The Wild, Wild West
The Night of Fear
by the lurker

He couldn't remember how long he'd been sitting in the wooden chair. It was cold and uncomfortable, not really meant for extended periods of repose. He leaned back, crossing his arms in front of him, trying to stretch the muscles in his back, which had grown stiff during the countless hours of waiting. The dark circles under his eyes testified to the worry and fear that had ruled him for the past three days. He looked down at the unconscious man lying on the bed. If he didn't know better, his best friend could be asleep, instead of fighting for his life to come out of a coma.

In the first few hours after the shooting, it appeared that his partner would succumb to his wounds; yet he was still hanging on with whatever strength he had left. The doctors were amazed, but didn't think the rally could continue. Thank God they had been wrong. He had been warned not to get his hopes up for a full recovery, but he didn't care. The man he thought of as a brother was still alive, and he knew it meant there was a chance, no matter how small, that he might mend. He would sit next to him and wait; he didn't want him to wake up alone.

He closed his tired eyes. His confidence in his friend's ability to revive had been the thing that had sustained him for the past 72 hours, but now he was feeling the effects of the lack of sleep and food. He allowed his head to rest against the wall behind the chair. Within minutes he was asleep....

Three Days Earlier......

You know, Arte, coming here for vacation was a great idea. I would never have thought of it....

Wonderful food, beautiful women.....what more could we ask for?

Jim smiled broadly, San Antonio does have its charms, Artemus...

Yes, it does.

The two men entered the Emily Morgan Hotel lobby and walked to the front desk. A smiling young man greeted them.

Good afternoon, gentlemen, how can I help you?

We have two rooms booked under the names West and Gordon.

Yes sir, I have the keys right here....

The young man turned to get the keys and the sounds of an argument boiling over grabbed the attention of the two agents. They turned to find two men fighting over the attentions of a young lady.

She doesn't want to go to dinner with you, my good man, she is promised to me. Now be on your way.

The young girl's voice shook slightly, Gentlemen, please--

--Your fancy duds ain't gonna win you nothin'...... He grabbed the woman by the arm, She's comin' with me...

The finely dressed man drew a gun from his inside pocket, Take your hands off her, sir.

The young woman screamed, and Jim moved toward the men before Arte could stop him. The rougher of the two drew his weapon, and the crowd scattered for cover, in fear for their lives.

An' I told you she was comin' with me.

Jim was suddenly between them, Gentlemen.....surely we should leave it up to the young lady.

An' I think you should mind your own business...

Arte was moving toward his partner when the rougher of the two men fired.....

He awoke with a start in the chair, the memory stirring the horror of it once again. He shook his head trying to clear it of the pictures that still lingered there. His best friend was lying in a pool of blood. And there had been so much blood. The man who had fired the shot took off immediately, but the agent hadn't given a thought to pursuing him. The only thing he could think of was his partner lying helplessly, struggling to breathe. He remembered screaming for someone to get a doctor, and vaguely that the hotel clerk had done exactly that. All he could do was hold his friend's head in his lap and pray.

Other than the blood that seemed to be everywhere, he couldn't really remember much after it happened. There was a faint memory of whispering to his friend to hold on, and he may have even told him he loved him, but he really wasn't sure. He looked at the silent figure on the bed, and swallowed hard trying to remove the lump that seemed to permanently exist in his throat. He leaned over on the edge of the bed and took the man's hand in his own, as if somehow, he could will him to wake up.

The sound of the door opening caused him to look up. When he realized who had entered, he gently lay the hand back on the bed, and stood up.

His voice belied his fatigue with its gravel, Mr. President.

At ease, son. Grant looked at the man he had known for so long, and the sadness in his eyes worried the President. His voice took on a soft quality, How's he doing?

The younger man shook his head, Not very well, sir. He hasn't regained consciousness.

President Grant gently touched the still hand on the bed and then looked at the other man. I understand that the doctors don't have much hope.

No sir, I'm afraid they don't.

Grant placed a gentle hand on the shoulder of the one standing next to him. I'm truly sorry; I'm very fond of him. I wish there was something I could do.

Thank you, sir. It was good of you to come.

Grant leaned in, squeezing the shoulder, Stay strong.

He slowly sat back down in the chair when he heard the door close softly. Carefully he picked up the pale hand once again, caressing it gently. His face crinkled in repressed pain as the lack of sleep and sadness in his heart caught up with him. The emotions came rushing up from deep within, releasing themselves in a fractured sob. As the grief surged out of him, he leaned his forehead on the pale hand still clutched in his own, crying so hard he could barely breathe. The thought of his partner never waking up was too much to bear.

Hopelessly caught up in his own sorrow, he almost didn't hear the weak voice call to him.



The wet brown eyes snapped up to find the barely opened blue ones staring back at him. A smile lit Gordon's face through his tears.

Jim......thank God. He couldn't keep his emotion at bay, pulling the hand he still held up to his chest. I thought I'd lost you.

West's voice was weak, but audible, Relax, Arte, I'm fine....I think.

Artemus couldn't speak. His eyes overflowed with tears, and he unabashedly allowed them to fall like rain. He pressed the hand in his, hard against his breast, stroking his free hand through the hair of his dearest friend. A small smile pulled at Jim's lips.

You're always so damned emotional, Arte.

His friend could only nod, his heart flooding with the joy of knowing his partner was going to be all right. Arte's hand gently caressed the head under it, and a smile spread on his face when Jim's eyes slowly closed in a relaxed sleep. He had come too close to losing the man he loved like a brother: never had Arte known such heartbreak, and he prayed he wouldn't again. He pressed the the hand he held tightly against his heart.

The end