The hankering to go fishing which took hold on Chester come spring thaw prodded him as the sun shone warmer and the days grew longer. No recluse, he'd fish with a friend if he had his druthers, but since the cattle drives hit Dodge, Mr. Dillon only left town when duty called him away. The Long Branch was always crowded these days and Miss Kitty went out just for meals and errands, while Doc stayed busy from sunup 'til long after nightfall, digging out bullets, patching wounds from knives and fists, treating quinsy and delivering babies.
Chester recollected Caden Anders asking him to go fishing. Anders' big gleaming eyes stared too hard, and he was peskier than a trapped horsefly.
Though women who held no attraction for Chester troubled him betimes to be their beau, a man had never plagued him past tolerable for his friendship until Anders saw him at Delmonico's, said hello and chatted at him just a quick minute, for he shied from the fellow directly they met. Chester sensed brute force beneath the tailor's fine looks and faintly smiling face, and somewhat else, like the strange sounds of an unknown animal hidden in the shrubbery.
Were Anders a woman, Chester would swallow his irritation, put her off gently, encourage her to find a better man than the likes of him, feel sorry for her and maybe a little flattered. As the tailor was a man, though, Chester thought only that Anders was forceful and bigger than himself, if a couple of inches shorter.
Lying in the sun on the bank of Rattlesnake Creek with a fishing pole cut from a sycamore, his hat atop his forehead, Chester felt a bit lonely yet easy and comfortable. He heard a soft whinny and a horse loping toward him. Maybe the rider would stop to water his horse and chat.
Chester looked at the rider and startled. Anders had reined in a few yards from the creek bank and looked somberly down from the saddle. Chester dropped his pole and stood up. "What're you doin' here, Anders."
"I tracked you." Anders grinned and dismounted. Chester glanced at his shotgun in the scabbard on his horse tied to the sycamore. Anders looked at the shotgun, and adjusted the six-shooter in its holster under his ice-blue suit jacket.
"You're scared," said the tailor, smiling. "I don't want to hurt you. I didn't really track you. I'm no good at that sort of thing. I saw you ride out and figured you were headed for a fishing hole. I knew old Grimmick wouldn't tell me which one on account of he hates me. I guessed from the direction you went in." Chester stared with narrowed eyes.
Anders took two steps closer to him, and he resisted the urge to back away. "You won't tell Marshal Dillon I followed you? He threatened to jail me until I agree to leave Dodge if I don't leave you alone."
"I ain't gonna bother Mr. Dillon 'bout a nuisance like you," said Chester.
"I'm trying to be a friend, not a nuisance."
"Yer no friend; that's sure."
"You won't let me be a friend," said Anders. "Mind if I fish with you a spell?"
"Yeah. I mind plenty."
Anders led his horse to the sycamore and tied the reins to a branch, pulled a knife and started cutting a fishing pole. Chester sighed and moved to the tree to untie his horse.
The tailor dropped his knife and stood between Chester and his horse. "You're not leaving," said Anders.
"Get outa my way, Anders."
"Make me."
Chester moved to walk around Anders, who grabbed his shoulders and slung him to the ground. "You creeping piece of dung!" Chester yelled from his back in the grass.
Anders drew back his boot for a kick, and Chester sat up, caught his ankle and yanked. As he fell, Chester scrambled to his feet, took the tailor under the arms and dragged him to the creek. He thrashed around as Chester clung to him, jerking Anders over the ground with all his strength made greater by fury.
The two men splashed into the creek. Chester surfaced and held Anders under. Anders' dark eyes distended as he struggled. Mad as Chester was, he had no thought of drowning Anders. Beyond stopping the man's hounding, Chester knew he had to subdue Anders to defend himself, which he doubted he could do with his fists.
Anders hand fumbled frantically at his gun butt, and as he drew the weapon, Chester gripped his wrist, slamming it into the creek bed. His fingers opened and the gun floated away. Anders' lips parted, his eyes closed and he went limp.
Chester pulled him up by his jacket lapels, and his head flopped back. Chester dragged him onto the creek bank and sat him up, tugging his arms so he leaned forward, his head nearly touching his knees. Prompted by a gut urge, Chester repeatedly slapped Anders' back. Anders let out a long rumbling belch, his eyes opened and he gagged. Water gushed from his mouth and nose and he coughed, then fell back gasping.
Chester went back in the water for their hats, put his on and dropped Anders' hat on his belly. "You almost drowned me. You're a fiend," Anders panted.
Chester untied and mounted his horse. "I'll get you for this," said Anders as he lay on the ground.
"Well, I'm real scared," said Chester. He turned his horse toward Dodge and rode away, deciding not to tell the marshal. Mr. Dillon had enough on his hands with the trail herds. Chester would fight his own battles this time.
When he saw Anders afterward at Delmonico's or the Long Branch, the tailor merely fixed him with a brooding stare. Anders quit hounding and no longer spoke to Chester, but the large dark eyes boring into him made him almost as uneasy as the hounding.
Mr. Dillon, Doc and Miss Kitty were so busy these days that Chester found himself without company more often than not. Even Moss couldn't take the time for as much as a game of checkers. It was so every spring, and again at harvest season.
Few trail drives came through Dodge in the heat of summer, when creeks on the plains dried up, water in the wells ran low and the town had none to spare for thirsty cattle. And the herds stopped again when autumn passed and the winter freeze set in. Summer and winter, the marshal, Chester and Miss Kitty passed the time together most of the day until late at night, and though Doc worked hard the year round, he at least had no drovers to tend over the hot and cold seasons, and spent long hours with his friends.
Now though, at planting season, Chester felt alone in the raucous town. He sat in the Long Branch at sundown and sipped a beer while Miss Kitty served drinks and chatted with the men.
Anders stood at the bar with his girl Phoebe Wren. The barroom was too noisy to hear what they said, but Chester knew the two were talking about him as they kept looking at him.
Phoebe picked up two beers and approached his table as Anders leaned on the bar, watching. "Hello, Chester," said Phoebe. A pretty woman of twenty-six years, she had a light voice, a graceful form and delicate features like a little girl's.
"Phoebe." Chester touched his hat brim.
"Mind if I join you?" said Phoebe. "I bought you another beer." She pulled out a chair and sat across from him. The scents of Pear soap and honeysuckle perfume wafted round her. Chester knew, as did most men in Dodge, that Phoebe was a woman of the night, and she worked hard at her profession. Unlike many such women, she looked fresh and sweet, and even younger than she was. Her creamy complexion was perfect, and her body with its slender curves taut yet soft. Her silver-gray eyes were clear and bright, and the fine straight hair she despaired of curling shone like brown silk.
"Caden's been distressing you awfully and I'm sorry," she said.
" 'Tain't none a yer fault, and he oughtn't trouble you 'bout it. He's jest ta blame," said Chester.
"I know. You did nothing to deserve him troubling you the way he has," said Phoebe. "Caden doesn't mean to be so horridly bothersome. Times he takes a shine to a body and wants so much to be friends, he can't get it out of his head."
"With a pretty girl like you, he don't need to pine for no man what don't make friendly with 'im. He's a fool," said Chester.
"I don't think he can help it," said Phoebe.
"Well then, he's addled. He oughter pay a visit to the parson."
"He said you don't want him to talk to you anymore, so he asked me to tell you he's sorry," said Phoebe.
"I ain't holdin' it 'gainst 'im long as he leaves me be. Wisht he'd quit starin' at me all the time, too," said Chester.
"Caden paid for a gift to give you, Chester. To make up for plaguing you. Caden and I calculate you won't refuse it this time."
"I most surely will refuse it. Jest you take it right on back to 'im," said Chester.
Phoebe smiled. "I am the gift, Chester."
"He oughter be ashamed of hisself. You're his girl."
"I am your girl for a spell." Phoebe rose, sat on Chester's lap, wrapped her bare arms around his neck and kissed him. "Let's go upstairs," she said.
He couldn't think that moment on being beholden to Anders. Chester wanted Phoebe too much to consider anything else. She got off his lap and took his hand.
Standing at the far end of the bar from the stairs, Kitty watched Chester and Phoebe go up together. Kitty looked at Anders, who also watched them, leering.
"Kitty. Now what in this place can mesmerize you so you can't hear me say howdy."
"Oh. Hello, Doc. Take a look. Top of the stairs," said Kitty.
Doc looked up as Chester followed Phoebe into a room. "That's Phoebe Wren, isn't it? Chester has good taste. I know whereof I speak." Doc winked at Kitty and sniggered.
"So does just about every man in town. Not that I'm complaining. She's great for business. I think she really wants Chester to feel better, but I'm worried she'll make things worse for him with that Caden Anders," said Kitty.
"Nothing to worry about there. Anders can't be a jealous sort, seeing how enthusiastically Phoebe plies her trade. Give me a beer if you would, Sam," said Doc.
"Doc, Chester has no money for that," said Kitty. "He didn't even have a dime for a beer. And Phoebe never gives herself free. Anders has to pay, and he's her beau. Anders must've paid Phoebe to go upstairs with Chester."
"Why would Anders do that? He's no friend of Chester's," said Doc.
"No, but he wants like crazy to be Chester's friend. He kept hounding Chester until Matt threatened to lock him up and not turn 'im loose unless he left town. This is Anders' way of making Chester owe him," said Kitty.
"Chester don't owe him a durn thing," said Doc. "Chester can't resist a woman like Phoebe. Not many men can. That Anders is an odd duck. There's something menacing under those wholesome good looks of his. I don't like him turning his attention on Chester, no sir."
"I'm telling Matt when he stops by after his rounds," said Kitty.
Tired after his private visit with Phoebe, Chester left the Long Branch earlier than usual, went home to the jailhouse and lay on his bunk with three frontier penny books. The books were shorter than dime novels and easier to read, and he reckoned to fall asleep on the third one.
When Matt pushed through the batwings after his patrol, Anders was playing cards, Phoebe had returned to her room with her second man since Chester, and Doc had gone to his rooms for the night. Kitty sat down with Matt and told him about Chester going upstairs with the gal. "You gonna fight Anders, Matt?" said Kitty, seeing the marshal's face harden and his normally affable blue eyes darken and grow cold as he regarded Anders.
"Not if I can keep from it," said Matt.
"Why not? You could at least hit 'im once. Knock some sense into him," said Kitty.
"I'll try talking sense into him peaceful like," said the marshal, though his knuckles itched to chop Anders a hard one. Matt didn't tell Kitty what Anders said when ordered to stay away from Chester, that the tailor might not care if Matt tussled with him.
Matt moved to the table where Anders sat at cards. "Marshal. Play a hand?"
"No thanks. I need a word with you, Anders. At the bar."
"Sure." Anders tossed his cards on the table and moved with Matt to the bar.
"Did you pay for Chester to go upstairs with Phoebe tonight?" said Matt.
"Yes, I did. I felt bad for hounding Chester, and wanted to make it up to him. Phoebe was my peace offering," said Anders.
"I told you to leave him alone," said Matt.
Anders hesitated, looked searchingly at Matt and shifted his eyes away. Matt guessed something else had happened between Anders and Chester, and Anders wondered if the marshal knew about it. Whatever took place, Chester had concealed it from Matt.
"I said nothing to Chester tonight," Anders cautiously replied. "I arranged it through Phoebe."
"And you think Chester owes you now?" said Matt.
"Well . . . Phoebe doesn't come cheap. It'd be nice if Chester was a little neighborly to me in return," said Anders.
"Anders, using Phoebe as your go-between is just a roundabout way of gettin' at Chester. He doesn't owe you friendship or anything else. No more peace offerings, or I'll have to tell you to leave town, and jail you 'til you do," said Matt.
Anders set his cleft jaw, his dark eyes smoldering defiantly at the marshal, who saw he was not daunted in the least. The man harbored the sort of frustrated anger that fed on itself and exploded like a gorged gut that can hold no more.
Chester would have to reveal what occurred with Anders and himself before his room visit with Phoebe. Matt went to the office and found his friend in bed, an open book resting on his face. He stirred when Matt came in, and the book fell on the floor.
"Mr. Dillon." Chester sat up and yawned, rubbed his face and scrubbed his head with his fingertips so his hair stood on end. "You want I should fix some coffee?" he mumbled.
"No thanks." Matt sat on the end of Chester's cot. "Chester, did something happen with you and Anders that I don't know about?" Chester started slightly, lowered his head and blushed. "I don't mean Phoebe," said Matt.
Chester met Matt's gaze. "I jest 'bout drowned 'im."
"Drowned 'im," said Matt.
"Yes, sir. Anders follered me when I rode out fishin' to Rattlesnake Creek. He wanted to set with me. So I git up ta leave an' he stands front a my horse 'n says yer not leavin', an' I says git out ma way. Then he says make me. I tried to walk round 'im an' he throwed me down and makes to kick me, so I grab a holt 'is foot an' down he goes."
Chester heaved a sigh. "I jest riled up somethin' fierce, Mr. Dillon. I drug 'im in the creek 'n held 'im under, an' he most drowned. I was powerful scared I kilt 'im. I drug 'im back out the water an' bent 'im over and smacked 'is back, an' he come back ta life. He said he'd git me whilst I rode away. An' that's all what done happened. Can you maybe not run Anders outa town jest yet, Mr. Dillon? He might bring charges against me if you tell 'im to leave Dodge."
"Alright," said Matt. "But be careful, Chester. Keep a sharp eye out for Anders."
Chester yawned. "Cain't rightly keep an eye sharp out when um sleepin'."
"I'm minded to spend the nights here at the office a spell," said Matt.
"No need for that, Mr. Dillon. I kin handle that Anders right enough."
Matt grinned. "Well, you sure took care of his hide at Rattlesnake Creek."
If Matt thought hard on it, he could grasp at why Anders craved Chester's friendship. Chester was at heart a friend; that was his nature, more so than any man Matt knew. Anders seemed to have no male friends, likely on account of he wanted them too much. Phoebe apparently was his one friend in Dodge, and she was too busy soliciting men to have much time for her beau.
The Anders case was fraught with perilous uncertainties. Though Matt could not predict if Anders would erupt or when, the marshal felt sure he'd spew any bile he let loose at Chester. Only Chester's touchiness in regards to taking care of himself kept Matt from spending his nights at the office indefinitely.
As he walked through the warm darkness on the way to his rooming house, Matt passed Anders' tailoring shop. Lamplight shone on the Front Street boardwalk at the front of the shop, though the ground floor inside was dark. The marshal looked up to the second level and saw Anders, fully dressed to his collar, tie and suit jacket, holding the draperies aside and staring from the window at Matt.
Matt halted, seeing no hint of the usual slightly smiling expression on Anders' sullen face. The dark eyes fixed on Matt through the window above clearly showed a look of ill will. Had Anders intended to unleash his pent-up anger directly on the marshal, Matt would not have worried. The tailor carried a gun like most men in Dodge, but like most, he was no gunman. About six feet tall, Anders was some seven inches shorter than Matt, not as big, and likely no fighter either.
Matt figured the tailor wouldn't challenge him, that Anders planned to target Chester. Although when powered by his own anger, he'd subdued Anders by surprise at Rattlesnake Creek, Chester was hardly equipped to defend himself against the man's unhinged wrath, and Matt had no notion when or how Anders would wreak vengeance on Chester for wrongs existing only in the tailor's addled head.
Barely blinking, Anders held his stare from the upstairs window of his shop, so Matt walked on a few steps past the shop, stopped and looked up at the window again, met the large hostile eyes still fixed on him, and continued on to his rooming house. Nearly an hour after midnight, Anders remained awake wearing his street clothes, though he opened for business at nine in the morning. Worriment would keep Matt from sleeping the night long; of that he was sure.
Matt and Chester rarely locked the marshal's office, on account of they might need to get in or out fast. Matt did not think to tell Chester to lock the doors that night, and Chester didn't think to lock them. Though he normally slept in his underwear, tonight he lay atop the blanket with all his clothes on to his boots and suspenders, which made him feel surer and ready for anything in the hours before sunup and Mr. Dillon's return.
Chester slept fitfully that night. A noise woke him whenever he drifted off—a dog barking, the tinny music of a player piano from an all-night saloon, a faint sound of drunken laughter.
He tossed on his bunk, and was facing the wall when he heard the front door open and close. He swiftly turned over and jumped up. The full moon and starlight shone through the windows, illuminating Anders' sturdy form standing in the room.