It was close to six in the afternoon before Jim managed to get himself and his entourage to the stairway. The Ute had a word for it that translated roughly into Stairway to the Ancestors. Jim figured that was as good a name as any.
With a young girl, about 6-years-old, seated in the saddle in front of him, two twenty-something girls, and one in her teens, following closely behind his horse focused on the elk skin travois they were carrying, and the Ute medicine woman herself seated on Arte's horse bringing up the rear, they had made slow, gradual progress from the Ute camp. Unfortunately they were heeded further when they were forced to stop every time the medicine woman hollered.
Each time Jim would dismount, help the medicine woman down, then wait for her to pluck whatever plant she had noticed, scoop a handful of dried bones, or scrape bark off of one tree or another, before he helped her back on the horse, mounted his own and the parade would start again.
It had taken hours. Hours that Jim wasn't sure Bowdeen had.
He had tried too many times to explain this to the medicine woman but she either didn't understand, or pretended she didn't understand, and kept doing what she was doing.
Jim was grateful to catch a whiff of the campfire smoke once they were atop the plateau. It gave him just a little hope that Bowdeen was still alive.
When he topped the final rise, he caught sight of the fire, Bowdeen's prone form next to it, and Sanderson's dead body wrapped in a blanket. He shouted, "Arte!" and saw his partner's head pop up from behind a line of bushes near one of the rock walls.
"Hey, Jim! Be right with ya!" Arte shouted in response, then disappeared again behind the bush. A few minutes later he walked out into the open, carrying an armload of firewood, and Jim nearly fell from his horse.
From head to foot Artemus Gordon was covered in gray dust. His knees to his ankles were splashed with mud. Both hands were wrapped with strips of cloth around his palms and his shirt sleeves had been torn off at the elbows.
The little girl seated in front of Jim started to giggle and Jim tilted in the saddle to look at her delighted face before he turned back to his partner. He shook his head. "I leave him alone for a couple of hours..."
With a jolt he realized further that there was another person in camp, when a body sat up on the opposite side of Bowdeen, hands tied together and bound to his feet. The bindings wouldn't cause discomfort, but would prevent the man from running, though he didn't seem terribly interested in doing it at the time.
"What happened?" Jim asked as he slow walked his horse into the camp, seeing more and more tears and bruises on Arte's person the closer he got. Further he hadn't judged the dust to be thick enough. In some places there had to be at least two layers.
"Well, I found Packer and uh..went spelunking." Arte offered, stepping up to his partner's horse, moving his shoulder under the animal's neck as he patted its coat in greeting.
Jim dismounted then reached his hands up for the little girl, letting her down. The minute her feet touched the ground she ran off for the bushes that she had seen Arte behind earlier and disappeared.
Both men watched her run before turning to watch the rest of the parade straggle in.
"You know I was beginning to wonder if you hadn't decided to bring the entire village with you..."
"No, but I have brought her entire family. That, Arte, is Dark Cloud Woman." Jim said, pointing to the medicine woman who rode Arte's horse at a slow pace, in a regal fashion. "Those three are her granddaughters White Feather, Hunched Falcon, and Blue Water Woman." Jim introduced each one, pointing to the youngest last.
"How do you know that?"
"One of the braves returned to the village, he spoke some English."
"Oh. And the little one."
"She doesn't have a name yet. At least not a permanent name. I've been callin' her Squirt."
Even as she was being spoken of, Squirt came running back from the bushes. She slowed her pace when she saw the two men in conversation, then quietly insinuated herself between Jim and Arte, leaning on Jim's leg casually as if she had been there the whole time.
"She seems to like you."
"She'd like you better if you were clean..." Jim said, before he reached out to one of Arte's bandaged hands and turned it over to look at his palm. Just under the edge of the cloth he could see the angry red mark.
"Ya know I hope you brought plenty of water with you, Jim. There's none on this plateau."
"We've got enough for tonight." Jim said.
A quiet voice between them spoke in Ute and both men looked down to find Squirt focused on Arte's hands. With careful, miniature fingers the young girl cradled Arte's hand, palm up, in her own, putting her nose close to the bandage.
Arte gave Jim a look but didn't say anything as Squirt let go of his left hand, then circled around to get at his right. She sniffed that one too, then started poking fingers in the holes in Arte's shirt.
Jim smirked at Arte's confused expression as Squirt continued her appraisal, picking at the mud on Arte's trousers, then standing in front of the man with her hands on her hips, looking up at his stubbled face.
She spoke in Ute, this time pointing a finger straight down. After a moment of hesitation Arte carefully sank to his knees in front of the child and stayed perfectly still as she placed both hands on either side of his face and used her thumbs to widen his eyes. While she canted his head to one side or the other, Arte spoke through compressed cheeks. "Is she Dark Cloud Woman's apprentice...or am I simply more peculiar looking than usual..?" He rolled his eyes up, trying to see Jim, but the minute his focus left her, Squirt jerked his face in her hands, demanding his full attention once again. When Arte looked back he couldn't help but smile. His cheeks fought the little girl's grip and his eyes crinkled, and Squirt grinned back, giggling softly.
"I'll take her for a nurse any day." Arte said.
"Yeah, I know what you mean, Arte." Jim said, smiling at his partner before he watched Dark Cloud's granddaughters set the travois next to Bowdeen. Without a word of communication with the medicine woman the three girls started pulling articles of clothing away from the wounds, then off Bowdeen's body entirely. The process, which had to be exceedingly painful for the wounded man, jostled him awake finally and Jim watched as his head swayed back and forth, taking in the faces of the young natives. Jim was very surprised when Blue Water Woman placed her hands against Bowdeen's face and kissed his forehead. Even more so when Bowdeen's good arm rose, curling around the young girl's shoulders.
"Hey, Arte?"
"Yeah?"
"What's Bowdeen doing?"
After Squirt had finished investigating Arte's face she had moved back to his hands, insisting on removing the hasty bandages Arte had wrapped around the raw skin. Arte had been trying to dissuade her up until Jim redirected his attention to the wounded man.
He watched the embrace, the obviously familiar exchange, then shrugged to Jim. "They must know each other...ah!" The final tug of the bandage broke open a closed blister. Arte jerked his hand away, then saw the look of pained sympathy and regret on Squirt's face, and finally pushed his hand back towards her.
"Arte, they're related." Jim said, his tone indicating that it should have been obvious to Gordon.
"How can you possibly know that."
"When a woman comes to the aid of her lover she kisses him on the lips, right.. When a daughter comes to the aid of her father."
"She kisses him on the forehead." Arte said, his other hand now free of the bandages. After a cursory inspection Squirt told him something in Ute then ran to Dark Cloud Woman, and the others that had fully encircled Bowdeen at the fire. "You don't suppose that's why Bowdeen disappeared when we first found the hunting village."
"Maybe, but why?"
"Suppose one of the women saw him, recognized him."
"They may be off the reservation but that shouldn't be any threat to Bowdeen..." Jim said, shrugging.
"Unless.." Arte stood, remembering something as he glanced at Jim's horse, then ducked around to the other side of the animal before he grunted in frustration. "I don't suppose you'd have a lantern or a candle or something..."
"Yeah..." Jim said, moving to his saddle bags and digging through them until he came up with a small, rectangular tin box. Tin on three sides anyway, with a sliding piece of glass on the fourth. The small portable lantern housed a single candle that could be lit by sliding the glass piece out completely. A thin, metal handle arched over the top. Jim was about to hand it to Arte when he asked, "You're not going in the mine, are you?"
"Yeah."
"No."
"What?"
"I said, no."
"Jim, give me the lantern."
"Arte, do you know how much trouble I'm in?"
With a long-suffering sigh Arte threw his hands in the air and shook his head, "What kind of trouble could you possibly be in?"
"I've let one of the most valuable assets of the Secret Service get practically torn apart, worn down, almost to ruination because of my neglect over the past few days."
Arte was touched. He felt his face start to flush with embarrassment, surprised at the compliment and practically wallowing in the moment of companionship and brotherly appreciation. Up until Jim said,
"I've let you practically destroy The Wanderer, I'm not going to let you lose this lantern too."
His face twisting into a snarl Arte reached out and jerked the lantern out of Jim's hands with his fingertips. "Then you're welcome to come with me." Arte said before he stomped off to the fire to light the candle.
Jim grinned at his back and followed.
After getting his hands re-bandaged, Arte insisted they take the long route on horseback. Taking advantage of whatever light remained of the day both men rode their horses at a canter until they reached the staircase, descending carefully before going to a canter again up the toll road. Reaching the mine first Arte dismounted, tied his horse's reins to the crossed boards at the entrance then waited for his partner and the lantern that Jim had insisted on carrying.
"The first time we were here I noticed the owner's name had been painted over." Arte said, reaching his fingertips up to run them over the slash of black paint.
Jim looked up to the sign, squinting as he took a step closer. More than one layer of paint had been applied making it impossible to even decipher the name via the change in texture, between painted and unpainted wood. "There's no way to read that."
"Precisely. I thought I'd check the town records once we got back. But then I found something inside. Come on." Arte said and the two stepped into the dark opening.
Already the sun was low enough that the toll road was cast mostly in shadow. The mine itself was pitch black, the single candle fighting bravely to dispel the darkness.
"You went in here alone, without a lantern..."
"We needed water, Jim."
"Did you find any?"
"...sort of."
Quietly the two men walked the passage, Arte taking in all the details that he hadn't been able to see the first time. There were boxes along the walls. Damp, molding crates that held tin cans of meat, fruit and beans, all of it probably spoiled. Further in there was a series of metal loops about the size of a silver dollar that supported a length of rotting rope, drilled into the walls .
"What do you suppose that is?" Arte asked.
"Doorbell?" Jim shrugged, reaching his hand out. The part of the rope that he touched disintegrated almost as soon as he touched it.
"You know at first I thought this mine had only be deserted about a year..." Arte said.
"About ten years I'd say."
They continued on until Arte spotted the wooden plaque. Taking the lantern from his partner he approached cautiously. "There's a big hole in the ground about ten feet that way Jim, and its unstable." Arte warned before he read the plaque aloud.
"Here lies the spirit of Bill Bowdeen. Hanged here on the night of April 17th, 1865 after giving up his life for another."
Arte met Jim's gaze before they both looked up. A length of rope had been tied to the beam, looping through a small gap between the support beam and the ceiling of the mine shaft. The end that hung down had splayed over time where it had been cut.
A day later, with an extra horse borrowed from the Ute hunting village, West, Gordon and Packer returned to Mears' Town. Once Packer was back in jail, Jim and Arte returned to The Wanderer. In the time that they had been gone the engineer had seen to the repairs necessary to get the locomotive back into top shape, and had sought out help in getting the telegraph repaired. The broken windows had been boarded temporarily, the irreparably broken things removed from the car and the rest left to be repaired when they reached a bigger metropolis than Saguache. Both the engineer and the fireman were delighted to see Jim West in fair condition, and slightly alarmed at Arte's appearance until they had been reassured that he too was alright.
Arte's first goal was to find a bath, and he achieved it finally in the Mears' Town hotel with the gracious help of the lady cook. While Arte soaked, Jim started a long and tedious opening to the report that was expected in Washington. He had filled five pages, front and back, with his chicken scratches by the time Arte rejoined him.
"Our eager young friend Mr. Sumner told me that the reefer cars left yesterday, headed for Denver." Arte said, still working his wet hair into some semblance of order in the mirror. Freshly shaved and free of the gallon of dust, Jim had to admit Arte looked like a new man. He also smelled better and that had Jim inspecting the buckskins he still wore, realizing he hadn't bathed in as much time either. "Most of the unfortunate prospectors had started their journey in Denver. Their families were told they could collect the bodies in the city once they arrived." Arte turned, finally satisfied with his appearance, and watched Jim smell himself.
"It's always charming to watch Cro-magnon man evolve."
With a perfectly blank expression on his face Jim looked up and said, "Huh?"
Arte smiled, returning the blank look with an innocent one then pointed in the direction of the hotel. "She'll have a fresh bath for you in a few minutes, Jim."
Distracted once more by the work before him Jim nodded his head before jotting down another sentence.
"Any messages?" Arte asked, picking up the first page of Jim's report.
"Two from Washington, one from Denver. Arte, who's WT?"
Arte grinned but said nothing grabbing up the pad of paper sitting on the corner of the desk beside the new telegraph machine, before moving to the settee to read the messages.
"All the bodies were identified?" Jim asked, still writing.
Arte nodded. "Including and especially George Noon."
The first message was from Tennyson, asking in the most polite and proper of terms after the health of both men, and the condition of The Wanderer. Clearly the incident at the Denver Depot had made the news in some form or other. The invitation for Jim and Arte to visit was still open.
The messages from Washington began as an irate demand for an update. Arte assumed this was followed by a response from the engineer indicating why they had been silent for so long. The second message asked for a report whenever possible on the status of Agents Gordon and West. "It's always touching when Washington worries." Arte muttered then looked up to find his partner slouched in his chair, staring at the report. "What is it?"
Jim pursed his lips, then sat up, leaning his elbows on the desk. "Jerome Chaffee is a big man in Denver. He's about to be in-laws with President Grant."
Arte nodded at each piece of information, watching as Jim leaned in.
"How far do you think we're going to get when we start accusing him of murder?"
Arte had been thinking that same thing in the back of his mind for some time. Corruption was a terrible beast that ate away at the confidence of a man, creating paranoia and fear. The further up the chain the corruption went the fewer the moves that remained before the corrupting influence began to look like the good guy, and the one upsetting the boat was the bad guy.
"Until we can get a coherent confession out of Packer we can't accuse anyone of anything.." Arte said, thinking back to his interactions with the man. "He's not crazy Jim. There's...something else wrong with his mind. He was like a man-child. Very capable of doing simple tasks."
"Like pulling a man out of a sink hole?"
"He saved my life. But he is easily corruptible. He'll mimic anything. Some things he remembers better than others." Arte stopped to think, his bandaged hands poised in the air. "I told him he was under arrest and pulled my gun. He recognized the threat that it posed and did what I told him, like any sane man would. He made no attempt to escape. When I tied him up he fought me, until I...I don't know why, but I told him that I didn't have a choice, that it was for his own good, like you would a child being punished."
"He let you tie him up?"
"Without a struggle. He seemed very concerned for Bowdeen..." Or whatever his name was. "Then told me he was tired, and he lay down and took a nap."
"But he ate people.." Jim said.
"The man has terrible breath and poor dental hygiene but I don't think it is the result of eating human flesh. I'd like to speak to Doctor Young about the condition of the bodies, but all we know is that Packer was discovered with bits of human flesh in his possession. That much could have been planted."
Jim made a noise of disgust and stood shaking his head. He disappeared behind the door that led to their private living quarters and Arte waited knowing there'd be more to come. Finally he heard Jim's voice filtering into the parlor. "The whole thing seems like a wild, elaborate scheme. Why go to so much trouble to kill Chaffee's nephew? And why send us into the mess?"
"Power is maddening and addictive Jim. Men do insane things when something they love is being taken away from them. And I'm certain neither Chaffee nor Sanderson expected anyone to second guess Packer's story."
"Maybe.." Jim said, walking back into the parlor with his hands full of fresh clothes and a towel.
"Are you gonna keep those buckskins?" Arte asked.
Jim paused at the door and looked down at the greasy clothes he still wore. "Do you think I should?"
Arte shrugged, "Some women like the primitive man look..."
"Funny, Arte. Real funny." Jim said, not looking as amused as Arte was.
"Enjoy!" Arte called as his partner left. In the quiet solitude of the car he looked over what Jim had already written, then eyed the telegraph. After a few moments of thought he switched it to 'send' and tapped out a greeting. Four minutes later he got a response. Washington, delighted to hear from him.
Arte tapped out, "Have retrieved escaped prisoner, and West. Have other developments. Secrecy required. Request rendezvous in one week, Denver."
Arte switched the key to receive and waited until the set started to rattle again, "Prisoner to be held under maximum security, then transferred to Denver. Will send representative to address of your choosing in one week."
After a moment Arte smiled then tapped in an address, confirmed more specific arrangements then signed off.
His next stop was at the home of Dr. Young.