The Night of Being Vewwy, Vewwy Qwiet
Refs: "TNOT Surreal McCoy"/"Rabbit Fire"
The Wanderer had wandered all right, to the unfamiliar point of becoming lost. While Silas fumed and Orrin apologized over the set of brand new rail maps sent from Washington that they'd been using, even Artemus struggled to make sense of the twisty track directions.
"We definitely should have taken that left turn at Albequerque," Arte sighed. "I have no idea where we are right now."
Neither did Jim, and he thought he knew practically every inch of New Mexico before this had happened. But the forested area the train tracks led into were like no place he could recall out of hand. What's more, they would have to continue on along the strange track before they could get to a junction to turn the train around, and who knew for how long a distance?
"Do we have supplies enough?"
"For the moment," Arte said. "I suppose I should consider what I can make us for dinner. We may be stuck in these woods for a while before we reach the main lines." The crafty Secret Service agent began rummaging around in the train's small pantry area, pulling out an assortment of vegetables, canned tomato products and hard cheese. "Come direbbe mia Prozia Maude1 . . . . aww, heck, Jim! I just can't get in the mood for Italian food again! You know what we should have? Something French." The gourmand of the Secret Service got a dreamy look on his face. "I know what I could really go for – lapin chasseur! Rabbit hunter style."
"Sounds good," Jim said. He'd been getting a little tired of pasta himself, even if his partner could make anything taste like a gourmet restaurant meal.
"Except we don't have any rabbit," Arte sighed again. "Guess our square meal will have to be back to square one."
"Maybe not." Jim looked out at the woodlands they were in. The Wanderer had pulled over to a siding too narrow to allow the turnaround, but while they were here, what harm could there be in a little recreation? "I might be able to hunt one up out there." Provided Arte didn't come along, of course. It amazed Jim how his partner could be as silent as a mouse when it came to sneaking through buildings or a bad guy's secret hideout, but sounded like a dyspeptic herd of bison while trying to stalk through a forest – a city slicker's handicap. Jim, having learned tracking skills from his Indian friends as a child, could sneak up on a rabbit for sure. While Arte rearranged the pantry closet, Jim went to his sliding panel of weapons and took down a low-caliber hunting rifle. "You get out your recipe, and I'll bring back the rabbit."
"Just don't get lost," Arte called as he went to tell the engineers about the hunting expedition.
1 As my Great Aunt Maude would say . . . .
