Author's Note:

Also, my most recent viewing of the episode brought up a few questions in my mind, such as why did Artie go looking for Jim instead of for the kerosene, where did Miss Bosley's dress she couldn't button come from anyway, and why on earth did Artie suddenly advocate letting Carma off the hook? I'll try to answer those questions and more in the scenes below - but not the question of why does Carma stare so much without blinking. I'll answer that one right here: it's something she shares in common with the rattlers.

No offense intended to any rattlers.

Deleted Scenes: The Night of the Flaming Ghost

They rescued me, Mr West and Mr Gordon did, after I had managed to rescue myself to a certain extent. That horrible man, John Brown of Harper's Ferry, had kidnapped me because he wanted to put my skills as a dressmaker to use to fashion him some fireproof suits, but then he had insisted that I wear one of the suits as its effectiveness was tested in a trial by fire. And I took advantage. Once I was in the fire and as the flames formed a barrier between his men and me, I simply took off running. I got away too.

But not clean away, I'm afraid. Among the renegades Mr Brown had accumulated in his wilderness stronghold were several Indians, and one of them shot an arrow at me. Hit me too. I staggered on regardless, over a rise and out of their sight. And as I did, I heard someone cry out, "After her!"

"No need," came Mr Brown's voice. "The vultures will see to her."

Charming thought. I suppose Mr Brown expected me to fall down dead at any moment, mortally wounded by that arrow. In fact, instead of hitting me in a vital spot, it had lodged in my upper arm. Painful still, yes, but survivable. All I needed to do was to find help. I ran on, down that slope and up the next.

For hours as the night wore away, that's what I did. I went down one slope and up the next, hoping each time as I reached the top of the next rise to look over it and see signs of civilization.

And for hours, I was disappointed. Only one scene after another of wilderness met my view. As dawn came on, I was beginning to despair. I could no longer move very fast - I was coming to the conclusion that this wound I had thought was survivable was perhaps more deadly than I'd believed, if only from the loss of blood. I had no water with me and had found none to drink so far on my trek. And with the dawn of day the sun would no doubt soon bake me alive in this fireproof suit. My one consolation was that perhaps in addition to being fireproof, it might also prove to be vulture-proof.

Small consolation, I know.

The sun was fully above the horizon when I struggled to the top of yet another rise and looked out, hope rising up in me once more even as I feared to dare hope. And I was startled to see two men with horses in the draw ahead of me! I was so surprised that at first I assumed I was merely imagining them. It was only when they looked up at me and exclaimed to each other that I knew they were real. In gladness I started to wave to them.

I never raised my arms. All of what I had just come through conspired together to strike me with a great wave of dizziness. One moment I was at the top of the rise.

And my next conscious moment, I was down at the bottom, sore from head to toe. The men ran to my aid, helping me to sit up, breaking off the arrow that was still lodged in my arm. To my amazement, I knew both men. One was James West, whom I'd met in the stagecoach shortly before my kidnapping, and the other, whose name I would soon learn was Artemus Gordon, had been the shotgun rider on the coach.

They questioned me; I answered as best I could, telling them about John Brown and his fort of Harper's Ferry. And then they helped me up onto the black horse behind Mr West and took me the twenty miles or more back to town.

…

The doctor in town patched me up. Once he was done tsking and scolding at me and trussing up my arm in a utilitarian but ugly black sling, Mr West and Mr Gordon showed up with a hired wagon in which I could ride in some semblance of comfort as they brought me back to the beautiful varnish car of their private train. Once we were there, the men worked quickly to convert half the varnish car into a boudoir for me, setting up a screen behind which I could have a certain measure of privacy. They also brought up from the wagon a surprise for me: my own trunk from the coach! This they set before the sofa within my boudoir, then headed over to the other side of the car to give me some time to myself. As Mr Gordon searched through his books for more information on John Brown, I shucked off the fireproof suit I'd come already to loathe and began slipping into my lovely lacy underthings.

But as I got into the dress itself, I found myself to be in quite a predicament. With my injured arm, I was completely unable to do up the back of the dress. Apologetically, I slipped out from behind the screen to ask for help.

Mr West was seated on the other sofa across the room from me, but Mr Gordon was right there at my side. I saw the look in his eyes just before he acquiesced. Until that moment, my dealings with the pair of them had been mostly with Mr West; I'd barely paid Mr Gordon much attention at all. But the way he looked at me just then, resembling a little lost puppy for a split second - well, what can I say but I found him suddenly quite endearing! As I turned my back to Mr Gordon and directed my attention to answering Mr West's further questions about John Brown and Harper's Ferry, I could feel Mr Gordon's hands working their way up my spine, one button at a time.

It was, I decided, a very nice feeling indeed.

Eventually he reached the top and I turned to thank him. But then he took up that atrocious black sling to bind up my arm again.

Well, his smile as he wrapped the sling around me was just so charming, I couldn't help but smile back. What lovely eyes he had! And the lopsidedness of his smile tugged at my heart. Oh, and there was that little lock of hair curling down in the center of his forehead. Not to mention the, well, the sheer nearness of him. If I didn't find something sharp to say quickly, I might just find myself melting right into his arms, and I couldn't have that!

Ah - the sling. How ugly it was. I latched onto that and told him to his face how hideous it was and that I would have to come up with some way to improve upon it if I had to hang lace on it!

I know the two of them were smirking back and forth over my distaste for the plain black sling. But I swept away from them and behind my screen again where I could let a sigh escape me and fan myself as well. Well, yes, it was the desert, but my! it had gotten warm in there!

…

As the two men continued to discuss their case and the respective assignments they would tackle next, I looked through my trunk to find something better from which to make my new sling. Shortly Mr West admonished Mr Gordon with, "Try not to have too much fun," then strode past me with a nod as he grabbed his hat, jacket, and gun belt on his way out the rear door of the varnish car. Mr Gordon, after calling out a companionable, "I'll try not to!" to his departing partner, set about mumbling to himself about kerosene. I could hear a loud rustling of papers, then quiet. A glance from behind the screen showed me he was now perched on the sofa over there by himself studying some maps with a pad of paper and pencil by his side with which to make notes.

I had by this time found a scarf embroidered with flowers. Folding it into a triangle, I measured out a length of lace to stitch around the edges, then brought out some thread, scissors, and a needle. "Where do you plan to look for the kerosene?" I called out.

"Well, that's just it," he replied. "Where we found you we smelled kerosene. I need a reason to go back there."

"A reason? Oops. Isn't the fact that you - ow - you smelled kerosene there reason - oh! - reason enough to go back?"

"Reason enough for me, yes. But the fort you escaped from is somewhere within walking distance of that spot, so I need a reason to be there that John Brown and company won't question. But what's wrong? Why are you oh-ing and ow-ing?"

A moment later he appeared in the opening beside my screen and looked down on me where I sat with my scarf and my lace, struggling in vain to thread a needle with my right arm in that sling.

He sighed and set his fists on his hips. "My dear Miss Bosley," he said, "would you like me to give you a hand with that?"

"You know how to do this?" I asked, holding up the needle and length of thread. "And it's Barbara."

"I have a little more than the usual bachelor's experience with sewing, yes." He took both items from me, folded the end of the thread around the needle, pulled the needle out, then deftly slipped the folded end through the needle's eye. As he evened up the ends of the thread and tied the knot to keep them together, he added, "And it's Artemus."

…

In the end, he stitched the lace to the scarf for me, since I wasn't in any better shape to sew a straight line at the moment than I'd been at threading that needle. "You sew very well, Mr… that is, Artemus."

He chuckled. "For a man?" He was sitting at my side on the sofa in my cozy little boudoir now. He shot a glance at me, and I felt the temperature of the room rise again.

"No, for anyone," I replied. It was the truth. If he'd been a woman, I'd have made him an offer on the spot to work for me in my boutique.

"Ah, well. I keep in practice."

That surprised me. "You make your own clothes?"

"My everyday clothing, no. My disguises, though, that's another thing."

"Disguises!"

"Mm-hmm! That's what I was thinking about when I said I needed a reason. I want to come up with some disguise, some character, who could be wandering out in the wilderness without raising our Mr Brown's suspicions too high."

He continued on sewing as I frankly gaped at him. "But…" I said at last, "but who would go out there in the middle of nowhere? What possible reason could someone have to be out there where supposedly nothing exists, no town, no people? You'd just about have to know Harper's Ferry is there to have any reason to go near it!"

"I know. That's what I'm considering. I could perhaps be yet another outlaw looking to join up."

"Would that work?"

"I don't know." His eyebrows drew together a bit, and I found that even a frown on his face looked adorable. "I rather strongly suspect the outlaws who are already there were invited to come, and for someone they've never heard of to show up without having been summoned might not be such a good idea." He took a few more stitches, then said, "Now a prospector might work… Well, if there's evidence of gold or silver strikes in these parts. I'd need to look into that. Hmm… or a missionary. A wandering parson," and his voice changed abruptly, becoming the voice of every mild-mannered minister I'd ever heard in my life, "passing through the wilderness of this earthly existence, looking to impart the Good News of the Gospel to the Godless heathen, regardless of station or race."

All the cuddly feelings I'd been entertaining in my heart toward the charming Artemus Gordon were completely derailed by his sharp veer toward the saintly. I blushed, and to hide the crimson spreading over my face, I turned away and faked a coughing fit.

Instantly Artemus dropped the sewing and leapt to his feet. Hurrying beyond my screen, he called to me, "Will some sherry help? Or would water be better?"

"Sh-sherry," I replied, hoping he would accept the redness of my cheeks as the result of the coughing spell. "Unless you have something stronger?"

He reappeared, bearing a carafe and two glasses. "Stronger, my dear? So early in the day?" He tsked at me playfully.

I tipped my head at him as he reseated himself at my side and began to pour our drinks. Contriving to look the least touch pathetic, I said, "Well, my arm does still hurt, you know. And whiskey is a time-honored painkiller."

He shook his head at me. "Sherry for now, whiskey later, dear Barbara." He passed me my glass, then raised his in salute. And as we each took a sip, his eyes lit up. "Whiskey!"

"I'm sorry?"

"Whiskey! Of course, that's the ticket! They won't be likely to suspect… Oh, and I could add a little something to the whiskey to put them all to sleep! It's ingenious! Barbara my sweet, you're brilliant!" And to my everlasting amazement, he caught me into his arms and bussed me!

Again I gaped at him.

"Oh, I…" He put on an air of apology, then very gently placed a contrite kiss on my cheek. "Please forgive me. It's just that you gave me a marvelous idea for my disguise."

I set down my glass, looked him straight in the eye, and said, "I liked the first one better."

For a long moment he was silent as he regarded me, his eyes sweeping over me, then back up to meet my gaze. Then that lopsided smile appeared once more. Setting his own glass aside as well, he raised his eyebrows as he pulled me into his arms again, this time for a very long, sweet, warm, satisfying kiss.

…

"Tell me again," Artemus was saying, "everything you remember about Harper's Ferry, and about John Brown and his men."

"And woman," I reminded him. My injured arm was resting now in its new sling as the engaging Mr Gordon rummaged through a closet stuffed with an incredible variety of clothing. He pulled out a ratty old frock coat and a double-breasted waistcoat, shiny with use. To these he added a pair of ancient, well-worn trousers and a collarless shirt that had never seen better days. He shot me a twinkling glance, popped a jaunty old top hat onto his head, then held up the shirt and vest against his chest.

"What do you think?" he asked me.

What I thought at that moment was that it would be better if I didn't give him an honest answer, as my honest answer would be that he'd look wonderful in anything or in nothing - and it was that final word I didn't dare say.

"I think you look far too clean to match those clothes," I told him.

"True, true, but I won't by the time I finish with a little bit of makeup and a great deal of beard. I'll be scruffy enough, never fear." He gathered up the clothes and carried them to another room where he paused in the doorway. "You just wait till you see who comes back out of this room," he said, eyes twinkling again. He went in and shut the door, then called out to me, "But go ahead. I was wanting to hear again anything you remember about your ordeal."

I closed my eyes, letting images from my memory rise up before me. "I don't know what more to tell you," I confessed. "They all seemed like such perfectly dreadful people, and John Brown the worst of the lot. Carma followed him around like a puppy dog, sketching, always sketching. I can't imagine what she found so fascinating about him. To me, he was the worst kind of bully…"

The door opened again and Artemus, dressed in an undershirt and trousers - his good trousers still, his suspenders dangling round his hips - stepped out and frowned at me. "Sketching, you say?"

I nodded, trying very hard to keep my eyes on his face and away from the entrancing view of the man's chest under but a single layer of cloth.

"Hmm, I wonder…" He rubbed at his chin speculatively.

"Wonder what?"

"Oh, wonder how Jim's getting on with that girl, that's all." He gave another smile that nearly melted me again, then retreated into his room. "Did you ever happen to get a look at any of her sketches?"

"Only the ones she was working on any time she was around me, which is to say, only those by which she was immortalizing her god, John Brown."

"God?" His voice floated out to me, along with the sounds of water splashing.

"Well, she did seem to be quite taken with him."

"Taken. As in, in love with him?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that! More like…" I paused. Just what did I mean? "More like… he's the foundation of her world, the rock on which her entire life is built. If he falls…"

"And that's our goal, considering he is at the very least a kidnapper, along with being the leader of a large group of outlaws."

"Yes. If he falls, her world falls with him. There's no telling what she might do to prevent that."

Again the door opened. He now had his undershirt off and a towel hanging around his neck, and had obviously been shaving. "Barbara," he said, then yanked the towel off his neck and draped it somewhat haphazardly over his broad and - to my mind - beautiful chest. "I'm sorry," he went on. "No telling what she might do? Would you care to expand on that?"

"Oh, I… I don't know of anything specific. Or wait - maybe I do!"

"Yes?" he prompted, watching my face.

"I just… Oh, I'm not sure. But I heard her and her father arguing at one point. I didn't follow everything, as only about half of what they said was in English, but at one point he caught at her arm and pointed at something at her side. She whipped her arm away from him, then grabbed the thing he'd pointed at. It… it was…"

"Yes?" he said again.

"Oh dear. I wish I had remembered this earlier, before your Mr West went off to meet her!"

Artemus laid a hand on the side of my face. "Why, Barbara? What was it? What did you see?"

I'm sure my face must have been ghost-white at that moment. "She had some sort of loop sewn into her skirt, or - I don't know - it wasn't exactly a sheath…"

"A sheath?" he repeated. "Are… are you saying she had a knife?"

I nodded. "Yes. Right there ready to hand. And I'd say the blade was at least six or eight inches long."

"Oh boy," said Artemus. "That's not good. That's not good at all. Look. You go take a rest. You can nap if you want, or there are plenty of books to look at if you'd prefer. I need to set my disguise aside for a bit while I go check on Jim." He used the towel to wipe the rest of the shaving cream off his face.

"Do you think Mr West is in danger?" I asked, suddenly feeling a clutch at my heart.

He gave me the kind of smile people use when they want to give someone else a reassurance they themselves don't feel. "Barbara honey, in our line of work, Mr West is always in danger."

"Then what are you going to do?" I asked.

He patted my cheek again. "What I always do: go see if I need to pull his fat out of the fire."

to be concluded on Sunday...