Chapter 4

Into the Night

"...and it was not until I began to think, that I began fully to know how wrecked I was, and how the ship in which I had sailed was gone to pieces."
― Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

Artie drew quite a lot of attention when he arrived in Colton Springs, late that afternoon. Now that quartz mining had more or less dried up, in that area, the population had dwindled and it was unusual to see visitors, especially ones dressed in a city suit and brown derby.

After stabling his horse, the visitor made his way to the only boarding house and paid in advance for a room for three nights.

"I reckon that'll be sufficient time to wrap up my business here," he told the proprietor, Mrs March, a middle-aged woman of ample proportions. In Artie's experience landladies all looked like that, except the mean ones.

"And what might that be?" she enquired. They were usually nosey as well.

"A friend of mine said there might be some parcels of land going at good prices around here. I was thinking of buying some of it – for a client of mine, of course."

She looked sceptical. "Good luck to you then, I got work to do."

Artie took his dismissal with a smile, tipped his hat to her, and headed down to the saloon. Once there, he sauntered up to the bar, pushed his hat to the back of his head, planted one elbow on the counter top, and one foot on the rail provided.

"Whisky, bartender!" He said, throwing money on the bar, and was soon provided with a glass, and a bottle, from which he poured a small measure.

"Here's to you!" he said.

The man next to him at the bar looked over. "You're new in town," he said.

"Sure am," Artie replied. "Name's Theobold Crouch," he added, shaking hands with the man.

"Marcus South," the man replied. "Mind me asking what you're doing in these parts?"

"Not at all, I'm looking to buy some land for a client, and a friend suggested I might pick some up at a good price hereabouts."

"Then, I'm afraid your friend was mistaken."

"About what, the land or the price?"

"Both. I'm sorry you've had a wasted journey, Mr Crouch. How far have you travelled?"

"From Nevada, I was looking at a ranch for another client of mine."

"Maybe you'd have more success if you went back there."

Artie could tell when he was being warned off.

"Well, I thank you for your advice, Mr South, I really do, but seeing as I've come all this way I think I'll stick around a little longer, see if I can't come up with something."

"Well, that's up to you."

"Do you happen to know who the biggest landowner is around here?"

"Yes, that's Abel Gardner; he lives a half a mile outside town."

"Much obliged to you Mr South," Artie said, taking his whisky and settling at a nearby table, from where he had a good view of the staff and patrons.

It wasn't long before one of the saloon girls noticed his lonely state and walked over to talk to him. "Want some company, mister?" she asked, glad to see a fresh face, and a handsome one at that. He looked like he might have money too.

"Well now, I believe I do. What's your name?" Artie asked, pulling out a chair for her to sit next to him.

"Angie," she replied.

"What'll you have to drink, Angie – no don't tell me – champagne, am I right?"

The girl leaned over toward him. "You sure know how to treat a girl," she said.

"Only the pretty ones," he said.

While they were drinking, she put her hand on his leg and Artie decided to get down to business before things went any further.

"You know anything about that man I was talking to, Marcus South?" he asked.

"Sure, everyone knows Marcus. He owns half the town, including this place, the general store and the undertakers."

Artie's senses went on alert. A powerful man like that could easily be in a position to run a group like the one he was searching for. It was a little unusual that he should own the funeral parlour as well. Artie had a distrust of undertakers; they always gave him the creeps and they had the perfect hiding place for dead bodies.

He placed a five dollar bill in Angie's hand. "That's for the company and the information," he said. "I gotta go now."

With that he placed his hat firmly on his head and walked out of the saloon. It was nearly sundown and the street was almost deserted. He started to weave a drunken path toward the boarding house, just to allay any suspicions that he might be up to something other than going to pass out on his bed. When he arrived there, he changed clothes, ready to sneak out, later. At the appointed time he climbed out the window and headed for the clump of trees just outside town, where he was supposed to meet up with Nate. As he crept along the road, he didn't notice the movements in the shadows around him.

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James West was back in Washington and standing in Colonel Richmond's office.

"Well Jim, how did the visit to Doctor Arcularis go?" he asked.

The look he saw on the agent's face not only told him the visit had been unsuccessful but that Jim was heading into some dark place. If he could have read West's mind, at that moment, it would have confirmed his fears. Jim had the feeling he was on a rudderless and anchorless ship, bashing helplessly against the rocks, with no way to save himself from the onslaught. That it was not physical, made it no less overwhelming and painful. Was this how he and The Service were going to part ways?

Jim swallowed and looked down at his hands. "Doctor Arcularis held out no hope for me," he said.

"But, surely if the man did this to you, he can undo it?" Richmond argued.

"Ah, but you see Sir, I did this to myself. I took the only way I could see of saving Chief Ho-Tami's life but in doing so I ruined my own."

"But there must be some way..."

"No, I have to give up on that way of thinking. If I had to do it again, I would. Saving Ho-Tami also saved hundreds of thousands of lives."

"But at what cost!" The Colonel exclaimed.

"It's not as if it's the end of my life," Jim said, "I'll go on living. I'll just have to adjust." He essayed a brief smile, to reassure his superior.

"I could give you a permanent posting in Washington," Richmond offered.

"That's good of you Sir but, you and I know it wouldn't suit me. I knew someday I'd have to give up field work and that I'd have to find some other kind of employment. It would have happened sooner or later but I'd hoped it would be later and I would be prepared for it, that's all."

Richmond laid a hand on West's shoulder and found it was rigid with the control he was exercising.

"Nevertheless Jim, there'll be a position here in Washington for as long as you want it. Give it some time and see if you change your mind, will you do that?"

Jim nodded in agreement. "If I might go now Sir; I have some things I need to see to."

"Of course, but you will come to me, if you need any help, won't you?"

"Yes Sir, good day Sir."

West left the room, to make ready mentally, to leave harbour, without charts or a compass.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

At first, Nate didn't realise that Artie was late for their meeting because they'd agreed to meet sometime between seven-thirty and eight that evening. After waiting until half past eight, though, he decided to take the risk of going to the boarding house, where he knew Artie would be staying. On the way there he saw something lying by the side of the track, reflecting the moonlight. On taking a closer look, he found it to be Artie's gun, the initials 'A.G.' easily visible on the butt. Nate looked around him, afraid that he would find his partner's body, but couldn't see anyone, dead or living. There were scuffed footmarks in the dirt and a trail of more, belonging to several men, leading back into town, which he lost among the confusion of trails on the main street. Nate had no idea where to begin so he returned to his horse and rode back to the Wanderer, to report.

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West had been keeping a look out for any news to come through concerning Artie and Nate, so he was one of the first to know when the message arrived from Nate that Artie had gone missing.

He tried not to panic, knowing how often he had gone missing on assignment and only now realising how Artie must have felt – poor Artie. But that was the way it worked. Jim was the impetuous one who rushed into trouble and Artie was the one who came and found him, sometimes to rescue him but mostly to keep him company until they could both free themselves. Artie was the cautious one, so how had he managed to get himself captured in the first place? Whatever, he just wished he could be there to rescue him or just be with him, to make sure he was all right. He couldn't help remembering the agent who had already been killed by the men Artie had gone up against, and now they had his friend.

Then it hit him. 'Why don't I go and find him?' He was just biding his time in Washington until he had the courage to call an end to his career in the Secret Service. 'Why not go right now? - Because Colonel Richmond would never allow it, of course.' Should he hand in his resignation? No, he'd be of more help if he was still officially a Federal agent. Besides he didn't have the time. The decision made, he wasted no time in going back to his lodgings, packing what he would need, and arranging his journey by train to a station near Colton Springs. Before anyone knew, he was gone; he had loaded his horse in the stock car and was on his way.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

Artie woke up to find himself tied to a chair in an underground room somewhere. He flexed his muscles to ease the stiffness and looked around him. The room was bare except for the chair he was sitting on and a table. There was a metal door in which bars were set and, as he watched it, two men entered. One moved over to him and the other perched on the table. The latter was a man in his fifties with silver hair and strong features. He was wearing a pair of trousers in cavalry twill, an expensive shirt and a pair of top-quality riding boots.

"Well now Mr Crouch," he said.

Artie realised that, this well-dressed man who presumably owned the large, brick-built cellar, was probably Abel Gardner. However, he decided to play dumb.

"That's my name, what's yours, and why have you brought me here?

"Don't play games with me," the man said, as his sidekick smacked Artie on the side of his head.

"Ow! that hurts! What was that for?"

"Cut it out; I know you're an agent," the man said.

"Yeah," Artie agreed, "a land agent. I'm here looking for land to buy, that's all."

"Then why were you sneaking about in the dark last night?"

"I drank a little too much at the saloon so I went out for some fresh air. Look, you got me all wrong. I'm just an honest man trying to make a living."

"An honest man?"

Artie ducked as he could see the sidekick was about to hit him again. The blow caught him on the top of his head.

"All right," he conceded, "so I skim a little off the top by inflating the cost of the deals I make. My clients are rich men, they can afford it. What's it to you? I never had any dealings with you."

For once the man at the table looked less convinced about Artie being a secret agent. Artie decided to play on it.

"If you let me go, I promise to leave town and not come back," he said. "What d'ya say?"

The man looked him up and down. "Sorry Mr Crouch, you know too much. Davis, deal with him!" he ordered.

Before Artie could react, he felt a hard blow to the back of his head and he was out cold. Davis, the sidekick, freed him from the chair, threw him over his shoulder, and carried him out to the waiting cart.

ooooooooooo0ooooooooooo

The first thing West did, when he left the train, was to buy a gun belt and a couple of firearms, one of which he slipped inside his jacket. He was willing to wear the glasses day and night, if necessary, as long as it meant he could go armed once more. The next thing he did was to ride out to the Wanderer, which was in a siding about five miles further down the track.

It was early evening when he arrived and boarded the train. He took a look around, but there was no-one there. He left his travelling bag on a couch and then set out for Colton Springs.

Leaving his horse outside town he carefully made his way down the main street, hiding in the shadows. He noticed a light and headed in that direction. It turned out to be coming from the funeral parlour. Standing to one side, he took a quick look through the window. There was a body lying on the table. Two men were lifting it but Jim couldn't see it clearly. He removed his glasses for a moment, for a clearer look and felt his heart sink to his boots; it was Artie. Jim watched numbly as the two men placed him in one of the drawers situated along one wall of the funeral parlour.

Jim leaned back against the wall he was standing next to, too dazed to move. His brain felt frozen and he couldn't get his thoughts together. Artie was gone – and he hadn't been there – he should have been there.

Blindly, Jim tore himself away from the scene and found himself back with his horse without knowing how he got there. He stopped for a moment and took two or three deep breaths. He had to go and find Nate.

He rode up into the hills and open country beyond the town.

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