Chapter 1

"Sir, Lt. Johnson, Michael, reporting as ordered, Sir."

"At ease, Lt. Johnson. Johnson, I said at ease, not parade rest. Sheesh, what do they teach at the Academy, nowadays? Oh, well ... Have a seat in that chair, Johnson, and, dammit, if you sit at attention I will find someone else for this job. IS THAT CLEAR?"

"Yes, Sir, Gen. Clay, Sir."

"OK, now that we have that cleared up, I have a special assignment for you that should fit well with your special studies at the Academy. Your records show that you spent a lot of time studying the period of American History around the time of the War with Mexico, that is, 1830-1860, and that you are well versed in the Gadsden Purchase."

"Yes, Sir, Gen. Clay, Sir."

"Son, if you keep that up, I may throw something at you."

"Yes, Sir, Gen ... Oops. Sorry, Sir."

Gen. Clay let a little smile show on his lips before he got down to serious business. "OK, Son, let's get serious, here. I know that you have not been part of the Time Patrol for very long, but something has come up that you may be uniquely qualified to handle. What I am about to tell you cannot be repeated to anyone else. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir, I understand and will comply."

"Good! We have a serious problem. There is a traitor high up in the Time Patrol!"

"Good Lord, Sir! Are you serious?"

"Yes, unfortunately, I am. We have just uncovered his plot. He has stolen one of the experimental personal time machines and has jumped back to the New Mexico Territory of 1852. His plan appears to be to disrupt the Gadsden Purchase and to acquire the land for himself. He will hold the land until after the Civil War and then sell it to the USA for millions of dollars. As everybody knows, here in 2217, that section of land is worth its weight in gold. It must become a part of Arizona and New Mexico, and we want it to happen in 1854, the way it is supposed to happen."

"Yes, Sir. I understand. I agree with most people that the area encompassed by the Gadsden Purchase is absolutely essential to the continued operation and integrity of the USA. What would you have me do to help?"

"What we want you to do is to travel back to 1853 and make sure that nothing happens to James Gadsden. It is probable that our traitor plans to assassinate him and take his place, intending to purchase the land for himself. With his knowledge of gold deposits not known at that time, he can easily accumulate enough gold to complete the deal. We expect that he will offer Mexico double or triple what the USA was prepared to pay, insuring that Mexico goes through with the deal.

"We will provide you with arms and ammunition that are modern, but can be explained away. You already know how to ride a horse, so all you will have to do is learn to cope with a Western saddle. We will set up drops so that your ammunition can be replenished. You will have plenty of money, and that can be replenished as well.

"There will be plenty of time to plan your assignment, since, with time travel, it will make no difference when you decide to leave. No matter when you leave, you can still arrive on the appropriate day."

"Very well, Sir! I am looking forward to this assignment. When will I know the identity of the traitor?"

"Well, I guess I have fooled around long enough. I was waiting until you were fully committed in your own mind. The traitor is Mathew Hudson, the Assistant Commissioner of the Time Patrol!"

"My God! How did that happen? Oh, that was a rhetorical question. I know you have no way of knowing the answer, it was just a remark caused by my surprise. I will have no trouble spotting him. I even met him once as I was going down the receiving line when I graduated from the Academy. That, plus the fact that his picture regularly appeared in the news media, was enough to engrave him into my memory."

"Thank you, Captain Johnson, we'll get you started on the assignment right away. Your office has already been assigned."

Hot dog! An instant promotion that normally would not have come for at least two more years. I guess that I have the ammunition to laugh at those who so unmercifully teased me about my interest in the "Wild West." Too bad I can't use it.

As I dismounted from the stage in Las Vegas, NMT (New Mexico Territory), I groaned to myself. What an atrocious way to travel! Well, there was some consolation in that the other people who climbed out of that miserable box laughingly known as a public conveyance, were also stiff and sore. I looked around for the hotel and headed toward it, carrying my carpetbag of traveling necessities.

Las Vegas was not yet the hub of a prosperous gold mining region that it would become in the future, but in the current time of 1852, it was still a sleepy little Western town of no particular importance. Therefore, the hotel was not something to brag about, but it was adequate for its purpose. I had a room at the front of the building, facing east, with two windows and a door opening onto the veranda roof that was fitted out with rocking chairs as a place of rest and repose after a busy day.

My first action after checking in was to arrange for a bath. That involved bringing a large tub to my room and filling it with buckets of hot water. While I waited for my bath to be ready, I assembled my carbine from the parts stowed in my carpetbag. The carbine was a close copy of the US Army M1A1 carbine of World War 2. It was capable of semiautomatic or full automatic fire selected by a simple switch on the side of the receiver. I selected this weapon because it would not be too radical to pass casual inspection, yet it was deadly up to 200 yards and packed a killing punch through the clothes normally worn at this time.

I carried two pistols in a crossdraw rig. They were replicas of the US Army 1911 model Colt .45 caliber automatic pistol. I had taken the time to do a lot of practice with these pistols, and I was deadly with either hand. I had also practiced a quick draw, so that I was confident of my chances against anybody who depended on a revolver strapped to his thigh. Actually, most people carried the Colt "pocket pistol" in a pocket and were not able to do any sort of quick draw.

My explanation for these three remarkable weapons was that I had just returned from a trip to Europe where my weapons had been custom made for me by French and German gunsmiths. A number of rich people did this sort of thing, so I was not a rare exception. Of course, none of the guns had the Army markings on them, so the anachronism was not immediately obvious.

Once I finished my bath, I dressed the part of a rich dude touring the West and left my hotel room for the attached saloon. I took this guise because of my accent. I was not confident that I could maintain a Western drawl well enough to fool anybody, so I decided to pass myself off as a visitor from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I knew that this guise would draw some attention, but I hoped that it would be the humorous kind.

I was here, because I was sure that Las Vegas, NMT, was an obvious place for my quarry to start his quest for hoards of gold. I really did not expect to find my man so quickly or easily, but I was looking for signs of his activity in the area. I hoped to get some leads on where his gold mines might be located.

Anyway, I went into the saloon and made my way to the bar. There were a few patrons already there, but I didn't expect many because it was a Tuesday. I had learned from my reading not to trust the local product, so I ordered a bottle of Mexican beer. It was devilishly expensive, 10 cents per bottle, but it added to my image as a rich Eastern dude.

I was already the center of attention, both because of my clothes and my accent. The beer only added to my "charm." I was a bit imposing, standing 6'-1" tall in my flat-heeled Eastern boots and weighing in at 197 pounds, none of it flab. I was wearing a silk tophat, so I towered over everybody else in the saloon.