"My father is gone, Mr. West."

The admission came breathlessly from Winifred's lips, starting a fresh waterfall of tears over her cheeks. She was pale and shaking, not as a woman given to vapors, but as a human being experiencing the shock of loss.

Jim assumed that she meant that her father was dead, but didn't dare clarify. He kept silent, his arm under Wini's elbow, supporting and escorting her over the rough ground.

"The mail arrived this morning, unusually early. Walter has a friend at the post office who will forward personal correspondences to our home himself. He thought the news he was bringing would be pleasant." The way she spoke, Jim got the idea that the young Mrs. Tennyson had been more upset at the disappointment to the messenger, than her own sorrow.

Jim felt her footsteps slow, caught the struggle against emotional release that Winifred was quickly losing, then pulled the tiny woman into his arms as she wept, shuddering against him.

"He's gone." She wailed, her head buried against Jim's chest. "He's gone, and I wasn't there."

After arriving in the camp, Walter secured the carriage near the rope corral. He released his horses from their yoke but kept them harnessed, certain that they would be departing again soon and not wanting to waste time removing the horses' burdens, only to burden them again.

Grabbing his wife's discarded shawl from the carriage seat Tennyson hurried back to where she stood, leaning against Mr. West. His heart broke for his bride's anguish, his chest constricting with his concern for her health, and that of their first child. He had felt hopeless from the first moment that Winifred read the news hastily scribbled in the letter.

Now he felt more so.

As Walter ran back up to them, Jim guided the grieving woman into the Englishman's arms and returned to the campfire. Spreading a blanket over his own bedroll, then folding another against his saddle, West created a slightly more comfortable place for the pregnant woman to rest once she arrived in the camp.

He went to the campfire and opened the coffee pot, sniffed at what remained of the grounds and dumped them into the coals of the fire. Over the sizzle of the wet grounds he threw some kindling, then larger sticks, encouraging the warm embers into flame.

Where was Artemus? Jim emptied his canteen into the coffee pot, only filling the pot halfway. He went to Arte's bedroll throwing his blankets to the side until he found Gordon's canteen.

Where could he go without water, or his gun?

Jim tossed Arte's gunbelt against his saddle, shaking his head before he filled the rest of the pot and set it near the burgeoning flames.

A beautiful woman in tears wasn't normally a problem for West. A beautiful married woman, with her husband on hand, and a close friend of theirs to boot, that presented a scenario he very much wanted to avoid. He would have preferred Arte there. He would have preferred to avoid the slow, nagging worry tugging at the back of his mind as Walter and Winifred entered the campfire circle.

Jim showed them the place he had made for Wini, helping Walter get his very pregnant wife down to the ground without incident. Walter quietly placed his wife's shawl around her shoulders then sat next to her, whispering softly as the woman wept.

Jim was considering his options, knowing that he had to get water anyway and that it would offer a good excuse to leave his guests. He was about to pick up the canteens and make his exit when he saw yet another dust cloud on the horizon. But this one was coming from the west, just north of the copse of trees. A wagon, a covered wagon, with the canopy wobbling from side to side, drawn by oxen moving at a walking pace.

Not one wagon, but two, no, three, in a straight line, crossing the plains and heading straight for their camp and he could almost guarantee that the man in the front seat of the first wagon was Artemus Gordon.

"Mr. West?"

Jim looked to Tennyson, then found that he too was focused on the newest arrivals. West's horse was still free of the corral and Jim jogged over to it, leaping onto it bareback.

Just before he charged out of camp for the second time he paused, his mouth open, preparing to say something; but there was nothing he could think of to say that might possibly answer the questions Walter hadn't voiced.

Jim jerked his head in the direction of the approaching wagons as if to say, "I'll get right back to you on that." then pushed his knees into his mount's rib cage and was off again.

Ten feet in front of the wagons, where she had almost blended into the color of the landscape, Jim spotted Squirt, jogging ahead of the oxen in her yellow dress and bare feet. As he got closer he made out her small voice shouting something that sounded like "mu."

He caught a full phrase of Ute that started with "mu" and ended with "A'art'e", and fought his spirited animal to a shuddering halt a few feet from the six-year-old. She was grinning and pointing back to the wagons. Jim leaned down with his hand outstretched and she clung to his forearm until he had her seated on the animal's spine in front of him. They walked slowly towards the wagons as they too came to a halt.

Arte was laughing. "Jim!" He shouted slapping his leg in his exuberance. "You won't believe it. Not in a million years."

Jim fought the smile that was coming to his lips, trying to remember that he was mad at Arte for worrying him.

"Not in a hundred million years, Jim."

West looked over the other two wagons. Each one driven by a woman of acceptable, if hard-won beauty. Some of the women were bigger in stature and height than Arte was, he realized as more faces and bodies appeared, looking curiously out of the backs of the wagons.

"You'll never guess." Arte said, grinning like a fool.

Jim ground his teeth together, then turned his horse back around so that it was facing camp.

"Mail order brides, Arte?"

"N-...how'd..." Suddenly crestfallen Arte looked over his brilliant surprise with a saddened look of waste, then pursed his lips in disappointment and shook his head at Jim, as if by guessing right he had ruined everything.

"Arte, we already have company." Jim said, nodding toward the camp. As Arte squinted into the distance Jim walked his horse down the line of wagons, nodding to each face as he passed. Twelve women. Some of them looked distrustfully at him, some smiled and flirted, at least one laughed for reasons he couldn't understand.

He had completed his circuit and returned to Arte's side when his partner said, "Is that Tennyson?"

Jim nodded. "They just arrived in camp. Winifred's father passed away, and she's been...weeping."

Under the surprise and concern on Arte's face was the beginning of a knowing smile. He forced his lips over it, not wanting to enjoy Winifred's sorrow, but greatly enjoying his partner's discomfort.

"We'll set up the ladies' camp on this side of the trees." Arte offered, looking back along the line of canvas and wood.

Jim considered Arte's new harem, then looked back to the lonely man and wife around the fire.

"I dunno, Artemus. Let's see how it plays out. Bring 'em on into camp. And then you are on water duty."

Jim grinned and rode away before Arte could get a full sentence of protest out of his mouth. Behind him he heard his partner whipping up the oxen, and the creak and rattle of the wagons.

Suddenly they had a full house, and for some reason that pleased Jim very much.

The camp of simple bedrolls and a rope corral expanded in a matter of hours into a small village. The three wagons formed a loose circle around the fire and the women, clearly accustomed to their life of travel had taken over in minutes.

A cast iron fire set had been erected over the flames and there was now a boiling pot of stew hanging over the heat, along with a two gallon coffee pot full of coffee, and a another two gallon pot full of hot water. Both had been carried half a mile to the stream, filled, and lugged back by a grumbling Artemus Gordon.

A small dutch oven sat next to the fire waiting for its turn over the coals and a table had been placed nearby where two women were elbow deep in flour and dough.

There was a constant hum of quiet conversation around the camp as the women worked, some preparing to take baskets of laundry up to the creek, others surrounding Winifred and taking over the duties of pampering from her husband.

Once they had discovered the pregnant woman in their midst they had shunned West's hastily prepared seating arrangement and had Jim and Arte pull a rocking chair from the back of one of the wagons. Wini had been given several pillows, a crocheted blanket, a cup of tea and a small stool on which to put her feet before Hazel, the owner of the rocking chair, stationed herself at Wini's side, listening intently to Mrs. Tennyson's every concern.

While Arte, Jim and Walter looked after the oxen, and Walter's horses, the women buzzed around the camp like worker bees in a hive. It all soon proved to be too much for Squirt and she snuck away, joining the men and 'helping' by petting the faces of the oxen while each one was tended.

"You know, its interesting that she chooses to be with us, instead of with them." Arte remarked, the hoof of one of Tennyson's horses captured between his knees as he dug hardened mud out from behind the animal's shoe. "I always figured they learned that flocking behavior from birth."

West looked over his shoulder at the camp full of women and had to admit they were intimidating. "We're familiar to her, Arte."

"I suppose, but she'll have to find out she's a woman someday." Arte said, letting the hoof drop and checking the animal's tendons for swelling before he straightened.

"Maybe she just doesn't like crowds." Jim said, winking at Squirt, who giggled from her seat atop the shoulders of one of the oxen. In the time that she had been gone she had managed to get dust-covered and smudged again, and Jim realized, had developed an odd bulge in the top of her dress. Frowning he pointed to the awkward lump and said, "What is that?"

Squirt looked down at herself, then grinned and reached into her collar pulling out the moccasins that she was no longer wearing. Jim snickered and lifted Squirt from her perch, setting her on the ground where she promptly plopped down in the dirt to put her shoes back on. Together they moved on to the next animal in their ever-widening corral.

"Has Walter mentioned why he and his wife tore out of Denver in a buggy so early in the morning?" Arte asked fixing a bag of feed over the ears of Tennyson's horse. Once the bag was secure Arte leaned against the animal to watch Walter on the other side of the corral busily checking over the wheels of his carriage.

Jim shrugged. "He said he had a favor to ask."

"Huh." Arte said, then smiled. "Jim, do you know where these ladies are headed?" He asked moving to the opposite side of the oxen that Jim was brushing down.

"California?"

Arte smirked and shook his head. "Utah."

Jim paused a moment, then smiled slowly. "Utah?"

Arte nodded. "Home of the Mormons, of beautiful sisters who don't mind marrying the same man. Wide open skies, the Great Salt Lake."

"You lost me at Lake, Arte."

"Aw, Jim."

"What are you proposing, Artemus? That we escort three wagons into territory we've never visited? What about Tennyson, what about Squirt?"

"Mr. West?"

Both men turned to find Walter standing with hat in hand directly behind the oxen they had been discoursing over. They noticed Tennyson's concerned glance towards the derriere of the animal then stepped away from it, Jim leading the way out of the corral.

"It was in fact the state of Utah that Winifred and I wished to discuss."

"My wife's family came from the east. Her father was born in Vermont, and moved to Ohio before he was 22. He married her mother there, then when he embraced the Gospel of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints he joined a wagon train of similar believers moving west. They were in fact chased out of Ohio by an angry mob. Winifred was born the fourth child of eight somewhere between Illinois and Utah territory, literally a child of the American plains."

"More mob violence?" Arte asked.

"She thinks so," Walter said, shrugging, the action distinctly Americanized and at odds with his still prominent English accent. "So much of the history of her family has been shunted to the side in favor of the happy times that followed once they settled in the Territory. They've been there ever since. Winifred left her home in Ogden, Utah at the age of 23. It is common for the youth of the Mormon church to go out as missionaries until the age of 25, to bring more new converts into the community. It was this mission trip that brought her to Denver."

"She hasn't returned home since then?"

Walter shook his head. "As my father-in-law George Wilson is an elder in the church he couldn't be gone from his duties for more than a day and her mother, Esther, has declared she will never again leave her home, not even for a fortnight. They've never ventured away from Ogden. Winifred and I had been discussing a trip after the baby is born..."

"But then you got the letter..." Arte said nodding, eyeing his partner.

Walter nodded. "I tried, Mr. West, to dissuade her from making a trip at so crucial a juncture. The letter was clear that her father had passed, and had been buried. Her mother even insisted that Winifred not try to make the trip down, but..."

"Walter...did you really intend to make it all the way to Utah, in that?" Jim asked, pointing at the delicate buggy parked under a tree.

"Oh...heavens, no." Walter said, chuckling at the idea. "I had hoped we would impose upon you gentleman and the hospitality of your train, but then was shocked to find it-" Walter trailed off, struggling to find a word to describe The Wanderer's condition.

Both Secret Service Agents nodded and waved him off, knowing full well.

"We're stuck ourselves until the train is fixed." Arte added.

"Which was precisely what I assumed. When I was told that you had bought supplies and another horse before heading out of town-"

"Told...told by whom?" Arte asked.

"A very tall gentleman.." Walter began standing on tiptoe and thrusting his hand high above his head.

"Jim, I never told that ape where we were going." Arte said, dropping his voice as he leaned toward his partner.

"Neither did I."

"It was bizarre enough that he hijacked the train only to tear it apart, do you think it was all intentional to get us out here?"

"That's a little paranoid, Arte."

Gordon leaned back, snapping his mouth shut as he regarded his partner. "Am I talking to the same man who was attacked twice in one night, by two different criminal organizations from completely disparate cultures?"

"Arte..."

"Who has a hole in his shoulder from an Oriental throwing star, and bruises from a sap-wielding Italian?"

"Arte."

"Did I neglect to tell you that I only had to spend a day in Denver digging up answers before the train was attacked by a convoy of armed men in buggies, little more than a week ago?"

"Arte...!" Jim lifted his fist, jabbing one finger in the air. "You've made your point."

Gordon took a deep breath, then nodded his head once, settling into the silence again before he noticed that Walter, Squirt, and every other woman in camp was staring at the three men who until then had been otherwise ignored.

Jim offered their new audience a smile, and Arte crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring them, until the buzz of conversation resumed.

"It's not a bad point either," Jim continued after a moment of thought, "It's probably best that we keep moving away from Denver City for the time being, and traveling with a wagon train will throw off anyone expecting to follow only three horses."

"But Mr. West, you said..."

"With the wagon's and the oxen we'll be moving at a slow enough pace that I think your buggy can stand up to. I'm sure the rest of the...uh...ladies wouldn't mind the escort."

"-and Jim and I have always wanted to see Utah." Arte interjected, both men smirking at each other, before they met Walter's confused gaze. The Englishman considered the agents for a moment before he quietly nodded.

"Very well, gentleman. Naturally I'm delighted. I'm certain Winifred will be most relieved."

"Will she be able to travel by morning?" Arte asked.

"She's hearty stock, men." Walter assured them exuberantly before he bowed, replaced his hat on his head, and negotiated his way into the circle of wagons and women.

In her usual place, smack in the middle between Gordon and West, Squirt looked up to Jim and quietly said, "Mu?"

"Oh, that's right." Arte said, snapping his fingers before he grinned at his partner. "You're mu."

"What?"

"Mu.." Arte said, pointing at Jim. "She kept saying the word over and over all morning, I finally figured out that it was you. Here."

Arte placed his hand on Squirt's dark-haired head and pointed to himself. Clearly accustomed to this new game Squirt grinned and said, "A'art'e."

Arte grinned and then poked the girl's shoulder. "Wananika." She said, then pursed her lips and said, "Skert."

"She hasn't quite got the hang of the 'qu' but she's getting there." Arte explained then pointed at his partner.

"Mu." Squirt responded excitedly, and together the two grinned at him.

Jim was fighting his own smile and he fixed a glare at his partner. "I suppose..."Jim" or "West" was just too much to handle..."

Arte shrugged, pleased as punch.

"Alright," Jim said. "So I'm Mu; What do you want kid?"

Squirt pointed in the direction that Walter had gone and said, "Saw-mee-get da-watch."

Jim looked up to Arte to see if he had any more insight before he considered the Englishman now kneeling before his wife to deliver the good news. They watched as she burst into happy tears, hugging and kissing her husband to the delighted clucking of the women around them.

Squirt giggled too, giving a satisfied sigh. Quietly she clasped her hands together and leaned against Jim's legs. Jim looked down, letting his hand rest against the top of her head. There was no doubt in his mind that Squirt was all woman.