Post by qohart on Apr 18, 2009 22:48:19 GMT -8
A HUGE thank you to Apple and Pet. Without their help, encouragement and writing/editing skills, this story would never have been completed.
As usual, I don’t own the characters, I just love them.
The Night of the Half Equation
by Cris Hart
James West sat in the chair in the hospital room waiting, not exactly patiently, for the doctor to arrive. He reread the latest letter from his partner, Artemus Gordon.
Jim-
Colonel Richmond tells me you are doing well and nearly ready to return to duty. Glad to hear it. This has been one dog of a case, and I'm glad it's over. I've never seen so much snow in all my life. You know how I hate to be cold. Will arrive Tuesday afternoon.
See you then.
Artie
Artie had written him twice a week for the month Jim had been hospitalized, recovering from a concussion and gunshot wound to the chest. When Jim had awakened for the first time, there were two letters waiting for him, the subsequent six arriving like clockwork twice a week. All eight letters recounted the case Artie was on in great detail and had left Jim feeling he was involved in some small way. Artie was a remarkable storyteller and did not disappoint in his letters. Only the eighth letter, which Jim had just reread, again, was short and to the point.
It was Tuesday afternoon and Jim was anxious for the doctor to release him. He was looking forward to going back to work, having recovered quicker than the doctor had anticipated. Jim had already spoken to Colonel Richmond who had agreed to his returning to light duty if the doctor released him.
The door to his room opened and Dr. Bennett entered. "Good afternoon, Mr. West," he greeted pleasantly.
"Hello, Dr. Bennett. Do you have good news for me?" Jim asked smiling hopefully.
"Right to the point, as usual, I see," the doctor commented making notes on Jim's chart.
"No offense, doc, but I'm tired of your company," Jim quipped, "Do I get discharged today?"
"No offense taken and I won't keep you on tenterhooks any longer. I am discharging you with orders for no strenuous activity. By that I mean nothing like what brought you here to begin with. I expect you to keep getting lots of rest. Rehabilitate slowly, don't overdo. Let others do for you when it comes to lifting and carrying anything heavy," Dr. Bennett ordered. "Colonel Richmond is waiting for you outside. Why don't you get dressed," he smiled at Jim.
"Is my partner here yet?" Jim asked, rising from the chair and reaching for his shirt.
"I don't believe so, but Colonel Richmond would know more about that than me. I'll leave the discharge papers at the desk with the nurse. Just sign them on your way out," Dr. Bennett told Jim as he left the room.
Jim dressed as quickly as he could. He felt revitalized, strong, and ready for an assignment. He gathered his belongings into his valise and opened the door to find Colonel Richmond waiting for him.
"James!” Richmond exclaimed softly and clapped Jim on the shoulder. “You look well," the Colonel told him.
"I feel well. And ready for an assignment," Jim answered smiling. "Is Artie here yet?"
"No. I wired him to meet us at my office. And as far as assignments go, you're on light duty, mister. That means you'll be doing paperwork at most for the next couple of weeks," Colonel Richmond replied.
"Paperwork? Sir, I'm ready for more than paperwork," Jim countered.
"Too bad. Dr. Bennett is only releasing you because I promised him that would be the extent of your involvement with a case for now," the Colonel stated, "You could always stay here for the next two weeks if that suits you better," he suggested with a sly smile.
"No, no," Jim answered quickly, "Paperwork sounds fine, sir."
It was colder outside than Jim had anticipated but the ride to the Colonel's office was short and the carriage offered protection from the cold and light snow that was falling. Washington was beautiful under the layer of white that blanketed the city this early December afternoon. They did not speak until they reached the Colonel's office.
"Have a seat, Jim," Colonel Richmond said as he slid behind his desk.
"Thank you sir," Jim sat, "Where has Artie been? He didn't say in his letters," he asked.
"Connecticut,” the Colonel stated, “I thought Gordon wrote to you about this case?”
“He did, sir, but he didn’t reveal anything that might give away where he was or what exactly he was up to,” Jim answered. “Sort of a sanitized reporting, in story form, to keep me from dying of boredom,” he grinned.
The Colonel nodded knowingly. “He's had a time with this case. Chased Barton Edwards all over the state before catching him in the mountains near Massachusetts. They've had two blizzards hit in two weeks up there. I don't imagine he was too pleased with that bit of bad weather," Colonel Richmond chuckled.
"No sir," Jim smiled, "He mentioned a lot of snow and being cold. Two of Artie's least favorite things."
"You're not on any pain medicines are you, Jim?" Colonel Richmond asked going to the sideboard.
"No, sir. Why?" Jim asked.
"I wanted to offer you a drink, but not if you were still on medications," Colonel Richmond told him. "A brandy perhaps?"
"Thank you, sir, that would be nice," Jim replied looking forward to a swallow of the warming liquor.
Colonel Richmond poured two small snifters and handed one to Jim. "To your complete recovery," he toasted and clinked glasses with Jim.
"Thank you sir," Jim answered taking a sip and letting it flow down his throat slowly, feeling its heat radiate through him.
A light rap on the door and the Colonel's secretary stepped in. "Mr. Gordon is on his way up, Colonel Richmond."
"Send him right in," the Colonel told her.
She began to exit pulling the door with her, but it was pushed open from behind her. "Excuse me, Millie," they heard Artie's voice as he stood back to let her pass before entering.
Jim placed his glass on the Colonel’s desk, stood and faced his partner.
"Jim," Artie greeted heartily and came forward and gave Jim a friendly hug then held him at arm's length, "You look great. How do you feel?"
"Good, Artie, really good," Jim grinned from ear to ear. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Artie's effusiveness until now.
Colonel Richmond cleared his throat pointedly. "Pardon my bad manners, Colonel Richmond," Artie said to him, "I was just glad to see Jim again and looking so well. How are you, sir?" Artie beamed.
"I'm fine, Gordon," Colonel Richmond stressed the I, "How are you?"
"Thawing nicely, sir," Artie quipped, removing his hat and draping his topcoat over a chair, "Not too happy to see snow here too, but what can you do?" he spread his hands and shrugged.
"You seem very upbeat," the Colonel commented. A naturally happy person, Artemus could lift the mood in a room by his very presence, but the Colonel had not expected this level of brightness after the grueling mission he'd just completed.
"Do I?" Artie asked then shrugged again.
"Have a seat, gentlemen, and let's get serious," Colonel Richmond said taking a seat at his desk.
The agents sat, Jim wearing his normal stoic face, Artie seemingly unable to stop smiling.
"There have been a series of bank robberies in the Dakota Territory," Colonel Richmond began, "Very professionally done. The culprits blend in with the locals until they get to the teller. Then they pass a note, produce a gun, and the teller complies. The thieves walk out of the bank with the money quiet and calm as you please."
"Has any of the money turned up in circulation?" Jim asked.
"That's the odd thing. Bills with corresponding serial numbers have been turning up in shops and businesses all over the territory," the Colonel answered.
"What's odd about that, sir? The robbers are spending their take," Artie reasoned.
"The bills are counterfeit," Colonel Richmond stated flatly.
"Wait. They're stealing real money but spending counterfeit duplicates?" Artie asked for clarification.
"That's right, Artemus. None of the real money has turned up, but very clever fakes with the same serial numbers, has," Colonel Richmond repeated.
"How many banks have been robbed so far?" Jim asked curious.
Colonel Richmond rose and pulled a map from his sideboard, spreading it out on the desktop. The agents leaned over the desk to see where the Colonel pointed. "Four. One in Bismarck, Fargo, Jamestown, and Chahinkapa. All in the Red River Valley around Fort Seward. The fur traders, trappers, and railroad men are up in arms over this. The territory keeps its own holding bank, no Federal Banks. But they want the government's help on this because of the railroad's influence in the growth of the area. So, gentlemen, you will be offering assistance in capturing the robbers, and recovering the monies stolen. Governor Blandings is expecting you in three days."
"That's pretty remote territory, isn't it, sir?" Jim asked.
"Yes it is. Fort Seward, as you know, guards the railroad as it travels through the territory at the Minnesota border. So this mission is vital to the survival of the railroad as well. If it's not settled quickly, the men in these industries won't trust their pay, maybe will lose their pay if it comes in counterfeit money," Colonel Richmond concluded. "Governor Blandings will meet you at Fort Seward in the commanding officer's headquarters. That’s Colonel Tartan. Now there's just one more thing," Colonel Richmond added slowly.
"Yes, sir," his agents asked in unison.
"You'll have a shadow on this mission, gentlemen," the Colonel answered not looking at them now.
"A shadow, Colonel?" Artie asked.
"Yes. He's an Undersecretary with the Treasury Department. He's going to come along with you on this mission to, uh, observe," Colonel Richmond said cautiously. "His name is Clarence Westbury."
The Colonel went to the door and opened it, motioning someone in. A very average looking man entered. He was about Jim's height, slightly built, though a few years younger. He had blond hair and wore pince nez glasses.
"Mr. Westbury, may I present James West and Artemus Gordon," Colonel Richmond introduced, "Gentlemen, Clarence Westbury."
They shook hands all around. Jim took note that Westbury's handshake was limp, his hand as smooth and soft as a woman's. Never done a real day's work in his life, I'll bet, he thought.
Westbury took charge of the discussion. "I'll be with you during this mission, gentlemen. I am only along to observe. Please go about your business and daily activities as though I were not present," he said in a commanding tone.
Jim and Artie exchanged glances. Something about this did not feel right.
"Mr. Westbury, what is your purpose in observing us, if I may ask?" Artie ventured.
"I am an evaluator. My purpose, Mr. Gordon, is to evaluate you and Mr. West," Mr. Westbury replied smartly.
"To what end?" Jim wanted to know.
"My department is, naturally, concerned with the efficiency of the agents attached to any of its branches, gentlemen. I will determine if you are still assets to the Secret Service or if you have grown past your usefulness in the positions you now hold," Westbury answered smugly.
"Mr. Westbury," Colonel Richmond said in a warning tone.
"Colonel Richmond, this isn't the best time for this," Artie started sounding a bit annoyed, "Jim's still recovering from very serious injuries. He can't be expected to perform at his peak."
"I'm aware of Mr. West's injuries, Mr. Gordon," Westbury interjected, "and I'll take that into due consideration. Besides, this is more about you than him anyway."
"Mr. Westbury!" Colonel Richmond raised his voice.
Artemus stood looking nonplussed. "Has there been some complaint with my work?" he asked.
"Of course not," Colonel Richmond answered quickly.
"As I said, Mr. Gordon, the Treasury Department is just concerned with the performance of any of the agents associated with any of its branches. You, sir, are what, 45 now? It is reasonable to be concerned, wouldn't you say?" Westbury asked.
"I wouldn't say," Artemus remarked quietly. He glanced at Jim who appeared to be on the verge of losing his temper.
"Just do what you normally do, gentlemen, the way you normally would," Colonel Richmond said to his agents, "and don’t worry."
The agents shook hands with the Colonel, accepting their assignment and left his office with Westbury following. Outside, Jim saw that Artie had come in their buggy. The top was up and sealskin blankets were folded on the seat for them to cover up against the cold and snow. Artie's horse was hitched to the buggy.
"Where's my horse," Jim asked him.
"Waiting for you on the train. Don't worry, I've taken good care of him," Artie assured his partner. He stood aside, letting Clarence Westbury get in the back then waited for Jim to board before going to the other side and climbing up. "Cover up with those skins. They'll keep you warm," Artie instructed. Neither agent spoke to their unwanted guest, not out of rudeness; there simply wasn’t anything to say. Besides, they’d been instructed to act as though he was not present.
"Thanks, mom," Jim teased, but he was grateful for the skins all the same. "Did you exercise Blackjack regularly?"
"Yes I did. Although he's not too fond of anyone else but you riding him," Artie admitted. "That rascal threw me three times."
"Good boy," Jim chuckled.
"Well, thank you very much, dear friend," Artie shot back feigning hurt feelings.
"I didn't mean it that way, Artie. I spent a lot of time training him to resist other riders. I'm just glad the lessons stuck," Jim consoled.
"I know,” Arte answered. Then changing tacks, he asked, “Did you get my letters?" he asked conversationally as they rode to the train.
"I did. They kept me from going insane, idle in that hospital room for so long," Jim answered. "How did the mission go?"
"Successful. But he led me a merry chase over half the state first," Artie told him with a chuckle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Westbury scribble in a small notebook.
"You know we're headed right back into some of the coldest, snowiest weather in the States," Jim teased.
"Don't remind me," Artie growled, "I'm not even thawed from Connecticut, yet."
They drew alongside the stable car and Artie jumped down to open the doors and lower the ramp. Jim and Clarence disembarked and Jim joined his partner, but Artie waved him off. "I've got it, Jim," he said leading the horse up the ramp. He unhitched his horse and pushed the buggy into its holding area.
A large white cat and a smaller orange cat rushed in to greet them, curling themselves around and between Jim's legs.
"That cat’s still here?" Jim asked his partner. "I thought you were going to release him?"
"Scrappy's old. Look at him. I couldn't just let him loose to die all alone," Arte said stooping as the cats turned their attention to him. He took the white cat's face in his hands and rubbed his thumbs over its jaws, "Could I boy?" he said softly. The orange cat mewed for his share of the attention and Artie complied. "I know, Sahara baby. You’re a good boy too," he said running his thumb between the fluffy orange cat's eyes and over its head. He straightened slowly looking down at the two as they began a mock fight at his feet.
"But there are two of them now, Artie," Jim persisted.
"They'll be gone soon, Jim. Promise. Now that they're friends, I think they'll stay together when I release them," Artie smiled as the cats scampered away. He looked up in time to see Clarence sharply snap to the next page in his notebook. Arte rolled his eyes at Jim.
Jim went to his stallion, who seemed genuinely happy to see his master, nudging Jim's chest and whickering softly.
"I'm glad to see you too, boy," Jim said hooking his arm under the horse's throat and patting him fondly. "Artie take good care of you while I was away?" Jim reached into a basket and pulled out an apple holding it out. The horse took it and munched happily.
They both saw Clarence scribble more in his book.
"Do I pass?" Artie asked rubbing down his horse in the stall next to Jim's.
"What are you talking about?" Jim asked innocently.
"Uh huh, like you weren't checking him out to see if he was in good shape," Artie joked.
Jim chuckled softly. "You pass with flying colors, Artie. Not that I expected anything less," Jim answered grinning. He took a deep breath. Despite his earlier feeling of revitalization, he was growing tired.
"Why don't you go in and rest a bit. Take Clarence with you. I'll be in in a minute," Artie said noticing how tired Jim looked. "I'll fix us some dinner after I talk to Orrin."
"I can do that," Jim offered.
"No, you go inside. I'll talk to Orrin. I'm finished here," Artie insisted hanging the curry comb on a hook and tossing a blanket over his horse's back.
"Artie, I don't need you to do everything. The doctor said light duty, not no duty," Jim reminded his partner.
"I know what he said. I also know he said lots of rest, so go. Rest," Artie shooed him away.
"You're not going to let me do anything, are you?" Jim asked.
"Yes I am. Just not this. In fact, I'm going to let you show Clarence to his quarters. I'll be right in," Artie headed forward to the engineer.
Jim led Westbury through Artie's lab, showed him the guest quarters then continued up the corridor to the parlor while Clarence deposited his luggage. Jim sat heavily on the sofa. He really was tired, but he determined to speak to Artie about letting him help out.
"That lab we passed through," Clarence started as he entered the parlor a moment later, "What is it used for?"
"That's Artie's domain. He's come up with quite a few inventions that have helped us in our cases over the years," Jim answered, proud of his partner's accomplishments. He stifled a yawn.
"Could you share what some of those inventions were?" Westbury asked, his pencil poised above his notebook.
"A number of diversionary devices, explosives," Jim's voice trailed off as he could not stop the tiredness from putting him to sleep.
Jim snapped awake and looked at the clock on the mantle. He was surprised to see that he'd slept for an hour; he hadn't realized just how tired he was. Jim heard Artie in the galley and smelled dinner cooking. He smelled sauce. That meant Artie was making pasta for dinner.
Jim went to stand in the galley doorway, silently watching his friend add seasoning to the bubbling sauce. Neither saw Clarence come up the corridor and take a position where he could observe them without being seen. Artie took a bottle of wine that was almost empty and poured a generous dollop into the sauce, looked at the little remaining and drank the swallow left directly from the bottle. He turned and saw Jim watching and nearly sputtered out the wine.
"Whoops. Caught me," Artie smiled, wiping his mouth on the apron he wore.
"I didn't think you drank directly from the bottle unless you were disguised as a drunk," Jim smiled back, teasing.
"I don't usually. But all that was left was a swallow and I didn't see the need to dirty a glass for that. Sorry, it was rude, I know," Artie admitted.
"I wanted to talk to you," Jim said growing serious.
"Uh oh, sounds serious," Artie said turning back to the boiling water. He pushed spaghetti into the pot until it was under the water.
"I don't want you to keep me from doing things for myself, Artie," Jim said directly.
"I'm not. But I am going to help you if I feel you need it or if I feel you're doing too much," Artie answered stirring the sauce and removing it from the heat. He turned toward Jim, and leaned against the counter crossing his ankles, almost daring Jim to challenge him.
"I'm serious, Artie," Jim replied flatly.
Artemus crossed his arms over his chest. "So am I," he returned evenly.
"I'm not going to argue with you about this," Jim said shaking his head.
"Good,” Artie retorted. Lowering his head, he uncrossed his arms and placed his hands next to him on the edge of the counter. In a softer tone he continued, “Look, Jim, I was sent away on a mission before I was convinced you were all right. I had little information from Colonel Richmond, mostly because I was out of touch much of the time, but still, I was worried," Artie explained. Jim raised his eyebrows at his friend, "I admit it. I was worried about you, ok? I thought you were done for and it almost killed me to have to leave. Jim, I am so sorry I let you down," Artie said in a rush.
"What are you talking about?" Jim asked stunned and coming away from the doorframe where he still leaned, "When did you let me down?"
"I didn't get there in time to stop Henshell from shooting you. I got tripped up by a fisherman's nets out back. By the time I got disentangled, I was too late," Artie explained seriously.
"None of what happened was your fault, old friend," Jim reassured him, "I never blamed you and there's nothing for you to make up to me by babying me now."
"I'm not trying to baby you, or make anything up to you. It's been eating at me, though, that I might have been able to stop him. I just had to tell you," Artie finished in a soft tone. "I don't want you to over do. I don't want to ever see you like that again. Hell, Jim, I don't want to lose you. Above and beyond being my partner, you're the brother I never had."
The sincerity in Artie's voice touched Jim. "Don't want to break in a new partner?" Jim tried to lighten the mood.
Artie relaxed and smiled, "Among other things," he said and turned back to the dinner. "Make yourself useful. Set the table," he said over his shoulder.
Jim grinned and turned to leave. He saw Clarence in the corridor writing furiously in his notebook. Jim knew he'd heard their conversation and didn't like it one bit that the man eavesdropped on them. He went to the parlor without a word and set the table wondering if he should mention this to Artie.
During dinner, the agents tried to engage Clarence in conversation but he refused, telling them, "I will engage you if I want conversation with you. Otherwise, just ignore my presence."
They exchanged glances then proceeded to talk about many things as though the man were a ghost. After dinner, they played a few hands of poker, had a brandy and a cigar, and more light conversation.
Jim grew weary. "I think I'll turn in, Artie," he announced.
"Very good idea, James. I was just about to suggest that," Artemus told him wearing a concerned look.
"You look like you could use some rest yourself, pal," Jim teased, but in reality, his partner looked pale and strained to him.
"I am tired. I'll see you in the morning," Artie answered. As Jim went to his room, Artie made sure everything was locked and the security measures set, then padded down the hall to his room.
Jim went to sleep quickly, the day having been long and more active than he was used to since his long stay in the hospital.
In his room, Artie leaned against the door, a hand held to his left side. The effort of hiding this all day had worn him down. He took off his shirt and looked down at the large half moon bruises on his left side and hip and wondered if Westbury was right. Was he getting too old for the job? At 45 he was 15 years Jim's senior and had never doubted himself until he'd spent a month without his partner. The mission he'd completed alone had made him realize just how he much relied on Jim for the more physical aspects of the job. He didn’t doubt his ability to complete any mission alone, but he certainly did not possess Jim's physical prowess. The fights he'd gotten into had left him sore and tired. The entire mission had left him exhausted. And then that damn horse of Jim's had thrown him again this morning and trampled him just for good measure. He just might let Jim exercise his own damn horse. Exercising both animals by himself had been a two hour process, which added to his exhaustion. And now there was Clarence Westbury added into the mix, making him question himself even more. Artie shook his head, finished undressing and fell into a deep sleep.
In the morning, Artie awoke to the smell of coffee. He sat up quickly, too quickly; he grabbed his side and looked at the clock. 7:00. Damn! He'd overslept. Artie got up and readied for the day then joined Jim and Clarence in the living room. "Good morning, James," he greeted brightly. He ignored Clarence.
"Good morning. I thought you were going to sleep the day away," Jim teased.
"I guess I was more tired than I thought. Coffee smells wonderful," Artie answered pouring a cup and sipping it. "We'll be pulling over to take on water soon, feel up to exercising your horse this morning?" Artie asked.
"Sure. I didn't think you'd allow that," Jim grinned at his friend.
"Light exercise. We're not going to be stopped for long," Artie answered. "How do you feel this morning?"
"Fine. I've worked out a light exercise regimen for myself as well," Jim told him, "Get myself back into fighting shape."
Artie banged his cup down, "Jim, you're one day out of the hospital," Artie started angrily.
"Hold on, Artie," Jim placated and handed Artie a sheet of paper, "I wrote it down. See if it meets with your approval."
Artie scanned the sheet. What Jim had planned out for himself did seem reasonable. He handed it back to Jim. "Ok. That looks all right. But if it seems like too much I want you to stop. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Jim replied. "Are we eating this morning?" he asked.
"Huh? Oh, sure," Artie swallowed his coffee and went to the galley. He opened the oven and pulled out the cast iron skillet. His side grabbed and he let loose with an expletive as he dropped the heavy skillet.
"You all right?" Jim called hurrying down the corridor. Expletives were not normal for his partner.
Clarence rushed to reach the galley first, peering around the door frame.
Artie carefully picked up the skillet and straightened before Jim came in. He plastered a sheepish grin on his face, "Fine, just clumsy this morning," he said and saw Clarence make a notation in his book.
They pulled over for water after breakfast and the two men saddled their horses for a little exercise while they waited. Artie called to the cats and shooed them out. They scampered off into the woods together, never looking back. Artie watched them go with a wistful look.
"You coming?" Jim asked his partner.
"Yeah, sure," Artie answered. He had a hard time getting up in the saddle; his hip protested the movement it took to accomplish it.
"What's the matter?" Jim asked noticing it took Artie two tries to get onto his horse.
"I told you, I'm clumsy this morning," Artie smiled.
The last thing they saw as they rode away was Clarence shaking his head as he scribbled away in his book.
They rode for half an hour then stopped under some pines.
"You really got attached to those cats didn't you?" Jim asked his friend with a smile.
"They were company while you were gone," Artie tried to make it sound like an offhanded remark. He was unsuccessful.
"Uh, huh," Jim commented.
Artie looked at him and chuckled, "I guess I did. You know, they kind of remind me of us," he said.
"How so?" Jim asked frowning.
"Well, Scrappy's older. He needs Sahara to help keep him on his toes. And Sahara taught Scrappy how to rely on him when he needs help, for the tasks his age makes harder for him. Sahara, on the other hand, needs Scrappy too. He learned a lot from him about being patient and working together in a hunt," Artie explained looking far off, "I kind think that if Sahara wasn't around, Scrappy might not survive. He's really gotten to like Sahara. And if Scrappy died, well Sahara knows how to survive on his own but also rely on a friend if he needs it," he concluded.
"Are you saying if I wasn't around you'd die, Arte?" Jim asked seriously.
Artie turned quickly to look at his partner. "No," he answered emphatically, then changed his mind, "Well, yeah," then changed his mind again, "Well, no."
"Which is it? Yes or no?" Jim coaxed.
"I'm not saying I'd lie down and die on the spot, but I don't think I'd be long for this world without you around," Artie answered.
"Grief?" Jim asked curious.
"More likely a bullet," Artie chuckled. Then he cocked his head to one side, raised his eyebrows and added, "Or Loveless." He grinned at Jim breaking the seriousness their mood had taken.
"I feel the same way, Artie," Jim told his friend.
Artie smiled and nodded and headed back toward the train. Orrin signaled he was ready to go as Artie pulled up the ramp. He waved back and closed the stable car door.
"That felt great," Jim said, his cheeks ruddy from the cold morning air.
"Not too strenuous?" Artie asked concerned.
"Not at all. I needed the ride as much as Blackjack did," Jim answered happily as he settled his horse in his stall and fed him.
They spent the rest of the day discussing the case, catching up, playing poker. Jim went through his exercise routine later in the afternoon while Artie poured over files of potential suspects in the bank robberies. Clarence watched them both and wrote volumes in his little notebook.
There were several known bank robbers who had been released from prison or never caught that might fit the profile. Artie narrowed the list down to the two most likely. Both were familiar with the Dakota Territory and both had recently been released from the prison system in that area. Artie paused a number of times to watch his partner exercising, making sure he saw no signs of pain or discomfort. If anything Jim seemed to feel even better after he finished. After dinner, they discussed Artie’s two suspects.
"Prentis Hill and Marcus Leonard," Artie told Jim, "They're both familiar with the area and both recently out of jail. I like Hill better than Leonard."
"Any particular reason why?" Jim asked, though he agreed with his partner.
"Leonard is a sub moron. I don't think he has the smarts to get out of his own way let alone steal money then pass off counterfeits. Not that Hill is any genius, mind you, but of the two he's the sharper knife in the drawer," Artie concluded.
"Of course, they might not be working alone. Someone with the right smarts could be the master of this plan," Jim proposed.
"I've been thinking about that, Jim, but I can't come up with anyone who'd employ either of these two," Artie answered yawning, "Sorry," he apologized with a sheepish grin.
"It's only 8:00, Artie," Jim chuckled, "You must be getting old," he teased. He saw Artie's facial expression fall. "I'm just kidding," he added quickly, steeling a glance at Clarence sitting in the corner quietly observing them.
"I know. Just the same, I think I'm going to retire for the night. Do you need anything, Jim?" Artie said looking slightly pale. He started down the corridor to his room.
Jim followed him and entered his friend’s room behind him. "Yeah, I need something,” he started, “I need to know what's wrong with you?" Jim asked seriously in a low tone so only Artie could hear as he grabbed his friend by the arm. He was sure Artie was hiding something from him but he didn't want to bring Clarence Westbury into another private discussion.
"Nothing. Just tired," Artie answered.
"Then why are you breathing hard?" Jim demanded in a harsh whisper.
"I'm not," Artie shot back also in a whisper, then more reasonably, "am I?"
"You are." Jim stated.
"Maybe I'm catching a cold or something. I'm fine, really, Jim," Artie stifled another yawn.
"Why don't I believe you?" Jim asked quietly.
"Because you have a suspicious mind, James my boy," Artie smiled.
"Artie, all kidding aside. You'd tell me if something was wrong," Jim wanted to know.
"If something was seriously wrong, Jim, I promise I'd tell you," Artie answered. "I'll see you in the morning." He opened the door and pushed Jim out of his room.
Jim was right, he was breathing hard. Artie undressed and looked at the bruises, which had gone from purple to nearly black. He could barely stand to have his clothes touch them. I bet I bruised a lung, he thought. That would account for the shortness of breath. Right now, though, all he wanted was to get off his feet. His hip screamed and his side throbbed. The bruises felt warm to the touch and he wondered if he was running a fever. He fell asleep before he could wonder any further.
Jim knew his partner was hiding something from him. Something more than clumsiness was behind his difficulties mounting the horse and something had to account for his difficulty breathing and tiredness. Not caring if Westbury heard, Jim went to the wireless and sent a wire to Colonel Richmond, asking if Artie had been injured in the last mission. He got a response quickly. No, he had not. Jim pursed his lips and determined to ask for the truth in the morning.
Artie dragged himself out of bed at 5:30 the next morning. His hip was stiff and painful. He tried to stretch the muscles but found it was too painful to stretch for too long. He dressed slowly hoping the kinks would work out as he moved around and to an extent they did. By the time he pulled on his boots, he found he had to sit a minute and catch his breath. This was not good. How was he going to hide this? Artie went to the galley and started the coffee. He took the pot and cups forward to the engineer.
"Morning, Orrin," he greeted.
"Morning, Mr. Gordon. How's Mr. West doing?" Orrin asked accepting a cup of coffee from Artie.
"Good. He's nearly 100%," Artie answered pouring cups all around for Orrin's men and one for himself.
"How about you, sir? How're your ribs and hip doing?" Orrin asked having witnessed the trampling.
"Not so good, actually. Hurt like hell and they feel almost hot to touch," Artie admitted.
"Deep bruising will do that, boss, but just the same, you ought to have it checked out by a doctor," Orrin suggested.
"Maybe. Listen, not a word to Mr. West about this, understand?" Artie said firmly.
"It's not like you two to keep secrets, if you don't mind my saying so, sir," Orrin said sincerely.
"I'm not keeping," Artie started and stopped realizing it was a lie. "Look, I'll tell him. Just not now. He's the one needs looking after right now. Promise me, Orrin," Artie said seriously.
"I won't say anything, boss, unless I think you're in a bad way. That's the best I can do," Orrin answered.
"I'll take that," Artie replied. "You fellows want breakfast?"
"We ate already, sir, but thanks," Orrin answered.
"Ok. How soon before we reach Chahinkapa?" Artie asked before leaving.
"You've got plenty of time, sir. We won't be there for another 3-4 hours. The snow's getting heavier the closer we get," Orrin told him.
"Keep me informed," Artie nodded and took the coffee pot back with him to the galley. Clarence was there waiting for him.
"I know I'm not supposed to engage you in conversation, Clarence, but is it allowed to say good morning?" Artie asked sassily.
"Good morning, Gordon," Clarence replied and scribbled in his notebook.
Arte rolled his eyes and started another pot of coffee. He heard Jim up and about as he brewed a second pot and fixed eggs and sausage for Jim. Artie had no appetite this morning and chose not to eat. He was putting the food on the table when Jim came in.
"Morning, Artie," Jim greeted his partner cheerily.
"Good morning, James. Breakfast is served," Artie sat at the table and poured two cups of coffee placing one at Jim's place. He leaned across the table and whispered conspiratorially, "Don't say good morning to old Clarence there. He'll make a notation on you if you do," he smiled at his partner.
Jim shook his head and grinned back at him. "You're not eating?" Jim asked taking a bite of his breakfast.
"Not this morning. Feel a little off this morning," Artie explained.
"You coming down with something? You're a little pale this morning," Jim said with concern.
"Could be. I don't feel sick, just a little off. No appetite," Artie dismissed.
Jim decided now was as good a time as any to confront his friend. "Artie, I want to ask you something and I want you to promise to tell me the truth," he started.
"Go ahead," Artie answered not looking at Jim. He knew if Jim asked the right question, he'd tell him the truth. He would not lie to his partner.
Jim stole a glance at Clarence and decided Artie was more important than whether or not Clarence heard his conversation. "I want to know what's going on with you. Why are you so tired? Why are you having trouble getting into the saddle? Why are you having trouble breathing?" Jim rapid fired the questions at his partner.
Artie could not think of an answer that would be truthful and still keep the whole truth from Jim so he settled for the whole truth, "Blackjack trampled me the other morning," he confessed. Jim's cup clattered loudly as he slammed it down. "Now before you burst a blood vessel, it's not bad. Just some bruises," Artie said placating.
Jim was furious with him, "Artie, you should have told me. How bad is the bruising?" Jim demanded.
"I don't know," Artie answered shrugging one shoulder.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Jim nearly shouted.
"I mean, I'm not a doctor so I don't know for sure," Artie answered raising his voice. Then more subdued, "I don't think it's too bad, but maybe worse than I originally thought. I think my lung is bruised, that's why it's hard to breath. Other than that I don't think it's bad," Artie admitted.
"And the problem getting into the saddle yesterday?" Jim asked. Artie looked up quickly, surprised. "Didn't think I remembered that, did you?"
"He bruised my hip. It's a little sore and stiff," Artie answered. He took a sip of coffee.
"Hot?" Jim asked.
Artie looked at his coffee cup, "What?"
"The bruises. Are the bruises hot to the touch?" Jim asked impatiently.
"A little," Artie answered.
Jim turned to Clarence. "We need a moment for a private conversation, Clarence. We'll be right back," Jim told the Treasury man. He grabbed Artie by the arm and hauled him down the corridor and into the lab, locking the door behind him. He sat Artie on the cot in the corner before releasing his arm.
"Let me see those bruises," Jim demanded.
"No," Artie answered flatly looking his friend in the eye.
Jim began to gasp and clutched his chest. He grimaced and began to crumple. Artie jumped up and caught him.
"Jim, what is it?" he cried and guided Jim down onto the cot. "Take it easy, lay down," he helped Jim onto the cot and leaned over him.
As usual, I don’t own the characters, I just love them.
The Night of the Half Equation
by Cris Hart
James West sat in the chair in the hospital room waiting, not exactly patiently, for the doctor to arrive. He reread the latest letter from his partner, Artemus Gordon.
Jim-
Colonel Richmond tells me you are doing well and nearly ready to return to duty. Glad to hear it. This has been one dog of a case, and I'm glad it's over. I've never seen so much snow in all my life. You know how I hate to be cold. Will arrive Tuesday afternoon.
See you then.
Artie
Artie had written him twice a week for the month Jim had been hospitalized, recovering from a concussion and gunshot wound to the chest. When Jim had awakened for the first time, there were two letters waiting for him, the subsequent six arriving like clockwork twice a week. All eight letters recounted the case Artie was on in great detail and had left Jim feeling he was involved in some small way. Artie was a remarkable storyteller and did not disappoint in his letters. Only the eighth letter, which Jim had just reread, again, was short and to the point.
It was Tuesday afternoon and Jim was anxious for the doctor to release him. He was looking forward to going back to work, having recovered quicker than the doctor had anticipated. Jim had already spoken to Colonel Richmond who had agreed to his returning to light duty if the doctor released him.
The door to his room opened and Dr. Bennett entered. "Good afternoon, Mr. West," he greeted pleasantly.
"Hello, Dr. Bennett. Do you have good news for me?" Jim asked smiling hopefully.
"Right to the point, as usual, I see," the doctor commented making notes on Jim's chart.
"No offense, doc, but I'm tired of your company," Jim quipped, "Do I get discharged today?"
"No offense taken and I won't keep you on tenterhooks any longer. I am discharging you with orders for no strenuous activity. By that I mean nothing like what brought you here to begin with. I expect you to keep getting lots of rest. Rehabilitate slowly, don't overdo. Let others do for you when it comes to lifting and carrying anything heavy," Dr. Bennett ordered. "Colonel Richmond is waiting for you outside. Why don't you get dressed," he smiled at Jim.
"Is my partner here yet?" Jim asked, rising from the chair and reaching for his shirt.
"I don't believe so, but Colonel Richmond would know more about that than me. I'll leave the discharge papers at the desk with the nurse. Just sign them on your way out," Dr. Bennett told Jim as he left the room.
Jim dressed as quickly as he could. He felt revitalized, strong, and ready for an assignment. He gathered his belongings into his valise and opened the door to find Colonel Richmond waiting for him.
"James!” Richmond exclaimed softly and clapped Jim on the shoulder. “You look well," the Colonel told him.
"I feel well. And ready for an assignment," Jim answered smiling. "Is Artie here yet?"
"No. I wired him to meet us at my office. And as far as assignments go, you're on light duty, mister. That means you'll be doing paperwork at most for the next couple of weeks," Colonel Richmond replied.
"Paperwork? Sir, I'm ready for more than paperwork," Jim countered.
"Too bad. Dr. Bennett is only releasing you because I promised him that would be the extent of your involvement with a case for now," the Colonel stated, "You could always stay here for the next two weeks if that suits you better," he suggested with a sly smile.
"No, no," Jim answered quickly, "Paperwork sounds fine, sir."
It was colder outside than Jim had anticipated but the ride to the Colonel's office was short and the carriage offered protection from the cold and light snow that was falling. Washington was beautiful under the layer of white that blanketed the city this early December afternoon. They did not speak until they reached the Colonel's office.
"Have a seat, Jim," Colonel Richmond said as he slid behind his desk.
"Thank you sir," Jim sat, "Where has Artie been? He didn't say in his letters," he asked.
"Connecticut,” the Colonel stated, “I thought Gordon wrote to you about this case?”
“He did, sir, but he didn’t reveal anything that might give away where he was or what exactly he was up to,” Jim answered. “Sort of a sanitized reporting, in story form, to keep me from dying of boredom,” he grinned.
The Colonel nodded knowingly. “He's had a time with this case. Chased Barton Edwards all over the state before catching him in the mountains near Massachusetts. They've had two blizzards hit in two weeks up there. I don't imagine he was too pleased with that bit of bad weather," Colonel Richmond chuckled.
"No sir," Jim smiled, "He mentioned a lot of snow and being cold. Two of Artie's least favorite things."
"You're not on any pain medicines are you, Jim?" Colonel Richmond asked going to the sideboard.
"No, sir. Why?" Jim asked.
"I wanted to offer you a drink, but not if you were still on medications," Colonel Richmond told him. "A brandy perhaps?"
"Thank you, sir, that would be nice," Jim replied looking forward to a swallow of the warming liquor.
Colonel Richmond poured two small snifters and handed one to Jim. "To your complete recovery," he toasted and clinked glasses with Jim.
"Thank you sir," Jim answered taking a sip and letting it flow down his throat slowly, feeling its heat radiate through him.
A light rap on the door and the Colonel's secretary stepped in. "Mr. Gordon is on his way up, Colonel Richmond."
"Send him right in," the Colonel told her.
She began to exit pulling the door with her, but it was pushed open from behind her. "Excuse me, Millie," they heard Artie's voice as he stood back to let her pass before entering.
Jim placed his glass on the Colonel’s desk, stood and faced his partner.
"Jim," Artie greeted heartily and came forward and gave Jim a friendly hug then held him at arm's length, "You look great. How do you feel?"
"Good, Artie, really good," Jim grinned from ear to ear. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Artie's effusiveness until now.
Colonel Richmond cleared his throat pointedly. "Pardon my bad manners, Colonel Richmond," Artie said to him, "I was just glad to see Jim again and looking so well. How are you, sir?" Artie beamed.
"I'm fine, Gordon," Colonel Richmond stressed the I, "How are you?"
"Thawing nicely, sir," Artie quipped, removing his hat and draping his topcoat over a chair, "Not too happy to see snow here too, but what can you do?" he spread his hands and shrugged.
"You seem very upbeat," the Colonel commented. A naturally happy person, Artemus could lift the mood in a room by his very presence, but the Colonel had not expected this level of brightness after the grueling mission he'd just completed.
"Do I?" Artie asked then shrugged again.
"Have a seat, gentlemen, and let's get serious," Colonel Richmond said taking a seat at his desk.
The agents sat, Jim wearing his normal stoic face, Artie seemingly unable to stop smiling.
"There have been a series of bank robberies in the Dakota Territory," Colonel Richmond began, "Very professionally done. The culprits blend in with the locals until they get to the teller. Then they pass a note, produce a gun, and the teller complies. The thieves walk out of the bank with the money quiet and calm as you please."
"Has any of the money turned up in circulation?" Jim asked.
"That's the odd thing. Bills with corresponding serial numbers have been turning up in shops and businesses all over the territory," the Colonel answered.
"What's odd about that, sir? The robbers are spending their take," Artie reasoned.
"The bills are counterfeit," Colonel Richmond stated flatly.
"Wait. They're stealing real money but spending counterfeit duplicates?" Artie asked for clarification.
"That's right, Artemus. None of the real money has turned up, but very clever fakes with the same serial numbers, has," Colonel Richmond repeated.
"How many banks have been robbed so far?" Jim asked curious.
Colonel Richmond rose and pulled a map from his sideboard, spreading it out on the desktop. The agents leaned over the desk to see where the Colonel pointed. "Four. One in Bismarck, Fargo, Jamestown, and Chahinkapa. All in the Red River Valley around Fort Seward. The fur traders, trappers, and railroad men are up in arms over this. The territory keeps its own holding bank, no Federal Banks. But they want the government's help on this because of the railroad's influence in the growth of the area. So, gentlemen, you will be offering assistance in capturing the robbers, and recovering the monies stolen. Governor Blandings is expecting you in three days."
"That's pretty remote territory, isn't it, sir?" Jim asked.
"Yes it is. Fort Seward, as you know, guards the railroad as it travels through the territory at the Minnesota border. So this mission is vital to the survival of the railroad as well. If it's not settled quickly, the men in these industries won't trust their pay, maybe will lose their pay if it comes in counterfeit money," Colonel Richmond concluded. "Governor Blandings will meet you at Fort Seward in the commanding officer's headquarters. That’s Colonel Tartan. Now there's just one more thing," Colonel Richmond added slowly.
"Yes, sir," his agents asked in unison.
"You'll have a shadow on this mission, gentlemen," the Colonel answered not looking at them now.
"A shadow, Colonel?" Artie asked.
"Yes. He's an Undersecretary with the Treasury Department. He's going to come along with you on this mission to, uh, observe," Colonel Richmond said cautiously. "His name is Clarence Westbury."
The Colonel went to the door and opened it, motioning someone in. A very average looking man entered. He was about Jim's height, slightly built, though a few years younger. He had blond hair and wore pince nez glasses.
"Mr. Westbury, may I present James West and Artemus Gordon," Colonel Richmond introduced, "Gentlemen, Clarence Westbury."
They shook hands all around. Jim took note that Westbury's handshake was limp, his hand as smooth and soft as a woman's. Never done a real day's work in his life, I'll bet, he thought.
Westbury took charge of the discussion. "I'll be with you during this mission, gentlemen. I am only along to observe. Please go about your business and daily activities as though I were not present," he said in a commanding tone.
Jim and Artie exchanged glances. Something about this did not feel right.
"Mr. Westbury, what is your purpose in observing us, if I may ask?" Artie ventured.
"I am an evaluator. My purpose, Mr. Gordon, is to evaluate you and Mr. West," Mr. Westbury replied smartly.
"To what end?" Jim wanted to know.
"My department is, naturally, concerned with the efficiency of the agents attached to any of its branches, gentlemen. I will determine if you are still assets to the Secret Service or if you have grown past your usefulness in the positions you now hold," Westbury answered smugly.
"Mr. Westbury," Colonel Richmond said in a warning tone.
"Colonel Richmond, this isn't the best time for this," Artie started sounding a bit annoyed, "Jim's still recovering from very serious injuries. He can't be expected to perform at his peak."
"I'm aware of Mr. West's injuries, Mr. Gordon," Westbury interjected, "and I'll take that into due consideration. Besides, this is more about you than him anyway."
"Mr. Westbury!" Colonel Richmond raised his voice.
Artemus stood looking nonplussed. "Has there been some complaint with my work?" he asked.
"Of course not," Colonel Richmond answered quickly.
"As I said, Mr. Gordon, the Treasury Department is just concerned with the performance of any of the agents associated with any of its branches. You, sir, are what, 45 now? It is reasonable to be concerned, wouldn't you say?" Westbury asked.
"I wouldn't say," Artemus remarked quietly. He glanced at Jim who appeared to be on the verge of losing his temper.
"Just do what you normally do, gentlemen, the way you normally would," Colonel Richmond said to his agents, "and don’t worry."
The agents shook hands with the Colonel, accepting their assignment and left his office with Westbury following. Outside, Jim saw that Artie had come in their buggy. The top was up and sealskin blankets were folded on the seat for them to cover up against the cold and snow. Artie's horse was hitched to the buggy.
"Where's my horse," Jim asked him.
"Waiting for you on the train. Don't worry, I've taken good care of him," Artie assured his partner. He stood aside, letting Clarence Westbury get in the back then waited for Jim to board before going to the other side and climbing up. "Cover up with those skins. They'll keep you warm," Artie instructed. Neither agent spoke to their unwanted guest, not out of rudeness; there simply wasn’t anything to say. Besides, they’d been instructed to act as though he was not present.
"Thanks, mom," Jim teased, but he was grateful for the skins all the same. "Did you exercise Blackjack regularly?"
"Yes I did. Although he's not too fond of anyone else but you riding him," Artie admitted. "That rascal threw me three times."
"Good boy," Jim chuckled.
"Well, thank you very much, dear friend," Artie shot back feigning hurt feelings.
"I didn't mean it that way, Artie. I spent a lot of time training him to resist other riders. I'm just glad the lessons stuck," Jim consoled.
"I know,” Arte answered. Then changing tacks, he asked, “Did you get my letters?" he asked conversationally as they rode to the train.
"I did. They kept me from going insane, idle in that hospital room for so long," Jim answered. "How did the mission go?"
"Successful. But he led me a merry chase over half the state first," Artie told him with a chuckle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Westbury scribble in a small notebook.
"You know we're headed right back into some of the coldest, snowiest weather in the States," Jim teased.
"Don't remind me," Artie growled, "I'm not even thawed from Connecticut, yet."
They drew alongside the stable car and Artie jumped down to open the doors and lower the ramp. Jim and Clarence disembarked and Jim joined his partner, but Artie waved him off. "I've got it, Jim," he said leading the horse up the ramp. He unhitched his horse and pushed the buggy into its holding area.
A large white cat and a smaller orange cat rushed in to greet them, curling themselves around and between Jim's legs.
"That cat’s still here?" Jim asked his partner. "I thought you were going to release him?"
"Scrappy's old. Look at him. I couldn't just let him loose to die all alone," Arte said stooping as the cats turned their attention to him. He took the white cat's face in his hands and rubbed his thumbs over its jaws, "Could I boy?" he said softly. The orange cat mewed for his share of the attention and Artie complied. "I know, Sahara baby. You’re a good boy too," he said running his thumb between the fluffy orange cat's eyes and over its head. He straightened slowly looking down at the two as they began a mock fight at his feet.
"But there are two of them now, Artie," Jim persisted.
"They'll be gone soon, Jim. Promise. Now that they're friends, I think they'll stay together when I release them," Artie smiled as the cats scampered away. He looked up in time to see Clarence sharply snap to the next page in his notebook. Arte rolled his eyes at Jim.
Jim went to his stallion, who seemed genuinely happy to see his master, nudging Jim's chest and whickering softly.
"I'm glad to see you too, boy," Jim said hooking his arm under the horse's throat and patting him fondly. "Artie take good care of you while I was away?" Jim reached into a basket and pulled out an apple holding it out. The horse took it and munched happily.
They both saw Clarence scribble more in his book.
"Do I pass?" Artie asked rubbing down his horse in the stall next to Jim's.
"What are you talking about?" Jim asked innocently.
"Uh huh, like you weren't checking him out to see if he was in good shape," Artie joked.
Jim chuckled softly. "You pass with flying colors, Artie. Not that I expected anything less," Jim answered grinning. He took a deep breath. Despite his earlier feeling of revitalization, he was growing tired.
"Why don't you go in and rest a bit. Take Clarence with you. I'll be in in a minute," Artie said noticing how tired Jim looked. "I'll fix us some dinner after I talk to Orrin."
"I can do that," Jim offered.
"No, you go inside. I'll talk to Orrin. I'm finished here," Artie insisted hanging the curry comb on a hook and tossing a blanket over his horse's back.
"Artie, I don't need you to do everything. The doctor said light duty, not no duty," Jim reminded his partner.
"I know what he said. I also know he said lots of rest, so go. Rest," Artie shooed him away.
"You're not going to let me do anything, are you?" Jim asked.
"Yes I am. Just not this. In fact, I'm going to let you show Clarence to his quarters. I'll be right in," Artie headed forward to the engineer.
Jim led Westbury through Artie's lab, showed him the guest quarters then continued up the corridor to the parlor while Clarence deposited his luggage. Jim sat heavily on the sofa. He really was tired, but he determined to speak to Artie about letting him help out.
"That lab we passed through," Clarence started as he entered the parlor a moment later, "What is it used for?"
"That's Artie's domain. He's come up with quite a few inventions that have helped us in our cases over the years," Jim answered, proud of his partner's accomplishments. He stifled a yawn.
"Could you share what some of those inventions were?" Westbury asked, his pencil poised above his notebook.
"A number of diversionary devices, explosives," Jim's voice trailed off as he could not stop the tiredness from putting him to sleep.
Jim snapped awake and looked at the clock on the mantle. He was surprised to see that he'd slept for an hour; he hadn't realized just how tired he was. Jim heard Artie in the galley and smelled dinner cooking. He smelled sauce. That meant Artie was making pasta for dinner.
Jim went to stand in the galley doorway, silently watching his friend add seasoning to the bubbling sauce. Neither saw Clarence come up the corridor and take a position where he could observe them without being seen. Artie took a bottle of wine that was almost empty and poured a generous dollop into the sauce, looked at the little remaining and drank the swallow left directly from the bottle. He turned and saw Jim watching and nearly sputtered out the wine.
"Whoops. Caught me," Artie smiled, wiping his mouth on the apron he wore.
"I didn't think you drank directly from the bottle unless you were disguised as a drunk," Jim smiled back, teasing.
"I don't usually. But all that was left was a swallow and I didn't see the need to dirty a glass for that. Sorry, it was rude, I know," Artie admitted.
"I wanted to talk to you," Jim said growing serious.
"Uh oh, sounds serious," Artie said turning back to the boiling water. He pushed spaghetti into the pot until it was under the water.
"I don't want you to keep me from doing things for myself, Artie," Jim said directly.
"I'm not. But I am going to help you if I feel you need it or if I feel you're doing too much," Artie answered stirring the sauce and removing it from the heat. He turned toward Jim, and leaned against the counter crossing his ankles, almost daring Jim to challenge him.
"I'm serious, Artie," Jim replied flatly.
Artemus crossed his arms over his chest. "So am I," he returned evenly.
"I'm not going to argue with you about this," Jim said shaking his head.
"Good,” Artie retorted. Lowering his head, he uncrossed his arms and placed his hands next to him on the edge of the counter. In a softer tone he continued, “Look, Jim, I was sent away on a mission before I was convinced you were all right. I had little information from Colonel Richmond, mostly because I was out of touch much of the time, but still, I was worried," Artie explained. Jim raised his eyebrows at his friend, "I admit it. I was worried about you, ok? I thought you were done for and it almost killed me to have to leave. Jim, I am so sorry I let you down," Artie said in a rush.
"What are you talking about?" Jim asked stunned and coming away from the doorframe where he still leaned, "When did you let me down?"
"I didn't get there in time to stop Henshell from shooting you. I got tripped up by a fisherman's nets out back. By the time I got disentangled, I was too late," Artie explained seriously.
"None of what happened was your fault, old friend," Jim reassured him, "I never blamed you and there's nothing for you to make up to me by babying me now."
"I'm not trying to baby you, or make anything up to you. It's been eating at me, though, that I might have been able to stop him. I just had to tell you," Artie finished in a soft tone. "I don't want you to over do. I don't want to ever see you like that again. Hell, Jim, I don't want to lose you. Above and beyond being my partner, you're the brother I never had."
The sincerity in Artie's voice touched Jim. "Don't want to break in a new partner?" Jim tried to lighten the mood.
Artie relaxed and smiled, "Among other things," he said and turned back to the dinner. "Make yourself useful. Set the table," he said over his shoulder.
Jim grinned and turned to leave. He saw Clarence in the corridor writing furiously in his notebook. Jim knew he'd heard their conversation and didn't like it one bit that the man eavesdropped on them. He went to the parlor without a word and set the table wondering if he should mention this to Artie.
During dinner, the agents tried to engage Clarence in conversation but he refused, telling them, "I will engage you if I want conversation with you. Otherwise, just ignore my presence."
They exchanged glances then proceeded to talk about many things as though the man were a ghost. After dinner, they played a few hands of poker, had a brandy and a cigar, and more light conversation.
Jim grew weary. "I think I'll turn in, Artie," he announced.
"Very good idea, James. I was just about to suggest that," Artemus told him wearing a concerned look.
"You look like you could use some rest yourself, pal," Jim teased, but in reality, his partner looked pale and strained to him.
"I am tired. I'll see you in the morning," Artie answered. As Jim went to his room, Artie made sure everything was locked and the security measures set, then padded down the hall to his room.
Jim went to sleep quickly, the day having been long and more active than he was used to since his long stay in the hospital.
In his room, Artie leaned against the door, a hand held to his left side. The effort of hiding this all day had worn him down. He took off his shirt and looked down at the large half moon bruises on his left side and hip and wondered if Westbury was right. Was he getting too old for the job? At 45 he was 15 years Jim's senior and had never doubted himself until he'd spent a month without his partner. The mission he'd completed alone had made him realize just how he much relied on Jim for the more physical aspects of the job. He didn’t doubt his ability to complete any mission alone, but he certainly did not possess Jim's physical prowess. The fights he'd gotten into had left him sore and tired. The entire mission had left him exhausted. And then that damn horse of Jim's had thrown him again this morning and trampled him just for good measure. He just might let Jim exercise his own damn horse. Exercising both animals by himself had been a two hour process, which added to his exhaustion. And now there was Clarence Westbury added into the mix, making him question himself even more. Artie shook his head, finished undressing and fell into a deep sleep.
In the morning, Artie awoke to the smell of coffee. He sat up quickly, too quickly; he grabbed his side and looked at the clock. 7:00. Damn! He'd overslept. Artie got up and readied for the day then joined Jim and Clarence in the living room. "Good morning, James," he greeted brightly. He ignored Clarence.
"Good morning. I thought you were going to sleep the day away," Jim teased.
"I guess I was more tired than I thought. Coffee smells wonderful," Artie answered pouring a cup and sipping it. "We'll be pulling over to take on water soon, feel up to exercising your horse this morning?" Artie asked.
"Sure. I didn't think you'd allow that," Jim grinned at his friend.
"Light exercise. We're not going to be stopped for long," Artie answered. "How do you feel this morning?"
"Fine. I've worked out a light exercise regimen for myself as well," Jim told him, "Get myself back into fighting shape."
Artie banged his cup down, "Jim, you're one day out of the hospital," Artie started angrily.
"Hold on, Artie," Jim placated and handed Artie a sheet of paper, "I wrote it down. See if it meets with your approval."
Artie scanned the sheet. What Jim had planned out for himself did seem reasonable. He handed it back to Jim. "Ok. That looks all right. But if it seems like too much I want you to stop. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Jim replied. "Are we eating this morning?" he asked.
"Huh? Oh, sure," Artie swallowed his coffee and went to the galley. He opened the oven and pulled out the cast iron skillet. His side grabbed and he let loose with an expletive as he dropped the heavy skillet.
"You all right?" Jim called hurrying down the corridor. Expletives were not normal for his partner.
Clarence rushed to reach the galley first, peering around the door frame.
Artie carefully picked up the skillet and straightened before Jim came in. He plastered a sheepish grin on his face, "Fine, just clumsy this morning," he said and saw Clarence make a notation in his book.
They pulled over for water after breakfast and the two men saddled their horses for a little exercise while they waited. Artie called to the cats and shooed them out. They scampered off into the woods together, never looking back. Artie watched them go with a wistful look.
"You coming?" Jim asked his partner.
"Yeah, sure," Artie answered. He had a hard time getting up in the saddle; his hip protested the movement it took to accomplish it.
"What's the matter?" Jim asked noticing it took Artie two tries to get onto his horse.
"I told you, I'm clumsy this morning," Artie smiled.
The last thing they saw as they rode away was Clarence shaking his head as he scribbled away in his book.
They rode for half an hour then stopped under some pines.
"You really got attached to those cats didn't you?" Jim asked his friend with a smile.
"They were company while you were gone," Artie tried to make it sound like an offhanded remark. He was unsuccessful.
"Uh, huh," Jim commented.
Artie looked at him and chuckled, "I guess I did. You know, they kind of remind me of us," he said.
"How so?" Jim asked frowning.
"Well, Scrappy's older. He needs Sahara to help keep him on his toes. And Sahara taught Scrappy how to rely on him when he needs help, for the tasks his age makes harder for him. Sahara, on the other hand, needs Scrappy too. He learned a lot from him about being patient and working together in a hunt," Artie explained looking far off, "I kind think that if Sahara wasn't around, Scrappy might not survive. He's really gotten to like Sahara. And if Scrappy died, well Sahara knows how to survive on his own but also rely on a friend if he needs it," he concluded.
"Are you saying if I wasn't around you'd die, Arte?" Jim asked seriously.
Artie turned quickly to look at his partner. "No," he answered emphatically, then changed his mind, "Well, yeah," then changed his mind again, "Well, no."
"Which is it? Yes or no?" Jim coaxed.
"I'm not saying I'd lie down and die on the spot, but I don't think I'd be long for this world without you around," Artie answered.
"Grief?" Jim asked curious.
"More likely a bullet," Artie chuckled. Then he cocked his head to one side, raised his eyebrows and added, "Or Loveless." He grinned at Jim breaking the seriousness their mood had taken.
"I feel the same way, Artie," Jim told his friend.
Artie smiled and nodded and headed back toward the train. Orrin signaled he was ready to go as Artie pulled up the ramp. He waved back and closed the stable car door.
"That felt great," Jim said, his cheeks ruddy from the cold morning air.
"Not too strenuous?" Artie asked concerned.
"Not at all. I needed the ride as much as Blackjack did," Jim answered happily as he settled his horse in his stall and fed him.
They spent the rest of the day discussing the case, catching up, playing poker. Jim went through his exercise routine later in the afternoon while Artie poured over files of potential suspects in the bank robberies. Clarence watched them both and wrote volumes in his little notebook.
There were several known bank robbers who had been released from prison or never caught that might fit the profile. Artie narrowed the list down to the two most likely. Both were familiar with the Dakota Territory and both had recently been released from the prison system in that area. Artie paused a number of times to watch his partner exercising, making sure he saw no signs of pain or discomfort. If anything Jim seemed to feel even better after he finished. After dinner, they discussed Artie’s two suspects.
"Prentis Hill and Marcus Leonard," Artie told Jim, "They're both familiar with the area and both recently out of jail. I like Hill better than Leonard."
"Any particular reason why?" Jim asked, though he agreed with his partner.
"Leonard is a sub moron. I don't think he has the smarts to get out of his own way let alone steal money then pass off counterfeits. Not that Hill is any genius, mind you, but of the two he's the sharper knife in the drawer," Artie concluded.
"Of course, they might not be working alone. Someone with the right smarts could be the master of this plan," Jim proposed.
"I've been thinking about that, Jim, but I can't come up with anyone who'd employ either of these two," Artie answered yawning, "Sorry," he apologized with a sheepish grin.
"It's only 8:00, Artie," Jim chuckled, "You must be getting old," he teased. He saw Artie's facial expression fall. "I'm just kidding," he added quickly, steeling a glance at Clarence sitting in the corner quietly observing them.
"I know. Just the same, I think I'm going to retire for the night. Do you need anything, Jim?" Artie said looking slightly pale. He started down the corridor to his room.
Jim followed him and entered his friend’s room behind him. "Yeah, I need something,” he started, “I need to know what's wrong with you?" Jim asked seriously in a low tone so only Artie could hear as he grabbed his friend by the arm. He was sure Artie was hiding something from him but he didn't want to bring Clarence Westbury into another private discussion.
"Nothing. Just tired," Artie answered.
"Then why are you breathing hard?" Jim demanded in a harsh whisper.
"I'm not," Artie shot back also in a whisper, then more reasonably, "am I?"
"You are." Jim stated.
"Maybe I'm catching a cold or something. I'm fine, really, Jim," Artie stifled another yawn.
"Why don't I believe you?" Jim asked quietly.
"Because you have a suspicious mind, James my boy," Artie smiled.
"Artie, all kidding aside. You'd tell me if something was wrong," Jim wanted to know.
"If something was seriously wrong, Jim, I promise I'd tell you," Artie answered. "I'll see you in the morning." He opened the door and pushed Jim out of his room.
Jim was right, he was breathing hard. Artie undressed and looked at the bruises, which had gone from purple to nearly black. He could barely stand to have his clothes touch them. I bet I bruised a lung, he thought. That would account for the shortness of breath. Right now, though, all he wanted was to get off his feet. His hip screamed and his side throbbed. The bruises felt warm to the touch and he wondered if he was running a fever. He fell asleep before he could wonder any further.
Jim knew his partner was hiding something from him. Something more than clumsiness was behind his difficulties mounting the horse and something had to account for his difficulty breathing and tiredness. Not caring if Westbury heard, Jim went to the wireless and sent a wire to Colonel Richmond, asking if Artie had been injured in the last mission. He got a response quickly. No, he had not. Jim pursed his lips and determined to ask for the truth in the morning.
Artie dragged himself out of bed at 5:30 the next morning. His hip was stiff and painful. He tried to stretch the muscles but found it was too painful to stretch for too long. He dressed slowly hoping the kinks would work out as he moved around and to an extent they did. By the time he pulled on his boots, he found he had to sit a minute and catch his breath. This was not good. How was he going to hide this? Artie went to the galley and started the coffee. He took the pot and cups forward to the engineer.
"Morning, Orrin," he greeted.
"Morning, Mr. Gordon. How's Mr. West doing?" Orrin asked accepting a cup of coffee from Artie.
"Good. He's nearly 100%," Artie answered pouring cups all around for Orrin's men and one for himself.
"How about you, sir? How're your ribs and hip doing?" Orrin asked having witnessed the trampling.
"Not so good, actually. Hurt like hell and they feel almost hot to touch," Artie admitted.
"Deep bruising will do that, boss, but just the same, you ought to have it checked out by a doctor," Orrin suggested.
"Maybe. Listen, not a word to Mr. West about this, understand?" Artie said firmly.
"It's not like you two to keep secrets, if you don't mind my saying so, sir," Orrin said sincerely.
"I'm not keeping," Artie started and stopped realizing it was a lie. "Look, I'll tell him. Just not now. He's the one needs looking after right now. Promise me, Orrin," Artie said seriously.
"I won't say anything, boss, unless I think you're in a bad way. That's the best I can do," Orrin answered.
"I'll take that," Artie replied. "You fellows want breakfast?"
"We ate already, sir, but thanks," Orrin answered.
"Ok. How soon before we reach Chahinkapa?" Artie asked before leaving.
"You've got plenty of time, sir. We won't be there for another 3-4 hours. The snow's getting heavier the closer we get," Orrin told him.
"Keep me informed," Artie nodded and took the coffee pot back with him to the galley. Clarence was there waiting for him.
"I know I'm not supposed to engage you in conversation, Clarence, but is it allowed to say good morning?" Artie asked sassily.
"Good morning, Gordon," Clarence replied and scribbled in his notebook.
Arte rolled his eyes and started another pot of coffee. He heard Jim up and about as he brewed a second pot and fixed eggs and sausage for Jim. Artie had no appetite this morning and chose not to eat. He was putting the food on the table when Jim came in.
"Morning, Artie," Jim greeted his partner cheerily.
"Good morning, James. Breakfast is served," Artie sat at the table and poured two cups of coffee placing one at Jim's place. He leaned across the table and whispered conspiratorially, "Don't say good morning to old Clarence there. He'll make a notation on you if you do," he smiled at his partner.
Jim shook his head and grinned back at him. "You're not eating?" Jim asked taking a bite of his breakfast.
"Not this morning. Feel a little off this morning," Artie explained.
"You coming down with something? You're a little pale this morning," Jim said with concern.
"Could be. I don't feel sick, just a little off. No appetite," Artie dismissed.
Jim decided now was as good a time as any to confront his friend. "Artie, I want to ask you something and I want you to promise to tell me the truth," he started.
"Go ahead," Artie answered not looking at Jim. He knew if Jim asked the right question, he'd tell him the truth. He would not lie to his partner.
Jim stole a glance at Clarence and decided Artie was more important than whether or not Clarence heard his conversation. "I want to know what's going on with you. Why are you so tired? Why are you having trouble getting into the saddle? Why are you having trouble breathing?" Jim rapid fired the questions at his partner.
Artie could not think of an answer that would be truthful and still keep the whole truth from Jim so he settled for the whole truth, "Blackjack trampled me the other morning," he confessed. Jim's cup clattered loudly as he slammed it down. "Now before you burst a blood vessel, it's not bad. Just some bruises," Artie said placating.
Jim was furious with him, "Artie, you should have told me. How bad is the bruising?" Jim demanded.
"I don't know," Artie answered shrugging one shoulder.
"What do you mean you don't know?" Jim nearly shouted.
"I mean, I'm not a doctor so I don't know for sure," Artie answered raising his voice. Then more subdued, "I don't think it's too bad, but maybe worse than I originally thought. I think my lung is bruised, that's why it's hard to breath. Other than that I don't think it's bad," Artie admitted.
"And the problem getting into the saddle yesterday?" Jim asked. Artie looked up quickly, surprised. "Didn't think I remembered that, did you?"
"He bruised my hip. It's a little sore and stiff," Artie answered. He took a sip of coffee.
"Hot?" Jim asked.
Artie looked at his coffee cup, "What?"
"The bruises. Are the bruises hot to the touch?" Jim asked impatiently.
"A little," Artie answered.
Jim turned to Clarence. "We need a moment for a private conversation, Clarence. We'll be right back," Jim told the Treasury man. He grabbed Artie by the arm and hauled him down the corridor and into the lab, locking the door behind him. He sat Artie on the cot in the corner before releasing his arm.
"Let me see those bruises," Jim demanded.
"No," Artie answered flatly looking his friend in the eye.
Jim began to gasp and clutched his chest. He grimaced and began to crumple. Artie jumped up and caught him.
"Jim, what is it?" he cried and guided Jim down onto the cot. "Take it easy, lay down," he helped Jim onto the cot and leaned over him.