All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.

"You want me to believe in forever

Do you know how tight I'm holding

Just to keep my grip on yesterday?

I'm trying hard to see the pretty pictures that you paint for me

Do you know how tight I'm holding to hard promises to keep"

-- "Hard Promises to Keep" performed by Trisha Yearwood

Chapter 2

Two Days Later

A glorious prairie sunrise had turned the skies around Dodge molten gold edged with orange and tinged turquoise at the horizon where the hills met it by the time Matt Dillon and his prisoner straggled into Dodge. Only the old lamplighter was up at this hour snuffing the street lights. All else was quiet, a boon for which the exhausted marshal was grateful. It was as well Buck knew his way home because Matt hadn't the wit to give the horse directions.

It was a small miracle they'd made it back to Dodge without incident. Matt had driven them hard across the prairie for two days straight, stopping only when the other horse could no longer keep the pace. He'd listened to Job Snelling's taunts and jibes until he fervently wished he wasn't wearing a badge and could shut the outlaw's mouth himself. The man had tried twice more to escape. Matt now sported an assortment of bruises and scrapes from tackling the man and tangling with him in the brush and Job Snelling had finished his journey to Dodge hog tied across the saddle of the other horse.

Buck was a good strong mount, of mustang stock, but even he had his limitations. The poor beast staggered as Matt reined him up in front of the jail. Even though he was dead tired, Matt promised himself he'd see his faithful companion safely stabled, curried, and fed an extra measure of grain before he took care of himself. He was fairly certain Job's horse would have to be put down; it hung its head, sides heaving and lathered, and stood there simply struggling for breath.

As Matt looped Buck's reins over the hitching post, Snelling made a last desperate attempt at escape. He had had a lot of time to work loose the knots binding him to the saddle and the marshal had been too exhausted to notice this lapse. Pretending to doze in the saddle as the marshal approached, Job suddenly raised a fist and drove it into Matt's face.

Matt hadn't been expecting an attack, but he managed to drag the prisoner from the horse as it took off down Front Street. Buck, startled by the sudden scuffling movements, shied away and took off after the other horse. Snelling had Matt at a disadvantage now and he pressed it. He wrapped his handcuffed hands around the marshal's neck and began strangling him. Matt clawed at the hands encircling his throat but couldn't break the hold. Frantic, the marshal elbowed Snelling in the solar plexus. Snelling collapsed backward with the air knocked out of him. He solved the problem of maintaining a hold on the prisoner by simply sitting on him while he massaged his bruised throat and tried to force oxygen back into his abused lungs.

When he could breathe again, the marshal grabbed Snelling by the lapels on his jacket and pinned him against one of the roof supports. "That's enough out of you," Matt said roughly, wishing he wasn't back in Dodge or that it wasn't early in the morning so that he could just shoot Snelling and be done with him. "Now get in there!" He shoved the outlaw in the direction of the jail's entrance and then leaned against the hitching post as he wheezed. Somewhere along the trail that annoying tickle in his throat had become an equally annoying cough. His shoulders slumped when he noticed Buck was no longer tethered. Well, he probably hasn't got far. Matt knew he would likely find the horse standing in his stall at the livery patiently waiting to be fed. Best get Job Snelling behind bars where he belongs before something else happens. The sleep he so desperately longed for would have to wait but it wouldn't be much longer.

"Ya ain't had near all of me as yer gonna get, Dillon!" Snelling snarled as Matt shepherded him toward the jail cell. Matt ignored him, slammed the cell door shut and began walking away. "Hey!" Snelling said, thrusting his handcuffed hands through the bars, "what about these things? Ain'tcha gonna take 'em off?"

For a moment Matt stared in puzzlement. It took a moment for his sleep deprived mind to absorb the fact that he couldn't legally leave Snelling shackled like that as it would be considered unjust treatment of a prisoner. Can't believe I forgot to release him. Something didn't feel right; he put it down to tiredness and decided a few hours' sleep would be all that was needed to cure what was ailing him. "By all rights, I ought to leave you like that," he muttered but ethics overrode resentment and he removed the handcuffs.

"How long you gonna figure on keepin' me in here?" Snelling whined.

"I'll let you know that tomorrow," Mat said shortly and closed the thick wooden door which separated the cells from the marshal's office. Too weary to even put them back on their peg, he tossed the ring of keys onto his desk and then prepared to go in search of his horse. His head ached and blackness threatened to star out his vision. Suddenly Matt didn't know if he even had the energy to properly care for his horse.

The sound of hoof beats on the packed dirt of Front Street jerked him alert. He peered out the entrance to the jail and spotted Hank from the livery leading Buck by the reins. One less thing I have to worry about before I get some sleep. He forced himself to stand upright and hoped his voice didn't betray how tired he felt. As marshal of Dodge City, Matt had appearances to keep up and it wouldn't do to display any kind of weakness. "Oh, thanks, Hank. Could you get them put away for me?"

The livery hand tipped his hat to the marshal. "Sure thing, Marshal Dillon. Hank hesitated as though deciding whether or not to bother Matt with something and then mentioned, "Might need to put the other one down. He's fair heavy winded and liked to collapsed afore I got 'im squared away."

Matt nodded soberly. "I know. Do what you can for him." Matt needed the horse to live, if at all possible. Since it had been stolen from one of the murdered family's farms, it provided a solid connection between Job Snelling and those crimes. The law could make the case without the horse, but Matt preferred things to be airtight. He didn't like it when, as all too often happened, former prisoners were released because nothing could be proven.

He went back inside, contemplated looking over the few items waiting for him, and decided against it. He didn't bother hanging up his hat, just took it off and tossed it to the desk. Blowing out the lamp, Matt shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a peg. A glance at the railroad clock on the wall showed it was ten after five in the morning. The bone deep weariness he'd been pushing off for two days now crashed upon him like an avalanche. He was too tired to do more than unbuckle his holster and put it somewhere he'd be likely to find it later. Matt sank onto the narrow cot, sighing, and sat there a moment with his head in his hands. He lay down and fell asleep before he could even take his boots off.

The slamming of the door and some off-key yodeling awakened him not much later. He recognized the voice of one of his deputies, Festus Haggen. Matt was normally tolerant of the hill man's garrulous nature but with his head pounding so badly and his body still begging for sleep he was in no mood to deal with Festus' antics right now. He wanted to be left alone in peace and quiet until he'd had at least eight hours' sleep.

The odor of fish, river mud, and wet burlap permeated the room. Matt's eyes flew open and his stomach turned over. Obviously his deputy had just returned from a fishing trip, but he hoped the man didn't intend to clean and cook them in here. Noise and nosiness aside, Matt didn't think his stomach could handle that.

"Matthew?" Had his deputy always had such a loud, annoying voice?

"What is it, Festus?" Matt closed his eyes again, hoping the deputy would take the hint and go away.

"When'd you git back?"

He sighed, took a deep breath, supressed a cough. The last thing he needed was Festus to suspect he was anything but tired. The well meaning deputy would tell Kitty, Kitty would go get Doc, and then he'd have the lot of them in here fussing over him. He just wanted to sleep. There was nothing wrong with him that a few hours' sleep wouldn't cure. "About five minutes ago," he managed.

Festus' voice took on an indignant tone at being given so little information. "Whal, where you bin at these last couple o' days? We got to frettin' 'bout you."

"I've been trailing Job Snelling."

"Job Snelling? Where'd you run acrosst him at?"

"Festus," Matt said in the firmest voice he could manage, "I'll tell you about it later. Right now, I haven't had sleep in thirty-six hours." He turned over and buried his face in the pillow, hoping his literal minded deputy would finally take the hint.

Festus drew up short and looked more closely at the marshal, noting the untended cuts, scrapes, and bruises as well as the unkempt condition of his clothes. His voice softened with compassion and understanding as he nodded. "Of course, Matthew. You go ahead on and git yourself some sleep. You blame shore need it."

He did not, however, leave. Instead Festus emptied out his sack of catfish onto the scarred table where he intended to clean them. The unappetizing scent of fish and wet burlap became stronger. Matt held a hand to his head and tugged at his curls in frustration. He didn't want to yell at the gentle deputy and hurt his feelings, but if Festus insisted on cleaning those fish in here, he was going to be sick. "Festus!"

"What is it, Matthew?" Festus asked anxiously. He still held a catfish by the tail with one hand, within inches of Matt's face.

"Do you have to do that in here?" Matt groaned.

"Do what?"

Literal minded Festus occasionally required exact instructions. He seemed at times to lack the ability to connect comments in a conversation unless told to what they pertained. Normally that was one of the things which made him a good deputy. Just now Matt wished his friend wasn't so simple minded. And why on earth did he have to come over here with that stupid fish in his hand?

"Clean those fish!"

"Whal, of course Matthew," exclaimed Festus, misunderstanding Matt's question. "Catfish has got to be cleaned right quick elsewise they're liable to sour on you. Anybody knows that."

Matt swallowed and wished that Festus hadn't mentioned that little tidbit. "Can't you take them outside and do it out there?"

"Oh," said the hill man, relieved, "that's a good idea, Matthew. I'll do that."

Festus was gathering up his fish when it occurred to him that Matt hadn't given him any instructions regarding the prisoner. "Matthew? What are you fixin' to do with Snelling?"

"I'm gonna take him over to Judge Brooker this afternoon," he mumbled, "after I get some sleep!"

"Oh. Yeah." Taken aback by the marshal's harsh tone of voice, Festus decided to cut his losses and leave the marshal be until he was in a better mood. He created quite a ruckus moving the table outside but since it meant Matt would no longer have to smell the fish, he didn't complain. He did roll his eyes and groan when Festus reappeared in the doorway. "Oh, Matthew? I plum forgot to tell you Juddge Brooker, he ain't goin' to be here later on today. I heard him say he was a-goin' to take the half past six stage up to Hays. So if you're fixin' to see him, it better be mucho pronto."

"Well, maybe I can get a little sleep anyway for a few minutes." He really didn't feel like getting back up but he didn't want to keep Job Snelling here without advising him of his rights and sending him on for trial either. "Festus? Wake me up at a quarter to six, would you?"

His deputy smiled. "You betcha. And I'm gonna make you the best catfish breakfast you ever slapped a lip over. I'll guarantee you." The marshal's eyes went wide and he wondered how he could possibly talk his way out of that breakfast. Food was the last thing he wanted. Matt curled into the pillow and closed his eyes. In the distance he could hear Festus arguing with someone over something. His deputy shut up once he'd bellowed at him to do so. Matt turned on his side and tried to go back to sleep.

The next interruption came in the form of an irate widow with a street urchin in tow. She did not knock but slammed the door open and began screeching at Matt to wake up. Matt clutched defensively at his head, hoping Festus or Newly might appear and deter her but the widow Pry went straight to Matt's cot and began shaking it.

At the mention of the word "thief", lawman's instincts took over and Matt managed to sit up. Glancing at the clock, he discovered he'd been asleep less than half an hour. "What happened?" he asked.

The headache was worse than it had been when he laid down. He ran a hand over his eyes and scrunched his silvery curls in frustration while the widow went on and on…about a couple of stolen pies, one of which had obviously been thrown at her. She wanted the boy jailed. Privately, Matt didn't think the incident warranted more than a stiff warning and an apology --- he'd pulled such antics himself as a boy --- but he promised to do something about it so the widow would quit nagging him and leave. The widow Pry halted in the doorway, taking in Matt's disheveled appearance and watery, bloodshot eyes. "You look terrible, Marshal. You should take better care of yourself." She went out then, leaving Matt staring at her in disbelief.

"If I could get any sleep around here, I just might do that," he muttered and let go of the boy's shoulder.

The boy, making a dash for the door, ran into Festus carrying a breakfast tray which scattered everywhere. Well, that's one problem solved at least. "What's goin' on here?" Festus asked. He had the urchin by the back of the collar.

There didn't seem to be any point in going back to bed; duty and the citizens of Dodge weren't about to allow Matt to catch up on his sleep. "Festus, I've got to get Snelling over to see Judge Brooker before he leaves." He pointed at the widow Pry's pie thief as he buckled on his holster. "I'll figure out what to do with him when I get back." Leaving instructions for the kid to clean up the mess he had made, Matt found the ring of keys, unlocked Snelling's cell, and kicked him awake. "All right, Snelling, on your feet."

Unbelievably, Snelling made another attempt at escape. He darted through the open cell door, shoving Matt against the bars, and launched himself into the office. Matt, wild eyed with surprise, drew his gun and cast himself in a flying leap after him. They both hit the floor in a jumble of limbs and fists and Matt's gun went flying.

Festus had his gun out but he couldn't get a clear shot. "Hey, Matthew," he hollered, "give me room and I'll bust 'im."

Matt tried, but his reactions were slowed by lack of sleep. He threw a wild punch which knocked Snelling back and away but the outlaw came up off the floor with a fork, of all things, which he plunged deeply into the marshal's arm. As Matt lay on the floor stunned, Festus stepped in and clubbed Snelling with the butt of his revolver. With gentle hands, he helped Matt back into a standing position. "You all right, Matthew?"

"No." It took a lot for him to admit that. He didn't mean the wound Snelling had given him; that hurt badly enough but he had to admit --- to himself at least --- that there was something more wrong with him than needing a good night's sleep. He felt just plain awful. His right hand clutched a profusely bleeding wound on his bicep and he stared at it in abstract fascination. How the blazes could a fork do that much damage?

Festus had taken a red handkerchief from his pocket and used it as a temporary bandage. "You'd better get over to see ole Doc 'cause he jogged you pretty deep there."

"Yeah." Matt was beginning to think that seeing Doc wouldn't be a bad idea at all. Maybe he could do something about the cough and his pounding head as well. Where he would find the time was another matter entirely.

"You want me t' take Snelling over fer you?" Festus offered gently. He didn't much like the way his friend looked, as though he were sickening for something. For as long as he'd known the big man, Festus had never known the marshal to let a contained prisoner get the jump on him like that. Something must be wrong.

"No," said Matt, deeply appreciating his friend's offer, "I want you to stay here with that kid. And get the handcuffs, would you?" He mustered the effort to pull Snelling up off the floor. "All right, Job, on your feet here." Matt had to lean against the corner of the desk for a moment. He was winded and his vision kept fading in and out on him.

Festus took the prisoner from him and fastened the handcuffs, in the rear this time. "Don't be thrashin' around now," he warned, "or I'll whack ya on t'other side. All right, Matt."

Matt put his hat on and nudged Snellling out the door. He just had the feeling that this day wasn't going to get any better. Some promises, especially those associated with a badge, were awful hard on a body to keep.