"I don't know h. . . how it got there, I swear!" Thomas Shepherd protested, eyes wide and staring in horror at the shiny gold pocket watch Sheriff Kurtz was swinging back and forth for all to see. The M.G. Auction Barn's tag still attached flapped back and forth too, every bit as visible.

"Yeah?" the sheriff demanded. "It was on your front porch here, and you're the security guard who should'a been working last night when the robbers came. So where'd you and your buddies put the rest of the stuff?" Kurtz poked a sharp finger into his suspect's chest while two of his deputies stood behind Shepherd, blocking any possible escape.

"I . . . I don't know! I mean, it wasn't me! They gave . . . me the hours off and I was home all last night! Honest!"

The sheriff looked unimpressed.

"Can anyone swear witness to that?"

Shepherd gulped and kept on gaping and gulping, like a fish struggling to breathe on dry land.

"No, n-no," he stammered. "My mother's been ill and I . . . I kept checking in on her. She slept the . . . the whole night. But I was here! I'm innocent!"

"Like a babe in the woods," Kurtz drawled. "Watch like this could fetch quite a bit of money. That'd be real handy for someone needing to take care of a sick relative . . . ."

"No!" Shepherd cried. "I mean, I know, but I wouldn't d-do that! Anyway, they . . . gave me money as well as the night off! For Christmas, they said! Twenty-five dollars! I wouldn't never steal from anyone that n-nice to me! And I . . . I've only been working there two whole months!"

One of the two deputies whistled. Artemus almost did too. Twenty-five dollars was more than an average man's wages for a week – a generous bonus indeed, especially when added to a whole night off of work. But the crime of the Christmas Eve theft, already heinous, had to be considered even more so if carried out by a receiver of such generosity. The taller and rougher-looking deputy scowled, then took hold of Shepherd's shoulder. Shepherd wasn't small or unmuscular himself, but he didn't look like he'd be a match for the man gripping him.

"Give me a crack at him, Sheriff," the deputy snarled. "Ten minutes. I'll get the truth out of him."

Artemus was about to intervene by suggesting they let him talk to the prisoner instead. He usually didn't need even ten minutes to get the full story out of someone, and by far gentler means than what the deputy might have in mind. But Jim beat him to the non-punch in this case.

"He may be telling us the truth already," Jim said, calmly but forcefully stepping forward and making the deputy loosen his grip and his bluster. "Battering him into a lie won't get us the answers we need."

"And what makes you so sure he ain't the one behind this?" Kurtz frowned, shaking the pocket watch by its solid gold fob chain. "We found this on his porch, didn't we? And he's the most obvious! I'm not all backwards just because I ain't a famous Washington feller! Old Clam's Shaver would say he's our man!"

"I think you mean Occam's Razor," Arte corrected, resisting the urge to grin. "The most obvious explanation is the one most often correct. But in this case, it's both too obvious, and not obvious at all."

"Huh?" The sheriff scratched his head in puzzlement.

"He's the most obvious suspect, as you say," Arte pointed out while pointing to the pocket watch. "But that little bit of booty is too obvious. We found it the second we got here! Just lying out there plain as day with the tag showing – like we were meant to find it. Awfully careless of this young man if he's secretly one of the criminal geniuses who can pull off such a robbery without alerting anyone while it's happening!" Arte put a friendlier hand on Shepherd's shoulder than the one the deputy had used, but it still made the younger man flinch. "If, on the other hand, I were trying to frame someone like Mr. Shepherd for the crime, why yes, I suppose you could say that's just how I'd do it. Leave behind a clue so easy a blind man would spot it! Possibly leave out some more too-obvious clues in other parts of the town – enough of them to keep the lawmen distracted and preferably far from where the main stockpile of stolen goods is hidden."

The sheriff harrumphed and pulled himself up straight while considering this.

"You think someone's trying to play me for a fool, Mr. Gordon?" he demanded.

"Well, they might try," Arte nodded. "But I'm sure you wouldn't fall for a trick as obvious as that, now would you?"

The sheriff, who had considered doing that very thing until Artemus phrased it that way, now appeared to have his doubts about Tom Shepherd's guilt and stopped swinging the watch around.

"Something else to consider," Jim added. "Look around you, gentlemen. Do you see anywhere on this property a barn or building large enough to hold that much in the way of stolen merchandise – or livestock?"

Millwood Grove was surrounded by farms and house lots of various shapes and sizes, but the Shepherd parcel was a good deal humbler than most. Tom and his mother occupied a modest single-story house which might have been an outbuilding originally intended for the farmhands that once worked on a larger estate. It occupied a mere three-quarter lot now, with just enough room left over for two small sheds, a chicken coop and a vegetable garden. The only way Shepherd could have hidden anything substantial on this small holding would be if he'd found a more versatile version of Dr. Loveless' shrinking powder. Yet he wouldn't have struck anyone as the 'genius mad scientist' type unless they were very drunk at the time. And Shepherd helped prove his own innocence further by offering to let the sheriff, the deputies, and both Secret Service agents search it all as much as they liked, provided they tried to be considerate of his mother. The cursory search of the small property turned up nothing, no other clues or auction barn treasures, rather as Arte already anticipated, and the sheriff became positively shamefaced and polite when meeting Tom's ailing mother. But one possible line of inquiry occurred to both Secret Service agents.

"You say you've only been working for the Auction Barn as a night security guard for two months?" Jim asked Shepherd. "Did you work there in any other capacity before that?"

Shepherd shook his head.

"N-no. I just . . . just started then. I used to work with my Pa . . . but he died in Sep . . . September and it was hard for me to find . . . work . . . on account of my . . . my . . . I don't talk good," he explained. "They . . . they've been real . . . nice to me over there!" The worried expression he'd had when the sheriff was accusing him came back. "Th-think I'll lose my . . . job because of th-this?"

"Can't say," Kurtz shrugged. "Who knows if the Auction Barn'll even still be open if we don't solve this thing? Customers'll be wanting their money back for everything those three were holding for 'em 'til Christmas. And the original owners of the stuff auctioned have already taken their cut and won't be giving it back."

That grim analysis did nothing to cheer the night watchman up. It also didn't answer the other question Jim had to ask.

"So if you were only working there since October, who was the night security guard before you?"

"Don't know," Shepherd answered. "They . . . didn't say . . . and I did . . . didn't ask."

"I can answer that," Sheriff Kurtz said. "Feller by the name of Bobby Timson. Took off for San Francisco, ain't that what you said, Andy?" he asked the bigger deputy.

"Yeah," Deputy Anders replied. "Had an uncle left him something, he said."

"Well, that would seem to eliminate him as a suspect," Artemus frowned. "Unless . . . ." He shook his head. This wasn't a time for idle speculation.

"So where do we go from here?" Kurtz wondered. "If the burglars didn't have time or a train ride to up sticks, where could they be hiding out? Not here, I mean, but . . . ."

"It would have to be a space large enough to hold a lot of material and animals too," Jim said. "A big barn, probably, or a really big house with a barn attached. They wouldn't have had time to divvy it all up yet either."

"Mr. West," the exasperated sheriff exclaimed, "do you have any idea how many in tarnation places 'round here that could describe? Including yours? How are we supposed to search all those, 'specially if the two of you say some of the clues we find might not be ones we can trust at all?"

"We'll have to split up," Artemus sighed. "And arrange to meet back at certain locations at regular intervals to exchange information. No one or two of us should try to take on the whole gang without alerting the others, but discreet, broad searching is in order. Jim and I are used to working together, so we'll make up one team. I'd suggest you figure out who among your deputies and any volunteers you can find might be best pairing off."

"I'll help," Shepherd volunteered. "It's the . . . the least I c-can . . . do."

Neither of the deputies looked happy at the idea of teaming up with the stuttering, and possibly still implicated, man so Kurtz let them team with each other while he agreed to accept Shepherd's help. That would allow him to keep an eye on his first suspect even if young Tom did now seem innocent. There were two or three more volunteers the sheriff was certain he could corral into helping, holiday or no, and possibly others. They agreed on a meet-up place to be at in a couple of hours and Artemus, who usually followed Jim whenever the two agents took to the trail, didn't wait but led Jim back in the direction of town center with a haste that even his partner found curious.

"All right, you've got an idea," Jim said as soon as he and Arte were out of earshot of the others. "Mind telling me what it is?"

"I want to get a closer look at the Auction Barn, and another chat with the owners if we can get it." More than that he didn't want to say yet. "I'm wondering about something . . . ."

"About whether it might have been an inside job?" Jim nodded, hitting the nail right on the head once again, as Arte should've learned to expect by now. "I was wondering that myself. The thieves would have had to know the exact layout of everything in the barn to take it and pack it up all so quickly and make their getaway without detection. Two months on the job isn't a lot of time to plan and organize something like that, assuming Shepherd was telling the truth about not working or having a connection with the place before that. And they paid him a pretty big bonus for a guy they've only had on the payroll for two months."

"There's that," Arte agreed. "And there's also the vengeance factor."

"Vengeance factor?"

"Aw, c'mon, Jim, even if it is me saying it, why bother to take every single thing, every last crumb, trinket whatever and leave nothing behind – not even objects that aren't terribly valuable – if this was just a standard robbery? Why bother taking all the livestock, when they would be the biggest hassle to deal with and to hide? Just because we paid top dollar for a donkey, doesn't mean your average Master Criminal gives a damn about something like a farm animal. I doubt Nusker's cage of rabbits was in the same class as the cases of jewelry or pocket watches. Some of the heavy tools and furniture in the Auction Barn were worth next to nothing, dollar-wise. So why take them? Why not grab only the valuables?"

Greed alone wasn't enough to explain it. There had to be some darker motive at work, as Arte saw it, and of all the criminal motives he and Jim had encountered in their Secret Service careers, none had been quite so powerful – or abundant – as the desire for revenge. Revenge on perceived wrongs suffered, some past mockery, rejection by society or foiled plans. The desire to humiliate and crush one's enemies. Vengeance was what had driven so very many of Jim and Arte's opponents – some as twisted in body as mind, like the mad puppeteer Zachariah Skull, the blind sea captain Ansel Coffin, one-handed Major Ball and legless Colonel Vautrain, Emmett Stark, to name only a few. And Miguelito Loveless' focus and obsession with Jim West was almost as much a help in foiling his global aspirations as the agents themselves were.

"The sheriff was right about one thing," Arte continued. "If we don't get all those stolen goods back – or at least most of them – the Auction Barn could be driven into bankruptcy and forced to close for good. So who might want to see that happen? Someone must know."

"You're right too," Jim muttered. "We have to do some more digging. Sorry I let myself get distracted by other things."

Other things beginning with an N, Artemus assumed. But he didn't have a chance to comment, because as soon as Jim knew their destination, with the slightest signal, he and Blackjack were off at full gallop and Arte resigned himself to barely keeping up. The horseman hadn't been born who could match pace with James West and his steed. The only factor that gave Arte a chance to remain in range now was Blackjack's age. Jim's demon stallion had more years on him than many a horse already retired. But Blackjack, like his rider, wasn't prepared to accept this reality, and the extra good care he got from Jim (plus all the helpful exercise from Jim's enemies) had kept 'jack in tip-top shape.

The M.G. Auction Barn, which had been filled with disconsolate customers, curiosity seekers and the auctioneers' families, if not merchandise, only an hour or so earlier now stood abandoned. Jim and Arte had to stop a passerby to learn what had happened in their absence. The injured proprietors, it seemed, had been escorted/carried to their respective homes surrounded by a coterie of relatives and friends to protect them from disappointed clientele who were already demanding their missing merchandise or full refunds. The Auction Barn never charged for storing gifts before the holiday to help the givers with concealment; it was a service the owners had been happy to provide gratis. But such holiday spirit was diminishing rapidly in this locale. Jim and Arte didn't need to use their lockpicking skills to get into the great barn this time either. Aside from the damage done to the outside lock, no one had bothered to secure it for its hapless owners.

"Well, it's not like there's anything left to steal," Arte muttered glumly. Still, the lack of consideration shown to the wounded proprietors left a bad taste in his mouth. Both the theft and the reactions weren't . . . .

"I know what you mean," Jim said, once again picking up his partner's unspoken thought. Both men had seen the darkest sides of human nature more times than they could count, in war as well as in the Secret Service. But something about acting this way so close to Christmas seemed extra wrong somehow. "So what was the other idea you had?" Jim asked, his words almost echoing in the empty space in spite of the hushed tone he used.

"I'm wondering if this couldn't be an inside job in more ways than one," Artemus answered, scanning the walls and the floor more closely. "The broken windows and those great big gouges on the door outside are as obvious as the gold watch left on Shepherd's front porch – maybe too obvious. A large gang would have a hard time avoiding notice if they came from outside and made that much noise and ruckus forcing the door, no matter how drunk the occupants were. Why risk giving themselves away to their victims when the skill to pull of a job like this," he gestured around the cavernous barn, "implies they should have been more skilled at lockpicking too?"

"Good point," Jim nodded and began searching the barren building for anything that might be a concealed access point. "We know there are a lot of caves in this part of the state."

"And mines too – or at least there used to be," Arte added. "It might not be a hiding place in a barn we're looking for at all."

As if to confirm the theory, Jim gave a low whistle that the agents often used while in the field to signal one another. Arte didn't respond verbally, but made his way over in silence to a section of barn wall Jim was examining. It wasn't marked out by anything visible that differentiated it from the rest of the front area of the great barn, but as Arte put a hand on it, he noticed the same thing Jim was noticing – it felt as if it had a bit of give to it, and didn't feel quite as chilly as it should have if it truly was a section of outer wall up against the winter elements. There had to be a shielded space behind it, one that could only have been noticed if one used a surveyor to map out the big building's dimensions. This was what they were looking for all right. Exchanging silent glances, both men placed their hands on that piece and began pushing in the direction it seemed ready to give. Silently, a panel of wall almost as big as a regular barn door slid open on well-oiled tracks, revealing a dark hollow beyond. In what dim light was available through the opening, they could see a vast earthen ramp leading down into the earth at a gentle slope. The ramp showed plenty of evidence of recent use too – cart tracks, hoof prints, boot prints.

Guess we know now how the thieves got in and out, Arte thought. Perhaps one of the gang had deliberately created a noise in another part of the barn from outside to distract the semi-drunk proprietors. Once their attention was drawn away from the hidden passage, it would have been simplicity itself for the rest of the robber gang to sneak in behind them and overwhelm the three with ease.

But where did the ramp and tunnel lead? Could it take them straight to all that missing merchandise, and possibly the gang too? Did they dare delay finding out long enough to alert the others in on this search? Jim, as usual, didn't wait to make up his mind. With his customary West impulsiveness, he entered the tunnel, found by feel and career-honed night vision a lantern that someone had left hanging from a hook on the inner wall and emerged just long enough to light it with one of the match-sticks he always carried. Then, giving Arte one of those oh-so-familiar 'dare ya' side glances, dived back in. Arte had known for years that following Jim West into the unknown was a sure-fire way to land himself in some form of deadly danger or another. But he'd also known for every bit as long that he had as little will power to resist the siren song of trouble as his partner. With a silent sigh of resignation and the certainty of winding up on his Tiger Lily's naughty list, he caught up to the lantern light and both men ventured into the new subterranean frontier.

The tunnel went deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Earth for a considerable length. Jim and Arte walked it together in silence for more than ten minutes with no end yet in sight. To judge by the sturdy wooden support beams holding it up at regular intervals, this had been a mine shaft once rather than a cave entrance. The precise, straight layout of the tunnel indicated that too. Arte was glad that the direction it lay in, though curving, didn't seem to be leading anywhere toward the underside of their own homesteads. It was eerie to reflect on just how much of Millwood Grove had a secret passage running underneath it without the townsfolk above knowing. Pre-War probably, Arte reflected. Such a massive piece of earthworks couldn't have been excavated without anyone noticing at the time. But the mine must have been the handiwork of one or two generations back and now forgotten. Westward settlers wasted no time trying to exploit the land's resources as soon as they gained access, often at the cost of the native inhabitants. Any mine that ran out of substance, even after holding long value, would be boarded up and abandoned for richer territory, and Illinois had more than its share of 'black diamond' wealth elsewhere.

How soon we cast aside our broken toys, he thought.

But that's what people did, and likely what had happened here. After all the tumults of the 1850s and the War and deaths that followed, new towns sprang up, old ones disappeared, grew and regrew like dandelions everywhere. So many of the antebellum generations were gone or relocated elsewhere, replaced by newcomers with less local knowledge - mostly. The Auction Barn might have started out as a smaller building or shed at the head of the forgotten mine entrance.

Someone had remembered this was here.

The path he and Jim were on began to slope upward once more – another exit point? Another way out of town that had been equally forgotten? Were they too late?

Distracted by their own thoughts as they followed the trail upslope, neither man noticed the thin tripwire in their path until it was too late. At once, accompanied by an audible bang, they were ensnared and knocked to the ground by a heavy, weighted rope net falling down from the tunnel's ceiling. Jim just barely managed to keep the lamp in his hands upright. Otherwise both of them might have faced a grisly death or serious burns at minimum. But they weren't going to remain safe for long. As they struggled to free themselves, they heard shouts and then saw lights coming toward them from upslope.

"Well, well!" an unfamiliar voice shouted, "Lookee what we have here!"

The next sounds they heard were rifles being cocked and multiple pairs of footsteps head their way. All Jim and Arte could do now was exchange rueful glances at their own carelessness. They both knew how the next part of the drill usually went.

"I don't think it's Santa coming," Jim muttered.