Chester recoiled as a hard male arm touched him at the bar, and shot the fellow a look from the corner of his eye. "Hello, Chester. Miss Kitty." Kitty gave the tailor a curt nod.
"Anders," said Chester.
"Wish you'd call me Caden. Can I buy you another beer?"
"Don't need another. This 'un's full. Phoebe's here," Chester said.
"Phoebe's sparkin' a fella. Might make her some money, so I won't intrude. Thought I might go fishing tomorrow. Care to come along?" said Anders.
"Ah'm workin' tomorrow," said Chester.
"Looks like to me you do as you please the day long," Anders said.
"I dun please ta go fishin' with you." Chester leaned on the bar and fiddled with his beer mug, too ill at ease to take a drink. Though folks called the tailor good-looking, and maybe he was, Chester disliked meeting his gaze. With a boyish face for his thirty-five years, big shimmering eyes and a red wet mouth, Anders was some two inches shorter than Chester, had broader shoulders and a larger frame on the lean side, sturdy yet not muscled.
"You're an unneighborly one, aren't you. I know you love fishing," said Anders.
"Oh, go sew yourself a suit or somethin'," said Chester.
"Why don't you let me sew one for you. You always wear the same pants and shirt with those scarecrow suspenders. You're never well turned out, even in Sunday best. I can make you some new duds, no charge."
"No thanks." Chester sighed, rubbed his hand over his face and rested it in his palm, blocking out any glimpse of Anders.
Kitty watched as the tailor's girl, Phoebe Wren, rose from her chair, took the hand of the cowboy chatting with her and sashayed to the stairs, winking seductively at Anders as she passed by him with the wrangler in tow. Knowing Chester wouldn't want her to interfere and tell Anders to leave him be, Kitty had kept quiet, hoping Phoebe would soon distract the tailor from plaguing Chester. Tiring fast and in need of his beer, he didn't tell Anders to get lost, and Kitty had to help him out.
"My new girl's settin' by herself, Anders. It's her first night here and she's feeling lonely and a little awkward. Why don't you buy her a drink," said Kitty.
"Well . . . she is kinda pretty. I can talk with her while I wait for Phoebe to finish pleasuring that fella in the room up there. Since Chester's so rude," said Anders.
Chester straightened up and glared at the tailor. "Get outa my sight."
"Don't talk to me that way. I'm trying to be friendly."
"I don't wanna be friends with the likes of you."
"Why not," said Anders. "You think you're better than I am? You?"
"I said get outa my sight."
"And I said don't talk to me that way."
"I'll talk ta you any way I dang well please, Anders."
Anders lips curved in an ingratiating smile and he put a hand on Chester's shoulder. "Oh, come on, Chester. Let's be friends."
Chester knocked his hand away, and Anders backhanded him. "We'll talk about this some more—" Anders words were cut off as Chester socked his jaw. He returned the punch, and Chester fell.
"You lunatic. Get out of here," said Kitty.
"Can I ever come back?" said Anders.
"Oh . . . . Not until you stop hounding Chester, and act like a man instead of a mad beast," said Kitty. Anders stalked out of the barroom.
Chester climbed shakily to his feet. "Sit down, Chester. I'll bring your beer," said Kitty. "I've a mind to tell Matt about him, he don't leave you alone."
"No need botherin' Mr. Dillon 'bout this, Miss Kitty. I kin handle that Caden Anders. Ain't afraid of him. Don't like 'im is all."
"I don't like him either. I'll tell him not to come back here if you want me to, Chester."
"Nah." Chester took a long swallow of beer. "Reckon Anders has a right to drink here same as any man. Some as come here regular are a sight worse 'n him. He jest got it in 'is addled head ta make friends with me, an' tain't to be. Leastways, he's makin' pretend he wants to be friendly. His eyes says he means me harm, maybe."
"I know. That's why I want to tell Matt," said Kitty.
"No, no, now, I'll deal with him myself, Miss Kitty."
"Well, alright. But if he hits you again, Matt's gonna hear about it."
Headed for the Long Branch after his nightly rounds, Matt saw Anders sitting in a chair in front of the marshal's office. "Hello, Anders. Run into some trouble?" said Matt.
"Not particularly. Chester's no trouble to me, not when it comes to fighting," said Anders.
"You fight Chester, did you?"
"Just a scuffle, Marshal. I didn't hurt him."
Matt sat in the chair next to Anders. "Tell me about it," said the marshal.
"It's nothing, really. Sometimes I take a liking to a man, want to be friends. Chester, he doesn't like me, and I got a little too forceful trying to convince him otherwise," said Anders.
Matt looked in silence at the tailor's neatly molded profile, shadowed in the darkness yet visible in the lamplight shining through the office window. Anders glanced nervously at Matt. "Why're you settin' here," said the marshal.
"I'm waiting for Chester, to apologize. So he'll take kindly to me, hopefully."
"He won't wanna see you. Go home to your shop."
"Marshal, this is between me and Chester. You got no right to mix in it."
"Anders, you talk to him again and you'll start another fight. It's my job to keep the peace, so that gives me the right to mix in it. Now go home," said Matt.
Anders stood up. "Will you tell Chester I'm sorry?"
"Sure." Matt watched the tailor move off, then resumed his walk to the Long Branch.
A man approached the marshal from a ways down the boardwalk as a thin elongated shadow in the night, and Matt recognized Chester from his limping gait. "Mr. Dillon."
"Chester. You had a fight with Caden Anders?"
"Yessir. Warn't scarce nothin'."
"He said tell you he's sorry," said Matt.
"Won't hold it 'gainst 'im iffen he leaves me be."
"Anders hounding you, is he?"
"I can take care of myself, Mr. Dillon."
"Alright. I'm goin' to the Long Branch."
"Jest comin' from thar," said Chester. "I'm a l'il wore down from that pest Anders, so um turnin' in earlier 'n usual. Night, Mr. Dillon."
With the trail herds in town at planting season, men crowded the Long Branch after midnight, and Kitty bustled about serving drinks when Matt pushed through the batwings. He moved to the bar and waited.
"Beer, Marshal?" said Sam.
Matt nodded. Kitty appeared beside him and put an empty tray on the bar. "Hello, Kitty." Matt tipped his hat.
"Matt. I'll have a beer, too, Sam. Sit down with me, Matt. I need to get off my feet," said Kitty. She led him to a table near a corner by the bar. She was tired, and Matt's calm steady presence was welcome amid the loud voices and drunken laughter. She sipped her beer and smiled into his eyes, savoring the peace she felt with him. The noise seemed to recede, almost like she and Matt were alone in the barroom.
"Kitty, what do you know about Caden Anders?" said Matt.
She hesitated, remembering she agreed not to tell Matt about Anders unless the tailor hit Chester again. "Chester said they had a fight. Anders is hounding him," said Matt.
"He wouldn't leave Chester alone tonight," said Kitty. "What do I know about Anders? Well, he's the tailor. He's thirty-five years old, and Phoebe Wren is his girl. He doesn't seem to mind her making the extra money. He's friendly in a way, but I don't like him, Matt, and not only because he bothers Chester. There's something about Anders, like he keeps bad things caged up inside him."
"That's the impression I get from 'im," said Matt. "I just hope none of those bad things escape. Do you know where he's from?"
"Phoebe said Anders grew up on a farm near Nebraska City. His father never paid him much attention on account of Anders loved sewing and knitting. Fancy needlework and all. His pa didn't yell or hit him or punish him that way. Anders said he wasn't mistreated; his pa just thought he was an embarrassment. He liked arm wrestling and foot races well enough, but he took part in quilting and embroidery circles, too," said Kitty.
"Mm-hmm. I want an eye kept on him," said Matt. "Watch him around Chester, will you, Kitty?"
C*****************************************************************
Naturally a late riser, if Chester happened to waken in time, he fixed coffee for the marshal's early arrival. Matt had not yet come in when boot steps in the jailhouse roused Chester from his sleep. He knew Mr. Dillon's tread like his own, and those steps belonged to another man.
Clad in his underwear, Chester sat up to see who the visitor was, and his eyes widened as he grabbed the blanket and covered himself. The tailor stood just inside the threshold, holding the doorknob. He closed the door hard, and the sound resonated in Chester's ears. "What did you slam the door for?" said Chester.
"I didn't. You just woke so your hearing is sensitive."
"What're you doin' here."
Anders grinned. "Well, you're surly in the morning. Did the marshal give you my apologies?"
"You shouldn't oughter be sech a pest, Anders. You oughtn't troubled Mr. Dillon with that 'ere."
"I want to patch things up, take you to breakfast."
"No thanks. Why don't you git outa here. I got work to do," said Chester.
"Chester, I'm getting awful tired of you talking to me like I'm a cur."
Scowling, Chester threw aside the blanket and jumped up. "Well, maybe I cain't tell the difference," he gritted in a low tone.
Anders took a step closer to him, and the door opened. Anders froze and pivoted to face the marshal. Matt shut the door and looked from the tailor's squarish soft-edged visage, wide across the cheekbones, to Chester's lean strained face. Anders looked flushed. Chester snatched up his pants and shirt and quickly dressed.
"Anders," said Matt.
"Marshal."
"Help you with anything?" said Matt.
"He was jest leavin'," said Chester, buttoning his shirt. "Weren't you, Anders."
Anders glanced at Chester, looked again at Matt, straightened his shoulders and lifted his cleft jaw. "I came to ask Chester to breakfast," he said.
"I need Chester here this morning," said Matt.
"You put him to work before he has a chance to eat?" said Anders.
"That's none of your worry," said Matt.
"Well, Chester is his own man. Why not let him decide if he wants to dine with me."
"I tole you no a'ready, Anders," Chester said quietly.
"Fine. How about lunch, then."
"No. Iffen you dun leave me be, ah'll split yer head open."
"Chester," said Matt. "Make some coffee, will you. Come on outside, Anders."
"Don't you go troublin' Mr. Dillon, neither," said Chester. Matt led the tailor a few steps away, halting just past the marshal's office.
"I didn't mean to rile him, Marshal. I only wanted some company for breakfast," said Anders.
"Why don't you ask Phoebe?" said Matt.
"Phoebe's been working all night with the cattle drives coming through. It's one trail hand after another. They spend the night in the rooms waiting their turn. She sleeps all morning, doesn't get up 'til two hours past noon at least," said Anders.
"Doesn't that bother you, Anders? You can talk to her, you know, try and get her to slow down," Matt said.
"Why should I? Phoebe's making a pile of money. She says she'll stop when she has enough saved to live on without holding a job."
"She won't live long enough to spend the money if she keeps it up," said Matt.
"Phoebe does what she wants to do, Marshal. I couldn't talk her out of it if I tried."
"What do you want from Chester," said Matt.
Anders reddened. "Nothing, Marshal. I have no friends in Dodge except my girl Phoebe, and she's always working like I said. The other saloon gals don't count. Their, ur, friendliness only extends as far as the dollars in my wallet. Chester's obliging and I thought he might take to me, but he appears to have an aversion to me instead."
"Then why do you keep pestering him?" said Matt.
"I figure I might change his mind if I'm nice enough."
"Quit hounding him."
The tailor's face twisted, one corner of his mouth turning up. "With a lawman like you, it's no wonder people here are cold and hard. Even Miss Kitty, beautiful woman that she is. The townsfolk are rough as a pack of wild animals. And a lot of 'em are small-minded idiots, too."
"You don't like it here, get out," said Matt.
"Not before I even the score," said Anders.
"You've got no score to settle with anyone in Dodge," Matt said.
"That all depends on how you and Chester treat me from here on in. You're a smart man, Marshal. You know right from wrong when it comes to being neighborly, unlike most of the dirty mindless dregs in this town. And Chester. They're not fit to lick his boots. I expect more from you two is all," said Anders.
"Anders, Chester is a close friend of mine. I don't like seeing my friends harassed. He wants nothing to do with you, and he has that right."
"Well, too bad for him. I've had enough of men no better than I am turning their noses up. His book-learning doesn't touch mine, and he's just a jailer."
"Leave him alone, Anders."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you'll answer to me."
"Maybe I don't care what you do to me," said Anders.
"Uh-huh. I can see that," said Matt.
"What the deuce do you mean?" said Anders.
"I won't fight you, Anders. I won't throw one punch at you."
"You might have to," said Anders.
"Forget it. It's not gonna happen," said Matt. "Stay away from Chester or I'll jail you 'til you agree to leave town."
"You can't do that. It's not legal."
"Hound Chester again and you'll find out what I can do."
"This is not over, Marshal. You are way out of your place." The tailor stalked away.
His boots planted apart on the boardwalk, Matt adjusted his hat and put his hands in his pockets, watching Anders depart. Matt hoped the threat to jail the tailor was sufficient to stop him from hounding Chester, but the marshal doubted it. Anders was sick in the head as Matt figured it. Such a man was like a stick of dynamite waiting for someone to light his fuse.