Jim helped Artie walk out the door, and looked around for another carriage.

Artie manage to notice that there was a restaurant across the street. "Jim," he said. "Why don't we eat before we go back?"

Jim looked at him, surprised. "Can you handle eating out?"

Artie almost nodded, before catching himself. "I think so." In truth, he wanted to remain off the train for as long as possible so he could see if the dizziness went away; if it did, then he would know that it was motion sickness.

Jim's first instinct was to take Artie back to the train so he could lie down, but if Artie wanted to eat here, he wasn't going to refuse him. Slowly, he walked Artie across the street and inside, where they sat at the table closest to the door.

Artie took a deep breath and let it out heavily, glad to be sitting again.

A girl quickly appeared at their table to take their order. Jim asked for eggs and ham, and Artie asked for pancakes.

As they waited, Artie had to resist the urge to put his elbow on the table and rest his chin in his hand. The dizziness did feel a little better, but it was still there and very annoying.

The food didn't take long to arrive, and as they ate, Jim watched Artie like a hawk. He was glad to see that though Artie ate slowly, he seemed to manage all right. The first bite appeared to confuse him at first, as Artie stared at his pancake-laden fork for a second or two before eating it, as if trying to gauge its distance from his face.

Once they were finished, Jim was glad to see that Artie wasn't quite as pale. "How you doing?" he asked, as he placed money on the table to pay for their breakfast.

"All right, considering," Artie answered. He moved as if to stand, before hesitating.

Jim quickly stood and took his friend's arm, helping him up slowly. He waited a few seconds for Artie to orient himself before carefully helping him towards the door. "Do you see the general store?" Jim asked, once they were outside. "Oh, nevermind," he said afterwards, realizing that Artie would have a hard time looking for it while nothing was standing still to him.

Artie did look, as his dizziness was not as bad as when he'd been on the train. Though he was glad for the respite, he was upset at the notion that he really could have motion sickness.

Jim waved down a carriage and helped Artie get in before climbing in himself. The general store wasn't far, and when they arrived, Jim quickly got out and went inside.

Artie looked out the window, turning his head every which way. The dizziness was still there, especially when he turned his head, and he knew that it was going to take a while to figure out whether it really was motion sickness or not.

Jim came out with a sack and got back in. He took something out and held it up with a smile.

It was a lemon.

"They had everything that the doctor suggested," Jim said.

Artie smiled. "Great, thanks."

Jim nodded. "Anytime, Artie."

The carriage rode off to the rail yard, and a minute later, they were back inside the train.

Artie sighed with relief as he sank down on the couch, while Jim disappeared into the galley. It was disorienting to close his eyes while his vision wouldn't stay still, and he eventually reopened them…just in time to see a glass appear in front of his face. It was obvious what it was, so he took it from Jim and sipped it.

"I added some sugar so it wouldn't be so bitter," Jim told him.

Artie tasted it and looked up at him. "Well, I just learned something new about you: you make good lemonade."

Jim chuckled and sat down.

Artie sighed before saying, "Jim…what are we going to do if it is motion sickness?"

Jim sobered. "I don't know."

Artie sighed again and drank some more. "I don't want to back out of this job. That will be so disappointing…in many ways."

Jim nodded. "For me, too."

Artie smiled, turning his head carefully to look at him. He finished his lemonade before handing Jim the empty glass. "That's it then. I refuse to accept that it's motion sickness. It's obviously something wrong inside my ear and will clear up. We just have to wait."

Jim nodded, hoping that Artie's optimism wouldn't be in vain. He took the cup into the galley before picking up the sack and taking out the rest of the things that he'd bought. He was surprised to find that the chamomile was missing. Looking around, he realized that the shopkeeper had obviously forgotten to put it into the sack with the rest of the things. Leaving the galley, he went back over to the couch that Artie was sitting on. "I have to go back to the store," he said. "They forgot to give me the chamomile."

"You don't have to do that now," said Artie. "We can pick it up along the way."

Jim shook his head. "I paid for it, I'll just go get it. Rest; I'll be right back." With that, he took Artie's arm and helped him lie down, making sure he was comfortable before heading for the door.

Artie sighed and closed his eyes. A minute later, he unexpectedly fell asleep.

Jim quickly walked through town, not wanting to leave Artie alone for long. As he passed a saloon, however, a man propelled himself out the doors and crashed into Jim, spilling whiskey all over him.

"Now look what you've done!" the drunk exclaimed. "You spilled my whiskey!" With that, he grabbed for his gun.

Before the man had the chance to pull it out of his holster, Jim punched him in the face, knocking him out cold.

The commotion brought people running, and unfortunately, the sheriff was one of them.

"Hey you!" the sheriff shouted, reaching over and grabbing Jim by the arm. "There'll be no brawlin' in the street! Yer under arrest!"

Jim shot him an incredulous look. "Arrest? There was no brawl here…this man fell out of the saloon and tried to shoot me when—"

"A likely story!" said the sheriff, leaning in and giving Jim a sniff. "You smell as much like whiskey as he does!" He took out his gun and motioned with it for Jim to start walking.

"That's because he spilled his whiskey on me!" Jim told him.

A few of the men grabbed Jim from behind and the sheriff took Jim's gun out of his holster, pointing that one at him too. "Turn around, sonny, we'll discuss this in my office."

With both guns pointed at him, Jim had no choice: the men turned him around and forced him towards the jail.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Some time later, Artie woke from his nap. The first thing he noticed was that his brain was still spinning. The second thing he noticed was how quiet it was. Slowly, he opened his eyes, holding back a groan and putting a hand over them for a moment. He eventually peered out from under his hand, and was surprised to see that Jim wasn't in the room…he'd expected to find him sitting in a nearby chair reading. He suddenly remembered that Jim had left the train to get the chamomile, and took out his watch. It appeared that an hour had passed.

"Jim?" he called. He got no answer. Frowning, he wondered where he was; Jim wouldn't leave him alone at a time like this…something must've happened.

Not thinking, Artie quickly sat up…and almost fell off the couch. He gasped and put a hand over his eyes when the dizziness intensified, leaning back against the couch. He had to stay that way for what felt like several minutes before he was able to open his eyes and slowly stand up.

Carefully, using everything in his path to hold on to, Artie made his way through the train car to make sure that Jim really wasn't there. When he found that he was right, Jim was missing, he grabbed his hat and carefully made his way out the door and down the train's steps.

Standing there, still grasping the train's rail, he looked around the town, trying to see if he could spot Jim. It was quickly obvious that his friend was nowhere in sighed—despite his compromised eyesight—as no one in town was wearing a loud blue bolero suit. He slowly began to make his way through town, not walking very straight. He knew that people were giving him strange looks, probably assuming that he was drunk. Suddenly, the Kansas spring air made him sneeze again, and he grabbed onto a post and leaned his spinning head against it. He was extremely startled when a hand suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Hey you!" he heard. "Yer under arrest!"

Artie lifted his head and looked at him. "Arrest? Why?"

"Public drunkenness!" the sheriff exclaimed, trying to pull him away from the post.

Artie sighed. "I'm not drunk, I'm ill."

"Sure, sure," the sheriff said. "I've heard that one before. Come on, now…you can keep the other stranger I got in there company."

Artie sighed, but submitted. At least now he knew where Jim was.

TBC