"Finally, we're getting a well deserved week of rest," James said to himself. It had seemed as if he and Artie had been working themselves to death the past few weeks and had finally reached the point where if they didn't take some time off they'd drop from exhaustion. Right now they were stopped on some little used tracks outside of Washington, DC. James had gone into town to visit with Mariposa whom he had met a few days ago while taking care of some personal, but top secret business for the president. Which had left Artie with the afternoon to do whatever he wanted and so after he'd straightened up the lab, which James had been after him to do for weeks, he spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on reading some mail that he hadn't gotten around to yet and that included one very long letter from his dear, sweet, Great Aunt Maude, who had included some new recipes from the cookbook her Handwork Group had put together as a fundraiser. Artie decided that he would fix supper that night and began looking through the recipes to plan what to have. He finally decided on baked chicken with a pineapple glaze, sautéed green beans, green onion bread, and from the cookbook, layered strawberry shortcake with French vanilla cream filling.

A few hours later, James returned from a very pleasant and romantic afternoon with Mariposa, which translated from Spanish meant butterfly, and James thought her name definitely suited her, not because she was flighty and ditzy headed like some girls, but rather because like the beautiful creature she was named after she seemed to float gracefully along and brighten even the dreariest of days with her presence.

"Artie, I'm going to be working on some reports in the varnish car that should have been sent to Colonel Richmond a week ago and he's not too happy that I've been putting off getting them to him," James said as he rushed through the galley. "Oh whatever that is your cooking smells wonderful. If they weren't going to dinner with their father I'd send a message by Henrietta and invite Mariposa and Annaliese to join us."

Annaliese was Mariposa's sister and was currently being courted by Artie. Not only was she Mariposa's sister, she was her twin sister and other than the fact that she was interested science, languages, and music more than fashion and what was in the society pages of the local paper they looked exactly alike. Annaliese, much to her mother's dismay would much rather be in a lab working on a science experiment or discussing ancient civilizations than going shopping for the latest fashions or attending social events.

"Go right ahead James, supper won't be ready for a few hours anyway." Then glancing at the recipe card he'd propped against the container of sugar on the counter said to himself. "Now where did I put the dried lemon zest."

Seeing it on the other side of the cabinet Artie, who thought he was close enough to reach it without moving the ladder, leaned out to grab the jar.

"Be careful, Artie," James cautioned from where he was standing in the doorway between the galley and the parlor car.

The jar of lemon zest was not as close as Artie had thought and he had to stretch out in an attempt to inch the jar within his reach. He stretched out precariously placing his feet against the rungs of the ladder to maintain his balance and hold a frying pan, hanging from one of the hooks in the ceiling, out of his way with one hand while he was trying to reach the jar with the other. To James he looked like a circus acrobat in a balancing act.

Just when he was a few inches away from touching the jar, Artie lost his balance and instinctively let go of the frying pan to grab onto the ladder with both hands to keep from falling. It was in that split second that he realized what he had done as he helplessly watched the cast iron frying pan hit James, who had moved closer in case he was needed to hold the ladder, squarely on the head and he slumped to the ground. Not caring if he got hurt or not, Artie quickly jumped off the ladder and knelt beside James who to his relief was still breathing, although unconscious.

"Come on, James, wake up," Artie said gently slapping his face in an attempt to revive him. A few minutes passed and he began to panic as James should have at least showed some sign of movement by now.

"James, I mean it, if you die, I'll kill you myself," he said his voice choked with desperation. Then slowly James' eyes fluttered opened and he gazed at Artie trying to figure out who and where he was.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"James, you know me, I'm Artemus Gordon your partner and friend, well maybe friend didn't do their relationship justice as they were almost like brothers and sometimes he thought they even acted like it the way they fought and cared about each other. Of course, he added to himself the fact that the two of them were together in the Wanderer 24-hours a day for weeks and months on end definitely contributed to the fact that from time to time they were bound to get on each others' nerves, but at the same time if anything were to happen to either of them the other one would be there in a heartbeat help them out.

James stared at him blankly.

"You're James West with the secret service and I'm Artemus Gordon your partner. President Grant has commissioned us to investigate threats against the United States and to protect him and other members of the United States government. You remember? Don't you?"

James continued to stare blankly at him.

Then Artie looked down at James and even though he didn't want to consider it a somber thought crossed his mind and to himself he whispered "Amnesia." Then getting himself under control he said aloud. "James, don't move I'm going to take you back to Washington and have Dr. Douglas, President Grant's personal physician, examine you. I also need to inform President Grant and Colonel Richmond what has happened and find out what course of action they want to take once we know what Dr. Douglas' prognosis for you is."

A short time later they were on their way to Washington D.C. and by this time Artie had decided it was safe enough to move James to the parlor car where he would be more comfortable rather than spend the entire trip lying on the floor of the galley. James was now stretched out on the sofa with an ice bag on the still fairly good sized lump on his head. Artie was playing classical music on the victrola more to keep himself calm than anything else.

When Orin Cobb, their engineer, pulled into the secret station under the White House they were met by Dr. Douglas who quickly got James inside, told Artie that the President was expecting him and that he would be in as soon as he had examined James and could tell them something definite as to his outcome.

"Come in," President Grant said hearing Artie's knock on his office door.

"Sir, I…," Artie began.

"It's alright, Artemus," the President replied. "I received your message via Henrietta, although I must say I never expected to hear that one of my best agents was taken out of commission by a frying pan. I know it wasn't a purposeful act of aggression committed in a premeditated fashion so there will be no official inquiry made as to the reason for the incident."

Artie was about to say something else, but at that moment there was knock at the door and upon President Grant's acknowledgement Dr. Douglas entered the room and neither of them liked the look on his face.

"Mr. President, Artemus, James is resting comfortably, however I am sorry to report that he does have amnesia brought on by getting hit in the head by the frying pan as well as a very large contusion to the cranial area. Other than those two injuries he has suffered no other physical injury from the incident."

"When do you think he will regain his memory," President Grant asked his voice heavy with concern.

"That is hard to say," Dr. Douglas replied. "Memory loss may last a few hours or it may be days, weeks, months or even years before the patient's memory returns and in a few very rare cases I have read about the patient never regains their memory and then of course must be cared for by family or placed in a sanitarium or other institution that is equipped to care for them." Then seeing the look on Artemus's face at the realization that James might never regain his memory the doctor offered some words of encouragement. "The best thing right now is to talk to him about familiar subjects, expose him to familiar sights and sounds, hopefully something will trigger the portion of the brain that is affected and his memory will eventually return. I recommend you find a nice, quiet spot out of the city where James can rest and I'll check on him in a few days."

By late afternoon, the Wanderer was parked near a lake a few miles outside of Washington D.C. in a grove of fully blooming cherry trees that had been recommended by the President. Artie couldn't help but agree that it had been an excellent choice as it was very quiet, away from the busy workings and political chaos of the nation's seat of government, and he hoped that this would be just the environment James needed to recover his memory.

They were sitting outside under one of the cherry trees and Artie was talking with James about anything and everything in the hope that something would click within that currently functioning albeit jumbled mind of his, when the President's carriage pulled up and seeing President Grant get out Artie started to get up, but the President motioned for him to stay where he was.

"I need to talk to you about something important and didn't have a chance earlier," he said sitting down next to them.

"What sir?" Artie replied.

"A few days ago I sent James into town to pick up an important package for me; did he say anything to you about whether or not he got it?"

"I know he came back with a package the other day, but he didn't tell me what it was, nor do I have any idea where he put it." Artie replied.

The President looked worried.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"Artemus, we need to either find that package, or James needs to recovery his memory and tell us where it is. It's a matter of domestic importance"

"You mean the country could be in serious trouble if the package isn't found?"

"I'm talking about personal domestic importance, Artemus. Julia's birthday is in two weeks and she has been very distant lately I finally learned from her personal secretary that she thinks I've forgotten it, again. Well, I remembered that she's had her eye on this very lovely sapphire necklace and so I had the jeweler hold it for me along with the matching ring, brooch, earrings, and bracelet. James picked them up for me along with a hand carved mahogany jewelry box the other day and he was to keep the package until the night before her birthday, but I was worried that Julia might find out and ruin my surprise so I instructed him to tell no one where it was. Considering what has transpired I think that was a big mistake since James being the dependable agent he is followed my instructions and didn't even tell you. So, if it isn't found I am as they say in the dog house and if the press gets wind of it they'll have quite a time with this story you can be certain."

After President Grant left, Artie took James back inside and while he was napping Artie tried to think of where James could have possibly hidden the First Lady's birthday present. He spent the afternoon going through the lab and the storage area without any luck in finding the package, too tired to look any longer he fixed supper and after he and James were finished and the dishes had been washed, dried, and put away he went to bed hoping that tomorrow he'd find the gift or James would recover his memory and tell him where it was.

It was four days before the First Lady's birthday and the package containing her gift had not been found. Artie couldn't imagine where James had put it and he had searched every square inch of the Wanderer that he could think to search. To make matters worse James' memory showed no signs of returning either and Artie couldn't help, but worry that he was going be one of those rare cases where the person's memory never returned. As he lay in bed trying to sleep Artie came to the conclusion that if Dr. Douglas admitted that was going to be the case he would take James to some secluded spot and kill him and then himself before he would allow James to spend the rest of his life in some institution living out his days in inhuman conditions. It would be easy to make it look as if one of their many adversaries had finally managed to do them in. Of course that plan would be carried out only after he had made an attempt to care for James himself, which of course would mean his resignation from the secret service. Although that would mean giving up a career he enjoyed almost as much as acting, but being there for James was more important than either of those things he reminded himself and somehow, he finally managed to fall into a fitful sleep after that.

James lay in bed in his room trying to will even the tiniest memory to surface, with no success. Supposedly, he was one of the president's top secret service agents and had tracked down and brought to justice many people who wanted to harm the country's leaders or bring the government to a halt. He and Artie were the president's most dependable and trusted men. Not to mention before that he'd had an impressive military career. Well, that was quite an honor, but he didn't remember any of it. Artie had told him about several of the assignments that they had carried out and the adversaries they had defeated, however the names meant nothing to him although Artie had been very laudatory over his fighting skills not to mention he supposedly had a way with the young ladies and was considered by them to be quite a catch, romantically. Nothing made sense; it was as if he was hearing the story of someone else's life even though according to Artie it was his own. Although he certainly wished he remembered some of those romantic encounters. He was not able to sleep either and got out of bed to pace through the train that according to Artie was their home, as he did every night, until he got so tired that once he went back to bed sleep overcame him. He was walking through the parlor car when he tripped over the belt on his bathrobe, which had come untied, and went flying head first into the fireplace mantel. For the second time in as many weeks a veil of blackness descended over him and he sank to the floor.

Artemus heard the crash and sat up in bed.

"What in the world is going on," he thought getting out of bed. As he entered the parlor car he saw James sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace.

"James, not again," he thought and he rushed to his friend's side kneeling on the floor beside him. "For crying out loud, Jim, what are you trying to do addle your brains more than they are? What am I going to do with you?" He screamed slapping James's face in an attempt, to again revive him.

James reached up and grabbed his wrists. "Artie, why are you hitting me, stop it," he said in a pain filled voice.

"James, do you know who I am, do you know who you are, and where we're at?" Artie asked with a concerned looked on his face.

"I'm James West secret service agent to President Grant and right now I am lying on the floor of the parlor car of my official train, The Wanderer, and for reasons I can't yet figure out I am, at the present time, being slapped silly by my very hysterical partner, Artemus "Artie" Gordon."

Artie sat back and sighed with relief, "Thank goodness, I think your memory has returned," he replied.

James tried to sit up, but lay back on the floor as a wave of pain ripped through his head and he felt very dizzy. He reached up to touch the back of his head and felt two lumps one larger and definitely more painful than the other. Then feeling something running down the side of his face he brushed his fingers over his cheek and he sensed the sticky, coagulating feeling of blood.

"Easy, James," Artemus told him. "There's another good sized lump on your head as well as the one you got from being hit by the frying pan and a cut to your forehead. Just lie there for a few minutes and then we'll try and get you onto the sofa and taken care of."

James sank back onto the floor with a sigh.

About 15 minutes later, James, with Artie's help, had felt like he could get up and was now sitting on the sofa with an ice pack on his head, which felt as if a marching band consisting of only base drums were practicing inside of it. Artie brought him some tea and then sat down facing him, looking as if he wanted to say something.

"What," James asked wishing that the throbbing in his head would ease up.

"James, do you remember what day it is?" Artie asked as he cleaned and bandaged the cut on his forehead, which wasn't as bad as it had first looked and wasn't likely to leave a scar.

"Of course, it's Monday, March 20, 1865," James replied wondering why his friend was asking irrelevant questions when he was suffering from a splitting headache.

Artie shook his head. "No, James, it's Thursday March 30, 1865," he said. "Remember, you came into the kitchen on the 20th after your date with Mariposa and I was on the ladder trying to find the jar of dried lemon zest in the back of the cabinet. I lost my balance and dropped the cast iron frying pan on your head, knocking you out. When you finally came around you couldn't remember anything. You've had amnesia for 10 days and I was worried that you'd never regain your memory. In fact, and don't you ever tell anyone this, if that turned out to be the case I had decided to resign from the secret service in order to care for you myself and if that didn't work out I was going to take you to some secluded location, kill you, and then myself making it look like someone had done both of us in rather than have you spend the rest of your life wasting away in some institution."

James was too stunned to say anything. Not that he had had the slightest doubt that Artie was sincere when he said he cared for James as if they were brothers, but the fact that he was willing to go so far as to quit a position he enjoyed to care for him and even kill them both to spare him a life living in less than human conditions well that definitely went a long way in telling James how much Artie cared about him, both as a partner and a friend.

"But," he continued the main reason I asked if you knew what day it was is that Julia Grant's birthday is in four days and a few days before your little accident President Grant had sent you to pick up her gift. I remember you hid it in the train, but didn't tell me since the President told you to tell no one for fear she'd find out and spoil the surprise."

"I remember picking up the present at the jeweler's and then came back and commented to you, again, that the lab looked worse than a battlefield and would it be too much trouble if you could find time to clean it up a little. I don't remember where I put it though."

"Great," Artie said. "James, we need to find that package soon because the President wants it at the White House the night before her birthday. Julia's convinced that he has forgotten her birthday, again, and that present is the only thing that is going to keep him out of hot water as far as his marriage is concerned."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman who thinks her birthday has been forgotten," James said grinning in spite of the pain. "Don't worry, we'll find it even if we have to get Orrin to help us take the entire train apart. Now, just let me rest and tomorrow we'll go over everything with a fine toothed comb. It's probably right in plain sight and you've just been so concerned about me that you've overlooked it."

Artie hoped that was case and encouraged by James's optimism left him to rest on sofa with the latest issues of Harper's Weekly, Nation, Yankee Notions, Comic Monthly, The Atlantic Monthly, Nick Nax, Frank Leslies Budget of Fun, Frank Leslies Illustrated Newspaper, and The Evening Star while he went to the galley to fix them a light supper of a cucumber melon salad and chicken sandwiches.

The next morning, James, still suffering a slight headache, and some slight dizziness if e turned his head too quickly had a quick breakfast and then began the daunting task of searching for Julia's birthday present, he agreed to look in the bedrooms and the parlor car, while Artie took the lab, the kitchen, and, although both of them felt that it was highly unlikely to be there, the stable car.

"James," Artie called from the kitchen.

"You found it?" James replied from the doorway looking relieved as the search of the bedrooms had turned up nothing and he was just starting on the parlor.

"No, but I found out what's been getting into the cheese," he said holding up an empty oatmeal canister that contained something very much alive.

"A very full field mouse and it must have impeccable tastes since it has consumed almost all of the smoked Gouda you got the last time we were in St. Louis.

At that statement, James let out a sigh. That was expensive smoked Gouda that had one major accolades from chefs as far away as France. It had cost an arm and a leg just for the small amount James had purchased, but James was not one to forgo the occasional luxury and it was definitely fun for him to feed small cubes of it, as well as pieces of fruit and chocolate to Mariposa while he had her blindfolded.

"Just take the rotund rodent outside as far from the train as possible and let it loose," James said.

As he was standing in the galley waiting for Artie to return something clicked in his head and he rushed to his bedroom and began toss things out of his closet. Artie, hearing the noise ran to the doorway and seeing James tossing his clothing and belongings every which way became concerned that James had lost his mind and for a brief moment considered subduing him with a knockout bomb, tying him up, and contacting Dr. Douglas.

James pulled a couple of boards from the wall of the closet and stood up holding something wrapped in brown paper.

"I found it!" he exclaimed. "Artie, when you went to let the mouse outside I had a brief flash of putting something in that secret panel I had built into the wall of my closet."

James set the package on the table and he and Artie stood looking at it for a few minutes both me breathing sighs of relief.

"Let's eat supper and then get this to the White House," Artie said. "James while I get things on the table why don't you send a message to President Grant and let him know that Julia's present has been found and we'll be delivering it as soon as we're done eating."

"The sooner we do that the better," James thought. "We've averted one marital disaster and I don't want to risk anything happening to it and causing anymore problems."

A few days later…

That evening after returning from Julia's birthday party the two agents were seated in the parlor car where James was reading Innocents Abroad by a newly published author who went by the name Mark Twain and Artie was working on a crossword puzzle.

"Artie," James said looking up from the book "Can I ask you something?"

"What's on your mind?" Artie replied.

"I was just thinking about what you told me, how if I never regained my memory you were going to resign from the secret service to take care of me and if it came to the point that that was no longer possible then you were going to take me out to some secluded area, kill me, and then yourself making it look like we'd been murdered rather than have me committed to an institution. Well,…" James stopped for moment to find the right words for what he wanted to say next.

"Go on James," Artie encouraged.

"Well," James continued. "I was wondering would you really have gone through with that, killing both of us I mean."

Artie was silent for a few minutes. "James, I honestly don't know what I would have done and I hope neither of us ever has to find out," he said quietly staring out into the twilight covered countryside they were currently passing through.