Jim had searched all over the hotel and the grounds, but hadn't found O'Connell; the man must have taken off immediately following the shooting. West swallowed hard, wondering how his partner was faring. As he passed through the lobby, he glanced at the wall clock; it was just past five in the morning. He looked up the staircase, and for a moment toyed with checking on Artie. But the President was with him, and Jim knew that everything that could be done, was being done. He pursed his lips, thinking. Then with a purpose in mind, Jim West headed out the door and got back on his horse. He didn't know where O'Connell had disappeared to, but he sure as hell knew where the Sioux were...

"Doctor?"

He turned to face Grant. "Well Mr. President, we've done all we can. It's up to him now."

Grant nodded and softly sat on the edge of the bed, wetting the cloth in the basin on the table. He ran it over Gordon's face which was bathed in sweat, eliciting a moan from Artie.

"Easy now, Artemus..."

"Mr. President..."

Grant brushed his hand tenderly over Gordon's brow. "Shhh, just rest, son."

"You...shouldn't be here...not safe."

"I don't want you to worry about anything, Artemus. The calvary's everywhere, I'll be fine here; besides, I promised West I wouldn't leave you."

"Where is Jim?"

"Looking for the man who shot you."

Gordon swallowed hard. "So hot in here..."

Frowning, Grant dunked the cloth in the cold water and pressed it to Artie's forehead. "Stop fighting so hard, my boy, close your eyes and rest."

Through gritted teeth, Gordon said, "Hurts like hell, Sim."

Artie hadn't used the former general's nickname since the war, and it sent a lump into the President's throat. Grant turned toward Morrow, who was hovering at the foot of the bed. "Isn't there anything you can give him for the pain?"

The doctor shook his head. "Too risky in his current condition. Anything that might depress his circulatory system would be a mistake. I'm sorry, Mr. President, but he's just going to have to ride it out."

The President looked back down at Gordon, taking Artie's hand gently in his own. "Please try and rest, Artemus." The pain-filled brown eyes looked up at him, and Grant could barely stand to meet them. He held Artie's hand tightly and softly stroked his dark hair with the other. "Close your eyes, son. Go to sleep for me." Gordon whimpered softly from the burning in his belly, and Grant felt his eyes sting with moisture. "Just hang on, son. You just hang on, Artemus."

Gordon once again fell unconscious, and Grant took a long breath of air. The comforting hand on his shoulder surprised him slightly.

"He's a fighter, Mr. President," Morrow said, "he stands a fair chance, which is more than most would have given the wound."

Grant shook his head, but didn't trust his voice to respond. He just held tightly to the hand in his, willing his own strength into a man he thought of as a second son.