THE NIGHT OF THE OUTLAW
By Andamogirl
Author's notes: Season 1.
Summary: Artemus Gordon suffers from a severe concussion, a sprained ankle, and a temporary amnesia. He returns home, to his mother's house, for his recovery. Adventures ensue and something else arises, painful and personal. This story features a cat and a kitten as guest stars.
Reference to TNOT Burning Diamond.
References to my stories TNOT First Mission & TNOT Comanche Moon & TNOT Mexican Imposture.
Baines: "West and Gordon: the unconquerable duo."
Baines: "Oh by the way, where's West today? I was told that you two always work together."
Artie: "Well, we always do work together. Separately."
TNOT Burning Diamond.
Many thanks to my beta reader englishtutor.
WWW
TEASER
BANG!
The single gunshot resounded on top of the hill.
Hit in his right temple, Artemus Gordon cried out as white hot pain exploded on the side of his head. He fell sideway from his horse and rolled down the side of the steep slope, meeting bushes, small rocks and even a tree on his way down toward the river.
He was unconscious long before reaching the shingle bank.
Chestnut whined in distress and looked down, seeing his master's body lying, immobile, huddled against a boulder along a river.
Shortly after two men, one holding a rifle, scrambled down the ravine as fast as they could move, but prudently, and finally crouched beside the unconscious agent lying on his side, on a bed of pebbles.
The man with the rifle touched the side of Artie's throat for a pulse and found a strong beat pressing against his fingers. "He's alive!" he said. "That's good!"
The other man frowned angrily. "Good? Good? I hope so. He has murdered two Marshalls and three federal agents. He's worth 10,000 dollars! It's a fortune!" He paused glaring at his younger brother. "Who taught you to use a rifle, you moron? You had to kill his horse, not shoot him! He's wanted alive! Not dead. I should have done that myself! You're good for nothing, you're lucky to be my brother, otherwise…"He spotted blood running down the side of Artemus's face and added, "I hope he will wake up! That's a nasty injury he has. And I hope he's still in one piece – and I doubt it, after such a fall down here." He pulled out the folded wanted notice from the inside pocket of his vest, looked at the picture… and gasped in surprise. "That's not him! There's a certain resemblance but it's not John Coyote!"
Caleb paled. "What? How so that's not him?"
Lenny took Artie's limp hand in his and observed the back of it. "Coyote has a scar here… He doesn't." He opened the other man's right eye. "His eyes are brown – and not blue." He ran a nervous hand on the nape of his neck." It's not Coyote. But he's in the region, people saw him."
Caleb frowned. "Then?... What are we going to do?"
Lenny stood and his brother copied him. "Go fetch the horses and his too. I don't want anyone to find out what happened to him. He'll have to have vanished into thin air."
Caleb paled a little more. "You want to abandon him here?"
Lenny nodded. "Yes, if we bring him to the next town, Old Creek, the sheriff will ask us questions… and you're a poor liar, Caleb. I don't want to end up in prison…"
Caleb looked down at Artemus, watching blood soak his white shirt. "He's going to die, Lenny. It's… it's murder. We're bounty hunters, not murderers."
Lenny grabbed his brother's arm. "I don't want to end up in a cell or you either right? Go fetch the horses, now! Go!"
Caleb nodded and reluctantly headed back toward the steep slope.
He came back 15 minutes later with the horses. Chestnut moved toward his fallen master and nuzzled his face, trying to wake him.
As they mounted their horses, Chestnut suddenly reared and managed to free himself. He left in a gallop in the opposite direction.
Lenny nodded. "Blood frightened him… When he comes back, his owner will be dead." Then he spurred his mare into a trot, Caleb following suit.
WWW
Later in Old Creek, Illinois
Sitting in the sheriff's office, holding a cup of coffee, James West glanced at the old and decrepit clock hanging on the gray wall, frowning in concern.
His partner was late, and Artemus Gordon was never late. Never. He considered being late to be a deadly sin, he mused. "Something is wrong," he said. "Something bad happened to Artemus…"
Not worried at all, Paul Burke, the sheriff, took the pot of fresh coffee and poured himself a second cup. "Relax Jim, Artie's on his way. He should be here in a moment. He may have taken longer to say goodbye to his mom and to Harry. They had not seen each other for months."
His sixth sense nagging him, Jim shook his head and stood. "I should have stayed with him instead of coming here first."
Burke nodded. "He wanted to be alone with Helena and Harry. He won't see them for a while. By the way, how was your stay?"
Jim turned his cup of coffee in his hands nervously. "It was perfect. I spent a week sleeping like a log in a large bed and not in a bunk, and that's a major change. I spent a week eating both American and Polish cuisine – and it's delicious! Helena is a marvelous cook. I know now why Artie is one too; It's hereditary. And Artie and I went fishing in the river, walking in the forest and did some swimming and canoeing on the Galena Lake. One night we got drunk – plastered - and smoked cigars, and we talked all night long about everything and anything, while sitting on the porch. We do that when we're on leave. It's relaxing." He glanced at the black hot beverage in his cup and added, "Helena tried to teach me how to make good coffee. I tried and almost-failed. Artie said my coffee was decent. It's progress…he usually finds it undrinkable." He stood up, restless. "I have to see if he's okay. I'm sorry for always thinking the worst, Paul, but Artie's a magnet for trouble. I'm leaving right away. I'm sure he's in danger… I can feel it deep in my bones, Paul. Come with me?"
Burke nodded. "Of course, Jim." He gulped his coffee.
WWW
Later along the river
His vision blurred, Artemus headed toward the horse waiting next to a boulder. His horse? His horse was a white mare, not a chestnut gelding. Or not. He wasn't sure anymore, he thought.
He looked around him, lost and disoriented. Where was he?
He grimaced. His ears were ringing, his head felt stuffed with cotton, and it was throbbing. He touched his temple and hissed through his teeth.
His fingertips were red with blood: his blood.
He frowned. He was hurt, bleeding. What happened? He took another step, swayed a little, then his leg gave out under him. He landed hard on pebbles and let out a muffled cry of pain and pinched his eyes shut. He managed somehow to sit on the grass and glanced at his clothes. They were not the clothes he had chosen this morning, he reflected.
His eyebrows knitted. He was a little confused about what happened. He had left home early this morning, had been riding towards Galena to meet Ulysses S. Grant. Grant, who was an ex-Captain, was leading a mass meeting to encourage recruitment. And he was ready to fight for the Union Army… and nothing. Black emptiness, he recalled.
He blinked twice and his vision began clearer. He had been attacked on his way to Galena. A bullet had hit the side of his head… he remembered.
He closed his eyes as his head flared in pain.
He opened them again feeling the horse nuzzle his head, and noticed that it wasn't his saddle nor his saddle blanket the gelding had on his back. He had been attacked… and the person who did that had stolen his horse and left him his horse instead. But why? Maybe because his horse was a better steed? But this horse knew him, because the gelding was now sniffing at his face with affection. But how? "This is the first time I have seen him," he said.
He raised his hand and rubbed his forehead between his eyes where it was aching. "Good horse… I'm imaging things; maybe you're affectionate with everyone…"
Grabbing the horse's mane, he stood up and leaned against the gelding. His knees were quivering, barely supporting him. He waited for the world to stop spinning and he swallowed as nausea was rolling through him.
He kept his eyes closed, gritting his teeth and the nausea subsided a little.
Placing his foot in the stirrup he hauled himself with difficulty into the saddle. Once there, he rested his throbbing head on the horse's.
He took the reins and kicked the horse into motion, weakly, sweating profusely, trying to keep the dizziness at bay. His temples were throbbing with a blinding pain in his head and his vision was starting to go dark around its edges.
He breathed. "I'm going to be late for the General's review… " Then, perched on Chestnut, feeling dizzy, he let out a long, miserable groan. He gagged and struggled to force back the bile that rose in his throat, but it came back and he promptly vomited.
WWW
Later, on the road along Eagle Ridge Forest
Mounting his stallion, Blackjack, Jim West was reaching the top of the hill when he spotted his partner riding Chestnut.
He raised his hand. "Artemus!" he smiled. Artie was fine, he thought.
But his smile vanished from his lips when he noticed that Artie was slowly sliding from his saddle… and gasped, his eyebrows drawing together in concern when he saw the other man fall to the ground heavily – and twist his left foot.
Artemus let out a sharp cry and blacked out.
Jim jumped off his horse and ran toward Artemus, who was sprawled on his back in the middle of the narrow and dusty road.
Paul Burke halted his horse, too. "He's hurt!" he said, sliding off his horse, running toward the two secret services agents.
In an instant, Jim was down on his knees beside Artie and, he immediately noticed all the blood covering the right side of his face that was beginning to dry tacky against his cheekbone and chin, coming from a deep gash at his temple. His partner's face was white as a sheet, covered with a sheen of sweat, his eyes only half-open, like his mouth, he noticed with dread – like he was dying.
Feeling panic rise, he shook Artemus's shoulder. "Artie! Wake up!"
Slowly, painfully, Artemus reacted and opened his eyes sluggishly. "Wha… wha…'ppened?" he asked, watching Jim with unfocused eyes. "Hurts…"
Burke fished a clean handkerchief in the inside pocket of his vest and pressed it against the other man's head injury. "A bullet did that," he said." Then he pressed it on the wound, trying to ignore the hisses of pain from Artemus.
Placing a gentle hand against Artie's the unbloodied side of his face. "I know, it's not the first time he's been hurt that way. Artie, listen to me, what happened?"
Closing his eyes Artemus mumbled, "Need to see Ulysses S. Grant… Galena… my horse was stolen… going to be late… can't be late…need to enroll…"
Sheriff Burke frowned puzzled. "What? He's going to see a General in Galena? To enroll? I thought he was supposed to join you to escort John Riker." Riker was currently secured in one of Burke's cells, awaiting transport to Chicago, and then to Washington, D. C.
Following his intuition, Jim asked, "Artie, what's the date?"
Opening his eyes again, Artie whispered, "1861… I don't remember the day… my head hurts. I-I remember now… there was a gunshot and a bullet grazed my temple…" he automatically raised his hand to touch his injured temple.
Burke caught Artemus's hand mid-way. "No, don't touch it," he said. Then he raised his eyebrows in surprise and blinked. "1861? But we're in 1874!" He nodded. "I know, I saw that once during the war, to people who took a blow to the head. He has a temporary amnesia."
Pointing at the scratches crisscrossing Artie's face, neck and hands, and at his torn clothes, he said, "He fell from his horse and probably rolled down somewhere…" He gently lifted Artie's head, brushing his tousled hair aside, examining his scalp for any outward signs of injury. He nodded as he saw and touched a bruised big bump at the back of his head. When he removed his fingers, there was dark dried blood on them. "You're right, he took a blow to the head and he has a severe concussion, and it has provoked a temporary amnesia, and he's probably all bruised up too."
He pressed Artie's limbs here and there to see if the other man's bones were still intact and Artie winced. When he reached his left ankle, he screamed.
Burke cursed under his breath. "He hurt his leg falling from his horse."
Jim nodded. "Yes. It's okay Artie, you're in one piece, but your ankle is sprained, I think." He looked up at the sheriff and added, "As you know On April 12, 1861 the war began. Two days later President Lincoln called for 75,000 volunteers and a mass meeting was held in Galena to encourage recruitment. The former Captain Ulysses S. Grant was asked to lead it, and he helped recruit a company of volunteers and accompanied the regiment to Springfield, the state capital…"
Paul Burke nodded. "I was there, and Artemus too. I was at his side; we enrolled together. But we didn't serve together. That was too bad. He was my best friend. We grew up together. He was chosen to be in the cavalry and I in the infantry. There was another of our comrades with us, John Forbes. He was in the infantry, like me. But we ended in different companies – I don't know what happened to him. He was a nice guy but he didn't like to mingle with us… I mean Artemus, Frank, Lyle, me and the rest of our band… he was shy and always stand-offish…He looked like Artemus a little, but with blue eyes. I hope he's okay. So many dead people…" He sighed and added, "Then… he thinks he's heading to that mass meeting in Galena?" Jim nodded. "Okay, let's bring him back to his home; it's closer. Old Harry is going to take care of Artemus."
Immediately Jim pulled Artie's arm around his shoulders and hefted him up. "He's not going to be able to stay upright in his saddle…"
Artie screamed again as soon as his left foot touched the ground. He mumbled unintelligible words, then something incoherent about his horse and passed out.
The sheriff helped Jim to hoist Artemus across his saddle; then, using a rope, he secured the injured man on top of Chestnut.
He mounted his horse, and Jim copied him – grabbing Chestnut's reins. "Let's go!" he said, and they headed toward Green Hill.
Tbc.