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EPISODE 1: SEPTEMBER 10, 1875

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September 10, 1875. Jim West would never forget that day: it was the day that he'd almost died. Not literally, that is, but if a person's heart could stop from the shock of an unexpected sight, it would've happened that day.

He'd just come from town after doing some investigating for their latest case, when the sight that he found when he entered the train was burned into his mind forever.

Artemus Gordon was lying on the floor, covered with blood.

The sight drove the breath from Jim's lungs, and he ran over and threw himself to his knees beside his friend. "Artie!" he exclaimed. He frantically laid his head on his friend's chest to check for a heartbeat, not caring about the blood that he would get on his face. He heard the soft beating, and almost died again, from relief.

Jumping to his feet, he dashed into the galley to get some towels, rushing back and quickly searching for the wound. The whole front of Artie's shirt was covered with blood, and it took him a minute to realize that the wound was in his right side, below his rib cage. It was a bullet hole, and was very far to the edge of Artie's side, making Jim realize with relief that the bullet had likely not done any internal damage. If the shooter had aimed another inch to the left, it would've simply grazed him. Jim suddenly realized that there was a puddle of blood under his friend, too, so he rolled him over slightly to check for an exit wound.

He found one.

Relieved that Artie wouldn't need surgery to remove the bullet, fear also struck him that Artie was losing twice as much blood, which could kill him anyway. He shoved one towel under him, and placed the other one on top, pressing down hard.

A strangled gasp emitted from his injured friend, and Artie's body jerked as his eyes shot open.

"Don't move," Jim said. "You've been shot."

Artie gave another gasp; from the added pain that Jim was causing him. He reached up a hand and clamped it around his friend's arm, as whatever color that remained in his face quickly drained away.

"Stay awake, Artie," Jim said, urgently. "Do you hear me? Stay awake!"

Artie blinked his eyes a few times, obviously fighting to keep them open. He was breathing too fast, and couldn't prevent a groan.

"Who did this to you?" Jim asked, hoping that talking would help Artie keep his hold on consciousness.

"A…m-man…outside…started shooting…into the train…"

It was only then that Jim noticed broken glass on the floor from the window. "Just one man?"

"Think so."

"Did you see his face?" Jim asked.

"Yeah…but…no…"

"What?"

"He was…right outside…I saw him…but he…moved too fast…can't identify him…"

Jim sighed. He lifted the towel, seeing that the blood flow had already slowed. "When did this happen? How long have you been lying here?"

Artie blinked his eyes, slowly. "I don't know."

From the amount of blood that his friend had shed, it was obvious that it hadn't just happened. "I can't leave you alone to go get a doctor, but if I put you in a wagon, you could bleed to death along the way. It doesn't look bad except for the blood loss. Do you think we can take care of this ourselves?"

The wince on Artie's face turned into a slight smile for a second. "Dunno what help…I'll be…bullet?"

"Went through. You can help by keeping still and not making me more nervous than I already am."

Artie closed his eyes and his head lolled to the side. "Sure…Jim…" his voice was nearly a whisper.

Jim tapped the side of his face. "Hey, don't pass out on me."

Artie's eyelids fluttered, but he gave no other reaction.

Jim got up and quickly retrieved their kit of medical supplies. When he came back, he couldn't wake Artie, so he set about stitching the two wounds as efficiently as he could. At least now, if they decided that Artie did need a doctor, the motion of a wagon wouldn't keep him bleeding. He then carefully lifted his friend off the floor and carried him to his compartment, changing him out of his bloodied clothes and positioning Artie on his uninjured side, so he wasn't laying on the exit wound.

With a sigh, he pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down, wondering who on earth had shot Artie, and why.

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When Artie woke up, he was confused. He found that he was lying in bed, and realized that he didn't remember night having fallen. He could tell that there was light beyond his eyelids, and he started to roll over onto his back to see the clock on his nightstand at the other side of his bed, when unexpected pain gripped him.

Jim quickly reached forward when his friend gave a sudden cry of pain, holding him still. "No, Artie, don't move."

Artemus opened his eyes and looked at Jim with a frown. "What happened?"

"You were shot."

The memory came back to him, and he closed his eyes with a groan.

"How do you feel?" Jim asked.

Artie reopened his eyes and gave Jim a look as if to say, 'isn't it obvious?' He moved his hand towards the wound, and felt the bandages. "Stitched?" he asked, not having the energy to ask an entire sentence.

Jim nodded.

Artie, feeling lightheaded, closed his eyes again. "Thanks." He winced and barely held in a gasp from the stabbing throbs that emitted from both wounds.

Jim quickly reached for the pouch of painkilling powder that he'd retrieved from Artie's lab, and mixed some in a glass of water. "Here, Artie, this should help."

Artie opened his eyes and saw the glass. He tried to lift his head, and Jim reached over to help, holding the glass to his friend's lips and making him drink it all.

Artie exhaled loudly, closing his eyes as Jim laid his head back on the pillow and fussed with the covers. He shivered.

"Are you cold?" Jim asked.

Artie nodded.

Jim went over to the closet and took out an extra blanket, laying it over his friend before sitting in the chair again. "Do you need anything else?"

Artie shook his head, before wincing again.

Jim figured out where Artie's arm was under the blankets and reached out to squeeze it. "Try to sleep, Artie," he said. "Just rest, and you'll be fine."

Artie wondered how on earth he'd ever be able to sleep while in so much pain, but his brain took care of that for him…the blood loss he'd suffered had been severe, and he passed out again.

Jim saw how abruptly his friend 'fell asleep' and sighed. At least Artie had a respite from the pain. He reached his hand under the blankets and took his friend's wrist, finding his heart beating very fast as it tried to circulate the inadequate supply of blood. With another sigh, he stood and left the room, desperately needing some coffee.

As he left the galley with a cup, he heard a horse neigh from outside. Putting the cup down, he grabbed his gun and hid on the side of the door, waiting to see the shadow of whoever was about to come in before he threw the door open and pointed it.

The town sheriff threw his hands into the air.

Jim sighed with relief and put his gun away, putting a finger to his lips and motioning for him to stay outside. He followed and closed the door behind him.

"What was that all about?" the sheriff asked.

Jim headed down the train's steps, before saying, "I came back here last night to find that Artie had been shot while I'd been gone."

"What?!" the sheriff exclaimed. "Is it serious?"

Jim shook his head. "No internal damage, just heavy blood loss. He managed to tell me that someone started shooting into the train's window. He shot back, but doesn't know if he hit the man."

"It was Jones," said the sheriff. "That's why I'm here. Someone who knows Jones came to tell me that he'd found out that you were looking for him, and headed out here to kill you."

"What?" said Jim.

AJ Jones was a wanted killer who'd been spotted in the little Kansas town, and Jim and Artie had been sent to arrest him. It should've been easy.

Before either of them could say anything else, they both stopped walking; before them, the ground was stained with blood.

"That's not Gordon's, I assume?" the sheriff asked.

Jim shook his head and looked beyond it, seeing drops leading away. They both followed them and found exactly what they expected; a body, face down in the brush.

The sheriff turned the man over, reveling the gunshot wound in his stomach. "It's Jones."

Jim nodded. "Artie did hit him."

The sheriff nodded back. "Case closed," he said. "Both cases."

Jim nodded, sighing with relief to know that the mystery of who had shot Artie was solved…now they didn't have to worry that his assailant would return.

"I'll take the body back to town," the sheriff said. "Tell Mr. Gordon that I hope he feels better soon."

Jim nodded. "I will. Thanks.

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When Artie next opened his eyes, he found Jim's smiling face above him. It was a welcome change from the intense worry that had been on his face the last time.

"Hey," Jim said. "How are you feeling?"

Artie tried not to wince, not wanting to worry his friend. The wounds were still throbbing terribly. "I'll live," he mumbled, closing his eyes again.

"I have good news," Jim told him. "We don't have to wonder who shot you anymore. It was Jones, and he's dead."

Artie reopened his eyes. "Dead?"

Jim nodded. "You got him, Artie. The sheriff and I found him outside, twenty feet from the train."

Artie was surprised, not remembering the event very well. "Oh."

Jim fussed with the blankets again. "You don't have to worry now. All you have to do is rest and get well."

Artie smiled at the mother-henning. "Thanks, Jim."

Jim smiled back. "Anytime, Artie. Now go back to sleep."

THE END