Deleted Scene: The Night of the Sudden Plague

Thanks to Cal Gal for the plot bunny,
and to both she and Lucky Ladybug for betaing.

Territorial Governor Marcus Hawthorne was, in James West's considered opinion, an idiot. Unfortunately, he was also an idiot in power: the worst kind. Jim had no doubt that if he could read the communiqué from the president, the one the governor was gloating about, claiming it gave him authority over West and Gordon to force them to stay on this case until it was solved, Jim would find the message really was merely confirmation that the president himself had given his two top agents such an order - which he had. There was no need for the governor to tell them what to do when they already received their orders straight from the top. Nor, Jim was sure, had President Grant intended to insert Territorial Governor Bad Manners into this chain of command.

At this point, though, before Jim could set the governor straight, Hawthorne's secretary hurried in with the news of a call for help from the town of Sand Hill, and suddenly chain of command was no longer utmost in Jim West's mind. While the governor babbled to himself, dithering, vacillating, Jim simply headed for the door to leave. If he was fast enough - or rather, if his horse was - he might be able to reach Sand Hill in time to catch whoever was behind this in the very act.

Blackjack was in his usual form, and soon horse and rider arrived at the town to find a repeat of the scene at Willow Springs. People stood about like so many statues. Down the street, though, Jim could see some horses tied at a hitching rail, shifting quietly, definitely not frozen like the people. There was a wagon over there as well, its horses moving and nodding as they stood in the harness, waiting. The wagon bed, Jim saw, was laden with an amazing amount and assortment of plunder, including even a grandfather's clock. But as the agent dismounted and began to take a closer look around, he could see no one human in motion.

Or… wait. Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe there was someone… yes! There in the building opposite, in the mercantile - there was a man over there examining one of the human statues. As Jim crossed the street, drawing closer, he saw the moving man take something out of the black bag at his side and press it to the other man's arm.

Jim's eyes narrowed. What was that? An injection? As the living statue stood eerily still, not even blinking, the man in motion withdrew the syringe from his unprotesting victim's arm, then held the needle up for a moment, looking at the deep dark liquid now filling the glass syringe.

Jim frowned and headed closer. What was going on here? Was this sole man in action part of the reason everyone else was frozen? Was he perhaps the one responsible? Jim hurried to the door, about to enter, when suddenly the man with the syringe whirled to stare at him. Jim would never forget that face: bald, utterly devoid of hair, with a coldness in the eyes that chilled everything in his vicinity.

"You!" the bald man exclaimed in shock. "You're not supposed to be.."

"What, moving?" Jim finished for him. He charged into the building.

The bald man instantly dropped the syringe back into the black bag and turned tail to run. He was by no means in anything approaching the level of Jim West's physical fitness, so that the agent would surely be able to catch him in but a few steps. But as the bald man scampered away, he paused to knock over a tall shelf full of canned goods. Everything crashed right into West's path, and by the time the agent dodged the rolling cans and skirted the fallen shelves, his quarry had darted out the back way. Jim charged after him and ran out the back door himself just in time to see that the bald man was now on horseback and galloping away.

Jim raced back through the mercantile, heading for his own horse across the street out front. Halfway there, though, the sound of breaking glass froze Jim in his tracks. The looters were emerging, some from the bank, some from other buildings, one from the express office. Jim stood perfectly still as the gang finished loading up their wagon. He listened as the gang leader stopped a particularly belligerent underling from shooting the helpless sheriff, and once the underling backed down, Jim watched as the gang mounted up and rode off, wagon and all, passing right in front of the agent without giving him a second glance, nor even a first one.

As soon as they were gone, Jim dropped his manikin impersonation and raced for his horse to track the gang. But who, he wondered as he and Blackjack thundered after the looters, who had that bald-headed man been, and why had he been drawing a sample of blood from one of the immobile victims?

Time would answer Jim's questions, of course. Time - and the towering insanity of Dr Vincent Kirby.

FIN