The Only Man I Can Trust
Chapter 6
Matt woke up feeling a little groggy - then he remembered the fight and meeting the man named Carp. He must have passed out because now he was alone, laying on a rusty cot with a thin mattress and an even thinner blanket. He looked around, hearing voices but seeing no-one. It took only a minute for him to realize that he was in a jail cell. Carefully he got up from the cot, holding his side where a boot had landed earlier, and tested the cell door. As expected it was locked. He was going to call out, but decided against it because, right now, he needed time to think. He wondered if Chester had got his telegram and if he was he still sitting out there by the fishing hole, waiting. Knowing his assistant, he could even be riding into town looking for him. Matt knew he needed to get out of here and warn him. Chester was a good man and loyal as they come. Trouble was, left to his own devices, he often finished up in some kind of trouble, and this town was full of trouble - the bad kind.
Matt was never sure if trouble always seemed to find Chester, or if it was the other way around. He well remembered the time they had headed out looking for Doc. Doc had never shown up at Jake Wirth's ranch as he was supposed to. The two of them had set out to follow his trail to make sure nothing had happened to the physician. At one point, the trail forked, and Matt couldn't be sure which route Doc had taken. The answer had been for them to split up and meet again at Emmett Bowers' ranch. Of course, the trail Chester took led him to trouble and a knife wound at the hands of an outlaw by the name of Dack. Luck like that could only happen to Chester. Matt looked on the jailer as a younger brother for whose safety he was responsible. He hoped his assistant would be careful. Right now he, himself, was the one with a problem - but it was Chester who he worried about.
He went back to the cot, and gingerly stretched out his long form. He wondered why they were keeping him here, alive. Killing a US Marshal would bring all available lawmen down on these men, but he didn't think that fact would deter them much.
After a while he was wakened from a half sleep by the clanking of keys in the cell door. He looked up to see Farrell standing there.
"Don't try anything, Marshal. One word from me and Mr. Carp will be in here."
"I'm not up to much right now anyway," Matt told him, trying to look more injured than he was.
"I brung you some supper. Mr. Holcombe wants you kept alive, so I guess we'll have to feed ya."
Matt decided to get as much information as possible out of this man. He was certainly not the brains of the outfit, but may be familiar with what was going on.
"How did you find out who I am?" He had a vague memory of his badge being picked up by Farrell, but the question would give him an opportunity to start the conversation.
"Oh, that part was easy, your badge fell out of yer pocket. I found it and told Mr. Carp." There was a pride in the man's voice that lead Matt to believe that Farrell was always trying to impress his boss, maybe trying to show him he was not such a no-body."
"That was smart of you, Farrell. Why are they keeping me here?"
Farrell said nothing for a moment, then looked around to make sure no-one was behind him. Matt made note of the movement. Farrell was scared of his boss, on top of everything else.
"I'm not supposed to say anything, but I do know. Mr. Carp relies on me a lot, ya' know." Now he was trying to prove that he was in with the top man.
Matt sank back onto the hard cot. "I don't want to get you into trouble with your boss, then again maybe you don't know much more than I do."
Farrell looked around again and came closer, close enough that Matt could probably have taken him down then and there, but now was not the time. He wouldn't get far before they killed him outright.
"I do know. I know that Mr. Holcombe's brother got out of prison and he wants to deal with you himself."
"Oh," Matt commented thoughtfully, nodding his head, trying to show admiration for Farrell's skills. "I see now. Clever of you to catch that."
Farrell was about to bask in the glow of the compliment but a voice from the outer office called him.
"Farrell! What's taking you so long! You just need to take the food in there and leave."
"Oh! yes, Mr. Carp, I'm coming."
Matt smiled at him. "He sure bosses you around a lot."
Farrell was now in too much of a hurry to say anything. He put the tin plate on the floor and scurried from the cell, locking the door behind him."
Matt looked at the food. Not too bad, he surmised. At least it would keep the wolf from the door for now.
()()()
Chester was a little nervous of meeting Fleur in the alley behind the stable, but after the two hours had passed he picked up his rifle, and headed out. The alleyways behind all these saloons were very much like the ones in Dodge, no lamps, and dark corners filled with empty barrels and stacks of used packing boxes. It made for plenty of places for someone to hide. As he left the main street, he tripped over an empty whisky bottle, sending several more, clanging noisily deeper into the darkness. He stopped and looked around. Fortunately there was so much noise coming from the saloon that no one seemed to have noticed. He picked himself up slowly and waited for a moment in the dark, listening for approaching footsteps. Hearing nothing new, he squared his shoulders and, still clutching the Winchester Rifle in a slightly sweaty hand, made his way deeper into the shadows. He walked along the backs of several buildings, staying close to the walls, until he figured he was near the stable. He stopped and looked around, not able to see much in the darkness.
He had almost made it to the back doors. He noted a wagon and several buggies parked there and carefully picked his way between them. He was trying to avoid getting close to anything that could provide someone with a good hiding place. He knew that when Mr. Dillon made late night rounds, he always encountered situations like this, but somehow the marshal had the ability to handle anything that came along. Chester was a little scared. He knew his fighting abilities were very limited, not that he wouldn't try, but his chance of success would be small, compared to that of his boss.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He began to raise the rifle as his heart beat faster.
"Just be quiet," a voice said. "I'm here to help. Come inside."
The door opened just a little, and Chester was pushed inside the stable. For a moment the brighter light of the interior stung his eyes, but as soon as they adapted, he could see Hugh Tebbers, the owner, standing there grinning at him.
"You come prepared, don't you?" The man was smiling and pointing at the rifle.
Chester was confused.
"I figured you knew that horse too well, probably know his owner too," Tebbers continued by way of explanation.
Chester didn't say anything. He was looking around thinking of the time Marshal Dillon had been ambushed in Moss Grimmick's stable, in Dodge. Joe Lime had been waiting there to kill him. He looked around but there was no Joe Lime here. Instead, Fleur, the woman he had met earlier in the Red Slipper Saloon, was standing there. She was smiling at him at first, but then got serious.
"Hugh saw what happened to your friend the other night." She was watching his face as she said the words.
"I…er…that is..." Chester knew he was no good at pretense, but struggled for a suitable answer. He couldn't think of one.
"Come on, Chester, we know who you are, and why you're here." Hugh was seated on a bale of hay now, quite relaxed, and pleased with himself. Chester was anything but relaxed; he had no clue what to say or how to handle this.
"My name's Wesley Meeks," he managed to say, with a slight stammer and a little forced dignity in his voice.
"Let me explain." The man known as Hugh Tebbers stood up and came towards him. Chester was ready for a fight, but it didn't happen. "A few days ago, your tall friend came to town. He spent a lot of time walking around and asking questions. He even talked to Fleur here, telling her he was a friend of the old sheriff and wanted to know what happened to him. Later, he sent a telegram to Chester Goode in Dodge City. We didn't know who Chester Goode was, but figured when the tall man on the buckskin horse didn't show up at that fishing hole, he'd be riding into town." Tebbers finished with a hard stare at the man with the stiff leg. Chester felt that was all the man saw of him. He could almost feel him thinking, how can this man with a lame leg be of any use? Somehow he would prove them wrong. Mr. Dillon never thought of him like that!
Tebbers continued, "A man called Johnny Billings is the telegraph operator here in town. He's the one who told us to be on the lookout for you."
"Do you know where Mr. Dillon is?" the jailer finally managed to ask. He couldn't help but wonder why the telegraph operator would tell anyone the contents of a wire.
Tebbers looked at Fleur, letting her take over the explanation.
"Great Bend has been in trouble for a while," she started. "It used to be a quiet town when Sheriff Hicks was here. He didn't allow crooked gamblers or gunslingers to set up home here. Then Tad Holcombe arrived. He started setting up rigged games in The Painted Lady, which, up till then, had been the best saloon in town. The sheriff threw him out, but a few days later Holcombe came back with Trent Carp, and a little after that, Hicks and his deputy were found dead. Now, between the two of them, they have taken over all the saloons in town and many of the other businesses too. The people who still run their own places are being squeezed out. Trent wants to own the whole town so he can charge whatever he wants. Eventually people will leave, and the town will die. Then he'll just move on and do it all again. Meantime he is making money from the gambling tables and poker games and also from many of the genuine operations in town. If anyone goes against him, they will probably wind up being found dead in an alley too."
Chester had accompanied Mr. Dillon when they went to Elkader to find a man called Shippen. The whole town had been so scared of him that they wouldn't talk to the marshal for fear of being cornered by Shippen's men. His boss had figured a way to trap the outlaw, and it worked. Chester knew he couldn't pull off a bluff like that, but if Dillon was here, he would know what to do. Chester had to come up with something.
"So where's Mr. Dillon now?"
"Is that the name of your friend? He'd only told Fleur that his name was Matt."
"That's right, Matthew Dillon. He's the marshal for the whole State of Kansas." There was a sense of pride in Chester's voice.
"Are you his deputy?" Tebbers was curious - no doubt because of Chester's leg.
"No, but i work for him, an' all"
Tebbers decided it was time to tell what he knew.
"Your marshal came here two nights ago to check on his horse, but before he got through he was jumped by four or five of Carp's men. He fought them off for a while, but eventually they had him down."
"You didn't go to help him?" Chester was horrified.
"There was nothing I could do. There's a few of us still left in town who would fight Carp's men, but not enough to do any serious damage."
"So where's Mr. Dillon now?"
It was Fleur who supplied the answer. "I think they have him locked in the jail. Carp wanted him killed, but for some reason, Holcombe wants him kept alive. I don't know much more than that."
"How'd you figure all that, ma'am?"
"I work in a saloon, Chester. Men tell me all kinds of things - it's part of my job." She batted her eyes at him as if to demonstrate her abilities. Chester blushed. He didn't like to think about Fleur and her job.
"How many folks in town might be willin' to help us."
Tebbers spoke up, "Well there's Fleur, Johnny Billings, me, and then Charlie Benson, the younger brother of Bill Benson, the deputy who was killed."
"Is that all?" Chester wasn't all that good at math, but to his mind that was only five people. It looked like Carp had at least a dozen men, all armed with rifles and pistols. These people certainly needed some help, and he was the only one around to fill that role. He wasn't sure what he could do, but felt that it was his responsibility to at least come up with a plan.
"The first thing we gotta do is to get Mr. Dillon outta that jail."
"How do you propose we do that?"
"For starters, how many people are guarding the jail?"
"It varies," Fleur supplied, "Mostly they just leave that fool Farrell and another man, whose name I don't know. Farrell is pretty fast with the gun, and he tends to shoot first and ask questions later, but the other man is little more than a kid and probably too scared to do much."
"Is there a back door to the jail, Ma'am?"
Fleur couldn't help but smile because Chester called her, "ma'am".
"No," Tebbers provided the answer. "Just one way in and out."
"So how do we make sure Carp and Holcombe are not there?"
"At night, Holcombe likes to prowl the saloons making sure all his dealers are working. Sometimes Carp will leave early if all is quiet or if someone needs him to stop an argument over a card game.
Chester sat down on an old bench, which was set alongside one of the stall walls. He had to think. He looked down at what appeared to be a picnic basket sitting on the floor nearby and realized he was hungry. No man could think well on an empty stomach.
Fleur caught his gaze. "Hugh and I ate supper," she explained, "just some sandwiches and a little wine."
Food and wine. That gave him an idea.
TBC
