"Arte, do you recall those windows being broken?"
Both men halted momentarily in their early morning walk toward the Millwood Grove Auction Barn. They'd left their horses tied at the nearby public post already. Years of living dangerously had conditioned the agents to spot objects out of place or things as they should not be. The building ahead of them might be considered a barn, and that was still one of its functions, but it was the town's largest business venue too, and immaculately kept up by its owners. An auction held in a hovel wouldn't attract the sort of clientele or dollars that this place did. But in spite of that, today, this early in the morning, in a mild but oncoming winter two of the windows were broken, so recently that they hadn't been tarped or covered over yet. As they drew closer, the agents noticed something even more alarming – the entrance door left slightly ajar with a number of suspicious gouges and a couple of chunks taken out around the door latch.
"Looks like someone got in without a key," Arte whispered. Somebody far more amateur than Arte and Jim when it came to getting in doors the hard way from the look of it. Without another spoken word, facial movements only, they both went into a defensive crouch, glancing up but sprinting in diagonally separate directions for each of them to take up a position on either side of the damaged door. Neither man had brought a sidearm with them, but they were armed with wits and decades of combat expertise. At a silent hand signal on the mental count of three, they burst in through the burgled portal and saw . . . nothing. Literally.
"Holy . . . !" Artemus exclaimed.
The auction barn that was normally filled to the rafters with more than just the chairs in front of the stage had been picked clean. The tables, counters and cases where 'new' merchandise was displayed each month stood barren. Nothing hung on the walls except hooks and some wire. No sign of the auction barn's owners either.
"Looks like we're too late," Jim muttered. "We'd better check the stables."
Seeing no one and a whole lot more of nothing to stare at, the men made their way to the back of the barn where the livestock stables were kept, and hopefully their pet burro as well. As they approached the entrance to the stables, they heard a groan. With another quick exchanged look, they rushed in and located the source of the groan. On the floor of the stables' central corridor lay a trio of men fallen in a heap, one slowly regaining consciousness – the source of the groan – and two still out like lights. These were the barn's owners. Jim and Arte recognized them at once. And standing over them was another figure they recognized easily – Mr. Nusker. The sour-faced farmer knew who Jim and Arte were too and glared at them as they entered.
"Well?" Mr. Nusker demanded. "You two going to gape and loaf or are you going to give me a hand with this lot?" Without waiting for an answer, Nusker reached down and lifted the groaning man with all the delicacy of someone hefting a sack of flour.
Jim and Arte each took one of the other two unconscious proprietors and lifted them and carried them out of the stable and back to the barn's front entrance where the light was better, right behind Mr. Nusker and his charge. More people were streaming into the plundered facility from outside now. It was the work of a few minutes to set the wounded men down on a makeshift mat of coats while a couple of the new arrivals went to fetch the town doctor and the sheriff. Today was a day on which many, many people had been counting to pick up their stored Christmas purchases, so the emptied barn began to fill up fast with the disappointed as well as the curious. With the injured owners being tended to, Jim and Arte took the opportunity for another look around. The livestock stables were just as empty as the rest of the barn, every single animal stolen.
"Doggone it, Jim!" Arte swore. "It's bad enough that whoever did this stole everyone else's Christmas presents, but it looks like they stole the one we came for as well!"
Jim nodded, still keeping his eyes on Mr. Nusker who, along with a couple of others, had gone to check out the plundered stables too. Artemus recalled that Nusker, while he hadn't won the donkey, had successfully bid on some other animals that night – poor, unfortunate creatures! But whatever he'd bid on – cage of rabbits, was it? – he might've had a legitimate reason to be here early, just as they were, to collect his property this morning. Artemus dismissed the idea at once of his being a suspect anyway, whether he had been first on the scene or not. Jim West might be capable of thrashing the auction barn's owners, three strapping men, all at once, but surely not this loner picklepuss of an old farmer, big and cranky though he might be. And a theft of this size was obviously the work of a gang of men. Nusker, as far as Arte knew, didn't even have friends or a shred of charisma – he wouldn't make much of a gang leader or follower either, in the agent's estimation. The agents wandered back to where they'd taken the semi-conscious victims and where the local law officer had just arrived.
"What in the yellow rose of Texas?" the sheriff gaped in dismay as he entered the cavernous, empty auction barn.
"Just what we were wondering," Jim told him, nodding to Artemus. "We came here to pick up a donkey we'd purchased and this is how we found the place."
The doctor, arriving only a few seconds later, paid no attention to the hollowed-out auction house, but went straightaway seeing to his patients, who started to revive with a dose of smelling salts. At least two of them, anyway – one of the three took one look around at his empty surroundings, gave a brief cry of horror and fainted.
"We're ruined . . . ." one of the others moaned, staring about as he was helped into a sitting position. "Ohhhh . . . ."
"I'm assuming this was a robbery," Sheriff Kurtz said, trying to assist with getting the man sat up. "Can you tell us anything about who attacked you?"
The dazed auctioneer blinked and rubbed his head.
"I don't know," he groaned. "There were so many of them. Too many . . . ."
"More than five?" Jim asked.
"Yes," the miserable man nodded. "A whole gang of them. Maybe twice that number. Or more." He moaned again. "It was so dark, and they were all dressed in black. Couldn't . . . see them all . . . ."
"It would take a pretty sizable group of men to pull off something this big," Artemus murmured. "The entire place cleaned out in one night, furniture, jewelry, even livestock! And without any outcry? No other witnesses?"
"We don't know that!" the sheriff snapped. "How about you two fancy-pantsers stay out of this and let me do my job!"
Jim and Arte exchanged glances. It wasn't the first time that Sheriff Kurtz had expressed resentment at having a pair of semi-retired, celebrated Secret Service agents in his stomping ground.
"If it is a large gang," Jim said, "I'd think you would appreciate all the help you can get."
"If they were still here I might," the sheriff conceded grouchily. "But it appears they've flown the coop – along with everything they could get their hands on. And with some stuff o' mine that was in here too!" He grimaced, looking around again at the vast, empty space.
Yes – the theft had been about as large scale as it could get for such a town, Artemus realized as he took in the same view. That made another thought occur to him, one that held worry and promise both.
"Have they?" he asked.
"Have they what?" Kurtz frowned.
"Flown the coop. Skedaddled with all the loot?" Arte sighed. If there was one more unusual habit he'd picked up from life on board the Wanderer, it was a meticulous – some would say obsessive – attention to railroad schedules and routes. He'd always had a better head than his partner for 'keeping track' as he'd often joked. He still kept track – he couldn't help it. Millwood Grove was on a regular train route, as most of the towns surrounding central hub Chicago were, but no train had been scheduled to stop at the local depot in the wee hours of last night. Given the noise and vibrations the big machines caused, it would have drawn notice if one had off-schedule. "A large gang, dressed in black, carting that much stuff out of town and not by train? Late at night and without even those stolen animals slowing them down?" He shook his head. "You're right, Sheriff. We don't know yet that there aren't any witnesses. But it's safe to say there wasn't any general alarm given either. That would be one very conspicuous burglar's parade to get out and away by any of the main roads or even the side roads without being heard and seen."
"Ergo there's a likelihood they're still here in town somewhere close, hidden and planning to move the goods a few at a time," Jim completed the spoken thought. Both men had enough experience to know how most smuggling operations worked.
"Still here!" The sheriff gaped, but he didn't scoff. He did turn a trifle paler as he considered the possibilities in silence for a moment, and it was clear from his expression that Jim and Arte's 'meddling' in the investigation might be welcome after all. The auctioneer that he'd helped into a sitting position was gaping too, though not with as much horror as one might expect at the prospect of his attackers still being near.
"Does that mean the . . . everything they stole . . . might still be nearby too?" he asked tremulously.
"Now don't go getting your hopes up, Lucius," the sheriff told him. "We still don't know more than we know. Just be glad the three of you are still alive." Sheriff Kurtz stood up as the doctor began harrumphing to examine this third patient, and the auctioneer's wife, now alerted came running in as well, anxious rather than scolding. Kurtz and the two agents got little more information out of the second revived man, who also bemoaned financial ruin. The three auctioneers had stayed late at the barn that night making merry and celebrating a profitable year as was their holiday custom. It had been easy for the robbers to take them by surprise. Their families would have thought nothing of it if their private celebration had lasted all night – that too was apparently an annual tradition, their reward for another year of hard work well done.
"There won't be a happy Christmas for them this year," the sheriff muttered as he and the two Secret Service agents left the stripped auction barn. "Or for plenty of other folk if we can't find all those stolen goods." He turned to West and Gordon. "You boys really think there might be a chance?"
"There's always a chance, Sheriff," Jim said.
Artemus nodded. Both agents had gotten a potent reminder of that in the mail a few days ago – the Christmas cards they received each year from the grateful family of an innocent man they'd saved from hanging.
"I only ask 'cause, uh, see there was this pretty little bauble I thought'd be just perfect for my wife and . . . ."
"You were having the auction barn hold it for you," Arte completed the sentence.
Sheriff Kurtz lowered his gaze to his boots.
"The sooner we get looking, the better." Jim frowned. "A gang of at least ten, maybe more. We'll have to be armed, and reinforcements wouldn't be a bad idea. This isn't a case for Washington though. Sheriff, think you can scrounge up your deputies and maybe a few others?"
"Looks like I got to," the sheriff sighed. "Nothing else for it – and on Christmas Eve too!"
They'd already learned from the owners that the one and only night-time security guard the auction barn employed had been given the previous night off by his generous employers. That also made him the first potential suspect to be checked out.
"Uh, want to help me with that?" Kurtz asked, no longer reluctant to accept an assist from the Secret Service 'fancy-pantsers.' When Artemus tried to point out that he and Jim needed to return home and arm themselves before risking any confrontations, the sheriff offered to provide them with guns out of his own stores in town. Guns weren't exactly the only weapons Arte had in mind, but he didn't want to elaborate and give away any fancy-pantser secrets. It might not be the best idea to let the resentful lawman know just how many dangerous chemical concoctions, gadgets and explosives he and Jim still kept on hand at their otherwise normal houses. But he had to shelve the argument as he heard a startled exclamation from his partner.
"Son of a . . . ." Jim started to swear and took off at a run. As Artemus and the sheriff turned around to see what had caused him to react, the answer was obvious. Nasty Mr. Nusker was over near where Jim and Arte had left their horses, and he appeared to be doing something to Blackjack. Arte took off after him too, not because he thought Nusker was any match for the legendary James West, but because it wouldn't help their current search any if Jim got arrested for attempted Nuskercide.
"I was just lookin' at him," Nusker snapped as Jim ran up and appeared ready to throw a rock-hard punch. Whatever Nusker had been up to, he had relinquished his hold on Blackjack, and now Nusker's three-legged dog came between the two men and seemed determined to defend his master even though the poor creature had little means of doing so. Its remaining limbs were trembling and as it made a sound somewhere between a growl and a whine, it had more gum than teeth to bare at Jim. The miserable mutt's stub of a tail looked as though it would have gone between the dog's legs if there had been enough of it left to reach that far. Still, the faithful hound was standing/quivering its ground.
Before the situation went any further, Nusker backed away from the black stallion and whistled for his dog to follow.
"Just lookin'," Nusker repeated. "That's all. He's a fine, healthy animal," the old farmer said, nodding toward Blackjack.
"And he's going to stay that way," Jim said, adding more growl to his own speech than the dog had been capable of and narrowing his eyes in a way that Arte knew all too well. Jim's glare was often the last thing criminals saw prior to a fist and a whole bunch of stars showing up in their field of vision. Nusker didn't flinch in the slightest though. He stood his own ground, motioning for the dog to get behind him, before Arte cleared his throat loudly enough to remind Jim they had other things to worry about than fisticuffs against an aged and unworthy opponent.
"What's going on here?" Sheriff Kurtz demanded.
Nusker grunted, fixing Jim with his own stare, then turning his attention to the sheriff.
"Nothing," the sour-faced farmer snorted. "Not a damn thing." And with that, Nusker turned and left, whistling again for the dog to follow him, though he needn't have bothered. The unfortunate canine couldn't leave fast enough, jogging ahead of its master as far as its awkward tripod gait permitted. While Jim checked Blackjack over for any sign of harm, whispering and patting the stallion, Artemus kept his attention on the departing pair, feeling pity for the dog, but also a gnawing bit of curiosity. He couldn't blame the abused animal for being terrified of Jim, or of other people for that matter. Odd how it was so loyal to its wicked owner though . . . .
"Coming?" Sheriff Kurtz asked.
"Actually, Sheriff . . . ." Artemus began again.
"Yes," Jim stated, in a voice that brooked no excuses. "We're coming."
Arte sighed. He knew that Jim West tone of voice and the impulsiveness backing it up as well as he knew his Secret Service partner's 'fury' expression. Blackjack hadn't suffered any ill as a result of Nusker's 'lookin' the horse over, but Jim still had a protective hand patting his stallion's neck and was probably thinking about what their little burro's fate might be if they didn't manage to find it and the other animals soon. Borrowed guns and sharp wits would have to suffice as their weapons for the time being. Well, they had often gotten by on less. They'd just have to manage this time too.
Because a whole lot of people were counting on them today . . . .