The broad-shouldered, tall young man was silhouetted in the open door by the light of the kerosene lamp on the wall behind him. When the rifle shot rang out, he dove to the floor as the lamp shattered, leaving the room in darkness.
"MR. DILLON! MR. DILLON!" A tall, slender young man with a stiff right leg hop-ran in from the back door of the office, desperately searching for his friend and employer.
"Get down, Chester! I'm all right!" The Marshal reached up with one long arm, grabbed Chester's sleeve and yanked him down to the floor beside him.
This was the fifth time in five nights that the Marshal had been shot at, barely missing him.
"Mr. Dillon, do ya think it's the same man agin'?" Chester whispered.
"Yeah, probably so. Probably the same coward playing with me. If he was any shot at all, he could have easily hit me, especially with a rifle."
They both slowly got up, keeping away from the open doorway. Matt reached over and slammed the door shut, and Chester lit the lamp over on the desk.
Chester quietly opened the middle desk drawer and reached in, keeping his back to the Marshal. He turned back around and walked over to where Matt was standing, buckling on his gun belt.
"Ya going on yer rounds tonight as always?"
Matt looked Chester in the eyes, then down at the revolver stuck in his belt.
"Like always," he said firmly.
"It's jest that old rusty Remington ya keep in yer desk."
"Put it back, Chester."
With a determined look on his face, Chester stepped forward, put on his hat, and stood near the door, pistol still in his belt.
"Sorry Chester. A man has to kill his own snakes. Rock by rock, snake by snake." Matt gave his loyal friend a firm look.
Matt took his big Stetson from the top peg by the door, put it on, opened the door and left, closing it behind him. Chester stood staring at the door, then sighed and put the old pistol back in the desk.
Ever since the first of the nightly, mysterious rifle shots, the Marshal had been very cautious on his nightly rounds. He was frustrated by his unknown assailant starting to make him jumpy at every sudden noise from the dark alleys and windows.
Stopping in at the Long Branch, his watchful eyes met Kitty's welcoming sparkling blue ones.
"Hello Matt. Looks like you could use a drink."
"Kitty." He touched the brim of his hat and gave a half smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Beer?" she asked.
When he nodded, she looked over at the bartender, smiled and raised two fingers.
Matt held the mug between his big hands after taking one sip, looking unseeingly down into the golden contents.
"What is it Matt?" Her beautiful face tensed with concern.
"Did someone try to ambush you AGAIN?" She could see the mixture of anger and determination in his handsome face.
"Yeah, Kitty, and I'm sure getting tired of it! Nothing I hate worse than a bushwhacker!" The Marshal clenched his large, powerful hands around the glass mug so tightly that Kitty was afraid it would shatter.
"Matt, do you have any idea who's doing this? And why?" She thought she had gotten used to him being in such a dangerous job, but every new threat or injury to him tore off another strip of her heart. This latest "game" was torture.
"Kitty, a man like me has a lot of enemies. A lot of men would like to see me dead."
The blunt honesty of the words was like a slap to her face. Denial was useless.
She knew him so well, as her best friend and lover, and realized how a man so used to using his plentiful mental and bodily strength to face all problems must feel. It was not fear, but inaction that was wearing at him.
"Matt." The word was soft and full of tenderness.
He looked up and into her sky blue eyes, so full of love and support. His hands unclenched and the two were silently lost in each other's eyes, the rest of the world shut out.
Scraping back his chair, the tall man stood up and put on his Stetson, still caught in her eyes.
"See you later, Kitty." His deep voice resonated in her heart with the promise implied.
"See you later, Matt." She smiled the smile she only gave to him.