My Eternal Portion
A Gunsmoke
Story
By Amanda
(MAHC)
“Hatred and
vengeance, my eternal portion,
Scarce can
endure delay of execution:
Wait, with
impatient readiness, to seize my
Soul in a moment.”
The Task
William
Cower (1731-1800)
Chapter One: Delay of Execution
POV: Billy
Justus
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Author’s
Notes: I’ve been kicking this idea
around for a while. It will only have
about three or four chapters, nothing too much in depth. Probably more like an episode than an
epic. Still, hope you enjoy it!
It was
time. Hard to believe,
really. He had waited so long,
had lived out this moment over and over in his dreams, night after night. He almost wanted to slow time down so he could savor it, suddenly considering what would happen
when it was over, what would drive him then.
Shaking his head, he cleared his mind of the visions and set to the
task. He couldn’t let foolish notions
ruin the plan. Planting firmly in the
dirt of the street, he eyed the broad back as the man crossed a few hundred
feet away. He would call his name to get
him to turn. Whatever else he was, Billy
Justus was no back shooter. His hand
twitched over his holster. One more
beat.
“Dillon!”
The big man
turned, his hand already at his gun, but Billy had the advantage of knowing
what was happening. He had drawn and
aimed even as the name was called out.
He wanted to paint this picture in his mind for years to come, to sooth
him in his old age, to pleasure him in un-pleasurable moments.
Yes,
indeed. This had been a long time
coming. His hunger was great, but
vengeance was a tasty dish.
XXXX
Billy
Justus peered out the open windows of the stage, brushing a hand across his
mouth in a futile attempt to keep from eating too much dust. The scene outside had changed drastically as
soon as they entered the outskirts of town.
Buildings still framed by raw, unpainted wood told of rapid growth. Constant movement along the boardwalks and
through the dirt streets gave the impression of a city on the rise. Of course, Billy already knew to expect this. He had spent the past month reading
everything he could get his hands on about
If he was
inclined to find a place where he could seek his fortune, Dodge might just be
the place. But Billy Justus hadn’t come
to Dodge to seek a fortune, or even just to see the sights. Except for one sight, and he didn’t expect to
see it for very long.
The stage
lurched to a stop outside a hotel whose sign proclaimed it to be the Dodge
House. Like a gentlemen, Billy tipped
his hat to the two ladies who had shared the coach with him from Garden City,
and stepped out first, reaching back to assist their egress. For his troubles, he received two flirtatious
smiles, which would have been more welcome if the women had an ounce of pretty
between them. As it was, he nodded,
grabbed his carpetbag, and stepped behind the coach, not waiting to see if they
were disappointed.
His eyes
automatically began scanning the citizens of the town, a challenging task since
there were quite a few. But the citizen
he was looking for in particular wouldn’t be hard to spot. Ten years was a long time, but he figured not
so long that a tree of a man didn’t still stretch right up into the sky.
No sir, not
hard to spot, at all.
Cautioning
himself to remain patient, he headed toward the Dodge House for a room. He didn’t have much money, but that didn’t
matter. He wouldn’t need the
accommodations long.
XXXX
Feet
propped on the porch railing of the Dodge House, Billy peered down
There were
differences he noted right off, the main one being the fancy mirror behind the
bar. Other subtle touches told him maybe
Old Bill wasn’t around anymore – or maybe the fellow had gotten himself
hitched. This place had the touch of a
woman.
A couple of
card games seemed to be in full swing, friendly looking. Not his type.
Six or seven cowboys perched at the bar, the dust of the trail still
thick on them. He’d tried his hand as a
drover once, and that had been more than enough to let him know his talents lay
elsewhere. Of course, in hindsight,
maybe he’d have been better off on the open plains than caged in that hellhole
for more than a decade. Resentment
boiled up inside him, and he fought to push it back down. There would be time for that later, when he
faced Dillon again, when he needed that hatred to fuel his actions, to destroy
the man who had destroyed him.
“Evenin’ Miss Kitty.”
Justus
lifted his head at the bartender’s greeting, ear pricking with the name. Kitty. Ten years was not so long that he didn’t
remember The Long Branch’s prettiest girl.
It didn’t take more than a quick glance to see that she could still
claim that title, although he would definitely have to refer to her as a woman
now. He frowned in disappointment at the
change in her clothing, though. A
much-too-conservative white blouse and plain skirt did more than they should of
hiding of the figure he could see was still there.
“Evenin’, Sam,” she returned, her voice a little lower, a
little huskier. He liked it. “Been a good night?”
“Yes, ma’am. With the herds in town, we’re
seeing quite a bit of business.”
“Hey! How ‘bout a beer over here?”
Justus
leaned against the counter and watched as one of the grimy, drunken cowhands
waved a gun in the air.
“Calm down,
mister,” the bartender warned. “I think
maybe you’ve had enough beer for tonight.”
“Hell no!”
the drover protested. “I’ll have as many
beers as I want. And if you won’t give ‘em to me, I’ll talk to the owner.”
To Justus’
surprise, Kitty stepped forward calmly.
“I’m the owner, mister. And
you’ve had enough beer for tonight.”
He felt his
jaw drop and made a conscious effort to close his mouth. She was the owner now? Well, would wonders never cease? That made for a right interesting side note
to his visit. He wondered if he’d have
time before he confronted Dillon – time to get to know Miss Kitty a little
better.
If he had
expected any protest from the cowboy, he was disappointed. The man backed down in the face of her strong
stance. “I wuz
just tryin’ to have a good time,” he mumbled sadly.
“You go on
to bed and come back tomorrow night, and you can have some more fun,” Kitty
assured him, her tone patient, almost amused.
With a
grunt, he stumbled through the swinging doors, followed by two comrades who were
either thoughtful enough to see him to bed or broke enough to be done for the
night themselves.
“Thought we
might need the marshal,” the bartender said, smiling.
As if he
had just leaped into a winter pond, Justus’ blood froze in his veins at the mention
of the law.
Kitty
sniffed. “For him? He’s just blowing off steam. We’ll let Matt take the hard stuff.”
Billy swallowed, whether in relief or in regret he wasn’t sure. He had envisioned this trip for so long, had
anticipated his moment of victory, that it didn’t quite seem real anymore. Matt Dillon.
The man had lived ten years longer than Justus had wanted, but his time
would soon be up.
“What hard
stuff?”
The deep
tone spun Justus around so that he stared at the doors of the saloon, stared at
the huge man who filled the whole frame, stared at what had brought him back to
Dodge.
He had been
right. Dillon still stood halfway to the
sky, legs long, shoulders broad. If anything, he was even bigger than Justus
remembered. The years had only served to
make him more formidable. Shaking off
the momentary uncertainty, Justus tugged his hat down a bit and watched as the
marshal strode across the floor and stopped in front of Kitty. He hoped ten years and a full beard were
enough to make him unrecognizable.
She smiled
up at him. “Oh, you know,
gunslingers and bank robbers. We’ll save
those for you. Sam and I can handle a
few ordinary drunks.”
“Ya can, can ya?” Dillon returned,
pushing his hat back to show a head full of thick hair that was still dark.
Justus
sipped on the beer the bartender had brought him and narrowed his eyes at the
two, watching the way she looked at the marshal – and the way he looked back at
her.
“Arright, mister!
Ain’t no city dude gonna cheat me!”
Chairs
scattered suddenly, crashing back and upsetting several glasses of beer. A stocky cowboy, just as rough and rowdy as
his companions, stood glaring at the man who sat across the table from him,
fancy coat and ruffled shirt supporting the assessment of his origin. Justus turned curiously, sliding down the bar
to avoid the imminent altercation.
“Now, hold
on.” Dillon stepped in front of Kitty,
his hands out toward the cowboy.
But his
attempt at settling things peacefully disintegrated a second later when the
angry man caught up his chair and swung it hard toward the marshal. Dillon tried to duck, but he was too tall to
get under the swing. Instead of catching
him on the shoulder, the chair smashed against the side of his head. With a grunt, the big man was flung back
against the bar, and his attacker turned the shattered remnants of his
impromptu weapon on the dude. Justus
grabbed his beer and retreated a little farther back to watch.
“Matt!” Kitty knelt next to Dillon, whose struggle to
rise was hindered somewhat by the blood that had begun to trail down the side
of his face.
General
chaos followed as the patrons took sides, randomly it seemed, and hurled
themselves at other bodies. Justus kept
an eye on the marshal, the fight, and his beer – in that order. Chairs flew, glasses crashed, and cowboys
swung. Just when Billy thought there was
no hope of stopping the melee, a gunshot exploded into the air.
Across the
bar, fists froze in various poised positions.
“Hold
it!” The bark was loud and demanding,
and all heads turned at the order.
Justus saw
that Dillon had regained his feet and now stood, legs braced wide, gun pointed
just over the heads of the brawlers.
Billy blinked in mild annoyance.
He hadn’t seen the marshal draw.
“All right,
that’s enough,” Dillon commanded through a grimace.
The fight
had stopped, but as Justus watched the tall lawman swaying on his feet, he
wondered how he planned to haul all of his violators off to jail. Then the doors to the
“Matthew,
you need enney hep?”
Dillon
lifted a hand to wipe at the free flow of blood over his left eye. Justus saw Kitty take hold of his arm to try
to steady him. “Take these men and lock
‘em up, Festus,” the marshal managed as a tall, thin
young man scrambled into the room, as well.
“Thad, you – help – “
“Matt!” the
Long legs
buckling, Dillon fell back against the bar.
The two men who had entered to help him rushed to his side, but the
marshal shook his head and waved them away.
“I’m – all right – get them – outta here – “
Of course,
to everyone who watched, it was apparent that he was not all right at all. Justus frowned, finding himself in the
strange situation of hoping the marshal wasn’t too badly injured. He wanted to exact his justice on a healthy,
worth adversary, not one that was weak and wounded.
“Sit down,
Matt,” Kitty urged gently but firmly, tugging at his arm. The marshal certainly looked as if he needed
to. His shirtfront was now soaked red
from the steady stream of blood down his face, and Billy speculated that if the
big lawman tried to push away from the bar he would find himself flat on the
floor. No, tonight wasn’t the night. He could wait if he had to.
“Matt,”
Kitty repeated, more forcefully this time.
“Sit down before you fall down.”
He turned
to her, and Justus noticed the unusual combination of exasperation and
gratitude on his face. With a reluctant
nod, the marshal rested his left hand on a chair back, bracing to lower his
tall frame into the seat. He didn’t make
it, though.
From the
corner of his eye, Justus saw a rough-hewn drover ease his pistol from his
holster. He was never sure how it
happened or what he had been thinking, but some instinct overtook him and he
yelled out, “Marshal!”
Dillon’s
gun leveled instantly and fired; the hapless would-be murderer was slammed back
over a table and slumped against the wall before his brain even registered that
he was dead.
The marshal
stood unmoving for another few seconds, pistol still trained on the fresh
corpse. When he lifted his gaze, his
eyes met Billy’s, and Justus froze, terrified that he would see recognition in
the cool blue that stared back at him, wondering if he should just jab his gun
into Dillon’s belly right then and be done with it.
But after a
couple of ragged breaths, the marshal nodded, gave him a pained smile, and
said, “Obliged.”
Heart
pounding, Justus swallowed and nodded back, tightening his eyes at the irony of
the moment. He had saved Matt Dillon’s
life just so he could take it himself later.
Dillon had gotten a reprieve, a delay to his execution.
But only a delay. Justus had waited ten
years. He could wait another few hours.
Chapter Two: With Impatient
Readiness
POV: Billy Justus
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
The
Still, it
had given him time to step back and take in the scenery. At the moment, the scenery was made up solely
of the striking woman who was seated with an older man at one of the back
tables. With a second look, Justus
realized it was Doc Adams, who had tended Dillon the night before. He sat a discrete distance from them,
seemingly lost in thought and beer.
Experience had taught him that a man could learn a great deal that way.
“ – go
back up later and sit with him,” Kitty was saying.
“Well,
he’ll be okay, but I doubt he’ll protest your company, Kitty,” the doctor
returned. Then he leaned closer. “He needs to rest, still, though.”
She scowled
at him. “Why, Doc, of course he’ll
rest. What do you think I’ll do?”
“It’s not
what I think you’ll do,” Doc told
her, raising his brow.
“Listen, I
can handle Matt Dillon.”
“Ya’ can, can ya’?”
At the
sound of the deep voice, Justus choked a bit on his beer and turned to see the
tall lawman standing at the swinging doors.
Except for the wide, white bandage around his head, he looked
none-the-worse-for-wear, smiling over at Kitty and the doctor.
“What in
thunder are you doin’ out of bed, Matt, much less
dressed and downstairs?” Doc growled, standing and confronting the marshal as if he had a
two-foot advantage instead of a two-foot deficit.
Dillon
shrugged gingerly and stepped into the saloon, his eyes tightening
slightly. Maybe not completely
none-the-worse-for-wear, Justus re-assessed.
“I’m fine,
Doc,” he protested, waving away the doctor’s steadying hand. “Just a little bump on the
head. Not like it hasn’t happened
before.” With caution, he pulled out a
chair and eased into it, not very successful at masking the grimace that
movement caused.
“Just a little bump on the head, huh?”
The marshal
winced. “I feel all right, Doc. Besides, I wasn’t doin’
any good lying in that bed.”
Apparently
sensing he wouldn’t win that particular argument, Dillon chose not to
answer. Instead, he sighed and turned
toward the woman at the table.
“Okay,
fine, then, “ Doc blustered, throwing up his hands and
shuffling toward the doors. “Maybe the next marshal will listen to his doctor.” They
could still hear him rumbling about stubborn lawmen as he ambled down the
street.
Justus
watched him go, then allowed a quick glance back at
the table. Kitty had scooted close to
the marshal, her slender hand resting lightly on his forearm. As they talked, Dillon leaned in closer, and
Billy got the distinct impression that, had they been alone, he would have
kissed her. He hadn’t heard anyone say
the marshal and saloon owner were married, didn’t see any wedding rings on
either of them, but they might as well be, judging from the heated looks they
exchanged.
He clicked
his tongue softly and stifled a strange thrill.
Miss Kitty would make a right pretty widow. Yessiree. Right
pretty.
Her voice
was low, but carried just enough so that Billy heard it. “I thought I left you in bed,” she told
Dillon, soft admonition in her tone.
The marshal
cleared his throat and glanced around.
Justus pretended to nod sleepily.
“I’d rather
you join me there, instead,” Dillon murmured back.
Billy
clamped down on the urge to stare at them as his suspicions were
confirmed. Ten years ago, he had sworn
Matt Dillon had no weaknesses – and maybe ten years ago he didn’t. But he sure enough had one now.
He chanced
a quick glance.
Kitty’s
eyes had grown sultry. “You would, huh?”
Dillon’s
gaze didn’t falter from hers. “I would.”
“Well,” she
conceded, “you do need to be in bed – “
Billy felt
a jolt of desire flash through him at the intonation. He would kill to have a woman look at him
that way, talk to him that way. He
suppressed a humorless chuckle – he was about to do just that.
Suddenly,
he didn’t want to wait; suddenly, the night lay too far in the future. Carefully, he dropped his hand to the side,
fingering the bit of leather that held his gun in place. Dillon seemed well enough this morning to
meet his opponent evenly, he justified.
Justus wouldn’t be taking advantage of a weaker man. His thumb brushed the butt of his pistol; his
finger slid down toward the trigger. He
would have to be careful, didn’t want to hit Miss Kitty. He had plans for her later.
“Matthew!”
Frowning,
Justus raised his head to see the scraggly deputy clang into the room. He eased his hand away from the gun and
continued sipping at his beer, swallowing hard to slow the furious pounding of
his heart.
“Festus,”
the marshal returned easily, unaware that he had been only seconds away from
death.
Festus
touched the brim of his soiled hat and nodded.
“Miz Kitty.”
“Mornin’ Festus,” she greeted, her lips turned up in an
amused smile. Billy allowed himself to
gaze at her beautiful face, fantasizing over how they would be together after
Dillon was gone.
“I thought
you wuz still ailin’,
Matthew,” the deputy frowned.
Dillon
pressed his lips together for a moment, then
sighed. “Not you,
too.”
“Wael, ol’ Doc sed
– “
“I don’t
care what ol’ Doc said, I’m fine.”
The deputy
studied his boss doubtfully. “If’n you say so. I
run inta Doc on th’ street, an’ he said you wuz
here. I jes
come ta tell ya ‘bout this chere telee-gram what come a few
minutes ago.” He waved a yellow piece of
paper in front of them.
“What’s it
say?” the marshal asked, eyes tightening.
Justus couldn’t tell if it was from pain or simply interest.
“’Course ya’ knowd I wouldn’t go around lookin’ at other folks’ messages – “
Kitty shook
her head. “What’s it say, Festus?”
He dropped
the pretense and bent forward, voice sharp.
“Dan Hillen’s escaped.”
The woman
turned toward Dillon and frowned. “Dan Hillen? Isn’t he
that gunfighter you sent off to prison last year, Matt?”
Without
looking at her, he nodded. “Yeah. You say he
escaped, Festus?”
“See, I
read in that telee-gram that’s the word th’ warden at the Territorial
Prison in
Kitty’s
brow rose. “You read?”
“Wael,” Festus admitted, “maybe Thad hepped
th’ least little bit. Ennyway, bin a week
or so. Thought you mite be interested.” He
leaned closer to Dillon. “You worried he
mite come after ya’, Matthew? He wuz shore hollerin’ ‘bout
getting’ back at ya’ after th’
trial.”
“Matt?”
Kitty squeezed his arm, alarm sweeping her features.
Straightening,
Dillon shook his head, stopping abruptly and wincing before he spoke. “Now, there’s no reason to think Hillen’s coming back here.
He’s probably high-tailin’ it ta’
“But he sed – “
“I know
what he said, Festus,” Dillon snapped, then caught himself
and continued more calmly. “Listen, I’ll
head back to the jail, and you tell Thad to keep an eye out for any new folks
coming into town.”
“We’ll do ‘er, Matthew.”
Bracing a
hand on the table, Dillon pushed his tall form up from the chair, throwing a
slight smile down to Kitty. “I’ll see
you later – “
But he
didn’t finish. Instead, he brought a
hand up to his head as he stumbled a step or two
forward. Instantly, Kitty rose, and
Festus lunged for him, but the big man was too heavy for them. Instinctively, and inexplicably, Justus
jumped from his own chair and caught the man’s wide shoulders, lending his own
strength to the others’ to steady him.
From the close vantage, he saw the sheen of perspiration on the
marshal’s forehead.
“Matt,
please – “ Kitty urged.
Teeth
gritted, the marshal allowed them to ease him back into the chair he had just
left.
“You are
undoubtedly the most stubborn man I have ever known,” Kitty complained, but
Justus saw the concern on her pretty face.
“I told you – “
“I know,”
Dillon acknowledged, catching his breath.
“You told me.” Raising his head,
he looked up at Justus. “It appears I’m
obliged again, mister,” he breathed.
Disgusted
with himself, and still worried that the marshal would recognize him, Billy
dropped his gaze and cleared his throat.
“It’s arright,” he mumbled.
“I’ll get
Doc,” Festus announced, disappearing through the doors before the marshal could
protest.
“How about a drink, Cowboy?” Kitty offered, sliding her hand along his shoulder and
squeezing gently.
Dillon nodded
and closed his eyes. “I could use
one.” When she had slipped behind the
bar, he opened them again and returned his attention to Billy. “You know,” he said, voice tight against the
pain, “I don’t think I ever heard your name, mister.”
No, Justus
thought. Not in ten years anyway. He suppressed the mild panic that fluttered
in his gut. “It’s – uh – it’s William. William Ju –
Jones,” he stammered, remembering the name he had used on the Dodge House
register. “William Jones.”
“Well,
Mister Jones,” Dillon said, thrusting out a hand, “Thanks again.”
With only a
momentary hesitation, Justus took the huge hand and shook it, marveling at the
strange and ironic turn of events. He
wondered what Dillon would do when they faced each other for the final moment,
wondered if the marshal would feel foolish for having trusted the man who was
about to kill him, wondered if Miss Kitty would fight him too much when he
claimed his right to her as spoils.
The
marshal’s cool blue eyes narrowed suddenly and he peered more closely at
Justus’ face. “We, uh, we haven’t met
before, have we?” he asked.
Billy
stiffened, envisioning his hand dropping to his gun. “No.
No, I don’t think so.”
“You’ve
never been to Dodge before?” Dillon wondered.
Deflecting
the question, Justus said, “I’m from
“
Justus
swallowed. Why had he chosen
“What about
Dick Weylinger?”
Billy shook
his head. “No, can’t say as I do, but I
left there when I was just a young’un. Hadn’t had no real
home since.”
Kitty
returned with a whiskey and set it on the table. Dillon turned his attention from Justus and
smiled up at her. “Where are you staying
while you’re in Dodge, Mister Jones?” she asked.
Silently,
he thanked her for the distraction, deciding not to follow through with his
mental image. “I stayed at the Dodge
House last night, but I’m a little short on cash to keep that room. Figured I’d try a boarding
house for tonight.”
“How long
are you planning to stay?” Dillon wondered, taking a careful swallow of the
whiskey.
Billy
shrugged, trying to keep his nerves from exploding. “Another day or so. Depends on – well, just depends.”
The doors
to the saloon swung open again and a visibly agitated physician re-entered,
shadowed by the deputy. “What good is a
doctor if the patient just ignores his advice?
I told you you’d end up on the floor of the
The marshal
flushed and grimaced. “I just got a
little dizzy, Doc. Nothin’ big.”
“Nothing big except that stubborn streak of yours.
You understand you have a concussion, right? You understand that means that dense brain of
yours slammed against your skull and is basically bruised? You understand that another concussion too
soon could kill you?”
They all
stared at him, even Justus, who had never heard exactly what a concussion
was. Despite himself, he winced.
Smoothly,
Kitty stepped in front of the marshal, almost as if she were protecting him
from the angry physician. “He didn’t
pass out, Doc. Just
got dizzy. He promised me he’s
going to go back to bed.”
Dillon
opened his mouth to protest, but one look from Kitty shut it again, and he
nodded reluctantly. Justus marveled at
the power this slender female had over such a man. Yes, Matt Dillon did, indeed, have a
weakness.
“Well,” Doc
hedged, “if you’re goin’ back to bed – “
“He is,”
Kitty affirmed confidently, shooting another glance at the marshal, who could
only wince in acquiescence. “Can you
help him, Festus?” Kitty asked the deputy, then
surveyed the empty saloon until her eyes lit on Billy. “And you, too, Mister Jones?”
“I don’t
need – “ the marshal started to say as he stood, but
stopped abruptly and pressed a hand against the bandage. A small stain of red had appeared.
“We’ll git him thar, Miz
Kitty,” Festus assured her, beckoning to Justus to help.
Unable to
do anything else, he took the marshal’s right arm as the deputy caught the
left, wondering if they actually had any chance of helping the giant of a man
if he really did pass out. Fortunately,
with Doc Adams’ supervision, Dillon was able to manage mostly on his own, and
they deposited him safely on the narrow cot in the jail – a compromise to
returning to the physician’s clutches.
For a
moment, Justus peered at the man lying wounded on the bed. It would be so easy; just one shot would do
it. His finger itched to pull the
trigger. But his sense of fair play kept
his gun in the holster. Surely Dillon
would be better that night and more of a worthy opponent. Besides, Billy figured graciously, a man
ought to have a full day, if it was going to be his last.
As he
stepped onto
Life was a
peculiar journey.
XXXX
The Dodge
House provided an almost adequate respite from the heat of the day. Fingering the few remaining coins in his
pocket, Justus sighed and stepped to the counter.
“Good day
to you, Mister Jones,” the clerk greeted.
“Howdy. What time is check out?”
“Are you leaving
us so soon?”
Justus
flushed. “Your rates are a little stiff
for a drifter, if you know what I mean.
Is there a good boardin’ house in town?”
The thin
man frowned. “Well, there’s Ma
Smalley’s, but there’s no need for you to go anywhere.”
“Kain’t you hear, mister?” Billy said, irritated. “I ain’t got enough
money to – “
“But you’re
paid up through the end of the week,” the clerk told him.
“What?”
“Your bill
is paid through Saturday night.”
“I don’t
understand.”
“Miss
Russell, the owner of the
He frowned,
confused. “She paid for my room?”
“Through Saturday.”
“Why?”
“Well,
you’d have to ask her that,” the clerk smiled, “but I have a feeling it has to
do with you saving Marshal Dillon’s life last night.”
Justus bit
his lip. “Why would she – “
The clerk
leaned over conspiratorially and whispered, “They don’t make much over it
publicly, but let’s just say the marshal and Miss Kitty are – friends.” His eyes widened behind the small spectacles
he wore. “Real good friends,” he added pointedly.
Not letting
on that he had already figured that bit of information out, Billy touched his
hand to his hat and smiled. “Well, in
that case, I guess I’ll just have to be obliged to Miss Kitty.”
The clerk
smiled back, happy in his bit of gossip and pleased to keep a customer.
XXXX
As he lay
in his bed that afternoon, absently braiding strands of rawhide, Billy
contemplated the confusing developments.
Kitty was grateful to him for saving Dillon’s life, even to the point
where she paid for his room. That was
promising, but what would she think when he killed her marshal? For the first time, Justus’ carefully
constructed plan developed a crack. It
was mighty appealing to think that Miss Kitty could feel kindly toward him, but
that was something that would certainly change if his bullet blasted a hole
through that big lawman’s chest.
No, she
might not appreciate him so much then.
Closing his
eyes, he let his thoughts bump around, searching for a better solution. After a few moments, he opened them again and
pursed his lips in satisfaction. What if
he could kill Dillon without anyone knowing he had done it? What if he could make it look like someone
else did it? Then maybe Miss Kitty
wouldn’t hate him; on the contrary, she would be a widow – or bereft lover,
anyway – in need of comfort. And he
would be happy to provide solace for her.
There was
just one hitch. Where would he find a
scapegoat to be the murderer of Matt Dillon?
Chapter Three: To Seize My Soul
POV: Billy
Justus
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
Justus
surveyed
“Miss
Kitty?” he asked tentatively, holding his hat in his hand
She turned,
and Justus felt as if the world had stopped spinning, and everything froze
except her smile, her eyes.
“Well,
hello, Mister Jones,” she greeted.
“Ma’am,” he
managed. He hoped she wouldn’t grieve
over Dillon too long. He really didn’t
favor hurting her.
Her smile
faded a little, her brow drew down. “You all right?”
Get ahold of yourself, Billy, he scolded. She’s just a woman. But even as he thought it, he knew he was
wrong. She wasn’t just a woman. Kitty Russell was definitely not just a
woman.
“Yes,
ma’am,” he assured her, “I’m fine. I
just – I just come by ta’ thank you for my room, but
there wasn’t really no need – “
Her hand
waved away his gratitude. “Yes, there
was. You did the marshal – and me – a
good deed, two good deeds, really. A few
days rent doesn’t much stack up to a life saved.”
He didn’t
have to work too hard to blush in the face of her gushing. “Well, I’m just happy things ended up okay,”
he professed.
“Sam,”
Kitty called, turning toward the bar, “bring Mister
Jones a beer.”
Justus
tried to refuse, but the cool, foaming liquid convinced him not to put too much
effort into it. To his delight, Kitty
sat next to him at the only open table in the room.
“Did I hear
you tell Matt – the marshal – you’re from
God, he
hoped she didn’t know anybody from there.
Why hadn’t he chosen some place in the middle of
“You sure
drifted through Dodge at the right time,” Kitty said.
“I guess
so.,” he conceded, then asked casually, “How’s, uh, how’s the marshal tonight?”
Kitty shook
her head. “Doc’s keeping him to his promise to stay in bed.”
“Peers to me that was your
promise.” The words were out before he could stop them.
In a heartbeat,
blue eyes narrowed, and he had to leap over a surge of panic as he scrambled to
explain. “I mean,” he clarified, “you
told the doctor he was headed that way this morning, didn’t you?” He certainly didn’t want her to know he had
overheard her conversation with Dillon.
Besides, he really hadn’t meant it that way, anyway.
Slowly, her
frown relaxed. “Yeah.”
Swallowing
back the near disaster, he let a few seconds pass before he spoke again. “The marshal’s a little stubborn, I take it.”
Kitty laughed
ruefully. “You have no idea.”
Justus
thought back ten years to weeks of relentless tracking through the dry,
scorched prairie of
“Can I buy
you a beer, ma’am?” he offered gallantly, even though he wouldn’t have had
enough money for his own drink if she hadn’t offered him one for free.
With a
knowing smile, she placed her hands on the tabletop, as if she were about to
rise. “Thanks, but I need to get back to
the inventory.”
Before she
could push herself up, though, he noted, as if it had just occurred to him, “I ain’t seen nobody in particular
with the marshal. He got himself a
wife?”
A flicker
of something that resembled regret crossed her face before she covered it. After only a slight hesitation, she said,
“No.”
“Just as
well, I suppose. Figure it’s not fair
for a lawman ta’ make a woman and kids go through the
sufferin’ of knowin’ any
day he could come up dead.” He shook his
head sadly and let his eyes cut toward her.
Her lips
pressed together tightly for a moment.
Then, with a deep breath, she asked. “Do you have a family, Mister
Jones?”
“Oh, no,
ma’am,” he smiled, careful to allow an edge of remorse into his tone. “Hadn’t settled down long enough ta’ find anyone.”
Then, he gave her a shy smile.
“’Course, things change. I ain’t got the obligations of a lawman. I wouldn’t expect no woman ta’ wait around for me ta’ die.”
He had
expected a frown, perhaps, maybe a wince, but her response was neither of
those. In fact, it was just the
opposite: a smile. A smile so warm, so
inviting that he was taken aback at the depth of welcome in her eyes. He started to say something, wondered if he
might be spending the night upstairs at the
Then he
realized with a pang that her gaze was not aimed at him at all, but just past
him toward the entrance of the saloon.
Turning, he felt his heart kick cruelly when he saw who had elicited
that enviable expression.
Matt Dillon
stood in the doorway, his lips curved slightly in a responding smile, his eyes locked with hers for a brief moment before
he pushed through the swinging doors and stepped down into the room. Justus saw that the marshal had abandoned the
bandages wrapping his head for a smaller patch that rested over his eye. He was hatless still, his thick hair curling
in haphazard scatters over his forehead.
With a nod,
he approached their table. “Kitty,” he
greeted casually as if there were nothing more than mild acquaintance between
them. “Mister Jones.”
“Marshal,”
Justus returned, deciding not to stand.
Dillon was a good foot taller than him.
He didn’t need to be reminded of the big man’s physical advantage. Besides, in a little while, the only person
worried about how tall the marshal was would be the undertaker who had to
measure him for his coffin.
Kitty’s
smile widened, and she reached out to touch Dillon’s arm. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,”
he assured her. “Mind if I join you?”
Forcing
pleasantness he didn’t feel, Justus gestured grandly. “By all means.”
“How are
you today, Mister Jones?” Dillon asked, settling into a chair that groaned a
bit in protest of the solid frame that tested it.
Justus
nodded. “Just fine, Marshal. You’re lookin’ a
little fitter this evenin’.” He had taken a few close glances and decided
Dillon did, indeed, look much better.
His color was back, and only the reddish-purple bruise and the white
bandage it spread from were indications that he was injured at all.
Dillon
didn’t answer. Instead, he turned his
smile again on Kitty, and Justus felt a stab of something akin to jealousy at
the intimacy that leaped between them.
Knowing emotion could only lead to failure, he
cleared his throat and continued.
“Maybe the
cowboys won’t be so rowdy tonight.”
“Maybe,”
the marshal agreed, dragging his gaze away from Kitty’s. Justus noted that she let her eyes linger on
the big lawman several more seconds before she, too, let her attention shift.
“Between
you and Mister Jones, here,” she laughed, “I figure we’re in good hands.”
Billy found
himself flattered, and momentarily succumbed to the warm feeling before he
forced it back down. Emotion, he
reminded himself, was dangerous.
“Hey! I said gimmee
another beer!”
Their
attention was drawn to another ragged drover, one Justus recognized as a friend
of the previous night’s rabble rouser, his fist pounding without much rhythm
against the bar in front of Sam. The
bartender had removed an empty glass from the counter, and was apparently
refusing to refill it. Smoothly, Kitty
rose to address the issue.
“Kitty – “ Dillon began, but stopped when she gave a subtle shake of
her head.
“Problem,
Sam?” she asked, sliding her hand down the bar and she walked toward the
drunken man.
“This
fellow ain’t takin’ no for
an answer, Miss Kitty,” the weathered bartender told her.
The drover
slapped the counter. “I ain’t!” he confirmed.
“I wannaotherbeer!”
“Why don’t
you go on back to your room, mister,” she suggested, voice calm and even.
He took a
step toward her. At the same moment,
Dillon’s broad back straightened, and Justus watched him tense to rise.
Kitty
didn’t flinch. “Well, you’re not getting
one tonight. Not in the
The man’s
growl barely preceded the action, but it was enough for the marshal, who was
out of his chair and in front of Kitty before the man’s hand could come
down. Instead of leaning forward to slap
the woman, he found himself flying across the saloon, slamming against the
steps in front of the swinging doors.
Justus couldn’t help but smile at the complete astonishment on the idiot’s
face.
The marshal
had barely straightened from delivering the powerful backhand when a second
cowboy jerked up a chair and swung it toward him. But Dillon was ready. Not ducking this time, he snapped one hand up
and caught the chair leg as it arced toward him, stopping it with a sudden, sure
grab, then jerking chair and cowboy over the table and
onto the floor beyond. Stunned, the
would-be brawler blinked his eyes once before his head thunked
back against the wall and he lay, subdued, waiting for someone to drag him to a
cell adjoining his equally hapless friend.
Too drunk
or too stupid to take note of his friends’ failures, a third drover growled and
snatched at his gun. Justus’ eyes
widened as he saw the blur of the marshal’s hand sweep his own pistol easily
from its holster. In the space between
breaths, two shots rang out. The cowboy
fired first, but he was too hasty and his shot damaged nothing but the mirror
behind the bar. Dillon’s followed so
quickly it sounded almost like an echo of the first and found its target with
accustomed and deadly accuracy.
The dying
man used his last ounce of consciousness to stare down at the blossoming
crimson that covered his chest. Then he
dropped to the floor.
Pressing
his lips together in a conflict of resolve and regret, the marshal replaced his
gun in the holster and leaned back. The
room hung in stunned silence for a full minute, dozens of eyes shifting from
the three men sprawled about the room to the one man still standing. Dillon hadn’t been particularly slow before,
but Justus observed that ten years had added almost unnatural speed to the
marshal’s draw.
Slowly, the
crowd breathed easier, and the normal background noises returned; customers
turned back to their beer and poker, content to let the evening progress
without further conflict.
“Matt?” Kitty stepped next to the marshal, laying her
hand gently on his arm.
“I’m okay,
Kitty,” he assured her quietly, as if he had answered that question before.
Billy took
in the scene with more than a little awe.
Dillon stood, tall, commanding, seemingly without a hint of his earlier
weakness. Upon closer inspection,
however, Justus could see the perspiration beaded again on his forehead, could
detect a bit of labor in his breathing.
The man needed to sit, but Justus didn’t figure Matt Dillon would let up
until he had the situation well in hand.
At another place, another time, he considered that he might have had a
certain admiration for the lawman.
Dillon had sand, he’d give him that.
Only a day after getting smashed against the head, he braved the same
possibility and emerged not only unscathed, but more formidable than ever.
Yes sir, he
had sand – as well as two other characteristics Billy admired the most: skill and damn good taste in women.
Ruthlessly
clamping down on that dangerous chink in his shield of revenge, Justus dug down
to feel again the pain of years of misery in prison, the ache of months of
careful planning committed to repaying Dillon for the waste of a decade of his
life – his youth. Perhaps Matt Dillon
could have been spared in another life, but in this life, Billy Justus had put
to much effort into his demise. Still,
it had become alarmingly obvious that Dillon’s talents presented an obstacle to
Billy’s goal. The only way to get the
advantage over the lawman was for him to be taken by surprise – or even better,
taken by someone else.
“Matt?” The tall, thin young man from the day before
stood in the doorway, one eyebrow raised. He must have heard the commotion from
outside.
“Haul those
two off to the jailhouse for me, will ya’, Thad?”
Dillon asked, hooking his thumbs in his gunbelt. He
lifted a chin toward the dead man. “And
take him to Percy Crump’s.”
“Yes, sir,”
Thad nodded, reaching down to jerk the first drunk off the floor.
“We’ll git that thar feller ta’ Percy’s fer ya, Marshal,” two other patrons offered, eager to separate
themselves from the lawbreakers.
Dillon
nodded to them. “Thanks.”
In a
moment, the only evidence that the drovers had even been there were the
shattered remnants of the chair one of them had tried to clobber Matt Dillon
with and the smear of blood that the bartender had already begun mopping up.
“Let’s sit
down,” Kitty suggested, smoothing her hair with one hand and taking Dillon’s
arm with the other.
The marshal
took a breath, nodded, and lowered himself back into a chair. Billy watched him closely, noted the quick
grimace Dillon couldn’t quite avoid, the long fingers pressing against the
bandage, spotted again with red.
“You okay?”
Justus asked, surprised at himself that the sincerity
didn’t have to be forced.
Immediately,
the marshal dropped his hand, as if suddenly aware that it was evidence of his
pain. Staring across the room to the
bartender’s mopping, he shrugged. “Yeah.” Then, Billy
saw another kind of pain flicker across his rugged features. “Needless,” he mumbled.
“Sir?”
“Needless,”
Dillon repeated. “That
man’s death. If he just hadn’t
drawn – “
Genuinely
confused, Justus said, “You couldn’t do nothin’
else. He was gonna kill ya.”
Those blue
eyes lifted to look right at him, and he almost reeled from the regret that
filled them. “Why? Over a beer? Over pride?”
Justus
stared at the marshal, seeing, for the first time, someone besides the iconic
lawman who had become the epitome of his nemesis over the past decade. He was disturbed to feel something too close
to sympathy with him.
Without
apparent concern about propriety, Kitty reached up and let her fingers touch
the stained bandage over the marshal’s eye.
“That doesn’t look too good, Matt,” she said, her voice carrying both
concern and reprimand. More softly, she
suggested, “Why don’t you go lie down for a while. You can use my room – “
“I’m fine,”
he returned quickly – too quickly to convince anyone.
Frowning,
Kitty shook her head. “I
swear, you are absolutely infuriating.”
Billy found
himself grinning at her futile efforts, remembering her rueful comment about
the marshal’s stubbornness. Then,
realizing what he was doing, he gritted his teeth in anger at his own weakness
and looked away. He was getting too
close, too involved. Damn Dillon. Damn Kitty Russell for complicating his plan,
for making him want her. And damn that idiot cowboy for smashing a
chair against the marshal’s head and keeping him from taking care of business
as soon as he had arrived in Dodge.
A
semi-talented piano player clanged out mostly-recognizable songs; glasses
clinked against rings, poker chips, and themselves; chatter grew in volume as
the crowd returned to normal.
Suddenly,
Kitty dropped her voice and clutched at the marshal’s sleeve. “Matt,” she whispered, nodding toward the
entrance.
Justus’
eyes automatically lit on the man who pushed through the swinging doors. There was something that drew attention, that declared he was one to be reckoned
with. He stepped up to the bar and
ordered a whiskey, his voice sharp, all business.
The man was
slight, clad completely in black with a Mexican-style flat hat hovering low
over his eyes. Kitty’s hand closed over
Dillon’s forearm as she stared at the new customer. The marshal had turned slowly, and Justus
couldn’t see his expression, but he saw hard muscles tense across broad
shoulders.
“Don’t,
Matt,” Kitty warned, her eyes pleading.
He rose
anyway and took two steps toward the bar.
If the man saw him, he gave no indication of it.
“Hillen,” Dillon called after another few seconds, his voice
dangerously quiet.
After a
moment of frantic footsteps while men dashed out of the line of fire, the room
collapsed into silence once again.
The man
didn’t turn. “Marshal.”
“What’re
you doin’ in Dodge?”
Hillen
took a sip of his whiskey and continued to stare ahead. “Just visitin’. Didn’t know there was a law
against that.”
“There’s
not,” the marshal responded, “but there is law against breaking out of prison.”
“That so?”
Hillen asked.
“That’s
so.”
Finally,
the smaller man let his head shift toward their table. “Some men’ll do a
lot to pay back a debt. And I owe you
one, that’s for sure, Marshal.”
Justus’
eyes widened as he considered the irony in Hillen’s
comment.
Dillon
braced himself, hands at his sides.
“Don’t be a fool, Hillen. You give up and I’ll tell the judge you went
back voluntarily.”
The
fugitive laughed, a harsh grunt. “I’ll probably go back, all right,” he
admitted, “but it ain’t gonna be voluntarily.”
Slowly, he
turned so that he faced the marshal squarely.
Dillon’s arms hung loosely, fingers spread slightly in the familiar
posture of the draw.
Justus let
his gaze slide between the two men, his blood flowing warm with sudden
enlightenment. This was it. It was perfect, of course. Hillen would solve
his problem and never be the wiser. If
he was lucky, Dillon would take the other man down just as he breathed his own
last breath.
And Billy
Justus would have his vengeance – and his woman.
Chapter Four: In a Moment
POV: Billy
Justus
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
For one of
the few times in its already legendary existence, the Long Branch Saloon was
completely silent. Even though the place
was packed with customers, not a muscle twitched, not a throat cleared. All eyes were glued to the scene that played
out before them, a scene that was not unusual to Dodge: Marshal Dillon facing
down a gunslinger. Normally, that ended
in the quick and efficient demise of the gunslinger. But this time was different. This time it had only been 24 hours since
they had seen the lawman collapse onto that very floor. This time, he still bore the bandage and
wound that served as evidence of a head injury serious enough to put him to bed
– where he most likely should still have been.
This time, they understood all too well that the outcome might not be
quite so certain.
The two men
stood, one slight and short, one broad and tall,
squared off, hands dangling near holsters, guns waiting to be snatched first,
to be fired first. Justus held his
breath with the others, the culmination of ten years of planning and waiting
mere seconds away. He almost couldn’t
believe it.
He wanted
to look at Kitty’s face, wanted to judge how she felt, what she might need when
it was all over and Dillon lay dead at her feet. But he couldn’t spare a glance, couldn’t risk
missing the moment.
Another
second passed. Then
another. He was behind the
marshal, and couldn’t read his eyes, but Hillen’s
flamed for just a moment, and Justus knew he was about to draw. It was time.
“Matthew, I
heerd – “
The voice
snapped the tense silence like the sharp twang of a broken guitar string. Hillen’s head
jerked around toward the door where Dillon’s deputy stood. Before he could blink, Justus watched the
room explode into action. Hillen ducked behind an unsuspecting patron, gun suddenly
in his hand and firing toward Festus Haggen. The bullet pinged off the doorway, sending
splinters of wood into the air.
Spinning to
look at Dillon, Justus saw that the marshal’s pistol was up and aimed, but he
couldn’t get a clear shot at Hillen, who was now
inadvertently protected by innocent townspeople. Teeth gritted, Billy realized he was losing
his moment.
Desperate,
he called out, “Hillen!” in hopes that the outlaw
would turn back and fire toward the marshal.
His plan
worked, but not quite as he envisioned it.
As he scrambled through the swinging doors, Hillen
swung his arm around and aimed, but the barrel was pointed at the sound instead
of the man, and Justus found himself staring straight down that tunnel of
black. Well, damn! This was not how he wanted it to end – not at
all.
The gun
fired, and Justus briefly closed his eyes, cursing his luck. All that planning, all
those year of waiting – gone in an instant of chance. But instead of the sharp pain of the bullet,
or the explosive darkness that would follow, he opened his eyes to find a
massive body hurling itself in front of him, a solid barrier between him and
death. Stunned, he watched as Matt
Dillon dived across his path, his pistol blazing in the general direction of
where Hillen had stood. But his mark found only empty air as the
gunman threw himself out into the night.
The big
man’s momentum took him on past Justus, and he crashed hard into a gaming
table, its top and legs shattering around him.
Looking up, Billy saw the deputy recover and sprint after Hillen. Several other
customers headed outside, as well, but a few turned back toward the figure now
lying sprawled amid the mangled pieces of wood and green felt.
Shaking
himself back to action, Justus stepped over the debris and touched the
marshal’s shoulder, dragging him partially onto his back. The sight of crimson on the light blue shirt
electrified him. Even though he had
wanted it to happen, he found it hard to believe. Hillen had actually
shot Matt Dillon. It was over. Just like that, ten years worth of vengeance
was over –
“Matt!” Kitty’s cry broke the silence as she stumbled
through the mess and fell to her knees at the marshal’s side.
Her hands
ran over the bloody shirt, tearing at the cloth to get to the wound. The sheer panic and pain in her eyes struck
Justus suddenly, twisted uncomfortably in his heart. He had not expected to feel sympathy for her,
had only planned to take advantage of her grief – after an appropriate period
of mourning, of course.
Still,
maintaining his role as innocent bystander, he peered curiously over her
shoulder and watched as she jerked open Dillon’s shirt, unconcerned as buttons
flew. Pushing the material away, she
hitched up the hem of her dress and wiped at the flow of blood from his left
side. Justus managed to look past the
shapely legs the move revealed, but he couldn’t tell how bad the wound
was. Dillon looked ashen, though, making
the bruising on his forehead stand out even more against skin that was
uncharacteristically pale.
He blew out
a breath as the shock of the moment settled over him and he realized that it
could have very well been him lying there staining Kitty’s skirt with his
blood. If Dillon hadn’t leaped in front
of him –
Damn.
He stared
ahead, comprehension slamming into him abruptly. Matt Dillon had saved his life. He had thrown himself in front of the sure
death that sped from the end of Hillen’s gun, placing
his own life in jeopardy and taking a bullet that would have unquestionably
gone right through Billy’s heart.
He fought
against the unexpected conflict inside him, shook his head at the irony that –
against all his plans – Dillon himself might have fulfilled his mission for
him. He stood, staring, unable to move,
as voices called for Doc, as Kitty ripped the hem from her skirt and pressed it
against the marshal’s side in a vain effort to staunch the generous flow of
blood. All this because Dillon had
leaped in front of that bullet, had saved his life. And now he was dead for it. It wasn’t conceivable.
But a
closer look showed that the wide chest still moved, rising and falling as the
lungs continued to work. He wasn’t dead – not yet, anyway.
“Did it
come out?” Billy found himself asking.
Kitty
looked up, and he swallowed at the fear in her eyes. “What?”
“Did the
bullet go through?”
Understanding,
she quickly slid her hand around the marshal’s side, pulling back to reveal
fingers coated in blood.
Justus
nodded. “That’s probably good,
then.” If he didn’t
bleed out, of course.
“Where is
he?”
They turned
at the sharp bark from the door to see Doc Adams, in as much of a hurry as he
could get, coming down the steps, hatless and coatless, but bag in hand.
“Here,
Doc,” Kitty called.
But before
Putting her
hand on his shoulder, Kitty ordered, “You stay right there, Matt. Doc’s here, and you
just stay right there.”
“Hillen,” he managed through gritted teeth. Awake and talking.
“Gone,”
Billy supplied.
Amazingly,
Dillon braced his right hand on the ground and pressed his left hand against
the wound at his side. Gasping, he
struggled to sit.
Her voice
furious, Kitty snapped, “Where do you think you’re goin’,
mister?”
“I’m – okay
– “ the marshal insisted, grimacing hard and
convincing no one at all.
“Matt,” Doc
said, stopping beside him, “you just lie back and let me see that wound.”
But the big
lawman ignored them. “I’ve gotta – stop – Hillen.”
“You’re not
gonna stop anybody,”
Somehow, in
spite of his companions’ concerted efforts, Dillon pushed first to his knees,
then to his feet, swaying precariously for a moment until he was steady enough
to move. “Hand me my gun, “ he ordered Billy, blood oozing through his fingers as he
kept his hand over the hole in his side.
Justus
stared at the ivory-handled pistol lying on the floor, let his gaze shift
between Doc’s and Kitty’s, then looked back into the
determined blue eyes again. Dillon was
pretty damn impressive – especially for a dead man. Bending, Billy scooped up the weapon and
slapped it into the large hand held out waiting for it. The marshal nodded and stumbled toward the
door.
“What the
hell are you doin’, Matt?” Doc called after him. When he got no answer, he added, “Damn
pig-headed fool!”
Billy
expected Kitty to add her own attempt to stop him, but a quick glance back at
her showed only a strange expression of resignation and sadness. He watched the marshal fall hard against the
door frame, take a breath, and step onto the boardwalk.
Suddenly
weak-kneed, Billy fell into one of the remaining in-tact chairs. Kitty still sat where she had briefly tended
to Dillon. Frowning, the doctor rested a
hand on her shoulder.
“He’ll be
okay, Kitty,” he muttered. “You know it
takes more than one bullet – “ But he stopped without finishing, and
Kitty didn’t help him. She just sat
staring at her dress, fingering the material soaked with his blood.
Turmoil
churned inside Billy. He vacillated between
bitter resentment and reluctant gratitude toward Dillon. What the hell had the marshal done that
for? Why hadn’t he just left well enough
alone?
“Why’d he
do it?” Justus asked aloud.
Doc
frowned. “What?”
“The marshal. Why’d he save my life like
that?”
Kitty
looked up from where she sat and smiled sadly.
“You did the same for him yesterday.”
“No,” Billy
insisted. “I just warned him someone was
drawing on him. He deliberately took a
bullet – for me. Why?”
Doc
exchanged a look with Kitty and, despite the concern that creased his brow, he
almost chuckled. “Because
he’s Matt Dillon.”
“What?”
“That’s
what he does, son. He protects.” Then he added, a bit ruefully, “Everybody.”
Justus
still couldn’t comprehend. “But he
barely knows me,” he protested.
Doc
shrugged. “Doesn’t
matter. It’s deep in him.”
He looked
at Kitty again, and she seemed to gain strength from that statement. With one last glance at her bloodied skirt,
she pushed from the floor and negotiated a path to the bar. “He’ll need a drink when he gets back,” she
decided confidently, reaching for a bottle.
“At the
very least,” Doc agreed.
Justus
continued to stare at them. Damn
Dillon. He hadn’t asked to be saved, had
he? Didn’t make the marshal leap in
front of him, did he?
They waited
several more minutes. Billy wasn’t sure
what he thought would happen, wasn’t sure what he wanted to happen. He half
expected to see Hillen come flying back through the
doors, propelled by the toe of the marshal’s boot. Then again, it could be Dillon crashing into
the saloon, the outlaw’s bullet finally finishing him.
As it
turned out, it was neither. Ten minutes
after the marshal had stumbled out, he re-appeared
with Festus Haggen, who struggled under the weight of
the lawman. Dillon’s long arm was flung
over the deputy’s shoulders, and it looked as if that might be the only thing
holding him up.
“Hillen got plum away,” Haggen
announced to those remaining in the room, voice straining as he practically
dragged the marshal toward a chair. “Ain’t no way we’re a gonna find
him tonight.”
Doc
“I’m –
okay,” Dillon mumbled again, but as he spoke, his body slumped further in the
deputy’s grasp, bringing both of them to their knees.
Instantly,
several hands thrust out to catch the two as Festus slid out from under
Dillon’s arm and tried to ease him to the floor. This time, the marshal was in no shape to
refuse Doc’s assistance, and the physician knelt beside him. Kitty hurried to Dillon’s side, sinking down
next to him and taking his head in her lap.
Pushing the sticky shirt aside, she bared his torso for Doc’s
inspection.
“I’m – all
right – Kitty,” the lawman murmured, attempting – and failing – to lift a
bloody hand to her face.
She stroked
his hair, brushed gently at the discolored bandage on his forehead. “Sure you are, Cowboy. Sure you are.”
“Went clean through,”
Justus
thought he heard Kitty catch back a sob, but when he looked she still
maintained a thinly veiled calm.
“He’s lost
an awful lot of blood, though,” the doctor added. Rising, he motioned toward the
onlookers. “You men stop staring and
start hauling. Get him up to my office.”
Billy
watched as Sam, Festus, and four other men gathered up the marshal, their
muscles straining under his solid weight.
As they struggled with their burden, he wondered when Hillen would try again.
And he would try again. Justus recognized the burn of vengeance in
the dark eyes. He had burned that way
himself.
Kitty
followed behind them, the worry not quite as raw on her tense features. Judging from the scars he had just seen
across the firm muscles of Dillon’s chest and abdomen, Justus figured she’d
played this role several times before.
He suddenly realized how close to home he had hit with his earlier
comment to her about lawmen’s women just waiting for them to come up dead. Maybe she wouldn’t have to live that way much
longer. Knifing through his earlier
confusion about Dillon’s actions, he pinned his emotions on his anger at Dillon
for making her live with such fear, and it gave him a strange satisfaction to
know he would soon relieve her of that burden.
XXXX
It was
another hot day in Dodge. Billy Justus
had spent much of it inside, even though the small room at the Dodge House was
only minimally cooler than standing in the middle of
The town
was buzzing with the gossip about the previous night’s shootout. A few sources related the story with
comparative accuracy, but most had variations of the truth. All ended the same, though. Matt Dillon had been shot – and badly enough to
land him in Doc Adams’ care for what promised to be a good long while. He gathered from the talk that Dillon getting
shot wasn’t that strange. It seemed it
occurred frequently enough not to be too sensational anymore.
“Most
times,” Festus Haggen had confided during a
Justus
doubted it was quite that easy, but he took the deputy’s comment to mean that
the marshal had been pretty lucky in the past, even when he was shot. This time, though, he had taken the hit right
on top of suffering a head injury, surely enough to keep him out for a few days
at least.
Yep. Billy figured his day would be calm and
uneventful. Just enough
of a break to get him ready for the showdown he figured was no more than
another day or two away. With his
room paid up for another two nights, he didn’t see any need to be
impatient. Besides, he was growing
rather fond of Dodge again. And if he played
his cards right, and Hillen was the one who took the
wrap for killing the marshal, Billy would be in the catbird seat with Miss
Kitty Russell.
Satisfied,
Justus kicked back in the chair on the porch of the Dodge House and propped his
feet on the rail. Closing his eyes, he
whistled a tune he had heard the
Before too
long, he felt the heat of the day tug once more at him, coaxing him to consider
crossing the street again for another beer.
Not wanting to disturb his peace too much, he allowed one eye to peek
out and take in the lazy movements of the afternoon. All seemed normal. A few folks strolled in and out of shops, but
the night crowds were still a few hours off.
Now would probably be a good time to –
Squinting,
Billy let his gaze settle on a subtle movement just at the side of the
But he
didn’t have a chance to consider that for long because at that moment, Kitty
Russell walked out of the
But he
hadn’t expected what happened next.
The door of
the jailhouse opened, and Billy felt his mouth drop. His feet dropped, too, as he watched the tall
figure step onto the boardwalk.
Blinking, Justus rubbed at his eyes and leaned forward. Surely, that couldn’t be –
Son of a bitch. It was Dillon. There was no
mistaking him for anyone else in Dodge – or in
Somehow the
man had not only survived the night, but had managed to convince the doctor to
let him out of his clutches – or more likely had escaped when
A few yards
past the jail, Justus saw the lawman grit his teeth and step gingerly off the
planks and onto the street. Billy nodded
in acceptance. The scene was set, and
this time nothing could stop the inevitable ending. He would kill Dillon – or the outlaw
would. Either way, the marshal who sent
him to prison for ten years of his life would be dead.
He drove
back any doubt, any nagging reminder that Dillon had saved his life. Planting firmly in the dirt of the street, he
eyed the broad back as the man crossed a few hundred feet away. He would call his name to get him to
turn. Whatever else he was, Billy Justus
was no back shooter. His hand twitched
over his holster. One more beat.
“Dillon!”
The big man
turned, his hand already at his gun, but Billy had the advantage of knowing
what was happening. He had drawn and
aimed even as the name was called out.
He wanted to paint this picture in his mind for years to come, to sooth
him in his old age, to pleasure him in un-pleasurable moments.
Yes,
indeed. This had been a long time
coming. His hunger was great, but
vengeance was a tasty dish.
“Matt!”
Another
person called out to the marshal, but neither voice had been Billy’s. Instead, Dan Hillen
stood, his own gun drawn, a direct bead on the marshal. Still, it might have been almost a fair fight
– Justus had no doubt Matt Dillon could outdraw a man who had already drawn
himself.
Yes, it
might have been a fair fight – except for Miss Kitty.
Horrified,
Justus saw that Hillen had seen the woman – and she
no doubt seen him and yelled a warning at the marshal. Her petticoat flounced as the outlaw jerked
her against him, using her as a shield against the bullets of her own
lover. He hadn’t counted on that, hadn’t
anticipated that she would be in danger.
“Drop your
gun, Marshal!” Hillen demanded.
Dillon
stared, his teeth gritted, his eyes furious.
Every hard muscle in his body bulged with the effort not to fling
himself at the man who held his woman.
But Justus saw acknowledgement stiffen the broad shoulders. The marshal was helpless. Dillon knew it. They all knew it. He couldn’t fire on Hillen
without hitting Kitty.
“Let her
go,” Dillon yelled. “You’re fight’s with me, not her!”
But the
outlaw didn’t budge. “I mean it,” he
cried. “Drop the gun or I’ll kill
her. I’ll kill her right here!”
For several
long moments, Justus watched, wondering if the big man had some alternate plan,
calculating the odds that he could drop Hillen before
the gunman could kill Kitty. But it
didn’t take too long for him to make his decision. Straightening slowly, the marshal took a
ragged breath, then tossed his pistol a few feet
away. It landed with a soft thump in the
dirt.
Breath
held, Justus waited for Hillen to make his move, to
release Kitty and gun down the marshal before Dillon could retrieve his
gun. Instead of backing away as expected,
though, Hillen just grinned maliciously and tightened
his grip on the woman.
“I’d a
thought you wuz smarter ‘n that, Marshal,” he
crowed. “You just give me a straight
shot right at you.”
A well of
disgust boiled up Justus’ throat. Even though he had wanted Dillon dead
himself, he at least had the decency to make it a fair fight. He realized, too, that Hillen
didn’t intend to let Kitty go – at least not yet. He watched the finger tighten on the trigger, saw the determination in the outlaw’s jaw. There was only one chance to get the gunman,
only one man who could do it – but he was currently unarmed.
The battle
Justus had warred with his emotions suddenly swung in one sure direction.
Knowing
there was no time to contemplate the consequences of his actions, he yelled
out, “Hillen!”
Startled,
the slight man turned, still clutching Kitty in front of him, and fired, just
as Justus knew he would. It was perhaps
the first completely unselfish act Billy had ever had. As the bullet slammed into him and shoved him
to the ground, he managed to keep his eyes open long enough to see Matt Dillon
dive into the street, the pistol sliding up into his hand with perfect timing,
the blast from the marshal’s gun plunging his own bullet into the exposed shoulder
of Dan Hillen.
In
disbelief, the outlaw stumbled back, loosening his grip on Kitty long enough
for her to stumble away from him.
Dillon’s second bullet tore straight through the man’s heart, and he was
dead before his corpse hit the dust.
A strange
sense of satisfaction drifted over Justus, somehow dampening the fire that
spread through his chest, as he watched Matt Dillon slowly push to his feet,
half-bent over with his hand pressed to his side – but standing. With a grunt, the marshal even managed to
catch Kitty as she threw herself into his arms.
Vengeance
was tasty, Billy thought ironically as darkness swept over him, but it wasn’t
the only dish being served.
Epilogue
POV: Billy
Justus
Spoilers:
None
Rating: T
Disclaimer:
I don’t own any of these characters (but I wish I did).
The stage
for
At
mid-morning, the activity was minimal in the saloon, only a few townsfolk
sneaking an early drink, or left-over cowboys nursing hangovers from the
night’s carousing. A turn executed a
little too quickly brought a wince to his eyes, and he took another breath to
force away the worst of the pain from his wound. Despite that, he figured he’d live. A week’s stay at Doc’s office had gotten the
better part of healing done for him before he decided it was time to move on.
Turning
back to the stage driver, he asked, “How much longer?”
The man
looked up from tying off the various bags on top. “Oh, at least another
thirty minutes.”
Thirty
minutes. Time for a
final beer before they headed out into the dry country. After all, Miss Kitty had told him drinks
were on the house for the rest of his stay, and he hadn’t had the chance to
take her up on that offer, yet.
The smell
of hops and leather and sawdust greeted him as he stepped into the relative
coolness of the saloon. The barkeep –
Sam, he remembered – threw a craggy but friendly smile his way. “Come for that beer?”
“Sure did,”
Justus nodded.
“How’re ya’ feelin’?”
“A sight better. Seems Doc Adams knows what he’s doin’.”
Sam
chuckled and tilted his head toward a table near the stairs where the physician
himself sat. “He gets his share of
work. Have a seat. I’ll bring it to ya’.”
Easing his
way through the chairs, Billy cleared his throat as he neared the doctor, who
appeared to be daydreaming into his beer.
“Howdy, Doc.”
The older
man looked up, then smiled politely. “Well, Will, thought you were headed out on
the morning stage.”
Justus
smiled at the name. Over the course of a
week, Doc had decided that Mister Jones was too formal, had started off using
“William,” then shortened it to “Will.”
“It’s
running a little late,” Billy explained.
“Half hour or so.”
“Thanks.” He lowered himself into a chair and glanced
around, trying to sound casual. “Miss Kitty around?”
Although
she had visited him a few times at Doc’s and brought him some broth from the
cafe, he’d found out from Festus that she had been nursing the marshal for most
of the week. He sighed as he imagined
the benefits to having Kitty Russell as your nurse over Doc Adams.
Doc pursed
his lips for a moment before answering.
When he did, his eyes cut just briefly toward the upstairs rooms of the
saloon. “She’s around.”
Catching
the hint, Billy accepted what that meant and took a gulp of the beer Sam had
set before him. “I’d like ta’ thank her before I go.
You know – for the room and all.”
He paused, then added. “I guess I need ta’ thank you, too, Doc.”
Consciously
keeping himself from looking toward the upstairs rooms, Justus asked, “How’s
the marshal?” In truth, he still wasn’t
quite sure why he had helped Dillon there on
“That’s
good,” Billy said, almost surprised that he meant it. He had been fighting himself for several
days, trying to push back the persistent admiration for Dillon. After all, he’d come to kill the man, hadn’t
he? It just hadn’t worked out like he
planned. And now –
“He’s a
right tough fella,” Billy observed.
“He’s too
ornery to die,” Doc complained, but Justus heard the affection and relief
through the rough tone.
“I hafta say, though, I sure wasn’t expectin’
ta’ see him up and about the mornin’
he shot Dan Hillen.
Didn’t figure he’d be healed up by then.”
Doc lifted
an eyebrow in acknowledgement. “He wasn’t – not by a long shot. By golly, that man has more stubborn in him
than a team of mules. Maybe
even more than Festus.” Looking
up suddenly, he added, “But don’t tell either of ‘em
I said that.”
Billy
smiled. “That’s why I was surprised you
cleared him.”
Doc’s eyes
opened wide, and he slapped the table. “Cleared him my foot!
If he wasn’t so blasted big, I woulda sat on
him to keep him in that bed!”
A frown
pulled down Justus’ brow. “Then why – “
Tugging at
an earlobe, Doc took another sip of beer.
“Matt didn’t want to take a chance on Hillen
gunning down someone else while he waited.
So, he set himself up as bait.”
Shaking his head, he added, “Damn fool thing to do.”
Doc’s words
from a week before echoed in Billy’s head again: “That’s
what he does, son. He protects –
everybody.”
“Fool or
brave,” Justus clarified, the grudging respect continuing to punch holes
through his crumbling shield of resentment and bitterness.
The doctor
swiped at his mustache. “Do you know how
much blood he lost? Dad-blamed fool
shouldn’t even have been conscious – much less parading down the middle of the
street as a target for some gunslinger. Just ignored my advice – same as usual.”
“You run a
strict hospital, Doc. I can attest to
that.” He brought a hand up to brace the
healing wound on his upper chest.
“Yeah,
well, you followed orders, see, and
now look at ya’ – almost well and ready to head out
on that stage.” Movement drew his eyes
to the balcony above them. “Too bad all
my patients can’t be so cooperative,” he said loudly.
Justus
followed the doctor’s gaze and saw the intended recipient of his pointed
remark. Matt Dillon stood at the top of
the steps, one hand gripping the banister so tightly that the knuckles were
white, the other hand bracing his side. Kitty Russell stood just behind him, an arm
around his waist. As soon as he saw that
they had an audience, though, he eased away from her and straightened, dropping
the hand from his side. The one on the
rail remained, probably out of necessity.
Justus heard Doc click his tongue.
Despite the
effort to mask his discomfort, Dillon could not avoid a grimace as he made his
way slowly down the steps, Kitty matching his careful pace. Billy watched pride and concern battle in her
expression and wasn’t sure which won. He
considered how magnificent it would be to have a woman look at him the way she
looked at Dillon.
Letting out
a careful breath as his boots stepped onto the floor of the
“Hear
you’re leavin’ us, Mister Jones,” he said. Although his voice still held the same full,
deep tone, the timbre was a little too tight.
“Doc’s lettin’ ya’
out of his clutches?”
“Some folks
pay attention to their physicians and actually heal,”
Justus
scratched at his beard. He had suffered
the dedicated mother-henning of the doctor for the
better part of a week, and, although he certainly appreciated all Doc had done,
he was more than glad to get out of there.
“Doc, I’m
fine,” Dillon protested.
“Ya’ gotta have somebody to
practice on,” the marshal reminded him with another smile that was not quite so
forced.
Dillon
winced as he eased his big frame into a chair.
Justus noted that he wore his six-gun.
He wondered if the lawman ever took it off.
“It’s deep in him,” Doc had said. Billy had seen first hand what that meant.
“We’ll call
‘em the ‘Dillon Dime Novels’,”
His
delighted smile faltered a bit with the glare from a distinctly un-amused
Kitty. “Doc, that’s not even a little
funny,” she scolded.
Justus
didn’t know how the physician managed to look chastised and amused at the same
time.
“Uh, it’s
about time for the stage, isn’t it?” Dillon announced with a timely
distraction.
“Nevermind,” Kitty told him, giving Doc a final scowl before
she turned sweetly to Billy. “I see you
have your beer already, Mister Jones.”
“Yes,
ma’am, and I’m obliged.”
“You want
one, Matt?” she offered.
Dillon
looked toward Doc. “Okay?”
The
physician studied the marshal carefully, apparently not particularly liking
what he saw. “I think I’ll make it
doctor’s orders.”
“I’ll get
it,” Kitty answered, letting her hand slide gently down Dillon’s arm as she
left.
Justus
watched the marshal watch Miss Kitty, and his eyes widened at the unexpected
tenderness that touched Dillon’s handsome features. He thought back to that day over a week ago
when he’d had the revelation that Matt Dillon did have a weakness, and now he
wondered if even the marshal realized just how much of one it was.
Letting his
gaze admire her as she walked to the bar, Justus observed, “Woman like Miss
Kitty – she sure is somethin’.”
“She is
that.” Doc agreed, lifting his glass slightly in a private toast.
“I can’t
figure how she ain’t married.“ Oh hell.
He hadn’t really meant to say that aloud.
Dillon’s
lips pressed together, and his blue eyes darkened in clear warning. The doctor ignored him.
“Well,”
Billy figured, trying to climb out of the hole, “I just meant that if she was
my woman – “
“She’s
not.”
He
swallowed at the sharp tone and saw that Dillon’s gaze had turned even
darker. Billy had only dug himself in
even deeper. No one spoke for a long
moment, not even Doc, who had suddenly developed a deep interest in his beer. Justus wondered if, after all that had
happened, they might yet get that showdown.
As it turned out, though, Kitty herself solved the problem.
Gliding
back from the bar with a beer in each hand, she quickly surveyed the situation
and asked, “Everything all right?”
“Oh!” Now that reinforcements had arrived, Doc
jumped in eagerly. “Well, we were just
having an interesting conversation.
Weren’t we, gentlemen?”
“Uh –
yeah,” Billy agreed tentatively.
Kitty’s
eyes narrowed. “What
about?”
Almost
gleefully, Doc answered for them. “Marriage!”
Dillon
flinched.
“Marriage?”
Kitty echoed, surprised lifting her eyebrows.
She glanced at the marshal, who scooted down a little lower in his
chair.
“Yes,
ma’am,” Doc continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Will was just askin’
why – “
Any
revelation he was about to make was lost, however, in the sudden appearance of
the coach driver at the swinging doors.
“We’re about to head out, Mister Jones,” he announced without entering
the bar.
Before
Justus could respond, Dillon cut back quickly, “Thanks, Jim. He’s comin’.”
“Don’t you
want to finish your conversation?” Doc asked, but the big lawman had already
pushed to his feet, not even bothering to mask the grunt that escaped him.
“Matt?” Kitty questioned.
“It’s time
for Mister Jones’ stage,” Dillon explained, all too eagerly. “Don’t want him to be late, do ya’?”
He held the
door for Kitty, who threw him a curious glance as she and Doc walked out. Justus eased by the big man as quickly as
possible, thankful for the chance to slink out of that hole.
Kitty and
Doc waited by the stage, eyeing him curiously, and he realized suddenly that it
was time. Ten days after he had arrived
in Dodge, a mission of vengeance burning in his heart, Billy Justus – now known
to the townspeople as Will Jones – was leaving.
She stepped
away from Doc, leaned in and kissed Justus on the cheek, her soft lips leaving
a tingle of warmth. “You take care of
yourself, Will.”
Trying to
commit the sight of those clear blue eyes to memory, he assured her, “I will,
ma’am.”
She smiled
and moved to the side to make room for
No, I
can’t, Justus answered silently, darting a glance
toward the marshal, who was just joining them.
Aloud, he just said, “Thanks.”
“Mister
Jones,” Dillon said, extending his right hand.
Justus took it, and they nodded to each other for the length of the
shake. When it was over, Justus climbed
carefully into the coach and took his place by the window.
Then, he
leaned out and called to Dillon. “Can I
tell you somethin’, Marshal? In private?”
The lawman
took a step forward, thumbs hooked in his gun belt, hat pulled down over his
eyes. “What is it?”
“I’ve been thinkin’.”
“Yeah?”
He
swallowed. “I’ve been thinkin’ that sometimes revenge blinds a man to the thing
he needs to see the most.”
Dillon
lifted his chin and studied Justus.
After a moment, he said, “That so?”
“That’s
so,” Justus confirmed. “Just wanted you to know.
Could you, uh, could you tell Miss Kitty something for me?”
“You don’t
want to tell her yourself?” Dillon wondered, tilting his chin toward Kitty and
Doc.
“No. I’d like for you to tell her.”
The marshal
caught his lower lip between his teeth, then nodded
once. “Okay.”
“Tell her I
was – I was wrong.”
“Wrong?” Dillon asked, frowning.
“Yes, sir,”
Justus said. “I was wrong about –
lawmen. In more ways
than one.”
Both of
Dillon’s eyebrows rose, and he cocked his head slightly, an unspoken question
on his lips.
“Would ya’ tell her that, Marshal?”
After a beat,
he nodded. “I’ll tell her.”
Justus gave
a smile of satisfaction, expecting the marshal to step back and let him go, but
Dillon didn’t move. Instead, the lawman
leaned in closer, placing one hand on the stage window. “There’s just one more thing.”
Justus
caught his breath, a tremor of anticipation and fear rocking his insides at the
calculation on those firm features.
Dillon looked out from under his hat just enough to hold Justus’ eyes
with his own.
“Good
luck,” he said quietly. Then, with a single
nod, added, “Billy.”
Justus’ jaw
dropped and he stared, heart pounding, breath caught in his throat. He found his fingers twitching in reflex over
the butt of his gun. He opened his mouth
to answer, to question, to dispute, but nothing came.
Billy.
With his
eyes still locked on Justus, Dillon raised two fingers to touch the brim of his
hat in a casual salute. Billy continued
to stare, too shocked to register fully what that simple farewell meant. Somehow, over the pounding of his heart, he
heard the stage driver call out to the team of horses. Dillon took a step back, out of the way of
the coach, breaking his gaze with Justus, who watched as the lawman moved up
onto the boardwalk next to Kitty and Doc.
Good luck –
Billy.
Justus
looked out the window again, a final view of the town that had changed his life
twice. He watched as Dillon leaned down
and whispered something in Kitty’s ear.
She looked up at him, then turned toward the
stage, those beautiful eyes meeting Billy’s.
The smile she gave him wasn’t quite the same one he had seen her give
Dillon, but it was good enough for Billy.
He nodded
and smiled back, then watched as she hooked her arm around the marshal’s,
stretched up on tip toe and let her lips brush across his cheek. If Dillon was surprised by that public
demonstration, he didn’t show it. On the
contrary, he demonstrated himself that he could be quick on the draw in ways
other than gunplay. While her lips still
touched him, he let his head turn to capture her mouth with his. It wasn’t a long kiss, but Justus could
almost see the sparks that snapped between them. When Dillon pulled back, Kitty stared up at
him, amazement and love plain and unmasked on her face. Then the marshal, realizing that they had
drawn more than a few stares of interest, straightened and cleared his throat,
while Doc stood by, grinning widely.
Billy found
himself grinning, as well, even past the lingering twinge of jealousy as the
coach lurched forward, and the tall marshal and his woman disappeared from
view. Within minutes, the last buildings
of the town fell behind, and the dry, flat prairie stretched endlessly out
before them.
As the dust
of Dodge was knocked off the wheels by the prairie grass, Billy felt the last
vengeful embers ebb, replaced by the spark of respect he had failed to
douse. His soul, which had been seized
by hatred and vengeance ten years before, was now tempered by what he had seen
of humanity and sacrifice – and love.
Ten years
hadn’t made a difference, but ten days had.
Maybe he would come back to Dodge one day. Maybe in another ten years he’d return to see
if Matt Dillon had survived the men to come.
Men whose souls burned. He couldn’t help but believe somehow that,
when he did come back, the man would still reach halfway to the sky, still pack
a knockout punch, still draw lightening fast.
And still have Kitty Russell by his side – one way or another.
Billy
Justus – Will Jones – figured that was enough for any man’s soul.
END
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