West paced the length of the hallway once again, as if somehow his steps could speed up Gordon's surgery.

Grant's voice reverberated in the hallway, James, sit down. You'll not help Artemus by blazing a trail in the hospital floor.

Yes sir.

Jim took a seat next to the President, and tried to control his nerves. He concentrated on not fidgeting, but he couldn't keep his hands still. After awhile, Grant reached over and set his hand on top of Jim's.

Take it easy, James. He's a lot tougher than you think.

West simply nodded, and they continued to wait in silence.

********

Jim stood when he saw Dr. Anderson approaching; he couldn't read the surgeon's face at all, and he could feel his heart pounding against his chest.



He's a fighter, I'll say that for him. I believe his lung will mend in time, and other than some serious bruising to a few internal organs, he has survived the ordeal.

Arte's going to be okay?

Yes, although he''ll be in considerable pain for awhile, and you'll have to patient for a full recovery.

Grant felt the sting of tears in his eyes, and he looked away, whispering, Thank God.

Jim was overcome with emotion, and found himself leaning on the nearest pillar of support, which happened to be the President. Grant put an arm around West, holding him up.

You need some rest, James, and I'll take no argument.

Jim wasn't about to disagree. He collapsed into the President and allowed Grant to pull him into his arms and carry him down the hall. The President's security detail knew better than to interfere with Grant's deliberate hauling of Jim West to an empty hospital room by himself. The men simply followed in silence at a discreet distance, taking up positions around the room once West had been covered with a blanket, and the President was sitting in a chair next to him.

When Jim awoke, Grant would have the unpleasant task of informing him that the Secret Service only found the body of Wilkinson in Sorsby's lab. It wasn't proof positive that the maniac was still alive, but it didn't confirm his death either. And the woman Angel had disappeared without a trace. No one could remember seeing her in the train station, nor had she been spotted in a stage. There was the possibility that they had not yet seen the last of Clarence J. Sorsby or his daughter. The President shook off these thoughts: it was enough for now to be thankful that West and Gordon had foiled the man's plot to gain power, and that they lived to tell about it.

********

The smoke stack puffed in a steady rhythm as the train chugged along the track. Inside the main car, West looked over at his partner, who had fallen asleep on the couch. Arte's face was still slightly pale, and the residual wheezing from his injured lung resonated in the room as he slept. But he was well on his way to recovering completely, and that was enough to light Jim's lips with a smile.

West yawned and looked at the clock on the desk; it was almost midnight, and time for bed. He walked over to Arte, poised to wake him, but then thought better of it. Artemus looked peaceful for the first time in weeks, and West decided it was preferable to leave him to his dreams. Carefully, Jim removed the open book from Arte's lap, placed a pillow under his head, and covered him gently with a blanket.

Once again, the train felt like home.

The End