Thurlow Wilson, manager of the First National Bank of Wichita, Kansas, was in the vault when a teller came in and said, "Mr Wilson, there's a Mr Frank Eaton to see you."
"Frank Eaton!" Wilson brushed back his hair and smoothed down the front of his suit, then took off his glasses and polished them. The teller gawked until he snapped, "Well, don't just stand there! Go tell him I'll be right out." The man hurried away and Wilson took a moment to compose himself, then walked into the bank.
Frank Eaton was sitting in front of his desk and he rose as Wilson approached him. "I come for my money."
"Of course, of course," said Wilson. "Have a seat, Mr Eaton." Eaton sat and Wilson wrote out a bank slip and handed it to him. The man looked embarrassed and Wilson smiled timidly. "Just make your mark right there, Mr Eaton. That'll be fine." Eaton drew an X on the signature line and Wilson waved to a teller, handing the slip over. "Do you want a bank draft or will you be taking that in cash?"
"Cash." The teller went to the vault and Wilson seated himself, frowning in puzzlement. Aside from an odd twang in his voice, Eaton seemed much the same-clean shaven and well dressed, but there was something about his eyes...Wilson had only met Eaton a few times, but he remembered the man's hazel eyes being as hard and lifeless as two bits of stone. They were different now-soft and expressive, radiating kindness and gentleness, and for a moment the crazy thought flitted across the bank manager's mind that perhaps this was another man and not Frank Eaton at all. The teller returned with a small valise and Wilson banished the notion. No doubt he had dined too well at lunch and he handed the bag over without a single misgiving.
"There you go, Mr Eaton. Do you want to count it?"
Eaton looked at him keenly. "Why? Ain't it all there?"
Wilson chuckled nervously. "Of course it's all there. Procedures of the bank, you know...ask everybody...rules and regulations..."
Eaton stood up. "Much obliged." He walked away and Wilson pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face.
The bank teller watched him leave, then whispered to Wilson, "So that was Frank Eaton?" Wilson nodded and the teller whistled softly. "Didn't ever think I'd meet him and live to tell the tale."
"Thank God he's got his money now," said Wilson. "If I never meet him again it'll be too soon for me."
Matt and Agent Doyle were waiting across the street as Festus came out of the bank. "Here it is, Matthew. That bank feller said it wuz all there."
The marshal opened the bag and counted the money, raising his eyebrows. "Festus, there's over fifty thousand dollars here."
"Is that a fact?" Festus shook his head. "Agent Doyle, are you gonna be able to find any of the folks this here money was stole from?"
"I'm going to do my best. Are you sure you don't want a reward, Mr Haggen? You're certainly entitled to one."
"No!" Matt and Doyle looked at Festus and he lowered his voice. "I don't want nothin' that passed through Frank Eaton's hands...not so much as one red cent. If'n you got anythin' left over whyn't you give it to some orphanage or somethin'?"
Doyle looked inquiringly at Matt and the marshal smiled. "I'm with Festus on this. Doesn't your organization have a widows and orphans fund?"
"We do, but nobody has ever been so generous to it before." Doyle regarded Festus with respect and held out his hand. "Mr Haggen, it's been a privilege to work with you."
The deputy gripped Doyle's hand, smiling warmly. "Same here." Doyle shook hands with Matt and walked off and Festus felt his chin. "Matthew, what would you think 'bout waitin' here for a few days so's to give me a chance to get to lookin' like my old self?"
Matt regarded the deputy with amusement. "Well, I don't know, Festus. Maybe you should stay like that...you look more respectable."
Festus snorted. "If'n Frank Eaton wuz respect'ble lookin' I'd ruther look disrespect'ble." He tugged at his collar. "I cain't wait to get outta these clothes and back in my own duds."
"All right, Festus." The marshal clapped his friend on the shoulder. "What do you say we take the train to Hays and ride the rest of the way back? We can pick up some supplies and do a little fishing on the way home."
"Sounds good, Matthew." Festus smiled brightly. "Just don't forget the coffee this time."
Matt looked sternly at the deputy. "I'll get coffee only if you let me fix it."
"What's wrong with my coffee?"
"Festus, I've been telling you for years what's wrong with your coffee. Instead of riding off with Eaton's men you should have made them some coffee. That would have finished them off and saved us both a lot of trouble."
"Golly bill, Matthew, that's harder than I'd slam a door. You been spendin' too much time with old Doc. Yore gonna be just as mean as him if'n you ain't careful."
The marshal grinned. "He is pretty tough, isn't he? You sure you want to go fishing without him? He's gonna be pretty hard on us as it is if we take our time getting back."
"I'm sure." Festus smiled at his friend. "Don'tcha think now we finally laid Frank Eaton to rest for good'n all we done earned us a little time off?"
Their eyes met and for a long moment they found themselves reliving the nightmare Frank Eaton had been to them. That nightmare was finally over and as they read the relief on each other's faces Matt smiled broadly and said, "Festus, I think we've earned a whole week off."
The two friends started for the train station, leaving the shadows behind, and looking forward to the trip that would take them home to their family.
