Bonner and his men are all tightly bound, several snoring
softly in the ghostly moonlight. Sam
Noonan stands nearby leaning against a tree trunk, gun at the ready, a wary
glint in his eye as he stares at the outlaws bitterly. His craggy, rugged features are stony and
silent as he thinks his own dark, private thoughts. The tall bartender jerks to attention when
he spies Marshall Dillon making his determined way toward the leader of the dog
soldiers, gun drawn, expression a mask of hate and despair. Festus is at his side, but the Marshal
brushes him aside like a pesky fly as he heads for his intended prey.
Sam had been afraid this might happen. In all his years in the riotous town of Dodge
City, the old bartender had never seen a woman so ill-treated as Miss Kitty had
been by those vicious dog soldiers. And
he can see that Matt Dillon’s murderous rage has not yet run its course. The blood lust born of vengeance still burns
deep inside him, in retribution for the wrong perpetrated against the woman he loves.
Sam hurries to stand with his shotgun between the Marshal
and his hated enemy. Matt Dillon towers
over Bonner who sits on the ground, bound tightly to keep him from ever hurting
another woman the way that he hurt Miss Kitty.
Cocking the hammer of his pistol, his eyes squint hard like brittle
diamonds in the darkness as he shoves the barrel against Bonner’s temple.
“No!” Sam and Festus call out together, fear and urgency in
their throats.
“Matthew, you cain’t do this!”
“We gotta take ‘im in for a trial! He’ll hang for sure, Marshal Dillon!”
Every man in camp has his eyes riveted to the scene playing
out before them, dog soldier and Dodge citizen alike. It seems as if no breath escapes the lungs of
those who watch and wait, the only audible sound the lonesome call of an owl in
the dark night. The idea is unthinkable
to the men who know him. Will Marshal
Matt Dillon shoot a man in cold blood?
The hair on the back of Sam Noonan’s neck stands on end when
he sees the look in the Marshal’s eyes. “Marshal,
you can’t do this!”
Festus closes in and hisses, “Matthew, don’t do it! It ain’t worth it!”
Stepping nearer, Sam hoarsely whispers in his ear, “Remember
Miss Kitty. Don’t you wanna be able to
go home to her?”
Festus continues, “You cain’t go home to Miss Kitty if you
blow this yahoo’s brains out. You’ll go
to jail, Matthew.”
“You’ll never see her again, Marshall.”
“You’ll be no better’n him, Matthew. A killer...a stone cold, hard-hearted
murderer.”
Matt Dillon blinks back hot tears. His hand holding the gun shakes. Sweat drips from his temple.
Earnestly, desperately, Festus reiterates, “Think about Miss
Kitty, Matthew.”
Hastily, Sam adds, “She needs you, Marshal. Go on home to her. Right now.
Get on your horse and ride.”
“We kin take keer o’ things here. You need to go back home to Miss Kitty
now. She needs you more. Just put the gun down.”
Matt tears his eyes from Bonner, who is sweating bullets,
not moving an inch, eyes darting back and forth as he hangs on every word of
the conversation taking place before him.
He knows his life hangs in the balance.
The Marshal looks at his friends, Festus and Sam, and takes a deep,
shuddering breath. He releases the
hammer on his pistol and takes an unsteady step back from the man he hates with
a desperate passion.
Bonner releases a shaky breath while a cocky grin spreads
across his face. “I knowed you couldn’t
do it, Law.” His eyes stare coldly into
Dillon’s. “Besides, she was just a damn
sportin’ palace whore anyways...”
Lightning quick, Matt smashes his gun handle into Bonner’s
skull with a roar, then kicks him backwards onto the dirt with a satisfying,
bone-crunching thud. Sam and Festus grab
his arms and hold him back, preventing Matt Dillon from beating the life out of
Jude Bonner with his bare hands.
Festus gets in Matt’s face and urgently demands, “Go on
home, Matthew!”
“Go back to Miss Kitty, Marshal,” Sam pleads hoarsely. “That’s where you’re needed most right
now. We’ll head back to Dodge with the
prisoners come dawn.”
Matt pulls free from their grasp and turns on his heel
without a word toward Buck, mounting him with a roiling heart and limbs
trembling with rage. He has to get away
from here before he kills that son-of-a-bitch outright. He turns Buck in the direction of Dodge. And Kitty Russell...
tbc
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