West slowed his horse down and jumped off next to the stable car of the train.  In no particular hurry, Jim led the horse up the ramp, fed, watered and brushed the animal. Arte's mare neighed in jealousy. Marvin gave her the basics, but didn't really pay her the attention that she was used to. Jim stepped into her stall and began brushing her. She snorted in contentment, nudging him with her nose.

"It's okay girl. I know you miss him. So do I."

Jim set the brush down, gave both the horses some hay, and went into the main car. He tossed his hat and jacket on the nearest chair and closed the door.

"Marvin, I'm--"

Jim stopped cold. The little pip was standing in the middle of the car, staring at him. The look on his face sent Jim's stomach into his throat.

"What is it?"

Solomon swallowed hard, and moved cautiously toward West, holding a telegram out in front of him.

"This arrived for you a little while ago."

Jim took the piece of paper, knowing what it said. Marvin blinked slightly at him, and slowly brushed past him.

"I'm.....I'm sorry."

Marvin exited quietly, leaving Jim frozen in place for several minutes. Silently he walked over to the window, the telegram tightly clutched in his hand. For a long time, Jim stood, stoically staring out the window, seeing nothing. Finally he unfolded the paper in his grasp, and read what he already knew:

Gordon passed on STOP
Buried in Phoenix STOP
Condolences from all STOP
Richmond STOP


Jim slammed his eyes shut, grinding his teeth into a grimace, his right hand crumpling the telegram. Steeling himself against the pain in his heart, West looked back out into the trees beyond the window, as the tears fell from his eyes. In that unbearable moment of loss, Jim no longer cared about anything. Artemus was gone forever, and that was all he knew.

*******

West had been asleep for a few hours, when Marvin slipped quietly into the parlor car, and sat down at the telegraph key. A small smile crept onto his face; he was finally in the know, and had scooped everyone in D.C. He tapped out the first line of Jim's telegram in morse code. As he closed the fake books that hid the machine, his smile turned into a frown. Something didn't feel right. Gordon, dead. It wasn't the answer to the mystery of the West/Gordon team that he had anticipated.

Marvin couldn't help but wonder how the man died, and why West had not seemed at all surprised upon receiving the news. He looked like he lost his best friend without looking at the telegram. It didn't add up: At least not yet.

*******

Sweat dripped off the Aussie's brow and trickled down his face and into his soaked shirt. He was hot, tired and his body ached all over from the hard labor he had subjected it to. He straightened his back for a moment, the muscles straining against the movement. It had been a long day.

One of the other men growled at him, "Hey.....who told you it was quitin' time?"

The Aussie glared at the man, "Calm down, mate, I'm just stretchin' my achin' back."

"You're not paid any less 'n the rest of us, we ain't totin' the line fer ya."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, it's so."

"I don't remember askin' ya ta tow the line for me, mate. Nor do I remember you bein' crowned King of bloody Australia."

A fist slammed into the Aussie's face, sending him backward into a rock wall. He shook his head to clear it, and reached up to wipe away the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

"I'm not fightin' ya, mate."

"Then you're gonna be awful beat up.... mate."

The man grabbed the Aussie by his shirt and tossed him over his head, throwing him hard to the ground. He pounced on top of him and began beating the bigger man with all his might. The Aussie responded by kicking the man in the gut, sending him through the air. He pulled the man up from the ground, and shoved him into the nearest wall, pressing his arm against the man's wind pipe. The man began gasping for air.

"Now mate, I suggest that you drop it. Otherwise, you're gonna find breathing awfully difficult."

The man nodded in acquiescence and the Aussie removed his arm. A gruff voice from behind the two men, made them turn.

"What do you think you're doin'?"

The Aussie scratched the back of his head, "Just solvin' a little disagreement, mate, nothin' beyond that."

"What's your name?"

"Burton Lawless."

Kessler's face turned into a nasty grin, "Fightin' ain't permitted, Lawless, I'll have ta fine ya."

Lawless grinned back, "I don't suppose it matters any to you who started it?"

"Nope. I've decided you're payin' for it. Follow me."

Lawless wiped his brow with his red bandana as he headed toward the exit with Kessler. At least he wouldn't be in the hot, sticky mine shaft any more. That was something.

*******

He stood in front of the large area, pinching up his nose. The stench was enough to knock out a moose.

Kessler smiled, "We need the latrines dug out, Lawless."

"From the smell o' things, mate, it hasn't been done in awhile."

"You'd better get crackin' then....mate."

Lawless picked up a shovel. It was going to be a long night.

*******

Jim spotted the blind street vendor on his way to the saloon. The man was selling bags of cracked walnuts for a nickel. Business did not appear to be very brisk. West noted that if the man were not blind, he would have had the perfect vantage point to monitor the comings and goings of the saloon. He stopped at the vendor's cart and flipped a nickel in the man's cup. The man held out a bag of nuts.

"You'll enjoy these, they're very fresh."

"Thank-you." West opened the bag and ate one, "You're right, they're perfect." He lowered his voice, "Any sign of the men from the other day?"

"I'm afraid not. It's been pretty quiet."

"Guess we'll have to do something about it then. Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be, Jimmy."

"All right then, here we go..."

West walked away, and headed into the saloon. The blind man packed up his cart and wheeled it down an alleyway. He quickly pushed it into a corner, pulled out a make-up kit and a mirror, and began reinventing himself.....

*******

To be continued....