The Night of the Dream of Death

by California gal

Yet another madman goes after our heroes-with the help of a beautiful woman and an evil doctor-resulting in great peril for Jim.

THE NIGHT OF THE DREAM OF DEATH

Those dreams, that on the silent night intrude,

And with false flitting shades our minds delude,

Jove never sends us downward from the skies;

Nor can they from infernal mansions rise;

But are all mere productions of the brain,

And fools consult interpreters in vain.

—On Dreams, Jonathan Swift (1667-1745), Irish satirist and man of letters

Artemus stopped whistling the sprightly tune when he heard the sound on the other side of the closed door. Jim hates cheerfulness first thing in the morning anyway, and the way he's been feeling lately… He glanced around from the eggs he was whisking in the enameled bowl as the door opened.

"Good morning, Jim. How are you…?" Seeing his partner's face, Artie's words faded away. Jim's expression was one of pure bewilderment, with a tinge of something akin to fear. "Jim, what's wrong?"

Jim West gazed at him a moment, then looked toward the galley's small window. "Artie, where are we?"

Artie frowned. "In the Wanderer, of course. What's wrong?" he repeated his query, placing both the bowl and the whisk on the small table next to the stove now.

"It's… Artie, it doesn't snow in New Orleans!"

Artemus reflexively took a quick look through the window nearest to him. The fields beyond the moving train were crystal white. "It does in Illinois," he said quietly.

Some color seemed to drain from Jim's tanned complexion as he gaped at his partner a long moment. "Illinois… how did we get here?"

Artie moved then, stepping forward along the narrow path between the stove and the cupboards, to grasp Jim's arm. "Jim, what's wrong? Did you have a relapse? Perhaps we should stop at the next town to look for a doctor." With his other hand he pressed his fingers against Jim's forehead. It was perfectly cool.

"I don't understand," Jim said softly. "We're in New Orleans…"

"No. No, we're not, James," Artie said quietly. "Go on in and sit down. I'll bring coffee. We need to talk."

When Artie entered the parlor car with two steaming cups, Jim was sitting at the table, both hands on top, balled into tight fists. He looked up, and Artie could see the shadows in the green eyes.

"What's going on, Artie? Am I… losing my mind?"

Artemus had a good idea of what his partner was thinking. Once before, a long time ago, Miguelito Loveless had used a hallucinogenic drug to tamper with Jim West's mind, to cause him to believe he had murdered his partner in cold blood, and was on the verge of insanity. He placed one cup in front of Jim before sitting down at the opposite side of the table.

"I doubt that, Jim. Tell me what you remember."

Jim frowned. "Remember? About what?"

"That's what I want to know. What's the last clear memory you have?"

Jim was silent a long moment, staring at the vapors rising from the cup sitting in front of him. He picked up that cup and took a swallow. "New Orleans," he said finally.

"What about New Orleans?"

Jim shook his head slowly. This was like trying to cut through a brick wall, similar to… "Did I have amnesia again?"

"I'm not sure. As far as I know, you did not receive a blow on the head. What do you remember about New Orleans?" he persisted.

"Arriving… talking to Lieutenant Pascoe at the police department… eating at Antoine's…"

Artie waited, and when certain Jim was not going to add anything further, although he could see that Jim was trying desperately, he spoke. "That was almost three weeks ago." What Jim described occurred on their first day in the bayou city.

Jim again looked out toward the snowy scenery the train was passing through. "Three weeks. We're in Illinois. How…?"

"Do you remember why we were sent to New Orleans?"

"Yes. To look into a report that one Major Fitzhugh was organizing a regiment of Confederate veterans for an attack on the federal authorities… did we do that?"

Artie smiled briefly. "Yes, we did, and determined it was completely false. Major Herbert Fitzhugh, late of the Louisiana Guards, is an invalid, laid low by his war wounds, with no notion of reviving the Confederacy."

Jim's frown deepened. "We talked to him?"

"We did. We also talked to Madame Garlande Lanier. Do you remember her at all?"

Jim thought hard about it. "I have a feeling I should know the name… but I don't. Who is she?"

Artie put down his coffee cup. "A young widow and a beautiful woman. She was quite taken with you, and you seemed to enjoy her company."

Jim was shaking his head. "Why don't I remember her?"

"That is a good question. Let me go on. As I said, we were in New Orleans for over two weeks. Madame Lanier's name was in the original information we had, but when we called on her, she disclaimed any knowledge of such a plot and we could find nothing further to implicate her. Her husband was with the Washington Artillery, and died at Antietam within months of her marriage.

"When we were wrapping up the case, after about a week, she invited you to supper at her home, which you accepted, while I went to the theater with Dr. Eddington, whom we had called upon while there, along with Mariah and her fiancé." They had previously met the doctor and his daughter when in New Orleans to investigate the disappearance of one of Eddington's colleagues, who was found to be in the hands of the insane Dr. Articulus. "When I returned to our hotel, I found a message waiting from Madame Lanier, stating you had been taken ill. Of course, I hurried to her home. You were in a guest room, wracked with pain and fever."

"Fever!" Jim shook his head, baffled. "I don't remember that either."

"Madame Lanier's personal physician, one Dr. Rousset LeDoux, was there. It was explained to me that you and Madame Lanier had taken an after-dinner stroll in her garden, where you scratched your finger on a rose." When Jim started to speak again, Artemus held up a hand to stay him. "Madame Lanier claimed that the particular rose is an exotic variety, from China, and that its thorn exudes a dangerous poison. Fortunately, Dr. LeDoux had the antidote, but the toxin always causes a fever… followed by a week or two of lethargy.

"The doctor advised me to leave you with Madame Lanier for a few days until you could regain strength to travel, which seemed like a wise course. Then we headed north because we were due to testify at Shipman's trial. As LeDoux had predicted, you've been very quiet, and sometimes grumpy, these last few days. However, you remembered everything that had occurred before, during, and after New Orleans, even the thorn and feeling ill, and particularly the lovely Madame."

Jim had taken several swallows of his coffee as he listened. Now he held the cup, staring. "Then why don't I remember now? It doesn't make sense, Artie!"

"I know. And as soon as we finish with the trial, I'm asking Richmond for permission to return to New Orleans. Something very strange is going on. I also had the thought that if I had time, I would visit a professor of botany I know at the university in Chicago to ask what he knows about this 'exotic rose.' Now I will make a point of it. Jim? How do you feel? I mean, physically."

"Fine. I woke up feeling great. However, when I realized I was on the train, we were moving, and I saw the snow outside…"

"You thought you were going crazy."

"Exactly. Is it possible this poison from the rose did this to me?"

"If so, it is indeed a rare and exotic poison. I've never heard of such a thing. Kind of a… a delayed reaction. No, I think Madame Lanier has the answer."

"Perhaps we should telegraph the New Orleans police to keep an eye on her."

"Excellent idea. I just wish we didn't have this testimony to deal with. Otherwise I'd tell Cobb to turn the train around at the first opportunity!" Artie sighed. "But we'll be in Chicago late tonight, and we can meet with Mr. Lankford in the morning. Perhaps we can ask him to make sure we get called to the stand early—especially you, as you have the most significant testimony to deliver."

W*W*W*W*W

There is no knife that cuts so sharply and with such poisoned blade as treachery.

—In Maremma, a Story, Ouida (pseudonym of Marie Louise de la Ramee; 1839-1908), English novelist and social critic

The two agents gaped at the stocky, white-bearded man who stood behind the desk. Frederick Lankford was known for his burning gaze, and the blue-gray eyes were aflame now.

Finally Jim spoke. "Why?"

"Because of the letter you wrote, West! That's why! The letter and the telegraph message."

Jim looked at Artemus, who only shook his head slightly before gazing at the federal attorney. "Mr. Lankford, what letter are you talking about?" Artie asked.

Lankford glared for a moment, then turned to a tall cabinet behind him, which he opened with a key to withdraw a manila envelope. From the envelope he produced a sheet of paper, which he handed over to Artemus. Jim stepped over to peer at it.

"I didn't write that!" Jim exclaimed.

"No? What about this telegraph message?" Lankford passed him a smaller, yellow paper.

"No," Jim said quickly after scanning the page. "That wasn't from me!"

"Mr. West," the prosecutor spoke stonily, "when I received the letter, stating you were going to have to recant your earlier report, that you would be unable to testify, I didn't believe it. I was sure it was a trick, a forgery. I took it to a handwriting expert. But even before he reported back to me, the telegraph message came in. I can show you the original message. It was in a code that only members of your department know and it was transmitted from your train!"

"No! That's not possible!" Jim's voice rose. "Artie…?"

Artemus was stunned. "Mr. Lankford, there's something very strange going on. I think we'd better all talk about it. Has Shipmen left Chicago?"

"Of course. He was on the first train out. What do you mean, something strange? Are you trying to tell me these are not legitimate, that Mr. West did not write this letter?"

Artie looked down at the sheet of paper he still held. The handwriting was very familiar, and as Dr. Loveless had once informed Jim, devilishly difficult to forge. He raised his gaze. "I believe that an intricate scheme was enacted to cause Jim to write this letter… perhaps even send that telegraph message… to free Denis Shipman before we reached Chicago."

Jim swung toward his partner. "Artie! I did not write that letter and I did not send the telegram!"

Artie saw the fury in his partner's eyes, as well as a sense of betrayal. "Simmer down, Jim. I have a notion how it happened. Mr. Lankford, will you listen?" Despite the circumstances, it was good to see some fire in Jim after his behavior of the last couple of weeks when he had seemed unable and unwilling to do anything except sit and stare into space.

Lankford assented, waving them to chairs. Jim sat stiffly, while Artemus leaned forward, elbows on knees, as he related the events that sent them to New Orleans, and what transpired there. "I can't prove this, of course; not yet anyway. But it's entirely possible Jim was hypnotized at Madame Lanier's house and made to write that letter."

"Artie, I know how to resist mesmerism." Jim's face was still stormy.

"Ordinarily, yes. But if you were under the influence of drugs… it might be possible." Artie gazed at him, and saw realization wash over Jim's face. "Dr. Ledoux could be involved. In fact, probably is. The rose thorn was undoubtedly coated with some drug. At the time, Jim, you told me that Madame suggested you sample the unusual fragrance of the rose, and that you had to reach through some briers to get to a blossom, which you lifted with your hand—and was scratched. Whatever the poison was, it caused you to fall unconscious then develop a fever. Thus a perfect excuse to keep you at the house to recover—and to be treated further, so to speak."

"This hypnotism," Lankford broke in, "I don't know much about it."

"It can be very powerful in the hands of experts, Mr. Lankford. We once knew a man who caused a very prim, studious young woman to convert to an almost childlike, blissful state, to behave wantonly. When we were able to bring her out of it, she remembered nothing of what happened. The same man attempted to hypnotize me. Like Jim, I know how to block it from my mind, though I pretended to be put under." And received a very painful needle in my arm!

Jim took it up. "Hypnotism—or mesmerism as it is sometimes called—can be used in several ways. As Artie says, it was used to change a woman's personality. An expert might compel people to do things they might not do otherwise. I don't know to what extent that is true. They can also embed suggestions in the subject's mind."

"Such as telling him to transmit that telegram at a certain time," Artie interjected. "I think causing him to write the letter might have been fairly easy. Quite likely it was made to appear quite… well, legitimate, perhaps as a game. Then he would have been instructed to send the telegram to validate the letter even further. I remember now that we stopped on a siding in southern Arkansas to wait out a storm, where we hooked up to the telegraph wires. Jim then suggested we leave the connection overnight. That apparently is when he sent the message, during the night. It concurs with the date shown here.

"As well, he was probably instructed that as of a certain time, he would forget everything that occurred in New Orleans and up to that point. Not to mention to enact the subsequent symptoms of the poison that Dr. LeDoux described to me, which are lethargy and complete disinterest in the world around him. That fits how Jim was behaving after we departed from New Orleans until yesterday morning."

Lankford heaved a noisy sigh as his glance swept over the two papers that had been returned to his desktop. "And now Shipman escaped custody. Your testimony was the key to my prosecution, West. Being told you were not going to deliver, I decided to drop the case, rather than allow Shipman to claim double jeopardy."

"That might have been a mistake," Jim growled.

"What do you mean?" Lankford looked him, that fiery gaze starting to glow with the perceived insult, but Artie answered.

"It means that if we can recapture Shipman, he can still be tried. Have you any idea where he went?"

"Ah." Lankford relaxed. "The train he left on travels all the way to San Francisco."

"Then we will too."

As the trio got to their feet, Lankford asked a worried question. "West… they didn't erase your memories of your testimony…"

Jim shook his head firmly. "No. And that might be another big mistake on their part!"

W*W*W*W*W

Their first act was to send a telegram to the New Orleans police to ask that a watch be kept on Madame Garlande Lanier as well as Dr. Rousset LeDoux. A short time later a response was received: both had disappeared. Servants at Madame's home stated that she had a trunk packed and taken to the railway depot, but they had no knowledge of where she was going or for how long.

Similarly, LeDoux's house was shut and empty, his lone servant apparently gone with him. Neighbors stated that this servant, known as Chon, apparently a nickname for Chauncey, had been frightening to them, as it appeared only the doctor could completely control him. Artie explained to Jim that the servant was a large man who was completely devoted to LeDoux. They had both met Chon at Madame Lanier's home, although now of course Jim did not remember him.

Further investigation revealed that although they had departed at different times and taken somewhat different routes, both LeDoux and Madame Lanier had boarded westbound trains. LeDoux was particularly easy to trace because of his unmistakable companion, and before long the information indicated his destination was San Francisco.

The Wanderer headed west the following morning, after a day of sending and receiving telegraphed messages from rail officials and law officers along the route. Colonel Richmond gave his instant and strong approval to the task. Denis Shipman was a clever and dangerous man; he needed to be brought back into custody and tried.

A few months previous, the two agents had investigated a case in the Dakota Territory, involving the sale of illegal arms to Indians. Denis Shipman, an arrogant merchant running a trading post near the badlands, had been the prime suspect. West and Gordon had not been able to come up with any solid evidence against him until a couple of Shipman's men ambushed and kidnapped James West, taking him to a hideout in the hills.

Shipman himself had at first been furious with his men. His initial idea had been to kill the agent and bury his body where it would never be found. Then he got too clever for his own good. His anger with the government for even daring to investigate him, along with his ego, got in the way of what might have been termed common sense. He determined to hold the agent prisoner for a short while until he could set up a situation where West's body would be found in a manner to indicate the government man had been complicit in some crime.

Thus, Jim had been a witness for several days to conversations and activities regarding transactions to acquire—by theft primarily—arms and ammunition and then to dispose of them in trades with tribes who were hostile to the whites and peaceful tribes in their areas. The egotistical Shipman did not worry about his prisoner being present; he had two dozen men at his nearly impregnable hideout. West's partner could not infiltrate and rescue him; nor could a posse or even the military.

Nonetheless, Artemus had done just that, entering in one of his classic disguises and completely hoodwinking Shipman as he assisted Jim to escape—and take Shipman with them, along with written records of Shipman's transactions. Those papers might have been enough to convict Shipman in the federal court in Chicago, but Lankford was depending on the testimony of James West, a man whose reputation was unimpeachable.

The letter that Lankford received stated that West and Gordon would also have to admit that they altered some of those papers before handing them over, as well as expressing that West had not exactly witnessed everything he had previously said he had. Much of it would have been hearsay and speculation, according to the letter. For that reason, Lankford felt he could not continue the prosecution.

"One question we need to answer," Artie had commented, as the Wanderer chugged out of the Chicago depot, "is how Shipman managed to set up this scheme while in custody. I asked Mr. Lankford to obtain and send to us a complete list of his visitors beyond his attorneys." They knew that Shipman had retained one of Chicago's most reputable law firms to represent him, which was another reason Lankford had known he would need a very strong case, headed by the testimony of the top Secret Service agent. While not impossible, the implication of a lawyer from that firm in the entire scheme seemed unlikely.

Another was related to information that had been in the papers taken from Shipman's headquarters in the badlands. From what they could discern, the cache of weapons and arms recovered from the Dakota Territory did not comprise all of Shipman's stock. A few months before, a dozen crates of Spencer rifles had been stolen from the Benicia Arsenal in the San Francisco Bay Area and Shipman's notes indicated his complicity in that theft. They theorized that he was heading for California to recover those arms in order to restart his illegal trade.

As the Wanderer rolled westward, Jim was sprawled on the sofa that faced the rear of the car while Artemus was at the telegraph desk sorting some of the responses they had received to queries. Jim pulled his attention away from the ceiling he had been studying. "Artie…"

"What's wrong, Jim. You've been awfully quiet." Artemus had first worried that his partner had reverted to the state he had been in during their travel from New Orleans, but realized the silence was not the same. Instead of being indifferent, Jim was intensely concerned about something. Artie had known better than to ask until the opportunity arose, as now.

Jim sat up, swinging his boots to the floor, leaning his elbows on his knees to gaze intently across the car. "What if I've been… instructed to do something else?"

Artie nodded. "That has occurred to me, Jim. For that reason, I think we should stay together as much as possible."

Jim's gaze met his partner's. "Artie, if necessary, shoot me."

Artemus gasped, horrified. "Jim, I couldn't kill you!"

A sardonic grin touched Jim's handsome face. "I didn't say kill me, Artemus. I said shoot me!"

Artie laughed then. "All right." He sobered. "Let's hope to God it doesn't come to that. It's possible LeDoux, or Shipman if he's the mastermind behind the entire scheme, didn't think that far ahead. He might assume that the government would simply drop the entire case. And he just starts anew."

"We could be wrong about the rifles, Artie. Maybe he has money stashed somewhere and plans to set himself up as a model citizen."

Artemus shook his head. "Not a man like Shipman. His vanity would not allow that. He would have to continually prove himself superior to the ordinary, and especially smarter than authorities. He probably thinks he's outsmarted all of us, not only by eluding the trial, but now he has more guns to set himself up again."

Jim leaned back now, sighing. "We seem to run into those types all over the place."

"True. Some more than once! But back to the possibility that Madame—or LeDoux, whichever was the hypnotist—implanted a command in your subconscious mind to pull some other trick in the future. If we stay together as much as possible, I will be aware if your demeanor changes. And also if we are in a situation where you might be used to their advantage."

"Such as?"

"That, James my boy, remains to be seen. Let's hope we don't see it at all. You know, if Shipman, LeDoux, and the charming Madame are in the same location, as we surmise, that will certainly simplify matters to an extent. If not, which one do we go after?"

"Let's not worry about that, Artie, until and unless it happens."

W*W*W*W*W

This I ever held worse that all certitude,

To know not what the worst ahead might be.

Marino Falier (act V), Algernon Charles Swinburne (1837-1909), English poet

The train continued to rumble westward, stopping regularly to tap into telegraph lines along the track to obtain the latest intelligence. Shipman apparently felt he had no reason to disguise either himself or his destination, and had ended his journey in San Francisco, where he registered in one of the better hotels. LeDoux and his servant had also arrived and rented a small house near the ocean. The lovely Creole widow seemed to have vanished altogether at the moment.

"I'll wager she's in San Francisco too, or soon will be," Artie opined as he handed the most recent messages to his partner to read. The train was passing over the Nevada desert at the time.

"Nothing we have regarding Shipman's past reveals any connection to a woman such as you have described Madame Lanier," Jim pointed out.

Artie chewed his lip a moment. "True. I'd swear her coloring and accent were natural. She was certainly fluent in French, as was LeDoux. Of course, that doesn't mean that she hasn't changed her appearance during her escape. Shipman must have paid her well!"

"It's also troublesome that the department can find no previous information on either of them. Not to mention that as far as the New Orleans police were concerned, they were a pair of respectable citizens."

"It is odd. Again, they could have changed their names, their appearances early on. Jake Rossner's visit to Shipman in the Chicago jail seems to be their link." Rossner was a small-time crook that made his living cozying up to bigger crooks, usually acting as a go-between or delivery boy. "But of course, now Rossner has disappeared too."

"He'll pop up again, another time, another place. It was certainly a well-planned operation," Jim commented. "But that's typical of Shipman."

Artie's smile was grim. "Until he got 'smart' and decided to hold you prisoner long enough to arrange a frame of some sort." He looked toward the nearby window. "We're slowing, probably to take on water. Time for another round of messages."

One of the responses that arrived during that stopover was from Sergeant Lloyd Morris of the San Francisco Police Department, a good friend, and a man they knew to be honest and hardworking. He provided the information that a woman answering Garlande Lanier's description had been seen in nearby Santa Clara. He had contacted the law officers there to try to follow up.

"Santa Clara," Artie mused. "Beautiful area, full of farms and orchards. Doesn't really sound like Denis Shipman's type of place."

"Which of course may be why she's there," Jim stated. "Perhaps setting up a new base of operations where he would be unknown and unsuspected."

Artie leaned back in the chair behind the desk, folding his arms and gazing up at his friend. "Jim, has it occurred to you that this may be an elaborate trap?"

A smile touched Jim's mouth and glowed in his eyes. "Why, Artemus! How suspicious you are!"

Artie chuckled. "Maybe that's how I've stayed alive all this time. Shipman likes elaborate plans. It's one reason he was out there for so long. Even his thefts of the arms shipments were always intricate and detailed, not to mention his later disposal of them to his buyers. Other men in his situation—awaiting trial and almost certain conviction due to the testimony of one or two persons—would have simply arranged to kill the witnesses. Or at least try. Shipman, however, sets up this complex, and in some ways, convoluted scheme to more or less kidnap you and use hypnotism to discredit your testimony."

"And now we are chasing him and his confederates across the country."

Both men automatically braced themselves as the whistle sounded from the engine and the train began to move again. Artemus closed up the case covering the telegraph key, once more glancing up at Jim, who was still standing in front of the desk, now staring at the handwritten copy of the note from Morris, a frown deepening.

"What are you thinking?"

Jim shook his head, dropping the paper back onto the desk. "I just can't help wondering how much of this is… programmed. Maybe I'm leading both of us into a snare that Shipman set up while we were in New Orleans."

Artie did not immediately protest. It's too damned possible. Yet… "Jim, Shipman could not have predicted what our actions would be."

"Why not? Maybe that's why he did not set it up for me to forget or revise my testimony at a trial, which could have acquitted him and he could not have been tried again. He wants us to trail him. Remember how furious he was when we arrested him?"

"A lot of criminals get upset when caught," Artie reminded. Nevertheless, he did recall that day when they hauled Shipman into Fort Pierre to be held until marshals could arrive to escort him to the federal court in Chicago. He had not made direct threats against either agent, but had promised them he would be free again… and that they would hear from him.

Artemus wanted to flat-out refute Jim's concerns, but found he could not. Much of what they had done thus far to recapture Shipman had been predictable. Shipman had to be aware that they would pursue him immediately. He was smart enough to know that. Was that why he was leaving such a clear trail, as well as having his confederates join him, in case his own trail was missed?

"At least," Jim said then, walking to the sofa and sitting down, extending and crossing his legs while spreading his arms across the back, "we are obliging." He grinned.

Artemus laughed then, getting up from the desk. "That we are. Always aim to please." They would have chased Shipman, in any case, whether he did arrange to tamper with Jim's mind or not. The big question is whether something has been embedded in Jim's mind to affect what happens once we corner Shipman. But we won't know that until, and if, it happens. "Guess I'd better get that chicken in the oven if we're going to have dinner."

"Sounds like a good idea to me, Artie. I think I'll take a nap. Wake me when dinner is ready." Jim turned to stretch out on the sofa, ignoring the face his partner made in his direction.

W*W*W*W*W

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

Darkness, Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron; 1788-1824), English poet

He knew Artemus was noticing. Those querying glances across the table told him that. Yet he could not bring himself to speak about it, let alone attempt to hide it by behaving naturally. Finally, as he had known would happen, his partner asked.

"Jim, are you all right?"

I wish I could simply say, "Sure, I'm fine." Artie would not buy it; that was certain. Artie would be worrying that he had reverted to the behavior displayed on the long trip from New Orleans, when he had been immersed in the near trance induced by the mesmerism. So he put down his fork. The implement was useless anyway. He was unable to eat. "I had a dream."

Now Artemus lowered his own fork. "When you were napping just now?"

"Yeah."

Artie gazed at him a long moment. "Well? Are you going to tell me about it?" Jim West was not a man to be distressed by a dream, even a nightmare; plainly, nonetheless, he was disturbed now. The green eyes were shadowed, lips tight.

"You killed me."

Artemus knew he could say something flip at that moment, bringing up the conversation they had had when Jim told his partner to shoot him if it came to pass that a command had been implanted in his subconscious that would be detrimental to their work, or themselves. Instead he said quietly, "Tell me." The shadows in Jim's eyes were too daunting for humor.

Jim picked up his coffee cup and left the table, going to the sofa that faced the rear of the car. After a moment, Artemus did the same, sitting alongside. "Do you remember it clearly?" he asked.

"Too clearly," Jim replied. He was unsure why he was having difficulty talking about it. Quite possibly the dream was instigated by the situation at hand, and not at all related what he had endured in New Orleans. Nevertheless…. He took a breath. "I'm not sure where we were. Seemed to be a lot of trees around, trees without leaves. I think a building, maybe more than one, was nearby. The ground was muddy. Someone else was there. Don't know who, or how many. But one… a man… was screaming that I needed to be killed, someone should kill me. And I…"

Artie waited a moment before he spoke. "Go on."

"I told you to do it, Artie. I told you to shoot me. It seemed… it seemed the only thing to do!"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. I couldn't move. I was having trouble breathing. But I knew you needed to shoot. The other man kept screaming, with his face very close to mine. I could feel his hot breath on my face. I could… smell it. I begged you to shoot." Jim took a swallow of coffee, and was a bit surprised to realize how much it had cooled, almost to lukewarm. "It was very real, Artie."

"Did I… in the dream, did I shoot? Did I kill you?"

Again Jim was silent for several seconds before lifting his gaze to meet his partner's. "Yes. I heard the sound of the shot, I felt the bullet enter my chest… and then all was black. I couldn't breathe. I was dead."

Artie got up then, taking Jim's cup. He put them both on the table then turned to the cupboards to pull out a bottle and two glasses, filling each with the fine bourbon they both favored. Returning, he handed one to Jim before taking the place beside him again.

"Jim, it was just a dream."

Jim took a swallow of the fiery yet smooth liquor, felt it sliding down his throat, warming. "I know. I know I don't have dreams that are… clairvoyant. At least I never have. I can't begin to tell you how… how I felt. I've had nightmares before, waking up in a cold sweat. But this was different. I was there, Artie. When I woke up, I was surprised to be in the train. Kind of like the morning I awakened and saw the snow outside the window."

Artemus sipped his own drink. "It's possible, of course, that this was something LeDoux, or Madame Lanier, put into your head when they had you in a trance."

"I know. But why?"

"Perhaps to shake your confidence."

Jim considered this a long moment. "Maybe. None of this makes a lot of sense, Artie. Why didn't Shipman just have me killed to prevent my testimony? He could have had you killed too. The opportunity was there in New Orleans."

"It has to involve his desire for revenge, Jim, as we talked about before. Everything we know about Shipman puts him in the category of Loveless and Manzeppi—egotists who cannot imagine anyone else being as smart as they are, or smarter. When they are bested, they have to do something to prove that an error, an accident, occurred."

Jim took a sip of his whiskey this time. "So we are accommodating Shipman by walking into his snare."

Artie grinned. "Don't we always? We are the most accommodating gents I know!"

Jim sighed, but had to smile. "And one of these days it's going to get us killed!"

W*W*W*W*W

Although snow had already fallen in the Sierra, none had come down in the past couple of weeks, so that the tracks were mostly clear as they traversed the mountains. It was an opportunity to enjoy the scenic vistas of snow coated trees and crystal white peaks, untouched by humans. Both men spent time standing on the platform in the crisp air to savor the beauties of the pristine mountains. Too often they dealt with the ugliness of humanity, so a chance to witness the serenity of nature was to be savored and treasured.

Rain was falling, however, when they pulled into the depot in San Francisco. Their first order of business was a trip to the San Francisco police headquarters where Lloyd Morris was stationed. They were damp and chilly by the time they dismounted in front of the building, but Morris's greeting was warm and he had hot coffee for them in his office.

They spent a few minutes catching up, especially hearing about the new addition to the Morris family. The sergeant's eyes glowed as he spoke of his little daughter, thanking them profusely for the gift of a cradle the agents had arranged to have constructed and delivered. "It's so beautiful, I'm sure it will last for generations." After assuring Morris they would visit and view the astonishing creature themselves, they settled down to business.

Morris's first news was interesting. Denis Shipman had originally taken a suite at the Palace Hotel, but as of this morning, was gone. "Where to?" Artie asked.

The sergeant shook his head. "We're still looking for him. We had a man in the hotel constantly, and another who followed Shipman wherever he went, taking in your instructions that he was to be watched, but not apprehended. Shipman went to the theater last night, had a late supper—alone—and then returned to his hotel. As far as our man knew, he went to his room and remained there. But when Shipman had not come down by mid morning, nor had breakfast sent up, the man on duty did some checking… and Shipman was gone! He had cleared out, luggage and all. Only thing we can figure is he knew he was being watched, and went out the back way. The clerk said that Shipman had paid for his room in advance, and had several days coming to him."

Jim looked at his partner. "Wonder if he got word we were on our way here."

"More importantly, did he join Madame Lanier in Santa Clara?" Artemus gazed questioningly at Morris.

"Nothing on that yet. I notified officials down there. As far as I know, LeDoux is still in the small house he rented near Ocean Beach. I figure he knew it would be hard to keep that friend of his in a hotel."

"Undoubtedly," Artie agreed. Jim had no memory of Chon, although both met the massive man at Madame Lanier's home. LeDoux did not seem to go anywhere without Chon. Artemus had been awed by the size and obvious strength of the man.

"Now," Lloyd Morris leaned back in his chair, "I want all the details about what's going on here."

Artie told most of it, with Jim interjecting a few comments, especially when it came to the part when he awakened with no memory of the time from arriving in New Orleans until he woke up in snowy Illinois. Jim's dream was not mentioned, of course. At the moment, it had no relevancy. Artemus sincerely hoped it never would.

"That's pretty incredible," the sergeant said then. "Doesn't make a lot of sense. I can see that if Shipman were responsible for the theft at Benicia, he would come to California to pick them up. It still doesn't make sense that he's pretty much staying in plain sight. When he had you in New Orleans, why didn't Shipman…"

"Have us killed?" Jim finished. "That's what we've been wondering."

"Only thing we can come up with," Artemus added, "is that he wants us here."

"So you're accommodating him?" Lloyd stared at them, his gaze filled with astonishment for a moment, then he smiled and shook his head. "You are two of the most accommodating gentlemen I know!"

"Funny thing," Artie chuckled, "we were saying that ourselves just a day or two ago."

"So what next?"

Jim shook his head. "LeDoux remained in San Francisco for a reason."

Artie nodded. "I was thinking the same thing. Maybe only to make sure we are on their trail… just in case Shipman's activities were missed! We should stay here awhile, at least until the police in Santa Clara have a line on Shipman's whereabouts there."

"Have you taken rooms…?" Morris looked at each man.

"No," Jim replied. "We both agreed we'd feel more secure in the Wanderer, even if it means traveling a longer distance to the depot."

"Well, since you are going to have all this free time waiting for Shipman to make a move, why don't you come to supper tonight and meet little Emmaline? I'll send word to Betty to expect guests."

W*W*W*W*W

The evening was another pleasant diversion for the agents who knew their next days were likely to be filled with turmoil, possible peril, as well as probably some boredom. Betty Morris was always glad to see Jim and Artemus, and both parents beamed as they showed off their month-old offspring. Emmaline had her father's thick dark hair, and right now the blue eyes of both parents. Both men could exclaim over the baby's charm quite honestly.

When Emmaline was settled into her ornate cradle, the adults sat down for dinner, and then spent the remainder of the evening in the parlor, simply conversing. The three men deliberately kept the topic away from the reasons for the presence of the federal men in San Francisco, and they talked about mutual acquaintances, the theater, and other inconsequential and relaxing topics.

The following morning, as he had been doing since the afternoon's nap that had produced the disturbing dream, Artie watched his partner for signs that the dream reoccurred, but saw nothing. He thought he knew Jim well enough to know if it had come back. After the initial distress, Jim had not mentioned it, and as far as Artemus could tell, did not fret about it. However, Artie had to wonder if, when Jim settled into sleep, the memory of the nightmare did not return.

They had sent the train crew off to their own devices, asking only that they apprise the agents of their whereabouts in case the need arose to travel, so after breakfast, the agents secured the Wanderer and rode into the city. Morris was not on duty yet, but another officer was able to tell them that word had been received from Santa Clara. Denis Shipman had arrived and registered at a rooming house. As far as had been ascertained, Shipman had not made contact with Madame Lanier.

Possessing the address of the house Dr. LeDoux had rented, they rode out to that site, dismounting a couple of blocks away and leaving their horses tied off before walking the remaining distance. The street was near the ocean and beaches and appeared to be filled with summer cottages, most of which were deserted this time of year. That made it easy to go around behind the structures directly across from LeDoux's residence and watch the house through some hedges.

"This is our lucky day," Artie murmured when a large wagon came down the street and halted in front of the cottage. "Looks like LeDoux is decamping." Two burly men jumped down to go into the house and shortly returned, toting a couple of large trunks and other luggage.

"I take it that's Chon," Jim said as a huge man emerged onto the porch, needing to duck to get through the door.

"One and only," Artie murmured. "Hard to miss." He had been astounded that night in New Orleans when he had hurried to the Lanier home after the summons telling him that his partner was very ill. The mountain of a man had opened the door to admit him. Chon was easily as tall as Voltaire, but probably outweighed him by a hundred pounds or more, with the extra weight distributed in his chest and shoulders, giving him a top-heavy appearance. He had long arms and somewhat bowed legs. His face was almost circular, with large brown eyes and curling brown hair that was clipped short. He was, Artemus decided, somehow more frightening than Voltaire, and that was saying a great deal.

He glanced at his partner. "You don't remember seeing Chon at all? He carried you out to the carriage when I came to take you to the train." And hefted your weight as though you were a small child.

Jim shook his head, expression bemused. "Nope. He would certainly be hard to forget!"

"One thing we want to be sure to do, and that is to stay clear of the big fellow. Madame Lanier told me that LeDoux saved his life somehow, and that Chon is almost insanely protective of the doctor."

"Sounds familiar," Jim muttered, ducking lower as another man emerged from the house, closing the door behind him. This man was slender and handsome, in his forties, with dark hair that gleamed with bluish highlights momentarily in the November sun before he placed a gray top hat over it. He wore a stylish matching gray cape and his black boots were shiny.

After the departing wagon had turned a corner the agents hurried back to their own horses, mounting and taking the same route. The wagon was easily spotted and followed, even while hanging back a couple of blocks, due to its lumbering slowness. The destination soon became obvious: the railroad depot. Once that was realized, the agents made a detour to cut around the wagon on other streets, arriving at the depot long before it did.

At the Wanderer, Artie quickly changed into faded and mended clothes, placed a wig on his head and pasted on a bushy beard and mustache. He then hurried to the main depot, arriving at the ticket window area as LeDoux and Chon appeared, the expressmen following with the luggage. Artie was able to linger near enough to hear LeDoux purchase one-way tickets to San Jose. He then returned to the train and his partner.

"So the bait is in place," Jim commented, pouring sherry for each of them after Artie stripped off his disguise.

Artie accepted a glass and settled on the sofa while Jim took one of the chairs at the table, turning it slightly to face his partner. "How much time shall we give them?"

Jim shrugged, taking a sip. "Why wait? No doubt they know we're in San Francisco. Let's keep things moving."

His partner smiled briefly. "I'll find a messenger to round up the crew. You know the sheriff down there is John Hicks Adams. I've heard he's a good man."

Jim nodded. "Mexican war vet, Indian fighter, gold prospector… he's done it all. Could be a big help to us."

Artie was silent a long moment. "Jim…"

"No."

Artemus's eyes opened wide. "You don't know what I was going to say!"

"I have a good suspicion. You were going to suggest I should stay behind. No deal."

Artie did not laugh but he almost felt like it. Indeed, that had been exactly what he was going to propose. "I can come up with several good reasons why you should." Although he had initially stated that they should remain together as much as possible, he felt now that if Jim stayed at the train, or at least in a populated area, primarily a distance away from where they knew Shipman was located, he would be safe from any of Shipman's machinations, hypnotic or otherwise.

"I know. Primarily because of the chance that some of my actions might be controlled by Shipman, via LeDoux or Madame, whoever hypnotized me. Hell, even my insistence on accompanying you may be because of something they put into my head!"

Now Artemus did laugh. "I doubt that, James. You are simply being yourself."

"I'll choose to take that as a compliment," Jim responded sourly.

Still chuckling, Artie put his glass aside and got to his feet. "I'd better find a messenger boy to call in the crew."

W*W*W*W*W

Her overpowering presence made you feel

It would not be idolatry to kneel.

—Don Juan (Canto the Third), Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron; 1788-1824), English poet

The remainder of the day was spent in preparation, including exchanging telegraph messages with Sheriff Adams of Santa Clara County. That officer expressed great enthusiasm to work with the agents, and assured them that his deputies were already keeping an eye on the house that Madame Garlande Lanier occupied. Shipman had not been seen again, but that did not mean he had left the county. Dr. LeDoux and his overgrown companion had arrived and apparently taken up residence at Madame Lanier's new home. The house was spacious, Adams informed them, belonging to an absent orchard owner who had raised a relatively large family there, but was now traveling with his wife.

The following morning, the Wanderer steamed south from San Francisco to make the short trip to the San Jose depot. Sheriff John Hicks Adams was there to meet them, a handsome man in his fifties with graying wavy dark hair and a short, square beard, as well as a mustache. His greeting was hearty, then they spent time in the parlor car to bring the local lawman up to date on all that had occurred. Like others, he knew little about hypnotism, though he recalled a fellow who had been in San Jose putting on a show a few years earlier. "Quite a sensation, I heard. I didn't get to attend the performance."

"The procedure can be entertaining," Artie nodded, "even helpful in certain situations. Evidently this LeDoux, if he's the one who performed the mesmerism, is quite adept. Strong-minded persons can resist the attempt to be hypnotized, and both Jim and I have encountered situations where we did resist. But we feel that Jim was drugged first, causing his resistance to be low or nonexistent."

Adams looked at Jim. "So you think you might be under his spell, so to speak, even now?"

"I don't know," Jim replied quietly. "I'm hoping not. I'm also hoping that if that is the case, I'll be able to resist, now that I'm not influenced by a drug."

"The whole point is," Artie put in, "we need to keep track of and eventually arrest these people, especially Shipman. He still faces federal charges."

"But not until you find out if he's hidden the stolen arms in this area, eh? It surely is strange that he arranged it this way, if he's as smart as you say he is."

"We think—and hope—he might be outsmarting himself," Artie said. "I'm sure he knew he could have allowed the trial to go ahead, probably be acquitted, and thus not be able to be tried again. But he wants his revenge on us, on Jim in particular." And may have set up some situation to completely destroy Jim West, either his reputation or his life… or both.

"So he's lured you out here."

"Seems so," Jim murmured. He knew Artemus was very worried about the situation. I'm worried myself! But we can't—I can't—just stay out of it. Shipman has caused many deaths with his illegal gun sales, and needs to pay for it.

Adams got to his feet. "Gentlemen, my department is at your disposal. What do you want me to do?"

"Just keep an eye on Madame's house for now," Artie said, rising also, "and watch for Shipman. He's around somewhere. I'm sure he's aware that a federal warrant has been issued for him, even if he doesn't realize we're also looking for the missing rifles. So he's not going to be quite as bold as the other two. We don't really have a case against them yet."

"And what are you boys going to do?"

Jim stood now. "Pay a visit to Madame. I've never properly thanked her for her care of me during my terrible illness."

Adams looked at each of them then shook his head. "I've heard about you two. Guess I shouldn't be surprised. I'll have men nearby."

Jim nodded. "Thanks. They probably won't be necessary at this point, but keep them there—and out of sight as much as possible."

Having received directions from the sheriff on how to find the location of Madame's new home, they saddled their horses and set out. Jim had come up with the idea of visiting her, and Artemus had been unable to talk him out of it—or come up with a better idea. At least they might surprise her, as well as the doctor and Shipman, if he was there. Artie's biggest fear was that this was something Jim had been told to do while in a trance.

The house lay down a long lane off the main road that ran between Saratoga and Santa Clara, with orchards all around. The trees were mostly bare at this time of year, the ground soggy due to the recent rains. The sky was overcast and dark again, and Artie was certain rain would be falling before they returned to the dry haven of the Wanderer.

The front and one side of the two-story house were bordered by gardens containing evergreen trees, flowers and bushes, as well as benches. A fishpond could be seen in one clear area, but the muddy water currently in it probably precluded any goldfish or other exotic fish. A porch extended almost all the way across the front of the house, containing a glider and several chairs.

No one appeared as they dismounted and tied the horses off at iron posts. Artie kept an eye on his companion, looking for any signs of unusual behavior, but saw none. Jim appeared both relaxed and anticipating—his usual demeanor. As they climbed the several steps to the porch, the front door opened, and Madame Garlande Lanier stood there, an amused smile on her lovely mouth.

She was a rather petite woman, somewhere around thirty, Artie believed; she had the kind of ageless beauty that made it difficult to pin down her age. Like LeDoux, her hair was nearly jet-black, and her eyes a deep brown. She was attired in a deep red wool dress with a V-neck collar trimmed in ecru lace, with a gold brooch pinned at the point where the collar intersected, revealing just enough of her smooth neck and collarbones.

"Quelle belle surprise!" she exclaimed. "M'sieur West, it is very wonderful to see you looking so well! Please come in, both of you. Tell me what brings you here!" Her French accent was evident, but not so strong as a native-born Frenchwoman. She had grown up in the Creole tradition of New Orleans, from what Artemus understood. He had talked to her quite a bit while Jim was convalescing in her home. At the time he had simply been grateful and not the least suspicious.

Jim gazed at the beautiful woman and was astonished at the sensations that were racing through his mind. He did not remember her at all. Yet… They stepped inside a foyer that led to a curving staircase, with a darkened hallway heading toward the back of the house, and doors at either side. "I must apologize, Madame Lanier," Jim said, "but my illness affected my memory. I do not remember our previous meeting, though I cannot imagine how I could forget!"

She merely laughed, reaching to touch his hand as she took the hat from it. "I understand. The poison…" she gave it a French pronunciation… "of the rose has many strange effects. To be sure, I have not forgotten you. Come in and sit down. I want to hear all that has occurred."

The parlor had a beautiful marble fronted fireplace at one end, with large windows at the front, and appeared to open into a glass sun porch at the other side. The windows and the door to the porch were closed on this cool November day. Madame picked up and rang a small silver bell as she motioned for them to take seats. Artie saw Jim hesitate, and then sit alongside her on a sofa. He seemed to not be able to take his eyes off her.

"We were surprised to learn you left New Orleans, Madame Lanier," Artie said conversationally as the door to the hall opened and a stocky Mexican woman appeared. Madame gave her instructions—in Spanish—to bring coffee before she turned to Artemus.

"It was a whim," she smiled. "I have always wanted to see California. It has lived up to my expectations, even in the dreary winter. I think I will remain a long while."

"It's a lovely house," Artemus went on. He kept his eyes on Jim. In New Orleans, when they had first called on Garlande Lanier, Jim had been interested, as he was with most lovely women they encountered. He had also been pleased to receive the invitation for dinner. Artie had not noticed anything more than a passing interest, however. Jim would accept such an invitation, spend a pleasant evening, and that would be that.

Today, however, something was different. Jim appeared to be enthralled, his eyes glowing with adoration, as though he had instantly fallen in love at this second encounter—the first as far as Jim's memory was concerned. He had seen a bit of confusion on Jim's countenance when the widow first opened the door, but that had faded. Jim's entire attention was focused on the lady, as though he had forgotten his partner and their reason for being here.

"I was very fortunate to find it," Madame said, casting a smile in Jim's direction. "It's so much airier than my little cottage in New Orleans. I cannot wait until this dreary weather is finished so that I can throw the windows open. I'm told spring in this area is wonderful, when all the fruit trees are in bloom."

"The spring blooms will pale alongside your beauty," Jim murmured.

She turned a surprised smile in Jim's direction. "What a lovely thing to say, M'sieur West. I am so delighted to see you so healthy again. I felt so terribly that you were injured in my garden."

Conversation ceased while the servant returned with a tray bearing a silver coffeepot, china cups and saucers, and a plate of cookies. Artemus watched carefully as Madame poured and served, noting no indication that the coffee was contaminated. He waited until she sipped hers before tasting his own. Jim simply held his, rapt gaze on the lady.

"Did you bring that particular rose to California with you?" Artie inquired then.

Her dark eyes widened. "Oh, no, no, M'sieur Gordon! I destroyed it, buried it. After what it did to dear James… M'sieur West, I could not bear to even look at it, despite its elegant blooms and lovely scent."

"Probably very wise," Artie intoned. He could see that Jim was not going to help this inquiry in any manner. "Is Dr. LeDoux going to join us?"

Once more that wide-eyed look, this time portraying surprise and innocence. "Mais non, M'sieur! Why do you ask that? He is in New Orleans, I believe."

"No, he is not. He departed soon after you did."

A flicker passed through her dark eyes with the information that her movements had been observed. "How strange. He did not tell me he planned to leave. He is not here, and I have not seen him. Strange. Why do you seek him?"

"Government scientists wanted to ask him about the antidote for that poisonous thorn—just in case it's found somewhere else in this country," Artie lied blandly.

"If I hear from Rousset, I will inform you. Certainement!" She turned her gaze to Jim. "M'sieur West, you are not drinking your café! Is it not to your liking?"

"I'm drinking in your beauty," Jim said softly, never taking his eyes from her.

The alarm bells were ringing louder in Artemus Gordon's head. While Jim often had a silver tongue where the ladies were concerned, he did not usually mix "courtship" so blatantly with business. Jim knew they were there to get information on LeDoux and Shipman, not to mention the Madame herself. Jim's usual method was to mix his charm with questions. He would flirt mildly to divert the woman and often get answers they might not otherwise obtain. However, he did notice that Garlande Lanier appeared a bit disconcerted by the intensity of Jim's attention.

"Madame," Artie said, "are you acquainted with a gentleman named Denis Shipman?"

She looked at him, brow crinkling for a moment as though thinking. "The name is familiar… I'm sure I read it in a newspaper. He is a politician? An actor?"

"A man we are seeking," Artie replied. She's a good liar. We're not going to get anything out of her at this time, especially with Jim making cow eyes! He put his cup aside and rose. "Jim, we'd better be going if we're going to keep that appointment."

Jim looked around blankly. "Appointment?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten we're meeting with Sheriff Adams."

For a long moment, Jim just stared at him, bewilderment evident in his green eyes. He looked back at Madame Lanier. "I don't want to leave you…"

Now the woman shot a dark-eyed glance toward Artemus, before putting her own cup aside and rising. "Now, M'sieur West, as the saying goes, business before pleasure. You must attend to business now." She took Jim's cup from him, grasped his hand and seemed to pull him to his feet. "Go with M'sieur Gordon now. You may visit again."

Artie wanted to grab his partner's arm and drag him away from her, but he controlled himself. Something was definitely not right. He watched as Madame now took Jim's arm and appeared to steer him toward the foyer and the front door, handing them their hats while she bid them a polite adieu. She closed the door as soon as they were on the porch.

Jim looked around. "Artie…?"

"Let's go," Artie said briskly and headed for the horses, glancing back once to see if Jim was following. He was, though his brows were knit in obvious bafflement. Mounted, Artie led the way down the lane, not stopping until they reached the main road. There he pulled up and looked at his partner. "You all right?"

Jim shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure. What happened?"

"What do you mean?"

"We went there…" Jim looked back over his shoulder toward the lane they had just exited. The house was no longer visible beyond the orchards' trees. "Did we talk to Madame Lanier?"

"You don't remember any of it?"

"I remember the house… dismounting and going up onto the porch, greeting her… what happened?"

Artie sighed. "Jim, I think that a rather surprising post hypnotic suggestion was entered into your subconscious. A suggestion that you were to fall completely under Madame's spell."

"What did I do?"

"Nothing; except stare at Madame as though you could not take your eyes way, could not get your fill of drinking in her beauty. And when you were reluctant to leave, you obeyed her instructions to go."

Jim pulled off his hat, ran his fingers through his hair. "That's not good."

"To put it mildly," Artie averred, and started his horse moving again. Jim followed. "I'd say that while you were under the hypnotic spell in New Orleans, Madame planted the suggestion that the next time you meet, you would be positively entranced, instantly in love."

"But I'm not," Jim insisted. "Not now. Artie, I can barely remember what she looks like!"

Artie nodded. "Makes me wonder. I assumed LeDoux was the mesmerist. And perhaps he is. However, I cannot see him putting this idea into your consciousness. I had a distinct impression that the doctor and Madame Lanier were more than casual acquaintances."

"So… she did it?"

"I would imagine so, and perhaps inexpertly. I had the sense she was a bit unsettled by your behavior today. She may have presented the suggestion that you would be intoxicated while in her presence, but forgot to suggest that the adoration continue once you were away from her. As well, perhaps the depth of your sudden devotion was unanticipated."

Jim sighed, shaking his head. "I guess I'd better avoid the lady as much as possible!"

"Not necessarily. Now that you are aware, you should be able to combat it. Similarly to how you would normally resist being hypnotized."

"Maybe. But I don't think I'd want to encounter her while alone!" As Artie grinned, Jim went on. "Did we learn anything?"

"That she's a damn good liar. She claimed no knowledge of LeDoux's whereabouts. Obviously she is unaware that he was seen at her home. She also said she did not know Shipman."

Jim pulled his horse to a halt and Artie did as well. "Artie, seems to me some time spent observing Madame's home might be worthwhile."

Artie looked up at the leaden sky. "It's going to rain."

Jim grinned. "All the better. They won't expect idiots out in that kind of weather!"

W*W*W*W*W

Two very wet and cold federal agents returned to the Wanderer several hours later. While Jim added wood to the small fireplace, Artie started a pot of coffee before hurrying to his compartment to remove the wet garments that were adhering to his skin. He also toweled his sopping hair dry and removed his boots, returning to the galley in his stocking feet. Jim was already there, also clad in dry clothes now, filling two cups with the steaming brew, which they both carried into the parlor car where the fire in the grate was crackling and throwing off needed warmth.

"I never knew it could be so cold in California," Artie complained, taking a couple of swallows of coffee and feeling it literally warming his blood. Nonetheless, he stood in front of the fireplace.

"Just be glad we're this side of the Sierra," Jim responded, taking the sofa nearest the fire. Undoubtedly the rain they had experienced the last couple of days was turning to snow in the higher elevations as the storms traveled east.

"Yeah," Artie sighed. "I guess it was all worth it, though."

Jim just nodded. They had circled around and made their way through the muddy orchards until they found a spot behind some sheds, where the orchard equipment was apparently stored, that gave them a view of the front of the house. Putting their horses some distance away, they huddled behind the sheds in the ever-increasing wind and rain and watched. After about an hour two men emerged to the front porch. Although one was bundled in raingear, their identities were easily discerned. The slender Dr. LeDoux was attired in a natty suit while the heftier Denis Shipman had donned a rubberized cape. They talked for a few minutes on the porch until a covered carriage was brought around from the rear, whereupon Shipman entered it and was driven away, while LeDoux returned inside the house.

The agents had quickly retrieved their horses and rode to the main road, just in time to see the carriage wend its way down the main road toward San Jose. Following at a safe distance was easy. Few were out in this miserable weather, and those that were traveled slowly, as did Shipman's vehicle. Once in San Jose, the carriage transported Shipman to the boarding house some distance away from the center of town. Shipman went inside and the carriage moved on.

They watched the house for a while, this time from the relative comfort of a dingy café across the street where the coffee was hot but not much else; the food they saw on other tables was unappealing even though they had not eaten since breakfast. Finally, damp, miserable and hungry, they had departed, making just one more stop at the police department to identify themselves and ask that the house be watched as closely as possible.

"Doesn't make sense though," Artie said after a few moments, stepping away from the fireplace in the varnish car. He was starting to feel human again. "Why is Shipman staying at that house instead of the hotel? Why did he register at the hotel and not use it?"

"Trying to throw us off the track, maybe."

"Maybe. You realize that LeDoux was in the house all the while we were there. His loyal servant Chon as well."

"Yeah. Chilling thought." Jim rose to go into the galley and bring the coffee pot back. He filled both cups then set the pot on the nearby table before retaking his seat on the sofa. "It has to be part of his trap, Artie. Shipman, I mean. Somehow he's setting it up for us to walk into. He's got to know we're after him. He would know that's why we're in this area."

Artie moved to sit alongside his partner. "Yeah. His trap. The one he knows all about, and we don't!"

"All we can do, pal, is just keep playing the game, and see where it leads us."

"Right into the trap!"

"And that's where the fun begins." Jim grinned, lifting his coffee cup.

Artemus Gordon rolled his eyes then had to match the grin as he touched his cup to his partner's.

W*W*W*W*W

When nothing occurred over the next two days, the agents decided it was up to them to act. They had fully expected Denis Shipman to do something that would involve the agents, and perhaps lead them to any confederates and stashes of illegal arms he might have in the area. Instead, the police reported that Shipman remained at the boarding house, not even going out to eat. Sheriff Adams had a similar tale to tell regarding Madame Garlande Lanier and the doctor. They also were staying at home and not leaving the house in the orchards, although Madame Lanier had been spied walking in the garden on a sunny day.

When asked if certain that Shipman was still in the boarding house, the officers who had been keeping watch could only reply that they had not seen him emerge. Given Shipman's previous ability to move about without detection, Artemus decided further investigation was needed. He disguised himself as a traveling salesman, complete with garish plaid suit and handlebar mustache, and took a room at the house, remaining over one night. The next day he informed his partner and the other officials what they expected: Shipman was not there.

"He didn't appear at any of the three meals I attended. I asked the landlord rather idly about a 'friend' of mine whom I understood had stayed there, and described Shipman. He had left two nights earlier, leaving his property in the room he had paid up for a month. Told the landlord he would return for them, and if not, the landlord could sell them!"

Sheriff Adams shook his head. "How did he get out unseen? I mean, officers were there twenty-four hours!"

"Doesn't take much," Jim smiled grimly. "Don't worry, sheriff, it's happened to the best of us. A momentary distraction and he slips away, especially at night. But you can bet he's still in the area. He didn't set this up to walk away from it."

"Cheeky devil," Adams muttered.

"To say the least," Artie nodded. "He avoided arrest for his gun running activities for several years, and some of his moves were quite bold. He simply made one mistake—taking Jim captive and allowing him to overhear planning and other conversations."

"And another," Jim pointed out. "He let a certain half-breed named Chako into his camp."

"Oh yeah, that guy," Artie grinned. "Chako" had been the half Apache who infiltrated Shipman's enclave to rescue Jim West and take Shipman out with them. Seeing the confusion on the sheriff's face, Artie briefly related the incident.

Adams nodded. "Well, seeing as you fooled me when you walked in wearing that get-up just now, I can see why Shipman could have been fooled." He looked at each of them. "Does Shipman do disguises?"

"Not as far as we know," Jim replied. "He's simply very cagey. There's a very good chance he's at the house with Madame Lanier and LeDoux, even if he hasn't been seen. He was there previously." He looked at his partner. "Maybe it's time to end the fun and games and arrest him."

Artie nodded somberly. "We'd better pick a time and place that's to our advantage. We don't know if Shipman has men here, but the chances are very good he does."

Adams spoke up then. "One of my deputies who's been watching the house reported seeing a couple of men around the barn. They appeared to be doing chores, and he thought they had been hired to help."

"That's possible," Jim declared, "but not likely. Please ask your men to keep track of anyone they see at the house."

Leaving the sheriff's quarters, they found a nearby restaurant to have their midday meal and discuss plans. "We may have erred, Jim, in not picking up Shipman immediately. He could go underground, and he seems adept at moving around without being seen."

"He can't do it forever, Artie. We'll get him."

Artemus poked at the mashed potatoes on his plate, then lifted his gaze. "I'm thinking I should go talk to Madame… alone."

Jim frowned. "About what?"

"Jim, we need to find out what was done and said when you were hypnotized."

Jim's brows lifted. "And you think you can persuade her to tell you? Don't forget, LeDoux—and Chon—are there, not to mention the possibility of Shipman and other thugs."

"I thought I might invite Madame Lanier to accompany me to a restaurant… and discuss my concerns about you."

"Me!"

"The lovely Madame is obviously infatuated with you, James. So much so that she attempted to ensure that you would reciprocate. I will initiate the conversation by suggesting that the fever you endured affected your brain and reasoning power…"

"Artie! You're going to tell her I'm crazy?"

"No more than usual," Artie replied blandly, though his eyes twinkled. Then he sobered. "I think she may genuinely care about you, James, or as much as a woman in her situation can care about a man. I'm not denigrating your charms when I suggest she could be as much interested in what you could do for her as she is in gaining your affection. I'm thinking I can reveal that we're aware of the hypnotism and compel her to divulge what was done. I have to believe that Shipman set up… something. He would not have allowed such an opportunity to pass."

"That's what I've been saying all along."

"I know you have. Difficult as it may be to believe, I'm finding it necessary to agree with you." Artie grinned briefly. "I believe it may be why Shipman hasn't done anything yet. He's waiting for the right moment. But we don't know what the 'right moment' is."

"Which is a damn good reason to pick him up."

"Exactly. But you and I both know it's not going to happen easily. At least that neither the sheriff's men nor the local police are going to do it without our help."

Jim was quiet a moment, gazing at his partner. Then he sighed. "So tell me again how you're going to convince the Madame to accompany you."

"To be honest, James, I don't know. I may have to play it by ear."

"Unless Chon is there and drags you out by the ear!"

"That distinct possibility exists. But I do have a sense that if I can talk to her alone, I might be able to get something out of her. I want you to go back to the train…"

Jim stiffened. "I think I should be nearby!"

"We can't take that chance. We were able to get close enough to observe the other day, but the weather helped. It's perfectly sunny today, and likely to be tomorrow as well. Besides which, I do not believe Shipman intends to harm me… at least not yet. His plans for vengeance involve both of us."

"Artie, he could grab you and…"

Artemus was shaking his head vehemently. "That's not the way he thinks."

"And how do you know how he thinks?" Jim demanded hotly. He did not like the idea of his partner entering the bear's lair alone.

"Calm down, James," Artie smiled. "I do not intend to go the Madame's home empty-handed. I'll take a few defensive items, just in case. A gas bomb, for instance."

Jim sighed then, picking up his cup of coffee. "Just be sure to leave instructions for your funeral."

Artie laughed. "They are on file at the department in Washington." He realized he was enjoying this. The usual routine was for Jim to go off on some wildly dangerous tangent, ignoring his partner's call for reason. I honestly do not think, nonetheless, that I will be in any peril calling on Madame Lanier alone. Shipman may even be pleased with such a move, believing that it signifies our lack of suspicion toward the lovely widow and the doctor. He doesn't necessarily know that we are aware that he's at Madame's home now. The fact that we called on her previously so innocently has probably increased his sureness of himself.

W*W*W*W*W

The following day, Artemus hired a nice buggy at a livery near the train station, and drove out to the orchard house. Although the air was cool, the sun was bright; the clouds on the horizon did not indicate that rain was imminent. A man he had not seen before—either here or in New Orleans—was standing on the porch smoking a cigarette as Artie carefully turned the one-seater carriage in the wide area in front of the house. The man stared at him a long moment, then turned and went in through the door.

Madame Garlande Lanier emerged as Artemus stepped down and headed toward the porch. He pulled off his hat. "Good morning, Madame. I hope I am not inconveniencing you with this unannounced visit."

She smiled prettily. "No indeed, M'sieur Gordon. You are… alone?" Her gaze strayed to the obviously empty buggy.

He smiled back, putting some understanding in it. "I am, I fear. James had some business to take care of, leaving me at loose ends. I could think of no better way to spend my extra time than with you. It occurs to me that I have not properly thanked you for the care you gave my friend during his illness. I would like to take you to lunch."

Her surprise was evident. "Lunch?"

"I know it's sudden, and if you have other plans, I quite understand." Artemus paused at the base of the steps, gazing up at her, holding his hat against his chest. "I'm told there is a very fine French restaurant in Santa Clara, and I would deem it an honor if you would go with me to sample their fare."

She glanced back toward the partly open door behind her then smiled again. "M'sieur Gordon, it would be an extreme pleasure. Will you come in a moment while I change? I won't keep you long."

He mounted the stairs and followed her inside. "Oh, by the way, M'sieur, an old friend has come to visit me. Dr. LeDoux. How strange that you mentioned him just the other day. He has been taking a leisurely tour, and I offered him my hospitality for a few days. He is out right now, or I'd call him to greet you."

"Perhaps when we return," Artie replied amiably. "I would like to see him and thank him again as well." Undoubtedly they are aware that we've tracked LeDoux's movements.

She directed him into the parlor, where he sat quietly, pretending to read a newspaper he found there, while listening carefully. The heavy footsteps he heard from the floor above revealed that the doctor was undoubtedly present, along with his large servant. At one point he thought he heard a loud voice, something spoken in anger, but it was quickly silenced.

The big question was whether Denis Shipman was in the house. Artemus suspected that was the case. The charade of registering and staying at the boarding house for a couple of days was just that: a charade. Possibly Shipman expected them to believe he had moved on, but if that was the case, he was too clever by half. He should have left signs to indicate he had gone further, out of the general area. He might believe we are lowering our guard, and my call on Madame might be read as such an indication.

When Madame Lanier returned, Artemus helped her with her cape and then into the carriage. She smiled with apparently genuine happiness, telling him she had not had many opportunities to see the area since her arrival. "I've been so busy, it seems."

"Then I am delighted to be able to offer this respite," he beamed back. "We probably won't be here very much longer. I'm sure Jim will want to call again as well before we depart."

"Is he… well?"

"Oh yes. Just fine. I realize he seemed a bit… off… the day we called. He later told me that he was astonished that he had actually forgotten such a lovely woman."

"How sweet of him to say that. I am certain that the illness was the cause of his memory problems, n'est pas?"

"Undoubtedly," Artie nodded. He continued the casual conversation as he guided the carriage along the road. She appeared to relax more as time went on. Now he had to just steer the talk so as to cause her to reveal certain items inadvertently, as well as to lead him to the opportunity to ask about what occurred when Jim was under hypnosis. He had a sense that she might be open to cooperation if the incentive was strong enough.

W*W*W*W*W

Jim was relieved when he heard the step on the platform. He had left the door to the varnish car slightly ajar to allow in some fresh air on this sunny late fall day, but did not turn around from the desk where he had been reading through some of the telegrams they had received recently.

"How'd it go?" he asked, as he heard the door being pushed open behind him.

"Good afternoon, Mr. West."

Jim leapt up from the chair, shoving it back violently, and started to reach for the small gun that he had laid on the desktop. However, the sight of the pistol in the hand of his visitor halted his moves. He relaxed his stance. "Mr. Shipman. This is a surprise. Not exactly a pleasant one."

Denis Shipman grinned widely. "I'm sure you did not expect me. But I happen to know you are alone, so I thought I'd pay a call, and bring you word from a mutual friend."

Now Jim frowned. "Mutual friend? What…?" A pang of concern regarding his partner tightened in his chest.

"Yes. You remember him, I'm sure… Parsifal."

W*W*W*W*W

The perfection of conversation is not to play a regular sonata, but, like the Aeolian harp, to await the inspiration of the passing breeze.

—Edmund Burke (1729-1797), Irish orator and statesman

"I must say this establishment surpassed my expectations," Artemus spoke jovially as he picked up the bottle and refilled Madame's wine glass. "The food itself is superb, but I did not expect them to also carry the finest of French wines! I think we must order another!"

Madame tittered a little. "It is excellent, is it not?" She picked up her refilled goblet and took a swallow. "Have you been to France, M'sieur Gordon?"

"As a matter of fact, I have. I hope to go again someday. Jim and I were sent there on an assignment several years ago. We took advantage of our time there to see the sights, as well as to sample the excellent cuisine and beverages."

She sighed noisily. "I have not been there yet. I plan to, soon. When… when I have the funds."

Artemus nodded wisely. "It's best to go well prepared, so that one can enjoy fully all the pleasures of magnifique France. Are you expecting to come into some money? An inheritance perhaps?"

"Oh, oui. Oui. An… inheritance. Ma cher tante… she died."

"I'm so sorry."

Madame sighed again. "She was very old. But I will have money. Much money." Again she took a good swallow of the rosé. "I wish…"

"You wish?" Artie prompted as she hesitated.

Her smile was wistful, eyes dreamy. "I would like to travel to France with M'sieur West."

"Ah. You are quite taken with him. Not surprising. Many ladies are."

Her eyes widened. "He has une petite amie?"

"Beaucoup!" Artie laughed. "However, such a lovely lady as you should not have much difficulty in persuading him. He does find himself a fool for a pretty face from time to time. And who knows, you might be the one to persuade James that his bachelor days are over!"

New hope entered her gaze. "I would like that!"

Artemus cocked his head. "I rather thought that Dr. LeDoux was … une ami speciale…"

She looked down at the plate containing her half-eaten gateau for a moment then lifted her eyes. "At one time, he was. Before…"

"Before you met Jim West," Artie supplied, nodding with understanding. "He has that effect on many ladies. But somehow I suspect you have an edge."

Now her eyes narrowed, as she caught the slight shift in his tone. "What do you mean?"

Artie refilled her nearly empty glass. She had consumed enough of the vin to relax her, he felt. Now he wanted to loosen her tongue a bit. "I mean the circumstances under which you met him… ministered to him. I know he is extremely grateful, despite the fact that the rose that poisoned him was in your garden."

"Oh… oh yes." Avoiding his eyes, she drank some more.

"Tell me, was he ever delirious? I mean, his fever… did it loosen his tongue?"

"No… not really. I mean… we talked…" More wine was consumed. Plainly her nerves were on edge now. She did not want to discuss those days when Jim West was a "guest" in her home. "Do you think we should return now?"

"Soon," he replied, sipping his own wine and keeping his gaze fastened on her. "Tell me about the hypnosis session."

"The… what?" For just one instant, Artie thought she was going to bolt. Only the fact that several customers were coming in the front door may have prevented it at that moment.

"Garlande," he said in a gentle tone, "I am of the opinion that you were drawn into this sordide affaire against your will. I believe you genuinely have feelings for Jim. Perhaps you used some poor judgment in that respect. You attempted to cause Jim to fall in love with you, didn't you? With a suggestion while he was in a trance?"

Her fingers played nervously with the stem of the goblet she held. "M'sieur Gordon…"

Artie leaned forward slightly. "Garlande, it is important that I know. You can help me, help Jim… and yourself… by telling me the truth. Dr. LeDoux placed Jim in a hypnotic trance, after drugging him with the rose thorn, didn't he? I know that no such poisoned rose is known by botanists."

Her dark eyes were wide. "I did not wish…"

"I know that. You were forced to comply, I'm sure. A lady like yourself… and you did not, do not, want to see Jim West harmed. But it's going to come to that, isn't it? Denis Shipman has plans to take revenge on both of us, and you are being compelled to assist him. N'est-ce pas?"

Whether or not that was the actual situation, perhaps abetted by the fairly large amount of the wine she had consumed, Madame chose to seize on it. "Oui, oui! M'sieur, I had no choice! They—they would have killed me!"

Artie nodded soberly. "Je comprends très bien. There is a way out of it, Garlande. You must tell me the truth. Dr. LeDoux mesmerized Jim and caused him to write the letter to the attorney in Chicago. Oui?"

"Oui." Her voice was very low, and her attention was on the wine glass.

"He also inserted post-hypnotic suggestions by which Jim later sent a telegram, and eventually came back to full consciousness with no memory at all of what had happened to him in New Orleans."

"Oui."

"Then you took advantage of the trance to plant the idea that Jim was to fall in love with you. I'm rather surprised Dr. LeDoux assented."

Her eyes shot up. "Rousset did not know! He went out to purchase some paper and ink. I… I had watched him, listened to him talk to James. I thought I could… I did not do it well."

Artie smiled softly, sympathetically. "Yes. He was quite entranced in your presence, perhaps even too much so, but as soon as we departed, he barely remembered you. That is not the way to get a man, Madame."

"I know," she sighed. "But I thought… I thought I might not have another chance."

"What I need to know, Madame, and this is most urgent, is whether another suggestion was planted in Jim's mind. I know Denis Shipman was not present, but did Dr. LeDoux have instructions from him?"

"Oui. A letter. I had never met M'sieur Shipman before he came to my house here. But Rousset… he knew M'sieur Shipman from long ago. I do not know the circumstances. Rousset était mon ami. For a very long time, we have known each other. From childhood, in the bayous."

"I see. Please, Garlande. I must know. It may mean the difference in saving Jim's life… not to mention mine. What was implanted in Jim's consciousness? Something for Shipman to use?"

"Oui. M'sieur Gordon, will I be punished?"

"I'm afraid so, ma chère Madame. But the more you help me now, the lighter that punishment will be. Many others besides Jim and I know about this situation, and your involvement. So killing us won't stop it, will only make it worse. Now tell me, what did LeDoux do?"

A long quiet moment elapsed as she stared at the table again, before she finally lifted her dark eyes. "When a certain word is spoken, James will be unable to disobey the one who said it."

"What word? Tell me! Please!"

"Parsifal."

W*W*W*W*W

"Jim! Are you here!"

Artemus Gordon yelled loudly as he pushed the door to the varnish car open.

"Jim!"

As silence greeted him, he hurried through the galley to the doors of the compartments, opening first Jim's, and then his own, and finally the guest quarters. All were empty. He went on into the next car, but did not experience any relief when he found Jim's shiny black horse in the stall alongside that of his own chestnut. He quickly went to the closed in area that was the quarters of the crew when they were onboard, and rapped sharply on the door.

"Orrin! Kelly! You in there?"

After a moment the door opened and the stocky Kelly peered at him through sleepy eyes. "Orrin went into town with Gabe. Need somethin', Mr. Gordon?"

"Where's Mr. West?"

The query seemed to surprise the fireman. "Well, he went with that fellow from the sheriff's office."

"What fellow? Without his horse?"

Kelly scrubbed his already mussed hair. "Fellow brought a buggy. Think he said his name was Adams."

The information did nothing to ease Artemus Gordon's mind. "Did you talk to him? This Adams, I mean."

"No, not really. Mr. West came back here and told me where he was going." Kelly now consulted the nickel-plated watch he pulled from his pocket. "Little over an hour ago. Funny, I thought he said he was going to be meeting you. Guess I misunderstood."

"Did you see the sheriff? What did he look like?"

"Just saw him through the open car door, sittin' in the buggy. Looked to be a heavy-set fellow."

"Bearded?"

"No… no beard, no mustache. Is something wrong, Mr. Gordon?"

"How did Mr. West seem?"

"Seem? Okay, I guess. I didn't notice anything. What's happened?" Kelly was coming fully awake now.

"I'm not sure, but I'm afraid Mr. West is in big trouble. Do me a favor, Kelly. Saddle my horse while I change clothes."

W*W*W*W*W

He stared around, baffled. How did this happen? The last he remembered was sitting in the varnish car, sorting through the copies of the telegraph messages as he awaited Artie's return from his "date" with Madame Lanier. Now he found himself bound to a chair in the middle of a dank basement room. At least he assumed it was a basement. The pale light that crept in through a dirty window at the top of one wall appeared to reveal stone and dirt walls. A dank odor permeated the room.

He was in his shirtsleeves, thus had no access to the hidden knife always kept in the back of his coat… even if he could reach it. Each of his wrists was securely tied with rawhide thongs to the arms of the very sturdy-appearing chair. The knife in his boot toe was similarly useless because each ankle was secured to the legs of the chair. A wide belt-like strap encircled his chest to hold him against the chair itself.

It had happened. That was the answer. What Artemus had feared had come to pass. Someone used a signal that had been buried in his brain during the hypnotic trance to cause him to somehow be brought to… wherever this was. Why can't I even remember who that someone was?

That answer was also evident. He had been instructed to forget a good portion of his life previously; why not a few minutes, the minutes that would reveal who had accosted him? Perhaps the answer was not that difficult to discern. Denis Shipman. He had eluded them from Chicago to San Francisco to Santa Clara. Obversely, chances were good that every movement they had made since their arrival in California had been watched. Shipman had waited for and taken advantage of the first time either man was alone.

I should have been more alert! Jim shook his head in frustration. He had felt relatively safe in the train, sitting in the middle of the railroad yards. People were there at all hours, workers as well as passengers coming and going. He had heard a train pull in from the north… then what? He concentrated, remembering the sensations of sitting at the telegraph desk; he had opened the door behind him a few inches to allow some fresh air…

Someone… I remember someone coming onto the platform… I thought it was Artie… Obviously not. Had to have been Denis Shipman. Yes. I think I remember now… Turning, surprised. Then what? That's where he hit the brick wall. As if his life had completely stopped at that instant, only to revive a few minutes ago in this dark and dank cellar.

Why am I still alive, and where is Artie? Had Artemus walked into a similar trap when he called on Madame Lanier? If that was the case, why was he not a prisoner here also? Jim breathed a silent prayer that the answer to that question was the one he hoped for: that Artie was still free. That might also explain why he himself was still breathing. Shipman would want to make sure he had both agents in hand. He would hold Jim West as a hostage to gain control over Artemus Gordon.

The frightening thought was that Shipman could control him. Not just physically, but mentally. Whatever he had done to wipe out the memories of leaving the train and being brought here could probably be used again. He could force me to do something to trap Artie! Jim closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. No. Now that I'm aware…

Artie had said that because he was now cognizant of the instructions placed in his head regarding Garlande Lanier, he should be able to resist it. No opportunity had arisen to test that theory. But I have to do it. I have to keep complete control over my senses, my thoughts. He knew that was going to be a difficult task. He did not know what the "magic word" was, or who might say it. Was Shipman the only one who could use it? The word had to be one that was not commonly heard.

He twisted his wrists again, pulling at the strong bonds. The leather might stretch eventually, but how much time did he have? He was becoming aware of sounds above him, footsteps mostly. He could not discern how many persons were making those noises, but definitely more than one. Quite possibly the giant Chon was among them. One certain thing to avoid was the grasp of Chon. He had experienced Voltaire's grip, and suspected Chon could be even stronger.

One more time, in pure desperation, Jim strained against the straps securing his wrists… and the right one appeared to give slightly! Instantly he concentrated his strength on his right arm, tugging with all his might. He was unsure if the knot was giving, or the strap itself was stretching, but it was loosening. Perspiration began to form on his brow in the coolness of the cellar, caused partially by the exertion but also from the tension of knowing that if he was going to get free, it had to be before someone came to check on him. He was no longer hearing the sounds of movement above him, but was unsure what that meant; it could only be that the inhabitants had moved to another room.

W*W*W*W*W

Artemus rode straight to the sheriff's office, only to learn that Sheriff Adams was absent. He had gone to his home for the midday meal and had not returned yet. A deputy whom Artemus had met previously gave him the Adams' home address when Artie assured him it was a matter of dire importance. At a fast gallop, he reached the sprawling home in just under half an hour.

Sheriff Adams greeted him warmly, introduced him to his wife and the six of his eight children who were at home, then led him into his home office, where Artemus briskly explained what had occurred. "From the description of the man Jim went off with, it was Shipman."

Adams frowned deeply. "And this hypnosis stuff… it would cause West to trust this fellow?"

"I'm afraid so. I don't know what Shipman has planned now, but I'm fairly certain Jim would have been taken to Madame Lanier's home. I took her back to her house after our meeting, but I did not see anything or anyone. I was not looking for anything." Artie did not know whether to blame himself or be grateful that he had not gone inside with Garlande. If he had, he might have been captured as well. Or he could have been in a position to help his partner.

"So what do you want to do, Mr. Gordon? I don't expect you want me to get up a posse to storm the place."

"No, no," Artie concurred. "I'm sure Shipman would kill Jim before we could get to him. It could be I'm going to hear from Shipman, letting me know he has Jim as hostage and perhaps demanding I either surrender to him or leave the area. But until and if that occurs, I think the best plan is cautious action. The orchards surrounding the house provide pretty good cover to a certain extent, but the bare trees limit how close we could get."

"So?"

"So I think your men should surround the property, but from a great distance to begin with. I'll go in and try to find Jim."

"By yourself?"

"By myself. I considered attempting to infiltrate in disguise, but I'm not sure I can get past Shipman again. He will be very wary this time. So unless I hear some demand from Shipman in the meantime, I will wait until tonight and go in then. I have left word at our train where to find me if anything arrives there in the form of a message or demand. I hope you can have your men in place by dark."

The sheriff rose from his chair and extended his hand. "They'll be in place, Mr. Gordon. I wish you the best of luck. I know you and Mr. West have been in some bad spots in your career. This one seems pretty tight, all right."

Artie could only nod. "Jim would come in after me. I can do no less for my partner."

W*W*W*W*W

Jim was both relieved and surprised when no one appeared in the cellar as he worked to release himself. His right wrist was badly abraded by the time the leather loosened enough to pull his hand free, but he did not worry about the wound. A bleeding wrist was the least of his problems. He was able to pick the knot on his left wrist. A bigger problem, however, was working the strap around his chest to the front so he could undo the buckle. That feat consumed more time than he would have wanted; however, still no one appeared, and he was then able to loosen his legs.

He had continued to periodically hear sounds of movement above him, so he knew he was not alone on the premises. It sounded as though furniture or something was being moved. He would have thought that Shipman at least would come to this cellar prison to do some gloating, if nothing else. However, one thing Jim had come to realize was that the room had no door, only the small high window, through which he could discern that the day was slowly fading. No one was worrying about him escaping.

Not until he had freed himself from the chair and stood up to flex his stiff muscles did he realize where the opening was. In the ceiling! He could see a ladder fastened flat against the wooden ceiling, and beyond it, the outline of a trapdoor. Two questions now remained: could he open that door from below, and if he could do that successfully, could he enter whatever room was above without detection?

Moving the chair to place it under the ladder, Jim climbed up onto the seat and was able to reach the ladder. It was, he quickly realized, attached with a hinge to the wooden ceiling, and held in place by a hook and eye. After standing still for a long moment and deciding no one was in the room above him, he unfastened the hook and allowed the ladder to lower. The legs reached the floor where it stood at an angle that would allow fairly easy ascent and descent.

Jim climbed the ladder and put the palms of his hand against the bottom of the trapdoor, then pushed. For one instant his heart sank, as it appeared the door was securely fastened on the other side. He might be able to use the putty in his boot heels to loosen the door, but that would make a lot of noise. Nonetheless, he continued to push and finally felt the panel give.

Releasing a breath he had not been aware of holding, he pushed harder, and slowly lifted the trapdoor. When no outcry was raised, Jim continued to heft the door, and finally climbed into a dim room that appeared to be used for storage. A number of wooden crates were stacked up against one wall, as well as a couple of chairs, and a table that was on end. He frowned as he looked about. Why had people been in this room so often? Were they bringing in the crates, or removing some?

Although aware that he should probably make a quick escape through one of the room's two windows, Jim's curiosity got the better of him and he went to the stack of crates. The top one had already been opened, so that lifting the top off was easy. The cache of rifles inside was not exactly a surprise. This is where Shipman is hiding his current supplies. Although he could not immediately spot any printing on the outside of the crates, these Spencer carbines were identical to those stolen from Benicia.

Further investigation revealed ammunition for the rifles in another box. Jim loaded one of the guns, then went to the window and peered out into the growing gloom of the November evening. The view was of the rear of the big house, the barn and stables. At the moment, no person was in sight, although several horses were in the corral.

The window lifted quietly in its frame. Jim slipped out, dropped to the ground, and immediately crawled behind some bushes that were growing against the house. He hunkered down there for several minutes, grasping the rifle while listening and watching in the growing gloom. Glancing up, he saw light glowing in other windows of the house, toward what he judged was the front.

He was studying the area, in particular looking for the gate to the corral and judging the distances, when he heard a peculiar sound. After a moment, the sound came again, the whistle of a cardinal, a bird not native to California. Jim bit back a smile as he rose into a crouch, took one more look around, and then raced toward the big barn.

He circled around the other side, and ducked into the deeper shadows alongside an attached shed. "Where are you?" he whispered.

"Over here."

The soft reply came from further into the orchard that lay beyond the barn. Jim sprinted in that direction, stopping only when a hand reached out to grasp his arm. "James, my boy! Where the hell have you been?"

Jim patted that hand briefly, then dropped to his haunches beside his partner. "Inside. Don't ask me how I got there, because I don't know."

Artie nodded. "Shipman?"

"I think so. Last I remembered was being in the car. I heard a sound behind me and thought you were returning… that's all."

"Did he hit you?"

"No, I don't think so. It must have been…"

Artie was nodding. "Madame told me that LeDoux implanted a word in your mind, and that if anyone spoke that word to you, you would be unable to disobey any commands."

Jim let out a breath. "That's not good. Are you here alone?"

"For the moment. Adams will have his men surrounding the entire place by full dark. I thought we'd have to go in and get you. How'd you escape?"

"That's not important at the moment. What is important is that Shipman and LeDoux are probably in the house."

"The posse is going to have this place sealed up. No one can escape."

"Artie, I saw a half dozen crates of rifles in there, and hundreds of rounds of ammunition. I don't know how many men Shipman has with him, but just a few could hold off an army!"

Artie nodded soberly. "And people will be hurt."

Jim exhaled. "I don't know how long before they discover I got away. I need to get back in there…"

"Oh, no you don't! Not alone!"

"Artie, one of us has to get back to Adams and tell him what's going on. I'll go back to the room where I saw the rifles and make them unusable."

"Jim, if Shipman comes in, he could say… the word…"

"What is the word, Artie?"

"Jim…"

"You said I could combat Garlande's… spell… over me because I knew about it. If I know the word…"

"Yeah. Okay. I'd rather try to hypnotize you and try to remove its effects but…"

"We don't have time. I'm ready. Just say it. And if I fall under your spell, at least I know I'm in good hands."

Artie grinned then. "Maybe I should keep it secret and use it when I want you to wash the dishes!"

"Artie…"

"Okay, okay. Ready?" In the fading light he saw the concentration on Jim's face. "I'm going to spell it first. P-A-R-S-I-F-A-L." Jim listened tensely but did not appear to react. "Now, here it is: Parsifal." For just one instant, as Jim closed his eyes, Artemus thought the word had had its intended effect. He opened his mouth to repeat the word, as Madame had told him that she believed saying it the second time removed the "spell."

However, Jim opened his eyes. "I think I'm still here."

Artie grinned. "I think you are, too." He sobered. "Jim, it is not a good idea for you to go in by yourself!"

"I have to, Artie. We can't set up the sheriff's posse for a full-scale battle. I haven't heard any commotion from the house, so I'd say my escape hasn't been discovered. I was actually somewhat surprised that Shipman didn't visit me in the cellar where I was tied up. He must have told me to wake up in a certain amount of time, or else I came out of it naturally, because I just suddenly found myself there alone. In any case, get going. Make sure the posse puts a tight ring about the place, but they should stay back as long as possible."

"All right, all right. Listen, why don't you take my pistol and give me the rifle. You'll be able to maneuver better."

"Good idea. Thanks."

They exchanged weapons and without another word, Jim turned and dashed back toward the house, stuffing the pistol into his waistband. Once again he crouched under the window and listened, and as before, heard nothing. Might be suppertime, he mused. If that was the case, everyone could be in the dining room, which he suspected was at the front of the house, across the foyer from the parlor. He then reached up to grasp the sill of the open window, and hoisted himself in.

Artemus waited until he saw his partner vanish through the window, then turned and sprinted back through the orchard. I don't like this at all, and I'd better get back here pronto!

In the darkening room, Jim quickly went to the box he had opened previously. One by one, he picked up the Spencer lever-action rifles and jerked the lever back hard enough to damage the mechanism. It was slow and tedious work, but he persisted, and was finishing the second of the half dozen crates when he heard sounds of approaching footsteps outside the door.

Quickly closing the crate, he lifted his pistol out of his belt, and ducked behind the stack of crates as they sat against the wall, providing him fairly decent shelter from anyone entering. The latch on the door moved, then the door opened, a lamp held high to illuminate the room. Jim saw Denis Shipman, Dr. Rousset LeDoux and two other men enter. One of the men stepped over to lift the trapdoor.

Jim held his breath and waited. When all four were safely down, he would close the door and shove a couple of the crates of rifles over it. At the very least, if all four did not descend, he could surprise whoever remained and knock them down long enough to escape through the window again.

Matters did not work out as he hoped, however. Instead of descending the ladder, Shipman leaned in, lowering the lamp. He immediately straightened, fury on his countenance. "He's gone!"

"How can that be?" LeDoux asked, obviously stunned.

"The window!" One of the two accompanying men spotted the opening.

"Get out there and find him!" Shipman commanded. "Hurry! He has to be on foot."

Both men climbed out of the window, and as they did so, Madame Lanier and Chon entered the storeroom, perhaps drawn by the raised voices. "What happened?" Madame inquired.

"West escaped!" Shipman snarled. "LeDoux, you told me that he would not recover…"

The doctor shook his head. "I don't understand. Did you say the word Parsifal after he was tied up?"

Jim did not have much time to prepare for hearing the code word, but the instant he realized LeDoux might say it aloud, he steeled himself, closing his mind to it, and found he was still feeling and thinking normally as the conversation continued.

"I don't know," Shipman muttered. "Doesn't matter now. We've got to get him back. Everything depends on it! We…" He had started pacing the room, still holding the lamp. Abruptly he halted, staring directly at Jim's hiding place. "There he is! LeDoux, your gun!"

The doctor immediately produced a small pistol from inside his coat. "West, come out. We see you. Parsifal! Come out of there and drop the gun!"

Again, Jim was prepared, and found it somewhat easier to disregard the word. But he straightened and stepped out, keeping his face passive. He allowed his arm to fall to his side, continuing to hold the pistol loosely, staring as blankly as he could at the others, not missing the glee on Shipman's face or the horror on that of Madame Lanier, as she obviously believed he was under LeDoux's control.

"Well, well," Shipman gloated. "Don't know what you were up to, West. You were a fool to stay."

"Perhaps he did not break entirely free of the spell," LeDoux ventured thoughtfully. "Perhaps just enough for his instincts to escape to activate… then could not leave without instructions. This will require further research!"

"On another man at another time," Shipman retorted. "As soon as I have Gordon in hand—and I will when he comes after his partner—they will both die, slowly and painfully." He turned as Madame Lanier gasped aloud. "That offends you, Garlande?"

"It's only…" Madame hesitated. "No, M'sieur. I understand."

"You'd better," Shipman growled. "It's what you were told from the beginning, what you were paid for!"

"Yes, M'sieur," Garlande Lanier murmured unhappily.

"Denis!" LeDoux spoke sharply. "West isn't under the spell!"

"What?"

Jim did not know what the doctor had seen to make that judgment as he thought he had been holding himself very still and placid, but he knew he had to act. LeDoux brought his own pistol up, pointing it directly at Jim's head, pulling the hammer back. Jim stepped quickly to one side, raised his own gun and fired. LeDoux pulled the trigger, but as he was hit in the chest at almost the same moment, his shot went wide, into the wall behind Jim.

Madame Lanier screamed, Denis Shipman began to shout curses, going for the gun that had fallen from LeDoux hand when he fell, while the giant Chon roared in rage and grief. Jim moved the instant after he had fired toward LeDoux, diving toward the still open window. He angled his body so that the bushes out there broke his fall. Coming to his feet he sprinted toward the corral, aware of the shouts behind him as well as some from the two men who had been sent out to search.

Are they the only extra men on the premises right now? Jim did not know. What he did know was that he needed to get to one of the horses in the corral. He might be able to handle the two men who had been in the house, but if half a dozen more showed up, that would be trouble. He had just reached the corral and was heading for the gate, which he realized was on the far end, when one of the two men from the house rounded the barn, gun drawn, heading right toward him.

Jim ducked as the gun blazed in his direction, heard the slug whistle over his head. He fired back once, conscious that he had only four shots left. He had to conserve them. His own shot had missed the man coming around the barn, but caused him to dive back for shelter behind the building. Now where's the other one?

That question was answered just as Jim reached the gate and started to unfasten the latch. The second man came out of the barn, into the corral, his gun blazing. Fortunately his shots missed, two of them slamming into the wood of the fence. The startled horses played in Jim's favor as they began a panicky dash around the enclosure. However, that also was going to make it more difficult for him to grab one to mount. He knew that as soon as he opened the gate, they were going to dash for the safety of the open spaces.

It was at that time that Jim heard commotion from the direction of the house. First off, Shipman was yelling out the window to the two men to kill Jim West. That made Jim believe that those were indeed the only two men available on the property at that time. The greatest noise, however, was emanating from the huge man who was now coming around the house, obviously having exited elsewhere, face dark with rage as he screamed epithets and threats, heading straight for Jim West.

Artemus Gordon picked up his pace when he heard the first faint gunshot, which he guessed came from inside the house. He had been reveling in his good fortune that he had encountered a deputy sheriff well inside the lines where Adams was setting up his men. This deputy had been sent forward to reconnoiter the area, so Artie was able to tell him what was happening and send him back to the sheriff with a request to start moving his men toward the house.

Upon hearing the succeeding shots, which were definitely from outside the house, Artie started running as fast as he could run. He knew his partner had to be out of the house now, and under fire. All Artemus Gordon knew was that Jim likely needed help. He came in sight of the barn, and spotted a man emerging from the structure's rear door, apparently intent on circling around toward the corral, which gave Artie an indication where Jim was.

Artie halted, dropping to one knee and bringing his rifle up as he took a deep breath to steady himself. One shot was all he needed. The man spun, dropping his gun, and fell to the ground. Artemus immediately came to his feet and continued on. He rounded the barn warily, in time to see his partner firing his pistol futilely into the body of the massive man, Chon, who was charging toward him, roaring, arms extended. Beyond, at the window of the house, Artie saw Denis Shipman with a gun he was pointing toward Jim.

After an instant of indecision, Artie stopped, raised his gun and fired toward Shipman. With satisfaction he saw the arms dealer stagger back into the room, hit. He then turned back toward his partner, who had obviously emptied his gun to no avail as the big man was still on his feet. Jim took a swipe at Chon with the gun and seemed to try to sidestep the charge. However, his boot struck a slippery spot on the ground leftover from the recent rains, and he staggered. The misstep was just enough to give Chon a chance to grab Jim's arm, jerking him back and into a smothering, bone-crushing embrace. Jim must have shot LeDoux, and Chon is after vengeance!

Hearing a sound behind him, Artie spun to find another man who was gaping at the spectacle of the giant man and his prey. "Drop your weapon," Artie commanded. Instead of obeying, the man turned and ran into the orchard. He would, Artie knew, encounter the sheriff's posse and be stopped.

"Artie! Artie!" Jim's voice was faint and smothered, but Artemus heard it above Chon's continuing screams. "Shoot! Shoot! For God's sake, shoot!"

Artie stepped out behind the fracas. He knew he had the wrong weapon in hand. If he shot Chon with the powerful carbine at this close range, the bullet could pierce the big man's body and strike Jim! The thought crossed his mind to use the rifle as a club, but instantly realized that he could break the gun, and he would have nothing.

I have to do it. I have to do it! He'll crush Jim…

He didn't even have the option of running a distance away. Jim was helpless in the monstrous man's embrace. Chon was so large, Artie could not even see his much smaller partner. All he could do was move in behind Chon, a dozen yards away. He lifted the rifle and tried to sight on Chon's head, but it was bobbing up and down too much as Chon screamed his desire for vengeance.

Taking a breath, Artie lifted the rifle, aimed where he thought Chon's heart should be… and fired. For a long moment, nothing seemed to happen. The world froze, with a sudden silence, as Chon ceased his uproar. He then slowly tipped over, burying Jim West under him.

Artie ran forward, dropping the rifle. He grabbed Chon's shoulder. The stillness convinced Artie that the big man was dead, but he was also now a dead weight. Jim lay still beneath him. Artie tugged on Chon and could not budge the massive man. He then became aware of shouts behind him, and looked around to see the men of the sheriff's posse emerging from the orchard.

"Help me!" Artie yelled. "Help!"

Several of the men rushed forward to assist in dragging the huge man off Jim West. For one horrible moment, Artie stared at the bloody body of his friend, the pale face and closed eyes, and he knew the worst had happened. He started to reach for Jim's wrist to try for a pulse, when his partner opened his eyes, as his chest heaved in a great breath—after which he winced and gasped in pain.

"Jim!" Artie seized his partner around the shoulders and lifted him slightly, cradling his body. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I couldn't do anything else!"

Jim lifted a hand and pressed it against his upper chest, a wan smile touching his lips. "It's okay, Artie. It's okay. The blood is mostly… Chon's."

"It didn't strike you?" Artie asked, astonished.

"Yeah, right here." Jim pushed the palm of his hand against his own flesh. "I can feel it… just under the skin…. You did right, pal." His eyes closed and he lapsed into unconsciousness, head sagging against Artie's arm.

Artemus Gordon closed his own eyes a moment, breathing a prayer of thanksgiving. John Hicks Adams was there then, giving orders to his men, as Madame Lanier dashed out of the house. She knelt by Jim and told them that Shipman was wounded, but alive.

"I took his gun, M'sieur."

"We picked up a half dozen men with two wagons coming down the lane," Adams reported as Artie struggled to his feet, his unconscious partner in his arms. "One had several crates of rifles, the other was empty. I think we can use it to take your partner to the doctor."

"They were coming for the guns that are in the house," Madame informed him. "There are more hidden in the barn. Please take them away. All of them!"

The empty wagon was brought around, some hay from the barn spread in the bed, and Jim placed in it. One of the deputies was the brother of a doctor whose home was within a few miles, and he offered to take the injured man there. Artemus wanted to go along with his partner, but knew he needed to be at the scene to assist in clearing up matters. Garlande Lanier offered to accompany the injured man, and gave her word that she would remain at the doctor's home until Artemus came to arrest her. After a moment's hesitation, Artie agreed.

W*W*W*W*W

Regard not dreams, since they are but the images of our hopes and fears.

—Cato (Marcus Porcius Cato, "The Elder; aka Cato the Censor; 234-149 BC), Roman patriot and statesman

Jim was in bed, propped against pillows, his chest heavily wrapped, including a pad over the shallow wound caused by the rifle bullet, when Artemus entered the room a few hours later. Madame Lanier was sitting beside the bed and she rose as Artie came in.

"He is doing well, M'sieur Gordon." A small, sad smile touched her pretty mouth. "He still does not remember me."

"I've tried," Jim said. "I even offered to allow Madame to attempt to hypnotize me to bring the memories back. I cannot believe I could have forgotten such a lovely lady."

She touched his hand as it rested on the blanket. "Perhaps it is for the best, James. I will say it again, I am very sorry for the part I played in all this. I allowed Rousset to influence me. And I'm afraid I was very greedy. M'sieur Shipman was to pay us much money."

"Garlande," Artie said softly, "a sheriff's deputy is waiting for you. But don't worry. We will take into account the assistance you have given."

Another sad, longing smile was cast Jim's way before she went out through the door. Artie turned toward the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore as hell."

Artie chuckled. "The doctor said you don't have any broken ribs, just one cracked and lots of deep bruises. Not to mention the bullet I put into you."

"I thought sure I was dead, Artie. Not from your shot. Chon was… crushing me. I couldn't breathe."

"I know. And all I had was the rifle." Artie grimaced with the memory of his indecision and fear.

"Well, I agreed to the exchange, don't forget. What about Shipman?"

"He's in custody. Wounded, but not badly. He'll be okay to travel in a couple of days, and so will you. Back to Chicago and trial—with our testimony intact. We have even more evidence, as the guns are easily identifiable as those stolen from Benicia."

"And perhaps a few more charges against him." Jim winced as he tried to shift position on the pillows, waving Artie's assistance away. "I'm all right. Artie…"

"Yeah?"

"Did it occur to you how much this… was like my dream?"

Artie kept his expression blank. "Your dream?" He had hoped Jim would not make the connection, but should have known better.

"The one I told you about—where you killed me."

Artie shook his head. "No, not like it at all. I didn't kill you." He grinned then held out one hand dramatically, the other pressed to his breast. "'Dreams are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy; which is as thin of substance as the air, and more inconstant than the wind.' Shakespeare… Romeo and Juliet, act one, scene four."

Jim sighed. "But everything else… I know I yelled at you to shoot. Chon was breathing in my face and yelling that I had to die."

"Poor creature," Artie murmured. "Garlande told me that you shot LeDoux. The doctor was Chon's life. LeDoux did not do him a favor by allowing him to become attached like that."

Jim knew his partner was diverting the subject. "In any case, he did. And he tried to kill me. And you came close to killing me… just like in my dream."

Artie moved to perch on the edge of the bed. "Jim, stop thinking about it. It's coincidence. For all we know, LeDoux implanted it." It was not like his partner to dwell on something like this.

Jim cocked his head. "He knew he was going to be killed and that Chon would come after me, forcing you to shoot Chon?"

Now Artie folded his arms across his chest. "Are you going to claim you are now a psychic, a seer of the future?"

Jim sighed again, more deeply, and winced at the pang it caused in his chest. "I don't know what to think Artie. I've never had a dream like that before—one that came true. At least not one I can remember."

"But it didn't come true, James. You are alive. I did not kill you."

Jim cocked an eyebrow. "Not for lack of trying."

Now Artie sighed, then chuckled, shaking his head as he got to his feet again. "All right, Jim. The doctor says you need to stay in bed at least twenty-four hours. He'd like you to stay longer but I explained…"

"I don't need twenty-four hours."

"But you're going to do it. Even if I have to tie you down. Or maybe I'll surprise you with the other word Garlande told me would make you submissive to my orders."

Jim's alarm showed. "Another… what is it?"

Artie wagged a finger. "That would be telling. I'll save it for when I need you to do me a favor."

Jim grinned. "You don't need magic words for that, pal." He knew Artie was not serious about knowing another "code word."

Artie reached over and patted his friend's shoulder. "I know. Now you rest. I'll be back later to let you know what's going on. By the way, Mrs. Adams wants us to have supper with their family before we leave, and Sheriff Adams assures me that she is an excellent cook."

"I wouldn't want to cause you to miss a good meal, Artie."

"Good. I wouldn't want to have to use the magic word, either. Get some rest, James. All is well."

"For now," Jim replied softly, his eyes meeting his partner's. They knew that trouble followed them, sought them out.

"Yeah," Artie responded. "For now. Rest well, my friend."

Jim stared at the closed door for a while. The memories of his encounter with the giant Chon were vivid, as were those of his dream. Coincidence? Perhaps.

Perhaps.

The End

"John Hicks Adams" was an historical character, sheriff of Santa Clara County, California, from 1872 to 1876. Born in Illinois, his father was a sheriff, and John Hicks a deputy there. Married in 1841, he and the former Mathilda Pomeroy eventually had 8 children. Adams was a Mexican War veteran, and also fought Indians in the Southwest. In 1849 he caught gold fever, went prospecting in California for 3 years, returned home, but came back a year later with his family. He lived in various places in central California finally settling in Gilroy. He was County Supervisor for Gilroy and Almaden Townships beginning in 1861, and became sheriff of Santa Clara County for several years, retired from the position, but ran again in 1871 and 1873, winning both terms. In 1875 he lost the election. In 1878, Adams and ex-County Clerk Cornelius Finley moved to Arizona's Davidson Canyon to mine gold. They were appointed Deputy United States Marshals for the Arizona Territory, and a short while later were ambushed and murdered by Mexican bandits.