The Wild, Wild West
The Night of the Cold Hand
by the lurker
The cold wind howled against the windows of the train, some of it reaching into the compartments like icy fingers of a cold hand. Jim paced from one end of the main car to the other, feeling hollow and empty. Something he couldn't put into words was nagging at him. The closest thing he could describe was a feeling of dread, with no logical cause.
The Wanderer was sitting on a strip of side track, about three miles from Augusta station. Arte had departed two days before, in the interest of establishing his presence in town and making some inquiries, leaving Jim behind to monitor communiqués from Washington. And then it hit him - with Arte's absence, the train didn't feel like home.
********
The wind blew cold against his back, his leather coat offering little protection. Working his way toward the edge of town through the rapidly growing snowdrifts, he wondered what in the hell was so important that it couldn't wait until their prearranged morning rendezvous; but then, he knew his partner wouldn't have summoned him out on a night like this, unless it was absolutely necessary. He saw the forest of pines just ahead on the left, and the one lone tree that stood out due to its excessive size.
Pressing himself into the warmth of his coat, he stood under the huge boughs of noble fir, and watched the snowflakes fly wildly in the wind. Spitting out his chewing tobacco, he tugged at the gold watch fob in his left vest pocket, pulling the timepiece into view: 9:00 pm on the dot. It wasn't like his partner to be late.
Twenty minutes passed, and the temperature rapidly plummeted. The old lumberjack began stamping his feet on the ground, in an effort to keep the blood in his toes circulating. He looked left and right, as far as the eye could see through the white haze that was growing thicker, but there was not another soul around. He clapped his hands together to warm them, creating a muffled sound through his worn gloves; he wasn't going to be able to wait in the cold forever.
The sound of horse hooves pounding into the snow covered path caught his attention. He couldn't see a thing, but he knew the sound of galloping when he heard it. A slight smile curved his full lips. He was anxious to hear the reason he had been made to stand in the freezing night air, dodging snow and wind for almost forty minutes; he knew from experience that it probably had big blue eyes and silvery laughter.
He didn't see the horse coming straight at him until it was too late.
******
Jim adjusted the cufflinks of his dress shirt and tugged on his jacket as he watched the waltzing couples glide by. He felt reasonably certain that he would be able to work his charms on the daughter of the man he and his partner had been sent to investigate. It might take a few dances, smiles and perhaps a kiss or two, but he was confident that it would culminate in an invitation to her father's house.
He wondered how Arte was progressing. Earlier in the day Jim had seen him milling outside of the general store, chewing tobacco as though it were manna from Heaven. The disguise he had adopted was one of his better ones, although the idea that his partner could successfully swing a lumberjack-sized ax, much less hit a target with it, was cause for great amusement. In any case, by this time on a night like this, Arte would be safely tucked away in a warm bed at the local boarding house. They weren't due to make contact for another twelve hours, and by then Jim hoped he would have good news on the Sorsby front.
For a fleeting moment, something unsettling insinuated itself in the pit of his stomach. But it was gone in an instant; he knew his partner was sleeping soundly, and most likely, snoring. His logical mind told him there was no cause for concern, but the knot forming in his chest told him something else entirely. True to character, Jim allowed logic to win out, and prepared to move in on his target, Angel Sorsby.
Judging by the way she was turning down would-be suitors, James West had his work cut out for him.
******
He felt cold. Bitterly cold. He forced his eyes to open, and had to fight down the panic: there was a black void where sight should be. After a moment, he concluded that he was in a space with no light as opposed to blind. He let out a slow breath of air; where was he, and how did he get here? In an effort to remain calm, he inhaled deeply. He was rewarded with a sharp pain in his chest.
His voice was barely a whisper,
Slowly he tried to move his head to the side, but it pounded in protest. An involuntary shiver ran through him. His body ached in dissent toward any kind of movement, causing his breath to become labored. He knew he needed to keep his emotions in check, but such was an uphill battle as the panic began rising in his throat. He needed to focus on something other than his current situation, until he could get a handle on his fear.
The message he received was obviously not from his partner; but who sent it, and for what purpose? He cursed himself for not realizing that the rider on the horse was not Jim, until the animal was upon him, and it was too late. Arte had no idea how long he had been unconscious. The only thing he knew was that he had suffered some fairly serious injuries, and his chest felt as if it was being squeezed in an arctic grip.
He let out a long sigh of air. His life would depend upon his ability to stay calm and think clearly. He silently prayed that Jim would discover sooner rather than later that something had happened to him.
*****
The girl's laughter rippled through the room once again, Why Mr. West, you are most amusing!
Jim smiled broadly at her, his eyes twinkling, As long as you mean that as a compliment, Miss Sorsby.
He could see from her beguiling smile that she did, and gently he leaned in to steal a light kiss from her lips. When she didn't object, he lingered, and then pulled her into his arms tightly pressing into her. Jim deepened the kiss for a moment, and then broke away from her, causing the young girl to catch her breath.
Mr. West.........you do so take away one's senses!
He smiled easily, I aim to please. Tell me Miss Sorsby, will I be able to see you again, say, tomorrow night?
Her lips pulled into a pout and her eyes dulled slightly, Oh no, Mr. West, I'm afraid not tomorrow. You see, my father is giving a dinner party. She smiled seductively, I have duties to fulfill as the hostess.
Yes, I'm sure you do, his smile was so electric, the girl was transfixed. Jim pressed his lips lightly to hers, I don't suppose, Miss Sorsby, that you might consider inviting me, he kissed her lips, that way you could remain... he kissed her again, faithful to your father, and we might, he pressed his lips to hers once more, get to know each other better.
Her voice was almost breathless, Why Mr. West, you are nothing shy of a devil!
Jim laughed, Yes, I've heard that, so it must be true.
He leaned into her once more, pulling her into a deep kiss. After a few minutes, he let her go, and she nearly fell over.
He steadied her with an arm, Easy, Miss Sorsby. It wouldn't do for you to faint.
She smiled, No, I suppose it wouldn't. Father would not approve.
He kissed her lightly, I'm sure not. I'll see you tomorrow night then, Miss Sorsby.
Jim bowed slightly and turned to leave, but her voice called him back, Mr. West, you don't know where I live....
He grinned at her, Don't worry, I'll find you.
She smiled to herself as she watched him leave. A girl could become lost in those endless blue eyes.....
******
Jim slowed down as he walked past the town's only boarding house, the temptation to check in with Arte almost overwhelming him. But he knew it was best to let his partner sleep; tomorrow was going to be a long day. Yet something wasn't sitting quite right. He couldn't put his finger on it, but things just didn't feel as they should. It was in the stifling air of the frigid cold, the quiet of the town, and the little hairs at the back of his neck standing on end.
For a moment, Jim stood on the porch of his hotel, and watched the heavy snow rapidly fall, sticking to everything it touched. Ignoring the tension he felt in his neck, he turned and walked into the hotel.
*******
He awoke with a start, having no idea how long he had been unconscious. Groaning, Arte tried to lift his head. His neck protested fiercely against the movement, and his head slammed back down on the hard surface beneath him. He closed his eyes in pain. Instinct told him that he was going to have to force himself to move soon, or die trying.
Arte tried to picture the face of the rider on the horse. Nothing was forthcoming. A deep chill ran through his bones, causing him to shiver. The assault didn't make sense. The note left for him at the boarding house desk the night before, only changed the time of the meeting, not the place. Whomever sent it knew the rendezvous point. The mission he and Jim had been sent to execute was so covert, only the highest levels within the President's cabinet knew about it. That thought sent a wave of concern through him. If there was a leak on the Secret Service end, then Jim was in terrible danger.
Straining against his screaming muscles and bones, Arte forced his right arm to reach out to the side. It hit something cold and wet very quickly. He ran it as far as he could reach in all directions, and all he could feel was a wall of cold. His hand moved along the floor, and it felt exactly like the wall. A sinking feeling crept into his chest. On a hunch, he stuck his arm straight out in front of him, upwards: It was quickly stopped by the same icy surface he felt all around him. The radius of the area seemed to be no larger than the length of his arm.
Arte swallowed hard, in fear: he was enclosed in some sort of icy tomb.
***********
Jim had been waiting at the rendezvous point for almost thirty minutes. It wasn't like Arte to be so late. A glare moved across Jim's brow: Arte had overslept. There was going to be hell to pay. Jim headed toward the boarding house. Upon arriving he quickly climbed the stairs and went down the hallway. He stopped in front of room number seven and rapped on it lightly. There was no answer. Jim knocked a little louder, but to no avail.
Once again, he tapped on the door, Arte? Hey, let's go buddy, you're late!
There was only silence. Jim's lips pursed together, thinking. Then he knocked once more, almost timidly.
When there was still no answer, Jim glanced cautiously around the hallway. He removed a lock pick from the back of his lapel, and turned the lock in the door. A slight smile played across his lips when he heard the gentle click. He opened the door, and quickly ascertained that Arte was not there, and by the looks of the bed, he hadn't slept there.
Every fiber of his being told Jim that something had gone very wrong.
He was almost out of the room when he spotted the folded white piece of paper on the dresser. Gently he picked it up and read it:
Arte -
Time changed to 9pm tonight, place same.
- Jim.
West's face turned ashen. Someone set Artemus up, and used him to do it. On the way back to the clearing of pine trees, Jim tried hard not to think of what condition Arte might be in if he had been hurt and caught out in the storm. Something in his soul whispered to him that he needed to hurry. Jim began running through the snow as quickly as his legs would carry him.
*******
Arte tried valiantly to move himself around his environment, but at the very least, his left arm was broken, and he couldn't feel his legs. He cried out in pain during his latest attempt, and lay crumpled not far from where he started. His breath issued in short bursts of air, his lungs unable to take in a full measure. The intense pain in his chest terrified him. The panic began rising up, and Arte knew he could no longer fight it.
He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, but nothing would keep the feelings of helplessness and fear at bay. A stifled sob escaped from his throat, and a moment later the flood gates on his control broke open. Arte lay in the sharp cold of his enclosure, shivering in pain, crying uncontrollably. An immense feeling of shame began to overwhelm him. He had never been reduced to such open sobs of agony.
The stressed timbre of his whimpers filled the icy cavern, Jim.....help me.....
*******
Jim stood under the noble fir and yelled at the top of his lungs, Arte! Arte, where are you?
He began to dig with his hands in the snow, all around the tree, but he found nothing - until he was under the thickest stretch of boughs. Buried under several feet of snow which had fallen during the night, Jim found a red bandana. He knew instantly that it was Arte's, he had seen it enough times. His partner probably had it tied around his neck. A chill raced down Jim's spine: fear. It was not a rational fear of the type he might feel for himself, but rather an irrational, all-consuming terror that engulfs a man when he is afraid for the life of the one closest to him.
********
Jim felt sick to his stomach. Not a soul had seen an old lumberjack, nor a much younger man answering to Arte's description since the night before at the boarding house dining room. A few people said they saw an old lumberjack walking toward the north end of town, just before 9pm, confirming what Jim already knew. No one had seen him since.
As procedure required, Jim telegraphed Washington. He asked for backup and permission to begin an immediate search. To his surprise, the return telegraph informed him that he would neither receive backup, nor could he begin a search until after his mission was complete. The order came straight from the President's senior advisor for security, Senator Daily. Distraught, Jim went to his room and paced, trying to solve a puzzle for which he didn't have all the pieces.
The thought of Arte in trouble ate away at this mind, making concentration next to impossible. Jim slammed his eyes shut. He needed to find his control. West shrugged on his heavy coat and left the hotel, heading toward the nearby stables. His breath was weighty in the air, the cold quickly pushing through his coat. His stomach turned once again. He tried to shake off the feeling of doom. Allowing his emotions to rule him would serve no one; not the country he was sworn to protect, nor the man he loved like a brother.
He mounted his stallion, and galloped through the glistening snow, the black of the horse standing out in the moonlight against the white of the terrain.
To be continued.....
