Post by California gal on Mar 12, 2009 17:15:19 GMT -8
THE NIGHT OF THE CURSE OF THE MOON DIAMOND
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overbrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
Holy Sonnets [1635] – John Donne
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so,
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overbrow,
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
Holy Sonnets [1635] – John Donne
A prospector found the corpses. Rather, he thought they were corpses, bloody as they were, sprawled on the dusty path that meandered through the Sierra foothills east of Sacramento. Then he saw the younger of the two men open his eyes briefly. Dismounting from his mule, Johann Eversole knelt by that man, felt for a pulse, and then checked the other one. He could almost not believe they could be still breathing, their hearts beating, with so much gore staining their clothing and on the ground beneath them.
He bandaged them as well as he could with his own clothing, and with what he found in the saddlebags of the two nervous horses lingering nearby. While doing the bandaging, he discovered the papers that revealed the identity of the pair. Johann knew he had to transport them down into Auburn as soon as he could.
He got the two men over the saddles of the waiting horses, and set off for Auburn, the nearest settlement out of these hills. Johann knew that haste was important, and although also aware that the jarring ride might start the wounds bleeding again, he kept his mule moving at a steady pace. The two horses complied, almost as though they understood. The black one in particular had been uneasy until the moment Johann approached with the younger, lighter-weight man in his arms.
Dr. Dermott’s place was on the eastern edge of the town, and Eversole went directly to it. They got the injured men into the house and settled in beds where Dermott and his wife could treat them, while Johann went off to find the local law. Attempted murder—maybe murder—had been committed.
W*W*W*W*W
I observe the physician with the same diligence as he the disease.
Devotions [1624] – John Donne
Devotions [1624] – John Donne
He came to consciousness slowly, but did not immediately open his eyes, aware of strange sensations, that he was not where he should be… and without the knowledge of why. Gradually memory filtered into his consciousness, and with that memory, pain and fear. With a jolt, he popped his lids open, stared around, and tried to sit up.
The agony movement caused in his chest and shoulder sent him back down with a groan he could not suppress. Almost instantly a man he had never seen before was leaning over him, hands gently but firmly on his shoulders.
“Careful, Mr. West. You’ll open your wounds.”
“Where’s Artie?” He wanted to shout the words, but they came out as a hoarse croak.
The man, white-haired and white-bearded, with compassionate blue eyes, released him, turned a little, then came back with a tumbler full of water. Gently he put a hand behind Jim’s head to lift it enough so as to allow him to take several swallows.
“Where’s Artie?” Jim West asked again, a little panic in his tone. The memory of seeing his partner pitching from his horse was strong—and the only one he had at this moment.
“In the next bed, over here.” The man stepped back slightly, and Jim rolled his head on the pillow to gaze across the small room at the other bed to his left.
“Is he… all right?” Artie’s face was still and pale, a thick bandage of gauze wrapped around his forehead.
“Just as all right as you are. He woke up awhile ago, took a little broth, and went back to sleep. I suspect you’ll do the same.”
“No… I have to…” Once again Jim tried to raise up, and as before, he fell back in weakness and pain. “What happened?”
“First, my name is Dr. Colby Dermott. You are in my home in Auburn, and have been for nearly three days now. As to what happened, the sheriff was hoping you’d throw some light on that. A prospector named Johann Eversole found you in the local foothills and brought you in. None too soon, I might add. Much longer and both of you would have been beyond saving, primarily due to shock and loss of blood. I’m not going to ask you questions now. Sheriff Hickman will do that, when you are strong enough. Lay quiet, and my wife will bring you some broth. You need nourishment to rebuild the blood you lost.”
Before Jim could say anything further, the doctor turned and left the room, closing the door behind him. He looked toward his sleeping partner again, and tried to remember. They had sent the Wanderer on ahead from Reno while finishing an assignment in that Nevada border town. Cobb, the engineer, had requested opportunity to get some maintenance done on the engine in Sacramento, and the agents had agreed. Their next assignment in San Francisco was not for several weeks hence. A leisurely horseback ride over the Sierra in the summer was no hardship.
Lily Fortune was expecting Artemus in San Francisco but she had warned him she would not have time for him until the end of her current play’s run, when she would have a few days hiatus before moving on to the next scheduled performance in Chicago. As Jim had pointed out when they decided on the trek, no one would be able to contact them to interrupt the horseback journey to assign them on another job before the San Francisco commission.
They had treated it almost as a vacation, doing some fishing in streams, swimming in snow-fed ponds, trying their hand at some hunting. No luck finding a deer, but Artie had brought down a couple of rabbits that made for delicious meals. Ironically, Auburn would have been at least an overnight stop, a chance to clean up and sleep in a bed before heading on to Sacramento.
They had not been looking for trouble, had no reason to expect it. Yet suddenly… Jim West frowned, thinking hard. He recalled the reports of rifles but could not swear who had been hit first. He knew he saw Artemus jolt in the saddle, a streak of crimson abruptly appearing along his temple.
That’s about it. I can’t really remember being hit myself. Just blackness…
On the other bed, Artemus moved his head, muttered something, then opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling a long moment, orienting himself, then turned his head—almost too swiftly—to look at the bed a few feet away, and met his partner’s green eyes. “You’re all right?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jim replied. “Seem to be wrapped up tighter than a mummy.” He had investigated the bandages around his left shoulder, a thick one on his right thigh, and still one more on his right forearm. “You?”
“I’m not sure.” Artie brought a hand up from under the coverings to touch the wrapping on his head. “Got one hell of a headache from this. When I first woke up I couldn’t remember a thing.” He had also taken a slug in his right side, just below the rib cage, as well as another deep crease across his back near the shoulders. None life-threatening on their own, but causing a great deal of bleeding and pain.
“What do you remember now?”
“Nothing.”
Jim smiled briefly. Artie had several days’ growth of whiskers on his jaw, and Jim knew that he did too. Obviously the physician spent time caring for their wounds, not for their appearance. “Bushwhacked,” he said then.
“I agree. But who, and why? Why didn’t they finish us? Dr. Dermott believes we had been shot at least an hour, maybe two, before the prospector found us.”
“Did you meet this prospector?”
“No. Seems he headed back to the hills almost as soon as he dumped us here. The sheriff came by, but I was too groggy to talk to him.”
The door of the room opened again, and a handsome, buxom woman with graying blonde hair entered, carrying a tray. “Hello, Mr. Gordon. Good to see you are awake. I hoped you would be so I brought extra soup. Mr. West, I’m Almira Dermott and I’m going to try to get a little nourishment in you before you pass out again.”
“I’m not hungry,” Jim spoke a little testily. “And I’m not going to pass out.”
“Don’t bet on it, pal,” Artemus warned him. “First off, Mrs. Dermott makes delicious soup. Second, you’re going to find the process of taking a few swallows exhausting.” Though both had been wounded in the past, during the war, and during their service for the government, never before had the situation been so dire. Each had been hit three times, and each had taken a slug that required surgical removal, not to mention the severe blood loss. Dr. Dermott had told Artemus that the wound in Jim’s thigh has been potentially the most serious one, occurring so near the femoral artery. Had that vessel been pierced…
About ten minutes later, Artemus allowed Mrs. Dermott to prop a pillow behind his head so as to be able to be fed, and he looked toward his slumbering partner. “Don’t take it personally, Mrs. Dermott,” he said in between swallows. “I’m a bad patient, but Jim is the world’s worst. He hates being an invalid.”
“Having been my husband’s nurse for almost thirty years, I’m accustomed to it,” Almira replied serenely. “I’ll just tell Mr. West what I tell all my patients, the more you submit to my care, the faster you’ll be out of here.”
W*W*W*W*W
The following day, both men were able to sit up in bed long enough to talk to the sheriff. Dr. Dermott sent his youngest son for the lawman, who came right away, a burly man with a bushy reddish beard and almost no hair on his head. He introduced himself as Sheriff Amos Hickman, placed a chair between the two beds and planted himself on it.
“Gentlemen, who shot you?”
The two agents exchanged a glance. “We were hoping you could tell us,” Artie said.
Hickman sighed noisily, shaking his head. “Soon as Johann brought me the news and I checked with the doc, one of my deputies and I went up to where Johann said he found you. We could see the dried blood in the dust, so we knew we had the right place. Scouted all around. Only thing we found was signs of four, maybe five men, who had spent some time behind some rocks west of the trail, up about a hundred yards from where you fell. Lots of cigarette butts and some shell casings. But when we tried to find a trail they might’ve left getting out of there, no luck. They covered their tracks good.”
“Any indication that they checked us afterward?” Jim inquired. “To see if we were dead or alive?”
“Maybe. Not really sure what it means, but there was tracks of a real small buggy, maybe half the width of a regular one, pulled by a single horse, on the trail. Maybe like a pony cart, except it was pulled by a full-size horse. Looked to have stopped not far from where you were. Noticed them because that path is not one normally used by anything but horses and mules and feet. Tried following the wheel tracks, but they petered out too. They didn’t want to be followed.”
Artemus looked at his partner. “They must have thought we were done for and didn’t want to waste extra ammunition.”
“From what the doc said, they weren’t far wrong,” Hickman put in. “That’s not a busy trail. If Johann hadn’t come along, who knows when the next traveler might have.”
Jim’s face and voice were grim. “So if whoever was behind this knew we weren’t dead yet, they were perfectly happy to know that we were going to die slowly and surely.”
“You’re tellin’ me neither one of you remember seeing anything or anybody?”
Jim shook his head. “No one and nothing. It’s baffling because as you said, it’s not a well-traveled route. We pretty much chose it randomly, heading toward Auburn.”
“No one knew you were going that way?”
“We didn’t know exactly where we would be riding until we took that trail,” Artie said. “We informed our superiors that we were going on horseback from Reno, but we had no set route.”
“Someone was following us.” Jim’s voice was steely.
Artemus nodded. “That seems to be the case.” And we were completely ignorant of it!
“Now what I want to know is why you were talking about the Nile, Mr. Gordon.”
Artie blinked. “Why what?”
“According to Johann Eversole, when he was bandaging you, you came awake and started muttering about ‘the Nile.’ He couldn’t make heads or tails of it.”
Artie shook his head slowly, still conscious of the wound and his headache. “Nor can I. He’s sure that’s what I said?”
“That’s what he made out.”
“I must have been out of my head.”
“So, do you boys know of anyone who’d be gunning for you?” Hickman grinned suddenly. “That’s a foolish question, isn’t it?”
“A little,” Jim smiled wryly. “I guess the question should be, who’s available to be gunning for us. We’ll have to find out if there’s been any prison breaks, or perhaps the whereabouts of men known to be on the loose, if possible.”
“Well, I sent a telegraph message up to Reno and a few other places, but I’m not hopeful of any answers that are going to be useful. I’ll let you two know whatever I learn.” The sheriff got to his feet. “Meanwhile, you rest and get yourselves well, pronto. Seems to me that if whoever did this finds out you didn’t die…”
“Don’t worry, sheriff,” Artie said, “we’ve already thought of that. We’re going to need to send a few telegraph messages ourselves.”
The two agents were silent for several long minutes after the lawman departed. Artemus finally spoke his thoughts aloud. “The Nile. That doesn’t make sense!”
“You’ve always said you’d like to visit Egypt, Artie.”
“Yeah, sure. But why would I babble about it when I’m at death’s door?”
Jim did not respond, his eyes on the bandage wrapped around his right forearm. The physician had told them both that all the wounds should heal cleanly, without any lingering effects, so long as they gave themselves time to allow the healing process to complete itself. That was going to be the most difficult part, remaining inactive for the duration, knowing that whoever attempted to kill them was out there somewhere.
In one of his first really lucid arousals, Artemus had asked the doctor to send a message to Colonel Richmond, so their superior knew what had happened. A reply had come back informing them that Richmond was on his way west from a meeting he had been attending in Saint Louis. Jim had no doubt that the colonel would be summoning other agents. That was also galling. Jim West and Artemus Gordon usually took care of their own problems.
“Who, Jim? Who was it?”
Jim looked toward his partner after the outburst, saw the anger on Artie’s face, the same anger he was experiencing. “We’ll find him. Them. Whoever. The sheriff is right. Someone apparently thought we had no chance to survive, and was confident enough to go off and let us simply die there. When that someone finds out we’re alive, he’s going to come back.”
“Or she.”
“Yeah. Or she.” They had dealt with a number of females in the past who might be capable of setting up such an ambush. “In fact, the buggy the sheriff mentioned might indicate a female. We’d better get some paper and write those messages. Orrin is probably sitting in Sacramento wondering what became of us.”
“And I need to contact Lily. Don’t want her to hear of this second-hand—if she hasn’t already.”
W*W*W*W*W
And they all had trust in his cussedness,
And knowed he would keep his word.
—Jim Bludso, John Hay (1838-1905), American statesmen and author
And knowed he would keep his word.
—Jim Bludso, John Hay (1838-1905), American statesmen and author
When Colonel James Richmond arrived two days later, the agents were able to be out of bed, though neither could walk very far without assistance, a fact that irked both of them. Jim in particular had to use a cane because of his injured leg. The doctor and his wife kept close watch on them to make sure they did not overdo it, quite aware of the notoriety of their patients and what it would mean if one or both suffered a relapse. Besides, as Mrs. Dermott told her husband, “They are nice young men. Not at all what I expected when reading about their exploits.”
The colonel brought Frank Harper and young agent Ned Malone with him. The pair had been finishing up a case in Kansas City, so the colonel arranged for them to join him on the train on which he was traveling. The three men had stopped over in Reno to make inquiries about the case West and Gordon had been working on, but learned nothing beyond the fact that the trio involved in a bond theft were safely in jail. An interview with those men was fruitless, and both Richmond and Harper had to admit that as far as they could discern, the men were telling the truth when they claimed to know nothing about the ambush.
“I have to concur with that,” Jim said. He was sitting on his bed now, leaning against pillows, his injured leg bolstered by another pillow. “Lake, Cochran, and Battoni did not strike me as men prone to violence. They are thieves, clever thieves, but not killers.”
“There’s always the chance,” Frank Harper put in from his position leaning against the wall near Artie’s bed, “that someone near and dear to them set out after revenge.”
Artemus was sitting with his legs dangling over the edge. He knew that Jim was annoyed that the leg wound precluded him donning his trousers, while his partner had been able to. Jim was wearing a flannel robe the doctor had provided. “If any of them had anyone ‘near and dear’ to them,” Artie said, “they didn’t show up at the trial. So far as I know, none of them asked for word to be sent to any family or friends.”
“Has to have been someone from the distant past,” Jim stated. “Someone we may have forgotten about.”
“I can tell you conclusively that no one has escaped or been recently been released from prison,” the colonel said flatly. “That’s the first thing I checked. I’ve asked wardens to check about visitors to people like Emmett Stark and Furman Crotty, and I’m waiting to hear from them.”
“Maybe Loveless,” Harper suggested.
Both wounded agents shook their heads, and Jim spoke. “No. Not his style. Not an ambush. He would want us to know who did it. Besides he was last seen in Alaska Territory, just a couple of weeks ago.”
“If that tip can be trusted,” Artie muttered. He knew Jim believed it, primarily because Antoinette and Voltaire had been spied as well—at least according to the report received. Nevertheless, Artie tended to agree with his partner that an ambush like this was not the way Miguelito Loveless would act, especially in their case. He would certainly seek vengeance, but he would want agents West and Gordon to be very aware of who was ending their lives. His enormous ego demanded that.
Richmond got to his feet from the chair that was situated in almost the same spot the sheriff had placed it previously. “The main thing now is for you two to recover fully. You are on medical leave until that day, regardless of whether it takes two weeks or six months. You are not to attempt to do any investigating until you have complete clearance from a physician. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” James West said promptly.
“Yes, sir,” Artemus Gordon said at once, as the pair spoke almost in unison.
Their superior looked at each one of them. “I know you two well enough to realize you are already thinking about how you’re going to get around this order. But I also know you are men of your word. So I’m going to demand your word of honor that you will obey my instructions.”
The response was a little slower this time, but both agents concurred. Knowing that the colonel was right, that they needed to heal, did not ease the frustration both were experiencing. The wounds they had suffered were serious, but blood loss even more so. They needed to fully recover in order to be fully effective. But out there somewhere was a person who had attempted to take their lives, or ordered it done. That person needed to be run to ground, and quickly. As much as they respected the colonel and their fellow agents, James West and Artemus Gordon knew that they were the only ones who could accomplish this task. They were the ones who had to do it.
W*W*W*W*W
“Well? Did you get the newspapers?”
The man entering the door of the secluded cottage nodded, holding out a bundle of journals. “Got ‘em, Doctor. As many as I could find. From Reno, Sacramento, San Francisco… but there ain’t nothing there.”
“What do you mean, nothing?” He reached out and grabbed the papers, started leafing through, looking at the front pages. “There has to be!”
“Yes, sir, I know that. But there ain’t.”
He looked up, glared at his hireling. “But you said the bodies had been taken away.”
“Yes, sir. When I went back next day, they was gone. Just the puddles of blood left.”
“It’s some kind of trick. They think they can fool me. Idiots! The story will come out sooner or later. Men like West and Gordon cannot just disappear. Someone will learn of their demise and publish it. But no matter. We have six more weeks. In that time span, the news will be published. If necessary, I myself will arrange for the story to be leaked to the press.” He stopped and looked at the man standing in front of him again. “They are dead.” Though posed as a statement, it was a question and a command.
“Oh, yes, sir! Yes, sir! I couldn’t find no pulse on either one, Doc… I mean, Doctor. Dead as doornails. Um, I’d better go get my horse in out of sight.”
Alone again, he stared at the door the man had just closed behind him. Are there no intelligent men in this country? I suspect that I have ordered killed the only two with any brains… if indeed they are dead. They must be dead. I cannot allow them to interfere again. And James West in particular must pay for what he did to me.
W*W*W*W*W
Lily Fortune arrived the following day, almost simultaneously with the Wanderer, though she traveled on a commercial train. The actress’s performance in San Francisco had ended, and she had been looking forward to meeting Artemus there, had the pair’s journey continued as scheduled. The telegram had come as a shock, so she hastened to Auburn. She greeted her fiancé with a tearful kiss, gently embraced Jim with more tears, then calmed down and announced she had engaged a husband and wife team to board the Wanderer and take care of the convalescing agents as long as needed. She herself, regretfully, could remain only two days before she continued east to Chicago for her next performance.
Naturally Artie and Jim protested, claiming they would be well enough to take care of themselves. Nonetheless, Lily, like the doctor, the doctor’s wife, and the colonel, was adamant, quite familiar with the two agents and their tendency to ignore their own safety and health.
“You are both very ill,” she told them firmly. “You need days, perhaps weeks, to rebuild your strength after these injuries. I’m going to make certain you eat well, you get your rest, and do not do anything foolish. The couple I have engaged are quite capable of ensuring that these things take place.” Lily looked at Jim, then at Artemus. “And they will report to me. Artemus, my darling, we have not yet set a date but I want to make sure you are alive to meet that appointment!”
“We’ve been kidnapped,” Jim complained as soon as they were alone.
His partner sighed. “Looks like it. Jim, it’s as though they don’t trust us, and think we are… irresponsible.” The two men gazed at each other, and after a moment, both grinned widely. “I think,” Artie added, “we also have people who care about us.”
W*W*W*W*W
Sheriff Hickman reported that he and his deputies had scoured the countryside, and not only could not find any signs of strangers, they had not talked to anyone who had seen any strangers either. Nor had any spotted an undersized buggy. “Sometimes seems as though you were shot by ghosts,” he griped.
Artemus touched the white patch covering his head wound. “Didn’t feel much like ghostly bullets.”
“Yeah, I reckon.”
The three men fell silent a moment before Jim spoke. “It’s got to be someone with a grudge, or at least a reason to want us out of the way, but also someone we wouldn’t suspect.”
Artie shook his head. “I don’t get that, Jim. We’ve already talked about this. Someone with a grudge has to be someone we know about.”
Again silence, until the sheriff broke it. “You figure out if you muttering about the Nile is important, Mr. Gordon?”
“If it is,” Artie sighed, “I haven’t come up with anything yet. I had to have been delirious.”
“That reminds me,” Hickman said. “Nearly forgot. Johann Eversole is going to be in town tomorrow. Farmer a little ways south of here ran into him the other day. Johann would like to see you before you head to San Francisco.”
“We’d like to see him,” Jim replied. “We owe him a huge debt of gratitude.”
“In fact,” Artemus added, “if necessary, we’ll delay our departure.”
W*W*W*W*W
“They are still alive!”
“No, sir! That ain’t so! I swear, Doc. I checked. They was dead!”
“They are still alive! Their train is in Auburn to pick them up. Mr. Gordon’s fiancée visited, and she was not grieving!”
“Please, sir! I don’t like to touch dead people. But I swear…!”
The report of the pistol cut off his words, and the man slumped to the floor. Obeying the jerk of a head, two of the other men in the room quickly seized the deceased’s shoulders and dragged him out the front door.
“Now… I want no more idiotic failures. We have time, but it must not be wasted. James West and Artemus Gordon must be dead before we put our operation is place. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!” The five men remaining spoke as one.
W*W*W*W*W
Artemus Gordon opened his eyes, instantly tense. “Jim?” he whispered into the darkness.
“I’m awake.”
“Someone…”
“Yeah, I know.” Carefully, Jim reached across his body with his right hand for the pistol on the small table next to his bed. Both he and Artemus had asked for their weapons. Dr. Dermott was reluctant, but when Colonel Richmond decided it might not be a bad idea—“until we find out and nab whoever attempted to kill them”—the physician acquiesced.
A scratching sound at the window had aroused him, and apparently Artemus as well. Years of being on alert had honed their instincts finely. Jim was certain that his partner now had his weapon in hand as well as they lay quietly and waited, stretching slightly, and uncomfortably, to watch the window on which a shade had been drawn at sunset.
A murmur of voices was heard, then a loud snap, as though a twig had been stepped on. A moment later, a louder male voice came from a distance. “Hey! Who’s out there!”
No doubt about the sounds that ensued. Whoever was at the window departed hastily. Moments later, the sound of horses that had apparently been waiting a short distance away, leaving rapidly.
“Well,” Artemus said, easing back on his pillow. He knew his partner felt as he did, wanting to get out and chase whoever had been lurking out there. An impossibility at this time.
“Someone knows where we are.”
“And that we are alive.” They had agreed with Colonel Richmond’s decision to keep the incident out of the newspapers as long as possible. In fact, that idea had been in Artemus’s head almost from the beginning. “Maybe came to finish the job.” Artemus looked toward the window again. All was silent now. The resident at the next house had apparently gone back to bed.
“We’d better not tell anyone,” Jim said.
“Right.” No need to get Richmond or anyone else all nervous and excited. They sure did not want a round-the-clock guard set up! “Not unless that next-door neighbor decides to call in Sheriff Hickman. And that seems unlikely now.”
“Probably thought it was a couple of drunks. Artie, someone wants us dead, and wants it badly.”
“Yeah.”
Artemus knew Jim was not expressing astonishment at the notion. They had been threatened numerous times in their career. Somehow this one seemed different, as though an urgency was behind it. Someone had taken the time and effort to learn their plans after leaving Reno. Those plans had not really been a secret. They had told the Reno authorities with whom they had been cooperating, as well as sending a telegraph message to Colonel Richmond, who had still been in Washington at the time. Because the Wanderer had already departed, they had had to use a Western Union office.
“What gets me,” Jim said slowly in the darkness, “is that we must have been watched all along the way.” That realization was unnerving, as well as infuriating to two men who prided themselves on their awareness of their surroundings at all times.
“Maybe not all the time,” Artie returned. “We were in several locations where an ambush could have been set up. But perhaps our general direction was enough for whoever this is to figure out our probable route and lay in wait. Hickman said they appeared to have been behind those rocks for some period of time.” They had not talked about this much yet. By the time they had recovered enough strength to converse at length, company always seemed to be present when they were awake, if not the doctor and his wife, then Lily, the colonel, or Harper and Malone, as well as the sheriff. Their conversations together had been short, always aware that they could be interrupted at any moment.
“But who? Someone who took the trouble to follow through to find out whether we died, and where we were being treated.”
“And came—or sent someone—to try to finish the job tonight. I agree, Jim. Who? Quite a few possibilities come to mind, but none that could have opportunity. Stark and Crotty could be reaching out from prison, as Crotty did for the smallpox serum, but I have a notion that those two men would want to commit the murders themselves. Or at least be present to watch.”
“So far no information indicates they had visitors who might be capable of carrying out such orders.”
“I know,” Artie sighed. Richmond had been diligently and persistently contacting the wardens of the various prisons, demanding information. “I guess the thing for us to do is to follow orders—as we’ve been ordered—to get well and take care of business ourselves.”
“Seems so. Good night, Artemus.”
“Good night, James.” Artie settled back against his pillow, the pistol still in his hand to rest across his chest. He knew that his partner was similarly cradling his weapon. Forewarned is forearmed!
W*W*W*W*W
I hate this!
Jim West maintained a stoic face as Ned Malone pushed the wheeled chair down the board walkway toward the waiting carriage. He had tried to tell the doctor and the others that he could walk from the physician’s home to the buggy that would take them to the depot and the train. Dr. Dermott had sternly refused, however, and Colonel Richmond had agreed.
“Jim, you don’t want to take a chance of stumbling or falling at this point. Everything is healing well. The more you stick to the doctor’s instructions, the faster you’ll be healthy again.”
Artemus could almost read his partner’s mind. He himself was able to walk, though Frank Harper and Colonel Richmond were close by his side. He was a little surprised at just how much effort this short walk was consuming. Like Jim, he had felt pretty darned good in the bedroom, able to move from the bed to the chair, and this morning they had gone to the table in the Dermotts’ dining room for breakfast for the first time.
Those little trips on a firm, smooth floor are nothing like managing stairs and then making sure one lifts one’s feet high enough so as not to stub them on the boards of the walk. I don’t mind admitting that the seat in the buggy is going to feel dang good. Doubt if James will say that though.
Ten days had elapsed since they had been brought to Dr. Dermott’s home, unconscious and weak from loss of blood and the shock of the wounds. Each had had a bullet removed from their flesh, but Artemus knew that Jim’s wounds had been more severe than his own, despite the bullet that came so close to entering his brain. A small patch now covered that head wound, and the headache that had accompanied it for several days was completely gone.
Gives me the chills to consider how close we came to buying it this time. If the course of the bullet that grazed my head had moved an inch or so. If the bullet that struck Jim’s leg had severed that artery… And most importantly if Johann Eversole hadn’t come along.
The prospector had visited them a few days ago. Both agents were surprised to find that Eversole was a much younger man than they had anticipated, probably in his mid forties. He was a big man, with a long, straight blond beard and a head full of curly blond hair. He also did not talk much. Artie suspected that might be the result of spending so much time alone in the mountains.
However, he reiterated what the sheriff had told them, that he saw no one around, had not encountered anyone in the vicinity, and also that Artemus had muttered ‘the Nile’ several times. “Seemed kind of important to you, Mr. Gordon. You grabbed my arm and I had to pry your fingers loose once you passed out again.”
That still makes no sense. Probably means nothing, yet… Hearing Eversole’s description of the scene and his behavior was extremely baffling to Artemus Gordon. The prospector had also seen the tracks that indicated the assailants—or someone—had approached the injured men, then went off and left them. If someone wanted them dead, why did they not finish the job? Why take the chance of them dying from loss of blood and exposure?
“You okay?”
Artemus was startled to become aware that he was now sitting in the rear seat of the landau, alongside his partner. He realized that the other men had assisted him into the seat. His own movements had been somewhat automatic, if uncomfortable. Maybe because I’ve been so uncomfortable these last days that I didn’t even notice a little more.
He glanced at Jim. “Yeah, fine. You?”
“I’ll make it.”
That was, Artie realized, as close as Jim would come to admitting the stress of the short trek from the house. Hearing his name called, Artemus turned to find Mrs. Dermott at the side of the vehicle.
“I want you two boys to take care of yourselves,” she urged. “I don’t want to hear that you’ve undone all my care.”
Artie reached out to take her hand. “And fine care it was, Mrs. Dermott. You have our deepest gratitude. Next time we are in this area, we’ll stop by so you can see how we are doing.”
Jim leaned forward slightly. “And we owe you and your husband a dinner in Auburn’s finest restaurant.”
Colby Dermott heard that remark and he laughed. “Mr. West, Auburn’s finest meals are served by my wife. You’ll be our guest.”
With Frank Harper handling the reins, Colonel Richmond beside him on the front seat, and young Ned Malone riding alongside, leading the horses of the two agents, they set out. The nearest siding where the Wanderer was parked was over an hour away by buggy. At first, Richmond kept turning around and asking his two injured men if they were all right, but soon realized he was probably not going to get an honest answer from either of them, so gave up asking. He did glance around from time to time.
To make sure we haven’t fainted, Artie decided.
Frank Harper spoke over his shoulder. “Jim, the colonel tells me you’ve now completely ruled out Loveless as being behind the attack. I’ve never dealt with the man, but from what I’ve heard, he sure would be happy to have the two of you out of the way.”
“He can’t be ruled out one hundred percent,” Jim replied. “But to me, anyway, it’s just not the way he would operate.” He looked at Artemus.
Artie caught that look and knew his partner wanted his agreement and confirmation. But I can’t give it. He had given a lot of thought to the matter since the little doctor’s name had first been brought up in regard to the ambush and come to the conclusion that sheer hatred could well have caused Loveless to alter his usual tactics. “There’s always the chance he’s decided to put his ego aside in the interests of seeing you dead, Jim.”
Jim clamped his jaw shut. I have no reason to defend Loveless. In fact, I should not defend him, considering the number of times he tried to kill me and Artie. Not to mention the instances when he wanted to virtually destroy the world. Yet… I just know this attack was not instigated by Miguelito Loveless.
“We haven’t come up with anyone else,” Richmond, turning slightly in the front seat so he could view his agents. “Everyone we checked on is in prison or we know where they are.”
“You said Loveless was in Alaska,” Jim shot back.
“That was the report we had, and it seemed reliable. However…”
No one spoke further. The carriage rumbled along, with Frank Harper doing his best to avoid ruts and potholes, but not always successful. By the time the vehicle pulled up alongside the varnish car, two very weary agents were doing their level best to not display just how weary they were.
“Good to be home,” Artemus murmured as he stepped inside the car. Jim did not reply, but Artie could see by his face that he felt the same way.
“Ah, sir! Welcome back. Please sit down. Coffee is almost ready to be served.”
Both agents stopped short and stared at the slightly built man who emerged from the galley area, a beaming smile on his countenance.
“Tennyson!” Jim exclaimed. “What the devil are you doing here?”
The smile on the face of the former manservant grew even wider, if that was possible. “Miss Fortune looked us up, sir, and related your current difficulties. Of course we are more than happy to assist.”
“We?” Artie asked, still stunned. They had not seen Tennyson in two years, not since he left them to marry and settle down in the Sonoma Valley north of San Francisco.
“Why, Phoebe is with me, certainly. As a former nurse in the Crimea, she will be most helpful, don’t you agree? But please sit down. I am sure you are both fatigued. I was extremely disturbed when I heard what happened.”
“Sit down,” Richmond ordered, “before you fall down. Frank and Ned are looking after the horses.”
Jim and Artemus sank onto the sofa, both still flabbergasted. Neither had thought to inquire further about Lily’s selection of a “husband and wife” to look after them on the trip to San Francisco. “How did Lily… Miss Fortune find you?” Artie asked then.
Tennyson beamed. “We were in the city to see the drama in which she was appearing, and took the liberty to call on her, seeing as how we had mutual acquaintances. She knew, therefore, that we were in the city and looked us up once receiving the dire news. Miss Fortune is a wonderful woman, Mr. Gordon. You are most fortunate.”
“Yes, I know. Thank you.”
Phoebe Tennyson entered then, bearing a tray with coffee service. She was a petite woman with graying dark hair in a neat bun and bright blue eyes. Tennyson had fallen hard for the British widow the first time he saw her, but both of them had had a difficult time raising the courage to approach Tennyson’s then employers to tender his resignation. Even now Phoebe bore a rueful smile as she poured the coffee.
“Sirs, I do hope you’ve forgiven me for taking my dear from you.”
Artie had always thought it a strange quirk that Phoebe never seemed to address her beloved by his given name, but always called him “Dear,” and referred to him as “my dear” to others. “We have managed, Phoebe,” he smiled to show her he was teasing. “But barely.”
Within a short while the train began to move on its way toward San Francisco. The agents had known that their colonel, as well as the two other agents would accompany them. Artie and Jim had briefly argued that they did not need bodyguards, but quickly realized that arguing was futile, so conceded. After all, once in San Francisco they would be ensconced in a safe and comfortable hotel room, and soon busy on their assignment. Highly unlikely that the assassins would follow them into the city.