Post by California gal on Feb 18, 2009 15:54:57 GMT -8
Originally posted July 2008
People are not always what they seem.
Nathan der Weise, act IV, sc. 7 – Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729-1781)[/center]
Jim West slowed the dusty black horse as he entered the town. Looked like many another town he had seen over the years, with a single wide unpaved street bisected by a number of alleys that separated various clapboard, false-fronted buildings. Most of the structures bore signs declaring the type of business carried on within, but a few were residences. He had noticed more houses on rising ground to the east of this town known as Mill Creek, Arizona Territory. The sign at the outskirts stated that the population was three hundred and twenty-two, but Jim seriously wondered where those three hundred and twenty-two souls could reside.
Not much of a town as far as desert towns go. With any luck, Artie will have things well in hand, and we won’t have to be here long. His partner had preceded him to Mill Creek by about four days while Jim wrapped up testimony at a trial in Saint Louis. Artemus had taken the Wanderer, so Jim had used public transportation for a good part of the journey. He had come across their train waiting on a siding more than a half day’s ride from Mill Creek, the closest it could approach.
Jim glanced around as he rode down the middle of the street, half expecting Artemus to be on the board walkway at some point, waiting for him. Artie knew approximately when he would arrive, although they had not been able to confirm an exact time. Mill Creek had no railroad, and no telegraph either. Apparently the cattle ranches in the area supported the town. Not very good cattle country. That thought had occurred to Jim several times as he rode through the desert-like landscape.
The “Mill Creek” for which the town was named was more like a trickle this time of year. A cowhand he encountered related that during the monsoon season, or occasionally after a heavy rainstorm, the creek bed could flow swift and full. Ranchers had various means of trying to save that water, from tanks to ponds to small dams. A spring on a property doubled or tripled that acreage’s value.
A few people on the sidewalks gazed at him with some curiosity, which was not unexpected. Highly unlikely they saw many strangers passing through this way. Quite possibly any one of them could tell him where to find Artemus Gordon at any given moment, should he ask. However, Jim decided he would be better served to find Sheriff Grable. Just as that thought crossed his mind, he saw the building bearing a sign designating it as the sheriff’s office and jail.
A husky man with a white beard and a mop of equally snowy hair was standing on the porch of that building, talking to two rather well-dressed men. As Jim dismounted, and tied the black’s reins to the hitching rack, the bearded man turned and confirmed Jim’s suspicion by displaying the star pinned to his faded shirt.
“Sheriff Grable?” Jim extended his hand as he stepped up onto the porch. “I’m James West.”
“Yeah?” Grable gazed at him oddly, but took the hand briefly. “What can I do for you?”
Jim noticed that the two men Grable had been talking to were also staring at him, but he attributed it to what he had surmised earlier, that few strangers appeared in Mill Creek. “I wonder if you can tell me where Artemus Gordon might be found.”
Grable looked back at the two men briefly. “You got some identification?” he asked Jim.
Jim pulled the leather folder from inside his coat and handed it to the lawman, who studied it a moment then, to Jim’s surprise, turned around and handed it to the taller of the pair behind him. “Looks darn legitimate.”
“Certainly does,” that man replied.
Jim West was becoming annoyed. “It is legitimate. If you will return my credentials, and tell me where I might find Mr. Gordon, I won’t trouble you any longer.” Grable was the man they were supposed to contact and cooperate with. Wonder if Artie had a problem with him.
“Well, it’s like this, Mr., er, West, I’m surprised you don’t recognize Mr. Gordon. He’s standing right in front of you.” Grable grinned, pulling the pistol from the holster at his side. “We were warned you might show up.”
Stunned, Jim stared at the sheriff for a long moment. “What do you mean, he’s right in front of me? What is this?”
The shorter man, a round-faced individual with a pock-marked complexion stepped up alongside the sheriff. “Why, Jim, don’t you recognize your partner?”
“Just a minute,” Jim spoke tautly. “Did this man tell you he’s Artemus Gordon? He’s lying.”
Now the other one came up to flank the sheriff on the other side, lifting a pistol from inside his well-tailored coat. “You’re the liar, mister-whatever-your-name-is. How did you think you could get away with it? Even with fake credentials, no one would ever believe you’re James West.”
Jim kept hold of his temper, and tried to quell the gnawing fear in his gut. Where’s Artie? “Sheriff Grable, I’m afraid you’ve been taken in by a ruse. I am James West. That man is not my partner, Artemus Gordon.”
Grable smirked as he reached over and lifted Jim’s pistol from his holster. “You’re the one trying to put something across, mister. Maybe if Mr. West and Mr. Gordon hadn’t arrived ahead of you, you’d of got away with it. But I know these are the real West and Gordon. Their identities were confirmed to me by someone who knows them well.”
“And who might that be?”
“None of your business. Get on inside there.” He motioned with his own gun.
Jim briefly contemplated attempting to overpower the sheriff and the two men, but realized that with two guns already aimed at him, he would not have good odds, especially if “Mr. Gordon” decided to draw his own weapon. Thing to do was to talk to Grable alone, convince him that he was being deceived. And also to find out who in this town identified these two fakes as the real McCoy.
Where’s Artie?
Jim half expected to find Artemus Gordon in the office, a big grin on his face over the deception just pulled off. Either that or locked up in a cell. Neither was the case. The office appeared to have just one jail cell, formed in one corner by a heavy wooden wall on one side, and a set of bars on the other.
He was commanded to remove his coat and hat, then his gun belt, and finally to sit down and open the heels of his boots. Jim did as bade, seething. Someone who knew him well was behind this. He tried to ask the sheriff more questions, but was ordered to be quiet. The two imposters smirked behind the sheriff’s back.
He was placed inside the cell, and the door, which was comprised of the entire set of bars, hinged against the building wall, was closed and locked. Jim tried one more query. “I hope that the person who claims that these two are West and Gordon will come around to see me.”
“Perhaps,” Grable replied, “but the doctor is a very busy man.”
“Doctor!” A chill climbed up Jim West’s spine.
“Yes. Dr. Miracle.”
“Dr. Miracle!” Jim could not help but exclaim.
Now Grable smiled slightly. “Well, that’s not his real name. But that’s what we call him here. He saved this town, saved hundreds of lives. And it was a real miracle, too.”
“Mind telling me what he looks like?”
The sheriff scowled. “That don’t make no never-mind. You just settle yourself in, young fellow. When the circuit judge comes through in a couple of weeks, we’ll decide what to do with you. That is less’n Mr. West and Mr. Gordon want to charge you with impersonating a federal officer and take you with them.”
“West” stepped forward then. “That certainly is a tempting idea, Sheriff Grable, but I don't know if we’ll have the time. I think he’s secure in your little cell for now. But it occurs to me, he obviously has a confederate here, or believes he does. Any other strangers in town lately?”
Grable pondered a moment. “No. Not unless you want to call Charlie Rock a stranger. He’s strange, all right, but not exactly a stranger.” The sheriff chuckled at his own play on words. “Comes down out of the hills every year or two, spends a few weeks, and goes off again. You probably seen Charlie. Old fellow with the bum leg and black patch over his eye. Came into town just about the same time you did.”
“Gordon” nodded. “I saw him in the saloon nursing a drink a couple of times. Not much of a drinker.”
“No, he ain’t. Told me one time that drinking was what caused that bad leg and eye. Harmless old coot.”
Jim listened with any alteration in his expression. “Charlie Rock” sounded like one of Artie’s disguises, but the fact that this Rock was known around here might preclude that being the case. But where was Artemus? Were the two imposters simply playing their game further by indicating they were unaware of another agent in town? Or had they already encountered Artie and…
As the three men moved toward the door, Jim took in his new surroundings. The cell was about six feet square, with a bench supported by chains at the rear, under a high, narrow window that allowed some light and air. The lock on the door did not look all that complicated… except he did not have any tools to work with.
Jim sat down on the bunk, and pondered the situation. About a week ago, while in Saint Louis, he and Artemus had received a telegram from Colonel Richmond instructing them to travel to Mill Creek, Arizona Territory as soon as they were released from testifying. The department had received word that a wanted criminal, one Alphonse Leech, was hiding in that area. Leech was wanted for counterfeiting, but also for a double murder. One of his victims had been a former employee of the San Francisco Mint, a man who had been a good friend of Richmond’s.
Both agents recognized how much this particular capture meant to their superior, so as soon as Artemus finished his testimony, he headed south. He would scout the area, ask questions, and with any luck, have Leech pinpointed by the time Jim arrived. Although Artemus had not stated his intentions specifically, chances were very good he had entered Mill Creek in disguise. But as Charlie Rock? Jim shook his head. Highly unlikely. In the first place, how would Artie know what this Rock looked like? Secondarily, he would not want to chance either being caught out by someone who knew Rock well, or by Rock himself coming into town unexpectedly.
Dr. Miracle… Jim West had a very bad feeling about the identity of this man. He could think of several criminals who might attempt such a ruse, but only one would have the capability to pull off a “miracle.” He needed more information on the man, as well as on whatever he had done to gain the sheriff’s respect and the town’s gratitude.
He was certain that the instructions they had received from Colonel Richmond had been genuine. They had exchanged several messages, using the specific confidential codes that would route the wires directly to the colonel’s office in Washington. But had someone passed along false information to Richmond, knowing how much the capture of Alphonse Leech meant to him, certain he would assign his best agents? Someone who wanted to snare West and Gordon. Again, while Jim could think of any number of enemies, only one jumped to the forefront. Miguelito Quixote Loveless.
The little genius had been out of sight for a long while, an almost sure sign that he was up to something. A remote area like this would be perfect for him to set up a new identity, using his considerable charm to convince the residents that he was respectable, to be trusted, even loved. Would not be the first time that happened.
Jim stood up and stepped over to the barred door, grasping the cool metal in both hands. He shoved and pulled, finding that while the lock looked shaky, the door was not. He was going to need some help.
Where are you, Artie?
The old fellow with the thin, graying blond hair hunkered over the glass placed on the table before him, staring at nothing with his one visible eye. His left eye was covered by a black leather patch held in place by a strap around the back of his head. The other patrons of the Silver Goblet saloon paid him little heed now. He had been an oddity during the first couple days after his arrival, when people approached him to say hello, ask if he had made that big strike, then razz him about his lack of success. Some knew him from previous visits, some knew him only because they asked someone else and were told, “That’s crazy old Charlie Rock. Head is as thick as his name.”
It’s amazing, though, how much I’ve learned by simply sitting here and pretending to be in another world. People talk around me, assuming I’m not listening, or not comprehending.
Such as just a few minutes ago when the man people in this town knew as James West came in to brag that the expected imposter had arrived and was now safely in jail. No one needed to worry about his nefarious plots to rob the town blind.
If only Mill Creek had a telegraph. I could have gotten word to Jim. But more than likely, the lack of outside communication was one of the main reasons it was chosen.
The identity he had purchased from the old desert rat had proven to have both its benefits and detractions. No one paid him much heed. That was good. But Artemus Gordon had belatedly realized that he did not have much mobility in this guise. Charlie traveled on foot, hobbling along with his old mule Casey bearing packs of his possessions. Artie had paid extra to “borrow” that mule for a few days along with the name. His own horse was in the nearby mountains, cared for by the prospector. Being without a horse meant he had been unable to ride out to watch for his partner’s approach, nor could he have flagged Jim down from the sidewalk without arousing suspicion. As well, Artemus innately sensed that retaining this guise was important at this time.
Now the problem was going to be getting Jim out of that jail before the good doctor carried out his plans… whatever they were. Although Artemus had quickly become aware that Loveless was in Mill Creek, the necessity to keep himself hidden had prevented him from attempting to spy on the crafty dwarf. He had not even had an opportunity to speak to Sheriff Grable before catching sight of Loveless in town. Upon spotting the crafty little man, Artemus had quickly retreated from town. He had spoken to only one person, the blacksmith who replaced a shoe on the chestnut which he had decided, fortuitously as it turned out, to get taken care of first. While waiting inside the shop, out of the sun and in the shadows, he had espied Loveless in a passing buggy.
“How are you this afternoon, Charlie?”
Artemus glanced up as the slim silver-haired man with an equally white mustache pulled out a chair and sat down without invitation. Not the first time. Sam Neville had approached him the first day “Charlie Rock” appeared in town, introduced himself, and joined the old prospector at the table for companionable silence. Artie liked the man without really comprehending why. He had had the immediate sensation that he had met Sam Neville at some point in the past, but could not recall either the name or the face. He sensed that Neville perhaps felt they were kindred souls, that while Charlie Rock might have lost himself in his quest for gold, Sam Neville was lost in some other manner. A loner, Neville always answered questions in a vague manner, whether posed by “Charlie Rock” or another local.
“What do you think about this story about the imposter, Charlie?”
“I dunno. Don’t mean nothin’ to me.” Artie affected the somewhat slurred manner of old Charlie’s speech, caused primarily by bad teeth it seemed.
Neville was silent a long moment. Artie peeked at him under the fringe of hair that draped over his forehead and into his eyes. He had been glad he brought his full makeup kit with him when he left the train, never knowing when it would come in handy. Making himself up to resemble old Charlie had not been terribly difficult. He suspected that Charlie was the type of man that people didn’t study too closely; they noticed the black patch and the limp and that was about it.
“I saw the real Jim West a few times,” Neville said very softly.
Artie’s hand closed reflexively around the glass before him. He forced himself to relax. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“So what?”
“Never mind,” Sam growled. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
Artie shrugged. “Don’t mean nothin’ to me,” he repeated. He knew, just as well as Sam did, that revealing such knowledge could be very dangerous. But why was Neville telling him this? Just because he needed to divulge his knowledge to someone, and old Charlie seemed the likeliest receptacle, the one who was not about to blab? “You live ‘round here? Don’t recollect seeing you, last time in.”
“I’ve only been here a couple of months,” Sam replied.
“Hell of a town to settle in,” Artie chuckled, allowing it to turn into a wheezing cough. He took a sip from his glass. “’Bout the only thing this stuff is good for.”
“Why do you buy it if you don’t like it,” Sam inquired, curious.
Artie shrugged. “Well, that’s what a fella does in a place like this, ain’t it? Don’t want them to kick me out for occupying a table!”
Now Sam Neville laughed. “Good idea. Beats being out in that hot sun.”
Artie made a grunting sound, but did not respond otherwise. Odd, that laugh made Neville seem even more familiar. They must have met at some previous occasion. Maybe a long time ago. Perhaps when this was all over, he could approach Sam Neville with the question. That is, if he and Jim survived this incident. Loveless was determined to take their lives, and who knew, one day he might even succeed.
Sheriff Grable brought a dipper of water to the cell when the prisoner requested it. Jim was thirsty, but he had used the request more as a way to bring the lawman around to where he could talk to him without yelling through the solid wall that separated the cell from Grable’s desk. Even with the open but barred door, the voices seemed to be absorbed by the thick wood wall between them.
“Tell me more about this ‘Dr. Miracle,’ sheriff,” Jim invited, sipping from the dipper. He knew Grable would not want to leave the ladle with him.
“What’s there to tell? We had a terrible sickness in Mill Creek about three months back. Our regular doctor couldn’t do nothing. Dr. Yrigollen appeared, knew the illness, and had the cure.”
“People died?”
“No, but some were dang near. My own wife and daughters were bad off. Soon as the doc dosed ‘em, they were fine. Almost like it never happened.”
“What did you say that name was?”
“Yrigollen. Funny name, eh? Seems to be a Spanish name. I never heard it before. He said it means ‘from the village on the height.’ First name is Horst. Which ain’t Spanish, I know that.” Grable shook his head, laughing softly.
“Horst Yrigollen,” Jim said softly. “I bet I can tell you exactly what he looks like.”
“You know him?”
“Not as Horst Yrigollen. He’s a small man, right? A dwarf. Rather handsome in his own way, with graying hair and clear blue eyes. Impeccable manners. Charming as hell.”
The sheriff’s frown deepened as Jim spoke. “How do you know that?”
“When you are ready to believe I’m James West, agent of the federal government, I’ll tell you. In the meanwhile, I will simply warn you to be very careful. Your ‘Dr. Miracle’ is no miracle-worker. He’s out for one thing. No, maybe two. He wants to kill me and my partner, and he wants to rule the world.”
Grable’s mouth fell open, and he pulled it shut with some effort, reaching through the bars to grab the dipper from Jim’s hand. “Mr. West said you were a clever fellow. I’m seeing now what he meant. Trying to upset things, make me suspicious. Ain’t going to work, young fellow. Dr. Yrigollen saved my family, and he saved a couple hundred people in Mill Creek. I trust him.”
“Good for you. I expect I’d feel the same way if I was unacquainted with him. Be sure you stick around when the doctor comes to visit me.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, you may have a dead prisoner on your hands.”
The sheriff took a step back, still staring. “Why should Dr. Yrigollen even want to come see you, let alone kill you?”
Jim smiled slightly. “He will be along any time now. Hard to say what excuse he’ll use. I know your good doctor very well. His ego will compel him to show up here, just to show me what he has accomplished.”
“I don't know. Personally I think all I’ve heard about you is true.”
“And what did you hear about me?”
“That’s you’re… what did Doc Miracle call it? A con man. A first-rate con man. Said you and your partner are always putting over some scam to fool people. I’m sure glad Mr. West and Mr. Gordon showed up ahead of you, and were able to warn me you were coming.”
“Very fortunate indeed,” Jim said dryly. “I’d like to know how they knew I was coming here. Tell me, have you ever heard of a man named Alphonse Leech?”
Grable frowned a moment, then shook his head. “Can’t say as I have. Who is he?”
“The man we were told we might find in Mill Creek. It’s the reason I’m here.”
Grable chewed on his lower lip, then asked, “Where’s this partner you keep talking about?”
Jim sighed. “I have no idea, sheriff. I hope your Dr. Miracle hasn’t gotten hold of him.”
“You know, one minute you start talking like you’re making sense. Next minute you say something crazy. What do you mean by that?”
Jim debated with himself for a moment. Should he bring up Loveless’s name? He decided against it for now. Loveless had Grable completely fooled, and as long as that was the case, the sheriff was pretty safe. Should Grable start to ask questions…
“Never mind. Maybe you want to sweep your office to get ready for the impending visit from the great man.”
The sheriff glared, then turned to stomp back to his desk.
Probably not more than a half hour elapsed before Jim heard the outer door open, then a familiar voice. He did not rise from the bunk in the cell, listening to the conversation between the sheriff and his visitor. After a minute or so, Grable appeared in front of the cell, and with him a small man with graying hair and large, clear blue eyes. As usual, he was attired in a dapper manner, carrying a doctor’s satchel.
“Good afternoon, doctor,” Jim said pleasantly. “I’m more than a little surprised to find you in such a backwater town in the middle of nowhere. Then again, I don't know why anything you do surprises me.”
Miguelito Loveless peered at him. “Why, sheriff, I had no idea the imposter would be such a young man. And such a fine looking fellow. Somehow I thought he would be older, more venal appearing. What is his true name?”
“Don't know,” Grable replied. “He ain’t said.”
“I’ve given the sheriff my true name,” Jim said. “Why don’t you give him yours?”
Loveless rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The sheriff was behind him, so only Jim saw the mocking gleam in the blue eyes. “I am in despair that such a man is a despicable criminal, sheriff. Remember that treatment I was telling you about? I wonder if this young fellow might not be the perfect candidate.”
“Well, I don't know…” the sheriff began. Clearly he was remembering what his prisoner had said to him just a short while ago.
Jim played it up. “If you allow the doctor to take me into his custody, sheriff, my death will be on your hands.”
“Oh dear!” Loveless cried in alarm. “He appears to be mentally disturbed. I have some medications that will assist in that area. Perhaps I can prescribe.”
Jim hoped he disguised the tremor he experienced with this statement by Loveless. If Grable agreed to put something in his food… “I’m sane,” he said mildly. “How’s your mental state, doctor? Still have ideas of poisoning the world’s water supplies?”
Loveless’s eyes flashed, but he spoke in a caring tone. “You see what I mean, sheriff? Me? Poison the world’s water supplies? In the first place, that’s impossible. And why would I want to do such a thing? I’ve found my place in the world here in Mill Creek, where I’m needed and wanted. That’s all any doctor of medicine could ask.”
Grable cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t reckon we should do anything like remanding him to your custody or giving him medicine until the circuit judge comes through in a couple of weeks.”
“Of course, of course,” Loveless agreed readily, though anger flickered momentarily in his eyes, as he stepped back from the barred door a few paces. “Sheriff, you mentioned that this young man talked about a partner. Have you attempted to find that man?”
“Sure have, Dr. Yrigollen . But there ain’t no more strangers in town. He must have vamoosed. Some friend, to leave his partner high and dry.”
“Indeed. But don’t relax your guard, sheriff. It may be a ploy.”
“I thought of that, doctor. I surely did.”
Loveless looked at the man in the cell again. “Well, my curiosity is satisfied for the moment. I do hope I will be allowed to help this young man. Very likely he fell in with bad companions along the way. I’m sure that my treatments can set him right. But we want to do it legally, don’t we? We’ll wait for the judge.”
Jim West sat very still for a long while after hearing Loveless and the sheriff depart from the office together. This isn’t good. If Loveless convinces Grable to allow him to take me with him…. Was this what the entire scheme was about? Trapping him, and possibly Artemus, to commit some operation or drugging on them? To change their personalities? To… Jim did not even want to think about it.
He had had nightmares for a long while about the night he had believed he had murdered Artemus Gordon. The hallucination brought about by Loveless’s new drug had seemed so real that even having Artie back with him, in the flesh, had sometimes been difficult to accept for a time. Jim knew that Loveless was a genius, far ahead of other scientists in the world. He invented devices and concoctions that others thought were impossible, or even unimaginable.
The good news was that apparently Artie was not in Loveless’s hands at this time. Jim thought he knew Loveless well enough to believe that the doctor would not have even mentioned the partner if he already had Artemus in his custody. But where is Artie?
Jim West came instantly awake at the first sound. He had not thought he would sleep, but the grueling day on the trail and the tension of the hours in the cell caught up with him. At least he was pretty certain Loveless had not been allowed to mess with his food thus far. When Grable brought his dinner tray, Jim had asked the sheriff pointblank whether “Dr. Miracle” had prescribed any medication to be added. The shocked, even insulted, expression on the lawman’s face convinced Jim that that had not happened. He did not think Grable was that good an actor.
So he slept on the hard bunk until the hissing whisper penetrated his slumber. He sat up and looked around in the darkened room, not so much because he thought the whisper came from inside the building, but that he wanted to make sure he was still alone. Grable had departed hours ago, stating the front door would be securely locked, that he was confident the prisoner could not escape.
Jim then climbed up onto the bunk. He had tested its sturdiness earlier, and now he flexed his knees, then pushed, jumping the short distance needed before he could grasp the bars that covered the high narrow window. The moon was bright and full. Down below, in the alley between the sheriff’s office and the building next, he saw a seedy looking man with unkempt graying hair and a black eye patch.
“Artie?”
“Who are you expecting?” came the wry response. “General Sheridan?”
“We might need him… and the Army of the Shenandoah.”
“You’re not kidding. Jim, it’s Loveless.” Artie lifted up the eye patch to clear his vision.
“I know. I saw him today. Came to pay me a special visit. Tried to convince Grable to turn me over to him for special ‘treatment’ to cure my wicked ways. Thankfully, the sheriff refused. Any idea what’s going on, what he’s up to?”
“No, only that he’s established himself here as a saint.”
“He obviously set up the trap for us, using Alphonse Leech as bait. I’ve got to get out of here, Artie. I don’t like Loveless’s ideas for a rest-cure.”
“Who does?”
“Hold on a minute.” Jim lowered himself to the bunk, flexed his arms and his hands, then hoisted himself to the window again.
“Getting soft in your old age?”
“How about you try it for awhile?”
“No thanks. Jim, I looked at the front door. A special lock of some kind has been installed, one not susceptible to an ordinary picklock. I’d need to use an explosive on it.”
“I suspected that might be the case. Otherwise the sheriff—and Loveless—would not have gone off and left me unguarded. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised but what our old friend helped the good sheriff to make it near impregnable.”
“Yeah. I agree.”
“Artie, who the devil are you supposed to be? I heard about this Charlie Rock…”
“That’s me. I’ll explain the details later, but so far it’s been the perfect disguise. In fact, I’m getting an idea because of it. Look for me first thing in the morning, James, and be ready for anything.”
“Artie, I think you should go back to the train and…”
The man down below was shaking his head vehemently. “In the first place, my horse is a three-hour walk from here. Or a four-hour ride on a slow and balky mule. Then another half day or more to get to the train, half day back…. I’m not leaving you here alone for better than a full day. Not with Loveless around and apparently in control of things.”
“Artemus, be careful. If Loveless gets us both in here…”
“I know, I know. Don’t worry. I think I know where I can get some help. Ta-ta! Sleep well, friend.”
Jim watched his partner scurry down the alley toward the rear of the building. He would emerge elsewhere, so as not to be seen near the jail. Lowering himself again, Jim sat down on the bunk, all thoughts of sleep momentarily dissipated. What did Artie have in mind? And what was this “help” he mentioned? Artemus was no fool. He would not randomly trust just anyone. He had been here for a few days now, but…
For what seemed like the hundredth time since he had been locked in the cell, Jim rose to go to the door, shake it, trying to inspect the lock in the moonlight that illuminated the scene. If only he had a tool, even a nail, he would probably be able to open it. Then maybe deal with whatever special lock was on the door. He did not blame Artie for not fooling with the door. Though it was late, the saloons were still open, and people could be out on the street. An explosion, even a small one, would be noticed.
Jim West hated this feeling of helplessness. Obviously Loveless had advised the sheriff, probably through the two imposters, to completely disarm the man Grable was convinced was the fake agent. He wondered whether Grable had questioned the knowledge they displayed about him. What kind of story had they given the sheriff? That did not really matter at the moment, however. What was important was that he had absolutely none of his usual gadgets to help him out of this situation. All he had was Artemus Gordon, disguised as an old desert rat.
Jim sank back onto the cot, smiling slightly in the darkness. I think I’m in pretty good hands.
Artemus found the man he wanted at the café directly across the street from the sheriff’s office. Sam Neville was having breakfast when the old codger shuffled in, and he waved Charlie over.
“Good morning, Charlie. Hope you had a good night.”
“I don’t sleep good no more,” Artemus mumbled as he sank awkwardly into a chair, favoring his “bad leg.” “Specially in town. Too blamed noisy.”
“I suppose you are accustomed to the silence of the mountains. I don’t blame you for preferring the solitude. I don’t like this town.”
“Eh? Why are you here?”
Sam waited while the waitress placed his own plate in front of him, and took Artie’s order before he spoke. “I came to Mill Creek looking for someone. I heard she was in this area.”
“A female? Lost love?”
“No, not hardly. It’s a long story. Sometime maybe I’ll tell you. Heard anything about that young fellow they have locked up?”
“Nah. He ain’t no concern of mine.”
“Mine neither, I suppose,” Sam said, digging into his fried potatoes. “Just can’t help thinking about him for some reason.”
“Why don’t you go to the sheriff and tell him what you know?”
“He has no reason to believe me. Especially not ahead of Dr. Yrigollen, who has established himself here as a beloved and respected member of society.”
Now Artemus paused as the waitress brought his platter of food and a steaming cup of coffee. He kept his gaze down, slathering butter and jam on his biscuit as he spoke in a low voice. “Would you help him if you could?”
Sam seemed not to be surprised by the change in the old desert rat’s tone and manner of speaking. “I expect I just might, Mr. Gordon.”
Artie later wondered how he prevented himself from reacting. Instead he carefully placed his biscuit on the side on the plate, and used his fork to separate the eggs, potatoes, and slice of ham so that they would not touch each other, something he had noticed old Charlie doing in his mountain cabin, and something people here in town might have also taken note of.
“How do you know me?” he asked softly.
“I told you I knew Mr. West by sight. You were usually with him. It’s not that your disguise isn’t good. It’s excellent. I have to confess that I met old Charlie on my way to Mill Creek. I got a little lost, he found me, shared a meal with me, and directed me into town. Thus, when you did not know me at our first encounter, I naturally became suspicious. Then I began to add things up. If Jamie West is here, Mr. Gordon likely is in the vicinity.”
Artemus Gordon fell silent, automatically eating his food. Sam Neville was the “help” he referred to when he told Jim he thought he knew where to go for some assistance. He had based that on Sam’s comment that he knew the man in jail was the real Jim West. He could not explain exactly why, but he was suddenly having second thoughts.
Jamie West?
Neville was the one who spoke finally. “You’ll need some help. I’m ready to give it.”
Artie glanced up. “What can you do?”
“I’m not sure. I’m pretty certain I would not be believed if I went to Grable and told him I know which is the real agent. Doing so would also expose me to Dr. Loveless’s attention.”
Once again Artemus had to control his astonishment. “You know Loveless too?”
“Never saw him before. But I know who he is.”
Nonplussed, Artie did not speak for a long moment again. He drained his coffee cup and signaled the waitress, who brought the pot over to fill both cups. Only when she moved away did he say quietly, “Mr. Neville, I think you and I need to have a long conversation somewhere that we don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing.”
“Excellent idea. Any ideas? I have a room at Mrs. Kaley’s boarding house. Do you think that would be safe?”
“No. You can…” Artie halted his words as he noted how Neville’s gaze went to the front window of the café, his eyes widening. Artie looked that direction.
Across the street, four men had emerged from the sheriff’s office. Two were the false agents, one was the sheriff, and the fourth was James West, his wrists and ankles manacled. “West” and “Gordon” had grips on his arms, and Grable was following behind, not looking very happy, as they headed for a buckboard parked nearby.
“Uh-oh,” Artie murmured. “Looks like the sheriff caved in.” This is certainly going to change things!
“What do you mean?” Neville asked anxiously. “Where are they taking him?”
“Undoubtedly to Loveless. Do you know where Loveless has his headquarters?”
“I’ve never seen it, but I heard he’s living in a ranch house about a half hour north of town.”
“Well, you’re mighty kind to an old man, mister,” Artemus said in his Charlie Rock voice. “Been a while since I’ve had a meal this tasty.” He filled his mouth full of potatoes as two men entered and sat at the next table. Picking up his cup, Artemus ducked his head and used the cup to hide his mouth as he spoke very low. “Meet me at the livery stable. I’ve been doing some chores there. I can get rid of he owner.” He pushed himself out of his chair and shuffled out the door.
As the wagon trundled slowly out of town, the fake Artemus Gordon turned from the seat and looked down at the chained prisoner in the wagon bed. “Bet you’re glad to get out of that crummy jail.”
Jim gazed up coolly. “I think I preferred the accommodations there.” The manacles on his boots had been fastened to an iron ring in the bed of the wagon. No chance of jumping off… and the chains would preclude moving very fast anyway.
He had known something had changed the moment Grable entered the office. Jim had called to him, asking for some breakfast, but the sheriff had not answered. When Jim persisted, Grable finally came into view. He was perspiring and very nervous.
“Dr. Yrigollen is coming for you, mister. He… convinced me that he could… could help you.”
“His name is not Yrigollen,” Jim had spoken tersely. “It’s Miguelito Loveless and he is a master criminal, an evil man. I don't know all his reasons for being here in Mill Creek, but I do know he wants to kill me. If you allow him to take me out of this jail, you’re a murderer.”
Grable had swallowed hard. “I ain’t go no choice,” he responded hoarsely, and turned away. He did not reappear, did not speak again despite Jim’s attempts to engage him, until just before the two men arrived to collect the prisoner. Jim could only surmise now that somehow Loveless had threatened the sheriff in such a way that the sheriff had no option but to obey.
Maybe the worst part of all this was that Artie would have no way to know what had happened. At least not right away. He would eventually hear that the prisoner had been removed. Knowing Loveless, the diminutive doctor probably had turned this “ranch house” into a stronghold, with plenty of guards. As clever as Artemus Gordon was, he was only one man. Jim had no idea who Artie had planned on calling on for help, but even one more body was not going to do that much good. Not now. This time Loveless held all the aces. He was going to finally win the war…
Why am I feeling so hopeless? So helpless and despondent? We’ve been in situations like this before. Why would…?
He had not been served breakfast, nor even coffee, but a silent Grable had brought a dipper of water to the cell a minute or so before the escorts arrived. Jim had drunk it gratefully. He had not noticed anything amiss in the flavor or odor. However…
Jim lay his head back against the side walls of the wagon, closing his eyes. He drugged me. He gave Grable something to put in that water. Something to cause me to be more… compliant. Now that I’m aware, I’ve got to fight it. I’ve got to fight it!
Artie was not surprised that as soon as “Charlie Rock” appeared at the stable, the owner, one Pete Winkle took off, instructing Charlie to look after the place. It had happened before. He had overheard conversations that indicated Pete made a habit of abusing his employees by leaving all the work for them while he went to play poker, or perhaps to catch up on his sleep after gambling all night.
Thus he was alone when Sam Neville arrived a short while later. Artie made a show of grooming Jim West’s black horse in view of the open doorway in case anyone noticed, while Sam stayed in the shadows.
“How can I help?” Sam asked.
“I’m not sure yet. Loveless obviously has had Jim taken to his headquarters. I have no idea how much time we have. Loveless is difficult to predict. He may… carry out his plans against Jim immediately, and he may want to have me in his custody first. Somehow I’ve got to get inside that ranch and free Jim, the sooner the better.”
“Perhaps I can ride in and distract them.”
“Maybe. But we need to know the layout of the place.”
“From what I’ve heard, Sheriff Grable is virtually the only townsman allowed inside regularly.”
Artie frowned. “What about Dr. Miracle’s patients? I’ve gotten the notion he treats the locals’ maladies and accidents.”
“True, but he keeps a small office here in town. That reminds me… I might know someone else who would be willing to assist.”
“Who’s that?”
“Dr. Anthony. He was the physician here before ‘Dr. Yrigollen’ showed up to perform his miracle. He’s been pretty much ostracized, primarily, it seems, because he attempted to warn the people that Dr. Miracle might be a fake.”
“But he’s still here?”
Sam smiled. “He told me he has been this town’s physician for almost a dozen years, and he can’t just desert them. In fact, it’s his office that Loveless took over. Paul Anthony lives above it. You might say he acts as Loveless’s assistant. I forgot that he’s been out to the ranch a number of times, generally as a message carrier. He did mention that ‘Dr. Yrigollen’ is brilliant.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about that. I’m not sure how many university degrees Loveless has, but I am certain he knows much more than any professor could ever teach him. Easy, boy.” The black horse he was stroking with a currying brush started to sidestep. Undoubtedly he missed his master, and needed a good run. I’m sure not getting on his back! I’d end up on mine!
“Listen, Gordon,” Sam went on then, “I came to this town looking for someone. I’ve asked a lot of questions. I hung around thinking the person I’m seeking might come back to collect some possessions left behind. So far, that has not happened, and I was considering moving on just before I saw Jam… James West being apprehended by the sheriff. The one thing I have not done is talk to people at the outlying ranches. Suppose I just innocently ride up to Loveless’s place to ask my questions?”
He almost said Jamie again. What…? Artie shook his head doubtfully, and spoke aloud. “I don't know. You would not likely get beyond the front door, if that far.”
Now Sam grinned. “And while I was doing that, any chance you could slip in the back way?”
Artie chewed his lip a moment, the brush ceasing its rhythmic movements. “I’m not sure it would be quite that easy,” he said slowly, “but with Dr. Anthony’s assistance, we just might pull something off.”
Seeing the sumptuous furnishings in the interior of the small ranch house was no surprise. Miguelito Loveless always lived in style. The exterior was ordinary, even a bit rundown, but the front room area was lushly carpeted, with a crystal chandelier, fine artworks on the walls, and comfortable well-made furniture.
Jim had little opportunity to inspect the room, as his two guards pushed him through to another door which—again unsurprisingly—opened into a fully equipped laboratory. Tables laden with scientific glassware and equipment filled the room. Jim was shoved into a chair, and a heavy leather strap buckled around his chest and arms to secure him. Then his escorts departed.
The silence in the room was heavy… oppressive. Maybe the walls were extra thick to shut out noise… or keep it inside. James West sighed deeply. This is it. No way Artie can get in here to help. Likely Loveless has him spotted by now. It was bound to catch up with us sooner or later…
No! No, no, no! Come on, pal. Jim could almost hear Artemus’s voice in his ear chiding him. You can’t give up. You know that Loveless drugged you. Fight it. Don’t surrender to it. You can’t! You cannot allow Loveless to win, not after all the battles we’ve fought and won.
A door on the left side of the room opened and Loveless entered. He was wearing a white laboratory coat, and stripping off rubber gloves. “Ah, Mr. West. So good to see you again. Are you well? You are looking… how shall I say it? A bit down in the mouth. Despairing. Desolate. Not your usual ebullient, confident self.”
“I know you drugged me, Loveless. What’s the purpose?”
Loveless hopped up on a stool next to the nearest table, folding his hands under his chin as he continued to survey his prisoner. “Purpose? Why, simply taking advantage of having an extremely healthy and vibrant young man to use as a test case. The perfect guinea pig, wouldn’t you say? Tell me how you feel.”
Jim remained silent, green eyes glaring at the smug and smiling man. As the wagon had continued farther and farther from town, he had found it more difficult to retain his equilibrium. Everything seemed so hopeless. He was helpless, in the hands of his enemy, and nothing was going to save him. Time and again he talked himself out of the depths of despondency, but it became more and more difficult. Just as now. He had the damnedest sense that if he talked too much to Loveless, he would start to beg for his life, even weep. Best to save his strength for fighting the effects of the drug, not sparring with Loveless.
“Mr. West,” Loveless spoke in a very gentle tone, “I know you are enduring a sense of loss, of utter hopelessness. Wouldn’t it be much better if Mr. Gordon was here with you? I’m certain he could cheer you up. Just tell me where he is, and I’ll arrange for him to be here at once.”
Jim West continued to gaze stonily at his enemy, quite aware of what Loveless was trying to do. Worst, he knew the ploy could work if he relaxed his guard for an instant. He was feeling completely helpless and hopeless, and what better time to have a friend nearby?
Loveless sighed noisily. “Well, I did choose you because of your strength of will, didn’t I? Remember, however, the success of a previous experiment with one of my experimental drugs on you. I nearly succeeded, didn’t I?” His gaze narrowed, undoubtedly recalling how he had been on the verge of releasing the wild ducks carrying vials of his hallucinogenic to water supplies throughout the country, after coming close to driving Jim West into insanity. Then he seemed to shake himself and continued to speak in a conversational tone.
“In truth, I persuaded the sheriff to place quite a mild dose in the dipper of water. Just enough to subdue your usual combativeness. Preparing this drug from certain exotic and extremely rare herbs and plants has consumed a long, long time. Tests have indicated that a stronger dose can have quite dramatic results, including madness and suicidal tendencies. Imagine what will happen when I arrange to impregnate the water supplies of various government agencies—including the White House—with my formula? The police, the federal and state governors and legislatures… coordinated properly, which it will be, and this nation will be completely leaderless. In chaos. Isn’t that a lovely thought?”
“You failed before, and you’ll fail again.” Jim spoke tautly. That crushing sense of despair threatened to overwhelm him upon hearing Loveless’s plans.
Loveless chuckled, sliding off the chair now and coming nearer. “You won’t escape this time, Mr. West. You know that as well as I do. You know it’s the end for you. You fought the good fight, but it’s time to surrender. Just give in, Mr. West. It will be much easier. Or…” his grin widened evilly, “perhaps you’d like another drink of water. A stronger dose will definitely make it easier on you. Just ask.”
“You go to hell.”
Now the small man laughed aloud, throwing his head back and chortling gleefully, aware that for just one instant, his prisoner had considered accepting the easy way out. “Ah, Mr. West, I shall miss our little confrontations. But I will have the memories, won’t I? Rest assured, I will not prescribe another dose of my tonic. Not at the moment anyway. Why? Because I am sure I will need to use another little concoction on you, one that will persuade you to reveal the whereabouts of dear Mr. Gordon.”
“Won’t work,” Jim growled.
“Ah, but it will. It’s my truth formula, Mr. West. Once injected into your bloodstream, you will be completely unable to lie, or to withhold information. It is foolproof. Even your strong will cannot overcome it. Under its effects, you will reveal to me not only where I can find Mr. Gordon, but all of the secrets of your agency. Only a small problem prevents me from administering it this moment. I’m afraid injecting the truth formula before the first drug is completely out of your system has quite deleterious effects… fatal effects. While I am assuredly anticipating the moment you breathe your last breath, I have other uses for you first. I’m not going to waste this treasure trove of information I have in my hands. And when I have Mr. Gordon… well, I shall simply be the best informed man in the country as far as national secrets are concerned.”
He can do it. He’s going to do it. And I’m powerless to stop him. What good does it do to try? I’ve spent my entire adult life fighting for the right, for law and order, and what has it gotten me? I’m as good as dead, and he’ll kill Artie and…
Jim West opened his eyes, and stared into the gleeful blue ones of Miguelito Loveless. “No.” Jim found his voice was somewhat hoarse with the tension he was experiencing. “No. You won’t succeed. Somehow we’ll stop you… again.”
“Oh, I do admire your fortitude, Mr. West. Your strength of spirit. I always have. Admired and hated you for it. You had everything. A strong, healthy body, handsome face, alert and intelligent mind. All I have is my mind, and I must use it to survive. Oh, I did forget one thing, didn’t I? You had your murderous father. I’m sure that was hard to live down, growing up under the taunts of the other children who would not allow you to forget.”
Jim fought against another wave of despair as childhood memories swept through his consciousness. “My father is not a murderer.”
“That’s not what the police records say. If he’s ever caught, he’ll hang. And what will that do to your career? The great James West, son of a double murderer. All these years, living a lie. Does Artemus know? He need never know, you realize. Tell me where to find Artemus Gordon, and I’ll keep your secret.” Loveless leaned toward him. “You can die with your honor intact.”
“Go to hell.”
Loveless snickered. “You seem to be fond of that phrase. Ah well. You’ll tell me where Artemus is. The drug now in your system will dissipate in approximately twenty-four hours. If you have not decided to tell me by then, I’ll simply administer the truth drug. It lasts just a few hours. Once you’ve revealed all I need to know, you’ll receive a stronger dose of the one I gave you this morning. I will then place a gun in your hand, a gun with one bullet. That will be all you will need to relieve your despair. I’ll talk to you soon, Mr. West.” Whistling, he toddled back through the door through which he had entered.
Once again the silence was complete. No sounds to divert his mind from the desolate thoughts that kept returning, threatening to overcome all reason. Artie, where are you? I need you, pal! I need you to help me. Before it’s too late. I don't know how much longer I can fight this.
Dr. Paul Anthony was younger than Artemus had thought he would be. Having been told that the physician had been in Mill Creek for nearly twelve years, Artie assumed he would be approaching middle age, if not older. But Paul Anthony was probably not yet forty, perhaps a year or two older than himself. He was a rather spare man, with shiny dark hair that he combed straight back from a high and intelligent forehead. Sam had also told him that Anthony was a widower of several years standing, which was another surprise of sorts. A fine-looking doctor without a spouse was usually a target for all the unwed women—and their mothers—in the region.
Anthony admitted them into the office, which was located in a small building several structures away from the jail, greeting Sam Neville cordially and looking with some curiosity at the disheveled old man with him.
“Charlie? Something wrong? You usually have a warmer greeting than that for me.”
Artie exchanged a glance with Sam, saw the slight surprise on Neville’s face. Neither of them had considered that the old prospector might be a former patient of Anthony. As Sam closed the office door and threw the bolt on it, Artie straightened his posture, and lifted the black patch off his eye.
“Dr. Anthony, my name is Artemus Gordon. I’m an agent of the federal government.”
The doctor frowned deeply. “Indeed? I met another Artemus Gordon, a friend of Dr. Yrigollen’s. And I heard that an imposter, claiming to be James West, was arrested yesterday.”
Sam spoke up. “Paul, I’ve told you some of my story, and I hope you trust me. I can vouch for Mr. Gordon here. And for the young man that was arrested. They are the true agents. I have seen them elsewhere, including while they were testifying in a courtroom. It’s Dr. Yrigollen’s friends who are the imposters.”
“Not only that,” Artie put in, “but this Dr. Yrigollen, the so-called Dr. Miracle, is a known criminal, a megalomaniac named Miguelito Loveless who has attempted to kill Jim West and me several times as we foiled his plots to destroy the United States, or even the world.”
Artie watched the doctor’s expression as it transformed from astonishment to pure relief. “I knew it. I knew it! That’s why I tried to convince the people here that their illness was not an exotic disease as Yrigollen claimed, but they had in some way been poisoned. I could not understand why Dr. Yrigollen would not allow me to make any tests. He claimed that taking blood would be detrimental to the healing. He also destroyed the samples I had taken before his arrival—before I could do any work on them.”
“I have no doubt you are correct, Dr. Anthony,” Artemus said grimly. “We’re not sure what he’s up to, but you can bet it’s no good. I suspect he chose this isolated location purely for its remoteness, then lured my partner and me here to dispose of us before he put his actual plan in action.”
“To make things worse,” Sam said then, “it appears that Loveless somehow persuaded Sheriff Grable to turn Jim West over to him. He was taken from the jail a couple of hours ago by the two imposters.”
“That’s strange,” Anthony frowned. “Ed Grable usually sticks to the letter of the law. He would normally require a judge’s order to release a prisoner to a private citizen. Have you talked to the sheriff?”
“Not yet,” Sam admitted. “Neither Mr. Gordon or I are well acquainted with him.”
“And you’d like me to do that?”
“That’s part of what we’d like your help on,” Artemus stated.
The doctor’s glance was wary. “What else?”
“Paul,” Sam spoke up, “Mr. Gordon needs to get into Loveless’s stronghold to rescue his partner. We feel you may be able to help accomplish that. You are familiar with the place.”
“Odd.” The physician rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It never occurred to me that Yrigollen was Loveless. I had never seen him before, of course. I know him primarily from his scientific reputation. He has published some amazing—almost unbelievable—theories.”
“Unfortunately,” Artemus said wryly, “many of his theories are quite true, and he has put them into effect, usually to the detriment of the human race.”
“I know. His papers usually cause quite an uproar. Gentlemen, I’ll be happy to attempt to talk to Sheriff Grable to try to find out why he released his prisoner to Dr. Yrigollen… I mean Loveless. Ed is a good man, an honest one. He had to have had a good reason. However, I have no idea how I can help Mr. Gordon gain access to the ranch. The doctor does not even allow potential patients to visit him there. He claims he has sensitive experiments in progress that might be damaged or disrupted.”
“I’m sure he does,” Artie muttered, remembering some of the incredible inventions Loveless had attempted to use in the past. What was he working on now? “Would Loveless be completely surprised if you showed up out there to discuss a patient’s condition with him?”
Anthony frowned, and rubbed his chin again. “I have not done so, primarily because I have lost the majority of my patients since his arrival. He has always been cordial, if a bit condescending, when we are in this office together.”
“Mr. Neville suggested you are acting as his assistant.”
The doctor made a wry face. “That’s pretty much what my status has been. I have accepted it because these people have been my friends for many years. I was certain that ‘Dr. Miracle’ did not intend to make this area his permanent home, so I want to keep my hand in, so to speak. He is a brilliant physician, no doubt about that. I’m actually learning some things from him. I want to be ready, when he does depart, to take care of my patients.”
“Suppose old Charlie Rock came to you with a complaint you couldn’t diagnose,” Artemus suggested.
“It would have to be something pretty exotic,” Anthony mused, rubbing his chin again. “Loveless knows I’m a competent physician, that I keep up on all the latest techniques and news. He has seen my collection of journals and books. And complimented me on them.”
“Perfect,” Artie grinned. “No larger ego exists in the universe than Loveless’s. For you to consult with him would stroke that ego.”
“I’ll have to think about this,” Anthony said, “and perhaps peruse some old journals. Just because it’s in a journal might not necessarily mean I know about it. Especially if it was something I read years ago.”
“Good. We are not sure how much time we have, doctor,” Artemus spoke soberly now. “I think the first thing we need to do is speak to the sheriff. If he can be persuaded to cooperate, we might gain needed information.”
Because they were unsure whether the two imposters had returned to town, Sam Neville first walked down to the always open Silver Goblet, which appeared to be their favorite hangout, to see if they were there. He returned within about fifteen minutes to state he did not see the pair, nor any other man believed to be associated with “Dr. Miracle.” Most of those men remained on the ranch, it seemed, but they apparently were given leave to come into town for some recreation from time to time.
So the trio made their way slowly toward the jail, old Charlie’s gimpy leg retarding their progress. They did not, however, want to cause anyone to notice anything amiss, especially if curious bystanders wondered why these three men were together.
Sheriff Ed Grable was sitting at his desk, glumly staring into space when they stepped inside. In fact, his self-absorption was so great he did not immediately notice their entrance. The click of the door latch as Artemus closed it securely caught his attention and his focus shifted, surprise and curiosity, perhaps a little apprehension, washing over his face.
“Ed, can we talk to you?” Dr. Anthony asked, going toward the desk while Artie and Sam held back.
Grable got to his feet, making an obvious effort to behave normally. “Got a problem, doc?”
“In a sense,” the physician replied amicably. He looked toward the cell. “I understand you released your prisoner to Dr. Yrigollen’s custody. I didn’t know Judge Bolt was in town.”
The sheriff’s face flushed, then paled, as he dropped back into his chair. “I… it’s not…” Grable cleared his throat. “The doctor said he could help that young fellow.”
“Help him how?” This came from Artemus, who decided abruptly to drop his disguise. He was certain that Sheriff Grable had been coerced in some manner, and might now be more receptive to learning the truth.
The lawman stared at the suddenly straight form of the man he knew as the old prospector Charlie Rock. “What the devil?”
Artie once again pulled off the eye patch, and he also jerked the wig away, revealing his tousled, now
THE NIGHT OF THE FAMILIAR STRANGER
People are not always what they seem.
Nathan der Weise, act IV, sc. 7 – Gotthold Ephraim Lessing (1729-1781)[/center]
Jim West slowed the dusty black horse as he entered the town. Looked like many another town he had seen over the years, with a single wide unpaved street bisected by a number of alleys that separated various clapboard, false-fronted buildings. Most of the structures bore signs declaring the type of business carried on within, but a few were residences. He had noticed more houses on rising ground to the east of this town known as Mill Creek, Arizona Territory. The sign at the outskirts stated that the population was three hundred and twenty-two, but Jim seriously wondered where those three hundred and twenty-two souls could reside.
Not much of a town as far as desert towns go. With any luck, Artie will have things well in hand, and we won’t have to be here long. His partner had preceded him to Mill Creek by about four days while Jim wrapped up testimony at a trial in Saint Louis. Artemus had taken the Wanderer, so Jim had used public transportation for a good part of the journey. He had come across their train waiting on a siding more than a half day’s ride from Mill Creek, the closest it could approach.
Jim glanced around as he rode down the middle of the street, half expecting Artemus to be on the board walkway at some point, waiting for him. Artie knew approximately when he would arrive, although they had not been able to confirm an exact time. Mill Creek had no railroad, and no telegraph either. Apparently the cattle ranches in the area supported the town. Not very good cattle country. That thought had occurred to Jim several times as he rode through the desert-like landscape.
The “Mill Creek” for which the town was named was more like a trickle this time of year. A cowhand he encountered related that during the monsoon season, or occasionally after a heavy rainstorm, the creek bed could flow swift and full. Ranchers had various means of trying to save that water, from tanks to ponds to small dams. A spring on a property doubled or tripled that acreage’s value.
A few people on the sidewalks gazed at him with some curiosity, which was not unexpected. Highly unlikely they saw many strangers passing through this way. Quite possibly any one of them could tell him where to find Artemus Gordon at any given moment, should he ask. However, Jim decided he would be better served to find Sheriff Grable. Just as that thought crossed his mind, he saw the building bearing a sign designating it as the sheriff’s office and jail.
A husky man with a white beard and a mop of equally snowy hair was standing on the porch of that building, talking to two rather well-dressed men. As Jim dismounted, and tied the black’s reins to the hitching rack, the bearded man turned and confirmed Jim’s suspicion by displaying the star pinned to his faded shirt.
“Sheriff Grable?” Jim extended his hand as he stepped up onto the porch. “I’m James West.”
“Yeah?” Grable gazed at him oddly, but took the hand briefly. “What can I do for you?”
Jim noticed that the two men Grable had been talking to were also staring at him, but he attributed it to what he had surmised earlier, that few strangers appeared in Mill Creek. “I wonder if you can tell me where Artemus Gordon might be found.”
Grable looked back at the two men briefly. “You got some identification?” he asked Jim.
Jim pulled the leather folder from inside his coat and handed it to the lawman, who studied it a moment then, to Jim’s surprise, turned around and handed it to the taller of the pair behind him. “Looks darn legitimate.”
“Certainly does,” that man replied.
Jim West was becoming annoyed. “It is legitimate. If you will return my credentials, and tell me where I might find Mr. Gordon, I won’t trouble you any longer.” Grable was the man they were supposed to contact and cooperate with. Wonder if Artie had a problem with him.
“Well, it’s like this, Mr., er, West, I’m surprised you don’t recognize Mr. Gordon. He’s standing right in front of you.” Grable grinned, pulling the pistol from the holster at his side. “We were warned you might show up.”
Stunned, Jim stared at the sheriff for a long moment. “What do you mean, he’s right in front of me? What is this?”
The shorter man, a round-faced individual with a pock-marked complexion stepped up alongside the sheriff. “Why, Jim, don’t you recognize your partner?”
“Just a minute,” Jim spoke tautly. “Did this man tell you he’s Artemus Gordon? He’s lying.”
Now the other one came up to flank the sheriff on the other side, lifting a pistol from inside his well-tailored coat. “You’re the liar, mister-whatever-your-name-is. How did you think you could get away with it? Even with fake credentials, no one would ever believe you’re James West.”
Jim kept hold of his temper, and tried to quell the gnawing fear in his gut. Where’s Artie? “Sheriff Grable, I’m afraid you’ve been taken in by a ruse. I am James West. That man is not my partner, Artemus Gordon.”
Grable smirked as he reached over and lifted Jim’s pistol from his holster. “You’re the one trying to put something across, mister. Maybe if Mr. West and Mr. Gordon hadn’t arrived ahead of you, you’d of got away with it. But I know these are the real West and Gordon. Their identities were confirmed to me by someone who knows them well.”
“And who might that be?”
“None of your business. Get on inside there.” He motioned with his own gun.
Jim briefly contemplated attempting to overpower the sheriff and the two men, but realized that with two guns already aimed at him, he would not have good odds, especially if “Mr. Gordon” decided to draw his own weapon. Thing to do was to talk to Grable alone, convince him that he was being deceived. And also to find out who in this town identified these two fakes as the real McCoy.
Where’s Artie?
Jim half expected to find Artemus Gordon in the office, a big grin on his face over the deception just pulled off. Either that or locked up in a cell. Neither was the case. The office appeared to have just one jail cell, formed in one corner by a heavy wooden wall on one side, and a set of bars on the other.
He was commanded to remove his coat and hat, then his gun belt, and finally to sit down and open the heels of his boots. Jim did as bade, seething. Someone who knew him well was behind this. He tried to ask the sheriff more questions, but was ordered to be quiet. The two imposters smirked behind the sheriff’s back.
He was placed inside the cell, and the door, which was comprised of the entire set of bars, hinged against the building wall, was closed and locked. Jim tried one more query. “I hope that the person who claims that these two are West and Gordon will come around to see me.”
“Perhaps,” Grable replied, “but the doctor is a very busy man.”
“Doctor!” A chill climbed up Jim West’s spine.
“Yes. Dr. Miracle.”
“Dr. Miracle!” Jim could not help but exclaim.
Now Grable smiled slightly. “Well, that’s not his real name. But that’s what we call him here. He saved this town, saved hundreds of lives. And it was a real miracle, too.”
“Mind telling me what he looks like?”
The sheriff scowled. “That don’t make no never-mind. You just settle yourself in, young fellow. When the circuit judge comes through in a couple of weeks, we’ll decide what to do with you. That is less’n Mr. West and Mr. Gordon want to charge you with impersonating a federal officer and take you with them.”
“West” stepped forward then. “That certainly is a tempting idea, Sheriff Grable, but I don't know if we’ll have the time. I think he’s secure in your little cell for now. But it occurs to me, he obviously has a confederate here, or believes he does. Any other strangers in town lately?”
Grable pondered a moment. “No. Not unless you want to call Charlie Rock a stranger. He’s strange, all right, but not exactly a stranger.” The sheriff chuckled at his own play on words. “Comes down out of the hills every year or two, spends a few weeks, and goes off again. You probably seen Charlie. Old fellow with the bum leg and black patch over his eye. Came into town just about the same time you did.”
“Gordon” nodded. “I saw him in the saloon nursing a drink a couple of times. Not much of a drinker.”
“No, he ain’t. Told me one time that drinking was what caused that bad leg and eye. Harmless old coot.”
Jim listened with any alteration in his expression. “Charlie Rock” sounded like one of Artie’s disguises, but the fact that this Rock was known around here might preclude that being the case. But where was Artemus? Were the two imposters simply playing their game further by indicating they were unaware of another agent in town? Or had they already encountered Artie and…
As the three men moved toward the door, Jim took in his new surroundings. The cell was about six feet square, with a bench supported by chains at the rear, under a high, narrow window that allowed some light and air. The lock on the door did not look all that complicated… except he did not have any tools to work with.
Jim sat down on the bunk, and pondered the situation. About a week ago, while in Saint Louis, he and Artemus had received a telegram from Colonel Richmond instructing them to travel to Mill Creek, Arizona Territory as soon as they were released from testifying. The department had received word that a wanted criminal, one Alphonse Leech, was hiding in that area. Leech was wanted for counterfeiting, but also for a double murder. One of his victims had been a former employee of the San Francisco Mint, a man who had been a good friend of Richmond’s.
Both agents recognized how much this particular capture meant to their superior, so as soon as Artemus finished his testimony, he headed south. He would scout the area, ask questions, and with any luck, have Leech pinpointed by the time Jim arrived. Although Artemus had not stated his intentions specifically, chances were very good he had entered Mill Creek in disguise. But as Charlie Rock? Jim shook his head. Highly unlikely. In the first place, how would Artie know what this Rock looked like? Secondarily, he would not want to chance either being caught out by someone who knew Rock well, or by Rock himself coming into town unexpectedly.
Dr. Miracle… Jim West had a very bad feeling about the identity of this man. He could think of several criminals who might attempt such a ruse, but only one would have the capability to pull off a “miracle.” He needed more information on the man, as well as on whatever he had done to gain the sheriff’s respect and the town’s gratitude.
He was certain that the instructions they had received from Colonel Richmond had been genuine. They had exchanged several messages, using the specific confidential codes that would route the wires directly to the colonel’s office in Washington. But had someone passed along false information to Richmond, knowing how much the capture of Alphonse Leech meant to him, certain he would assign his best agents? Someone who wanted to snare West and Gordon. Again, while Jim could think of any number of enemies, only one jumped to the forefront. Miguelito Quixote Loveless.
The little genius had been out of sight for a long while, an almost sure sign that he was up to something. A remote area like this would be perfect for him to set up a new identity, using his considerable charm to convince the residents that he was respectable, to be trusted, even loved. Would not be the first time that happened.
Jim stood up and stepped over to the barred door, grasping the cool metal in both hands. He shoved and pulled, finding that while the lock looked shaky, the door was not. He was going to need some help.
Where are you, Artie?
W*W*W*W*W
The old fellow with the thin, graying blond hair hunkered over the glass placed on the table before him, staring at nothing with his one visible eye. His left eye was covered by a black leather patch held in place by a strap around the back of his head. The other patrons of the Silver Goblet saloon paid him little heed now. He had been an oddity during the first couple days after his arrival, when people approached him to say hello, ask if he had made that big strike, then razz him about his lack of success. Some knew him from previous visits, some knew him only because they asked someone else and were told, “That’s crazy old Charlie Rock. Head is as thick as his name.”
It’s amazing, though, how much I’ve learned by simply sitting here and pretending to be in another world. People talk around me, assuming I’m not listening, or not comprehending.
Such as just a few minutes ago when the man people in this town knew as James West came in to brag that the expected imposter had arrived and was now safely in jail. No one needed to worry about his nefarious plots to rob the town blind.
If only Mill Creek had a telegraph. I could have gotten word to Jim. But more than likely, the lack of outside communication was one of the main reasons it was chosen.
The identity he had purchased from the old desert rat had proven to have both its benefits and detractions. No one paid him much heed. That was good. But Artemus Gordon had belatedly realized that he did not have much mobility in this guise. Charlie traveled on foot, hobbling along with his old mule Casey bearing packs of his possessions. Artie had paid extra to “borrow” that mule for a few days along with the name. His own horse was in the nearby mountains, cared for by the prospector. Being without a horse meant he had been unable to ride out to watch for his partner’s approach, nor could he have flagged Jim down from the sidewalk without arousing suspicion. As well, Artemus innately sensed that retaining this guise was important at this time.
Now the problem was going to be getting Jim out of that jail before the good doctor carried out his plans… whatever they were. Although Artemus had quickly become aware that Loveless was in Mill Creek, the necessity to keep himself hidden had prevented him from attempting to spy on the crafty dwarf. He had not even had an opportunity to speak to Sheriff Grable before catching sight of Loveless in town. Upon spotting the crafty little man, Artemus had quickly retreated from town. He had spoken to only one person, the blacksmith who replaced a shoe on the chestnut which he had decided, fortuitously as it turned out, to get taken care of first. While waiting inside the shop, out of the sun and in the shadows, he had espied Loveless in a passing buggy.
“How are you this afternoon, Charlie?”
Artemus glanced up as the slim silver-haired man with an equally white mustache pulled out a chair and sat down without invitation. Not the first time. Sam Neville had approached him the first day “Charlie Rock” appeared in town, introduced himself, and joined the old prospector at the table for companionable silence. Artie liked the man without really comprehending why. He had had the immediate sensation that he had met Sam Neville at some point in the past, but could not recall either the name or the face. He sensed that Neville perhaps felt they were kindred souls, that while Charlie Rock might have lost himself in his quest for gold, Sam Neville was lost in some other manner. A loner, Neville always answered questions in a vague manner, whether posed by “Charlie Rock” or another local.
“What do you think about this story about the imposter, Charlie?”
“I dunno. Don’t mean nothin’ to me.” Artie affected the somewhat slurred manner of old Charlie’s speech, caused primarily by bad teeth it seemed.
Neville was silent a long moment. Artie peeked at him under the fringe of hair that draped over his forehead and into his eyes. He had been glad he brought his full makeup kit with him when he left the train, never knowing when it would come in handy. Making himself up to resemble old Charlie had not been terribly difficult. He suspected that Charlie was the type of man that people didn’t study too closely; they noticed the black patch and the limp and that was about it.
“I saw the real Jim West a few times,” Neville said very softly.
Artie’s hand closed reflexively around the glass before him. He forced himself to relax. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“So what?”
“Never mind,” Sam growled. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”
Artie shrugged. “Don’t mean nothin’ to me,” he repeated. He knew, just as well as Sam did, that revealing such knowledge could be very dangerous. But why was Neville telling him this? Just because he needed to divulge his knowledge to someone, and old Charlie seemed the likeliest receptacle, the one who was not about to blab? “You live ‘round here? Don’t recollect seeing you, last time in.”
“I’ve only been here a couple of months,” Sam replied.
“Hell of a town to settle in,” Artie chuckled, allowing it to turn into a wheezing cough. He took a sip from his glass. “’Bout the only thing this stuff is good for.”
“Why do you buy it if you don’t like it,” Sam inquired, curious.
Artie shrugged. “Well, that’s what a fella does in a place like this, ain’t it? Don’t want them to kick me out for occupying a table!”
Now Sam Neville laughed. “Good idea. Beats being out in that hot sun.”
Artie made a grunting sound, but did not respond otherwise. Odd, that laugh made Neville seem even more familiar. They must have met at some previous occasion. Maybe a long time ago. Perhaps when this was all over, he could approach Sam Neville with the question. That is, if he and Jim survived this incident. Loveless was determined to take their lives, and who knew, one day he might even succeed.
W*W*W*W*W
Sheriff Grable brought a dipper of water to the cell when the prisoner requested it. Jim was thirsty, but he had used the request more as a way to bring the lawman around to where he could talk to him without yelling through the solid wall that separated the cell from Grable’s desk. Even with the open but barred door, the voices seemed to be absorbed by the thick wood wall between them.
“Tell me more about this ‘Dr. Miracle,’ sheriff,” Jim invited, sipping from the dipper. He knew Grable would not want to leave the ladle with him.
“What’s there to tell? We had a terrible sickness in Mill Creek about three months back. Our regular doctor couldn’t do nothing. Dr. Yrigollen appeared, knew the illness, and had the cure.”
“People died?”
“No, but some were dang near. My own wife and daughters were bad off. Soon as the doc dosed ‘em, they were fine. Almost like it never happened.”
“What did you say that name was?”
“Yrigollen. Funny name, eh? Seems to be a Spanish name. I never heard it before. He said it means ‘from the village on the height.’ First name is Horst. Which ain’t Spanish, I know that.” Grable shook his head, laughing softly.
“Horst Yrigollen,” Jim said softly. “I bet I can tell you exactly what he looks like.”
“You know him?”
“Not as Horst Yrigollen. He’s a small man, right? A dwarf. Rather handsome in his own way, with graying hair and clear blue eyes. Impeccable manners. Charming as hell.”
The sheriff’s frown deepened as Jim spoke. “How do you know that?”
“When you are ready to believe I’m James West, agent of the federal government, I’ll tell you. In the meanwhile, I will simply warn you to be very careful. Your ‘Dr. Miracle’ is no miracle-worker. He’s out for one thing. No, maybe two. He wants to kill me and my partner, and he wants to rule the world.”
Grable’s mouth fell open, and he pulled it shut with some effort, reaching through the bars to grab the dipper from Jim’s hand. “Mr. West said you were a clever fellow. I’m seeing now what he meant. Trying to upset things, make me suspicious. Ain’t going to work, young fellow. Dr. Yrigollen saved my family, and he saved a couple hundred people in Mill Creek. I trust him.”
“Good for you. I expect I’d feel the same way if I was unacquainted with him. Be sure you stick around when the doctor comes to visit me.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, you may have a dead prisoner on your hands.”
The sheriff took a step back, still staring. “Why should Dr. Yrigollen even want to come see you, let alone kill you?”
Jim smiled slightly. “He will be along any time now. Hard to say what excuse he’ll use. I know your good doctor very well. His ego will compel him to show up here, just to show me what he has accomplished.”
“I don't know. Personally I think all I’ve heard about you is true.”
“And what did you hear about me?”
“That’s you’re… what did Doc Miracle call it? A con man. A first-rate con man. Said you and your partner are always putting over some scam to fool people. I’m sure glad Mr. West and Mr. Gordon showed up ahead of you, and were able to warn me you were coming.”
“Very fortunate indeed,” Jim said dryly. “I’d like to know how they knew I was coming here. Tell me, have you ever heard of a man named Alphonse Leech?”
Grable frowned a moment, then shook his head. “Can’t say as I have. Who is he?”
“The man we were told we might find in Mill Creek. It’s the reason I’m here.”
Grable chewed on his lower lip, then asked, “Where’s this partner you keep talking about?”
Jim sighed. “I have no idea, sheriff. I hope your Dr. Miracle hasn’t gotten hold of him.”
“You know, one minute you start talking like you’re making sense. Next minute you say something crazy. What do you mean by that?”
Jim debated with himself for a moment. Should he bring up Loveless’s name? He decided against it for now. Loveless had Grable completely fooled, and as long as that was the case, the sheriff was pretty safe. Should Grable start to ask questions…
“Never mind. Maybe you want to sweep your office to get ready for the impending visit from the great man.”
The sheriff glared, then turned to stomp back to his desk.
Probably not more than a half hour elapsed before Jim heard the outer door open, then a familiar voice. He did not rise from the bunk in the cell, listening to the conversation between the sheriff and his visitor. After a minute or so, Grable appeared in front of the cell, and with him a small man with graying hair and large, clear blue eyes. As usual, he was attired in a dapper manner, carrying a doctor’s satchel.
“Good afternoon, doctor,” Jim said pleasantly. “I’m more than a little surprised to find you in such a backwater town in the middle of nowhere. Then again, I don't know why anything you do surprises me.”
Miguelito Loveless peered at him. “Why, sheriff, I had no idea the imposter would be such a young man. And such a fine looking fellow. Somehow I thought he would be older, more venal appearing. What is his true name?”
“Don't know,” Grable replied. “He ain’t said.”
“I’ve given the sheriff my true name,” Jim said. “Why don’t you give him yours?”
Loveless rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The sheriff was behind him, so only Jim saw the mocking gleam in the blue eyes. “I am in despair that such a man is a despicable criminal, sheriff. Remember that treatment I was telling you about? I wonder if this young fellow might not be the perfect candidate.”
“Well, I don't know…” the sheriff began. Clearly he was remembering what his prisoner had said to him just a short while ago.
Jim played it up. “If you allow the doctor to take me into his custody, sheriff, my death will be on your hands.”
“Oh dear!” Loveless cried in alarm. “He appears to be mentally disturbed. I have some medications that will assist in that area. Perhaps I can prescribe.”
Jim hoped he disguised the tremor he experienced with this statement by Loveless. If Grable agreed to put something in his food… “I’m sane,” he said mildly. “How’s your mental state, doctor? Still have ideas of poisoning the world’s water supplies?”
Loveless’s eyes flashed, but he spoke in a caring tone. “You see what I mean, sheriff? Me? Poison the world’s water supplies? In the first place, that’s impossible. And why would I want to do such a thing? I’ve found my place in the world here in Mill Creek, where I’m needed and wanted. That’s all any doctor of medicine could ask.”
Grable cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t reckon we should do anything like remanding him to your custody or giving him medicine until the circuit judge comes through in a couple of weeks.”
“Of course, of course,” Loveless agreed readily, though anger flickered momentarily in his eyes, as he stepped back from the barred door a few paces. “Sheriff, you mentioned that this young man talked about a partner. Have you attempted to find that man?”
“Sure have, Dr. Yrigollen . But there ain’t no more strangers in town. He must have vamoosed. Some friend, to leave his partner high and dry.”
“Indeed. But don’t relax your guard, sheriff. It may be a ploy.”
“I thought of that, doctor. I surely did.”
Loveless looked at the man in the cell again. “Well, my curiosity is satisfied for the moment. I do hope I will be allowed to help this young man. Very likely he fell in with bad companions along the way. I’m sure that my treatments can set him right. But we want to do it legally, don’t we? We’ll wait for the judge.”
Jim West sat very still for a long while after hearing Loveless and the sheriff depart from the office together. This isn’t good. If Loveless convinces Grable to allow him to take me with him…. Was this what the entire scheme was about? Trapping him, and possibly Artemus, to commit some operation or drugging on them? To change their personalities? To… Jim did not even want to think about it.
He had had nightmares for a long while about the night he had believed he had murdered Artemus Gordon. The hallucination brought about by Loveless’s new drug had seemed so real that even having Artie back with him, in the flesh, had sometimes been difficult to accept for a time. Jim knew that Loveless was a genius, far ahead of other scientists in the world. He invented devices and concoctions that others thought were impossible, or even unimaginable.
The good news was that apparently Artie was not in Loveless’s hands at this time. Jim thought he knew Loveless well enough to believe that the doctor would not have even mentioned the partner if he already had Artemus in his custody. But where is Artie?
W*W*W*W*W
Jim West came instantly awake at the first sound. He had not thought he would sleep, but the grueling day on the trail and the tension of the hours in the cell caught up with him. At least he was pretty certain Loveless had not been allowed to mess with his food thus far. When Grable brought his dinner tray, Jim had asked the sheriff pointblank whether “Dr. Miracle” had prescribed any medication to be added. The shocked, even insulted, expression on the lawman’s face convinced Jim that that had not happened. He did not think Grable was that good an actor.
So he slept on the hard bunk until the hissing whisper penetrated his slumber. He sat up and looked around in the darkened room, not so much because he thought the whisper came from inside the building, but that he wanted to make sure he was still alone. Grable had departed hours ago, stating the front door would be securely locked, that he was confident the prisoner could not escape.
Jim then climbed up onto the bunk. He had tested its sturdiness earlier, and now he flexed his knees, then pushed, jumping the short distance needed before he could grasp the bars that covered the high narrow window. The moon was bright and full. Down below, in the alley between the sheriff’s office and the building next, he saw a seedy looking man with unkempt graying hair and a black eye patch.
“Artie?”
“Who are you expecting?” came the wry response. “General Sheridan?”
“We might need him… and the Army of the Shenandoah.”
“You’re not kidding. Jim, it’s Loveless.” Artie lifted up the eye patch to clear his vision.
“I know. I saw him today. Came to pay me a special visit. Tried to convince Grable to turn me over to him for special ‘treatment’ to cure my wicked ways. Thankfully, the sheriff refused. Any idea what’s going on, what he’s up to?”
“No, only that he’s established himself here as a saint.”
“He obviously set up the trap for us, using Alphonse Leech as bait. I’ve got to get out of here, Artie. I don’t like Loveless’s ideas for a rest-cure.”
“Who does?”
“Hold on a minute.” Jim lowered himself to the bunk, flexed his arms and his hands, then hoisted himself to the window again.
“Getting soft in your old age?”
“How about you try it for awhile?”
“No thanks. Jim, I looked at the front door. A special lock of some kind has been installed, one not susceptible to an ordinary picklock. I’d need to use an explosive on it.”
“I suspected that might be the case. Otherwise the sheriff—and Loveless—would not have gone off and left me unguarded. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised but what our old friend helped the good sheriff to make it near impregnable.”
“Yeah. I agree.”
“Artie, who the devil are you supposed to be? I heard about this Charlie Rock…”
“That’s me. I’ll explain the details later, but so far it’s been the perfect disguise. In fact, I’m getting an idea because of it. Look for me first thing in the morning, James, and be ready for anything.”
“Artie, I think you should go back to the train and…”
The man down below was shaking his head vehemently. “In the first place, my horse is a three-hour walk from here. Or a four-hour ride on a slow and balky mule. Then another half day or more to get to the train, half day back…. I’m not leaving you here alone for better than a full day. Not with Loveless around and apparently in control of things.”
“Artemus, be careful. If Loveless gets us both in here…”
“I know, I know. Don’t worry. I think I know where I can get some help. Ta-ta! Sleep well, friend.”
Jim watched his partner scurry down the alley toward the rear of the building. He would emerge elsewhere, so as not to be seen near the jail. Lowering himself again, Jim sat down on the bunk, all thoughts of sleep momentarily dissipated. What did Artie have in mind? And what was this “help” he mentioned? Artemus was no fool. He would not randomly trust just anyone. He had been here for a few days now, but…
For what seemed like the hundredth time since he had been locked in the cell, Jim rose to go to the door, shake it, trying to inspect the lock in the moonlight that illuminated the scene. If only he had a tool, even a nail, he would probably be able to open it. Then maybe deal with whatever special lock was on the door. He did not blame Artie for not fooling with the door. Though it was late, the saloons were still open, and people could be out on the street. An explosion, even a small one, would be noticed.
Jim West hated this feeling of helplessness. Obviously Loveless had advised the sheriff, probably through the two imposters, to completely disarm the man Grable was convinced was the fake agent. He wondered whether Grable had questioned the knowledge they displayed about him. What kind of story had they given the sheriff? That did not really matter at the moment, however. What was important was that he had absolutely none of his usual gadgets to help him out of this situation. All he had was Artemus Gordon, disguised as an old desert rat.
Jim sank back onto the cot, smiling slightly in the darkness. I think I’m in pretty good hands.
W*W*W*W*W
Artemus found the man he wanted at the café directly across the street from the sheriff’s office. Sam Neville was having breakfast when the old codger shuffled in, and he waved Charlie over.
“Good morning, Charlie. Hope you had a good night.”
“I don’t sleep good no more,” Artemus mumbled as he sank awkwardly into a chair, favoring his “bad leg.” “Specially in town. Too blamed noisy.”
“I suppose you are accustomed to the silence of the mountains. I don’t blame you for preferring the solitude. I don’t like this town.”
“Eh? Why are you here?”
Sam waited while the waitress placed his own plate in front of him, and took Artie’s order before he spoke. “I came to Mill Creek looking for someone. I heard she was in this area.”
“A female? Lost love?”
“No, not hardly. It’s a long story. Sometime maybe I’ll tell you. Heard anything about that young fellow they have locked up?”
“Nah. He ain’t no concern of mine.”
“Mine neither, I suppose,” Sam said, digging into his fried potatoes. “Just can’t help thinking about him for some reason.”
“Why don’t you go to the sheriff and tell him what you know?”
“He has no reason to believe me. Especially not ahead of Dr. Yrigollen, who has established himself here as a beloved and respected member of society.”
Now Artemus paused as the waitress brought his platter of food and a steaming cup of coffee. He kept his gaze down, slathering butter and jam on his biscuit as he spoke in a low voice. “Would you help him if you could?”
Sam seemed not to be surprised by the change in the old desert rat’s tone and manner of speaking. “I expect I just might, Mr. Gordon.”
Artie later wondered how he prevented himself from reacting. Instead he carefully placed his biscuit on the side on the plate, and used his fork to separate the eggs, potatoes, and slice of ham so that they would not touch each other, something he had noticed old Charlie doing in his mountain cabin, and something people here in town might have also taken note of.
“How do you know me?” he asked softly.
“I told you I knew Mr. West by sight. You were usually with him. It’s not that your disguise isn’t good. It’s excellent. I have to confess that I met old Charlie on my way to Mill Creek. I got a little lost, he found me, shared a meal with me, and directed me into town. Thus, when you did not know me at our first encounter, I naturally became suspicious. Then I began to add things up. If Jamie West is here, Mr. Gordon likely is in the vicinity.”
Artemus Gordon fell silent, automatically eating his food. Sam Neville was the “help” he referred to when he told Jim he thought he knew where to go for some assistance. He had based that on Sam’s comment that he knew the man in jail was the real Jim West. He could not explain exactly why, but he was suddenly having second thoughts.
Jamie West?
Neville was the one who spoke finally. “You’ll need some help. I’m ready to give it.”
Artie glanced up. “What can you do?”
“I’m not sure. I’m pretty certain I would not be believed if I went to Grable and told him I know which is the real agent. Doing so would also expose me to Dr. Loveless’s attention.”
Once again Artemus had to control his astonishment. “You know Loveless too?”
“Never saw him before. But I know who he is.”
Nonplussed, Artie did not speak for a long moment again. He drained his coffee cup and signaled the waitress, who brought the pot over to fill both cups. Only when she moved away did he say quietly, “Mr. Neville, I think you and I need to have a long conversation somewhere that we don’t have to worry about anyone overhearing.”
“Excellent idea. Any ideas? I have a room at Mrs. Kaley’s boarding house. Do you think that would be safe?”
“No. You can…” Artie halted his words as he noted how Neville’s gaze went to the front window of the café, his eyes widening. Artie looked that direction.
Across the street, four men had emerged from the sheriff’s office. Two were the false agents, one was the sheriff, and the fourth was James West, his wrists and ankles manacled. “West” and “Gordon” had grips on his arms, and Grable was following behind, not looking very happy, as they headed for a buckboard parked nearby.
“Uh-oh,” Artie murmured. “Looks like the sheriff caved in.” This is certainly going to change things!
“What do you mean?” Neville asked anxiously. “Where are they taking him?”
“Undoubtedly to Loveless. Do you know where Loveless has his headquarters?”
“I’ve never seen it, but I heard he’s living in a ranch house about a half hour north of town.”
“Well, you’re mighty kind to an old man, mister,” Artemus said in his Charlie Rock voice. “Been a while since I’ve had a meal this tasty.” He filled his mouth full of potatoes as two men entered and sat at the next table. Picking up his cup, Artemus ducked his head and used the cup to hide his mouth as he spoke very low. “Meet me at the livery stable. I’ve been doing some chores there. I can get rid of he owner.” He pushed himself out of his chair and shuffled out the door.
W*W*W*W*W
As the wagon trundled slowly out of town, the fake Artemus Gordon turned from the seat and looked down at the chained prisoner in the wagon bed. “Bet you’re glad to get out of that crummy jail.”
Jim gazed up coolly. “I think I preferred the accommodations there.” The manacles on his boots had been fastened to an iron ring in the bed of the wagon. No chance of jumping off… and the chains would preclude moving very fast anyway.
He had known something had changed the moment Grable entered the office. Jim had called to him, asking for some breakfast, but the sheriff had not answered. When Jim persisted, Grable finally came into view. He was perspiring and very nervous.
“Dr. Yrigollen is coming for you, mister. He… convinced me that he could… could help you.”
“His name is not Yrigollen,” Jim had spoken tersely. “It’s Miguelito Loveless and he is a master criminal, an evil man. I don't know all his reasons for being here in Mill Creek, but I do know he wants to kill me. If you allow him to take me out of this jail, you’re a murderer.”
Grable had swallowed hard. “I ain’t go no choice,” he responded hoarsely, and turned away. He did not reappear, did not speak again despite Jim’s attempts to engage him, until just before the two men arrived to collect the prisoner. Jim could only surmise now that somehow Loveless had threatened the sheriff in such a way that the sheriff had no option but to obey.
Maybe the worst part of all this was that Artie would have no way to know what had happened. At least not right away. He would eventually hear that the prisoner had been removed. Knowing Loveless, the diminutive doctor probably had turned this “ranch house” into a stronghold, with plenty of guards. As clever as Artemus Gordon was, he was only one man. Jim had no idea who Artie had planned on calling on for help, but even one more body was not going to do that much good. Not now. This time Loveless held all the aces. He was going to finally win the war…
Why am I feeling so hopeless? So helpless and despondent? We’ve been in situations like this before. Why would…?
He had not been served breakfast, nor even coffee, but a silent Grable had brought a dipper of water to the cell a minute or so before the escorts arrived. Jim had drunk it gratefully. He had not noticed anything amiss in the flavor or odor. However…
Jim lay his head back against the side walls of the wagon, closing his eyes. He drugged me. He gave Grable something to put in that water. Something to cause me to be more… compliant. Now that I’m aware, I’ve got to fight it. I’ve got to fight it!
W*W*W*W*W
Artie was not surprised that as soon as “Charlie Rock” appeared at the stable, the owner, one Pete Winkle took off, instructing Charlie to look after the place. It had happened before. He had overheard conversations that indicated Pete made a habit of abusing his employees by leaving all the work for them while he went to play poker, or perhaps to catch up on his sleep after gambling all night.
Thus he was alone when Sam Neville arrived a short while later. Artie made a show of grooming Jim West’s black horse in view of the open doorway in case anyone noticed, while Sam stayed in the shadows.
“How can I help?” Sam asked.
“I’m not sure yet. Loveless obviously has had Jim taken to his headquarters. I have no idea how much time we have. Loveless is difficult to predict. He may… carry out his plans against Jim immediately, and he may want to have me in his custody first. Somehow I’ve got to get inside that ranch and free Jim, the sooner the better.”
“Perhaps I can ride in and distract them.”
“Maybe. But we need to know the layout of the place.”
“From what I’ve heard, Sheriff Grable is virtually the only townsman allowed inside regularly.”
Artie frowned. “What about Dr. Miracle’s patients? I’ve gotten the notion he treats the locals’ maladies and accidents.”
“True, but he keeps a small office here in town. That reminds me… I might know someone else who would be willing to assist.”
“Who’s that?”
“Dr. Anthony. He was the physician here before ‘Dr. Yrigollen’ showed up to perform his miracle. He’s been pretty much ostracized, primarily, it seems, because he attempted to warn the people that Dr. Miracle might be a fake.”
“But he’s still here?”
Sam smiled. “He told me he has been this town’s physician for almost a dozen years, and he can’t just desert them. In fact, it’s his office that Loveless took over. Paul Anthony lives above it. You might say he acts as Loveless’s assistant. I forgot that he’s been out to the ranch a number of times, generally as a message carrier. He did mention that ‘Dr. Yrigollen’ is brilliant.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about that. I’m not sure how many university degrees Loveless has, but I am certain he knows much more than any professor could ever teach him. Easy, boy.” The black horse he was stroking with a currying brush started to sidestep. Undoubtedly he missed his master, and needed a good run. I’m sure not getting on his back! I’d end up on mine!
“Listen, Gordon,” Sam went on then, “I came to this town looking for someone. I’ve asked a lot of questions. I hung around thinking the person I’m seeking might come back to collect some possessions left behind. So far, that has not happened, and I was considering moving on just before I saw Jam… James West being apprehended by the sheriff. The one thing I have not done is talk to people at the outlying ranches. Suppose I just innocently ride up to Loveless’s place to ask my questions?”
He almost said Jamie again. What…? Artie shook his head doubtfully, and spoke aloud. “I don't know. You would not likely get beyond the front door, if that far.”
Now Sam grinned. “And while I was doing that, any chance you could slip in the back way?”
Artie chewed his lip a moment, the brush ceasing its rhythmic movements. “I’m not sure it would be quite that easy,” he said slowly, “but with Dr. Anthony’s assistance, we just might pull something off.”
W*W*W*W*W
Seeing the sumptuous furnishings in the interior of the small ranch house was no surprise. Miguelito Loveless always lived in style. The exterior was ordinary, even a bit rundown, but the front room area was lushly carpeted, with a crystal chandelier, fine artworks on the walls, and comfortable well-made furniture.
Jim had little opportunity to inspect the room, as his two guards pushed him through to another door which—again unsurprisingly—opened into a fully equipped laboratory. Tables laden with scientific glassware and equipment filled the room. Jim was shoved into a chair, and a heavy leather strap buckled around his chest and arms to secure him. Then his escorts departed.
The silence in the room was heavy… oppressive. Maybe the walls were extra thick to shut out noise… or keep it inside. James West sighed deeply. This is it. No way Artie can get in here to help. Likely Loveless has him spotted by now. It was bound to catch up with us sooner or later…
No! No, no, no! Come on, pal. Jim could almost hear Artemus’s voice in his ear chiding him. You can’t give up. You know that Loveless drugged you. Fight it. Don’t surrender to it. You can’t! You cannot allow Loveless to win, not after all the battles we’ve fought and won.
A door on the left side of the room opened and Loveless entered. He was wearing a white laboratory coat, and stripping off rubber gloves. “Ah, Mr. West. So good to see you again. Are you well? You are looking… how shall I say it? A bit down in the mouth. Despairing. Desolate. Not your usual ebullient, confident self.”
“I know you drugged me, Loveless. What’s the purpose?”
Loveless hopped up on a stool next to the nearest table, folding his hands under his chin as he continued to survey his prisoner. “Purpose? Why, simply taking advantage of having an extremely healthy and vibrant young man to use as a test case. The perfect guinea pig, wouldn’t you say? Tell me how you feel.”
Jim remained silent, green eyes glaring at the smug and smiling man. As the wagon had continued farther and farther from town, he had found it more difficult to retain his equilibrium. Everything seemed so hopeless. He was helpless, in the hands of his enemy, and nothing was going to save him. Time and again he talked himself out of the depths of despondency, but it became more and more difficult. Just as now. He had the damnedest sense that if he talked too much to Loveless, he would start to beg for his life, even weep. Best to save his strength for fighting the effects of the drug, not sparring with Loveless.
“Mr. West,” Loveless spoke in a very gentle tone, “I know you are enduring a sense of loss, of utter hopelessness. Wouldn’t it be much better if Mr. Gordon was here with you? I’m certain he could cheer you up. Just tell me where he is, and I’ll arrange for him to be here at once.”
Jim West continued to gaze stonily at his enemy, quite aware of what Loveless was trying to do. Worst, he knew the ploy could work if he relaxed his guard for an instant. He was feeling completely helpless and hopeless, and what better time to have a friend nearby?
Loveless sighed noisily. “Well, I did choose you because of your strength of will, didn’t I? Remember, however, the success of a previous experiment with one of my experimental drugs on you. I nearly succeeded, didn’t I?” His gaze narrowed, undoubtedly recalling how he had been on the verge of releasing the wild ducks carrying vials of his hallucinogenic to water supplies throughout the country, after coming close to driving Jim West into insanity. Then he seemed to shake himself and continued to speak in a conversational tone.
“In truth, I persuaded the sheriff to place quite a mild dose in the dipper of water. Just enough to subdue your usual combativeness. Preparing this drug from certain exotic and extremely rare herbs and plants has consumed a long, long time. Tests have indicated that a stronger dose can have quite dramatic results, including madness and suicidal tendencies. Imagine what will happen when I arrange to impregnate the water supplies of various government agencies—including the White House—with my formula? The police, the federal and state governors and legislatures… coordinated properly, which it will be, and this nation will be completely leaderless. In chaos. Isn’t that a lovely thought?”
“You failed before, and you’ll fail again.” Jim spoke tautly. That crushing sense of despair threatened to overwhelm him upon hearing Loveless’s plans.
Loveless chuckled, sliding off the chair now and coming nearer. “You won’t escape this time, Mr. West. You know that as well as I do. You know it’s the end for you. You fought the good fight, but it’s time to surrender. Just give in, Mr. West. It will be much easier. Or…” his grin widened evilly, “perhaps you’d like another drink of water. A stronger dose will definitely make it easier on you. Just ask.”
“You go to hell.”
Now the small man laughed aloud, throwing his head back and chortling gleefully, aware that for just one instant, his prisoner had considered accepting the easy way out. “Ah, Mr. West, I shall miss our little confrontations. But I will have the memories, won’t I? Rest assured, I will not prescribe another dose of my tonic. Not at the moment anyway. Why? Because I am sure I will need to use another little concoction on you, one that will persuade you to reveal the whereabouts of dear Mr. Gordon.”
“Won’t work,” Jim growled.
“Ah, but it will. It’s my truth formula, Mr. West. Once injected into your bloodstream, you will be completely unable to lie, or to withhold information. It is foolproof. Even your strong will cannot overcome it. Under its effects, you will reveal to me not only where I can find Mr. Gordon, but all of the secrets of your agency. Only a small problem prevents me from administering it this moment. I’m afraid injecting the truth formula before the first drug is completely out of your system has quite deleterious effects… fatal effects. While I am assuredly anticipating the moment you breathe your last breath, I have other uses for you first. I’m not going to waste this treasure trove of information I have in my hands. And when I have Mr. Gordon… well, I shall simply be the best informed man in the country as far as national secrets are concerned.”
He can do it. He’s going to do it. And I’m powerless to stop him. What good does it do to try? I’ve spent my entire adult life fighting for the right, for law and order, and what has it gotten me? I’m as good as dead, and he’ll kill Artie and…
Jim West opened his eyes, and stared into the gleeful blue ones of Miguelito Loveless. “No.” Jim found his voice was somewhat hoarse with the tension he was experiencing. “No. You won’t succeed. Somehow we’ll stop you… again.”
“Oh, I do admire your fortitude, Mr. West. Your strength of spirit. I always have. Admired and hated you for it. You had everything. A strong, healthy body, handsome face, alert and intelligent mind. All I have is my mind, and I must use it to survive. Oh, I did forget one thing, didn’t I? You had your murderous father. I’m sure that was hard to live down, growing up under the taunts of the other children who would not allow you to forget.”
Jim fought against another wave of despair as childhood memories swept through his consciousness. “My father is not a murderer.”
“That’s not what the police records say. If he’s ever caught, he’ll hang. And what will that do to your career? The great James West, son of a double murderer. All these years, living a lie. Does Artemus know? He need never know, you realize. Tell me where to find Artemus Gordon, and I’ll keep your secret.” Loveless leaned toward him. “You can die with your honor intact.”
“Go to hell.”
Loveless snickered. “You seem to be fond of that phrase. Ah well. You’ll tell me where Artemus is. The drug now in your system will dissipate in approximately twenty-four hours. If you have not decided to tell me by then, I’ll simply administer the truth drug. It lasts just a few hours. Once you’ve revealed all I need to know, you’ll receive a stronger dose of the one I gave you this morning. I will then place a gun in your hand, a gun with one bullet. That will be all you will need to relieve your despair. I’ll talk to you soon, Mr. West.” Whistling, he toddled back through the door through which he had entered.
Once again the silence was complete. No sounds to divert his mind from the desolate thoughts that kept returning, threatening to overcome all reason. Artie, where are you? I need you, pal! I need you to help me. Before it’s too late. I don't know how much longer I can fight this.
W*W*W*W*W
Dr. Paul Anthony was younger than Artemus had thought he would be. Having been told that the physician had been in Mill Creek for nearly twelve years, Artie assumed he would be approaching middle age, if not older. But Paul Anthony was probably not yet forty, perhaps a year or two older than himself. He was a rather spare man, with shiny dark hair that he combed straight back from a high and intelligent forehead. Sam had also told him that Anthony was a widower of several years standing, which was another surprise of sorts. A fine-looking doctor without a spouse was usually a target for all the unwed women—and their mothers—in the region.
Anthony admitted them into the office, which was located in a small building several structures away from the jail, greeting Sam Neville cordially and looking with some curiosity at the disheveled old man with him.
“Charlie? Something wrong? You usually have a warmer greeting than that for me.”
Artie exchanged a glance with Sam, saw the slight surprise on Neville’s face. Neither of them had considered that the old prospector might be a former patient of Anthony. As Sam closed the office door and threw the bolt on it, Artie straightened his posture, and lifted the black patch off his eye.
“Dr. Anthony, my name is Artemus Gordon. I’m an agent of the federal government.”
The doctor frowned deeply. “Indeed? I met another Artemus Gordon, a friend of Dr. Yrigollen’s. And I heard that an imposter, claiming to be James West, was arrested yesterday.”
Sam spoke up. “Paul, I’ve told you some of my story, and I hope you trust me. I can vouch for Mr. Gordon here. And for the young man that was arrested. They are the true agents. I have seen them elsewhere, including while they were testifying in a courtroom. It’s Dr. Yrigollen’s friends who are the imposters.”
“Not only that,” Artie put in, “but this Dr. Yrigollen, the so-called Dr. Miracle, is a known criminal, a megalomaniac named Miguelito Loveless who has attempted to kill Jim West and me several times as we foiled his plots to destroy the United States, or even the world.”
Artie watched the doctor’s expression as it transformed from astonishment to pure relief. “I knew it. I knew it! That’s why I tried to convince the people here that their illness was not an exotic disease as Yrigollen claimed, but they had in some way been poisoned. I could not understand why Dr. Yrigollen would not allow me to make any tests. He claimed that taking blood would be detrimental to the healing. He also destroyed the samples I had taken before his arrival—before I could do any work on them.”
“I have no doubt you are correct, Dr. Anthony,” Artemus said grimly. “We’re not sure what he’s up to, but you can bet it’s no good. I suspect he chose this isolated location purely for its remoteness, then lured my partner and me here to dispose of us before he put his actual plan in action.”
“To make things worse,” Sam said then, “it appears that Loveless somehow persuaded Sheriff Grable to turn Jim West over to him. He was taken from the jail a couple of hours ago by the two imposters.”
“That’s strange,” Anthony frowned. “Ed Grable usually sticks to the letter of the law. He would normally require a judge’s order to release a prisoner to a private citizen. Have you talked to the sheriff?”
“Not yet,” Sam admitted. “Neither Mr. Gordon or I are well acquainted with him.”
“And you’d like me to do that?”
“That’s part of what we’d like your help on,” Artemus stated.
The doctor’s glance was wary. “What else?”
“Paul,” Sam spoke up, “Mr. Gordon needs to get into Loveless’s stronghold to rescue his partner. We feel you may be able to help accomplish that. You are familiar with the place.”
“Odd.” The physician rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It never occurred to me that Yrigollen was Loveless. I had never seen him before, of course. I know him primarily from his scientific reputation. He has published some amazing—almost unbelievable—theories.”
“Unfortunately,” Artemus said wryly, “many of his theories are quite true, and he has put them into effect, usually to the detriment of the human race.”
“I know. His papers usually cause quite an uproar. Gentlemen, I’ll be happy to attempt to talk to Sheriff Grable to try to find out why he released his prisoner to Dr. Yrigollen… I mean Loveless. Ed is a good man, an honest one. He had to have had a good reason. However, I have no idea how I can help Mr. Gordon gain access to the ranch. The doctor does not even allow potential patients to visit him there. He claims he has sensitive experiments in progress that might be damaged or disrupted.”
“I’m sure he does,” Artie muttered, remembering some of the incredible inventions Loveless had attempted to use in the past. What was he working on now? “Would Loveless be completely surprised if you showed up out there to discuss a patient’s condition with him?”
Anthony frowned, and rubbed his chin again. “I have not done so, primarily because I have lost the majority of my patients since his arrival. He has always been cordial, if a bit condescending, when we are in this office together.”
“Mr. Neville suggested you are acting as his assistant.”
The doctor made a wry face. “That’s pretty much what my status has been. I have accepted it because these people have been my friends for many years. I was certain that ‘Dr. Miracle’ did not intend to make this area his permanent home, so I want to keep my hand in, so to speak. He is a brilliant physician, no doubt about that. I’m actually learning some things from him. I want to be ready, when he does depart, to take care of my patients.”
“Suppose old Charlie Rock came to you with a complaint you couldn’t diagnose,” Artemus suggested.
“It would have to be something pretty exotic,” Anthony mused, rubbing his chin again. “Loveless knows I’m a competent physician, that I keep up on all the latest techniques and news. He has seen my collection of journals and books. And complimented me on them.”
“Perfect,” Artie grinned. “No larger ego exists in the universe than Loveless’s. For you to consult with him would stroke that ego.”
“I’ll have to think about this,” Anthony said, “and perhaps peruse some old journals. Just because it’s in a journal might not necessarily mean I know about it. Especially if it was something I read years ago.”
“Good. We are not sure how much time we have, doctor,” Artemus spoke soberly now. “I think the first thing we need to do is speak to the sheriff. If he can be persuaded to cooperate, we might gain needed information.”
Because they were unsure whether the two imposters had returned to town, Sam Neville first walked down to the always open Silver Goblet, which appeared to be their favorite hangout, to see if they were there. He returned within about fifteen minutes to state he did not see the pair, nor any other man believed to be associated with “Dr. Miracle.” Most of those men remained on the ranch, it seemed, but they apparently were given leave to come into town for some recreation from time to time.
So the trio made their way slowly toward the jail, old Charlie’s gimpy leg retarding their progress. They did not, however, want to cause anyone to notice anything amiss, especially if curious bystanders wondered why these three men were together.
Sheriff Ed Grable was sitting at his desk, glumly staring into space when they stepped inside. In fact, his self-absorption was so great he did not immediately notice their entrance. The click of the door latch as Artemus closed it securely caught his attention and his focus shifted, surprise and curiosity, perhaps a little apprehension, washing over his face.
“Ed, can we talk to you?” Dr. Anthony asked, going toward the desk while Artie and Sam held back.
Grable got to his feet, making an obvious effort to behave normally. “Got a problem, doc?”
“In a sense,” the physician replied amicably. He looked toward the cell. “I understand you released your prisoner to Dr. Yrigollen’s custody. I didn’t know Judge Bolt was in town.”
The sheriff’s face flushed, then paled, as he dropped back into his chair. “I… it’s not…” Grable cleared his throat. “The doctor said he could help that young fellow.”
“Help him how?” This came from Artemus, who decided abruptly to drop his disguise. He was certain that Sheriff Grable had been coerced in some manner, and might now be more receptive to learning the truth.
The lawman stared at the suddenly straight form of the man he knew as the old prospector Charlie Rock. “What the devil?”
Artie once again pulled off the eye patch, and he also jerked the wig away, revealing his tousled, now