Kitty's Love Story

Chapter 2

Bill Dunlap had never owned a gun. He wasn't the cowboy type—he was a gentle man with a quiet life in the country, and he had never felt the need to own one. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the look of fear in Kitty Russell's eyes as this madman tightened his hold around her neck. One false move and he could get this woman killed.

"What do you want?" Bill asked in a monotone that belied his anxiety.

"I want YOU, Marshal," the greasy young man practically spat. "And I'm willing to make a trade. You come with me, and she lives."

Kitty grabbed her captor's arm with both hands and struggled to loosen his grip. "I can't breathe, you idiot!" she croaked.

"How about it, Marshal? Do we have a deal?" he prodded as he pushed the gun against her head but released the pressure around her neck ever so slightly. She sucked in a breath of air, allowing her to release the words that were stuck in her throat.

"He's not the—" she started, but Bill cut her off.

"It's a deal," he shouted, startling Kitty enough that she didn't finish her sentence. "Now let her go."

The man grinned, revealing dirty teeth that matched the rest of him. "I figured as much," he said gleefully. "I've heard tell that there ain't nothin' you wouldn't do to keep this lovely lady from harm. So when my sources in Dodge found out that you was takin' her on a little romantical getaway, I figured we might be able to work somethin' out."

Kitty's mind was racing. Bill was obviously playing along to save her life, but how could she let him? What would happen to him if he went with this man? She didn't want to think of the possibilities. But if she told the truth now, this maniac might snap and kill them both. She decided to stall for time until she could think of something else. They were well-hidden behind the stage, and she doubted that anyone in the office could see what was happening to them.

"Who are you? What do you want with him?" she demanded.

"I'm sorry, Red," the man said with mock sympathy. "This is between me and him. It's got nothin' to do with you."

"I beg to differ," she responded sarcastically as the gun continued to rest on the side of her head.

The man sighed. "Let's just say the marshal and me know some of the same people," he replied cryptically.

"What people?" she pressed. "I deserve to know what's going on."

That, she learned, was exactly the wrong thing to say. He jerked the crook of his arm tighter against her neck and clenched his teeth, and she could feel his hot breath on the side of her face as he hissed out the words.

"Deserve? You want to talk about what people deserve? Fine, let's start with my Pa. He doesn't deserve to be rotting away in some jail because the law isn't smart enough to find me."

Kitty searched her memory. Who was he talking about? Matt told her about most of his cases, but sometimes they ran together. An outlaw was an outlaw. All she knew at the moment was that she had to keep him focused on her, because she had noticed something. Every second he took his eyes off of the man he thought was Matt Dillon, that man was inching toward the front of the stage and was now almost within view of the office window. Maybe someone would see him and figure out that he needed help.

"Who is your Pa?" she threw out, unsure if the question would please or agitate him.

"Ask him!" the man screamed as Bill froze in his place.

"Ask me what?" Bill hedged, keeping his right hand subtly behind his back where it had been for the past minute. It was a long shot at best, but he had an idea.

"Don't play dumb with me, Law. I'm on every Wanted poster this side of the Mississippi. You know who I am, and you know what you did to my Pa. Tell the little lady here how you arrested an old man out of spite. Tell her!"

Bill swallowed hard. He had no idea what he was supposed to say, and the consequences of not saying it could be disastrous.

From the corner of his eye he saw a blur of movement. Had someone seen his signal and come out of the stage office? If so, he had to somehow let this person know what kind of danger they were in. Careful not to lose eye contact with the would-be assailant, he began to talk loudly.

"It wasn't like that," Bill explained, as if he had a clue how it really was. "Now please Mister, don't hurt Miss Russell. Let her go, and you can do whatever you want with me." He was speaking slowly and clearly, choosing his words carefully to convey the threat.

"Liar!" the man shouted. "You know exactly how it was, and I'm not lettin' her go until you admit it."

Bill didn't bat an eyelash as he watched a figure creep around the stage and point a long barrel rifle at the man's back. "Don't turn around," he said as he cocked the hammer. "Drop your gun and let the lady go."

Bill watched anxiously and Kitty held her breath as the gun began to lower away from her head. She felt his arm relax and resisted the urge to break free by force. He still had the gun and this wasn't over yet.

"I said drop it," their rescuer repeated, deciding that he was taking a little too long to follow instructions.

In one dizzying motion Kitty's captor spun around, jerking her off her feet. He quickly caught her and pulled her up against him, her body almost completely covering his. "You shoot me, you've gotta go through her first," he dared calmly.

Bill found himself staring at the man's back and figured he had a split second to make a decision. He could save his own skin and take off running as the two men with weapons stood at an impasse, or he could take a huge, dangerous risk to try and save a woman he had known for all of an hour. He chose the latter.

Bill took two flying leaps with his long legs and lunged at Kitty's attacker, sending all three of them to the ground. Kitty managed to crawl away as Bill fought with the man, who had kept hold of his gun in the fall. A shot rang out and Bill clutched his leg, writhing in pain. The rifleman, who had struggled to get a clean shot at the right person as the two men rolled on the ground, finally got it. He pulled the trigger and ended the ordeal.

Kitty pushed herself up and ran over to Bill. "How bad are you hurt?" she asked breathlessly, squatting down to inspect the wound for herself.

"Not bad," he lied, the grimace on his face and the blood covering his hands saying otherwise. "I'll be okay."

Kitty looked up at the rifleman. "Is there a doctor here?"

"No Ma'am," he replied. "Tanner's Creek hasn't had one since Dr. Gilby died a few months ago. Closest one is in Great Bend."

Kitty did a quick calculation in her head. Great Bend wasn't much closer than Dodge, and she had no idea how good the doctor was there.

"How fast can you get us to Dodge City?" she asked. "I'll pay whatever you want."

"There's a stage going south in a few minutes," he told her. "You'd change back in Kinsley and be in Dodge in a couple of hours. That's the best you're gonna do."

"Just take me back to Kinsley," Bill said. "I have friends there who can take care of me there."

"What about a doctor?" Kitty wondered, growing more concerned as she saw the amount of blood seeping from his leg.

"Mr. Kiley at The General Store had some medical training during the war," he told her. "People go to him when they need help."

"That's not good enough," Kitty insisted. "You need a real doctor—a surgeon—and we have one of the best in Dodge. Is there room for us on that stage?" she asked the man with the rifle, whose name she still did not know.

"We'll make room," he promised. "I'll go get some bandages for that bullet wound."

"I can't thank you enough," Kitty replied gratefully. "For everything. You saved our lives. I'm Kitty Russell, and this is Bill Dunlap."

"Frank Cretcher," he offered. "You know, it's not often I meet people who know how to sign."

"What?" Kitty asked quizzically.

"That's how I knew something was wrong," Frank explained. "I saw him through the window with his hand behind his back, and he kept signing the letters 'HELP.' The man who taught me Morse code for this job also taught how me to sign the alphabet. I hadn't used it in a while, but I still remembered."

"I didn't figure it would work, but I didn't know what else to do," Bill grunted through the pain. "I suppose someone was watching over us."

Kitty gave Bill a look that was a mixture of surprise and admiration. "You know sign language?" she asked rhetorically, since he obviously did.

"Grace—my wife—was deaf," he revealed, still breathing hard. "Had scarlet fever as a child. She taught me sign language when we met. It's how we talked."

Kitty was fascinated. What else did she not know about this mild-mannered farmer?

"We need to get a tourniquet on that leg to stop the bleeding," she announced as she helped him onto his feet. They followed Frank to the office and prepared for another stage ride together.

TBC