Chapter 3 Mounting Frustration
The trio Matt Dillon wanted to stop from continuing to rob and kill spent their nights at the many abandoned cabins that dotted the southwestern Kansas landscape. It's what Matt began to realize when he made his camp along the Arkansas after leaving Cimarron. These were men who, perhaps during the war, learned to live off the land by any means possible. The lawman was fairly certain the bandits were once either part of Quantrill's Raiders or Jayhawkers. The side they were on hardly mattered, only the tactics employed. However, his mind refused to allow him to dwell on thoughts of why he hadn't caught up to them yet. Instead he fretted about his town, particularly those citizens who'd become his surrogate family –Chester, Doc and Kitty.
Chester was the younger brother he, an only child, never had. Matt wondered how his assistant was fairing since leaving him alone to keep the peace. He felt bad about his prolonged absence from the only a year younger than himself man, who often acted like a small boy. Dillon knew part of the reason was Chester Goode looked up to him to the point of hero worship. That's why the gangly fellow with a handicap that would have daunted most men tried so hard to please him. Still, he had to admit when the chips were down Chester rose to the occasion. He was for sure one of the few in town Matt could count on. Still, knowing the man's shortcomings, Dillon worried his assistant would face something beyond he'd be unable to handle.
Funny, the lawman thought, he didn't worry so much about Doc acting alone. It was a given. Though the only doctor for at least 100 miles could come to harm, Matt worried more about the older man being away when he, Chester or Kitty, who he knew Doc loved like a daughter, desperately needed him to treat their wounds or to provide fatherly advice. Musing on Doc and Chester didn't ease his mind any better than dwelling on being away for so long, especially from Kitty.
Thinking of Kitty provided both solace and concern. On one hand he worried about what could happen to her at the Long Branch without him to protect her from the fallout of drunken squabbles, with or without gunfire, and the forceful advances of men who thought, despite her being the co-owner, she was there to satisfy their whims like any other saloon gal. Her beauty and friendly manner only made her more vulnerable if he wasn't around to keep them in line. Bill Pence's presence helped, but her partner was looking to a time when Kitty Russell was the sole owner. Bill was more concerned with his wife Laura than his partner Kitty.
Matt made a concerted effort to think not of what might endanger Kitty but of the joy of seeing her again unharmed. His tired body fell into a restless sleep dreaming of how she could soothe away the aches of body and mind. He was able to give into his exhaustion because of the comfort that came from remembering the times with just the two of them - fishing, sharing a meal and, not the least important, baring his soul as they relaxed in their bed. Somehow, Kitty Russell allowed him to gain perspective on the events in his life.
For the next ten days, whether following what he hoped was a trail that would bring him closer to heading home or during short stops to eat and give his horse needed rest, the marshal divided his time between pleasant and disconcerting thoughts of home, the necessities of survival and catching the wily bandits. As Dillon rode, his time away from Dodge growing ever longer, he picked up the outlaws trail only to lose it again. The only way to stop this endless loop would be to turn his thoughts elsewhere - to outthink them. Matt Dillon began to seek a pattern in the stage robberies – one that went beyond the obvious facts the masked men didn't mind the small amounts and the deliberate killing of a passenger each time.
By the time a tired and hungry Matt Dillon made it to an abandoned cabin along Buckner's Creek that showed signs of recent occupation he began to see a pattern emerging. He realized the outlaws expected the lawman to chase them so they could keep him out of Dodge. Finding sustenance from what they left behind in the well-stocked cabin, Dillon contemplated how he might use his newly acquired understanding. These attacks were well planned rather than random. As to the killings, it could be because at least one of them liked killing. There were too many of that ilk among those left adrift following the end of the war.
Dillon followed the faint trail the outlaws set northwestward from along the creek in the general direction of the Pawnee River. By the time he arrived at a stage stop between Kalvesta and Laurel, stopping to check out cabin after cabin, Dillon learned they'd struck again. The station manager had already sent the body of the dead passenger on to Jetmore. Matt knew there was no point in stopping in that town to see Sheriff James Riley. As good as he was Riley wouldn't have any better information than the station manager. Instead he gathered as much coffee makings, beans and jerky the station manager could spare and continued toward the shores of the Pawnee.
When he departed a snug little cabin along that river Matt thought he'd figured out the pattern. The bandits were circling Dodge from a distance that wouldn't necessarily mark it as a target. Dillon was convinced his town was their ultimate goal. If his suspicions proved true and he didn't catch up with them before then, they'd strike when the cattle season roundup and harvest celebrations were in full swing. After more than two weeks on the road his time was running out. Under ordinary circumstances it was hard to keep things under control. As August turned to September locals celebrating the harvest were bound to clash with Texas cowboys aggressively seeking a last hurrah before heading home broke.
Sure enough the outlaw trio next struck between Jetmore and Holbrook. Matt was now certain he had them figured out, but still had to confirm he'd got it right with evidence. That delayed him by a day. Despite being unable to catch them in the act the marshal was certain he had their pattern down. As a result of applying logic that many would dismiss playing as a hunch Dillon barely missed the scumbags when they struck a relay station between Bellefont and Spearville along the Santa Fe right of way in northeast Ford County. In actuality it was closer to Saw Log Creek than the railroad tracks. He was closing in, having missed them by only half a day.
By skipping waiting to find out details about the robbery at the station that doubled as a sawmill Matt was able to creep closer to his goal of arresting the bandit trio he'd been after for three weeks. He had their description. Calling in witnesses could wait. What was more important was stopping the crime spree. Having decided to press on by anticipating which relay station they'd hit next Matt Dillon didn't wait for dawn to pick up whatever trail they wanted him to follow. Instead, he remained in yet another recently occupied cabin long enough to grab a meal and rest Buck before setting out as soon as the full moon was high in the sky.
Despite picking up his pace the marshal arrived at Deer Park relay station between Wright and Dodge City three hours too late. The canvas-covered body of Dick Larkin, who was set to take over as station manager in Dodge, was already on its way to Wichita on the eastbound stage that left a half hour ago. His newly widowed wife Carolyn and ten-year-old son Bobby rode inside with his remains secured to the roof. Matt was too late to examine the body or question the wife. Disappointed that he'd failed yet again, the lawman turned toward home.
The trail was fresh and easy to read, but he paid it no mind. Matt felt certain the three he was after had accumulated enough money to try their hand at gambling in hopes of increasing it even more. They might also take advantage of all the hoopla that accompanied an influx of money to rob the bank and freight office. The lawman worried Chester couldn't handle the outlaws and the hoards descending upon Dodge City for the roundup. He'd been on his own far too long. The first herds of the fall might have already arrived. Also, he missed Kitty. Matt tried not to admit to himself that the last was a compelling reason, but his heart said otherwise. It kept turning his mind to her. Dillon pictured her overcome with worrying he was lying dying in some gully. As he neared home thoughts of her relieved face upon seeing him safe and sound took over.
