The Night of the Familiar Stranger

by California gal

Dr. Loveless is back, with an insidious plan to destroy Jim & Artie, who get some help from an unexpected source.

THE NIGHT OF THE FAMILIAR STRANGER

People are not always what they seem.

Nathan der Weise, act IV, sc. 7 — Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729-1781)

Jim West slowed the dusty black horse as he entered the town. Looked like many another town he had seen over the years, with a single wide unpaved street bisected by a number of alleys that separated various clapboard, false-fronted buildings. Most of the structures bore signs declaring the type of business carried on within, but a few were residences. He had noticed more houses on rising ground to the east of this town known as Mill Creek, Arizona Territory. The sign at the outskirts stated that the population was three hundred and twenty-two, but Jim seriously wondered where those three hundred and twenty-two souls could reside.

Not much of a town as far as desert towns go. With any luck, Artie will have things well in hand, and we won't have to be here long. His partner had preceded him to Mill Creek by about four days while Jim wrapped up testimony at a trial in Saint Louis. Artemus had taken the Wanderer, so Jim had used public transportation for a good part of the journey. He had come across their train waiting on a siding more than a half day's ride from Mill Creek, the closest it could approach.

Jim glanced around as he rode down the middle of the street, half expecting Artemus to be on the board walkway at some point, waiting for him. Artie knew approximately when he would arrive, although they had not been able to confirm an exact time. Mill Creek had no railroad, and no telegraph either. Apparently the cattle ranches in the area supported the town. Not very good cattle country. That thought had occurred to Jim several times as he rode through the desert-like landscape.

The "Mill Creek" for which the town was named was more like a trickle this time of year. A cowhand he encountered related that during the monsoon season, or occasionally after a heavy rainstorm, the creek bed could flow swift and full. Ranchers had various means of trying to save that water, from tanks to ponds to small dams. A spring on a property doubled or tripled that acreage's value.

A few people on the sidewalks gazed at him with some curiosity, which was not unexpected. Highly unlikely they saw many strangers passing through this way. Quite possibly any one of them could tell him where to find Artemus Gordon at any given moment, should he ask. However, Jim decided he would be better served to find Sheriff Grable. Just as that thought crossed his mind, he saw the building bearing a sign designating it as the sheriff's office and jail.

A husky man with a white beard and a mop of equally snowy hair was standing on the porch of that building, talking to two rather well-dressed men. As Jim dismounted, and tied the black's reins to the hitching rack, the bearded man turned and confirmed Jim's suspicion by displaying the star pinned to his faded shirt.

"Sheriff Grable?" Jim extended his hand as he stepped up onto the porch. "I'm James West."

"Yeah?" Grable gazed at him oddly, but took the hand briefly. "What can I do for you?"

Jim noticed that the two men Grable had been talking to were also staring at him, but he attributed it to what he had surmised earlier, that few strangers appeared in Mill Creek. "I wonder if you can tell me where Artemus Gordon might be found."

Grable looked back at the two men briefly. "You got some identification?" he asked Jim.

Jim pulled the leather folder from inside his coat and handed it to the lawman, who studied it a moment then, to Jim's surprise, turned around and handed it to the taller of the pair behind him. "Looks darn legitimate."

"Certainly does," that man replied.

Jim West was becoming annoyed. "It is legitimate. If you will return my credentials, and tell me where I might find Mr. Gordon, I won't trouble you any longer." Grable was the man they were supposed to contact and cooperate with. Wonder if Artie had a problem with him.

"Well, it's like this, Mr., er, West, I'm surprised you don't recognize Mr. Gordon. He's standing right in front of you." Grable grinned, pulling the pistol from the holster at his side. "We were warned you might show up."

Stunned, Jim stared at the sheriff for a long moment. "What do you mean, he's right in front of me? What is this?"

The shorter man, a round-faced individual with a pock-marked complexion stepped up alongside the sheriff. "Why, Jim, don't you recognize your partner?"

"Just a minute," Jim spoke tautly. "Did this man tell you he's Artemus Gordon? He's lying."

Now the other one came up to flank the sheriff on the other side, lifting a pistol from inside his well-tailored coat. "You're the liar, mister-whatever-your-name-is. How did you think you could get away with it? Even with fake credentials, no one would ever believe you're James West."

Jim kept hold of his temper, and tried to quell the gnawing fear in his gut. Where's Artie? "Sheriff Grable, I'm afraid you've been taken in by a ruse. I am James West. That man is not my partner, Artemus Gordon."

Grable smirked as he reached over and lifted Jim's pistol from his holster. "You're the one trying to put something across, mister. Maybe if Mr. West and Mr. Gordon hadn't arrived ahead of you, you'd of got away with it. But I know these are the real West and Gordon. Their identities were confirmed to me by someone who knows them well."

"And who might that be?"

"None of your business. Get on inside there." He motioned with his own gun.

Jim briefly contemplated attempting to overpower the sheriff and the two men, but realized that with two guns already aimed at him, he would not have good odds, especially if "Mr. Gordon" decided to draw his own weapon. Thing to do was to talk to Grable alone, convince him that he was being deceived. And also to find out who in this town identified these two fakes as the real McCoy.

Where's Artie?

Jim half expected to find Artemus Gordon in the office, a big grin on his face over the deception just pulled off. Either that or locked up in a cell. Neither was the case. The office appeared to have just one jail cell, formed in one corner by a heavy wooden wall on one side, and a set of bars on the other.

He was commanded to remove his coat and hat, then his gun belt, and finally to sit down and open the heels of his boots. Jim did as bade, seething. Someone who knew him well was behind this. He tried to ask the sheriff more questions, but was ordered to be quiet. The two imposters smirked behind the sheriff's back.

He was placed inside the cell, and the door, which was comprised of the entire set of bars, hinged against the building wall, was closed and locked. Jim tried one more query. "I hope that the person who claims that these two are West and Gordon will come around to see me."

"Perhaps," Grable replied, "but the doctor is a very busy man."

"Doctor!" A chill climbed up Jim West's spine.

"Yes. Dr. Miracle."

"Dr. Miracle!" Jim could not help but exclaim.

Now Grable smiled slightly. "Well, that's not his real name. But that's what we call him here. He saved this town, saved hundreds of lives. And it was a real miracle, too."

"Mind telling me what he looks like?"

The sheriff scowled. "That don't make no never-mind. You just settle yourself in, young fellow. When the circuit judge comes through in a couple of weeks, we'll decide what to do with you. That is less'n Mr. West and Mr. Gordon want to charge you with impersonating a federal officer and take you with them."

"West" stepped forward then. "That certainly is a tempting idea, Sheriff Grable, but I don't know if we'll have the time. I think he's secure in your little cell for now. But it occurs to me, he obviously has a confederate here, or believes he does. Any other strangers in town lately?"

Grable pondered a moment. "No. Not unless you want to call Charlie Rock a stranger. He's strange, all right, but not exactly a stranger." The sheriff chuckled at his own play on words. "Comes down out of the hills every year or two, spends a few weeks, and goes off again. You probably seen Charlie. Old fellow with the bum leg and black patch over his eye. Came into town just about the same time you did."

"Gordon" nodded. "I saw him in the saloon nursing a drink a couple of times. Not much of a drinker."

"No, he ain't. Told me one time that drinking was what caused that bad leg and eye. Harmless old coot."

Jim listened with any alteration in his expression. "Charlie Rock" sounded like one of Artie's disguises, but the fact that this Rock was known around here might preclude that being the case. But where was Artemus? Were the two imposters simply playing their game further by indicating they were unaware of another agent in town? Or had they already encountered Artie and…

As the three men moved toward the door, Jim took in his new surroundings. The cell was about six feet square, with a bench supported by chains at the rear, under a high, narrow window that allowed some light and air. The lock on the door did not look all that complicated… except he did not have any tools to work with.

Jim sat down on the bunk, and pondered the situation. About a week ago, while in Saint Louis, he and Artemus had received a telegram from Colonel Richmond instructing them to travel to Mill Creek, Arizona Territory as soon as they were released from testifying. The department had received word that a wanted criminal, one Alphonse Leech, was hiding in that area. Leech was wanted for counterfeiting, but also for a double murder. One of his victims had been a former employee of the San Francisco Mint, a man who had been a good friend of Richmond's.

Both agents recognized how much this particular capture meant to their superior, so as soon as Artemus finished his testimony, he headed south. He would scout the area, ask questions, and with any luck, have Leech pinpointed by the time Jim arrived. Although Artemus had not stated his intentions specifically, chances were very good he had entered Mill Creek in disguise. But as Charlie Rock? Jim shook his head. Highly unlikely. In the first place, how would Artie know what this Rock looked like? Secondarily, he would not want to chance either being caught out by someone who knew Rock well, or by Rock himself coming into town unexpectedly.

Dr. Miracle… Jim West had a very bad feeling about the identity of this man. He could think of several criminals who might attempt such a ruse, but only one would have the capability to pull off a "miracle." He needed more information on the man, as well as on whatever he had done to gain the sheriff's respect and the town's gratitude.

He was certain that the instructions they had received from Colonel Richmond had been genuine. They had exchanged several messages, using the specific confidential codes that would route the wires directly to the colonel's office in Washington. But had someone passed along false information to Richmond, knowing how much the capture of Alphonse Leech meant to him, certain he would assign his best agents? Someone who wanted to snare West and Gordon. Again, while Jim could think of any number of enemies, only one jumped to the forefront. Miguelito Quixote Loveless.

The little genius had been out of sight for a long while, an almost sure sign that he was up to something. A remote area like this would be perfect for him to set up a new identity, using his considerable charm to convince the residents that he was respectable, to be trusted, even loved. Would not be the first time that happened.

Jim stood up and stepped over to the barred door, grasping the cool metal in both hands. He shoved and pulled, finding that while the lock looked shaky, the door was not. He was going to need some help.

Where are you, Artie?

WWWWWW

The old fellow with the thin, graying blond hair hunkered over the glass placed on the table before him, staring at nothing with his one visible eye. His left eye was covered by a black leather patch held in place by a strap around the back of his head. The other patrons of the Silver Goblet saloon paid him little heed now. He had been an oddity during the first couple days after his arrival, when people approached him to say hello, ask if he had made that big strike, then razz him about his lack of success. Some knew him from previous visits, some knew him only because they asked someone else and were told, "That's crazy old Charlie Rock. Head is as thick as his name."

It's amazing, though, how much I've learned by simply sitting here and pretending to be in another world. People talk around me, assuming I'm not listening, or not comprehending.

Such as just a few minutes ago when the man people in this town knew as James West came in to brag that the expected imposter had arrived and was now safely in jail. No one needed to worry about his nefarious plots to rob the town blind.

If only Mill Creek had a telegraph. I could have gotten word to Jim. But more than likely, the lack of outside communication was one of the main reasons it was chosen.

The identity he had purchased from the old desert rat had proven to have both its benefits and detractions. No one paid him much heed. That was good. But Artemus Gordon had belatedly realized that he did not have much mobility in this guise. Charlie traveled on foot, hobbling along with his old mule Casey bearing packs of his possessions. Artie had paid extra to "borrow" that mule for a few days along with the name. His own horse was in the nearby mountains, cared for by the prospector. Being without a horse meant he had been unable to ride out to watch for his partner's approach, nor could he have flagged Jim down from the sidewalk without arousing suspicion. As well, Artemus innately sensed that retaining this guise was important at this time.

Now the problem was going to be getting Jim out of that jail before the good doctor carried out his plans… whatever they were. Although Artemus had quickly become aware that Loveless was in Mill Creek, the necessity to keep himself hidden had prevented him from attempting to spy on the crafty dwarf. He had not even had an opportunity to speak to Sheriff Grable before catching sight of Loveless in town. Upon spotting the crafty little man, Artemus had quickly retreated from town. He had spoken to only one person, the blacksmith who replaced a shoe on the chestnut which he had decided, fortuitously as it turned out, to get taken care of first. While waiting inside the shop, out of the sun and in the shadows, he had espied Loveless in a passing buggy.

"How are you this afternoon, Charlie?"

Artemus glanced up as the slim silver-haired man with an equally white mustache pulled out a chair and sat down without invitation. Not the first time. Sam Neville had approached him the first day "Charlie Rock" appeared in town, introduced himself, and joined the old prospector at the table for companionable silence. Artie liked the man without really comprehending why. He had had the immediate sensation that he had met Sam Neville at some point in the past, but could not recall either the name or the face. He sensed that Neville perhaps felt they were kindred souls, that while Charlie Rock might have lost himself in his quest for gold, Sam Neville was lost in some other manner. A loner, Neville always answered questions in a vague manner, whether posed by "Charlie Rock" or another local.

"What do you think about this story about the imposter, Charlie?"

"I dunno. Don't mean nothin' to me." Artie affected the somewhat slurred manner of old Charlie's speech, caused primarily by bad teeth it seemed.

Neville was silent a long moment. Artie peeked at him under the fringe of hair that draped over his forehead and into his eyes. He had been glad he brought his full makeup kit with him when he left the train, never knowing when it would come in handy. Making himself up to resemble old Charlie had not been terribly difficult. He suspected that Charlie was the type of man that people didn't study too closely; they noticed the black patch and the limp and that was about it.

"I saw the real Jim West a few times," Neville said very softly.

Artie's hand closed reflexively around the glass before him. He forced himself to relax. "Yeah?"

"Yes."

"So what?"

"Never mind," Sam growled. "Don't tell anyone I said that."

Artie shrugged. "Don't mean nothin' to me," he repeated. He knew, just as well as Sam did, that revealing such knowledge could be very dangerous. But why was Neville telling him this? Just because he needed to divulge his knowledge to someone, and old Charlie seemed the likeliest receptacle, the one who was not about to blab? "You live ‘round here? Don't recollect seeing you, last time in."

"I've only been here a couple of months," Sam replied.

"Hell of a town to settle in," Artie chuckled, allowing it to turn into a wheezing cough. He took a sip from his glass. "'Bout the only thing this stuff is good for."

"Why do you buy it if you don't like it," Sam inquired, curious.

Artie shrugged. "Well, that's what a fella does in a place like this, ain't it? Don't want them to kick me out for occupying a table!"

Now Sam Neville laughed. "Good idea. Beats being out in that hot sun."

Artie made a grunting sound, but did not respond otherwise. Odd, that laugh made Neville seem even more familiar. They must have met at some previous occasion. Maybe a long time ago. Perhaps when this was all over, he could approach Sam Neville with the question. That is, if he and Jim survived this incident. Loveless was determined to take their lives, and who knew, one day he might even succeed.

WWWWWW

Sheriff Grable brought a dipper of water to the cell when the prisoner requested it. Jim was thirsty, but he had used the request more as a way to bring the lawman around to where he could talk to him without yelling through the solid wall that separated the cell from Grable's desk. Even with the open but barred door, the voices seemed to be absorbed by the thick wood wall between them.

"Tell me more about this ‘Dr. Miracle,' sheriff," Jim invited, sipping from the dipper. He knew Grable would not want to leave the ladle with him.

"What's there to tell? We had a terrible sickness in Mill Creek about three months back. Our regular doctor couldn't do nothing. Dr. Yrigollen appeared, knew the illness, and had the cure."

"People died?"

"No, but some were dang near. My own wife and daughters were bad off. Soon as the doc dosed ‘em, they were fine. Almost like it never happened."

"What did you say that name was?"

"Yrigollen. Funny name, eh? Seems to be a Spanish name. I never heard it before. He said it means ‘from the village on the height.' First name is Horst. Which ain't Spanish, I know that." Grable shook his head, laughing softly.

"Horst Yrigollen," Jim said softly. "I bet I can tell you exactly what he looks like."

"You know him?"

"Not as Horst Yrigollen. He's a small man, right? A dwarf. Rather handsome in his own way, with graying hair and clear blue eyes. Impeccable manners. Charming as hell."

The sheriff's frown deepened as Jim spoke. "How do you know that?"

"When you are ready to believe I'm James West, agent of the federal government, I'll tell you. In the meanwhile, I will simply warn you to be very careful. Your ‘Dr. Miracle' is no miracle-worker. He's out for one thing. No, maybe two. He wants to kill me and my partner, and he wants to rule the world."

Grable's mouth fell open, and he pulled it shut with some effort, reaching through the bars to grab the dipper from Jim's hand. "Mr. West said you were a clever fellow. I'm seeing now what he meant. Trying to upset things, make me suspicious. Ain't going to work, young fellow. Dr. Yrigollen saved my family, and he saved a couple hundred people in Mill Creek. I trust him."

"Good for you. I expect I'd feel the same way if I was unacquainted with him. Be sure you stick around when the doctor comes to visit me."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't, you may have a dead prisoner on your hands."

The sheriff took a step back, still staring. "Why should Dr. Yrigollen even want to come see you, let alone kill you?"

Jim smiled slightly. "He will be along any time now. Hard to say what excuse he'll use. I know your good doctor very well. His ego will compel him to show up here, just to show me what he has accomplished."

"I don't know. Personally I think all I've heard about you is true."

"And what did you hear about me?"

"That's you're… what did Doc Miracle call it? A con man. A first-rate con man. Said you and your partner are always putting over some scam to fool people. I'm sure glad Mr. West and Mr. Gordon showed up ahead of you, and were able to warn me you were coming."

"Very fortunate indeed," Jim said dryly. "I'd like to know how they knew I was coming here. Tell me, have you ever heard of a man named Alphonse Leech?"

Grable frowned a moment, then shook his head. "Can't say as I have. Who is he?"

"The man we were told we might find in Mill Creek. It's the reason I'm here."

Grable chewed on his lower lip, then asked, "Where's this partner you keep talking about?"

Jim sighed. "I have no idea, sheriff. I hope your Dr. Miracle hasn't gotten hold of him."

"You know, one minute you start talking like you're making sense. Next minute you say something crazy. What do you mean by that?"

Jim debated with himself for a moment. Should he bring up Loveless's name? He decided against it for now. Loveless had Grable completely fooled, and as long as that was the case, the sheriff was pretty safe. Should Grable start to ask questions…

"Never mind. Maybe you want to sweep your office to get ready for the impending visit from the great man."

The sheriff glared, then turned to stomp back to his desk.

Probably not more than a half hour elapsed before Jim heard the outer door open, then a familiar voice. He did not rise from the bunk in the cell, listening to the conversation between the sheriff and his visitor. After a minute or so, Grable appeared in front of the cell, and with him a small man with graying hair and large, clear blue eyes. As usual, he was attired in a dapper manner, carrying a doctor's satchel.

"Good afternoon, doctor," Jim said pleasantly. "I'm more than a little surprised to find you in such a backwater town in the middle of nowhere. Then again, I don't know why anything you do surprises me."

Miguelito Loveless peered at him. "Why, sheriff, I had no idea the imposter would be such a young man. And such a fine looking fellow. Somehow I thought he would be older, more venal appearing. What is his true name?"

"Don't know," Grable replied. "He ain't said."

"I've given the sheriff my true name," Jim said. "Why don't you give him yours?"

Loveless rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The sheriff was behind him, so only Jim saw the mocking gleam in the blue eyes. "I am in despair that such a man is a despicable criminal, sheriff. Remember that treatment I was telling you about? I wonder if this young fellow might not be the perfect candidate."

"Well, I don't know…" the sheriff began. Clearly he was remembering what his prisoner had said to him just a short while ago.

Jim played it up. "If you allow the doctor to take me into his custody, sheriff, my death will be on your hands."

"Oh dear!" Loveless cried in alarm. "He appears to be mentally disturbed. I have some medications that will assist in that area. Perhaps I can prescribe."

Jim hoped he disguised the tremor he experienced with this statement by Loveless. If Grable agreed to put something in his food… "I'm sane," he said mildly. "How's your mental state, doctor? Still have ideas of poisoning the world's water supplies?"

Loveless's eyes flashed, but he spoke in a caring tone. "You see what I mean, sheriff? Me? Poison the world's water supplies? In the first place, that's impossible. And why would I want to do such a thing? I've found my place in the world here in Mill Creek, where I'm needed and wanted. That's all any doctor of medicine could ask."

Grable cleared his throat. "Well, I don't reckon we should do anything like remanding him to your custody or giving him medicine until the circuit judge comes through in a couple of weeks."

"Of course, of course," Loveless agreed readily, though anger flickered momentarily in his eyes, as he stepped back from the barred door a few paces. "Sheriff, you mentioned that this young man talked about a partner. Have you attempted to find that man?"

"Sure have, Dr. Yrigollen . But there ain't no more strangers in town. He must have vamoosed. Some friend, to leave his partner high and dry."

"Indeed. But don't relax your guard, sheriff. It may be a ploy."

"I thought of that, doctor. I surely did."

Loveless looked at the man in the cell again. "Well, my curiosity is satisfied for the moment. I do hope I will be allowed to help this young man. Very likely he fell in with bad companions along the way. I'm sure that my treatments can set him right. But we want to do it legally, don't we? We'll wait for the judge."

Jim West sat very still for a long while after hearing Loveless and the sheriff depart from the office together. This isn't good. If Loveless convinces Grable to allow him to take me with him…. Was this what the entire scheme was about? Trapping him, and possibly Artemus, to commit some operation or drugging on them? To change their personalities? To… Jim did not even want to think about it.

He had had nightmares for a long while about the night he had believed he had murdered Artemus Gordon. The hallucination brought about by Loveless's new drug had seemed so real that even having Artie back with him, in the flesh, had sometimes been difficult to accept for a time. Jim knew that Loveless was a genius, far ahead of other scientists in the world. He invented devices and concoctions that others thought were impossible, or even unimaginable.

The good news was that apparently Artie was not in Loveless's hands at this time. Jim thought he knew Loveless well enough to believe that the doctor would not have even mentioned the partner if he already had Artemus in his custody. But where is Artie?

WWWWWW

Jim West came instantly awake at the first sound. He had not thought he would sleep, but the grueling day on the trail and the tension of the hours in the cell caught up with him. At least he was pretty certain Loveless had not been allowed to mess with his food thus far. When Grable brought his dinner tray, Jim had asked the sheriff pointblank whether "Dr. Miracle" had prescribed any medication to be added. The shocked, even insulted, expression on the lawman's face convinced Jim that that had not happened. He did not think Grable was that good an actor.

So he slept on the hard bunk until the hissing whisper penetrated his slumber. He sat up and looked around in the darkened room, not so much because he thought the whisper came from inside the building, but that he wanted to make sure he was still alone. Grable had departed hours ago, stating the front door would be securely locked, that he was confident the prisoner could not escape.

Jim then climbed up onto the bunk. He had tested its sturdiness earlier, and now he flexed his knees, then pushed, jumping the short distance needed before he could grasp the bars that covered the high narrow window. The moon was bright and full. Down below, in the alley between the sheriff's office and the building next, he saw a seedy looking man with unkempt graying hair and a black eye patch.

"Artie?"

"Who are you expecting?" came the wry response. "General Sheridan?"

"We might need him… and the Army of the Shenandoah."

"You're not kidding. Jim, it's Loveless." Artie lifted up the eye patch to clear his vision.

"I know. I saw him today. Came to pay me a special visit. Tried to convince Grable to turn me over to him for special ‘treatment' to cure my wicked ways. Thankfully, the sheriff refused. Any idea what's going on, what he's up to?"

"No, only that he's established himself here as a saint."

"He obviously set up the trap for us, using Alphonse Leech as bait. I've got to get out of here, Artie. I don't like Loveless's ideas for a rest-cure."

"Who does?"

"Hold on a minute." Jim lowered himself to the bunk, flexed his arms and his hands, then hoisted himself to the window again.

"Getting soft in your old age?"

"How about you try it for awhile?"

"No thanks. Jim, I looked at the front door. A special lock of some kind has been installed, one not susceptible to an ordinary picklock. I'd need to use an explosive on it."

"I suspected that might be the case. Otherwise the sheriff–and Loveless–would not have gone off and left me unguarded. I wouldn't be a bit surprised but what our old friend helped the good sheriff to make it near impregnable."

"Yeah. I agree."

"Artie, who the devil are you supposed to be? I heard about this Charlie Rock…"

"That's me. I'll explain the details later, but so far it's been the perfect disguise. In fact, I'm getting an idea because of it. Look for me first thing in the morning, James, and be ready for anything."

"Artie, I think you should go back to the train and…"

The man down below was shaking his head vehemently. "In the first place, my horse is a three-hour walk from here. Or a four-hour ride on a slow and balky mule. Then another half day or more to get to the train, half day back…. I'm not leaving you here alone for better than a full day. Not with Loveless around and apparently in control of things."

"Artemus, be careful. If Loveless gets us both in here…"

"I know, I know. Don't worry. I think I know where I can get some help. Ta-ta! Sleep well, friend."

Jim watched his partner scurry down the alley toward the rear of the building. He would emerge elsewhere, so as not to be seen near the jail. Lowering himself again, Jim sat down on the bunk, all thoughts of sleep momentarily dissipated. What did Artie have in mind? And what was this "help" he mentioned? Artemus was no fool. He would not randomly trust just anyone. He had been here for a few days now, but…

For what seemed like the hundredth time since he had been locked in the cell, Jim rose to go to the door, shake it, trying to inspect the lock in the moonlight that illuminated the scene. If only he had a tool, even a nail, he would probably be able to open it. Then maybe deal with whatever special lock was on the door. He did not blame Artie for not fooling with the door. Though it was late, the saloons were still open, and people could be out on the street. An explosion, even a small one, would be noticed.

Jim West hated this feeling of helplessness. Obviously Loveless had advised the sheriff, probably through the two imposters, to completely disarm the man Grable was convinced was the fake agent. He wondered whether Grable had questioned the knowledge they displayed about him. What kind of story had they given the sheriff? That did not really matter at the moment, however. What was important was that he had absolutely none of his usual gadgets to help him out of this situation. All he had was Artemus Gordon, disguised as an old desert rat.

Jim sank back onto the cot, smiling slightly in the darkness. I think I'm in pretty good hands.

WWWWWW

Artemus found the man he wanted at the café directly across the street from the sheriff's office. Sam Neville was having breakfast when the old codger shuffled in, and he waved Charlie over.

"Good morning, Charlie. Hope you had a good night."

"I don't sleep good no more," Artemus mumbled as he sank awkwardly into a chair, favoring his "bad leg." "Specially in town. Too blamed noisy."

"I suppose you are accustomed to the silence of the mountains. I don't blame you for preferring the solitude. I don't like this town."

"Eh? Why are you here?"

Sam waited while the waitress placed his own plate in front of him, and took Artie's order before he spoke. "I came to Mill Creek looking for someone. I heard she was in this area."

"A female? Lost love?"

"No, not hardly. It's a long story. Sometime maybe I'll tell you. Heard anything about that young fellow they have locked up?"

"Nah. He ain't no concern of mine."

"Mine neither, I suppose," Sam said, digging into his fried potatoes. "Just can't help thinking about him for some reason."

"Why don't you go to the sheriff and tell him what you know?"

"He has no reason to believe me. Especially not ahead of Dr. Yrigollen, who has established himself here as a beloved and respected member of society."

Now Artemus paused as the waitress brought his platter of food and a steaming cup of coffee. He kept his gaze down, slathering butter and jam on his biscuit as he spoke in a low voice. "Would you help him if you could?"

Sam seemed not to be surprised by the change in the old desert rat's tone and manner of speaking. "I expect I just might, Mr. Gordon."

Artie later wondered how he prevented himself from reacting. Instead he carefully placed his biscuit on the side on the plate, and used his fork to separate the eggs, potatoes, and slice of ham so that they would not touch each other, something he had noticed old Charlie doing in his mountain cabin, and something people here in town might have also taken note of.

"How do you know me?" he asked softly.

"I told you I knew Mr. West by sight. You were usually with him. It's not that your disguise isn't good. It's excellent. I have to confess that I met old Charlie on my way to Mill Creek. I got a little lost, he found me, shared a meal with me, and directed me into town. Thus, when you did not know me at our first encounter, I naturally became suspicious. Then I began to add things up. If Jamie West is here, Mr. Gordon likely is in the vicinity."

Artemus Gordon fell silent, automatically eating his food. Sam Neville was the "help" he referred to when he told Jim he thought he knew where to go for some assistance. He had based that on Sam's comment that he knew the man in jail was the real Jim West. He could not explain exactly why, but he was suddenly having second thoughts.

Jamie West?

Neville was the one who spoke finally. "You'll need some help. I'm ready to give it."

Artie glanced up. "What can you do?"

"I'm not sure. I'm pretty certain I would not be believed if I went to Grable and told him I know which is the real agent. Doing so would also expose me to Dr. Loveless's attention."

Once again Artemus had to control his astonishment. "You know Loveless too?"

"Never saw him before. But I know who he is."

Nonplussed, Artie did not speak for a long moment again. He drained his coffee cup and signaled the waitress, who brought the pot over to fill both cups. Only when she moved away did he say quietly, "Mr. Neville, I think you and I need to have a long conversation somewhere that we don't have to worry about anyone overhearing."

"Excellent idea. Any ideas? I have a room at Mrs. Kaley's boarding house. Do you think that would be safe?"

"No. You can…" Artie halted his words as he noted how Neville's gaze went to the front window of the café, his eyes widening. Artie looked that direction.

Across the street, four men had emerged from the sheriff's office. Two were the false agents, one was the sheriff, and the fourth was James West, his wrists and ankles manacled. "West" and "Gordon" had grips on his arms, and Grable was following behind, not looking very happy, as they headed for a buckboard parked nearby.

"Uh-oh," Artie murmured. "Looks like the sheriff caved in." This is certainly going to change things!

"What do you mean?" Neville asked anxiously. "Where are they taking him?"

"Undoubtedly to Loveless. Do you know where Loveless has his headquarters?"

"I've never seen it, but I heard he's living in a ranch house about a half hour north of town."

"Well, you're mighty kind to an old man, mister," Artemus said in his Charlie Rock voice. "Been a while since I've had a meal this tasty." He filled his mouth full of potatoes as two men entered and sat at the next table. Picking up his cup, Artemus ducked his head and used the cup to hide his mouth as he spoke very low. "Meet me at the livery stable. I've been doing some chores there. I can get rid of he owner." He pushed himself out of his chair and shuffled out the door.

WWWWWW

As the wagon trundled slowly out of town, the fake Artemus Gordon turned from the seat and looked down at the chained prisoner in the wagon bed. "Bet you're glad to get out of that crummy jail."

Jim gazed up coolly. "I think I preferred the accommodations there." The manacles on his boots had been fastened to an iron ring in the bed of the wagon. No chance of jumping off… and the chains would preclude moving very fast anyway.

He had known something had changed the moment Grable entered the office. Jim had called to him, asking for some breakfast, but the sheriff had not answered. When Jim persisted, Grable finally came into view. He was perspiring and very nervous.

"Dr. Yrigollen is coming for you, mister. He… convinced me that he could… could help you."

"His name is not Yrigollen," Jim had spoken tersely. "It's Miguelito Loveless and he is a master criminal, an evil man. I don't know all his reasons for being here in Mill Creek, but I do know he wants to kill me. If you allow him to take me out of this jail, you're a murderer."

Grable had swallowed hard. "I ain't go no choice," he responded hoarsely, and turned away. He did not reappear, did not speak again despite Jim's attempts to engage him, until just before the two men arrived to collect the prisoner. Jim could only surmise now that somehow Loveless had threatened the sheriff in such a way that the sheriff had no option but to obey.

Maybe the worst part of all this was that Artie would have no way to know what had happened. At least not right away. He would eventually hear that the prisoner had been removed. Knowing Loveless, the diminutive doctor probably had turned this "ranch house" into a stronghold, with plenty of guards. As clever as Artemus Gordon was, he was only one man. Jim had no idea who Artie had planned on calling on for help, but even one more body was not going to do that much good. Not now. This time Loveless held all the aces. He was going to finally win the war…

Why am I feeling so hopeless? So helpless and despondent? We've been in situations like this before. Why would…?

He had not been served breakfast, nor even coffee, but a silent Grable had brought a dipper of water to the cell a minute or so before the escorts arrived. Jim had drunk it gratefully. He had not noticed anything amiss in the flavor or odor. However…

Jim lay his head back against the side walls of the wagon, closing his eyes. He drugged me. He gave Grable something to put in that water. Something to cause me to be more… compliant. Now that I'm aware, I've got to fight it. I've got to fight it!

WWWWWW

Artie was not surprised that as soon as "Charlie Rock" appeared at the stable, the owner, one Pete Winkle took off, instructing Charlie to look after the place. It had happened before. He had overheard conversations that indicated Pete made a habit of abusing his employees by leaving all the work for them while he went to play poker, or perhaps to catch up on his sleep after gambling all night.

Thus he was alone when Sam Neville arrived a short while later. Artie made a show of grooming Jim West's black horse in view of the open doorway in case anyone noticed, while Sam stayed in the shadows.

"How can I help?" Sam asked.

"I'm not sure yet. Loveless obviously has had Jim taken to his headquarters. I have no idea how much time we have. Loveless is difficult to predict. He may… carry out his plans against Jim immediately, and he may want to have me in his custody first. Somehow I've got to get inside that ranch and free Jim, the sooner the better."

"Perhaps I can ride in and distract them."

"Maybe. But we need to know the layout of the place."

"From what I've heard, Sheriff Grable is virtually the only townsman allowed inside regularly."

Artie frowned. "What about Dr. Miracle's patients? I've gotten the notion he treats the locals' maladies and accidents."

"True, but he keeps a small office here in town. That reminds me… I might know someone else who would be willing to assist."

"Who's that?"

"Dr. Anthony. He was the physician here before ‘Dr. Yrigollen' showed up to perform his miracle. He's been pretty much ostracized, primarily, it seems, because he attempted to warn the people that Dr. Miracle might be a fake."

"But he's still here?"

Sam smiled. "He told me he has been this town's physician for almost a dozen years, and he can't just desert them. In fact, it's his office that Loveless took over. Paul Anthony lives above it. You might say he acts as Loveless's assistant. I forgot that he's been out to the ranch a number of times, generally as a message carrier. He did mention that ‘Dr. Yrigollen' is brilliant."

"Oh, there's no doubt about that. I'm not sure how many university degrees Loveless has, but I am certain he knows much more than any professor could ever teach him. Easy, boy." The black horse he was stroking with a currying brush started to sidestep. Undoubtedly he missed his master, and needed a good run. I'm sure not getting on his back! I'd end up on mine!

"Listen, Gordon," Sam went on then, "I came to this town looking for someone. I've asked a lot of questions. I hung around thinking the person I'm seeking might come back to collect some possessions left behind. So far, that has not happened, and I was considering moving on just before I saw Jam… James West being apprehended by the sheriff. The one thing I have not done is talk to people at the outlying ranches. Suppose I just innocently ride up to Loveless's place to ask my questions?"

He almost said Jamie again. What…? Artie shook his head doubtfully, and spoke aloud. "I don't know. You would not likely get beyond the front door, if that far."

Now Sam grinned. "And while I was doing that, any chance you could slip in the back way?"

Artie chewed his lip a moment, the brush ceasing its rhythmic movements. "I'm not sure it would be quite that easy," he said slowly, "but with Dr. Anthony's assistance, we just might pull something off."

WWWWWW

Seeing the sumptuous furnishings in the interior of the small ranch house was no surprise. Miguelito Loveless always lived in style. The exterior was ordinary, even a bit rundown, but the front room area was lushly carpeted, with a crystal chandelier, fine artworks on the walls, and comfortable well-made furniture.

Jim had little opportunity to inspect the room, as his two guards pushed him through to another door which–again unsurprisingly–opened into a fully equipped laboratory. Tables laden with scientific glassware and equipment filled the room. Jim was shoved into a chair, and a heavy leather strap buckled around his chest and arms to secure him. Then his escorts departed.

The silence in the room was heavy… oppressive. Maybe the walls were extra thick to shut out noise… or keep it inside. James West sighed deeply. This is it. No way Artie can get in here to help. Likely Loveless has him spotted by now. It was bound to catch up with us sooner or later…

No! No, no, no! Come on, pal. Jim could almost hear Artemus's voice in his ear chiding him. You can't give up. You know that Loveless drugged you. Fight it. Don't surrender to it. You can't! You cannot allow Loveless to win, not after all the battles we've fought and won.

A door on the left side of the room opened and Loveless entered. He was wearing a white laboratory coat, and stripping off rubber gloves. "Ah, Mr. West. So good to see you again. Are you well? You are looking… how shall I say it? A bit down in the mouth. Despairing. Desolate. Not your usual ebullient, confident self."

"I know you drugged me, Loveless. What's the purpose?"

Loveless hopped up on a stool next to the nearest table, folding his hands under his chin as he continued to survey his prisoner. "Purpose? Why, simply taking advantage of having an extremely healthy and vibrant young man to use as a test case. The perfect guinea pig, wouldn't you say? Tell me how you feel."

Jim remained silent, green eyes glaring at the smug and smiling man. As the wagon had continued farther and farther from town, he had found it more difficult to retain his equilibrium. Everything seemed so hopeless. He was helpless, in the hands of his enemy, and nothing was going to save him. Time and again he talked himself out of the depths of despondency, but it became more and more difficult. Just as now. He had the damnedest sense that if he talked too much to Loveless, he would start to beg for his life, even weep. Best to save his strength for fighting the effects of the drug, not sparring with Loveless.

"Mr. West," Loveless spoke in a very gentle tone, "I know you are enduring a sense of loss, of utter hopelessness. Wouldn't it be much better if Mr. Gordon was here with you? I'm certain he could cheer you up. Just tell me where he is, and I'll arrange for him to be here at once."

Jim West continued to gaze stonily at his enemy, quite aware of what Loveless was trying to do. Worst, he knew the ploy could work if he relaxed his guard for an instant. He was feeling completely helpless and hopeless, and what better time to have a friend nearby?

Loveless sighed noisily. "Well, I did choose you because of your strength of will, didn't I? Remember, however, the success of a previous experiment with one of my experimental drugs on you. I nearly succeeded, didn't I?" His gaze narrowed, undoubtedly recalling how he had been on the verge of releasing the wild ducks carrying vials of his hallucinogenic to water supplies throughout the country, after coming close to driving Jim West into insanity. Then he seemed to shake himself and continued to speak in a conversational tone.

"In truth, I persuaded the sheriff to place quite a mild dose in the dipper of water. Just enough to subdue your usual combativeness. Preparing this drug from certain exotic and extremely rare herbs and plants has consumed a long, long time. Tests have indicated that a stronger dose can have quite dramatic results, including madness and suicidal tendencies. Imagine what will happen when I arrange to impregnate the water supplies of various government agencies–including the White House–with my formula? The police, the federal and state governors and legislatures… coordinated properly, which it will be, and this nation will be completely leaderless. In chaos. Isn't that a lovely thought?"

"You failed before, and you'll fail again." Jim spoke tautly. That crushing sense of despair threatened to overwhelm him upon hearing Loveless's plans.

Loveless chuckled, sliding off the chair now and coming nearer. "You won't escape this time, Mr. West. You know that as well as I do. You know it's the end for you. You fought the good fight, but it's time to surrender. Just give in, Mr. West. It will be much easier. Or…" his grin widened evilly, "perhaps you'd like another drink of water. A stronger dose will definitely make it easier on you. Just ask."

"You go to hell."

Now the small man laughed aloud, throwing his head back and chortling gleefully, aware that for just one instant, his prisoner had considered accepting the easy way out. "Ah, Mr. West, I shall miss our little confrontations. But I will have the memories, won't I? Rest assured, I will not prescribe another dose of my tonic. Not at the moment anyway. Why? Because I am sure I will need to use another little concoction on you, one that will persuade you to reveal the whereabouts of dear Mr. Gordon."

"Won't work," Jim growled.

"Ah, but it will. It's my truth formula, Mr. West. Once injected into your bloodstream, you will be completely unable to lie, or to withhold information. It is foolproof. Even your strong will cannot overcome it. Under its effects, you will reveal to me not only where I can find Mr. Gordon, but all of the secrets of your agency. Only a small problem prevents me from administering it this moment. I'm afraid injecting the truth formula before the first drug is completely out of your system has quite deleterious effects… fatal effects. While I am assuredly anticipating the moment you breathe your last breath, I have other uses for you first. I'm not going to waste this treasure trove of information I have in my hands. And when I have Mr. Gordon… well, I shall simply be the best informed man in the country as far as national secrets are concerned."

He can do it. He's going to do it. And I'm powerless to stop him. What good does it do to try? I've spent my entire adult life fighting for the right, for law and order, and what has it gotten me? I'm as good as dead, and he'll kill Artie and…

Jim West opened his eyes, and stared into the gleeful blue ones of Miguelito Loveless. "No." Jim found his voice was somewhat hoarse with the tension he was experiencing. "No. You won't succeed. Somehow we'll stop you… again."

"Oh, I do admire your fortitude, Mr. West. Your strength of spirit. I always have. Admired and hated you for it. You had everything. A strong, healthy body, handsome face, alert and intelligent mind. All I have is my mind, and I must use it to survive. Oh, I did forget one thing, didn't I? You had your murderous father. I'm sure that was hard to live down, growing up under the taunts of the other children who would not allow you to forget."

Jim fought against another wave of despair as childhood memories swept through his consciousness. "My father is not a murderer."

"That's not what the police records say. If he's ever caught, he'll hang. And what will that do to your career? The great James West, son of a double murderer. All these years, living a lie. Does Artemus know? He need never know, you realize. Tell me where to find Artemus Gordon, and I'll keep your secret." Loveless leaned toward him. "You can die with your honor intact."

"Go to hell."

Loveless snickered. "You seem to be fond of that phrase. Ah well. You'll tell me where Artemus is. The drug now in your system will dissipate in approximately twenty-four hours. If you have not decided to tell me by then, I'll simply administer the truth drug. It lasts just a few hours. Once you've revealed all I need to know, you'll receive a stronger dose of the one I gave you this morning. I will then place a gun in your hand, a gun with one bullet. That will be all you will need to relieve your despair. I'll talk to you soon, Mr. West." Whistling, he toddled back through the door through which he had entered.

Once again the silence was complete. No sounds to divert his mind from the desolate thoughts that kept returning, threatening to overcome all reason. Artie, where are you? I need you, pal! I need you to help me. Before it's too late. I don't know how much longer I can fight this.

WWWWWW

Dr. Paul Anthony was younger than Artemus had thought he would be. Having been told that the physician had been in Mill Creek for nearly twelve years, Artie assumed he would be approaching middle age, if not older. But Paul Anthony was probably not yet forty, perhaps a year or two older than himself. He was a rather spare man, with shiny dark hair that he combed straight back from a high and intelligent forehead. Sam had also told him that Anthony was a widower of several years standing, which was another surprise of sorts. A fine-looking doctor without a spouse was usually a target for all the unwed women–and their mothers–in the region.

Anthony admitted them into the office, which was located in a small building several structures away from the jail, greeting Sam Neville cordially and looking with some curiosity at the disheveled old man with him.

"Charlie? Something wrong? You usually have a warmer greeting than that for me."

Artie exchanged a glance with Sam, saw the slight surprise on Neville's face. Neither of them had considered that the old prospector might be a former patient of Anthony. As Sam closed the office door and threw the bolt on it, Artie straightened his posture, and lifted the black patch off his eye.

"Dr. Anthony, my name is Artemus Gordon. I'm an agent of the federal government."

The doctor frowned deeply. "Indeed? I met another Artemus Gordon, a friend of Dr. Yrigollen's. And I heard that an imposter, claiming to be James West, was arrested yesterday."

Sam spoke up. "Paul, I've told you some of my story, and I hope you trust me. I can vouch for Mr. Gordon here. And for the young man that was arrested. They are the true agents. I have seen them elsewhere, including while they were testifying in a courtroom. It's Dr. Yrigollen's friends who are the imposters."

"Not only that," Artie put in, "but this Dr. Yrigollen, the so-called Dr. Miracle, is a known criminal, a megalomaniac named Miguelito Loveless who has attempted to kill Jim West and me several times as we foiled his plots to destroy the United States, or even the world."

Artie watched the doctor's expression as it transformed from astonishment to pure relief. "I knew it. I knew it! That's why I tried to convince the people here that their illness was not an exotic disease as Yrigollen claimed, but they had in some way been poisoned. I could not understand why Dr. Yrigollen would not allow me to make any tests. He claimed that taking blood would be detrimental to the healing. He also destroyed the samples I had taken before his arrival–before I could do any work on them."

"I have no doubt you are correct, Dr. Anthony," Artemus said grimly. "We're not sure what he's up to, but you can bet it's no good. I suspect he chose this isolated location purely for its remoteness, then lured my partner and me here to dispose of us before he put his actual plan in action."

"To make things worse," Sam said then, "it appears that Loveless somehow persuaded Sheriff Grable to turn Jim West over to him. He was taken from the jail a couple of hours ago by the two imposters."

"That's strange," Anthony frowned. "Ed Grable usually sticks to the letter of the law. He would normally require a judge's order to release a prisoner to a private citizen. Have you talked to the sheriff?"

"Not yet," Sam admitted. "Neither Mr. Gordon or I are well acquainted with him."

"And you'd like me to do that?"

"That's part of what we'd like your help on," Artemus stated.

The doctor's glance was wary. "What else?"

"Paul," Sam spoke up, "Mr. Gordon needs to get into Loveless's stronghold to rescue his partner. We feel you may be able to help accomplish that. You are familiar with the place."

"Odd." The physician rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It never occurred to me that Yrigollen was Loveless. I had never seen him before, of course. I know him primarily from his scientific reputation. He has published some amazing–almost unbelievable–theories."

"Unfortunately," Artemus said wryly, "many of his theories are quite true, and he has put them into effect, usually to the detriment of the human race."

"I know. His papers usually cause quite an uproar. Gentlemen, I'll be happy to attempt to talk to Sheriff Grable to try to find out why he released his prisoner to Dr. Yrigollen… I mean Loveless. Ed is a good man, an honest one. He had to have had a good reason. However, I have no idea how I can help Mr. Gordon gain access to the ranch. The doctor does not even allow potential patients to visit him there. He claims he has sensitive experiments in progress that might be damaged or disrupted."

"I'm sure he does," Artie muttered, remembering some of the incredible inventions Loveless had attempted to use in the past. What was he working on now? "Would Loveless be completely surprised if you showed up out there to discuss a patient's condition with him?"

Anthony frowned, and rubbed his chin again. "I have not done so, primarily because I have lost the majority of my patients since his arrival. He has always been cordial, if a bit condescending, when we are in this office together."

"Mr. Neville suggested you are acting as his assistant."

The doctor made a wry face. "That's pretty much what my status has been. I have accepted it because these people have been my friends for many years. I was certain that ‘Dr. Miracle' did not intend to make this area his permanent home, so I want to keep my hand in, so to speak. He is a brilliant physician, no doubt about that. I'm actually learning some things from him. I want to be ready, when he does depart, to take care of my patients."

"Suppose old Charlie Rock came to you with a complaint you couldn't diagnose," Artemus suggested.

"It would have to be something pretty exotic," Anthony mused, rubbing his chin again. "Loveless knows I'm a competent physician, that I keep up on all the latest techniques and news. He has seen my collection of journals and books. And complimented me on them."

"Perfect," Artie grinned. "No larger ego exists in the universe than Loveless's. For you to consult with him would stroke that ego."

"I'll have to think about this," Anthony said, "and perhaps peruse some old journals. Just because it's in a journal might not necessarily mean I know about it. Especially if it was something I read years ago."

"Good. We are not sure how much time we have, doctor," Artemus spoke soberly now. "I think the first thing we need to do is speak to the sheriff. If he can be persuaded to cooperate, we might gain needed information."

Because they were unsure whether the two imposters had returned to town, Sam Neville first walked down to the always open Silver Goblet, which appeared to be their favorite hangout, to see if they were there. He returned within about fifteen minutes to state he did not see the pair, nor any other man believed to be associated with "Dr. Miracle." Most of those men remained on the ranch, it seemed, but they apparently were given leave to come into town for some recreation from time to time.

So the trio made their way slowly toward the jail, old Charlie's gimpy leg retarding their progress. They did not, however, want to cause anyone to notice anything amiss, especially if curious bystanders wondered why these three men were together.

Sheriff Ed Grable was sitting at his desk, glumly staring into space when they stepped inside. In fact, his self-absorption was so great he did not immediately notice their entrance. The click of the door latch as Artemus closed it securely caught his attention and his focus shifted, surprise and curiosity, perhaps a little apprehension, washing over his face.

"Ed, can we talk to you?" Dr. Anthony asked, going toward the desk while Artie and Sam held back.

Grable got to his feet, making an obvious effort to behave normally. "Got a problem, doc?"

"In a sense," the physician replied amicably. He looked toward the cell. "I understand you released your prisoner to Dr. Yrigollen's custody. I didn't know Judge Bolt was in town."

The sheriff's face flushed, then paled, as he dropped back into his chair. "I… it's not…" Grable cleared his throat. "The doctor said he could help that young fellow."

"Help him how?" This came from Artemus, who decided abruptly to drop his disguise. He was certain that Sheriff Grable had been coerced in some manner, and might now be more receptive to learning the truth.

The lawman stared at the suddenly straight form of the man he knew as the old prospector Charlie Rock. "What the devil?"

Artie once again pulled off the eye patch, and he also jerked the wig away, revealing his tousled, now damp, dark hair. "Sheriff, my name is Artemus Gordon. I am the real Artemus Gordon, just as the man you arrested is the real James West. We are agents of the federal government."

"Wh… what's going on?" Grable looked from the doctor to Sam Neville, back to Artemus.

Sam stepped forward. "You have to believe him, sheriff. I didn't speak to you before because I didn't think you'd trust me, a near stranger. But I can vouch for Mr. Gordon and Mr. West. I've seen them in circumstances elsewhere when their identities were not in question. The other two men are the imposters. As is Dr. Yrigollen."

"What do you mean?"

Artemus came up to the desk now, so that all three men were in a sense besieging the distraught sheriff. "His real name is Miguelito Loveless. He's a doctor, all right, but the title is pretty much as far as it goes, especially where the Hippocratic oath is concerned. What did he do to force you to turn Jim West over to him this morning?"

Grable swallowed hard, then pushed himself to his feet again, expression grim. "He told me that my wife and daughters were liable to have a relapse if I didn't."

"Did he indicate they were poisoned?"

"No. I mean, he said he could see to it they got… whatever made them sick before… if I didn't do as he said, put the powder in the water I was to give the prisoner, and let his men take him."

Artie's stomach tightened. "Powder? Did he say what it was for?"

"No. I thought maybe it would knock him out, but it didn't. He looked just fine when they hauled him out of here."

Knowing Loveless, that means little, Artie decided angrily. It could be something with a delayed reaction. "All the more reason we have to get Jim out of there promptly," he said aloud. "Sheriff, did Loveless–Dr. Yrigollen–give you any indication why he wanted the prisoner, other than he wanted to ‘help' him?"

"No. He sent those two men to my house last night and I went out to the ranch with them. Didn't know nothing was amiss until I got there and he told–he demanded that I release the prisoner into his custody. At first he seemed angry and I figured it was because he thought I was preventing him from helping the young man. I explained to him that I had to have a court order. That's when he threatened my family. I was… Ain't no other word for it. I was flabbergasted. Here was this man who seemed like such a kindly, generous man and…" Grable paused, shaking his head. "I didn't want to do it. But I had to."

"Of course you did," Sam said quietly. "But now you also have to help us rescue Jamie. Jim West."

"What can I do? Besides those two men who called themselves West and Gordon, he must have twenty-thirty men out there."

"What are the chances you could round up a posse of local residents?" Artemus inquired.

Grable was shaking his head before the question was finished. "Mr. Gordon, everyone here thinks like I did. Dr. Miracle saved us. It might take hours to convince them to ride against him. Not without any more proof that I have right now."

"Then it'll have to be the four of us," Sam stated, looking at Artemus. "Maybe Ed can be the backup."

"Yes," Artie agreed. "I have a feeling we're going to need him." He ran his fingers through his tangled hair. A bath would feel good about now. "What I'd really like to know is how much time we have. What is Loveless's plans for Jim? Knowing Loveless, I would like to believe that he won't do anything until he has me in hand as well. But I cannot be absolutely certain. I know him, but I also know he can be completely surprising at times."

"What if," Grable said slowly, "I went out there and asked?"

WWWWWW

Simply by being compelled to keep constantly on guard, a man may grow so weak as to be unable any longer to defend himself.

Ecce Homo — Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche 1844-1900

Jim did not move, nor open his eyes, when he heard the door open. Likely Loveless coming to taunt him again. He had discovered that by keeping his eyes shut it was also easier, for some reason, to close off Loveless's grating voice, his maniacal laugh, though neither were shut out entirely.

He had been moved from the chair to a small room, a padded cell, with no windows but two constantly illuminated gas lights secured behind wire mesh on two walls. Fresh air was coming into the room as well, but he had not investigated, even while knowing he should. All his will was required to retain his reason. He had quickly realized that if he relaxed a moment, stopped fighting the effects of the drug, the melancholy threatened to overwhelm him.

"You see, Sheriff Grable," Loveless said at the open doorway, "he is well. I have not yet begun the treatment. I wanted him to become acclimated to his surroundings. He's quite calm at this time."

"What do you figure to do with him?" Grable inquired. "I mean, listen, no matter what you said you'd do to my family, eventually I'm going to have to answer to the judge. When you're long gone from here, I'll need to give him a good reason."

"I'm very sorry I resorted to threats," Loveless said genially. "I'm afraid this young man's well-being preyed heavily on my mind. I've known too many like him, always wishing I could help them find the right path. When this opportunity arose… well, I'm afraid I became a little fanatical."

"You're going to give him medicine?"

"Yes. But not until tomorrow around this time. I'd invite you to witness the treatment, but I'm afraid it would be too distracting. Just myself and this unfortunate young man will be in the room. Trust me, sheriff, I have experience in these matters. The next time you see him, he will be completely changed. When the judge arrives, I'll speak in his behalf–and yours. Don't worry about a thing."

Jim heard the sheriff heave a great sigh. "Well, you've sure eased my mind, doctor. I'm sorry myself that I was so stubborn. I know you wouldn't have hurt my family. Not Dr. Miracle. Sometimes we gotta do what we gotta do, ain't that true?"

"Indeed it is. Now we must allow him to have his rest. He's going to have an arduous path ahead of him, starting tomorrow. We can only pray that my treatment is successful. I'm afraid that in one or two of the previous cases I've witnessed, they have not turned out happily, as the fellows realized what a terrible life they've led, the suffering they have caused and cannot live with it. Dreadful, dreadful…"

Loveless's voice trailed off as the door closed again.

He's convinced the sheriff, Jim thought miserably. Hell, Loveless might even convince Artie that I'm off my rocker. Coming close to convincing me. I'm so tired. So tired of struggling against him, against this drug in my body. So tired…

WWWWWW

Artemus was much relieved when Grable reported Loveless's words to him, yet knew he could not completely accept it as the truth that nothing would be done to Jim for at least twenty-four hours. Loveless could have simply been saying what he knew would ease the sheriff's conscience. At least, according to what Grable said, Loveless seemed to accept that the sheriff was still on his side.

"We're going to have to take a chance," he said as the four men met in Anthony's office, deciding they would be less conspicuous there rather than in the sheriff's office. Grable had come in through the back door lest any of Loveless's men be in town, though none had been seen. "Darkness will be our ally. Hard as it will be, we have to wait until tonight."

Anthony nodded soberly. "That will also lend some credence to my… my harried efforts to find some help for poor old Charlie. Somehow darkness always makes such instances more frantic."

"Artemus," Sam Neville said slowly, "are you sure he'll be all right?"

Artie saw the deep concern in the older man's grayish-green eyes. "I can't promise it, Sam. What I can tell you is that Jim would approve. There are times when rash action is required, even preferred. And other instances when caution and forethought are the order of the day. This is one of those times. I'm hoping that what I know about Loveless's behavior is going to predict his actions."

"He sure is one convincing fellow," the sheriff sighed. "If you hadn't talked to me first, I would have sworn that he had the prisoner's best interests at heart. I didn't like what he said about some others like him what couldn't take the guilt they felt and… well, he didn't say exactly these words, but I got the notion he meant they killed themselves."

Artie and Sam both stiffened. "You didn't mention that before," Artie said sharply.

"I know. Sorry. Didn't seem that important till just now. You know, all the while we stood there in the doorway talking, Jim West didn't move. Didn't even open his eyes. Just laying there on the bunk, kind of curled up. Like a kid, you know?"

"Must be the effects of that drug he had you put in the water," Artemus growled. "Keeping Jim subdued, sedated. But you are certain he said he would not begin any ‘treatment' until tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah. That's what he said, ‘Tomorrow about this time.' To tell you the truth, I thought that was odd. Why wait?"

"Must have something to do with the drug that's already in Jim's blood," Artie mused. "Maybe he wants Jim awake and alert." He did not have to say anything further. He could see by the expressions on the other three men's faces that they knew what he meant. He had told them enough about Miguelito Loveless and the agents' interactions with him over the years to realize that not only did he want vengeance, but he would want either or both agents completely aware of what was happening to them. Was he planning to somehow convince Jim to kill himself? One would think Loveless knew Jim West better than that, knew the strength of the agent's will.

They made their plans, then split up, with the sheriff going back to his office, while Sam and "Charlie Rock" made their way to the café for a meal. Fortunately, being early for the supper hour, the restaurant was not busy, so they were able to take a corner table to talk further.

"You've been Jim West's partner for quite awhile, haven't you?" Sam asked after they gave their meal order.

"I guess you could say we've been partners since sixty-two," Artie smiled. "General Grant paired us for a special mission and we realized how well we worked together. He was just a kid, but smart and courageous. I never had a real brother, but I look on Jim as one. I like to think he feels the same about me."

"Does he have family?" Sam turned his gaze toward the front window.

"A brother who lives up in Montreal with his wife and family. They see each other occasionally. Jim and I went up there last Christmas as a matter of fact. Had a wonderful time."

"I hope we can save him," Sam said softly then. "It would be hard on… on his brother."

"We'll save him," Artemus spoke confidently. "I know Jim. He may well have been playing possum while Grable was talking to Loveless. Jim West won't give up without a fight, I can promise you that."

WWWWWW

Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!

Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!

The Coliseum 1833, Stanza 1 - Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849

"Why don't you just give in, Mr. West? Yield. Tell me how I can find Artemus Gordon. I'll bring him here, so you can say goodbye to your dear friend. You know your situation is hopeless."

Jim West leaned back against the wall, his arms around his legs, pulling his knees up against his chest, as he stared coldly at the diminutive man standing outside of the bars that slid across the opening when Loveless opened the door, bars that had not been there when Sheriff Grable had visited.

"You're wrong," he said quietly. "You've always been wrong. When are you going to learn that?"

Loveless scowled at him. "You're the one who won't learn. You can't escape. Either you tell me now where to find Gordon, or I'll wrest the information from you tomorrow. Then I will administer another, stronger dose of the ‘potion' you are experiencing now. I can see you are combating the effects, and I applaud your strength. Surely you realize, however, that with a double dose, you will be quite overwhelmed. Why not simply give it up? Find peace?"

"Because I don't surrender," Jim replied. "Not to you. Not to anyone or anything."

"Bah! You will surrender, I promise you. You have been a thorn in my side much too long. This time I win!" Loveless stepped back and slammed the solid door shut over the bars.

For a long moment, James West rested his forehead against his knees, breathing deeply. With no watch, and no window to check the status of daylight, he was unsure about the time. He was certain, however, that at least twelve hours, possibly more, had elapsed since he was removed from the jail cell.

Beyond just his sense of time that had elapsed, Jim was sure that the effects of the drug in his system were weakening. He still had to fight the sense of despair and hopelessness, but he felt that the battle was becoming easier, almost minute by minute. He hoped he was right, knowing that now was not the time to let up. He was tired, fearing that to fall asleep might weaken his will upon awakening.

Artie is still out there, and free. He'll do what he can. I know that I can trust my partner. He surely knows where I am by now.

He pushed himself up off the bunk and restlessly moved around the cell. He had been served a meal, and though he had not had much of an appetite, had forced himself to eat. He had had to trust that Loveless was telling the truth that he would not include another dose of the drug because he wanted to be able to administer his so-called truth drug. That seemed to be the case. He had eaten several hours ago, and did not feel any stronger effects of the potion in his system.

For not the first time, Jim stepped to the bars across the door, gripped and shook them, similarly to what he had done in the jail. These seemed to be just as strong. At some point, he suspected, he would receive another visit from Loveless, or better yet, a guard serving food. He had noted the method of serving the tray, and thought that he might use it to his advantage.

WWWWWW

"Something you need to understand about Miguelito Loveless," Artemus Gordon said from his position in the bed of the wagon. He was on his knees now, though several blankets were spread out on the bottom, behind the seat where Dr. Anthony and Sam Neville were seated. Sam was handling the reins. "He has an ego. An enormous ego that has gotten in the way of his success on many occasions. He probably could have killed Jim–and me–several times over, except he persisted in needing to prove that he was smarter than either of us."

Anthony turned slightly in the seat to look at Artie. The moon was full and bright, illuminating the trio in the wagon as well as the road ahead. "He is brilliant. I have no doubt of that. He knows so much…"

"I'm not denying that," Artie nodded. "But perhaps it is that vast knowledge that helps defeat his purposes. He develops elaborate schemes that take time to carry out. He once duped us into believing he was dead. We even saw him in his coffin, and I checked his vital signs. Turned out he is a master of yoga and was able to slow his breathing and pulse to an imperceptible rate. At any rate, his purpose was to lure Jim into a trap. He planned to perform some sort of brain surgery which likely would have left Jim a near idiot. But in carrying out that scheme, he allowed time for me to locate the site of the surgery and frustrate his plans. If not for that massive ego, he could have simply shot Jim early on."

"Then maybe we should be grateful for his overweening sense of self," Sam commented.

Artie smiled. "Could be you are right, Sam." He sobered. "Are we getting close?" He had noticed that Sam slowed the horses.

"Just over that next rise," Anthony confirmed. "You'd better lay down."

Artemus slipped the black patch over his eye as he lowered himself onto the blanket, pulling another covering over his body. This was going to be a critical performance on his part. Paul Anthony had explained the symptoms he should enact. They had discussed this at length, and decided that rather than portray a known illness, regardless of how rare, he should display numerous, perhaps unrelated symptoms. The whole point was to occupy Loveless's complete attention.

They encountered the guard at the gate, as Anthony had warned. That man held a rifle menacingly and ordered them to turn the wagon around. Anthony pled his case, insisting that he needed to consult with Dr. Yrigollen about a baffling case. "Please ask the doctor if we may come in. A man may die needlessly. I require his expertise. Please!"

Leaving the heavy wooden gate closed and chained shut, the guard reluctantly trudged toward the rather small house some fifty feet beyond. Artie lifted up and peeked around. "What's the building beyond the house?"

"The stables," the doctor responded. "There's a larger barn even further back. You can't see it well because it's down a hill a trifle. Bunkhouse is down there too. Dr. Yrigollen–I mean Loveless–has converted most of the house into his laboratory. As far as I've been able to ascertain, there is a front parlor, a small kitchen, and of course the doctor's bedroom. The remainder comprises his laboratory."

Artemus studied the house and its surroundings. The residence appeared to be sturdily constructed, but as he had been told, rather small, especially considering some of Loveless's previous abodes. He saw the guard reach the porch where he paused to rap on the front door. A lantern was hanging from the porch roof, and its light illuminated the person who opened the door, even though he was partially hidden by the much taller guard.

No matter how many times I see him, he gives me a chill. How can so much evil be concentrated in such a small form?

As the guard turned and trudged back toward the gate, Artemus slipped back down onto the bed of the wagon. Without a word, the sentry unlocked the padlock securing the chains, then pulled the gate open. Sam clucked to the horses and they moved through. "Charlie Rock" began moaning loudly.

Loveless was attired in a dressing gown with satin lapels, in a mauve tone, and he held a large reeking cigar in one hand as he waited in the doorway. The expression on his face was not a happy one.

"Dr. Anthony, what is the meaning of this?"

Paul Anthony jumped down off the seat as soon as Sam halted the team. "Dr. Yrigollen, I apologize profusely, but I am at my wit's end. I have a very sick man, and I don't know what's wrong with him. I know that with your expertise and vast knowledge, you'll be able to help him."

Artemus almost laughed aloud. He had told Anthony to play up to Loveless's vanity, which matched the ego in scope, and the town doctor was doing a great job of it. He smothered the chortle with a loud cry of agony.

"I thought it was his appendix," Anthony went on. Artemus could tell he was returning toward the rear of the wagon, probably with Loveless alongside. "But he lost his appendix years ago. He's in terrible pain, but I simply cannot diagnose the source. It's in his head, his stomach, his groin… in fact, sometimes appears to be contaminating his entire body."

The back gate of the wagon rattled and lowered. "Why it's that old fool Rock!" Loveless exclaimed. "You disturbed my evening for this old coot?"

"Dr. Miracle," Paul Anthony spoke contritely. "I am so sorry. But I could not do otherwise. Remember the oath we took. He's a man in need. No matter what his lifestyle or circumstances."

Loveless made a harumphing sound, doubtless not happy to be reminded of his professional duties. "All right, all right. Bring him inside. Do you need assistance?"

"No, I think Mr. Neville and I can manage."

Artemus continued to loudly moan and groan as he allowed the other two men to lift him down off the wagon. Anthony took his feet and Neville his shoulders as they followed Loveless into the house. Artie looked around through a half opened eye, and again almost smiled. Typical Loveless residence.

"This way, this way," Loveless snapped, opening a door at the far side of the room. He stepped through the door, then stopped so suddenly that the men with their burden bumped into him.

"He's gone!" Loveless shrieked. "What's happened! What's happened?"

Artemus opened his eye all the way. The room was a archetypal Loveless laboratory, one Artie had seen in other locations, filled with tables and cupboards, each laden with chemicals, glassware and apparatus. Loveless was standing over a prone man, waving his arms and shouting questions that the unconscious man could not respond to. A tray of food was upended nearby.

The man was laying on the floor in front of an open doorway. Artie could see a dim, small room with padded walls. He knew instantly that this was where Jim had been held. But Jim obviously had managed to escape.

"Let's get out of here," he said in a low voice, wriggling free of the grasp of the two men. He had just gained his feet when two men, one of them the fake Jim West, guns in hand, burst in through a rear door of the laboratory, while at the same time the guard from the front gate entered the living room, also armed, thereby blocking their escape.

"How did he do it?" one of the two men inquired, gaping at the empty cell. "We didn't see no one outside."

"Never mind how he did it," Loveless snapped. "Croy, go rouse the other men and set up a search. He can't have gotten out of the compound." He swung on the gate guard as the man addressed as Croy, the imposter agent, hurried back out the door. "You activated the fence, of course."

"Oh, yes sir, yes sir! Man touches that wire, he's fried!"

Loveless suddenly remembered his guests, and turned, opening his mouth. Instead, he stared, wide-eyed. "Gordon! It's Gordon!" He grabbed a gun from the hand of the nearest man, pointing it at the trio. "So, I should have been more aware. Of course, you would come to try to rescue West. Well, now he'll be the one who will need to rescue you. Unless, of course, he forgets past lessons and attempts to scale my fence."

Artie raised his hands shoulder high. "Loveless, let Dr. Anthony and Mr. Neville go. They've done nothing to harm you. I'm the one you want."

"Indeed, that is the truth," Loveless smirked. "However, too late. They have allied themselves with you, which automatically makes them my enemies. The quarters will be close, gentlemen, but it won't be for long." He motioned with the gun barrel toward the open cell door.

WWWWWW

Doubt is brother-devil to despair.

Prometheus — John Boyle O'Reilly 1844-1890

Jim West hunkered down behind the thick brush, watching and listening. The huge silver orb that hung in the dark sky above was simultaneously a blessing and a curse, giving him plentiful light to survey his surroundings, yet also making it more difficult to hide from any pursuers. He knew that although he had escaped from the house without incident, his absence would soon be noted.

The first time he had been served food, Jim had observed how a small lower portion of the barred doorway lifted on hinges so that the tray could be slid inside, and had later been collected the same way. He also noticed that the man handling the tray was required to kneel down in order to open the passageway.

Apparently Loveless and the guards were so secure in their belief that the prisoner could not, and would not, attempt to escape that only one man entered the laboratory to bring the tray, the same pock-scarred man who had posed as Artemus Gordon. When the solid door was opened, the bars secured the prisoner inside. The tray opening had to be unlocked with a key, and the tray bearer had a ring of them.

Jim had remained sitting quietly on the bench, looking as morose and helpless as he possibly could, as the guard opened the outer door. As soon as the man dropped to one knee, Jim moved, marshaling all his strength to propel himself off the bench. He reached through the bars, seizing the man's shirt at the shoulders with both hands, and jerking his head forward, slamming it against the bars. The guard dropped like a lead weight.

From then it was easy to reach through for the keys, find the one that opened the barred door, and step out. He briefly considered taking the time to drag the guard into the cell and close the door, thus perhaps delaying the time until the escape was discovered. However, not knowing anything else about what was occurring in the house, or when Loveless might show up, he had hastily grabbed the man's gun and exited through the rear door, which led outside.

He first had sprinted toward the fence off to the side of the house, but had pulled himself up short before attempting to scale the wire enclosure, remembering another such wire fence he had encountered. Tossing a stick into the wire confirmed his fears. The wood immediately burst into flame upon contact with the metal.

From there he retreated into a stand of heavy brush to take stock of his situation, again fighting the sense of defeat and bleakness that tried to tell him to give it up, to surrender himself back to Loveless's custody. The effects of the drug were still abating, but they were there, and he had to be perpetually conscious of it. He could not afford any weakness, not an instant.

Jim had heard the approach of a wagon shortly after his escape, but did not know what it meant. As far as he could tell, the wagon had not departed. Perhaps it had brought men or supplies to the compound. He then caught the sound of Loveless's screeches that indicated his escape had been discovered.

At the moment, all he could do was wait, aware that very soon the compound area would be swarming with searchers. He knew what he needed to do, and that was to attain the front gate, where he was certain a switch was located that would disable the charge to the fence. At the very least, if a guard was there, he might be able to overpower that guard and open the gate.

Wait a minute. The charge has to have a source. A generator of some sort. If I can locate and disable that… forget it. Loveless isn't going to be that stupid. The generator will be well protected, perhaps guarded. It might even be in the house…

Jim shook his head harshly to rid himself of the negative thoughts, then ducked even lower, looking around to make sure the movement had not been seen. Just now a man emerged from the same rear door of the small house that had been his exit. Jim recognized the man who had claimed to be James West, who had been addressed as Croy by Loveless at one point. Croy now broke into a trot, passing by Jim and heading out beyond what Jim had decided was the stable. He could see other buildings beyond, but had not yet investigated. His intuition informed him that this man were going for help. He did not have a lot of time to act.

The generator would not be in the house. Loveless would not want his serenity disturbed by its commotion. So… one of the outbuildings. Which one?

He had just decided that the stable, which lay fairly close to the fence on the far side of the compound, would be a likely site, when suddenly the backdoor of the house opened again. The light behind him illuminated the silhouette of the dwarf.

"Mr. West," Loveless called loudly. "Mr. West, I know you are out here. Within moments, my men will find you. I'm going to give you the opportunity to do the right thing and surrender. You know you must. You have no choice. The situation is hopeless."

Jim pulled the gun from his waistband, gripping the cool, hard handle tightly. Loveless's voice and words were like a siren call, summoning him to peace and a release from the deep fatigue he was experiencing in his body and soul. Don't give in. Don't give in. Artie will find you.

Almost as though hearing his thoughts, Loveless's next words were all but devastating. "Mr. West! You will be delighted to know that it will be unnecessary to administer the truth drug. Mr. Gordon is here. He decided to surrender himself in order to save your life. Can you do no less for him?"

You're lying, Loveless!

Jim came so close to shouting the words aloud. He knew the doctor was lying. Artemus Gordon would never behave in such a manner. Oh, he would give his life for his partner, just as Jim would for him. But to surrender? Why would he when he did not know any of the circumstances? Loveless had not known of Artie's disguise, would not have been able to send a message to him. He was lying.

So the part about surrendering was false. But had that wagon brought Artie to the compound, under some ruse? "Charlie Rock" coming to make some request or even to discuss a deal about a mysterious gold mine? Was Artie here at all?

Again, Loveless seemed to be reading his thoughts. "I suspect you are doubting me, Mr. West. I hope you are near enough to see." He stepped back out of the doorway, and a moment later two larger forms filled it.

Jim clamped his jaw together. One man was Artemus Gordon. The one behind him was holding a pistol to Artie's head. Artie was still wearing Charlie's clothes, but the wig and eye patch were gone. Then Artie was pulled back and Loveless reappeared.

"So you see, Mr. West, I am telling the truth about Mr. Gordon's presence. Not only that, I have two ‘innocent bystanders,' as one might call them. Dr. Anthony and a gentleman named Sam Neville. Doubtless you have not met them, but knowing you, that will not make a difference. Three lives depend on you, Mr. West. Surrender now and I will set Dr. Anthony and Mr. Neville free."

Artie, what the devil did you have in mind? Who are these two men?

Jim took a long, deep breath, and slowly let it out. He knew Loveless would keep his word and release those two men. However, when, where, and in what condition was the question. Dr. Anthony must be the physician whose patients Loveless usurped with his miraculous cure of the illness he himself caused. But who was Neville? Jim remembered that Artie had told him that he knew where he could get some help. Was this Sam Neville the one he was thinking of?

"Make up your mind, Mr. West," Loveless called. "You have five minutes, no more." He stepped back and closed the door.

Quashing the defeatist thoughts that again tried to overwhelm him, Jim jumped to his feet and began running, crouching low, the gun in his hand. He heard commotion from beyond the stables, a sign that more men were being roused to join the search. The compound was not that large. A dozen men could sweep through it easily and track him down. He had to disable to generator if they were going to have any chance at all.

WWWWWW

"Jim West won't surrender," Artemus Gordon stated flatly as he was prodded with the gun barrel back toward the cell. He looked around at Loveless as he spoke.

"But he will," Loveless beamed. "The James West you are thinking of does not exist. This one knows he has lost. I'm quite surprised he found the fortitude to escape… though I don't know why I should be. However, I am also confident that this pose of optimism and boldness will not endure. He'll give in."

"What did you do to him?" Artemus knew Loveless well enough to recognize the triumph in the little doctor's voice and face.

"Oh, not much," Loveless chortled. "Just a little drop of a special concoction I have invented. When he comes in, you'll see for yourself what will happen when I administer another drop. The great Jim West will call it quits. He'll despair of life itself, and you and I will witness the ending of it… at his own hand."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Artie scoffed. "If there's one thing Jim West would never do, it's take his own life." Yet Artemus felt a chill as he saw the glow in Loveless's large blue eyes. Dear God, what have you done to Jim? Even as the thought raced through his mind, Artie considered that Jim had had enough will to escape. Even Loveless was amazed by that. Perhaps his "concoction" was not as foolproof as he believed. But where was Jim now?

The guard who had been knocked out by Jim, the one previously known in town as Artemus Gordon, was the one with Loveless now. He seemed a bit woozy at times, but still in control enough to take the weapon Loveless handed him to replace his own and keep it on Artemus at all times. Sam and the doctor were already in the cell, the bars in place.

When he opens the bars to put me inside, I've got to make a move. We might never have another chance.

As Artemus expected, the man had to turn slightly to reach out with the key to unlock the barred door. Artie acted in that instant, swinging his arm, fist clenched, toward the guard's chin. The guard reacted and tried to pull back, but he was too late. The blow, perhaps coupled with whatever Jim had done to him earlier, was effective, as the man's knees crumpled.

Loveless shrieked in rage as Artie grabbed the gun, stepping back. "Don't try anything, doctor."

"You won't get away! I have forty men out there."

"That's not what I heard," Artemus smiled grimly. "Sam, can you reach the keys?"

Sam Neville was standing just inside the door. He crouched down to reach through and pick up the ring of keys that had fallen out of the guard's hand. Swiftly he opened the door, and both he and Dr. Anthony stepped out. Without being told, they dragged the unconscious man inside, and then Artemus ordered the furious Loveless to join his employee.

"What now?" Sam asked. "We've got to find Jim."

Artie looked at the worried man. "We will. He's outside somewhere, but listen. The rest of the men have been alerted. We can't go barging out there." They could hear shouts outside.

"Then what do we do?"

Loveless stood at the bars, glaring. "You give yourselves up! You have no other option, Gordon. You can't get away, anymore than West can. This compound is impregnable. You can't get in, you can't get out."

"We may have an ace in the hole," Artemus replied, remembering Sheriff Grable. The local lawman had remained in town to attempt to raise a posse. He knew he was going to have to do a lot of talking and convincing. No way to know if he had had any success. They could only hope that the townspeople trusted their longtime lawman more than they did "Dr. Miracle."

What they had to do was stall for time. And I have no idea how to do that. Loveless's men are bound to come inside looking for instructions. They could lock the doors, but how long would that last? Loveless might not have forty men out there, but he had enough.

"Sam, see if you can find any more weapons."

"You know I don't abide with weapons in my home, Mr. Gordon," Loveless sneered.

"Um-hmm. Look around, Sam."

Sam Neville took a step toward the door that opened into the front room, then paused. "Where's Jim?"

Artie could only shake his head. "I don't know."

"If he's outside, he'll be caught," Loveless chortled. "Then you'll have to surrender to save his skin. You might as well give up now."

WWWWWW

Despair in vain sits brooding over the putrid eggs of hope.

The Rovers, Act 1, Sc. 2 — John Hookham Frere 1769-1846

Jim made it to the stables before the group of men trudged toward the house to begin their search. The small side door to the building was unlocked, so he slipped inside, pausing a long moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darker interior. A couple of the horses in the stalls moved restlessly, but none made a noise loud enough to be heard by those outside.

Now… if the generator is in here, where is it?

He stood very still, listening, and picked up a faint sound. At first he could not determine its origin, but soon realized it was emanating beneath his feet. A cellar under the stables! Cautiously, as soundlessly as possible, he began moving around, always keeping his ears cocked to notice if the thrumming sounds appeared any closer, or if any of the men outside approached the stables.

The trap door leading to the cellar was at the farthest corner, behind some bales of hay and sacks of oats… and it was securely fastened with a heavy padlock and chain. Jim tugged at it, kicked it with his boot heels, but nothing budged. He looked around for a small tool to use to attempt to pick the lock, finding nothing. The only tools were shovels and pitchforks. Even if he had been able to break a tine off a pitchfork, it would have been too thick to be of any use.

I should have known. Nothing goes right. I can't win. I can't defeat him…

Jim West had no idea how many times he had forcibly shook his head during this long day in attempts to fling away the negative thoughts. But he did it again there in the darkness of the stable. It's not the end. There's always something else. Some other way.

He could hear the men outside calling to each other in their fruitless search for him. Eventually one was going to get the idea to look inside the buildings. Once that happened, he could be trapped and caught. I have to do something unexpected. What's the most unexpected thing I could do at this point?

The answer was to return to the house, perhaps capture Loveless and use him as a hostage. The question was how to get there without being seen and captured. He was going to have to watch for and choose his moment. To do that, Jim went back to the door through which he had entered, opening it just a crack to allow a view of the area between the stables and the back door of the house.

You'll never make it. Never. They are all over the place out there. Jim West gritted his teeth against the pessimism, and sought to see or hear if any of those men were in position to see him should he step out into the open. Two were striding across the area, apparently in response to someone's order or request off to the left. At the moment, they were the only ones within view.

Gripping the pistol in his hand, Jim opened the door a little further and peered in the other direction. No one in sight. As soon as that pair of men disappeared around the building, he moved, racing toward the house. He was rather amazed, as he gained the door of the small house, that no shouts, indeed no shots, followed him.

He had not really given any thought to whether the door would be locked until he gripped the latch. Fortunately, it was not. He slammed the door wide, jumped inside, and closed it behind him. Then he froze, scarcely crediting what his eyes were seeing.

"Jim!" Artemus Gordon cried, striding toward him.

"Why did you come here?" Jim demanded, noticing the two men with his partner. Loveless had not lied after all. One was holding a black leather satchel. A doctor? The other was an older man, silver haired. Jim had a brief thought that he should know this man, but the memory was not clear.

"Looking for you, pal," Artie said, coming up and putting a hand on his partner's shoulder. He saw the unshaven jaw, but he also noticed the lines of fatigue on Jim's face, the dark circles under his eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sure. Where's Loveless?"

Artie jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "In your former accommodations. We've got to get out of here."

"You'll never make it," Loveless shouted, gripping the bars. "Tell him, Mr. West. You know it's hopeless. You might as well all surrender. Isn't that true, Mr. West?"

Artemus gazed at his partner, remembering what Loveless had told them earlier about the drug administered. Jim's green eyes were momentarily filled with confusion. "Jim…"

"I'm all right, Artie," Jim sighed. "It's getting better. I'm just so tired of fighting the effects of whatever he gave me. Another few hours… What time is it anyway?"

"Somewhere around one in the morning."

Jim rubbed his hand through his disheveled hair. "Yeah. Another few hours and the drug will have run its course." Six or seven more hours? Can I do it? I have to. "Artie, the fence is electrified. I tried to get to the generator, but I couldn't break through the door."

"Where is it?"

"In the cellar under the stables. But Loveless's men are roaming out there. They're liable to show up here at any time."

"You can't get out of the compound," Loveless mocked. "Just surrender, Mr. West. Surrender and find peace."

Artemus saw how his partner swallowed hard. This drug must be powerful. Jim is overcoming it by sheer will, and the effort is exhausting him. He stepped back and looked in through the bars. "Is there an antidote to what you gave him?"

Loveless's grin was wide and evil. "Of course. Mr. West knows what the antidote is. He knows."

Suddenly Sam Neville was there, grabbing Loveless's shirt front through the bars. "You little imp of Satan! I'll kill you!"

Jim stared in amazement as Artemus pulled the white-haired man away from Loveless, who had begun shrieking in anger and fear. The other man helped Artie calm the agitated man. Artemus realized by Jim's baffled gaze that he had no idea who these two were.

"Jim, this is Dr. Paul Anthony and Mr. Sam Neville. They helped me carry out a scheme to get inside this compound. We're hoping Sheriff Grable is bringing a posse from town, but..."

"Grable!" Jim broke in, astonished. "He's the one who gave me the drug!"

"He was forced to do that, Jim," Artie said quietly. "I'll tell you more about that later. For now, we have to think about how to get out of here. Presumably the wagon we came in is still out in front. But the gate has likely been locked again."

Jim moved forward a bit and looked at the man inside the bars. "Is there a guard at the gate now?"

"Of course there is," Loveless insisted. "The gate is always guarded!"

Artie glanced at Jim. "Methinks he claims that a little too loudly. I didn't hear any commands given to guard the gate. I suspect that sentry is out hunting for you."

"No!" Loveless cried. "He's at the gate. You can't get away, Mr. West. Get the key and let me out of here. I'll make it easy for you to find serenity again."

Jim ignored him. "Artie, get Loveless out of there and be ready to jump into the wagon. I'll go out and open the gate."

Sam took a step forward. "No, let me. You're worn out, son."

Jim looked at the older man, still with that sense of familiarity, of being certain he had seen this man before, but not knowing where or when. "Mr. Neville, I thank you for your help in Artemus's plan. But this kind of business is something we do all the time. It's my job. Artie?"

Artemus Gordon wanted to protest as strongly as Neville had. Yet he knew his partner. Jim may be mentally exhausted, and perhaps physically as well, but he would use ever ounce of stamina he possessed to accomplish the deed. A fatigued Jim West was still better than most fully rested men.

"All right. But let's all be ready in the front room before you go out." Artie turned toward the cell. "Loveless, you make one false move, and I'll shoot you. Is that understood?"

"Of course I understand, Mr. Gordon," Loveless replied, still smirking. "I'm more concerned about my own men shooting me when they carry out their duty to fire on the four of you!"

"Don't worry," Jim said dryly, "you're a small target."

Artemus opened the barred door to allow Loveless to exit, then closed and locked it again to keep the groggy henchman imprisoned. Jim, Artemus, and Sam Neville held their guns as they stepped out into the living room. Artemus quickly doused the lights in that room, as Jim went to the front window to peer out. After a long moment, he turned.

"I can see a man standing near the gate. He has his back to us, and hasn't noticed the lights going out in here yet. I need to get him before he does and raises an alarm."

Without waiting for consent or comment, Jim stepped over to the door, pulled it open, then sprinted off the small porch toward the gate. Artemus motioned to his companions and they followed, going to the waiting wagon.

The man at the gate turned just as Jim was a half dozen feet from grabbing him. Startled, he raised his gun, and as Jim slammed into him, hurling him against the wooden gate, the gun went off. Jim slugged him hard, and the guard went down, but the damage had been done. The shouts that emanated from beyond the house made that apparent. The other men were heading this way.

Artemus got the wagon turned as Jim attempted to open the gate, finally firing two shots into the padlock, aware that noise made no difference now. He pushed the gate open, yelling, "Go, go!"

Standing in the box, Artemus lashed the horses, knowing he needed to trust his partner to clamber into the wagon at the last moment, yet unable to resist looking back. He saw the forms of numerous men coming around the house on both sides, and they were firing their guns. "Get down!" he shouted at the men in the back of the wagon.

Dr. Anthony and Miguelito Loveless dropped flat. Sam Neville ducked behind the tailgate, returning the fire, as was Jim West as he sprinted to follow the wagon. Sam was the one who saw Jim spin and fall to the ground.

"Artemus! Stop! Jim's hit! Artemus!"

Artie hauled back on the reins, only partly because he looked around and saw Neville clambering out of the wagon bed. Reaching down, Artie grabbed one of the two rifles they had secreted in the box. He tossed one to Anthony and both began to fire rapidly at the men who were advancing on the fallen Jim and Sam Neville, who was kneeling beside him. Unwilling to take such heavy firepower, Loveless's men fell back to take cover behind the house.

Those few seconds of respite were used to advantage. Artie leaped off the wagon and joined Neville. The two of them hauled the protesting agent toward the wagon. Jim kept insisting he was all right, but Artemus saw and felt the stain of warm blood that was spreading over the front of the white shirt, gore that was black in the silvery moonlight.

We're not going to make it, Artie decided, as the guards commenced to fire from cover. We're sitting ducks! Bullets whistled around them. From the wagon bed, Dr. Anthony continued to fire, but with the burden they were hefting, neither Artemus nor Sam could return fire just now. Artie expected to feel a lead pellet slam into his flesh at any moment.

And just then the posse led by the angry sheriff topped the rise and thundered toward the house. They were not shooting just at this moment, probably for fear of hitting the men at the wagon, but their appearance had a stunning effect on Loveless's guards. Some started running away, two or three simply stepped out, tossing their guns down, and raising their arms.

They had just hoisted Jim into the back of the wagon, so Artemus swiftly climbed up into the seat to move the vehicle out of the gate's opening to allow the posse to pass through. Once clear he halted, then jumped back to kneel alongside Jim's still form as Anthony was inspecting the wound.

"How bad?" Artie could see that Jim was unconscious now, or close to it.

"I'm not sure," Anthony replied honestly. "The bullet is in there. Can't tell how close it is to vital organs. We need to get back into town swiftly."

"Stay with him," Sam stated, touching Artemus on the shoulder as he climbed to the seat and grabbed the reins. Artemus had not missed the expression on the older man's face.

WWWWWW

Artemus got to his feet as the door opened. He was not the least surprised at the identity of the visitor. "Hello, Sam."

Sam Neville pulled off his hat, murmuring a greeting. His eyes were on the still form on the bed. "How is he?"

"He's going to be fine. The bullet missed everything, lodged under his collarbone. Paul says he'll probably sleep for quite awhile, partially because of that drug Loveless gave him."

Neville moved closer to the bed. "He was so tired. You could see it in his eyes." His voice was soft, his gaze never straying from the face of the sleeping man.

Artie smiled slightly. "Once he wakes up, we'll have trouble keeping him in bed, Mr. West."

The older man's reaction was delayed, but after a moment his head swiveled around and he stared. "What did you say?"

"I know you're Nevin West. Jim's father."

"That's not…" A long sigh escaped. "How… how did you know?"

"Well, first I thought you looked familiar. Now I realize the resemblance of Matthew and Jim to their father is unmistakable. Then you referred to Jim as Jamie a couple of times."

Nevin West winced. "It was what his mother and I called him when he was a baby. Doesn't really seem to fit now, does it?"

"You also mentioned seeing us at courtroom trials. Matthew told Jim that their father followed his career, and sometimes sat in during trials… just to see him."

"It was as close as I dared get," Nevin sighed.

"Mr. West," Artie went on quietly, "Jim has been searching for you ever since Matt informed him you were actually alive, after he believed you had drowned. You've got to…"

West was shaking his head firmly. "No. Don't you see, Artemus? Jim is a law officer. It's bad enough that he's borne the stigma of being the son of a murderer and thief. Suppose it became known that I was alive and he knew it, knew where I was. His career, his reputation would be ruined. I won't have that."

"You can't stay away from him forever. He knows you visit Matt."

"Yes. It's… different." Nevin West looked down at his sleeping son, reached down and touched the dark hair. "He's so like his mother. I'm very proud of him, you know. Given the circumstances, he could have gone down another path. Louise was a strong woman. Jim has inherited her strength of will." He lifted his gaze and met Artie's eyes. "You didn't tell Jim what you suspected."

"Didn't have an opportunity."

"You must not tell him who Sam Neville was, Artemus. Swear to me."

"Mr. West…"

"Artemus, I came to this part of Arizona looking for Francine Woodrow, the wife of one of the men I was accused of killing. She's the murderer. I've been seeking her for thirty years. So many times I've been close, but she eludes me. She changes her name, her appearance, moves to another city… I learned she was living here, but by the time I arrived, she had gone. However, the owner of the boarding house told me ‘Mrs. Langley' had left some possessions and was expected to return for them. So I stayed. That you and Jim also appeared here was one of those tricks of fate."

"Perhaps that same fate meant that…"

Nevin West shook his head firmly. "No. I'm departing Mill Creek as soon as I leave this room. I'm pretty sure Francine is not returning, so I have to continue my search. I'll find her one day, and I'll force her to confess to the murders. Only then, when my name is cleared, will I be able to reveal myself to Jamie. Artemus, please. Promise me you will not tell him."

Artemus West bit his lower lip. He and Jim West had had few secrets from each other, but Jim had managed to hide his family background for many years. Artemus had been hurt when the story came out, yet also understood, and forgave. He thought that Jim experienced some relief, and release, once the story was told. While he knew that Jim West wanted very much to find his father, Artemus also understood Nevin West's point of view. Keeping his identity secret from the rest of the world would be very difficult once it was made known to Jim, especially if he spent any time with Jim. Others would notice the resemblance.

"All right," Artie agreed quietly. "But only if you promise in return that you will one day reveal yourself to Jim. And never tell him that I knew."

Nevin chuckled. "Agreed on both counts. Now…" With a sigh he looked down at his son again. "I've got to be on my way before he wakes up. Take care of him, Artemus."

"Don't worry about that. I need Jim around to take care of me!"

Nevin extended his hand. "I know what Jim means to you, and what you mean to him. I'm sorry that he and Matthew were never closer after… well, that's in the past. But I'm very glad that he has you as his brother now. Thank you, Artemus."

Artie took a step toward the closing door, but a sound behind him halted him. Jim was rousing. Hope he didn't hear any of that! Artie went to the bed, leaning down to gently place his hands on his partner's shoulders as he tried to rise. "Be still, Jim. You need to rest."

Jim's eyes fluttered, and slowly his vision cleared. "Where am I?"

"Dr. Anthony's house. He took a bullet out of you. You're going to be all right. Just need some quiet time."

Jim lifted a hand and felt the bulky bandage high on his left shoulder. "Loveless…?"

Artemus sighed. "Gone. He jumped out of the wagon during the melee, when you were shot and the posse was arriving. Sheriff Grable saw him go into the house, went after him… but he had vanished."

Jim sighed in turn. "He always has an escape route."

"He left everything behind. I dumped a couple of vials of what I presume were his latest drug." Artie's gaze searched his partner's face questioningly.

"Let's hope to God he doesn't make another batch. I was… I had to constantly battle against a horrible pervasive sense that all was lost and hopeless, Artie. I wanted to just surrender, take the easy path."

"But you didn't." Artie poured some water into a tumbler from the pitcher on the table, then held his partner's head up so he could take a few swallows.

"Artie, who's that Sam Neville? I have the feeling I should know him."

Artemus smiled slightly. "I did too. But I asked him, and as far as I could tell, our paths have never crossed. He was a great help."

"Yeah. I want to thank him."

"Another time," Artie responded. "He's already left town." Or will be soon. Artemus Gordon lifted his gaze to stare toward the window, suddenly not wishing his partner to have a chance to read his thoughts. That was one problem with knowing each other too well. He did not want Jim West to discern the secret he was now holding.

WWWWWW

Two weeks later, with the Wanderer on a siding outside of Denver, Artemus rode into the city to pick up their mail. Jim wanted to go along, insisting that he was healing fine, but Artie convinced him to stay put. He was then glad he had been able to do so, because among the stack of mail that had accumulated were two letters, one from Dr. Anthony, and the other from Nevin West.

The doctor had good news. His former patients, the townspeople who had flocked to "Dr. Miracle," were returning to him in contrition, full of apologies and gratitude. Paul Anthony related this part with good humor, and Artie was sure he was accepting his patients back with little reference to their previous defection and, one might even say, disloyalty.

Paul also added, almost as a side note, that a lady he had long admired but who never seemed approachable, had invited him to Sunday dinner. Like himself, she was a widow. Artemus had to smile as he read that. Perhaps this was the reason the fine-looking doctor had remained single for such a long while after the loss of his spouse. Although Jim had not come to know the doctor as well, Artie knew he'd enjoy reading the letter.

The other letter was a different story. In a plain envelope addressed to Artemus Gordon, marked "confidential," Nevin West informed Artemus that he had a lead on Francine Woodrow. The elusive widow had apparently been sighted in southern California, and that's where Nevin was heading. "Maybe this is the time," he wrote hopefully. "Perhaps I'll find her and take her back to New York to face justice and clear my name. I want so much to make myself known to Jamie. I want to hear my son called me ‘Father.'"

"Anything interesting?" Jim West asked as Artemus entered the car.

"Stacks of the Police Gazette," Artie grinned. "A fine letter from Dr. Anthony. Things are getting back to normal for him and Mill Creek, and even looking to improve." He had torn up the letter from Nevin West, and disposed of it by burning it and dispersing the ashes. "We're fixed for erudite reading material for weeks." He tossed the bundle of magazines on the sofa where Jim was reclining. "Oh, and a letter from Lily for me, and one from Matthew for you."

Jim accepted both envelopes, quickly opening the one from his brother. Artemus settled into a chair to read his own missive, but kept one eye on his partner. He saw the smile on Jim's face as he read his letter. Jim West never admitted how much restoring a relationship with his half -brother had meant to him. Artemus knew him well enough to know it meant a great deal.

I hope Nevin is right, and this time he accosts that woman. It might not be as easy as he thinks getting her back east. Maybe he'll even consider requesting assistance from his law officer son. Maybe…

THE END (for now)