when he heard a groan. He grabbed his canteen, eased down to the ground and knelt over Frank.

"Hey buddy. It's Matt. You're on a travois." He quickly soaked his bandana from the canteen and dabbed the cool water everywhere on Frank's face, then squeezed a few drops on his lips. His patient was definitely conscious. He licked the moisture and begged for more.

"Maaaattt!" His voice was weak but his plea urgent. "Water!"

Matt supported Frank behind the shoulders and gently held the canteen to his lips. He was only able to take small sips because of the blisters on his lips, but he wanted the whole canteen so Matt stopped him and lidded the canteen. Frank looked up at him like a puppy just reunited with it's owner.

"Mouth hurts."

"I'll bet it does. How long did you lay in the sun like that?"

"Today?" He struggled to get the word out.

"Thursday."

"Dunno." He lolled his head on the bedroll pillow. "Face on fire."

Time for a wardrobe adjustment. Two men sharing one horse, one bedroll, and for the most part one set of clothes was never a handy arrangement. Matt soaked the bandana again and tied it around Frank's face so only his forehead and eyes were still exposed. It would be easy to lift to give him more water. Should have thought of that to begin with.

"Three days."

"What?"

"How long."

Matt couldn't even imagine the anguish. Maybe Frank's luck had finally run out. The burning sun right on the heels of the frigid nights, all the while with no covering at all, and with wrists and ankles bound up in wire that ripped into his skin if he so much as tried to move from a biting fly. The best plan would be to make sure Frank knew he was on his way out of this hell hole, so he did.

"We're headed back to Bluff Creek where there's shade and water and food. Sound good?"

"Rise . . . . Rejoice." His words came slowly but his brain was active as he tried an entire sentence, even if it was some biblical verse that Matt had never heard.

"Water."

Dutifully, Matt raised him up again and let him sip slowly. When he laid him back down and capped the canteen, he knew he had Frank back.

Frank's eyes were doing the best they could to focus. "No shirt." He couldn't smile, but the corners of his mouth were definitely turned up. It was Matt's payment in full for the entire rescue.

"You ready?"

"Vamonos!"

And so they resumed their trek: Two men responsible for upholding the law and keeping the peace in Kansas, united in their determination to get home and get back to their rightful responsibilities.

XOXOXO

He ignored Buck's first stumble, not even believing how long this journey was taking. The big animal hadn't had a drink in over 24 hours, and in the noon heat he was packing a big man and dragging another heavy load behind him. His second stumble was a serious warning sign, so Matt reined in and stepped down. When he dropped his reins in a ground tie, the horse lowered his head, completely ignoring the flies that were attacking his legs. His coat was crusted with dried sweat, which Matt knew meant nothing but trouble. He looked off to the horizon, but no luck spotting the greenery of Bluff Creek yet, so he checked on his other dehydrated companion. Frank was out again, so he settled for re-wetting the bandana on his face, took two big gulps of water from the canteen, then picked up Buck's reins and started walking. He could ask no more of his horse. The saddle would remain empty for the rest of the trip.

Seemed like they'd walked another half day, even though the sun belied it. Couldn't have been much more than mid-afternoon when he felt a nudge in the middle of his back from a horse who had always been very careful not to touch his owner without being asked. Buck was much too close and he was picking up the pace, totally unlikely behavior in his condition. Aroused from his mindless trudging, Matt flicked the ends of his reins at the horse to back him off, looked up, and there in the distance in front of them, big as life, was that long row of gorgeous willow trees that lined the bank of Bluff Creek.

"Sorry big guy," he muttered to his horse. "I know you can smell the water." It was all he could do to keep slowing Buck and keep him in his place behind him. The makeshift travois simply couldn't cover this nasty ground any faster. He found himself repeatedly restraining the horse and shouting back to Frank at the same time. "We're here, Frank! Water ahead!"

Close enough now that he could see the individual trees, Matt thought his eyes might be playing tricks on him when he saw dust on the old wagon trail that ran up to Dodge. He squinted, pushed his hat back, and studied hard. No, it wasn't a trick! It was a rider. A lone rider moving at a slow trot.

"Easy, Buck," he warned the horse and patted his head before he cupped his hands and shouted.

"HEY! HEY! HEY!" He saw the rider slow to a walk and look around. Needed a better signal, so he rolled his tongue around in his mouth, gathered every last bit of spit he could summon, licked his lips, and let out a piercing whistle. It worked like a charm! The rider put his arm up and waved back and forth in acknowledgement, then trotted straight for them.

"Thanks, mister!" Matt greeted him with a big grin, completely unaware of the sight he must have been with no shirt, a bedraggled horse, and a lifeless body on a travois behind.

"I'm Matt Dillon, United States Marshal out of Dodge City." He explained. "I've got a badly injured man on the travois. Headed for the creek. He needs water."

"Well, Marshal. I never met a lawman without no shirt or no badge." A grin crept across his face. He stepped down off his horse and offered Matt his canteen, which Matt took gratefully, all but drinking it dry. Matt glanced down at himself and smiled back sheepishly.

"Uhhh, my shirt's on him." He pointed back at Frank. "Look, can I hire you to get us some help? I have friends about ten miles from here, and you're headed that way. Worth ten dollars to me if you could tell 'em where I am."

"I don't want your money, Marshal. Be glad to run your errand. Let's start by gettin' you to Brush Creek. Your horse there don't look none too good. Why don't you step up on mine and I'll lead yours."

He'd come this far, carefully protecting the friend lying prone on the travois. As tempting as the offer was, Frank was his responsibility and he couldn't risk one mis-step from Buck.

"Thanks, I'll stay right here. Let's get on to the creek."

So they walked in tandem, the presence of another horse seeming to have a calming effect on Buck who hadn't seen anything but dead sheep for 24 hours. Matt straightened his shoulders, bolstered by the canteen water, rebounding into lawman mode.

"Name's Willis Fry. That guy your prisoner?"

"Hardly. He's my partner."

"A lawman?" Fry looked incredulous. "He ain't got no hat, no boots, no nothin'! Just a mask on his face!"

"It's a long story, Willis."

Realizing that no more information would be forthcoming from the big man, Fry walked quietly the rest of the way. The willows at the creek never looked so good to Matt.

"Let me help you here, Marshal. Then I'll run your errand."

He was sure glad he had another man to steady Buck while he gently lifted Frank off the travois onto the soft grass. He took as long as he dared ministering to Frank, holding him up while he offered sips of water.

"We're here, buddy." Frank moaned, a sure sign that he understood, even if he wasn't ready to compose his thoughts.

Matt and his new friend tossed all the gear off Buck, then pulled his saddle and the makeshift travois and harness that was attached to it. The poor horse literally dragged Matt into the creek, gulping the water he needed more than air. Matt let him have a several swallows, then pulled him up and walked him in a few slow circles. He looked back at Willis Fry, who'd tied his own horse up and was busy gathering firewood. Sure didn't deserve this guy. As soon as Willis had a good sized fire going, he was back to Matt.

"I'll water him slow for you, Marshal. You got hobbles?"

"Yeah, in my gear. I'll get 'em."

And so it went as so often happened on the prairie, two men who'd never met before, working together to save a life. Buck was well watered and contentedly munching the lush grass when Willis returned to the campsite with two freshly killed rabbits. He and Matt soaked willow boughs in the creek and fashioned a spit for the meal.

"Look, Willis. I've got this. You take off and get a wagon for me. Straight north up the old road, the way you were headed, maybe 5 miles is a cut to the left. There's a sign 'Henry Ranch' at that cut."

"I know where it is. Seen it before."

"Good. Ride in there and find somebody. They all know me. See if you can get one of 'em to come back here with a wagon. Ask 'em to send a cowboy up to Dodge and bring the doctor to their place. Listen, you take this ten dollar silver piece, you hear?" Matt held Willis in his firm grip while he stuffed the coin in the man's shirt pocket.

Willis nodded and retrieved his horse. Before he stepped on, he untied his roll and tossed it on the ground at Matt's feet.

"You just bought yourself a bedroll, Marshal. Mighty cold out here at night. See 'ya later." Then he rolled his horse back over his hocks and lit out at a lope for the wagon road.

XOXOXO

She was surprised when Festus showed up at the house at noon.

"Miss Kitty!" He flailed his arms when she welcomed him in. "You gotta find out when th' bank's gonna have th' money. Wiley Bliss 'jes rode in n' said they's a big herd near on a day south a' here, headin' straight fer us! This culd be a plain o' unbridled meltdown!"

Kitty took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a minute, wishing she hadn't heard him right. In her best laid plan, she'd forgotten that a couple of late season herds usually hit Dodge. What to ask, what to do? Her mind was cluttered with possibilities. Sure would be nice if Matt and Frank were here.

"All right Festus," she said calmly, putting on a good front. "Did he say anything about the size of the herd?"

"All he ever said wuz they's a-raisin' a cloud a' dust bigger n' next week!"

"Next week," she thought to herself. "If only we had until next week."

"I kin go out yonder n' meet 'em tomorrow like Matthew always does. But 'cha see, them cowboys is gonna need them saloons a-goin' full tilt."

"I know that, Festus. Give me this afternoon to think about it. I'll plan on you and Charlie here for supper tonight. We'll make a plan then."

She patted Festus on the arm and ushered him out the door so she could think. How could she have forgotten this possibility? She gave Festus time to get past the gate, then went to the closet and pulled out Matt's ammo box. Twenty thousand dollars in crisp new hundred dollar bills. It seemed insane to keep that kind of money in the closet, but under the circumstances it was a godsend. She checked that Sara was still sleeping, then slipped quietly out the back door to the icehouse, the the other safe place she and Matt had always agreed emergency money could be kept safe from fire or theft. Couldn't remember exactly how much she'd squirreled away out there, but the tin can yielded a surprise five thousand dollar harvest. There'd be close to a thousand in the Long Branch safe based on the numbers she'd posted in her ledger that last day it was open. It was her money and it was Matt's, more than they'd ever hoped to save. She needed to sit down with him and talk. But she knew what he'd say. In his first breath he'd say "Kitty, nothing is more important than our family. We've been generous. We've done our part." Then he'd kiss her, and in the next breath he'd say "Whatever you decide, Kitty. You run the finances. Whatever you think is just fine with me."

She dressed Sara in her new yellow outfit with the lacy white bonnet and put her in the buggy with her little stuffed kitten, then made the quick walk to Judge Brooker's office and rapped lightly on the door.

"Kitty! What a pleasant surprise!" He welcomed her warmly and helped her heft the buggy onto the boardwalk and into his office. A young man inside stood politely and smiled.

"Kitty, this is my son Joseph. Joseph, this is Kitty Dillon and that little angel in the buggy is her daughter Sara. Kitty, Joseph is our new physician in Dodge."

"Hello Mrs. Dillon." He took her hand for a warm greeting.

"Just Kitty, please." She smiled. "Doc told me about you the other day. I'm so glad to finally meet you. I do apologize, it's been the least bit hectic around here."

"Well, you wouldn't have found me, anyway. Galen has had me on farm calls since before your problems at the bank."

"Glad to hear that, Joseph. Doc needs to stay out of that buggy and off the prairie unless he's going fishing. I hope you like it here."

Pleasantries exchanged, she took the seat the judge offered and started in directly while Joseph fussed over the baby.

"I need some advice, Cyrus."

"Dad, Mrs. Dillon, I'll excuse myself." Joseph offered tactfully. "I have some work to do in the office anyway. Very nice meeting you."

She waited until Joseph had closed the door behind him.

"Such a nice young man."

"He is that, but I'm partial to him. Now what is it I can help with?"

As slowly as she could without rushing, Kitty recapped the story of Matt being gone for three days, the Texas herd approaching, and the need to re-open the saloons. As usual, Cyrus Brooker listened carefully, then interrupted with advice.

"Charlie Cole or Festus Haggen can re-open the saloons in Matt's absence, Kitty."

"That's the background, all right, but that's the easy part. We could have forty or fifty cowboys in town ready to whoop it up, and no payday. Those guys never have more than a couple dollars on them till they get paid in Dodge. Payday comes when they get the last of the cattle loaded in the holding pens and the trail boss hands out cold, hard cash. If the buyers can't get cash from the bank, the trail bosses don't get paid, and the . . ."

"I've got it, Kitty. I understand." There were times for a judge to deliberate, and times for a judge to cut to the chase. "And you have another idea?"

"I'm struggling with it." She broke gaze with his eyes and smoothed the creases on her skirt anxiously. "If I put every bit of cash Matt and I have into that rescue fund, the bank will be able to cover the buyers. Bodkin said he still had money in it as of yesterday."

Tears were welling in her eyes, tears only she sensed and didn't want Brooker to see, so she looked back down at her skirt.

"You can't do that, Kitty," he said softly. "You just can't. You and Matt don't owe anything like that to Dodge."

"Thank you. I appreciate your time." She stood and took the buggy in her hands, moving toward the door.

"I didn't help a bit," he said as he opened it for her.

"Yes you did, Cyrus. You surely did."

"Kitty! Don't! Please!" He called after her.

But it was too late. She was already headed down the boardwalk with her carriage, marching purposefully toward her premeditated target.

For all intents and purposes, the bank looked like business as usual. No need to rap lightly on any doors or make small talk, Kitty was a customer just like the other two who were standing at the tellers' cages.

"I need to see Mr. Bodkin in his office, Pete." She announced matter-of-factly when it was her turn.

"Of course, Miss Kitty."

Bodkin popped into the lobby and greeted her promptly, ushering her into his office. He looked none the worse for wear thanks to the generosity of the fine people who had bailed him out. Kitty looked at him standing there in his perfectly tailored three-piece suit and gave a brief thought to whether HE had actually put anything into the fund.

She explained the situation carefully, watching him squirm when she got to the part about paying the cattle buyers.

"Kitty!" He puffed. "You can't expect the rescue fund to absorb that kind of cost!"

"Forty thousand went in, Mr. Bodkin."

"Yes, of course, actually a bit more since then, but we've paid a lot out to keep this town afloat." He opened a ledger while he talked. "Fifteen thousand remains, that's all. Only fifteen thousand."

"ONLY!" Kitty's eyebrows shot up, along with her ire. "That's a small fortune!"

"Kitty, if we have some unforeseen emergency . . ." But she cut him off mid-sentence.

"We DO, Mr. Bodkin! That's why I'm here! I'd call a herd that size a completely unforeseen emergency!"

"Now look, Kitty. I'm sure your husband and his capable deputies can convince the trail boss to hold short of Dodge for a few days until the Pinkertons get here with our funds. Shouldn't be long at all."

"My husband is not in town, nor is Deputy Reardon. We have one retired U.S. Marshal visiting us from Denver who's stayed to help out of the kindness of his heart, and we have Festus Haggen. I for one will NOT throw those dear men to the wolves!"

"Those Texas ranchers aren't Dodge citizens, Kitty, and neither are the cattle buyers. The fund was set up to assist Dodge citizens, not outlanders."

Kitty had to hand it to the guy. After only a week, he'd become an expert at protecting their little slush fund, and he obviously wasn't ready to back down, not even for the author of the plan. She decided on the tactic that had worked so well on him when she'd presented her first idea: flattery. And she'd sure had plenty of experience using it to charm men. She took a deep breath and smiled warmly.

"I would think if you added the twelve thousand you held back in reserves when this whole mess started, now let's see . . ." She pretended to be adding the numbers in her head, numbers any elementary school student could handle with ease. "You would have about twenty seven thousand. Why, that's more than we'd ever need to make available to the buyers!" She added the last sentence enthusiastically, as though she'd just thought of it.

"Kitty! I'm required by our shareholders to keep that amount in reserve, you know that."

It was time to fire the other barrel. She fixed her penetrating blue eyes on him, not daring to blink.

"Mr. Bodkin, surely the most accomplished accountant in Ford County can move a little money around. I know you keep impeccable records. None of the shareholders would ever question your business acumen, especially since the bank will be whole again so soon thanks to all your hard work. Why, with your experience, it'd probably be a simple matter of moving some money from one ledger to another, a thousand dollars at a time."

"Well, I, . . . there's no question . . . some creativity might be appropriate." His face was starting to flush.

"Good!" She patted her hand on his desk, sealing the deal before he could reconsider his wishy-washy stumbling for words. "And in return, I'll be responsible for seeing that the saloons are all open when the trailhands hit town. Thank you, Mr. Bodkin. You've made another great decision!"

tbc