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

"Lonely sound of distant thunder

Stirs my restless sleep

And the dream that I was lost in slips away

Of a young son and his mama

So innocent back then.

Would she even recognize her boy today?

"'cause I have fought into the darkness

And I've spilled blood with these two hands

And in my heart I wish I could believe

That who I was is who I am."

-- "Letting Go" by George Canyon

Chapter 10

Five days later

Kitty was getting ready to go out. She examined her reflection in the looking glass and ran the brush through her curls one more time before setting both back on the vanity. "Well, that's as good as it's going to get. I'd better go."

Matt watched her fussing with her hair and smiled. He secretly loved it when it got away from her like that. He would have liked to take up the brush and draw it through her thick auburn locks feeling the silk of it pour through his hands, as he sometimes did, but he knew Kitty would have a fit if he so much as moved from this chair. She and Doc had only allowed him out of the bed yesterday, on the condition that he'd sit quietly, stay wrapped in the blankets, and go back to bed when tired. All things considered, he guessed he didn't mind the restrictions too much, although he would never admit it to either of his caretakers. The chair he occupied, whether by design or accident, faced the one window in Kitty's rooms which overlooked Front Street. At least he could keep a discrete eye on the town from this vantage and feel at least some level of usefulness.

"Where are you off to this afternoon, Kitty?" he asked and tried not very successfully to keep the wistfulness out of his gravelly voice. He'd gotten used to having her to himself. If he couldn't go with her, he at least wanted to know what she was doing.

"Oh," replied Kitty, distracted, "I've got a few errands to run and then I need to spend some time on the books. Sam's complaining that they're not adding up again but neither of us can figure out exactly why accounts aren't balancing."

Matt looked concerned. Had he distracted her so badly with his illness that he'd put the livelihood of the Long Branch in jeopardy? Yet more harm I've caused her. Does it ever stop? "That sounds serious. Anything I can do?"

Kitty saw the guilty look, quickly suppressed, flitting across his face. Don't you dare blame yourself for this, Matt Dillon! Not everything which goes wrong in my life is your fault. "No, no," she assured him. "Sam and I can handle it." Her lips pursed in disapproval. "Sam says on the nights the books haven't balanced the new girl I hired has been working behind the bar."

"If she's skimming from the cash box, maybe you'd better talk to Newly and have him look into it," Matt suggested as he moved restlessly beneath the blanket Kitty had tucked around him.

"You leave your deputy out of this; this is strictly a business matter. I just need to have a talk with her, that's all. She seems like a nice kid, a little mixed up maybe. Calls herself Fancy, came up from Abilene not too long ago." Kitty shrugged on the fox fur cape she'd ordered from St. Louis and looked around for the little muff Festus had made for her last winter. It was a crude little thing but she treasured it for the time and effort its creator had put into it. The hill man rarely had more than a couple of coins in his pocket and didn't give gifts often. The few he did give were handmade, speaking loudly of how closely the possessor was held to the creator's heart. "Now where did I put that? Oh, that's right." She opened the middle draw of the vanity and found it tucked among the hair ribbons. After sliding her hands into it, she bent over and kissed Matt on the cheek. "Honey, I've got to go now. We can talk when I get back."

Matt would have preferred the touch of those warm lips against his own, but she was taking no chances. How long has it been now? "How much longer do I have to stay cooped up in here?" Matt sighed and it turned into a fit of coughing.

Silently, Kitty removed the muff and handed the convalescing marshal a glass of water and quinine. They'd been over this dozens of times since he'd come out of his delirium. Sometimes she believed Matt thought if he discussed it enough times, the answers would change. She recalled Doc telling her that Matt's energy levels and condition would have to be carefully monitored so that he did not cause himself a relapse. He tended to tire later in the day as the medications wore off and the symptoms re-emerged. Matt, of course, refused to acknowledge that and would push himself if allowed to do so. She wasn't entirely certain she could depend on Festus to keep the marshal from doing so either.

Maybe I ought to get my errands done as quickly as possible and check up on them around lunch time. He ought to be good and ready to go back to bed by then. "You know what Doc said just as well as I do. You can go back to your usual routine when your lungs are clear, you stop running fevers, and you can finish a solid meal without it coming back up. No, Matt," she said firmly, holding up a hand to silence his objections, "I'm not arguing about this with you again. I know you're bored being cooped up here, but Festus should be up any moment now to play checkers with you."

"All right, Kitty, fine," Matt relented, "I'll behave." Although being with Festus was not the same as spending time with Kitty, he did look forward to Festus' visits and not just because he played a good game of checkers. The hill man had his own interpretation of Doc Adams' orders to keep Matt "quiet and undisturbed" and the lawman could always count on his deputy to keep him informed of everything going on in Dodge, not to mention spin an amusing yarn or two.

"Have fun," he urged, but Kitty noted the hint of petulance that furrowed the corners of his lips.

"Yeah, right," Kitty muttered but not loudly enough for the lawman to hear. She hid it well, but Kitty didn't want to leave any more than Matt wanted her to go. She'd been putting off getting some of the things she needed because she hadn't wanted to chance running into a certain conniving group of females. That promise she'd given Doc --- to mind her temper and her tongue --- got harder to keep each time one of the old biddies said something. If they cornered her in the mercantile today, Kitty wasn't certain she could respond civilly or ignore them! "Good morning, Festus," she greeted the hill man as he jangled toward her enthusiastically.

The weathered deputy's eyes lit with pleasure and a smile cracked his face. "Why, mornin', Miss Kitty! How's ole Matthew farin'? Must be some better , seein's how you're goin' out, ain't ya?"

Kitty patted her old friend on the arm and nodded. "Yeah, I've got some errands to run. Go on up, Festus, he's waiting for you." Squaring her shoulders against whatever lay in store, she headed in the direction of the mercantile.

Festus, as was his habit, watched the redhead make her way down the boardwalk. Once reassured that no one would bother her he thumped up the stairs, anxious to look in on his friend. He hadn't been allowed to see Matt once he regained consciousness until Doc had decided the visits wouldn't do the marshal any harm. This was only his second visit to socialize with the marshal since Doc had lifted those restrictions; the first had been some short of an hour.

When he reached Miss Kitty's rooms, Festus reined in some of his enthusiasm. Matt would certainly be glad to see him --- he always was --- but Festus understood his friend was easily worn out. He poked his head cautiously through the door. "Matthew?"

The marshal, in spite of feeling unwell, broke into a boyish grin at the sight of his friend standing there awkwardly. "Have a seat, I've got the board set up."

Festus noticed the marshal's voice sounded reassuringly stronger than it had on their last visit though his breathing was still labored. Still plumb grateful his friend had survived and was apparently on the mend, he made quick time across the room and took one of Matt's hands firmly in both of his. "Matthew! I'm pure-dee pleasured to have you back with us. Why, yer lookin' fit as a tick this mornin'!"

Matt, surprised by the intensity of his deputy's greeting, squeezed back and smiled. His grip lacked strength and it annoyed him. He'd wanted to at least give Festus that much assurance that he'd be all right. "Festus…." he said, dredging air into his stubborn lungs. "Festus, it's good to see you too, but take it easy there. I need that hand for checkers." Even in delirium, Matt had been aware of his deputy's presence and had appreciated the diligence and dedication exhibited.

Festus let go of the marshal's hand; he poured them each a cup of coffee, handed Matt his, and then sat in the chair opposite squinting at the board. "I'll tell you, Matthew, I'm awful glad you ain't as peaked as you was. You're a whole heap better already, but I swear on my grandpa Hog Haggen's grave, you shore gave us all a terrible scare." Having decided where he wanted to move his piece, he slid the black chip forward.

Speaking was still an effort and Matt had to catch his breath before he could continue. Seeing Festus' worried expression, he added, "I got pretty weak but I think I'm doing all right now." He studied the board and then moved one of his red chips forward. "So, how are things around town?"

The hill man ignored the obvious opening Matt had left him and moved another piece. "This here early snow storm kinda threw things off kilter. Lotsa folks is in town stockin' up before winter sets in proper but we ain't hardly had no trouble with 'em 'ceptin' the Johnsons and the Carpenters."

"They were both in town at the same time? It's a wonder Front Street's still standing." The rivalry between the two families was quickly approaching legendary status in Ford County. Their properties shared a boundary line which was in constant dispute, usually depending on the status of the relationships between offspring, and Matt had spent the better part of a day riding out there several times a month to mediate. That wasn't, however, the main issue, pulling at the two families.

"Aw, foot, Matthew, it didn't amount to much a nothin'," Festus assured him. "Both wagons pulled up in front of Lathrop's. The menfolk glared at each other like dogs about t' wrangle over a bone. They jawed for jest a bit an' then Abe took a swing at Dirch. While they was fightn', just as you'd 'spect, them Johnson boys started in with the Carpenter girls." Festus let go a grin, having saved the best of the tale for last, and slapped his thigh. "Don't you go worryin' none, Matthew. Miss Kitty took aside them girls and Doc had more 'n' few words with the boys."

"I reckon they all got an earful," Matt said with a raspy chuckle. He was, unfortunately, all too familiar with Doc's courting advice and the sharp side of Kitty's wit.

"Oh, they's square now. Them Carpenter girls has done figgered which Johnson boy goes with who an' now they're sparkin' cozier than turtle doves in a rain shower. I 'spect there'll be weddin's afore too long."

"Well, it's about time! Maybe that'll settle 'em down and I won't have to ride out there every month to settle property disputes," said Matt with considerable satisfaction. His hand hovered over one of his pieces as he muffled a cough, and then he moved it forward to take one of Festus' off the board. "Did you have to put Abe and Dirch in a cell?"

"I shore did give 'em that choice, Matthew, but I reckon they both figgered they'd rather head on home. 'Sides, both a they shemales twas alreddy talkin' all honey-tongued about weddin's and the like with one another. Why Matthew, with the younguns sparkin' and the shemales plottin', ol' Abe and Dirch was havin' Sam set 'em up last I saw!"

"I'd have paid good money to see that," Matt said as he moved another piece. "What about the Goodnight-Loving herds?"

The marshal's expression showed disapproval. The famous cattle outfits were known for taking risks if it meant greater profit and it was late in the year to be moving cattle. Most of the other outfits, mindful of impending winter weather, had brought their herds through weeks ago. Since the east's demand for beef exceeded the current supply with winter closing in, Goodnight's plan was to sell his beeves at a premium.

"Ross Whitherspoon brought his outfit in a few days after you took sick, Matthew. We was 'spectin' the second outfit but it never showed. Whall, Ross swore blue that they waren't more than a day behind but figgered they must've run smack dab onto some trouble." Festus leaned forward with hands on his thighs, hazel eyes glittering with good humor.

Matt knew from previous experience that his deputy was getting ready to spin a yarn he considered particularly entertaining. He let Festus savor the moment before demanding, a trace of mock impatience in his voice, "Well, don't just sit there grinning. Tell me what happened!"

The hill man took his time, pausing long enough to jump two of Matt's pieces and take them from the board. Whatever the big man had planned didn't seem to be working. Festus could only remember one other game in which he'd been able to jump pieces like that and he'd only gotten away with it because the marshal, in a rare fit of indulgence, had just finished off the better part of a bottle of whiskey.

"This here storm was a bad 'un. It went dark as the inside of a 'possum's pocket right in the middle of the day! Then the flakes was a-fallin' so thick you could hardly see yer hand in front a yer face. 'bout the time the storm broke over Dodge, I saddled Ruth and rode out for a look-see. Ole Ross, he insisted on coming with a few of his drovers in case th' other outfit needed help. When we finally come upon 'em…" He shook his head in disbelief. "I never in all my born days seen nothin' like it. They ain't posted no outriders. If I'd been of a mind, I coulda walked off with half the herd and ain't nobody would've noticed."

"That's odd," said Matt as he twisted restlessly in his chair. "Their ramrod ought to have known better." Frustrated, he frowned at the board. Festus' last move had destroyed his strategy and now, with his thoughts scattering whenever he tried to focus, he'd lost track of what he'd been trying to do. A sharp ache had lodged itself behind his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose in hope of discouraging it and then tentatively pushed forth another piece.

"Whall, foot, Matthew," Festus exclaimed, "that there ramrod weren't no more n' a button an' he's a greenhorn to boot! He ain't never been in charge a' no cattle drive afore. His uncle gave 'im the job as a favor. Ol' Ross got 'im straightened out an' posted the outriders. Them cattle weren't in no kinda shape by then. Some of 'em were plumb froze to the ground an' we had to break their heads free."

Matt had heard of that happening once or twice before, usually when the foreman on the drive didn't keep the herd moving through the storm. The cattle put their heads down to graze after scraping through the snow to dried grass and the moisture from their own breath turned to a deadly coating of ice. The mistake was generally discovered too late to save the animals; they smothered where they froze. Such incidents could completely ruin a smaller outfit and Matt didn't understand why Goodnight would have risked his assets with an untried foreman. "You got 'em in safely?"

"Shore 'nuff, Matthew. Ross done taken the kid under his wing so's when they move out again once the storm lifts he'll know what needs done. He'll do, he's just greener n' a tomater in the shade, that's all." Festus frowned at the board and wondered what on earth had gotten into Matt; the last piece he'd moved belonged to Festus. "Might want to rethink that there move," he prompted gently.

When the marshal didn't respond, Festus risked a sideways glance at his friend. Long years of serving as Matt's deputy and accompanying him on the trail had granted the hill man the ability to read and interpret his friend's mental and physical status. Another might not have noticed the telltale signs which told him Matt wasn't feeling well: the tightening around the eyes, the grim set to the mouth, the convulsive swallowing. Festus picked up the piece Matt had just moved and put it back in its original position.

"What did you do that for?" Matt snapped, irritable.

"'cause it ain't your piece, Matthew, it's mine."

Festus was right; Matt had moved the wrong piece. He tried to think of a graceful way he could end the game --- at least for now --- but the wave of fatigue and nausea wouldn't let him. He scrubbed at the side of his head, trying to gain some clarity. It only increased the pain and discomfort and, hoping to ease it, he shifted restlessly. "Sorry 'bout that, Festus."

The deputy's voice held a wealth of compassion and concern. "It's all right, Matthew, don't you worry none about it." He hesitated, uncertain of how to bring up the subject, and then decided that the marshal's welfare was more important than his pride. "Maybe you oughta go back to bed for a spell. You look downright peaky."

"No. No, I'm all right," the big man barked, "let's finish the game." He might have actually pulled it off if another fit of coughing hadn't seized him.

Kitty, on his previous visit, had shown Festus Matt's medications and shown him which ones might be needed. Keeping an anxious eye on Matt, Festus measured out the quinine and mixed it with a splash of water in a glass which he handed to the marshal. Matt stubbornly waved it away but Festus, disliking the bluish tinge to his friend's complexion, wouldn't be deterred. In a tone of voice he rarely used, he commanded, "Don't get ta actin' all stubborn now, Matthew. Just go 'head on an' drink it."

Blinking in surprise at his usually mild mannered deputy's sharp tone, Matt did his best to obey. His hands shook too much to hold the glass; Festus held it for him as Matt reluctantly finished the vile tasting concoction. "Much obliged, Festus," Matt managed between gasps.

After placing the glass next to the abandoned checkers, Festus' strong work roughened hands gently grasped Matt's forearm and shoulder. "C'mon, now, Matthew, let's get you back in that there bed. You'll be a heap comfier and rest a mite better." Matt would have liked to argue but he really did feel awful. Bed was the best place for him now.

"All right, Festus, help me get there, would you?"

The bed might as well have been miles away instead of only a few feet across the room. By the time Festus had gotten him there, Matt was trembling with exhaustion and grateful for his deputy's support. "Just take it easy, Matthew," Festus soothed. "Ain't no hurry for you to be anywhere." Noting it was well past time for the midday meal, he asked, "You want I should get you somethin' to eat?"

Matt groaned. The thought of eating anything completely repulsed him for once. "No, Festus, I couldn't eat anything right now."

"Now, Matthew, you gotta eat if'n you're gonna get your strength back. Why, I wish I could git you a batch of my Aunt Thede's 'possum stew. You remember Aunt Theodore, doncha, Matthew? Whall, it's guaranteed good fer what ails ya. 'Course, I kin fetch some chicken broth from Delmonico's for ya. That'll do in a pinch."

"Festus…" The marshal swallowed hard. "Could we please talk about…something other than food?"

"Anything you say, Matthew," Festus said with uncharacteristic meekness. He was embarrassed that he'd forgotten Matt was too ill for bantering and that he'd made matters worse. "It's the quinine what does it, my Aunt Thede told me. The quinine dries up the appetite with the cough. We Haggens couldn't afford no doctor but Aunt Thede, she trained with Ol' Missus Sabel who knew all about the medicines, potions, and herbs. Mind you, Missus Sabel waren't directly no Haggen relation but t'were close enough as made no nevermind. Don't you worry, none, Matthew," he soothed, "we'll have you fit as a speckled pup in no time."

Matt closed his eyes and listened to the sound of water being wrung from a cloth. As the coolness slipped over his eyes, he sighed and relaxed. Festus would take care of things, he could always depend on that.

"Festus, would you do something for me?" A ragged cough interrupted his request. "It's waited too long as it is." Matt told his deputy what he wanted and where to get it. "You'll find the money you need in my desk drawer at the office. It ought to be just enough."

"You bet, Matthew. I'll take care of it straight away."

"Don't let anybody find out about it."

"Don't you worry, not one bit. I'll do 'er, Matthew!"

Matt's eyes were closing; he expected Festus to go but sensed his longtime friend seemed reluctant to leave him just yet. With what remained of his waning rationality, Matt guessed Kitty had told him not to leave until she returned. The drowsy marshal's raspy breathing slowed and smoothed out as his mind slid gently away from checkers and Kitty's sweet scented quarters above the Long Branch. Somewhere beyond, he heard a soft melodic jingling --- what were those, sleigh bells? --- and shouts of children as they played in the snow. He smiled, allowing himself to be carried away by the peaceful vision. He longed to feel the bright coldness of the snow against his neck, to mold the new fallen snow into a ball. He knew just who he'd target and where he hoped it would fall.

The fever dragged him back toward the darkness but Matt Dillon held tightly to his more pleasant thoughts and the steadying presence of his friend. Although he continued to drift, they provided a welcome anchor for his sanity and a balm against the horrible nightmares which had plagued him.

As Festus moved about, getting a basin and cloth, he mumbled to himself, "Whall, can't see how Matthew's gonna git better not havin' et nothin'. Seein's it's pert near dinner time, I s'pose Miss Kitty is bound to bring back somethin' larrupin'." He figured if anyone could persuade the marshal to eat something, Miss Kitty could. There wasn't much, as far as the hill man had seen, that he would refuse her if it was in his power to give.

Matt tossed restlessly and irritably shoved the quilt away. Patiently, Festus covered him again and soothed the big man's fever with the cool compresses. He found it worrisome that the marshal seemed in such bad condition so sudden-like and wished Miss Kitty would cut her outing short and hurry back. "I shore hope I didn't push ole Matthew too hard," he fretted to himself.

In that instant, angry, raised voices coming from Front Street startled them both. Festus darted over to the window, gun in hand, and peered out at the street from behind the lace curtains. Matt, jerked awake by the noise, struggled to sit up and instinctively fumbled for his gun belt, which was of course nowhere to be found. Exasperated, he barked at his deputy, "What the hell's going on?"

Festus was holstering his gun but a look of disgust remained on his face. "Them gossipy ole shemales," he muttered. "They's gone and pestered Miss Kitty till she done lost her temper. Miss Kitty's the one causing all the kerfluffle."

"You'd better go down and take care of it before someone gets hurt," sighed Matt. Knowing his beloved redhead's ire as well as he did, it wasn't Kitty's safety he was immediately worried about!