6

Years of swabbing mucked up floors, had caused the bottom of the oak planked door between office and jail cells to rot and warp. The make-do solution had been to annually sand that area of the door destroyed by water damage. The result all these years later, was a one inch gap between floor and door. It proved no barrier to the sounds filtering in from the main room.

Julien, slumped on his cot with chin in hands and elbows on knees — his youthful face set in an ageless scowl, as he listened to a parade of visitors make their way in and out of the Jailhouse.

He heard the hillbilly twang of the deputy crooning sweet notes to the ailing cat. "I'm gonna find me a prairie rat, and fry him up fer supper, n save for dessert his long scrawny tail, cuz I love me some rat tails, they taste plum larrapin, I love me some rat tails, they taste like mo-lasses to me, they're crunchy and they're munchy and tough as hard rock taffy …"

Julien noted as well, the frequency of house calls made by the grumpy old coot of a doctor to check on the status of his animal patient. Each trip producing another scientifically proven miracle of feline-applied medicine from the stack of Modern Physician Periodicals cluttering the shelves of the old man's bookcase. Julien knew for a fact they were there, for he'd stared at the pile as Doc Adams plucked rock salt from his butt end a year or so back.

Even old Ma Smalley made an appearance, Julien recognized her high-pitched sing-song drawl. "I brought you a pint jar of my hemp tonic — never fails to cure my Puss when she's under the weather — why, it even worked on my philodendron when it was dropping leaves last fall."

Notably missing were his mother and the Marshal —the absence of both was worrisome. In the past, his antics never failed to draw his mother's attention and tough man Dillon's reprisal for his transgressions had amounted to nothing more than a few stern words.

The enforced solitude, so alien to his life allowed free rein to his scattered thoughts and a slew of scenarios encroached on his adolescent mind.

When they first locked him up, he'd feared they were going to stick him with playing nurse maid to the damn cat. Before they'd had a chance, he had loudly vowed, if they did he'd wring its fucking neck and enjoy the process. That's when the door was slammed shut, and he was left deserted and alone.

The alone part, was beginning to fray his bluster. Julien stood, stretched and wandered to the window, placing his hands on the bars, he gave them a good shake. A whiff of fresh cold air seeped in through the crack between glass and wood trim, but the bars remained immobile. The chill and hint of clean air felt good for the cell was certainly no flower garden. Dank mustiness had consumed the stagnant air and the piss pot in the corner was ripening.

There was an uncomfortable ache in his lower abdomen. His stomach cramped from hunger. To ease the discomfort he stretched again, pulling himself up to his full height. He noted then, with some pride he was taller than most men full grown and he was still growing. A loud growl percolated from the pit of his belly bringing him back to his current dilemma. He needed food! All this fuss over that half-dead cat, what about him? A dark thought hit — were they going to leave him to starve to death?

The sky blackened and the lamplighter made his rounds. The player-piano at the Long Branch was cranking out a medley of tinny chords — even to his tone-deaf ears, they sounded off tune and grated against his increasingly frangible nerves.

Sullen and dejected — his heart took to racing as panic replaced his hunger pangs. Were they just going to let him rot, until the stench of his dead carcass forced them to drag his putrid remains from this stinking prison cell? The more he thought about it the more indignant he became. Panic turned to anger. Even a prisoner had rights. Ray Sharlow, Dougie's outlaw uncle had told him that. Julien stomped his foot in outrage and kicked the cot in frustration. Just wait until he told mother. She'd fix that lawman! But then, to his shame, the corners of his eyes pooled. Where was Ma Ma'? Like everyone else, had she deserted him too?

In the midst of this silent lament, Julien heard the door to the jail house open and shut again. He knew it was Matt Dillon before the man spoke a word or the deputy hailed his arrival. Why was that? Julien pondered, certainly a few steps weren't enough to distinguish one man from another. Yet the boy knew, and was jolted to attention by the knowledge.

^..^

"Where you been off too?" Hagen asked.

Matt perched his hat on a hook, and released the buckle of his gun belt. "Had business to take care of. How's the cat?"

"Doing some better."

"'n the boy?"

"Ain't paid him no never mind since he threatened to ring ol' Fluffy's neck."

"Did you feed him?"

"The boy or the cat? Ol'Fluffy's been tended to, but like I said Matthew, I ain't paid the boy no never mind."

"Why don't you head on over to Delmonico's — get some supper and bring a tray back for our guest."

"What about Fluffy, here?"

"I'll keep an eye on the cat and the boy."

Hagen nodded, cooed something to the cat, grabbed his scruffy hat and meticulously tended gun, "Be back directly …"

Alone in his office, Matt walked over to the desk. He eyed the apple crate with the cat, looking like a bag of bones in ill-fitting fur. Raising a forefinger he stroked its bony head. An indiscernible rumble rolled from deep in Fluffy's throat. Was it a purr or the death rattle, Dillon didn't know.

As he studied the cat, he had a strong sense that the boy on the other side of the door was aware and listening. The notion that he had to make a connection with Julien was profound. He had spent the day deliberating the boy's fate and then stopped by the Dodge House to discuss the matter with Judge Brooker — in town on his monthly circuit. He had come to the conclusion; it didn't matter much if Julien was his blood or not. It was his duty to the badge that demanded firm action.

He offered a dropper of water to Fluffy and then poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a quick drink before heading to the jail room.

Julien, anticipating the Marshal's appearance had turned and made a quick belly flop to the cot. It creaked with threatened collapse upon impact. The boy lay motionless, while the grimy mattress bounced up and down on the rusty metal frame.

"Get up."

Julien didn't move.

"Get up, now!"

All at once the kid's attitude changed, his heart lightened a bit. Obviously, Dillion had talked with Ma ma' and she'd fixed things for him to get out. A cocky smirk lifted his features. He rolled over and stood up, the movement graceful and telling. "I figured once you talked with my mother, you'd see things differently."

"Your Ma said to do as I see fit. She's tired of paying your way out of all the trouble you get into."

"That ain't so."

"I had a little talk with Judge Brooker … he's been aware of the petty theft and total disregard for the law of common civility on your part for some time; when he heard what happened with the cat, he said to send you to the Industrial School for Boys up in Topeka."

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a reform school … a prison for boys. Consider yourself lucky he didn't suggest Lansing."

"Wh-what's Lansing?" Bravado was getting hard to come by.

He had Julien's full attention now and the lawman was kind of enjoying the fear in the kid's eyes. "Kansas State Penitentiary."

Julien took a step back, "I ain't goin' to no prison!"

"You have no say in the matter. Judge Brooker's leaving it up to me."

"Look …" Julien ran a tongue over his dry lips, his heart was beating fast again. "I'll do whatever you want me to do. I'll even tend to that fuck … that cat if you want me to."

The Marshal's expression was without chink. Julien gulped. "I mean it, Marshal Dillon, I'll do whatever you say."

"Let me give the matter some thought, tonight. I'll let you know in the morning." Without another word, the big man left the jail room, shutting the oak planked door firmly behind him.

^..^

Matt made his final rounds, sent Festus off for the night, then checked on the boy. Julien lay on his back with eyes closed. His hands were folded across his chest like he'd been laid out for viewing in Percy Crump's funeral parlor. Every few seconds he discharged what appeared to be feigned and exaggerated snores. It was left for Dillon to ponder which was worse, the fake snoring or the foul cursing. Either way, it was hard to find something good coming from Julien's lips. He resisted the sudden urge to stuff a sock in the kid's mouth and returned to his office.

As was his routine, he took a final look at the street outside before pulling the window shades to insure privacy. With all menial tasks of his day accomplished, there was nothing left to do, but that which he'd been dreading to do all day. He sat at his desk, placed stationary, pen and inkwell in front of him. He stared hard at the blank paper; then looked off into space, his eyes finally resting upon a large black spider dangling from the ceiling rafter. And, throughout this process, starting his opening sentence over and again in his mind, hoping for some magic power that could take away the hurt of what he had to say.

Kitty,

The Wendell kid got in trouble today. He and the Sharlow boy were abusing a cat. I'd had enough of it. I hauled him in and threw him in jail — all the while he was hollering cuss words and threats. Of course, Juanita came over, cash in hand ready to buy his way out, like she did with Mr. Jonas, Henry at Delmonico's, and a dozen other victims of his shenanigans.

Juanita wanted to talk so we went over to the Long Branch and she started reminiscing about when she first came to town. She reminded me of something that happened between her and I.

She said I'm Julien's father. Juanita's got a card-sharps heart and would bluff a dying man out of his last breath, if she found some gain to the act. Since I'm being honest, she's a better gambler than you ever were. But, the fact remains, what she said could be true.

I guess it boils down to this, either Julien nurses the cat back to health or he goes to the reform school in Topeka.

Here I sit. I've got a half dead cat in an old apple crate taking up space in front of me. There's a kid that might be my son stretched out on a cot in my jail cell. And the one woman, I've ever given a damn about, a thousand miles away.

Matt

He stared at the words he'd written with disgust. He felt like the worst kind of coward. With all she was going through Kitty deserved more than a confession of infidelity to ease his soul. He stood up and poured himself another cup of coffee, the fire was almost out and the brew was tepid at best. He turned back to his desk and saw the black spider had lowered itself to the letter, without second thought he grabbed the monthly copy of the Ford County Globe and swatted the creature with more force than it deserved. He heard an unmistakable crunch and knew before he lifted the paper the carnage would be complete.

He picked up both letter and paper with the remains of the spider and threw them into the stove. A last dying ember in the pot belly crackled to life — it took only a heartbeat for them to catch fire and burn.