INCOGNITO: CHAPTER 5

The most sleep Blake remembered getting for those first five days was a few hours at a time. He hadn't had a bath since he'd left Dodge, which didn't seem to matter a bit to his esteemed guests locked in the same room with him at the church. The only respite he or John McKay got was the twice daily meal delivery. Apparently Seth Bullock was as respected in this town as Matt Dillon was in Dodge, because the food provided for the law was a serious cut above what was brought for the prisoners. But there wasn't any room for self-pity. He knew the other lawmen were just as exhausted and faced the same furtive attempts by the convicts to trick them that he did, remembering in particular one clever lowlife who'd feigned choking, only to grab him around the neck when he bent over the man to try to help. If it hadn't been for the guard with his shotgun, Laramie would have been short one deputy. In spite of this, McKay kept coming back to relieve him, always with a determined smile and an encouraging word. And on this day when Bullock's loyal deputy showed up, he had more than just an encouraging word.

"Seth says we can start moving a few back to the prison tomorrow."

"That's good. How's Matt holdin' up?"

"Still standing. He's gonna help Seth start the move in the morning. The six at the jail go first with one of the marshals. If there's time and more cells are ready, they'll take another six later in the day."

Absent any better information, Blake ran the numbers in his head. Maybe four more days after that and he and Matt would be shed of this town. It couldn't happen soon enough.

"Oh, and Marshal Dillon had me send a telegram to some fella in Dodge this morning. You know a Frank . . . Frank somebody?"

"Yeah." It was the first broad grin Blake had allowed himself since that night he'd given Thor Stonker the apple. "I sure do."

XOXOXO

"All I wanted to see was the first line, Kitty. The rest is for you." Frank handed Kitty the telegram over the bourbon she'd poured for him.

Frank Reardon
Deputy United States Marshal
Dodge City Kansas

All good here STOP
Trail worn and dirty STOP
Miss you Sara Jake Luke STOP
Private Talk Momma STOP

Matt Dillon
United States Marshal
Laramie Wyoming

"Well, he didn't spend a lot of the government's money on this little gem, but at least I understand it," Kitty smiled wistfully.

"We all wrote letters for him and put them in this envelope, Uncle Frank. Will you mail it in the morning?"

Frank drew Sara under his wing and gave her a hug. "You know I will, Princess. He'll be real happy to get it. But I'm thinking he might beat it home." Like a man delivering a Christmas present, he slid the Dodge City Bulletin out from under his other arm and handed it to Sara. She started to read the article silently, her eyes widening as she went along, but with Jake and Luke tugging on her arm she started over, announcing the news aloud.

"It says Dateline November 10. Laramie, Wyoming." She looked up proudly at her audience with a confident smile. This paper was only a day old.

"Two United States marshals from out of state have partnered with Wyoming Marshal Seth Bullock to temporarily restrain inmates displaced by a massive fire at the Territorial Prison here. Inmates have been safely housed in three undisclosed buildings on this side of the river since Tuesday. Meanwhile, repairs at the prison are ongoing and proceeding ahead of schedule, and the prison is expected to be able to house some inmates later this week. The Laramie Territorial Prison has served five western states since it opened in 1872. At the time of the fire, it housed fifty hardened criminals serving life sentences."

"What's a hardened criminal?" Luke asked, certain his brother and sister didn't know either.

"He's a real bad man, Luke. So bad that he'll never get out of prison."

"The newspaper reporter didn't say anything about Daddy," Sara scowled.

"That's just how he'd want it." Kitty countered her daughter truthfully. "Nobody knows which marshals went to Laramie from where, just the way your father likes it. The reporter was doing the best he could."

Eager to distract the young family from sour thoughts about the danger in Laramie, Ava spoke up. "Let's have Sara read it again. We can talk about how that reporter wrote his story." Immediately, three faces brightened, always ready for a challenge from their teacher.

"Who's the first rule cause people are the most important in a story," Luke took the lead. "The who is two marshals from out of state."

"Think again, Luke," Ava said tactfully with a raised eyebrow.

The boy considered that for a minute, then with a wrinkled brow came up with the wrong answer for a second time. "Blake's not a marshal, he's only a deputy. So there could only be Daddy?"

Thankfully, Frank Reardon didn't have an ego to bruise. "Hey, you little scallywag!" He pulled Luke away from his brother and pretended to box his ears. "What do you mean, only a deputy?" Luke wiggled and giggled while Jake grabbed Frank's leg and gave it a good boxing. Between Frank and Ava, the boys had been distracted.

When the laughter died down, Ava picked up teaching again. "We can assume the reporter thought there were two marshals. What else, Luke?"

"I know!" Jake chimed in. "Who also meant that marshal from Laramie!"

"Marshal Seth Bullock," Sara announced with a flowery smile, proud of her recollection.

"I'll let you in on a little secret about Deputy Frank Reardon, Sara," Kitty said. "A few months before you were born, he was first choice for the marshal's job in Laramie."

"Really?" Sara's eyes danced from her mother's to Frank's, not knowing who to ask. Finally, she settled on Frank. "Why didn't you want to be a marshal?"

Slowly, Frank looked away from Sara, his piercing blue eyes staring into Kitty's like a man possessed. "I knew you were comin' into the world, Sara. I reckon I wanted to be here to help your daddy more than I wanted that job."

XOXOXO

And right at that moment in Laramie, an exhausted Matt Dillon was ready to be anything but a marshal. Two days of moving detainees across the river had gone smoothly; much too smoothly for comfort, in fact. Taking care to fight off complacency, his weary eyes shifted from his charges, all securely shackled like rogue dogs, to scanning the shore ahead of him, waiting and wondering and just hoping this last trip of the day would be like all the others. He could make out Thor Stonker's massive frame on the bank in the waning sunlight, ready to meet the last ferry of the day and help move the men in.

Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could see a lone horseman riding toward Thor from the north. Briefly aborting his scan back to the prisoners, he pushed his hat back on his head and stared hard to be sure. On full alert, he waved frantically at Thor, then pointed urgently toward the rider. In the moment it took Thor to understand the warning and turn to look, the rider raised his rifle and fired, dropping the helpless man to the ground. Reflexively, Matt drew his .45 and fired back, all the while knowing he was on the ragged edge of range for a handgun. The rider never slowed down.

"Turn it around! Turn back!" he barked at the ferryman. But watching the man frantically standing there at the helm struggling to pull hard on the tiller, Matt realized he could lose another helpless victim to the gunman. Heart pounding, years of keenly honed instinct made him dive at the man, the force of his tackle taking the skipper's legs completely out from under him. But the attacker had already fired, and as he fell on top of the man, Matt felt the all too familiar sensation of a bullet slam into his boot. With only a split second to react, he raised up on his elbows and took calculated aim at the assailant, this time striking his target with deadly accuracy.

Matt's mind swirled as he pushed away the ferry pilot's legs, watching him scramble to his feet and grab for the tiller again. "You okay, Marshal?" The man looked down at him, seemingly confused that the lawman wasn't getting up.

"Just STEER, Mister!" Matt growled through the pain. "Back to the Laramie side!" His sidearm securely in his hand, Matt trained it on the group of convicts, lest any of them decide to lunge at him. Shackles or no shackles, no prison inmate would ever waste a chance to kill a downed lawman. He studied each of them with grim determination until he finally saw all the hungry eyes soften, resigned to the fact that he was still on duty. It was only then that he allowed himself a brief glance at his leg. There was a small pool of blood under his boot, but no other visible sign that he'd been hit.

"They're waitin' for us on the bank, Marshal," the boatman now doubling as a lookout reported, pointing toward the landing at Laramie. "Must've heard the shooting!"

Matt glanced up, a wave of relief flooding over him at the sight of none other than Seth Bullock himself, standing spread-legged with rifle in hand, one of the Cheyenne sheriffs at his side. Readying himself to get to his feet and explain the chaos on the opposite shore, he pulled his bandana off his neck so he could fashion a tourniquet around his bleeding leg and hobble off the ferry with at least a modicum of dignity. The left leg slid under him just fine, as it always had. But when he moved that right leg back to gain purchase it crumpled, dumping him unceremoniously on his butt and sending a torrent of pain rushing from his boot clear to his head.

XOXOXO

One at a time, Matt Dillon's senses began awakening. He was vaguely aware that he wasn't on the ferry anymore, but he wasn't in the Grange Hall, either. He blinked his eyes repeatedly, willing them to focus. This room smelled good: real good if his nose wasn't lying to him, and so did the attractive brunette who was quite obviously staring down at him.

"Easy there," she cooed softly, dipping her washcloth in the basin of warm water and wringing it out again.

"Who are you? Where am I? What are you doing?" Matt struggled to his elbows, only to flop down onto his back from the effort.

He thought he saw the woman smile as she continued with the sponge bath. "One question at a time," she answered delicately. "You had quite a day yesterday. I'm Delilah Nelson, and I'm bathing you. If you don't mind my saying, you surely needed to be washed," she added with a twinkle in her eye. "It ought to feel some better."

Determined to ignore her ministrations, Matt struggled to get upright again. "Gotta get outta here," he mumbled, all but colliding with his caregiver when he tried to sit up. "Gotta find Seth." Frustrated that the pain in his leg owned him, he toppled back down again. Was his head on a pillow? Hadn't had a pillow under his head since he'd left Kansas. Since . . . since he'd been in bed with Kitty.

"When you're ready to quit struggling I'll answer all your questions," Delilah said unperturbed, continuing with the sponge bath. "Seth Bullock brought you here last night." She re-dipped the washcloth and started in on his body again. "And here is Doctor Burke Bartholomew's office. I work for him."

Matt groaned. His least favorite place was a doctor's office. His head was throbbing and his leg hurt like hell. "You got any crutches?"

"Certainly I do." she smiled coyly. "But you'll never find them, so you'd best just relax and enjoy your bath."

It was coming back to him bit by bit. "Look Delilah," he ordered as authoritatively as possible from his compromised position. "I'm a United States marshal. There are five other lawmen and some prison guards out there somewhere who need my help."

"I know who you are, Marshal Dillon. Seth explained the whole mess to me last night when he told me about your heroics."

"Heroics? I don't remember any . . ."

"I'm not surprised. Laudanum does that to a man. From the looks of the collection of scars on your arms and chest, you're no stranger to heroics."

"Humph," he grunted, doing his best to prepare his next argument through the laudanum-induced fog. All he remembered doing was failing to get a load of prisoners to the other shore. "Seth's okay then? What about the others?"

"They're all fine. The lawmen are taking the last two loads of prisoners back over to the other side today. And you, my stalwart marshal, are going to stay right here in this bed."

"NO!" Suddenly he was in complete control of his critical faculties. "There's a gunman . . . you don't understand. I need to warn them!" But this time when he lunged all the way to a sitting position, his eyes met a bandage the size of a log on his right leg. And he couldn't move it. Not one little bit. He sat there for a minute, head spinning, doing his best to catch his breath at the effort.

"If you'll cooperate, I'll explain everything to you, Marshal Dillon." Delilah smiled softly as she said it, knowing there was no way she'd ever be able to restrain a man his size. The promise of information would have to be her weapon.

"Start with the leg." he demanded.

"Start with lying back down." she countered.

She watched him take another look at the huge bandage, then grimace when he tried to move the leg again. His arms trembled with the pain as he tried to lower himself back to the pillow, the muscles in his abdomen quivering from the effort. Gently, she put her arms behind his shoulders and supported him until he let out a sigh on the big down pillow.

"Thank you," he admitted after taking a moment to catch his breath.

There was something about this big man that was just captivating. He tried so hard to be tough and invincible, but he was more like a puppy underneath that rough exterior. Delilah re-moistened her washcloth, then set about keeping her promise.

"You were moving a load of men across the river late yesterday afternoon. Your boat got fired on from the opposite shore, just before you landed."

"Yeah. The prison side," he interrupted. "I remember that."

"Seth said you'd be asking about your friends, so I have a list." She dried her hands and reached for a piece of paper. "Johnny McKay and Blake Rains are fine. So are the sheriff and his deputy from Cheyenne. They're all finishing with the prisoner move today. Pete Barrick . . . gosh, I've known Pete and his wife Charlene for years . . . well, you'll be pleased to know you saved Pete's life yesterday. He came out of that gunfire completely unscathed, thanks to your taking the bullet that was headed his way."

"Who's Pete?"

"The ferryman who was piloting your boat, silly." She smiled pleasantly. "He's right back on duty today, thanks to you."

Bit by bit, piece by piece, Delilah was rebuilding his memory. He closed his eyes and saw that rifleman on the opposite shore, remembering how he'd had a split second to take the ferryman out of the line of fire. But there was more. Plenty more.

"Pete. Sure. I never even knew his name. Did Seth write anything on that paper about Thor Stonker?"

Delilah looked down at the note and shook her head. "Nothing here. Is he another friend of yours?"

"No, I guess not. Just some loyal man who was doin' his job."

She noticed the puppy dog side of the big man again when she looked into his eyes, and decided to change the subject. "Couldn't help but notice that you wear a wedding ring, Marshal Dillon. May I have your wife's name and address so I can notify her?"

"NO!" Abruptly, Matt was wide-eyed. "Absolutely NOT! There's nobody to notify. I'm not dead yet." Absently, he used his thumb to twirl Kitty's ring on his left hand while he reflected on his outburst.

Fully aware that she'd struck a chord, Delilah left him alone with his thoughts while she retrieved a fresh basin of hot water from the stove. "Seth asked me to tell you one more thing," she called from across the room. "You killed that fella who shot at you and Pete. That's why I ignored you when you got all worked up about a gunman on the loose."

It was well after she'd sat back down at his bedside to start in on the bath again before he made eye contact and spoke. "You promised to tell me about my leg."

"So I did." This time she smiled broadly while she began washing him, pleased for the moment that his memory seemed to be back on track. "When you saved Pete, the bullet lodged in your leg. Doctor Steele from Cheyenne will be here at about noon today to remove it."

"Doctor Steele? But what about your boss, what's his name, 'Burke'?"

She chuckled. "It's Doctor Bartholomew. Doctor Burke Bartholomew. He examined your leg last night, then he had to head up to Mountain Home on a call. He's the one who sent for Doctor Steele."

"Well, whatever." Matt's frustration leaked out, none too happy with the news. Doc or Joseph or Mona would have had that bullet out in fifteen minutes, and with a day or two of rest, he'd be ready to get back to work. "Why didn't Bartholomew just dig it out before he left?"

She put the washcloth down and cocked her head. "It's a little more complicated than that, Marshal."

tbc