Hard Promises to Keep
Author's Note: If you're confused about the appearance of the little girl Rose and why she calls the marshal "Papa Matt", keep an eye on "Rose in December." Most of my stories are related to one another through small details like that one.
All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.
"You better believe I'm coming
You better believe what I say
You better hold on to your promises
Because you bet you'll get what you deserve"
-- "Promises" performed by The Cranberries
Chapter 13
Newly was on his way to the marshal's office when he saw Buck plodding up the street with the semi-conscious marshal sprawled across his back. For a moment, appalled by Matt's condition, the deputy simply stared. The stirrups hung loose and empty at the horse's sides and Matt, coughing weakly, lay slumped forward with his arms around the buckskin's thick neck and his long, strong fingers entwined in Buck's mane. "Marshal! Marshal, are you all right?"
"Been better," Matt mumbled. "Just get us off the street before someone sees us, would you?"
"Sure thing, Marshal," replied Newly, confusion written on his face. He grabbed Buck's bridle and led the horse around behind the jail. Matt couldn't make his foot find the stirrup. Newly caught the marshal as he fell, guided him down off the buckskin's back, and then took him inside. Matt lurched over to his cot, then sat there, head down, with one arm pressed tightly against his stomach and the other gripping the edge of the thin mattress. "I thought you weren't supposed to be up and around yet."
Matt straightened with effort, smothering another cough, and said, "I had some business which couldn't wait." He waved a hand toward his desk, where the telegrams and dispatches he had been sorting through still lay. "There's some things you should know about the Whitaker gang."
"Festus and I already knew about that. A wire came the day you took sick warning that they were in the area and we spotted their point men skulking around town. We kept an eye on them but they haven't done anything to make it worth arresting them. It's been a couple of weeks now, I think they plan to give Dodge a pass."
"You're wrong about that, Newly. Take a look," Matt urged. "Trouble's coming and it's going to find Dodge." While his deputy looked over the papers he indicated, Matt told him about the incident with Johnson and Carpenter livestock, the fence cutting Festus was investigating, and the squabbles which had cropped up around town.
Newly gave a low whistle when he'd finished reading the dispatches and telegrams. His instincts concurred with the marshal's assessment but he wasn't certain there was much else he could do until the gang did try something; he'd already said as much. "Festus should be back soon. I'll tell him about it, talk to some of the menfolk around town and tell 'em to be watchful."
Matt nodded and then, regretting the motion, grabbed defensively at his head. His vision blurred, shrank to a pinpoint of light, and then jerked back to normal accompanied by another surge of nausea. Groaning, he leaned back against the cold brick wall. "Sounds like a plan," he managed.
"You look terrible, Marshal. You should be in bed," Newly observed, concerned. "I could go get Doc…."
"No, no, I'm all right. I was going back to bed as soon as I'd spoken to you about the Whitaker gang." He hated to ask for help but he couldn't deny he needed it. "Could you just put Buck away and get me back to the Long Branch?" Matt summoned a ghost of his usual lopsided smile. "Preferably without its owner finding out I've been gone?"
"I think we can manage that, Marshal," Newly said, laughing. He knew that Miss Kitty would rip them both to shreds with the sharp side of her tongue if she found out…but she'd have to catch them first and he had no intention of getting caught.
By moving cautiously but behaving as though nothing were wrong, the two men made their way to the Long Branch unnoticed. Newly helped Matt up the back stairs and then left him at the door to Kitty's suite. "Thanks, Newly," said Matt. "I owe you one."
"I'll go take care of Buck now." Newly touched the brim of his hat and smiled like a mischievous boy. "Just don't let Miss Kitty catch on. She'll skin us both."
"You don't have to tell me!"
The door to Kitty's suite was, of course, unlocked since she hadn't expected the marshal to go anywhere. Matt went inside and stashed his jacket and vest back where he had found them. The last item to be surrendered was his badge, which he reluctantly placed on Kitty's vanity. Matt felt somehow vulnerable without it, but he knew that if he left it on, Kitty would likely figure out what he had been up to and then she would really be upset. He didn't, however, think Kitty would be too mad about him getting partially dressed; she'd likely take it as a sign his health was improving. Matt wished that had been the case; with his hammering head, churning stomach, and the wet heaviness in his chest, he felt worse than ever. He pulled out his shirttails, loosened his belt, and wearily tugged off his boots. Within moments of lying down, he had fallen asleep.
Matt awakened at dusk. His inner clock suggested that several hours had passed. Soft shadows painted the room and the sounds of a waking town drifted up from Front Street. Someone -- Probably Sam, he thought for he would surely have awakened if Kitty had been anywhere near him -- had lit the little lamp on the night table next to the bed. Beside it was a covered tray, the contents of which were still warm. Matt shuddered; he didn't want food, couldn't even stand looking at it.
Cold and shivering, the marshal drowsily reached for the quilt at the bottom of the bed, dragged it over him, and nestled into the comforting warmth. A man who, owing to the nature of his job, was rarely allowed the luxury of a peaceful and uninterrupted night's rest, Matt enjoyed the novel sensation of safety and contentment. The distant murmur of Kitty's dulcet voice occasionally heard above the plaintive notes of Sam's fiddle and a guitar soothed him. He allowed himself to relax back into sleep.
A subtle change in the tone of the sounds emanating from downstairs -- perhaps a shift in pitch from conversational to fear or the sudden cessation of the fiddle in the middle of a song -- pulled Matt instantly awake and alert for trouble. He didn't know what the trouble was, but he knew with absolute certainty that there was trouble. Throwing back the quilt, Matt ignored the vertigo and sat up. As he was reaching for his boots, he clearly heard the discharge of a shotgun. The shotgun could only have belonged to Sam and Matt knew he wouldn't have used it unless someone had posed a direct threat to Kitty or one of the girls.
His mind working purely on reflex, he snatched up his badge and pinned it on. Matt automatically reached for his gun belt…and found it hanging on its customary peg, right where it should have belonged. He clearly recalled not being able to find it when he went out earlier and that meant only one thing. She knows. Matt didn't have time to process the possible repercussions of that discovery because it sounded like someone downstairs was focused on tearing the Long Branch apart. Kitty's angry words carried to him as he finished buckling the gun belt and eased out onto the balcony.
"…think you're doing!" she was yelling at the tall, impeccably dressed man who had her pinned against the bar. "All of you get out of here now!"
Matt restrained the urge to rush blindly down and rescue Kitty from that man. He didn't recognize him but he recognized the type. Most likely a procurer of young women for the pleasure houses in New Orleans or Saint Louis. But what would he want with Kitty; and if there's a problem with one of her girls, why didn't she tell me? The probable occupations of the men with him would have needed no lawman's powers of deduction. The two literally tearing the place apart piece by piece were plainly strongmen and hired guns. He could take them, Matt knew, as long as he didn't allow them to grapple or get a wrestling hold on him. Such men were generally fair to middling with their guns and certainly couldn't draw fast enough to beat a seasoned lawman like the marshal. Now that fourth man, the one covering Kitty with his gun, he's the one to worry about.
The ease, almost casual, with which that one held the big revolver told Matt he was dealing with an experienced gunfighter. Not many out here could afford to own a Merwin & Hulberts; Matt had only seen them in catalog illustrations. That meant the gunfighter had to be none other than Kip "Skullcrusher" O'Malley. He'd gotten the nickname because he enjoyed pistol whipping his victims with the point, known by the same name, on the butt of his revolver. Well, that explained why Sam was unconscious at Kitty's feet. I hope he's still alive.
Matt weighed his options; he didn't seem to have many. This had all the makings of a carefully planned confrontation and he didn't believe the assailants would have left the rear entrance to the Long Branch unguarded. Had he been healthy, Matt might have considered going out one of Kitty's windows and climbing down to the street level but with his disrupted sense of balance and skewed visual perception he knew that wouldn't be a smart choice. If the fall didn't kill me outright, the noise would attract their attention. He didn't want that, as it was just possible they didn't know he was up here. Where the heck are Festus and Newly? They had to have heard the shots.
A slight movement back toward the office caught his attention: Festus, hiding in the shadows of the doorway and looking toward the batwing doors. Matt followed his gaze and spotted Newly. The men down in the Long Branch were so intent on getting whatever they wanted that none of them had noticed the lawmen closing in. The slight nod each deputy gave told Matt they knew he was here and were waiting for further instructions. With the odds now slightly in their favor, Matt flashed them a hand sign signaling them to stay put while he moved closer to the stairs going down into the saloon. From that vantage, and using the thick support post as cover, he could better hear what was going on.
"…apologize for my boys' behavior," the suited man was saying in a deceptively mild tone. "They can be a tad overenthusiastic in performance of their duties."
"Yeah," Kitty snapped back, her voice rich with sarcasm, "and I can see you're just all broken up over it."
In a seemingly intimate gesture, the man curled his fingers around Kitty's wrist and pulled her to him. Matt could tell, however, by the firm set of her mouth and the way her body tensed that the grip probably hurt her. "I'd have expected better manners out of a well born woman, my dear. We'll have no more of that kind of talk, understand?" He gestured to the gunman. "Otherwise, I fear I will have to ask Kip here to instruct you as to what behavior properly befits a woman of your upbringing. I do not think you will enjoy his teaching methods. Now, Red, you have something which belongs to me and I strongly suggest you return it immediately. I want the girl."
Kitty wrenched out of his grip and put as much distance between them as the close confines would allow. She cradled the injured wrist against her breast and spat at him, "Well, we don't always get what we want, do we? I won't let you have her. I know what you do with those girls. You're nothing but a filthy, perverted coward!"
He moved faster than Matt would have thought possible for such a heavyset man. In a blur of motion, the man dug his fingers into Kitty's shoulders and began shaking her. A small, high pitched mewl of terror escaped her lips before she bit down on them and refused to make another sound. "I told you, no one talks to Reginald Westfeldt in that manner! Now do keep a civil tongue in your head."
"You want I ought to give her a lesson or two now, sir?" O'Malley asked. The smile he turned on the redheaded saloon owner held a kind of malicious joy mingled with lust and he stroked the butt of his weapon with his thumb.
Matt tensed. If he touches Kitty, I won't bother with the Colt. I'll kill him with my bare hands! Unfortunately, the lawman was better at calculating the odds than the lover and he knew it for the losing move it was. I'd need a clear shot at O'Malley and I don't have one.
Westfeldt held up a placating white gloved hand. "Not just now, Kip. You may have her later but do try to save her looks. She'll need some refining but by the time I've finished with her she'll make an excellent house mother for my girls."
"As you wish, sir," responded O'Malley. He caressed Kitty's cheek with the muzzle of his weapon. "I'm going to enjoy teaching you some manners, Red. You might even learn to like it."
"Don't you touch me!" Kitty brought her hand back and slapped the gunfighter. "I'm not going anywhere with you or him."
The blow Westfeldt administered rocked her head back on her shoulders. Kitty fell to her knees, stifling a sob and refusing to give him the satisfaction of crying. Westfeldt twisted one of her arms behind her back. "Get up, Miss Russell. It ill becomes a woman of your station to lie weeping on the floor like a common scullery maid. I grow tired of your games. Give me the girl!"
"She isn't here," Kitty responded sullenly.
Westfeldt, still holding Kitty's arm behind her back, lifted her clear of the floor. "I'm no longer inclined to be so nice about this. Tell me where she is."
"I don't know, I don't know!" Kitty sobbed. "You're hurting me!"
The sound of running footsteps distracted Matt from the tableau below. He looked back in the direction of the girls' rooms and saw a young raven haired woman coming toward him. Holding tightly to her hand was a little girl with penny bright red-gold hair. Matt groaned. This just couldn't possibly get any worse. The last thing I need is a hostage situation.
The little girl, with the guilelessness typical of youngsters, spotted Matt crouched near the top of the stairs and piped up, "Papa Matt, what you doin' out here in your jammies?" Her rose petal lips poked out in a pout -- She sure takes after Kitty, Matt thought -- and, placing her hands on her little hips, she pinned the marshal with a scolding glare worthy of her grown-up role model. "You's 'posed to be in bed. Miss Kitty said so."
"Rosie honey," Matt said desperately, keeping his voice low and hoping no one below would notice them, "do Papa Matt a favor. You…you go on back to your room and stay there until I or Miss Kitty tells you to come back out and then I promise I'll go back to bed. All right?"
"All right, Papa Matt," the child agreed. "C'mon, Fancy, let's go play with my dollie."
"Take her back to her room and stay there no matter what happens," Matt hissed at the saloon girl.
"Cain't do that, Marshal," Fancy replied with a sad, depreciatory smile. "It's my fault Master Westfeldt is here an' his hired men is a-wreckin' Miss Kitty's place. If'n I go down, he might leave her alone." She stroked Rose's hair and said to the little girl, "You do what the Marshal asks now, y'hear?" With a nod, Rose headed back down the hall.
Matt sighed in relief. My little girl will be safe now. One less complication. A bead of sweat rolled down into his eyes as his vision blurred. Matt wrapped his hand around one of the stair posts to keep from tumbling down the stairs. Damn this fever anyway. I can't shoot straight if I can't see. "You're not going down to him, Fancy," Matt insisted, his voice steely. "Now go back to your room and let me and my deputies take care of this mess."
A second cry of pain from Kitty lanced through Matt's heart as though it had been a Comanche arrow. He saw Festus slide up to the doorway behind the bar and Newly edging around the batwing doors. With a brusque gesture, Matt told both of them to maintain their positions.
Had he not been distracted by preventing his deputies from springing the trap too early, Fancy could never have gotten past him. It didn't take much. A light pressure on his shoulder with the palm of her hand put him off balance and by the time he'd recovered Fancy was already downstairs.
"Master Westfeldt." She made her voice soft and seductive, guaranteed to capture the lecher's attention…and rile up anyone of the male persuasion, for that matter.
Westfeldt eyed her appreciatively. "You've improved upon yourself since I last saw you, my dear."
"Thank you, m'lord." She sketched a curtsey and then sidled up to him, exuding erotic charm and promises. "I'll go back with you. Why don't you leave her alone? She's a little…old…for your tastes anyhow."
Westfeldt let go of Kitty, who ignored her own injuries and began tending to the still unconscious Sam. The procurer twined a proprietary arm around Fancy's slender waist and said, "Well, now, darling, you know I can't possibly do that. We need a good woman of her breeding to teach you wildcats how to behave."
Fancy tilted her head up as Westfeldt brought his mouth down on hers for a kiss….
All hell broke loose.
The saloon girl bit down hard on Westfeldt's lip and, as he roared in pain and pulled away, she kicked his knee out from under him. With a strong push, Fancy sent him reeling back into O'Malley.
"Hey, watch it!" O'Malley cried as his gun arm was jostled.
Now. There won't be a better time.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Matt motioned for his deputies to engage the two hired guns. Festus and Newly got in there so quickly the bruisers never had time to unholster their guns. The two of them began trading blows with the strongmen. The first of Matt's shots went wide, but it still missed Westfeldt's head by mere inches. The procurer fished out a Derringer, discharged both shots wildly and then exclaimed, "I believe I shall exercise the better part of valor for now but this isn't over, Miss Russell. We will meet again." He was gone out of the saloon before Matt could adjust his aim and fire a second shot.
"You won't find me so easy to rile, Dillon," O'Malley yelled. "C'mon out of the shadows and fight me proper."
"Lay down the gun, you're under arrest," Matt grated. "You're the last one standing and your boss has deserted you." Vertigo and dizziness slammed into the marshal. His hand trembled and he involuntarily lowered his Colt. Matt saw the barrel of O'Malley's gun coming up for a shot just a split second too late. He corrected his aim and squeezed off a shot, all the while aware that there was no possible way he could completely avoid taking a bullet.
Matt thought he heard O'Malley scream as the impact carried him backward and his world dissolved into darkness.