THE NIGHT OF THE DEADLY AVALANCHE

By Andamogirl

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ACT THREE

On the evening

Rolling on his good side, Artemus opened his eyes with great effort, struggling, slowly waking to a pounding headache.

He looked around himself in surprise, to discover that he was curled in a ball on one of the couches of the parlor car, a coverlet left draped over him.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position and grunted, feeling his injured side ache, and moaned as his head was swimming.

Puzzled, he creased his brow. The last thing he recalled was swallowing the spoonful of laudanum in Dr. Redson's office. Apparently Jim had brought him back home, but as he wasn't in his bed. He probably had crashed here, on the couch and passed out, he thought.

He gasped when Marmalade jumped on his stomach and he immediately rubbed the cat under its chin, eliciting loud contented purrs. "Hello Marmalade," he said blinking groggily.

Hearing metallic sounds coming from the galley, he scooped the cat against his chest, stood, swayed on unsteady legs for a few seconds and headed there.

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Seeing James taking the coffee box off a shelf, Artemus smiled and said, throat still thick with sleep, "Hiya, Jim." Then he groaned, his head throbbing. "Ow! Too loud."

Looking at his best friend, Jim smiled. Artemus was bleary eyed and weary, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair in total disarray. "Hi, Artie! You've been asleep since I brought you back on board, I was beginning to get slightly worried," he said.

Moving toward his partner Artie whispered, "Shhhh… keep your voice down, please, or my head is going to explode!" He groaned, feeling his stomach lurch. "Let me prepare the coffee, Jim, please; your coffee is just undrinkable,"

He gently landed Marmalade at his feet and raising his intact left hand he added, "Fortunately I'm ambidextrous." Taking the tin can from his partner's hand, he asked him, "What happened after Dr. Redson dosed me with laudanum?" He frowned trying to remember something but it was still impossible. "I don't remember anything."

Taking two cups in the dresser, Jim said in a low voice, "He took care of your wound, he re-opened it, cleaned it, re-stitched it and re-bandaged it." He placed the cups on the small table and chuckled. "You sang loudly all the way back to the Wanderer…"

Surprised Artie lifted his eyebrows. "I sang loudly? Me?" He winced. "Too loud."

Grinning, Jim took two little spoons in the drawer of the dresser. "Yes you did," he whispered. You invented songs about cats and snow and snow cats… that was very funny. I brought you here and you collapsed on the couch, passed out. I let you sleep it off the drug. How are you feeling, Artie?"

Putting some coffee beans in the burr grinder, Artie smiled and said, "Not well. I have a post-laudanum hangover, meaning that my head is pounding, I'm a bit nauseated, my limbs feel like lead, I'm a bit feverish and I can't bear any loud noise, because it hurts. But it will get better after two liters of black, hot, coffee, a copious dinner, a long shower." He yawned. "And an injection of my latest painkiller, if it's necessary. You know I should make pills of it; it would be easy to take. Your friend Dr. Redson did a good job." He looked down at 'Marmie' walking across his feet and rubbing herself against his legs, meowing for milk. He bent forward and scratched the orange and white feline's head behind its ears. "Later, you spoiled cat, I only have one hand," he murmured.

Placing a pot filled with water on the flat part of the hot stove Jim nodded. "I told you, Paul is a good doctor." Then he watched Artemus starting to grind the coffee beans, pounding the seed and collecting the ground coffee on a bowl. "Paul told me to change your bandage each morning and each evening and I will have to clean the stitched wound too with some alcohol-based preparation dosed at 90 %. He gave me a bottle of it. You will need to see a doctor in a week, too."

Still whispering, Artemus nodded. "I can do that myself, you know. It's not the first time I have had bullet wounds and it won't be the last." He took a linen from a drawer and placed it on the top of a pot. He fixated it with a rubber band and placed the powdered coffee inside waiting for Jim to pour water on it. Soon the boiling water seeped through the ground coffee and a black liquid started dripping into the collecting vessel. The fresh brewed coffee smell filled the galley. "You know, I was thinking about something easier to use to trap the coffee grounds and allow the liquid coffee to flow through – like a paper-filter, to avoid the need to clean the linen. Of course, it won't be easy to find the adapted paper. It will need to be resistant enough to let the flow of water pass through it, to avoid tear or rupture, to be resistant to the degradation by heat, and the more important thing, to be able to let the liquid pass through it… I'll find something, I'm sure."

Nodding, Jim said with a low voice still, "Good idea. I think it would be a good idea, too, for you to go to the Military Hospital in Washington. Dr. Henderson will take a look at your wound."

Shaking his head, Artie took the coffee pot and headed then toward door, Jim in tow. "That's a bad idea, Jim. I don't want to be confined to bed rest for a few days." Once in the parlor car, he settled the coffee pot on the table, Jim placing the cups beside it. He sat gingerly on a chair, placating his non-bandaged hand on his now itching injury. "I have other plans in the Capital, visiting Miss Nadja Svetlanov, the lovely daughter of the Russian Ambassador, for instance." Marmalade jumped on the table, meowing hungrily. She nestled her head under her master's chin and purred loudly.

Frowning, Artie looked down at his cat. "Your meows are too loud for me, Marmie, shhh." Complying, he headed toward the galley again and come back in the parlor car shortly after with a saucer filled with milk.

Glancing at his best friend, then at his cat, then back at the older man, Jim smirked. "I'm wondering who's the master between the two of you, her or you?"

Smiling, Artemus placed the milk-filled saucer sat it beside the sofa and the young cat jumped to the carpeted floor, padding there, wagging its striped tail with pleasure. "Her, no doubt."

Sitting on a chair Jim poured the coffee in the cups. "I'm not sure that Grant will let you go gallivanting in Washington buddy," he whispered. You know him, he's worse than a mother hen with you when you're hurt. Sorry to tell you this, but you will spend quite some time in a hospital bed – but I'm sure you won't feel too lonely ... I heard that Alice and Martia Donaldson, those lovely nurses from the Denver hospital – who kept you company there three weeks ago - have been transferred to the Washington Military Hospital." He smiled. "And they're not the first nurses to have requested their transfer to that hospital, I heard… to be sure to meet a certain Artemus 'Don Juan' Gordon there, or out of the hospital."

Artie grinned. "What can I say? No woman resists my natural charm and good looks…" And took the cup Jim was handing him. "Thanks." He took a sip.

Suddenly the telegraph key clicked alive. Artie groaned and glared at the offending device.

Taking a piece of paper and a pen on the writing table, Jim let Artie send a response, accepting the transmission, and then wrote down the following message on a piece of paper.

Once the transmission was over, Artemus signaled the good reception of the message and James said, "It's from General Davidson of the 17th Cavalry Regiment. The President has left Fort Bragg escorted by a regiment and should be here within a couple of hours."

Pleased Artie beamed. "Then I'm going to take a quick shower, swallow a pill of painkiller, drink only one gallon of coffee and I will prepare dinner, in that order – something delicate and tasty, worthy of a great restaurant. Grant is a gourmet – like me."

Putting the paper and the pen back on the writing table, Jim smiled. "I thought he loved simple things like pork and beans…"

Artemus nodded. "That was before he discovered my cuisine." He took the pot of coffee and headed back toward the galley.

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Later

President Ulysses S. Grant was finishing his succulent tarte Tatin, Marmalade's lying Sphinx-like on the table beside him, staring, watching his every move – when there was a sudden 'woo-hoo' signaling the departure of the train.

The Wanderer jolted forward on the rails, leaving the yard.

Looking at Jim and Artie sitting on the closest couch, The President smiled. "I hope everything is going to be alright, I have important meetings in Washington and I can't delay them eternally. There's a lot of snow on the rails…"

Jim nodded. "Yes Sir, but it stopped snowing and the sun shining The temperatures are now going up and snow is already melting rapidly. We shouldn't have any problem reaching Washington."

Suddenly, they heard a knock at the door. Before Jim or Artemus could do anything, it opened and Paul Redson entered. "Just in time," he said, out of breath.

Marmalade immediately arched her back and let out tiny growls. Grant frowned. Something was wrong, he thought. The cat had sensed it.

Redson stared at Grant, stunned. "General? I mean, Mr. President?"

Bolting toward the door, Jim immediately closed it behind the physician – Redson still looking wide-eyed at Grant sitting at the table.

Paul Redson blinked himself out of his stupor and said, "It's an honor to meet you again, General, I mean, Mr. President. I didn't know that you were here."

President Grant nodded. "Probably because it was a secret , mister…."

Redson took a step forward – only to find Jim and Artemus blocking his way. "What do you want, doctor?" Jim asked.

Redson took a step back and sorry, he said, "You're in danger, Jim, and you too, Artemus – and now you too, Mr. President."

Frowning in worry, Artie commanded, "Explain yourself, doctor." Then he beckoned to the couch. "Sit down. We're all ears."

Redson sat on the couch, upholstered in golden velvet, crossing and uncrossing his fingers nervously. "I'm really sorry, Jim, but you're not going to like it. My wife and I… we're at the head of a counterfeiting ring." He saw the three other men raised their eyebrows in surprise then frown in disapprobation. "Foreign counterfeited money, to be exact. When you showed up at my office, my wife, Miranda, was behind the door. She heard that you were federal agents and she thought that you were here to investigate us…"

Jim shook his head. "We didn't know a thing about that. I just wanted you to take a look at Artie's wound, that's all."

Redson sighed. "I knew it. But Miranda didn't want to lose everything and end up in prison. That's why she tried to kill your partner with laudanum but you arrived just in time… "

Taken aback Artie furrowed his brow. "What?"

Redson continued, "She wanted to kill you too, Jim. I couldn't let her do that, so I came here to tell you all that. But now, she knows that you know the whole thing, and she has probably decided to kill me."

Jim sighed, very disappointed. "I thought you were an honest man, Paul. I was wrong. That train won't stop before it arrives in Washington. Once there, Miranda couldn't reach you. In the meantime, you'll travel with us, but in a cell. The Wanderer has one in the stable car."

Redson nodded. "I'm sorry."

Artemus nodded. He was right. Paul Redson was hiding something. Something that will lead him and his wife in a prison for years, he reflected.

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Later

Miranda Redson stomped the snow-covered ground of the train platform in frustration. The train had left – with the federal agents on board and her husband Paul. Her eyes narrowed in anger and disgust as she remembered that she had followed her husband here, discreetly, suspecting that Paul, this weak and pathetic weasel, would come to tell everything to the federal agents to have a remission of the sentence, she thought. "And I was right," she muttered. He's going to tell them everything," she said to the man standing beside her, Paul's ex-top henchman.

Mitt Bradley nodded sadly. "Then everything is lost. "

Miranda shook her head with a feral grin. "No… if he dies, nothing will be lost. I just had a wonderful idea. We can't catch up the train, but we can stop it – and kill everyone on board."

The goon blinked, puzzled. "How?"

Miranda offered him a wicked smile. "The train will reach Nelly's Pass in a few hours, in Blue Ridge Mountains, near Mount Mittchell. We have people in a town nearby, Yellow Springs. With a few sticks of dynamite exploding in the mountain – at the right place, it will start an avalanche, or two avalanches, that's better - and with all that snow accumulated following the snowstorm, it's going to be easy, and the train will be buried under tons of snow and ice, stopping him."

Bradley smiled cruelly. "I will send people to be sure they're dead."

Miranda looked up at the tall, muscular and handsome man. She had not paid him the slightest interest so far, but now that her husband was gone and would die…. "I think that I've just find someone who will make an excellent associate," she said.

Milt Bradley grinned.

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Much later

Nelly's Pass, Blue Ridge Mountains

It was the middle of the night when two huge explosions resounded – waking everyone in the train, Marmalade included.

Then a loud, thundering, rumble could be heard in the distance, growing in volume as tons of avalanche snow and ice were bearing down on the Wanderer.

Shortly after, the train was hit simultaneously by two great white waves, one on each side which stopped the Wanderer brutally and almost buried it beneath ice and snow.

All the windows on each side of the train exploded under the force of impact and snowdrifts and chunks of ice invaded the Wanderer.

The doors (stable car and lab) were shattered by the force of the walls of snow and ice and the sides of the cars were hit, too, by big pieces of ice which broke through, making holes in them and then ravaged everything in their path.

Big pieces of ice crashed on the cell too, followed by snow, flattening the solid bars, crushing Paul Redson's body, submerging him and burying him under loads of whiteness.

The horses were luckier. They were half-buried in the snow and not injured, but, seriously frightened, they were neighing and moving restlessly.

His hand pressed on his aching side, Artie left his bunk and get around a big piece of ice which had broken up its door and ended up in the middle of the room.

He spotted a large hole in the side of the Wanderer, directly opposite and sighed in deep relief. He could have died, crushed to death by that block of ice.

He met Jim in the narrow walkway and saw snow everywhere (knee-high) as well as chunks of ice – and holes of different size in the side of the Wanderer. "Are you okay Jim?"

Looking around him at the ruined car, cringing, Jim nodded, starting to feel chilly. "Yes, I'm okay, Artie, but my sleeping compartment is now a giant walk-in ice box – and I'm standing barefoot in a thick layer of cold snow." He said, his breath coming out like little puffs of cloud in the cold air.

Artie nodded. "We were hit by an avalanche," he said, closing the jacket of his navy pajamas, shivering. "It's bad luck." He frowned. "Why are you armed, Jim?"

Holding his gun firmly Jim said. "I was reading, not sleeping, and I distinctly heard two explosions – that wasn't thunder like the first time. That was dynamite, Artemus."

Suddenly Artemus blanched. "Oh god! The President!" he let out, suddenly panicked. "No! no! no!"

President Grant appeared in his turn in the snow-encumbered walkway, coming out from the stateroom. He was dressed in his black robe, his hair a mess and his beard scruffy-like. "I'm fine, I'm fine. We were hit by an avalanche," he said noticing that Jim was armed and ready to shoot at any threat. Surprised, he lifted an eyebrow. "It's just loads of snow and ice, Jim, calm down. No one is going to take potshots at me here in the middle of that icy white chaos." He held his hands up to his lips and blew warm air over them. The temperature had abruptly dropped. It was almost below- freezing cold. His unprotected feet were ice-cold.

Leaning against the bulkhead, tired, Artie shook his head, "I disagree, Mr. President. We were attacked. Jim heard two explosions before the avalanche hit us; that was dynamite. That avalanche was created to trap us here, Sir, and you are the target." He shuddered, teeth beginning to chatter a bit. Being barefoot in the snow did that.

Then he entered his sleeping compartment to retrieve his own Colt.

Grant shivered fiercely. He hugged himself, folding his arms on his chest to conserve warmth. He sighed and looked at Jim. "I recently received threatening letters signed by a mysterious 'B group'," he said."I asked Colonel Richmond to investigate, but his men didn't find anything. They stipulate in that letter that they will do everything possible to get rid of me… like trigger an avalanche, you think?" He gritted his teeth when they started chattering.

Shuddering Jim shook his head. "We don't know if that 'B Group' is responsible of that avalanche, Sir. But we do know that they want us stuck here – probably to kill you and us with you. Artemus and I will protect you Mr. President, but you have to hide, Sir."

Grant frowned, offended, setting his jaw stubbornly, feeling his body start to shiver a bit more violently from the cold. He groaned, "I can defend myself. I was a soldier before becoming the President. I'm not going to hide in the stateroom like a coward."

Politely but firmly, Jim said, "You will hide, Mr. President, I'm not giving you the choice." He ignored Grant's black look, trying to fight the cold.

Holding his Colt, Artemus continued, "You will hide, Sir, but not in the stateroom, it's not safe. I have sworn to protect you Mr. President, until death, and I will and Jim, too, as he took the same oath. I know that you want to fight at our side, but it would be too dangerous, you could be killed."

Grant opened his mouth to protest. "I know but…"

Raising his hand Artemus interrupted him before he could say something more. "With all due respect, Sir, there's no but. I know that you don't want to hide, Mr. President, that you want to fight. But you have to hide. Jim is right Sir, you could die and the people of this country need you. This nation needs you, Sir. Think about it. There's a secret small room between Jim's sleeping compartment and mine, it's more like a big cupboard actually. It can be used as a completely safe hidden place. As a matter of fact it was built to protect you, Sir, in case we were attacked while you're on board, and this will be the case unfortunately, soon. The walls are armored and both bulletproof and bombproof. It's better than a vault, Sir, it's indestructible. You can sit inside, there's a stool in it and a lever to open it and there's enough oxygen for hours. Jim and I will try to resolve the situation as quickly as possible, Sir." He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from clacking together.

Jim added, "I'm going to see what's happening outside. But first I have to send a telegram to Fort Bragg. But the troopers won't be here before two hours, too late to help us."

Grant nodded reluctantly. "Alright, alright I'm going to hide inside," he said as harsh shivers were raking through his body.

Both Jim and Artemus smiled in relief , breathing small white puffs.

The President frowned in concern, moving his numb fingers to warm them. Then he had a better idea and slid his arms into the sleeves. "But promise me to be prudent – I don't want to lose you," He said, wrapping his arms around himself again.

Artie said, "We'll do our best to stay alive, Sir. But we can't promise it." He smiled reassuringly. "Everything's going to be fine." He said through his chattering teeth. He sneezed twice. He led Ulysses S. Grant to the hiding place. "I'm going to bring you some warm clothes Sir, before you lock the door," he said. 'Then I will dress myself… my feet are ice!' he thought.

In the meantime, Jim got back to his room. He hurried to dress himself in warm clothes, put his boots on then took a lantern. Then he headed toward the stable car to see how Paul Redson was doing.

He was relieved to see that the horses were okay.

But Paul Redson wasn't so lucky.

The rear part of the car where the rolling cell was no longer existed – and the prisoner was buried under big pieces of ice and thick layers of compact snow.

He was dead.

Tbc.