Post by California gal on Nov 4, 2009 12:35:44 GMT -8
The Night of the Malevolent Deception
Friends depart, and memory takes them
To her caverns, pure and deep.
—Teach Me to Forget, Thomas Haynes Bayly, English poet & songwriter (1797-1839)
Friends depart, and memory takes them
To her caverns, pure and deep.
—Teach Me to Forget, Thomas Haynes Bayly, English poet & songwriter (1797-1839)
He did not open his eyes immediately, aware that things were not right. The sensation of the mattress under him was not the one in his stateroom on the Wanderer, nor any hotel. He had not gone to a hotel. He had…
“Are you ever going to wake up, sleepyhead?”
The lilting feminine voice caused his eyes to pop open and he stared at the lovely blonde woman standing beside the bed, smiling down at him. A woman he had never seen before in his life, yet the expression on her face, in her greenish-blue eyes, was one of complete devotion.
“Who… who are you?” he asked, abruptly aware that under the quilt that covered him he was wearing nothing.
She gasped, eyes widening. “Jim! Oh, Jim! Don’t you know me?” Slender hands rose to press against her cheeks, the eyes now mirroring anguish.
“Why do you call me that?” He could not think of anything else to say at the moment.
She reached down now to grasp his hand as it lay on the coverlet, lowering herself slowly to sit on the edge of the bed. He now noticed something he had not before: the gold band on the third finger of his left hand. She was wearing one as well: a matching band.
“Isn’t that… what is your name, darling?”
Pretty obviously, the woman was exerting great effort to remain calm right now. He did the same. “My name is Artemus Gordon. Who are you?”
“Oh, darling!” She brought his hand up, grasped in both of hers, to her cheek. “I’m Harriet Easton… Harriet Braun… your wife!”
For a long moment, Artemus lay still and stared at her. “I don’t understand,” he said finally. “I don’t have a wife.”
“Oh, my dearest,” she sighed again. “Richard warned me this could happen, but I just didn’t want to believe it. We were so happy. Six months of pure bliss!”
“Six months!” Artie started to sit up, pulling his hand free. At the same moment he remembered his unclothed state, a wave of dizziness swept through his brain and he fell back to the pillow.
“Are you all right, J… darling? Has the vertigo returned?”
“I’m all right,” Artemus lied. What the devil is going on here? “What did you mean about… six months? Who’s Richard? Where am I?” He stared toward the slightly opened window a moment, unable to see much beyond gauzy curtains that were moving slightly in a breeze wafting through.
“Oh, dear! There’s so much to tell you. I’d better go get Richard.” She stood up, paused. “Richard is my brother, Richard Easton. He owns this ranch, and is also a doctor, so he treated you after you were found.”
“Found? What do you mean?”
Quickly Harriet leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Rest, darling. I’ll bring Richard and we’ll tell you everything.”
She hurried out the door before Artie could say anything further. After a long moment, he slowly lifted himself again. The vertigo returned, but closing his eyes and holding still a few seconds, it passed, and he continued until reaching a sitting position. A dark blue robe with satin collars and cuffs was on the foot of the bed, so he reached down to grasp it, slipped it on. It fit. Perfectly. The leather slippers on the floor also fit. Lifting his left hand he stared at the gold band.
Six months. Married six months? She’s beautiful but she must be insane. Six months ago I was in Saint Louis…
He looked around the well-furnished room. Wherever this was—Richard Easton’s ranch or some other place—it was a place backed with money. Now he walked to the window and looked down from a second story over a lovely garden with hedges and rosebushes. He saw hills some distance beyond. None of the landscape looked familiar.
Turning from the window, Artemus moved to a massive oaken wardrobe. Opening it, he found it filled with attire for both a woman and a man. Taking one of the jackets down he realized that although it was not a style he normally favored, it would fit. Boots on the floor looked worn. One pair was his. He recognized them.
With a sigh, Artie hung up the jacket again, closed the wardrobe door and looked around the room. He was having trouble thinking clearly. This just did not make sense. How could this Harriet possibly think she was his wife? For six months?
I’ve got to think. I left the train…
Why was he having such trouble remembering what occurred after he rode away from the Wanderer? He and Jim had had a heated discussion regarding the plans for the bullion. He had saddled his chestnut and ridden out across the Nevada dry lands, determined to prove his partner wrong. I stopped at that cabin for water…
That seemed to be the last memory he had: A tumbledown cabin where a bearded old man with a sour expression reluctantly handed him a tin cup of water. Then… what? Artemus had been wandering around the room as he tried to loosen his memory. Pausing at the mirrored dressing table, he picked up the newspaper lying there.
The first thing that caught his eye was the masthead. The San Rafael Valley Press, San Rafael Valley, Texas. Texas! Next he noticed the date: a date that was more than a full year later than the day on which he had stormed off the Wanderer.
This is crazy. The publisher must have made a mistake…
His eyes roved down the page… and for a moment his heart seemed to stop. The article title leapt out at him, bold and black: Senate Approves Funds for West-Gordon Memorial. West-Gordon Memorial… what? He did not want to read the words printed there. Yet he had to.
“The United States Senate last week ratified the bill previously approved in the House of Representative, providing funds to erect a suitable memorial over the grave of the late agent, James T. West, who was buried at Arlington Cemetery with full honors a year ago. Mr. West was slain during an attempt by an outlaw gang to steal government gold in Nevada. Mr. Artemus Gordon, Mr. West’s partner, had disappeared shortly before that raid, and is presumed dead. Both men were well known for their heroic exploits while protecting the safety of the president as well as the country in general. Both had also served heroically in the Union Army during the late war as well…”
There was more, but Artemus found his vision was blurring. He staggered to the bed to sit down, pressing his hand over his eyes, the newspaper still clutched in the other hand. It can’t be true. Can’t be! Jim dead? A year ago? What happened? What the hell happened?
The bedroom door opened and a tall, slender blond man entered. He was in his shirtsleeves, and carried a small black bag. “Harriet tells me you have regained your memory and that your name is Gordon. What was the first name again?”
“Artemus. Artemus Gordon. You are… her brother?”
“Richard Easton. I’m a physician. You’ve regained your past memory, but do not recall what happened since you were brought here?”
“Where is here?”
“My ranch…”
“But where is your ranch?”
“San Rafael Valley, Texas, of course. This is where you were found a year ago, wandering and out of your head with fever.”
“Texas! It can’t be Texas! I was in Nevada!”
Easton sat down on the bed alongside Artemus, opening his bag to withdraw a stethoscope. “What do you mean, you were in Nevada?” He pressed the instrument against Artie’s chest.
“That’s where I was!” Artie put a hand to his forehead. “I was in Nevada… with Jim!”
“Who’s Jim? That’s the name you kept babbling when you were first bought here. I’m afraid we thought it was your name.”
“My… my partner. The newspaper says… he’s dead.”
Easton took the paper, gazed at it a long moment. “You’re that Gordon? I’ll be damned. I remember reading about the government agent who vanished… and that was in Nevada, wasn’t it? I’ll be damned. How the devil did you end up in Texas?”
“That’s what I want to know. Mr. Easton… doctor… tell me where… how I was found.”
“Two of my men came across you on the southern boundary of my property. You were staggering along the road, obviously had been badly beaten and out of your head, your clothes in rags. They brought you to me, and Harriet and I nursed you back to health. The fever left, but so did your memory. You had no recollection of your name or anything else. I sent some inquiries around the area, but couldn’t learn anything. We concluded you had been beaten and robbed while traveling through, but we had no clue as to where you were from. It soon became evident that you were not a run-of-the-mill drifter, that you were an educated man, but we were still unable to trace your identity. Then… as time went on… you and my sister became close. I came to be of the opinion, and I am sure Harriet did too, that you were content with this new life.”
“You called me Jim?”
“Yes. As I said, you kept saying that name. I guess I understand why now. It is—was your partner’s name. But you accepted it, felt comfortable with it. Harriet came up with the surname. Braun, German for brown, because of your eyes. You became Jim Braun, and six months after arriving, six months ago now, you married my sister.”
The door opened again, this time admitting Harriet, bearing a tray with a small silver coffee pot and a cup. She smiled wanly. “You usually like your morning coffee.”
Artie was able to smile a little. “That at least didn’t change.” Then another memory interfered: the habit the partners had of sitting at the table on the Wanderer enjoying coffee while discussing the day’s plans, usually concerning their current or next case, but sometimes reminiscing about one that was concluded. Grief was a sharp knife piercing his insides. How can he be dead and I didn’t know it?
“Richard,” Harriet said, “you once told me that if Ji… Artemus regained his memory, he would probably remember… all that happened in the interim.”
“I know I did, dear. But recall, I also warned you that head injuries were unpredictable. Sometimes the memory is never regained. Sometimes, all memories are kept, before and during the amnesia. And upon occasion, like now, the period in between is lost. I hoped… well, there’s still a chance Artemus will remember everything.”
Artie sipped the rich coffee. “Any idea how long that will take?”
Easton shook his head. “None whatsoever. You might wake up tomorrow and recall it all… or perhaps never. Are you all right?”
Artie had put a hand to his forehead. “Just… more dizziness.”
“That is worrisome, I must admit. You suffered a great deal of vertigo and even passed out twice during the early days. But it all seemed to clear up. Let me see.”
He reached over to pull Artemus's eyelids up then down, asking Artie to look in all directions while the physician peered into his eyes. Easton sighed. “I don’t see anything, but I’m no expert. I can treat broken bones and measles, even a bullet wound. But I’ve never had such a case as this.”
Harriet put a hand on her brother’s shoulder. “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”
“I’m sure.” Easton got to his feet. “What I suggest now is that you lay down again, Artemus. Perhaps sleep some more.”
“Doctor…”
“Please call me Richard. We are brothers-in-law to all intents and purposes.” He cast a sad glance toward his sister.
“Richard, I need to send telegraph messages to my superiors and to… to friends.” He almost said “fiancée.” Lily! She must think I’m dead too. Seeing the grief on Harriet’s face had caused him to change his words. He could tell her about Lily another time.
“Of course. When you wake up next, I’ll bring you pad and paper and you can write them up…”
Artie frowned. “I would like to send them myself. Is there… a town near here?”
“Yes. It’s about fifteen miles east, which of course is a lengthy ride, especially for someone in your condition. As your physician, as well as your friend and brother-in-law, I am going to forbid such exertion for now. But if you’ll write out the messages, I’ll see they are sent. Lay down now.”
Because of Harriet’s presence, Artemus kept the robe on as he willingly slipped back under the blankets, though he reminded himself, ruefully, that they had been married for six months. He was feeling very tired and heavy-headed. Maybe he’s right. Maybe more sleep and I’ll start remembering things. I hope so. I have to know what happened. I would never desert Jim at a time like that. And how—how!—did I come to be in Texas rather than Nevada?
W*W*W*W*W
“That’s a lie! And impossible!”
“Mr. West,” the man with the steel-rimmed spectacles spoke coldly, “may I remind you to whom you are speaking. One does not address superiors in such a manner.”
James West stiffened, gathering himself. Now was not the time to antagonize this man, who was nominally the head of the Secret Service. Why did Colonel Richmond pick this time to become incapacitated? When he’s needed the most… Jim knew that the colonel had not deliberately chosen to suffer an attack of acute appendicitis last week. He was going to be off duty for at least six weeks. In the meantime, his second in command, Erling Paley, was in charge. Paley had arrived in Nevada two days ago; he showed up at the Wanderer not long after Artemus had stormed off.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I’m… I’m just worried about Mr. Gordon.”
“With whom you had an argument before he went off to sulk.”
Jim took a breath before he spoke. “Not an argument. A disagreement. I explained…”
“Yes, I know you did.” Paley was sitting on the sofa, his ivory-headed cane with the carved elephant’s head positioned between his knees, both hands on top of it. He was a very thin man in his late fifties, with a long pointed face that Artemus had once compared to the face of a weasel. They had both decided that the comparison was apt. The hairstyle Paley favored only enhanced the impression: after parting it in the middle, he slicked the dark, graying strands down to his skull with some kind of oil.
Jim knew why Paley had been named Richmond’s assistant. President Grant seemingly owed this man a favor, and Grant was notorious for being loyal to people who did not necessarily deserve that loyalty. He had asked Richmond to take Paley into the service, and the colonel decided—because he also knew Paley from past interactions—that the safest place to have him was as his assistant. “That way I can keep an eye on him.” Colonel Richmond, of course, had not anticipated the serious illness.
“Mr. Paley, I have to find my partner. He’s been gone forty-eight hours…”
“Gordon has obviously deserted the service over some petty grievance. We don’t have time to deal with him now. That will come later. Desertion is a serious crime, particularly when one possesses the knowledge Mr. Gordon owns.”
Every iota of willpower James West owned was required to prevent himself from lashing out at the smug man. He knew very well that Erling Paley did not like him, or Gordon, any more than they liked him. They had clashed previously, but Richmond had always been there to handle matters, superseding any irrelevant and often just plain stupid orders Paley issued.
“It’s possible,” Jim said in a tight, but level voice, “that Mr. Gordon’s disappearance is tied into the gold shipment…”
The cane lifted up on the floor an inch or two, slammed down. “Well, I’m glad to hear you admit it, West. I’ve long felt that you two had far too much autonomy. Richmond has been a fool to trust the two of you so unreservedly.”
“What are you implying, sir?” Jim’s hands balled into fists at his side.
“You’re no fool, West,” Paley smirked. “I’ll give you that. You know exactly what I’m inferring. Mr. Gordon has joined the other side.”
Jim West ever after wondered how he prevented himself from grabbing Paley and throwing him off the train. Instead he spoke evenly. “That is not what I meant… sir. It’s possible that the rumored outlaw gang has taken Mr. Gordon prisoner, possibly to use as a hostage, or at least to try to get information from him.”
“You’re a dreamer, West.” Paley finally used the cane as leverage to push himself up off the couch, enjoying the several inches of height advantage he owned over the compactly-built agent. “Gordon has gone to the other side. There’s no other explanation for it. You yourself said you searched thoroughly for him…”
“Not thoroughly,” Jim retorted. “I have not had time…”
“Nor will you be occupying the department’s valuable time in such useless pursuits. What you will do now is continue to prepare for the bullion shipment. Of course, you must take into account what your former partner knows, and provide alternatives. That’s an order, Mr. West. Accept that Gordon has gone to the other side. Not surprising. How many times have you two been involved in tracking down thieves, only to be required to turn the loot—or at least most of it—over to its original owners? That must be painful, eh?”
“Mr. Paley…”
Paley lifted the cane, pointed the elephant head toward Jim. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, West, though God knows why. I know how close you and Gordon are. I find it hard to believe he’s working independently. But you will be watched closely. If anything happens to that gold, you’ll pay the price. Severely. Do you understand?”
Jim did not reply, knowing he would not be able to speak in anything resembling normalcy, let alone courtesy. He stood at attention, lidded eyes glaring at the other man. He did notice with some slight satisfaction that Paley did not meet his stare directly.
Erling Paley went on. “In six days, this train must be back in Denver to receive the bullion shipment and the Army guard. At that time, you will give me a detailed description of your faultless scheme to transport the shipment through to San Francisco. Don’t doubt me, West. Don’t underestimate me. I am currently your superior. I also have President Grant’s ear. Do you understand? Answer me!”
“Yes, sir.” The words were grated out.
“Very well. Six days, West. Take heed, you will be watched the entire time.” Paley spun and stalked toward the door at the rear of the car. He paused very briefly, glancing back, obviously expecting that Jim would have hurried forward to open the door for him. When West made no move, Paley grasped the handle, opened it to step through, slamming it behind him so that the glass rattled.
James West turned to place the palms of his hands on the table, leaning hard, breathing heavily. He had never come closer to losing it completely. To strike Paley could have been the death knell to his career. Even President Grant would have had to see it that way, and Jim knew that Grant had apologized several times to Colonel Richmond for inflicting Paley on him. Grant’s hope had been that putting Paley in such a thankless, and unsuitable, job would have convinced him to return to Illinois and his dry goods businesses, of which he owned numerous and had become rather wealthy from—wealthy enough to have contributed significantly to Grant’s campaign fund. So far, after nearly two years, that realization had not come to Paley.
“Artie,” Jim moaned aloud, “where the devil are you?”
Two days ago the two agents had been sitting at this very table, maps spread out around them, discussing how they were going to move the train containing the gold through the passes between here and the looming Sierra Nevada. Reliable information had been received that an attempt to take the gold was going to occur in this area of Nevada, and the department had good reason to accept the tip.
The pass through which the railroad tracks were cut was a broad but deep one, with high, rocky sides, even a couple of caves. It would be a perfect place to stop the train, with men posted high above to fire down on the occupants. Even the twenty or so soldiers they were supposed to take with them would have a difficult time withstanding such withering fire from on high.
The two agents both agreed that a good idea would be to send soldiers on ahead to occupy the heights well before any outlaws had an opportunity to do the same. In fact, they planned to ask for extra men for that very purpose. However, a problem arose when they could not agree on the exact layout of the pass, nor its dimensions, let alone how many men would be required. Neither had been there in several years, and their memories differed. The topographical map provided little assistance in the matter.
Both men had been tired, and feeling the strain of the knowledge that they would not be working under the familiar Richmond, a man who knew them and usually allowed them to go their own way, even sometimes turning a blind eye to their unorthodox tactics. Richmond had no need of reflected glory. Erling Paley was not such a man. Having been thrown unexpectedly into the lead job, he wanted all the laurels of success on his head and his alone.
Not that either agent coveted the glory to himself. They had been in this job too long and were aware that despite their accomplishments, the credit belonged to the department itself. Their own fame was a mere sideline, sometimes useful, sometimes not. West and Gordon had confidence in themselves, in each other, and the other men in the service, most particularly their usual commanding officer, a man they had known long before joining the Secret Service. Paley was not that man, and they were experiencing the pressure of the perfection Paley demanded. Although knowing that President Grant was quite aware of Paley’s shortcomings, they also knew the president would have to abide by certain standards and rules.
When the disparate views arose between West and Gordon, the words became more heated than they might have otherwise. No name-calling. Barely raised voices. But Artemus had been particularly adamant that his version was correct, finally volunteering to ride out and check. Because Artemus Gordon was not normally a man who liked long horseback rides, Jim had been impressed, and allowed his partner to go off alone. He suspected that if he had offered to come along, Artie might have taken umbrage at the suggestion that his word was not to be trusted.
It had been mid afternoon when Artie left. When he had not returned by dinnertime, Jim was not overly concerned. A small crossroads with a saloon, restaurant, and livery stable was in the vicinity, and he had no doubt Artie had relieved the weariness of the long ride by stopping for some refreshment. However, when darkness began to fall late on that summer night and his partner had not shown up, Jim began to fret.
He had then ridden out, but a moonless night curtailed his ability to locate any signs. He did stop at the crossroads tavern, where the owner told him a man fitting Gordon’s description had stopped by for a beer. Around four, he thought. Jim decided that would have been while on the trip to the pass. He could not find anyone in the area who saw Artie after that time.
The following morning he had been in the saddle at dawn. That second day had also been fruitless, other than finding some signs that may have been the tracks of Artie’s chestnut horse in the pass. No one remembered seeing a man of his description anywhere, anytime. Jim could not comprehend this. He would have bet money that Artie would have visited the tavern on his way back—the day had been warm, even into the evening—but he had no reason to distrust the people he spoke to at the crossroads.
He had been planning to ride out again this morning, to expand his search and possibly recruit the sheriff in a town that lay about twenty miles east to help. However, when he returned to the train last evening, Erling Paley sent a message via the telegraph that he would be calling this day. Despite his gnawing concern about Artie, Jim knew he had to speak to Paley. He had expected some difficulties, but not a flat out order to ignore his partner’s disappearance.
I’ll obey that order… to an extent. I may end up losing my job, but I have to find Artemus. Something isn’t right. Artie would never just go off in a snit and not return like this. Something has happened.
A gut feeling informed him that that “something” was related to the gold shipment. Hard to believe outlaws would attempt to exchange an agent for the several millions of dollars in gold ingots that were to be transported. If the decision were left to Jim West, the trade would be made in a trice. But it was not, and would not, be up to him. Artemus Gordon was just one man, and not that important in the greater scheme of things. Not even President Grant, who counted Artemus among his closest and most trusted friends, would be able to sanction such a ransom payment.
Paley had not arrived until afternoon, causing Jim to feel he had wasted the entire morning waiting. But now he saddled the black stallion and took it out of the car, telling the crew where he was going and why. “If Paley sends someone to check on me, just tell him I’m out doing my job.” He did not know whether Paley’s threat to have him “watched” was genuine, or just words, and he did not care.
Instead of going back to the pass or the crossroads settlement, he headed toward the town of Bitter Creek, a settlement somewhat off the beaten track that had been established with the hope of drawing the railroad to its outskirts. That had not happened, but the town survived, the businesses serving the local ranchers. Jim knew that the waterway for which the town was named provided some water and forage for the cattle and sheep that were raised in the otherwise arid region. Some years back a minor fracas had occurred between the cattlemen and the Basque sheepherders, but last he heard, all was quiet in the region. He and Artemus had been in the area on another matter but were able to help settle the dispute.
He reached Bitter Creek as shadows were lengthening and went directly to the office of the local sheriff. Cyrus O’Malley was a hearty middle-aged man who was the only man who ever wore the badge in this county. Jim and Artemus had met him some years ago on one of their first assignments in this area. He immediately recognized the slender man who entered his office, and welcomed him warmly.
“Where’s that partner of yours? Hiding in some disguise again?” Artie’s disguise as a peddler of gentlemen’s hats had fooled a lot of people and helped to capture the three bank robbers the agents had been pursuing in this region.
“That’s why I’m here, Cy.” Briefly Jim explained the situation. “I’m guessing you have not seen him in the last couple of days.”
The sheriff shook his head, slowly. “I would like to think if Artemus came to Bitter Creek, he’d at least stop in to say hello. We can ask around town, though.”
They did so, asking at each of the three saloons, the hotel and its restaurant, the livery stable, even the general store. No one recalled seeing such a man. A couple people remembered Artemus from the previous visit, and were able to say definitely that they had not seen him in the last few days. As the lawmen moved from one establishment to another, Jim found himself looking hard at any man wearing a beard or heavy mustache; in every case he quickly realized, with deep disappointment, that that person was not his partner in disguise.
Jim was very disheartened as they sat at a table in the smallest and quietest of the three taverns. He toyed with his glass of whiskey, not bothering to taste it. O’Malley did not try to cheer him up. He knew as well as Jim West did that something strange had occurred, and possibly something dangerous… or tragic.
“Jim, is there any chance Artie is playing a joke, to get back at you for disagreeing with him? Maybe when he went out to the pass, he realized you had been right, and this is his little way of getting even.”
Jim was shaking his head. “No. Not when we have this important assignment. He would have just come back, told me I was right, and that would have been that. And if he’d found out he was right, I would have accepted his word. That’s the way we work. There might have been some gibes traded, but… no. Artie is a professional, Cy.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Get a room at the hotel. Then I think I’ll ride out and check with a couple of nearby ranches before full dark. I’ll start fresh again in the morning”
“What about the assignment?”
Jim sighed. “When I went into the pass looking for signs Artie had been there, I realized his version was the correct one. I had remembered it wrong. So I can give the Army captain the details about where to post his men. However, some alterations will need to be made at the last moment if I don’t find Artemus beforehand, perhaps by delaying the train’s movement or even sending a dummy train through. Just in case someone trying to make him reveal the plans is holding him. By the way, you haven’t noticed any strangers in the area, have you?”
“Not particularly. I’d say the newest resident is our doctor, and he’s been here over six months.”
“No one even passing through?”
The sheriff shrugged. “Oh, I suppose so. The doctor has been hiring men for his ranch.”
“A doctor has a ranch?” Most of the physicians Jim had encountered kept residence and offices in the towns where their patients were located.
O’Malley smiled briefly. “He and his sister bought the Hidden Valley spread. Don't know if you remember it.”
“Never saw it,” Jim admitted, “but I remember hearing of it. In a small basin with great water and grass?”
“Yep. About fifteen miles west. Might be the best water and graze in Nevada, though that’s not really saying all that much because Nevada is so generally dry. But it’s a splendid ranch. The former owner died last year. His only child, a daughter, had already married and moved to California. She put it up for sale, and the Eastons bought it. Fine people.”
“So he’s not a practicing doctor.”
“Well, yeah, he is. Three days a week he comes into town. Set up an office in the hotel. And if he’s needed for an emergency, we just send for him. Fine young fellow and terrific doctor.”
Jim pushed himself to his feet. “Well, that’s neither here nor there. Doesn’t help me find my partner. I’ve still got some daylight. I’d better keep looking. As I recall, there are a couple of sheep ranches within a few miles north of here, right?”
“You're right. One is owned by Emil Lujan. You may remember him.”
“Yes, of course. He helped Artemus that night…”
Jim tried not to get his hopes up too high as he kept the black at a fast canter along the dirt road. If Artemus did not look up Cy O’Malley, why would he visit Emil Lujan? When he reached the small home of the sheep man, his fears were realized. Lujan remembered him, and definitely remembered Artemus, but he had not seen either agent since their last visit to the area. Lujan promised to ask his herders as well as his neighbors, and get word to Jim in town if he learned anything.
The sky was deep dark when Jim finally returned to town, the sliver of the waxing crescent moon covered by clouds. He left the black horse at the livery stable and walked toward the hotel. The only businesses open were the saloons; otherwise the town was quiet. Except for lamplight flooding from the saloon doors and windows, and a couple of second floor windows where a store proprietor lived, all was pitch black.
Perhaps because of that silence, he heard the slight sound, like a smothered cough. It appeared to emanate from the alley between the general mercantile and the bank, an alley he needed to traverse to reach the small hotel beyond. He paused and listened, but heard nothing further. Senses alert, he stepped off the porch to cross the alley.
He heard rather than saw the man rushing toward him from the depth of the alley. Jim spun toward the sound, caught a glimpse of the darker shadow, an arm upraised, something large in that upraised hand. Quickly Jim lifted his own left arm, first catching the down thrust of the club on his own forearm, then grabbing the man’s arm in both of his hands, turning to pull it over his shoulder, bending forward with swift strength.
With a yell, the man flew over Jim’s head and thudded into the dirt, partially out into the street, landing with a howl of pain. Immediately aware that at least one more man was involved, Jim whirled back. This time even in the darkness he saw the glint of metal. His own gun leapt into his hand and he fired, the sound of the shot like a cannon blast in the night’s silence. This man also yelled in agony, staggered but did not go down, turning and running.
Jim quickly looked back toward the first man, in time to see him scramble to his feet and thunder down the board walkway. After one brief thought about pursuing, Jim decided against it. The darkness would make it very difficult, especially because he did not have his horse at hand. Even as that thought crossed his mind he heard the rapid hoof beats galloping away from behind the buildings here, first one horse and then another.
Men were spilling out of the saloons after hearing the shot, yelling questions, and hollering for the sheriff. Cy O’Malley appeared from his own office just down the street, pulling his suspenders over his flannel clad shoulders, obviously roused from his bed in the back of the jail building.
When Jim explained what had happened, the lawman agreed that chasing the pair would be fruitless at this point. At Jim’s suggestion, O’Malley followed the agent to the second floor room in the hotel. Only after Jim had lit the lamp inside and turned, did the sheriff notice Jim was now holding his left wrist in his right hand.
“Are you hurt?”
In some surprise, Jim looked down to realize what he was doing. He let go of his wrist. “No, not really.”
O’Malley reached over and took Jim’s left hand, pushing the shirt cuff up slightly. “Nasty bruise coming up there. He must have hit you pretty hard.”
“I guess so.” Only now did it start to actually hurt, throbbing slightly. “I don't think it’s broken.”
“Doc Easton will be in town in the morning. You probably should stop by and have him check it.”
“Maybe. Cy, have you had any problems of late with muggings, thefts?”
The sheriff shook his head. “Nope. Oh, two-three weeks ago a cowpoke was stopped on the trail and had a few bucks taken from him. Fred said it was a ragged fellow who looked like he really needed the money, and if the guy had just asked nice-like, likely Fred would have handed some of it over anyway. But nothing like this. You think they were trying to rob you?”
Jim walked to the room’s window, looked out briefly then pulled the shade down before he turned back. “I can’t say for certain, but my gut feeling is no. That first one came after me with a club. The second one pulled his gun.”
O’Malley’s countenance darkened. “They were out to kill you? Why?”
“I don't know, Cy. Unless it has something to do with Artemus's disappearance… and the gold shipment.” He began to pace the small room, brow knit in concentration.
The sheriff watched him a long moment, quite aware of how worried Jim West was about his vanished partner. “Jim, why would someone kidnap Artemus to get at the gold shipment—then not contact you? I mean, wouldn’t that be the purpose? To try to force your cooperation by threatening his life?”
Jim stopped. “That’s part of what’s got me concerned, Cy. It’s been more than two days now. If that’s the motive behind it…” He shook his head. “The other thing that occurs to me is someone might be trying to… torture the information out of him.” Jim West’s handsome face grew dark and grim.
“What does he know? You said the plans were incomplete, and that’s why Artemus rode out, to check on things.”
“Yes, but someone—whoever might be behind this rumored raid—might not know that. The gold is to be loaded onto the train in just about a week. This person might believe we have longstanding plans in place.”
O’Malley shook his head. “This attack tonight doesn’t make sense. Seems to me killing you would stop the whole process cold. Your boss—Colonel Richmond isn’t it?—would be sure to delay the thing if something like that happened.”
Jim grimaced. “The colonel is recovering from appendicitis. His assistant is in charge—a man who wants the successful shipment of this gold on his record. I can’t see him calling it off for any reason.” Certainly not for Artemus's sake, and not even if I was killed!
“So what are you going to do?”
The agent sighed. “First thing tomorrow I’m going back to the train to see if there are any developments. Chances are I’ll return here and see whether my hunch that this attack is connected plays out. Unless of course, I return and find my partner at the train, which I doubt, because I told the train crew where I was going. They would have pointed Artie this way.”
W*W*W*W*W
He did not immediately open his eyes, attempting to convince himself that the whole thing had been a bizarre dream. The sensations of the fine linens under his body told him otherwise. He was still at the Easton home, still apparently married to a woman he did not remember…
“Artemus, are you awake?”
Now Artie opened his eyes and looked at the man sitting on a chair beside the bed. “What time is it?”
Richard Easton smiled, “Nearly twenty-four hours since we last spoke.”
“Twenty-four hours!” Artie lifted himself up on his elbows, glancing around. At least she was not present. “I slept twenty-four hours?”
The doctor’s smile faded. “It was more like a coma, Artemus, and I was becoming very worried. I’m just not sure what’s going on. I wish I knew more about the workings of the human brain. But no one does, I guess.”
“A coma…” Artie fell back on the pillow. “That sounds serious.”
“Why, of course it is. Your condition is serious, and has been from the day you were first found. The bruises on your head have healed, but they were deep and dangerous. A bad concussion, along with the severe fever, undoubtedly caused the amnesia.”
“And I’m in Texas, not Nevada.” He hoped that part of it was indeed a dream.
“I’m afraid so. A mystery, to be sure. One that won’t be solved, no doubt, until you remember what happened to you.”
Artemus sighed, rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the unshaven jaws. “It’s all so confusing. I remember stopping at an old cabin for water. And that’s it. That cabin was in Nevada, near the area I was going to check.”
I didn’t complete my task. Jim must have taken the train on through and was ambushed. Odd, though. If it had been the other way around, if Jim had not returned, I would have done my damnedest to have the shipment postponed! Or at least changed plans. Then again, we had Paley in charge, not Richmond. Who knows what that rascal would have done?
He spoke aloud. “Richard, can you find out more information for me about that robbery—when my partner was killed?”
The doctor’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“It’s just… I need to know. Jim was my best friend, my brother in all but blood. Would your local newspaper have more?”
Easton cleared his throat. “Possibly. I’ll ask. It’s a small town paper. But perhaps if they don’t, they can obtain it. It’ll take time. But you have time.”
“No, I don’t. I have to get back to Washington…”
“Not for awhile, Artemus. I’m not letting you out of here until I’m sure you’re well. Remember your dizziness yesterday.”
“I’m fine today.” Artie sat up then. “See? No vertigo. Maybe the long sleep did it.”
“Perhaps.” Easton got to his feet. “You’ll probably feel even better after some breakfast. I’ll send Manuel in with some hot water to wash and shave. And if you’re still okay after that—I mean no dizziness—come on downstairs. I’ll alert Rosina that you’ll be wanting some food.”
“Where’s… Harriet?” Did she share my bed while I was in this coma?
“She went for a ride. I’m sure you realize how distraught she is about this.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“While you slept, she moved most of her possessions into the guest room. She understands that while you are legally married, it’s not the same now.”
Artie did not answer. Richard Easton smiled briefly and left the room. Throwing the blankets back, Artie went to the wardrobe. He chose a pair of trousers, shirt and jacket, and picked up the familiar boots. I must not have worn them often over the last year. They don’t look much different from when I last recall.
He had just donned the trousers and boots when a tap sounded on the door. He called out and it opened to admit a stocky, middle-aged Mexican man with graying hair, bearing a large pitcher of steaming water. Without a word he took it to the stand in the corner, barely glanced over when Artie thanked him in Spanish, and departed.
Washing up and shaving did feel good, and Artie also started to realize how hungry he was. Chances were he had not eaten in thirty or thirty-six hours, depending on when he last ate before waking up here yesterday morning. Richard is wrong. I’m strong enough to ride and I need to go send those telegrams, then catch the next train east.
He started back toward the bed where he had left the shirt and jacket, when he noticed the newspaper was back on the dressing table. Someone must have moved it there while he slept. Without really thinking of his actions, Artemus picked it up again, his gaze on the article about the memorial.
Quite an honor that Congress should do this. I’ll make sure the process continues for Jim. If anyone deserves such tribute, it’s Jim West. Reading through the article again, his mouth twisted in a wry, sad smile. Quite unusual for a newspaper in a small Texas town to bother to print such information, primarily because the war had ended a relatively short time ago. Memories were still sharp, and so were enmities. He and Jim had encountered southerners who refused to cooperate once they learned that the two agents were former Union officers. Quite a few people in this part of the country did not consider any Union soldier a hero.
Perhaps the newspaper owner is a northerner. If so, he might be risking losing subscribers by printing such information—if not damage to his property.
The thought that Jim West was dead still caused a painful knot in his chest. I guess I’m going to have to visit the grave, see the headstone, to really accept it. I hate the thought that our last words were sharp. They had not argued often during their partnership, and usually they had an opportunity to later talk things out. Not this time.
Finishing dressing, Artemus left the room and found a curving staircase just outside his door. He descended, admiring the landscape paintings adorning the wall, the soft carpeting on the steps. A beautiful, gracious home. Because the house itself did not appear to be newly constructed, he presumed that the Eastons had purchased it. Neither Richard nor Harriet had an accent to indicate they were native Texans. Perhaps not even southern born.
Just as he gained the first floor, Richard appeared in a nearby open doorway. “Ah! I was just going to come up and check on you, Artemus. Come on in. Breakfast is waiting.”
The dining area was as nicely appointed as the rest of the house. A petite, middle-aged Mexican woman brought Artemus a plate of eggs, ham, potatoes, and biscuits, and filled his coffee cup. As had Manuel, she did not acknowledge his expressions of gratitude. Artie tucked in, finding the food was as good as it looked.
Richard had a cup of coffee and sat across the table. He was silent a few minutes, watching Artemus eat, and finally spoke. “I’ve been thinking about this, Artemus.”
“Thinking about what?”
“This lapse in your memory. Of course, Harriet and I can fill in quite a bit from the time you first came here. I’m sure you’d like to remember that period as well.”
“I certainly would.” How did I fall in love with another woman, let alone marry her?
“What I’m getting at is, perhaps if you could review that period between when you left your train and when you were found here, it might help you start to recall other things.”
“But I can’t remember it all…. That newspaper—is it the current edition?”
“Yes, June twenty-third. A fellow delivers it all over the area when it’s published, and that one came yesterday morning shortly before you awakened.”
“And I was found here on…?”
“July first last year.”
“Then seven, eight days are completely missing.”
“Time enough for someone to transport you from Nevada to Texas. The question may be, why. Why would anyone do that?”
“I have no idea. Why not just kill me and leave me in Nevada? How is this supposed to help, Richard?”
The doctor smiled. “What I’m thinking you should do is to go to a point perhaps four or five days before the day you last recall and remember as much, in detail, as you can.”
“Not much happened. We were…”
Richard held up his hand. “Not now. I have to go into town to my office. I’ll be back after lunch. Perhaps you can spend time thinking about it, making notes, and when I return, we can sit down and start recording it all.”
“You think that will help?”
“I have no idea,” Easton sighed. “But I for one am willing to try anything. How about you?”
Artie had to smile. “I’m game. But why can’t I come into town with you and send those telegrams?”
“Because I’m still not certain about the state of your health. I don’t think you should do anything physically exerting, not riding a horse, nor even riding in a buggy. I don’t have time to wait for you to write out those wires now, but you can do so later and ask Harriet to send a man into town with them. I’ll make sure they are sent before I come back.”
“All right,” Artemus said, disappointed.
The doctor got to his feet. “I think you should be as detailed as possible in your recollections. What you ate. What you saw, who you talked to besides your partner. And what you and Mr. West discussed in those days preceding your departure, as exact as you can be regarding the conversations.”
“We talked mostly about the gold shipment we were to be guarding…”
Richard waved a hand. “Whatever. That all happened over a year ago. With your partner dead, you are the only one who can provide these memories now.”
Artemus suspected Easton did not realize how harsh his words sounded. “All right,” he said again. “Richard, don’t forget about asking at the newspaper if they have any further information on how Jim… died.”
“I will, don’t worry. I’ve got to be going or I’ll be late. I often have a half dozen people lined up at the door!”
“Where can I find some paper to make notes on?”
“Oh… yes. There’s some in my study…”
“I can find it. In your desk?”
“I’ll get it. I’m afraid I’m pretty fussy about my study, Artemus.” Easton chuckled. “I don’t even allow Harriet to go in there. I’ll be right back. Oh, Manuel, tell Rosina to bring some more coffee for Señor James.” He looked at Artemus as the servant crossed from the kitchen doorway to pick up Easton’s cup and saucer. “I’m afraid they don’t quite grasp what has happened. They know you as Señor James.”
“That’s all right. I understand.” Hearing himself addressed by his deceased partner’s name was jarring, however.
Easton returned minutes later with a pad of paper and a couple of pencils. “Maybe you’ll want to just relax on the porch. I’d advise against doing anything tiring, as I mentioned. Harriet will keep you company.”
“I’ll be fine,” Artie assured him. “It’s hard for me to be inactive but… you’re the doctor.” As Richard departed again, Rosina entered with a fresh pot of coffee.