Return to Dodge:

Chapter 12

A bullet spit into the ground just in front of Matt Dillon as he peeked out of the draw, and a piece of rock splintered and threw a sliver into the side of his face. A small cut began a trickle of bright red blood that wouldn't stop, as facial wounds often bled profusely, and this was no exception.

He took his sleeve and wiped it away angrily, aggravated that he had one more damnable thing with which to contend.

He allowed his piercing blue eyes to cut to his daughter who was trying desperately to prevent her mother from bleeding to death. Both women were pale. Lena was whispering to her mother, lying close to her and trying desperately to keep her warm and alive.

Matt was terrified to look at the woman he loved more than his life. There were times they had been apart, but she had always been a steadying, permanent presence in his heart and mind. If she were gone-he couldn't bear the thought. The pain in his chest so overwhelming that he knew he would rather be the one to die.

Dying first was easier; you didn't have to live with the anguish of loss. But that would leave their child—his and Kitty's-with no parents. That could not be.

Abruptly, he made a decision.

"Festus." Matt motioned for him to come near.

"Kitty doesn't have much time. I want you to get ready to ride. I'm going to distract him to give you enough time to get out of here to get help. I don't know where in hell Newly and the posse are, but we can't wait any longer.

"I'm relying on you, old friend. Get away from here and get help as fast as you can."

"Matthew," Festus said, "That is just going to leave you against Mannon, and you don't know what he might have up yonder to outgun you and come down in here to kill off all of you'uns.

"Send Lena, and let me stay with you and help with Miz Kitty-"

Matt cut him off, "Festus, I can't take the chance that she might get shot or that she might not even find her way back to Dodge."

He peered intently into his most trusted friend's eyes. "I can't lose 'em both, not after all this.

"Do this for me, for Kitty."

Matt's face may have looked carved from granite with fissures running through it, and his eyes hard as blue diamonds, but his heart was anything but stone.

Festus knew that it was killing Dillon to realize he might lose the family he swore he never wanted as a lawman, but now realized he didn't want to live without.

"I know it's ain't gonna do me no good to ask you to go fer help, and leave me behind, but there's got to be a better way. I cain't abandon you three here fer what could be a shore death sentence. I couldn't live with that, Matthew."

Matt was getting desperate and frustrated. "Festus, we don't have time to argue. I need you to go. Now! Please."

Festus looked at his friend. "Matthew, I care about you like a brother, and I plumb adore Miz Kitty, and that young'un jest because she's your'n.

"I ain't letting you die out here. Not on my watch, no sirree bob."

Matt watched him hurry for his mule, not Ruth, long dead, but one that could pass as a twin.

Festus placed his foot in the stirrup and swung his old bones up into the saddle.

He held his rifle in his hands and braced to goose the mule into action.

"Git ready, Matthew. That piece o'trash will be poppin' up, and I 'spect you to put him down."

But instead of turning in the direction of Dodge City, Festus rode up the other side of the gulch, heading out and right at Mannon.

Open grassland left Festus totally exposed, and when he spurred his mule, it would be seconds before he was easy pickings to the bastard above them.

Mannon wouldn't have long to decide to act, and Festus didn't have long before he would probably be killed.

Matt realized what Festus was up to immediately, but it was too late to stop him. Instead, he went into a low run at the opposite angle, toward the shooter, to divide Mannon's attention.

Festus lay low as an Indian, hanging over his saddle horn as close as possible to the mule's neck. He was already drawing rounds from Mannon.

Festus fired back, some shots wild; some were close enough to send his own rock chips flying into the scoundrel's face.

He was within fifty feet before a slug struck his mule, taking it down, pinning Festus underneath by one leg. All he could do was continue to fire off rounds until he was out of ammunition. Not much cover on flat ground behind a downed animal. More shots thwunked into his mule; Festus flinched each time he heard them and felt Gracie jump.

It was, though, the opening that Matt Dillon needed.

When Mannon was forced to raise his shoulders to take better aim at the rider now hiding behind the wounded animal, Matt rose up and fired until he had emptied his weapon, not calling out to give the cut-throat time to reconsider his poor choices.

Mannon dropped rudely onto the hard prairie, puffs of dust rising from where he hit the earth.