THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY AVALANCHE
By Andamogirl
WWW
ACT ONE
Placing his gun on the Louis XV-style table which served as writing table, Artemus Gordon tried to be a little more presentable and hurriedly ran a hand on top of his head in an attempt to flatten his black wavy hair, which was sticking out in a wild mess.
He smiled and then took the President's bag. "Yes Sir, we are always happy to see you, but we're very surprised, too, Mr. President." He settled Ulysses S. Grant's baggage on the chair and said, "Welcome on board the Wanderer, Sir." Then he frowned in concern. "If I may ask Sir…?" he trailed off.
Removing his black, soaked and dripping hat, Grant nodded. "What am I doing here in your train in the middle of the night?"
Artemus nodded. "Yes Sir. I thought you were on your train, on your way to Washington – and ahead of us, Mr. President."
President Grant nodded looking upset. "I was, until I wasn't. My train encountered an unexpected problem on hour ago."
Jim took the President's wide-brimmed hat, sat it on a chair and intrigued, he asked, "An unexpected problem, Sir?"
Ulysses S. took his rain-soaked coat out, folding it on the back of the writing table chair. "Yes. There was a landslide due to pouring rains half a mile ahead of that location, in…." He was interrupted by a loud crack of lightning and the roll of thunder. "In the Blue Ridge Mountains, near Mount Mittchell and the steam engine hit some big rocks fallen on the rail track and it needs some important repairs and should be immobilized for a while. No one was hurt. Colonel Peterson, commanding my escort, strongly suggested me not stay on board, as it wasn't safe because there could be more landslides. He proposed to take the horses and go to the nearest fort, three hours away. I declined his offer. I knew, but he didn't, that the Wanderer was following my train, and I knew that there was a gap from one hour between us, so I waited. I will use your train to go back to Charlotte." He sat on a sofa and added, "You're going to have me as your guest, gentlemen."
Finally placing his Colt on the table, Jim smiled. "It's a pleasure, Sir. The Stateroom is always ready for you, and the night's still young."
Grant nodded. "Thank you Jim, but I stopped sleeping more than four hours a night during the war. I was too busy. Ten years later, I still sleep four hours at night – and I'm still fighting, but on political battlegrounds with Senators and Congressmen, this time, in Washington." He shivered. "Brrr… It's cold outside and getting colder every minute that passes. I'm sure it's going to snow in a few hours, once the storm will be passed. Do you have some coffee for me, please? Thank you."
Artie smiled. "Yes, Sir. I have. I'm going to fetch the pot of coffee that I keep on the stove - and there's a piece of soft chocolate cake left in the ice box." Then he headed toward the galley.
The thunderstorm got louder and louder. Rain squalls pelleted down on the windows. "Awful weather," Grant said.
Jim pulled up a blind peering out of a window. A blinding flash of light illuminated the whole pitch black sky, followed hardly a second later by a loud crack of thunder. "Yes, Sir. Awful. Fortunately no one was injured by that landslide."
Artemus came back with said pot of coffee and three cups – and a plate containing a piece of soft chocolate cake topped with French cream and a little spoon. He sat them on the table.
President Grant looked at his two agents, both wearing their rumpled pajamas. They were barefoot, their hair was wild and their cheeks unshaved. "I'm sorry to have disturbed your sleep, gentlemen."
Pouring a cup of coffee Artie said, "Oh, that's nothing, Sir. Jim and I were awake. You didn't wake us." Then he handed the steaming cup to Grant - and the plate with the piece of soft chocolate cake with the French cream on top and the little spoon.
Ulysses S. Grant took the cup and placed the plate both smelling good, on his lap. Mmm… it looks absolutely decadent, Artemus." He lifted an eyebrow, curious. "Thank you. It's quite late, or very early. Did you have Insomnia?"
Rubbing his right temple wearily, Artie nodded. "Yes, Sir. I can't sleep when the sky is lit by a full moon. I don't know why, but I think some biological mechanism could be at work here. It would be very interesting to do a study on the subject, because I'm not the only one affected, Sir. I know at least twenty people who have the same problem."
Grant smiled. "Takes notes, do a lot of research and write that study, Artemus," he encouraged the other man. "I'll read it with pleasure." He took a sip of coffee and used the little spoon to taste the French cream. "It's delicious," he said before bringing a small piece of soft chocolate cake to his lips.
The older agent beamed. He knew that the President couldn't resist his pastries. "Thank you Sir.'
The President closed his eyes in bliss for a split second, chocolate flavor exploding in his mouth. Then he looked at Jim. "What about you, Jim?"
Jim sighed. "I had a bad dream about what happened during our last mission, Sir."
Grant nodded. "I see, and precisely what happened to you when you were in the hands of that evil, twisted man called Miguelito Loveless. I read your report."
Taking the cup of coffee Artie was offering him, Jim nodded and smiled a thank you. "Yes Sir, I dreamed about me… killing Artie. It was really an awful dream. I know that it never happened, that it was a drug-generated hallucination – but it felt so real, like it had really happened."
Sitting on a chair, Artie smiled reassuringly. "But it did not happen. Try to forget all that, Jim. I didn't die. You didn't shoot me. And what that powerful hallucinogen drug did to you won't happen anymore… unless you came in contact with it again."
Grant was first surprised, and then a frown of alarm wrinkled his brow. "You kept it?"
Pouring himself a cup of coffee Artie nodded. "I kept a little of it in a bottle to analyze it, with the intention of finding an antidote. I have destroyed the rest of it, Sir. I have properly labelled the bottle "Loveless drug" and drew skull and crossbones on it, meaning danger. It's safe in my lab." Then he took a sip of coffee.
Suddenly they all felt the train tremble, there was a loud 'woohoo' and then the Wanderer started to move backward – going back to Charlotte.
Ulysses S. Grant gulped the rest of his coffee, ate the rest of his piece of soft chocolate cake and handed the empty cup and plate to Artemus. "I feel better, thank you," he said. He pulled out a long and big cigar from the inside pocket of his jacket, which was loaded like usual with two dozens of cigars. "Don't mind me, gentlemen. I have lots of reports to read and as many notes to write," he said and then took his place at the writing table. "But I'm not complaining. I had a lot more when I was still on the battlefields – yours included Artemus, always impeccably drafted, clear and concise. It was a pleasure to read them. They are in my bag. Could you give them to me, Artemus, please?"
Pleased, smiling, Artie nodded. "Yes Sir." He opened the big bag and took a pile of reports sitting on top of extra-clothing and gave them to Grant.
The President lit his cigar, took a draw and opened the first on top of the pile. Between two puffs he said, "You can go back to your compartment gentlemen, the night still young. Try to sleep."
Both smiling the two men said, "Good night, Mr. President" in a chorus.
Jim swallowed two sips of coffee then placed his empty cup on the table and then the two special agents headed toward the back of the car.
Grant nodded, his very strong cigar trapped between his teeth. "Good night boys," he said, before blowing a steady stream of smoke into the air.
Once on the other side of the swinging door, in the narrow walkway, Artie asked, "Is it my imagination or has the President just sent us to bed, Jim?" Then he started laughing softly.
Jim nodded, smiling. "Yes, I think he just did, but that wasn't a direct order, right? We can choose not to go to bed. What about a night poker game in your lab?"
Smiling the two men headed toward the rear part of the car, not paying attention to the thunderstorm raging outside.
WWW
Once in the lab, Artie opened a drawer and pulled out a deck of cards and a small box of poker chips. The two men took place on each side of the large working table, on a stool.
Marmalade, or Marmie as Jim called Artemus's young cat, was sprawled in her basket sat on top of the table, at the opposite end.
The feline opened its eyes, stretched and yawned widely and then dozed off.
Pointing at the costume of El Diablo Negro sitting at the other end of the table Jim smiled and said, "I just had a very good idea, Artie. What about disguising yourself as that bandito? I never played poker with a bandito. You could test it and test your new character too, that way."
Smiling, Artie said, "A role play? That's a good idea, James." He glanced at the costume and added, "Okay, I'll be El Diablo Negro – and you a federal marshal who has captured me… We're playing poker. I have a marshal's badge and a pair of handcuffs somewhere…"
Shortly after, Artemus Gordon, handcuffed was sitting again in front of his partner – wearing a marshal's badge on his pajamas jacket. As for himself he had a black sombrero on his head, had a black and thick mustache above his lips, he was wearing a black shirt, two black cartridge belts crossed on his chest and had a black (empty) gun belt wrapped around his waist - on top of his pajamas pants.
Jim took the cards in his hand and started to deal them. "Straight poker to start with. Five cards, Aces high," he said.
El bandito smiled broadly. "You maybe have captured me, gringo," he said with a perfect Mexican accent, "but I'm going to escape that cell whenever I have the opportunity." He raised his restrained hands. "You and those handcuffs won't stop me, believe me."
The faux marshal, but real law man shook his head, unfazed. "You wish."
WWW
Hours later, at dawn
Needing a break to stretch his legs, Ulysses S. Grant, cigar clenched between his teeth, left the parlor car and headed toward the back of the car.
He saw light beneath Jim's door and then beneath Artemus's door and knew they weren't sleeping, and probably not in their beds either. He opened the next door and entered the lab. He smiled, finding his two agents playing poker and his smile broadened in seeing Artemus's costume.
Grinning in victory Artemus turned his cards around and laid them flat on the table, revealing his hand of straight flush. "I win."
He pulled Jim's chips to his pile and squared up his towering stacks of chips.
His chips almost gone, Jim stared at the other man as he gathered the cards and started to arrange them, preparing to shuffle for the next round.
He made a face. He didn't like to lose." Yes, you won – again."
El bandido chuckled. "Now that I have all your money, gringo, I'm going to kill you, and then I will escape from this train of yours…" He suddenly climbed over table and threw himself on top of the other man, sending the chips and the cards flying everywhere.
Marmelade jolted awake and let out a disgruntled meow before curling again on top of her folded blanket, closing her amber eyes.
The two men collapsed on the floorboards, hard, gently fighting to be the one on top, playing and laughing like two schoolboys in the playground.
El Diablo Negro pinned Jim, straddling his legs, and closed his hands around the marshal's neck, trying to choke him… and froze when he saw two black polished shoes stop beside him.
Smirking Ulysses S. Grant said, "Having fun gentlemen?"
The two men looked up, eyes opened wide in total surprise.
Immediately Artemus went bright red in embarrassment. Then he moved himself upright, Jim doing the same. They stood at attention, almost.
Jim too looked very embarrassed. "I can explain, Sir, that's simple…" he started.
But it was Artemus who explained, "I was practicing a new character of my extensive repertoire, Mr. President. A Mexican bandito I call El Diablo Negro, because all his clothes are black, even his hat, boots, his cartridge bels and gun belt. But his real name is Feliz Ramirez Reyes. I usually do a 'dress rehearsal' with Jim as my partner before playing a role on a mission. It allows us to detect things to correct or valid the character right away. Sir."
President Grant nodded and smiled. "Boys will be boys." He took a long dry of cigar and asked. "You take your job very seriously, I appreciate that." He pulled up a chair beside the table and asked, "Do you agree that the President will join you? I haven't poker for ages!"
The two Special agents nodded and joined Grant at the large table. "With great pleasure, Sir," they said in a chorus.
Cards and chips were rapidly retrieved.
Chips were equitably distributed and cards were shuffled and dealt expertly. "The game is five cards stud, joker is a wild card," Jim said.
The three men studied their poker hands, faces inscrutable. Then they looked at each other, reading to play the first round.
The President pulled out a couple of long, fat, cigars from the inner pocket of his jacket and gave one to Jim and one to Artemus.
Taking it, Jim said, "Thank you sir," immediately copied by his best friend.
Grant placed a matchbox on the table then and soon after the two secret services agents were taking their first drag, smiling around their cigar.
Jim said, "Your opening bet, Artie," puffing smoke on his cards.
Glancing at his cards again – a four of a kind– a very good hand to start with, Artemus pushed a small pile of chips in front of him. "I bid ten. I feel lucky." And he grinned at his fellow players.
Suddenly a flash of lightning cracked in the dark sky, illuminating the whole lab with blinding white, immediately followed by crack and boom of thunder directly above them, so loud it rattled the whole car, making the tree men jump and gasp.
Shortly after there was a very loud explosion when lightning fell on the mountain – and it was immediately followed by a loud rumble.
The Wanderer abruptly slowed down in a concert of squeaking and the three men lost their balance and collapsed to the floor.
Even the cat was thrown away from his basket and ended on the floor. It let out an irritated meow left the lab to find a calmer place to sleep.
Almost everything in the lab fell to the floor and broke, in particular all chemical materials and all the pots, bottles, vials, etc.
Shortly after the Wanderer finally came to a halt… and was hit by something. The car began to pitch and finally stood upright, in a very loud metallic noise, avoiding switching on the side. All that had not broken the first time was broken this time.
Bolting upright, Jim helped the President to stand and then knelt beside Artie… who had his left hand lying flat on a puddle of something.
He noticed that his partner looked horrified. His face was ashen. Then he saw why. There was a broken bottle sitting beside his left hand which was labelled "Loveless drug" with a skull and crossed bones drawn on it - The drug was being absorbed through his skin.
Jim felt his throat go dry. A sudden cold shiver went up his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
That powerful drug had almost an immediate effect. In a matter a few seconds Artie was going to be transformed into a very, very dangerous man, obsessed by one thing, like he had been obsessed by Loveless. But he didn't know what - yet.
He hauled Artie upright and grabbed his arm. "Let's go to the rolling cell – now!' He took the key of the handcuffs and then rapidly released Artemus's wrists.
Ignoring Grant who was totally puzzled, he pushed Artemus in front of him. He marshaled him towards the stable car – where the horses, frightened, neighed and fidgeted.
He had just opened the barred door when Artemus turned around and Jim could see confusion in his best friend´s eyes. His chocolate eyes clouded.
Then Artie let out a growl and launched himself at Jim. He punched the other man square in the face with all his might.
Jim stumbled back, blood pouring out from his lips. 'Too late,' he thought as Loveless's drug was running in his partner's system. He dodged another punch.
His eyes dark, his jaw tightened in cold-blooded rage, Artie said with his Mexican accent, "I'm going to kill you, marshal!" he swung at Jim, who easily dodged this time. Then he thrust his knee to the younger man's unprotected groin.
Grimacing, Jim hissed. "Damn!"
He took a step back, fists raised. "Artie! You're not a bandito, you're Artemus Gordon! And I'm not a marshal; it's me, Jim, your partner." But there was no recognition in Artemus´s eyes and he felt like he was staring in the eyes of a stranger. Artie's gentle chocolate eyes were now cold, dark with rage. The drug had transformed him into a primal and very dangerous brute. He was hallucinating, like he had hallucinated, the roleplay had suddenly become real, he reflected. "Okay, calm down buddy". He took a step forward.
But el bandito/Artie didn't calm down. He growled low in his throat before he lashed out with a clenched fist. He slugged the other man's in the mouth again, watching with satisfaction as the blow connected and snapped the marshal's head back.
Blood running on his chin, Jim quickly recovered and punched Artie right in the mouth. "I'm sorry," he said, "but I don't have any other choice…"
El bandito/Artemus sniggered and backhanded Jim against the rear wall of the cell. "You won't put me behind bars again! I'm going to escape!"
Spotting a box containing four revolvers hung on the wooden panel, Artie rushed there. He broke the glass with his fist, cutting the skin, drops of blood falling to the ground, and grabbed a Colt.
Ulysses S. Grant entered the stable car at that precise moment. He frowned seeing the two men bleeding from their mouths. "What the hell is happening here?" He asked.
Surprised by Grant's sudden presence, El Diablo Negro/Artemus froze on the spot. Jim immediately seized the opportunity to leap on the other man. He grabbed Artie's wrist and tightened. There was a gunshot – the bullet almost hitting Grant in the head.
The President dropped to the floor with a shocked look on his face.
Horrified by what had just happened, Jim decided to put an end to the situation. He slammed his forehead against his opponent's face.
El bandito/Artie stumbled back, gripping his nose and groaning. Furious, he lunged at Jim, knocking him back into the bars of the cell his head snapping to the side with the blow. He grinned, his teeth red with blood. "That's a good fight! Is that the best you've got?"
Looking at Grant who was a little pale, he asked, "Are you all right Sir?"
Grant nodded. "Yes, I am." He frowned angrily. "I think that, that 'dress rehearsal' is going a bit too far for my liking!" He said with a disapproving sigh.
El Diablo Negro/Artemus's hand curled into a fist, ready to hit again, but Jim ducked under his arm. He delivered a series of powerful punches to the Artemus's chest and abdomen, knocking the breath out of him. Artie backed off a couple steps, stumbling, hunched over in pain.
Seizing the opportunity that his partner's equilibrium was off, Jim threw another punch to his adversary, square in his jaw. He propelled Artie beside the door, on the bulkhead and pinned him there with his own body. "We're not playing, Sir," he said.
He closed his hand around the other man's right wrist and pressed again. Then he wrenched el bandito's other hand behind his owners back. "Drop the gun!" he commanded. As the older man refused, he repeated, "Drop the gun!" pulling up on the arm for added effect.
Squealing El Diablo Negro/Artemus finally dropped the gun. Jim picked it up and took a step back. "Turn around, no tricks, or I shoot you!"
El Mexican bandito/Artemus complied, his gaze murderous. There was blood dripping from his nose and mouth and an eye was definitely swelling shut.
His breathing was rough and he was wincing in pain. "It's not over marshal," he rasped. "You won't keep me in a cage, like an animal!"
Grant moved towards Artemus, very upset. "What's the hell is happening to you Artemus? You almost killed me two minutes ago! For Christ sa…"
The President didn't finish his sentence as El Diablo Negro/Artie grabbed his arm and pulled him against his chest.
El bandito/Artemus wrapped his arm around Grant's neck.
More very surprised than angry, Grant knitted his eyebrows. "Have you lost your mind Artemus? Release me immediately, that's enough now!"
Frowning in deep worry, Jim said, "Don't fight, Sir. He could hurt you. Artie's not himself. Dr. Loveless's drug runs in his body, you see. The bottle containing the drug broke to the floor when the Wanderer abruptly slowed down, and Artie touched it by accident. He's hallucinating and really thinks he's a Mexican bandito – and his only goal is to escape from the marshal-me and from the train. He'll do anything to succeed. He's extremely dangerous, like a wild beast."
El bandito/Artemus moved backward, still holding Grant's against his chest, almost strangling him. "Oh yes, you have no idea marshal! Back away! Don't do anything, or I break his neck. I'm serious!"
Once in the narrow walkway, Feliz Ramirez Reyes/Artie brought the President with him to the parlor car, and there, to the door. Then he opened it.
Gasping El Diablo Negro/Artemus glanced outside – very surprised to see a mountain of rocks and mud that had buried almost all the rear platform of the train. "Maldita sea!"
He pushed Grant away from him – hard – and the force of the blow caused Grant to stumble, lose his balance and he fell backwards.
Barefoot El bandito/Artie rushed outside and started escalading the rock slide, as quickly as possible, escaping from the train.
Jim helped Grant to stand. "Are you all right, Mr. President?"
Rubbing his sore neck Grant looked at Jim now frowning in concern and said, "I'm all right, I'm all right. Go after him, bring him back here."
Jim left the parlor car and moved to the rear platform. He went down the stairs and standing on the last step, he looked around him. The right side of the Wanderer, from the steam engine to the parlor car was half-buried in a landslide. The railway track had vanished.
No footprints.
Heavy rainfall was pouring down on him.
He came back on the rear platform of the train, soaking wet, dripping and freezing, when he saw bits of mud fall at his feet. He immediately looked up and finally spotted his drugged partner climbing an immense wall of rocks and mud.
It took Jim two minutes to catch Artemus, climbing the rock slide more rapidly than him with the agility of a panther.
Pointing his gun at the other man he said, "Go down, now!" Seeing that El bandito/Artemus didn't move – just glared at him, Jim cocked the hammer of his Colt. "I said now. Don't make me repeat!"
El Diablo Negro finally complied and reluctantly headed back to the rear platform of the Wanderer three quarters buried under the landslide, Jim following him.
He pushed el bandito/Artie, drenched and shivering, inside and commanded. "Raise your hands!" then he asked Grant, "Open the side panel of the faux fireplace, Sir, on the left. There are handcuffs inside. Give me one pair, please."
Grant brought a pair of the handcuffs to Jim shortly after.
But before Jim could restrain Artie – said Artie leaped like a tiger on the President, giving him a powerful shove square in the chest, knocking him out of the way and rushed forward.
In a flash he was on his way to the end of the car.
Red-faced, flushed with anger and embarrassed at being on his butt again, Ulysses S. Grant pulled himself into a sitting position and groaned. "Stop him Jim! Twice is enough!" he snapped, and watched Jim leave the parlor car at top speed.
He stood. Opening the telegraph box, he used the key to send the telegram to Fort Bragg. He received an answer two minutes later.
WWW
El bandito/Artemus was trying to open the sliding door of the lab when Jim entered… and heard a bang! A bullet missed his shoulder by a split hair.
Ducking instantly, Jim pulled the trigger automatically aiming to injure - feeling really bad to shoot at a man he loved like he was his own brother.
Feliz Ramirez Reyes/ Artemus Gordon immediately released a guttural moan, halfway to a scream and staggered backward. He felt his head growing light and his gun slipped from his fingers and hit the floor. He crumpled to the wooden floor, injured on his side.
His face losing all colors, Jim breathed, "Oh god!", horrified as images of his hallucination started flowing his mind. "Artemus, no!"
He crouched over Artemus, his hands moving feverishly over the other man's upper body, flinging open his black shirt to find the wound.
He sighed in relief as he noticed that it wasn't lethal. The bullet cleanly entered Artie's right side; there was just muscle damage and a lot of blood. "I'm sorry, Artie," he said. He gently rolled Artie on his non-injured side. There was a hole in the back of his pajamas jacket, ringed with blood. He pulled it up and saw an exit wound. It was a through-and-through. "The bullet's not inside…" He slowly and carefully turned Artie back and took off his pajamas jacket. He balled it up and pushed down on the wound to properly apply pressure to Artemus's seeping side. The injured man's breath hitched. "I'm sorry. It was the only way."
Opening his right eye, el bandito/Artemus choked out some ragged breaths and then he uttered a low pained growl. "You shot me, gringo…" he said, wincing. He started to feel dizzy, his (limited) vision swirling. "But that graze won't stop me…I'll escape, it's a matter of time and opportunity. You won't… cage me like… an animal. Debo huir!"
El Diablo Negro/Artemus tried to move himself upright but Jim used his free hand to pin him on the wooden boards. "Hold still! Damnit" he ordered pressing hard on the wound, blood rapidly soaking the material of his pajamas jacket. "You're not going anywhere – but in the cell, where I'm going to take care of you."
El bandito/Artie sneered, "Playing nurse marshal? How nice of you!"
Grant entered the lab and froze on the spot when he saw the 'spectacle'. Deeply worried he knelt beside Artemus and couldn't help but grimace when he saw the wound exposed, knowing how painful it was. "You're going to be alright, Artemus."
El Diablo Negro/Artemus frowned, blinking away black spots in his vision. "Why are you calling me Artemus? – What kind of name is it? My name is Feliz Ramirez Reyes – not Artemus." He looked at the short and round shouldered man from head to toe and finally recognized him. "You're the President of the United States! Ulysses S. Grant!" Que hace aquí?"
Grant nodded. "Yes I am." He glanced at Jim. "Is it serious?"
Jim looked again at the hole in Artie's side. "As far as I can tell the bullet passed clean through his side, just below the ribs and has exited, fortunately missing his organs, Sir. I'm going to patch him up, and then he'll see a doctor."
The President nodded. "I've sent a telegram to Fort Bragg. Colonel Finlay is sending a company here to help us. They should be here in a few hours," he said.
He took Artemus's hand in his, noticing with dread the other man's pale skin. He was shivering but also sweating too.
There was a knock at the door. Two men were standing in the walkway: the driver of the Wanderer and the mechanic holding a shovel each.
They were surprised to discover Artemus Gordon dressed in Mexican bandito attire lying on the floor, wounded and bleeding.
Removing his cap the driver asked, "What happened?"
Ulysses S. Grant explained with a quiet expression on his face. "It was an accident. Don't worry; Artemus is going to be alright. You wanted to tell us something… mister?"
The man removed his cap politely. "Osmond, Mr. President, Sir. Martin Osmond, I'm the driver of the train." The old man said. "Sorry to bother you, Mr. President and Mr. West and Mr. Gordon, but it's going to take the whole day to clear rocks and the mud. It's a miracle the Wanderer is still intact, apart some bumps here and there, but it's repairable..."
Jim nodded. "Troopers are en route Martin, they will be here in a few hours and they will help you to clear the entire landslide."
The two men smiled. "That's good news, Mr. West." He touched his friend's arm. "Come on Harry; let's go outside to start the work."
Once the two men had left the lab James asked, "Could you press on Artemus's wound Sir? I need to find the first aid kit."
Grant placated his both hands on Artemus's bullet hole and more blood poured from the wound. His throat tightened and his eyes watered. Artie immediately hissed in pain through his teeth. He noticed that Artie's eyes were going glassy and that he was having trouble staying open. He was breathing raggedly. He was about to enter shock, he mused.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, the President said, "Stay with me Artemus! Hold on! Stay with me son, you're going to be alright, you hear me?"
El bandito/Artemus pressed his eyes closed his features contorted in pain. "M'cold… hurts… no quiero morir… Tiene que haber una manera de escapar… I have to… escape."
Marmalade came back in the room, sat beside her master, observing him with curiosity, then she began to lick his face in a comforting gesture, meowing.
But Artemus didn't react as all faded to darkness.
Tbc.