He had only intended to take a month away from the Secret Service and his many responsibilities; but one month had stretched into two, and now toward three. Between the overgrown beard, the clothes that were more appropriate to a miner as opposed to a gentleman, and his overly thin frame, he doubted any of them would recognize him, even Jim. He had dropped a good twenty- five pounds since his partner had last seen him. On some level Artie knew he should be concerned with how much weight he had lost, but in the end, he didn't care.

His beard itched. It was largely the reason he had never worn one. It drove him nuts, the constant need to scratch. He always knew the real thing wouldn't be any better than the fake ones he regularly affixed to his face with spirit gum as a matter of course for his job. His job. It really wasn't his job anymore. Somewhere along the way, he had made the decision not to return; and he had not paid the courtesy to Richmond, West or the President by officially informing them. Instead, he had simply disappeared into the pine needles and forests of Northern Arizona. He felt a pang of guilt, especially about Jim, but he couldn't risk the possibility that one of them might talk him back into the Service that had cost him the love of his life.

Lily. The thought of her still struck a chord of hollowness in his belly. He wondered what she was doing, if she was in a show or on vacation. He wondered if she missed him, or if she ever even thought of him. It was painful to believe that she might have been able to just walk away from him without so much as a thought of regret. His heart ached for one glimpse of her, for a small whiff of her perfume, or one brief brush of her lips against his. Artie looked to the ground as he felt the familiar sting of tears. They invariably came when his mind turned to Lil.

He mounted his chestnut and rode north. He needed to find some temporary work so he could replenish his supplies. It wasn't usually difficult. Most towns liked drifters who would perform menial tasks for a day or two for a small fee, which the men usually spent in that same town on alcohol or supplies. It was a matter of sound economics for the townspeople. Artie headed west toward Paulden. It was a village he hadn't yet seen, and small enough that no one would pay him any mind. He found he liked anonymity.

The thought of Jim passed through his head once again. Artie wished he could talk to his friend, if for only a brief moment or two, and explain why he couldn't continue as an agent. But he knew that such a contact might become problematic; or perhaps he just didn't have the courage to face his best friend. He suspected it was the latter. But nonetheless, he worried about West, like an older sibling would worry for his younger, wilder brother. He hoped Jim was taking care of himself.

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