9

The stagecoach driver was relieved when he reached the town of Briggsby for it was the last stop on his route. He would get a well-deserved rest at the inn for a couple of days then begin the return trip north; stopping at several small towns to gather passengers on their way to Denver and from there, god only knew. What he knew was that his lower back had a steady ache; his ears would ring well into the night with the repetitive sounds of the pounding hooves of horses and the rickety racket of the coach, only to disappear as he drifted further into his slumber. But first he planned a visit to the saloon and let a few slugs of whiskey wash the many miles of dust from his throat.

His last passenger had ridden almost from the stages starting point, but the driver had noticed that the rough and tumble trip had not affected her like it did the other passengers. Usually dolled up ladies would lose their bumpy struggle in keeping their hats and hair in place, and even though the stage is equipped with shades, a fair amount of dust and dirt makes its way into the cabin; transforming the cleanest of passengers into dusty relics of what they once were. The strongest of muscles become worn and tired causing the travelers postures to slump and fall during the prolonged trips cross-country, except for this lady. The driver was amazed; every stop that occurred, she had remained as strong and as fresh as if she had just begun the trip. Not to mention her striking beauty had made this trip one of the fastest that he could remember. It was the anticipation in reaching the various stopping points of the route; the times he would get to see her, help her from the coach, maybe a little small talk. Even though she didn't talk much and at times seemed perturbed with him, he could care less. He figured that she'd visit him in his dreams.

The lamplights flickered within their glass casings; the main street had only a few horses and the glow from some of the hotel's windows was the only evidence of life in the small town. The sounds of whiskey and beer filled glasses cheering in drunken merriment emanated from the saloon as the stage passed on its way to its last stop for the night. With a pull of the reins and a push with his foot on the break, the driver halted the stagecoach and pebbles and dust from his wake floated forward and disappearing in the wind.

Elva Scranton was also relieved about her arrival to Briggsby, but not for the same reasons as the driver; she had become tiresome of the long trip, not for the filthy and uncomfortable accommodations, more for the annoying and exasperating company she had to share the cabin with. Her fellow passengers and especially the driver had worn thin their welcome. They were only a representation of the mindless masses, which they unknowingly had no comprehension of what was to come; the reckoning. The eventual coming of the fate of mankind, death, and those who survive the trials will be worthy enough to live, as slaves, or as they believed the 'chosen few'; the rising.

She barely acknowledged the driver as he helped her from the stage and after that he circled to the rear to unload her luggage. The scruffy driver tried his hardest to capture her attention as he brought around her bags, except her attention was stolen by a small carriage that seemed to slowly appear from the limbo of darkness that surrounded the town. It stopped a few yards ahead of the stagecoach, and its driver, his movements precise and direct, and without a word, left his seat to load Elva's belongings in the trunk. She met him at the back of the carriage, whisking her cape over her shoulders.

"Get a move on," she instructed, "I have important information for the preacher that he needs to hear as soon as possible."

The driver, focused on his task, sped up without hesitation, and as he finished loading, Elva inquired, "What of Coyote Creek?"

The driver settled on the bench next to Elva and with a slight tilt of his head he answered, "The Trial is done."

He snapped the reins and they lurched forward. Elva was concerned about the Preacher's reaction when he hears about West and his partner. She had been cautioned about leaving any loose ties behind and unfortunately two of the 'chosen' were dead and West was still alive. It was very dangerous to have two resourceful men like West and Gordon on your trail. The Preacher will not be happy and a feeling of fear crept its way across her shoulders and slowly trekked throughout her body, as she thought about the consequences.

**********

The diminutive slit of the crescent moon did very little to illuminate the broken town of Eden. A faint purple glow splashed the rooftops and was cut in pieces by the long shadows of the buildings across its gritty thoroughfare that was Main Street. There was no sign of life in the village, everything sat in a stony silence. The sounds of the coming carriage seemed to boom and echo as it made its way from the tree-hidden path into the clearing on the edge of town. It came to a stop in front of the church with a tiny squeak; the bridle and reins clinked as they swung forward and back. The numb driver stepped down and commenced in gathering Elva's bags, she also made her way to the steps of the church; she turned, waiting for her belongings. For the trip back she had pondered, what would be the best way to explain to the Preacher about West still being alive and now she was here, answerless.

Deceptively from the shadows appeared the Preacher; he put his bony hand upon her shoulder and Elva spun around with a gasp.

"It seems that in six months you have forgotten my touch, my love."

"Ezra," she called out his name, "no, no, my darling, you simply startled me, that's all." She was trying so hard to hide her fright that she almost forgot to kiss him.

She flung her arms over his shoulders and proceeded to caress him.

He asked her about Scranton when they parted.

"It went better than we had planned," she squeezed him and went on, "he didn't detect it and didn't realize that I had applied it to his face." Bright-eyed she added, "He even stepped out to the open, sealing his fate."

A wide grin flashed over his face, "So the thief is finally dead."

"And I heard of our success at Coyote Creek," she gloated.

"The solution worked exactly as I planned," he elaborated, "The mixture was heavy enough to hang in the air and engulfed the entire village."

"Ezra?" She was hesitant to tell him about West and Gordon but realized that she had to, "Scranton had contacted a friend in the Secret Service and he witnessed the Scranton 'trial'."

His grin slightly deflated as Elva recounted the events, how she had to implement the 'trial' sooner than she had planned, how West and Gordon escaped the fiery death trap that left two of the 'chosen' dead, and she suspected that they were on her trail.

Ezra contemplated the situation for a bit as Elva watched, grateful that he was not angry with her. The faint moonlight made his grayish skin glow and the wrinkles about his face darkened, "It looks as if two more 'trials' are in order."

10

The early bustle that had exploded over the Shoshone Indian village entailed soldiers from the 36th Army Platoon cording the area, looking for survivors and gathering the deceased from the outskirts. Others were digging and filling graves at a furious rate, all brandished their scarves over their mouths to ward off the stench of death and/or any infectious agents they thought that could have caused this tragedy. Luckily a high wind blew across the land, dispersing some of the odor into space.

James West and his party, which included Dr. Tabitha Welling; Entomologist, and Artemus Gordon, snaked their way through the chaos towards the tent of the Commander-in-charge.

They had left the train side-railed and before the sun had started to rise, traveled the twenty-six miles, by horseback, to the village. The Doctor was brought along to possibly find clues to what the agents was dealing with.

She had never witnessed anything close to what she was gazing upon today. The Villagers bloated and disfigured bodies littered the ground, posed in surreal throes, with looks of terror frozen upon their faces.

Dr. Welling, now in her research clothes; her delightfully snug pants had the pant legs tucked into high leather boots, her top was a white button-up blouse that revealed her exquisite shape, and a vest with various sized pockets matched her pant color, and was all topped off with a small brimmed hat that kept the sun from her eyes. She stopped and crouched down beside a mother and her child and started to examine the bodies. Jim had continued for the tent not aware that Artie had joined her.

Artemus could sense the Doctor's sorrow when he knelt down beside her, he offered, "Maybe we should continue…"

"Mr. Gordon you need not be concerned with my well-being," she sternly stated, "I am a professional," the more she took in the harder it was to remain stern, "I am simply investigating…" the bite had left her tone, "…Artemus …Why …Who could do this to another person?" A tear spilled from the corner of her eye.

Artie tried to find the words, "Frequently James and I find out the reasons behind such calousness and more times than not, we fail to fully understand - why," his gaze fixed on the deceased woman and child in front of them, "I guarantee you we will find the monster behind this."

Tabitha didn't know if he was speaking to her or the silent mother and child that lay before them.

**********

West was about to announce his presence when the tent flaps opened and out popped the commanding officer, West raised a hand to stop him from passing and it landed upon the officer's chest, "Captain?"

The Captain glanced at West' hand upon his person, "And you are?" With bitterness he asked.

"I'm James West," he presented his identification, "… and that is my partner, Artemus Gordon and Dr. Welling." He said motioning in their direction.

"I am Captain Dupree," he stonily stated, "kindly remove your hand from my person, son." The Captain was right, he was twenty years older. Only when West accepted that he had the commander's attention, drop his hand.

"I had been informed of your coming by Colonel Richmond, how is it I can help you?"

"First of all, was there any clue to what it was that did this?" They started to trek through the havoc.

The Captain answered, "No, but a survivor described a bluish, heavy mist, that he encountered when he came out into the open."

" 'A' survivor?" West questioned.

The Captain stopped to turn and face West, "The survivor is no longer," he waved to the medical tents and continued, "he died minutes after we arrived.' My men are so terrified that this is some sort of disease they could catch."

"No," West said, "someone did this."

The Captain took West on the gruesome tour while they continued their discussion.

"Sixty-eight casualties," Dupree stated.

West had noticed the shallow mass graves and before he asked, he reminded the Captain of who they were, "Men, women, and children,' 'don't you think they deserve a decent burial?"

"Mr. West," Captain Dupree listlessly attempted to explain, "we have very little time and the sun will be at its hottest point before you know it…"

"You know Captain, I understand your predicament," West faced him, "but I have very little sympathy for it."

Dupree's jaw tightened and before he could respond, West coldly ordered, "Each person shall receive their own grave, at a decent depth, with a grave marker."

"Sachs!" Dupree called above the clatter.

Twenty yards away a soldier straightened, pulled his bandana from his face, perched his shovel over his shoulder, and started over to West and Dupree.

"Sir." The young man was towering head and shoulders above West. Dirt and sweat rested upon his shirtless body and accentuated his muscled-bulked physique. It was obvious that the Captain did not like being ordered around.

" 'You' tell Corporal Sachs that he has to toil in the blistering sun, hauling about and burying rotting Indians," Dupree challenged.

Without a word he turned to the giant and looked into his eyes. Sachs glared back at him. West turned his back on Sachs and glancing over his shoulder, ordered, "Every person shall receive…"

Sachs' intimidating frown turned into a heated scowl and his shovel fell to the ground as he went to shove West from behind.

West spun, propelling his elbow from in front of him in a high arc, landing it square on the large soldiers face. There was a loud crack that broke through the sounds of the workers. Sachs nose blossomed red as it bled from being smashed in, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backward, creating a cloud of dust as his massive body flopped, unconsciously to the ground.

Knowing the hulking Sachs was not going to get up, West didn't bother looking back and he addressed the Captain, " 'You' heard me the first time."

"I see we had to 'clarify' some things," Artemus and Tabitha had joined them.

"Artie this is Captain Dupree," introduced West, "and he has just agreed to give every one of these people a decent and proper burial."

Artemus stepped over the fallen Corporal and had already deduced what had just occurred, added, "That is very generous of you Captain, and they wonder where all the honorable men are," he winked at Tabitha.

Dr. Welling and Artie had gathered some samples and were eager to examine their clues in the Wanderer's laboratory.

They started to leave the site and Jim left a thinly veiled threat to let the Captain know that he meant business, "We'll have to come back here soon and give our last respects."

11

Dr. Welling was occupied in the laboratory with the insect samples she and Gordon had collected at the Shoshone Indian village while Artemus was introducing James to some new weaponry in the dining car.

"Jim," he held three throwing knives, "I've upgraded these to serve different purposes," Artie touched on every one, "The red-handled one has a highly concentrated explosive within its handle, all you need to do is turn the handle until you feel it lock in place, this aligns the detonator charge to the explosive and when the blade strikes its target the explosive is detonated."

He placed the red handled knife down and grabbed the other two, "I modified these knives to dispense a poisonous cloud, instead of exploding," he again demonstrated, "these green-handled knives work on the same principle, twisting the handle sets the charge and upon contact a patch of poison is dispersed in an area of roughly ten square feet.' Hopefully killing any insects that are exposed."

"Only insects?" asked West.

"You do not want to breathe any of this in, James." Gordon warned and gathered the knives and placed them next to West' gun belt and jacket, "I had another secret pocket added to the inside of your jacket and one put on the leg-side of your holster."

"You've outdone yourself, Artie", Jim complemented.

"Actually Dr. Welling looked through our lab and with our chemicals, created the insect poison."

"I hope it works."

"If it doesn't," Artie said devilishly, "let me know and I'll replace it."

Tennyson entered the car and announced, "Thirty minutes and we shall be at Trapper's Bend, sirs."

"Thank you Tennyson," West replied and began loading the knives into their secret pockets.

"Also, Dr. Welling wondered if you could join her in the laboratory," added Tennyson before he departed.

"I'm right behind you," West said putting on his jacket as Artie started to head back to the lab.

West checked his Colt .45 to see if it needed to be loaded, then slipped the revolver into its holster and put on his belt. He then held out his right arm and activated the release switch of his sleeve-gun, it effortlessly appeared in his hand. Replacing it he moved on to the under-side of his lapel, which held a picklock. And after his self-inspection he grabbed his hat and headed back to meet his colleagues in the next car.

**********

Dr. Welling was speaking to Artie when West entered the room, "I have never experienced anything like this before,"

"Like what," Jim was trying to catch up.

"Whatever it is causing this aggression, but I am fully confident that this is a chemical agent that we are dealing with."

"And," Jim asked.

"And, this formula has effecting properties that encompass multiple species, hence the wide variety of insects involved at each of the encounters, " she elaborated, "Each species has their own distinct series of chemicals that tell the insect how to react to a certain situation.' A chemical that a wasp would react to would not have the same effect on an ant."

"Until now," West somberly added.

Artemus spoke up, "So all we really know is that this agent affects a wide variety of insects and can be distributed manually or in a gaseous form."

"I wish I could tell you more," she concluded.

Jim drew in a breath, "With the mass murder that recently happened to the Shoshone, I'm afraid that we don't have the time to examine this any further," he turned to Artie, "Artemus you see what you can dig up in Trapper's Bend and from there take the Wanderer down to Pleasanton and do some investigating there.' I'll check out Coopersville and we'll converge in Briggsby."

Artie motioned with his hands, "And if we don't meet in Briggsby, we'll backtrack the others route."

West agreed and started for the door but was stopped short by Dr. Welling, "What about me?"

Both men exchanged glances.

"I think I could be very useful and my expertise will come in handy," she stated more than she asked.

"She could be used as a cover," Gordon replied, "whomever we are dealing with are expecting two men…"

West didn't like where this was going, "Artemus, I don't think…"

"I want to help, Jim," she sat down the samples as she started toward him, "I'm not going to benefit anyone sitting around here," her face saddened, "I need to do my part, for those poor people from the village."

He looked into her eyes for a moment and could not deny the resolve that resonated within them; West took a quarter from his pocket, flipped it in the air and asked her, "Heads or tails?"

12

West and Welling rode out of the small but surprisingly busy town of Trapper's Bend. Citizens waded through the streets as merchants swept and tidied their shops, children played, rolling barrel hoops along the main strip, occasionally receiving a reprimand from the older residents for crossing too close to someone's path. The afternoon sun caused folks to find a shady respite under the eves and overhangs of the buildings. A gentle wind brought lone tumbleweed, here and there, bouncing into town.

Trapper's Bend balanced on the edges of both the desert and the forest, which made it a well-known stopover for westbound pilgrims, for some of which, had stayed and helped to gradually shape the town into an open and friendly settlement. Its' name came about when the early settlers traded pelts and goods with the various Indian tribes that dotted the region, and when the railroad decided to include the town on its route, it had grown and prospered even more.

Artie had donned the disguise of a Shoshone Indian, despite Jim's qualms about being such an open target, and departed the train a few miles from town, making his way in by horse. Artemus had noted Jim's fears and assured his friend that he was well equipped for the task. Under his leather tunic, stitched along the vital areas was body armor; heavy enough to deflect a knife or small caliber ballistics, within his wrap was two quick-change costumes and his disguise kit, hidden on his person was two poison gas grenades and a derringer holstered on his inside left ankle.

Gordon was disappointed with the outcome of the coin toss because he had found Dr. Welling to be an enthralling companion and he couldn't help wanting to spend more time with her. He wondered if he and Jim had made the right decision in letting her take part in this mission, it was unlike any they had experienced before. He felt a tinge of regret creeping to the surface and he silently wished them luck.

As he reached the outskirts of town Artie replayed his plan in his head, to be seen by as many people as possible in hope of drawing out the killer and if not, gather as much information as possible then meet the Wanderer-stationed beyond the town- and head for Pleasanton, re-starting the process there.

Artie didn't seem to garner much attention riding down the main street and he figured that the surrounding tribes had frequented the town for years and also the news of the decimation might not have reached here yet. He made his way to the end of the strip, noting the spots he wanted to hit on his way back; the places that had the most individuals congregating, the general store, saloon, hotel, and trading post.

At the trading post he made a few dollars from some beaver pelts he had brought with him. He stopped in front of the hotel and let his horse rest to drink at the troth, and while grooming his horse he indiscriminately searched for any suspicious characters, including the elusive Elva Scranton. Next door was the saloon and he positioned himself at the end of the bar, nearest to the windows and entrance, and with finally convincing the bartender to serve him, had a beer. He spent another hour at the bar with two more drinks and with a slightly intoxicated shuffle, acted out perfectly; he exited, gathered his horse and went to the general store. The store owner wasn't too thrilled when the drunken Indian stepped through his door, but he kept his feelings to himself as the Indian bought some deer jerky and left without incident. Artie leaned against a storefront post; eating his jerky he again scanned the populace. He began to feel that he was the only unusual character around. After finishing his jerky, Gordon decided to beat the bushes in Pleasanton and mounted his horse heading south and out of Trapper's Bend.

Unbeknownst to him was the three emotionless men following on horseback.

13

West had laid out the ground rules for Dr. Welling before they had left the Wanderer and made it extremely clear to the young doctor that she do what he said, when he said it. She realized the importance and how dangerous the situation was, but she was not the kind of person that took orders very well and his instructions disturbed her somewhat. After all she had not forged her life on being directed by others. Her father a successful businessman from the east, had died in a hunting accident when she was very young and her mother instilled a firm self-reliance and drive to become whoever and to do whatever she wanted. So after finishing school Tabitha crossed the country and ended up at the Territorial College in California, there she had become fascinated with the structural and social behaviors of insects, earning her degree in Entomology. Quickly she jumped on an opportunity to become one of the researchers at the esteemed San Francisco Entomological Society. Not that any of her accomplishments had come easily; it was difficult to break through the gender barriers that existed everywhere. Not only did she experience those prejudices from her male professors and colleagues but to her surprise, persons within her own gender. She always dismissed the inherited ignorance of her fellow sisters although she never truly understood it.

And as for relationships, she had never come across anyone that had interested her physically and notably, intellectually; men had always been intimidated by her steadfast viewpoint on equality and her ability to hold her own academically and emotionally. Until yesterday, that is. Not only did she encounter one incredible man, but two, and it disturbed her immensely. The thing of it was that of all the men she had come in contact with in the past, none had stirred so many feelings inside her as these two gentlemen. Yes, in her circles there were very smart and engaging men but she never met one whose ego would be able to handle her lifestyle or her personality.

Each man had an incredible aura around him, both are cultured and gracious, but she deduced, had come from vastly different backgrounds. Artemus had a caring and a refined air about him and she was drawn to his intelligence and eccentricity. He possessed a warm and trusting smile and those attributes was evident behind his sincere eyes. She had seen his resolve in how he interacted with his fellow man; living and dead. Tabitha was deeply impressed.

Jim had a mannerism that he could not be stopped, it showed in the way he carried himself and in the reverberation of his voice. A ruggedly handsome exterior housed a determined and unwavering soul. Precise and intense one minute, the next minute he could be concerned and receptive. She was finding herself wanting to get closer and closer to him.

Dr. Tabitha Welling was content about the coin toss and that something other than her had made the decision, of whom she would partner with, because she knew that was a choice she could not have made.

The leaves and branches of the forest cut the hot afternoon sun and was making their ride to Coopersville an enjoyable one. Heading into the breeze kept both riders fresh, enabling them to disregard fatigue and without stopping, reach their destination in good time.

The undergrowth started to thin when the riders touched the outskirts of Coopersville, which sat inside a small valley. West came to a stop and Dr. Welling brought her horse alongside.

The town was picturesque, nestled comfortably by the surrounding forest; the tops of its buildings dotted the landscape and the vibrant colors of the structures splashed against the rich greens of the vegetation.

"It should be a painting," commented Tabitha as another slight gust of wind brushed over her.

Jim felt a wave of want as the breeze touched her the way he wanted to, he replied, "I agree."

The Doctor blushed when she realized that he had not removed his gaze from her while making his comment.

The pair weaved a path from their perch and through the town, ending at the church from where Scranton had married his murderer, Elva.

Dismounting and tethering their horses, Tabitha voiced concern, "James, it's strange…' I've never been this afraid before."

"Well," he circled his horse, leaning on its hindquarters, "You've never seen the things you've seen, before."

He placed his hands on her shoulders, "If anything, we'll discover Elva Scranton's maiden name from the church records.' From that information, hopefully we'll find a clue to her whereabouts."

His words calmed her and they headed for the door as a flock of birds flew overhead, the sounds of the town entered the church along with West and Dr. Welling.

Light blazed through the stained glass windows, illuminating the aisle as they made their way to the altar; the reverend was thumbing through the good book.

West had his identification out as he approached him, "Pardon me, Reverend," he continued, "My name is James West from the United States Secret Service and this is Dr. Welling from the San Francisco Entomological Society."

The Reverend came around the podium and West went to hand over his identification.

Tabitha looked about, wondering why it was so bright inside, she took a closer look at the windows and saw that pieces of the windows were missing.

As the Reverend had not said a word and was busily studying the card that West had given him, Jim decided to pick up where he left off, "We are on the trail of a murderer and we believe she had been married here in your church, if we could…"

Tabitha's discovery triggered alarm and she interrupted, grabbing West's arm, "Jim…"

But before she could warn him, the Reverend had raised his hand, spraying the blue mist directly in West's face. Jim jumped back, temporarily blinded and wiping his face frantically with his hands. Two other men sprang from the rectory grabbed Tabitha, spraying her as well. West rushed to aid her but the three men had already left, closing and barring the church doors behind them.

Both West and Tabitha spotted spiders and ants hurriedly making their way across the floor and over the pews towards them, and from the broken windows came the sound West had heard days before, back when a swarm of bees and hornets had overcome his friend, Miles Scranton. The furious beating of thousands of wings made his extremities grow cold and he knew that they had been exposed and death was only seconds away.