"You know, I'm not sure it's proper for a lady to be riding around out on the prairie with the Marshal like this!" Kitty said, glancing over at the big handsome man riding closely and slowly beside her. She smiled that he had chosen to wear his cream colored jacket, black string tie, and blue dress shirt for the occasion.
"The only thing not proper about it is I don't get you out here often enough!" Matt replied with an answering smile, admiring how lovely she looked with the sun on her red hair, and the flattering fit of the high-collared, open-necked, white blouse. Reaching over, he put a big hand over her gloved ones on the pommel of her saddle, holding the reins. After both horses were standing still, Matt looked deeply into Kitty's lovely eyes that matched the Kansas sky, and leaned over to kiss her lips smiling up at him.
"AHEM!" The small man in the buggy ran a hand over his smile as his two young friends separated, straightened up, and watched him approach.
"Hi Doc. You on a call out in these parts, or just making sure no one in town can find you?" the Marshal asked, glancing over at Kitty who was quietly laughing and shaking her head.
"Harrumph! I'll have you know that I just left the Madisons. You know. That young couple of pumpkin rollers that moved into old Easy Herbertson's place down by Turkey Creek? She's expecting any time now, and her husband, Guy, is as nervous as a cricket in a hen house! I told him I'd swing by again this morning, and I only now managed to get away." Taking in Matt's dressy appearance, he nodded in approval. "You two picked a fine morning for a ride! And say! Kitty, you look prettier than a red rose in a bed of daisies!"
Kitty looked over at Matt and let out a small chuckle. "Why, thank you, Doc! That Guy Madison serve you a little homemade?!"
Doc winked and turned serious as he turned his attention on the big U.S. Marshal whom he regarded as the son he had never had. "Matt. I have something I need to discuss with you back in town as soon as possible. I meant to earlier this morning, but when I found out you went for a ride, I called on the Madisons. You headed back now?"
"Sounds serious, Doc." Glancing over at Kitty and seeing her slight nod, he continued. "Yes, we're heading back now. What's it all about?"
"A serial killer who may be heading this way, or more than likely, is already here." The small doctor didn't even hesitate to bring up such a subject in front of the young woman, knowing Kitty was one of the most trustworthy, circumspect people he knew, and that Matt would share everything with her later for that very reason.
Mat and Kitty exchanged startled looks, then turned their horses towards Dodge, silently riding alongside the buggy, each pondering the possible implications of Doc's disturbing statement.
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Matt sat at the small table in his office and slowly studied the gruesome diagrams and drawings, and even more gruesome photographs of "The Surgeon's" hideous deeds. Doc sat patiently across from him, occasionally sipping from the thick ceramic mug of coffee. For once, the odd flavor concoction Chester had brewed barely registered as he watched the Marshal. Chester stood behind Matt, gaping with open mouth at the images, expressions of disgust, horror, and disbelief crossing his face.
"Mister Dillon? Doc? How kin a person do this ta another person? Ain't this what them big city doctors do?" He looked over at the doctor with the big, dark brown eyes of a frightened child looking for reassurance.
"Er, yes, Chester," Doc said in a distracted voice, his eyes never leaving Matt's face. "This 'procedure' is called dissection, and it is one way for student doctors to better understand the workings of the human body." He didn't mention that this was most often done on deceased, unclaimed bodies. (*side note: The Massachusetts Anatomical Act was passed in 1831, establishing that such bodies could legally be used for dissection.)
Chester's eyes grew even bigger as his thoughts ricocheted between imagining being a dead body and ending up being dissected. Closing his eyes, he shuddered and silently said a small prayer of thanks to God for having good, close friends here in Dodge who would decently bury him all in one piece. Having seen more than enough, he opened his eyes, poured a cup of coffee, went over to the Marshal's desk and sat down.
"Doc? Da ya think this here murderin' man might be a doctor? An' mebe even someone ya know?"
The old doctor looked over sharply at the uncomplicated young man with the questioning look on his open face. "NO! OF COURSE NOT, CHESTER!" he blurted, then tugged on his right ear and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Chester. You have hit on something too close for me to want to admit is highly likely."
"That's awright, Doc. I understand," the young man said as the hurt on his face slid into sympathy.
Matt looked up from the drawings and photos, quietly watching the exchange between his two close friends. "That makes sense, Doc. Unfortunately." He studied the doctor's face, half-obscured by the hand slowly swiping across the mustache above his mouth. "You know something more, don't you, Doc?"
The older man nodded, reached into his suit coat, pulled out Ambrose Gillette's letter, and silently handed it to Matt. "Probably should've given you this first, but I wanted you to quickly see the seriousness of this madman. This letter also mentions the likelihood of medical training."
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At that very moment, Luther W. Hawkins was sitting at his desk up in his small room, two anatomy books open in front of him. He always made certain to review the diagrams of the inner chest between each of his live case studies. When he closed the books in satisfaction twenty minutes later, he sat back in the swivel chair and glanced over at Kitty's room. "Now I need to fine tune my plan to get that saloon woman and the Marshal out to the location I am preparing. One will surely follow the other if there is a message of danger. I must decide which one to take there first." Rubbing his chin, he looked up at the water stained ceiling as he pondered his actions.
"I'll be right down, Clem!" Kitty called through her open door, one lace-up shoe in her hand. Her voice easily carried across the narrow alley in the lazy afternoon quiet.
"The Surgeon's" eyes flew open and he slowly smiled. A decision had been made. He was finishing the last details of the space he needed for his procedures, and would soon be ready for his first "guest."
To be continued