Denver, Colorado

August 1874

Home of Walter and Winifred Tennyson

Winifred Wilson Tennyson, 28 years of age, dark brown eyes, light brown curling hair, and precisely 4 and 1/2 feet tall answered the knock on the door to her home in Denver City, Colorado Territory two months, and two days before she gave birth to her first child.

While most of her friends would have told her that a woman of her size, and in her condition, should not be answering the door, let alone on her own feet at such a stage, Winifred had come from heartier stock. She knew that her own mother had been traversing the wilds of this great nation between Illinois and Iowa while pregnant with her fourth child, Wini, and caring for her older brother and sisters.

From birth Winifred had moved five times, crossing the hundreds of miles by foot and wagon train. A simple thing like pregnancy could hardly keep her off her feet. With her husband away at work, and no servants in the household to speak of, she could not ignore the door. While she would never open her home to visitors without her husband's presence, she had been informed by Walter of the impending visit of two men.

"The younger of these gentlemen may strike you as dashing, debonair and at times most serious. That would be Captain James T. West, one of the best of the government's men. The older gentleman is a scholar, a Shakespearean actor, and a most talented rogue, given to great disguises of the face and voice. This would be Artemus Gordon, the fellow that visited me so recently at the First National." Her husband had told her almost a week before.

What had followed had been a night of excitement. Winifred digging deeper and deeper into the past of her husband of one and a half years, and thrilling at the tales of his unusual involvement with the two men of action.

Prior to the knock at her door she had been in the process of finishing a letter to her parents, detailing more of the exploits that she had weaned out of her husband only a night before.

When the knock came she felt once girlish cheeks flush in a way that only her husband's return could usually cause. Surprised she glanced to her reflection in the mirror opposite her writing desk. While her appearance was acceptable, and most appropriate for a woman receiving visitors, she was very clearly with child and, as all women do, began to notice the minor flaws in the few moments she had before greeting strangers. She had only the time to chide herself for her thoughts before she pushed herself to her feet and moved with weighty grace from her husband's study, down the hall and to the door.

Through the etched glass sidelights of the front door Wini caught glimpses of a gentleman almost six feet in height, a blur of brown and black, waiting patiently. She peered through the small peep-hole in the center of the door, discovering a most peculiarly handsome man who seemed to match her husband's description of Artemus Gordon exactly.

Clearing her throat, and taking a breath to comport herself, Winifred opened the door. Focused on something beyond the sizeable front lawn, Gordon turned at the sound of the door opening, his eyes going automatically to the crown of Winifred's head, about where her husband's eyes would have been had he answered. When the focus of his gaze dropped, Wini delighted in the look of pleasant surprise that overtook the man's face. It was a common reaction. She smiled, despite herself.

"Mr. Gordon I can only assume." She said politely.

The gentleman snatched at his hat, removing it quickly, before giving a slight bow that opened his coat to reveal a gold silk brocade vest. He put out his hand and Winifred allowed him to take hers, blushing yet again as her knuckles were brushed by his lips, before he straightened.

"You can only be Mrs. Winifred Tennyson." He said, a smile curling at the corner of his lips.

As she nodded to his assumption Gordon looked again to the street and Wini leaned beyond the door frame to look as well, finding a hack waiting near the gate that surrounded their property.

When Gordon looked back to her, Wini watched him fidget for a moment before he bowed slightly. "If you'll forgive me, Mrs. Tennyson. I'm certain that your husband had to have informed you of our impending visit, however, my partner and I have recently inherited a...small entourage. We would never wish to be a burden but we could hardly leave her on the train..."

"Her?"

"Uh yes...a young lady. Six years of age, no more. She isn't well. Not ill, you understand, but...if we could beg your indulgence...we...I..."

"Mr. Gordon-"

"Artemus, please."

"Artemus..." Wini said, feeling that flush yet again. "Our home is open to you, your partner, and to the young lady. I can hardly imagine that she's comfortable in that hack. Please..." She said softly, opening her household to the man with a simple sweep of her arm.

She received another slight bow, a broad smile and Gordon's thanks, before he moved from her doorstep, walking briskly down the gravelled path to the gate and the street. As she watched, the Secret Service Agent opened the door to the carriage and put out his arms, receiving a blanket wrapped bundle which he carried down the path leading to her front door. From the hack stepped a second gentleman, this one in blue. West, and yes, most dashing, she thought.

Gordon's partner paid the hack and took from it a small stack of boxes before following his partner up the walk to the porch. Both quietly entered and Wini directed them up the flight of stairs opposite the door, automatically conforming to the near silence both men had adopted in the presence of the sleeping child. She followed them, at a measured pace, up the stairs and guided them down the narrow hall to a guest bed room.

While Gordon laid the blanket covered girl on the bed, Wini opened the transom above the door, then moved to open the window in the small room. She caught only brief glimpses of the child. Jet black hair spilling here, a brown hand falling from the cover of the blanket there, a flash of fresh white bandages. She could feel her heart begin to race the more she saw of the young girl, terrified for her, and of her, in the same instant.

Gordon and West moved in almost effortless concert, situating the child on the bed, wrapping the blanket tightly around her and elevating her feet. When a whisper of sound came from the girl, both men were immediately attentive, speaking to the child in a calming manner until she was once again fast asleep.

Wini waited until all seemed to be settled, leading the men from the room before she invited them to refresh themselves in the washroom, informing them that she was going to prepare tea. To their protests she insisted, then ventured back down the stairs, lost in the brief images she'd gathered of the girl.

Men of action. Excitement following them at every turn, always expecting the unexpected. Yes, everything her husband had said about these men was absolutely true.

Winifred did her best to fight the smile coming to her lips as she moved into her kitchen and stoked the fire in the stove, putting the tea kettle on to boil.


"We aren't really sure what her name is. I started calling her Squirt and that seemed to stick. The Ute call her Wananika." Jim said, looking to Arte.

"That translates to 'little orphan.'" Arte said, his fingers resting against the delicately curved spine of the handle of his cup. "The Ute, like any other native tribe, treat orphans differently than we do. Since there is no 'state' to take charge of them, they become wanderers. If the orphan has anything physically wrong with them they become a pariah, and are ignored or shunned. An attractive orphan-"

"Like Squirt...is it?" Wini interrupted leaning into the conversation, enraptured by it.

Both men nodded.

"I was told by the local Sheriff that a man had come and collected her. No one disputed it because of how their culture works. He..." Jim closed his mouth, pressing his lips together while he considered the delicacy of their host. "...caused her to come to harm. I think she must have run away from this man, stolen aboard our train car somehow. She was hidden there when we went aboard."

"Was she not able to communicate what had happened to her?" Wini asked, looking between the two men before she took a sip from her all but ignored cup of tea.

"She speaks no English, and we speak no Ute, for the moment." Arte said, knowing that the situation would have to be remedied. "Our first goal upon arriving in Denver was to get her to a doctor. While I saw to her health, Jim did his best to see to her wardrobe needs. We both have a meeting to attend later today and couldn't leave Squirt aboard the train on her own...uh...we didn't want to impose..."

Winifred couldn't hide the hesitation on her face. Had they brought her a white child, that spoke English, she might have immediately accepted the task of caring for her. She had seen the native man of the American West on more than a few occasions but never in a friendly way. Sleeping or not she couldn't help but feel threatened by the child. The wash of protective emotions didn't make sense to her and she fought with herself quietly for a few moments before she made up her mind.

Clearly the gentlemen didn't have a choice, and wouldn't have imposed the presence of the young girl if there had been other options. Only for a few hours, she thought. In four hours Walter would be home anyway, there would be two of them to watch the child, not only one. Practice for motherhood, she told herself and nodded to the two men, offering them a brave smile.

"Of course, I would be delighted to look after her."

There was some relief on the men's faces, but the worry had not totally left them. For some reason Wini found this to be reassuring. Obviously they weren't looking for a place to permanently dump the child, only a haven in which she could be protected for a brief while.

"She should sleep, the entire time that we're gone. The doctor gave her a small bit of laudanum." Arte said, even as his partner was reaching into his breast pocket.

"If she does wake, just give her this..." Jim said, pulling a folded cloth from his pocket. It looked like nothing more than a wash rag, a smudged and dirty one at that.

All three looked at it, Wini searching the men's faces.

"Hopefully she'll recognize it, and understand that we haven't abandoned her here." Arte said, then tried a reassuring smile that didn't quite do its job.

Winifred stared at the cloth, then reached out a delicate hand and took it, resisting the urge to smell it, certain it wouldn't be pleasant. "Very well...would you gentlemen care for any more tea?"

Both men shook their heads, quiet communication traveling between them before Arte stood. "We should probably be going."

"We'll be no more than a few hours." Jim promised, standing as well. "Thank you for your hospitality, Ma'am."

"Winifred."

"Winifred." Jim echoed. Both men bowed slightly then left, showing themselves out.

Wini stared at the cloth in her hands, listening as the sounds of boots receded and the door closed gently. She looked at her abandoned tea service, aware of the presence above her, and the one in her belly. Both precious in their own way, but one more than the other to her.

"Expect the unexpected." She said softly, shaking her head. "You were never more right, dear Walter."


The meeting with the government representative was uneventful. The man himself did little to inspire confidence in the two Secret Service Agents. He was small, unassuming, and seemed terrified during most of the meeting. He took copious notes as if every word spoken by the two agents were pure gold. The majority of what West and Gordon said was pure fiction, the story that Arte had concocted on the train the night before. Their previous case had been exceptionally sensitive and only Jim and Arte knew the farce that this official debriefing was.

Regardless of their attempts at efficiency the little man kept them in his office for hours longer than the agents had expected. It was dark before they were dismissed. Leaving the government building that had once been a grand hotel both men were tired and hungry. It was late enough that most of the respectable houses around them were closed and shuttered for the night. A few restaurants, and of course the taverns, were still open, but seeing to the last of their customers before closing as well.

"You know, Arte, I never really expected this job to be glamorous. The train was a nice attraction, the girls.."

Arte nodded, making appreciative noises. "The fancy parties, the delegates."

Both men walked in silence, thinking before they said, "The girls..."

"But if that..." Jim threw his thumb over his shoulder. "Is the future of the Secret Service." He shook his head.

"What was his name? Malone?" Arte asked, turning to walk backwards for a few minutes. Most of the lights in the large government building were already extinguished, nothing but the office they had most recently occupied still showing signs of life.

"I hope to be long retired or dead before I ever have to deal with him again."

"Ah..he wasn't that bad Jim." Arte said, turning to scan the establishments on either side of the street. The hacks tended to group around restaurants still open, but there wasn't a cab to be seen for at least three blocks. "I suppose it's a nice enough night for a stroll."

They were quiet for a moment, the street seeming more and more eerie with just the two of them occupying it.

"Squirt will be awake by now." Jim said, voicing the worry that was plaguing both men.

"Giving that cloth to Winifred was inspired, I only hope she under-" Arte was cut off, and gave a grunt before he fell backward.

Thinking at first that his partner had to have tripped over something, Jim walked forward a few feet before he turned. He nearly took a blow from a sap full in the face, but threw his forearms up in time to stop the strike there. Immediately his right hand from the wrist up went numb, and he threw his left fist at his masked attacker, feeling the solid impact of the man's chin under the cloth hood he wore.

Jim caught a glimpse of two men dragging his partner away by his arms before another man stepped in. They were thugs, and they fought like thugs, the second assailant trying to get solid punches against Jim's face instead taking advantage of his access to the body. Jim dispatched him quickly, knocking the breath from him with a punch to the gut, then a solid uppercut to the chin, his right hand still useless. He ran after the two that had Arte, tackling one of them to the ground where they grappled in the dust of the street until they both heard the click click of a gun being cocked.

Expecting to feel the cold steel of a gun barrel against his neck at any moment Jim was surprised to hear Arte's voice, woozy but mean. "You interrupted me, I don't appreciate it. Get up."

Jim kept his left hand on the arm of the man he had been tussling with as they both rose, only to find that Arte's gun had been pointed at the other man who had been dragging him away. Arte was upright, but clinging to a hitch railing with a white knuckled grip.

Jim had lost his sidearm but he popped his sleeve gun, holding it loosely in his hand and escorted the man he had been grappling with to the sidewalk.

One of the other two men still lay unconscious in the street. The fourth had disappeared.

"Arte, you alright?"

Gordon had a hand to the back of his head, and he was visibly dizzy, but after testing the size of the bump on his skull he nodded. Gritting his teeth he jabbed the end of his gun into the side of his prisoner and asked, "You mind telling me what it is about me that Denver doesn't like? I haven't yet entered this town without being attacked, hit or shot at."

The man remained silent, his hands carefully held at eye level. Arte reached out a hand and ripped the hood from his face. No more than twenty, thick black hair, and bearing a long Mediterranean nose, the young man had an attitude despite his helpless position.

"What's your name?" Jim asked, and got a cocky, close-mouthed smile for a his trouble.

Gritting his teeth again Arte jabbed the end of the gun into the man's back, hard. They waited until he straightened before repeating the question.

"Tony." The thug answered, hesitating before providing the second name. "Cossentino."

"Tony Cossentino..." Arte said, looking to his partner. "And I can assume that the rest of your friends here are fairly closely related to you?"

Some of the starch gone out of him, Cossentino nodded balefully. "My cousins." He said, his voice heavily accented.

"Which of your...cousins...ordered you to attack us, Tony?" Jim asked before he ripped the mask off the man he still held. He could have been Tony's twin, minus the attitude.

"We wasn't ordered...we just thought we would rob you guys." The explanation was weak, the delivery even weaker. Arte sneered and looked to Jim.

"We should just kill 'em now, leave the bodies here."

Tony's eyes flashed with fear, and Jim clamped his hands down tighter against his own charge when the man tried to jerk free. The feeling was returning to his right hand and he buried the muzzle of the derringer deeper in the man's back and nodded to Arte.

"Yeah, I'm tired of messin' around with these jerks. You first, or me, Arte?"

Artemus let his gun barrel tick back and forth, as if flipping an imaginary coin. "I went first the last time, go ahead my friend."

"Alright..." Jim said pointing the gun at the base of the young man's head. "Here?" He asked, then pointed it back to the center of his spine. "Or here? Some men have preferences, you see."

"They're gonna kill us, Tony." The man in Jim's clutches said.

"Shut up, Lou."

"Tony, he's gonna shoot me in the head. I don' wanna die here Tony."

"I said, shut up."

"I ain't been in confessional in t'ree weeks Tony, I can't die today!" Lou's voice was nearly squeaking as he begged, his body rigid with fear.

Jim and Arte shared a glance over the shoulder's of their would be attackers, before both men pointed their weapons at the street. They fired at the signal of a single nod, both their prisoners jumping and shrieking. Lou weaved on his feet and went to his knees before he realized he was still untouched.

"Now boys, that will certainly attract the attention of somebody. Maybe even an officer of the law, who will be very interested to find you and your cousin over there breaking into this house." Arte pointed behind him, Tony's head jerking back to look at the unassuming building. Even before he could respond a light was lit in an upstairs window. Arte bent and picked up the mask Tony had been wearing, forcing it back over the young man's head. "Don't they look like burglars, Jim?"

"We ain't, we ain't burglars." Lou insisted before his own mask was returned to his face.

"Sure you are.." Jim said. "You've got saps, you've got masks. What else would you be doing out at this time of night in that get-up?"

Lou started mumbling, in broken Latin. Arte recognized it a moment later as the sinner's prayer and smirked. "Who do you boys work for? Who ordered you to attack us?"

"He's nobody. Okay. He works for the banks that own the rail roads, that's all."

"A banker?"

Tony shook his head, Lou still mumbling. "He's from the East. Just moved in here. Gettin' a piece of the action, that's all."

Arte nodded grabbing a handful of the cloth of the hood and pulling it tight so that it constricted around the front of Tony's face and throat. "You tell him we're too hot to handle, Tony. Remind him of that, huh?"

"Yeah...yeah." Tony squeaked, clawing at his throat until Arte released him.

Jim did the same with his man and both cousins scrambled to collect their still unconscious comrade before they disappeared into the night.

Arte leaned back against the hitching post behind him and pressed his palm against his head, his brain still rioting painfully. Jim straightened his jacket and looked regretfully at a small tear in his sleeve before he walked to his partner.

"Too hot to handle?"

Arte winced, pulling his fingertips away from his skull, pleased to see no blood. He shrugged. "Sounded good at the time. Are you thinking, what I'm thinking?"

"Italian families with a strong history of criminal activity?" Jim asked. Both men nodded.

"We stay here we may find that missing connection in the cannibal case." Jim said.

"We stay here we may be dead, Jim."