One week later:

"Matt, I'm always so glad when you're back in town-you know that," she said as she lightly stroked his freshly shaven, smooth cheek with her forefinger, and snuggled in even closer against his broad chest. "But, well, I feel I should tell you about a strange man who came to town right after you left for the trial. He'd been watching me. He sat in the Long Branch every night, not drinking, not gambling, refusing the attentions of any of the girls. All he did was stare at me with large, unsettling, unblinking eyes. Strange yellow-green eyes." She felt Matt's body tense up as he gently reached up and put his hand around hers, stopping her movement.

"Who is he, Kitty? What's his name? Have you talked to him?" His voice was firm and in lawman mode as he questioned her.

"Sam checked around town on his own, and found out that he had a room at the Poppy Hotel, under the name of 'Culver Whitlock,' she said. I say 'had' because he isn't there anymore, and I haven't seen him for four nights. "But I know he is still here in Dodge. Watching me. I feel it, Matt. I feel those yellow- eyes of his on me."

Pulling her tightly against him, the big man firmly said, "Let me know if you see him again, Kitty. Immediately!" The worried man was already planning on a thorough search of the entire town.

"I will, Matt. I will," she murmured against his warm chest, letting out a sigh of relief from the pent up tension she had been holding in.

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But Whitlock seemed to have disappeared as quietly as he had appeared, although Kitty still imagined she felt his eyes on her as she went about her business. Leaving the General Store one morning, she saw a slight movement reflected in the front storefront window, and glancing across the street, thought she saw a dark figure quickly dart into an alleyway. "Whew! I must be imagining things now! Matt said Whitlock did check out of the Poppy last week, and no one has seen hide nor hair of him since." Chuckling at herself, the lovely young woman shook her head slightly, smiled, and resumed her even strides towards the Long Branch.

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Culver Whitlock had quickly and quietly relocated to the seedy Prairie Dog Hotel in the equally seedy part of town across the tracks. This time he signed the register as "John Black" and had pulled his hat brim down low, never meeting the eyes of the bored clerk. "I must keep a lower profile if I am to fulfill my mission," he thought. "That big barkeep is very protective and more observant than a typical employee. I'm glad Miss Kitty has that, but it must not interfere with what needs to be done."

So over the next few weeks, "John Black" changed his appearance, wearing typical cowhand jeans, plaid shirt, bandana, scruffy boots, and a sweat-stained Stetson pulled low over his distinctive eyes. He sported a three-day scruff on his thin face, and let his hair grow even longer than his usual neatly parted style. When his money ran low, he joined the Drag-R crew bringing in a huge herd from Texas. The foreman was skeptical of taking on a non-Texan, and so near the end of the drive, but shrugged and nodded when the quiet man only wanted meals as pay. And John Black proved to be a hard worker, and even the disgruntled old cook came around. After a week, the herd was within ten miles of Dodge, and the cowhands were paid and let loose upon the town while the herd rested before delivery for sale.

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"Kitty," Matt said after a sip of cool beer, "have you seen any more of that odd man who was watching you a while back? Culver Whitlock?" His voice and manner were off-hand, but his clear blue eyes were sharp and probing. He leaned against the bar with a graceful ease, close enough to relish her light lilac scent.

"You know, Matt, it's the strangest thing, but it's like Culver Whitlock never existed!" The redheaded woman's lovely sky-blue eyes sparkled as she sighed in relief. Picking up a piece of pretzel from the wooden bowl on the bar, she took a delicate nibble and smiled. "I don't know why he even bothered me so much. He never spoke a word to me or gave any trouble in here," she mused. "I guess I was just being silly."

"You are never 'silly,' Kitty, and something about him set off your trustworthy instincts," Matt said in a deep voice, "and I'm just glad he's gone." The big man finished his beer in a long swallow, set down the empty mug, and gave her a meaningful smile. "See you later, Kitty, after my rounds." Straightening up, he adjusted his gun belt and strode towards the bat wing doors, feeling the warmth of her eyes on him.

Fifteen minutes later, Kitty glanced up at the large clock on the front wall with relief. "What a long night," she thought, wearily looking around at the large group of raucous cowhands still celebrating their first night in town after three months of hardship on the trail. Her sharp eyes skimmed over the multitude of faces, each distinct but blending into a familiar overall impression of all of the cowhands she had seen in her saloon over the years: unshaven faces with stubble or full beard; a few peach-fuzzed youths; eyes bleary from alcohol; sweat-stained, well-worn hats and clothing; loud talk and laughter; back-slapping and hollering; dirty, calloused hands grabbing at the elusive saloon women who wove between the crowded tables with trays of beer mugs or whiskey bottles. Then for just a split second, her roving eyes caught an imagined glimpse of those unforgettable yellow-green eyes staring at her. Startled to alertness, Kitty quickly stood up straight and peered into the faces of the crowd through the smokey air and continuous movement of drunken, reeling men and laughing, colorful women.

"Is he really here?! How could I have missed him? There's only cowhands here!" A mix of anxiety and irritation swirled through her as she scanned and rescanned the room. "I must have imagined it. No man here is dressed all in black like a preacher, and no one is sittin alone staring at me. And those unforgettable eyes! Surely I couldn't mistake those!" Shaking her head in rueful annoyance at herself, she caught Sam's eye, and pointed up to her room. He nodded and both smiled their "Good night" to each other,

As she passed between the tables, expertly avoiding the reaching hands, one quiet man carefully raised his head just enough for his piercing yellow-green eyes to see from under the brim of his sharply tilted black hat. He sat with eight other cowhands, tightly crowded in together, the mug of beer between his hands warm and untasted.

"I need to be more careful. She thought she saw me, if only for one careless moment." Even in the noisy room, his sharp ears listened for the woman's light footsteps, and he counted then until he heard a door softly close. Slowly, an irresistible plan began to brew in his mind.

To be continued.