"I'm just plumb turned around, that's all there is to it."

"What do you mean, Chester?" Kitty, Matt, Doc, and Chester sat around the table nearest to the bar. Kitty was peeling a hard-boiled egg.

"Waal. You jest wouldn't believe me if I told you, I bet."

"In that case, I'm going to bed," said Doc.

"Waal, now, I–"

"Nope, I've heard enough. Goodnight Kitty. Matt." Doc stood up and ran a hand along his mustache. Chester looked between them all, as shocked as it was possible to look slumped low and crosswise in a fairly comfortable chair. With his jaw set and his eyes so dark and ardent as they were, you would think he was not only handsome but quick, too. He raised an eyebrow and stared at Doc, with some very high feeling or another.

"So long, Doc," said Matt, without looking up from his newspaper.

"You better talk if you're gonna talk," said Kitty. "I think he's serious."

"Of course I'm serious," said Doc, and dumped a few dimes across the table. With that he shuffled towards the door, though he didn't really get very far for his motion. "I've got better things to do than watch some young indolent try and dream up a decent lie."

"Like what?" said Kitty.

"Swallow a tapeworm, maybe."

"Now...I don't think that's very neighborly of you, Doc," said Chester.

"Neither do I," said Doc.

"Well, I'd like to hear what all the fuss is about," Kitty said, leaning forward with a look of absolute interest. Kitty could listen to almost anything and look like there was nothing on earth she'd rather hear, and nobody on earth she'd rather hear it from. She'd be a wonderful psychic, or mother, or teacher, or doctor. Or really anything. "Go on."

"It's like I said, Miss Kitty, why, you jest wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"There's only one way to find out," said Matt, turning the page.

"Waal, if you're gonna go on pestering me, why, I'll tell you what I was thinking on, but you cain't say I didn't try and keep it to maself."

"Chester," said Matt.

"Alright, alright. There I was, resting my eyes some on the stage from Abilene. Jest setting quiet. And this feller starts talking all funny at me. Puny little Texas drifter, he was. He said he was an army deserter, only now he's a dog-drummer."

"A dog-drummer?" Matt asked mildly.

"A dog-drummer. A feller what sells dogs."

"Ah."

"Yeah, but that ain't hardly the start of it. You wanna hear lies worth hearing, Doc, whoo-wee, you wish you'd'a been there. He was saying he lived here in Dodge, right on Front Street. Says he's a friend of yours, Mr. Dillon, and you, Miss Kitty."

"Well, maybe he is, what's his name?"

"Oh, you wouldn't be no friend of his." Chester shook his head and laughed in a contrived sort of way.

"I don't know. I've got a lot of friends."

"Oh, no, Miss Kitty, no, he weren't really no dog-drummer in the end, he weren't even no man from Dodge, I ain't never seen him here. He was jest some drifter probably ain't got a thing in the world."

"I've got some friends like that."

"No, he was crazy."

"She's got some friends like that," said Doc.

"No, I mean...he jest up and told me, why, he went ahead and said…" Chester trailed off and took a long drink of beer.

"Mm-hm?" said Matt.

"Waal. T'ain't fit for you to hear, Miss Kitty."

"Chester, now I have to know."

"Mr. Dillon?"

"Yeah, Chester?" Matt looked up to find Chester staring imploringly his way. "Well, I don't know what he said."

"You know...uh...you recall that Jamie Wheelwright, Mr. Dillon?" Matt thought for a second, then nodded. He went back to his newspaper.

"He was a bugger, is that what you mean?" Matt said, after he'd reached the end of a sentence. Chester coughed.

"For heaven's sake, is that all?" said Doc.

"Is that all? Why, Doc…"

"It's not as bad as all that, you know, Chester," said Kitty. "You probably know more of those than you think."

"What makes you think he was lying, anyhow?"

"I don't think he was lying on that, Doc, that part made sense, kinda."

"He told you this, you said?" Matt asked.

"Waal…" Chester shifted in his seat. "No need of you to go after him or nothing, Mr. Dillon. He ain't done nothing on my account."

"What did he say exactly?"

"He...he said he liked Irishmen." Matt put down his newspaper and sighed.

"Chester, I like Irishmen. The ones I know, anyway."

"No, he was going on...he was saying he lived with one and his eyes were purty...stuff like that. And how he don't court girls."

"Did he say this at the same time?"

"I cain't see what the difference could be what times he said it at, all I know is he said it. He said he liked Indian girls, too." Matt cleared his throat.

"You know, Indian girls are girls," he said reasonably.

"He didn't make a pass at you, did he?" Kitty asked.

"No. Only…hold on a minute, he...he said…"

"If you had to think about it that long, I wouldn't worry," said Doc.

"Waal. I told you you wouldn't believe me."

"I believe the story, such as it was. I just sort of doubt the telling."

"You wasn't there, Doc. Don't matter nohow, 'cause he ain't had nothing to say about you as I can recall."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Waal, after the stage got held-up–"

"The stage got held up?"

"Yes, the stage got held up. After the stage got held up, we was at Wagonbed Springs–"

"Where did the stage get held up?"

"About ten miles out from there, Mr. Dillon. Me and the driver got the robber to bring him along with us, he was a real sorry old feller. He fell straight asleep once we gave him something to eat. Anyhow…" Chester furrowed his eyebrows and tried his best to remember what he'd been about to say. "Anyhow," he began again, "We was at Wagonbed Springs and that feller–the drifter, I mean–got into that stationmaster's whiskey–"

"Why not?" Doc interjected. "It's free."

"It was the middle of the day, Doc."

"I've never seen that stop you yet."

"Everybody knows a gentleman waits 'til there's a moon a'fore he'll tetch no whiskey."

"That's too easy, give me another one," said Doc. Chester stared at him a second before continuing.

"This feller gets drunk as anything, and he just went on talking and talking, why, you'd think he'd never get tired of it–going on about how he's got two dozen brothers, how he was shot so many times in the army, how he's got some kinda educated job–"

"Is dog-drumming an educated job?"

"He's a liar, Doc, forevermore, I don't know! What I set out to say was, he was saying he was a friend of Miss Kitty. Only I asked about her and he didn't know nothing at all. Fed me a whole passel of lies."

"Ooh, what did he say?" Kitty asked.

"Why, it was insulting, Miss Kitty, it was downright insulting and I think I shouldn't say."

"Come on, I can take it."

"Waal, I won't tell you...I won't tell you the better part of it, but...why, he said your hair was brown."

"You're right, that is insulting."

"That ain't nothing, Miss Kitty, he was making out you was some kind of a whiskey-drinking...adventuress, that's what he was saying!" Kitty smiled.

"Well, I do like whiskey."

"He said you was sad and lonesome, and that you'd fight a man what held your hand–"

"I would."

"–and he said you were gonna marry him!"

"Has he asked me?" Chester shook his head incredulously.

"That jest ain't the point, Miss Kitty. He said you said you hoped he'd marry you." Kitty laughed radiantly to Chester's face.

"I'd kind of like to meet this man. Sounds like a real Romeo."

"He said I was too clean," said Chester, scowling into his drink.

"Well," said Kitty kindly. "You can never be too clean."

"As a doctor I disagree," said Doc.

"As a woman I don't," said Kitty. "He say anything about Matt?"

"He talked funny."

"He said Matt talked funny?"

"No, he did, Chester what's-his-name, he talked funny."

"Who?"

"Oh, yeah." Chester laughed. "Why, if that ain't the foolishest thing–I forgot to tell you. You see, that's why it was all so queer-like–he had the same name as me."

"Chester Goode?" Matt asked.

"No, no, he had some crazy other name, some kind of an Indian name, I think. Had feet in it, or hands or somewhat."

"Was he an Indian?"

"No. Waal, I don't guess so, anyhow. Maybe half an Indian. But he sure don't look it if he is. I don't know. It was foot, it was something-foot."

"Proudfoot?" Doc asked.

"Why, yeah! That's it." Chester cocked his head suspiciously at Doc. "How'd you ever guess that?"

"It's not an uncommon name."

"Waal, I never heared it."

"That's because you're ignorant."

"Now wait just a minute, Doc–"

"It's Scotch."

"Scotch?"

"That's right, Scotch."

"Ain't that a whiskey? A 30-cent whiskey?"

"More like 40-cent," said Kitty.

"It also means 'from Scotland'," said Matt.

"That ain't too far from Germany, is it," Chester said, with a knowing nod.

"If I stand around here another minute," said Doc, "I'm gonna start getting stupider. I don't know how you do it, Kitty."

"It's easy, Doc. I rise above it."

"So you do. Well, Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Doc."

"Wait!" said Chester. Doc turned around and raised his eyebrows. Chester crossed his arms. "You ain't heared the part you won't believe."

"What's the point in saying it, then?"

"Waal…"

"Oh, for the love of god, Chester, just say it. Whatever it is."

"This...this Proudfoot."

"Yes?"

"It was getting on to three o'clock. We went out in the yard–"

"The short version, please."

"Doc, he fell over and he disappeared." Doc blinked.

"He did what?" he asked, evenly.

"He fell over and he disappeared." Chester snapped his fingers. "Like that." Kitty snapped her fingers, too.

"Like that?" she asked.

"Like that. The prisoner, too. And when I went out to the stage the driver was different, he could have switched, though. But I never seen the other fellers after that." Chester nodded, and sipped daintily on his beer.

"Chester," said Doc. "You've taught me something tonight."

"Yeah, Doc?"

"Yeah. I've gotta quit underestimating you." Chester smiled. "Just when I think you're through, you pull that one out of your sleeve." Chester nodded. Doc snapped his fingers. "Like that."

"That's just how it was, Doc."

"And that's just how it's gonna be."

"Huh?"

"The next time you keep me up…" Doc checked his watch. "...Six extra minutes."