Defend Me from My Friends

Chapter Eight: Too Great a Price

POV: Matt

At first, the throbbing in his leg didn't really register. After all, that same leg had throbbed on a daily basis for some time now, and he fully expected it to continue throbbing the rest of his life – however brief that might be. But the closer his hazy subconscious approached the clarity of consciousness, the more the throbbing escalated into a ceaseless, pounding pain that jerked him finally from the veil of sleep.

With a gasp, he woke, instinctively bracing to confront any possible dangers that had propelled him into this situation. But the flexing of his muscles only intensified the pain, and he fell back, groaning and clutching at the offending leg.

"Whoa, there!" came the familiar voice, and Matt relaxed, recognizing he was at Doc's and in no immediate danger – he hoped.

"Doc," he managed.

"Right here," the physician assured him, moving into Matt's line of sight. "You just lie right there and be still."

"My leg—"

"Is gonna be all right, but that bullet nicked a major artery." Matt saw the depth of Doc's concern and realized it was pretty serious this time. "Tell ya the truth, you almost – " He ran a hand over his mustache and shook his head. "Well, you lost a lot of blood. A lot of blood."

Absorbing that news, Matt closed his eyes, trying to recreate the events that led to the injury, but things were blurry, jumbled. As he glanced down, assessing the damage, his eyes ran across the bruised, scraped knuckles of his left hand, and he had a vague recollection of breaking up a fight in some saloon. After that, he recalled seeing Barney's telegram, and after that – "

"Kitty!" he gasped. Despite the pain and an almost total lack of strength, he tried again to sit, but it took Doc only a gentle push to keep him down.

"I know you heard me tell you how much bloodyou lost," he scolded.

"But Kitty – "

"Chester and some of the men have been out looking," Doc told him, his own concern evident in his tone.

"How long?"

Doc winced, not a good sign. "He found you night before last in the doorway to Kitty's office, bleeding to death. After I got a tourniquet on you, and we got you up here, he went back to find Kitty, but – "

"They took her," Matt growled, anger and worry cracking his voice. "Cantrell and his partner. They're going to – they might already have – " He stopped, unable to finish.

Doc stared at him, horrified.

"I gotta get up, Doc. I gotta go after her." He fought to drag himself halfway off the bed before his vision swam and darkness pulled him back down, her name on his lips.

XXX

It was another two days before Chester and the make-shift posse dragged back into town, the slow clop of their horses and the solemn lines of their faces evidence of their failure. If he had been able to muster enough strength to do more than sit up in the bed, he would have been in the saddle already, scouring the countryside for any sign of where they might have taken Kitty. As it was, he had to listen, heartsick, as Chester relayed how they followed several wild goose trails and ultimately lost any real leads after a quick, hard downpour had washed away tracking signs.

"Mister Dillon," Chester said, clutching his hat in his hands and shaking his head. "I'm just awful sorry we didn't find her. We looked and looked, and – I just kain't imagine where – well, I'm just – I'm just sa' sorry."

The marshal suppressed a surge of anger that he recognized came from his own frustrations. Chester certainly hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, he was the only one who had done anything at all – he and the posse. Dillon felt impotent, lying there unable even to stand without Doc's assistance.

"We did the best we could, but – " Chester started.

"I know you did," he assured him, despite his own doubts. He hadn't been there, hadn't seen for himself, wondered what they might have missed.

"But we ain't givin' up. The men are gettin' fresh horses and some food before we go back out."

Gritting his teeth, Matt nodded and braced an arm against the bed to push himself up straighter. "Good. Get my horse saddled – "

"What?" Pushing in front of Chester, Doc drew himself up and glared at his patient before turning back to the other man. "Chester, don't you dare put a saddle on Buck. He's not going anywhere. Not today, not tomorrow. not for a good long while."

"Doc," Matt argued, "I can't just lie here while Kitty – you don't understand – "

"I do understand," he said, his tone softening to confirm his words. "But you won't do Kitty any good out there slowing down Chester and the others. Think about it, Matt. How long do you think you'd last on a horse – if you can even get on one to start with?" Running a hand over his mustache, he added quietly but firmly, "I hate to say it, but you'd be more of a burden than a help."

Chester's wince contributed to the veracity of Doc's statement. Damn it!

After a long moment, during which his companions watched him carefully, he blew out a heavy breath and nodded. "All right, Doc. All right." Locking gazes with Chester, he let the intensity of his feelings show in his eyes. "When you go back out, get everyone to split up in pairs. Cover as much territory as you can." He swallowed back the nausea that suddenly assaulted him, waving Doc away before he continued. "Look for every clue, no matter how insignificant it seems."

"Yes, sir." His brown eyes sympathetic, Chester offered Dillon his hand, which the lawman took as firmly as he could.

"Thank you," Matt said, swallowing again, his eyes burning, his jaw tightening.

Clearing his throat, Doc mumbled something about making sure Chester headed out in the right direction and followed the other man down the stairs. Matt saw through him easily, but appreciated the chance to collect himself.

As he heard the posse gathering once again in the street below, Matt let his head drop back onto the pillow, teeth clenched with the frustration of not being able to join them. If they didn't find her this time, he'd go himself, even if they had to haul him down the stairs and tie him to his horse.

The next couple of hours were spent in and out of a restless, painful sleep. He woke himself more than once calling out Kitty's name and was grateful Doc had not returned to hear him, or if he had, did not acknowledge it. He was drifting again when the opening of a door pulled him instantly back to alertness.

"Marshal?" The call came from Doc's front room, a tentative question asked by a surprisingly cultured voice.

Matt relaxed and sighed, not in the mood for any visitors, and particularly not this one. But ingrained courtesy dictated that he respond. "In here, Louie," he said, voice tight with pain.

After a few shuffling steps, the old man poked his head into the bedroom, pulling his hat from his head. Matt had never been sure what Louie's background was, but he could tell that at one time in his past, the alcoholic had lived in refinement. It made him sad to think about.

"How are you feeling, Marshal?" he asked, entering farther to stand by the bed.

"I'm okay, Louie," he said patiently. "Kinda tired, though. Maybe you can come back later."

"Surely, Marshal," he agreed amicably. "I just came by to give you a message from Miss Kitty, but – "

The name grabbed him, and he sat up suddenly, letting his good leg drop over the edge of the bed. "What about Kitty?" he demanded, wincing with the jolt of pain that shot through him.

"Saw her when she left a few nights ago."

"What? When?"

Louie seemed taken aback by the marshal's intensity. "About midnight or so. Maybe later – "

"Where?"

"Behind the Long Branch. Or maybe it was Jonas's store. Or it could have been – "

"Louie!"

"Well, she and two men were headed, uh, somewhere, I'm not sure – "

He dragged the bad leg off the bed. "Think, Louie!" he demanded through gritted teeth. "Do you know where they were going? Did they say anything?"

"Disagreeable looking fellows. I didn't think Miss Kitty should be in their company, but – "

"Come on, Louie," he snapped, reaching up to grasp the frail shoulders between his hands, all patience exhausted.

Eyes wide, the old man stammered, "Uh, Miss Kitty said, uh, she wanted me to tell you – " He stopped and looked up in thought. "Let's see, she wanted me to tell you – that, uh – "

Matt resisted the urge to shake the poor man. "Tell me what, Louie? Tell me what?"

"Oh, yes!" He smiled. "She wanted me to tell you that she was going to visit her Uncle Artie for a few days."

"Uncle Artie?" Matt asked, hands dropping, searching his memory for any relative of Kitty's by that name. "Uncle Artie?"

"Yes. Said she was going to his place."

"Uncle Artie's place?"

"That's what she said."

"Artie's – Art's place – " Realization dawned on him, and his mind raced. The search party was already gone. He needed some clothes. His pants were ruined, blood stained and torn to rags. "Louie," he said, voice firm now.

"Yes, sir?"

"Listen, I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, Marshal. You know that."

"Go down to Moss Grimmick's and get him to saddle my horse. Tell him to add a blanket and canteen, and I'll settle with him later. Got that?"

"I got it," the old man assured him.

Heart pounding, he pulled in a careful breath. "Then go over to the jail and bring me another pair of pants. Bring them right up here." He glanced toward the door and added, "Avoid Doc if you can."

Emboldened by his inclusion in the conspiracy, Louie gave a little salute and nodded. "Yes, sir, Marshal. I shall return forthwith!"

Despite his worry, the lawman chuckled fondly.

By the time the old man returned, Matt had discarded the nightshirt Doc had put on him and was sitting on the bed, covers pulled over his groin, left foot on the floor, bandaged right leg propped again on the mattress. His shirt was half on before he thought about the discarded union suit, which was just as bloodied and torn as his pants. Well, he'd just have to go without. The idea of what Kitty might say to that brought a smile to his face before the gravity of the situation overrode it.

Louie saluted again when he entered, then held out the requested article of clothing as if it were a communique from General Grant himself, smuggled through enemy lines. "Moss said Buck would be ready when you arrived."

Cold sweat poured down his face as Matt nodded, struggling into the trousers. Frustrated at his own weakness, he gave in to the necessity of having Louie help him with his boots, finally reaching out a shaking hand to grasp the bedpost and pull himself to his feet.

Pure agony exploded in his thigh, a quickly encroaching tunnel of black almost pulling him back down, but he fought it, and eventually, he could see again, could stand – after a fashion anyway.

"Marshal," Louie observed doubtfully, "you don't look so good. Maybe you shouldn't – "

Wiping a sleeve across his forehead, the lawman said hoarsely, "I'm fine. Just gotta – get moving."

He wasn't sure exactly how he made it down the stairs with only Louie and the railing for support, could remember starting out at the top and finishing at the bottom, but nothing in between. It occurred to him that he might have actually blacked out at some point. But then, how could Louie have –

His speculation drifted when he saw Moss waiting just off the boardwalk with Buck in tow. Thank goodness; he could never have made it all the way to the stables. He eyed the huge gelding with renewed apprehension.

"Marshal," Moss greeted, peering closely at the ashen man. "You sure you wanna do this? You don't look too good."

He did not doubt it, but managed a nod. "Help me – up," he gasped, trying to ignore the curious crowd that had begun to gather.

His right arm slung around the stableman, Matt tried not to put too much weight on the injured leg as he lifted the other one into the stirrup. Still, he'd have to push off with the bad one in order to lift his body up. Muscles burning, he grabbed the horn with his left hand while Moss and Louie tried their best to support him. The futility of their efforts must have been obvious, because two strapping cowboys stepped off the boardwalk and approached them.

"Need some help, Marshal?" one of them asked.

Matt glanced around then grunted, "Yeah," hating the weakness in his voice. A concerned murmur ran through the group of onlookers

The other cowboy peered up into his face. "Say, I think maybe we should get Doc. You don't look like you should be goin' nowheres, Marshal."

Matt licked his lips, noticing that they felt parched. Fever coming, most likely. He discarded the thought. "Just – get me up there."

The men looked at each other then nodded, scooting Moss and Louie out of the way. As one shoved from the rear, the other hauled Matt's right leg across the saddle, pain screaming through it, and for a moment, he thought perhaps he might end up in the dirt on the other side, but with sheer determination – and the assistance of several helping hands – he righted himself and hung on. After a few seconds of blackness, his vision cleared enough for him to nod his thanks. He could see by their expressions not one of them expected him to make it very far. Tugging at the reins, he had just coaxed the horse out onto Front Street when an outraged voice sounded through the crowd.

"What in God's name is going on here?" Doc demanded, rushing in front of Buck and grabbing the horse's bridle, forcing him to a halt.

Vision swimming, body swaying and half bent over the saddle, Matt mustered up enough strength to answer. "I gotta go after her, Doc."

"No, you do not have to – "

He blinked. Two wavy, grey-headed, mustached figures glared at him now. "I think I – know where – she is."

"Then send somebody else."

"Can't. Too – dangerous." He wished the town would stop spinning so fast.

"Oh, really? How come Chester and the others are out there then? How come – Do you know what you look like? I've seen men laid out at Percy's who looked better. You won't last to the edge of town, Matt."

Determined to belie that prophesy, he straightened, squinting in a vain attempt to clear his vision. "Can't – be helped, Doc." Carefully, he pulled Buck away from the physician's hold.

"You're gonna kill yourself!" Doc called out desperately as the horse plodded past him. "Damn it, Matt, you're gonna kill yourself!"

He closed his eyes, fighting to stay conscious, to stay on the horse. Doc was probably right. He might, indeed, kill himself. He wasn't unaccustomed to that possibility. And if that's what it took to save Kitty, it wouldn't be too great a price.

TBC