Post by qohart on Nov 13, 2009 18:17:48 GMT -8
Just a little Friday the 13th silliness, thrown together quickly. Thanks to Pet who caught my errors and supplied the title.
Artie hit the floor with a crash, cracking his head on the bed side table and opening a gash over his right eye. He picked himself up with a grunt holding his hand to his bleeding head.
In the compartment next door, he heard Jim mutter an annoyed, “What the hell was that?”
Artemus Gordon and his partner James West exited their rooms entering the corridor simultaneously. They looked at each other each taking note of the injury his partner had sustained. Jim held a towel to his split lip while Artie pressed a handkerchief to his forehead.
“We’ve stopped,” Jim stated the obvious.
“And rather abruptly,” Artie added. “You all right?”
“Fine,” Jim replied checking the flow of blood from his mouth. “How about you?”
“I haven’t fallen out of bed since I was a child,” Artie shook his head slowly and checked his own blood loss. “I’ll live,” he announced.
They turned toward the sound of approaching heavy footsteps. Orrin Cobb, their engineer, entered the corridor from the far end.
“What happened?” Jim asked immediately.
“I’m not sure, boss. It’s like the engine seized up. We just stopped all of a sudden,” Orrin reported, “The boys are checking it now. Are you both all right? That was a rather jolting halt.”
“We’re fine, Orrin. Let us know what you find,” Jim answered.
The engineer returned to his well maintained engine to personally look into what the problem might be. Jim and Artie walked the opposite way to the parlor where Jim lit the wall scones.
Turning to face his partner he could better see the gash on Artie’s head.
“That looks like it needs stitches, Artie,” he noted. “Let me take a look at it.” His words were slightly slurred as it was difficult to talk around the swollen and split lip. He pulled the desk chair out and Artie sat.
After examining the wound, Jim concluded that a few stitches were indeed necessary. Artie made the same observation in regards to Jim’s lip.
“Wonder if there’s a town with a doctor nearby,” Jim mused aloud. He raised the shade and looked out into the pre-dawn light. He could see a faint glow in the distance possibly indicating a small town.
Artie joined him, dabbing at the still trickling blood. “Not too far. About a half hour ride, do you think?” he asked.
Jim nodded his agreement and the agents returned to their rooms to dress. They met in the stable car a few minutes later. As they tacked up, Blackjack was skittish and bumped Jim hard enough to knock him against the wall. The horseshoe nailed above the stall fell to the floor.
“Easy, boy,” Jim soothed as he raised his arm above him and replaced the horseshoe without looking. Neither man noticed the decoration hanging with the arms of the U shaped adornment hanging down as they rode out toward the distant light. As they neared the town the beginning rumbles of thunder rolled overhead.
Less than a mile from town, their mounts stopped, refusing to go further. The men dismounted and try as they might, the two recalcitrant horses would not be budged from the spot where they stood.
“What’s the matter with them?” Artie asked frustrated. He ground tied Mesa and glared at her.
“I don’t know,” an equally frustrated Jim replied as he steadied his dancing black. “Take it easy, boy,” he murmured then gave up and ground tied him as well. “I guess we walk the rest of the way,” Jim shrugged at his partner who scowled venomously.
A few hundred yards outside of the town proper, the skies opened up and the rain poured down on them. Lightning crackled around them and thunder boomed. Holding their hats in place the agents ran the rest of the way into town and sought the shelter of the covered boardwalk.
“Stop running!” a female voice shouted at them.
As commanded, but with no idea why they should, the men ceased their headlong run into town. They proceeded at a walk to the woman in front of a small restaurant she was just opening up.
“Ma’am,” Artie tipped his hat to her. Her eyes widened as she saw the red blood seeping from the light bandage he’d placed over his wound. “Oh, I’m sorry, just a minor injury. Is there a doctor in town?” he asked politely.
“You shouldn’t wear red!” the frantic woman cried, “It’s lightning you know!”
Jim and Artie exchanged confused glances as the woman backed up a few steps away from them.
“Is there a doctor, ma’am?” Jim repeated.
“Down the street. Last house on the left,” she pointed. As the two strangers stepped off the boardwalk to cross the street, she shouted at them again. “And don’t run! It’s 6:00 and you’ll kick the dwarfs!”
The pronouncement made the agents slow their pace and they again exchanged a glace this time wide eyed with mock apprehension. Was she mad? they both wondered.
“Kick the dwarfs?” Artie muttered as they reached the other side of the street.
“You got me,” Jim shook his head.
Passing the mercantile, Artie passed under the ladder propped against the front of the store so Jim would not have to step off the walkway into the rain. The store keeper ran out waving his arms at them, a paper sack clutched in one hand.
“What’s the matter with you! Are you trying to invite trouble?” he shouted as he sprinkled handfuls of salt forming a circle around Artie. “There, that should do it,” he said in a satisfied tone gazing down at the salt encircling the tall dark stranger. He looked up at Artie and wagged his finger at him. “Watch what you’re doing, son, I might not be there next time to save you.” With that he stomped back into his store.
“He saved you, Artie,” Jim chuckled at his bewildered partner. Artie joined in the laughter then they both winced as their injuries reminded them of their intended destination.
They reached the doctor’s house and knocked. A small gray haired man opened the door for them and invited them in.
“I’m Doctor Johnston,” he said offering his hand. “What can I do for you gents?” He shook Jim’s hand. “Say, that’s a nasty lip injury you’ve got there, son. Let me take a look at it.”
He led Jim to a chair under a hanging lantern and examined Jim’s mouth. “You’re going to need a couple of stitches there, son. Won’t hurt a bit,” Dr. Johnston assured Jim and bustled out to get the required supplies.
“Won’t hurt a bit, Jim,” Artie grinned at his partner knowing full well it would hurt like the dickens.
The Night of The Comedy of Errors
by Cris Hart
by Cris Hart
Artie hit the floor with a crash, cracking his head on the bed side table and opening a gash over his right eye. He picked himself up with a grunt holding his hand to his bleeding head.
In the compartment next door, he heard Jim mutter an annoyed, “What the hell was that?”
Artemus Gordon and his partner James West exited their rooms entering the corridor simultaneously. They looked at each other each taking note of the injury his partner had sustained. Jim held a towel to his split lip while Artie pressed a handkerchief to his forehead.
“We’ve stopped,” Jim stated the obvious.
“And rather abruptly,” Artie added. “You all right?”
“Fine,” Jim replied checking the flow of blood from his mouth. “How about you?”
“I haven’t fallen out of bed since I was a child,” Artie shook his head slowly and checked his own blood loss. “I’ll live,” he announced.
They turned toward the sound of approaching heavy footsteps. Orrin Cobb, their engineer, entered the corridor from the far end.
“What happened?” Jim asked immediately.
“I’m not sure, boss. It’s like the engine seized up. We just stopped all of a sudden,” Orrin reported, “The boys are checking it now. Are you both all right? That was a rather jolting halt.”
“We’re fine, Orrin. Let us know what you find,” Jim answered.
The engineer returned to his well maintained engine to personally look into what the problem might be. Jim and Artie walked the opposite way to the parlor where Jim lit the wall scones.
Turning to face his partner he could better see the gash on Artie’s head.
“That looks like it needs stitches, Artie,” he noted. “Let me take a look at it.” His words were slightly slurred as it was difficult to talk around the swollen and split lip. He pulled the desk chair out and Artie sat.
After examining the wound, Jim concluded that a few stitches were indeed necessary. Artie made the same observation in regards to Jim’s lip.
“Wonder if there’s a town with a doctor nearby,” Jim mused aloud. He raised the shade and looked out into the pre-dawn light. He could see a faint glow in the distance possibly indicating a small town.
Artie joined him, dabbing at the still trickling blood. “Not too far. About a half hour ride, do you think?” he asked.
Jim nodded his agreement and the agents returned to their rooms to dress. They met in the stable car a few minutes later. As they tacked up, Blackjack was skittish and bumped Jim hard enough to knock him against the wall. The horseshoe nailed above the stall fell to the floor.
“Easy, boy,” Jim soothed as he raised his arm above him and replaced the horseshoe without looking. Neither man noticed the decoration hanging with the arms of the U shaped adornment hanging down as they rode out toward the distant light. As they neared the town the beginning rumbles of thunder rolled overhead.
Less than a mile from town, their mounts stopped, refusing to go further. The men dismounted and try as they might, the two recalcitrant horses would not be budged from the spot where they stood.
“What’s the matter with them?” Artie asked frustrated. He ground tied Mesa and glared at her.
“I don’t know,” an equally frustrated Jim replied as he steadied his dancing black. “Take it easy, boy,” he murmured then gave up and ground tied him as well. “I guess we walk the rest of the way,” Jim shrugged at his partner who scowled venomously.
A few hundred yards outside of the town proper, the skies opened up and the rain poured down on them. Lightning crackled around them and thunder boomed. Holding their hats in place the agents ran the rest of the way into town and sought the shelter of the covered boardwalk.
“Stop running!” a female voice shouted at them.
As commanded, but with no idea why they should, the men ceased their headlong run into town. They proceeded at a walk to the woman in front of a small restaurant she was just opening up.
“Ma’am,” Artie tipped his hat to her. Her eyes widened as she saw the red blood seeping from the light bandage he’d placed over his wound. “Oh, I’m sorry, just a minor injury. Is there a doctor in town?” he asked politely.
“You shouldn’t wear red!” the frantic woman cried, “It’s lightning you know!”
Jim and Artie exchanged confused glances as the woman backed up a few steps away from them.
“Is there a doctor, ma’am?” Jim repeated.
“Down the street. Last house on the left,” she pointed. As the two strangers stepped off the boardwalk to cross the street, she shouted at them again. “And don’t run! It’s 6:00 and you’ll kick the dwarfs!”
The pronouncement made the agents slow their pace and they again exchanged a glace this time wide eyed with mock apprehension. Was she mad? they both wondered.
“Kick the dwarfs?” Artie muttered as they reached the other side of the street.
“You got me,” Jim shook his head.
Passing the mercantile, Artie passed under the ladder propped against the front of the store so Jim would not have to step off the walkway into the rain. The store keeper ran out waving his arms at them, a paper sack clutched in one hand.
“What’s the matter with you! Are you trying to invite trouble?” he shouted as he sprinkled handfuls of salt forming a circle around Artie. “There, that should do it,” he said in a satisfied tone gazing down at the salt encircling the tall dark stranger. He looked up at Artie and wagged his finger at him. “Watch what you’re doing, son, I might not be there next time to save you.” With that he stomped back into his store.
“He saved you, Artie,” Jim chuckled at his bewildered partner. Artie joined in the laughter then they both winced as their injuries reminded them of their intended destination.
They reached the doctor’s house and knocked. A small gray haired man opened the door for them and invited them in.
“I’m Doctor Johnston,” he said offering his hand. “What can I do for you gents?” He shook Jim’s hand. “Say, that’s a nasty lip injury you’ve got there, son. Let me take a look at it.”
He led Jim to a chair under a hanging lantern and examined Jim’s mouth. “You’re going to need a couple of stitches there, son. Won’t hurt a bit,” Dr. Johnston assured Jim and bustled out to get the required supplies.
“Won’t hurt a bit, Jim,” Artie grinned at his partner knowing full well it would hurt like the dickens.