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Mistaken Identity
A Maverick story
By Deana
Disclaimer: I don't own Bart or the other Maverick boys!

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Bart Maverick felt like he was being watched.

Glancing this way and that, he walked in the dark towards one of Denver's hotels, where Bret and Beau currently were. They'd all been playing poker and as far as he knew, all three of them had made some good money. It was late; Bret and Beau's games had already ended but his had continued longer. He was tired but he didn't mind; the longer the game went on, the higher the stakes were. He had walked away the winner with five thousand dollars in his pocket.

The feeling that he was being watched grew and Bart drew his gun, but before he could raise it, an arm suddenly wrapped itself around his neck and a cloth was firmly pressed over his mouth and nose. A sickly scent invaded Bart's senses, and he didn't have time to hold his breath before he inhaled it. His brain immediately spun and he lost consciousness before he had time to form a single thought.

Bart's attacker kept the cloth over his face as he pulled Bart into an alley with help from another man. They laid him on the ground and held the cloth to his face as they checked to make sure that Bart was truly unconscious and not faking. Once they were confident, one of the men removed the cloth, rolled it up, and stuck it into a pocket before they both picked Bart up and carried him away.

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Bret yawned as he left his hotel room the next morning. He could've slept longer, but he was dying to know if Bart had won his poker game last night, plus he was starving. He headed to his brother's room and knocked on the door. When he didn't hear 'come in', he knocked again. "Bart?" he called.

No answer.

Turning, Bret headed for Beau's room next, knocking and hearing his cousin reply. Walking in, he expected to find his brother in there, but only saw Beau.

"Well, good morning, Bret," said Beau, standing in front of his mirror and combing his hair.

"Mornin'," Bret answered. "Have you seen Bart?"

"Not yet this morning, why?"

"He didn't answer when I knocked on his door," Bret told him.

Beau turned to look at him. "Maybe he's still asleep."

Bret shook his head. Bart wasn't a heavy sleeper; the knocking would've woken him. "Did you see him last night after the game?"

Beau shook his head. "No."

Without another word, Bret left the room and knocked on his brother's door again. Still not getting an answer, he headed down the stairs and looked in the dining room. Bart wasn't there either, so he went to the front desk and asked the clerk to come up with their spare key to Bart's room. Knowing that the Mavericks were brothers, the clerk obeyed and followed.

Beau was coming out of his room once Bret returned, and they both watched as the clerk opened the door. Walking inside, they weren't surprised to find Bart not there, but they were surprised to find that the bed had not been slept in.

Bret didn't even need to search the room; there was no sign of a struggle, and Bret could see that his brother's belongings were still there. He and Beau headed downstairs and to the saloon, hoping to find him there still playing.

They were disappointed.

"He left, all right," the bartender told him. "About midnight, after he won."

Bret and Beau looked at each other.

"Did you hear of anything happening after that?" Bret asked. "A fight, a shootout, an accident, anything?"

The man shook his head. "Nope, nothin' at all."

Bret sighed. This didn't make sense. He looked at Beau. "The livery stable."

Beau nodded. If Bart's horse was gone, that would at least provide them with a clue. They quickly headed there, and found what they were dreading; Bart's horse was still there.

"Where could he be?" Beau asked.

Bret sighed. "Someone grabbed him."

"To rob him?" said Beau.

"Probably," said Bret. He looked around nervously. "We should check the alleys."

Beau nodded. Bart could be lying unconscious somewhere…or worse.

They quickly split up and checked all of the alleys in town, coming up with nothing. They both met up at the one across from the hotel, and found their first clue: Bart's gun.

Bret picked it up. He opened the chamber to see that it had not been fired.

"You're right," said Beau. "Someone grabbed him. But why did they take him and not just his money?"

Bret shook his head with a sigh. "I wish I knew."

Their next trip was to the sheriff's office, where they found out that the town currently didn't have a sheriff…for the next week, while he was transporting a prisoner.

"What do we do now?" Beau exclaimed, exasperated. "We have no idea who took Bart or where to look!"

Bret had no answer for him.

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Waking up was usually not so hard. Normally, a person became consciously aware of his surroundings, opened their eyes, and voila, they were awake. It was not normal for a person to feel like their limbs were as heavy as lead, or for their eyes to feel glued shut, or for their head to feel so full of cotton that they couldn't put a single thought together. Bart's mouth felt as dry as the desert and his tongue felt thick. There was a burning sensation inside his nose and throat, and his head was throbbing mercilessly. He could hear someone breathing heavily, and it took a moment for Bart to realize that the sound was coming from himself. As he became more aware, he realized that his chest was aching and felt like someone was sitting on it; he couldn't take a full breath, and it was frightening. Suddenly, he became aware of voices.

"You idiots!" he heard. "How much did you use?"

"The whole bottle," said another voice. "We just poured it all onto the cloth."

"How long did you hold it over his face?"

"Uh…I dunno, thirty seconds?"

"Thirty?! Five seconds was enough!"

Bart could hardly understand what he was hearing. The voices were making his headache worse, and he groaned.

"He's waking up!" one of the voices said.

"It's about time," the angry voice answered. "Hey Maverick."

Bart couldn't open his eyes. He just lay there wherever it was he was lying…he couldn't even tell. His whole body felt numb and he suddenly felt like he was floating. He still couldn't breathe properly; finding it impossible to catch his breath.

The voice said something else to him, but it sounded like it was underwater. Bart lost consciousness again without ever opening his eyes.

The three men stared at Bart as he lay there on the floor. His face was extremely pale and he was completely motionless.

One of the men turned to look at the other two. "If he dies before I have a chance to take my revenge, then you two will be next!"

Both men gulped.

"He has a lot of money in his pocket," one of them said, to appease him. "He won a poker game before we grabbed him."

The man turned from them and knelt beside Bart, opening his jacket and finding his wallet. Before he had a chance to open it, he stared at the name on the front. "Bart Maverick?" He turned and looked at the other two, who showed no reaction. "Bart Maverick?!" He stood and walked over to them, showing them the name on the wallet and pointing at their unconscious victim on the floor. "You brought me the wrong man!"

TBC