A/N: Hey! This is a one-shot based heavily on the radio episode "Pal". Thought it might be kind of fun to present it like this. Obviously radio!verse, but similar enough that it shouldn't make problems for anybody. All credit goes to writers Kathleen Hite, John Meston, and the other creators. Enjoy!


Matt looked up and met Doc's fierce gaze squarely.

"There. Get out of that one," the physician said archly, moving a checker piece across the board.

"I will," the marshal murmured, smiling a little to himself.

"I've been waiting a long time to teach you how to play checkers," Doc declared, inspecting his nails. "There's no use, Matt. You thought you had me, don't you?"

"I have, Doc," Matt said quietly, looking at the board.

"Oh, go on, then," his opponent admonished, waving a hand.

The marshal picked up his smooth piece and jumped it neatly over four of Doc's pieces in rapid succession. The wooden markers rattled together with a comforting sound as Matt collected them.

"How's that?" he asked.

"Where'd you see that one?" Doc asked, dismayed. He didn't wait for an answer. "Give me just a moment."

"Doc, you're beat, and you know it," Matt told him.

"No, wait a minute!" Doc exclaimed, looking sharply down at the board. "This isn't so bad; there's got to be something here—"

"Mr. Dillon!"

They both turned their heads toward the sound outside the office.

"It's Chester. Better go see what he wants before he starts waking up all those dead folks on Boot Hill," Doc told Matt.

"I'm not leaving you alone with this board," the marshal said. His voice was serious but his eyes danced with quiet merriment.

"Doc, are you in there? I need help!" Chester's distressed cries continued from outside.

"Oh, he's calling me now," Doc grumbled. As he got up, his hand slid across the table too smoothly to be anything but deliberate. The pieces scattered on the floor.

"Oh, no, I guess we can't finish our game. I'm sorry," Doc said regretfully.

Matt wasn't fooled for a minute and just chuckled. "Yeah, I'll bet you are."

"What's all the noise about, Chester?" Matt asked, leaning out the door.

Chester's face was all furrowed up in worry as he leaned on the hitching post.

"I got me a sick dog across my horse here," he said, gesturing to his mare who stood patiently.

"A what?" Matt asked incredulously.

"A sick dog," Chester repeated, voice strained. "He's awfully sick, Doc. You gotta help him!"

"What's the matter?" Doc inquired. "Somebody shoot him?"

"No, he got into some wolf bait," Chester answered, looking distressed.

"For Heaven's sakes, Chester, I'm not a veterinarian!" Doc answered, looking warily at the large, mangy dog draped across his friend's saddle.

"Doc, this dog's sicker than a pig, he's about to die!" Chester pleaded, his large brown eyes stared at them pitifully.

Doc Adams rolled his eyes and was about to retort when the dog let out a few pathetic-sounding whimpers, clearly in pain. Doc hesitated, and Matt watched him.

"You want him up in your office, Doc?" the marshal asked after a moment.

"No, I don't want him up there," the doctor answered somewhat waspishly.

The dog continued its piteous cries and Chester looked sorrier than ever.

"Aw, Doc, you gotta help him," he begged.

Matt kept his face impassive but felt a small bubble of amusement in his chest. Chester wasn't hardened like many men in Dodge and was tender-hearted enough to look out for strays. When he cared about something, he poured his whole heart into it. Matt had seen the same type of quick affection in his friend's unlucky romantic ventures, and now he was seeing it again with this half-dead stray dog.

Doc sighed. "Oh, alright, come on. A paying customer might see me working on his here."

Chester sagged with relief, and it was almost palpable in the air around him.

"Grab hold of his back feet there, Doc, I got this end," the marshal's assistant instructed, grabbing hold of the dog just below the shoulders.

The dog immediately stiffened at his touch and began growling and snarling, his frothing muzzle snapped at the air, narrowly missing Chester's hands as he fought to regain his purchase on the animal.

Doc backed away with surprise as the dog writhed under his touch.

"Now, them snarls and bites don't mean nothing; he's been doin' that at me all the way back from Spiny's," Chester talked over the dog's growling.

"Put him down, Chester," Matt said uneasily. "He'll bite you the way you handle him."

Chester acquiesced with a somewhat crestfallen expression. "Well, I—" he began, running a hand over his hair, looking unsure.

Matt got down to one knee. "Here, boy."

The dog began its whimpering again and tucked itself into a ball in the dust. When Matt called, it cried but got up and began staggering over to the marshal's outstretched hand. The dog sniffed at the marshal's hand and gave it a feeble lick.

Matt cautiously touched the dog's head with his palm. When the dog didn't growl or snap at him, he moved his hand down the animal's back until his arm circled over the dog. With his other, he scooped underneath the dog's front legs and hoisted him up.

"Alright, take it easy," he murmured to the dog as it struggled once, then passively rested in the marshal's arms as Matt stood up.

"That's good, Matt," Doc said approvingly, close enough to help if the dog should start struggling.

They started off in the direction of Doc's office. Matt trudged behind Doc and Chester, who began arguing. Chester glanced behind him every few seconds anxiously to look at the dog in Matt's arms.

"Who's going to pay for this, Chester?" Doc demanded as they climbed the stairs. "I've only had a fifteen-dollar week!"

"Well, why don't you see if you can save him first, Doc!" Chester said back in a reproving tone, squirming out of it.

"Oh, I'll save him, if it's what you say it is," Doc snapped back. "Strychnine poison—"

"Somebody open the door, will you?" Matt ordered irritably.

Chester got all tangled up in Doc's arms saying "I got it, I got it," over and over. Doc finally shoved past him and turned the knob. Matt strode in and laid him down on the table, gently.

Chester slammed the door shut behind them and rushed to the table in two big steps across the room.

"Take it easy now, boy," the marshal said kindly to the dog, smoothing his hand over the dog's ruff. The dog continued to whimper and cry, with his tail tucked up tight between his legs.

Chester ran his hands over his pockets, looking worried sick.

"This is Spiny Murphy's dog, isn't it, Chester?" Matt asked, suddenly recognizing the distinct-looking animal.

Chester didn't look up at him but kept his eyes glued on the animal.

"I'm gonna keep him, Mr. Dillon," he said eagerly.

"I said, this is Spiny Murphy's dog, isn't it?" Matt asked again, a little perplexed.

"Looks more like a wolf than a dog," Doc remarked as he bustled over to the medicine cabinet. He bent over the dog and peeled his lips up carefully a little to look at the gums. After peering into the dog's eyes, he clucked his tongue and began measuring out something from a glass bottle.

"Chester," Matt said suddenly in a disapproving voice.

"Yessir?" his assistant looked up at him for the first time.

"Does Spiny Murphy know that you've got his dog?" Matt asked in a resigned tone, already knowing the answer.

"No, sir," Chester answered. "Well, I mean, I don't know why he—"

"Will you two get out of here and let a man work in peace?" Doc exploded, keeping one hand on the dog's side.

"Take it easy, Doc," Matt said in a placating voice.

"I got me a name for him, Doc," Chester said, watching. "Pal."

Doc's irritation melted away and he laughed a little.

"Oh, that's very original, Chester," he remarked sardonically. "Go on, wait outside, both of you."

Matt led the way and Chester followed reluctantly. As they went down the steps, Matt heard him speak.

"Oh, poor dog," he griped fretfully. "My gracious."

"You know, Chester, this could spell trouble for you," the marshal told him seriously as they made their way back to the office.

"How do you mean?" Chester asked, bewildered.

"You know Miz Murphy beats up on Spiny every now and then," Matt began.

"Yessir," Chester responded.

"Well, Miles told me yesterday that Spiny was in his store," the marshal said.

"Did she beat up on him again?" Chester asked warily.

"Miles said he could hardly walk," Matt admitted, opening the office door.

"She's a downright mean woman, ain't she?" Chester mused. "I don't know how any man stays married to a woman like that."

"That's not the point," Matt said.

"It—it ain't?" Chester asked.

"Spiny got that dog for protection from her," Matt replied matter-of-factly.

"Well, I been wantin' me a dog for a long time, Mr. Dillon, Chester said in a dismayed voice.

"Yeah, I know, but don't take that one," Matt said.

"Yeah, but if Spiny poisoned him, then he don't deserve him," Chester pointed out, not quite whining.

"Maybe it wasn't Spiny, maybe it was his wife," Matt answered.

"Are you sayin' I shouldn't have tried to save him?" Chester demanded angrily.

"No, I'm not saying that. But do you expect her to thank you when you bring him back?" Matt asked, not swayed by Chester's emotions.

"Well, she…" Chester trailed off, thinking about it. "No, I— you don't think she'd get after me, would she?" he asked suddenly, sounding apprehensive.

"She will if you bring the dog back," Matt answered. "And I will if you don't," he said after a pause.


Later in the afternoon, the door to the office opened and Doc entered, with the dog bounding in alongside him.

"Hello, Doc," Matt greeted him, surprised. "You got him on his feet already?"

"Yeah," Doc answered, sounding pleased. "Where's Chester?"

"I sent him off for the mail," Matt chuckled.

"Well, that's good," Doc answered. "He's been hounding me all morning about this wolf he found. Running up the stairs every ten minutes, asking if he can help and how it's doing. I wouldn't let him see it."

"He's been after me too, that's why I had to get rid of him," Matt answered ironically. "How are you, boy?" Matt asked to the dog, sticking out a hand again. The dog rubbed up under his hand willingly, and the marshal felt rough fur underneath his fingers. He smiled.

"Where are you gonna keep him?" Doc asked, rubbing his mustache.

"We're not, Doc," Matt answered, taking his hand away from the dog.

"You're not?" Doc asked incredulously. "Oh, Chester's going to be mighty disappointed."

"Yeah, I know," Matt answered regretfully. His nose wrinkled a little as the dog poked his way underneath his desk. "Why didn't you wash him up a little? He really smells."

"It was bad enough trying to work on him without trying to wash him up," Doc answered. "Why do you think I brought him down here?" he asked slyly.

"I'll put him out in the cell section," Matt said, leading the dog to the back of the jail. Matt pulled gently at the rope around the dog's neck and dog followed him, friendly enough.

"Is this the rope that was on him?" Matt asked.

"I guess so," Doc answered.

"Spiny must have really been afraid he'd get away. Come on boy, inside," the marshal said, closing the door behind him with the dog carefully inside.

"You're kind of unfair to your prisoners, aren't you, Matt?" Doc asked, wrinkling his nose at the smell that still wafted through the room.

Matt chuckled at that. "They can complain to Chester."

As if summoned, the door to the office burst open and Chester walked in empty-handed.

"Mr. Dillon, there wasn't no mail down there," he said petulantly, then stopped short when he saw the physician.

"Doc, what you doin' down here? Where's Pal?" he asked, eyes widening.

"Chester, I've got bad news for you," Doc answered in a somber voice.

Chester looked as if he'd gotten the wind knocked out of him.

"Oh, Doc, now. Don't tell me that, th-that dog kindly took to me a-and—"

"Now, Chester, just take it easy. There was nothing that I could do."

"Oh, my gracious," Chester moaned unhappily, sitting down heavily at the table, eyes welling up with tears.

"He lived," Doc stated.

Chester sprang up out of the chair, all trace of sorrow vanishing immediately from his person.

"Where's he at?" he asked.

"He's out back, but I wouldn't go out there Chester," Matt said.

"Oh, Pal," Chester said happily, not listening. "Doc, you're a wonder!"

"Watch it, Chester," the marshal warned sharply as Chester hurried into the back.

Matt and Doc heard a ferocious snarling and banging around as Chester tried to fumble away from the dog, yelling out once. Chester appeared again, quick as a shot, trying to shut the door as the dog scrabbled on the floor, snapping at Chester in vain from around the bottom of the door.

Panting, Chester grimly pushed back at the door and finally managed to shove it closed again, trapping the dog.

"He's comin' around," he said almost to himself in a breathless voice. "Oh, Doc, you did fine! He looks right lively now!"

"Chester, I can't imagine how it could happen with the way that dog goes after you, but don't get too attached," Matt admonished him.

Chester's face immediately took on a troubled look, but his jaw set mulishly. Doc had seen that look before and hid a grin. Although characteristically flighty and unsure, Chester could be stubborn and uncompromising when he made up his mind. This wouldn't be easy.

"Why not?" Chester asked Matt.

"Because we're going to take him back where he belongs," Matt told him. "Go on and saddle our horses."

"Now?" Chester asked in a small voice.

"Yeah," Matt answered, feeling a twinge of guilt.

Chester walked out of the office without saying another word.

Doc sighed. "I'd better get back up to my office, Matt."

"See you later, Doc," Matt answered, watching Chester's dejected form limp towards the stables.

After his assistant had brought their horses back, Matt led the dog outside and mounted his own horse. Chester took hold of the rope around Pal's neck and got into the saddle. The dog was wary of walking so close to the horse, and pulled back against the rope, growling. Chester had to pull up his reins to a slow walk so the dog wouldn't choke himself.

Matt's patience was wearing thin when they finally reached the edge of town.

"Oh, come on Pal, don't drag back that way," Chester pleaded, white-knuckling the rope as the dog planted his feet obstinately.

"Mr. Dillon, it just don't seem right somehow," Chester whined.

"What doesn't?" Matt asked.

"What we're doin' here. Leadin' this poor old dog right back into the trouble that got him the way I found him," he said reproachfully.

"I'm gonna try and put a stop to that too," Matt replied, feeling another prick of guilt.

"Well, Miz Murphy don't seem to be the appeasin' kind, if you as me," Chester muttered angrily.

"Maybe I can get Spiny to proffer assault charges against her this time," Matt said without much hope.

"You know he won't do that," Chester accused. "He's a'scared of her."

"If it was a case of wife-beatin', I'd be jailing him without charges," Matt answered, getting frustrated with his hands tied by the law.

"I guess you would, at that," Chester offered. They rode on in gloomy silence for a few minutes, then Chester spoke.

"There 'tis, Mr. Dillon."

"There's smoke comin' up, somebody's home," the marshal observed dispassionately. "Let's leave our horses here."

Matt dismounted, then looked to his friend. Chester hadn't budged.

"You getting down?" he asked.

"Well, I just thought I'd kindly wait here, Mr. Dillon," Chester hedged. "I'll—I'll hold Pal's rope."

Matt chuckled a little. "You afraid, Chester?"

"No, sir, it ain't that," Chester protested.

"Oh, get down, that dog's gonna take a chunk out of you," Matt muttered, reaching for the rope as Chester made to step down and the snarling immediately commenced again.

"Okay," Chester answered tremulously, stepping gingerly onto the ground.

"Oh, so you're the ones that got him." A woman's voice sounded in front of them, low and with an Irish lilt. Mrs. Murphy had come onto the porch and seen them.

Chester gulped audibly.

"Oh, hello, Moll." Matt greeted her.

"The marshal is it," Moll said back, not sounding pleased. "So the little spineless wonder had to go and get him a man to back him up."

"I haven't seen Spiny, Moll," Matt answered, refusing to rise to the bait.

"Ah, you don't need to lie to me, marshal Dillon, I've been expecting you," she said coldly.

"We brung your dog back, ma'am, that's all," Chester piped up, sounding as though he was fighting to get the words out.

"And you can take him right away with you, I don't want that mangey critter around here dead or alive!" she fired back in a sharp tone of voice. Chester lowered his eyes quickly.

"Moll, I hear that you…beat up on Spiny again," Matt said haltingly.

"You hear right, Marshal," she confirmed unrepentantly. "And if he was to show up now, I'd do it all over. Threatenin' to sic that dog on me the way he did!"

"Where is Spiny?" Matt asked, resigned.

"I don't know," she said defiantly, trouble passed over her face like a dark cloud. "But you'd better find him and bring him back."

"What? I thought you were finished with him," Matt said, surprised.

"Oh, it's not like that a'tall, marshal," she said in a rather delicate voice, utterly at odds with her earlier temper. "I kind of miss the little fellow. We've been fighting it out on these plains for fifteen years now."

"I think you've gone too far this time," Matt remarked.

"What do you mean?" the woman's ingenuous face was open, and she looked at guilelessly.

"Miles McTag told me Spiny could hardly walk when he came in for supplies the other day," Matt said quietly.

"Supplies," she murmured. "I didn't send him for no supplies."

"Well, Miles said he got enough to keep him a month," Matt answered.

Two red spots appeared on her cheeks and Chester fought to keep from shrinking back.

"Then he's holed up somewhere, the gutless little weasel!" she hissed furiously.

"Maybe he's had enough," Matt argued.

"You'd better be finding him," she told him. "And sending him home before I bring charges against him!"

"Charges?" Matt asked disbelievingly. "What for?"

"For desertion, what else!" she cried.

"Desertion?" Matt repeated, incredulous.

"And when you do find him, tell him to come back and act like a man for a change!" she continued.

"If I find him," Matt replied.

She looked at him sharply and all her anger seemed to melt away again. "Oh, marshal, a man you are. I can tell a man when I see one, you know. Oh, marshal, dear, come in and have a drink," she said in a sweetly pleading tone.

"Uh, no, n-no thanks, Moll," the marshal stammered, caught off guard in a rare moment. "We, uh, we got a big day ahead of us."

"Ah, that Spiny won't even touch the stuff, and I miss the companionship of a friend to share it with!" she cried despondently.

"Well, some other time, Moll," the marshal answered awkwardly. "When Spiny's back."

"If it's him you're worried about, you could spit in his eye and drown 'im," she said dismissively, going quickly to the point.

"Look, Moll, there's just one thing I want to tell you: you treat Spiny right when he comes back or I'll have to do something about it," he told her seriously.

"He comes back a man and I'll consider it," she replied sounding unimpressed.

"Mr. Dillon, what about Pal?" Chester asked quietly. Moll's sharp ears caught it and her tongue was once again cutting.

"Chester, you take the dog and welcome to him!"

Chester looked back at his employer, hope alight in his eyes again. "Mr. Dillon?"

Matt sighed, annoyed again. "Oh, alright, Chester, you can keep him until we find Spiny. Come on."

Moll Murphy began speaking loudly in a brisk, persuading tone. "Oh, do reconsider, marshal, I've got some real good whiskey from the old country—"

Matt held Pal's rope while Chester mounted again and then handed the end to him.

"Yeah, well, another time, Moll," he called back and mounted his horse quickly.


Later in the evening, Matt strode into the Long Branch as was his habit and went to the bar. It was busy tonight. Men milled around, trying to impress the women.

"Evening, marshal," Sam greeted him. "You in for your glass of rye?"

"Not right now, Sam, thanks," he answered. "Matter of fact, I'm looking for Kitty."

"Well, she was here just a minute ago," Sam replied doubtfully as he scanned the saloon. "Oh, there she is, over by the piano, talking to Mr. McTag."

"Oh, yeah, I didn't see her," Matt said, catching sight of the red hair. "Thanks, Sam."

He walked over to Kitty, who chatted with Miles. She smiled as she caught sight of him and he suddenly felt lighter.

"Hello, Kitty," he nodded to her. "Miles," he nodded at the jolly-faced Irishman she had been talking with.

"Oh, sit down, Matthew, we'll get another pitcher of beer," Miles McTag said cheerfully in a thick Irish brogue, pulling out a chair for him.

"Alright," Matt answered, lowering himself into the seat.

"Matt, I hear Chester's got Spiny's dog," Kitty said after a moment of comfortable silence.

"Well, either that or the dog's got him, I'm not sure which," the marshal answered wryly, looking around at the crowded room.

Kitty laughed, and it reminded Matt of gold coins being tossed onto a tray. "He told me he's put him in a cell over there and he's training him like Spiny did."

"Chester training him?" Matt asked dubiously.

"You don't sound convinced," Kitty said, eyes twinkling with good humor.

"Kitty, that dog can't stand Chester," Matt told her, grinning back. Her attitude was catching, and it brightened up the whole saloon.

Miles laughed and took another swig of beer.

"Maybe Chester tries too hard," Kitty admitted.

"Hey, where is Spiny? Has anybody seen him? Matt asked.

"No, not since the day I told you about," Miles answered unconcernedly.

"Well, I wouldn't be likely to see him, Matt," Kitty answered doubtfully. "You know Spiny, he never touches a drop."

"Maybe it'd be better if he did," Matt said, thinking about how helpless he'd be in the face of his ill-tempered wife's ire.

"Well, if you'd like to converse with the man, I can tell you where to find him," Miles replied.

"What?" Matt asked, looking up at the wily Irishman. "I thought you didn't know."

"Oh, I dinnae say that. I said I hadn't seen him, and that's the truth," Miles answered easily. "The man swore me to secrecy.

"What for?" Kitty inquired curiously.

"Eh, when a man wants to get away from his wife for a change, why should I stop him?" Miles asked with a noncommittal shrug. "Had you seen him, you'd understand."

"Where is he, Miles? Tell me, I'd like to get this thing settles," Matt said a little stiffly, feeling as though he'd been made a fool of.

"He's over at the Dodge house," Miles supplied helpfully. "Room twelve."

Matt got up from the table. "Well, I'll see you later."

"What are you gonna do, Matt?" Kitty asked, looking up at him.

"I'm gonna talk to him, Kitty," he responded. "I think Spiny needs to know a few things about the weaker sex," he said, putting special emphasis on the word so they all understood it was Moll Murphy he addressed.

Matt walked off into the street, thinking about how the Irish were far and away a wild sort that you could hardly wring a straight answer out of. He'd be glad to be rid of this bunch, anyway. Between Miles and Moll Murphy, he'd had just about as much as he could take.


"Here, Chester, put this with the mail for tomorrow, will you?" Matt asked, signing the bottom of a form "I've got all this paperwork to get through tonight." He looked at the hateful pile on his desk and sighed.

"Mr. Dillon?" Chester asked hesitantly.

"Yeah, what is it?" Matt questioned, already looking at the next report.

"What did Spiny say when you talked to him?" his assistant asked plaintively.

Matt made a scoffing noise, tired of hearing about the dog. "Chester, I've got work to do. If you're gonna drag around like that, go to bed."

"Maybe I'll just rest a bit," he admitted to himself, limping over to his cot.

Matt hummed in agreement, already lost in another arrest report. His pen scratched out steadily against the parchment as the words flowed.

"Mr. Dillon?" Chester asked again softly after only a few moments.

"Yes, Chester," Matt answered, resigned to the discussion.

"The last dog I had, I wasn't but nine years old," Chester's voice rose plaintively. "One day, a bear reached out of a hickory tree and grabbed him, and that was the last of him."

"That's too bad," Matt said evenly, refusing to be swayed.

"Yeah, just—" Chester made a swiping motion in the air as he sorrowfully continued. "And old Pal was dead."

Matt didn't respond.

"Didn't Spiny say nothin'?" Chester pleaded.

The marshal looked pained and sighed a little uncomfortably.

"Look, we didn't talk about the dog at all. Spiny's got other problems. Now, maybe he'll let you keep him, I don't know."

"He will?" Chester brightened so much it was almost alarming.

"I said maybe, Chester," Matt said hastily, trying not to get his friend's hopes up again. Something nagged at him, and he frowned at Chester's beaming features.

"But why? That dog won't even let you pet him."

"Well, he did once, today," Chester informed him hopefully.

"Yeah, and I saw you hiding the wound," Matt said, eyeing his friend's left hand which had been cupped in his right. A few raw-looking puncture marks stood out against the flesh, and Chester quickly put the hand behind his back.

"Oh, well, that's nothin', he just—" Chester played it off.

"Where've you got him now?" Matt interrupted him.

"Outside, I—I tied him to the hitch rack. I'd better go bring him in," Chester said, rising from his bed.

"Don't get hurt," Matt warned him wryly.

"Oh, he ain't gonna hurt me," Chester swept off the concerns easily and strode out the door.

Matt sighed again and turned back to his papers. "Let's see," he muttered, scratching away again. He hadn't been doing so for more than thirty seconds when the door burst open.

"Matt?" Kitty asked, entering the office in a swirl of skirts.

"Kitty," he said, surprised to see her.

"You won't believe this, but Spiny's drunk," she said worriedly.

"Spiny?" he repeated to make sure he hadn't misheard.

"He's wild drunk, and he's off to fix Moll," she told him. "At least, that's what he said, he was gonna fix her good."

Matt sat still for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't worry about it, Kitty. Moll can take care of herself."

Kitty began to protest when Chester came running back inside.

"Mr. Dillon, he's gone!" Chester's voice exclaimed despairingly. "Somebody's untied him, Pal's gone!"

"Matt, he meant it," Kitty said urgently, meeting the marshal's eyes.

"Yeah, I guess Spiny's really going after her this time," he agreed quietly. "We'd better hurry, Chester."

They saddled up quickly and rode towards the ranch. Chester flew onto his horse and rode hell for leather towards the Murphy place; it was all Matt could do to keep up. They arrived quickly, and Matt dismounted about four hundred feet shy of the front door.

"Alright, that's close enough," he told Chester.

"We could've rid up a lot closer, Mr. Dillon," he said almost accusingly.

"No, I want to surprise Spiny if I can," Matt answered.

"Pal ain't gonna let us do that," Chester said reprovingly.

"Be quiet, now," Matt said as they crept up towards the door.

From within, they could hear Spiny's raised voice, thick and slurred from drink.

"Moll, I've had all I'm gonna take from you!"

"Spiny Murphy, you've been drinking!" came Moll's answered, sounding delighted. "Lord love you, you've been drinking!"

"Don't call me Spiny no more, it's Terrence!" he shouted back, still sounding angry. "Terrence Murphy!"

"Whiskey sure boils to the top within a man, don't it, Mr. Dillon?" Chester murmured beside him, sounding a little amused.

Matt hushed him, not in the least bit amused and a little surprised that Chester was taking it so lightly.

The dispute continued in front of them, with Moll's colorful responses gaining momentum as her temper rose.

"Ah, I bet you ain't changed a'tall; you're still the spineless little wonder to me!"

"Don't try that, Moll! I told you!" he roared back.

Even from where Matt and Chester hid, they could hear the impact and Moll's sharp surprised cry as Spiny slapped her.

"Spiny, am I?" he demanded. She was too shocked to respond immediately, and he mistook her silence for intimidation. "How do you like that?"

"Come on, Chester, before he kills her," Matt muttered to his friend, pushing in through the doorway.

Chester caught sight of Moll's face, bright red and not looking the least bit cowed, and was a little afraid himself.

"You want a good go, do ya?" she hollered back at Spiny, sending a strong right hook sailing towards his nose with her hard little fist.

It struck squarely, and she was beating every inch of him she could reach. Spiny, drunk as he'd ever been, was hapless as the blows and her shrill curses rained down at him. He struck out wildly with an open hand, trying to shove her away more than anything and yelling back just as loudly.

Matt put himself by Spiny's side as he fought off his wife and looked helplessly at the fight.

"Spiny," he said loudly, trying to draw the man's attention. When it seemed that both parties were too occupied trying to pluck the other's eyes out, the marshal raised his voice.

"Spiny! Stop it!" Matt yelled, putting himself in front of Spiny, mostly to stop him from hitting Moll and to protect him from her scratching hands. Both sides clawed around him, frantically trying to get at each other. Matt was looking into Spiny's face, stupid and boorish from drink when he heard Chester yell from behind him.

"Mr. Dillon, look out behind you! It's Moll!"

Something hit Matt in the side of the head with tremendous strength; the force left his teeth rattling. His vision swam and he fell to his knees, the world went gray around him. Dimly, he was aware that there was a hand on his shoulder, and Chester's worried voice came to him in bits, fading in and out like being dunked underwater.

"—alright? Mr. Dillon, are you—?"

"Terrence Murphy—takes care of—nosy marshal—"

"Mr. Dillon, are—?"

"Come 'ere, me love—"

"Did I hurt—?"

"Mr. Dillon, are you alright?"

Matt finally regained control of his mouth and realized Chester was practically yelling in his face.

"Yes, I'm alright, Chester!" he exclaimed back, anything to stop Chester from making his skull throb the way it was now.

The relief washed over his assistant in palpable waves as he looked into his friend's eyes. Matt felt a trickle of blood run down the back of his head and into his collar. The Murphies were embracing, laughing, and cheerfully talking to each other like young lovers again. Chester braced him as he stood up and didn't let go for a long moment after he was upright.

Matt staggered towards Moll's cheery, upturned face. Her hair was tangled and her eyes were bright, but she looked radiant and younger than he'd ever seen her.

"Moll, I oughta put you under arrest," he told her crossly, feeling unsteady in his boots. "Now, you told Spiny—"

"Who are you calling Spiny?" she interrupted fiercely. "This is my husband, Terrence Murphy you're addressing, and you'll not be arresting anybody here tonight, Marshal Dillon."

"I don't see Pal around here any place," Chester said in a tremulous tone.

"Oh, forget it, Chester," Matt replied, feeling lousy. "Let's get out of here."

He began making his way towards the door, but Chester hung back nervously wringing his hands.

"Spiny—Mr. Murphy, could I have your dog now?" he asked anxiously.

"Well, you're welcome to him, Chester, if you can find him," Spiny said, shaking his head ruefully.

"What?" Chester cried in dismay.

"He heard some wolves and run off on me on the way out here," Spiny admitted, looking earnestly at Chester's downturned face.

"I said let's get out of here, Chester," Matt said, a warning note in his voice. Chester obeyed without a word, drooping and following the marshal out into the open air.

Matt's boots struck the dirt, and he took a bandanna from his pocket and pressed it to the cut behind his ear.

"Mr. Dillon, Moll sure did put a awful knot on your head with that table leg," Chester remarked worriedly, watching his friend's face contort in a grimace.

Matt just sighed a little and didn't say anything.

"Mr. Dillon?" Chester asked suddenly as a new, terrible thought struck him.

"What is it, Chester?" Matt asked quietly, fighting to keep himself from snapping at his friend.

"Did I get you into all this?" Chester asked him, eyes wide with alarm at having caused the marshal to be hurt.

Matt saw his face and knew how hard he would take it, so he settled on a half-truth.

"No, Chester," he reassured him. "Your dog did."

They mounted back up and rode towards Dodge at a slow walk, enjoying the growing night. Chester was quiet on the ride back, and so was Matt. He was beginning to get a terrible headache.

They went back to the office, and Matt sank gratefully onto the chair behind his desk. Chester sat at the table, head propped up in his hands looking sad.

"I sure am going to miss Pal," he said gloomily.

"I don't know, Chester," Matt replied doubtfully. "The way that dog went after you and all."

The pain in his head had quieted down some after he'd had a glass of water.

"Oh, you don't understand," Chester said to the table.

"Understand what?" the marshal asked.

His friend looked up into his face and Matt could see how much having that dog had meant to Chester.

"I wouldn't want a dog that treated me the same way he done everybody else!" Chester protested.

Matt had to chuckle a little. "Pal sure didn't do that," he remarked, remembering how friendly it'd been towards him.

Chester sighed again.

"Can I buy you a drink, Mr. Dillon?" he asked finally.

"No, I've still got that paperwork to finish," Matt said resentfully.

"Well, I don't wanna drink alone," Chester said in an odd voice, not precisely looking at him.

"Well, then you'd better stay here, I need your help anyway," the marshal told his friend, smiling a little.

"Alright," Chester said as if the problem had been settled right then and there.

Matt dumped the pile of paper in the center of his desk and began sorting it. Chester eyed it and made no move to assist.

"Mr. Dillon, I think I'd better go clean up the cell section first," he said suddenly. "Pal kindly tore up a chair and a mattress out there. It won't take me long."

"Okay," Matt agreed, slightly amused.

Chester's slow dragging footsteps preceded him as he walked to the door.

He opened it and slipped inside. Matt's head shot up in alarm as a blood-curdling snarling noise emanated from the cell. Suddenly Chester was yelling and scrambling backward for the door again.

He wasn't prepared this time, and Pal managed to get his head and front foot through the crack in the door before Chester aimed his boot towards the dog and made him back off enough to slam the door shut.

Chester was panting and his eyes were bright with joy as he spun back around to face the marshal.

"Mr. Dillon! Pal came back!" he exclaimed, looking as though he were the luckiest man in the world.

Matt had to laugh at his friend's awestruck expression.

"I heard him, Chester," he said in between chuckles at the radiant joy plain on Chester's face.

For a moment, emotion seemed to overwhelm him and he struggled for a moment. Then looking up again, tears shimmering in his bright brown eyes, he said quieter but with no less fervor, "Pal came home."