Defend Me from my Friends
by MAHC (Amanda)
Chapter Eleven: Right Highly
POV: Chester
Chester Goode wiped grit-flecked sweat from his brow and thought, with a wry head shake, that his horse fit him well. The poor gelding was now just as lame as he was and limped behind his owner as they slowly made their stumbling way back into Dodge. The rest of the posse had returned only a few hours earlier, saddle sore and discouraged. Rich in intent, they were unfortunately poor in experience and skill when it came to tracking, the bulk of them shopkeepers, tradesmen, or farmers. Chester had managed to lead them long enough to eliminate two possible routes away from Dodge, but by the time they tried to tackle another one, fatigue, hunger, and raw backsides forced them to return home.
Regardless of what the others did, Chester was determined to get a few hours of sleep and a fresh horse, then head out once more, unable to bear the thought of what could be happening to Miss Kitty while they searched unsuccessfully for her. He thought right highly of the saloon owner, not only one of the prettiest women he'd ever met, but one of the nicest and most generous, too. Why, he bet she'd given out enough free drinks to those in need - not to mention himself - to buy a whole `nother saloon.
Of course, he knew he wasn't the only one who thought highly of Miss Kitty. Mr. Dillon favored her, too. Favored her quite a bit, Chester had figured out over the years. In the early days, the marshal and Miss Kitty had danced around each other some, but later even Chester had noticed how they sat right next to each other in the Long Branch, how they ran into each other at lunchtime almost every day Mr. Dillon was in town, and how the marshal rarely slept at the jail anymore, having found some other place to spend his nights. Chester might be kind of naive - but he wasn't blind.
He thought right highly of both Miss Kitty and Mr. Dillon, and he couldn't imagine losing both of them. But it was much too close to happening now. He shuddered as he remembered the horrible sight of the marshal's strong body lying helpless in the threshold of Miss Kitty's office, a pool of blood spreading like crimson fire beneath him, his face white, his mouth slack. Terrified that the man he idolized was dead, he shoved his hand in his pocket, tugging out a ribbon of leather he had been working to soften and praying it would make a sufficient tourniquet until Doc could get to them. It worked - barely. By the time the physician had stopped the bleeding long enough for a cooperative group of drovers to haul the marshal's body up to his office, Mr. Dillon was ashen and clammy. A search to find Miss Kitty brought about the terrible realization that she was gone, and that whoever had shot Mr. Dillon had most likely taken her. That was confirmed when the marshal finally woke up days later.
He might have figured the big lawman would defy death yet again. Chester had joked - only to himself - that Matt Dillon must be part feline, as many lives as he'd used up already and still breathed. But he figured if something happened to Miss Kitty, and she didn't - well, he wondered if Mr. Dillon might rather have bled out from that outlaw's bullet instead.
The dusty streets of Dodge greeted him, and despite the ugly, sprawling townscape, Chester found himself glad to be home. After leaving his exhausted horse with Moss Grimmick, he headed toward Doc's office, dreading the news he had to share with the marshal, but thankful it wasn't worse. He sincerely hoped that no news was good news in this case.
"Doc?" he called, pushing open the door at the top of the stairs.
Almost instantly, Adams appeared from the back room, his eyes roaming quickly over the younger man and then flicking past him. "Chester! Did you find her?"
He shook his head tiredly. "No, Doc. Nairy a sign."
"Then what are you doing back here?'
"Forevermore, Doc! A man kain't keep goin' without changin' horses and restockin'. Posse come back in before me."
"I know. I saw `em."
Exhaustion shortening his temper, he barked, "Then why – "
"I just hoped," the physician said, and the worried look on his face softened any irritation Chester felt. Doc eyed him more carefully. "What are you doing up here? Are you hurt?"
"No, I ain't hurt. I just come up ta check on Mister Dillon. How is he, Doc?"
Doc ran a hand over his mustache and shook his head. "Well, he's not here is how he is."
"Not here?"
"I was kinda hoping he was with you."
"Mister Dillon?" Chester asked, confused. "Why no, of course he ain't – well, why ain't he here?"
The doctor sighed. "He went after Kitty."
Chester straightened, stunned. "He went after – well, how on earth – Doc, how could you let him go? He wasn't in any kind of shape – "
"I know perfectly well what kind of shape he wasn't in," Doc snapped. "You think I let him go? Fool couldn't even walk – couple of cowboys had to put him on his horse – and he thinks he can – "
"Why, Doc?"
"Why do you think?"
"I mean why'd he go off now? He agreed to stay when we left – "
"Said he knows where she is."
The younger man's eyes widened. "He did? How'd he know that? Me and the posse's been all over the prairie lookin' and ain't seen nothin'."
"I have no idea. He was barely hanging on to his saddle when I caught him leaving, but as usual he wouldn't listen to reason and just – " Doc threw his hand out in a random direction " – galloped on out hell bent on doing it himself."
Chester didn't know what to say to that. Not that it surprised him when he thought more about it. He'd seen Matt Dillon drag himself up from having one foot in the grave and save the day. He only hoped that could happen again.
Exhaling loudly, the older man cocked his head toward the door and said, "You need a drink before you head back out? I'll buy."
"You'll buy?" Chester exclaimed, grinning despite the circumstances. "Well, Doc, I don't rightly know how I can turn that down."
He was rewarded to hear a chuckle from the physician and figured one drink wouldn't hurt. In fact, he'd just about decided it was necessary.
The Long Branch was subdued, as if the walls themselves were missing Kitty, too. Only a couple of regulars sat nursing lukewarm whiskey. Chester and Doc sat with their beers, neither one feeling much like talking. It was only a matter of time before the marshal's assistant had to haul himself back onto a horse and start searching again. And although neither man wanted to say it aloud, it was only a matter of time before the search would become futile – for both Miss Kitty and Mr. Dillon.
A chipper whistle interrupted the pall when Louie Pheeters stumbled into the saloon. He was already half-tight, Chester determined. But then, Louie pretty much stayed half-tight. Spotting them, the old man waved and danced toward their table.
"Well, fine gentlemen," he greeted, doffing his hat, "and how are you today?"
"We ain't too good, Louie," Chester responded with obvious irritation.
Surprised, Pheeters stopped. "I'm sorry to hear that, Chester," he said sincerely. "How can I help you?"
"You could find Miss Kitty for us," he said, even though he knew he should have just let the old drunk move on.
"Oh," Louie assured him, "Marshal Dillon will find her. He knows exactly – " Eyes wide, he stopped abruptly, but Doc had already stood so quickly that his chair crashed over behind him.
"What do you mean, Louie?" he demanded. "What do you know about where Matt went?"
But Pheeters shook his head. "I don't know nothin', Doc. Nothin'."
By this time, Chester had pushed himself up, too, and grabbed the old man's thin shoulders. "Louie, you gotta tell us where Mister Dillon went. You just gotta tell us!"
"My lips are sealed." He drew a shaking finger across his mouth in demonstration. "I promised the marshal."
"Do you want to help Miss Kitty?" Doc asked.
The old man hesitated. "She's a good woman."
Chester sensed weakness. "She sure is, and she's in danger – and so is Mister Dillon."
"The marshal's in danger, too?"
"Yes, he is," Doc said, stepping closer. "Didn't you see how badly he was hurt? He can't ride all over looking for her. He should be in bed."
"He didn't look too good," the drunk acknowledged.
"He needs help. They both do." Doc rested a hand on Pheeter's back. "Now tell us where he was headed."
Louie thought for a moment, then nodded. "Miss Kitty told me to tell the marshal she was going to visit her Uncle Artie for a few days."
"Uncle Artie?" Doc repeated. "I've never heard Kitty mention – "
"You mean Ol' Art Dunbar?" asked Chester. "Why, he ain't Miss Kitty's uncle – "
Louie shrugged, but Doc snapped his fingers and said, "Art's cabin!"
Chester's eyes widened. "Well sure, Doc. That's the one direction we ain't been yet."
"Let's go, then," Doc declared. "Soon as I get my bag."
"Yer goin'?"
"Of course I'm going," Doc yelled. "You think I'm just gonna let you ham-hand Matt and Kitty when they could be – " His words broke off, and he shook his head. "You just get my buggy from Moss's while I get my bag and –"
A sudden eruption of gunfire jolted them, and they both spun around just in time to witness three men scrambling from the bank, shouting and cursing and firing back into the building.
"A robbery!" Chester cried, but he could only watch helplessly as the group leaped on their horses and tore down the street, billows of dust scattering behind them, obscuring the views of the stunned citizens.
Despite his age, Doc was already hurrying toward a body sprawled in the dirt.
"Oh my goodness," Chester breathed, then called out louder, "Who is it?"
"It's Bodkin!" Doc yelled back. "He's hurt bad."
The younger man shook his head as he limped closer. "That's just terrible. Poor Mister Bodkin."
Without looking up from his patient, Doc said, "You'll have to go after Matt and Kitty yourself, Chester. I can't leave."
"I know." He supposed he could round up the posse again, but the exhausted men had not slept in days. Of course, neither had he. Pressing his lips together for a moment, he nodded at the physician and tried to sound more confident than he felt. "You don't worry about a thing, Doc. I'll bring `em back."
But Doc wasn't listening anymore. He was too busy trying to save the banker's life.
Turning toward the jail, Chester mentally counted through the list of supplies he would need. If he hurried, he could be back on the trail in half an hour.
And time had suddenly become even more critical, because as the outlaws rumbled past him, Chester had recognized one of them:
Mister Dillon's old friend, Glenn Cantrell.
TBC