THE NIGHT OF THE BLUE DRAGON

By Andamogirl

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Washington D.C

US Secret Service Headquarters

Colonel Richmond smiled and said, "A medieval castle, a bad sorceress, a mage, dragons… It was a hell of an adventure!"

Jim nodded. "We have just summarized everything that happened, you can read the details in the report that we wrote, Colonel."

Scowling Artemus sent his best friend a reproving look. "Report, that I wrote! Me! Not you. I always wrote all our reports."

Patting the older man's shoulder soothingly, Jim replied, "That's because you always did have a way with words, buddy."

Richmond shook Jim's hand and said, "Thank you very much! With Miguelito Loveless's notebook where he wrote the formula of his serum in good hands, we'll be able to heal hundreds of people from the yellow fever. And as a double bonus, Loveless and Vautrain are behind bars now and I'll make sure they stay that way while awaiting trial in a couple of months. You're going to be a very hostile witness in this case." Then he shook Artemus's hand and added, "The President is delighted and asked me to congratulate you both."

Pleased to hear this, Jim smiled. "It was a pleasure, Sir. But this mission is the last one we do for the Secret Service. Don't ask for help again. Artie and I are retired.

Richmond nodded. "I know that, but I can't promise you anything…" And he earned a scowl from the other two men. "To thank you President Hayes has granted you the use of the Wanderer for a month, while waiting for the trial to open, at the expense of the Government, to go wherever you want in the country. Any purchases you make during this period as well will be paid for by the Government."

First Jim shook his head, ready to say no. His plan was to travel back to Tecate as soon as possible to be with Carmelita and Jesus and Rufina. Then he realized that using the Wanderer, he could go to Phoenix and then take a commercial train home. And he could take Artie with him! They would spend some time together and then come back to Washington.

Seeing Artie's face – who looked devastated because he obviously wanted him to stay at his side for the coming months – he said, "I accept. It's a generous offer we can't refuse, right Artie? You will go back to the Comanche reservation after the trial, alright?"

Looking at his best friend Artie nodded with pleasure and he grinned. He would spend the next two months at Jim's side, he thought. "Yes, alright."

Richmond opened the door and said, "Enjoy your leave, you deserve it. Jim, Artemus, we'll see each other in two months."

Smiling Jim and Artie replied in chorus, "With pleasure, Colonel."

The three men shook hands again and once in the corridor, the door of Richmond's office closed Jim said, "Let's have a drink! We have lots of things to celebrate, the success of our mission, the fact that you and I are still alive, President Hayes's congratulations… I propose we go to this saloon in Grant's Street called 'Lincoln's Hat'…I heard that the waitresses there are the most beautiful women in Washington… and they are sparsely dressed." Then he winked at Artie.

Smiling Artemus said, "You're right." He placed his hat on his head and then added, "You can add to that list the fact that I'm a human again, that Loveless and Vautrain are both locked in a cell of a federal prison and that we saved thousands of people from yellow fever."

Following his best friend into the empty corridor, Jim replied, "True, so we deserve more than a bottle of whiskey in a saloon even with gorgeous half-naked women. Let's go to a restaurant. What about the 'Coq d'Or? It's the best French restaurant in the Capital."

Reaching the main door of the building, Artie stopped and asked, "Good idea. Are you buying? Because I don't have any money. I live with Comanche Indians, remember?"

Placing a hand on Artie's shoulder Jim said, "I'll pay the bill, because I'm not sure the owner of the restaurant is going to accept Comanche horses as payment."

Chuckling Artie said, "I don't think so either. Then we'll take the Wanderer to go to Greenhill, what do you think? I'd like to see my mom and Harry I haven't been for a long time, and take some rest… "

Jim nodded. "I'd be delighted to. Then we'll go back to the train. I want to introduce you to Carmelita and to my babies."

Grinning, Artie nodded. "Good idea!" And on the way to Mexico, I'm going to build a flying machine. I have the schematics ready in my mind. I just need the necessary materials, and a little time to realize my ideas. I'd like to fly again."

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One month later

Somewhere in the Blue Ridge Mountains

North Carolina

Leaning back against his saddle, sipping a big cup of hot coffee, Artemus observed his best friend sitting cross-legged like him on a plaid blanket, under a tree protecting them from the sun - warm, but not hot, standing high in the sky.

Jim was pale and looked very worried. He hadn't touched his coffee.

Artie chuckled softly and said, "Everything is going to be alright, Jim. I tested my invention a dozen times at least…"

Jim nodded. "Yes you did, from gently-sloping hills! With no obstacles and wide fields to land safely, not from the top of a mountain."

Imperturbable, Artie continued, "From the edge of a cliff, to be accurate. And nothing has ever happened. My flying machine works perfectly."

The younger man harrumphed. "I should never have put this idea of building a flying machine in your head! It's a bad, bad idea." Pointing at the edge of the cliff located a few feet to their right. "Yes, it works, but you never used it from the top of a mountain Artie! or cliff edge. There are rocks and trees everywhere here. There are no fields to land anywhere. You could kill yourself." He frowned both confused and anxious, and more alarm bells ringing in his head. "By the way where did you plan to land?"

Lowering his steaming mug to his lap, Artie said, "There's a lake down there with a wide and long stretch of sand bordering it. I will land there." He grinned enthusiastically. "I'll be there within minutes, and it will take you several hours on horseback and on foot to join me there. Maybe more as you have to bring the mule and my horse with you."

Rubbing his forehead nervously, Jim said, "And I thought that with age came wisdom…"

Reaching out under the shade, Artie patted his best friend's arm reassuringly. "It's going to be okay, Jim." Then he made a face. "And are you telling me I'm old?"

Nodding Jim replied, "Yes you are and old men don't do stunts like this. Let's go back to the Wanderer. Your machine works, end of the story."

Bringing the mug back to his lips, Artemus swallowed a mouthful of coffee and then said, "I don't feel old, and I promise you this will be my last jump."

His brow furrowing, Jim growled, "Of course this will be your last jump - because you will die crushing yourself against a rock or a tree, or both, somewhere down there." And he gestured toward the void, over the small campfire.

Not discouraged, having confidence in himself and his abilities to fly his flying machine, Artemus said, "Everything will be alright. Let's enjoy our picnic." And he spread the contents of the picnic basket over the blanket between him and Jim.

His face darkening, Jim said, "It's your last meal, you know?" before grabbing a roasted chicken leg and chewing on it nervously.

Smiling, Artemus picked up a sandwich among the dozen he had prepared for the picnic removed the paper around it and said, "Mmmmm… slices of cheese, onion rings, slices of ham and a few lettuce leaves on top. I think you're overreacting Jim, it's usually my part. I'm the emotional member of our duet." Then he took a hungry bite.

Pursing his lips, Jim opened a takeaway glass container. He took a table spoon and dug into the potato salad, piling some of it on his plate. "No, I'm not. I'm just saying it's suicide."

Opening a container of boiled eggs, Artie shook his head. "I don't want to die. I just want to fly – high in the sky, one last time."

Seasoning his potato salad with salt and pepper, Jim retorted, "You're not a dragon anymore, Artie. Humans don't fly."

Glancing at his still unpacked flying machine, sitting next to the mule which had carried it from the train to there, Artie said, "They did before. Icarus did for example."

Looking gloomy, Jim replied, "Greek mythological figure whose wings disintegrated, drowned in the Aegean. Bad example."

Smiling, Artemus sat his half-empty mug on the blanket, stood and stretched. He took in a deep breath of the pine-scented air. "It's a perfect day to fly. Let's unpack my machine… I can't wait to try my hang glider. In the future 'hang gliding' could be an 'air sport' or recreational activity you know?" And then he headed toward his folded hang glider.

He suddenly let out a yelp of surprise as his right foot caught on a tree root that was curved out of the ground and landed in a heap with a thud.

He moved into a sitting position clutching at his right ankle as hot white pain flooded through it. "Ow! I hurt my ankle," he said wincing, as he tried to hold back the pain.

Kneeling down beside Artie with concern in his eyes, Jim said, "Okay, don't move. I'm going to fetch the medical kit in my saddle bag."

Rubbing his painful ankle Artie shook his head. "No, don't, there's no need. it's going to be okay… I just need to rest a little and the pain will subside. I've had worse you know?"

His arms crossed on his chest, a scowl on his face, Jim half-groaned, "I hope you don't want to fly with a sprained ankle? You might have a few ligaments torn, you can't even walk, so how would you be able to land? You are going to stay here. On the ground."

Poking at the joint carefully, jaw tightened, Artemus replied, "I can land in water…"

Furrowing his brow, the younger man said, annoyance slipping into his voice, "And drown. Good idea. Forget it Artie. Fate wants you to stay on the ground – that's why you have a sprained ankle."

Believing in destiny, Artie raised an eyebrow. "You think so?"

Jim nodded firmly. "Yes."

The two men looked up at the sky when they heard the characteristic call of an eagle and watched a majestic golden eagle fly a few feet above them.

Smiling Jim added, "The Great Spirit protects you, Artie. He's the one you have to blame for your sprained ankle, not destiny."

Capitulating Artie said, "I think you're right." With Jim helping him he got up, pain shooting through his ankle as soon as he took a step.

He lost his balance and collapsed on his buttocks, hard, because he was unable to put weight on his sprained ankle. He yelped.

Placing one arm behind Artemus's shoulders, Jim reached down to scoop up his knees, settling him into his arms bridal style. "Let me carry you, Artie."

Artemus smiled broadly. "Thank you Jim. It's a lovely place for a honeymoon." And the two men chuckled in chorus.

They slowly moved toward their picnic spot.

Crouching, he lowered Artie to the ground, on the plaid blanket and watched the older man lean back against his saddle. "Let's see that twisted ankle now. Brace yourself." He rolled up a pant leg and then proceeded to remove his best friend's boot, slowly, gently, eliciting moans and hisses of pain as he did so.

Jim cautiously removed the wooly sock then - and Artie bit down on his lip and fought unsuccessfully to withhold a cry of pain - revealing a considerably swollen ankle which was already red and blue. "Can you move your foot and wiggle your toes?" Artie complied though painfully. "It's not broken. That's a good thing. But your ankle is badly sprained," he said, running his fingers over the joint, making Artemus flinch, pressing his lips together. "And you're bruising already." He sighed and then added, "Riding for hours to go back to the Wanderer with that is going to be very painful, but I can help."

Smiling Artie said, "Thanks Jim."

Jim grabbed the medical kit he carried in his saddle bag and, holding it, came back beside his best friend thirty seconds later.

He pulled out a pot of ointment, a roll of bandage and a small glass bottle of red pills, finding Artemus palpating the bruised tender skin of his sprained ankle when he returned.

He immediately let go with a jolt of pain. "Ow!"

Shaking his head, looking at Artemus disapprovingly, Jim said, "You shouldn't touch it." Then he sat cross-legged and propped Artie's injured ankle on his lap. "I should put ice on it to relieve some of your pain and keep the swelling down, but there's none here." Instead he slowly applied the arnica ointment on Artie's bruised and swollen ankle. He tried to use as little pressure as possible on it, massaging gently, making the other man press his lips into a thin line and his eyebrows pinch together, his teeth gritted. "It's not the Indian ointment you usually use to rapidly heal well… everything, like hematomas, edema, dislocations, bruises, muscle and joint pains – and sprains, but it should do the job while waiting for a doctor to examine your sprain."

Artie nodded. "Arnica is a powerful anti-inflammatory…"

Jim wrapped the bandage around Artie's ankle, bracing it tightly for support, trying to cause his best friend as little pain as possible, but Artemus hissed non-stop through his gritted teeth as a searing pain was shooting up his leg. "Hold on, it's almost finished."

Once the sprained ankle was bandaged, Jim said, "There we go, all wrapped up. From the medical kit he pulled out a flask of whiskey. "To disinfect wounds… but it can be used for internal use too." And he gave the small bottle to Artie.

Smiling, Artemus removed the screw-down cap. "That's a good idea, Jim. Thanks." He said before taking a long sip.

Jim stood. "I'm going to saddle the horses. You stay here, I won't be long."

Looking up at Jim, Artie said, "It can wait, we didn't finish out picnic. And I'm hungry." And he picked up another sandwich.

Smiling Jim sat back in front of his best friend. "Nothing can kill your appetite," he said. He saw Artie nod and picked up a sandwich from the basket too.

His stomach full, Artemus swallowed a couple of red pills with a sip of alcohol and then said, "The pain should disappear with that." He replaced the lid on the bottle of painkillers as well as the cap on the flask of whiskey. Closing his eyes, he added, "I'm going to take a nap... please wake me up in an hour and then we'll leave…" And he drifted off to sleep.

Smiling Jim said, "Sleep well Artie."

But Artie didn't sleep well.

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Artie's bad dream,

Secret Service Headquarters

Washington D.C.

Midday

Richard Barrett placed the blood-spotted linen bag on a tray on Colonel Richmond's desk and then said to his commanding officer, "A guard found this in Vautrain's cell, this morning, Sir, after the Director made the first all in the prison yard. Vautrain was not present… well actually, a small part of him was still there. I brought it to you, Colonel."

The gray-haired man cringed. "Thank you." Disgusted, he opened the bag and pulled out… a hand severed above the wrist. "I still can't believe he self-mutilated…" He said, dropping it on the tray. The he took his handkerchief and wiped dried blood from his fingers.

Barrett explained, "Vautrain cut his hand off with a knife he stole from the prison canteen Sir, and the cell being searched every day, he concealed it in one of the feet of his wooden bed, which he had hollowed out and then stuffed with sawdust mixed with saliva to form a cork. As the canteen blunt-end knives are not sharp, he probably sharpened it for days to be able to cut his wrist above the bracelet. Then, after he was 'freed' of his right hand, he removed Mintee's bracelet and vanished using his power." He took out Mintee's enchanted bracelet from his right jacket pocket and showed to his superior. "It was the only way he could escape as he couldn't remove it thanks to the Mage's spell." And he deposited the magical bracelet on the desk.

Richmond nodded gloomily. "The bracelet which magically grounded him here, in this world and dimension… Now that he's gone and we don't know where he is…"

Major Barrett nodded. "And not even 'when' either, Colonel. But I'm sure he left for the future to be able to have a new hand thanks to advanced medical technology. He has two 'artificial' legs, already and doctors there will equip him with a 'bionic prosthesis' resembling real hand."

Placing the bluish and rigid appendage back in the bag, the head of the Secret Service said, "But we know one thing, Major, he'll come back soon to take revenge on Jim West and Artemus Gordon."

Barrett nodded. "We should offer them the protection of the Secret Service here in Washington, in a safe house, while Vautrain is still at large."

Richmond nodded. "And they will refuse. You are talking about James West and Artemus Gordon, Major. It's not this man who will scare them after all they've been through!" He sighed. "But we can try it anyway, we never know. Contact Peterson of the Phoenix bureau, he'll head to Tecate to see James West. As for you Major, you go back to the Comanche reservation to tell everything to Artemus Gordon, aka Strong Bear – and I hope it's not too late."

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Comanche reservation

Later

Strong Bear slid off his painted horse and walked Mo to the stream for water. He knelt there and scooped up some water into his cupped hands.

He drank the fresh liquid and splashed some on his dusty face. "Boy! I was thirsty! And I bet you're thirsty too," He said to Mo and Mo huffed in agreement.

He stood and within a couple of minutes, he expertly removed from his mount the A-framed travois loaded with the pieces of elk meat he had wrapped in pieces of buffalo rawhide.

He gave Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse's an affectionate pat on the side of his head and said, "You need to rest Mo, and I need to rest too." Then he grabbed the blanket covering his gelding's back along with his parfleche pouch.

Mo lowered his head toward the fresh water to quench his thirst and then he grazed on the grassy bank of the stream.

Strong Bear looked around him at the vast plain which stretched around him for miles and miles, punctuated here and there with red and black rocks. The sun was setting behind the ragged foothills of the Wichita Mountains in the distance, where he had killed and dismembered the elk. "It's so beautiful…"

He added, addressing his horse, "We should reach the settlement tomorrow afternoon, Mo, with enough meat to feed the children for a few days." And he smiled. Silver Cloud had officially designated him 'Protector of the children' as he loved them like they were his own.

Mo happily snorted in response and flicked his tail tool. Soon he wouldn't have to drag a heavy load behind him and could run free with the other horses.

Strong Bear's smile vanished from his lips at the thought of his band suffering (and he too) from hunger because of the meager rations the Government provided to the band, and to all the Indians of the reservations in general. Big game had almost completely disappeared from the Comanche land exterminated by encroaching whites like gold diggers and settlers. Comanche managed to survive with additional food, hunting small game like rabbits and gathered nuts, berries, and wild potatoes, he thought.

Lit by the red-orangey colors of sunset, Strong Bear said to himself, "It's going to get dark soon, it's time to set up camp."

He used his tomahawk to reduce a dry bush to a pile of twigs and branches and as it was growing cooler, he started a fire as the first stars shone in the sky.

Sitting cross-legged on the blanket next to a large boulder, he lowered his quiver and bow to the grassy ground.

Then he pulled out balls of pemmican from his brightly colored and fringed parfleche pouch and bit into one, while listening to the night sounds of the Prairie.

His stomach filled, Strong Bear yawned and rubbed his tired eyes. "Time to sleep, old man," he said to himself and lay on his back.

He pulled half of the blanket over him and closed his eyes.

Soon he was asleep.

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Later

It was the middle of the night when Strong Bear abruptly woke up hearing Mo's alarm neighs and propped himself on his elbows, fully awake in seconds. The hair on his neck stood up.

He saw a man standing at his side. He was pointing a gun at him, hammer cocked back, holding the revolver with a shiny full metal hand.

Strong Bear blinked twice in total surprise. "Vautrain!" He said, not believing his eyes. "How is it possible…?" And seeing flames being reflected on the other man's metallic hand, he knew. "You cut your hand to be able to get rid of Mintee's bracelet…"

The ex-Colonel nodded. "Exactly. The pain was absolutely atrocious, excruciating… but it was worth it, I'm free now. I chose to have a metallic hand that doesn't look like a real one... to remind me that I had to use a knife to mutilate myself because of you and Mr. West… because of you I lost my legs and my right hand!" His eyes flashed and he pursed his lips angrily and then added, "When you and your best friend are both dead, I'll go back to the future and the doctors of that wonderful hospital in New York City will give me a bionic hand that looks like a real one."

Strong Bear made a sudden grab for his tomahawk laid on the ground to his right to throw it to the other man, but he never reached it.

Eyes black with utter vengeance, Vautrain's lips curled into a snarl and he pulled the trigger. The gunshot was deafening, ringing through the air and echoing in the night throughout the immense plain.

Shot in his heart, point blank, Artemus felt white hot pain jolt through his body, for one second, and he died the next one.

He crumpled onto his back, spread eagled, his wide and vacant eyes staring into nothingness.

Noel Bartley Vautrain grinned. "That was a good shot." He said. And the grin did not leave his face as he emptied the shells from his revolver into Artemus Gordon's body. "Just to be sure," he said. Then he pressed a button on his belt and the invisible personal force field protecting him was deactivated. "One down, one to go!" He added and then he vanished into thin air

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The next morning

Silver Cloud pulled gently on the reins as his horse shied slightly.

He felt his heart constrict in his chest with dread when he spotted a man lying face upward among tall grass and wild flowers.

Strong Bear! He thought with a look of horror on his face, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse was sitting next to his fallen master, head low.

He slid off his horse's back and ran toward his best friend's unmoving body. He sank to his knees beside the other man, ignoring the stench of blood and the flies humming and touched his face painted black with two red stripes on the forehead and chin, cold as stone.

He placed his trembling hand above Strong Bear's bloodied lips – and felt no breath against his palm. A gasp escaped his lips.

He took the other man's lax and unmoving hand in his. "No!" He croaked.

He was gone.

He grabbed his knife and cut through the fringed buckskin shirt caked with dried blood to get a better look at the wound and discovered a gaping gun-shot wound in his chest, at the level of his heart.

Death had been instantaneous.

He stood his face twisted in a pained expression and howled his rage and grief.

Everything went silent then.

He quickly searched for footprints, found those of a man wearing boots but there was no sign of hoof prints. A white man, with no horse had killed Strong Bear – and then had vanished into thin air. How was it possible? He asked himself, utterly confused.

But answers and vengeance would came later, he thought. First he had to bring Strong Bear back to the settlement and prepare the funeral ceremony and the burial ritual.

He saddled up Mo, then he wrapped his best friend's almost rigid body in his blanket. Then he hoisted it across the saddle and tied the corpse on it with buffalo-hide rope.

He attached the travois to his own horse and then mounted it. Then he headed back toward the settlement, Mo following him.

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Later

Silver Cloud standing in his tepee watched the funeral ritual preparing the dead warrior for the journey to the happy-hunting grounds that awaited him.

It was also a ceremony of deep grief for the loss of a loved one.

Strong Bear was bathed, the three women taking care of him removing blood and grime. Then they painted his face in red and sealed his eyes with clay.

Strong Bear was then dressed in his favorite clothes, and then laid upon a blanket.

His knees were folded, brought up to his chest bound in that position with a buffalo-hide rope, and his arms were also flexed upon each side of the chest, and the head bent forward upon the knees, so as to make the body as compact as possible.

Silver Cloud and Strong Bear's friends took a final look at the body, and then it was wrapped in another blanket and tightly tied with buffalo-hide rope.

Once that was done, Strong Bear's body was brought outside and placed in a sitting position on his favorite pony, the whole band gathering there for a final goodbye.

It was time for the burial.

Marching in front, Silver Cloud led the pony to the burial place located west of the settlement, in order that Strong Bear's spirit would accompany the setting sun to the world beyond. The spirit would start on its journey the following night after death has taken place.

Riding behind a squaw was carrying Strong Bear's most valuable possessions, blankets, cloths, and moccasins and his bow and quivers filled with arrows, his body ornaments and his saddle. Strong Bear's warriors friends mounted their horses and followed too.

Silver Cloud reached the burial site before sunset which was a crevice high among the rocks, away from vultures and coyotes.

Silver Cloud placed Strong Bear's body in a sitting position into the crevice face downwards and piled his belongings in the grave.

Then the Comanche chief piled rocks on each side of the crevice, closing the tomb.

He had one last thing to do before leaving. He pulled out the Winchester from the stiff buffalo rawhide scabbard in his back and moved toward the spotted pony.

He shot him in the head.

Then Silver cloud and the other Comanche began yelling and chanting at the burial site of the dead warrior after the tomb was closed.

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Two days later

Silver Cloud's settlement

Major Barrett escorted by two warriors – as the settlement was part of the Comanche reservation and therefore off-limits to non-Indians – dismounted his horse.

He frowned, confused as he watched a group of Comanche – who had shaved the left side of their heads - Silver Cloud included, burning Strong Bear's tepee painted in blue at its top and with blue stripe in its middle and blue zigzags at its base and his broken possessions.

He noticed that he had completely shaved his head and that the women around him, dressed in rags cried aloud and had slashed their arms and chests, blood dripping to the ground.

Even if he didn't know a lot of things about Comanche Indians he knew they had done that to show their grief. Someone important had died, he thought.

Framed by the two Comanche Indians holding spears, he headed toward the now bald Comanche war Chief and, once at Silver Cloud's side, he asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Silver Cloud replied, "Strong Bear is dead." He pointed his arm toward the brazier and said, "We broke all his possessions because his fighting days are done. And we are burning what remains of them here. We do it to make sure that all of his belongings would be able to reach him in the other world, through the smoke where he could use them. His others valuables are placed with him, in his grave."

Major Barrett blanched. "He was killed…"

Intrigued Silver Cloud frowned. "How do you know that?"

The Secret Service officer heaved a long sigh. "A man called Vautrain probably killed him. It's a long story." He suppressed a curse. "It's too late. What happened?"

Silver Cloud took a couple of steps back and watched the burning tepee collapse to the ground, flames continuing to devour everything, blankets, clothes, water carriers, lances, tomahawks…" He went hunting in the Wichita mountains for two days to bring meat to the children. Not seeing him back at the settlement when he should have been back, I went looking for him. I found him on the plain…" He paused struggling to keep his emotions at bay. Comanche warriors didn't cry. They were strong and stolid. He added, "He was killed with a bullet to his heart and he had been dead for several hours. His horse was alive. I didn't kill it to place it next to Strong Bear's grave. It's a Cheyenne horse. I will bring him to Strong Bear's Cheyenne brother, American Knife. But I brought his best pony to his grave and I killed it, because the departed needs to appear well mounted when reaching the other world. I brought Strong Bear back, using his travois. We buried him according to our funeral ritual." Seeing that the white man was curious, he added, "I can't tell you about that, it's a sacred funeral ritual and burial, and white men don't have to know it. But I can lead you to his final resting place, Major Barrett."

Barrett nodded. "Yes, please."

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Later, somewhere in the vast plain

Half an hour later the two men dismounted next to a group of boulders lost in the immense plain. Silver cloud pointed at a small crevice up in the rounded rocks. "He's there."

Barrett moved there slowly, watching to his right the dead pony already half-eaten by vultures and coyotes then he noticed the stacked rocks and wooden poles around the tomb. The crevice there had been filled in with loose rocks at either end.

Barrett closed his eyes and whispered a short prayer. Then he said, "I'm sorry for your loss. The Secret Service will do everything to find his murderer. He will end up hanging at the end of a rope with his feet dangling off the ground."

Silver Cloud nodded. "I don't care about white men's justice. It's too soft. Bring that man to me and he will regret being born."

Barrett looked at the Comanche Chief picturing all kind of tortures the Indians used against their enemies. They didn't do them anymore… but he was sure Silver Cloud would revive them.

Suddenly there was a flash of bright white light and the ex-Colonel Vautrain materialized… holding a revolver and aiming it at Jim who had materialized with him, at his side.

Silver Cloud immediately grabbed his knife, unsheathing it and Barrett lowered his hand to the butt of his holstered gun.

Raising his intact left hand, Vautrain said, "Don't move! Or Mr. West will die…" And saw the two other men freeze. "Very good." Pointing at the filled crevice in the boulders, he asked, "Is this Mr. Gordon's tomb?" And he saw Jim's face reflect shock.

Jim shook his head in horror and denial. "No, no, he can't be dead…" He croaked, his throat choking up. He felt nauseous and his throat felt clogged.

Silver Cloud nodded confirming it. "It's strong Bear's tomb, yes. He died."

The ex-Colonel grinned seeing his prisoner's face crumble. "I thought you would have transported his body to the nearest fort so it could be transferred to Washington, but I can see he was buried like a Comanche. I suppose it's a great honor as he was a white man."

Silver Cloud's eyes flashed. "And he was a Comanche warrior! After what he did for his band, he deserved to be buried our way."

Smiling, Noel Bartley Vautrain propelled Jim to the ground, hard. Then he said, "I tried to be creative in killing you, because you were both interesting adversaries and thus deserved a 'special' death, something out of the ordinary, but you somehow managed to survive my elaborate plans and I was really upset… So, I decided to use a more brutal and radical approach, but very effective way to kill you. I first killed Mr. Gordon with a bullet to his heart. He never had a chance. His luck finally ran out."

Hearing that, Jim's eyes flashed with grief and anger and his hand clenched into a tight fist.

Cold as ice, Vautrain continued, "He died, yes, but didn't suffer. And if his death pleased me, a lot, I later regretted that he didn't suffer. I'm not going to repeat the same error with you, Mr. West. But I wanted you to see your best friend's tomb before you die, to make you suffer, that's why I brought you here."

Intrigued Barrett asked, "How did you know we were here?"

The ex-Colonel smiled. "It's part of my immense power. I focus on one place and I materialize there a split second later. I can do that with people too, whether they are still alive or dead. I focused on Mr. Gordon and I materialized here. Simple."

He was ready to pull the trigger and kill James West when a mountain lion appeared on top of the boulders, snarling and showing white teeth.

The ex-Colonel froze and the blood drained from his face as the massive and deadly feline leaped forward with a roar.

Crying out in surprise Vautrain collapsed on his back onto the grassy ground, his gun slipping from his new metallic hand, his legs giving out underneath him, the big cat pinning him there.

He vanished before the big cat could rip his throat with his fangs… scaring the cougar which ran away at top speed across the plain.

Silver Cloud was both astonished and frightened. "Where did he go? How did he vanish? Is he a malevolent spirit?"

Barrett helped Jim to stand. "Are you okay Mr. West?"

Looking up at Artie's tomb, Jim shook his head. "No, I'm not okay," he replied with a strangled voice and teary eyes.

He inhaled a lungful of air, trying to keep his composure. He bit his lower lip. It hurt so much that he wanted to scream.

He had lost Artemus, Artie, his best friend, his big brother.

He chocked, tried to breathe in and his whole body shuddered. He said, "Vautrain is just a man, but he has a great power… he can appear and disappear in one second. It's a long story." Big tears rolled down his pale cheeks. "He killed Artemus…"

He moved toward the man he loved like he was his own brother and placed a shaking hand on one of the round stones filling the front part of the crevice where Artemus Gordon was laid to rest.

He took a shuddering breath and leaned forward. "Goodbye Artie. I will miss you… so much. But we'll see each other again one day." He whispered.

Suddenly Artie's baritone voice resonated inside his head, 'Not too soon. I will always be at your side. You'll remember me. You'll never lose those memories."

Then James West dropped to his knees as a wave of misery overwhelmed him. and his head low, he started to cry his eyes out.

He began to mourn Artemus Gordon.

WWW

Later under Silver Cloud's tepee, at night

Sitting cross-legged beside the fire, Jim was looking down at the flames, his face was pale, drawn out, his eyes red rimmed. His mind blank numbed by grief and mourning.

Silver Cloud knelt beside the white man nudged him against his back and then placed some silver and copper trinkets in Jim's hand as well as a hair pipe breastplate. "They belonged to Strong Bear. He wanted you to have this, if he died, as something to remember him by he told me."

Looking down at the trinkets in his hand, Jim said, "Thank you." He heaved a long sigh, shaking his head. "I still can't believe he's dead."

The Comanche chief nodded and Jim saw sorrow flicker across Silver Cloud's usually impassive features. "He lives. He's not among us anymore, but he's in the spirit world, galloping on his pony with other warriors in the happy hunting grounds, hunting buffalos with them."

Jim placed Artie's hair pipe breastplate and the other body ornaments in all the pockets of his blue jacket as if they were treasures and he said, distractedly, "Yes he is," wondering how he was going to announce the death of her son to Helena Gordon. Was the old woman going to bear the shock? And how would she react after he told her that Artemus was buried among rocks in the Comanche reservation? Maybe she would want to bring his body back to civilization for a memorial service and then for a proper funeral to say a final goodbye to him? Or maybe she'd let him rest here and come here to see his tomb?

Then he thought of all the times he and Artemus had saved each other from seemingly certain death… "Not this time," he said, a tremor in his voice.

He rose to his feet and seeing worry reflected in Silver Cloud's dark eyes he added, his throat tight, "I'll be fine. It'll take me a while to adjust but I'll be fine."

He left the tepee, followed by Silver Cloud, joining Major Barrett standing next to their horses. "I'm not going to accompany you to Washington, Major," he told the USSS officer. I'm going to head back to Mexico. My life is in Tecate with my family."

Barrett frowned in worry. "But you'll be in danger there Sir. The US Secret Service won't be able to protect you there."

Patting Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse's neck Jim replied, "I know. But no one will be able to stop Vautrain from killing me, nobody, not even the best agents of the Secret Service."

Barrett, shoulders slumped looked defeated. Then his dull eyes suddenly lit with a brilliant idea. "And if you can go back in time to stop him before he kills Mr. Gordon and neutralize Vautrain?"

Intrigued, Jim asked, "It's a good idea… Do the Secret Service has a time machine?" Then he snapped his fingers twice. "Loveless's time machine!"

Barrett nodded. "Yes, exactly. Dr. Loveless's time machine is stored in the secure warehouse of the Secret Service Headquarters among the other machines he created. And Dr. Loveless is still in a cell – and I'm sure he'd be very happy to start it for you against a remission of sentence. Let's do this before Vautrain can get him out of prison."

Jim smiled. "It's an excellent idea, Major. In that case I'm coming with you to Washington." Then he turned toward Silver Cloud. "I would like to thank you Silver Cloud for taking care of Artie when he was alive, and after his death, thank you very much."

Silver Cloud hugged Jim and said, "Take care of yourself, James. You will always be welcome here among the Comanche."

The two men parted and Jim mounted Artemus's horse. He leaned forward and whispered in his ear. "Artie will be back soon."

WWW

Secret Service headquarters, Washington D.C.

Secret warehouse

Dr. Loveless framed between two agents of the Secret Service pressed on a series of buttons and pulled up a couple of levers.

Immediately the big 'time travel machine' started to emit a series of metallic noises and the bulbs began to shine brighter and brighter as the machine was powering up.

Richmond, impatient, asked, "When will it be ready to operate?"

Loveless ignored the question focused on the last settings to be made on the time convector, then checked if the energy level accumulated in the batteries was at its maximum.

Looking at the head of the USSS he finally replied, "It's ready now. I just have to set the date and time and location on the control panel.

Moving toward the circular platform attached to the time travel machine, Jim said, "Four days ago, on Monday, at sunset, let's say 1900 hours, a few miles south of the Wichita Mountains."

Loveless nodded. "Thank you, Mr. West," and then using these last parameters, he configured the time convector.

Glancing at the big black cables connecting the machine to the platform onto which he was standing Jim asked a bit warily, "Am I going to be electrocuted?"

Loveless grinned. "Just a bit. It's an electrical machine Mr. West, it has to be expected, but I considerably improved the use of electricity in my machines in order to avoid this problem." He placed his hand on a red lever and then said, "I will bring you back in eight hours, that should be enough to save Mr. Gordon." He paused and added, "The machine is designed for a one person only round trip, meaning that you will have to leave Mr. Gordon behind."

Jim nodded. "It's not a problem. Artemus will want to stay there." He took a deep breath and said, "You can proceed."

Loveless pulled down the red lever.

.

Feeling electricity running through his whole body, Jim gasped more in surprise than in pain and his body dissolved in a bright white light.

He materialized one second later in the middle of a vast plain, at sunset. Disoriented, he stumbled on shaky legs and then dropped to his knees in the thick grass.

His waited for the world to stop spinning around him and then he stood, a bit nauseous. He turned around on himself to see if he could spot his best friend on his horse pulling a travois.

He saw a dark silhouette that stood out on the orange horizon line. A horse, a man and a travois. He smiled broadly. "Artie!" but his smile vanished on his lips. His ex-partner was several miles away. "Too bad Loveless couldn't transport me here on my horse," he said, and he started running.

He was within earshot when he shouted, "Artie! Artie!" and watched the other man halt his horse and perched on his saddle, looking around him.

Eyes wide open in stupefaction, Strong Bear recognized Jim West running at top speed in his direction. "Jim?" he let out. He frowned, confused. "How is it possible?"

He urged Mo to turn to the left and the painted horse trotted to meet the other man.

Out of breath, face pinched in pain as a side stitch was stabbing his side, Jim stopped running and he waited for his old friend to join him, his smile growing as the other man approached him.

After a few minutes Artemus finally reached his best friend and slid off his pinto horse. "Jim! What a surprise! Fancy meeting you here! But what are you doing here?" He glanced around him not seeing Jim's horse on the plain. "With no horse. Did he die somewhere?"

A broad smile lit Jim's face. "Artie! you're alive!" He exclaimed his heart pounding with joy in his chest. "I'm so happy to see you!"

His brow furrowed, intrigued, Artie said, "Yes, I'm alive…" Then his frown deepened when he felt Jim's hand flat against his buckskin shirt, and held it there.

Beaming, Jim said, "I can feel your heartbeat… you're alive!" Then he drew Artemus close with an arm around his waist and another around his shoulders and held on as tightly as he could against him. "I'm so happy you're not dead!" He rasped, feeling tears pricking his eyes.

In response Artie threw his arms around him in a friendly embrace. "And I'm happy not to be dead," he said with a smile.

Jim broke off the hug first and then explained, "I came here with no horse. I traveled back in time to save you. I used Dr. Loveless's time travel machine to be here and neutralize Vautrain before he kills you, Artie."

Even more confused, Artemus asked, "What? Vautrain? He's gonna kill me?" He paused as he realized... "He killed me?"

Sitting on a rounded rock to catch his breath, Jim nodded. "Vautrain escaped from prison by severing his hand just above the wrist, to get rid of Mintee's bracelet. He traveled to the future to get a new hand and then, he killed you for revenge for being sent to prison."

Taking the (buffalo) waterskin he carried on his horse, Artie asked, "What happened to me?" And then he joined his best friend on the small boulder.

Jim sighed. "He shot you in your heart. And you died instantly." He grabbed the rawhide waterskin and moaned in pleasure feeling the cool water slide down his parched throat. "Thanks, Artie," he said, placing the water container on his lap. He continued, "Silver Cloud buried you the Comanche way… in a crevice between two boulders. I didn't attend the funeral ceremony and the burial, but I stood in front of your grave. I was… devastated." And picturing it in his mind, he held back a sob.

The older man nodded. "I imagine so." He sighed. "Silver Cloud did the right thing. I always thought I'd be buried where I would die, or not far from there. My mother would prefer that I be buried near my father, and she would prefer to leave before me... Fate alone will decide that." He placed both hands on Jim's arms in a warm friendly gesture. "And thank you very much for coming here to save me."

Shaking his head, Jim replied, "I didn't save you, yet."

Smiling, Artemus said, "It's only a matter of time. You will, Jim. And by neutralize Vautrain you mean kill him right?"

Jim nodded. "Yes. It's the only way to stop him. I'm going to have to be quick so he doesn't disappear as soon as he sees me."

WWW

Later

It was the middle of the night when Artemus faking sleep heard Mo's alarm neighs and propped himself up on his elbows.

He immediately looked up and saw Vautrain standing at his side. The ex-Confederate officer was pointing a gun at him, hammer cocked back, holding the revolver with a shiny full-metal hand.

He gritted his teeth, expecting Jim to show himself and fire at the other man any second by now. "Vautrain! You escaped!" He said.

Noel Bartley Vautrain nodded. "Yes, I did. Surprise!" He transferred his revolver to his left hand and flexed the fingers of his brand new metallic hand. "I could crush your neck with it… It's so powerful…" And he grabbed his gun in his prosthetic hand. "I had to cut off my hand to be able to get rid of Mintee's bracelet… The pain was absolutely atrocious, excruciating… but it was worth it, I'm free now. I chose to have a metallic hand that doesn't look like a real one to remind me that I had to use a knife to mutilate myself because of you and Mr. West… " He paused moved closer to the ex-agent of the Secret Service. Then, pursing his lips, anger flashing in his eyes, he added. "Because of you I lost my legs and my right hand!"

Artemus frowned beginning to be worried. What was Jim waiting for? 'Don't worry, old boy, he's waiting for the right time", he thought.

Ex-Colonel Vautrain said, "When you and your best friend are both dead - I will kill Mr. West after you're dead –I'll go back to the future and the doctors of that wonderful hospital in New New York City will give me a bionic hand that looks like a real one."

Swallowing hard, now very anxious, Artie reached toward his tomahawk sitting on the ground near him, but un a flash Vautrain kicked it away, laughing. "Jiiiim!" He called.

Leaping on the boulder like a mountain lion, Jim aimed his gun at Vautrain before he had time to pull the trigger and fired, twice.

But the bullets ricocheted off against Vautrain's personal force field, disappearing into the night… and Jim stiffened, disbelief in his eyes.

Grinning cruelly, the former Confederate officer, said, "Surprise!" And he opened fire, twice.

The shots sent Jim backwards, the bullets ripping through his ribs. He cried out in pain clutching his chest and he fell sideways.

The gun slipped out of his hand as he bonelessly slid off the boulder.

He landed on the ground with a thud and stayed immobile, his white shirt reddening with blood, blood pooling on the grass beside him.

Jim stared up at the night sky, his chest on fire and, his last thought was that he was going to die and everything went black.

Petrified with shock to see his best friend dead, Artemus lost precious seconds… and Vautrain use them to fire again.

He killed Artemus Gordon with a clean shot to the head.

Grinning like a maniac, Vautrain emptied the bullets from his revolver on Artemus's still body and replenished them one by one.

He moved toward Jim's body and pulled the trigger six more times.

WWW

Reality

Artie snapped awake, his breath coming in quick bursts and he was surprised to see myriads of stars shining in the night sky.

He immediately pulled down the bedroll covering him up to his shoulders and touched his chest where the bullet had hit him, breath becoming slightly ragged. He had been shot!

His heart was hammering in his chest, he looked down at his trembling hands expecting to see blood on his fingers, feel an excruciating pain…

But there was nothing. There was no blood and there was no pain.

He heaved a long sigh, an immense relief flooding through him. "It was a Nightmare…" He rasped, his voice, sleep rough, rubbing his face. Then he grinned happily at Jim. "Oh boy! what a nightmare!" He said. Then he realized that it was dark. Crickets' songs filled the light summer air accompanied by the crackling of a fire. "I had a long nap."

An owl hooted nearby.

He propped himself up on his elbows, noticed that his bedroll was covering his legs – with the exception of his injured ankle which was elevated on his folded saddle blanket - and looked at Jim who was sitting across from him on the other side of the small fire. "You didn't wake me."

Shaking his head, Jim said, "I didn't. You needed to rest." And then he grabbed a handful of branches from the small woodpile that had been collected for the campfire when his best friend was asleep and set them into the flames. "Do you want to tell me about your nightmare?"

Moving into a sitting position, Artemus groaned as a searing pain shot through his throbbing ankle. "You know I always find it strange to see me in my dreams, or nightmares walking, eating, drinking… etc, and interacting with you as if I was another person standing next to me, or next to you… or above me and you…" He cleared his throat. "Anyway. Long story short, Vautrain cut off his hand to get rid of Mintee's bracelet, he escaped, got a new hand in the future, came back here and he killed us."

Lit by the flickering glow from the fire, Jim nodded. "It won't happen. He is placed in solitary confinement and is guarded by two guards 24 hours a day. He's not allowed any sharp objects. He won't do that ever." He paused, seeing relief in Artie's chocolate eyes and asked, "How's your ankle?"

Leaning back against his saddle, Artie sighed, feeling the heat of the fire on the sole of his bare foot. "The painkillers helped to subdue the pain…" He rotated his ankle a little and winced. "Still throbs." Suddenly his stomach growled. "Is there still something to eat?"

Jim picked up a couple of sandwiches from the picnic basket and he threw them at Artie above the fire – the other man catching them.

Smiling, Artemus said, "Thanks", and he removed the paper from around the first one, revealing a tuna, tomato, mayonnaise sandwich.

He bit into it, releasing a moan of pleasure. "'Boy! M'gry," he mumbled, his mouth full. He wolfed down the two sandwiches within two minutes.

Pouring coffee into a mug, Jim said, "I won't offer you coffee, as I made it, but there's still some fruit salad in a container. Seeing Artie nod, he stood, took the basket and moved beside his best friend, sitting on the plaid blanket. He pulled the bedroll up to Artie's knees and observed the older man's bandaged ankle. It was still swollen but less than before. "The swelling has gone down a bit, you should be able to ride in the morning at this rate."

Reaching out, Artie lightly scratched at the tight elastic wrap around his ankle, "It itches, and it's going to be sore for a while." he said.

Jim nodded. "But it will be healed when you return to live with the Comanche." He pulled out the container of fruit salad and a little spoon. "Still hungry?"

WWW

Inside the Wanderer, a few days after the trial

It was the middle of the night when Jim, coming back from the toilets noticed a thin line of light under Artemus's door.

He knocked at it and heard, "Come in!"

Jim opened the door and discovered Artie sitting on the bed, wearing pajamas and his back against a pile of pillows.

His best friend was reading a book (one of the dozens he had bought in Washington and intended to bring to the Comanche reservation). "Can't sleep?" He asked, entering the compartment.

Lowering the book to his lap, Artemus said, "I can't sleep because I'm excited to go back with my band," he responded. He smiled. "And also I'm thrilled to know that Loveless and Vautrain will spend the rest of their lives in a federal penitentiary – well, in a lab there."

Jim nodded. "Hmm. They should have been hanged by the neck until dead, but the President commuted their sentence to life imprisonment. As they are brilliant scientists, geniuses, they will work for the US Department of Science and Technology." Sitting on the edge of the small bed, Jim added, "We should reach the south part of the Indian Territory tomorrow morning." He sighed feeling suddenly both sad and nostalgic. "I'm going to miss you, Artie. Working together during that mission was like going back to the good old times."

Feeling both sad and nostalgic too, Artemus said. "Yes, you're right. I loved working at your side again, Jim, and our mission was a success!"

Jim nodded. "Like always. We have never failed."

The older man rubbed his tired eyes then he said, "But the good old times are gone now. You and I have retired from the Secret Service and we have new lives we both enjoy. But we'll see each other again, I'm sure of it. But I hope it won't be for a new mission – I will refuse."

Jim smiled and stood. "Me too." His stomach suddenly growled. "Hmm. I'm hungry. I'm going to cook something…"

Looking up at his ex-partner, Artemus frowned and said, "And you are going burn down the galley while doing it! You have to bring back the Wanderer to Washington, intact, remember? It's on loan, she's not ours ... never was, even if we think of this train as 'home'." He left his bed and pushed Jim out of his compartment, in the narrow walkway. "Let me prepare you something. It would be safer."

Falsely outraged by the remark, Jim addressed his best friend with his best a mocking sour look. Then he headed toward the galley, Artie following him.

WWW

The next morning

Holding Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse by his reins, using the ramp, Artemus led his painted horse out from the Wanderer's stable car.

He patted the gelding's neck and walked up to Jim standing on the side of the railroad.

He glanced at the vast grassy plain and then looked at Jim. "The Comanche reservation is a few miles away from here."

Jim nodded and looked up and down at his best friend who was dressed like a Comanche Indian. "I'm sure they can't wait to see you again."

His eyes wet with coming tears Artie sighed. "I hate goodbyes." Placing his hand on Jim's shoulder he said, "But it's not a 'goodbye forever' but a 'goodbye for now'… but it's hard anyway." He took his ex-partner in his arms and hugged him.

In response, Jim pressed Artemus against him. "I'm not one for goodbyes either," he said. After a few seconds he pulled away from the older man's embrace – noticing that Artemus was crying now – and he added, "Go on, buddy…they're waiting for you." He smiled, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. "It's time to go home, Artie."

Nodding, Artie took a step back. "If you need me, Jim, you know where to find me." He then held a hand out for his best friend to shake. "Say hello to Carmelita and give her a kiss for me. And kiss the babies' foreheads for me too, alright?"

Smiling Jim shook Artie's hand. "Yes, I will. I'll miss you."

Artemus grabbed the reins and then mounted his pinto horse. "I'll miss you too. Contact me when you have your ranch, Jim. I owe you two horses." He grinned, the tears drying on his tanned face and he added, "See ya, Jim. Take care of yourself. Until next time." He lifted a hand in a goodbye gesture.

Immobile, his heart heavy in his chest, Jim said, "Goodbye Artie. Take care of yourself, too, we'll see each other again."

Smiling, Artemus kicked Mo's sides and the horse galloped away.

Jim turned on his heel and climbed into the stable car.

It would all be okay, he thought.

The end