AN: There's a theory that people in comas hear what's being said to them somewhere in their subconscious but are physically unable to respond. It also happens to work within the story given M & K's strong connection.
Physically on the Mend
Doc, despite the substantial breakfast he ate after his fever broke, wanted Matt to remain in bed until his lungs were completely clear. However, he knew his patient too well. Hence he made a show of conceding his friend, with the help of those around him, could try to walk with the aid of a cane across the room if his right leg was able to withstand the stress of rising from the bed to momentarily stand.
The physician even agreed his patient should gradually increase the distance he walked as his strength returned until he could reach the Gilbert's kitchen. Doc also accepted the big lawman would go home in the physician's buggy when he attained that goal provided Matt went straight to bed when they reached Dodge.
Doc smiled to himself knowing there was no cane in the farmhouse for Matt to use. Even seeing Major Honeywell, who decided the army had at least a partial jurisdiction thanks to the crime involving Army property and the kidnapping and possible murder of a federal marshal, early that afternoon seeking detailed as possible descriptions from Pete of the fugitives didn't alter his mood. Unfortunately the officer brought a cane, along with more laudanum and bandages, because he thought it might prove useful.
"I've an overgrown public servant who'll look on that cane as his means to force me into keeping my promise to let him out of bed, but let's keep it our secret," Doc told the officer. "Let him think Chester will bring one tomorrow."
"I'd appreciate it if I could talk to Matt before I leave, provided you think he's well enough. I promise I won't tell him about the cane."
"I'm afraid speaking with you might be detrimental. Kitty hinted he suffered a lot more than a couple bullet wounds and a pistol whipping."
The major was already mounted when Chester arrived to check on his boss, bring Kitty her mare and several changes of clothing, including her riding habit, and let Doc know that the elderly teller Elroy Parker was eager for Doc to return to his office to remove his stitches so he could return to work. Kitty, taking advantage of Matt having fallen asleep, greeted the jailer as tied her horse to the rail.
"Chester, thank you. Please thank Laura for me when you get back to town," Kitty added spotting the large valise Bill Pence's girl Laura Simmons, a girl with knowledge of the ways of city society, packed. Laura, who hailed from Philadelphia and came close to marrying into society, knew her beau's partner wouldn't want to ride back into town looking any less well attired than the New Orleans born lady she'd originally been groomed to be.
Kitty waited, but only until her man insisted on feeding himself his supper that evening before showing him the cane. Ignoring Doc's frown she placed it within reach when Matt succeeded in clearing the heaping plate of roast chicken and all that went with it Cora Gilbert had prepared. As soon as the empty dishes were cleared away Matt, though still weak, hobbled from the bed to the door and back before sinking back against his pillows. Two mornings later he walked, albeit slowly, to the kitchen for a hearty breakfast with the rest of the residents, permanent and temporary.
Doc winked at Kitty indicating it was time to head home. While an impatient Matt sat on the front porch obediently yet reluctantly waiting five healthy people got everything ready. Fifteen minutes later Doc and Kitty discretely helped Matt into Doc's buggy before Rod gave her a boost up onto her mare as they all said their goodbyes. After three hours slowly covering the six miles from farm to town a tired marshal, offering minimal protest, was asleep in his room and Kitty was back at work at the Long Branch for the first time in four nights.
Matt slept through the night. Even if it wasn't much after dawn when he awoke he threw the covers off, sat up and rose from his bed, falling back onto it when he failed to grab the cane in time. Unlike Chester with his stiff right leg but two good arms, the lawman realized even without the pain he'd be slow and awkward mounting his horse to ride out after the outlaws while balancing a cane with his left arm still in a sling. He pictured the sorry sight of him spotting his prey yet crumpling to the ground without being shot because his leg gave out when he dropped the cane to draw his Colt, prematurely alerting three scumbags to his presence. With those sobering thoughts of certain death filling his head Matt carefully dressed, mindful of needing to gingerly temporarily remove his arm from the sling and his right boot reaching an inch or two below the bandages on his leg. Finally, leaving his sidearm behind and leaning on his cane, he hobbled the normally short distance from his room to the jailhouse.
"Mr. Dillon, yer up early? Yah wanna mosey over to Delmonico's fer breakfast with me now or set a spell?"
"Breakfast would be fine, Chester. Later. Bring me a cup of coffee to drink while I catch up on paperwork."
"Uh this come in yesterday," Chester muttered handing Matt an envelope with a telegram inside it. "I stuck it in my pocket an' didn't think 'bout it 'til now."
The marshal scowled at his assistant momentarily before scanning the wire from Hays. Actually, he thought despite the delay in giving it to him he was proud Chester thought to alert Frank Reardon that the three outlaws were heading his way. It allowed the Hays sheriff to nab Gord, Flint and Shumway when they attempted to rob the bank. While he would have preferred catching them himself, Matt was both relieved and apprehensive to learn his best friend locked them in his jail to await trial for armed robbery as soon as the judge got there and on additional charges of armed robbery, murder, kidnapping, assault and attempted murder when the key witnesses arrived. Judge Kendall was due back home in Hays from his tour of the circuit late morning or early afternoon on Saturday September 24, 1870, four days from now.
After reading Frank's wire Matt decided the rest of the paperwork on his desk could wait while he joined his friends for breakfast. The normally taciturn marshal didn't utter more than two monosyllabic words during the entire meal with Chester, Doc and Kitty nor did he pay much attention to what was on his plate once he passed around the telegram so they could all read it. The food was merely an additional excuse to not talk about what was bothering him. As soon as his plate was noticeably emptier from mechanically putting what had been on it in his mouth Matt sent Chester off for the day's mail, to send a response letting Frank know when they'd arrive and buy six tickets on the Monday morning stage to Hays.
The three close friends were seated at their usual table sipping fresh coffee when Chester, holding the mail and tickets, entered the Long Branch to join them. Matt, his injured leg propped up on a chair to ease the pain, hadn't realized the toll walking from his room to his office, from there after a few minutes to Delmonico's and on to the saloon when they finished eating had taken on his far from healthy body. Even seated he was in considerable pain. Stretching his right leg out eased that ache somewhat, but it did nothing to ease the throb in his damaged left shoulder.
"Chester, unless there's a paycheck among those envelopes drop them on my desk with the rest of what I haven't gotten to on your way to the stable," he instructed hiding his considerable discomfort. "When you give the Gilberts their three tickets tell them to meet us at the depot at 7 Monday morning."
Matt spent the majority of the time he was awake during the next five days in his office with his foot propped on a chair while wading through what seemed like endless paperwork. At least it kept him busy, but not engaged enough to avoid brooding. While part of him hoped no gunman showed up looking to boost his reputation, another wished one would so he'd be spared testifying in Hays about how he came to be a crippled man without his gun at his hip. Everyone would know he failed and why. He welcomed facing his former tormentors and even the jury but not the fact he would no longer be able to keep his humiliation to himself, although he suspected Kitty knew. He reckoned he'd spilled it in his delirium because somewhere in the back of his mind he sensed she'd challenged him to not give in to feelings of guilt and inadequacy.
There was no reprieve. Not a single killer or spoiler rode into town to take advantage of his incapacity. Dodge, the so-called Gomorrah of the Plains remained quiet – so quiet Chester had no trouble handling things. Even riding off in the general direction of Hays on his own so he'd have a chance to sort the recent events out before testifying at the trial was denied him. Doc was right. The ride would be too physically taxing with a bum right leg and his left arm in a sling and he'd be a sitting duck for any drifter who crossed his path as long as he needed that cane while camped on the ground.
By Monday morning, despite some improvement, Matt, who could now hobble with the aid of the cane without fatigue from his office to the Long Branch or Delmonico's and even stand for a full minute without leaning on the prop, still felt more comfortable with his leg stretched out in front of him while seated. Knowing it was still needed he took the stick with him on the stage rather than store it with his carpetbag but, for appearances sake, the lawman also wore his gun belt under his travel coat. However, he bowed to his infirmities by allowing Kitty to surreptitiously boost herself onto the forward facing center seat across from Cora Gilbert, thanks to a discrete hand-up from Doc seated by the far window. Pete Patterson insisted on climbing aboard on his own and sitting opposite Matt forcing his Uncle Rod to climb around Cora to take the window seat opposite Doc.