The next two days passed with Artie slowly improving. He was still very congested and in pain, but his wheezing was lessening and breathing was becoming easier.

It was late afternoon, and Jim was dozing in the chair beside the bed when he suddenly heard the door open. He turned to see who it was, and was surprised to see the sheriff poke his head in. Standing, he quietly headed over and left the room, closing the door behind him. "What is it?" he asked.

"The circuit judge has arrived," said the sheriff. "I didn't expect him here for at least another week. He wants to have the trial before he leaves town again." He sighed. "Bad timing."

Jim frowned. "When does he leave town?"

The sheriff sighed. "Saturday."

Today was Wednesday. Jim shook his head and took a few steps away from the sheriff, frustrated, before turning and walking back. "Artie isn't well enough."

"I told him that, but he said that he has no idea when he'll be back this way," said the sheriff.

Jim sighed. "I want to talk to him."

The sheriff nodded. "I figured you would. Come on." With that, he started walking towards the stairs.

Jim hesitated, looking at the door to Artie's room. He still didn't like the idea of leaving him alone. Following the sheriff, he stopped a passing nurse. "Could you please have someone stay with the patient in room 115 until I get back? I won't be gone long."

She nodded. "Sure, I can stay with him."

Jim gave her a charming smile. "Thanks." He kissed her on the cheek and headed down the stairs after the sheriff.

Two minutes later, they came across the judge, who was standing outside the jail.

Jim didn't even wait for an introduction. "Sir," he said. "Artemus Gordon is not capable of handling a trial yet."

The judge expected this conversation. "I sympathize, Mr. West," he said. "But I'm behind schedule and cannot stay here long. I'd planned to have the trial tomorrow morning and be gone on the evening stage, but after what the sheriff told me, I decided to stay for two extra days. That's really all I can do."

Jim sighed. How on earth was Artie going to handle testifying? "But he can hardly speak."

The sheriff looked at the judge. "Can Mr. West do the talking for Mr. Gordon?"

Jim shot a hopeful look at the judge, who shook his head.

"In a case like this, I would agree to that, but whoever defends Parker would object, claiming that Mr. West cannot swear to tell the truth of the events if he's being told what to say."

Jim sighed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. West," said the judge. "But this trial must be held before the Saturday afternoon stage…it's out of my hands."

Jim nodded, seeing that they had no choice. Walking past him, he headed into the open door to see Parker, and spotted him standing at the bars of his cell. He'd obviously heard the conversation, and smirked at Jim.

Practically seeing red, Jim turned around and stormed out. "Fine," he said to the judge. "But I'm going to act as prosecutor."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sometime later, Artie woke coughing, as usual. He winced at the pain that it caused his lungs, which wasn't as bad as it'd been before, at least.

"Here, Artie," he heard.

Opening his eyes, he found Jim holding out a glass of water and he took it and drank it. He had to stop in the middle to cough again, and after finishing it, he handed it back.

"How do you feel?" Jim asked.

Artie took a careful breath, grateful that he could manage slightly deeper ones now. His nose wasn't as stuffed and his throat wasn't as sore, but his head still ached from so much coughing, as well as the muscles in his stomach and back. He didn't need the oxygen constantly anymore, usually just after coughing. The pain in his lungs would take a long time to go away, from the combination of mucus, smoke damage, and constant coughing, but at least it was improving. "Better," he said.

Jim nodded.

Artie could sense tension in his friend, and frowned. "What's wrong?"

Jim sighed. "The circuit judge is here. He has to hold the trial by Saturday."

Artie's eyebrows rose. "What's today?" he asked, having no idea.

"Wednesday."

Two days…they only had two days. Artie suddenly grabbed the covers and pushed them back.

Seeing that his friend planned to get out of bed, Jim grabbed his arm to stop him. "What are you doing?"

"Seeing how mobile I am," Artie said.

Jim pulled the covers back up. "Before we do anything, do you feel physically capable of handling the trial?"

Artie didn't, but he wouldn't tell Jim that. "We have no choice."

Jim sighed, growing even more angry at Parker…if that was possible. "Don't get up," he said. "You don't want to wear yourself out before the trial. There's still time. What we need to figure out is how on earth you're going to testify."

Artie nodded at that. He hadn't spoken more than five words at a time since this whole incident.

"All right, Artie," said Jim, folding his arms and sitting back in his chair. "Describe what happened." He knew that this was the only way to see if Artie could handle it.

Artie nodded, realizing the same thing. He took a careful breath, as deep as he could without making himself cough. "I woke up on the floor." He stopped and took another slow breath. "Tied up…in an abandoned house." He swallowed and inhaled again. "Parker was there…told me to…stop the ruse…" That was as far as he got before his lungs spasmed and he started coughing, covering his mouth with a towel.

Jim sighed and waved the oxygen at him.

The coughing fit was long, and Artie bit back a groan. He breathed quietly for a minute, before continuing. "I told him…it wasn't a ruse…he was delighted," Artie said, shaking his head. "Then I told him…it was influenza…not consumption." He stopped talking and closed his eyes, trying to resist the urge to cough again.

Jim waved more oxygen at him, hoping it would prevent another coughing fit.

Artie was somehow able to hold it back, and continued, though his voice was strained. "He was angry…I told him to stop talking…because my head hurt." He smiled at that.

Jim chuckled and shook his head. Nothing was more fun—or sometimes more dangerous—than telling an enemy to shut up.

"Hours later," said Artie. "They came back…tied me to a chair…and lit the room on fire." With that, he lost his battle trying to hold back the coughing.

Jim waved the oxygen at Artie again, frowning when his coughing fit lasted longer than the first.

Artie gasped at the end, his wheezing louder. He kept his eyes closed, right hand on his aching chest.

"This isn't going to work," said Jim, upset that his friend would be forced to endure the trial before he was ready. "Besides testifying, we're going to ask you questions."

It took a second for Artie to fully realize what he'd said, and he opened his eyes. "We?"

Jim nodded. "I'm the prosecutor."

Artie smiled at that, not surprised. "Open and shut case," he said.

Jim smiled at the compliment. Artie was right; when Jim got through with Parker, he'd make sure that's exactly what the case would be.

TBC