The Night of the Beginning

[California gal]

THE NIGHT OF THE BEGINNING

Courage is almost a contradiction in terms: it means a strong desire to live taking the form of readiness to die.
—G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936), English essayist, novelist and poet

Lieutenant Artemus Gordon dismounted with stiff movements then stood a moment in the twilight to allow blood to resume flowing through the veins of his nearly numb legs. He had been grateful when offered the horse as transportation to headquarters at Savannah, Tennessee, rather than riding on one of the lumbering, bone-shattering supply wagons, but after nearly six hard hours in the saddle, he wondered if he had made the right choice.

Well, at least I got here in time for my meeting. It’ll be good to see Sam again… only I need to remember to not address him as Sam. He’s a full-fledged general now; no longer a storekeeper. Who would have believed it?

Noticing that one of the sentries posted on the porch of the small farmhouse was taking particular interest in him, likely wondering why a legitimate visitor would be dawdling, Artemus tied the reins of the weary pony to a fence post and strode up the path, hoping that he was not actually staggering. Not all sensation had returned to his posterior yet.

The sentry by the door took a step forward, rifle at the ready. “Sir?”

“My name is Gordon. I have an appointment with the general.”

“Excuse me, sir. One moment.” The young soldier turned, tapped on the closed door and then entered. Moments later he came back, saluting. “You may go in, Lieutenant Gordon.”

Artemus returned the salute, then passed by him to enter the lamp-lit front parlor where several men attired in the blue uniform of Union were seated on the various sofas and chairs. One was standing off to one side. But Artemus’s attention was on the stocky, bearded man who rose from the rocking chair, a grin on his face, hand outstretched.

“Artemus, it is good to see you again.”

Gordon jerked off his hat, hesitated only a second, and accepted the hand. “Congratulations on your successes, General.” He had worried about whether to salute, but should have known better. Sam was not big on ceremony.

General Ulysses Grant waved a deprecating hand. “Pure luck, Artemus. Luck and some good men on my side. Sit down. Coffee?”

The last thing Artemus Gordon wanted to do at this moment was to sit yet he could not think of a reason to give for refusing the invitation without looking foolish. He became aware of the stare from the youth who now leaned against the wall near the stone fireplace, arms folded on his chest. That the young man, probably barely twenty, if that, was wearing lieutenant’s insignia was not astonishing. In this first year of the conflict, many a lad had gained rank rapidly, deserved or not. Could be he was the son of one of Sam’s old friends, put on staff and given rank to keep him safely out of combat, although his well-worn and fine-fitting trousers displayed the golden welt of a cavalry regiment, running from belt down into his polished boots; the shoulder straps indicated the horse soldiers as well.

An orderly brought an enameled cup of steaming coffee from the next room as Artemus settled into—thankfully—a well-padded loveseat. He let his glance sweep over the other men in the room; he knew none of Grant’s staff. Why the devil does that young fellow keep glaring at me? Am I here to usurp a position he covets? Artemus could only guess that his old friend pulled him from the battlefield to ask him to join his staff, a decision whether to accept that Artemus Gordon knew was going to be difficult to make.

“Artemus, I’ve heard good reports about your experiences with the Ninth Michigan. Wish I’d had those boys at Donelson and McHenry.”

“I was just one of many, general, sir,” Gordon replied, taking a sip of the rich brew. Funny, suddenly I know that the decision is not going to be that difficult. I’ll have to refuse. Too many friends are waiting for me back at the regiment. Friends living; friends dead. I can’t leave them behind.

“We all are, Artemus. We have a job to do. One man often makes little difference, here or there. One man—or two—can also make a great deal of difference.”

Artemus lowered the cup. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir.”

“I’m especially considering your talents, Artemus. Remembering how you fooled a few folks in Galena. I want to put that talent into the service of our country.”

Gordon swallowed. “A spy? You want me to be a spy?”

Grant grinned. “I suppose that is one word for it. Intelligence gathering is a more polite term. Lieutenant West?”

The youth straightened and took a step forward. “Yes, sir.”

What a fine voice! The first thought that leapt into Artemus Gordon’s mind as he looked up at the wiry young man was that with that resonant voice and those looks, he would be a sensation on a stage. “A boy beauty.” That was the way his mother would have described this lad. Perfectly proportioned features, eyes with thick lashes… Green eyes, Artemus thought, though the lamplight might be disguising the color. A few more years of maturity would create a strikingly handsome man; if he lived that long.

Grant got to his feet, and Artemus rose as well. “Lieutenant Artemus Gordon, Lieutenant James West.”

James West dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement, not offering his hand. What in the world was the general thinking about, calling in this fellow for this assignment? He’s no soldier! Even as that thought occurred to him as he surveyed the dark-haired, brown-eyed man, Jim remembered what he had heard about the Ninth Michigan and their part in driving Morgan out of Kentucky. They had acquitted themselves well there and elsewhere. Yet he said nothing, only waited. Like Gordon, he had been summoned away from his regiment, but he himself wanted to get back to his comrades as soon as possible. Likely Gordon was looking forward to a posh assignment.

Grant was looking from one to the other, amusement on his features. “Gentlemen, I have not explained my plans to either of you, and I will not do so yet. I need to be certain I have made the right choices.”

Jim gazed at his commanding officer. He had first met Grant in Kentucky when his patrol was able to provide some valuable information after a dangerous scouting patrol. Jim was fairly certain that Grant’s recommendation had been an important factor in his recent promotion. But what in the world does the general have in mind, pairing me with this old geezer for some task? Jim West bit back a smile as that thought jumped into his head. Gordon was not exactly “old”: just older than himself. In an army as young as this one, anyone approaching thirty was often considered ancient. Then again, Charlie Tobin was undoubtedly older than this Gordon, and he was a damn good soldier.

“General, sir,” Gordon spoke up. “I truly appreciate the opportunity you are proffering. But I prefer…”

Grant cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Artemus, don’t say no until you are aware of the assignment. You have had a long ride. Go down to the mess tent and get a meal. West, I know you’ve eaten already, but go with him. Get acquainted. You two will share a tent. Sergeant Atkins will direct you.”

“General…” This time it was Jim West who prepared to protest, and he too was cut off.

“It’s an order, gentlemen. I will see you both at breakfast and provide more information. That will be when I will seriously listen to requests to be excused from the assignment.”

W*W*W*W*W

Ante, inquit, cicumspiciendum est, cum quibos edas et bibas, quam quid edas et bibas.
[[Epicurus] says that you should rather have regard to the company with whom you eat and drink, than to what you eat and drink.]
—Epistles (XIX), Seneca (Lucius Annaeus Seneca; c. 4 BC–AD 65), Roman Stoic philosopher, statesman, dramatist

“I was surprised you accepted.”

Jim West gazed across the campfire with some astonishment. “You’re surprised I accepted! Why?”

Artemus Gordon leaned over to pick up the coffeepot resting at the side of the flames, using his doubled gloves to protect his hand. “It’s obvious you don’t like to be saddled with an amateur.” He filled his tin coffee cup.

Jim experienced a modicum of shame. He had thought he was disguising his contempt and dislike better than that. After futilely trying to talk the general into either letting him go alone, or assigning another companion, he had reluctantly accepted Gordon as his partner, still not entirely understanding why the general wanted this particular man. Hell, anyone could pretend to be southern. He himself had done it reasonably successfully for a short period of time, long enough to escape from a Reb patrol that had picked him up after he got separated from his own men. Gordon was from Michigan, just about as far from Dixie as one could get. At least I had some classmates from the South for a while, so that I had something to fall back on.

“I just thought I could work better and faster alone.”

“Faster perhaps. I don’t claim to be a Centaur, lieutenant.” Gordon watched to see if the younger man revealed any confusion with the word, and saw none. Perhaps West had absorbed something during his educational years.

Jim West stretched out on his blanket, lifting his body on his elbow, holding his coffee cup in the other hand. “You think you’ll be able to add something to this foray that I couldn’t, Gordon?”

Artemus shrugged. “Sam seems to think so.” He did not realize he had fallen back to the familiar term until he saw the flash of anger on the younger man’s face.

“I think the proper name is General Grant!” West snapped.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“What kind of hold do you have on him?”

“Hold?”

Now Jim sat up again, crossing his legs Indian-style and placing his cup on the ground. “Why the devil would Grant assign a man like you to a job like this if you did not have some… background together?”

Gordon smiled. “Yes, we do have a ‘background’ together. He happened to like my troupe’s performance in Galena a couple summers back.”

Jim frowned. “You were in the regular army? What troop? I don’t recall any sort of engagement in Galena, Illinois!”

Artemus prevented himself from laughing. “Troupe, lieutenant, with a U. T-R-O-U-P-E. My theater company. I was an actor before enlisting. We spent several weeks in northern Illinois, basing ourselves in Galena, while we performed in various towns in the general area. Sam… General Grant brought his family to the performances, and we became acquainted. I did accomplish a particular favor for him.”

Jim remained silent for long seconds, staring into the flames. He did not want to ask what that favor was, yet innately knew Gordon was not going to tell him unless he did. “What’d you do, get him front row seats?”

Now Artemus did chuckle. “No, he accomplished that feat himself. It wasn’t much really. A man owed the Grant store money, and was refusing to pay, despite legal action taken against him. Sam came up with the idea. I disguised myself as a judge and scared the fellow into paying up.”

Jim frowned. “That doesn’t sound like much. Anyone could have done that.”

“Perhaps.” No need to explain that the judge he turned himself into was one sitting on the Illinois Supreme Court at the time, nor that the recalcitrant debtor had been an alderman. Artemus decided to change the subject. “You studied the map earlier. How much farther?”

“We should cross Green Rock Creek by noon tomorrow.”

Gordon nodded. “Good. That should give me plenty of time to prepare myself to enter the lion’s den.”

“Look, if you want to call it off, I’m sure I can do it.”

Artemus Gordon cocked a brow. “I’m afraid you would have a great deal of difficulty passing yourself off as a forty-five-year-old man.”

“And you can? That’s what? Ten, fifteen years older than you are now!”

“Closer to twenty. But you see, I have portrayed such roles on stage for a number of years.”

Jim West glowered at him. “Are you saying you started making yourself up to be an old man when you were near my age?”

Artemus laughed again. “Yes, I suppose I am. You have me there, West. But I had been on stage for several years before I attempted it the first time. I don't know if you follow the theater, but I have gained a fine reputation for my mastery of disguise. Artemus Gordon, the Man of Many Faces!”

Now Jim lay back down, pulling the thin blanket up over his shoulders. “Artemus. That’s a hell of a name! Is it real?”

“It’s what is on my birth records,” Gordon replied, dumping his cup and laying down as well. “Don’t ask me what it means, or where it came from. Even my mother could not tell me that. She said it just sounded like a fine name. I expect your parents felt the same when they chose James for you.”

“I was named for my uncle,” the young man snarled. He rolled over, putting his back to the fire and his companion.

Artemus Gordon stared up through the canopy of trees at the ebony sky and brilliant stars. No moon tonight, which made the stars all the brighter. I sure hope Sam knew what he was doing, sending this kid along with me! He had tried to find out why the general selected this young cavalry officer in particular, but Grant had been his usual reticent self, saying just enough to arouse Gordon’s curiosity further.

“He’s the best, Artemus. He’s cocky as the devil, but he’s got a right to be. When you come back from this assignment, I’ll show you the dossier I have on James West, the things he’s done in one short year of war, an incredible list for anyone, spectacularly so for a man of his age. I’m told that even some of the Confederates recognize him now, and concentrate on either avoiding engagement with him, or trying to maim or kill him in battle.”

Grant refused to listen to a plea that he be allowed to go solo. “I have no doubt you could carry off the subterfuge part, Artemus. Jim has a particular assignment, just as you do. As well, you’ll need someone at your back. Lieutenant West is that man. I’d want him behind me, supporting me, whatever my task.”

Reports were prevalent that a man in Alabama was heading up an unauthorized guerilla band to harass, terrorize, and even murder Union-loyal residents of the South. Nearly every Confederate state had pockets of northern supporters, people who were in constant danger anyway from their South-loyal neighbors, who did not need to be targeted by an outlaw band. Grant stated that Boyd Garnett had been warned and censured by the Alabama state government, as well as by authorities in Richmond, but he was ignoring them. The Confederates did not have the means or time to concentrate on him at this point. Quite possibly at least a few people in the higher offices could be secretly extending their blessings, as well as financial and materiel assistance.

Unable to send troops to the locations of all the Unionists to protect them, Grant wanted the pair to accomplish one of two things on this assignment, perhaps both; primarily to stop Garnett, and if that took killing him, so be it. He would prefer to discredit Garnett, not martyr him, and that was the plan the two men would be attempting to carry out. Artemus had given a lot of thought to the disguise he would assume over the three days before he and the younger man set out, and he hoped he had prepared well, especially after learning as much as was known about Boyd Garnett.

Adding to all the information the scouts and spies had garnered, as well as articles in southern newspapers, the Union headquarters had received anonymous letters claiming that Garnett would soon be acting in force against the Unionists in his own neighborhood. The general and his staff accepted the letters because the information they contained coincided so closely with what they already knew, causing headquarters to decide immediate action was required.

Gordon turned his head slightly to look across the dying flames at the blanket-covered figure there. I sure haven’t learned much about that young fellow! Even Grant had not appeared to know a lot about James West, other than his splendid service record. About all the general knew for certain was that West had enlisted in a cavalry regiment formed in Indiana, after which he had amassed a remarkable reputation for one so young. He had been jumped from a corporal to a lieutenant because of his exploits as a cavalryman, but above all, as a leader.

“Not only his superior officers are noticing, Artemus,” the general had told him. “From what I’ve been able to gather, his comrades revere Jim West. That cockiness does not extend to arrogance, at least not to the point where he lords it over his fellow soldiers. I understand that more than one of his comrades have offered to introduce him to their sisters, in the hopes of bringing him into the family! I suspect the sisters, once getting a glimpse of him, would be more than willing to cooperate.”

Sam Grant was a chattering magpie compared to James West, Artemus decided. This conversation they had just had at the campfire was probably the longest between them since leaving Grant’s headquarters in west Tennessee, or even during the time they spent together at meals or their shared tent. Attempts at friendly information exchange had been rebuffed, not with overt rudeness, but simply with silence after a short response. Artemus had tried talking about his own home, trying to get the younger man to discuss his background. Gordon knew little more about James West now than he had learned from the general: West was not quite twenty, from Indiana, had at least some university education, and was one hell of a horseman. Being an excellent rider himself, Grant particularly appreciated that aspect.

Tomorrow they would be deep in enemy territory. Avoiding Confederate patrols had been relatively easy the last couple of days, but that might change. In any case, whether or not they encountered military, they would soon be in the devil’s domain, so to speak: the portion of the state of Alabama that was said to be under Boyd Garnett’s thrall, as the largest property owner in the region. Gordon knew what his own role was. He could only hope and pray that Sam Grant had not committed a misstep by sending this boy along with him.

W*W*W*W*W

Dimidium facti qui coepit habet.
[What's well begun, is half done.]
— Epistles (I, 2, 40), Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus, 65-27 BC), Roman poet

They halted at midday to consume a brief meal, and then change clothes. Both were aware of the consequences if their identities were discovered while in mufti, but riding into the heart of Dixie in the uniforms of the northern army was not a good idea either. They had retained those uniforms up until now with the knowledge that had they been captured, by the rules of war they would not have immediately been condemned as spies, and that perhaps a cover story of being deserters might hold water for at least awhile. Now, however, both needed to transform themselves.

Even while understanding the need for altering his appearance, Jim West did it reluctantly. He was proud of his uniform and how he looked in it. He had gone so far as to pay a tailor to adapt his shirts and trousers to his lean body. He also had purchased his own boots, comfortable soft leather that he kept well polished. The garb he needed to change into was a mended checkered flannel shirt and faded trousers that needed suspenders to be held up around his trim hips. He was, after all, going to be portraying a Union deserter who grabbed whatever attire he could find after ditching his uniform. The boots fit reasonably well; however, they had been resoled and needed new heels, not to mention a good polish.

Jim wrapped his former attire thoroughly in oilcloth and secreted them under some rocks, being careful to look around and note his surroundings. He wanted to find these clothes again. At least he was able to retain his sidearm, though he packed his government-issue rifle with the clothing, along with the extra ammunition they had brought. His guise was going to be that of an absconder from a cavalry regiment, so his pistol would not be out of place. He had left his saber back at Grant’s headquarters.

Getting to his feet, Jim went to the dun he had been riding. They had deliberately chosen unbranded horses that would not display any indication that they belonged to the Union Army. The military saddles had had to be left behind as well. Jim had initially resented that Gordon’s horse was finer appearing than his own, while understanding again that as a deserter he would have grabbed what was available. Over the days of their trek, he began to realize that the sturdy mare under him was a good choice; she possessed stamina and speed. In Gordon’s pose as a member of Virginia gentry, he needed a fine mount, one with thoroughbred blood.

Hearing a sound, Jim West turned… and grabbed for the pistol strapped to his side. “Who the hell are you, mister?” Raising the barrel of the gun, he stared at the rather well dressed man who had just emerged through some bushes, a man with a thick mustache and dark hair, both peppered with white. A nasty scar distorted the left side of the man’s face, lifting an eyebrow slightly at the outer edge. His attire, though travel-worn, had obviously been constructed by a good tailor.

The stranger smiled slightly. “I might ask the same of you, son. What are you doing out here?” The tone was smooth, the accent distinctly that of a patrician Virginian. Jim saw the high amusement in the brown eyes.

“Damn it!” Jim exclaimed, lowering the gun. “Gordon?” He had been so startled he had not taken time to consider that this man had appeared from the same direction Gordon had gone to institute his own changes.

“At one time that was my appellation,” the other man drawled. “I have been reincarnated, however, as Justin Lee Galbraith, distant—very distant—blood kin to the first family of the sovereign state of Virginia.”

“That’s… that’s…” Jim West did not quite know what to say, and he hated being in a position to offer praise to the other man. However, praise was due, and he had never considered himself a petty man. “Incredible job. So this is what you did for a living?”

“When the role called for it,” Artemus Gordon responded in his normal voice. “In the theatrical business, occasionally a certain role requires that I adjust my appearance. I happen to be good at it.” It’s not boasting if it’s true! “I’ll say that you have done a fine job of transforming yourself from a spiffy cavalry officer to a down-and-out deserter.”

“I hope so. Where’s your other stuff?” Jim remembered now that Gordon had told him he was known as a master of the art of disguise on stage.

Gordon turned to pick up a hefty bundle from behind him, much larger than the one Jim had hidden. Jim knew that the inclusion of some of Gordon’s makeup tricks made it so. He showed Gordon where he had placed his, and they worked to cover both packages. “Hopefully some animal won’t get curious,” Artemus murmured as he stepped back. “Well, here’s where we part company, West.”

“We still haven’t figured out how we are going to get in touch with each other.”

“I know, and I don't see how we can make many advance arrangements in that respect. Not until we know the situation. If the plans work out, we’ll both be at the Garnett plantation, so we should be able to get together. Remember, once I get those papers, you’re going to need to be ready to ride.”

Jim West frowned. This was one part of the whole scheme he disliked thoroughly. He had never abandoned a comrade in the field. “I still think we should leave together.”

Artemus shook his head firmly. “No. The plan the general’s staff worked up is a good one. If you skedaddle, it should appear initially that the idea of riding with guerillas was no more appealing than riding with your home-state cavalry unit. Two of us leaving at the same time would be too obvious. At least until Garnett realizes the theft that occurred, and—I hope—by that time I will have also departed.”

“Yeah, I know. I know.” On impulse, Jim West extended his hand. “Good luck, Gordon.”

Artemus accepted the hand, pleased by the gesture. “I offer the same back to you. General Grant has given us a sizeable task, West. An important one. Quite a few lives may depend on our success.”

W*W*W*W*W

There is nobody who is not dangerous for someone.
—Marie de Rabutin-Chantal Marquise de Sévigné (1625-1696) French aristocrat and writer

Lieutenant Artemus Gordon, alias Justin Lee Galbraith, took a circuitous route to his destination. Had he taken a straight line from where he and West split up, he would have encountered a road that led directly to the plantation known as “The Garnet Rose,” and would have arrived within about two hours. Instead, he avoided the roads, and several times hid himself from other travelers, so as to eventually approach the main house from a southeastern direction, rather than northwest. Thus the sun was lowering deeply toward the west by the time he neared his destination.

Just before rejoining the dirt road that would lead to the plantation’s gate and the lane to the house, he paused in a wooded area to check his makeup. This was going to be something of a problem, to make certain that his face did not change from day-to-day, let alone hourly. He had packed a minimum of the cosmetics he used, and certainly hoped that the assignment did not entail more than a week. Otherwise, he might be in a quandary. He could not even remove the guise at night, lest a servant espy him without it.

He had applied the scar carefully, with “points” to be matched on his countenance. This was a trick he had learned over the years on stage, so that his character appeared the same not only throughout a single performance, but from night to night. In those instances he usually sketched the character he was portraying, but he could not risk such a sketch being found on his person or even in his possession. Memory was going to have to be his guide.

This portion of northern Alabama had not yet experienced the rigors of war. The fields he rode past were green with cotton plants in this early springtime. He saw workers out in the fields, tilling and hoeing, watching for weevils. Artemus knew that in some areas where the northern army had made inroads, slaves had fled for freedom, but by the number of men and women in these fields, it was apparent that the opportunity had not yet arisen for most of them.

Upon spotting the arched sign over the side road, Artemus Gordon took a deep breath. He had done several small forays that included some espionage during this first year of the war. On those other occasions he had simply disguised himself and wandered into an inn or a tavern to listen to the conversations of citizens and Rebel soldiers, then wandered out again, occasionally after exchanging a few words with the patrons. Never anything like this.

Nothing remotely close! I’d sure feel a lot better if Sam had assigned an older, more experienced man to work with me. That kid may be as good as Grant believes, but he may also be overconfident.

The first couple of days of West’s task were relatively easy in comparison, contacting some of the Union sympathizers in the area and enlisting their assistance. What worried Artemus the most was the young man’s ability to judge. Would he be able to discern whom to trust? That some “Unionists” were actually spies for the segment loyal to the Confederacy was well known. If James West entrusted information to the wrong person, not only would their mission fail but also the two of them would likely lose their lives.

His nerves tightened as he rode slowly down the long, tree-lined lane toward the big white house that loomed ever closer. A pair of colored men working in the lovely flower garden that graced the front of the home paused briefly to stare at him, but they were too well trained to loiter long, returning to their tasks.

A heavy-set, turbaned colored woman was sweeping off the porch. She halted her chore to watch him dismount and walk up the paving stone path to the porch. Artemus paused below the stairs, and pulled off his hat. “How do you do, auntie. Have I the residence of one Rupert Garnett?” Artemus affected the deep Virginia drawl again. He would have preferred to address the woman as “ma’am,” but that would have been incongruous in his new persona.

“Well, yes sir. In a way, sir. ‘scuse me, sir.” She hurried in through the large front door, closing it behind her.

Bemused, Artemus remained on the path for a long moment before stepping up onto the porch. As he reached for the brass knocker, the door opened again, and the same woman was there. “Beg your pardon, sir. Please come in. Mr. Garnett will speak to you. This way, sir.”

He followed her down a well-appointed hallway, old family portraits and landscapes on the wall, with fine pieces of crystal and silver displayed in polished glass-fronted cabinets and on small tables, past several closed doors. The woman tapped on a door near the wide, curving staircase, then opened it and moved aside.

Artemus stepped through the door into a room with walls lined with bookshelves. French doors were at the far side, and the light from them cast the features of the man who stood up from behind the desk in shadows. Gordon paused. “Rupert?”

Now the man moved from around the desk, allowing the light to reveal his face. In his late forties, slender almost to the point of being gaunt, with thinning black hair slicked back, he was well-dressed, as befitted the master of such an estate, with a gleaming diamond stickpin in the silk tie.

“I am Boyd Garnett, Rupert’s brother,” he said, extending a hand. “Were… are you a friend of Rupert’s?”

Artemus accepted the hand. “We were at the university together. Is Rupert at home? I cannot imagine he enlisted…” He allowed that to remain unspoken. Rupert Garnett’s brother knew why Rupert would not have been able to participate in the military.

“No, he did not enlist. But I’m very sorry to have to tell you that Rupert passed away a year ago.”

“Oh. Oh, no. His heart…” Artemus put a hand over his own eyes, bowing his head, as though in grief.

“Yes, it finally gave out. A gallant heart, but not strong enough to carry him through a full life. May I ask your name, sir?”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. Justin Lee Galbraith. I was on my way…” Artemus hesitated, as though suddenly realizing he was about to say too much. “Passing through this area, I recalled that Rupert resided hereabouts, and decided to pay a call. I’m so sorry I am too late. He was a fine man. I often regretted that we did not keep in closer touch.”

“Please take a chair, Mr. Galbraith. Would you care for some refreshments? Coffee? Or something stronger.”

Gordon smiled. “Something stronger would be just fine.” He settled himself in a cushioned chair and watched while Garnett poured whiskey from a cut crystal carafe into an equally gleaming tumbler, then accepted it with a smile and a nod. “Excellent libation,” he commented after taking a sip. To be sure, the shortages caused by the war had not yet reached Garnet Rose.

“Only the best,” Garnett said, going back to his seat behind the desk. “Are you affiliated with the military, Mr. Galbraith?”

“Well, not actively, Mr. Garnett. I do work for the Richmond government, however. “

“Are you in this area purchasing supplies?”

Artemus looked down at the amber liquid in his glass, as though making up his mind. Then he looked up. “I don’t see any reason why I should not trust Rupert’s brother. I’m on my way to Mobile, Mr. Garnett, to catch a ship that will take me to Mexico.”

“Ah.” Garnett’s dark eyes glittered even in the shadows caused by the sunlight behind him. “And once you are in Mexico?”

“The Confederacy seeks support wherever it can find it, Mr. Garnett. The French authorities currently in Mexico might carry some weight in Paris.”

“Excellent, Mr. Galbraith. May I offer you the hospitality of my home should you care to rest a few days?”

“Mr. Garnett, you could not have said anything I appreciate more. I have been on horseback for nearly a week. I don’t know which of us is more weary, myself or my horse!”

Garnett chuckled. “I’ll arrange for your horse to receive the best of care. Now if…”

He was interrupted as the door opened. Artemus glanced around, and immediately put his glass aside to come to his feet, as did Garnett, when the woman entered. She was in her thirties, auburn haired, eyes of emerald green, and extremely lovely, clad in deep brown, suggesting she was near the end of her term of mourning. “Excuse me, Boyd, but Lizzie said that a caller was inquiring after Rupert.”

“Come in, my dear. This is Mr. Justin Lee Galbraith, a former classmate of Rupert’s at the University of Virginia. Mr. Galbraith, my sister-in-law, Lucianna Garnett.”

Artemus stepped forward to take the woman’s hand, bowing over it. “Mrs. Garnett. Allow me to express my condolences for the loss of your dear husband. Rupert and I spent many a jolly hour after classes. As often sadly occurs, we lost touch with each other these last ten or fifteen years.”

She smiled warmly. “I know that the days Rupert spent in Virginia were among the happiest of his life. He often told me of how his youthful dream of attending the university Jefferson founded had come true.”

Boyd chuckled. “Despite our father’s wishes!”

“It’s a marvelous institution of learning,” Artemus extolled. “For me, it was a given, as both my father and grandfather attended.” Fortunately, he had spent a fair amount of time in the Richmond-Washington area with his theater troupe, and had visited said university. Also, he knew that, fortuitously, Boyd Garnett had never been to Virginia. He was unsure about the widow.

Although the general’s staff had been able to amass a goodly amount of information about the Garnett brothers, very little was known about the woman who had married the younger brother four years ago. She had seemed to appear out of nowhere to claim the heart and name of Rupert Garnett. Not even newspaper accounts of the marriage provided much data other than a maiden name, and attempts to follow through on that bit of information proved fruitless.

“She may be the fly in the ointment, Artemus,” Grant had warned. “You’d best attempt to gain information from her before you divulge much of your own, especially your relationship with Rupert Garnett.”

“Luci,” Boyd said, “I’ve just invited Mr. Galbraith to stay over and rest before he continues on his journey south. Would you instruct Lizzie to have a room prepared?”

“Of course. Are you hungry, Mr. Galbraith? Dinner is not until another three hours.”

“I’m fine,” Artemus smiled. “I stopped and had a late midday meal at an inn. The Bonnie Blue, I believe it was called.” He had not come close to said hostelry, but had been told enough about it so as to be convincing in regard to the direction he had come from. The establishment was far enough away that he doubted anyone would be visiting it soon so as to be able to corroborate his tale—if anyone thought that necessary.

“Ah, one of Alabama’s finest,” Boyd grinned. “I hope you had their chicken and dumplings.”

“As a matter of fact, I did. Excellent. I was tempted to stay over a night so as to partake of it again!”

“I don’t blame you. We have a fine cook here, but even she cannot match that delicacy.”

Mrs. Garnett excused herself then, and the two men sat down again. “Have you seen much of the war, Mr. Galbraith? How is it going?”

“Splendidly in the east,” Artemus said, putting pride in his tone. “The Yankees flee on every field.”

“So I’ve heard. Not quite as fine a performance here in the west,” Garnett frowned. “That fellow Grant has been causing a good deal of problems.”

“So I understand. Who the devil is he? I know he’s a West Pointer, but…” Gordon shrugged.

“I don’t know a lot myself. All I know is he seems to have a knack for doing the right thing at the right time. Or else our generals do the wrong thing at the wrong time. In any case…” Garnett shook his head. “I am doing my part to disrupt the Yankee plans.”

Artemus allowed his brows to lift. “Indeed? How so?”

Garnett merely smiled. “Perhaps we can go into that later. Undoubtedly you would not mind an opportunity to wash up and relax awhile.”

“After the amount of time I’ve spent in the saddle this last couple of weeks, that sounds like heaven, Mr. Garnett. I cannot tell you how much your offer of hospitality means to me. I had considered staying over a few days in a hotel or an inn, but being in a home, among friends, is so much more appealing.”

“I fully agree, Mr. Galbraith. Come along. I’ll show you to your room.”

Artemus Gordon was not entirely surprised to find his carpetbag, which had been tied to the back of his saddle, already in his room, with a slim young black man unpacking it. Garnett did not bother to introduce him to the servant, only suggested that when he was ready, come back downstairs to join him.

Gordon had not missed the manner in which the slave stared at him for a long moment when he first entered. Good thing Garnett apparently did not notice such insolence! He removed his coat and the young man hurried to take it.

“My name is Woodrow, sir. I’ll be taking care of you while you visit.”

“Thank you, Woodrow. Is the water warm so I can wash up?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Galbraith. I just brought the pitcher up from the kitchen.”

As he stood in front of the mirror at the dressing table, laving away some of the dust of travel, Artemus viewed the reflection of Woodrow busily and efficiently brushing out his packed clothes and hanging them in the tall oaken wardrobe. He also saw the slave cast several glances his way. Not fearful glances. He might have cause to be afraid of a newcomer, not knowing how he was going to be treated. Rather, the expression in the brown eyes was pensive, even speculative. What was he thinking?

[California gal]

W*W*W*W*W

Incipe quidquid agas: pro toto est prima operis pars.
[Begin whatever you have to do: the beginning of a work stands for the whole.]
— Idyllia (II, Inconnexa, 5), Decimus Magnus Ausonius (ca. 310-395), Latin poet and rhetorician

Lieutenant James West used similar tactics as his associate to reach his destination only he swung around so as to be coming directly from the north. He also did not attempt to approach the farmhouse until well after dawn the next morning. Spending a night in a cold camp was not particularly pleasant, especially with the knowledge that Gordon was likely snuggled in a featherbed at Garnet Rose, undoubtedly after a sumptuous meal and a relaxing evening with his host.

Then again, Jim mused as he guided the dun along the rutted dirt road, Gordon is under the strain of constantly carrying off his disguise; he can’t relax for a moment. General Grant’s staff did a good job of gathering information on Boyd Garnett and his late brother, but they surely could not have learned everything. My immediate task is easy in comparison: just find out which of the Unionists can be trusted!

Micah Healey was the name of the man he had been given as a prime contact. Grant was fairly certain of this man, yet still cautioned the lieutenant to be wary. “Don’t reveal yourself immediately. Try to get him talking, and merely suggest your sympathies with his cause. Some of our men have talked to him previously to let him know we would try to send assistance.”

That was probably going to be the most difficult part for him, portraying a northern deserter initially, yet persuading Healey that he could be trusted. It was going to have to work both ways: the farmer had to trust him; he had to trust the farmer. Jim hoped it would not take too long to get to that point, because moving swiftly to the next step of the plan was crucial. Gordon had said that he hoped not to have to carry on his pose for more than five or six days, less if possible. He could not complete his primary assignment until James West joined him.

Healey grew a little cotton in the rolling foothills, but also had orchards and a vineyard, as well as some fields apparently planted with grain, small shoots showing above the brown earth in this early spring. The fences were well kept, and Jim noted several fine looking milk cows. He was not astonished, then, to come upon a sturdy, two-story home, with equally well-kept outer buildings beyond.

A middle-aged woman wearing an apron over a faded cotton dress was washing off the porch with a broom and a bucket of water. She watched his approach, but did not cease her labors until he stopped the horse outside the low picket fence that surrounded a small yard where some roses were beginning to bloom.

“Howdy, ma’am,” Jim greeted, without dismounting, but pulling off his battered hat.

She gazed at him a long moment, then stepped over to the open doorway to say something toward the interior. Moments later a man emerged. He was a little older than the woman, short and stocky, suspenders holding up trousers over a rounded belly. A pipe was in his hand.

“Something we can do for you, son?” he asked, coming to the edge of the porch.

“Good morning, sir. I was wondering if you had a chore or two I could help you with in return for a good meal and maybe some grain for the mare.”

Now the farmer stepped off the porch, walking down the dirt path toward the fence, never taking his eyes off the rider. “What’s your name?”

“James Weathers, sir.”

“Where you from?”

Jim knew that in the few words spoken, the man had discerned he was not local. “Indiana, sir.”

“Where you heading?”

“Well… not sure. South, I guess. Maybe to the Gulf. Maybe join the navy.”

“Confederate Navy?” The brows knit as the stare sharpened.

“Maybe.”

Long seconds elapsed as the farmer gazed up at him. Jim met the stare levelly, and hoped he was able to transfer something that would cause the man to accept him. Whether that was the case or not, the farmer stepped over and opened the gate in the fence. “Light down. Had breakfast?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Name’s Micah Healey. You didn’t happen to come by way of west Tennessee did you?”

Jim West smiled as he dismounted. “I passed through there, Mr. Healey.” The reference had to be to Grant’s current location.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Come on in, mister… Weathers was it?”

“That’s right.”

“Esther, can you fry up a few eggs for Mr. Weathers here? Come on inside. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

The woman smiled now. “Surely. Coming right up.”

“Mind if I take care of my horse?” Jim inquired.

Healey nodded approvingly. “Let’s go around back.” He closed the gate and walked alongside Jim around the side of the house toward the barn. “You have any plans to linger in this part of the country?”

“Hadn’t really thought about it. Nice area, though. Saw some fine plantations.”

“Oh yes. We have those. Southern gentry, you know.” The edge in his voice did not transfer to the mild expression on his countenance as he looked at Jim.

“I expect there’s a lot of support for the Confederacy in these parts,” Jim commented as they entered through the open barn door into the dim interior.

“It runs both ways.”

“That’s what I heard.” Jim kept his back to the man as he loosened the saddle’s cinch. “I recall hearing something about a man named Garnett in these parts. Something about him raising a regiment on his own.”

“Not a regiment,” Healey responded. “Just his own private army. You thinking of joining up?”

Jim hefted the saddle over to the side of a stall then turned to face Healey again. “That was mentioned to me.” This was beginning to be almost too easy, and that in itself could be worrisome. Was he letting on too much too soon?

Again the farmer gazed at him thoughtfully, his frown deep. “I don't know if Garnett would take a Yankee.”

“He might take a Yankee deserter. A sympathizer.”

“Ah. Yes.” Healey seemed to make up his mind. “What do you want of me, Mr. Weathers?”

“A place to stay for a day or so, and as much information as you can give me.”

Healey rubbed his chin. “I find it hard to believe the Union brass would send a boy your age all by his lonesome to infiltrate Garnett’s army.”

“I’ve had experience.” Now was not the time to reveal Gordon’s part in it. Not yet. Nonetheless, Jim did add, “By the way, my name is West, not Weathers.”

“West? I see.” Healey nodded with some satisfaction. “I see.” Jim experienced a modicum of curiosity, as well as a touch of pride. He was quite aware that his exploits in the cavalry were becoming well known among the military. Had it now spread to civilians?

The horse taken care of, they walked back to the house and entered through the backdoor, into the warm and inviting kitchen, the aroma of frying bacon in the air. Jim was surprised to find two young girls with Mrs. Healey. One was probably fourteen or fifteen, the other a couple of years older, both blue eyed like their mother and quite comely. They were introduced to him as Leah and Sarah, and both were eager to serve him at the table when he sat down.

With the others in the room, nothing further was said about Jim West’s purpose in the area, though he had little doubt the daughters and their mother were aware of, and presumably shared, Micah Healey’s sentiments. Jim flirted with the girls cautiously in the presence of their parents, enjoying how they competed to make sure his coffee cup was refilled every time he took a swallow and asking if he wanted more bacon or eggs before he came close to consuming what was on his plate.

Once he finished eating, Healey took him outside again, telling his wife and daughters that the young man was going to help him repair a fence behind the barn. That was true as far as it went, as they toted tools and materials out there, well beyond view from the house, and indeed worked on a broken wooden fence while they talked.

As they conversed, Jim began to feel better about his own quick acceptance of the farmer as an ally, as well as vice-versa. Healey was the one who brought up the worrisome fact that he did not know which of his neighbors to fully trust. He was not the only Union sympathizer in the county, but he was unsure whether all of the men who claimed to have similar loyalties were speaking true, or merely trying to gain information.

“We’ve had problems. I lost some winter hay last year, soaked with coal oil and set afire. Another family had their house burned down. Lots of other little things as well, pure mischief and harassment.”

“I presume the local authorities didn’t do a lot to find out who did it.”

“Not much,” Healey replied grimly. “Our county lawman isn’t a bad sort, and in truth, I got a feeling his sympathies lie northward. But he also has a family to feed and protect, so he can’t let on. He tries to stay in the middle, but that isn’t easy, given that the bulk of the power in this county lies with families like Garnett and Quist.”

“Who’s Quist?” That name had been mentioned during the briefings with Grant and his staff, but not been presented as anyone important to the mission, at least as far as current knowledge would indicate.

“Walter Quist. He owns the second largest property in the county, and the most slaves. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool Confederate, helped make sure Alabama seceded, and from what I can determine, he’s aided and abetted Garnett in raising this illegal army of his. He’s also Garnett’s rival for Lucianna Garnett, the widow of Rupert Garnett, Boyd’s brother.”

“I understand the brother died about a year ago.”

“Yep. So the pair of them and a few others are already lining up to court her.”

“What do you know about Mrs. Garnett?”

“Not a whole heck of a lot. Rupert was always a sickly boy. Weak heart it seems. Most people thought he would never marry. For that matter, Boyd never took a wife either. A few years back, Rupert went on a trip. I never did hear exactly where he went, but he was gone about three months. He came back with a wife. Right handsome woman. I’ve met her. She rides by here upon occasion, says hello. She doesn’t talk like a Southern woman.”

Jim cocked his head. “She’s northern?”

“Well, I don't know. I guess so. Never heard anyone say one way or another. Kind of a mystery woman, you know?”

Gordon would be meeting this “mystery woman, Jim mused. Was it time to inform Healey of his partner in this endeavor? He was mulling this over as he pounded in a nail when Healey called his attention to a pair of riders coming down the dirt road.

“That’ll be Harrison Foulk, my next neighbor, and his daughter. He’s one of those I’m just not sure about, though he claims to be a Union man, and says it loud. So far as I know, he’s never had any problems over it. Not like some of us. That being the case, I won’t say nothing about who you are yet.”

Jim remained by the fence as Healey walked out to greet his visitors, positioning himself so as to be able to view the newcomers while not being too obvious as he continued working. He saw a white-haired, white-bearded man, well dressed in affluent planter style, wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat. The daughter was, Jim judged, seventeen or eighteen, with rich dark hair under a stylish derby-style hat, attired in a deep red riding habit, toes of black boots gleaming from under the long heavy skirt. Neither father nor daughter appeared to be a farmer, but perhaps their holdings were not as extensive as, say, Boyd Garnett’s. He realized at once that the young lady was scrutinizing him as thoroughly as he was she.

After a few moments of politely attending to her father and Healey’s conversation, she idly strolled away, pretended to be interested in a clump of wild roses, then seemed to give up all attempts at subterfuge and walked toward him. “Hello.”

Jim pulled off his hat. “Hello, miss.”

“Mr. Healey said you are a new hired man and your name is Jim Weathers.”

“Reckon that’s so, miss. For a day or two anyway. I mean the hired man part.” She really was a beauty, with large dark eyes, rosebud mouth, and a very mature figure for her age under the heavy riding costume.

“My name is Eloise Foulk.”

“How do you do, Miss Foulk.”

“You’re a Yankee?”

“I’m from Indiana, if that makes me a Yankee.”

“Why are you in Alabama?”

“I’m heading down to Mobile to join the navy.”

The dark eyes widened. “The Confederate navy?” When Jim just shrugged, Eloise stared at him a long moment, glanced back to the two older men, then looked at Jim again. “Does Mr. Healey know that?”

“I told him. Why?”

“I’m just surprised he let you stay around. He’s a strong Union man, you know.”

“He told me your father is too.”

“Well, yes, of course. But that’s beside the point. Why would Mr. Healey let you stay here?”

Again Jim moved his shoulders. “I don't know. Maybe he needed some help.”

Eloise cocked her head. “Or is he trying to convert you?”

“Convert me? To what? Episcopal? Methodist?”

She giggled. “No, silly! To being a good Union man like him.” Again she glanced toward her father and Healey then leaned forward slightly to speak in a low tone. “You should go see Mr. Garnett.”

Jim affected further confusion. “Who’s he?”

Her smile was smug. “He’d be able to use a man like you. He wants to help Mr. Davis win this war.”

At that moment, Mr. Foulk called to his daughter. Her face displayed her reluctance to depart. “If you join up with Mr. Garnett, I’ll see you again!” she whispered just before hurrying away.

Jim waited until the Foulks were well on their way out the lane before he repeated the daughter’s words to Healey. The farmer shook his head, smiling. “Hard to say with the young people, Jim. Especially the girls. They tend to think that the Confederacy is something out of the old books, you know, like knights in shining armor. Even my girls feel that way sometimes.”

“Any chance they would let something slip?”

“Yep. That’s why I generally leave them out of it. The missus doesn’t have the strong feelings like I do, but at least she supports me and understands. Leah and Sarah know my sentiments, but they tend to humor me. I know it’s hard for them in school, among their friends.”

“Yeah. I can see that. Mind if I ask what Foulk wanted?”

“We have a meeting set up for tomorrow night. He wanted to make sure it’s still on.”

“You meet publicly?”

“Not exactly,” Healey chuckled. “It’s held in the dead of night in a different location every time.”

“Ever been raided?”

“Twice.”

“So it’s likely someone is spilling the beans.”

“Yeah,” the farmer sighed. “I don’t have any idea who, and I don’t even like to think about it. We’ve tried leaving one man that we suspected out of the meeting, not telling him one was being held, and nothing happened. Another night we left Foulk out, and again nothing happened. One other time, with Foulk absent, raiders hit us. I couldn’t say for sure if he knew about the meeting. It’s a tough thing, Jim. All of us, the ones who support the Confederacy, and those who prefer the Union, we grew up together here. Our parents and grandparents are buried here. This war…” He shook his head sadly.

“Yes, sir. I had close friends at the university I was attending who left school to ride south. A couple men weren’t even southern by birth. One had a brother who is now a captain in my regiment.”

“Sad, sad thing. And it’s going to get worse before it’s over.”

W*W*W*W*W

Plans will get you into things, but you got to work your way out.
—Will Rogers (1879-1935), American humorist and entertainer

Artemus Gordon leaned against one of the broad white columns that supported the porch roof, watching the scene out beyond the expansive, well-kept grounds, where Boyd Garnett was in conversation with a lithe youth who had just ridden up on a dun horse. This was an important step in their plans. Jim West had to get hired on at the Garnet Rose. A slaveholder did not often employ many white men, other than to supervise the coloreds. Garnett already had an overseer, a rough-looking man Artemus had met yesterday, during his first full day at the Garnett house.

A while after that meeting, when alone with Garnett, Artemus had idly expressed surprise that a healthy man of George Atchison’s age was not in the military. Garnett had chuckled. “That’s been mentioned by more than a few. But I need George, not only to run this place, but as an important part of my plans. He’s the kind of man that weaker souls tend to obey. And I’m sorry to say we have a few of those weaker souls in my army.”

Garnett had already revealed a great deal of his plans to “Justin Lee Galbraith,” how he had a small army in training, an army he planned to use to continue to sweep all the “nonbelievers” from this part of the South as a beginning. He complained about how he had been unable to obtain full official sanction from Richmond, but was not going to allow that to stop him. “They’ll come to realize that my way is the right way. In time, Davis and his ilk will be begging me to help them. Wait and see.”

Gordon had been a trifle surprised that Garnett appeared to trust him so quickly. Then again, Artemus had thrown broad hints about his—rather Galbraith’s—political beliefs, including dissatisfaction with the current regime and the tactics being used by the military, bringing up his annoyance—detestation—for anyone southern-born who did not totally support the new nation. Thus far, Garnett had not shown any misgivings that Justin Lee Galbraith was not who he claimed to be. Gordon also suspected that Garnett had not had many opportunities to boast about his own genius to many sympathetic strangers; could well be that his neighbors were either tired of hearing about it even if they held the same opinions, or were even suspicious. And they have good reason to be, although they might not know it yet!

Yesterday, during an opportunity to be in Garnett’s study, which appeared to be his office and where he reportedly kept important papers, Artemus had surreptitiously studied the room carefully, soon discerning the location of a hidden safe. He now almost smiled as he recalled young West’s astonishment when Grant had revealed that Lieutenant Artemus Gordon was an accomplished safecracker. “Just something I picked up along life’s highway,” Gordon informed him. “I’d be happy to teach you the art one day.”

Mrs. Lucianna Garnett was another matter altogether. Deep into last night, Gordon had crept out of his room and down to the study. His biggest concern at the time had been whether any servants might be around during the night. However, he gained the study without meeting anyone.

The first thing he did after lighting a small lamp was to pour a glass of brandy. In retrospect, that had been his single most important act, because about ten minutes later, Lucianna Garnett walked in on him just as he had closed the doors of the small cupboard that disguised the front of a safe. He had had no intention of attempting to open the safe at this time, but wanted to acquaint himself with its size and type, to test the dials and get their feel.

As it was, he heard the light footstep outside the closed study door, so was able to pick up his brandy and be standing gazing at a truly fine landscape of a British hunting scene with a stately mansion in the background. He turned and affected chagrin. “Mrs. Garnett! I hope my late night prowling did not disturb you!”

She closed the door behind her and stood against it, one hand on the latch, the other clutching the front of the dark red velvet robe that covered her nightgown. Enough of the inner gown showed through to acquaint Artemus with the fact that it was probably silk, and trimmed with lavish lace.

“Not at all, Mr. Galbraith. I was not asleep.”

He smiled. “I’m afraid I was quite restless myself and could not sleep. I came down to get a brandy in the hopes it might relax me. May I pour you one?”

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Garnett told me I was free to avail myself of his refreshments at any time, otherwise I would not have presumed to enter his study,” Artemus commented as he poured another glass and handed it to her. “I was just admiring that painting. It’s England, obviously, but it so reminds me of my home in Virginia.”

“Your family has an estate?”

“I should have said, former home.” Artemus affected chagrin. “I’m afraid my father was not a very good manager, and by the time he passed away, nothing was left but debts. It had to be sold… and I was required to find employment.” He allowed a certain amount of distaste to appear in his face and voice; a gentleman did not work for a living, obviously. “Fortunately, I found a suitable situation in the governor’s office, and more recently, with Mr. Davis.”

“And that’s why you are on your way to Mexico.”

“Seems so. Happened that I learned Spanish from a fellow student at the academy I attended before going to the university. It’s a bit rusty, but I expect it will smooth out once I begin using it again. But when that proficiency became known, I was chosen for this trek.”

Lucianna Garnett smiled. “If Boyd has his way, you will end your journey here at Garnet Rose.”

Artemus’s surprise was real. “Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s very impressed with you, Justin Lee, and hopes to persuade you to join him in his endeavor to rid this area, and later the South, of Union sympathizers.”

“Well… I’m flattered, certainly. But…”

She took a step forward, put a hand on his arm. “Don’t tell him I revealed this to you. I do hope you’ll consider it seriously when he makes the proposition.”

Artemus looked down into her eyes, and for a moment, found himself drowning in their green depths. All his concentration was needed to pull himself out, reminding himself of his job, his duty. He had no doubt about the invitation she was proffering. She might be in mourning but she was a woman. All woman.

He cleared his throat. “I will indeed, Mrs. Garnett…”

“Lucianna. Not Luci. I hate that, but Boyd insists.”

“He knows you dislike the appellation?”

“Oh yes. But that’s the kind of man Boyd is. He… Well, that’s not your concern, is it, Justin Lee? I do earnestly hope you will stay on. You can resign your commission from Richmond, can’t you?” The warm fingers were still resting on his arm; he could feel the heat through the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sure I could. But… well, I will promise to consider the offer, if and when Mr. Garnett makes it. Are you at all acquainted with his plans? The size of his army?”

“More or less. He has more than enough men to conquer the poor farmers who tend to be the ones who lean toward the Union in sentiment. Most of them don’t have more than one or two hired hands, and few slaves, if any.”

Artemus saw the sorrow on her face. “Are you well acquainted with them?”

“Yes. I’m afraid so. I tend to be restless during the daylight hours as well, and often go riding. I’ve visited a few of the homes. They are just… people. Not the demons Boyd and others would make them out to be.”

“Yet… you support his efforts?”

Her shoulders moved and she finally turned away from him, leaving a cold spot on his arm. “What else can I do? My husband left me next to nothing. Boyd inherited the estate from their father, with Rupert gaining only an income—which his brother controls. It was assumed, of course, that Boyd would take care of Rupert. No one expected Rupert to marry, considering his heart condition.”

“I know. He often spoke of that, in school, with regret of course. But he married you…”

“We fell in love. He told me of his health problems, warned me that our time together was likely to be curtailed but… that did not matter at the time. In retrospect, I can see I acted hastily, following my heart rather than my head.”

“You have no other family to go to?”

“No.” Out in the hall a clock struck three times. Lucianna laughed. “I’d best go back to my room. The kitchen people will be up soon to start their day. That wouldn’t do, would it? Think of the gossip!”

Impulsively, Artemus had reached out and took her hand. “Yes, think of the gossip.”

She had kissed him then, a long and lingering kiss that enveloped his soul. When she stepped away, smiled softly, then hurried out the door, he had felt even more cold, and alone. Nor had he slept well for the remainder of the night.

Gordon watched as James West shook hands with Garnett and led his horse toward the stables. Good. Looks like the kid put it across. Now for the next step. He waited as Garnett strode toward the porch.

“Sorry to ignore you, Mr. Galbraith,” Garnett smiled.

“Not a problem, Mr. Garnett. Do you mind if I ask you who that young fellow is?”

“Name’s Jim Weathers. Looking for a job. I told him he could help in the stables. Says he’s good with horses. Why? Do you know him?”

Artemus had been purposefully staring toward West’s retreating figure. “I don't know. He looks familiar for some reason. Is he local?”

“No, not at all. In fact, he’s a northerner. He didn’t say so directly, but I got the impression he’s either running from a conscript agent or he’s a deserter.”

Frowning deeply, Artemus shook his head. “Can’t figure out where I might have seen him… unless I ran across him somewhere on my journey from Richmond. Perhaps I’ll talk to him at some point. Nothing important, of course. Just one of those things that’s going to nag at me!” He had to set up a reason to have a few words with West without arousing suspicion, as well as to cover himself when the young lieutenant absconded with the letters. Providing I find them in the safe as expected!

“I know what you mean. But for now, would you like to ride with me out to the encampment?”

“Encampment?” You have said the magic word, Garnett!

“Where my troops are living and training. I’d like you to see it and give me your opinion.”

“I’d be honored, sir. I don’t claim to know all that much about things military, but I have visited a number of camps in Virginia while carrying correspondence from the president, so I would be interested to see how yours compares.”

Garnet puffed up proudly. “I believe you’ll find mine superior to anything you might have seen elsewhere, Galbraith. I’ll order some horses saddled while we change.”

W*W*W*W*W

Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact with me. Jim West kept those words buzzing in his head as he led the pair of saddled horses out of the stables. Artemus Gordon had impressed that warning on him sternly as they discussed their plans during those final hours together. “In fact, keep in mind that I am a Virginia gentleman, and as a ‘commoner’ you should keep your gaze downcast and any words exchanged humbly respectful.”

Jim knew Gordon was right, but the idea gnawed at him. Over the last few years since he left home, he had left humbleness and shame behind him. No one knew him or his family, so he had created a new person. Perhaps the only man who had gained his total respect, prior to entering the military, had been Professor Robey. When this war was over, he had vowed to try to be the man Robey thought he could be. [To read more of my version of Jim West’s background, see “The Night of the Murderers Sons.”]

But who knew how far in the future that would be? This war that he and his friends had raced to join, almost in a panic lest it be over before they had an opportunity to participate, was demonstrating signs of lasting a long, long while. Too long. He had already lost friends, old and new. He had killed men who might have been his friends under other circumstances.

Already, despite his pledge to himself to return to school, James Templeton West was realizing that the life he had known prior to the war was not going to be there when the conflict ended. Regardless of which side won—and Jim had no doubt that the Union would prevail, despite early setbacks—a long healing process was going to be necessary. The nation would need healing, and so would the men who fought on both sides. If he survived to the end, the idea occurred to him that he might somehow help in that healing process.

The black man who worked in the stable, a powerfully built fellow named Shad, had been a little surprised when the new man, a white man at that, had helped him prepare the mounts, and further startled when Jim offered to take them out. “Mr. Garnett hired me to help in the stables,” Jim had told him. “He didn’t say I was to just stand around and watch you work.”

Artemus Gordon swung into the saddle and took the reins from the stable hand with barely a nod. West was doing his part, addressing both men as “sir” and behaving respectfully around his “betters.” Gordon did see the younger man cast one look toward the house, so he looked that way as well. Lucianna was on the porch. Artemus was startled by the sudden surge of jealousy he experienced when he realized the woman’s attention was not on him, but on the young hostler.

Likely she’s curious about who he is, Artemus consoled himself as he followed Garnett away from the house. He forced himself not to look back. Why wouldn’t a woman, regardless of her age, notice a fellow like West? He was a handsome, virile young lad. Nonetheless, the kiss last night in Garnett’s study gave promise of more, although Gordon knew he must resist the temptation to collect on that promise. Lucianna Garnett was a lovely, sensuous woman, but she was also an unknown. Although he did not like the thought, he knew that the events of last night could well have been staged.

If that was so, why is Boyd Garnett so eager to show me his secrets? In a sense, the rapid acceptance of the stranger from Virginia was still troubling to Artemus. This invitation could be a trap. Nothing in the dossier Grant’s men had developed indicated that Garnett was so trusting. Yet, the fact remained that Garnett was a power in this county, and in the state of Alabama. The authorities in Montgomery, as well as in Richmond, were aware of his activities. They might not approve, but they were also not actively attempting to quash him. That power might well have given Garnett a sense of invincibility, of a certain arrogance, feeling he could not err, not even in selecting men to help institute his plans.

Had Lucianna’s remarks last night been some sort of test? When she revealed that her brother-in-law was hoping that the newcomer would remain in Alabama and join him, was she saying it only to judge his reaction, to report back to Garnett? What would have happened had “Justin Lee” vehemently rejected such a suggestion or, on the other hand, jumped for the opportunity enthusiastically? What was Garnett looking for? If anything…

Play it cagey, Artemus. This might be the crucial juncture, and you might well be walking into a snare of some sort. Garnett had not displayed any suspicions, had accepted “Justin Lee Galbraith” as his late brother’s former classmate with few questions. At dinner, he had asked about Justin Lee’s scholastic experience, and Artemus had been able to throw in a couple of stories that Grant’s informers had dredged up about Rupert Garnett’s university days, including his presence during the incident in the fencing class when Justin Lee acquired the scar. Such an incident had actually occurred, and because numerous students had been involved, Grant’s men had been certain that Boyd Garnett would not know all their identities, including the actual man who had been injured. Nothing had seemed amiss during that conversation or others.

Yet…

W*W*W*W*W

Man was made when Nature was but an apprentice, but woman when she was a skilful mistress of her art.
—Cupid's Whirligig (author unknown; published in 1607)

Good thing I had the experience of working in Professor Robey’s garden and stable, Jim West mused as he paused to wipe his shirtsleeve over his perspiring brow. That experience, plus other odd jobs he had held since leaving home, helped him know what needed to be done here in the stable, caring for the fine horses Garnett owned.

Shad also was of help, pointing out the various traits of the steeds, which one was likely to try to nip him as he rubbed its haunches, which one liked to be fed sugar while being saddled for some exercise. Jim was riding that mare around the large fenced enclosure next to the stables when he saw the widow strolling from the direction of the house. She was attired in a riding habit. Jim thought she would go directly to the stable, but instead she came to the fence and motioned to him.

He dismounted and led the horse over. “Yes, ma’am? Can I do something for you?”

“Your name is Weathers, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am. Jim Weathers.” Her eyes were an emerald green, greener than his own, and he did not miss how they surveyed him from the tip of his toes to his dark hair. He knew his shirt was damp with perspiration.

“Mr. Weathers, I usually ride that horse you are exercising. I see she’s all warmed up, so please put the sidesaddle on her and bring her out here to me.”

“Yes, ma’am. It’ll take only a minute.”

When he led he horse into the shadowy interior of the stable, Shad was there with wide eyes. “That ain’t her favorite horse!” he whispered hoarsely.

“That right?” Jim pulled the saddle off and slung it over the side of a stall. “Why would she say that, then?”

Shad winked. “Miz Garnett, she has her eye on good-lookin’ men, all the time.”

Jim nearly guffawed aloud. He was aware of his own appearance, but… “Shad, she’s near twice my age!”

The black man’s grin widened. “And knows all the tricks.”

Jim tightened the cinch on the saddle and led the mare out through the large stable door. Lucianna Garnett was standing off to one side, and she smiled warmly, “Thank you. That was fast.”

“Never keep a lady waiting, my ma always said.” He guided the horse over to the steps that allowed her to ascend to a platform where she could access the saddle easily. Jim reached over to give her his hand, and she clutched it tightly.

“You’re a strong young man.” Her smile became even warmer.

Jim smiled slightly but did not respond as he aided her up into the saddle. What was this about? A lonely woman interested in any new male in the area, regardless of age? Or was she trying to trick him into something? He half expected her to ask him to accompany her on the ride. Not many women went out riding alone. Instead she merely thanked him and touched her quirt to the mare’s flanks. He watched her ride off toward the south, the opposite direction from that he had seen Gordon and Garnett take.

Conscious that Shad had come out to stand alongside him, Jim asked, “Does she usually ride without an escort?”

“Yep. I hear she calls on folks some of the time. Mostly she rides alone… but not for long.” Again he winked.

“What does that mean?”

“You figure it out, Jim,” Shad chortled as he returned to the stable.

Jim followed and resumed his chores. He could only guess that the slave meant that Mrs. Garnett met someone while on her solitary rides. A man? That would seem to be the reason for the slave’s sly wink. Healey had said that both her brother-in-law and a neighbor were vying for the lady’s favors as her mourning term ended. Was someone else in the picture?

He did not want to evince too much interest just now, but he also was aware that slaves often knew quite a bit of what was going on in the lives of their owners. The servants were usually invisible to the whites around them, or believed not able to comprehend what they were hearing, thus the owners, and their guests, discussed matters that they might otherwise worry about being overheard.

He might see what he could get out of Shad later. Garnett had told him he could bunk in one of the cabins near the overseer’s quarters. Not a slave cabin, but close to where the black people lived. Chances were he would be able to talk to more of them, including some of the household workers, who might know even more about what transpired within the plantation house.

[California gal]

W*W*W*W*W

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it,
For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.
— Don Juan (canto I, st. 65), Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron, 1788-1824), British poet

Artemus Gordon was more impressed than he expected to be. He had thought that a ragtag pseudo-army would be just that: disorganized and ill kept. Instead he saw several rows of neat tents, men in gray uniforms that were similar, but not exactly like, the official garb of the Confederate Army. Crimson piping on the collars and sleeves, in particular, along with a badge depicting the camellia, a flower considered emblematic of Alabama, on the breast of their tunics, distinguished them from the regular military. A sturdy corral confined numerous well-cared-for horses. As well, Garnett showed him their munitions stores, which were even more impressive. Gordon did not ask where the cannons and heavy artillery had been procured. He saw only one with a “USA” stamp, so most had seemingly not been confiscated after a battle somewhere.

He was introduced to Garnett’s second in command, the man who oversaw the camp. His name was Jonathan Litchfield, and was obviously a northerner, a muscular man with a thick dark beard and hair that he wore rather long, almost to his shoulders. His rank was a colonel, and for the first time, Artemus heard his host addressed as “General Garnett.” He learned that Litchfield was from southern Illinois, and had been a supporter of slavery and a southern sympathizer for a long while, emigrating south a year or so before secession commenced.

On the ride back to the house, Garnett made his first solid proposal to his visitor. Would Mr. Galbraith have any interest in joining the army that was going to truly liberate the South from the northern yoke? When Artemus queried just what that meant, Garnett became even more specific.

“The government in Richmond has no time—and little interest—in suppressing the traitorous Union sentiment that exists in our country. Until we have one hundred percent patriotism, we cannot hope to win this conflict. My plan is to wipe out, or at least convert or control, these turncoats. We’ll start in this county… and indeed have already made inroads insofar as putting the fear of God in the bastards… and gradually move to other areas. By the time I’m through, Richmond will have to take notice, and show gratitude.”

Gordon smiled as though admiring the plan. “I should think so! Seems to me that if you accomplish this feat, you’ll be a powerful man in the South, General Garnett.” He allowed his smile to fade. “But you don’t know me. Why would you want me involved?”

“I pride myself on my judgment of men, Justin Lee. I see in you a man with similar ideas as my own. Love of our country, protection of our way of life. We none of us want those Yankee pigs telling us how we should live our lives.”

“I do feel that way,” Artemus said with as much sincerity as he could muster, and even met Garnett’s gaze directly. “But I’m not certain that your route is the right one. I’m going to need to know more about it.”

“Of course. I’d be disappointed if you accepted swiftly without more information. A friend is coming for dinner tonight, a man who shares my views and has helped me plan this action. For various reasons, he is not actively involved, but supports us fully.”

“A neighbor?”

“Walter Quist. He owns the next property east… on the other side of the encampment. Walter and I were boys together. Not surprising we concur on a lot of things.”

Gordon wondered if he did not see a shadow flit through Garnett’s eyes with that statement. Something that they agreed upon that did not make Boyd Garnett happy. A woman? The name Quist had come up during the briefings with Grant’s staff. At no time was he mentioned as co-conspirator, however.

When they rode up to the stables, Jim West came out to take the horses. The grime and perspiration on his face and neck indicated he had been laboring hard. If that was the case, he was playing the part well. Gordon allowed himself to look long and hard at the young man, and as West led the mounts inside, he turned to Garnett.

“Boyd, will you excuse me a moment? I’m going to go crazy if I don’t speak to that young fellow and figure out where I saw him before. You know how that is?”

Garnett laughed, evincing no suspicion. “I surely do. Go ahead. I’ll go on into the house and have a couple of glasses of good bourbon poured when you come in.”

Artemus stepped into the dimness of the stable. Jim West immediately emerged from a stall. “Are we alone?” Gordon asked softly.

“I saw you riding in and convinced Shad to go look in on his wife. She’s not well.”

“We visited the army encampment. It’s extraordinarily well organized for a grassroots outfit. About two hundred men and weapons for three or four times that number.”

Jim’s face was grim. “Then we’ve got to put a stop to his activities.”

“Exactly. I’m going to try for the safe tonight. I’ve inspected the situation well, and I think I can open the safe in less than five minutes. Will you be ready to ride tomorrow?”

“Anytime. Do you know how often Garnett checks that safe?”

Gordon grimaced. “No.” That meant they would not know how long they had before the papers were discovered to be missing.

“Listen, what about Mrs. Garnett?”

“What do you mean?”

Jim caught the edge in the older man’s voice. “I mean, is she likely to cause problems? She was flirting with me earlier. I understand she rides out regularly to meet some man. Also, seems that both Boyd Garnett and that neighbor Quist have ideas about her.”

Artemus struggled to contain his temper. “I can handle her.”

Jim West heard the sharpness and eyed him. “I didn’t say you couldn’t. Is she making moves on you too?”

Gordon ignored the question. “I’d better get into the house. I’m going to tell Garnett that I still can’t remember where I saw you, but I’m going to try to phrase it in such a way to make him suspicious of you.”

“Be careful. We don’t want him to kick me off the place too soon.”

“Don’t worry,” Artemus grinned. “I’m an expert at vagueness. I’ll try to slip you the papers tomorrow morning. If I fail, we need a place to cache them.”

“Right here,” Jim said, pointing to a fine-tooled saddle resting on a sawhorse. “It needs some repair on the cinch, and I’m going to be working on it later today and tomorrow. Just find a reason to come to the stable. Slip it under the saddle.”

“Good.”

“What if the papers aren’t in the safe?”

Gordon shook his head. “Then we may be sunk, James my boy. I’ll be in touch.” He spun and strode out of the stables into the sunlight. He had to blink a couple of times to clear his vision, and only then saw Lucianna Garnett riding slowly toward him. Quickly he pulled off his hat. “Mrs. Garnett! I didn’t know you were out.”

“Just getting some fresh air,” she smiled, halting her horse alongside him. The way she leaned toward him convinced him to hold up his hands. They fit around her waist nicely as he lifted her out of the saddle to the ground. She put her own hands on his upper arms. “You’re very strong, Justin Lee.”

Behind her, Artemus glimpsed his young partner standing just within the stable door, in the shadows, but Gordon still saw the broad grin on Jim West’s face. Damn! She must have said something similar to him! He knew then, reluctantly, that he was going to have to control his own feelings toward the woman. She was a flirt, and worse, possibly a spy of sorts. Could she be working on her brother-in-law’s behalf to ensure the trustworthiness of Justin Lee Galbraith?

“Weathers!” he spoke sharply.

“Yes, sir,” Jim replied mildly, strolling out to take the reins of the horse. He allowed himself a bold gaze toward the handsome woman, and she smiled at him. Gordon saw that smile, and Jim noted the way his mouth tightened. Pretty obviously Lieutenant Gordon had had ideas about Lucianna Garnett. Who could blame him? He hoped that the older man had sense enough to now guard himself against her wiles.

W*W*W*W*W

Walter Quist appeared younger than Garnett, but not by much more than a couple of years. His blond hair was very thin on top, but he affected brushy sideburns and a neat goatee as if to make up for that lack. Obviously, during the few minutes before Gordon joined them in the parlor before dinner, Garnett had told Quist something about his guest, for Quist greeted him with warm enthusiasm, and spoke freely about their enterprises.

Artemus Gordon had to force himself to pay attention to the two men, to respond intelligently to their conversation. His mind was filled with two occurrences that had just happened upstairs. The first had been in his room as he dressed for dinner. Woodrow was there to assist him, and as had been the case every time the young slave had been present, Artemus noticed his intent gaze. He finally asked about it.

“Woodrow, I get the feeling you think you have seen me somewhere before.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Gordon.”

Artemus had been so stunned he forgot to protest the misidentification. “What?”

Woodrow smiled shyly. “You don’t remember me, Mr. Gordon, because I was just a lad when you last seen me. Near half a dozen years ago, I expect.”

“What… where?”

“Indianapolis. My ma was helping the wardrobe mistress at the Bijou Theater. I hung around a lot.”

“Your mother…” Artemus thought hard, remembering the small local establishment where the troupe he had been with staged several performances. “Agnes Bullock?” The cheerful woman who always made sure his costumes were ready, cleaned, and mended after each performance, not minding that young Mr. Gordon was a virtual newcomer to the acting profession at the time. She treated all the performers alike.

“Yes, sir.”

Artemus frowned. “But she was a free woman. And her son’s name was Oscar.” He now recalled the skinny boy who tagged along, often helping his mother, gaping wide-eyed at the costumed performers.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Gordon. That’s my real name, Oscar Bullock. My given name. Ma took sick and died about four years ago now. I didn’t have no one in Indianapolis, but I had kin, Ma’s brother, in Louisville. So I set out to go there. I had a little money and was able to take the train part ways, but did some walking too. When I was close to the Kentucky border, some men grabbed me. I showed ‘em my papers, but they tore them up.”

Artemus Gordon’s face grew grim and angry. “And sold you into slavery.” Woodrow, or Oscar, would have been barely fourteen or fifteen at the time.

“Yes, sir. Brought me down here to Alabama.”

Gordon let out a long and irate breath. “I’m sorry, Oscar.” He shook his head slightly. “I don't know if I can help you…”

“Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Gordon. I figure you’re here on some special mission, on account of you changing your looks and your name.”

“That’s true. An important mission for General Grant. Do you know anything about Mr. Garnett’s army?”

“Surely. Me and some of the others helped build that camp where they are living. I know they been used to try to scare some folks who ain’t so happy with the South seceding.”

“That’s right. I’m here… with a partner… to try to put a stop to that.”

The youth’s eyes widened. “Just two of you?”

Artemus chuckled. “We don’t intend to fight them, just discredit Garnett so that maybe some of his followers will back off.”

“What can I do to help?”

Artemus’s first inclination was to warn the young man to simply stay clear and not give him away, but quickly realized that Oscar might be the piece he and Jim West needed. Obtaining the papers from Garnett’s safe was of primary importance, but then they would need to be passed to West. That could prove to be even more difficult if Artemus was unable to leave the house without arousing suspicion in order to deliver them to the stable. The servant might be able to move more freely about the premises and deliver messages as well, if that became necessary.

Acting on instinct that had rarely failed him, Artemus Gordon had quickly revealed the plans to Oscar. He remembered the boy as being quick and intelligent back in the theater, and his memory was proven correct as Oscar grasped the situation clearly. He volunteered to help by standing watch when the safe was opened, and when told that would not be necessary, then assured Artemus that he would be able to get the papers to the stables and Lieutenant West.

“I live with Shad and his woman. Elsie works in the kitchen. It ain’t unusual for me to go out and see him when I have some free time.”

The second unsettling instance had been when Artemus left his room, on his way downstairs. Before he reached the stairway, another door opened, and Lucianna Garnett was there, motioning to him. Bemused, Artemus had gone toward her. As soon as he came within reach, she grasped his hand, pulled him inside, and after closing her door, caught him in a warm and passionate embrace.

“Come to my room tonight,” she whispered, her hands tangled in his dark curling hair.

“Lucianna…” The temptation was so great. He almost told himself that the theft of the letters could be delayed one day. Finally he managed to get his hands on her shoulders to move her away from him. “That’s not a good idea.” His voice was hoarse and it was no act.

“Why not? Boyd’s room is far down the hallway. He’d never know…”

Artemus forced a sad smile. “I’d know. You see, I have this… this strange sense of honor… perhaps it’s the Virginian in me. I would love to be with you, Lucianna. I can’t begin to explain how difficult it is for me to refuse you. It’s just… I don’t want to be… be sneaking around. I want to court you openly. I’m going to be here, working with Boyd, so our chance will come.”

She made a little face. “Perhaps you are unaware that Boyd also plans to court me.”

He affected surprise, then smiled and shook his head. “I know he’s not a stupid man. But I’m sure that once you make your choice clear, he will be a gentleman and step aside.”

She lifted her hands to place them softly on either side of his face. “Justin Lee, I want you. I want you so badly, I ache.”

“Our time will come, sweet. I promise you.” Quickly he kissed her lips then fled out through the door, very aware that he could lose his resolve if he remained with her much longer. He went back to his own room to regain his composure, and was glad that Oscar had departed. He suspected that the servant could tell him quite a bit about Lucianna Garnett, and possibly even her relationship with her late husband and her brother-in-law. I might ask later. But not now. Not now.

The widow joined them for dinner, of course, and Artemus immediately saw that what Jim West had told him was true, both Garnett and his neighbor and co-conspirator lusted after the beautiful woman. Quist was especially attentive, full of compliments, constantly smiling in her direction. Gordon saw that this annoyed Garnett, but her brother-in-law retained his poise. He must need Quist pretty badly in his schemes, Artemus mused. Perhaps primarily financially. Garnett was a wealthy man, but arranging and supporting an army such as this one were costly, especially in these times with inflation dogging the new country.

Conversation during the meal was casual, with no discussion of either the ongoing war or Garnett’s clandestine army. Artemus was somewhat bemused; for all intents and purposes, life had not changed here at Garnet Rose. The servants worked dutifully and quietly, the table was laden. The shortages that were already affecting the South had not struck hard at this plantation yet—or else Garnett had his own sources.

Quist asked him a number of questions about Virginia, and mentioned possible mutual acquaintances. Artemus felt he carried off his end of the conversation well; at least Quist did not evince any suspicion or surprise. Having spent time in Virginia, Artemus was at least familiar with many of the places and names Quist brought up, but he did not claim any intimate knowledge, attempting to give the impression that his life on his family’s estate had been insular. “Mother was ill a great part of the time,” he said sadly as an excuse for the dearth of entertaining at the home.

The meal completed, the men retreated to the study for port and cigars. Here was where the serious business began, as Artemus more or less expected it would. Garnett and Quist immediately conversed about supplies and recruitment. Artemus sat quietly, enjoying the fine cigar and even more excellent wine, listening, but careful not to display too much interest, only curiosity.

Quist finally turned to him. “Mr. Galbraith, I understand you may be interested in joining our enterprise.”

Artemus lowered his glass. “It is very intriguing… and worthwhile. I’m quite in agreement with Mr. Garnett’s intention for our new country. For complete success, we must all be of one mind. Traitors will only drag us down. However, I do have a mission to fulfill for the Richmond government that duty requires I complete before taking on another.”

Both men nodded. “Very commendable,” Quist smiled. “I’m sure we would not want you to abandon the government altogether, despite they may be misguided.”

“Misguided? How do you mean, sir?” Artemus allowed just a touch of asperity into his tone.

Garnett laughed now. “I think Quist meant that Richmond should not be relying on help from foreign powers, especially the French. After all, France has been allied with the United States government since the Revolution.”

“If anything,” Quist put in, “I think we have a better chance to gain Britain’s support. Our society is a great deal like theirs.”

Artemus was nodding now. “I must say I completely agree. I tried to explain that to President Davis and Secretary Seddon before I left, but they were adamant. And I suppose it may take flat-out refusal by the French to convince them.”

“One thing they assuredly do not understand,” Garnett said, “is that this is a war. Mollycoddling in the name of ‘honor’ is ridiculous. You cannot have enemies on the home grounds. These people are fraternizing with and aiding and abetting enemy. I have no doubt important information is being passed to the North at all times!”

And the same thing is happening in the North, with Southern sympathizers supporting the Confederate Cause. Artemus nodded solemnly. “Too true, too true.”

“We’re going to initiate our strategy very soon,” Garnett informed the Virginian. “The damned Unionists in this area are going to be an example for the rest of the state—the rest of the country. Treason and subversion will not be tolerated!”

As he listened to the two men discuss their preparations and plans, Artemus knew his own scheme needed to change. He could only hope that young West would agree, and not only comply but also be ready to do so. Lives and property were at stake. The real problem might be getting word to his colleague without being found out, especially because passing the information along needed to be done immediately. Oscar would be waiting to help him prepare for bed…

W*W*W*W*W

The slight noise awakened James West. He lay still waiting, listening, and it came again. A soft tap, almost a scratch, on his door. Sliding quietly off the rough cot, he pulled on his trousers, and padded barefoot to the cabin’s lone window to one side of the door. Peering, the moon was bright enough to allow him to barely see the edge of a shadow near the door.

Is it Gordon? I wouldn’t think he would risk it…

Going to the door, Jim leaned close to it. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Gordon sent me.”

Startled, Jim almost jerked the door open. But he stayed his hand. “Who?”

“Mr. Gordon. I’m his servant while he’s here. Please open the door. I have a message to give you and I must get to my quarters before I’m caught out!”

Carefully, Jim opened the door a crack. He saw the young black man, and knew he had seen him before. “You live with Shad.” He had also seen him in or near the house.

“Yes, sir.”

Jim made a swift decision, stepping back to allow the youth to enter. The slave was just a year or so younger than himself. “What’s this about a Mr. Gordon? I don't know…”

“My name is Oscar Bullock, sir, though they call me Woodrow here at Garnet Rose. My mother was wardrobe mistress at a theater where Mr. Gordon performed some years ago. I recognized him even in his disguise as Mr. Galbraith. Fortunately, I was told to act as his body servant while he’s here.”

Even in the darkness Jim could see the direct, unflinching gaze of the servant. “All right. You said you have a message?”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Gordon didn’t want to put it down on paper. He instructed me to tell you that you need to get word to Mr. Healey that a raid is being planned for Friday night. And also that they should be sure not to speak to Mr. Foulk about it.”

“Did he confirm that Foulk is the traitor to the Unionists?”

“He didn’t say, sir. We didn’t have much time to talk. Mr. Gordon is hoping you can get away tonight and take the message to the Union folks.”

Jim ran his fingers through his hair. “What about the papers? Did he mention them?”

“Yes, sir. He said to tell you matters would need to be delayed.”

Expelling a long breath, Jim finally nodded. “Seems as though there’s been a change in plans. I’m going to have to trust Gordon… and you. What time is it, do you know?”

“A little after midnight. Mr. Quist left about a half hour ago. We had to wait until the house was settled down.”

“Yes, of course you had to. All right. I’ll give it a try. Tell Gordon that if I don’t come back, it’s because the way was blocked or I was otherwise discovered. He’ll be on his own.”

Oscar smiled a little. “Not exactly all on his own, sir.”

Jim extended his hand. “Thank you, Oscar. We need all the friends—and help—we can get!”

As soon as the slave departed, Jim dressed, remaining in darkness as he did so. Undoubtedly Oscar had made certain that not only the household but also the entire population of Garnet Rose was settled in for the night before he came on his errand. The chance always remained, nonetheless, that someone could be up at least momentarily, answering the call of nature or for another reason.

He could only assume that Gordon received the information about the raid and Foulk from Garnett, and possibly Quist. Jim had seen that man arrive, though he had not personally attended to Quist’s fine horse. Shad had hurried out to take care of that chore, and had also remained in the stables to be on hand to deliver the gleaming roan to Quist when he departed. Jim had offered to do that, but the black man declined and sent Jim to his cabin. Jim knew Shad was worried that he might be disciplined if it appeared he was shirking his duties.

Once dressed, he slipped out the door of his cabin and immediately crouched behind a nearby bush, where he remained for several long minutes, waiting and watching. He heard no sounds other than the ordinary nighttime sounds of nocturnal wildlife and an occasional snort from the area of the stable.

When he reached the stable, Jim saddled his own dun, not only because it was a horse he was familiar with but so as to avoid the charge of horse stealing if he was caught out. He led the horse a long distance down the lane, keeping a hand on its muzzle to deter her from making any extra noises that might cause other horses to respond and call attention to the unusual late night activity. Finally he mounted, saying a little prayer of thanks for the full moon, and set the mare into a swift canter, heading north toward the home of Micah Healey.

W*W*W*W*W

The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley.
—To a Mouse, Robert Burns (1759-1796), Scottish poet

Artemus Gordon stepped back from the window, breathing a sigh of relief, but still experiencing tension. I hate like the devil to send the kid out like this. If he’s caught… Nevertheless, he could not think of another way to get the word to the Unionists. Nor could he stand by and allow those families to be attacked unawares. Using Oscar to deliver the message to West had also made him uneasy, quite aware of what could happen to slaves caught out from their quarters without permission. But the young servant had been eager to help. In fact, noticing the concern on Artemus's face, he asked for the reason, then assured Artemus that all would be well. Oscar had made it to his own quarters without incident.

The more the evening wore on, the more Garnett and Quist had talked, partially oiled by their consumption of port. Artemus had pretended to join in that imbibing, but did not consume nearly as much as his host and the guest. The two men were proud of their accomplishments and their plans.

Interesting that Grant’s spies did not know much about Quist, considering his full participation in the formation of the “army.” Perhaps he had not been around when the men investigated the rumors about Garnett.

Gordon knew that this new development was going to set their plans back slightly. His original thought had been to procure the incriminating papers from Garnett’s safe tonight, get them to West by morning, either delivering them himself or asking Oscar to do it. Indeed, tonight would probably be an excellent time to open the safe while Garnett was sleeping off the overindulgence of the port.

However, he had made a judgment that the safety of the Union-leaning families was more important at this time. Possibly Jim West could have done both—warned Healey and his friends as well as get away with the papers—in one fell swoop. Artemus did not feel he could take that chance. He hoped West agreed. He had just seen the young lieutenant leading his horse from the barn so he presumed that meant West was not questioning his decision.

Undressing with automatic movements, Artemus Gordon considered the young man who had been assigned to him as a partner in this venture. He has Grant’s complete trust and respect, even admiration, that’s for sure. He has yet to prove himself to me. Other than showing the ability to follow orders, as well as to assimilate himself into the “drama” they were enacting here at Garnet Rose, no real opportunity had arisen to indicate why James West was chosen for this assignment.

Providing they carried out their mission and obtained the papers that would help ruin Boyd Garnett in the most important area of all, in the eyes of his peers, and especially those of the men he was recruiting for his outlaw army, the most dangerous part of their expedition was yet to come: escape. They had traversed the area from west Tennessee into Alabama with no incident. Getting out might not be so simple, especially if word was spread to hunt them down, regardless of whether the original plan to leave separately was carried out or they left together.

And if something happens to Jim West because I sent him on this errand tonight… I’ll be on my own.

W*W*W*W*W

He stopped the horse and dismounted half a mile from the Healey farmhouse, secreting himself and the steed in a clump of brush and trees, waiting there for more than ten minutes. Being atop a knoll, he could see the farmhouse in the distance. No lights were burning. Just like at Garnet Rose, the only sounds were the usual nocturnal ones. An owl hooted somewhere nearby. Even farther away, a dog was barking—the next farm over, more than likely. The dog was silenced, either by a command from an owner or because it simply had nothing more to bark about.

Finally, Jim mounted again, and headed toward the house, constantly alert, and at a much slower pace than he had used to make the trek from Garnet Rose. He had no reason to believe any of this was a trap. Gordon would not have sent Oscar to him if he had not sincerely believed what he had learned.

In the yard he alit again and tied the horse off before approaching the front door and rapping sharply on it. Almost instantly he heard signs of stirring, and glancing up, saw the glow of a lamp in the window just above the door. Jim pulled the pistol from inside his shirt and held it at his side as he waited.

“Who’s there?” The muffled voice from inside was a man’s.

“Jim West, Mr. Healey. It’s important I talk to you.”

The door opened instantly and Healey stepped out, leaving the lamp inside. “Let’s go to the barn,” he whispered, heading off the small porch. He had donned trousers and shoes, but still wore his nightshirt, partially tucked in, his hair mussed by sleep.

The only light in the barn, especially after Healey closed the door, emanated from the moonlight gleaming through the dusty windows. Quickly Jim explained his mission. The farmer’s face grew more and more grim.

“We’ve been expecting it. Full-blown raid, huh?”

“I don’t have the details, but my partner apparently feels the situation is serious enough to warrant taking this risk to warn you. You will need to contact your neighbors who you feel might be in danger, and arrange a defense.”

Healey flashed a smile, his teeth white in the darkness. “That’s all, huh?”

“Also, you must not bring Foulk into it. Apparently Gordon heard his name mentioned by Garnett and Quist—and favorably so.”

The solemn expression returned, tinged with anger. “I was afraid of that. Be interesting to see if a token attack is made against his place this time, to throw off suspicion. Got any suggestions, you being a soldier?”

“I thought about that on the ride over. I have no doubt that your farm will be the primary target, given that you’re the known leader of the Unionists. My only suggestion is that you get everyone together in one place, with as much arms and ammunition as possible—including the families.”

“That would leave the other farms exposed.”

“Yes, sir, but as I said, I feel they’ll hit here first. If you are able to give them a good enough battle, it might discourage the ‘army’ from moving on. There’s no guarantee that will work and you don’t have to follow my suggestion. However if a band the size of Garnett’s army hits you individually, no one would have a chance. You might visit other men today to pass the word on and get their ideas. Don’t tell them where you got the tip. Foulk may not be the only informant.”

Nodding, Healey scrubbed a hand over his chin. “A tall order. We have to protect our homes and families, one way or another.”

“I realize that.” Jim had told the farmer most of the plans, including the man he was working with, before leaving Healey’s place a couple of days ago. Now he added, “Chances are good that Gordon and I will be gone day after tomorrow anyway, if not sooner. He had planned to carry out our plans to remove papers from Garnett’s safe tonight, in which case I would have departed tomorrow, with Gordon following shortly thereafter. This business has put that on hold for a short while.”

“I appreciate that. And I surely appreciate that you’re risking your lives for us.”

Jim smiled. “In fact, it may work out even better. No doubt Garnett will be away from the house tomorrow night, if not actually leading the raids, at least lingering nearby to give orders. That will make certain aspects simpler.”

W*W*W*W*W

Artemus Gordon dozed off and on, but found he jerked awake at every little sound. Finally, after checking the pocket watch he had placed on the stand next to the bed, he noted that nearly three hours had elapsed since he had seen Lieutenant West leaving the barn. Although he did not know the exact distance to the Healey farm, Artemus figured that the young man should be returning at any time. He rose to go to the window, knowing that he would not sleep well until he was certain West had returned safely.

He had not noted any further activity after the young lieutenant departed; nothing to indicate either his leaving or his absence had been observed. That did not mean, of course, that West had not run into trouble away from Garnet Rose. I’m going to feel like hell if I sent that kid into some problems. He trusted the judgment of Ulysses Grant, yet was still unsure about the abilities of the young lieutenant; thus far West had carried out his part of the assignment smoothly. Nonetheless, I feel as though I need to watch over him! Perhaps that stemmed only from the fact that West was the younger of the duo.

Finally, he spotted a shadow, moving slowly and carefully from the area of the lane that led to the outbuildings, heading toward the stable. Though he breathed a soft sigh of relief, Gordon continued to watch, his eyes also scanning the general area. If West was accosted now, Artemus was going to have to make a quick decision: to stay put or go help him.

However, the night remained silent as the shape of the man leading the horse disappeared beyond the stable area. Artemus remained waiting and watching, knowing he would not rest easily until he saw Jim West safely in his cabin near the slave quarters. The minutes crept by slowly and he began to feel anxious again—until he realized that West was undoubtedly taking care of the horse! He would not want anyone to find a lathered, dusty horse in the stall or corral in the morning. Lieutenant James West might not be actually considered an intellectual, but he was an intelligent young man.

Finally, West emerged from the barn and made his way swiftly toward the area of the cabins. Artemus waited for several minutes once he passed from sight, then hearing no sounds that would indicate any sort of trap or discovery he went back to his own bed.

I will need to talk to West tomorrow. With our plans altered by tonight’s activities, we need to be sure we are on the same page for the next step… which might be greatly simplified by Garnett’s plans to raid the Unionists!

W*W*W*W*W

Because dawn was so close, Jim did not lay down on his cot again. He knew that if he fell asleep, he might not awaken at his usual time, and thereby call attention to his fatigue. If Gordon’s ideas coincided with his own, they would pull out tomorrow night—or rather tonight—which meant no sleep then either. I’ve existed without sleep for long periods before, on the march, or during reconnoitering. I can do it. At least Gordon was presumably getting a good night’s sleep!

The slaves were always up at the crack of dawn, if not before. Acheson, the overseer, usually rose early as well, making sure his charges were at work in the fields or at their jobs in the house. Undoubtedly the cook and her helpers were already making bread and other items to feed the household for the day.

Thinking of slaves, Jim considered the young man who had brought him the message from Gordon. Oscar, he said his given name was, though as often occurred apparently his name had been altered according to the whim of his owner. But if his mother had been working in a theater in a free state, would not that indicate she had been free?

Anger stirred in Jim West’s soul. He hated slavery. Although many of his comrades considered this war as an effort to restore the Union, he hoped that in the end it would result in freeing the slaves and outlawing the institution. Lincoln, he was aware, was willing to compromise, and he would not make abolishing slavery a condition for receiving the seceded states back, at least not immediately. His mission was saving the Union.

Hearing sounds of voices outside, Jim took a few minutes to wash up and shave then strolled toward the kitchen at the back of the great house. The slaves prepared their own meals in their cabins for the most part, from rations doled out by their owner, but he had been given permission to eat in the kitchen. The cook and her helpers, along with the other house servants, had been a bit suspicious and reticent the first time or two, but when realizing he was not there to cause any trouble, they became friendlier, though still wary.

Oscar was filling a pitcher with steaming water from a pot on the stove, likely to take up to Gordon. He barely glanced toward Jim and continued his task as one of the kitchen girls brought Jim a cup of coffee.

“Mornin’, Mr. Weathers,” she greeted. She was probably not more than thirteen or fourteen, thin, all legs and arms. Jim did not miss the way she eyed Oscar as he went about his duties.

Jim smiled at her. “Good morning, Maisie. I hope you saved one of those sweet rolls for me.”

“Oh, yes sir! They’s plenty an’ just outta the oven!”

Oscar filled his pitcher and started toward the door that led to the rear staircase then paused. “Oh, Ruthie, I think I’d better take some coffee up to Mr. Galbraith right off. He said he had a headache.”

“Well, Woodrow, you sure can’t manage that hot pitcher and hot coffee!” the cook complained. “You better make two trips. I can’t send any of the girls.”

“I’ll be glad to help,” Jim said, getting up from the table. “I think I can manage a hot cup of coffee without scalding myself.”

“That’s real nice of you, sir,” Oscar replied without batting an eye. “But I surely can make two trips…”

“No problem.” Jim stepped over to the table where a number of coffee cups were stacked, and picked one up, along with its matching saucer, and then a small silver tray. “I worked in a restaurant once.” He grinned.

Neither spoke as they ascended the mansion’s narrow dark rear stairway, nor while they walked down the carpeted hallway. Jim noticed the rich wallpaper, the fine paintings, along with a hall table where a fresh bowl of flowers was resting. Quite different from his ramshackle cabin. Next time, I get to be the aristocrat!

Oscar rapped on a door then opened it. Artemus Gordon rose from the bed as the pair entered, closing the door behind them. “I was hoping I’d see you this morning, West. Glad you managed it.”

“I don’t have much time,” Jim replied briskly. “I’m just helping Oscar.”

Artemus understood immediately. “You saw Healey?”

“Yes. The rest is up to them.”

“Exactly. I want to clear out of here tonight while Garnett is gone.”

“I’ll be ready. What time?”

Artemus shook his head, grimacing. “Don't know. Depends on what time Garnett leaves.”

“I’ll be ready,” Jim said again. He turned and exited.

Gordon picked up the cup of coffee from the tray Jim had placed on the bureau. “Oscar, I’m sorry we can’t take you with us.”

The servant smiled. “I understand. What you and the lieutenant are doing will hasten the day when I’ll be free to travel wherever I want. You just let me know whatever I can do to help you.”

“Nothing,” Artemus said sharply. “You’ll attend to your duties and go to your quarters as usual. And stay there. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Oscar responded. “I understand.”

[California gal]

W*W*W*W*W

Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wreck'd.
— Paradise Regained (bk. II, l. 228), John Milton (1608-1674), English poet, author, polemicist, Puritan and civil servant

After finishing his breakfast, Jim went out to the stables, where Shad was already busy with the horses. The dun was in the corral, and if Shad noticed anything amiss, he did not mention it. Jim pitched into his work, and was not surprised when Mrs. Garnett arrived about midmorning to order her favorite horse to be saddled. The surprise came when she asked him to ride with her.

“I’m not sure if that would be fitting, ma’am,” he replied, trying to affect diffidence and hide his intense curiosity.

“Why not? I understand you’re not going to be with us much longer before you head on down to Mobile to join the navy. Once you get aboard ship you’re not going to have much to do with horses. Why not a ride with a lady on a lovely morning? In fact, I believe it’s my prerogative to order you to accompany me.”

Catching the asperity in her voice, Jim nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get the horses ready.”

“Bring them to the front gate,” Lucianna Garnett commanded, spinning to stride back toward the house.

Jim watched her a moment, then went back into the stable. Shad grinned at him. “Just like Miz Garnett to pay attention to a fine looking lad like you.”

“At least I don’t have to worry about my job if Mr. Garnett gets wind and doesn’t like it. I’ll be leaving anyway.”

The stableman’s smile faded. “Sure going to hate to see you go, Mr. Weathers. You been a fine worker.”

“Thanks, Shad. I’ve enjoyed your company. But I have to move on.”

Shad leaned against the pitchfork he was holding. “You ain’t really going to go join the Secesh are you?”

“Some reason I shouldn’t?”

“You ain’t no Reb.”

“Lots of northern folks sympathize with the South.”

“But not you, Mr. Weathers. Not you. You might be play-acting, but you ain’t no Reb.”

The hostler’s evaluation was a bit startling. Did anyone else see through his ruse? Was it possible that Lucianna’s invitation—summons—was a trap? I wish I had a chance now to talk to Gordon further about her. He’s spent a lot more time with the widow, and might have a better idea of her loyalties and motives. Jim knew, nonetheless, that he was going to have to accompany Mrs. Garnett without the benefit of a conversation with his partner in this venture; to back out now would be foolish, and would call too much attention to himself. A man in his position would not refuse the request or orders of his employer’s sister-in-law.

After saddling Mrs. Garnett’s favorite horse, and another of the plantation’s horses for himself—telling Shad he thought he would need something better than his dun to keep up with her steed—Jim washed up at the nearby pump. He then led both horses to the gate in front of the house, and waited. The wait lasted about ten minutes before she emerged, in the company of “Justin Lee Galbraith.”

Lucianna Garnett had changed into a royal blue riding habit, her stylish hat adorned with a pure white feather that swayed as she strolled down the pathway, arm-in-arm with Gordon. Jim’s first thought was that Gordon was going to accompany them—or replace him—then realized Gordon was not dressed for riding. Jim did not miss the sharp glance of jealousy Gordon directed his way. He thought it was not an act.

Without a word, Jim led her horse closer to the block the ladies used to mount their sidesaddles, allowing Gordon to assist her. He then mounted his own horse, and with a nod to the other lieutenant, set off after Mrs. Garnett, remaining a respectful few feet behind her. He looked back once to see Gordon staring after them.

Lucianna Garnett led the way down the Garnet Rose lane to the main road, where she turned north. Jim puzzled because she seemed to have forgotten his presence entirely, never once looking back at him. Was this some kind of punishment for not reacting to her flirting previously? When she abruptly veered off the road onto a path through a thick pine forest, his bewilderment increased, along with his wariness.

He thought they had ridden a good three or four miles away from the main house when they came out into a clearing where a shallow stream flowed, sparkling in the morning sun. Lucianna reined in her horse, and finally turned to them. “Help me down, Mr. Weathers.”

When her feet touched the ground, he released her waist, but her hands remained on his shoulders for a long moment, green eyes meeting green. Then she smiled and stepped away. “This is a favorite spot of mine, Mr. Weathers. I often ride out here and spend an hour or two, enjoying the solitude. Sometimes I bring a book.” She strolled to a fallen log and sat down.

“Is this still Garnett property?”

“No. It is on the Quist estate. But Walter has no problems with me using his property. Sit down.” She patted the log beside her.

Intensely curious, Jim tied the two horses to a tree branch then took a place on the log, careful to keep about twelve inches between them. Again, she seemed to forget he was there, staring into the nearby water. Jim remained silent.

Finally she looked around. “You are leaving us soon?”

“Yes, ma’am. I want to get to Mobile and enlist…”

“In the Navy. You really don’t seem like a sailor to me, Mr. Weathers.”

He had to smile abashedly. “Well, I’m not. Only boat I’ve ever been on was a fishing excursion with a friend on Lake Erie. Not a very big boat. But… I just thought it would be something different. And it would keep me away from the Union army.”

“The Union Army is a long ways from here.”

“Yes, ma’am. I know that. But… well, I’d rather be out on the ocean. If I get caught by the Yankees now, I’ll hang.”

“So your motives are more about self preservation than helping the South.”

“Well…” Jim hesitated, looking off toward the trees. He was beginning to get a glimmering of an idea regarding the reason she had wanted him to come with her. “I guess that’s so. But I’m not too fond of the North’s reasons for this war. I think they should just let the South go her own way… live her own life.”

“You’re not a coward, Jim.”

Her switch to his given name was a bit disconcerting. Jim glanced at her, seeing the warm amusement in her expression. “No, ma’am. At least I don't think so. I was in a couple of fights. I did what I was supposed to.” He had the growing sense this was some sort of test, but for what?

“Then why don’t you fight the Yankees in another way?”

This time he turned and kept his attention focused. “I don’t understand, Mrs. Garnett.”

“Boyd Garnett would very much like it if you joined his… venture.”

Jim’s surprise was real. “He never said anything to me. Not outright, anyway.”

“I know. Perhaps he was afraid he would scare you off.”

“Scare me off?” Again, Jim had no problem displaying his bewilderment.

“You seem to be quite determined in your purpose to join the Confederate Navy. It could be Mr. Garnett thought that if he spoke to you about enlisting in his army, you might either feel you had to repay his kindness by doing so, or simply run away. What do you think?”

“Well… I don't know. I heard he has this ‘army’ of his own. The black folks talk about it. But that’s about all I know about it. How come it’s not part of the Confederate army?”

“Because he feels the Confederacy is not going to survive using its present tactics. This will not be a ‘gentleman’s war’ in the end. It must be all-out conquer and destroy. His first quest is to remove all disloyal traitors who remain in the South, starting with this area. They will either have to accept the Southern Cause, or leave. Once only true and loyal Southerners remain, supporting the Cause with all their resources, our chances of victory are greater. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, ma’am. I guess so.” Jim looked down toward the ground a long moment then lifted his eyes. “Will it mean making war on women and children too?”

Her steady gaze flickered ever so slightly. “I’m afraid so. But Mr. Garnett feels that the best way to convince the men is to make them aware that the safety of their families, their homes, is involved. The destruction of the Unionists in this area is to serve as an example. He has some plans in the works that I cannot fully reveal, but I think you’ll understand very soon. The point is, Mr.Garnett would like you to stay on Garnet Rose a while longer. Will you?”

Again Jim looked away. He had no difficulty assuming a troubled expression. Grant’s spies had not been able to gather much information on Lucianna Garnett, especially as far as her political sentiments were involved, but this seemed to indicate she was totally true to her brother-in-law’s political creed. He wondered, however, about the expression he had seen in her eyes, a mere flash before she began speaking about the possible danger to families of Unionists. Almost… revulsion… replaced quickly by a steady, almost expressionless gaze. The sense became stronger that this was some sort of test… but for what?

After a few seconds, he felt her hand cover his where it rested on the log beside him. He looked at her. She was smiling now, soft amusement reaching her eyes. “Will you stay?”

If Gordon is truly infatuated with this woman, I can sure see why! Garnett and Quist too. He swallowed. “I’ll… I’ll sure think hard on it, ma’am.”

“I guess that’s all I can ask.” Lucianna leaned over now, and kissed his cheek. “I know you’ll do the right thing, Jim. Shall we continue our ride?”

W*W*W*W*W

Many a dangerous temptation comes to us in fine gay colours,
that are but skin-deep.
—Commentaries (Genesis, III), Matthew Henry (1662-1714), English Presbyterian Minister

Once again Artemus Gordon was edgy regarding the absence of his young partner. He had been startled upon finding Lucianna descending the stairs in her riding garb. When he asked if he might accompany her on her ride, she had smiled sweetly and said she already had a companion. Expecting to see either Boyd Garnett or Walter Quist outside waiting for her, Artemus had been extremely astonished to realize Jim West was her chosen partner.

Why? What does she want with the kid? Artemus hated the jealousy he was experiencing. After all, he was going to ride away from Garnet Rose tonight if all went well, and chances were he would never see Lucianna Garnett again. He kept reminding himself that her interest in Jim West was fairly natural, despite his youth, for he was a very handsome young fellow.

He also knew that both he and West were walking a tightrope here. Their guises had seemingly been accepted without suspicion. Garnett and Quist had discussed their plans openly in his presence. Garnett had invited him to join his personal army. The possibility that Lucianna was leading West into some sort of trap was very possible, although Artemus could not begin to guess why Garnett would suspect the young man, or why, if he was suspicious, he would have Lucianna act as the bait. Why not just send West on an errand of some sort then have some of his personal army grab him?

Gordon was relaxing on the front veranda, enjoying a cigar from his host’s humidor when he saw the two riders returning about an hour and a half later. Putting the smoke aside, he quickly hurried out to assist Lucianna down from her saddle. West also dismounted, taking the reins of her horse along with his own.

Lucianna smiled her thanks at Artemus but turned to the younger man. “Thank you for your company, Jim. I hope you will consider our conversation.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will. I’ll think hard on it.” Jim was careful not to meet Gordon’s gaze as he turned to lead the horses toward the stables.

Artemus offered his arm, which she took as they strolled toward the house. “Did you have a pleasant ride?” He stifled his curiosity with a smile.

“Very pleasant. That young man is quite a gentleman. And I think very deep.”

“Deep?”

“Yes. He doesn’t say much, but you’ve heard the adage about still waters.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ve heard that.” They entered the foyer and with a smile, Lucianna left him to go up the stairs, followed by her personal maid who had been hovering inside the door.

Artemus returned to the porch, picked up his still burning cigar from the ashtray, and strolled down the path. He pretended to inspect the blooms on a couple of rose bushes then wandered toward the stables. Inside, he found Jim West unsaddling and taking care of the two horses.

“Shad went over to the barn to get a couple of bags of oats,” Jim said quickly and quietly. “He won’t be gone long.”

Artemus nodded. “What happened?”

Jim shook his head, continuing to apply the brush to the horse’s flanks. “She said she was acting for Garnett. Asked me to consider joining his army.”

“That’s all?”

Jim glanced at the older man, and bit back a grin. “That’s all. A little strange, considering he barely mentioned his force to me previously. Are we still on for tonight?”

“I hope so. I need to get those papers and we can clear out. Did you get any sleep?”

“Enough. I’ll be ready with the horses here.”

“All right.” Artemus whirled and casually left the building, then just wandered around, as though at loose ends, for another twenty minutes before returning to the house. The noon hour was approaching, when the midday meal would be served. Artemus planned to raid the kitchen tonight before leaving. While they might be able to do some foraging on their journey back to the Union lines, having some supplies would be better. They had used up everything they had brought with them while on the journey to Garnet Rose.

Although he had seen Boyd Garnett at breakfast, the plantation owner did not appear at the lunch table. Lucianna told him that her brother-in-law had “business” to take care of. Artemus merely nodded knowingly. Lucianna must be aware that he was cognizant of tonight’s plans.

“I’m going to be so sorry to see you leave tomorrow, Justin Lee,” she said as they were enjoying a fruit crisp for dessert.

“I must admit that it’s going to be harder to tear myself away from this lovely place than I anticipated,” Artemus smiled with a tinge of genuine regret. “I came here looking for Rupert, and of course was dismayed to learn he was gone. But I have made some very good friends, I think. I hope I will be welcome to come back at any time.”

“Oh, indeed you will be! Boyd is very anxious to have you as part of his plans. He told me last night he wished he could persuade you to throw off your duties regarding the trip to Mexico, but he also understands that as a gentleman of honor, you must carry through.”

“Indeed, that’s so. I’ve pondered about that myself. But I have a commission, and I must complete it. However, once that is completed… I no longer have ties in Virginia.”

Her green eyes glittered above the rim of the delicate china cup as she sipped her coffee.

W*W*W*W*W

There are several good protections against temptations, but the surest is cowardice.
— Following the Equator (Ch. 36), Mark Twain (Samuel Clemons; 1835-1910), American author

The afternoon crept by. Lucianna disappeared, and when Artemus asked a maid, he was informed that Mrs. Garnett was resting in her room. Boyd Garnett did not return, so Artemus was indeed at loose ends. Though a couple of times he was tempted to go talk to West again, he resisted. Despite having initially told Garnett that the young man looked familiar, that was not an excuse to spend time with a stable hand.

The original idea had been that when West disappeared at the same time as the papers from the safe vanished, Artemus would have suddenly recalled that he had seen West with a Union patrol during the long trek from Virginia. That would have established that “Jim Weathers” was indeed a spy. Artemus had also been prepared to give Garnett completely false information regarding the direction he saw Weathers ride toward.

But now they would be leaving together. In a sense, that was even better. Two heads—and two guns—were better than one. Their trek back to the Union lines was going to be perilous due to the alarm that would undoubtedly be raised. Garnett might not reveal what was stolen, nor want the Confederate high command to be aware of the extent of his plans. He was clever enough, nevertheless, to invent a story that could cause the entire South to be on the lookout for two Yankee spies.

For a reason I cannot comprehend, I feel responsible for the boy! Even knowing of the reputation James West had already amassed, realizing that he was completely capable of taking care of himself, Artemus had this odd, growing sense that he needed to look after the young lieutenant. I need to watch his back, to be there… but that makes no sense. Jim West means next to nothing to me, other than the fact that our safe return will be enhanced if we cooperate with each other. Traveling back to the Union lines together was far preferable, both for safety and his peace of mind.

Boyd Garnett did not return until just before dinnertime. He was obviously tired as well as dusty, but in a jubilant mood. When Artemus queried if things were going well, Garnett’s response was, “Splendid, splendid! I’ll tell you at dinner. I need to get cleaned up. Wait until you hear, Justin Lee. I’m certain you’ll consider delaying your departure a day.”

At least that gave Artemus warning that he was going to need to be able to invent a strong reason why he had to leave the following morning to complete his so-called mission. That’s what he did during the meal, after Garnett enthusiastically spoke of how his men were raring to go, ready to wipe out the disloyal citizens in the area and then move on to other areas. “Before long, every traitor in the South will be fleeing north, where they belong—or dead!”

Artemus listened with what he hoped was a wistful expression, and then reiterated his sense of duty to the Richmond government. “I’ve stayed here too long as it is, and there is no time to ask them to send someone else. As I understand it, certain officials I need to contact will be in Mexico City for only a limited time before they return to France. I’m afraid I’ll have to delay my participation in your glorious venture to a later date. I must leave quite early. By not delaying any longer, it means I’ll be able to join you sooner.” The hope was that Justin Lee’s absence in the morning would not be seen as amiss, especially if Garnett slept in after a busy night.

Garnett displayed great disappointment, but appeared to accept the decision. Artemus did notice that Lucianna seemed to be even more let down. Had she expected her brother-in-law to change the visitor’s mind? Does it matter that much to her? Do I matter that much? Other than some smiles, she had not paid that much attention to him since his refusal at her bedroom door.

When the meal ended, Boyd Garnett apologized, saying he planned to lie down for a while after a strenuous day—with an even more strenuous night expected. Artemus wished him great success with his army’s first major foray, while fervently hoping that the Unionists were taking the warning to heart and would be fully ready.

To his surprise, Lucianna also excused herself, and did not return. After her obvious disappointment at the dinner table, Artemus had thought she might remain and attempt to persuade him further. While one part of him was glad that did not occur, he was also let down. Was she giving up on him so easily? He knew his vanity was damaged, yet…

Around midnight, while in his darkened room, Artemus heard Boyd Garnett pass by his door and descend the stairs. Shortly after, a horse left the area of the barn. Garnett likely had Shad or “Weathers” wait up for him and have the horse ready. Artemus waited a good half hour before lighting the lamp beside his bed, turning the wick to very low.

He was in the midst of putting the last of his possessions in the carpetbag when he heard the door open behind him. Artemus turned, expecting Oscar, and ready to chew him out for risking being caught out of his quarters. Instead he stared, open mouthed, as the woman entered, her negligee revealing a great deal even in the faint light.

“Lucianna! What…?”

Without speaking, she came directly to him, put her hands behind his head and pulled him down for a long, passionate kiss. Artemus found himself responding, then forced himself to regain control of his senses. He put his hands on her upper arms, pushed her back. “What are you doing?” His voice, he realized, was hoarse.

“We’re alone, Justin Lee. Just you and I, until near dawn.” Again she tried to kiss him, and again, with more willpower than he had believed he possessed, he held her off.

“Lucianna, I still feel the same. It would be a betrayal of Boyd…”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped. “He means nothing to me.” Her voice softened, eyes gleaming. “It’s you I want, Justin Lee. Now…”

This time she got her kiss, and this time Artemus felt himself melting to her will. Something, perhaps the solidity of the bedstead behind his legs and the memory of the nearly packed bag waiting on the mattress, caused him to pull himself out of the depths, though tremendous effort was required.

“Lucianna, please… I can’t!” He held her at arm’s length, which in retrospect was the wrong thing to do, because it allowed her to see the carpetbag behind him.

“What are you doing?” She jerked loose from his hold, stepped around the bed. “You’re packing?”

“I’m leaving in the early morning, remember. I want to be ready…”

“Woodrow could do that for you.” Lucianna stared at him. “What are you doing?” she asked again. “What lies have you told us?”

“Lucianna! How can you say that? I’ve told you no lies!” The desperation in his voice, on his face, was easy. Somehow I’ve got to convince her to return to her room, without arousing too much suspicion. Perhaps I should yield for a while… He quickly shoved that tempting thought from his head. No time. West was probably already waiting in the stable with the horses saddled. The sooner they were able to leave, the more distance they could put between themselves and Garnet Rose before they were discovered. I still have to get into the safe!

She was gazing at him with narrowed eyes. “Did you really know Rupert?”

“Well… yes… though perhaps not as well as I let on. I mean… I’m sorry, Lucianna. I did meet him at the university, and knew he was from this part of the country. I… I even knew he had died. But I needed a place to layover a few days. I didn’t think a few half-truths would be harmful. And… it did give me a chance to meet… you.” He hated embellishing the lies; he wanted to tell her the truth. He could not. Too much depended on this venture. Too many lives.

Her expression softened. “It did, didn’t it? Justin Lee…” Lucianna extended her hand toward him. “Please…” In the dimly lit room, her eyes seemed to glitter—with hatred? Or was it amusement? Artemus was unsure.

“Oh, my dear! It is so tempting. But I’m not a very good actor where affairs of the heart are concerned. I’m afraid I could not keep it secret from Boyd. I think we need to allow this to develop more slowly. When I return from Mexico, it will be to stay. We’ll have all the time in the world!”

Now she was smiling. “Yes, we will, won’t we? I’m sorry, Justin Lee. I’m afraid I’ve allowed my loneliness… my passion… to run away with me. Kiss me good night.”

The kiss was a little less warm, but still difficult to break off. But they did, and she was gone. Artemus sat down on the bed, drawing in deep breaths to slow the pounding of his heart and the rushing of his blood. He felt the dull ache in his heart. Even if I manage to come back here once this damned conflict is settled—in either direction—she will never forgive me. But I’ll never forget her.

He had to wait until he was certain she was settled again. He then picked up his bag, put out the lamp, and crept downstairs, constantly alert to any sounds or movement. In the study, he lit the stub of a candle he had put in his pocket and swiftly opened the safe. Within minutes he had the incriminating letters in his pocket.

In the kitchen, he took time to raid the pantry, filling a burlap sack that he found with some potatoes, tinned items, and a slab of bacon, along with some leftover biscuits, a loaf of bread, and a container of coffee beans, remembering to grab a small cast iron frying pan and coffeepot. They would need the utensils until they reached their own cached supplies. Then he raced out the back door and sprinted to the stable.

Jim West crouched behind a pile of hay bales when he heard the sounds outside. He had locked the door, and now, after someone tried to open it, he heard a hoarse whisper. “West!”

Quickly he opened the door. “Where the devil have you been?”

“Momentary complications,” Artemus replied, handing the burlap sack over. “Let’s get moving.” He realized he had forgotten about West’s morning ride with Lucianna, and after the incident that had occurred in his room found he even more intensely wished to know what really happened on that ride. Had West told the truth that they had only talked? But now was not the time to ask.

As Jim West had done on the previous night’s errand, they led their horses down the lane away from the area of the house. Even knowing that Lucianna Garnett was the only one in the house, with just the slaves and the overseer present otherwise, they knew it was best not to create any disturbance. As they walked, they discussed their plans. Jim informed his companion that they were going to have to head south initially, rather than north.

“Most of the Unionist families live in the north portion of the county,” he explained, “so that’s where Garnett’s forces will be.”

Artemus nodded. “You know the area better than I do by now,” he said.

The moon was still casting bright illumination, though more clouds were in the sky than previously, occasionally floating over the orb and darkening the night. Halfway out toward the main road, they mounted and kicked their steeds into a brisk canter. At the intersection with the road, they halted, listened a bit, and then turned south.

If matters went well, they could gain several hours before Garnett returned to his home and discovered not only his hired man but his guest missing—along with the crucial letters. Both West and Gordon knew that Boyd Garnett would move heaven and earth to retrieve those letters—correspondence that could potentially ruin all his grand plans by revealing the truth to his followers.

W*W*W*W*W

Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
— The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), English poet, literary critic and philosopher

By daybreak they had left the county, circling to the north and east. At one point during the night, they heard distant gunfire, and then saw the glow of fire. Artemus did not need to ask his companion if that glow emanated from the area of the Healey farm; he could see it in Jim West’s face. I know he wishes he was there helping; I wish I were as well. But we have our orders, our mission. By breaking up Garnett’s plans, we can stop future raids like this one tonight.

They stopped once in the dawn hours alongside a creek to build a small fire and make coffee, consuming it with some of the bread Artemus had snatched. Mostly they ate in silence. Artemus could see the weariness on West’s countenance. He had not had much rest the last couple of nights. Yet, Jim West did not complain. Both knew they would not obtain much in the way of rest the next several days. Not until they were safely back behind Union lines.

The clouds of the night disappeared in the heat of the sun, and the morning was uncomfortably warm for this time of year, boding for an even warmer afternoon. Jim suggested they halt for their noon meal in a grove alongside the road where they could find some shade. Luckily, they also found a small pond amidst the trees, so both men and beasts were able to slake thirst.

They had encountered people on the road, on horseback, in wagons and buggies. When that occurred, Jim allowed his horse to drop back slightly. Gordon was still garbed as a well-to-do citizen, though he had removed mustache and scar, and it was best to give the appearance that the younger man was some type of employee, not an equal. The passersby usually nodded or called a greeting but none appeared to think anything was amiss.

“What did hold you up last night?” Jim asked as he scraped half of the fried potatoes from the skillet onto Gordon’s tin plate.

He saw the older man’s hesitation. Then Gordon grimaced, shrugged. “Lucianna Garnett.”

“Oh?”

Now Artemus had to grin. “She thought it would be a good night for us to get to know each other better, seeing as how Boyd Garnett was away.”

Jim studied him a moment. “But you refused.”

“One of the hardest things I’ve ever done,” Artemus sighed. “Worse, she saw that I was packing my carpetbag. I think she bought my story that I wanted to be ready to leave first thing. She went back to her room and I didn’t hear anything further.”

“She certainly didn’t come to the stable for a horse, so she made no attempt to go warn Garnett.”

“Yeah. She’s an… unusual woman. Now that we’re into true confessions, why did she want you to accompany her on that ride yesterday?”

Jim sighed. “Just what I told you before. Only to try to persuade me to remain and join Garnett’s army.”

Gordon’s dark brows lifted. “And Garnett hadn’t approached you at all previously?”

“No. As a matter of fact, the only thing he said to me early on was that he would want to talk to me about my plans. She said it was Garnett’s suggestion that she approach me.”

“What did you tell her?”

Jim’s turn to grin. “That I was anxious to be a sailor and get as far away from the Union Army as I could.”

Artemus shook his head. “I still can’t figure her out. Why didn’t Grant’s spies find more information on her? Who is she? I had the initial impression she was not very much in favor of Garnett’s plans, yet it appears she was working with him to a certain extent.”

“Shad told me the people all believe she has a lover somewhere, that she was meeting him on her daily rides—which she usually took alone.”

“They didn’t know who it would be? The slaves are usually extremely aware of everything that’s going on, not only on their own property, but in the entire area, with a very efficient information grapevine.”

“Apparently not. That reminds me. Who’s the kid, Oscar?”

Artemus told him, his face growing grim. “One of the many reasons why slavery must be abolished. His mother was born free, and so was Oscar. Yet unscrupulous dealers kidnapped him—and he had no recourse. No one was going to believe him.”

Jim found himself glad to realize that Gordon felt the same way as he did about the pernicious institution. Too many Union supporters were either ambivalent or saw nothing wrong with slavery, preferring to believe that the war was being fought to preserve the union, and nothing more. They did not want the black people in their lives.

When they set out again, they decided to stay off the main road. By this time, Garnett could have discovered what had occurred, and the word would be out, probably via telegraph, to watch for the pair. Despite that Artemus had removed most of his disguise, a description of Justin Lee Galbraith could fit him; Jim could be exactly described. The Confederate Army as well as citizens would be on the lookout for the Yankee spies.

One thing I’ve learned about this kid, Artemus mused as they worked their way slowly through a dense pine forest, he doesn’t panic when situations change. West had accepted and carried out the errand Gordon had unexpectedly sent to him via Oscar. Some young men of his age would have been disconcerted and even refused the assignment. After all, I’m not his superior, despite being older. I don't know when he received his lieutenant’s commission, nor does it matter. We’re partners in this venture. That was the way Sam Grant laid it out.

Artemus received further proof of his companion’s coolness along about mid afternoon when they suddenly encountered a Confederate cavalry patrol. Fortunately, the two Union men saw the Southerners first; still, it was an abrupt revelation, riding up to a clearing and spotting the men, who were apparently taking a break, dismounted, some sitting on logs, smoking or drinking coffee—or whatever they had brewed over a small fire. The efficiency of the fire was such that no smoke had been visible or detected in the air as an odor.

West had been in the lead on the narrow path they had been following. He had instantly pulled up, waved to Gordon to back up, which they did, as silently as possible. Perhaps because the soldiers were talking among themselves, and a little less alert than they should have been, the pair was able to move away and take another roundabout route, undetected.

“That was too devilishly close,” Artemus murmured when they finally felt secure to take a breather of their own alongside a small stream where the horses drank. “I wonder if they were looking for us.”

“Good chance of that,” Jim replied. He knelt by the stream and wet his neckerchief, using it to wipe some of the sweat and grime from his face and neck, and cooling himself at the same time. He glanced at his companion. “Occurs to me I might be able to lead them off and allow you to make a beeline…”

Artemus was shaking his head. “No. We’re in this together, James. You’re better at this business of making one’s way through the wilderness than I am. I’d rather have you with me.”

“Have you looked at those letters?”

“Glanced at them when I pulled them out of the safe to make sure they were the right ones. And they are. Grant’s informer was correct.”

“Be quite a shock to some of his followers to learn that Garnett’s motives have little or nothing to do with helping the South’s cause, but in setting up his own empire in the Southeast.”

“Exactly. Passing these letters to cooperative editors—and most editors regardless of their loyalties would love to have a story like this—will help quash Garnett’s plans. A couple of fellows in Richmond, and maybe even New York, will be unhappy with their publication as well.”

“I wonder who that informer was,” Jim mused, putting the cap on his canteen after filling it. “You’d think it would have to be someone pretty close to Garnett. Quist? He seems to know a lot but doesn’t seem to be as involved.”

“I thought about that. Quist has a ‘commission’ in Garnett’s army but I got the idea his contribution is more logistical than direct. He has to be providing financial support. I guess if General Grant chooses to tell us… we’ll know.” He flashed a grin toward the younger man. “But Sam can be pretty closed mouth when he chooses.”

“Don’t I know it!”

W*W*W*W*W

A timid person is frightened before a danger,
a coward during the time,
and a courageous person afterwards.
—Jean Paul Richter (1763-1825), German Romantic Writer

The remainder of that day passed mostly without incident although they did spot a number of horses tied up in front of a small farmhouse, and surmised that some Rebel cavalry were stopping there. They therefore cut a wide swath around the property and remained ever vigilant.

Thunder was rumbling in the distance when, at nightfall, they found a shallow gully that permitted them to build a small fire to make some coffee and cook a couple of potatoes. That along with a can of peaches comprised supper. The fire was put out before they climbed up to the high ground near their horses to spread their blankets. At that time, Artemus stated he would take the first watch.

“You need some sleep,” he added.

Jim West instantly flared. “I don’t need mollycoddling!” he snapped.

“No, you don’t,” Gordon replied mildly. “But I need a partner who’s rested and alert.”

Jim knew he should apologize, but did not. He also knew he was extremely weary after two nights without a full complement of sleep. He had experienced that fatigue during the day, especially when he very nearly rode out into the field near the house where the cavalry horses were tied. Gordon had been the one to see them first and stop him. Without comment, he lay down and drew his blanket over him.

He’s a hardheaded and prideful young man, Artemus reflected as he settled back against a tree trunk, rifle across his knees. Full of promise, too. Just hope that stubbornness and arrogance don’t bring him to an early end. Neither trait is a bad thing if it can be kept under control. When we get back, I need to ask Sam why he paired the two of us, considering he appears to know so little about Jim West beyond his military experience. We seem to be so different in experience, not to mention temperament. So far things have worked out well. But we have a long trek ahead of us before we reach the Union lines. We can’t take the direct route we used coming south. A lot can happen in that time.

Jim rolled out of his blankets silently when Artemus Gordon shook him awake. He hoped Gordon did not notice how slowly he had roused from the deep, exhausted sleep. He did feel better, nonetheless, and was able to keep the watch until he saw the eastern sky begin to lighten, at which time he started a small fire again and the coffee, then roused his companion.

They were on the trail by the time the sun was peeking halfway above the eastern horizon. The thunder had faded during the night, and no rain fell on them, but the air had that feel of an imminent change in the weather, the humidity high. The clouds on the southern horizon were very gray.

No guarantee existed that Confederate patrols were not also out at this hour, but both felt an early start was to their advantage. At some point today, depending on whether their trek met any obstacles, they hoped to reach the site where they had stashed their uniforms and other gear. As before, although wearing Union Army uniforms would make them more conspicuous, it would also work to their advantage if captured: the civilian clothes would immediately identify them as spies, subject to execution.

Jim noticed how Gordon seemed to be extra alert as the morning progressed, and he was impressed. He himself was having the same case of nerves. Yesterday they had encountered two patrols: where were they today? Surely the hunt had not been called off. He was certain that Boyd Garnett would have notified military authorities throughout the area after discovering the loss of his papers—though Jim had to wonder what Garnett would have told them. He most certainly would not want the soldiers who might find the thieves to read those letters, now safely in a waterproof packet in Gordon’s saddlebag.

Garnett isn’t a general; not even in the regular Confederate Army. He might have some pull in Richmond, but Richmond is a long ways off. If I was told to chase down a couple of men, I’d be damn curious as to why. Even if Garnett said we were Union spies, I would think that any patrol that might grab us would search us and our horses thoroughly. And probably would open those letters…

After a bit, he mentioned his thoughts to Gordon. The older man shook his head. “It’s hard to say what story he’d put out. It’s also likely that some of his own men are out on the hunt. That first patrol we saw was definitely Confederates. But we didn’t actually see the men in the farmhouse.”

“But he had to give some story to convince the regular military to hunt us.”

“Yeah. He could say we have forged some papers. I suppose it doesn’t matter a whole lot. They are after us.”

Jim nodded. “True.”

“How far do you think we are from where we left our gear?”

With a sigh, Jim shook his head. “Completely unfamiliar territory to me here. It’s not what we passed through before. I’m guessing, seeing those hills to the east of us, we are near. How near… I don't know.”

In keeping with their habit, when they came to water, they paused to allow the horses to drink, as well as refresh themselves and the canteens. Today was slightly cooler, due to the spreading clouds that boded a storm, but having fresh water was still important. They had just dismounted by a narrow stream when a voice spoke sharply from nearby brush.

“Put your hands up high, boys! Don’t try for them guns!”

Jim spun around, gaping, as a burly man in butternut with stripes on his sleeve stepped into view, followed by two others. All three were carrying arms. None bore the insignia of Garnett’s private army.

“Sergeant! Am I glad to see you! I could almost kiss you, I’m so delighted!”

Now Jim West’s eyes swung to his traveling companion. Gordon’s accent was southern again, this time deep south, Georgia or Arkansas. He was grinning widely, and had not lifted his arms.

“What are you talking about, mister?” the sergeant growled. “Put them hands up!”

“Surely, sergeant, surely!” Artemus lifted his hands away from his body, still grinning. “Now you talk about the nick o’ time, that’s just what you are, sergeant. I reckon I might convince the folks in Richmond to write you a little commendation or somethin’”

For just the barest of instants, Jim West’s temper started to boil. He’s selling me out! That was the thought that raged through his brain. Then, staring at Gordon, he caught the man’s brown eyes glancing at him, so quickly as to almost not be noticeable. But Jim saw it. And he realized with a start that he also comprehended the message that Gordon was transmitting.

Gordon took a step toward the trio. “Sergeant, my name is Lucius Featherstone, late of Macon, Georgia, and most recently with the Confederate Secret Service.”

“The what?”

Artemus made a face. “Well, I shouldn’t have told you that, but these are desperate times. I convinced this Yankee spy here that I was a turncoat, and I was going to show him where General Johnston’s headquarters is. But we been traveling two days and I’m afraid he was starting to get suspicious… and I wasn’t finding a chance to get the drop on him.”

“You got papers to show who you is?”

“Sergeant,” Artemus smiled patiently. “I said Secret Service. I reckon you three might be the first outside of the members of the service to even know it exists. But desperate times call for desperate measures, don’t they. I know you all are loyal to the Cause, and you’ll keep my secret—after you help me take this Yank spy in to hang.” He moved closer to the soldiers as he spoke, sidling slightly to the side away from West.

Jim waited, watching. The trio’s attention was focused on the “Confederate Secret Service Agent.” No doubt they had never heard of such a department in the Confederacy but now they were seeing, talking to an actual agent. Gordon was rambling on, still in that deep drawl, telling the soldiers how he had trapped the Yankee spy and how these three soldiers were going to be featured prominently in his report. Most likely a commendation would be coming their way.

He launched his attack when all three soldiers had their attention fastened to Gordon, hurling his almost horizontal body into the trio. All four men went down, but Jim was on his feet first, quickly slamming a hard clenched hand into the side of the neck of the first man to start to get up, then whirling to plant his fist in the stomach of the sergeant, and kicking the third man forcefully in the chest before finally punching the bent over, gasping sergeant in the chin, sending him to the ground.

Artemus Gordon gaped. He had set the situation up and West had read it perfectly. However, he had been ready to join the fray and now he seemed to not be necessary. The young man was handling all three men, including the burly sergeant, with ridiculous ease. Within moments, it seemed, the soldiers were sprawled on the ground, unconscious.

Jim turned, breathing a little heavier, but otherwise displaying no signs that he had just engaged in such exertion. “I wonder where their horses are. We need some rope to tie them up.” He started off then paused. “You think they were looking specifically for us?”

Artemus knelt down to search through the sergeant’s pockets, coming up with a folded piece of paper. He opened it, handed it over to Jim. “Pretty good description of you.”

Jim grimaced. “I should have dyed my hair or something.”

Artemus laughed. “Not your style, James my boy. Not your style.”

Jim found the horses tethered a hundred yards away, and led them back to the streamside. Artemus noticed the scowl on the younger man’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just wondering how they found us, how they got the drop on us.”

“That’s a good question.” He accepted some of the rope Jim had found in the pack on one of the horses, and bent down to start tying up the soldiers. “The sergeant didn’t strike me as a particularly brilliant man. Could have been dumb luck.”

“Yeah. I don’t like being jumped like that.”

Artemus did not laugh this time or even smile. He could see that West’s pride had been injured. Grant had stated that Lieutenant West had led a number of successful reconnoitering missions for the army. He prided himself on not being detected, on leading his men back safely. This time, obviously, he had been surprised.

When the soldiers were tied and gagged, they scattered the horses, mounted their own and set off again. The ambush had been unsettling for both men, but neither spoke of it until late that afternoon when they finally came upon the spot where their possessions had been hidden. Artemus could see that Jim West was relieved to locate the site. Perhaps he’d begun to doubt himself after the bushwhacking.

As they swiftly changed clothes, Gordon spoke. “Where the devil did you learn to fight like that?”

Jim had his back to his companion and did not look around. “I don't know. Just learned.”

“Looks like barroom brawl-type pugilistic style to me.”

Now Jim turned around, his chin out. “So?”

Artemus had to laugh again. “So that’s where I learned whatever few fighting skills I possess as well. There’s a perception out there that actors are… effete. Weak. When my colleagues and I would go to a tavern to relax and were recognized, often we would be challenged and would have to prove otherwise. I thought perhaps you participated in a boxing club at the university.”

“I did. But the style was… limiting.”

“Yes. Not particularly helpful if one is battling a man who also learned in the saloon. Did I see a smattering of karate as well?”

Jim stared. “You know karate?”

“No,” Artemus smiled. “I’ve seen it demonstrated, however.”

“A Chinese family ran a laundry near the university. A lot of the students took their clothes there. I became friends with the son—he was just a year or so older than me. He wanted to attend the university, but of course, could not. I shared book lessons with him, and he taught me some karate. I always hoped I could learn more one day.”

They fell silent then. Jim knew he should not have taken umbrage at such an innocent question. He had long ago learned to protect his own thoughts and feelings from others. An unemotional façade was the best way to go, leaving no openings for new pain. He also knew that he had been among those who looked on actors disparagingly. He had not seen Gordon fight, but he now suspected the man could hold his own. What he had seen was Artemus Gordon in situations where fast thinking was required, and he proved he had that ability. General Grant would not have selected a man for this mission whose courage was suspect.

“What made you come up with the idea of pretending to be a Confederate agent?” he asked as they were preparing to mount up.

Artemus looked at him. “Just popped into my head. Confusion is a great equalizer.”

“Yeah. I guess so. Sure got those Rebs’ attention.”

Gordon grinned as he mounted. “And that was the intention. I didn’t know what would come of it. But you caught on quickly.”

“I first thought…” Jim broke off his words as he stepped into the stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. He had not intended to say that.

The other man’s smile remained. “Yeah, I figured that might happen. But I also knew you were smart enough to grasp the situation at once.”

Jim West was surprised to realize how much his companion’s praise meant to him. He had early on realized that Artemus Gordon was above average as far as intelligence was concerned. He had always considered himself an intelligent man as well, while acknowledging he was never going to be as smart as some of his university teachers and fellow students when it came to mathematics and science, in particular. Professor Robey had once commented that he possessed a “native intelligence,” which Jim took to mean common sense and the ability to use his intellect to its best advantage. Gordon, however, had a different kind of “smarts.” Book learning type, although quite obviously he also knew how to use them to the best advantage.

Lucianna was right, I believe. Artemus spurred his horse to follow his younger companion as they headed out again in their attempt to reach northern lines safely. There’s a lot to this fellow. He’s not just a good-looking and dashing young cavalry officer. Those still waters run very deep. I suspect a man could do no better than to have James West as a friend. I wonder if he’s mine?

W*W*W*W*W

Courage is a perfect sensibility of the measure of danger, and a mental willingness to endure it.
—William T. Sherman (1820-1891), American soldier, businessman, education, and author

The remainder of that day and into the next was quite harrowing. They encountered no Confederate troops; however, the skies darkened by mid afternoon and it began to rain—hard. Although the two men had ponchos in their gear, those rubberized coverings were not of much avail with the wind driving the rain almost horizontally against man and beast. Water trickled down their necks, and by the time they found a minimum of shelter in a half-ruined barn, they were already soaked through and through.

They did not understand why the lull in the pursuit, although aware that for at least a short period of time their pursuers had been hampered by the weather as well. Obviously, a full-scale manhunt was on for the two men. Boyd Garnett could not have told the Confederate authorities exactly what was stolen from his home. The mere fact of two Union spies would be enough for the army to be on alert, and earlier they had encountered numerous patrols, ranging from just two men to a unit of over a dozen men. Each time, primarily thanks to Jim’s instincts, they had been able to evade the patrols; they knew, however, that they could not relax their vigilance.

Jim speculated that the strategy might be to block their access to the Union lines, and that all or most of the pursuers were racing to get ahead of them, with some remaining behind to push them into the snare. For that reason, their stops were brief, and despite that the weather cleared and they were cold and damp, they built no fire, thus no hot coffee and only cold food. They rode deep into the night then took turns sleeping for short periods. Both were tired and grimy but shaving and a clean uniform could wait until they gained safety. Knowing they were nearing the northern lines caused them to push themselves and their horses to the limit.

Artemus hauled back on the reins when West raised a warning hand, halting his own horse. Jim twisted around in the saddle, face grim. “Stay here.”

He dismounted and handed the reins of his steed to Gordon, then headed off into some brush ahead. Artemus waited. What in the world is he up to? I should have demanded an explanation. No Reb patrols had been encountered for a long while although both were aware the Confederate units were in the area. Jim had been optimistic that they might start meeting Union patrols soon. He himself had led reconnaissance forays into this general area.

Jim came back at a trot, not stopping until he was alongside Gordon’s horse, and then spoke in a low tone. “We were right about them getting ahead of us. About fifty-sixty men are in front, and seem to have pickets spread out over a pretty wide stretch. I think they are Garnett’s raiders.”

Artemus's brows lifted. “Are you sure?”

“I couldn’t get real close, but a couple of them appear to have that insignia you mentioned. We’re going to have to backtrack and take a wide detour.”

“Jim, we know for sure Rebs are behind us.”

Jim shook his head. “Can’t be helped.”

“Maybe,” Artemus said, dismounting. As Jim watched, puzzled, Gordon opened his saddlebag and pulled out the oilskin packet. “Take this.”

“What? Why?”

“Because these papers have to get through to Grant. I can distract those men ahead of us and you can slip through…”

“Are you crazy? If they catch you…!”

Artemus reached into the saddlebag again, this time bringing out a flat metal box. “I’ll be someone else. Even if Garnett is there, he never saw me as my natural self. I’ll pretend to be a Yankee deserter, give them some false information…”

“Artie, no! You can’t get away with it!”

“I can for long enough. Listen to me, Jim. We were sent on a mission. Delivering those letters means a successful conclusion to that mission. That’s the only thing that counts. Do as I say.”

“You’re forgetting, lieutenant, you don’t outrank me.”

Artemus smiled. “I know that. But I also know you are aware of the consequences if we fail. Garnett might succeed in his plans. At the very least, more Union sympathizers will be harmed.”

Jim West exhaled a noisy breath. “All right. I’ll do it. With some modifications.”

[California gal]

W*W*W*W*W

The grimy man in the torn and tattered blue uniform stopped short, grabbing the low branches of a nearby tree to apparently keep himself from falling, as he stared at the group of gray-clad men he encountered. “Oh meine Güte! Die Aufrührer! Helfen Sie mir? Uh… help me? I am—I am… verloren… uh… lost.” His voice was hoarse and guttural.

The several men looked at each other then came slowly forward, raising their weapons. “Who are you, Yank? What are you doing here?”

“Uh—no… no Yankee. I… Ich beendete… not my Kampf… I do not fight… you verstehen Sie? You understand? I run—I want to go home…” The tattered man held out his hands pleadingly. “Please… you help me? Ich möchte nach Deutschland zurück gehen!”

One of the gray-clad men, with a scarlet camellia sewn to his tunic’s front, stepped forward. A muscular man with a full dark beard and longish hair, he wore the insignia of a colonel. “I’m Colonel Litchfield,” he spoke sharply. “What’s your name? Was ist Ihr Name?”

The Union soldier brightened. “Henrik Gabler, mein Oberst. Mein Name ist Henrik Gabler. Sprechen Sie Deutsches?”

“Damn little,” the colonel growled. “What are you doing here? Did you desert? Er… Verließen Sie?”

“Ja, ja, I run away. I not fight. Not my country. Helfen Sie mir?”

“What’s your regiment?”

“Was? Ich verstehe nicht.”

“Uh… your… your Maßeinheit… Regiment…”

“Ah! Wisconsin. Wisconsin!”

A man with sergeant’s stripes commented, “I didn’t know any Wisconsin boys were around here.”

“Yeah,” the colonel nodded. “This fellow might have some information for us. Let’s give him a meal and see what he has to say. You hungry, Gabler? Wünschen Sie essen?”

“Oh, ja, ja! Danke! Danke!”

They led the deserter through the camp to a fire where a pot of some kind of stew was bubbling in a pot hung on a spit, gave him a plate full and a cup of coffee. He tucked in happily, and soon seemed to be relaxed in his surroundings, enough so that he haltingly inquired about the identity of the southern regiment he had encountered, again asking for help, saying he did not want to return to his Wisconsin unit. Another man, a corporal, who spoke fluent German came to help translate.

Eventually a handsome man in a general’s uniform arrived. Through the translator, he identified himself as the commander, General Boyd Garnett, and began to ask questions of the deserter. Gabler apologized over and over. “Mein Rang ist privat,” and at such a lowly station, he did not know much about the plans of the higher ranks. He did know how many men were in his regiment, and upon hearing that information, the general and the officers who had gathered with him displayed astonishment and murmured among themselves.

Artemus had to keep his head down, busying himself eating, lest he display his mirth. If nothing else, I’m shaking them up! Garnett’s army might not be regular army, but they certainly didn’t want to encounter a full regiment of Union troops. Thus far, neither Litchfield nor Garnett appeared to harbor any suspicions and did not recognize the German deserter as the elegant Virginian who had been an honored guest at Garnet Rose. Little effort had been required to create the disheveled German private, especially after the rainstorm. The best part was that quite a few of the men in the unit had now heard about the newcomer and were gathering around to witness the interview. He guessed about thirty men were in the immediate vicinity. That means fewer for Jim to contend with.

With the corporal translating, Garnett continued to ply the deserter with questions about his regiment and their location, and Gabler continued to insist he did not know where his troop was billeted. He did not know this strange country. He had been wandering for more than two days, completely lost. Verloren! Artemus could see that both Garnett and the captain were becoming impatient, if not a trifle suspicious. Come on, James. Time to put your plan in action… if he had been able to evade the pickets and get to the horses.

Garnett was staring at him hard. “What did you say your name was again?”

Artemus frowned deeply, shook his head then ducked again to concentrate on cleaning the last remnants of stew from his plate. “Ich verstehe nicht.”

“He said it was Gabler,” the colonel spoke up. “Henrik Gabler.[/i]”

“Ja, ja! Henrik Gabler!” Artemus beamed. “Mag ich mehr Kaffee trinken?”

“What’s he want?” Garnett turned to the soldier.

“More coffee. I don't think he knows anything, sir. Just a dumb German.” The general then nodded to the sergeant, who picked up the big enamel pot to fill the cup Artemus was holding out. “What do we do with him?”

“Can’t turn him loose,” Garnett replied, still staring at the deserter. “Where’d he say he was from?”

“Wisconsin, I guess. That’s the regiment he says is out there somewhere.”

“I have the strongest sense that I’ve seen this fellow somewhere.”

Artemus kept his head down as he sipped the hot coffee. Come on, Jim. Garnett isn’t stupid. He may well decide I resemble Justin Lee a little too much! Just as the thought crossed Artemus's mind, a sudden commotion erupted some distance from the campfire, shots, shouts, and the sounds of excited horses. “Henrik Gabler” leapt to his feet, asking excited questions, while—after a moment of stunned hesitation—Garnett and the other men in the immediate vicinity headed toward the source of the to-do.

Artemus yelled questions in German after them, but did not follow. As soon as the last man was safely on his way toward the noise, Artemus tossed his coffee cup down and sprinted in the opposite direction, pulling the pistol from inside his shirt. He had counted on Garnett’s men being too astonished by the arrival of the confused German that they would not think to search him, and that was what had happened.

“Just keep running, and I’ll find you.” That’s what Jim said, so that’s what I’ll do. The younger man had been adamant. Despite how important getting those letters to Grant’s headquarters was, he was not about to desert a comrade, throwing Artemus's own previously stated words back at him. He had suggested that Artemus draw a lot of attention in camp, while he circled around and ran off the horses, creating the distraction that would allow Artemus to leave with the added advantage of giving themselves extra time while the horses were gathered up.

Artemus continued through the gorge, noticing that it widened as he traversed it. Garnett had chosen a spot well, one that would normally prevent any traffic from going through without them knowing about it. Travelers would be funneled through the gorge. Garnett indeed was a clever man. If not stopped, his plans to make the southeast his own kingdom might well come to fruition.

Suddenly hearing the galloping hooves of horses behind him, he looked back in some alarm, then quickly relaxed, spotting Jim West on the dun and leading the thoroughbred. Jim slowed to a stop, and neither spoke as Artemus mounted gratefully, and they took off at a gallop again. Both knew that the ruse they had perpetrated would stall Garnett and his men for only a short time. Once the horses were chased down, they would be after the two Yankees.

After perhaps an hour at top speed, Jim waved them to a halt atop a small rise, where he stood in the stirrups and peered behind them. “There they are,” he said, pointing with one hand.

Artemus turned and saw what he meant, a moving dark clump of horses and men in the distance, possibly ten or more miles away. “Their mounts are fresher than ours,” he said, turning his attention to his companion. “Jim! You’re wounded!” Only now did he see the blood on West’s left sleeve, and where it had dripped over his hand and onto his saddle and creating a dark splotch on the lighter coat of the horse.

“Just a scratch,” Jim muttered. “No time to worry about it now.” He looked around. “I think I know where we are. If I’m right, we’re only a few hours from the lines.”

“A few hours,” Artemus said softly, looking at his horse’s lathered neck, noting how it bowed toward the ground. “Can we make it?”

“We have to, Artie. We have to.”

They did run into a little bit of luck a few miles further on, coming upon a stream. Not only did it allow both men and beasts to refresh themselves—although Jim rebuffed his partner’s efforts to look at the wounded arm—it also offered an opportunity put down a false trail as well as hide their real one, at least for a short while. They rode across the stream, making sure to leave hoof prints in the soft mud until the ground hardened, then doubled back over a grassy area, returning to the stream, where Jim dismounted and used a stick to erase any traces of their passage over the grass. In the water, they were able to travel nearly a mile before it became too rough, tumbling over several shallow cataracts down a hillside.

They took another break after leaving the water, and this time Artemus was firm. He could see that the wound on Jim’s arm was still bleeding, the gore continuing to drip off his fingers, staining his uniform as well as the horse. He insisted Jim pull the shirt off then he used his own neckerchief to first wash some of the blood away and inspect the wound.

“Well, you’re right, it’s just a ‘scratch,’” Artemus said sourly, “but it’s a deep scratch. Might need stitches. But for now we’ll just try to staunch the bleeding.”

“I’ve had worse,” Jim grumbled.

“I bet you have,” Gordon responded, now pulling the bandana off Jim’s neck to use as a bandage. He could see the scars on West’s arm and side. Saber scars, typical for a cavalryman. I’ll wager they didn’t keep him invalid long! Takes more than a few cuts to get this young fellow down!

Once Jim had his shirt back in place, after he mumbled some thanks for the ministrations, they mounted and headed off again. This was when they ran into some bad luck, as they crossed a meadow toward what appeared to be a road—and spotted a group of horsemen heading their way.

“Damn!” Jim grated, spinning his horse and heading back toward the cover of the woods they had just left. He didn’t look back to see if Artemus was following; he knew he would be. In the distance, the shouts they heard indicated they had been spotted. We are in no shape for a long hard chase. These horses are about spent!

As they gained the trees, Artemus yelled, “Dismount! Jim! Dismount!”

Though puzzled, Jim West pulled his horse up and swung down, turning to see what Gordon had in mind. He instantly comprehended. The trees surrounded a rather high hill, with some of the forest growing on the sides of the steep slope. Artemus led his horse into a cave he had spotted at the side of that hill, Jim following. They left their steeds inside to hurry out to cover any signs of their detour. Quite a bit of brush grew over the opening of the cave, and they pulled some even closer to disguise the entrance.

Then it was a matter of waiting in tense silence. Both were aware that they had had little chance to outrun the horses they now heard thundering across the meadow. Whether those men were Garnett’s troops or not, they undoubtedly had fresher horses under them. When Gordon’s horse tossed its head at the sound of the other steeds, Artemus put his hand over the thoroughbred’s muzzle, whispering quietly to him. The horse settled.

The southern horsemen slowed as they entered the woods, but continued on, shouting encouragement to each other to the effect that their quarry was not far ahead. The two men in the cave waited until the sounds faded away, then Jim peered out through the brush before waving Artemus to follow. They mounted and quickly headed back over the meadow to the road. The more-or-less leveled thoroughfare provided them with the opportunity to keep to an even pace, a ground-eating lope, rather than the hard gallop.

Jim West was not about to admit it to his companion, but his arm had been throbbing painfully since the wound had been inflicted when he scattered the horses at Garnett’s encampment. The bandana wrapped tightly around it helped some, and at least slowed the bleeding, but he was more than aware of the furrow a minié ball had put in his flesh. Riding at this less hectic pace also helped, but he knew it was not going to stop hurting until he was able to get some rest—and perhaps have it treated properly.

He was all but certain they were nearing their destination, but could not spot any landmarks to be assured that was actually the case. This was not the same route they had used when they left for Alabama. He just knew it was the general direction they should be heading—but obviously still rife with Rebel patrols.

Jim West also knew that Artemus Gordon was relying on him to lead them back to safety. I’m the one who’s reconnoitered this whole area with my patrol. I should be able to get us back—but where the devil is it? Why don’t I see something familiar?

He spotted the lone rider on the rather steep rise to the left of them, and was astonished to not only see that rider waving toward them frantically, but to realize that it was a woman. “Artie!” Jim pulled up and pointed.

Artemus looked around in puzzlement, which increased when he saw what Jim was indicating. “Who is that?”

“I don't know. Be alert.” The rider was urging her mount down the slope now, still anxiously waving toward them, obviously wanting them to wait for her.

“My God!” Artie cried, eyes widening. “It’s Lucianna!”

Jim realized the woman’s identity at almost the same instant. He pulled his pistol, eyes scanning their surroundings. He saw no sign of any other men, mounted or dismounted. Other than the hill from which Lucianna Garnett was descending, the land was fairly flat and clear here, with a fairly extensive grove of trees probably a mile in the opposite direction from her approach. Could be men are waiting either on the other side of the hill, or perhaps in the woods, but…

“Come with me!” Lucianna called as she neared, now motioning. “Boyd and his men are about five miles behind me. Come on!” Without stopping, she guided her lathered mare across the dirt road and to the meadow on the other side.

Artemus reacted almost without thinking, digging his heels into the thoroughbred’s flanks. Jim West stared for a moment, cursed under his breath, and followed. He’s besotted with the woman! Yet the mystery of why and how she was here, so far from Garnet Rose, was intriguing enough that he wanted to know the answer. The only way he would acquire that would be to follow. He retained his pistol in his hand, while noticing that Artemus had not unsheathed his weapon.

Artemus glanced back and saw that Jim was close behind. My God, I don't know what I’m doing! I acted instinctively. Am I leading us into a death trap? Yet he could not bring himself to change his mind. He had to know what was going on. How in the world did Lucianna arrive at this particular spot at this particular moment? Was she trying to help them? Or lead them into Garnett’s hands.

They were heading directly toward the trees. As they neared, Jim realized that the copse was even larger and denser than he had originally believed, and suddenly he knew where they were. Just a few weeks ago he had led a patrol to this area, having approached those trees from the opposite side. If Lady Luck is on our side, other Union patrols will be in this neighborhood. Grant had ordered constant reconnaissance to ensure that the Confederates were not in the area in force.

Lucianna finally halted her mount when they were some fifty feet inside the grove of trees, but she did not attempt to dismount. Both men noticed she was not riding sidesaddle, as had been her habit at Garnet Rose, but straddle, and wearing a split suede skirt that barely reached her boot tops. She was also very dusty and looked tired, her auburn hair tied back with a ribbon rather than stylishly coifed.

“Lucianna,” Artemus began, “What…?”

She held up a hand to silence him. “There’s no time now, Justin Lee… though I suspect that’s not your true name. I couldn’t remain at Garnet Rose. I think Boyd was starting to suspect me, especially after his letters disappeared from his desk.”

Artie gaped. “His desk? They were in the safe!”

“Where I put them. I realized you had been told they would be in the safe. I moved them there so you would not need to spend time looking for them. I couldn’t risk telling you at that time. I wasn’t… sure, until you and Mr. Weathers departed at the same time.”

The two men exchanged bewildered glances, and Jim spoke up. “Mrs. Garnett, what is going on here? Why did you hail us?”

“Because I know where the Union patrol is waiting for you.”

“Waiting for us?” Artemus exclaimed. “What do you mean?”

“How do you know…?” Jim began.

“Again, that can wait. I was able to get ahead of Boyd’s men because being a solo rider, I could cut through areas they would avoid. But they are coming. He’s determined to catch you before you can turn those papers over to General Grant.”

“Lucianna, are you the one who sent anonymous letters to the general?” Artemus demanded.

She nodded. “Explanations later. I think our horses have had a chance to rest long enough. Come on.”

The two men had a hundred questions, a thousand, but this was not the time, as she stated. What she had told them convinced both they should trust her, at least for the moment. Jim continued to hold his pistol; he had seen her green eyes flick to the weapon. He wondered if he saw approval in those eyes. I want to know why she believes a patrol is waiting for us, when we made no such arrangements!

They had just barely started out when they heard the sounds of the pursuit. The meadow’s lush grass softened some of the hoof beats, but several dozen horses would not be completely silent. The woods would slow that many riders more so than the trio, just as Lucianna had described her ability to slip past Garnett’s troop. In some sense, that was why the two fleeing spies had been able to elude and outrun their pursuers. The number and wide-flung locations of their pursuers had been the problem, and still was.

Jim glanced at Artemus, and was somewhat startled to be aware that Gordon shared the same thoughts he was having. If Garnett was clever enough, he could send men to circumnavigate the patch of trees. They might outrace the trio within the forest and be waiting for them on the other side. They might even outnumber whatever Union men awaited them—if Lucianna was on the level.

Artemus was the one who halted their flight some dozen yards while still inside the dense trees. He spurred his horse forward and caught the bridle of Lucianna’s steed. That she did not protest or try to pull the reins away made him think she might have been planning to stop anyway.

“What’s ahead?” he asked as Jim moved up on the other side of the woman. Jim held his weapon casually, resting on the pommel of his saddle, but Artemus knew his young partner was ready for anything.

“Captain Wilson is about two miles further on. That was the only cover available, and they didn’t want to be in the open, possibly tipping off Garnett too soon.”

“That rough break near the creek?” Jim asked. “Lot of trees and rocks?”

“That’s it. But we can’t tarry here too long.” She glanced backward, but the men did not need to be reminded. They could hear the pursuit, slowed by the vegetation, but steadily coming closer.

Again, Artemus's head was filled with questions. I just hope we survive so I can ask them—and she can answer! Without further word, the three spurred their mounts and soon burst out onto another level meadow. In the distance, they could see some buildings that looked like a small village, possibly a half mile away. Lucianna led them straight ahead, not veering toward those structures.

Jim approved. He remembered clearly his men approaching that little settlement and encountering unexpected resistance in the form of a Home Guard. They did not need such interference at this time. However, the biggest problem right now was their exhausted horses. He could see that the woman’s mare was just as worn down as theirs were. How in the devil did she make it this far on her own?

As they rode, he remembered her invitation to accompany him on a leisurely ride and the conversation they had had. Suddenly he realized she had not been recruiting him for Garnett’s troops, but sounding him out on his true loyalties. What had he said, he wondered, that caused her to know Grant had sent him? Quite obviously, she had known that infiltrators would have been assigned in response to the letter from “anonymous.” I hope that soothes Artie’s pride, when he realizes she saw through his disguise!

Garnett’s men burst from the trees and began shooting almost immediately. For the moment, the fleeing trio was out of range, but all knew that would not continue long as their laboring horses lost ground. Neither West nor Gordon attempted to fire back, knowing that might impede their mounts’ progress.

They allowed Lucianna to take the lead, aware that they really had no choice. Although Jim was familiar with the location of the rough ground near the creek that she mentioned, it was a fairly extensive area. Presumably Lucianna knew exactly where the escort was waiting. Again Jim could only wonder how she had managed to gain such knowledge.

Artemus allowed himself one quick glance behind as they neared a broken down fence on the far side of the meadow. He wished he could convince himself that Garnett’s troops were not gaining, but that was not the case. He recognized Boyd Garnett in the lead, and wondered if he actually saw the rage on Garnett’s face. Not hard to imagine. Those letters will ruin his grand plans to convert a portion of the Confederacy into his own empire.

Although he had not had opportunity to do more than glance at the correspondence to ensure they were what he sought, he had seen a couple of names on the pages to lead him to believe that not only Boyd Garnett would be ruined with the publication of the letters. Ruined or at least diminished in stature and influence. I wonder if Garnett thought to warn his co-conspirators before setting out on this chase. If so, a few might be on their way to Europe or South America at this moment!

Jim felt his mare stagger under him. “Go on!” he yelled, pulling on the reins. “Go on! I’ll hold them off!” He grabbed the rifle from its scabbard, along with the saddle packs that held his extra ammunition, as he leapt from the saddle and raced toward a depression in the ground. He had barely thrown himself to the earth and started to level the carbine when he realized that Artemus Gordon had duplicated his movements. “Are you crazy?”

“Lucianna will bring the troops,” Artemus replied simply, throwing his hat aside as he lay down in the grass. The woman had continued on. He got off a shot an instant after Jim fired. The oncoming riders immediately pulled up or swerved, Garnett and other officers shouting orders.

“They’re going to try to surround us,” Jim muttered, pulling the trigger again and receiving the satisfaction of seeing one of the camellia-emblem-wearing men fall off his horse before he could dismount. Unless Lucianna led us into this trap! He fought against that idea. For one thing, it did not make sense. She could not have known his horse would give out just when it did. Better ways of ensnaring them existed.

Artemus rolled over and got off a shot at a man starting to try to circle around them. That man also pitched from the saddle. Need to discourage them from attempting to get behind us. At least they had been supplied with the best repeating rifles available before leaving on their mission, and for the moment, they had plenty of ammunition. Whether that was enough to survive until—and if—the Union patrol arrived, time only would tell.

Jim was impressed with his companion’s marksmanship. He did not know why he had thought otherwise, but somehow he had not considered that Gordon would be good with a gun. As they both continued to pull the trigger rapidly, hitting or coming close to several of them, Garnett’s men fell back, unwilling to advance in the face of such fine shooting. Artemus had told him of the impressive armaments he had seen at Garnett’s camp, but their attackers appeared to be using mostly older small arms. However, they were proficient enough to keep the two Yankees pinned down, by dint of their numbers if not their aim.

“How far is this break where our friends are waiting?” Artemus inquired as he took time to reload.

Jim’s rifle was also empty, but he used his pistol while his companion loaded. “Less than two miles. If they are actually there…”

“Oh, they are there, James. Have no doubt of that. At least, Lucianna was assured they would be there at this time.”

“How?” Jim lowered his pistol and began to load the rifle as Artemus brought his carbine up to bear.

“What?” Artemus pulled the trigger and had the satisfaction of seeing Boyd Garnett duck low. Too bad I missed though!

“How does she know the patrol is waiting? She said Ethan Wilson’s name as though she knows him.”

“I don't know, Jim. If we get out of here alive, we’ll find out, I suppose.”

“Well, I’m damn curious enough, Artie, that I intend to do just that!” Jim fired two rapid shots and grinned as he saw two men reel in the saddle. Neither fell off their horses but both pulled toward the rear. “This is fun, isn’t it?”

Artemus shot a startled glance at his companion. “Fun!”

Jim ducked as a ball whizzed passed his ear, then grinned. “The thrill of battle, Artie! The two of us against the world!”

Artemus sighed, once again turning to dissuade a rider who was trying to pass around them. So far they had convinced most of Garnett’s men that that presenting themselves as lone targets was not a particularly good idea. “Why do you call me that?”

“What?”

“Artie.” Once again he was compelled to pause to reload. This time, however, Jim was able to continue firing.

“I don't know. Easier to say than Artemus. You don’t like it?”

“Oh, no, that’s not it. Only persons who ever addressed me as Artie were my mother and a girl I knew in school. People… who liked me.”

“What happened to her?” Jim glanced at his friend’s dour expression.

“My mother died ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry about that. I meant the girl, however.” As Artemus began firing again, Jim reloaded. At least they had that schedule staggered now.

“Oh. I don't know. I last saw her at my school’s senior class ball, before I graduated. Her mother pulled Lily out of the local school and sent her to a fine young lady’s academy. Mrs. Fortune did not believe I—or any of the local boys—was good enough for Lily.”

Jim stole a look at Artemus in between shots. The expression on his face was even darker now, and Jim could only imagine that that was due to the memories that had been conjured up. This Lily must have been quite a girl! He also remembered his own sudden outburst about their present predicament being “fun.” A strange choice of words, and he regretted he had spoken them aloud. Artie must think I’m insane.

Yet, he knew he had never felt so… comfortable alongside any other man, especially in battle. As far as that went, Jim realized never before in his life had he felt as at ease as he felt now with Artemus Gordon. After seeing the man in action, both in his pose as Justin Lee Galbraith and now fighting alongside him, Jim experienced a camaraderie that he had not felt in many years. None of his college friends, though fun to be with, had ever caused him to feel they were of one mind. How many times had he gotten the idea that he and Gordon were sharing the same thoughts? Maybe I am crazy. We’ve known each other less than two weeks, yet I feel I could trust my life in his hands!

“They’re starting to get bolder,” Artemus commented.

Jim nodded. He had noted how several men had dismounted and were making their way closer to the two Yankees, crawling through the grass. Because they were so low to the ground, getting an effective shot against them was nearly impossible. The best they could do was to fire into the ground in front of those men in the hopes of slowing them down.

“Mrs. Garnett had best lead the cavalry back our way soon.”

Artemus looked at him. “You still don’t trust her?”

“I’m not sure I have an opinion one way or another. I certainly want to trust her in this situation. I can’t see why she would have led us to this spot when there were other better sites for an ambush.”

“Exactly.” Artemus squeezed the trigger and one of the men in the grass rose up slightly then fell down again. One less. I’ve the idea that Jim West does not trust easily. Yet, I’ve gotten the impression that he trusts me. Even likes me. I’m glad of that. I hope if we survive this mess, we can become friends. “How’s your arm?” he asked aloud.

“Fine. It’s not going to matter much if the patrol doesn’t get here soon.”

“Just so it doesn’t impede your harp playing,” Artie quipped.

Jim grinned despite himself and the situation. “I’m not very musical, anyway.”

“Then I’ll make up the difference. I play several instruments.”

“I suppose St. Peter will accept you as a substitute for me.”

“We go together, James, or we don’t go at all!”

Jim was surprised by the comment. So much so that his finger froze on the trigger for just an instant. In a sense, that was fortunate, because in that delayed instant, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye, swung around to spot two men attempting to creep up on them. Rising up slightly, Jim slued his own weapon and fired twice rapidly. Both men fell.

“Mrs. Garnett’s posse had better get here soon,” he commented, as he began to rapidly reload. “Our generous supply of ammunition is dwindling.”

“I noticed,” Artie responded. “Where did you learn to shoot?”

“Huh?”

“You have an excellent eye, Jim. Did you have someone to teach you?”

“My… a friend… when I was a kid. He said… I was a natural with a gun.”

“I’d have to agree.” Artemus wondered about Jim’s hesitation. “You… listen! Hear that?”

Hearing anything was difficult over the roar of the weaponry and the shouts of the still remaining twenty or thirty men and their officers, but Jim did hear what Artemus did. Horses, approaching fast from the direction Lucianna had ridden.

“Let’s stay alive for the next few minutes, Artie,” Jim snapped, and began firing as rapidly as he could pull the trigger. He was not surprised that Artemus waited until he had emptied his carbine, then took up the barrage while his partner reloaded. We work damn good together!

Garnett and his men became aware of the approaching horses as well. A number of the men nearest the horses, including those delegated to hold the mounts, quickly jumped into the saddle and started riding the other direction, ignoring the shouts of General Garnett and Colonel Litchfield to remain in place. A few did, but only until the Union cavalry came into view, then they bolted too. Quite patently they decided they had not signed on to fight the entire Union army, which was wholly different from rousting some Union-leaning farmers.

As the cavalry approached, appearing to be some fifty or sixty men strong, Garnett yelled some curses in the direction of the two men in the grassy depression, then he and Litchfield dashed for their horses too. Artemus and Jim got to their feet. Artemus reached over and put a hand on his companion’s shoulder.

“I guess St. Pete will have to wait awhile, James my boy.”

As a lieutenant led his men in pursuit, the captain and a couple of men halted their horses. Captain Ethan Wilson was a tall, well built man in his thirties with auburn hair. “Gentlemen,” he greeted, holding out his hand. “I trust we made it in time.”

“Just,” Artemus grinned, accepting the hand. “And for that, we thank you.”

“Thank Lucianna,” the captain replied. “She’s the one who arranged for us to be in this vicinity—and then brought the word when and where we were needed.”

Artemus found himself experiencing a twinge of jealousy with the familiarity the captain was showing regarding Mrs. Garnett. “Where is she?”

“I almost had to tie her to a tree, but she agreed to wait at least fifteen minutes before following us. She should be along any minute now. You’re wounded, Lieutenant West?”

“Just a scratch,” Jim replied.

Artie rolled his eyes. “It’s a deep scratch, captain. But I think he’ll live if we can get him to the surgeon. Might not even have to remove the arm.”

Jim swung a startled glance to his companion and saw the twinkle in the brown eyes. “Your sense of humor takes some getting used to, lieutenant.”

Artie grinned at him. “There’s time.”

“Was that Garnett we saw riding off?” Wilson inquired.

Artie nodded. “I hope your men catch him, but if they don’t, no great harm done. I’ve got the papers.” He patted his tunic where he had stowed the letters earlier, just in case. “Garnett is finished.”

“There’s Mrs. Garnett,” one of the soldiers who had remained behind pointed out.

She rode up rapidly and dismounted before any man had an opportunity to step forward to assist her. Rushing forward, Lucianna grasped the captain’s arm. “Ethan, is everything all right?”

“Perfect, dear. With any luck, we’ll round up at least a few of Garnett’s men. If not, as Lieutenant Gordon points out, Boyd Garnett will have lost his effectiveness now.”

“I wish someone would point out to me what’s going on,” Jim said, noticing the hard expression on Gordon’s face as he surveyed the closeness between the captain and the lady. “How is it you know Mrs. Garnett, captain? If I may ask.”

Wilson grinned, patted the hand still on his arm. “Can’t you tell by looking at us?”

Jim’s eyes narrowed a moment then he glanced at Gordon, who looked baffled, before grinning and responding. “You’re related.” He only now noticed the emerald green eyes the captain possessed.

Lucianna laughed. “My brother, Lieutenant West. My twin brother.” She turned her gaze. “And you, Justin Lee, I presume are Artemus Gordon.”

Artemus bowed slightly at the shoulders, suddenly experiencing some discomfiture. She was just as beautiful and alluring, though disheveled, and he remembered their embraces vividly. He knew his pride was wounded somewhat because it seemed she had also been a “spy” at Garnet Rose—and she apparently saw through his disguise! Now to realize she was sister to a Union officer… so many questions to be answered!

Several of the cavalrymen returned, leading the dun and the thoroughbred. They reported that most of Garnett’s men were escaping, primarily by scattering to the winds. One patrol was still pursuing, but did not have much hope of bringing back many prisoners, if any. The captain ordered them to spread out, find, and summon the men to return to camp. “Too many Reb patrols out there searching for our friends the lieutenants.”

The journey back to the Union encampment outside of Grant’s headquarters was, thankfully, uneventful. Artemus rode alongside Lucianna, but they did not talk much. He felt that what they might have to say to each other would best be said in private. Once in camp, Artemus turned the packet of letters over to Captain Wilson to be delivered to the general, then he and Jim set out to make themselves “human” again, as Jim put it.

Artemus first escorted his young partner to the surgeon’s tent, quite sure that if he had not, Jim would have ignored taking care of the wound. As it turned out, the doctor cleaned the wound, put some salve and a bandage on it, deciding it did not need stitches as long as Lieutenant West was cautious and did not start it bleeding again.

They made a stop at their tent to gather up fresh attire, then to a barber in the nearby town of Savannah where they could get baths and shaves before changing into those clean uniforms. Jim asked the barber to see that his boots were polished while they were bathing. Soaking in the hot tubs, Jim was careful to keep his newly applied bandage as dry as possible. Not only was Artemus watching him carefully but he also did not want to make a return trip to the surgeon.

“How do you suppose Wilson was able to be there to meet us?” Jim asked after awhile.

Artie opened his eyes, and was aware that he had been drifting off to sleep in the delicious comfort of the water and the wooden tubs. “I hope we’ll find out soon.” His dread was that somehow Lucianna was going to disappear before they could talk. He needed to know more about her, and most especially, where he stood with her. She’s a few years older than me, but not that much.... He was aware that he was deluding himself on that score. Ethan Wilson was close to thirty-five, Artemus knew that as a fact, having first met the captain last year in a tavern in Nashville, where Wilson was celebrating his thirty-fourth birthday.

“I think what I want to do, as soon as we’ve met with General Grant,” Jim said, pulling himself reluctantly from the tub and grabbing for one of the large Turkish towels, “is eat and then go to bed for a week.”

“Sounds like a perfect plan.” Artemus followed suit, knowing that although Sam was giving them some leeway, he would be waiting for their report.

Jim scrubbed his hair dry then tossed the towel aside, picking up his underwear and beginning to tug them on over his still damp skin. “Wonder if the general will allow us to work together again.”

Artie paused with the towel half wrapped around his body. “You want to?”

Jim shrugged nonchalantly. “Seems to me we worked well together. Don’t you agree?”

“Yeah, I do. I’ll be honest, Jim. When we first met, I thought you were too young.”

Jim grinned. “And I thought you were too old!”

“We’re even then.” Artie chuckled softly, as he continued drying his skin. “I know that the general has a pretty extensive network of spies, both civilian and military.”

“I know. But I think we could be damn effective as a team. As long as you let me do the fighting.”

“What? You think I can’t handle myself?”

“Oh, maybe you can. But I just think you’d be more effective using your brains.”

“So… you’re admitting I’m smarter than you?” Artie gazed at Jim with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Only older, Artie. Only older.”

W*W*W*W*W

General Grant was effusive in his praise for their success, and brushed off Artemus's remark that apparently they had needed assistance from “anonymous” to complete their task. “I know you would have completed it, regardless. That Mrs. Garnett was available only simplified matters. Now what would you two think about working together again?”

Jim West could not suppress his grin. “I think we’d both be amenable to that, sir.”

Grant looked from one to the other. “Why do I have a sense I’m putting flame under a powder keg?” He laughed, waved the cigar he was holding. “Get some rest, gentlemen. You deserve it. By the way, Mrs. Garnett is currently at the boarding house in town. She specifically requested that I send you to her. She wants to see you both before she leaves.”

Jim asked, “Sir, may I inquire whether you knew she was the anonymous person who sent the letters?” Artemus was glad that Jim spoke up, as it gave him an opportunity to hide his disappointment with the general’s words.

“I did not. Neither did her brother, as it turns out. But she will tell you the story, I’m sure. Go along now. Come back and talk to me in a couple of days after you recuperate. And take care of your arm, West.”

Neither spoke as they walked the distance back into the town and found the boarding house. Jim glanced at his companion a few times, and saw the tenseness in him. This is going to be harder on Artie than on me. I don't know for sure what went on between him and Mrs. Garnett, but I am pretty sure it went beyond a casual acquaintance.

Lucianna joined them in the parlor of the boarding house, after the landlady summoned her. She had bathed and changed clothes as well, looking more like that splendid lady they had known at Garnet Rose than their muddied rescuer. She hugged them both, and then they sat down.

“I know you have lots of questions, so first let me tell you my story as best I can. I was a widow when I met Rupert Garnett several years ago. As I told you, Artemus, I knew he was ill, but I cared deeply for him and married him anyway. I did not meet Boyd until we traveled to Garnet Rose. As long as Rupert was alive, things were fine. Almost as soon as he died, Boyd began making approaches to me, talking marriage. I was planning to leave and return to my home in Pennsylvania when the threat of war began to loom.

“Boyd started talking about his private army well before secession and Fort Sumter. He knew that many people in the South were against everything he—and the South—stood for, and he could not abide with that. I had come to know many of the people who lived on the smaller farms around Garnet Rose, and knew many of them were pro-Union. They were my friends, and they would be Boyd’s targets.

“So I decided to remain and see what, if anything, I could do to help them and deter Boyd’s plans. At first, there seemed to be little. He was wealthy and very influential, plus many people agreed with him—especially the men he was paying to join his army rather than the Confederate services.

“I developed a small network of… spies, if you will… in the area. I did not want to take the chance of putting a letter in the regular mail, but certain people made a habit of leaving the area, on business or otherwise, and they were able to deliver my correspondence to the Union authorities, especially after the war commenced. When Boyd’s plans began to come to fruition, I started sending notes to General Grant’s headquarters, hoping he would be able to do something.”

Jim spoke up then. “So when you went on rides alone, you were meeting your fellow conspirators.”

Lucianna smiled. “I know it was rumored I was meeting a lover. That was fine by me, although Boyd became aware of the rumor and tried to have me followed a few times. When I was aware of that, I was careful not to meet anyone. In any case, upon learning that Boyd was close to starting to carry out his raids, and also having been able to read his correspondence with the men outside of Alabama who were conspiring with him to overthrow the Confederacy in that part of the South, I wrote a very specific letter to the general… which is when he sent the two of you.”

Artie had to ask. “Were you immediately aware that I was the spy?”

She shook her head. “No. You were very good, Justin… I mean, Artemus. I’m afraid you’ll always be Justin Lee to me, even without your scar and graying hair. I can’t decide which is handsomer, though.”

“I presume you got word through your same network when Artie and I escaped with the letters,” Jim put in.

“Yes. By then I had realized who both of you must be, and I had a good idea of the direction you must travel to get back here, so I suggested that a large patrol be ready to help you if necessary. They would have started moving out to push the Confederate patrols out of the area if you had not gotten through more or less on the expected schedule.”

“Your original letter informed General Grant that the damning correspondence was in Garnett’s safe,” Artie commented.

“Yes. And it was at the time. But the day after the night I... encountered you in the study, Artemus, I saw Boyd remove them from the safe to add a recent letter to it. He was interrupted, and instead of opening the safe again, he put them in the desk drawer. That evening, I moved them back to the safe.”

“So you knew the combination?” Jim asked.

“Rupert gave it to me a long time ago. I don't think Boyd was aware that even he knew. And your next question is going to be, why didn’t I just take the letters myself? Because I sensed that he would know it had been me. I would have had a great deal of difficulty getting away by myself. He may also have blamed one or more of the servants, and I did not wish to involve them.”

A silence fell among them, and after a moment or two, Jim got to his feet. “I have a friend who lives a couple of houses from here. Think I’ll go call on her. You two continue your conversation. Artie, I’ll see you at the mess tent.”

Lucianna rose to give him an even warmer embrace. “I hope to see you again one day, Jim. Please take care of yourself and survive this terrible war.”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll do my best, Lucianna.” With a significant glance toward Artemus, he departed.

This time Lucianna took the space Jim had vacated on the settee the two men had occupied, and she took his hand. “Artemus… Justin Lee… I will never forget you.”

His hand turned to grasp hers firmly, and he gazed at her earnestly. “Must we part?”

She smiled. “I have to return to my family in Pennsylvania. My mother needs me now that my father has passed away, and Ethan is here at war. But like Jim, I hope to see you again some day. You will take care of yourself?”

“As best I can,” he murmured. “Lucianna…”

“Don’t, my dear. This is difficult enough. I didn’t think I’d care again after Rupert. But the dashing Justin Lee fairly swept my off my feet, much to my consternation. It was very difficult to keep my mind on the task at hand.”

“You did try to seduce me…”

“And you resisted, you scalawag. I loved you all the more for it, putting your duty ahead of all.”

He sighed heavily. “Yes, duty… You’re going to leave soon?”

“Tonight. Ethan is going to escort me to Nashville and the train. I think… I think it’s best if we say our farewells, Artemus.”

“May I write to you?”

Deep sadness clouded the emerald green eyes. “No, I think that would not be a good idea. Artemus, Justin Lee and I were close in age but…”

He gripped her hand even tighter. “Lucianna, that doesn’t matter!”

“For now it doesn’t.” Now she sighed, smiling a little. “Let us see what the future holds, my dear. This war may end soon… or it may not. If it is in the stars, we’ll meet again someday. If not, I wish you nothing but the best, and a true love to call your own.”

He would have kissed her as they came to their feet, but she stepped away. He understood. A final kiss would have been sweet, but also would have made this parting more difficult. Instead, like Jim, he leaned forward swiftly and kissed her cheek. “I’ll never forget you, Lucianna.”

As he expected, Jim was sitting on the porch of the boarding house. Artemus did not ask about the “friend” Jim had said he was going to visit. That had been just an excuse to give him time alone with Lucianna.

“All right?” Jim asked as they started walking toward camp.

“No. But it’s for the best. I understand that. You ever leave a girl behind, Jim?”

“No. And I don’t intend to. I don’t plan to ever marry, or to even have a… a sweetheart.”

Artie’s brows lifted as he glanced at the younger man. “Why not?” Surely at his age Jim had not had a tragic romance in his past. He had not detected real bitterness in Jim’s tone, or on his face, but definitely a firm resolve.

“It’s just better that way.”

Artemus did not say anything further. I wonder if I will ever learn all there is to learn about this fellow… even if we become lifelong friends.

THE BEGINNING….

Of all the things which wisdom acquires to produce the blessedness of the complete life, far the greatest is the possession of friendship.
—Epicurus (BC 341-270), Greek philosopher