CHAPTER NINE

I came into the office a little late the next morning. It had
been a long night. There had been four more encounters like my one at the Texas
Trail, and all of them had ended the same way. If this kept up I’d have to
check the butt of my six-gun for dents.

Chester was in the office already. He was wearing a new
shirt. In the short time I’d known him, I’d discovered him to have a little of
the dandy in him. He liked buying new shirts. Whenever he won money playing
cards – which wasn’t all that often – he went out and spent the better part of
a morning picking out a new shirt. It was strange, because in the time I’d
known him I’d never seen him wear anything but the same striped pants. Or maybe
he had lots of pairs of the same pants. But he was real neat about them. And
they never drew your eyes away from his nice crisp new shirts.

 “I turned ‘em
all loose this morning, Mr. Dillon,” said Chester, “like you said.” The keys to
the jail were on my desk.

“Good, Chester. Thanks.”

“It’s a good thing you had me let Ziegler go. Otherwise
we’d’ve been hard pressed for accommodations. They was the sorriest lookin’
cowboys I ever did see.”

I chuckled. “Well, I guess I didn’t really hurt any of ‘em,
Chester.”

“Yeah, but bein’ banged on the head with a six-gun ain’t the
gentlest way to end an evenin’s pleasure. Still, they’ll live,” he added.

“Well, they started taking their pleasure too seriously.”

“Yessir, well, things quieted down a little after you locked
them up. There might’ve been real trouble otherwise.”

“Well, it isn’t over yet,” I said. I was looking out the open
window.

“What?” asked Chester from where he lay on the couch.

The front door opened and a thick man with skin dyed by the
sun walked in. “You Marshal Dillon?” he said.

“Yeah,” I said, leaning on the edge of my desk. “Yeah, I am.”

“M’name’s Rance,” he said. His voice was deep and gruff. I
knew voices like that, voices that had shouted a lot over dry prairies.

“Glad to know you, Rance,” I said.

“I bossed the Drag-R herd up here from outta Mattagorda,”
said Rance. “That’s in Texas, Marshal,” he added.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve been there.”

“You have?” He sounded surprised. “Well, you better not go
back.”

I had a sense of where this was going. “Oh?”

Rance nodded. “We might give you the kinda welcome you’re
givin’ us.”

Chester had stood up and was now leaning against the far
wall. His holster was clear. I walked around my desk as sat in my chair. “What’s
your complaint, Rance?”

“Buffaloin’ my men,” he said. “Five of ‘em come into camp
this mornin’ with blood in their hair. They said you done it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I did. If I hadn’t they mighta been shot. Or
shot somebody else.”

“Good thing for you you took ‘em on one at a time.”

“I’d have taken them anyway,” I said. “Look, Rance, this town
was on the edge of a riot last night. I stopped it, and I stopped it without
any killin’.”

“Man’s own business if he wants to pull out his gun,” said
Rance.

“Not around here, it isn’t,” I said.

“Marshal, I can’t ask men to come up here the way they do and
stick to drinkin’ soda water and talkin’ in whispers.” He looked really
perplexed. “What kind of a town is this, anyway?”

“It’s a good town, Rance,” I said. “Now, you and your men can
drink and gamble all they want. But they can’t shoot the mirror off the wall at
the Allafraganza, and they can’t grab townwomen on the street, and they can’t
break the bartender’s arm in the Texas Trail, and they can’t offer to shoot
anyone that tries to stop ‘em. It isn’t that kind of a town.”

“Well, sure,” said Rance, “they get a little frisky, but
there’s no harm in it I can see.”

“Sooner or later it’d lead to killing,” I said. “I’ve got to
draw the line somewhere.”

“So do I, Marshal,” he said.

“Oh? What does that mean?”

Rance looked grim. “I mean I won’t drive cattle to Dodge no
more. I’ll spread the word it’s a no-good town, and you people can live offa
sod-busters and buffalo hunters. This place’ll starve to death.”

I stared at him. “I’m hired to keep the peace, Rance. Any way
I can.”

“Keep it, then. We won’t bother Dodge no more. Good-bye,
Marshal.”

He turned and left, leaving the door open behind him so the
flies came in. Already the day was turning into another scorcher.

“I guess it’s like you said,” observed Chester.

“How’s that, Chester?”

“It ain’t over yet.”

“No,” I said. “I guess it’s not.”