The Night of the Malevolent Deception

by California gal

Artie awakens in a strange place with a strange woman claiming to be his wife... and the news that Jim West died a year ago...

The Night of the Malevolent Deception

Friends depart, and memory takes them

To her caverns, pure and deep.
—Teach Me to Forget, Thomas Haynes Bayly, English poet & songwriter (1797-1839)

He did not open his eyes immediately, aware that things were not right. The sensation of the mattress under him was not the one in his stateroom on the Wanderer, nor any hotel. He had not gone to a hotel. He had…

"Are you ever going to wake up, sleepyhead?"

The lilting feminine voice caused his eyes to pop open and he stared at the lovely blonde woman standing beside the bed, smiling down at him. A woman he had never seen before in his life, yet the expression on her face, in her greenish-blue eyes, was one of complete devotion.

"Who… who are you?" he asked, abruptly aware that under the quilt that covered him he was wearing nothing.

She gasped, eyes widening. "Jim! Oh, Jim! Don't you know me?" Slender hands rose to press against her cheeks, the eyes now mirroring anguish.

"Why do you call me that?" He could not think of anything else to say at the moment.

She reached down now to grasp his hand as it lay on the coverlet, lowering herself slowly to sit on the edge of the bed. He now noticed something he had not before: the gold band on the third finger of his left hand. She was wearing one as well: a matching band.

"Isn't that… what is your name, darling?"

Pretty obviously, the woman was exerting great effort to remain calm right now. He did the same. "My name is Artemus Gordon. Who are you?"

"Oh, darling!" She brought his hand up, grasped in both of hers, to her cheek. "I'm Harriet Easton… Harriet Braun… your wife!"

For a long moment, Artemus lay still and stared at her. "I don't understand," he said finally. "I don't have a wife."

"Oh, my dearest," she sighed again. "Richard warned me this could happen, but I just didn't want to believe it. We were so happy. Six months of pure bliss!"

"Six months!" Artie started to sit up, pulling his hand free. At the same moment he remembered his unclothed state, a wave of dizziness swept through his brain and he fell back to the pillow.

"Are you all right, J… darling? Has the vertigo returned?"

"I'm all right," Artemus lied. What the devil is going on here? "What did you mean about… six months? Who's Richard? Where am I?" He stared toward the slightly opened window a moment, unable to see much beyond gauzy curtains that were moving slightly in a breeze wafting through.

"Oh, dear! There's so much to tell you. I'd better go get Richard." She stood up, paused. "Richard is my brother, Richard Easton. He owns this ranch, and is also a doctor, so he treated you after you were found."

"Found? What do you mean?"

Quickly Harriet leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Rest, darling. I'll bring Richard and we'll tell you everything."

She hurried out the door before Artie could say anything further. After a long moment, he slowly lifted himself again. The vertigo returned, but closing his eyes and holding still a few seconds, it passed, and he continued until reaching a sitting position. A dark blue robe with satin collars and cuffs was on the foot of the bed, so he reached down to grasp it, slipped it on. It fit. Perfectly. The leather slippers on the floor also fit. Lifting his left hand he stared at the gold band.

Six months. Married six months? She's beautiful but she must be insane. Six months ago I was in Saint Louis…

He looked around the well-furnished room. Wherever this was—Richard Easton's ranch or some other place—it was a place backed with money. Now he walked to the window and looked down from a second story over a lovely garden with hedges and rosebushes. He saw hills some distance beyond. None of the landscape looked familiar.

Turning from the window, Artemus moved to a massive oaken wardrobe. Opening it, he found it filled with attire for both a woman and a man. Taking one of the jackets down he realized that although it was not a style he normally favored, it would fit. Boots on the floor looked worn. One pair was his. He recognized them.

With a sigh, Artie hung up the jacket again, closed the wardrobe door and looked around the room. He was having trouble thinking clearly. This just did not make sense. How could this Harriet possibly think she was his wife? For six months?

I've got to think. I left the train…

Why was he having such trouble remembering what occurred after he rode away from the Wanderer? He and Jim had had a heated discussion regarding the plans for the bullion. He had saddled his chestnut and ridden out across the Nevada dry lands, determined to prove his partner wrong. I stopped at that cabin for water…

That seemed to be the last memory he had: A tumbledown cabin where a bearded old man with a sour expression reluctantly handed him a tin cup of water. Then… what? Artemus had been wandering around the room as he tried to loosen his memory. Pausing at the mirrored dressing table, he picked up the newspaper lying there.

The first thing that caught his eye was the masthead. The San Rafael Valley Press, San Rafael Valley, Texas. Texas! Next he noticed the date: a date that was more than a full year later than the day on which he had stormed off the Wanderer.

This is crazy. The publisher must have made a mistake…

His eyes roved down the page… and for a moment his heart seemed to stop. The article title leapt out at him, bold and black: Senate Approves Funds for West-Gordon Memorial. West-Gordon Memorial… what? He did not want to read the words printed there. Yet he had to.

"The United States Senate last week ratified the bill previously approved in the House of Representative, providing funds to erect a suitable memorial over the grave of the late agent, James T. West, who was buried at Arlington Cemetery with full honors a year ago. Mr. West was slain during an attempt by an outlaw gang to steal government gold in Nevada. Mr. Artemus Gordon, Mr. West's partner, had disappeared shortly before that raid, and is presumed dead. Both men were well known for their heroic exploits while protecting the safety of the president as well as the country in general. Both had also served heroically in the Union Army during the late war as well…"

There was more, but Artemus found his vision was blurring. He staggered to the bed to sit down, pressing his hand over his eyes, the newspaper still clutched in the other hand. It can't be true. Can't be! Jim dead? A year ago? What happened? What the hell happened?

The bedroom door opened and a tall, slender blond man entered. He was in his shirtsleeves, and carried a small black bag. "Harriet tells me you have regained your memory and that your name is Gordon. What was the first name again?"

"Artemus. Artemus Gordon. You are… her brother?"

"Richard Easton. I'm a physician. You've regained your past memory, but do not recall what happened since you were brought here?"

"Where is here?"

"My ranch…"

"But where is your ranch?"

"San Rafael Valley, Texas, of course. This is where you were found a year ago, wandering and out of your head with fever."

"Texas! It can't be Texas! I was in Nevada!"

Easton sat down on the bed alongside Artemus, opening his bag to withdraw a stethoscope. "What do you mean, you were in Nevada?" He pressed the instrument against Artie's chest.

"That's where I was!" Artie put a hand to his forehead. "I was in Nevada… with Jim!"

"Who's Jim? That's the name you kept babbling when you were first bought here. I'm afraid we thought it was your name."

"My… my partner. The newspaper says… he's dead."

Easton took the paper, gazed at it a long moment. "You're that Gordon? I'll be damned. I remember reading about the government agent who vanished… and that was in Nevada, wasn't it? I'll be damned. How the devil did you end up in Texas?"

"That's what I want to know. Mr. Easton… doctor… tell me where… how I was found."

"Two of my men came across you on the southern boundary of my property. You were staggering along the road, obviously had been badly beaten and out of your head, your clothes in rags. They brought you to me, and Harriet and I nursed you back to health. The fever left, but so did your memory. You had no recollection of your name or anything else. I sent some inquiries around the area, but couldn't learn anything. We concluded you had been beaten and robbed while traveling through, but we had no clue as to where you were from. It soon became evident that you were not a run-of-the-mill drifter, that you were an educated man, but we were still unable to trace your identity. Then… as time went on… you and my sister became close. I came to be of the opinion, and I am sure Harriet did too, that you were content with this new life."

"You called me Jim?"

"Yes. As I said, you kept saying that name. I guess I understand why now. It is—was your partner's name. But you accepted it, felt comfortable with it. Harriet came up with the surname. Braun, German for brown, because of your eyes. You became Jim Braun, and six months after arriving, six months ago now, you married my sister."

The door opened again, this time admitting Harriet, bearing a tray with a small silver coffee pot and a cup. She smiled wanly. "You usually like your morning coffee."

Artie was able to smile a little. "That at least didn't change." Then another memory interfered: the habit the partners had of sitting at the table on the Wanderer enjoying coffee while discussing the day's plans, usually concerning their current or next case, but sometimes reminiscing about one that was concluded. Grief was a sharp knife piercing his insides. How can he be dead and I didn't know it?

"Richard," Harriet said, "you once told me that if Ji… Artemus regained his memory, he would probably remember… all that happened in the interim."

"I know I did, dear. But recall, I also warned you that head injuries were unpredictable. Sometimes the memory is never regained. Sometimes, all memories are kept, before and during the amnesia. And upon occasion, like now, the period in between is lost. I hoped… well, there's still a chance Artemus will remember everything."

Artie sipped the rich coffee. "Any idea how long that will take?"

Easton shook his head. "None whatsoever. You might wake up tomorrow and recall it all… or perhaps never. Are you all right?"

Artie had put a hand to his forehead. "Just… more dizziness."

"That is worrisome, I must admit. You suffered a great deal of vertigo and even passed out twice during the early days. But it all seemed to clear up. Let me see."

He reached over to pull Artemus's eyelids up then down, asking Artie to look in all directions while the physician peered into his eyes. Easton sighed. "I don't see anything, but I'm no expert. I can treat broken bones and measles, even a bullet wound. But I've never had such a case as this."

Harriet put a hand on her brother's shoulder. "He'll be all right, won't he?"

"I'm sure." Easton got to his feet. "What I suggest now is that you lay down again, Artemus. Perhaps sleep some more."

"Doctor…"

"Please call me Richard. We are brothers-in-law to all intents and purposes." He cast a sad glance toward his sister.

"Richard, I need to send telegraph messages to my superiors and to… to friends." He almost said "fiancée." Lily! She must think I'm dead too. Seeing the grief on Harriet's face had caused him to change his words. He could tell her about Lily another time.

"Of course. When you wake up next, I'll bring you pad and paper and you can write them up…"

Artie frowned. "I would like to send them myself. Is there… a town near here?"

"Yes. It's about fifteen miles east, which of course is a lengthy ride, especially for someone in your condition. As your physician, as well as your friend and brother-in-law, I am going to forbid such exertion for now. But if you'll write out the messages, I'll see they are sent. Lay down now."

Because of Harriet's presence, Artemus kept the robe on as he willingly slipped back under the blankets, though he reminded himself, ruefully, that they had been married for six months. He was feeling very tired and heavy-headed. Maybe he's right. Maybe more sleep and I'll start remembering things. I hope so. I have to know what happened. I would never desert Jim at a time like that. And how—how!—did I come to be in Texas rather than Nevada?

W*W*W*W*W

"That's a lie! And impossible!"

"Mr. West," the man with the steel-rimmed spectacles spoke coldly, "may I remind you to whom you are speaking. One does not address superiors in such a manner."

James West stiffened, gathering himself. Now was not the time to antagonize this man, who was nominally the head of the Secret Service. Why did Colonel Richmond pick this time to become incapacitated? When he's needed the most… Jim knew that the colonel had not deliberately chosen to suffer an attack of acute appendicitis last week. He was going to be off duty for at least six weeks. In the meantime, his second in command, Erling Paley, was in charge. Paley had arrived in Nevada two days ago; he showed up at the Wanderer not long after Artemus had stormed off.

"I beg your pardon, sir. I'm… I'm just worried about Mr. Gordon."

"With whom you had an argument before he went off to sulk."

Jim took a breath before he spoke. "Not an argument. A disagreement. I explained…"

"Yes, I know you did." Paley was sitting on the sofa, his ivory-headed cane with the carved elephant's head positioned between his knees, both hands on top of it. He was a very thin man in his late fifties, with a long pointed face that Artemus had once compared to the face of a weasel. They had both decided that the comparison was apt. The hairstyle Paley favored only enhanced the impression: after parting it in the middle, he slicked the dark, graying strands down to his skull with some kind of oil.

Jim knew why Paley had been named Richmond's assistant. President Grant seemingly owed this man a favor, and Grant was notorious for being loyal to people who did not necessarily deserve that loyalty. He had asked Richmond to take Paley into the service, and the colonel decided—because he also knew Paley from past interactions—that the safest place to have him was as his assistant. "That way I can keep an eye on him." Colonel Richmond, of course, had not anticipated the serious illness.

"Mr. Paley, I have to find my partner. He's been gone forty-eight hours…"

"Gordon has obviously deserted the service over some petty grievance. We don't have time to deal with him now. That will come later. Desertion is a serious crime, particularly when one possesses the knowledge Mr. Gordon owns."

Every iota of willpower James West owned was required to prevent himself from lashing out at the smug man. He knew very well that Erling Paley did not like him, or Gordon, any more than they liked him. They had clashed previously, but Richmond had always been there to handle matters, superseding any irrelevant and often just plain stupid orders Paley issued.

"It's possible," Jim said in a tight, but level voice, "that Mr. Gordon's disappearance is tied into the gold shipment…"

The cane lifted up on the floor an inch or two, slammed down. "Well, I'm glad to hear you admit it, West. I've long felt that you two had far too much autonomy. Richmond has been a fool to trust the two of you so unreservedly."

"What are you implying, sir?" Jim's hands balled into fists at his side.

"You're no fool, West," Paley smirked. "I'll give you that. You know exactly what I'm inferring. Mr. Gordon has joined the other side."

Jim West ever after wondered how he prevented himself from grabbing Paley and throwing him off the train. Instead he spoke evenly. "That is not what I meant… sir. It's possible that the rumored outlaw gang has taken Mr. Gordon prisoner, possibly to use as a hostage, or at least to try to get information from him."

"You're a dreamer, West." Paley finally used the cane as leverage to push himself up off the couch, enjoying the several inches of height advantage he owned over the compactly-built agent. "Gordon has gone to the other side. There's no other explanation for it. You yourself said you searched thoroughly for him…"

"Not thoroughly," Jim retorted. "I have not had time…"

"Nor will you be occupying the department's valuable time in such useless pursuits. What you will do now is continue to prepare for the bullion shipment. Of course, you must take into account what your former partner knows, and provide alternatives. That's an order, Mr. West. Accept that Gordon has gone to the other side. Not surprising. How many times have you two been involved in tracking down thieves, only to be required to turn the loot—or at least most of it—over to its original owners? That must be painful, eh?"

"Mr. Paley…"

Paley lifted the cane, pointed the elephant head toward Jim. "I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, West, though God knows why. I know how close you and Gordon are. I find it hard to believe he's working independently. But you will be watched closely. If anything happens to that gold, you'll pay the price. Severely. Do you understand?"

Jim did not reply, knowing he would not be able to speak in anything resembling normalcy, let alone courtesy. He stood at attention, lidded eyes glaring at the other man. He did notice with some slight satisfaction that Paley did not meet his stare directly.

Erling Paley went on. "In six days, this train must be back in Denver to receive the bullion shipment and the Army guard. At that time, you will give me a detailed description of your faultless scheme to transport the shipment through to San Francisco. Don't doubt me, West. Don't underestimate me. I am currently your superior. I also have President Grant's ear. Do you understand? Answer me!"

"Yes, sir." The words were grated out.

"Very well. Six days, West. Take heed, you will be watched the entire time." Paley spun and stalked toward the door at the rear of the car. He paused very briefly, glancing back, obviously expecting that Jim would have hurried forward to open the door for him. When West made no move, Paley grasped the handle, opened it to step through, slamming it behind him so that the glass rattled.

James West turned to place the palms of his hands on the table, leaning hard, breathing heavily. He had never come closer to losing it completely. To strike Paley could have been the death knell to his career. Even President Grant would have had to see it that way, and Jim knew that Grant had apologized several times to Colonel Richmond for inflicting Paley on him. Grant's hope had been that putting Paley in such a thankless, and unsuitable, job would have convinced him to return to Illinois and his dry goods businesses, of which he owned numerous and had become rather wealthy from—wealthy enough to have contributed significantly to Grant's campaign fund. So far, after nearly two years, that realization had not come to Paley.

"Artie," Jim moaned aloud, "where the devil are you?"

Two days ago the two agents had been sitting at this very table, maps spread out around them, discussing how they were going to move the train containing the gold through the passes between here and the looming Sierra Nevada. Reliable information had been received that an attempt to take the gold was going to occur in this area of Nevada, and the department had good reason to accept the tip.

The pass through which the railroad tracks were cut was a broad but deep one, with high, rocky sides, even a couple of caves. It would be a perfect place to stop the train, with men posted high above to fire down on the occupants. Even the twenty or so soldiers they were supposed to take with them would have a difficult time withstanding such withering fire from on high.

The two agents both agreed that a good idea would be to send soldiers on ahead to occupy the heights well before any outlaws had an opportunity to do the same. In fact, they planned to ask for extra men for that very purpose. However, a problem arose when they could not agree on the exact layout of the pass, nor its dimensions, let alone how many men would be required. Neither had been there in several years, and their memories differed. The topographical map provided little assistance in the matter.

Both men had been tired, and feeling the strain of the knowledge that they would not be working under the familiar Richmond, a man who knew them and usually allowed them to go their own way, even sometimes turning a blind eye to their unorthodox tactics. Richmond had no need of reflected glory. Erling Paley was not such a man. Having been thrown unexpectedly into the lead job, he wanted all the laurels of success on his head and his alone.

Not that either agent coveted the glory to himself. They had been in this job too long and were aware that despite their accomplishments, the credit belonged to the department itself. Their own fame was a mere sideline, sometimes useful, sometimes not. West and Gordon had confidence in themselves, in each other, and the other men in the service, most particularly their usual commanding officer, a man they had known long before joining the Secret Service. Paley was not that man, and they were experiencing the pressure of the perfection Paley demanded. Although knowing that President Grant was quite aware of Paley's shortcomings, they also knew the president would have to abide by certain standards and rules.

When the disparate views arose between West and Gordon, the words became more heated than they might have otherwise. No name-calling. Barely raised voices. But Artemus had been particularly adamant that his version was correct, finally volunteering to ride out and check. Because Artemus Gordon was not normally a man who liked long horseback rides, Jim had been impressed, and allowed his partner to go off alone. He suspected that if he had offered to come along, Artie might have taken umbrage at the suggestion that his word was not to be trusted.

It had been mid afternoon when Artie left. When he had not returned by dinnertime, Jim was not overly concerned. A small crossroads with a saloon, restaurant, and livery stable was in the vicinity, and he had no doubt Artie had relieved the weariness of the long ride by stopping for some refreshment. However, when darkness began to fall late on that summer night and his partner had not shown up, Jim began to fret.

He had then ridden out, but a moonless night curtailed his ability to locate any signs. He did stop at the crossroads tavern, where the owner told him a man fitting Gordon's description had stopped by for a beer. Around four, he thought. Jim decided that would have been while on the trip to the pass. He could not find anyone in the area who saw Artie after that time.

The following morning he had been in the saddle at dawn. That second day had also been fruitless, other than finding some signs that may have been the tracks of Artie's chestnut horse in the pass. No one remembered seeing a man of his description anywhere, anytime. Jim could not comprehend this. He would have bet money that Artie would have visited the tavern on his way back—the day had been warm, even into the evening—but he had no reason to distrust the people he spoke to at the crossroads.

He had been planning to ride out again this morning, to expand his search and possibly recruit the sheriff in a town that lay about twenty miles east to help. However, when he returned to the train last evening, Erling Paley sent a message via the telegraph that he would be calling this day. Despite his gnawing concern about Artie, Jim knew he had to speak to Paley. He had expected some difficulties, but not a flat out order to ignore his partner's disappearance.

I'll obey that order… to an extent. I may end up losing my job, but I have to find Artemus. Something isn't right. Artie would never just go off in a snit and not return like this. Something has happened.

A gut feeling informed him that that "something" was related to the gold shipment. Hard to believe outlaws would attempt to exchange an agent for the several millions of dollars in gold ingots that were to be transported. If the decision were left to Jim West, the trade would be made in a trice. But it was not, and would not, be up to him. Artemus Gordon was just one man, and not that important in the greater scheme of things. Not even President Grant, who counted Artemus among his closest and most trusted friends, would be able to sanction such a ransom payment.

Paley had not arrived until afternoon, causing Jim to feel he had wasted the entire morning waiting. But now he saddled the black stallion and took it out of the car, telling the crew where he was going and why. "If Paley sends someone to check on me, just tell him I'm out doing my job." He did not know whether Paley's threat to have him "watched" was genuine, or just words, and he did not care.

Instead of going back to the pass or the crossroads settlement, he headed toward the town of Bitter Creek, a settlement somewhat off the beaten track that had been established with the hope of drawing the railroad to its outskirts. That had not happened, but the town survived, the businesses serving the local ranchers. Jim knew that the waterway for which the town was named provided some water and forage for the cattle and sheep that were raised in the otherwise arid region. Some years back a minor fracas had occurred between the cattlemen and the Basque sheepherders, but last he heard, all was quiet in the region. He and Artemus had been in the area on another matter but were able to help settle the dispute.

He reached Bitter Creek as shadows were lengthening and went directly to the office of the local sheriff. Cyrus O'Malley was a hearty middle-aged man who was the only man who ever wore the badge in this county. Jim and Artemus had met him some years ago on one of their first assignments in this area. He immediately recognized the slender man who entered his office, and welcomed him warmly.

"Where's that partner of yours? Hiding in some disguise again?" Artie's disguise as a peddler of gentlemen's hats had fooled a lot of people and helped to capture the three bank robbers the agents had been pursuing in this region.

"That's why I'm here, Cy." Briefly Jim explained the situation. "I'm guessing you have not seen him in the last couple of days."

The sheriff shook his head, slowly. "I would like to think if Artemus came to Bitter Creek, he'd at least stop in to say hello. We can ask around town, though."

They did so, asking at each of the three saloons, the hotel and its restaurant, the livery stable, even the general store. No one recalled seeing such a man. A couple people remembered Artemus from the previous visit, and were able to say definitely that they had not seen him in the last few days. As the lawmen moved from one establishment to another, Jim found himself looking hard at any man wearing a beard or heavy mustache; in every case he quickly realized, with deep disappointment, that that person was not his partner in disguise.

Jim was very disheartened as they sat at a table in the smallest and quietest of the three taverns. He toyed with his glass of whiskey, not bothering to taste it. O'Malley did not try to cheer him up. He knew as well as Jim West did that something strange had occurred, and possibly something dangerous… or tragic.

"Jim, is there any chance Artie is playing a joke, to get back at you for disagreeing with him? Maybe when he went out to the pass, he realized you had been right, and this is his little way of getting even."

Jim was shaking his head. "No. Not when we have this important assignment. He would have just come back, told me I was right, and that would have been that. And if he'd found out he was right, I would have accepted his word. That's the way we work. There might have been some gibes traded, but… no. Artie is a professional, Cy."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Get a room at the hotel. Then I think I'll ride out and check with a couple of nearby ranches before full dark. I'll start fresh again in the morning"

"What about the assignment?"

Jim sighed. "When I went into the pass looking for signs Artie had been there, I realized his version was the correct one. I had remembered it wrong. So I can give the Army captain the details about where to post his men. However, some alterations will need to be made at the last moment if I don't find Artemus beforehand, perhaps by delaying the train's movement or even sending a dummy train through. Just in case someone trying to make him reveal the plans is holding him. By the way, you haven't noticed any strangers in the area, have you?"

"Not particularly. I'd say the newest resident is our doctor, and he's been here over six months."

"No one even passing through?"

The sheriff shrugged. "Oh, I suppose so. The doctor has been hiring men for his ranch."

"A doctor has a ranch?" Most of the physicians Jim had encountered kept residence and offices in the towns where their patients were located.

O'Malley smiled briefly. "He and his sister bought the Hidden Valley spread. Don't know if you remember it."

"Never saw it," Jim admitted, "but I remember hearing of it. In a small basin with great water and grass?"

"Yep. About fifteen miles west. Might be the best water and graze in Nevada, though that's not really saying all that much because Nevada is so generally dry. But it's a splendid ranch. The former owner died last year. His only child, a daughter, had already married and moved to California. She put it up for sale, and the Eastons bought it. Fine people."

"So he's not a practicing doctor."

"Well, yeah, he is. Three days a week he comes into town. Set up an office in the hotel. And if he's needed for an emergency, we just send for him. Fine young fellow and terrific doctor."

Jim pushed himself to his feet. "Well, that's neither here nor there. Doesn't help me find my partner. I've still got some daylight. I'd better keep looking. As I recall, there are a couple of sheep ranches within a few miles north of here, right?"

"You're right. One is owned by Emil Lujan. You may remember him."

"Yes, of course. He helped Artemus that night…"

Jim tried not to get his hopes up too high as he kept the black at a fast canter along the dirt road. If Artemus did not look up Cy O'Malley, why would he visit Emil Lujan? When he reached the small home of the sheep man, his fears were realized. Lujan remembered him, and definitely remembered Artemus, but he had not seen either agent since their last visit to the area. Lujan promised to ask his herders as well as his neighbors, and get word to Jim in town if he learned anything.

The sky was deep dark when Jim finally returned to town, the sliver of the waxing crescent moon covered by clouds. He left the black horse at the livery stable and walked toward the hotel. The only businesses open were the saloons; otherwise the town was quiet. Except for lamplight flooding from the saloon doors and windows, and a couple of second floor windows where a store proprietor lived, all was pitch black.

Perhaps because of that silence, he heard the slight sound, like a smothered cough. It appeared to emanate from the alley between the general mercantile and the bank, an alley he needed to traverse to reach the small hotel beyond. He paused and listened, but heard nothing further. Senses alert, he stepped off the porch to cross the alley.

He heard rather than saw the man rushing toward him from the depth of the alley. Jim spun toward the sound, caught a glimpse of the darker shadow, an arm upraised, something large in that upraised hand. Quickly Jim lifted his own left arm, first catching the down thrust of the club on his own forearm, then grabbing the man's arm in both of his hands, turning to pull it over his shoulder, bending forward with swift strength.

With a yell, the man flew over Jim's head and thudded into the dirt, partially out into the street, landing with a howl of pain. Immediately aware that at least one more man was involved, Jim whirled back. This time even in the darkness he saw the glint of metal. His own gun leapt into his hand and he fired, the sound of the shot like a cannon blast in the night's silence. This man also yelled in agony, staggered but did not go down, turning and running.

Jim quickly looked back toward the first man, in time to see him scramble to his feet and thunder down the board walkway. After one brief thought about pursuing, Jim decided against it. The darkness would make it very difficult, especially because he did not have his horse at hand. Even as that thought crossed his mind he heard the rapid hoof beats galloping away from behind the buildings here, first one horse and then another.

Men were spilling out of the saloons after hearing the shot, yelling questions, and hollering for the sheriff. Cy O'Malley appeared from his own office just down the street, pulling his suspenders over his flannel clad shoulders, obviously roused from his bed in the back of the jail building.

When Jim explained what had happened, the lawman agreed that chasing the pair would be fruitless at this point. At Jim's suggestion, O'Malley followed the agent to the second floor room in the hotel. Only after Jim had lit the lamp inside and turned, did the sheriff notice Jim was now holding his left wrist in his right hand.

"Are you hurt?"

In some surprise, Jim looked down to realize what he was doing. He let go of his wrist. "No, not really."

O'Malley reached over and took Jim's left hand, pushing the shirt cuff up slightly. "Nasty bruise coming up there. He must have hit you pretty hard."

"I guess so." Only now did it start to actually hurt, throbbing slightly. "I don't think it's broken."

"Doc Easton will be in town in the morning. You probably should stop by and have him check it."

"Maybe. Cy, have you had any problems of late with muggings, thefts?"

The sheriff shook his head. "Nope. Oh, two-three weeks ago a cowpoke was stopped on the trail and had a few bucks taken from him. Fred said it was a ragged fellow who looked like he really needed the money, and if the guy had just asked nice-like, likely Fred would have handed some of it over anyway. But nothing like this. You think they were trying to rob you?"

Jim walked to the room's window, looked out briefly then pulled the shade down before he turned back. "I can't say for certain, but my gut feeling is no. That first one came after me with a club. The second one pulled his gun."

O'Malley's countenance darkened. "They were out to kill you? Why?"

"I don't know, Cy. Unless it has something to do with Artemus's disappearance… and the gold shipment." He began to pace the small room, brow knit in concentration.

The sheriff watched him a long moment, quite aware of how worried Jim West was about his vanished partner. "Jim, why would someone kidnap Artemus to get at the gold shipment—then not contact you? I mean, wouldn't that be the purpose? To try to force your cooperation by threatening his life?"

Jim stopped. "That's part of what's got me concerned, Cy. It's been more than two days now. If that's the motive behind it…" He shook his head. "The other thing that occurs to me is someone might be trying to… torture the information out of him." Jim West's handsome face grew dark and grim.

"What does he know? You said the plans were incomplete, and that's why Artemus rode out, to check on things."

"Yes, but someone—whoever might be behind this rumored raid—might not know that. The gold is to be loaded onto the train in just about a week. This person might believe we have longstanding plans in place."

O'Malley shook his head. "This attack tonight doesn't make sense. Seems to me killing you would stop the whole process cold. Your boss—Colonel Richmond isn't it?—would be sure to delay the thing if something like that happened."

Jim grimaced. "The colonel is recovering from appendicitis. His assistant is in charge—a man who wants the successful shipment of this gold on his record. I can't see him calling it off for any reason." Certainly not for Artemus's sake, and not even if I was killed!

"So what are you going to do?"

The agent sighed. "First thing tomorrow I'm going back to the train to see if there are any developments. Chances are I'll return here and see whether my hunch that this attack is connected plays out. Unless of course, I return and find my partner at the train, which I doubt, because I told the train crew where I was going. They would have pointed Artie this way."

W*W*W*W*W

He did not immediately open his eyes, attempting to convince himself that the whole thing had been a bizarre dream. The sensations of the fine linens under his body told him otherwise. He was still at the Easton home, still apparently married to a woman he did not remember…

"Artemus, are you awake?"

Now Artie opened his eyes and looked at the man sitting on a chair beside the bed. "What time is it?"

Richard Easton smiled, "Nearly twenty-four hours since we last spoke."

"Twenty-four hours!" Artie lifted himself up on his elbows, glancing around. At least she was not present. "I slept twenty-four hours?"

The doctor's smile faded. "It was more like a coma, Artemus, and I was becoming very worried. I'm just not sure what's going on. I wish I knew more about the workings of the human brain. But no one does, I guess."

"A coma…" Artie fell back on the pillow. "That sounds serious."

"Why, of course it is. Your condition is serious, and has been from the day you were first found. The bruises on your head have healed, but they were deep and dangerous. A bad concussion, along with the severe fever, undoubtedly caused the amnesia."

"And I'm in Texas, not Nevada." He hoped that part of it was indeed a dream.

"I'm afraid so. A mystery, to be sure. One that won't be solved, no doubt, until you remember what happened to you."

Artemus sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the unshaven jaws. "It's all so confusing. I remember stopping at an old cabin for water. And that's it. That cabin was in Nevada, near the area I was going to check."

I didn't complete my task. Jim must have taken the train on through and was ambushed. Odd, though. If it had been the other way around, if Jim had not returned, I would have done my damnedest to have the shipment postponed! Or at least changed plans. Then again, we had Paley in charge, not Richmond. Who knows what that rascal would have done?

He spoke aloud. "Richard, can you find out more information for me about that robbery—when my partner was killed?"

The doctor's eyes widened. "Why?"

"It's just… I need to know. Jim was my best friend, my brother in all but blood. Would your local newspaper have more?"

Easton cleared his throat. "Possibly. I'll ask. It's a small town paper. But perhaps if they don't, they can obtain it. It'll take time. But you have time."

"No, I don't. I have to get back to Washington…"

"Not for awhile, Artemus. I'm not letting you out of here until I'm sure you're well. Remember your dizziness yesterday."

"I'm fine today." Artie sat up then. "See? No vertigo. Maybe the long sleep did it."

"Perhaps." Easton got to his feet. "You'll probably feel even better after some breakfast. I'll send Manuel in with some hot water to wash and shave. And if you're still okay after that—I mean no dizziness—come on downstairs. I'll alert Rosina that you'll be wanting some food."

"Where's… Harriet?" Did she share my bed while I was in this coma?

"She went for a ride. I'm sure you realize how distraught she is about this."

"Yes. Of course."

"While you slept, she moved most of her possessions into the guest room. She understands that while you are legally married, it's not the same now."

Artie did not answer. Richard Easton smiled briefly and left the room. Throwing the blankets back, Artie went to the wardrobe. He chose a pair of trousers, shirt and jacket, and picked up the familiar boots. I must not have worn them often over the last year. They don't look much different from when I last recall.

He had just donned the trousers and boots when a tap sounded on the door. He called out and it opened to admit a stocky, middle-aged Mexican man with graying hair, bearing a large pitcher of steaming water. Without a word he took it to the stand in the corner, barely glanced over when Artie thanked him in Spanish, and departed.

Washing up and shaving did feel good, and Artie also started to realize how hungry he was. Chances were he had not eaten in thirty or thirty-six hours, depending on when he last ate before waking up here yesterday morning. Richard is wrong. I'm strong enough to ride and I need to go send those telegrams, then catch the next train east.

He started back toward the bed where he had left the shirt and jacket, when he noticed the newspaper was back on the dressing table. Someone must have moved it there while he slept. Without really thinking of his actions, Artemus picked it up again, his gaze on the article about the memorial.

Quite an honor that Congress should do this. I'll make sure the process continues for Jim. If anyone deserves such tribute, it's Jim West. Reading through the article again, his mouth twisted in a wry, sad smile. Quite unusual for a newspaper in a small Texas town to bother to print such information, primarily because the war had ended a relatively short time ago. Memories were still sharp, and so were enmities. He and Jim had encountered southerners who refused to cooperate once they learned that the two agents were former Union officers. Quite a few people in this part of the country did not consider any Union soldier a hero.

Perhaps the newspaper owner is a northerner. If so, he might be risking losing subscribers by printing such information—if not damage to his property.

The thought that Jim West was dead still caused a painful knot in his chest. I guess I'm going to have to visit the grave, see the headstone, to really accept it. I hate the thought that our last words were sharp. They had not argued often during their partnership, and usually they had an opportunity to later talk things out. Not this time.

Finishing dressing, Artemus left the room and found a curving staircase just outside his door. He descended, admiring the landscape paintings adorning the wall, the soft carpeting on the steps. A beautiful, gracious home. Because the house itself did not appear to be newly constructed, he presumed that the Eastons had purchased it. Neither Richard nor Harriet had an accent to indicate they were native Texans. Perhaps not even southern born.

Just as he gained the first floor, Richard appeared in a nearby open doorway. "Ah! I was just going to come up and check on you, Artemus. Come on in. Breakfast is waiting."

The dining area was as nicely appointed as the rest of the house. A petite, middle-aged Mexican woman brought Artemus a plate of eggs, ham, potatoes, and biscuits, and filled his coffee cup. As had Manuel, she did not acknowledge his expressions of gratitude. Artie tucked in, finding the food was as good as it looked.

Richard had a cup of coffee and sat across the table. He was silent a few minutes, watching Artemus eat, and finally spoke. "I've been thinking about this, Artemus."

"Thinking about what?"

"This lapse in your memory. Of course, Harriet and I can fill in quite a bit from the time you first came here. I'm sure you'd like to remember that period as well."

"I certainly would." How did I fall in love with another woman, let alone marry her?

"What I'm getting at is, perhaps if you could review that period between when you left your train and when you were found here, it might help you start to recall other things."

"But I can't remember it all…. That newspaper—is it the current edition?"

"Yes, June twenty-third. A fellow delivers it all over the area when it's published, and that one came yesterday morning shortly before you awakened."

"And I was found here on…?"

"July first last year."

"Then seven, eight days are completely missing."

"Time enough for someone to transport you from Nevada to Texas. The question may be, why. Why would anyone do that?"

"I have no idea. Why not just kill me and leave me in Nevada? How is this supposed to help, Richard?"

The doctor smiled. "What I'm thinking you should do is to go to a point perhaps four or five days before the day you last recall and remember as much, in detail, as you can."

"Not much happened. We were…"

Richard held up his hand. "Not now. I have to go into town to my office. I'll be back after lunch. Perhaps you can spend time thinking about it, making notes, and when I return, we can sit down and start recording it all."

"You think that will help?"

"I have no idea," Easton sighed. "But I for one am willing to try anything. How about you?"

Artie had to smile. "I'm game. But why can't I come into town with you and send those telegrams?"

"Because I'm still not certain about the state of your health. I don't think you should do anything physically exerting, not riding a horse, nor even riding in a buggy. I don't have time to wait for you to write out those wires now, but you can do so later and ask Harriet to send a man into town with them. I'll make sure they are sent before I come back."

"All right," Artemus said, disappointed.

The doctor got to his feet. "I think you should be as detailed as possible in your recollections. What you ate. What you saw, who you talked to besides your partner. And what you and Mr. West discussed in those days preceding your departure, as exact as you can be regarding the conversations."

"We talked mostly about the gold shipment we were to be guarding…"

Richard waved a hand. "Whatever. That all happened over a year ago. With your partner dead, you are the only one who can provide these memories now."

Artemus suspected Easton did not realize how harsh his words sounded. "All right," he said again. "Richard, don't forget about asking at the newspaper if they have any further information on how Jim… died."

"I will, don't worry. I've got to be going or I'll be late. I often have a half dozen people lined up at the door!"

"Where can I find some paper to make notes on?"

"Oh… yes. There's some in my study…"

"I can find it. In your desk?"

"I'll get it. I'm afraid I'm pretty fussy about my study, Artemus." Easton chuckled. "I don't even allow Harriet to go in there. I'll be right back. Oh, Manuel, tell Rosina to bring some more coffee for Señor James." He looked at Artemus as the servant crossed from the kitchen doorway to pick up Easton's cup and saucer. "I'm afraid they don't quite grasp what has happened. They know you as Señor James."

"That's all right. I understand." Hearing himself addressed by his deceased partner's name was jarring, however.

Easton returned minutes later with a pad of paper and a couple of pencils. "Maybe you'll want to just relax on the porch. I'd advise against doing anything tiring, as I mentioned. Harriet will keep you company."

"I'll be fine," Artie assured him. "It's hard for me to be inactive but… you're the doctor." As Richard departed again, Rosina entered with a fresh pot of coffee.

W*W*W*W*W

The lettered sign on the door of the first floor hotel suite that Dr. Easton used stated his office hours began at nine. Jim hated to wait that long and would have preferred to be out searching and asking questions by that hour, but his wrist had bothered him through the night and he knew he should get it looked it. He was still pretty certain the bone was not broken, but the possibility existed that it was at least cracked. Beyond that, the bruise was pretty severe.

So he went to the restaurant, had breakfast and then returned to linger outside the doorway. Cy had told him that sometimes quite a lineup of patients waited for the doctor, but this morning Jim was the only one there. Just a few minutes past nine, a blond man attired in a business suit and carrying a black bag entered the hotel's front door. He seemed a trifle surprised to see someone at his office door.

"Dr. Easton?"

"Yes. Sorry I'm late. Are you ill?" He unlocked the door.

"I've injured my arm and I hoped you could look at it."

"Of course. Come in, come in, Mister…"

"West. James West."

The physician led the way into the office, going to a window to lift a blind. "Sit down. I'll be right with you. What did you do to your arm?"

"Got into a little fracas, I'm afraid." Jim stripped off his jacket and rolled up his left sleeve.

"Happens around here far too often. I don't recall seeing you before. You live here?" Easton sat down on a chair and reached for Jim's hand.

"No. Just passing through. I'm a federal agent and I'm looking for a missing man."

"Indeed? A criminal?" The doctor gently probed the swollen, discolored flesh on Jim's wrist with his fingers.

"No. My partner. He vanished a couple of days ago."

The doctor glanced up. "Vanished? What do you mean?"

"Just that. He left our train about fifteen miles south of here and hasn't been seen since."

"I don't think your wrist is broken, but it should be bandaged for a couple of days. I'll put some salve on the bruise." Easton rose to go to a nearby cupboard, talking over his shoulder. "What does your partner look like?"

"Wavy dark brown hair, brown eyes. A few inches taller than me, heavier build. He's thirty-six."

Easton came back with a roll of bandages and a small tin. "No, doesn't sound familiar. You think he's in this area?"

Jim sighed and shook his head. "I don't know, doctor. I'm at a complete loss. He left to… do an errand, and simply did not return."

"And you're worried."

"Very."

"Understandable. I take it he's a government agent as well."

"Yes."

"What will you do if you don't find him?"

"I don't know. I guess I don't want to consider the possibility."

Easton carefully and securely wrapped the gauze bandage around Jim's wrist. "Mind if I ask what you're doing in this part of Nevada in the first place?"

"Job."

The doctor glanced at him and laughed. "I guess I am being nosy. There. I recommend leaving the bandage on a couple of days and use the wrist as little as possible. If you leave town, you might have another doctor look at it, but I think it will be all right. Come back if it gives you further trouble."

Jim got to his feet and pulled his jacket on again, digging into an inside pocket for some cash, which he handed the doctor. "The sheriff mentioned you have a very fine ranch nearby."

"Yes. My sister and I were fortunate enough to inherit enough money that allowed us to live the life we choose, and we both have long wanted to reside in this part of the country. Also, I can continue my practice."

"Sounds ideal. But isn't is rather lonely for your sister?"

Easton put the roll of bandages and the tin of salve aside, standing. "At times. She's made a few friends in the area though. Why don't you come for dinner?"

The invitation surprised Jim. "Thank you, but I probably won't have time."

"No, of course not. Good luck with finding your friend. I'll ask my patients if they've seen such a man. What's his name?"

"Gordon. Artemus Gordon. Thank you, doctor."

"Just remember the invitation is always open. Ask anyone for directions."

"Thanks."

W*W*W*W*W

"Is something wrong?"

Artie glanced at the woman sitting in the chair beside his on the porch with its view of the well-tended garden. He had been absently rubbing his forehead. "Just… I'm suddenly having trouble concentrating."

Harriet reached over to put her hand on his arm. "Perhaps you need to lie down."

"I've been doing too much lying down." He had had no problem composing the telegraph messages, two of which he felt should be to be in department code. Harriet had taken them to one of the hired hands, and Artie had seen that man ride off with them. Now, however, his thought processes were slowing and he was having difficulty concentrating on the memories Richard had asked him to record. He looked down at the tablet on his lap. He had found it painful to remember his last hours with his partner. Yet he had to try. Richard might be correct that reviewing those days would stir up the lost memories.

"I'm so sorry this happened, Jim. Oh. I'm sorry about using that name too. I think you'll always be Jim to me."

Artie smiled at her sad face. "It's a good name. It belonged to the finest man I ever knew."

"You cared a great deal for him."

"I did. I never had a brother, and Jim became that. A kid brother. He was like a wild stallion, untamed and untamable, at times. He was also caring and very smart."

Harriet looked down at the pad of paper. "You haven't written much."

"I know. I will. I don't know why I'm suddenly feeling so… hazy. I was fine."

"You're probably trying too hard."

"Perhaps."

"Would you like some more coffee?"

"That might help."

Patting his arm, Harriet rose and went into the house. Artemus sighed heavily, looked down at his writing again then lifted his gaze to stare around at his surroundings. A beautiful, prosperous ranch. Harriet had told him that there was an always-flowing creek not far away and as soon as Richard gave clearance, she wanted to take him there. It was, she said, one of his favorite places.

And I can't even remember it.

A movement caught his eye and he turned to see a man striding through the far side of the garden, a man in rough garb, wearing a sidearm. My God! Does Richard realize he has a wanted man on his payroll?

W*W*W*W*W

Ambition often puts men upon doing the meanest offices;

so climbing is performed in the same position with creeping.

—Jonathan Swift (1667-1745), Anglo-Irish satirist, essayist

In one sense, Jim West was startled to see the carriage parked alongside the Wanderer; in another, he was not surprised at all. He recognized the rig it as the same one Paley had arrived in yesterday. Damn! He said he was returning to Denver! Dismounting by the platform at the rear of the parlor car, he patted the black horse's lathered neck. "Sorry fellow. I'll take care of you as soon as I can."

Climbing the steps, he pushed in through the door. He could see Paley's gleaming, slicked-down hair on the far side of the sofa facing the other direction. The acting director did not move, forcing Jim to walk the length of the car to face him.

"Mr. Paley. I didn't expect to see you today."

"Obviously. Where have you been, Mr. West?"

"Doing my job."

Paley glared at him with narrowed eyes. "You were given specific orders to cease your search for your traitorous partner."

Jim clenched his jaw for a moment before speaking. "I feel that Mr. Gordon's disappearance has some bearing on the rumored attempt to steal the gold shipment."

"Of course it does," Paley sneered. "He's off aiding and abetting the enemy!"

"In that case," Jim spoke slowly and distinctly, "it is imperative that I locate him." Paley continued to glare, his own jaw working. He did not like losing the advantage. "May I ask why you've returned instead of going to Denver as you said you were going to do?" Jim asked then.

"Because I suspected you would be disobeying orders, West. I know all about you. The colonel lets you get away with it, but I am not the colonel. And I am in charge!"

"Yes, sir. I'm aware of that." Though doing so was difficult, Jim knew he must not lose his composure. A show of temper would be playing into Paley's hands. He had come dangerously close to doing that yesterday, and perhaps that was why Paley had returned; perhaps he felt he could goad Jim West into assaulting him, the perfect excuse for dismissal.

Paley cleared his throat. "Very well. How are the plans for the gold shipment progressing?"

"I'll have the train in Denver on schedule to receive the shipment. It will go through safely."

"That's not what I asked. What are the plans?"

"Excuse me, sir, but the colonel usually feels that the less who know the better." Jim stood stiffly, meeting Paley's glare head-on.

Erling Paley digested this. He undoubtedly knew of the instances that occurred when Richmond himself did not want to know what was happening, or planned. He only wanted results and knew that sometimes his agents had to bend department regulations, or even the law, to achieve those results.

"Do you have a plan, Mr. West?"

"Yes, sir."

"One that Mr. Gordon does not know about now that he's deserted?"

"It's a very good plan, Mr. Paley."

"That's not what I asked you!" Paley's complexion darkened as he repeated previous words. His attempt to gain information from a different perspective had failed.

"I prefer not to reveal any details now."

Paley stared at the agent's expressionless face. "West, you are treading on thin ice. I know you and Gordon have been Grant's pets for many years. Well, I have his ear now. I can make things very difficult for you."

"I'm aware of that, sir. I'm just doing my job."

Paley finally seemed to realize that he was not going to come out the winner in this bout. He got to his feet while clutching the elephant-head cane with whitened knuckles. "Five days, West. In five days, I want this train in Denver to receive the gold bullion. And if anything happens to that gold, I'm going to see you booted out of the service, all the way into the gutter!"

Jim stood in place as Paley stalked to the door. This time he did not hesitate, but jerked it open and again slammed it behind him. As soon as it closed, engineer Cobb appeared through the galley door.

"I'm sorry, boss. I tried to keep him out, but…"

"It's okay, Orrin. I understand."

"Kelly is taking care of your horse. Any news?"

Jim shook his head slowly. "Nothing. It's as though Artemus was sucked into a hole and disappeared off the face of the earth. Except for the man at the crossroads tavern, no one has admitted seeing him."

"What happened to your arm?"

"I was jumped in Bitter Creek."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm going back there because I think it had something to do with all this. I just don't know what."

"What about Mr. Paley?"

"I hope he's really returning to Denver this time. Otherwise he's liable to pay another call and be disappointed to find me gone. I'm going to change clothes, get a bite to eat, and head out."

W*W*W*W*W

"Why am I feeling like this, Richard?"

"I don't know, Artemus. I just don't know. I don't understand why regaining your memory would affect your head like this. Nor why it seems to come and go."

Artie heaved a long, weary sigh. He was seated in the second parlor, a nice room but not quite as nice as the "first parlor," which Harriet had showed him earlier, with a wistful remark that the marriage ceremony had taken place in that room. The upholstered chair on which he was now ensconced had a high back, and he leaned his head against it.

"I felt very well when I first got up, and then as the day went on, worse and worse. Right now I feel as though I'd need a derrick to get me out of this chair."

Easton laughed. "I'll get one of my hired men to help get you upstairs shortly."

"That reminds me… I think." Artie rubbed his hand across his eyes. "Earlier today I saw a man…" Wait, what man? I've got to remember…

"What man?" Easton echoed his thoughts.

"A man… I'm sorry, Richard. My head is just too muddled. I know I saw someone and… I just don't know. Perhaps it'll come to me later."

"I looked at the notes you made, Artemus. Perhaps if we discuss some of that it will help clear your thoughts."

"We can try."

"You wrote down that you and your partner received orders regarding transporting a gold shipment. Is that usual?"

"No. I mean… I don't think so. It was something special. The department thought…" Artie rubbed his forehead again. "It was to disguise the shipment, in case of… in case of…"

"Robbery?"

Artie sighed. "I guess so. I'm sorry, Richard. I just can't think clearly."

"I think you should try harder, Artemus."

Artie peered at the man sitting across from him. Almost sounded as though Richard was annoyed, even angry. "It's just that things keep spinning around in my head. The thought is there, but before I can bring it out… it's gone."

"So you and Mr. West devised a plan."

"Yes. I… I'm sure we did. That's why I left the train… to…" Artie sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. Maybe I need to lie down awhile. I always seem sharper when I first wake up."

"So it seems. All right. I'll be right back." The doctor rose and left the parlor.

Artie leaned his head back again, closing his eyes. Why is this happening? I just can't think clearly.

When he heard a voice, Artie opened his eyes again, thinking Richard had returned. But he had not. Instead, the parlor door had not closed completely, and he was hearing Richard Easton's voice clearly as he spoke out in the hall.

"You made it too strong, Harriet! Be careful next time!" The anger was certainly there. Harriet replied but her voice was quieter and Artemus could not catch her words. The tone was apologetic.

Made what too strong? The coffee? Artie frowned as he stared at the partially open door. The coffee Harriet had brought to him while they sat on the porch seemed to taste the same as the coffee served as breakfast. Did Harriet make coffee herself? What in the world was Richard so upset about? He closed his eyes once more, leaning his head back again. Too much to think about. Too difficult to think at all…

W*W*W*W*W

Hope is tomorrow's veneer over today's disappointment.
— Evan Esar (1899-1995), American humorist

A note on Cy O'Malley's front door informed Jim that the sheriff had gone to check on a report of some stolen steers and expected to return by mid afternoon. A bit frustrated, Jim went to the nearest saloon and asked again whether a man fitting Artemus Gordon's description had been seen there. Though the bartender was a different man than when he previously inquired, the answer was still the same. He had duplicate results in the other two taverns.

I don't know where the hell to look!

That thought kept circling through his mind as he mounted the black horse and headed north out of town. He had no clues, beyond the fact that Artie had visited the crossroads tavern briefly on the first day. Where had he gone from there? The railroad pass seemed most likely, and Jim had found signs there that Artie had been there. Then where?

Was it possible Artie went all the way through the pass to the other side? Why would he? The frustration Jim was experiencing was tinged with desperation, knowing that eventually the decision was going to have to be made: would he drop the search for his partner in order to carry out his orders? Jim West's sense of duty was strong, but so were his ties to Artemus Gordon.

I can't abandon Artie. I have to find out what happened and where he is.

His gut feeling was that Artie's vanishing had a connection to the gold shipment, but how and why? Was he being tortured for information? Surely if someone kidnapped the agent, they would know that such an incident would cause changes to be made in the plans. Or would they?

Jim halted the black horse near a stream that crossed the countryside here, a mere trickle in mid summer, and stared off toward the horizon, though he was not seeing the scenery. He tried to put himself in the place of some criminal who was determined to heist the massive gold shipment. A smart man, such as Loveless, would probably realize that taking one of the agents in charge was not the best idea and would be aware that plans would immediately be altered. But another one, perhaps inexperienced, might just think that the plans would have already been finalized this close to the shipment date, and expect Gordon to be able to provide explicit details.

One thing he had to give the mastermind credit for was how Artie had been spirited off and hidden. How had that been accomplished? Artemus Gordon was an experienced agent, and not likely to be fooled by an ordinary ruse. Had they just ridden down on him, outnumbered and forced him to ride off? Jim shook his head. He had not found any signs of such an ambush. That no one reported seeing a large group of men was not necessarily important. In country like this, with its vast uninhabited distances, a gang could like stay out of sight fairly easily. Yet, they should have left tracks somewhere.

Somehow, Artie was tricked. That has to be the explanation. Someone he had no reason to fear caught him completely off guard. I've got to find out who that was, and where.

Knowing he had no other recourse, Jim West turned around and headed back through town, heading toward the pass in question, but avoiding the siding where the Wanderer was still parked. He decided to steer clear of the train completely, just in case Paley chose to play another surprise visit. He can't give me orders if I'm not there!

The sun was on its downward western arc when Jim reached the crossroads and entered the tavern, after leaving his horse at the livery for some water and grain, along with some time out of the sun. He asked for a beer, and then inquired whether any settlers resided in the vicinity.

The bartender shook his head. "Not permanently. Usually just prospectors, drifters, passing through. Those traveling further east or west take the train."

"No houses then?"

"Well, there's an old cabin about five miles west of here. It's about a half mile north of the entrance to the pass. You know, I recall now, that fellow you were asking me about asked something similar. Some nasty looking clouds were moving in and said he might need to take shelter if it rained. Didn't rain, so I guess he didn't need it. I did tell him there was a pretty good spring at the cabin this time of year."

Jim found the shack without much difficulty. He also found tracks that unmistakably belonged to Artie's chestnut. The ones he had seen in the pass were in loose sand and had been blurred by wind. These were clear in the soft mud alongside the spring that bubbled out of some rocks behind the shack.

The shack was empty, but he found cigarette butts that were no more than a couple of days old, as well as the prints of two more saddle horses, plus the tracks of a wagon, possibly a buckboard. From all appearances, the wagon left, accompanied by not only the other horses but the chestnut as well.

Excited with finally making some progress, Jim followed those tracks for about a mile before they disappeared in the shifting sands of the Nevada desert. The only sure thing he was able to ascertain, beyond the fact that Artemus's horse was among them, was that they headed north… toward Bitter Creek. The excitement faded into harsh disappointment.

Sheriff Cyrus O'Malley just shook his head when the tired and dusty Jim West related his story. "Makes no sense, Jim. No one saw Artemus around here."

"I believe that by the time the wagon reached this area, it would have been dark. Would not have been difficult to stay away from people."

"Then where did they go?"

Jim sighed. "Therein lies the problem, Cy. Is it someone who lives in this area, someone above suspicion? Or did another person find a good hideout hereabouts?"

"They could have just been passing through, Jim. Gone further north."

"I know." Jim's response was very soft. He scrubbed a hand wearily over his face, closing his eyes momentarily against the pain he was experiencing. He had had that thought already, and knew if that was the case, finding his partner was going to be even more difficult. "But I can't consider that, Cy. If this is in connection to the gold shipment—and it must be—they can't be situated too far away from the route the train is going to take."

"So you still think they are trying to force Artemus to reveal the plans?"

"Has to be it."

"He won't tell them, will he?" The sheriff's words were more a statement, a grim one, than a question.

"No. He won't." Is he still alive by now? Nearly four days since he vanished. Four days of mistreatment…

O'Malley noticed how Jim's right hand was gently massaging the bandaged left wrist. "That giving you trouble?"

Unaware of what he had been doing, Jim looked down. "Yeah. Too much riding, I guess. I may need to ask Dr. Easton to replace the bandage. This one has become a little loose."

"He'll probably be in town tomorrow. Usually comes on Monday and Tuesday, then again on Friday, unless he has some special appointment."

"Thanks. I'll see him in the morning then."

"And so what will you do now about finding Artemus?"

Jim heaved a loud sigh. "Just keep looking and asking questions, I guess. The ranches in this area are spread out so far apart…" He eyes were stark green pools.

"Tell me about it. I wish I had a couple of deputies to offer you, Jim. But the county doesn't pay for extra men unless some emergency comes up. I'm willing to do whatever I can. Just ask."

"Thanks, Cy." Jim pushed himself to his feet. "Just keep your eyes and ears open, and if you see anyone coming into town that you haven't talked to, ask some questions. If you notice anyone suspicious…"

The sheriff stood up as well. "I'm already doing all that, Jim. When I went out this morning, I asked everyone I came across. Of course I didn't know then to ask about a wagon. But one would think that if someone saw a wagon traveling even at night, they would have been curious."

"Yeah. You'd think so. Well, I'm not going to get anything accomplished sitting here. Thanks again, Cy. I'll check back in with you this evening."

"Have you eaten today, Jim?"

The question surprised him. "I had breakfast at the hotel."

"But it's nearing suppertime. Don't you think you should get something before you head out again?"

Jim smiled wanly. "I'm all right, Cy. Thanks." With a wave, he exited the office.

Cy O'Malley shook his head and sighed. That's one brokenhearted man. I think he's starting to realize the chances are finding Gordon alive are becoming slimmer and slimmer.

W*W*W*W*W

The leaves of memory seemed to make

A mournful rustling in the dark.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882), American educator and poet

As had occurred before, his head was much clearer upon awakening. Why was that? Was some kind of exhaustion the culprit? Artie stood at the window of his room and looked out at the garden in the early evening light. Oddly enough, he could remember everything that occurred while his brain had been hazy. One would have thought that might not be the case, similar to his inability to remember what occurred in those eight days from the time he stopped at the cabin for water and when he was found on the Easton property in Texas.

Why would someone transport him to Texas? Why not just kill him in Nevada and bury his body, if the intent had been to mask the kidnapping? He was certain he had been kidnapped. That old fellow at the cabin had adamantly refused to allow him to drink directly from the spring, grumbling about strangers polluting his pure water. Instead he brought a tin cup from the cabin, dipped it into the water and handed it to Artemus.

Pure water? It was kind of cloudy! But he had consumed it, knowing that the old fellow drank it himself so it could not be poisoned. Artie frowned as another memory crowded in. The chestnut had moved up to drink thirstily from the spring. If the purity of the water was so sacred to the old coot, why had he not stopped the horse?

Obviously, something had been in that cup, something that had caused him to pass out quite rapidly. Then what? What had happened to cause him to lose the next week or so? The blows on his head? Artie knew that that was entirely possible. Jim had suffered amnesia after a gunshot grazed his head, and he himself had once lost his memory after being struck in the head by a horse's hoof.

Richard said I had a bad concussion, that I obviously had been beaten. Was the trauma of that mistreatment enough to wipe out my memory? And why did I recover it—most of it—a couple of nights ago?

He had been deliberately not thinking about the angry words he had heard spoken by Richard Easton earlier today. Although the brother and sister appeared to be very close to each other, an occasional spat was not unusual, just as had occurred between Jim and himself. Perhaps it had to do with something in his medical practice. Richard would be very demanding if Harriet made an error in that regard.

You made it too strong. Those were Richard's words. Made what too strong? Does he concoct some sort of medicines here? I know so little about these people, only what they've told me. Presumably I knew a lot more before…

The bedroom door opened and Artemus turned to see Richard Easton. "Ah, you're awake. Good. How do you feel?"

"Fine," Artie replied. "As usual, I feel quite clearheaded when I first awaken. Can you think of an explanation for that?"

The doctor shook his head. "Only that you need the rest. But I still have no explanation for your dizziness and difficulty thinking. Do you want to come downstairs? We've had dinner, but Rosina will fix you something if you're hungry."

"I guess I am. Let me wash up and put on a fresh shirt." He had been put to bed with only his boots removed after Richard and one of the hired hands pretty much carried him upstairs. "I'll be down shortly."

"Good. I'll go reassure Harriet. She's been fretting all afternoon."

Both brother and sister joined him at the dining room table as he ate, Richard with coffee, Harriet with tea. Richard asked if he wanted to try to reconstruct his memories again afterwards, and Artemus agreed, provided his head remained clear. Then Artemus brought up something that had been at the back of his mind during lucid moments ever since he awakened on the Easton ranch.

"When you found me… I was unarmed?"

"You carried no weapons," Richard confirmed. "Why do you ask?"

Artie looked into the cup of coffee he held, then lifted his gaze. "I had a pistol. A special gun engraved with my initials. My partner had it made and gave it to me as a gift a couple of years ago. I hate like the devil to lose something like that."

Richard shook his head. "That's too bad. I suppose it's in the hands of whoever mistreated you. But perhaps it will show up one day and even lead you to whoever that was."

"I hope so." Artie's words were grim. He had no doubt that the persons responsible for beating him were also behind the raid on the train when Jim was killed. How many times have we each thought or feared the other dead? On those occasions, we found out within a relatively short time that some trick had been played. This time it has been a year. No ruse could be sustained that long. Jim is dead this time. Dead and buried at Arlington, where heroes are interred. One day soon I'll visit… and I'll find the bastards who killed him.

He finished his meal and still felt clearheaded, so he accompanied Richard and Harriet to the second parlor, where Richard poured some brandy as they seated themselves. "Why don't you start three or four days before the last you remember, Artemus," Richard suggested.

"Not a lot to tell. Jim and I had received orders that our private train was to be used to transport the gold bullion from Denver to San Francisco, and that reliable information had been received concerning a planned attempt to take that gold in Nevada. We took our train to a siding nearest the area where the attempt would reportedly occur, and studied maps of the region. We found that we disagreed about certain features of the pass, so I rode out to look it over." And my last words to him were angry: "You're not always right, you know!"

"You remember what the plans were?"

"Basically we were going to station soldiers in the pass ahead of us, try to preclude any chances the outlaw gang might have to occupy the heights. We were to have an armed military guard with us on the train, with the privilege of requesting as many more as we thought we needed." Artie shook his head. "That's why I have to know what happened to Jim. I can't believe he would have gone through the pass without those guards posted." Maybe I shouldn't be telling him so much, but it's the long ago now. And if it helps me regain my memory and learn what happened, both to me and to Jim…

"It does seem unlikely, doesn't it? Perhaps he was concerned about your safety and not thinking clearly."

"Possibly, but that doesn't sound like Jim West. I know he would have been worried about me, but he also knew his duty, and he knew the dangers, along with the precautions needed." Artie's smile was wan. "We had also received word that our regular commander was ill and would be temporarily replaced by his assistant, a man neither Jim nor I liked, and who we knew would be very happy to see us foul up the who situation."

A sudden thought occurred to Artemus, something he had not considered previously: did Erling Paley somehow force Jim into rash action, moving the train before everything was ready? That's something else I need to learn, and I find out Paley caused it…

"But you're saying that the final plans were in place, that the soldiers were going to be posted in this pass ahead of any… any outlaws who might try to stage an ambush there?"

"It wasn't final," Artie admitted. "We still had about a week before we picked up the shipment, and we were basically still working it out. That was why I went to check the pass. I wanted to confirm the layout, decide if posting the soldiers would be feasible. Or even if it was possible for the thieves to successfully ambush us there. As usually occurred, our plans were fluid. We worked in the moment. We might have even changed the route at the last minute."

He saw how Richard exchanged a glance with his sister, and it puzzled Artie. Did they think he was imagining it all, or even lying? "I know you think it sounds strange that we would not have the plans written in stone at that point, but Jim and I had learned to be very flexible. We could have changed any part of them if necessary, depending on the situation at the moment. That's why I want to know more about what actually happened. Did you check with the newspaper?"

The doctor's frown deepened momentarily, then he relaxed. "Oh, I neglected to tell you. I went to the office of the Press and found a sign on the door. It seems the publisher and his family have gone to Houston to see his ailing elderly mother. And since the family—father and two sons—basically operates the newspaper, the place was closed up."

"I'll find out when I leave here then," Artie said. "I hope the fact that I'm feeling so strong and clearheaded tonight means that the spells of wooziness are over."

"I hope so too," the doctor nodded somberly. "But I don't think you should rush things."

"I have to, Richard. As soon as Washington gets my telegrams, I'm sure they'll send someone. If I haven't departed by then, I'll be leaving with that agent. By the way, Richard, I wanted to mention to you that I saw a wanted man here on your property."

Easton's eyes widened. "A wanted man? Are you certain? Here?"

"I'm positive. Jim and I arrested Jake Sawyer for a train robbery several years ago. He was sentenced to twenty years, but he escaped a year or so before… before all this occurred… and hadn't been seen since. "

"Jake Sawyer? I don't know the name as one of my hired men."

"Probably using an alias. He's a stocky, barrel-chested man with curly, dark red hair. Has a scar on his chin…"

"Oh, that man! He's not an employee here, Artemus. He stopped by asking for a little work to earn a bit of food and a couple of dollars. He rode out early this morning. With you telling me this, I'm greatly relieved about that!"

"You should be. He's probably a killer, though we could not pin anything on him. If there's a local sheriff, I suggest you tell him about Sawyer, just in case."

"I will do that when I go to town tomorrow. Yes, definitely. I suppose I should be a little more careful about who I let hang around, eh? Guess I'm too softhearted!"

Artemus glanced at each of them. "I want you to both understand how grateful I am for the care and treatment you've extended me. Harriet, in particular, I'm sorry for any… any pain this has caused you."

She smiled. "I understand, Artemus. I know none of it was your fault. I was aware all along what could happen. I just wish you could remember our time together."

"I wish I could, too." Or do I? He looked down at his left hand. This morning, while they were on the porch, he had given the ring back to Harriet, telling her about his engagement to Lily Fortune. She had been dismayed at first, but accepted the news, commenting that undoubtedly they would have no problem having their marriage annulled. Now why didn't I notice that before?

W*W*W*W*W

Though weary, he had not slept well, kept awake by thoughts of the recent events and his concern for Artemus. When dawn broke, Jim arose and dressed. The lobby was empty, the hotel being too small and quiet for a night clerk. Walking down the street, he noted the opening time listed on the barbershop a few doors down before continuing to the livery stable.

Saddling the stallion, Jim found a scrap of paper to leave a note for the hostler to let him know he had taken his horse. The action of hefting the saddle, in particular, reminded him that he needed to see the doctor again. The bandage had loosened further, and it had definitely felt better when the wrappings were snug.

He rode aimlessly, unsure of what he was looking for, only aware of a profound restlessness. Artie was out here somewhere. Would he see something, or someone, that would lead to his missing partner? Was Artemus alive? That was the deepest, darkest question, one he did not even like to consider.

I'll get the job done, Artie. I won't let you, or the department, down. Today is probably the last day I can spare searching. I have to take care of business. I know you would want me to. But I'll continue the search as soon as the shipment is safely in San Francisco. I'll be back. I won't quit until I find you… one way or another.

Jim was unsure how long, or how far, he had been riding when he saw the buggy in the distance, approaching from the low ridge of hills. That was, Jim realized, the area of the Easton ranch, and a short while later he was proved correct when he recognized Dr. Easton at the reins of the buggy.

Easton pulled up as Jim rode up. "Mr. West? Something wrong?"

"No. Just out for an early ride. I was going to come see you this morning, doctor. I think I need the wrapping changed." He held up his arm.

"Ah. Yes. I should have simply told you yesterday to return today for that. I'll be in my office all morning, so come by any time."

"Thanks." Jim touched his unshaven jaw. "I'm going to visit the barber and get some breakfast, then I'll be in to see you."

"Excellent. I'll look forward to your visit. I don't suppose you've had any luck in locating your missing partner."

"Nothing tangible, although I am pretty certain he's in this area somewhere."

"Oh? What makes you think that?"

"I was able to do some backtracking which leads to this vicinity."

Easton's eyes were sharp on Jim's face. "Where do you suppose that would be? Specifically, I mean."

"I have no idea at the moment. But I'm going to spend a lot of time today scouring the general area for signs."

"Good idea. I'd best get into town. I'll see you later then." The doctor shook the reins.

By the time Jim returned to Bitter Creek, the barber had opened his doors and he welcomed Jim enthusiastically. Enrique was a garrulous middle-aged Mexican man who seemed not to notice whether his client returned the conversation or not. Spying Jim's bandaged wrist and being told that Dr. Easton had treated it, Enrique informed Jim that his cousin Manuel and Manuel's wife, Rosina, worked for Dr. Easton.

"He pays well, but I think they are not real happy there. I ask them about the doctor and his sister, but Manuel and Rosina just keep their mouths closed. Maybe that's good. Maybe a good servant does not talk about his employers, eh? But I just ask are they kind and Manuel, he just turns away. I don't see them much anymore. My wife complains. Rosina is her sister. So we are close family, no? Now they work out there, we don't see them. Manuel and Rosina, they have no children, and my children, they love them very much. Manuel always made them toys when they were small. I have a grandson now and I hope Manuel make him toys, but he never even sees little Esteban."

"Is Easton the only doctor here?"

"Si. We had doctor, older man, he quit and go to California. Then Dr. Easton and his sister come. He is good doctor but not… not friendly. You know what I mean? He is a nice man when people go to him for sickness. They have big, beautiful ranch, but never invite people. Never visit people."

"Some folks are like that," Jim murmured, remembering that the doctor commented on how his sister had made friends in the area. Easton himself certainly seemed friendly enough on the two occasions he had encountered the physician, both in a professional capacity and this morning. Jim had to admit to himself, however, that this morning Easton seemed to be uneasy about something. "Any idea where the Eastons came from?"

Enrique shrugged. "Some place east. New York maybe. East of here."

By the time he had breakfast, Jim was feeling physically much better, though his inner spirit was low. Every minute that passed worked against Artemus being found alive. He was able to acknowledge that fact, yet something inside kept telling him that if he persevered, he would find his partner alive and well. Where? And when?

Dr. Easton was saying goodbye to an elderly man when Jim approached the office. Easton greeted him enthusiastically. "You look far healthier than when I last saw you, although I can tell you need some sleep. Would you like me to give you some powder to help you do that? Does your wrist bother you at night?"

"Only if I forget and roll over on it. It's not the wrist that's keeping me awake." Jim removed his jacket and sat down on the visitor's chair, rolling up the left shirtsleeve.

"I understand. Worry for a friend or family member can be extremely disrupting. Still, a sleeping powder to give you one good night's sleep might help."

Jim shook his head. "No, thanks. I have to return to the train tonight and get ready to leave for Denver."

The doctor blinked. "Giving up the search for Mr. Gordon?"

"Only temporarily. I have some duties to attend to."

"Of course." Easton used small scissors to clip away the previous bandage. "Well, the bruise looks quite a bit better, but I think you are wise to keep it wrapped. If nothing else, I'm sure the bandage reminds you that the wrist needs to be cared for."

"It does," Jim acknowledged.

Easton rose from his chair and went to the cupboard. He turned back displaying an annoyed expression. "I forgot to replenish my supply of gauze. Sometimes I think I need a nurse here. It's in a closet in the other room. I'll be right back."

Jim glanced idly around the office. Not a large room. Apparently used primarily for talking to patients. The next room might be more extensive. The doctor could use someone to clear his cluttered desk as well. Papers were stacked and scattered…

Jim West stood up, taking a step closer to the opened roll-top desk. A corner of a piece of paper, apparently from a lined pad, was sticking out from under a medical book. He could see a few words, written in pencil, on it. Hearing sounds from the next room, Jim sat down again and composed himself. He was all but certain about that handwriting, but knew he needed to see more. He could not make any accusations based on that one glimpse.

"How did you come to be a federal agent, Mr. West? Do you mind my asking? I'm always curious about how people choose the road they travel on."

"I was involved in scouting for General Grant during the war. After the peace, Mr. Gordon and myself were invited to become part of the newly created Secret Service."

"So you've known Mr. Gordon a long while."

"A long while," Jim confirmed. What's this about? What's it going to lead to, if anything?

In a sense, that question was answered with Easton's next words. "What kind of work do you do? Tracking down spies?"

"Any crime that involves the federal government, such as counterfeiting, treasonous plots, threats to the President or any member of the national government."

"Do you act as bodyguard upon occasion? Or guard valuable government shipments?"

"Yes, upon occasion."

Easton laughed as he fastened the bandage securely. "I am more than curious, Mr. West. I'm just plain nosy. Right? That bandage should hold awhile if you are careful. But come back if you have any problems. Are you sure you don't want a sleeping powder?"

Jim picked up his jacket. "I'm sure. Thanks, anyway. Your day about finished here?"

"Soon. I'll wait awhile to see if any patients show up. The population around here is incredibly healthy. That man you saw leaving is eighty-six years old and all he wanted was something to help his indigestion." Easton chuckled as he reached to open the outer door for Jim. "The invitation to visit my ranch still stands, Mr. West. Any time. I'd love to talk to you further. And I know my sister would be delighted to meet you."

"I may take you up on that, doctor. I'm beginning to feel the need of a respite, perhaps before I return to the train. Thank you."

Easton accompanied him to the lobby, said goodbye to him there. Leaving the hotel, Jim mounted the waiting black horse, not looking back at the hotel's windows, though he had the innate sense he was being watched. He wanted to talk to Cy O'Malley, but he rode out of town in a direction that would take him away from the Easton ranch, as well as the sheriff's office, which was just down the street and visible from the hotel window.

I don't really have anything to tell Cy. Maybe some questions to ask about Richard Easton. I've got to get back in that office for a better look at that paper I saw. Artie's handwriting? How could that be? Why would it be? If Artie had been in Easton's office at some point, why wouldn't the doctor tell me?

Upon gaining the outskirts of town, Jim veered off the road and circled around behind the buildings on the opposite side from where the hotel was located, continued until he again left the town proper. This time he continued on out the road until he found a promontory with some scrub brush at its apex. Leaving the horse on lower ground, he climbed to the top and sat down behind the brush to wait.

Not quite an hour later, the buggy emerged from Bitter Creek and headed toward the low hills beyond, toward the same area he had seen the buggy coming from earlier. Jim waited until the vehicle was well out of sight, then went back to the black horse, mounted and rode into town. Although he still wanted to talk to the sheriff, he went to the hotel first.

Thankfully the lobby was vacant. Jim quickly headed for the rear hallway where the doctor's office was located. Removing the picklock from his lapel, he had the door opened in a matter of seconds. To his great relief, the handwritten paper he had noticed earlier was still where it was. Easton had not taken the time to do any straightening up. He obviously had not noticed the protruding paper.

Jim lifted the books off and picked up the pages, three of them. In stunned silence he read the messages. Two addressed to Colonel Richmond and President Grant were in code, which Jim was able to read easily. As if he needed any further confirmation of the author, they were both signed "Great Aunt Maud," the code name Artemus often used. The third was addressed to Lily Fortune in care of her stage company's headquarters in Saint Louis.

The content of the notes was astounding and mystifying. Artemus wrote assuring the recipients that he was alive, living in Texas at the home of Dr. Richard Easton, and expressing deep grief about learning of the death of James West. He promised further information as soon as he was able to get to Washington, or in Lily's case, wherever she was currently located.

What the hell is this?

It could almost be passed off as some sort of crude practical joke, but Jim knew that Artie would not participate in such a prank. Not under the current circumstances and probably never. Artie liked his fun, but something like this…

Jim read the notes again carefully, looking for clues. If he had been forced to write the notes, Artemus would have cleverly inserted some word or phrase to alert the recipient. Beyond that, he would never have used this particular code. For all intents and purposes, Artemus appeared to be writing what he believed was the truth.

How could that be? Why? Why would Artie believe he was currently in Texas, and above all, why would he think I was dead?

Some extremely clever ruse had been perpetrated, obviously. It would have had to be perfectly executed to fool a man like Artemus Gordon. And executed by Richard Easton? That made no sense either. A respected physician with a prosperous ranch? Yet, why would these handwritten notes be in Easton's office otherwise? Certainly they had not been sent…

After putting the papers back on the desk, with the books on top of them, close to the position as he remembered they had been, Jim slipped out of the office, carefully locking the door with his pick. He was grateful the lobby was still vacant, though he would have made a facile excuse about looking for the doctor.

Leaving the building, he led the black horse down the street and tied it in front of the sheriff's office. There he experienced a further disappointment. Once again the busy lawman had been called away, this time, O'Malley warned, he might not be back until late evening. Taking a small pad of paper and a pencil from his saddlebag, Jim sat down on a bench and wrote a note to the sheriff. He could not provide as much detail as he would have talking to O'Malley in person, but he hoped that Cy would trust him and not think he had lost his mind.

W*W*W*W*W

All is mystery; but he is a slave who will not struggle to penetrate the dark veil.
— Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881), British novelist and Prime Minister

Artemus awakened in his bed, and groaned aloud. Not again! This time, however, he had no real memory of growing dizzy or fuzzyheaded. His last recollection was sitting in the parlor with Richard and Harriet. Richard had been trying to elicit more memories about Artie's last days on the train with Jim.

I must have passed out… I don't understand this at all. Worse, Richard, a physician, doesn't understand it. I will need to look up experts in the larger city to diagnose this condition. Perhaps Richard can recommend someone.

Almost as soon as he threw the blankets back and stood up—someone had removed his clothes and put him in a nightshirt this time—the bedroom door opened. Manuel entered, toting a steaming pitcher of water, which he carried to the corner table. Artemus expected the servant to scurry out as he usually did, but this time Manual hesitated.

"Do you need something?" Artie asked then repeated it in Spanish. "¿Usted necesita algo?"

Initially he thought Manuel was going to bolt from the room. But as apprehension suddenly replaced his usual placid expression, the servant took one step toward Artie, whispered, and then dashed out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

Artemus stood very still. Had he heard that correctly? "¡No beba el café!" "Don't drink the coffee!"

His movements were automatic as, deep in thought, Artemus pulled off the nightshirt and went to the washstand to pour water in to the basin and wash up. He then lathered his face and shaved, still not entirely aware of what he was doing. His mind was on the strange words uttered by the servant.

He was certain he understood correctly. "No beba el café." What the devil did that mean? Why would Manuel issue such a warning? Because… Artemus took a deep breath. His head was clear, as it usually was upon first awakening. Only on that first morning had he experienced some dizziness. Every other time the vertigo and cloudy thinking had occurred had been… after he had coffee.

My God, that's insane! That can't be true! Why would Richard want to drug me? Have I been violent? Is it some kind of medication for a condition he has not told me about?

Drying his face, he went to the wardrobe and chose some clothes, once again almost not thinking about what he was doing. Too many other thoughts were spinning through his brain. Was Manuel seeking some sort of vengeance against his employer, and perpetrating a lie to cause suspicion and distrust?

Again, the reality was that as far as he could remember, every bad spell occurred after he had consumed coffee. In a couple of instances, such as yesterday's breakfast, he had been fine… until Harriet brought him coffee as they sat out on the porch. No, wait, he had started having some problems before she did that, but that too was after breakfast coffee. A lighter dose, or a different…

Stop that, Artemus! You have no reason to believe Manuel's assertions. Everything could be coincidence. Why would Richard and Harriet take me in when I was injured and then… The question returned: Has Richard diagnosed something he is not telling me about? Artie knew that sometimes dangerous and violent persons were kept sedated in institutions.

I've got to ask Richard!

As quickly as that thought occurred, Artie knew he could not do it. Not until he had more information. And the best way to prove Manuel wrong would be to obey the servant's warning… and see what happened.

The dining room was empty when he entered it, but Rosina appeared after a few moments with a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee. Artemus noticed she avoided his gaze for the most part, but twice she glanced at him and he wondered what it was he saw in those dark eyes. A plea? Fear? Or both?

As soon as she was gone, he picked up the coffee cup and sniffed at the hot brew. He could not detect anything amiss. The coffee was rich and flavorful, which he knew would help disguise any additive. Though he really would have liked to drink the coffee, he poured it into a vase of flowers in the center of the table. The flowers would die, of course, but presumably Rosina was the one who would remove them to perhaps notice the discolored water.

He was finishing his eggs when Harriet entered. "Oh, I didn't know you were up. How do you feel?" She smiled sweetly.

"Quite well, thank you. I'm afraid I don't remember going to bed. Did I have another spell?"

"I'm afraid so, dear." She rested a hand on his shoulder, standing alongside him. "I'm so worried about you, Artemus. Richard still feels you need to re-create your last previous memories."

"I thought I did that."

"We were talking this morning. He thinks you are leaving something out."

Artie looked at her in surprise. "Leaving something out? What do you mean?"

She waved a hand, moved away from him slightly. "I don't know. He said something about you blaming yourself for your partner's death and you feel something you did, or didn't do, caused it."

"I can't imagine what he means."

"Well, you said that the plans for the gold shipment were incomplete."

"That's true, they were."

"Really? As I understood, you were just days away from transporting the gold."

"Yes." Obviously she—and Richard—did not comprehend how they worked, so Artemus spoke patiently. "But Jim and I would have been working on the plans up until the last moment. We would have known that the unexpected was always to be expected. Perhaps only the weather. Even the fact that I left the train to go look at the terrain did not mean that that would have any bearing on what we ultimately did. We could have even decided to take a completely different route at the last minute."

Harriet frowned. "But wouldn't you have had to clear that with the railroad?"

Artemus smiled now. "We had unusual influence where the railroad was concerned."

"So is that what will happen this time? I mean, would have happened."

Artie pretended not to notice the slip of her tongue, unsure if it meant anything. "I don't know. I need to learn the details of the robbery where Jim was killed." This is getting more and more confusing. Why is Harriet pumping me like this?

"You are out of coffee! Do you want more? I can get it…"

"No, thank you. I've had two cups already. I'm fine." He got to his feet. "In fact, I'm finished eating. I think I'd like a little fresh air."

"We can sit on the porch…"

"No, I think I want to take a walk."

"Oh. Richard hasn't returned from town yet. I think you should wait…"

He gazed at her, realizing she was near panic. "Why? What could happen?"

"It's just—so unpredictable, Artemus. We don't know what will happen. You might be fine, you might pass out…"

He pretended to think about this for a moment. "You could be right. Very well. I'll confine myself to the front porch for now. Maybe I'll try to write down more memories… more detail. So far all this reminiscing hasn't helped a bit. I still cannot remember either what happened during that missing week, or any of my stay here with you and Richard before I woke up the other morning."

Harriet could not disguise her relief, taking his arm. "Then come along. I'll sit on the porch with you. Perhaps between the two of us we can find something that will jog your memory."

Before long, Artemus realized that Harriet was watching him too closely. She twice asked how he was feeling and seemed perplexed when he stated he was fine. She also offered to bring him coffee, which he refused. She kept probing him regarding the plans the federal agents had made to transport the gold.

This makes no sense whatsoever, but it's pretty obvious Manuel's warning had some truth to it. Why are they so interested in what happened—or didn't happen—a year ago? Did something occur during the robbery? Perhaps the gold was taken and hidden somewhere, and Richard believes that somehow I know about it. If I could only remember what occurred between when I stopped for water at that shack and the day they found me here in Texas.

That did not make sense either. Presumably his arrival here on the Easton ranch was pure happenstance. Either he had been dumped by whoever kidnapped him, or he had somehow escaped and made his way to this area. Why would Richard then know of his connection with the gold shipment and the robbery? No, the answer is not that Richard is interested in lost gold. But what then?

After awhile, Artemus pretended to be feeling lightheaded… and saw how relieved Harriet was. "If you feel sleepy," she suggested gently, "just lay your head back. Richard will be here soon. He'll take care of you."

Artemus did as she bade and pretended to fall asleep. He knew Harriet remained with him until she got up and walked to the edge of the porch, coincident with the sound of an approaching buggy. Richard was returning. Artemus peeked through his lashes to see Harriet hurry out to meet her brother. He could hear only snatches of their conversation, but was pretty certain that she told the doctor that "it didn't work as well as you said it would."

The drug he was supposed to have ingested with his morning coffee? Why were they keeping him drugged? That was the greatest mystery. Was he indeed displaying signs of violence or irrationality without the narcotics? He thought back over the last few days. Every time he had had periods of lucidity, he ended up passing out, after an episode of dullness and vertigo.

Something came to him then: A memory that struggled to the surface. Richard talking to him, asking questions while sitting beside the bed. Persistent, insistent questions. About… what? Artie closed his eyes tightly and tried to recreate the sessions. Just Richard's droning voice, repeating queries, demanding answers. He could not remember the subject of the questions.

But it has to deal with the gold shipment. Why? What does Richard have to do with it? Is it possible he was part of the gang that… that makes even less sense. The newspaper article stated the robbery had been "attempted." That would seem to mean it was unsuccessful. Jim died while successfully defending his charge.

But what then? Artemus knew he had to let this play out. He could not allow the Eastons to realize he was at least partially onto their tricks. He had to find out what the devil was going on. When Frank or Jeremy or whomever the department sends arrives, I can inform that agent and get assistance. For now I am on my own.

W*W*W*W*W

Jim followed Easton's buggy at a safe distance, and watched as the doctor steered his vehicle along a rather narrow road that was laid alongside a creek flowing through an opening in hills, undoubtedly the waterway that caused this valley to be rich and fertile… and valuable. He did not attempt to pursue the buggy through that opening, but veered off and circled around the low hills.

Having never been inside the valley, Jim had no idea what he would find when he climbed to the top of one of the hills, taking his spyglass along. Reaching the summit, he saw nothing but fields, with cattle grazing, and far to the other side, a clump of trees apparently growing along the creek. He was fairly certain he could see a house beyond those trees, so he returned to his horse and reversed his direction, crossing the creek and the road again until he estimated he was closer to that clump of tries. Ascending a hill in that area proved him right.

A fine two-story house lay between the creek and this side of the hills, with a number of outbuildings, including a barn and apparently a bunkhouse. A corral contained several horses, and though he could not get a really clear look even with the glass, Jim was certain at least one of those horses was a chestnut. Artie's? If I could see the blaze, I could know for sure, but the blasted horse won't turn the right direction, and the others keep getting in the way.

Returning to his stallion, Jim sat down on a rock and enjoyed a cheroot, his mind going over and over the events of the last few days, and what he had learned. That he had been in the doctor's office this morning to notice the handwriting on that paper had been pure chance. Ironically, if indeed the doctor is behind this, and if he sent those toughs after me, he indirectly caused me to find that clue.

What could possibly be the doctor's purpose for kidnapping Artie? That question went round and round. Certainly it had to do with the gold shipment. But how did taking Artemus help? Even if Artie told what he knew—and Jim sincerely doubted that would happen—that information would not be of much use to potential robbers. Plans were still up in the air, and would now probably be altered with one of the participating agents missing. Even if Paley forbade changes, Jim knew he would make them, relying to his own experience in such matters.

Of course, the robbers might not know that. But would they truly expect the agency to continue to use the same plans that Artie knew about?

Jim considered this a few moments and kept coming back to that one possible conclusion: whoever was masterminding all this was an amateur: Certainly not a Loveless or an Emmet Stark. Richard Easton? Easton was obviously a physician. He had a good reputation as one in Bitter Creek, and if he was not a trained doctor, that would have become evident by now. He had money. Money had been needed to purchase property like the Easton ranch. Why would a successful doctor engineer a robbery like this?

Those were the answers he needed to learn, and perhaps the only way he was going to accomplish that was by bearding the lion in his den. Easton had invited him to visit "anytime." Today was as good a day as any; perhaps the only day because tomorrow he needed to go back to the train and head for Denver. To do so without finding out what happened to his partner would leave him with a heavy heart. But it was what he had to do.

The sun was just entering the downward arc toward the west when he rode up to the front of the fine ranch house, where he dismounted and tied the horse to an iron hitching post. As he strode toward the porch, woman came out the door, a lovely woman with the same shade of blonde hair as the doctor. She shaded her eyes to peer at him.

"Can I help you?"

Jim pulled off his hat. "My name is James West. Dr. Easton extended an invitation."

Richard Easton emerged behind the woman. "Mr. West! Good to see you. Please come in. I expect you can use a good meal and some relaxation about now. We are about to sit down to the midday meal and would be delighted to have you join us. Harriet, this is James West. I mentioned him to you."

"Yes, of course." She extended her hand as Jim came up onto the porch, her azure eyes sweeping over him with admiration. "My brother told me how you are searching for your partner, Mr. West. Any success?"

"None, I'm sorry to say, Miss Easton. I am about at the end of my rope."

"Please come in." The doctor invited again. "Harriet, why don't you go tell Rosina that we have a guest for lunch while I show Mr. West where he can wash up."

Easton led Jim to a small room under the stairs where a basin of water and soap and towel were available. "Just come on down to the dining room when you're ready," the doctor smiled.

Jim thanked him and was pulling off his coat as Easton left. Jim then stepped over and opened the closed door slightly. He saw Easton hurrying down the hall and turning to ascend the stairs rapidly. Where the devil is he going? Jim wished he could follow, but knew that was not the route he could take at this time. He needed to talk to Easton and his sister, behaving as though he had no suspicions whatsoever.

By the time Jim entered the dining area, Richard Easton was there with his sister. Jim took a chair and a small Mexican woman immediately appeared with platters and bowls. She was followed a minute later by a stocky middle-aged Mexican man who had a bottle of wine which he silently poured into the glasses on the table. These would be Manuel and Rosina, the pair the barber spoke of. They did not look particularly happy, that was certain.

"It must be terrible," Harriet said after the food was all served, "to not be able to find your friend."

"It's not a good feeling," Jim agreed. "For all intents and purposes, he has simply vanished off the face of the earth. I had some leads, as I told your brother, but nothing has worked out."

"You still think he could be in this area?" Richard inquired.

"I just don't know. I believe they came this way, but after that… I just don't know. And I'm afraid that I have to return to duty."

"You're giving up?" Harriet gazed at him.

"Not entirely. I won't give up until I find out what happened to Artemus. Whoever is responsible… is going to pay."

"Have you any thoughts about the motive for kidnapping your partner?" Richard asked. "Revenge?"

"No. Not likely. I think it's related to the assignment we currently have been working on. A lot of money is involved."

"Really?" Harriet gazed at him with wide eyes. "Thousands?"

Jim pretended to be susceptible to her beauty, not a difficult task ordinarily, smiling at her. "More like millions."

"Oh my! Doesn't it make you terribly nervous to have to protect such a fortune?"

"Very," Jim agreed.

"So you believe Mr. Gordon was kidnapped because of this—this assignment worth millions?" Richard Easton asked.

"I have to. I just don't know what they hope to accomplish. Artemus doesn't have all the information."

Jim did not miss how the pair exchanged a look. Easton spoke rather nonchalantly. "I presume the entire process is very complicated."

"Very complicated," Jim affirmed. "Artemus and I have been working on the plans for a long while, and still had not finalized them."

"So… do you know what you're going to do now?" Harriet asked, those lovely azure eyes intent on Jim's face.

"I have a good idea. It won't be as easy without my partner, but it can be done. It has to be done. The gold has to reach San Francisco."

The conversation drifted away from the gold shipment and Artemus Gordon's disappearance, which surprised Jim a little. He decided they might not want to arouse his suspicions by appearing too curious. The meal finished, Harriet suggested they have dessert and coffee on the front porch.

"It's such a lovely day. I'll tell Rosina to serve out there."

Jim followed the doctor to the porch. "This is a very beautiful home," he commented. "I've heard this property is one of the most prosperous in the state."

"Yes, that's true. I have a good man running it for me, allowing me to continue to practice medicine. Harriet and I inherited some money, and we decided we wanted to do something different. Moving here from Chicago is decidedly different." He chuckled.

"I'd say so," Jim agreed, coming to his feet as Harriet emerged.

"I hope you like chocolate cake, Mr. West. Our cook makes one of the best."

Rosina followed a moment later, bearing a tray containing three dessert plates with slices of cake, and three cups of coffee. She held the tray while Harriet served. Jim did not miss the very sober, almost angry mien of the servant. Did she not like serving outside like this?

While enjoying the delicious cake and rich, hot coffee, Jim attempted to come up a way to bring the talk back to Artemus and the gold without appearing too obvious. Then the first wave of vertigo hit him. Somewhere in the distance he heard a crash and realized the dessert plate had slipped from his hand. He tried to grip the arms of the chair to stand up, but seemed to have no coordination in his limbs.

"Jake!" Richard Easton's voice came from somewhere in the distance, and strong hands seized Jim's arms. He tried to resist but that missing physical coordination coupled with a lack of strength made it impossible.

He never completely lost consciousness, vaguely aware that he was being dragged off the porch. His mind told him to struggle, but his body did not obey. He was carried inside a building, hoisted up a ladder and dropped on the floor. There his arms were pulled behind him and secured with ropes, his ankles tied together, and a gag put around his mouth.

"He'll be safe here for awhile," Easton voice was fuzzy in Jim's ears. "He's going to be woozy for another thirty-forty minutes. I have other things to take care of."

W*W*W*W*W

Pretending to be drugged was not easy, Artemus found. Most importantly, he had to be "unconscious" on the bed anytime he was checked on, and the door seemed to open at regular intervals. He had thought he might be able to get up and do some snooping around, but twice he was nearly caught when the door opened; he was saved only because he heard sounds outside the door. Once it was Richard, another time a man he did not know, a man who looked like a gun hand. Harriet also looked in once, but at least at that time he had just lain down, figuring another visitor would be coming any minute.

He began to realize he was going to have to let it play out Easton's way. The conversation he overheard between Richard and Harriet informed him that the drug they thought they had given him in the coffee would keep him unconscious for "several hours," so he assumed whatever was going to happen next was planned for mid afternoon.

Thus when Richard finally came to his room and spoke to him, Artie stirred, pretended to be awakening from sleep. "What happened?" he asked.

Easton shook his head. "Usual thing, I'm afraid. You were doing well, and suddenly became groggy and passed out. How do you feel?"

Artie sat up slowly. "Pretty good, I think. Sure wish we knew what was causing it."

The doctor patted his shoulder. "We will, don't worry. Harriet said that you wanted to go for a walk earlier, and I think that would be a good idea. Maybe keeping you cooped up in the house is not the best treatment. She's waiting for you downstairs."

Artie pretended delight and hoped he disguised the apprehension he was feeling. Why this sudden change? What was going on? He quickly pulled on his boots and grabbed a jacket, then accompanied Easton down the stairs where Harriet grasped his arm. "I want to show you something special."

"It's still a beautiful day," Artie said as she guided him down the stone path past the garden. "Where are we going?"

"I want to show you the creek. It's really lovely. We had picnics there… just the two of us."

He sighed noisily. "I wish I could remember."

As they walked, Artie glanced around, seeing more of the ranch layout for the first time. Behind the house were a large barn, a bunkhouse, and a corral, where a number of horses were penned. He could not stare at anything, unsure whether Richard might be watching from the house. How strange that in just a short time my feelings toward Richard and Harriet have changed. I trusted them completely… until Manuel whispered to me this morning. Why have they been drugging me and why are they so interested in a train robbery that occurred a year or longer ago? What do they think I know about it?

Harriet guided him along a path through the trees and they reached the water, where a broad swath of grassy bank, shaded by the trees and serenaded by the softly flowing water made it quite a lovely spot. "We spent so much time here," Harriet sighed. "And this is where you proposed to me."

"I'm sorry, Harriet. I truly am. If it were not for Lily…"

"I know." Her fingers squeezed his arm. "But we did have some happy times together which I shall never forget."

"I wish I could remember." Did I really marry Harriet? If I wore a wedding ring for six months, why is there no light colored band on my finger where the ring would have covered it? What would be the point of telling me this tale? I could ask to see the marriage certificate, and perhaps I will yet. Not now though. Not until I know more about what the devil is going on!

They strolled along the creek side for a while, not speaking. Artie wondered if Harriet truly cared for him… or was she a good actress? Harriet finally asked if he was tiring, and although he assured her he was not, she thought they should return to the house. Artemus did not argue. He had the sense this amble to the creek was more than a mere sentimental journey for Harriet, but he could not imagine what the purpose was.

When they emerged from the other side of the trees, Harriet stopped him again. "Please forgive me, Artemus. I suppose I hoped seeing the picnic spot again might bring back your memories of… of our happy times." She grasped both his hands in hers, bringing them together at her bosom as she lifted her eyes to gaze up at him. "I'm sorry"

Artemus smiled, and bent down to kiss her forehead. "It's all right, Harriet. I understand."

W*W*W*W*W

"I think you doubted me, Mr. West. I hope you understand now that I was not lying. Mr. Gordon has seen the light. He's tired of the puny wages of the Secret Service. He wants a share of that gold bullion."

Jim stared out the window. They were in the upper loft of the barn, looking out on the area in front of the house. Richard Easton had come up, with two armed men, untied his legs and removed the gag, then led him to this window, where they had just watched Artemus and Harriet emerge from the trees along the creek… and saw Artie gently kiss the lovely woman on the forehead.

Moments before, Easton had informed Jim that Artemus Gordon was not only alive, he was here voluntarily, and indeed had contacted them some time ago regarding the possibility of acquiring a fortune with the information he could provide. Jim remained silent, now watching Artie and the pretty woman stroll arm in arm toward the house.

"I'm sure you find it impossible to believe," Easton smiled. "You probably thought you knew Mr. Gordon better than any other person. You had no idea he and I had been in contact for months. You see, he learned of this gold shipment sometime back, and as I said, got in touch with me."

"Why you?" Jim asked finally.

"We met a couple of years ago. Harriet was an actress with Lily Fortune's troupe for a while. Artemus and I had a few drinks one night and he told me how dissatisfied he was with his life. At that time, he said he wanted to be able to marry Lily and support her in grand style. He also told me he was keeping his eyes open for the perfect opportunity. I let him know I would be willing to help. In the few days he's been here, as you might be able to guess, Artemus has had second thoughts about Miss Fortune. I believe he's become very fond of Harriet."

Jim shook his head slowly. "I don't believe it. I… I can't." He allowed a certain amount of doubt in his voice and on his face. Easton doesn't know that I saw the telegraph messages Artie wrote. He would not have written those if he were a willing participant of this scheme. I still don't understand why Artie thought I was dead and that he was in Texas. That's minor right now. More important is to get out of here alive.

"Believe it. Artemus knows you are here. In fact, he was the one who suggested that if the chance arose, I should invite you out here. He wants you to join us."

"That's generous of him."

Easton chuckled. "Isn't it? Of course, you'll participate fully—by making sure we know the exact plans for moving the gold through Nevada. We'll set up a trap that will negate the usefulness of the army guard."

Jim turned to look at the doctor, a bewildered expression on his face. "Army guard?"

Easton stared at him. "Artemus said… have the plans changed?"

Jim shook his head slowly. "There never was an army guard. Is that what Artemus told you?"

Easton's eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to do, West?"

"I don't know. What are you trying to do? Let me talk to Artemus. I won't believe what you just told me until I hear it from him." He met Easton's gaze levelly.

"I don't think Artemus wants to see you. Not yet. Not until you agree to join us. Because otherwise we are going to have to kill you, I'm afraid. Artemus feels badly about that possibility, but he is as determined as we are to have that gold bullion. We've worked and planned too long. I think you are lying about the change in plans regarding the army's participation."

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "As a matter of fact, with both Artemus and I absent, nothing will happen. The department will want to investigate fully before moving the gold through. Or take it by a completely different route. By the way, does Artemus know you sent two men to try to kill me in Bitter Creek?"

"What are you talking about? The fracas where your arm was injured? What makes you think I had anything to do with that?"

"Seemed logical at this point." Easton's surprise and his denial appeared genuine. If not him—who?

Easton's jaw worked as his eyes turned stony. "You are going to help us, West. You're going to give us the complete plans, and then Artemus will return to his place with the department and carry them out. If you agree to cooperate, you'll go with him, share the bounty… and live. If not…"

He nodded and the two armed men stepped over to pull Jim to the floor, tying his legs again and replacing the gag around his mouth. Easton glared down at him. "Think it over, Mr. West. Help us, live as a very rich man… or die."

Once he was alone, changing the position of his bound hands from back to front was made slightly more difficult by the injury to his wrist, but Jim was able to ignore the pain and slip his wrists under his boots. Then it was simply a matter of ejecting the boot-toe knife and slicing his bonds. Getting to his feet, he went first to the closed door and listened, then to the window. From there, he spotted Easton and one of the two men who had been with him disappearing around the corner of the house.

So perhaps one was left behind as a guard…

The door was unlocked, undoubtedly because Easton felt his prisoner was securely tied. Just outside the door was an opening in the floor, with the ladder up which Jim had been carried. Kneeling, Jim peered over the edge and saw the man below; his chair leaned up against the ladder, rifle across his lap, but hat pulled down over his forehead as he obviously anticipated a quiet time and a nap. He was located on the opposite side of the ladder and not directly below the opening.

Jim put a boot carefully on the first rung and let his weight rest fully on it. When no sound emanated, he did the same for the second, then the third, always keeping his eye on the guard below. Upon gaining the halfway point, he acted, gripping the side of the ladder to use as a pivot as he swung his body around, slamming his boots into the side the guard's head. The man and his chair tumbled to the floor with a thud, the rifle clattering.

Jim immediately jumped over the fallen man and grabbed the rifle, ducking behind a couple of nearby barrels. When no one appeared to check on the noise, he rose and crept to the door, opening it a crack to peer out. He saw not a soul, but remained crouched by the cracked door for several minutes, watching.

Finally, he stepped outside, eyes scanning the area for signs of any of the men who worked, or at least lived, on the Easton ranch. Again, no one was in sight. Bending low and keeping the rifle clutched in both hands, Jim raced toward the back of the house. That he encountered no one was a bit puzzling; however, remembering that Easton had taken the one man with him, apparently back to the house, Jim decided perhaps he had called a meeting to discuss latest developments.

Gaining the back door, Jim peered in through the window. The cook was at the large heavy table in the middle of the room, while the male servant was sitting on a stool near the sink, apparently polishing boots. Jim shoved the door open and stepped inside, not pointing the rifle at the pair, but keeping it ready.

Both gasped at his sudden appearance. Manuel looked quickly toward the door that would open into the dining area, and then put his finger to his lips. "La senorita," he whispered, "she is in there."

Jim relaxed slightly. "Where is Mr. Gordon?"

Rosina gestured toward the ceiling. "In his room. He play like drink coffee."

"It's the coffee that's drugged?"

"Si," Manuel replied. "I tell him, no beba el café. Come, I take you to him. Back stairs."

Grateful for the assistance, and also for not having to worry about nor harm these servants, Jim followed Manuel to another door that opened into a narrow, steep staircase. They crept up to the next floor, where Manuel gestured to Jim to stay back while he himself casually opened the door and stepped out. A moment later he returned and motioned Jim ahead.

Manuel pointed out which door he should open, the one right at the head of the main staircase, then at Jim's urging, hurried back down to the kitchen. Cautiously Jim made his way to the indicated door, tapped on it, pressing his ear close. Hearing nothing, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Artemus was stretched out on the bed, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Had the servant been mistaken, and Artie was indeed drugged? "Artie!" Jim spoke in a low voice.

Artemus Gordon heard the word, and tensed. My overworked imagination? A ghost? He knew that familiar voice as well as he knew his own. He heard other sounds, as though someone—or something—was moving in the room… closer to the bed.

Then a hand firmly grasped his upper arm, and the voice spoke again. "Artie! Wake up!"

His eyes flew open and he stared up into a face he thought he would never see again. "Jim! My God! Jim!" Artie sat up, grasping that hand. It felt real. "Is it you?"

"It's me, pal. I think we both have some stories to tell, but right now, we've got to think about getting out of here. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. They've been drugging me but Manuel warned me and I stopped drinking the coffee. But Jim… the newspaper article… it said you were killed a year ago!"

"A year ago!" Jim stared at his partner. "You were with me a year ago. What are you talking about?"

Artie got up off the bed and went to the dressing table, where the newspaper still lay. Picking it up, he folded it to display the article and handed it to him. He saw Jim's eyes widen as he read it, and then Jim quickly opened the paper to see the masthead.

"So that's why you thought you were in Texas."

Artie blinked. "I'm not?"

"You're still in Nevada, Artie, a few miles outside of Bitter Creek. And this date on the paper… it's next year's date."

Artemus Gordon let out a long breath. "The devil you say! They bamboozled me, but good!" Anger immediately replaced the grief he had been experiencing.

"Like I said, we have stories to tell, but now is not the time. We have to get out of here, and if we can take Easton with us, the better."

"What do you think he's up to?" Artie whispered as they both went to the door.

"He wants to rob the Wanderer and take the millions in gold bullion. He tried to convince me you were in on the plot, and had helped mastermind it. Any idea where we might find more weapons?"

"No. Where'd you get the rifle?" He indicated the weapon Jim was still holding.

"Helpful fellow out in the barn gave it to me. Let's go."

Upon reaching the first floor, Artie pointed out the door to the doctor's study. "I've never been in there. It's forbidden."

Motioning for his partner to stay put, Jim crept up to the door, pressed his ear against it for several seconds, and then came back. "Sounds like there could be a half dozen or more men in there. Any idea how many men Easton has?"

Artie shook his head. "Now that I think about it, I've been pretty much imprisoned in this house. I did see Jake Sawyer one day. Easton said he was passing through but I've an idea he's a permanent guest."

At Artie's suggestion they moved into the little-used first parlor, with its velvet drapes and satin upholstered cushions from which they were able to crack the door and keep watch on the study while they talked. Artemus came up with a plan and was adamant about carrying it out. Jim acquiesced, though reluctantly.

W*W*W*W*W

The group gathered in the doctor's inner sanctum turned and stared when the man stumbled in. "Artemus! What are you doing here?" Richard Easton hurried over.

Artie leaned against a bookcase, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Richard? I woke up… can't seem to… to remember what I'm doing… I feel so strange…"

Easton grabbed his arm and pulled him toward a nearby chair. "Why did you get out of bed?"

"I don't know… all I can remember is this ranch… I can't remember… you said I was on a train… what train? What's going on, Richard? Why can't I remember that?"

"Calm down, Artemus," Richard soothed. "It's all right. Probably just need to sleep some more."

"No, no more sleep. I want to remember! Why can't I remember?"

Easton glanced around at the men who were now standing in a group behind him, their facial expressions ranging from puzzlement to anger. "Artemus, you were a Secret Service agent. Your partner was killed during a train robbery. You remember that, don't you?"

Artie squinted at him. "I remember reading the newspaper in my room. But I don't recall a partner. I can't even think of what he looked like!"

"Artemus, I'm going to take you back upstairs and give you something to calm you…"

"Never mind, gentlemen." Jim West's stern voice caused the doctor and his henchmen to spin to see the man now standing in the open doorway with a rifle leveled at them. "Carefully now, everyone put your weapons on the floor. Artie, want to help?"

"My pleasure," Artemus replied, getting to his feet and grabbing the pistol from the holster of the nearest man. He then moved toward Jim.

"What are you doing?" Easton demanded. "You can't get away with this!"

"I think we can," Artie replied smoothly. "As you can see, Jim didn't die a year ago… and I did not lose any memories. Clever plan, Richard. But you jumped the gun. The idea was to get me to talk about our plans for moving the gold in the past tense, wasn't it? As though it had occurred a year ago?"

Easton scowled at him. "It almost worked."

"But you did not take into account that the plans might not be finalized until the last minute," Jim put in.

"I thought you said the plan was perfect!" One of the men growled at Easton.

"I'd better go find Harriet," Artemus said, taking a step toward the door.

"Never mind," Jim said, his body stiffening. "She's right here." He moved slightly, and Artie saw the lovely woman with a small pistol jammed up against Jim's spine.

Richard Easton triumphantly grabbed the rifle from Jim's hands as Artie let his own pistol fall to the floor. The other men grabbed the guns they had dropped.

"I don't know how you escaped from the barn, West," Easton stated, "but it's not going to happen again."

The two agents were herded into the dining room, where they were tied securely to chairs. Two men were assigned to guard them as Richard and Harriet left with the other men. One of the pair of guards was Jake Sawyer.

"You remember me?" Sawyer snarled at the pair.

"How could we forget a handsome chap like you, Jake?" Artie responded.

"I always thought you were too smart to get involved in a scheme like this, Jake," Jim commented.

"What's that supposed to mean? We're going to get millions out of this."

The two agents exchanged a glance. Artie sighed and shook his head. "I get the idea Richard Easton is pretty new to the business. Someone with more experience—like you—would have done it differently."

The other man looked at the pair. "What do you mean?"

"You heard what I said out there," Jim replied. "Easton didn't know that the Secret Service stays pretty flexible in situations like this. As soon as Mr. Gordon disappeared, things began to change. Now that I'm also out of the picture, everything will be altered."

"They may postpone the shipment," Artie added, "or take it a completely different—and unannounced—route."

"We haven't gotten any word about that," Sawyer grated.

"So," Artie spoke slowly, "you have an inside source?"

Sawyer shrugged. "Easton says he does."

Artemus saw the thoughtful frown on his partner's face, and wished he could ask Jim's thoughts. He said, "Then I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. The inside rat will tell Easton all the latest news."

"But that guy didn't say nothing about how the plans can change," the other man complained.

"Shut up, Toad," Sawyer commanded.

"It don't matter," Toad retorted. "They ain't going to get out of here alive now."

"He's right," Richard Easton said, returning, with Harriet close behind. "Unless you both want to cooperate. Of course, if one wants to be in on this, and the other balks, we can handle that too."

"It's not going to work, Richard," Artie said. "No matter how many men you have, no matter how 'clever' your plan, it just won't work. Not now. Probably not from the beginning."

"It can still work." Easton's expression was smug. "And it will. Artemus told me a great deal about the operations of the Secret Service, both consciously and unconsciously."

"You questioned me while I was drugged," Artie accused.

"Exactly. The narcotics had a two-fold purpose. One was to convince you that you were ill, that your brain was not working properly, that you had indeed suffered amnesia and lost more than a year of your life. The other was to allow me to get through the barriers your conscious mind erected. No matter how much of the story you swallowed, I knew that your training and experience would prevent you from telling all while fully awake, perhaps even while the drugs began to work. So I built on what you did tell me and asked further questions while you were semi-conscious. You didn't remember much, if any, of those sessions."

Artie saw his expression sour. "I have a notion I didn't tell you what you wanted to know at those times either."

"I don't get it," Jim said then. "You are a successful physician. You and your sister have this ranch, one of the best in the state of Nevada, if not the entire west. Why risk it?"

"Why risk it? For millions, West. For millions. You see, Harriet and I were orphaned while very young, and reared by an uncle who was quite wealthy, but also extremely parsimonious. Money was his god. He worshipped it, but never enjoyed it. We grew up knowing that the miserable existence we were forced to endure was not necessary, that we could have had all the good things in life. Oh, Uncle sent me to college and medical school, and he provided for an excellent education for Harriet. Not because of generosity, but because he wanted us to be out from under his roof. I was to be self-supporting, Harriet was to marry well, and Uncle would have his money all to himself. Then, shortly after I set up my practice, our dear uncle suffered a terrible, fatal accident." Easton paused here to look at his sister, who smiled back at him.

"I don't suppose you had anything to do with that accident," Artie grated.

Easton's gaze was bland. "The police said it was an accident. That's all that matters. My sister and I were his only heirs and we were soon very, very rich. But do you know what sometimes happens to people who have had nothing, and who abruptly have too much? We enjoyed life to the fullest, traveling, buying fine clothes and jewels—everything we were denied previously. However, suddenly it was all gone. We were forced to start selling some of our wonderful new possessions just to survive, and we were back where we started."

"So you decided to get rich again, in a hurry," Jim put in, sarcastically.

"Exactly. We knew a new start and a new location were required. We sold everything and came west, finally settling here in Nevada, as it is a lovely remote area. We had made certain contacts earlier, and those contacts have helped immensely. One assisted in planning this venture."

"I wouldn't say this contact helped much," Artie retorted. "Seems to me you have a failed venture here. As we were telling your friends, with both of us missing, the gold shipment is going to be canceled or drastically altered." I don't like the idea that he has an inside source, someone in the department who is feeding him information. Who?

"No, no, no, Artemus. When one of you returns safely, everything will continue as planned, I can assure you."

"Do we get to draw straws?" Artie asked derisively.

"No, that won't be necessary. I believe Mr. West should be the one to return. He moved heaven and hell to find you. I suspect that means he will do anything it takes to keep you alive."

"Not necessarily," Artie replied laconically before Jim could speak. "It just means that he was worried about the twenty dollars I owe him."

Easton smirked. "We'll see. For now, I'm awaiting word from my contact as to just what is occurring. After all, Mr. West has not been away from his train that long. Very likely he has not been reported as 'missing,' and if he returns tonight or tomorrow, nothing will be amiss. Jake, you and Toad come to the meeting. We have a great deal to discuss. These two will be all right for a short while."

"It's almost as though he's inviting us to try to escape, Artie," Jim said softly as soon as they were alone.

"Yeah. Of course, Easton is a very confident man. He still won't believe it's over. I wonder who this inside man is?"

"I have a thought about that, but I'd rather not say right now."

"Paley," Artie whispered.

Jim did not reply. Erling Paley was hungry for glory. Suppose he was the one who was on the record as having foiled this audacious robbery? By feeding information to Easton, he would know exactly what was going to happen, and when, having virtually set it up himself. Was he behind Artie's kidnapping? I get the impression that Easton is happy to take full credit for the plan, but is that truly the case? Easton is very naïve in these matters. All he sees is the gold at the end of the rainbow. Lots of it.

"I didn't tell you," Jim said then in a low voice, "but I left a note for Cy O'Malley telling him where I was going and suggesting that if I'm not back by suppertime, he might come visiting himself, and bring friends along."

"Oh, that's nice," Artie grinned. "You're always so thoughtful, James." His smile faded. "Jim, why did Easton leave us unguarded?"

"I've don't know. Like I said, overconfidence? A trap? I escaped his ropes once."

"Could he be looking for a reason to shoot us down?"

Jim just shook his head. He knew he could easily use his boot knife to slice Artie's bonds. Their legs were not fastened to the chair. Might be wise to go ahead and do just that, yet…

Artie interrupted Jim's thoughts. "Suppose it is Paley feeding Easton information about the gold shipment. Obviously Easton isn't getting the full story. Even Paley would know that first of all, the plans would have been changed in my absence."

"He was badgering me to make final plans—and accusing you of being a traitor."

Artie nodded. "Capturing you was a another mistake. That makes it almost one hundred percent certain plans will be changed. You'd think Paley would have warned Easton."

"Easton invited me out here and had the drugged coffee ready. Artie, are you suggesting that Paley would want Easton to fail? I've had the same thought, but..."

"Can you think of a bigger feather in his cap than to be the man who foiled a multi-million dollar robbery?"

Jim nodded. "The acclaim would mean more to a man like Paley than the money. Who knows, he might even be dreaming of higher office!"

"That's a chilling thought. He…"

The opening door halted Artemus's words. Richard Easton entered, smiling as he folded a piece of yellow paper and placed it in an inside pocket. "Gentlemen! Good news! Everything is going as planned, and your services are not likely to be needed."

"Is that good news for you or us?" Jim asked sarcastically.

"I take it you have word from your inside contact at the department."

"You are correct, Artemus," Richard continued to beam as he paused to gaze at his two prisoners. "You were also correct in surmising that the plans would be changed when both of you turned up missing. But I have all the new plans. The alterations are slight." He patted his jacket over the pocket. "The raid will be carried off successfully."

"Are you sure you can trust Paley?" Jim inquired.

Easton's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open for just an instant before he recovered. "Who? I don't know that name."

"Be careful, Richard," Artemus spoke quietly, soberly. "We know Erling Paley very well. He's a devious man who cares only about himself. We believe he's setting you up for failure."

Now the doctor scowled. "I never heard of anyone named Paley. And even if I did, why should I believe you? This robbery is going to make all of us very rich. Why should… my contact… want to see the attempt fail? He'll get his share."

"What are you going to do with the gold once you get it?" Jim asked. "You're talking about hundreds of pounds of metal. How will you transport it? Can you move fast enough to evade pursuit?"

The sour expression deepened. "It's all planned. Nothing for you to worry about. You should be concerned about your own lives and reputations, because part of the plan is to leave your dead bodies at the scene, as though you were part of it."

"Oh, that's so kind!" Artie cried, mockingly. "Always thinking of us. I suppose it's too late for us to change our minds and cooperate."

"Much too late. The plans have been made. In any case, I couldn't trust you."

"How much time do we have to prepare to meet our maker?"

Easton gazed at Artemus thoughtfully. "I don't think I should tell you that. Let's say it'll be a surprise. But don't even consider trying to escape again. I'm going to take care of that by giving you each a hypodermic full of sedative, which will keep you quiet and docile until the right moment. We want your corpses to be fresh, after all."

With a wave, Easton left the room. Artie looked at his partner and saw in Jim's face the same grim thoughts he was having. "Jim, we have to do something before he sedates us!"

"Turn your chair," Jim ordered, as he began scooting his own.

As soon as their chairs were positioned, Jim used the boot knife to begin to saw away at Artemus's ropes. The going was slow because he was required to keep his leg extended for a long period, while Artie tried to lift his arms slightly away from the back of the chair, tiring efforts for both men.

"Artie," Jim said, quietly, "When you get free, get going."

"Going? Where? Without you?"

"There might not be time for you to untie me."

"Don't you have the knife in your coat?"

"Yes, but…"

"Then I'll use that. I'm not leaving without you, James." He twisted in his chair and glared.

Jim sighed. "Well, we can hope that Cy O'Malley gets back to town and reads my note in time."

"That does it!" Artie jerked his hands apart as the ropes fell to the floor. He immediately jumped up to come around behind Jim, reaching in the back of his coat collar for the small knife secreted there. Cutting Jim's bonds from this position was a swifter process, and soon both men were free.

They headed toward the kitchen, and found both Manuel and Rosina there. "Gracias a dios!" Rosina cried when she saw them.

"Señor," Manuel said, "I have these." He opened a cupboard to withdraw two gun belts and holsters.

"Those are ours!" Jim cried, astonished.

"Si. I know where the doctor put them. Quickly, you must go!"

"Will you be all right?" Artemus inquired.

Rosina's smile was tight. "The doctor, he not pay any attention to us."

Artie exchanged a glance with Jim as they strapped their weapons on. Very likely Richard Easton was one of those men who believed that just because another person was a servant, especially if that person spoke a different native language, it meant the servant was less intelligent, less courageous. Easton may have been able to bully and threaten the couple into remaining quiet about his activities, but that did not mean they were cowards. Manuel and Rosina had simply waited for their opportunity.

With a brief thanks, the agents slipped out the back door. The afternoon sun was low, but still bright and warm. "I wish we knew how many men Easton has here," Jim whispered as they ducked behind a fence that cordoned off an area for a kitchen garden.

"I saw only the one before today. But I rather think that he would have had them all in that meeting."

Jim nodded. "Seven or eight then. The horses must be in the corral."

Artie grimaced. "And no doubt unsaddled."

"Can you do it?"

"I can do it." He knew was Jim was thinking. Riding bareback was definitely not his forte, but in a pinch, like this occasion, it had to be done.

The shortest distance to cross the open area was toward the far side of the barn, opposite from the corral, and closer to the bunkhouse. Though neither said anything, both hoped their surmise was correct that all the men were in the house with Easton. In any case, they gained the barn with no problems, and quickly skirted around the far side, putting the structure between them and the house.

A dozen horses were in the corral, including Jim's gleaming black stallion—still saddled. They probably couldn't get near him to remove it, Artie decided. Undoubtedly had enough trouble just getting him into the corral! Too bad my horse is so well-behaved!

"I'll get yours saddled," Jim said, and slipped through the rails of the fence before his partner could protest. Artemus was a fine rider, but they were going to have to move fast once they were on horseback. Artie would be better off with a saddle. Jim also knew better than to suggest Artie mount Blackjack.

The horses stirred slightly as he bent low and headed for the door in the side of the building, hoping against hope that it was unlocked. It opened easily and in the dimness he spotted Artie's saddle. Emerging with it, he found that Artemus had entered the corral too, and was bringing his chestnut over to the building. Blackjack had already headed that way, having spotted his master.

Artemus silently put the bridle in place while Jim took care of the saddle, then both mounted. No conversation was needed. Both knew what had to be done. Artie went to lean down and open the fence while Jim began herding the other horses in that direction. Scattering the other mounts would buy precious time.

Just as they started pushing the horses through the open gate, a shout came from the house, then a shot. Because the other horses were in the way, they could not make a rapid escape. Both men lay low in the saddle and fired a couple of return volleys. The noise itself startled the herd in rapid movement, and quickly they were not only out of the way, but galloping in all different directions.

Artie allowed Jim to lead the way because he himself had never been beyond the creek while conscious. Jim guided them around the trees and across a low bridge on the creek, and they headed at full gallop on the road leading to the exit to the valley. Shouts and gunfire sounded behind them, but both men felt they were in good shape for an escape.

They had not been aware that a guard had been set up in the pass. Two men with rifles were in the road ahead of them, and another up on some rocks; that one fired his weapon into the dirt ahead of their horses. The egress was blocked as well by a rough wood fence. Nothing they could do but pull up their horses.

"Raise your hands!" one man on the road commanded. "We'll shoot you out of the saddle!"

Artemus saw the anger on Jim's face and he felt the same, though he suspected Jim was blaming himself somehow. Obviously this sentry did not challenge Jim when he entered. Easton never mentioned guards. How were we to know?

"Just sit quiet," the guard ordered, but did not make a move to secure their weapons. "Lucky we heard the commotion from the house and were ready for you. I heard about how slick the two of you can be."

Jim glanced at his partner. They had a few minutes to act before the men from the house gathered their horses, saddled, and followed. "That's a nice compliment," Jim said easily. "I guess we've never met before?"

The guard shook his head. "Naw. But you sent a few friends of mine up. Killed a couple too."

"Glad to hear that," Artie remarked, drawing a scowl. The chestnut moved restlessly under the pressure from its rider's knees, sidling over to put some space between the two mounted men.

Jim noticed, so he kept the guards' attention. "Who were your pals? There's been so many…"

"Yeah, I don't reckon it means much to you that you killed a man's friends."

"Well, often it's a matter of kill or be killed, you know," Artie drawled. Mesa had drifted a full yard to the side. Artie still had his hands in the air. Jim now nudged the always-restive black to move in the opposite direction. The guards did not seem to notice.

The one upon the rocks called down, "You recollect Sid Holloway?"

"Sid Holloway," Jim repeated thoughtfully as the horse kept moving. Just a little further should give us an edge. "In New Mexico Territory? Big fellow with a scar under his eye?"

"Naw. You killed Sid in Montana. Redhead. Had just two fingers on his left hand."

"Oh, sure. I remember him. Tried to gut-shoot me. Seemed like the least I could do was to return the favor."

"You put a bullet right in the middle of his forehead!"

"Yeah, my aim was off that day. Now!" Jim yelled the last word and both agents acted, grabbing the reins of their horses to spin and head off in opposite directions, as again they lay low in the saddles. The shots that followed whistled over their heads. Jim rode a half a mile, then cut back the other way, keeping a sharp eye in the direction of the ranch house.

Artie was waiting for him behind a thick clump of brush. "Now what? Is that the only way out of the valley?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know. That's the way I came in." He stared off toward the hills that encircled the valley. They did not look overly steep, but that did not mean they were easily passable. He knew that the false start he had made earlier in his attempt to spy down into the valley had shown an area that was not usable by a horse. A man on foot might make it.

"They're going to be coming from the house at any minute," Artemus said. "We'd better do some exploring."

In silence, they traveled at a fast pace toward the hills, reaching the rising ground in about twenty minutes. Artie echoed Jim's thoughts aloud. "We might be able to go on foot. But then where would we be?" In the dry Nevada desert without water.

"Yeah, I don't think there's any homes nearby in any direction. Even the sheep ranches are ten miles off."

They skirted along the hills, always watching for a way to ride out, finding none. "The creek has to enter the valley somewhere," Artie commented. "Maybe there's another pass."

Both heard the thundering sound of many horses and saw dust raised in the area of the lane that led from the house to the exit pass. Before long those men would hear of their escape and would be searching, perhaps aware that the fugitives were trapped, if that was indeed the case. The more the agents rode, the more they began to wonder. Especially when they gained the far side of the valley, well behind the house, where they found that the creek entered the valley via a series of waterfalls and cataracts.

"That answers that," Artie muttered.

Allowing the horses to drink, and refreshing themselves, they pondered the situation. No easy answer came. If the other side of the valley was the same as the one they had just explored, the only exit indeed was the guarded pass where the creek flowed out. The sun continued to lower, but full dark was hours away.

"We'd better keep moving," Jim said, mounting up.

"Jim," Artie spoke as they rode side by side, "what if we did the unexpected?"

"Don't we always?"

Artie chuckled. "Let's go back to the house."

Jim gazed at his partner a moment, smiled, and nodded. They were a couple miles behind the ranch in this location. Presumably—they hoped—the search was still occurring between the house and the exit pass.

The area around the house was very quiet as they approached from the rear. Dismounting, they secreted the horses among some pine trees, and went forward on foot to the back door. The kitchen was vacant when they entered, guns in hand, and the house was completely quiet. Perhaps the two servants had also made good an escape, or at least were hiding somewhere. Too bad they were not available to ask about possible exits from the valley.

"Harriet is probably here somewhere," Artie whispered. "Maybe Richard too."

Jim just nodded. If they could take the Easton pair captive, matters could be simplified. The dining room was also empty, though one of the chairs they had been bound to was tipped onto the floor, perhaps attesting to a fit of temper when their escape was discovered.

"Someone has to be here," Jim murmured as they slipped out into the hallway. The silence of the house was odd. Where were the servants? If Harriet and Richard Easton were here, would they be so quiet, or would they be talking, pacing? Richard especially. I don't like this.

He was just about to voice that sentiment when a door opened behind them. Both men spun to find Richard Easton had just emerged from the small room under the stairway, the one where Jim had washed up earlier today. He held a double-barreled shotgun. Harriet was behind him, smiling triumphantly.

"Drop your weapons," Easton warned. "I can't miss with this thing." Both men carefully put their guns on the floor then raised their hands. "Clever men…" Easton went on, smirking. "Sometimes too clever. I had a suspicion that you might come back here. I'm sure you were surprised by the guard at the pass."

"That was unexpected," Artemus admitted. "Richard, you can't win. Give up before things get worse."

"I don't think so," the doctor smiled, motioning with the shotgun for them to move back, which they did. "Everything is still in place. I'll signal my men to return, you will be sedated and also kept under heavy guard until it's time to put the final plans in place."

"You just don't understand," Jim spoke with an edge of anger in his tone. "You're being set up. Even the plans to leave our dead bodies at the scene plays into Paley's plans. I'm sure he has already put the word out that we have gone to the other side. You and your men will also be dead at the scene. He won't leave any survivors to refute his claims."

"Richard…" Harriet put a hand on her brother's arm, pretty face displaying concern.

"Don't listen to them, Harriet. They are just trying to scare us. I can trust my source. And I still don't know who this Paley is."

"Don't see why you won't just admit it," Artie said.

Easton smirked. "After all, dead men tell no tales. Let's go out on the front porch. Harriet, get some of that rope. We'll tie them to the porch posts until I get the hypodermics ready."

With that menacing shotgun pointing their way, they had no choice but to obey Easton's orders, stepping out through the front door. Twilight was near now, the air cooling.

"I take it," Jim commented, turning back to face Easton, "that the raid is imminent."

"A couple of days yet. With you two absent, your train will be taken to Denver this evening. It'll be on its way back tomorrow, full of gold. But don't worry. Time will fly for the two of you. You won't even notice it. The sedative will keep you sound asleep for the next twenty-four hours or so."

"Must be what you used on me in the first place," Artie growled.

"Similar. The old fellow at the cabin was paid well to give you that specific water."

"How'd you know I would go there?"

"We didn't, specifically. A plan was in place to have one of the boys ride up to you and tell you some help was needed at the cabin. We didn't want to grab you on the main trail, and it was important, of course, that you not see too much."

"And you wanted me to believe that the robbery—and Jim's death—had occurred in the past so that I would speak freely about it."

"Exactly."

"Don't you understand, Easton," Jim interjected forcefully, "Paley knew that the plans would be incomplete. Artemus could not have told you the final plans! He knew that!"

"You keep talking about this Paley. I don't know the man."

"I still don't see why you won't admit it," Artie growled. "Who are we going to be able to tell?"

"You've already proven your abilities—several times. I'm not going to take any chances until I have you safely under sedation. Harriet! Hurry up!" He tossed the last words back through the open door.

Just then distant gunfire was heard. Both Jim and Artemus turned to stare off into the deepening gloom. Easton muttered a curse. "Now what?"

"Must be the posse," Jim replied laconically. "You might as well hand over the gun."

"What posse? No one knew…" Easton glared at Jim. "You did it!"

"I did ask Sheriff O'Malley to come fetch me, yes."

Easton lifted the shotgun, and both agents dropped to the floor just as both barrels went off, the pellets sizzling over their heads. Jim was on his feet first, but Easton quickly jumped back inside the house, slamming the door. They heard him fumbling with the lock inside, but were able to get the door partially open before he could accomplish that. When the pressure from the inside gave way to both their shoulders, the door flung wide. In the gloom of the interior, Jim saw Easton close to where the dropped guns were still laying.

He hurtled forward, throwing himself into the doctor just as Easton grabbed one of the guns by the handle. Both men tumbled to the floor, Jim momentarily on top. He quickly discovered that the doctor was stronger than he appeared, and as Jim grasped for the hand holding the gun and tried to wrest the weapon away, he found himself with his back to the floor, giving Easton the advantage as the doctor attempted to turn the barrel toward Jim's chest.

Artie followed, picking up the other gun, which happened to be his own. "Easton!" he yelled, "Give it up!"

Instead, to his horror, the gun in between the two grappling men went off. For an instant, all was still, no one moving. Then Richard Easton crumpled. Jim quickly thrust him away and scrambled to his feet, bloodstains on the front of his shirt.

"Richard!" Harriet screamed, emerging from the dining area with pieces of rope in her hands. "Richard!"

Jim grabbed her before she could throw herself over her prostrate brother. Hearing horses outside, Artie hurried to the door, then relaxed. "It's O'Malley."

W*W*W*W*W

Quem metuont oderunt, quem quisque odit periisse expetit.
[Whom men fear they hate, and whom they hate, they wish dead.]

— Quintus Ennius, Thyestes (Atreus log.) (239 - c. 169 BC), Roman poet, satirist, dramatist

They rode hard toward the siding where the Wanderer had been sitting, Easton's comment about the train being taken to Denver tonight in their ears. With more of a moon, plus stars, the way was easier, especially because they were able to stick to the main road. Finally they pulled up their lathered horses on a hill overlooking the siding.

"Still here," Artie breathed a sigh of relief.

Jim's attention was immediately caught by a sound off to his right and he pulled his gun, only to relax when he saw three familiar figures emerging from some brush. "Orrin! What the devil?"

Orrin Cobb's grin was evident even in the gloom. "Mr. Paley wanted to take the train to Denver, boss. We figured he couldn't if he didn't have a crew."

"Is he down there?" Artie asked.

"Yeah. Has half a dozen soldiers with him. Be careful."

Telling the train crew to wait about fifteen minutes, then to return and fire up the boiler, the two agents rode on toward the train. They could see lights illuminated inside the parlor car, and as they neared, spotted the buggy and several horses on the far side.

"Why do you suppose he has the soldiers with him," Artie wondered as they dismounted. "Guard for the gold?"

"We'll soon find out," Jim murmured.

Erling Paley was seated as he had been previously, on the sofa with his back to the door. He obviously heard the door opening, and called out, "Did you find the crew? I told you not to come back without…" Perhaps about then he saw the expressions of the faces of the two soldiers in the car with him, one a sergeant the agents knew fairly well; his expression was decidedly uncomfortable.

Paley stood up, spinning around; the shock on his face vanished quickly as he recovered his aplomb. "Well, well, well. I wonder you have the gall to come back here, West!"

"It's our train," Jim replied mildly. "I'm surprised to see you," he lied.

"I've been waiting, expecting you. I suspected you'd need to be here to set it up."

"Set what up… sir?" Artie inquired politely.

"Don't play dumb with me, Gordon. Where have you been the last three days?"

"It's a long story."

Paley snorted. "I'm sure it is. Gentlemen, you are under arrest. Sergeant, take their weapons and put the manacles on them."

"May we ask why?" Jim inquired quietly. The sergeant had hesitated.

"For treason, what else? I know where you've been! Sergeant, you heard me!"

"Do you indeed," Artie muttered. Then louder, "Mr. Paley, both Mr. West and I have been prisoners of the gang who intended to rob the gold train. That won't happen now. The leader is dead and the rest are in the Bitter Creek jail."

Paley looked startled anew. "What are you talking about?"

"Just what he said," Jim said. "Richard Easton is dead. His sister and the men they had gathered are under arrest. There's no danger of a robbery now."

Now Paley's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe a word of it. If anything, you had a falling out with your gang. Sergeant, obey orders. Put these men in chains and secure them in the rolling cell. President Grant will know what to do with them!"

W*W*W*W*W

Ambition is a lust that is never quenched,

but grows more inflamed and madder by enjoyment.
Thomas Otway (1652-1685), English dramatist

"A diabolically clever scheme," Colonel James Richmond murmured as he gazed at the two men seated in the parlor where he was ensconced on a chaise, a colorful afghan across his lap. "In the hands of another man, it could have worked."

"It wasn't supposed to work," Artemus Gordon said, lowering his glass of sherry. "We're convinced it was all a setup by Erling Paley."

"How do you mean?"

"He gave Easton just enough information," Jim spoke up, "to make Easton believe the plan was real and faultless. I believe he was behind the attack on me in Bitter Creek, in an attempt to remove me from the picture entirely. He later knew that both of us were Easton's prisoners."

Artemus nodded. "Paley was quite surprised when we appeared at the train. He sure did not like it that the crew insisted on receiving their orders from his prisoners before moving the train! "

"All the while," Jim added, "Paley intended that the robbery attempt was to be a glorious failure, and he would take the credit."

Richmond shook his head. "But you have no proof."

Artie sighed heavily. "None whatsoever. Harriet Easton insists she did not know who her brother's contact was—though she admits they knew Erling Paley as a friend of their uncle's back in Illinois. I'm sure that Paley learned of their circumstances after they blew through their inheritance and approached them about a big kill, so to speak. That would have been around the time he was appointed as your assistant."

"Assistant no longer," the colonel stated with satisfaction. "His arresting the two of you and forcing you to reside in that cell during the cross-country trip was bad enough, but his downfall resulted from the stories he released to the newspapers, pretty much accusing President Grant of fostering traitors. He was given the option to resign, which he took. Colonel Crockett has come out of retirement and will run the bureau until I'm able to be back on duty in a couple of weeks. By the way, I asked Crockett to process a reward for the Mexican couple who assisted you at Easton's ranch. Sounds like they deserve some recognition."

"I'll endorse that wholeheartedly," Jim nodded, smiling. "They warned Artie, then helped me as well."

"Too bad Paley won't face prison time," Artemus growled.

"Men like him seldom do," Jim murmured, sadly.

"A conniving man," the colonel sighed. "Worse, he blames you two."

"Such men never put the blame where it honestly lies, on themselves, their own greed and hunger for power and glory," Artemus pointed out.

"Exactly. I fear we haven't heard the last from Erling Paley, gentlemen. He may have lost face in Washington, but he still wields power in certain circles. And he has money."

"Maybe he'll trip over his own blasted cane and break his neck," Artie hoped.

"When have we ever been that lucky?" Jim West asked aloud.

Ipsa se fraus, etiamsi initio cautior fuerit, detegit.

[Treachery, though at first very cautious, in the end betrays itself.]
Titus Levy, Annales (XLIV, 15) (59 BC–AD 17), Roman historian also known as "Livy"

The End