He'd drunk about half the whiskey and laudanum when Chester returned from the Long Branch. "Forevermore, Anson, what're you doin' settin' out like a that with yer clothes undone? You'll freeze stone dead, you don't git outa the cold. Yer drunk, ain'tcha."
"Chesh-tuh, is it?" Anson slurred. "Go on indoors. I know you are not worried about the likes of me. No one is, so do not pree-tend."
"It's snowin' again. Come inside, Thane. I got coffee on the stove."
"You don't wanna pass the time with me," said Anson. "Leave me alone."
"Wahl. I cain't make you come in an' warm yourself. Cain't wrest them bottles from you, neither. You kin come in 'n thaw if you want." Chester went in the office. Anson drank the rest of the whiskey and laudanum and passed out in the chair.
Chester looked through the window every few minutes. The fifth time he looked out at Anson, the man was slumped in the chair with his head nearly touching his knees as snowflakes dusted his hair. Chester removed the sling supporting his bandaged hand and went outside. He took hold of Anson's shoulders and sat him back in the chair. Anson's mouth gaped open and he breathed whiskey vapor which drifted round his face in a frozen fog.
"Chester." It was the marshal, back from his nightly patrol after his trip to collect the four dead men at Circle X ranch. Dozing on his bunk while he waited for Anson to swoon, Chester hadn't seen Mr. Dillon drive the wagon with its gore load past the office on the way to the undertaker's.
"Mr. Dillon. It's that Anson feller. He drained them whiskey and laudanum bottles on the walk thar an' drooped over senseless. I tole 'im to come in out the cold an' warm hisself but he wouldn't. If you take holt on 'is shoulders, ah'll take 'is legs 'n we kin carry 'im inside."
"No. You could tear open your cut lifting him," said Matt. "Put your jacket and sling on and get Doc, Chester. I'll see to Anson."
"Yes, sir."
Anson's lean body felt cold through his clothes. Matt carried him to the bunk in the front jail cell and covered him with a blanket. His lips were blue. Matt had no notion what he'd do about the man if he lived. Anson chose to kill himself in front of the marshal's office for a reason. Either he wanted Matt's help or he wanted to make Matt feel guilty. Or both. Beyond helping to save his life on account of the marshal's strict conscience demanded it, Matt wanted nothing to do with Anson. Matt's conscience also forbade him to befriend a man who was a bounty hunter and executioner. The man dealt punishment eye-for-an-eye, and justice in turn condemned him to the aloneness and mortal dread he inflicted on men at the precipice of death. As to any guilt over the man's plight, Matt only knew the thought of being severe on Anson rattled him.
Doc rubbed Anson's limbs and wrapped him in blankets heated on the stove. "That's all I can do 'til he wakes up. When he does, I brought along headache powders and fixings for a hot hair of the dog," said Doc. "He'll likely have a chill and fever."
"You're gonna give him more whiskey, Doc?" said Matt.
"Best remedy for too much spirits and narcotic is more of the same in smaller amounts," said Doc. "You want this man off your hands so he can go his way and face destiny on his own, keep him doped while he's here, soothe his senses." Doc took a whiskey flask, a miniature honey pot, a lemon and cinnamon sticks out of his bag. "I'll make a toddy for when he comes to with headache powders stirred in."
"Then he ain't dyin', Doc?" said Chester.
"He'll live. He's young. Strained his heart but it's strong. He should stay here abed a day or two.
"And another thing, Matt," Doc went on. "You want Anson to come out of his melancholy so he has the will to leave Dodge, he needs a little sympathy from someone besides his doctor. He knows it's my job to have an obliging bedside manner."
"I ain't noticed that in you, Doc," said Chester.
"Doc, if being friendly to this man will revive him enough to get out of town, I'll make friendly," said Matt.
Anson remained unconscious four hours while Doc bunked in the other jail cell to keep an eye on the patient. His snoring woke Doc some two hours before daybreak. Doc mixed the toddy in a pot and put it on the table to be heated when Anson wakened, then left the marshal's office for his own rooms.
Anson slept until almost noon, when Matt and Chester heard a drawn-out groan from where he lay on the cell bunk. Chester put the pot on the stove and stirred the toddy, and Matt moved to the cell. Anson gripped his head, his face sallow.
"Thane. You were out awhile, since last night. It's near noon," said Matt.
Rubbing his temples and forehead, Anson frowned bewildered at the marshal. "Why are you suddenly being neighborly to me," Anson demanded, his keen dark eyes burning into Matt's steady blue ones.
"You tried to kill yourself out front of my office."
"Then you pity me, despite what I am?"
"You're human. I wouldn't do your job for any amount of money, but you're no murderer."
"Thank you for that, Marshal." A spasm contorted Anson's face. "My head's like to burst and my gut's roiling."
Chester appeared in the jail doorway with a steaming cup. "Medicinal's ready."
"Smells like sweet spirits," said Anson.
"It's a toddy Doc mixed with headache powders. It'll soothe yer head an' belly," said Chester.
"My head is spinning like a top. I am a shameful weakling. If I try to sit and hold the cup I'll pass out cold," Anson gasped.
Matt glanced at Chester's hand in the sling and reached for the cup. "Doc tole me come by 'is office today 'n git my cut cleaned an' a fresh bandage," said Chester. "But ah'll tend Anson first, Mr. Dillon."
"Your wound's too raw to do any nursing, Chester. Go on to Doc's. I'll see to Anson."
"Yessir."
Matt lifted Anson's head and put the cup to his mouth. He drank the toddy in slow sips. "I feel like I could live," he said drowsily. "But if I execute one more man, I shall die." He shuddered, and Matt pulled the blankets to his chin. He gazed at Matt from under drooping lids. "I mustn't go back to sleep. The nightmares will come," Anson murmured.
"Not if you know your way out."
"What should I do, Marshal? Tell me quick before I fall asleep. Please."
"Don't put another man to death. And quit bounty hunting."
"How will I earn my keep?"
"It'll come to you."
Anson nodded and slept. He slept peacefully the next two days as he convalesced in the jail cell, and Doc pronounced him sufficiently recovered to leave his sickbed for his room at Ma Smalley's, but not strong enough to travel.
"Rest here a fortnight," Doc urged, when Anson said he was ready to leave Dodge. The way out had come to him as Marshal Dillon assured him it would, and eager to embark on his new profession, he scrapped his plan to winter in Dodge. "Ride out on that stallion of yours, you might not live to see the next town," Doc warned.
Anson sat drinking coffee at the table in the marshal's office with Matt, Doc and Chester. "I am journeying too far to ride my stallion. Thor is so spirited, shipping him such a distance on the trains would kill him. I wager Mr. Grimmick can buy him if I sell at a fraction of what he is worth. Thor is just four years old and a valuable breeder."
"Whereabouts you headed?" said Chester.
"My home city Boston, after I rest two weeks in Dodge as Doc recommends."
"Know what you'll do there?" said Matt.
"Bartending. A barkeep listens to the woes of men when no one else will, including the parson. Ministers are too hurried to hear problems more than a moment. They say a quick prayer, tell the afflicted to read Psalms and attend church. Good advice, but it omits ecclesiastic counsel. Folks need to talk out their troubles, or just plain talk, which I cannot cease doing since you and Chester and Doc showed you care whether I live or die. You opened the floodgates, Marshal." Anson's words cascaded breathlessly forth.
"I think Chester's coffee has more to do with that than me, Thane. You're on your second cup," said Matt.
"Coffee ain't much use to a body lessen it's biled ta sweep the cobwebs out yer head," said Chester.
Tempted to josh Chester about the coffee, Doc swallowed the gibe with a mouthful of bitter skin-prickling brew. The wound in Chester's palm had started to itch as it healed, and when his tender nerves were disturbed he scratched it 'til it bled.
"A horror of being shunned bloomed in me like a blood-clotted tumor," Anson resumed.
"Forevermore," Chester said faintly as a shiver rippled his slim frame. His soulful brown eyes glimmered at Anson and he slid his fingers beneath the bandage wrapped round his hand.
Doc grasped Chester's wrist, pulling his fingers away from the bandage. "You get morbid, Thane, you'll take a bad turn and end up bedridden again," said Doc.
"Ah yes. Pardon, Chester," said Anson, grinning. "I forget your sensitive feelings."
" 'Tain't nothin'," said Chester, turning his head from the man. Anson had only just commenced smiling betimes, and somewhat about his grins made Chester think of a skull.
"Anyway. I must talk and have a position where folks share their thoughts with me, or lose my reason. That's why I decided on bartending," said Anson.
"You ain't got much reason to lose," Chester muttered.
"No I haven't, Chester. I've swayed on the brink of lunacy since my earliest recollection. Of course I'd never be alone if I took a good wife, but I am too somber and particular, and buried in my own ways to consider marriage."
The day was sunny and less bitingly cold than the past week, and Chester had opened the windows to air out the office and jail cells. The four men leaned on the table and sipped coffee, too absorbed in their conversation to look at the windows.
A quiet pause followed Anson's words, then a long burst of screeching, cackling laughter rent the air. Chester startled and Anson leapt from his chair, which fell and clattered on the floor.
"Kitty! What in thunder." Doc stood. Amused, Matt kept his seat.
Kitty looked through the window, her violet-blue eyes sparkling and her pretty face red with merriment. Unseen by the men, she'd listened to Anson run on until she had to release her mirth.
Doc opened the door. "Oh come in out of the cold, Kitty."
Matt and Chester rose from their chairs. "Kitty." Matt grinned.
"Miss Kitty. You give me a start," said Chester.
"I'm sorry," said Kitty, beaming. She hadn't enjoyed such a rousing laugh since Matt missed the harvest dance in favor of a nap, and knowing he'd show at her Long Branch room later that night, Kitty put a jack-o'-lantern on her pillow, covered it with the quilt, hid in the closet and peeked out. Matt never hollered or jumped when shocked. He drew his gun at the ghastly head, and Kitty screamed laughter 'til she bent double.
Anson stared at her wide-eyed, too stunned to greet her. "Thane." Kitty took his hand in her gloved hands. "I'm afraid I shocked you. I didn't mean to."
"Of course you didn't, Miss Kitty. You are a kind lady with a hearty laugh. If you look at my vest you'll see my heart pounding, but no matter. A shock from a beautiful spirited woman is just the medicine a fellow with one boot in the grave needs."
Kitty pressed his hand. "I hoped my friends pulled that boot out of the grave."
"Yes. You helped me, too."
"I can't take credit for anything," said Kitty.
"Your very presence strengthens me. Grave dirt will always soil my boots regardless of how I polish them, but I am no longer mired."
Kitty's smile faded as she held his hand. His dark eyes were depthless. Not harsh, yet void of warmth despite their burning intensity. She saw why Anson tried to kill himself. He was either partly dead or not fully living. Inhabitable within the one man, death fought to snuff life and life to harness death, so Anson was tormented. He yearned to live all the way and likely never would as some vital element was missing in him. Like a candle wick that glowed yet couldn't flame, Anson needed people—decent people—to kindle him and keep him alive.
Kitty let go of his hand and he lowered his head, turning his face from her vivid blue eyes as though from the sun. She stepped close to Matt and looked up into his steadfast eyes, to wipe from her vision the death shade in the eyes of Thane Anson. No man Kitty knew was as strong, sure and just as Matt Dillon. Matt put his arm around her.
"Sit, Miss Kitty?" Chester pulled out a chair for her. She sat at the table and Matt sat next to her. "Fresh pot of coffee's on the stove. Ah'll pour us all some," said Chester. Doc took his seat again, winked at Kitty and touched her hand.
Chester patted Anson's shoulder, and Anson warily eyed him. "Thane. Set 'n rest your bones. Pass the time with us." And Thane did.
END