The Night of the Purloined President

[qohart]

This is purely a fluff piece. Any huge plot holes and inconsistencies are all my fault. Thanks to my beta reader, Pet, who continues to read for me and still doesn’t laugh too, too hard.

The Night of the Purloined President
by Cris Hart

The train pulled into the station in Tupelo right on time. Inside, three men prepared to step out onto the back platform.

"I hate these meet and greet assignments," Artemus Gordon muttered to his partner, James West.

"You know how President Grant feels about them. He feels it's important to keep in touch with the people he serves," Jim answered.

"Without regard to the very real threats against his life," Artie countered. "This is a southern state, you know."

"I know. We just have to be that much more vigilant," Jim replied.

"Gentlemen, what's the hold up?" President Grant asked.

"We're ready, sir," Jim turned toward his superior.

Artemus opened the door for the President and the three faced the crowd on the platform below.

Most of the town folk seemed happy to greet their president, but a few shouted in protest. President Grant waved. The agents scanned the crowd for any sign of danger.

Several reporters for the local paper shouted questions to the President and crowded close to the platform. President Grant answered their questions openly and honestly as Artie placed himself in a position to ward off anyone who got too close.

After a few more minutes, the train lurched forward signaling their departure. The agents recognized this as potentially the most dangerous moment and placed themselves behind the President's back and ushered him back into the train.

"Thank God," Artie murmured closing the door behind him.

"Artemus," President Grant said to his agent shaking his head, "You worry too much. Nothing happened."

"It's my job to worry, sir," Artie answered going forward to tell Orrin, the engineer, their next destination.

"You keep up that level of worry and you'll be an old man before your time," President Grant chuckled at Artie’s retreating back.

"No doubt," Artie muttered as he left.

This brought a loud laugh from the commander in chief. "James, that partner of yours is quite the mother hen," he said to Jim.

"Yes, sir," Jim agreed smiling broadly, "He means well, though. Artie takes any threat against your life very seriously, as do I."

"I know and I appreciate that, but you know how important I feel it is to promote healing in our country. These ‘meet and greet’ assignments, as you two call them, are vital in reassuring the masses that I am everyone’s President not just the north’s," President Grant answered, "Now, do we have one more stop tonight or are we finished for the day?"

"We're finished for today, sir. We'll be in Louisiana tomorrow, a stop in Texarkana around noon then New Orleans tomorrow evening," Jim told him, "We'll have a couple of days in New Orleans before we head back to Washington, if you'd like, sir."

"I haven't spent time in New Orleans since the war, Jim," President Grant smiled at fond memories, "Yes, I think that would suit me quite nicely. Now do you have a drink to offer your President before supper?" he asked patting his pockets in search of a cigar as he sat on the sofa.

"Right away, sir," Jim smiled and poured a drink for the president and a short one for himself. He heard Artie in the galley seeing to the evening meal.

"Mr. President," Jim broached carefully, "we received a threat of an assassination attempt in New Orleans."

"Oh? Credible?" President Grant asked between sips of his whiskey.

"Very credible, sir. Jonas Pierre-Louis signed his name to it. Said he didn't care who knew he was behind it as long as everyone knew he was the one to kill you, sir," Jim explained.

"Jonas Pierre-Louis," President Grant repeated, "He's been railing against me since he turned traitor during the war and I had him imprisoned,” he scoffed.

“He's escaped, sir, during a transfer from the Federal prison,” Jim informed his commander in chief.

“Oh? I hadn’t heard that, James. Nonetheless, Pierre-Louis bungled his plans during the war and I can’t imagine prison made him any smarter. No, I don't think I take his threats too seriously," he concluded rising to refill his glass.

"Well, sir," Jim continued, "Artie knows the man pretty well, and he thinks we should modify our plans just a little."

"Oh, I know Artemus knows Jonas well. Pierre-Louis nearly got Artemus thrown into the hoosegow with him. Tried to implicate Gordon as his partner in crime. Do you know the whole story on this?" President Grant asked raising the bottle offering to refill Jim's glass.

Jim declined the refill with a brief shake of his head. "I think I’ve heard most of it, sir," Jim answered anxious to gain any insight he may not have had before.

"It was just before I made you my aide de camp. Your sharp eye in that situation, in fact, helped me make my decision. Seems Jonas was feeding information to the Confederate troops on our position and troop movements,” the President started, settling back on the sofa.

As he recounted the events of early March, 1862, speaker and listener dredged up their own memories.

March 1862

“Hey, Artemus,” Captain Jonas Pierre-Louis called as he entered the field tent he shared with Captain Artemus Gordon, “Look what I just procured for us.” He waved a paper held tightly in his hand.

“What’s that?” Artemus asked curious.

“Overnight leave for the two of us,” Jonas grinned.

“What? How did you manage that?” Artemus wondered in amazement snatching the paper from his friend’s hand and looking it over. “Is this the genuine article?”

“Signed by the General himself,” Jonas replied taking the paper back and tucking it into the inside pocket of his coat. “So how about it? What do you say to a night of dinner and female companionship on me?”

“On you? For sure?” Artemus asked, “Why the sudden generosity and how have you managed to squirrel away enough of your pay to afford it?”

Jonas wore a look of mock effrontery, “I know how to save my money even if certain other parties do not,” he replied haughtily, “And I hear the women in Dickerson are lovely and friendly to the troops regardless of which side they are on. But,” he sighed dramatically, “if you’d rather not go…”

“I said no such a thing,” Artemus chuckled pulling his coat closed and buttoning it, “Let’s go.”

Just then a soldier called out to Jonas. “Captain Pierre-Louis, it’s me, Michaels, sir.”

The smile left Jonas’ face. “Artemus would you mind saddling the horses while I see to this?” he asked all seriousness.

“Sure. There’s not a problem is there, Jonas?” Artemus asked halfway through the flap of the tent.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll just be a minute,” Jonas reassured his friend and Artemus left as Michaels entered.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” Michaels stood at attention until Jonas motioned him at ease.

“What do you have for me, Michaels,” Jonas asked expectantly.

“A package arrived for you sir, by courier,” Michaels answered and held out a small flat package to the Captain.

Jonas took it, dismissed the soldier and tore the package open. In the dim light within the tent he saw the stack of money and smiled. Jonas tucked the wrapping under the blanket of his cot as he stuffed the money into his coat pocket. He did not see the wrapping fall to the ground and had not noticed the coded message written inside it in his hurry to begin a night of frivolity and female companionship.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW

[qohart]

Captain James West strode to the tent where he expected to find Captain Pierre-Louis. He had new orders for him and was quick about his duty to deliver them. Calling out and receiving no answer, Jim entered the empty tent and frowned.

As he turned to exit, he spotted the wrapping on the ground under Captain Pierre-Louis’ cot and stooped to pick it up. One side was blank but barely visible in the low light, he saw the writing inside the plain brown paper. Scanning it quickly to verify he should leave the paper for Captain Pierre-Louis, Jim recognized the message was coded. He also recognized the code as one used by the Confederates and was able to decipher the message.

Shocked and outraged, Captain West pocketed the paper and left the tent.

He stopped a passing soldier. “Michaels, have you seen Captain Pierre-Louis?” he snapped.

“No sir, Captain West. Not since I brought him a package an hour ago, sir,” Michaels replied coming instantly to attention.

“Where did you get the package?” Jim demanded.

“It was with the leftover mail, sir,” Michaels answered.

“And how did you know it was for Captain Pierre-Louis?” Jim inquired.

“I…I…” Michaels stammered.

“Go on,” Jim ordered.

“I assumed it was for him, sir, since it was just like other packages the Captain has received in the past,” Michaels hurried to answer his face reddening. “I’m sorry if I was out of line, sir,” he added quickly.

“No, don’t worry about it, Michaels,” Jim reassured the young soldier. “How many packages of this kind has Captain Pierre-Louis received? Do you know?”

“Four that I know of, Captain West. The others all came by courier and I was told to give them to the Captain. When I saw this one laying with the mail, I assumed I’d missed the courier,” Michaels explained.

Jim nodded. “Fine, Michaels, you can go. But you are to tell no one of this conversation, is that clear?” Jim added sternly.

“Yes, sir. I won’t tell a soul, sir,” Michaels looked relieved to not be in trouble. He knew Captain West was a fair man but was also a stickler for every man knowing and doing his duty. And no one ever dared disobey an order especially one from Captain West. Michaels hurried on his way.

Jim went directly to General Grant’s tent and informed him of what he had found.

“By the blazes, you mean to tell me our movements have been sold to the Confederates?” General Grant thundered.

“It appears so, sir,” Jim replied.

“And you’re sure you’ve read the message correctly,” the General asked. He eyed the young Captain as he responded with another respectful ‘Yes sir’. He’d come to like and trust Captain West and was considering him for the position of aide de camp. The discovery of this treachery only solidified his choice.

“Find Captain Gordon and bring him to me. I want the two of you to keep an eye on Pierre-Louis and see if our plans to move south have been compromised,” General Grant ordered.

“Right away, sir,” Jim saluted his superior and ducked out of the tent. A quick but thorough search of the camp did not turn up Captain Gordon. Jim had another brief conversation with Michaels.

“Yes, sir, Captain West, I’m sure they left,” Michaels told Jim, “As I approached the tent, Captain Pierre-Louis was telling Captain Gordon about the ladies in Dickerson. When I called to him he asked Captain Gordon to saddle the horses,” he concluded.

Jim let out a frustrated breath. This did not look good. He knew Artemus had become friends with Jonas but how good friends were they? He found it hard to believe that Artemus would be involved yet he had willingly gone to Dickerson without the proper leave. He had no choice and he dispatched four men to ride to Dickerson and bring the two men back under arrest. By force if necessary.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW

The four armed guards entered the Southern Comfort Inn and surveyed the patrons. They spotted Captain Pierre-Louis and Captain Gordon in the company of two very pretty bar maids and approached their table. This was not a duty they relished.

“Captain Pierre-Louis, Captain Gordon,” Sergeant Miller addressed them, “We need you to come back to camp with us, sirs.”

Artemus looked up with questioning eyes. “Is there a problem Sergeant?” he asked.

“It appears so, sir. Will you come with us, please?” Miller asked politely.

“What’s this all about?” Artemus asked standing, intending to go with the soldiers.

“Yes, what is the problem?” Jonas demanded also rising, mistaking Artemus’ movement as challenging instead of acquiescing.

“Your presence back at the camp is needed immediately, sir,” Sergeant Miller stated.

“We’re on leave and we are with very pretty ladies at the moment. Unless you can explain yourselves, Sergeant, we will not accompany you,” Jonas retorted loudly.

“Jonas,” Artemus looked at his friend, astonished, “Let’s just go with them and see what the problem is,” he tried to reason. He placed a calming hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Jonas shrugged him off roughly. “I’m staying here. If you want to disappoint the ladies, that’s up to you,” he sneered.

“I think going back to camp when summoned is more important than continuing our leave, Jonas,” Artemus answered seriously.

Sergeant Miller interrupted them. “Sirs, we have orders to take you back by force if necessary,” he told them.

“By force?” Artemus was shocked as he turned toward the Sergeant.

A fist whizzed by his ear and too late he realized that Jonas had thrown a punch. It hit the Sergeant square on the chin knocking him back into his three companions.

“Jonas!” Artemus cried but Jonas was leaping over the table and headed for the door.

The Sergeant recovered quickly and grabbed Artemus by the arm and twisted it up behind his back. “Stop Captain Pierre-Louis!” he shouted at the other soldiers.

“Captain Gordon,” Miller started, “You are under arrest for the lesser charge of being away without leave and the more serious offense of treason,” he said tugging his prisoner’s arm up harder. “If you continue to resist I may have to use deadly force.”

“I’m not resisting arrest, Sergeant,” Artemus hissed, “But I don’t understand the charges.”

Sergeant Miller handcuffed Artemus then spun him toward the door. “I’d advise you not to say anything more, sir. The General is waiting for your return.”

Outside, Jonas was also cuffed and was being hauled up onto his horse. Artemus was shoved up onto his mount and they rode silently back to the camp.

‘Away without leave,’ Artemus thought, ‘but Jonas had the papers. I saw them.’ He pondered a moment and realized he’d never seen the signature before Jonas had taken the paper back. His anger simmered close to the surface. Then his thoughts turned to the serious charge of treason. ‘Treason! What basis is there for that?’ he wondered. He stole a glance at Jonas who rode with his head held high and a scornful look on his face. ‘Oh, Jonas, what have you done? What have you gotten me into?’ He seethed in silence the rest of the way back.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW

The prisoners were hauled into the General’s tent and tossed unceremoniously onto the ground at Grant’s feet. Artemus saw the angry scowl on his superior’s face and the emotionless expression on Jim’s face.

“Get up, gentlemen,” Grant addressed them. “Now,” he began and took the wrapping from his pocket and spread it on the table, “would you like to explain this?”

Artemus looked down at the paper and decoded the message instantly. His eyes widened as he looked up at the General.

“Sir, I have no idea what this is about,” he stated, “I’ve never seen that paper before.”

[qohart]

“Liar!” Jonas shouted, “You know you got that this very evening before we left camp!” he lied. He turned to General Grant. “Sir, Artemus said it was a note from a friend. He told me that just before we went on leave.”

“That’s a lie!” Artemus shouted and pulled at the cuffs restraining him.

“Captain West, take Captain Gordon to his tent until I send for him,” General Grant ordered.

With a quiet, “Yes, sir,” Jim led Artemus out of the tent.

Once outside, Artemus turned to the younger man, “Jim, you know this is all a lie. I would never betray our country or sabotage the Union efforts.”

“It’s not for me to decide, Artemus, I’m sorry,” Jim answered as he held the flap of the tent open. He had gotten to know Artemus Gordon, worked with him a number of times at the request of the General. Jim believed him to be an honest and loyal man. He hoped with what Michaels had told him and the package coming for Pierre-Louis, this would be cleared up quickly.

Artemus stopped before entering the tent. “Do you believe these lies? Do you believe I could do such a thing?” he asked quietly. “Give me your personal opinion, James, not the correct military answer,” he added.

Jim sighed and looked him in the eyes. Artemus wasn’t lying, Jim was sure of it. “No, I don’t believe you had any knowledge of any of this,” he answered soberly. Artemus nodded and ducked into the tent without another word.

Artemus paced the small confines of the tent his anger growing at the thought of being duped by a man he considered a friend. He was outraged that he was even put in the position of suspicion and felt his anger boil when outside he heard two passing soldiers commenting on his traitorous acts.

When he was brought back to General Grant’s tent, Artemus was nearly shaking with anger. He saw Jonas and though he was still cuffed he lunged at the man.

“Snake!” he shouted, “How could you do this!” He felt hands grab him before he could run his body into Jonas’. He glanced behind him and saw Jim holding him back.

“That’s enough, Captain,” Grant bellowed. “I’ve heard and seen all I need to hear and see. Captain West, get the Sergeant and have Captain Pierre-Louis put in the stockade. Make arrangements for him to be transported out of here and to Fort Henry by daybreak,” he ordered. Jim left with a nod to do as he was commanded.

“It was him!” Jonas shouted pointing with his chin at Artemus, “He’s your traitor!”

“I have testimony from others who have confirmed that you are the traitor, Captain Pierre-Louis. You are the one in possession of the forged leave papers and you are the one who has received payment packages on a number of occasions. That too has been verified,” Grant announced loudly.

Jonas held his head up. “I see you have me to rights,” he said calmly, “All right, it’s true. I believe in the Southern cause and I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” he stated proudly. “Gordon is a fool. A few more minutes and he’d have been in possession of the leave papers and been none the wiser. I could have easily pinned the treason on him. Captain,” Jonas spat, “Why he’s nothing more than a two bit actor! And you,” he snarled at the General, “how you ever managed to become a strategist of the ilk you are is beyond reason yet you are responsible for defeating the South again and again. But know this. You are not long for this world, sir. I would do it myself but…” Jonas shook the cuffs on his wrists, “one day I won’t be shackled as I am now. Then you will pay with your life for what you have done and continue to do to the glorious South!”

Artemus dearly wanted to get his hands around Jonas’ throat at that moment. Instead he addressed himself to General Grant, “Sir, I would never betray you or our country,” he stated simply.

“I know that, Gordon,” Grant told him, “There have been too many times that you’ve served me well in dangerous and vital missions.” He stepped behind Artemus and unlocked the handcuffs.

Back to the Present

President Grant paused to relight his cigar.

“Jonas was arrogant, proud to have been of service to the south. So he went to prison and Artemus was sent on ahead with the advance column to Shiloh," President Grant concluded in a cloud of smoke. "He was angry and embarrassed, having been duped by a supposed friend and hearing the talk about his besmirched reputation in the camp fueled that fire even more."

"I imagine he was," Jim agreed picturing his partner as he had been, with wounded pride and even the slightest whisper of impropriety fueling him to a level of anger that had been frightening. He chuckled softly.

"If you are remembering an irate Artemus, you know why I sent him ahead. It was the best thing to get his mind back on the tasks at hand," President Grant nodded, "Besides, I thought he might kill Jonas if he stayed in proximity to him. Then I'd have had to imprison Gordon for justifiable homicide."

"Thank you both for reliving one of the lowest points of my life," Artie sighed from his position leaning against the door jamb, having listened in silence as the President recalled the story.

"Now, Artemus, that was a long time ago. You can't possibly still be angry over that," the President said to his agent.

"No, sir, I'm not. But it does give me cause to believe that snake's threat," Artie spat, "Did Jim tell you I'd like to modify our plans slightly?" he asked beginning to set the table for dinner.

"He mentioned it, but we never got far enough for him to tell me how. What do you two have in mind?" the President asked. "But before you tell me, if it includes canceling one of our last stops, the answer is no."

"No sir," Jim answered, "We'll keep the stops as scheduled, but in New Orleans, Artie will take your place greeting the people at the station. If Jonas shows up, we'll spot him. If he tries anything, we'll catch him," Jim explained.

President Grant stroked his mustache considering.

"I feel very strongly about this, sir," Artemus interjected.

"I know you do," President Grant allowed still not having decided to agree or disagree.

"All I ask is that you consider it, please, sir," Artie implored.

"I will. I promise. You'll have my decision in the morning. Agreed?" President Grant asked.

"Thank you sir," the agents answered in unison. Artie went back to the galley.

President Grant asked Jim for his opinion. "What do you think, James? It’s not that I don’t trust Artemus’ judgment but I also know how strongly he feels about Pierre-Louis. I've turned to you for council many times in the past and you are slightly removed from that particular situation."

"Yes, sir," Jim accepted the compliment, "Mr. President, I trust Artie's judgment and instincts. He could be right about this. If he is, we save your life. If he's wrong, nothing's lost. I think you should listen to him." Jim answered frankly.

"Why did I know you would say that?" the President chuckled. Then more seriously, "I just don't like the idea of hiding behind your coat tails." He was a military man, highly decorated. This felt, to him, like cowardice.

"Not hiding, sir," Jim counseled, "Practicing caution and good sense in the face of a very real threat."

President Grant eyed his top agent considering. "What's for dinner?" he asked abruptly changing the subject.

Jim grinned at the blithe turn in the conversation. "Roast chicken with rice stuffing and green beans almandine," he answered as Artemus brought out a tray loaded with exactly that.

"It smells wonderful," President Grant replied seating himself at the table.

After dinner, the dishes cleaned and put away, the President and Jim played two handed poker. Artie declined choosing instead to prepare to impersonate President Grant the following day. He stayed up much later than either Jim or the President, going through his make up and wardrobe in anticipation of the President agreeing to his plan.

When he finally retired it was to the cot in the lab so he would not disturb Jim, whose room he was sharing while the President was on board. He slept later than his usual hour and was awakened by Jim shaking him roughly.

"Artie, wake up," Jim called shaking his partner by the shoulder.

"What," Artie mumbled sitting up slowly, "What is it?" He yawned and stretched.

"The President's gone," Jim announced urgently.

[qohart]

"What do you mean gone? Gone where?" Artie asked sleepily as he swung his legs over the edge of the cot and ran his hand through his hair.

"I don't know where," Jim answered in a precise clipped tone, "Just gone."

"What do you mean gone?" Artie repeated dumbfounded as his head tried to catch up to his awakened body.

"Artie! What does gone mean?" Jim retorted in frustration, "Gone. As in not here, not in his room, not anywhere. The President is not on this train," Jim pointed at the floor with each word for emphasis.

Artemus had a blank look on his face. It didn't make sense. Where would the President go? And how?

"Did we stop during the night?" Artie managed to voice his first clear thought.

"No. We're on schedule to arrive in Texarkana at around 1:00," Jim told him.

"You checked with Orrin?" Artie asked frowning.

"Of course I checked with Orrin! Will you get up, please?" Jim requested an edge in his voice.

Artemus rose, pulled on his robe. "If we haven't stopped, how could he leave the train?" he asked heading for the corridor.

"You can't think of a way?" Jim demanded heatedly.

"Hey!” Artie stopped and faced Jim. “Don't bite my head off," Artie’s anger flared back at his partner, "Yes I can think of a way. I just can't imagine it to be true."

"Well I can't think of any other way to get off a moving train other than to be pushed or jump, and we know the President didn't jump. Get dressed. I've ordered Orrin to stop,” Jim continued in a less than pleasant tone.

“And you just ordered me too, Jim,” Artie bristled. “I didn’t make the Old Man disappear and I’m just as worried about this as you are,” Artie shot back.

Jim took a breath to retaliate then let it out in a sigh. Artie was right. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” Jim answered sincerely. “When you’re ready, we've got to check the train for any sign that someone came aboard last night and…" Jim did not finish his sentence.

"I'll be ready in a minute," Artie passed Jim hurrying down the corridor to change, the brief disagreement behind them. As he dressed, he went over in his mind what he'd done last night before retiring, mentally checking off his routine for setting the alarms. He was positive he had done everything, so the puzzle remained. How did someone board the train and remove the President?

Artie caught up with Jim in the parlor as the train came to a stop. "Did you set the alarms last night?" Jim asked him.

"Yes, I'm sure I did," Artie answered. He went to a window and lifted it expecting the alarm to sound. It didn't. He whirled toward Jim wearing a shocked expression.

"You didn't," Jim concluded.

"No, I did. I remember doing it. I set them all. The windows, the doors, even the fireplace and the stable car. I don't understand it," Artie countered.

Jim opened two other windows and the door and still no alarm sounded.

"Artie, are you sure? You were pretty involved in preparations last night, maybe you think you did because you intended to," Jim urged calmly.

"Not a chance. I set the alarms. Somehow they've been deactivated," Artie insisted.

"How?" Jim asked bluntly.

"I don't know how. But I'll find out. Let's check the train for any signs of entry," Artie suggested. It stung that Jim seemed to doubt him but Artie set the hurt aside choosing to view it as a reaction to his partner’s concern for the President.

The two went from room to room checking the windows and doors to see if any had been forced. None were. In fact all the windows and doors were unlocked. Jim looked at his friend questioningly. He could not believe Artemus would not have made sure everything was at least locked.

"Damn it, don't look at me that way," Artie growled. "Everything was locked up tight last night and the alarms were set," he insisted.

"Then how is it everything is wide open this morning?" Jim asked him spreading his arms questioningly.

Artie did not answer. Instead he went back to the parlor and opened the panel next to the fireplace. Inside was a switch that, when thrown, automatically locked all the windows and doors on board and activated the alarms.

It was in the open position, not what Artie had expected to find. He took a step back and leaned against the arm of the chair. How could this be? He distinctly remembered not only setting the switch to the locked position, but he'd then checked all the doors and windows before anyone had retired. He'd rechecked the switch before he himself had gone to bed.

"Well?" Jim asked expectantly.

"It's not locked," Artie answered softly.

"You're sure you set it?" Jim asked again.

Artie nodded. "After dinner while you were setting up the poker table. I checked it again when I put my make up case back in here before I went to bed," Artie assured him. He looked at his partner and knew Jim was uncertain. Artie sighed.

"This is bad, Artie," Jim said studying his partner's slumped shoulders.

"I know it's bad. Don't you think I know that?" It was Artie's turn to be cross. "We have to backtrack."

"Backtrack? To where? To when?" Jim raised his voice in growing concern and confusion.

"I don't know. You and President Grant went to bed around 12:30, I went to bed 2 hours later. He was in his room then, I checked. When did you notice he was gone?" Artie reasoned.

"I went in to wake him at 6:00," Jim began, "He wasn't in his room so I looked for him. When I didn't find him, I asked Orrin if he'd seen the President. He hadn't. I asked if we'd stopped for any reason, even briefly, during the night. We hadn't. That's when I came and woke you. It was 6:20 by then," Jim finished.

"So in the space of about 4 hours, he disappeared. Maybe someone was hiding on board and took him off after we all were asleep," Artie proposed.

"We were on the train all day. When would someone have come aboard? And how would they have gotten him off a moving train?" Jim ticked off his questions.

"I don't know. I don't know." Artie answered disconsolately. He sat in the chair and held his head in his hands. "I just don't know, Jim," he breathed.

They sat in silence, immobile, Artie, despondent over the possibility that he had not set the alarms as he'd thought, Jim, feeling bad that he doubted his partner but unable to come up with any other plausible answer.

Finally, Jim proposed, "Look, I'll have Orrin take us back over the ground we covered last night. We'll search alongside the tracks for any sign that the President was pushed from the train.” Jim paused then added, “Maybe someone did board unnoticed," he said not sounding convinced even to his own ears.

Artie looked up worried and grateful, "Thanks," he said.

Jim nodded and headed for the front of the train. Artie went to the switch and flicked it to the locked position, checking it one more time. He heard Jim thud solidly against the door from the lab that led out to the engine, which was now locked.

"Artie!" Jim shouted from ahead and Artie unlocked the door from where he was.

“Sorry,” he called back. So the switch worked.

Artie began to analyze how someone could have boarded the train. He concluded the only time the train would have been vulnerable to entry was at their last stop in Tupelo. With the large crowd there pressed close to the train, it was possible someone had stowed away.

If someone had been on board, how would they know about the switch? Artie scanned the room for a place a man could hide and view his position at the panel.

There was a narrow closet next to the sideboard which was the only likely hiding place. Artie opened it examining the interior. Nothing seemed out of place. Frustrated, he pushed the door closed hard enough to raise a breeze.

[qohart]

As it slammed shut, a movement caught his eye and he snatched it open again quickly. Caught on a hook to one side was a small piece of cloth. He felt the train begin to move as he examined the black ragged piece of material.

"What's so interesting in the closet?" Jim asked from behind Artie.

"See for yourself," Artie stepped aside looking mildly satisfied.

Jim looked in. "What am I supposed to see?" he asked then spotted the torn material. "Oh, I see," Jim continued. He came away with the torn strip and held it up. "Do you own anything that's missing a piece of coat material like this, Artie?"

Artie crossed his arms over his chest. "No I don't. Do you, James?"

"Someone was on board, hiding in this closet. They must have sneaked aboard when we were at the last stop, hidden here, and seen you throw the switch at the panel then unset it after we were all asleep,” Jim came to the same conclusion his partner had. “Thank heavens," he breathed relieved. "I knew you couldn't be that careless," he told his partner.

"There just didn't seem to be any other explanation, though, right?" Artie finished the thought for him.

"It looked that way," Jim admitted. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Don't worry about it. Frankly, I was beginning to doubt myself," Artie smiled. "By the way, did you check President Grant's room? Maybe he left a clue. Was anything disturbed?"

"I checked it. There was nothing. The room was undisturbed, his valise on the chair, the bed made," Jim answered. "Everything in perfect order."

There was a moment of silence as Artie mulled this over then he looked up sharply at Jim. "Did you say the bed was made?"

"Yeah. So?" Jim asked.

"So why would the kidnapper make the bed?" Artie proposed.

"He wouldn't," Jim brightened, "President Grant must have already been up when he was taken," Jim concluded. "What time is it?"

"7:00," Artie answered glancing at the mantle clock.

"That means he was taken off less than two hours ago," Jim exclaimed. "I was up at 5:30 and never heard a sound."

"President Grant must have woken early, dressed and made the bed and been taken before you went to wake him at 6:00. But why didn't we hear him struggle?" Artie asked.

"Maybe he didn't struggle. Maybe he was knocked out when the kidnapper took him," Jim answered.

"So we stand a good chance of catching up to them. We better start that search of the tracks," Artie replied hurrying to pull out a map of the area. He spread it out on the table while Jim used the communication tube to contact Orrin and tell him to stop.

Before the agents disembarked, Jim told their engineer, to take the train and reverse approximately two hours worth of travel. Jim and Artie would search from their current location and backtrack. Orrin would travel the specified time then resume forward progress until the searchers met.

By the time Jim joined Artie at the table, his partner had made a list of places along the route that the bandits might use as viable hide outs. The locations might be useful if or when they found the site where the President had been taken from the train.

The men saddled their horses and rode along the tracks, one on each side searching the ground for any clues. Farther up the rails, the train reversed the miles they'd covered in the last hour or so.

After more than an hour of searching they saw the train moving slowly toward them, Orrin hanging out one window, his assistant, Mike leaning out the other.

Jim pulled up abruptly and called to his partner.

"Artie, take a look at this."

Artie crossed the tracks and peered down at an area of displaced earth and wagon tracks. The tracks led off into the wooded area north of the rails.

"Looks like you’ve found the beginning point for our search," Artie mused scanning off into the distance. He judged they were almost half a day behind the kidnappers. "It'll take the better part of the day to catch up to them, assuming they stay in the wagon," he told Jim.

Jim waved to Orrin then said, "Let's hope they did. President Grant will miss Texarkana, but can still make New Orleans for tomorrow. Assuming he’s unhurt,” Jim added putting a voice to their major concern.

"Bite your tongue and let's just hope they don't harm him before we catch up to them," Artie agreed.

Jim rode off in the direction the tracks led, Artie close behind him. At a little past noon they came to an area that showed signs that the party had stopped for a quick meal and rest. The remnants of the fire were still slightly warm.

"About an hour old," Jim guessed brushing ash from his hands. He pointed to the ground. "They've split up. Horse tracks go southeast, wagon tracks northeast."

"So we part company here," Artie said stretching his back and yawning.

"Bored?" Jim asked raising his eyebrows.

"Tired," Artie replied, "Not enough sleep and no coffee this morning."

"Try to stay awake in the saddle, Artie, or you might ride right past them," Jim teased.

"Yes, because bouncing along in the saddle is so conducive to sleep. Watch yourself," Artie admonished as he turned in the direction of the horse tracks.

"You do the same," Jim replied following the wagon tracks.

Riding quickly, Jim began to feel uneasy. This seemed too simple. It was as if the kidnappers were blazing a vivid trail for him to follow. Jim slowed his mount giving more consideration to the situation. He could be riding into a trap or the kidnappers could just be too stupid to cover their tracks. He did not believe that. They were smart enough to take the President of the United States off a moving train right under the noses of his best agents. Jim winced, that thought stung his sense of duty.

So it was to be a trap then, Jim decided. So be it. He only hoped Artie would fare better. Jim kicked his horse’s flanks riding fast into whatever lay ahead.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Jim did not know it, but Artie was experiencing the same feeling. His partner now crouched behind a copse of trees watching and listening to two men as they sat in a clearing passing a bottle between them.

"How much time should we give 'em, Dirk," the larger of the two men asked his companion.

"Remember what the boss said. We give 'em enough time to catch up enough to see us," Dirk answered. Dirk turned to look over his shoulder and Artie saw he bore a striking resemblance to President Grant.

Turning back to his partner, Dirk continued, "They'll think they've got the President back. By the time they actually catch up to us and discover I'm just a decoy, the boss'll have taken care of the real thing."

"What if they split up back at the campsite," the big man asked.

"We ain't being paid to think, Paulie. We just stick to the plan. Anything else is the boss' problem," Dirk sneered. He took a long pull on the bottle, shoved the cork back into it and announced, "That's enough time, let's get going."

The two rose and Artie moved stealthily back to his horse. He wished he knew who the 'boss' was, though he suspected it was Jonas Pierre-Louis. Artie turned Mesa back the way he'd come. There was no point following these two when Jim might need his help with the 'boss'.

Suddenly a jack rabbit scampered across his path causing his horse to shy and rear, throwing Artie unceremoniously onto the ground. He landed hard knocking the wind out of him as the skittish horse bolted. Artie lay there catching his breath, hoping the decoy party had not heard the commotion.

No such luck. As he rose slowly, he heard the distinct cocking of a gun.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Jim spotted the wagon up ahead. He saw only the driver, a large, dark haired man in less than clean clothes. If the President was with this man, he was in the back of the wagon and likely incapacitated in some way. Jim knew if President Grant was unhurt he would be fighting.

The driver glanced back and looked surprised to see Jim approaching fast. He slapped the reins urging his team on faster.

[qohart]

‘If this is a trap, it isn't much of one’, Jim thought as he easily caught up to the wagon.

As he drew alongside, he saw President Grant in the back, bound hand and foot and gagged. He appeared unhurt but his glare spoke volumes to his state of mind. Shoulder to shoulder with the driver, Jim saw that it was Jonas Pierre Louis, a wild look in his eyes. Jim launched himself at the man and hit him squarely in the side spilling them both onto the ground. The wagon continued on driverless and Jim hoped the team would stop when they felt the tracers go slack.

The larger man bucked under him, swinging with his right hand at Jim's head. Jim blocked the punch and landed a right to the man's jaw. Jim jumped up, pulling the husky man with him, his fists clenched to the man's shirt front. He drove him back crashing his back into a nearby tree. It stunned the man momentarily, enough time for Jim to bash his head against the tree and land another right to the man's jaw. The big man crumpled. Jim left him where he lay and ran back toward the wagon. Thankfully the horses had stopped a few hundred yards along.

Jumping into the back of the wagon, Jim untied the gag first. "Are you all right, Mr. President?"

"Untie me," President Grant thundered, pulling at his restraints, "I've been hogtied for hours."

Jim worked quickly to free his furious commander in chief.

The President sat up rubbing his wrists then let Jim help him from the wagon. "How in blazes did this happen," he bellowed. His eyes blazed at Jim.

Chagrined, Jim winced and replied quietly, "I was hoping you could tell me, sir."

The President's eyes threw daggers at his agent. "Where's Pierre-Louis?" President Grant adroitly changed tacks, looking around. Spotting the unconscious man, he stalked toward him. "I want a piece of that man's hide."

Jim was well familiar with the President's temper. Angry as the man was right now, Jim wanted no part of it, but duty dictated that he follow him closely.

"Get up, you son of a sea cook," President Grant growled kicking the prone man in the backside.

"He's unconscious, sir," Jim ventured.

President Grant whirled toward him. "I intend to wake him up and put his lights out personally," he yelled. "Do you have a problem with that, Mr. West?"

"No, sir. No problem at all," Jim answered quietly and backed up a step allowing the President room.

President Grant pulled Pierre-Louis up as he began to stir. The man's eyes opened to find the President's angry florid face an inch from his. "The audacity of yourself!" the President exclaimed slamming the groggy man against the tree. "Think you have the wherewithal to kidnap the President of the United States and not pay a price?" President Grant asked jerking his former captain closer.

"I'm going to kill you," Pierre-Louis managed to sound menacing as he gathered his wits about him.

"You and what army?" President Grant roared and punched Pierre-Louis so hard his head snapped back. He slouched as dreamland greeted him once again. The President dropped him and turned to Jim, his face composed. "Tie him up, James," he ordered calmly, nodding to his agent.

"Feeling better, sir?" Jim asked with a half smile as he turned Pierre-Louis onto his stomach.

President Grant adjusted his clothes, "Much. Let's get back on schedule," he said walking toward the wagon as Jim tied Pierre-Louis with the same ropes that had bound the President. He dumped the man in the back of the wagon, tied his horse to the back and climbed up next to the President in the driver's seat. Jim turned the team back toward the train.

"By the way," President Grant said to Jim, "Where's Gordon?"

"He followed the horse tracks we found at the campsite, sir," Jim answered.

"He'll find a decoy in that direction," President Grant replied, "and quite a good one at that. I hope he's not fooled."

"He won't be, sir. Artie can spot a disguise a mile away," Jim smiled, "He'll head back as soon as he discovers the decoy. In fact, I'll bet he beats us back to the train," he assured the President.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW

"Drop your gunbelt and raise your hands," Dirk said calmly, pointing his gun at Artie’s back.

Artie dropped his gunbelt to the ground, raised his hands half way and turned to face the two men. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said politely and wearing his most innocent friendly grin, "My horse threw me. You didn't see him go by did you? Silly animal was spooked by a rabbit," he explained shaking his head and chuckling softly.

Dirk and Paulie exchanged glances. Artie knew they were questioning whether he was following them or just an innocent passerby.

"What are you doing out here, mister," Paulie asked.

"On my way to Texarkana. I heard the President was going to make an appearance there. I seem to have lost my way, though," Artie continued his ruse. He looked up at the sun, "I suppose I've missed him by now."

Then he let a look of surprise cross his face. "Why you're President Grant," he cried and took Dirk by the hand and shook it. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. But what are you doing out here?"

"I'm not Grant," Dirk answered roughly snatching his hand back.

"Why that's amazing," Artie leaned close to Dirk studying his face, "You really look like him," he said quietly making a show of studying Dirk’s face as he threw a solid uppercut to the man’s chin.

Dirk staggered back and hit the ground, Paulie blinked surprise, and Artie made a move to run.

"Get him, you idiot!" Dirk cried recovering.

Paulie was on Artie in three long strides grabbing him by the shoulders and crossing his arms across Artie's chest pinning his arms at his side.

Dirk came forward, licking a drop of blood from his lower lip and hit Artie on the temple with the butt of the gun stunning him.

"What'll we do with him now, Dirk?" Paulie asked his partner.

"Kill him. Just like the boss told us," Dirk answered angrily.

"But what about the other one?" Paulie wondered aloud.

"Well, seems you got one right, Paulie,” Dirk chuckled. “They must have split up. The other one'll be taken care of by the boss," he concluded evilly.

"May I ask a question?" Artie ventured.

"What?" Dirk snapped still stung by the punch his captive had landed.

"Who's your boss?" Artie queried.

"Since you're about to die anyway, I guess it won't do no harm to tell you. Jonas Pierre-Louis," Dirk told him. "Why do you want to know?" he added with a suspicious look.

"Personal satisfaction," Artie answered. He flexed his muscles testing Paulie's grip and found it solid. There had been no time to prepare this morning. Artie had no tricks up his sleeve.

"So, you want it quick or should we take our time?" Dirk smirked.

"By all means, take your time," Artie quipped. Hopefully an opportunity for escape would present itself, though he did not relish what taking their time might entail.

"Suit yourself," Dirk answered and punched Artie in the face splitting his lip.

Light exploded behind his eyes as Dirk's fist smashed into his face again. Artie felt blood trickle from his bottom lip and now his nose, but he had no time to concern himself as he was kicked viscously in the stomach. Paulie let go of him and Artie doubled over onto the ground. In his ears, Paulie's insane laughter rang as Artie tried to curl up to protect himself from their kicks.

Artie heard ribs crack, felt muscles strain. Paulie’s large hands picked him up, held him a moment above his head then Artie felt himself tossed like a rag doll. Artie hit the ground and rolled coming to rest on something hard under his hip as he lay winded on his side.

[qohart]

He reached to move the painfully angled object and found it was his own gun. Seizing it, he pulled it from the holster as he rolled quickly toward his attackers and fired. The shot went lucky for him and hit Dirk in the stomach as he prepared to stomp Artie again. The cry that eschewed was horrible as Dirk hit the ground writhing and clutching his stomach. Paulie knelt beside his injured companion for just a second then rushed Artie as he struggled to his feet.

Paulie crashed into him and the two went down. Artie’s head hit the hard packed earth with a resounding thud. Paulie was pummeling him senseless. Raising his hands to block the blows, Artie found he still held his pistol. He brought the gun up between their bodies and pulled the trigger.

The sound was deafening, Paulie's shocked look, grizzly. The big man slumped forward pinning Artie under him. Artie shoved the bigger man off freeing himself and lay for a moment trying to clear his head. He got to his feet painfully, took one step and passed out.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Jim locked Jonas Pierre-Louis in the rolling cell Artie had installed in the stable car. Pierre-Louis’ assertions of his impending victory rang down the corridor behind Jim as he joined the President in the parlor. Grant had changed clothes and was lounging on the sofa in slacks and a smoking jacket, a full glass of whiskey in his hand, and puffing on a cigar.

"Well, sir, you look none the worse for wear," Jim grinned. Then he sobered. "Sir, I would like to apologize for allowing this ordeal to have taken place," he told his commander.

"Nonsense. You didn't allow this. At least I hope you didn't, James," President Grant waved off his apology. "But I would like to know what went wrong. Artemus is usually so meticulous in his preparations."

"And he was this time as well, sir," Jim told him. "Pierre-Louis sneaked on board and hid in that closet. He saw Artie set the alarms and when the time was right, he turned them off. What I don't know is how he took you unawares."

"I got up before you were to come wake me. I had just finished dressing when a cloth was put over my face. Before I could react, whatever was on it knocked me out," the President explained. "Next thing I knew I woke up hogtied in that wagon at that campsite. Pierre-Louis' accomplices went one way, we went the other. You know the rest," he concluded taking a healthy swallow from his glass. "Will we still make New Orleans?"

"As long as Artie gets back soon, we should, sir," Jim answered. He was growing concerned. Artie should have been back by now.

It was early evening. The President's stomach growled loudly. "Excuse me," he said sheepishly, "but we haven't eaten yet today."

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll fix something right away," Jim replied.

By the time they had eaten a light meal, it was nearly dark. President Grant appeared impatient.

"What do you suppose is keeping Gordon?" he asked pacing the floor.

"I don't know, sir. Even if he back tracked our trail, he should have been back by now," Jim answered. Truth be told he was very worried but maintained his demeanor in front of his superior.

President Grant studied him noting the calm exterior but reading the genuine concern in his agent’s eyes. "Yes, of course, you're right. What do you intend on doing?"

"I want to go look for him. But I can't leave you alone, sir," Jim said peering out a window. "And it's too dark to search now even if we brought lanterns."

"If he's not back by morning, we'll go out together," President Grant offered in a seemingly casual voice.

Jim looked him in the eye and saw there was no point discussing the matter. The look in the President’s eyes brooked no argument. "Yes sir. Thank you," he answered simply.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Artie woke to darkness. He looked up at the star laden sky. He must have been unconscious for hours. His head pounded as he slowly got up. His chest and ribs throbbed, his belly burned with lingering pain. Artie stumbled over Paulie’s body and grimaced. Looking down at his blood stained shirt, he turned and tripped over Dirk.

"Sorry, gentlemen," he muttered to the deceased criminals. He whistled for Mesa and waited but the animal did not return. "That's just great," Artie groused as he began a slow progress back to the train afoot.

Less than half an hour later, he had to stop to rest. He was hungry and thirsty and his injuries kept him from covering the long miles as quickly as he wanted. Artie sat leaning against a tree and closed his eyes intending to rest 'just a moment' before continuing.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW

At first light, Jim had his horse saddled and was saddling one for the President. He opened the stable car door and found Artie's horse nibbling on some scrub grass.

"Mesa, what are you doing here?" he asked taking the reins and drawing the animal inside. "Where's your master, girl? Huh? Where'd you leave Artie?" Jim felt the horse’s flanks and legs looking for injuries. He found none and noted the mare was cool so she hadn't been running or under any strain. Jim knew Artie was out there on foot and likely not pleased.

‘And how did that come about?’ Jim wondered.

He unsaddled Mesa, put her in a stall and fed her. Then Jim unsaddled the horses he'd just readied and instead hitched up a team to their buckboard.

President Grant came in and saw what he was doing. "Why are we taking the buckboard?"

"Artie's horse came back sometime during the night without him. Even on foot, Artie should have been back by now. He must be hurt and if he is, we’re going to need this to get him back here," Jim explained.

"Let's go," the President urged.

When they came to the campsite, they turned down the trail Artie had followed the previous day. A short way along, the trail grew rough and they left the buckboard to continue on foot.

It was not long before President Grant touched Jim's arm and pointed. Jim looked where he indicated. Artie sat slumped against a tree, head down. They hurried to him. Jim knelt on one side of his partner, the President on the other.

"Artie," Jim called softly and lifted his head. He grimaced at the bruises and blood he saw.

"Good night ghost," President Grant exclaimed. "Is he," he did not finish his thought aloud.

"He's unconscious," Jim answered the unspoken question.

He took the gun from Artie's limp hand and saw it was missing two rounds.

Artie began to wake and moaned as a wave of nausea and pain hit him.

"Take it easy, Artie," Jim said quietly, taking Artie by the shoulder.

Artie looked around confused. Now it was daylight. Had he slept the night through? "What time is it?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"About 9:00 in the morning," President Grant answered.

Artie tried to stand but could not manage on his own. His face screwed up in pain as he sank back down.

"Let me help you," Jim offered and helped Artie to his feet. Artie swayed unsteadily so Jim slipped an arm around his partner’s back to support him.

Artie gasped as broken ribs shifted, "Oh, Jim," he croaked pushing the helping hands away.

"You can't walk on your own, Artie,” Jim told him.

“Broken ribs?" the President asked.

"Yes, sir," Artie answered. "I think I can walk. Just catch me if I fall." He took an unsteady step forward.

They walked for a few minutes before he stumbled. President Grant grabbed him. "I think I have to stop a moment," Artie told them barely above a whisper. "I'm not sure if the waves of nausea are from the pain or a concussion or both. I just wish everything would stop spinning," he moaned as President Grant helped him sit on a fallen log.

"Why don't we just let you rest here a moment," Jim offered.

"Actually, I think we better keep moving while I still can. My 'moments' of rest seem to stretch for hours," Artie answered and leaned on his partner as he stood. They started up the path again but 10 minutes later they had to stop again.

Jim pushed Artie’s gun into his hand. “Think you can stay awake long enough for me to try and back the wagon down this trail? It’s not far now,” Jim asked concerned for his partner and the President’s safety.

[qohart]

"I'm not at my best but I think so," Artie answered hoarsely.

It took longer than Artie had hoped for Jim to urge the team backward down the trail. His eyelids felt heavy and his head was drumming a steady tattoo when he saw his friend set the brake and come around the wagon.

"Did you bring water?" Artie mumbled. His throat was parched and it was increasingly difficult to talk.

Jim opened a canteen and let Artie take a sip. "Slow, just sip it," he instructed.

Thirsty, Artie ignored Jim's advice and took a large swallow. His stomach lurched and he turned away quickly, fell to his knees and wretched the water back up. Jim and the President had to get him to his feet.

Jim looked closely at his partner's eyes. They had the vacant glaze indicating concussion. Jim shook his head.

"You shouldn't be walking. Let’s get you into the buckboard," Jim ordered.

"Thank you," Artie managed as he was lifted and laid in the back of the buckboard.

An hour later, Artie was settled in bed, his wounds cleaned. "You rest now," Jim said pulling the covers over his partner's battered body.

"Just one question, if I may," President Grant said. "What happened to the men who did this?"

"They're dead, sir," Artie answered.

"James checked your gun. There were only two bullets missing. You killed them both?" President Grant asked.

"You said one question," Artie complained wincing as his head throbbed.

"Indulge me," the President replied knowing his agent was not trying to be disrespectful.

"I got lucky," he answered. "Twice." Artie closed his eyes effectively ending the conversation.

WWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Artie slept soundly through the night and woke early. It was still dark out and Jim was still asleep on the other side of the room. Moving carefully, he got out of bed and pulled on his robe. Everything ached. He slipped quietly out of the room and made his way down the corridor to the w.c. When he opened the door again, he drew his fist back sharply, startled.

"It's just me," Jim said backing up a step and raising his hands in a defensive posture.

"What are you doing lurking out here?" Artie hissed, dropping his arm.

"Making sure you're ok," Jim answered lowering his hands and grinning. "Are you?"

"Better, thanks," Artie turned up the corridor away from the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" Jim asked him.

"I need something to drink. My throat is parched," his partner replied.

Jim followed him to the galley and turned up the sconces while Artie pumped water into a glass.

"Please sip it," Jim admonished gently.

Artie looked at his friend sheepishly. "Yes, mother," he agreed and sipped the cool drink. "Oh, that's good," he breathed as the water soothed his dry throat. "Did Mesa come back?" Artie asked suddenly.

"Yes she did. How did she get away from you?" Jim asked curious.

"The dumb thing," Artie groused, "Shied at a rabbit, threw me and took off. Did you feed her?"

"No, I let her starve. Of course I fed her," Jim answered. "So tell me what happened out there?” he asked.

"I was serious when I said I got lucky twice," Artie answered soberly. He explained how he’d been captured and disarmed.

“How did you finally get the upper hand?" Jim urged him to tell the rest.

"Jonas’ two goons tried to deliver me into the sweet by and by," he explained. "Paulie threw me across the clearing and I landed on my own gun. Dirk, the decoy for the President, and a rather good one at that, lost the fight when he tried to stomp me. I just fired hoping to hit one of them and it was pure luck that I got him. When Paulie was knocking me senseless I managed to get the gun between us and I pulled the trigger hoping it was pointing at him and not me. I never really had the upper hand at all. The good Lord just decided it wasn't my turn yet," Artie leaned against the counter and sipped a little more water.

"You need to rest some more," Jim stated concerned that his friend looked pale, “You have a concussion you know.”

"I feel like all I've done is sleep. No, I'm up for a while now," Artie answered grateful for his friend’s concern but determined to finish their discussion of the case.

"The crack of dawn is a good time for more questions, gentlemen?" President Grant asked from behind Jim.

Artie reddened remembering his dismissal of his superior the day before. “We were discussing what happened, sir,” he said then turned to Jim, “Are Dirk and Paulie’s corpses still out there?”

“I wired the local authorities, they’ll handle it,” Jim answered.

“What about Jonas? He was behind the kidnapping…” Artie began.

“He was indeed, Artemus, you were right to be concerned about his threat,” the President replied.

“He must have come aboard when we made that stop in Tupelo. But how did he get you off this train?” Artie asked his curiosity piqued.

“I woke early and prepared for the day as usual. As I finished dressing, a rag was clamped over my nose and mouth. In seconds I was rendered helpless. I had vague impressions of being thrown, I presume into that retched wagon, and being bound and gagged. After that,” the President continued, “I don’t remember anything until I woke bouncing along some God forsaken trail. We stopped briefly and I heard Jonas talking to two other men. One was to impersonate me and lead you two on a merry chase while Jonas took me to some remote location to kill me. Sometime after that James caught up to us and rescued me,” he concluded.

“I suppose I should listen to my two best agents when they advise me on these matters,” the President added a little sheepishly, “I just could not imagine that Jonas would carry out a threat made so long ago.”

“He was loyal to the South, sir,” Jim began, “and continued to believe in their causes even after the unpleasantness was over.”

“Yes, I heard him tell his men I was ‘single handedly responsible’ for the Confederate downfall. Poor man,” President Grant shook his head sadly.

“Poor man?” Artie asked incredulous. “With all due respect, sir, but you feel sorry for him after he kidnapped you and by your own admission, intended to kill you? You have a much greater spirit of forgiveness than I have.”

The President looked to Jim. “He doesn’t know?”

Jim shook his head, “I haven’t had the opportunity to mention it yet, sir.”

“Artemus,” President Grant informed his agent, “when Jonas escaped he was being transferred from the Federal prison.”

“Yes, sir,” Artie knew that already.

“To a mental asylum,” President Grant continued. “I had the bureau send me that additional bit of information. Apparently his stay in prison broke his mind. He ranted and raved about the South rising to glory and grew violent, attacking other prisoners when they disagreed. He even tried to attack the guards,” he explained.

“I see,” Artie replied, understanding a little better, “Where is he now?” he asked.

Jim and the President exchanged glances then motioned Artie to follow them down the corridor. Jim opened the door to the stable car where the holding cell was and Artie stepped over the threshold.

“When we get to New Orleans,” Jim told his partner, “he’ll complete his original transfer to the asylum.”

Artie stared at the pitiful creature huddled in the corner of the cell, arms wrapped around his knees and rocking back and forth muttering to himself.

“The South will rise again. The great General will be dispatched and the South will rise again.”

The end