Fools Gold

By Sarah O'Donoghue

The Legend Characters are copyrighted by Paramount Television and by Gekko Film Corp. This fanfic is in no way intended to infringe upon these rights and is written solely for the entertainment of others.

This story originally appeared at The Unofficial Nicodemus Legend Homepage

Prologue

"There they are below us!" shouted Ernest.

"I see them", called Bartok, "but there's no way of getting the balloon down. You'll have to use the Legend Wings!"

"Are you serious?" retorted Pratt, "I'll never make it in this high wind! Why not use the Ball-lightning Generator?"

"There's a storm brewing, Mr. Pratt," cut in Ramos, "and the amount of ionized particles in the air could make the gun explode. The wind will make the descent difficult, but there is no other solution. You have to stop the Harris brothers - we've been trailing them for three weeks!"

"He's right, Ernest," replied Bartok. Seeing the worried look on his friend's face, he added, "Don't worry! They haven't let you down yet!"

Pratt gave him a look that said 'there's always a first time'. "OK", he grudgingly admitted, "I suppose I have no choice. Bring on the Legend Wings!"

The Nicodemus Legend team had been called in by a stagecoach company in northern Colorado to investigate a series of robberies of their coaches as they travelled West. After placing some of Bartok's strange 'locating devices' in the stagecoaches, and giving selected, trustworthy employees 'Bartok Emergency Alerting Signal Emitters' ('He always did have catchy names for his inventions!' thought Ernest), they had determined a pattern for the robberies and started following the most at-risk coaches in the balloon. Finally, they had struck lucky this morning, and after thwarting the hijack, they had started chasing the well-known Harris brothers across the plains.

"Ernest!" shouted Bartok, bringing reluctant hero Ernest Pratt out of his reverie. They were on top of the outlaws now, and it was up to him to stop them.

Pratt strapped himself into the Wings, took a deep breath, and jumped.

'Open, open, open!' willed Bartok...

...but they didn't.

Pratt saw the ground coming up towards him very, very fast. He was being buffeted back and forth in the gale and couldn't control which way he was falling, let alone slow his descent.

"Oh, no!!!!!!!!!!!" he yelled as he fell faster and faster. Then there was a loud noise, a lot of pain, and he knew no more.

Chapter One

The first thing Ernest was aware of was pain. Lots of it. All over his body. Something grey and amorphous was standing over him...if he could just focus on it maybe the pain would go away.

"Ernest!"

The shape was speaking now...so was he dead? No. He'd seen death as his beloved Theresa taking him home. This was a man with a strange accent, not a beautiful woman. Strange accent? Bartok!

"Ernest!"

Pratt slowly opened his eyes, and saw his good friend, Janos Kristoff Bartok standing over him and looking very concerned.

"Scoziblurble!"

"Ernest!" said Bartok for a third time, "come on! Wake up!"

"Beeple? Wazgoinon?"

"Thank goodness you're all right", sighed the Professor, leaning back in the chair he had been sitting in for the five hours since he and Ramos had gotten Pratt to Denver's main hospital.

"You had a terrible fall," he said. "I'm so sorry Ernest - the Wings didn't open and you had a dreadful crash."

Pratt was slowly regaining his wits and struggled to turn his head to look at his supposed friend. "The W-Wing's didn't open...I crashed?!"

Bartok sighed. "Yes, you crashed." "It could have been a lot worse though," he added brightly, "at least you missed the large crevasse by a whole ten meters, and we hooked you out with the anchor before the rattlesnake got you!"

Pratt turned back to look at the ceiling. "Thank you so much, Professor. Next time though, you can be pushed out of the balloon when a storm's brewing. I retire."

Their conversation had attracted the attention of a nurse who got the doctor tending Pratt to come over.

"Welcome back, Mr. Legend!" he said. "It is such an honor to meet you sir! Doctor Gellar at your service."

"Thank you doctor", said Pratt sardonically, "but I believe this is an honor I could have done without. So...how many bones are broken? How long do I have left on this mortal coil?"

"Oh Mr. Legend!" chuckled Gellar. "You're in far better shape than after that fall in 'Legend at the Silver Lake'. You've just got a sprained ankle, slight concussion and a lot of bruises. It's a good thing your friends got you out of there."

Pratt struggled to sit up, noticing for the first time the cracks of thunder reverberating around the ward. Occasional flashes of lightning lit up the darkened room. "Thank you for the diagnosis doctor, but I would really like to get back home." He turned to the Professor. "How long before we can get back to Sheridan?"

Doctor Gellar cut in before Bartok could answer. "I want you to stay here at least until tomorrow, Mr. Legend. Then, if the weather has improved, you can go home. But, I want you to get plenty of bed rest and to keep the weight off that foot for at least a week."

"Bed rest isn't so bad if it's with the right lady", Ernest said smugly. Bartok gave him a sharp nudge in his very tender ribs. Pratt winced and shut up.

"Sorry, Mr. Legend?" Doctor Gellar obviously didn't understand that Ernest Pratt's libido was considerably stronger than Nicodemus Legend's. "Anyway, you'll be fine. Get some sleep and we'll see how you are in the morning."

Doctor Gellar left and Pratt slumped back in the bed. "Why can't Legend be beaten up instead of Ernie Pratt?" he complained. "He's fictional. It wouldn't hurt him so much."

"You're going to be fine," said Bartok. "It was just a little mishap."

"Mishap!" retorted Pratt.

"All right. Accident. And yes, it was partially my fault for getting you to use the Wings in high winds, and yes, I'm sorry. I will run a complete diagnostic on the Wings when we get back to the laboratory, and as soon as you are well we will get them recalibrated for your weight. You know, Ernest, you have gained a few pounds recently; perhaps that was what prevented the Wings from opening."

"Oh no, Professor. You're not pinning this one on me! The blame for this one rests squarely at your feet!"

"Yes, well. Ramos and I will start work as soon as we get back and we'll get Skeeter to help you track down the Harris brothers' hideout."

"Harris brothers!" complained Pratt. "No! I quit the case! The stagecoach company will have to...change their route, get hired guns...I don't know!"

"Legend would never give up a case just because he got a little hurt," reprimanded Bartok. "People are relying on you to get the job done."

"OK, OK, Janos," sighed Pratt, wanting to avoid one of Bartok's lectures, and the inevitable guilt it always provoked, "Skeeter can run a few errands for me while I'm out of action."

"Very well," said Bartok. "The storm should have passed by morning. Once the Doctor has given you the all-clear, we shall all return to Sheridan." He stood up. "Get some sleep, Ernest. Ramos and I are staying at a hotel nearby. We shall return at ten o'clock".

Pratt closed his eyes and waved Bartok away. "Fine, Janos, I'll see you then."

Chapter Two

The next morning, as predicted, Doctor Gellar gave Pratt permission to go, and when Ramos and Bartok returned they helped him to get to the balloon.

By early afternoon they were back in Sheridan. Pratt's friends had helped him to his room in the Silver King and left Ernest to the tender mercies of Lucy, the cleaning girl at the hotel. Bartok had given him strict instructions to start thinking of contacts who could help them to track down the outlaws. After dozing and reading for a while, Pratt had been able to think of a few people who could help them, and had settled back to dream of the lovely Irene who had said she would come to see him later on.

There was a knock at the door. "Mr. Legend?" came a muffled voice. 'Oh no, Skeeter,' thought Pratt.

"Come in Skeeter!" he called, trying to sound more cheerful than he was feeling. The door opened and Skeeter entered. For once, his hair wasn't sticking out in all directions. It almost looked...normal.

Pratt was genuinely surprised. In the year or so that he had known the young man, his hair had always been completely wild. It was the one thing anyone meeting him would instantly remember. Skeeter had said that the Doc thought he was allergic to the electricity coming from Bartok's lightning tower, and since the tower wasn't going away, neither should Skeeter's uncontrollable hair.

The younger man seemed to read his mind. "It's great isn't it Mr. Legend! Professor Bartok came up with some special stuff for me to put on my hair." He held out a small tub of something brown and slimy. "He calls it 'Bartok Hair Control Lotion'" he said proudly.

Pratt gave him a half smile. He liked this young man who was always so enthusiastic to help him. "Did Bartok send you?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr. Legend. He wondered if there was anyone you wanted me to telegraph for you."

'Bartok doesn't waste time', thought Pratt ruefully. "I've got a list here, Skeeter," he said. "You telegraph these people in San Francisco and Montana. They're all people who owe me a favor, and they've all had dealings with the Harris brothers. We should be able to get some leads out of them, and then Bartok and Ramos should be able to figure out where they are."

"I'll help too!" said Skeeter. "I want to help, Mr. Legend. Did you know that I'm considering a career in the hero business?"

At this Pratt laughed, and winced as his ribs hurt him again. "Do y'know, Skeeter," he said, "I think we've got you in the hero business already."

Skeeter made his way to the Post Office to send the wires, and was just leaving when Chamberlain Brown hurried up to him.

"Where's Mr Legend?" he shouted breathlessly. "We have to get him quickly! There's been a cave-in at the mine just out of town and at least a dozen men are trapped."

'Oh, no!' thought Skeeter. He'd been sworn to secrecy concerning Pratt's injuries as Bartok had reasoned that a vulnerable hero wasn't nearly as effective as an invincible one. They had all decided that it was safer to let people think Legend was still out of town on the Harris brother's trail in case some of his old enemies that he had brought to justice decided to come after him.

Skeeter thought quickly. "Mr. Legend is out of town at the moment, Mayor, but the Professor and Mr Ramos are up at the compound. I'll go get them!" He turned and raced back to the hotel to 'borrow' a horse so that he could ride up to the Compound with all speed.

Chapter Three

Skeeter managed to achieve a new personal best for getting from the town to the Compound. Ramos was outside checking the gauges on one of the Professor's inventions, and as soon as he saw who the rider was, and the sense of urgency he carried, he dropped what he was doing and hurried to meet the young man.

Skeeter jumped down. "Mr. Ramos! We've got real trouble!" He hurriedly told the scientist what the Mayor had told him. Ramos remained unflappable as always and became businesslike.

"Professor Bartok is in the Laboratory," he told Skeeter. "You must tell him exactly what you have told me and perhaps we can come up with a plan to rescue these men whilst maintaining secrecy about Mr. Pratt."

Bartok had already heard the voices outside and met them as they were going into the Laboratory. "What's going on?" he asked.

Skeeter quickly filled him in on the emergency at the mine. Bartok frowned. "We have to act quickly to get those men out," he began, thinking out loud, "but without Mr. Pratt we have no one to effect a rescue. Ramos and I could not hope to mount the necessary operation alone."

"You know I'll help you anyway I can, Professor," said Skeeter quickly. "Just tell me what you want me to do."

The three men quickly came up with a plan. The mine was out to the west, in the hills that faced Sheridan on two sides. They didn't know exactly what they would be facing, but the trapped men would undoubtedly be running out of air, and many could have been injured in the rock fall. Ramos suggested that the balloon was probably the best rescue vehicle, as the miners could be hauled up a rope to safety, but it would be impossible to carry all of the men as their combined weight would prove to be too much. Bartok pointed out that the new experimental velocipede that they had recently been working on, which was more of a steam-powered wagon than a 'land rover,' would be able to make up the extra transport.

"We only finished making the modifications last week," he told Skeeter, "but the Steam Powered Town and Country Quadrovelocipede Carriage is faster than a normal wagon and this will be the perfect opportunity to see what it can do." He turned to his associate. "Ramos, since you invented many of the modifications, I suggest that you head out to the mine in it immediately, and Skeeter and I will follow in the balloon."

He turned to the younger man, a serious frown on his face: "Skeeter, I am going to have to fly the balloon and operate any technical devices that are needed. Since Mr. Pratt cannot be here, would you be willing to go into the mine and help those men?"

Skeeter gulped. This was the opportunity he'd been waiting for over a year, but now that he had the chance to be a real hero, he was terrified. He took a deep breath. "Just tell me what to do, Professor."

Less than an hour after Chamberlain Brown had raised the alarm, the Legend Balloon, the Velocipede Carriage and scores of townspeople were gathered at the mouth of the mine. The actual entrance to the mine was clear, but the shaft that dropped steeply down into the earth had been partially blocked by a rockfall which an army of volunteers was now trying to clear. After an agonizing wait, the time came for someone to go down into the mine to assess the situation. As his casual clothes would have afforded no protection against the sharp rocks, Bartok had insisted that Skeeter put on Pratt's spare protective clothes that he kept at the Compound, as well as a hat and goggles.

"You know what to do?" Bartok asked Skeeter.

"Yes sir," he replied. With that, he put his foot through the loop in the rope Bartok gave him, and was swiftly lowered from the balloon.

Skeeter couldn't stop shaking. 'What am I doing?' he thought. All of a sudden he heard a voice from the crowd. "It's Nicodemus Legend!" someone shouted. A huge cheer went up and Skeeter heard dozens of shouts of encouragement. 'These people have such faith in Mr Legend,' he thought. 'I've gotta do this, for him and for the miners.'

He reached the mouth of the shaft and then the light dropped away as he kept descending. Skeeter turned on the special lamp Bartok had given him, and shouted "Hello?"

"Help! Get us out of here!" Overlapping cries and groans reached him from the darkness.

"Hang on!" he shouted. He shone his torch downwards, and saw the floor of a passageway. Taking his foot out of the rope he gave it two sharp tugs, the prearranged signal that he was leaving the shaft. Shining the lamp ahead of him, Skeeter soon came to a cave in. He shouted again. "Can anyone hear me?" The answering cries told him what he needed to know. There was a small gap in the rocks that the men had obviously been able to clear, and by stooping down and shining his light in, Skeeter could see the faces of perhaps fifteen men staring back at him like frightened jackrabbits.

"Who are you?" shouted one of the men.

"Just someone trying to help," replied Skeeter.

After asking them how many were hurt, and how badly, Skeeter followed the instructions Bartok had given him and quickly got the uninjured men to carry on clearing as many rocks as they could, whilst he set about assembling the equipment in the satchel he had brought down. He quickly snapped the pieces of lightweight metal and wood together to form a kind of short stubby cylinder; like a barrel with the top and bottom removed, and once the men had been able to clear sufficient space for it, he got them to help him wedge the tube through the debris. Bartok had assured him that once in place, the 'Bartok Blockage Repeller' would not collapse, even with many tons of pressure bearing down upon it. He didn't fancy hanging around to find out of this was true, so he shouted to the men to wriggle through the tube as quickly as they could. Seeing an escape route the men didn't need to be told twice, and one of the uninjured came through first to help Skeeter drag the casualties to safety.

While the last few were being pulled out, Skeeter rushed back to the rope and tugged three more times, and hung on while he was pulled upwards. A huge cheer went up from the crowd in pure relief at seeing the man they thought was Legend coming back up from the mine, and then a deadly hush as people started to wonder what would happen next.

As soon as he was back in the balloon, Skeeter told Bartok everything that had happened. "Well done, Skeeter" said the Professor warmly. "Now we shall begin to hoist those miners to safety. How many are badly injured?"

A few minutes later, Skeeter was back down in the mine, with a special harness that Bartok had attached to the end of the rope. The miners, looking filthy and exhausted were gathered around and, once they realized the nature of the plan, quickly cooperated with Skeeter, strapping the injured into the harness and letting them be hoisted up.

The walking wounded were next, and finally Skeeter emerged from the mine for the last time; dog tired but triumphant. While Ramos took the uninjured men back to town in the velocipede carriage with a crowd of well wishers straggling behind, Skeeter and Bartok flew the balloon to Denver and the hospital that Pratt had only left that morning. As soon as the hospital staff spotted the amazing Legend Balloon, they rushed outside and quickly whisked the men indoors.

Skeeter and Bartok were following them in to see how the men were, and to offer any assistance they could when Doctor Gellar, recognizing Bartok, came up to them. "Why, it's Professor Bartok!" he exclaimed. "Back so soon?" Bartok gave a small smile knowing that they would not easily escape the over-enthusiastic Doctor.

Sensing the Professor's concern he added, "Don't worry about those miners. None of them seem to be too badly hurt. They'll all pull through, never fear."

"That's good to know, Doctor" Bartok said quietly, "I know that they will be well taken care of. Now, if you will excuse us..."

"Who's your friend?" the Doctor butted in. "Why in those clothes he looks a little like Legend himself!" He addressed Skeeter. "Are you a relation of his, son?"

Skeeter thought quickly. "I'm...um...Tom Legend...Nicodemus is my...Uncle!" he finished brightly. Bartok visibly cringed, but Doctor Gellar was as enthusiastic as ever.

"Well, I guess you do all the heroics when your Uncle is busy" he said. "I'm sure the men will all be overjoyed to know who saved them!"

"Uh...there is no need for that...really," said Bartok quickly. "Nicodemus Legend's...er...mishap is a matter of utmost secrecy, and Tom Legend's...err," he shot Skeeter a poisonous glance, "...assistance is a matter for discretion."

Doctor Gellar nodded his head with great severity. "I completely understand, Professor. I will take the hero's identity to my grave."

But of course, it didn't stay a secret for long. Before that long and eventful day was out, the whole town knew of 'Tom Legend's' heroics and the local journalists were lapping it up.

After taking the uninjured miners back into the town, Huitzilopochtli Ramos parked the Velocipede Carriage outside of the Silver King Hotel. On the way back from the mine he had suddenly realized that, in all of the excitement, the 'real' Nicodemus Legend was completely ignorant of all that had happened. Nodding to Lucy, who was at the front desk, Ramos went upstairs and gingerly knocked on Pratt's door. He heard a scuffle, some giggling and then a muffled man's voice shouting "Unless the hotel is on fire I want to be left in er...peace!" Ramos sighed. Mr. Pratt was obviously 'entertaining' one of his female acquaintances. Obviously his injuries had left some...faculties unimpaired. He sighed again and spoke up.

"Mr Pratt, it is Ramos. I have some urgent matters that I must discuss with you." This brought more suspicious crashes and creaks until a few moments later, the door opened a crack and a disheveled lady with a cloak thrown around her opened the door. Ramos recognized her as Irene, one of the ladies who frequented the Buffalo Head Saloon.

"Come in, Mr Ramos," she smiled sweetly. "I just stopped by to see how Mr. Legend was after his dreadful fall."

Ramos did a double take. "You knew Mr... Legend was in an accident?" he asked the woman.

"Why, yes, a gentleman came into the saloon a little while ago to say that Mr. Legend was hurt and wanted to see me. Of course," she giggled, "I could never say no to Nicodemus Legend!"

At the mention of his famous alter-ego, Pratt's voice drifted into the hallway. "Let Ramos in, Irene!" he called. "I'm sure he has important information about the case I'm working on." Irene opened the door more fully and Ramos stepped into Pratt's room. Ernest was in bed, looking decidedly more cheerful than when they had left him there that morning.

Ramos turned immediately to Pratt's admirer. "Would you please excuse us?" Before she could leave, a thought suddenly struck him. "Miss Irene, what did the man who told you about Mr. Legend look like? We have been trying to keep Mr. Legend's condition a secret."

Irene giggled as she gathered up her scattered things. "Why, Mr. Ramos, he was a strange looking fellow. He was quite young, but he had a strange manner. But of course, his gold eye patch was the most remarkable thing, I'd say." At this Pratt and Ramos looked at each other, both simultaneously thinking the same horrible thought.

"I'll see you later, Irene," said Pratt absently, continuing to look at Ramos.

Chapter Four

As soon as Irene had left, Ramos quickly crossed the room and sat on the chair next to Pratt's bed.

"Mr Pratt, you don't think..."

"Flintridge Caine? No...At least," he continued, "I sure hope not. He's got to be dead."

"No-one could have survived that fall from the balloon," said Ramos.

"But isn't that what I did yesterday?" replied Ernest.

Flintridge Caine was a man whom Pratt had once called 'brainless'. In his reporting days he had written an article about a burglar who was caught in a Senator's office, and because the burglary had been executed so ineptly Pratt had written it up as a funny story. Caine, the burglar, had not taken it so lightly and had gone after Pratt many years afterwards, with cold revenge on his mind. The previous year Caine had been paid by a crooked War Department official to murder General George Armstrong Custer when he'd visited Fort Hansen near Sheridan, and had decided to go after Pratt at the same time. After playing a "game of humiliation" with Pratt, the Legend team had thwarted his plans; but in the process of being winched into the balloon and captured, Caine had deliberately cut the rope and plunged to his apparent death.

"It couldn't have been Caine, " said Ramos, "it's impossible."

"Didn't Bartok tell me that Caine had said he'd see me again?" said Pratt. "Perhaps it is him, in which case," he tried to swing out of bed, "I think I'd better be going, don't you?"

"Mr Pratt, get back in bed, admonished Ramos. "You're in no condition to go anywhere, let alone face Caine." "Besides," he said, changing the subject, "a lot has been happening today that I'd better fill you in on."

As Ramos drew near the end of his description of the disaster at the mine, Bartok and Skeeter joined them in Pratt's room, fresh back from Denver. Ernest then had to deal with further problems as Skeeter told him about what had happened at the hospital.

As he finished his side of the story, Ernest collapsed back into bed. "Great," he said. "I not only have a homicidal maniac back on my tail, I now have a nephew to drag along for company! It's worse than having a 'son'!"

Bartok swiftly changed the discussion back to more pressing concerns. "I think that until we determine if Caine really is back you should stay at the Compound, Ernest. Remember, he broke into your room last time, and if I remember correctly, nearly killed you then. We also have the question of how he knew you had been injured."

"Perhaps he knows about the Harris brothers, Professor." piped up Skeeter.

"He may also have a connection to the trouble at the mine," added Ramos.

"Flintridge Caine may be more clever than I once gave him credit for, but he's not that clever," said Pratt dismissively.

"He nearly killed us last year," Bartok reminded him. "We'll get you up to the Compound, and perhaps Skeeter can stay with you tomorrow while Ramos and I return to the mine to see if we can find evidence of Caine's presence. I suggest you return your mind to the Harris case. Remember, the stagecoach company is depending on us!"

Chapter Five

The next day, at first light, Bartok and Ramos headed out to the mine in one of the Velocipedes, and after getting very cautious permission from the Professor, Skeeter gleefully drove the other one to town to see if any replies had come to Pratt's telegrams.

Pratt was feeling far better this morning, but was still grudging in looking over the replies that had already come from his old contacts. "I'm a convalescing invalid," he grumbled to the ever enthusiastic Skeeter. "I should be using this rest time to recoup my creative powers, not to slave over this case!"

Despite his protestations, Pratt and Skeeter were able to piece together some clues as to where the Harris brothers may be. After several hours work, Pratt insisted on a break, and had a doze while Skeeter went outside for a walk and to eat a snack.

All of a sudden he was aware of a presence behind him. Before he could turn around, Skeeter felt a knife pressed against his throat. He froze: heart pounding.

"Well, well, well," said a terse male voice behind him. "It seems that Legend has a new little friend. I wonder: should I kill you now or later?"

"Who...who are you?", whispered Skeeter, although he already had a good idea who it was.

"Just a *blast* from Pratt's past!" the voice laughed. "He knows me, and I know you, young man." The knife dropped from Skeeter's throat, and he sighed with relief but stayed frozen to the spot.

"You can turn around, you know. I'm pretty sure Pratt and the others have figured it out by now."

Skeeter slowly turned, and was faced with a man of quite average height and build, with straggly black hair, and scruffy clothes. The most striking thing about him was the golden eyepatch with an eagle device he had over his right eye.

"What do you want?" Skeeter asked hesitantly.

"Just all of your deaths!" Caine said casually, slowly smiling, and holding his knife up, as if closely examining it. "Did you know that Pratt and the others almost got me killed last year. An eye for an eye I say, or in this case, a fall for a fall." He looked sharply up at Skeeter. "Tell Pratt I've got a lot of new tricks, kid. I am going to make things very interesting for him from now on."

"Now," he brought the knife back up to Skeeter's throat, "I want you to turn away and count to a hundred. Slowly, and out loud. It's a game of hide and seek, kid! It's all just a game!"

Skeeter did as he was told, and as he expected, when he next dared to turn back after he had counted to a hundred, Caine was gone. "Mr. Legend!" he yelled, racing back into the house.

Bartok and Ramos were gone all day, not returning until sunset. Using a stick, Pratt was able to gingerly make his way downstairs to join the other men for dinner. Skeeter stayed with them, and then the four of them went over to the laboratory to discuss the days events.

Chapter Six

Bartok quickly brought their meeting to order. "From the brief discussion we had at dinner, it sounds as if Mr. Flintridge Caine is not only back from the dead, but has been very busy as well," he began.

"Skeeter, would you tell us all again what happened this afternoon?"

Skeeter related the story of how Caine had snuck up on him, and about the cryptic remarks he had made. "It sounds as if he's planning to be around for a while," he concluded.

Pratt chimed in; his face still heavily bruised from his accident. The pain that he must have been feeling didn't appear to dampen his caustic wit as he replied: "Yes, well the game may be afoot for that maniac, but I'll throw my hand in now thank you very much."

Ramos ignored Pratt's typically pessimistic view. "Mr. Pratt, we are so close to catching this man, and tying up several loose ends all in one go. The Professor and I found traces of nitro-glycerine at several points all around the site of the explosion, so the rockslide must have been caused by an explosion. Now the miners don't have anywhere to store dynamite nearby, so it must have been deliberately planted. Your lady-friend said that a man matching Caine's description had told her that you had been injured whilst we were all up at the mine, so he must have known you (a) weren't there and (b) that you were injured. He must have been observing all of us for several hours, if not days."

Bartok continued. "If Caine planted the explosives at the mine he would have had plenty of time to get back here and tell your friend you were at the hotel."

Pratt raised his hand. "'Scuse me! How do you know Caine caused the rock fall? How did he know I was injured? And how does he darn well know our every movement?"

Bartok spoke again. "Ernest, at the moment we only have circumstantial evidence, but along with the traces of explosives was a short stylised knife with an eagle on the hilt. Now from our last little adventure with Mr. Caine, we know that he has a penchant for knives, and Skeeter said that he now wears a patch with an eagle on it. I have taken copies of several fingerprints from the knife which I am willing to bet match his prints. Once we have captured him, we will be able to test my hypothesis."

Pratt spoke up. "I remember Standing Beaver telling me that Caine had been described to him as 'Eagle with Golden Eye'," he said. "Sounds as if our Flintridge has let the name go to his head."

"Now on a more serious note, " the Professor continued, I believe that Caine is also responsible for your accident. I have examined the Legend Wings and they appear to have been sabotaged. If that is the case, Caine may well have known about, or even organized our little pursuit of the Harris brothers, knowing that under the conditions you would be using the Wings to make your descent. If he is responsible, this would also explain how he knew you were injured."

"He all but admitted that this afternoon, Professor," said Skeeter. "He said 'a fall for a fall'." "Hey, Mr Legend, he also said that he was a 'blast from your past'. That could be relating to the mine as well."

"Very good Skeeter," said Bartok approvingly. "We'll make a Nicodemus Legend out of you yet!" The Professor, realizing what he had said, looked guiltily at Ernest.

With an exaggerated snap of the fingers, Pratt sarcastically said "Oh yes, that reminds me. What am I going to do about my 'nephew'?"

"Um...Mr. Legend, that Doctor Gellar seemed awful talkative. That story I made up could well have gotten all around the hospital by now," said Skeeter.

"Skeeter, that story is probably all the way back to E.C. Allen by now!" shouted Ernest, "and that along with you wearing my outfit to save those miners has probably set the story in stone! E.C. Allen will have you written into my next book! I can't win!" An idea struck him. "Well, of course, I suppose you could always fall prey to some angry buffalo, or to the Harris brothers..." he mused.

"Ernest!" cut in Bartok, trying to divert his friend from this sinister train of thought. "Maybe we can use this 'Tom Legend' character to our advantage. We don't know how closely Caine may be working with the Harris brothers, only that there seems to be a connection between them. We know that Caine knows that 'Tom Legend' is really Skeeter, but they may not. If Skeeter can pose as 'Tom Legend' for the Harris brothers' benefit, perhaps they'll fall for the bait, seeing Legend's 'nephew' as a valuable prize. In the mean time, Ernest can go after them from another angle. Between us all, I'm sure we'll draw everything to a satisfactory conclusion."

"What if the Harris brothers do come after me?" asked Skeeter.

"What if they don't believe he's really this 'Tom Legend'?" asked Ramos.

"What if Caine really comes after me and decides to blow me up, too?" asked Pratt. "And I'm not ready to go after the Harris brothers. I don't feel well yet."

Bartok just sighed and cast his eyes upwards in an appeal to Heaven.

Chapter Seven

John and David Harris were camped out back in the hills. Their new partner had told them that he would take care of Legend, and he had.

The pursuit a few days ago that had looked like it would end in their capture had come to an abrupt end as the dime novel hero had plunged to the ground. The way was clear for their next and most daring stagecoach robbery. As they were planning their crime they heard a horse approaching and grabbed their weapons, ready for anything.

The rider dismounted, and Flintridge Caine, their recent and very profitable partner, walked up to them.

"Good afternoon gentlemen," he said calmly.

"Well, hi there, Caine," said John. "You'd better have the timetable for the next stagecoach, or me and my brother will not be happy."

"Relax, Harris," said Caine, reaching into the leather satchel he had with him. "It's all here. One of the advantages of working for Northern Colorado Stagecoaches."

David Harris snatched the papers from him. "What about Legend and his friends?" he asked. "They got way too close last time."

"Don't worry," Caine said, smiling, "he's still out of the picture and the rest of them are chasing their tails over the 'accident' at the mine."

"Hey," said John, remembering something, "what about that Legend look-alike we've heard about? Folks in the town are saying Legend has a nephew or somethin' and that he rescued the miners the other day."

"Don't worry about young Tom Legend", said Caine slyly, "I've got him marked." He stood up. "You deal with the coach, and make sure that I get my forty percent of the takings, and I'll deal with Legend - both of him."

Chapter Eight

Pratt's old friend, Charlie Summers, had given Pratt the lead they had been waiting for. In his telegram to Pratt, Summers had explained that one of his 'sources' had worked for the Harris brothers, and before being shot in the back by David Harris, had written down the locations of their main hideouts for him. Summers had, understandably kept this information to himself, and indeed refused to divulge it in a telegram. Instead, he said that he would travel to Colorado to tell Ernest in person.

While they were waiting for this crucial information, Skeeter's creation had taken on mythic proportions in Sheridan. Mayor Brown, convinced that Nicodemus Legend had a long lost nephew, personally posted a reward of twenty dollars for anyone who could shed light on the matter. Skeeter regarded all of this with some amusement, and was sorely tempted to claim the money himself, but Bartok had given him strict orders to carry on as usual, only appearing as 'Tom Legend' when necessary; as bait for Caine and/or the Harris brothers.

The opportunity came sooner than they had hoped. Just a week later, the Harris brothers were after their latest prize; a stagecoach carrying three wealthy Eastern businessmen who were all carrying collections of rare European gold coins. The experienced robbers had no trouble stopping the coach, but the driver was in possession of one of Bartok's emergency signalers, and by just pushing a button he alerted the vigilant Ramos that there was trouble. Ramos quickly raised the alarm and soon he, Bartok, and the now fully recovered Ernest Pratt were back in the balloon, once again chasing the robbers.

While Bartok steered, Ramos watched the robbers through the telescope. Pratt just slouched in the corner of the balloon, trying to appear indifferent to the drama, but in reality terrified that history would repeat itself and he would have another accident. He unobtrusively re-adjusted the Bartok Body Bullet Barricade he'd begged off the Professor, and checked the spare Electro-Fulminator on his belt. He wanted to be ready for anything.

"Something's wrong, Professor," shouted Ramos as they closed in on the stagecoach. "The Harris brothers haven't abandoned the coach. It looks as if they're throwing some passengers out...there are still some people inside though...Professor! They're not abandoning the coach! One of them is starting the horses!"

"I see them Ramos," said Bartok calmly. Then, turning to the less enthusiastic passenger, he said "Ernest, I'm sorry but I think you may have to attempt a rescue to stop the horses and save the passengers."

Pratt looked at him and glared. "No way Bartok, I don't want to commit suicide today, thank you! I'm *not* using the Wings!"

"Mr. Pratt," said Bartok formally, "if you are to overcome a fear you must face it. I have personally triple checked the Wings. They are completely safe!"

Ernest sighed and protested feebly, "There's got to be another solution, Janos."

"No, Ernest," Bartok was adamant, "those criminals must be stopped. Please use the Wings." He gestured down to the fast moving stagecoach below. "there are people down there depending on us, Ernest. Those passengers may come to great harm if the Harris brothers get away."

Pratt looked at him guiltily and sighed. "All right," he said, "I'll do it."

Ramos looked at him admiringly. "Mr. Pratt, you are becoming more like Legend all the time!"

Pratt strapped himself into the Wings, took a deep breath, and jumped.

'Open, open, open!' willed Bartok...

...and they did.

Pratt breathed a huge sigh of relief as he stopped falling and began gliding towards the coach, concentrating on steering himself so that he would land on the coach roof. The coach came up on him fast, but he managed to make an adequate, if inelegant landing.

John Harris who was driving the horses, heard the thump and looked around. "Legend!" he yelled. His brother had heard Pratt arrive too and stuck his head out of the coach window, pointing a shotgun right in Ernest's face. Fortunately, someone inside the coach must have jogged David Harris, and in the momentary confusion, Pratt whipped out the fulminator and zapped the villain. The metal in the gun he was holding made an excellent conductor for the electrical charge, and Harris fell out of the coach with a yell. John Harris, steering the coach, was slower to react, and now that one brother was out of the way Pratt had no trouble in disabling the other with the electrical weapon. John fell back in his seat, momentarily stunned. Ernest quickly scrambled forward and delivered a resounding punch to his jaw, knocking him out cold. He brought the carriage to a stop. Pratt scrambled down, breathless, and quite surprised that he had accomplished the rescue so easily, grandly opened the door of the coach, never for one moment losing his sense of style. He bowed.

"Nicodemus Legend at your service, gentlemen."

"Ernest, is that you?" came a familiar voice from the inside of the coach.

Pratt stuck his head inside. "Charlie? Charlie Summers?"

"Yes Pratt, of course its me!"

Ernest took his old friends hand with delight, and some surprise. "What are you doing here, Charlie? This coach isn't for travellers, its hired out!"

Summers indicated his fellow passengers, three visibly shaken men in fancy Eastern suits, all clutching smart leather bags. "When my paper discovered I was heading out this way, they signed me up to earn my passage. I was sent on the coach with Mr. Jones, Mr. Calvert and Mr. Anderson here to interview them about the coin auction to be held in San Francisco next week."

Pratt was understandably surprised by this. One of the other men addressed him. "Mr. Summers is quite well known for his sharpshooting, Mr. Legend, and so the bank thought he may provide us with some extra security were we to run into any trouble, and besides, he was less expensive than a professional hired gun."

At this Summers began to make an angry reply, but Pratt cut him off. "Gentlemen, I think that we should get out of here. The crook who fell out may come back, and besides, we think he's got some help. Come on!"

By this time Bartok and Ramos had managed to land the balloon a short distance off, and before long, everyone was on their way to Sheridan.

However, when they arrived back they were in for a shock. Ernest had told Skeeter to stay at the Compound, as he wasn't very happy about the 'Tom Legend' story and didn't want it to escalate further. But Skeeter didn't appear to be there. A thorough search was mounted, but ten minutes later no-one had found any sign of him. Pratt was the last one back, and looked visibly shaken. He was holding a piece of paper.

"I found this in the house," he said. From his look, Ramos and Bartok could guess what it was.

Summers and the others, of course, were in the dark. "What's wrong, Ernest?" Summers asked.

Pratt smiled wryly. "Oh, just a little problem with a maniac Charlie," he replied. He opened the letter and read it out.

To the great Nicodemus Legend.
I like games, and I know you do too.
I don't think the world needs another of the Legend clan running around, though. I have the kid, and I'm fed up with you wrecking my plans. I'm not overly ambitious; I just want my money and your death.
The Harris brothers hideout is just out past Oak Ridge if you didn't know by now. Be there at exactly four o'clock and we'll talk.
F.C.

"That pretty much says it all, I think," said Ramos.

"Its a quarter after three now," said Bartok, looking at his pocket watch, "so I suggest that we leave for Oak Ridge immediately."

Pratt looked at Summers. "Is Oak Ridge the Harris brothers' hideout Charlie?" he asked.

"Yes it is," confirmed his old friend, "but I needn't remind you that the Harris brothers could be there by now. I had better come with you and give you some back up."

Bartok smiled at him. "Its quite all right, thank you Mr. Summers. Ernest, Ramos and I have been in tricky situations like this before. We can handle it, never fear." He gestured at Summer's fellow passengers. "I suggest that you escort these gentlemen down to the town and speak to our good Sheriff, who I am sure can arrange safe transportation for you all to San Francisco."

Pratt looked doubtfully at Bartok. Noticing the expression on his face, Bartok glared at him. "Never fear, Ernest. I'm sure we can handle this problem: we always do."

Chapter Ten

At the appointed time, the three men were sitting in the velocipedes just off from Oak Ridge. Bartok scanned the horizon with his telescope, looking for any signs of life.

All of a sudden a cloud of dust momentarily obscured his vision and he took the telescope away from his eye to see a fuller picture. Ramos had keener eyesight than the others and was the first to see what had created the cloud. "It's Skeeter!" he shouted.

Ernest and Bartok looked again and saw that Skeeter was bound and gagged, and had been roughly pushed over the ridge. He had skidded, and that was what had created the dust cloud, but had been stopped by a rope that was tied under his arms. Skeeter was hanging helplessly, but before the three of them could think a voice rang out in the clear, still, hot afternoon.

"Welcome Mr. Pratt". ("It's Caine!" whispered Ernest, but Bartok motioned for him to keep quiet.) The voice continued. "As you can see I have your young friend quite at the end of his tether! Some people seem to have quite taken to believing he's a nephew of yours, or rather of Nicodemus Legend, but as you know I never went in for that garbage. I've known you too long Pratt. Anyhow, everyone seems quite attached to the new hero in town, and I'm sure they would be quite sad to hear of his demise...at the hand of his own 'uncle'!"

Pratt was getting annoyed. With a defiant shout that his fictional creation would have been proud of he yelled "Show yourself, Caine, and let Skeeter go! You've already hurt too many people. Let's finish this!"

Bartok became aware of something tickling his left ear. He moved his hand to brush it away but instead of an insect he hit cool metal.

Whipping his head round he saw John Harris standing over him, holding a gun right at his head. "Er...Ernest!" he called quietly.

Pratt looked and saw that Caine's partners had out-maneuvered them. At least it proved that Caine was working with these outlaws. He sighed.

"Get up!" yelled John Harris, "I owe you a punch on the jaw, friend, and it's a debt I'll repay right now!" He leaned forward and before Pratt could react, Harris had hit him. Pratt saw and felt an explosion of light and pain before slumping back in his velocipede seat, unconscious.

Bartok suddenly realised that he was now spokesman. John had turned his gun back onto him and Ramos. Hoping that Ramos would follow his lead, he complied with the outlaw's order and stood, itching to reach for the fulminator that was clipped to his belt. Ramos, who had known him for years could see what was racing through his mind, and bravely rushed forward to distract Harris. In the split second he had, Bartok reached out to shoot with his fulminator...only to have it shot clean out of his hand by an unseen gunman. He and Ramos fell back quickly and looked up to see the instantly recognizable Flintridge Caine standing on the ridge, smiling and holding the rope that was holding Skeeter.

"Bring them here!" he shouted to John Harris, and obediently the thug gestured with the gun, forcing the scientists to head for the ridge.

They saw David Harris, obviously recovered from his fall from the coach, take the rope from Caine as he started down to the men at the bottom.

Caine had aged a great deal in the last year. His hair was more wild than they remembered and he had obviously added to his already impressive collection of scars. The look in his one good eye was, if anything, more manic than before, and his mouth was forced into a cruel smile. This was a villain who had obviously found a purpose in life, namely to make life as miserable as possible for Pratt and his friends.

"So, Bartok, we finally meet again," he said.

"It is an honor I could have done without," replied Bartok sharply. Changing tack, and realizing that this may be the best chance of rescuing Skeeter, he said, "Let the boy go, Caine, he's got nothing to do with this."

"On the contrary, Professor, he's got everything to do with it. He was the one who nobly saved the miners from my handiwork, depriving me of a ransom demand. And he was the faithful sidekick of our hero when he was injured. Most importantly, I don't like him. But you all do. Reason enough to cause him a little pain, I think."

"On the other hand," he continued, "I owe you three far more. I nearly died from that fall last year, but I decided not to go after revenge. I...diversified into, shall we say, 'forced acquisitions'?"

"You mean theft!" declared Bartok hotly.

"Whatever. Anyway, my friends here were only too willing to let me in on their operation in return for the information that came into my hands at the North Colorado Stagecoach Company.

"Yes!" he cried with mock despair, "I was behind those terrible stagecoach robberies! But no one would have got hurt if you hadn't interfered. Sabotaging your gadgets wasn't enough, so you forced me to hurt innocent people because you couldn't stay out of my business! Then I find out that even getting Pratt out of the way isn't enough because you already have a little protege in the wings! I have had it with you all! You have to make everything perfect, don't you. I can't even take a modest cut from a few robberies without you interfering. Well it finishes right here." He raised his gun levelly at Ramos. "I'm going to kill you one by one," he said matter of factly. "No more games."

Caine pointed the gun at Ramos, who stood in quiet dignity, but suddenly a streak of bright blue light arced over him, hitting Caine squarely in the chest - Ernest had come to and used his fulminator with deadly accuracy. Seizing the moment, Ramos grabbed the gun from the unconscious Caine and covered John Harris, while Bartok swiftly used his fulminator to blast the rope holding Skeeter. The fall wasn't too great and with a few bumps and bruises he landed safely at the men's feet. In the mean time, Bartok had sent a second shot of electrical energy into David Harris at the top of the ridge. He had the full length of the ridge to tumble down, and he landed unconscious and in a heap at the bottom next to Skeeter.

Ramos and Bartok let out sighs of relief. It was over! They cut the ropes around Skeeter and helped him to his feet, finding that he was none the worse for wear. The three of them began to drag the villains back to the newly conscious Pratt and the velocipedes. He ran to help them, rubbing his saw jaw but otherwise appearing unhurt.

As they arrived back in town with the Harris brothers and Caine neatly trussed up in the back of the velocipedes, Caine leant over and whispered quickly and intensely in Pratt's ear.

"Remember, I know where you are, Ernest, and I know where your friends are. They'll never get a chance to hang me, you know. I'll come back, and I'll watch you and wait until you and your friends are least expecting me. I learn from my mistakes, Mr. Pratt. I won't work with greedy gunslingers again. I do better alone. 'Eagle with Golden Eye' will fly back one day, Ernest, and he will get his prey."

As he finished, the sheriff and his deputies came out of the jailhouse and dragged the three villains inside. Pratt sat frozen, staring forward as he had throughout Caine's tirade. He hadn't flinched throughout the threats, but inside his belly was a cold pit of icy fear. 'Caine's right,' he thought, 'he won't make the same mistake again. He's far smarter than I gave him credit for, and he could give us a great deal of trouble in the future."

"Are you coming to the Buffalo Head, Ernest?" shouted Bartok from the other velocipede. Pratt looked over and saw that, for once, Bartok was positively beaming. "The enemy is vanquished and everyone wants to celebrate!"

Pratt smiled at his friends and heard another familiar voice call his name. It seemed Charlie Summers hadn't yet left for the coast and was determined to buy his old friend a drink, and that was one offer Ernest knew he couldn't refuse.

Everyone went into the saloon, and Professor Bartok, Mr. Ramos, Skeeter and Sheridan's own Nicodemus Legend, the men of the moment, were sat at the best table in the place, (under Sylvester) and bought as many drinks as they wanted - though of course they stuck to coffee and tea, or at least what Pratt called 'tea'.

Pratt was just beginning to relax and enjoy himself when he felt a soft feminine hand rest on his shoulder. He grasped it, smiling and recognizing the touch of the lovely Irene.

"Mr. Legend," she beamed, "you are our hero!" she leaned closer. "I hope that you are *fully* recovered?" she breathed into his ear.

Pratt gave a wicked grin. "We shall find out as soon as possible, my dear," he slyly whispered back, and with a little wink, Irene left to mingle with the other patrons.

Bartok, for once was enjoying the attention he was receiving from the townspeople, momentarily indulging in the celebration. Suddenly his ears pricked up as he heard Mayor Brown arguing heatedly with Lucy from the hotel.

"I tell you, Mr. Mayor, I know who Tom Legend is!" she said conspiratorially in a stage whisper.

Chamberlain Brown leaned closer. "I promise I won't tell a soul!" he whispered back, looking all around to see if anyone was watching, which of course made Bartok even more suspicious.

Before any more damage could be done, Bartok swiftly stood, walked over and took the girl by the arm. "Excuse us, Mayor," he said jovially.

He virtually dragged Lucy outside, and when they were out of anyone's earshot he rounded on her furiously.

"Lucy! How did you know Skeeter was 'Tom Legend'? he was sworn to secrecy, and you should know better than to tell the Mayor! Have you any idea how much trouble this is going to cause Mr. Legend, and Skeeter, and me? Skeeter only posed as Mr. Legend's nephew to help us out of an awkward situation when he was hurt. We have to keep it secret..." He tailed off, suddenly registering the expression on the girl's face.

Her eyes were wide open in shock. "Skeeter is Tom Legend?" she whispered.

'Uh oh,' thought Bartok, 'what have I done?' He thought quickly. "Er...Lucy, Skeeter isn't really Tom Legend...of course he isn't. He just had to *pretend* to be him because Mr. Legend's *real* nephew was hurt...and...couldn't help his uncle after his fall. Skeeter was happy to help, but he didn't want everyone to know so...you won't say anything, will you now, Lucy?"

She looked at him with a solemn look on her young face. "Professor, I would never do anything to hurt Skeeter. He's my best friend, y'know." She smiled. "His secret is safe with me."

Bartok smiled. Lucy's crush on Skeeter was one of those well known secrets that exist in small communities, and this 'knowledge' about Skeeter would just make her feel closer to him. He knew that the matter would go no further.

"Just out of curiosity," he asked, "who did you think Tom Legend was?"

Lucy smiled at him. "Why, Professor, I thought it was young Jack Starner from the pharmacy!"

Epilogue

Pratt sighed and sat back from the desk. He had just put the finishing touches to "Legend and Fool's Gold," his new dime novel in which he had worked through his recent adventures. It was a good book, he thought, though perhaps slightly darker in tone than his usual work. 'E.C. Allen will be happy with it though' he reflected. 'Perhaps the sales on the east Coast will pick up a little'. He smirked as a sudden thought hit him. At least by having real adventures his recent books had been far superior to Ned Buntline's!

He was interrupted in his thoughts as he heard footsteps on the stairs, and then a knock at the door.

"Come!" He called jovially. Thinking about Buntline's inadequacies always made him feel good.

"Package for you, Mr. Legend," said Skeeter, handing Pratt a short stubby package wrapped in brown paper. Intrigued because he wasn't expecting anything, Pratt ripped it open to see what was inside. He stopped, horrified.

Skeeter saw the other man's face turn ashen. "What is it?" he asked softly.

Pratt said nothing, showing Skeeter the contents of the package: a short golden dagger with an eagle emblazoned on the hilt.

"It's his way of saying he'll be back," said Pratt.

This story copyright 1998 Sarah O�Donoghue. As with everything else on the Steampunk Central Website no profit is derived from this work, and all contents are for entertainment and educational purposes only. See main index page for full disclaimer.

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