Chapter 3

That night they stopped in order to pitch camp. They bedded the horses down, before putting out their own bed-rolls. They'd travelled roughly 30 miles so far and West was pleased with their progress. Two men were required to take it in turn to keep watch while the others slept. That should be himself and the fake Gordon. However, as he couldn't trust Shawcross, he decided to talk to Gordon about it.

As usual, these days, Gordon was way ahead of him. He took West to one side on the pretext of helping him gather wood for the fire. Once they were out of earshot, he said "Don't worry about leaving Shawcross on guard tonight. I'll keep wide-awake and make sure he doesn't get up to anything."

West nodded. "Okay."

So it was that, after a meal and a cup of hot coffee, West lay down by the fire to go to sleep, while Gordon bedded down on the other side of the clearing, and Shawcross picked up his rifle and sat down on a nearby rock, to act as lookout.

West woke up slowly the next morning. His mouth was dry and tasted like the inside of an old army boot, or what he imagined it would taste like. He moistened his lips while trying to deal with the boulders in his head. He heard a groan coming from his left and turned his head to see what it was. He winced – yes, definitely boulders. Through narrowed eyes he could see Shawcross, also waking up. Both of them had their hands tied behind them and their feet were firmly bound as well.

"Jim, are you okay?"

"I think so. What the hell happened?"

"My guess is that the coffee was drugged. First priority is to free ourselves. You'd better use the knife in your boot."

"I have a knife in my boot?"

"Sorry, I forgot you don't remember. Just press the mechanism on the side of your right boot with the toe of your left boot."

West did so and a blade popped out. "Hey that's really something," he said. "I'll bring my toe up and cut the ropes round your wrists." This he did with skill and some difficulty.

After that, Shawcross removed the bindings from his ankles and then cut the ropes around the other man's wrists. West then untied his own ankles.

"We'd better get after him," Shawcross said, brushing dust from his clothing.

West did the same, wondering if he always dressed in that style when on the trail. Then he went down on one knee, carelessly getting dirt on his trouser leg again.

"I can make out two trails," he said. "Looks like two men came to the camp on horseback and three people left. Collingwood's horse is missing," he added.

"But how was our coffee drugged?"

West had the grace to look ashamed as he said, "I don't think he was kidnapped. In fact, I think he was the one who doctored the coffee."

"But why would Collingwood want to steal his own rubies?"

"Because he wasn't Simon Collingwood," West said.

"How do you know? You've lost your memory."

"He told me he wasn't Collingwood," West admitted.

"He told you...who was he then and why didn't you tell me?"

"Because he said he was Artemus Gordon," West said, sheepishly belligerent.

"But why on earth would you believe him?"

"How was I to know he was lying? He seemed to be in charge at Collingwood's house and he showed me your identification. What was I supposed to think? You have to admit it would have fooled anyone who didn't know you."

"Yeah, that's the problem isn't it? You don't remember anything. It's just a pity you didn't get him to hand the rubies over to you."

"What can I say, Artemus?"

"Nothing that's going to be of any use, that's for sure. Just forget it. It must have been Shawcross all along. No wonder he tinkered with your memory. He was going to pretend to be me but when he realised I was still very much alive, he took Collingwood's place instead."

"But how did he get hold of your identification?"

"His sister must have stolen it while I was unconscious. I thought they did it so my body wouldn't be identified, because they didn't want Washington sending any more agents. I should have realised they were going to use it. Darn! I don't suppose you feel your memory coming back at all?"

"No, why?"

"No reason, except I don't think I'd recognise Shawcross without his Collingwood disguise and you're the only other person who's met him. That might not even be his real name. We'll just have to hope that he still has his sister in tow. I'd never forget her lovely face."

"It's not his sister I'm worried about, not when he has at least two men with him."

Gordon made sure the fire was safe, then they saddled up, and followed the trail of their erstwhile companion.

After an hour's ride, the two men saw a shack in the distance. It looked deserted except for the two horses tied up outside. They approached cautiously.

"You go around the back and I'll cover the front door," West said.

Gordon nodded and headed off.

West walked stealthily to the door and stood to one side of it, listening for any noise from within. It was completely silent. He lifted his foot and kicked hard against the door. The wood gave way with a crash and he entered the shack, gun drawn. At the same moment Gordon entered through a window and the two stood facing each other over the bodies of two men, obviously the owners of the two horses.

Gordon kneeled down for a closer look. "They're out cold, Jim," he said.

"There's no sign of Shawcross or his sister. What went down here?" West asked.

"Perhaps they had a falling out. I suggest we make for the nearest town and see if we can catch up with him."

"First we'd better tie these men up. We can send the sheriff back for them."

Once they reached the nearest town, Gordon made straight for the Sheriff's office while West headed for the saloon, where they had arranged to meet up later. He went to the bar and, slapping a coin down on the counter, requested a glass of beer. As he took a sip, and had a casual look around, he couldn't help noticing a pretty young woman heading in his direction. She had a broad smile on her face as she greeted him.

"Why, James West, fancy meeting you way out here."

West greeted her with his most charming smile. "You have me at a disadvantage," he said.

"Eva?" she hinted, "from Carson City?" she added.

"Ah yes, Eva," he nodded. "Drink for the lady," he told the barman, who automatically served her up a glass of beer. West placed another coin on the bar. Who on earth was she? "What are you doing way out here?"

"I'm on my way to St Louis," she said. "I'm just working here temporarily."

That would explain the skimpy outfit and the feather in her hair, he thought, feeling he was on slightly firmer ground. She might even be of some help. She was practically welded to his hip by this time, so he decanted her into the nearest chair and sat down beside her.

"I don't suppose you've noticed any strangers in town today?"

"Funny you should say that, there was a guy in here just now, one I'd never seen before; blond with a moustache. He's got a room upstairs, number 8; could be the one you're looking for."

"Thanks, Eva," he said, and took the opportunity to kiss her before making his way upstairs.

He carefully tried the door to room 8 and found it unlocked. He opened the door a crack and looked inside. The room appeared empty so he entered and made his way over to the open window and looked out. Maybe Shawcross had escaped that way. He heard a sound behind him and as he started to turn he caught a glimpse of red taffeta. Eva! Or, most likely, Amelia Shawcross! Just as the thought entered his mind, a heavy blow on the back of his neck sent him headlong out of the window and onto the trodden-down earth of the alley below.

James West was swimming through a mixture of glue and treacle until he finally punched his way to the surface, to find himself inches from the concerned face of the man he sought. The face receded a few inches and relief replaced the anxiety that had been there. "Thank goodness you're awake, Jim. I've been worried to death about you."

West attempted to raise his head but quickly lowered it back down onto the blessed softness of the pillow that was there to receive it.

"Careful, Jim, that was some blow to the noggin you took. Here, have a sip of water." He cradled West's head while he held a glass to his lips.

West took a few mouthfuls of the liquid and swallowed slowly, wincing at the discomfort caused by moving his head. "You're under arrest," West mumbled.

"Are you delirious?" the man asked. "James, it's me, Artemus."

"You can't fool me, Shawcross, I trailed you to this town."

Gordon could see that West was in no fit state to continue the conversation but he needed to get to the bottom of what worm had been planted in James' damaged mind by Shawcross.

"What are you talking about, Jim? Shawcross must be miles away by now."

"If you mean Artemus Gordon, he's over at the sheriff's office, arranging for your men to be picked up from the abandoned shack."

So that was Shawcross' new game. "They were his own men, Jim. You have to listen to me. I'm not Shawcross, I'm Artemus Gordon."

"Then how come you're here and not back at the camp?" West said

"He put something in the coffee and had me kidnapped while we were both out cold. I escaped and came to town to wait for you."

West slowly began to lose focus and his next words were more of a ramble than a statement.

"Not going through that again. Listened to you, got drugged, tied up, lost the rubies..."

At last the sedative that had been in the water took effect. With a silent apology to his friend, Gordon placed a warm blanket over him and left him to sleep. He'd feel a lot better in a few hours' time.

For about the fifth time in the last two days, James West found himself coming round with a thick head and a nasty taste in the mouth.

"Jim, how's your head?"

West tried flexing his neck muscles. "Actually, it feels a bit better."

"I'm sorry I palmed the sedative off on you but I knew you'd be better off with a few hours' rest."

"You've looked after me so well I'm starting to think you must really be a friend of mine, West said.

"Well, that's a good start."

"Where are we?" West asked.

"We're in a hotel room in a town called Confusion. I brought you here after I found you lying unconscious in an alley by the saloon. Any idea how you got there, by the way?"

"I was slugged by someone and fell out of a first floor window."

"James, you have got to stop doing that."

"It wasn't my choice, believe me. I'd much rather have come down the stairs."

"James, I've seen the way you come down the stairs. Sometimes it's more dangerous than using the window."

The old James would have understood and been amused. The current one had a puzzled look on his face.

"Who do you think attacked you? Could it have been Shawcross?" Gordon asked, changing the subject.

"I think it was his sister. She was posing as one of the saloon girls.

"It looks like the Shawcrosses want to get rid of any witnesses to their identity. Thank goodness they didn't succeed. Jim, I've had an idea that might convince you that I'm who I say I am. You said that your Artemus Gordon went to the Sheriff's office to ask him to send some men out to the shack. Now, if he was Shawcross and they were his men there's no way he would do that. So I suggest we go see the Sheriff."

"Sure," West agreed, attempting to stand up.

"Only if you're alright, of course."

"Don't worry, let's do this," West said, reaching for his gun belt and buckling it on. He wasn't prepared to take any chances, yet.

The two men set off toward the Sheriff's office and, when they got there, the Sheriff recognised West's companion at once.

"Hello, Mister Gordon," he said. "I've sent a couple of men to pick up those criminals you told me about."

"Thanks, Sheriff."

"And who's this young man?" the sheriff asked, looking at West.

"Please meet my associate, James West," Gordon said.

"And what part have you played in all this, Mr West?"

"It's a very long and complicated story," West said, wearily, "and I'm not sure I'm in a fit state to tell it," he added. "Excuse us, Sheriff."

The two men walked back to the hotel. Gordon could see that West was still suffering from a sore head so he led him back to his room and made him remove his jacket and lie on the bed, where Gordon removed his boots for him.

After a moment's silence during which West's gaze was locked on the ceiling, Gordon heard him say, "I'm sorry, Artemus."

Gordon didn't doubt that he meant it but nevertheless the words were forced out past stiff lips and, studying his profile, Gordon was shocked, but not surprised, by his friend's granite stare and the intractability of his jaw. He was obviously battling extreme emotions, including anger, frustration, humiliation, and resentment. While he could only guess how his friend must feel, West was experiencing it first-hand. Because of his amnesia he'd been forced to put his trust in a man he couldn't remember and Shawcross had played on his vulnerability, worse than that, Shawcross had done something diabolical to his friend to put him in that situation in the first place. Goodness only knew whether Jim would ever regain his memory. If he didn't then his career in the secret service would be finished. A new agent could learn everything he needed to know but a man who had been in the field for as many years as West had would have come across dozens of bad men and made many enemies. If he couldn't recognise them, then he would be prey to their machinations. The danger would also involve his partner, whoever that was. Gordon realised that, if he had thought of this, West probably had as well. No wonder he was having a problem exercising restraint over his emotions.

"James," he said quietly, "I know you don't remember me, and you've been given no reason to trust me, so far, but I can't put aside the friendship we've shared over the years. Please let me help you."

"What are you going to do, give me my memory back?" There was real resentment there but Gordon ignored it.

"If a whack on the head like the one you took didn't shake your memories loose then I doubt that there's anything physically I could do."

"That's the trouble isn't it? I'm not suffering from an ordinary bout of amnesia. Shawcross destroyed part of my brain, the part that makes me James West." The anger was starting to show now, and a touch of self-pity. "After all, isn't a man the sum of his memories?"

"I like to think that a man's personality is formed by the things he's experienced, whether he remembers them or not."

"Maybe you're right. I just keep asking myself, 'who is James West?'" he replied in frustration.

"You are," Gordon replied. "You can't help being him. You have no choice. You haven't changed as far as I can tell."

"Yeah? Well I bet I never messed up an assignment before, like I just did." He paused for a moment. "I never did before, did I?" he asked in a worried voice.

"No!" said Gordon, "definitely not! And you haven't this time either. How could you think that?"

A second later he had moved to West's side and taken hold of his arm, trying to imbue him with some of his own faith in him. To his chagrin West pulled away from him.

"I did mess up and we can't just sit here," he said. "We have to find Shawcross and the rubies." The words were without enthusiasm, though, and West showed no inclination to rise from the bed.

"I should have told you before. I never had the rubies; I sent them on ahead with Collingwood. That's how I knew they would be safe from Shawcross. I guess Shawcross made sure we were knocked out last night so he could search for the jewels. When he didn't find anything, he kidnapped me to force their whereabouts out of me. Of course he had to stay behind to allay suspicion of himself and to lay the robbery at my door. I'm sorry he did that to you. When I came to I was in that shack, bound to a chair. Two of Shawcross' men started on me. Luckily they thought I was Collingwood and didn't know what they were up against. The ropes were around my chest, leaving my hands free. I had no trouble deploying a small knock-out device. You saw the result and you already know the rest. I made for the nearest town, expecting you to turn up. Unfortunately I was at the telegraph office, sending my report, when you arrived in Confusion, and didn't know you were here until I passed the saloon and caught sight of you lying in that side alley. That took about ten years off my life, I can tell you."

"It all makes sense now, but why did Shawcross leave town without looking for you when he still thought you had the rubies?"

"I'm guessing that you told him I was pretending to be Artemus Gordon."

"Yes," angrily, at the realisation of his mistake. "When he realised you'd sent the real Collingwood away, it must have dawned on him that you probably sent the rubies ahead with him. I've been such a fool!"

"You can't blame yourself."

"I don't see why not but what are we waiting for? We have to catch up with Collingwood before Shawcross does." There was a spark of enthusiasm this time that made Gordon Smile.

"Not possible," he said. "Collingwood is on the Wanderer, which should be pulling into Washington any time now. He and the rubies are safe."

"And Shawcross?"

"Following a false trail set by a US Marshall and two deputies. They'll let him catch up with them and then they'll arrest him."

"So you've had everything worked out from the beginning and I didn't have to do anything except blunder my way through it," West said peevishly.

"I'm sorry, Jim, I just couldn't chance telling you about my plans before now. You can see that, can't you? I didn't know what influence Shawcross might have on you."

"I get it. I'm something if a liability to you and the service. So what happens now?"

"We leave for Remembrance in the morning and wait for the Wanderer to pick us up and take us back to Washington. But right now I think you should rest."

West acquiesced by lying back down and closing his eyes but Gordon could tell that it was quite a while before he actually fell asleep. He didn't envy him the thoughts that must have been keeping him awake.