It was now 1:20AM.
Matt was standing in the shadows across the street from the freight office, carefully studying every aspect of the building and its surroundings.
Kitty was in an alley just down the way from Matt, her eyes searching for any danger to him.
Doc was quietly approaching Kitty's hiding place, staying close to the buildings across the street from her, and pondering the scene ahead. "What is Matt doing, and why did Kitty uncharacteristically secretly follow him?!"
Smithy had gone to Nealy Falcon's seedy room at the Prairie Dog hotel and the two were stealthily making their way to the freight office's back door.
Nathan Burke, freight office manager, was groggily waking up as his ears and eyes strained for any sign of the lanky man with the frightening eyes and gun. Curled into the fetal position, the terrified man made no move to get free. The memory of being shot during a previous robbery filled his mind with numbing fear.
Less than a mile out of Dodge, Festus' "hill sense" had been bothering him since the gold transfer, and he had been pressing the sturdy team of horses to get to the freight office as soon as possible. Now he slowed down the relieved team and quietly approached.
On the northern edge of town, retired U.S. Marshal Clifton Falcon was riding in to plead with Matt in the morning to try to capture young Nealy alive if he came into contact with him. He knew his beloved son was doomed, but couldn't bear the thought of him being shot down in the dirt.
The differing tangents of nine lives were soon to converge.
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It was almost simultaneous.
Festus unexpectedly arrived in Dodge over an hour early, the team and wagon creaking and jingling down Front Street. In the slumbering quiet of the town, his slow approach could be heard from a distance.
Nealy "The Falcon" Falcon, led by skinny, mean-eyed Smithy, had reached the side door to the freight office where Burke was now groggily struggling to roll onto his knees. Hearing the men's approach, the freight manager quickly lay down again, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.
The watchful Marshal started to step out of the shadows as soon as he recognized the outlaw. "FALCON! You and your cohort-drop your guns and put your hands up NOW!"
Nealy's father, retired lawman Clifton Falcon, stopped his slow walking towards the Dodge House and abruptly began running as fast as his legs, damaged from long-ago bullets, could run.
Kitty and Doc spotted Mort stand up from his post on the balcony of the building across the street, and bring his rifle up to his shoulder, aiming at the Marshal.
Stepping out into the street, Kitty yelled "MATT! THE BALCONY!"
Instantly, Matt drew and shot the startled bald gunman who reflexively fired his rifle as he fell to the street below. Then the Marshal's eyes flashed back to Nealy and his skinny companion.
Doc's eyes open wide in dismay when he saw Kitty jerk back and fall heavily to the street, struck by Mort's errant shot. The small doctor was surprisingly quick as he ran towards her.
"I'm all right, Doc," Kitty said, sitting up, holding her upper left arm. Her eyes remained riveted on Matt, whose attention she didn't want to divert from the tense figure of the murderous Nealy Falcon.
"DOC!" Matt called, never taking his eyes from The Falcon's.
Looking up from where he was kneeling by the wounded woman, the doctor answered back, "Yes, just a slight wound to the arm, Matt. She'll be fine."
Nealy watched this quick exchange with a small, bemused smirk on his face. With his left hand he firmly held Smithy's twitchy arm from going for his pistol. "NO. He's mine. He's been mine for years. I'm better than he is now. And I owe him for this," he added, rubbing his scar. Then he shoved Smithy away, turned back to the Marshal, spread his legs, and stood on alert with his right hand hovering above his notch-handled six-gun.
"Nealy. You don't have to do this. Don't be a fool! Unbuckle your gun belt and I'll make sure you get a fair trial." The firmness in Matt's voice reflected his own taut posture, gun hand at the ready.
"HA! You're an old man now, Marshal-twice as old as me! And now, twice as slow! For old times' sake, I'll only shoot you in both legs if YOU drop your gun belt! If you don't, I'll kill you! I can kill anyone!" Spittle flew from his mouth as he yelled, and his light eyes glittered dangerously. The scar on his face was bright white against his flushed skin.
As the strong words of both men hung in the air like a threatening storm, off in the distance, the sound of approaching running boots could be faintly heard. The piercing stares of the tall lawman and the young outlaw never wavered nor lessened in intensity.
Festus frowned as his sharp, squinting eyes made out the unmistakable figure of the Marshal in his facing-down-a-gunman stance. Flicking the long reins, he clicked his tongue at the team of horses. "Come ON now, fellas, git a move on! Matthew needs me!" As he got closer, the slim figure of the man facing the Marshal, and the even slimmer one of a lank-haired, scruffy man near him came into focus. "Hmmm…two agin' one. Meybe more. I kin sure 'nuff help even that up!"
The very moment that Nealy's father got within sight, his heart pounding and his breathing labored, "The Falcon" decided to draw. He was fast. Very fast. But his eyes were a "tell," suddenly widening as he decided to draw, and although he possessed fantastic speed, his aim was careless.
Less than a millisecond after the young outlaw started to draw on him, Matt's hand flew down, cocked the hammer as he whipped his gun up, and his aim was steady and true.
Four shots rang out. Nealy's miss, Matt's dead center hit, and sneaky Smithy's shot going wild as Festus used his rifle from the still-moving wagon.
The gun smoke was still in the air as the Marshal and his loyal deputy exchanged quick nods, and the old doctor pushed himself up from where he knelt by Kitty, and slowly shuffled towards the bodies of Nealy Falcon, Smithy, and Mort. He could see that only Nealy was still gulping for air.
Kitty got to her feet, her upper left arm wrapped in a bandage, and walked towards Matt, who was standing with slumped shoulders, staring down at the young man he had known so long ago as a laughing boy.
The Marshal knelt down on one knee beside Nealy, who was wild-eyed and clenching his teeth in pain. "Nealy, you gave me no choice."
"Matt. Matt…you…you sure got…even faster," the dying man gasped with a humorless smile. "You…you…were my hero, Uncle Mattie. I…I…can hardly see you now. It's like being under water…" Nealy's last breath left him softly and slowly, like a balloon deflating, his eyes closed, and his head lolled to the left. With his face relaxed, and the scar hidden, he looked his young age, as if all of his hatred had gone up in the mist of his last exhalation.
The lawman sighed and slowly stood up, looking down at the dead son of his old friend. At the toddler who had long ago wrapped his chubby arms around his leg and made him smile. Then he looked up at the boy's father, who was slowly approaching as if walking towards the gallows.
"Nealy. Oh my darling boy!" Cliff Falcon had been unable to move or even breath when he had turned the corner and seen the shootings. The big old man who had once been the toughest U.S. Marshal around, limped over, dropped to his knees in the bloody dirt and gathered up the limp body of his favorite son in his arms. Holding him close against his chest, Cliff rocked back and forth, his face a river of tears. "You had to do it, Matt. You had to do it. I'm so sorry. So very sorry."
Matt closed his eyes to shut out the heartbreakingly intimate scene, but it still blazed across his brain. Then the memory of another close old friend, Esteban Garcia, came to his mind. The handsome, good-natured man who had drawn on Matt and paid the ultimate price long ago.
"As Esteban had said when he found out I was a lawman," Matt thought, 'It is a very sad thing, this job of yours. There's no pleasure in it.' Opening his eyes, the Marshal looked at the father and son again, and sadly whispered, " A job without pleasure."
Cliff's words of forgiveness still burned in his ears as he turned to check on the others. Kitty and Doc stood close together, her right hand clutching his arm. Festus stood watch beside the wagon full of gold, rifle at the ready. All three turned their heads to watch the man they loved and admired more than any other, silently walk towards the freight office to check on Burke. Their eyes reflected the intimate pain they were witnessing and felt so helpless to sooth.
"Oh, Matt" Kitty softly said, and as Doc swiped a hand over his eyes and face, she longed for the time when she would be able to pull her man's head against her chest and hold him tight.
End