The Night of the Panther and the Wildcat

[California gal]

THE NIGHT OF THE PANTHER AND THE WILDCAT

Trust men and they will be true to you; treat them greatly and they will show themselves great. Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), American essayist, philosopher, and poet

“No! I won’t do it! You can’t expect me to investigate my own partner!”

“Who better to do it, Jim? Would you prefer a stranger? What if the situation was reversed? Wouldn’t you like to think that a friend is on your side?”

Jim West glared at the bearded man behind the desk. “General…”

“Jim, the president is right,” Colonel Richmond spoke at Jim’s side, his voice calm.

Jim turned away, walking across the room to stare at a portrait of another president, long gone. He did not really see the picture. Finally he spun around. “I cannot see why either of you even believe that… that rubbish!”

“We don’t necessarily believe it,” Ulysses Grant spoke quietly. “But it has to be investigated. Our hands are tied.”

Jim ran both hands through his hair. “Artie didn’t write that letter.”

“You said it was his handwriting,” Richmond pointed out.

“I said it looked like his handwriting. But he didn’t write it.” He had been utterly shocked when handed the sheet of paper and read the photographic copy of a letter, written in Spanish, in what appeared to be his partner’s hand. “Artie is not… he would not… do that. He’s not a traitor!”

A puzzling note, handwritten by President Grant on presidential stationary, had been delivered to him at the varnish car sitting in the Washington railroad yards: “Come at once, do not tell Artemus where you are going. Important.” Jim West had not been able to imagine what the summons was about.

Once in the White House office, he found Colonel James Richmond also waiting for him. The colonel had been the one to silently hand him the letter purportedly written by Artemus Gordon, written in the language in which Artie was very fluent, enthusiastically agreeing to assist someone named Ramon in his plans to take over Mexico.

“Who is this Ramon?” Jim had asked, and both his superiors shook their heads. No intelligence had ever mentioned a Ramon in connection with an attempted coup in Mexico or anywhere else. The colonel had sent out discreet telegraph queries, but so far nothing had turned up.

What Jim really did not like was that Julian Church was involved. According to the president and the colonel, Church had brought the letter to their attention. He had received it anonymously, and stated he was giving them an opportunity to disprove it before he released the information to the newspapers. He of course was holding onto the original.

“Julian Church!” Jim had exploded upon hearing the name. “The deadliest enemy the department has!” The member of the House of Representatives from Texas had consistently done everything possible to stymie the Secret Service, always voting against funding and usually managing to at least stall the budget where the department was concerned. He also persisted in demanding investigations into every move the department made. Thankfully, his colleagues ignored the vast majority of those demands.

According to Grant and Richmond, the fact that Church had brought the letter directly to them rather than notifying newspapers was impressive. “He comprehends the enormity of the possible situation,” Richmond said. “I believe he also realizes he needs to have validation before he airs it as dirty laundry. He specifically suggested that you be appointed to do the investigation. He said your reputation would endorse whatever you find as the truth.”

Jim West realized one sure truth: that if he himself had been accused of such a crime, he would want Artemus Gordon doing the investigating. I have to do it. As filthy as it makes me feel, I’m the one who has to do it. I’ll prove this is all a frame, a hoax… and I’ll find out who’s behind it. Julian Church may not be at the bottom of the business, but Jim had no doubt he was involved more than simply as the recipient of the letter.

“Will you do it, James?” President Grant asked gently. “I really don’t want to entrust this to anyone else.”

Jim sighed. “I guess I don’t have a choice.” He looked at the two men. “What do I tell Artemus?”

“Nothing,” Richmond answered sharply, and continued as Jim opened his mouth to protest. “If he knew what was going on, he’d move heaven and earth to go with you. You couldn’t work effectively. You realize that.”

“Yes. I know.” But can I do the job effectively without Artie?

“Just leave as soon as you can. I’ll have a story ready for Artemus.”

You don't know Artemus very well, colonel. Artie’s not going to buy it. Not for one minute.

W*W*W*W*W

God defend me from my friends; from my enemies I can defend myself.
— Proverb

Artemus Gordon whistled a cheerful tune as he pushed open the rear door of the varnish car. “Jim! Guess what! I found a bottle of…”

His voice trailed off as he realized his partner was not in the parlor car. Resuming the lilting song, he went through the door that led into the galley and then to their quarters. Not finding Jim there, he next checked the stable car. His own chestnut was in its stall, but Jim West’s black stallion was absent.

Odd. Jim knew I’d be returning about this time to get ready for the theater date. He must have left a note…

Artie went back to the varnish car, where he spotted what he had not previously, the folded sheet of paper on the table. His own name was written on the outside. Artemus picked it up, unfolded it and scanned the note. Then he read it again to make sure he had not misread it the first time.

Artie – I’ve received a special confidential assignment. I’ll contact you when I can. – Jim

For a long moment, Artemus Gordon simply stared at the brief note. Slowly he shook his head, folded the paper to place into an inside pocket, and headed for the outer door. Forty-five minutes later he leaped out of the hired hack, handed the driver the generous tip he had promised for speed then raced into the building that held the offices of the United States Secret Service.

The secretaries and other assistants were closing up their desks for the day. Artie paused only long enough to ask whether Colonel Richmond was still in his office. Receiving a positive answer, he took the stairs two at a time, and entered the colonel’s office without knocking.

James Richmond looked up in utter surprise then quickly closed the folder that had been open before him and pushed it under a stack of other folders, coming to his feet. “Artemus!”

Artie pulled the note from his pocket and shoved it toward Richmond. “What does this mean?”

Richmond cleared his throat. “Just what it says. We had a special…”

“No.” Artemus broke in, shaking his head vehemently. “No, you don’t send him off alone. Not without me. Where is he?”

“Artemus, sometimes it is necessary…”

“No! It was bad enough when you pulled me off active duty and stuck me here in Washington for months a couple of years ago! I need to be there, colonel! I need to watch his back! Where is he?”

Now the colonel took a long, deep breath and seemed to square his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Artemus, but I can’t tell you. As Jim’s note says, it’s a confidential assignment. Something very… delicate. Something he has to do by himself. By special order.”

“From whom? Grant?”

“I can’t tell you that. Please believe me, it’s important. We’ll find something for you…”

Artie turned and sank into the visitor’s chair, staring at the floor for a long moment then he looked up with a rueful smile. “I apologize, colonel. I have no right to question you. I know that. It’s just… well, I’m accustomed to being with him. Working with him.”

“I know that. Believe me, Jim protested. But it has to be this way. When he returns, it’ll be explained and you’ll understand. Don’t worry about him. Jim can take care of himself.”

“I know that. It’s just… well, I’ve sort of designated myself as his guardian angel, I guess. Don’t like to think he can get along without me.”

Now Richmond smiled. “I understand. But he’ll be back here before you know it and the two of you can take up where you left off. Now, which would you rather have, a solo assignment or some time off?”

“Let me think about that, sir. First I’ve got to make some excuses to a group of friends Jim and I were to meet for dinner and the theater. I even found a bottle of a favorite, rather rare wine that we were to share back at the varnish car afterwards. I think I’ll save it until Jim is back to enjoy it.”

“Good idea. But you should go ahead and enjoy your evening out. Don’t worry about Jim, or anything else.”

W*W*W*W*W

Then come the wild weather,
come sleet or come snow,
we will stand by each other,
however it blow.
Simon Dach (1605-1669), German poet and hymn writer

The following morning when Colonel James Richmond entered his office, he found a file folder lying open on his desk. On top of the now familiar letter written in Spanish was another short note he had seen before, along with a leather folder containing a badge and identification card. Richmond groaned aloud as he realized the import of the display. He then hurried out to catch a cab that would take him to the White House.

W*W*W*W*W

Jim left the train at Carrizo Springs, rescued the stallion from the livestock car, and rode horseback for two days until he reached the border town of San Felipe, a settlement on the Rio Grande, north of Laredo. San Felipe was the town mentioned in the letter purportedly written by Artemus Gordon agreeing to support this Ramon in his quest to conquer Mexico. He had had four days on the train to think about the situation, and the more he did, the stranger the entire business became.

He could understand why President Grant and Colonel Richmond felt they had to take the accusation seriously. Julian Church’s involvement was persuasive. They knew that the representative from the state of Texas would carry through on his threat. For Jim, the really puzzling part was why Church went to Grant and Richmond in the first place. Why should he? The letter was the ammunition he could have used in his quest to destroy the Secret Service Department.

Newspapers would have gleefully reprinted the content of the letter, aware of how the controversy would boost their circulation. Other politicians would jump on the bandwagon and the pressure on Grant would be enormous. The letter could well have been the death knell for the department. Whether it was true or not was beyond consideration for many editors and publishers.

So why did Church take the high road?

Both Jim and Artemus had met Julian Church. Encountered might be a better word. On one memorable “encounter” they had attended, by invitation, a soiree thrown by a senator to honor a visiting dignitary. Church had also been there, and he had regaled the group with whom he was conversing with loud comments about government employees wasting government money by taking salaries while actually spending their time lounging, drinking champagne and enjoying canapés. Jim and Artie and a couple of other agents had been nearby, of course.

Artie finally had had enough and joined Church’s companions, making some not-so-subtle remarks concerning elected officials spending their time at social functions rather than serving their constituents. The group had thoroughly enjoyed his rejoinders; Church was not the most popular man in Washington. Julian Church had been embarrassed and enraged.

Jim had to wonder if that incident might be why Artemus had been targeted. Such a letter purportedly written by an agent would be scandalous, not to mention traitorous, and the author of such a missive would be thoroughly ruined. A man like Artemus Gordon might not even be able to return to his previous profession of acting, despite his success in that field.

This just doesn’t sound like the way Julian Church usually operates. That thought occurred time and again to Jim West. Church was a short, pudgy man, proudly self-educated. He had risen to power in his region during the war, when other men went to fight for the Cause. Upon the conclusion of the conflict and subsequent readmitting of Texas to the Union, he had successfully gained a seat in the House of Representatives. He was known to be an ambitious man, with his eye on the Texas Senator’s seat, and perhaps higher.

Church’s methods for fulfilling his ambitions were generally more blunt, akin to his crude remarks at the soiree. Rumors abounded that the state’s representative kept a gang of bullyboys in his district to ensure that no contenders stepped forward to contest him for his seat in Congress. No one gained a political post or favor without his approval. Church owned a large ranch about which rumors abounded that he acquired by duplicitous means when he was working at a bank in the area. Nothing had ever been proved.

Yet, this just doesn’t sound like Julian Church. If he had come up with an idea to forge a document, or even if he simply acquired it from some other source, his usual method would have been to hand it over to a newspaper editor to whom he owed a favor or from whom he wanted future favors.

San Felipe was like a lot of other border towns. Dry dusty streets, unpainted clapboard buildings with faded signs and rough board walkways. Jim spotted a half dozen saloons as he rode slowly down the middle of the main street, and suspected more might be on a couple of narrow side streets. The population appeared to be a mixture of whites, Mexicans and Indians, most of who paused in whatever they were doing to stare at him.

Jim had considered coming into San Felipe in disguise, but decided against it. For one thing, he was not as good as Artie in either applying a disguise or carrying it out, but he also suspected he would encounter a few people he knew or knew him, and in glancing at the loiterers along the street, he found he was right. He recognized at least four faces. One man gaped at him for a moment, then vanished into a nearby doorway. Jim suspected he would not see that face again. Joe Petrie would head across the river and remain there until he heard it was safe to return.

Another reason for riding in openly was to try to stir things up. With only the name “Ramon” to work with, Jim had little to go on. Ramon was a fairly common Spanish name; in fact, one of the two restaurants he spotted bore a sign bearing the inscription “Ramon’s Good Food.”

He sighed inwardly as he dismounted in front of the building next to that eatery, where a sign proclaimed “Rooms for Rent,” and no more. This is where and why I need Artie. In one of his classic disguises, he could have drifted into town and acquired tons of information by now. Without him, I’m more than blind.

Pulling the saddlebags off the back of the saddle, Jim slung them over his shoulder, gave the dusty black horse an encouraging pat, and climbed up onto the porch of the building. As far as he could discern, this was the only such establishment in town, or at least on this street. With a mental shrug, he stepped through the open double doors and into a surprisingly neat and clean lobby.

“Buenas dias, Señor,” the handsome gray-haired Mexican man behind the desk greeted with a smile. “You wish a room?”

“I do,” Jim replied, stepping over to the desk and picking up the pen that lay alongside the register book.

“For how long?”

“I don't know yet. A few days at least. Is that a problem?”

“Oh, no, señor. We hope you stay a long while. I am Raul Vasquez. I own the hotel.” He turned the register around to gaze at the name signed. “James West. Welcome, Señor West. I have a fine room available. This way.”

The room was at the front of the establishment on the second floor. The furnishings were faded, but they were clean. Jim tossed his saddlebags on the bed and accepted the key from the landlord. “Señor Vasquez, do you know anyone named Ramon?”

Vasquez’s brows lifted. “Indeed, señor. My son is Ramon. He owns the café next door.”

“Any others?”

The man frowned. “There is Ramon Tavares who mends boots. He has a shop on First Street—the next street down that crosses Main. And Ramon Galvez. He is a vaquero working on a ranch north of here. A friend to my other son, Luis. Is it important, Señor West?”

“Pretty important,” Jim smiled. “If you think of any others, would you tell me? I would appreciate it.” He extended a gold coin.

Vasquez waved it off. “Not necessary, señor. I will think about it. If you need water for washing and shaving, just let me know.”

“Thank you. Is there a law officer in this town? A sheriff or a marshal? I didn’t notice a jail…”

“No, I’m afraid not. The sheriff keeps his office at the county seat and comes only when summoned. An army patrol comes through occasionally.” Raul shrugged. “I’m afraid many people are very happy that we do not have regular policia.” He shook his head slightly. “Do you wish your horse tended? Luis will take care of him. He is very good with horses.”

Jim concurred that the black needed care and thanked him. When Vasquez departed, Jim locked the door then stripped off his jacket before lying down on the bed, which like the rest of the establishment was surprising. A good mattress.

Now what? About all he could do was to hang around, perhaps visit a few of the saloons, asking some questions. Or maybe a question: do you know anyone named Ramon? The really troublesome question was whether the “Ramon” to whom the letter was addressed actually existed. In the letter, Artemus supposedly endorsed Ramon’s plans for sabotage and assassination as a means to accomplish the coup. The fact that Colonel Richmond had contacted sources not only throughout the Southwestern United States, but also in Mexico, and could not gain any information regarding a Ramon who might be involved in such a plot was extremely troubling.

Sitting up, Jim swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there, elbows on knees, staring at the worn carpet. That no Ramon existed would be no surprise at all, actually. The whole thing was undoubtedly an elaborate ruse, a trap of some design. I’m here. I’ve entered the trap. Now what? Am I the prime target or was Artie supposed to come with me? Only one way to find out…

He rose, grabbed his jacket, and left the room, again locking the door securely. The lobby was empty when he reached the first floor, and stepping outside, he found his black horse had been taken away. The first stop was the restaurant next door, where a charming young woman brought excellent enchiladas with rice and beans. At his request, she summoned her husband from the kitchen.

Ramon Vasquez was a younger version of his father, and equally friendly and polite. In response to Jim’s inquiry, he remembered a third Ramon, Ramon Fortuna, the owner of a cantina at the far south edge of town. “It is not a good place, señor,” he warned. “The men there… hombres muy malos.”

The cantina was called “El Gato Negro,” Ramon informed him—“The Black Cat”—and was located right on the border to Mexico, on the banks of the Rio Grande. Men from both sides frequented it, for obvious reasons. Sanctuary from the law of their country was close at hand.

Sounds like just what I want, Jim mused as he ate. Only it sounds too pat, too obvious. Yet he knew he would have to visit the Black Cat. Whether that’s where I’ll find the right Ramon or not, I’m probably expected.

Finishing the meal, Jim left the café and wandered through the alley between the restaurant and hotel to find the stable. Young Luis Vasquez, another still younger version of Raul, was lovingly grooming the black horse, which was enjoying the attention. Luis was filled with praise and admiration for the stallion, while Jim was honestly able to tell the young man that not often did Blackjack accept a stranger’s attention so readily.

Luis grinned widely. “I like horses and horses like me.”

Jim posed the question about Ramon, but Luis had nothing to offer beyond what his brother and father had already supplied. His amigo Ramon who worked on the ranch, he said, was his own age, early twenties.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent wandering around town, stopping in stores and saloons to see and be seen. Jim did not ask everyone about “Ramon,” but those he did were not much help. The ones who knew of a Ramon either mentioned the same ones Jim had already heard about, or spoke of men who were unlikely to be involved.

When darkness fell, Jim retrieved his horse from the stable and rode to the Black Cat, which turned out to be no more or less than he expected. An adobe building, the only indication from the outside that it was any kind of business establishment was a faded outline of a black cat on a swinging sign. However, the horses out front and the noise emanating from within indicated its popularity.

Pushing through the swinging doors, Jim immediately stepped to one side and surveyed the place. The noise came from the men and several women who were talking and laughing, along with an out-of-tune piano that a man was pounding on in a far corner. The odors were the usual in a place like this: stale alcohol, even staler smoke, sweat and other sour smells.

Conscious that although the volume of noise did not decrease much he was the object of scrutiny from nearly every person in the room, Jim made his way to the bar and asked the man in the soiled apron for tequila. When it was served in a tumbler that looked as though it had not seen soapy water since it was new, he paid for it and left it untouched. Instead he pushed the change the bartender offered back and asked for Ramon.

The bartender did not appear surprised or reluctant, pointing out a man sitting at a table on the far side of the room. Jim West was the one who evinced surprise. The man identified as Ramon Fortuna was blond and blue-eyed. Ignoring the bartender’s reminder that he was leaving his drink behind, Jim wended his way across the room.

“Ramon Fortuna?”

The man looked up from the solitaire game he was playing. He was probably in his forties, with a round face that caused him to look heavier than he was, his body actually rather slim. His hair was curly; the eyes sky blue. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Pulling out a chair uninvited, Jim sat down. “When I heard your name, I’m afraid I…”

Fortuna laughed. “My real name is Raymond Fortuna. The Spanish blood is a couple of generations back, mixed strongly with Scandinavian and English. Something I can do for you, Mr.—?”

“West. James West. I’m an agent for the United States Secret Service.”

The blue eyes gazed at him guilelessly. “And what brings you to El Gato Negro, Mr. West?”

“That’s a good question, Mr. Fortuna. I was hoping you could tell me.”

Fortuna moved a red six to a black seven. “Afraid I can’t help you there, Mr. West.”

For a long moment Jim watched Fortuna flip the cards and play his game. Then he got to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fortuna.”

He was almost to the door when he heard his name called. He had seen the man sitting at a table near the entrance. Pausing, Jim turned. “Hello, Kansas. I wondered where you’ve been keeping yourself.”

The man known as Kansas was not overly tall, but he had massive shoulders and long arms. Jim West knew from experience the power of that upper body. Had not Artie intervened, the bruises and single cracked rib he had received could have been much worse. At that time, their first encounter with Kansas, Jim had not been aware of the man’s method of fighting, nor his strength.

“I’ve been keeping busy, West,” Kansas sneered, moving closer. “Where’s your protector?”

“He’ll be around,” Jim replied noncommittally. He touched his hat and stepped toward the door.

He had known by the gleam in Kansas’s small eyes that it was not going to be that easy. Kansas immediately jumped forward and grabbed for Jim’s arm. Expecting the move, Jim swung around, avoiding the grasp, and slammed a balled fist into Kansas’s chin. He also knew that the punch was not going to down Kansas, who staggered back a couple of steps, then hurtled forward, eyes blazing and arms reaching.

Men like Kansas relied on brute strength rather than agility or guile. Jim had been aware of this. By getting in the quick punch, he had elevated Kansas’s temper to the boiling point, making him incautious. His instinct was to use his most effective weapon, his strength. Jim sidestepped the rush easily and clasped both fists together this time, bringing them down hard on the back of Kansas’s head. Kansas staggered, grabbed a chair to try to steady himself, but toppled to the floor along with the chair.

Jim picked up his hat, which had fallen off, glancing toward the table where Ramon Fortuna was still sitting. Along with a number of other men who were aware of Kansas’s fighting prowess, Fortuna was staring in open-mouthed astonishment. Jim West nodded, and quickly exited.

He rode back into the center of town to one of the smaller saloons that he had visited briefly earlier, this one directly across the dirt street from the hotel, named simply Henry’s. At least the glass in which his beer had been served appeared to have been washed. Purchasing a fresh glass of the brew, Jim carried it to a corner table and settled in to watch and think. Though most of the tables were occupied and several men also stood at the bar, the level of noise here was much lower than at the Black Cat. A different clientele frequented this place. Jim recognized men he had seen in the various business establishments he had visited during the day.

Now what? That question persisted. Ramon Fortuna could be the man he wanted, but at this time he had no way of knowing for certain. Fortuna was not Mexican. He may have some Hispanic blood in his veins, but it was thin. Difficult to say why he was in this border town, other than it possibly being a place where he could make a profit off desperate men. Jim had no doubt that Fortuna assisted men running from the law to find shelter in Mexico—at a price.

But what do I do now? Wait to be contacted? Is that how it’s going to happen? Was this whole business a lure to get me here—alone? That suspicion had been in his mind from the start, but he had had to follow through, regardless. He could not take a chance of that bogus letter either harming Artie’s reputation or damaging the agency.

His thoughts returned again and again to Julian Church. For Church to turn the letter over to Grant and Richmond, giving the agency an opportunity to exonerate itself, simply made no sense. Almost from the first moment he set foot in the House of Representatives, Church had railed against the Secret Service and worked to sabotage it constantly. No one knew for certain why he entertained such animosity against a respected government agency.

Someone else is involved. Someone with more finesse, a more subtle line of attack. Someone else who wants the agency shut down… or at least disgraced.

He had been so deep in contemplation he had not noticed the woman when she approached his table, jerking to attention when she pulled out the chair opposite his and sat down directly in his line of vision.

“You look lonely.”

I am lonely. Times like these is when I realize just how much a team Artie and I are. I need him with me to talk to, to bounce ideas back and forth…

“Just tired,” he smiled back.

She was a typical bar girl, of indeterminate age, anywhere from twenty to well into her thirties, though he suspected somewhere in the middle was about right, with a hardness about her eyes and mouth, nonetheless some prettiness as well. Dark brown hair was pulled up and tied with a blue ribbon that sort of matched the blue of her dress.

“I’m Lila,” she said then, and the smile on her lush lips reached her eyes, which also contained admiration for the handsome man across from her.

“Jim.”

She glanced toward the bar. “Buy me a drink, Jim?”

He signaled the bartender, who might well have been the proprietor and thus Lila’s boss. Her job was to sell drinks, among other things. A small glass of amber liquid was placed before her; Jim would not have been surprised if the “whiskey” was simply colored water—for which he would be paying full price.

“What’s making you tired?” Lila asked then.

“Frustration,” Jim replied, taking a swallow of his beer. “I’m trying to find a man and having no luck.”

“Oh? What man? What’s his name?”

“Ramon.”

She laughed. “Might as well be John. Ramon is pretty common, like Jose or Juan.”

“I know. I’ve come across at least half a dozen so far.”

Lila cocked her head. “What’s so important about this Ramon? Or am I being too nosy?”

“I won’t know until I find him.”

She laughed. “You’re a mysterious man, Jim. Seems to me that if you want help, you’re going to have to help the helper.”

“I wish I could,” he sighed. “That’s the only name I have, and I’m not sure who he is, or where he is, only that he could be in this area.”

Now her eyes narrowed. “Are you the law?”

“United States Secret Service.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Jim took another swallow of his beer, and decided to take a chance. “Lila, have you ever heard the name Artemus Gordon?”

She frowned. “Artemus Gordon… That’s kind of an unusual name… you know… yeah. Yeah, I think I did hear it somewhere. But I can’t remember where…”

Jim drained his beer and got to his feet. “If you should remember, I’m staying at the hotel across the street. I’ll be around for a few days yet.”

“It’s funny,” Lila shook her head, “I’m sure I heard someone say that name. But I just can’t think who!” Then she smiled at him. “Are you sure you have to go?”

“It’s been a long day. Good night.”

W*W*W*W*W

Jim arose in the morning after a good night’s sleep on the comfortable bed, washed up and shaved in the steaming water Vazquez sent up with a teenage boy who said he was Miguel, Raul’s nephew, then went next door for an excellent breakfast. Finishing his second cup of coffee, he stepped out onto the porch and gazed around. The town was just waking up, stores opening front doors and putting out signs or displays of special offers for the day.

“Señor…”

Jim glanced down when he heard the raspy voice. A grizzled old Mexican man, wrapped in a serape, his broad-brimmed hat shading his face, was sitting at the edge of the porch, holding out his hand, palm up.

“Señor…?”

Absently Jim dug into his pocket and found a coin to drop into the upraised palm. He barely heard the gracias and blessings bestowed by the grateful old fellow.

Now what? He wished he would quit hearing that phrase in his head, but it continually repeated. He had no idea what his next move should be, or would be. The sense now was that he needed to wait to be contacted in some manner. Church, or whoever was behind this, knew he was here. Now he needed to know why he was here. More and more he was certain that the entire plan was to get him in San Felipe alone without Artie, which was almost like having one hand tied behind his back, maybe both hands.

Stepping off the porch, he strode down the alley between the buildings to the stable. Luis was there, but Jim saddled the black himself, thanking the young man for his offer of assistance. Sometimes, especially first thing in the morning, Blackjack could be pretty obstreperous, just as he was this morning, anxious to be out of the confines of the stable and small corral. Just like me this morning, Jim reflected. He needed to get away, to be able to think.

Even though that’s all I’ve been doing. Thinking, thinking, thinking… running into dead ends. All kinds of questions, but no answers. I need Artie to tell me where my thinking is going wrong, to give me fresh ideas and balance. I should have ignored the instructions and told Artie what was going on. He could have come in disguise.

He had already discovered that the town had no telegraph. A regular mail service went out, but that would not be much help. The nearest telegraph office was thirty miles away. If worse came to worse, he might just make that ride to contact his partner. But for now he was on his own, and hating it.

Self-confidence did not play into it. Jim West knew he was capable of handling most situations himself. Seldom, however, had the situation been so blind as this one. All he had was a name and a place with a purported plot that he was all but certain was fictional. Artie’s alleged part in it was a lie. Ramon probably did not exist either. If Artie was here…

Once outside of town and on a long straight stretch of road he remembered from his entrance into San Felipe, Jim allowed the black to have its head as he leaned low in the saddle and just shared the horse’s exhilaration for the freedom and speed, the warming morning air against his face. He did not try to think for those minutes, only reacted.

He finally pulled up where a trio of cowhands was working on a fence that ran alongside the road. They had seen his approach and ceased their labors to watch, obviously curious. He saw the admiration in their expressions as they viewed the horse, which although lathered, was not breathing heavily. Nor was the rider.

“Señor,” cried one young man, “you are fleeing el diablo?” He grinned widely.

“Something like that,” Jim smiled back. “Just letting loose some energy. Beautiful morning.”

The oldest of the three, his dark hair grizzled with gray, motioned toward the fence. “We got out here at dawn to try to get this finished before the sun gets too high. I seen you last night… in El Gato Negro. Seen you whup Kansas’s ass. He was spittin’ nails when he come to.”

“He asked for it,” Jim replied mildly, leaning on the saddle horn. “Got a question for you fellows. Know anyone named Ramon?”

All three grinned and two looked toward the young Hispanic man who had spoken about flying from the devil. That man replied, “I am Ramon, señor. You seek me?”

“Ramon Galvez?”

“Si.” The young man appeared puzzled, but not worried.

Jim shook his head. “No, you’re not the Ramon I’m looking for. I know about the owner of the restaurant, the cobbler, and the saloon owner. Any others you can think of?”

They came up with two more, both unlikely prospects, one a sheepherder in the nearby low-lying hills and the other a peddler who brought a wagon of goods around from time to time. After a little more conversation with the workers, primarily about his horse and its speed, Jim headed back toward town, at a slower pace although he could sense that the black was not finished running. Jim knew better than to wear out his horse entirely, never knowing what lay around the next bend.

The old Mexican man was still on the porch of the restaurant, but appeared to be dozing, his hat covering his face entirely. At least he did not hold out a hand for money as Jim dismounted in front of the hotel next door. Raul Vasquez was sweeping the lobby as Jim entered and he smiled a welcome.

“Are you having any success finding this Ramon you seek, Señor West?”

“No,” Jim sighed. “I think I’ve heard about or met more than half a dozen, but none appear to be the man I want.”

“Most strange that you have only this name. And it is important that you find him?”

“Very. I’m now starting to hope that he will contact me.”

Raul’s smile widened into a grin. “You are becoming well known in San Felipe, señor. I was told this morning about your encounter with the man called Kansas. He also is well known, and is a bully that people fear.”

“He’s a bully all right,” Jim concurred. He still was unsure whether the tussle with Kansas had anything to do with his mission here. That Kansas was in a border town was not unusual. Although Jim did not know of any warrants currently out on the man, his lifestyle indicated that he was probably wanted for something. He had already spent a good portion of his first thirty-five or so years in prisons around the country.

A week-old edition of an El Paso newspaper lay on the desk. Jim picked it up and moved over to sprawl on a faded sofa to read it, completely bored and unsure what he could do next. About ten minutes later, he glanced up to see the old Mexican man shuffling into the lobby and toward the desk where Raul had been dusting the unused keyholes. He spoke to Raul in Spanish and Jim caught enough to know the old fellow was begging for some work so as to be able to purchase a meal.

Vasquez sadly told him he had nothing to offer. The hotel was not busy, and family members took care of the few chores. Had the viejo asked at the restaurant? Oh yes, the old man responded mournfully. They too had enough help. “Tengo mucha hambre.”

Moved by the old fellow’s plea that he was near starvation, Jim got to his feet and crossed the lobby, this time pulling a more valuable coin from his pocket. “Tomad y comer bien, viejo,” he said softly.

“Gracias, señor, gracias! Dios esté con vosotros!” The old man’s gratitude was effusive as he clutched his hat to his chest and bowed repeatedly then scurried from the lobby. Through the window Jim saw him head for the restaurant.

“Hasn’t he any family around here?” Jim asked the innkeeper.

Vasquez shrugged. “I never saw him before last night. Not unusual. Fellows like him, too old to do regular work, wander in and out. Someday he’ll stray out into the desert and die.”

Jim experienced a pang of sympathy for the old fellow as he wandered back to the sofa and his newspaper. Not much I can do except slip him a coin or two from time to time. Then when I leave…. As Vasquez said, the viejo would likely eventually die somewhere, alone and unknown.

[California gal]

W*W*W*W*W

The day was long and frustrating. Again, Jim roved around town, talking to merchants and anyone else he encountered in the stores or the saloon. When he took lunch in Ramon’s café, he sat with a middle-aged rancher who was in town buying supplies, which was a pleasant interlude as Bill Kopf regaled him with tales of his life in Texas, where he had lived since a very young boy. He had met both Jim Bowie and Sam Houston, helped in the fight for Texas independence then refused to assist the Confederacy after secession.

“I’m a Texan and I’m an American. Damn fool people. Look at all the destruction and lives lost. You fought?” Jim admitted he had and revealed a little of his own history. “We don’t see too many Yankees down here,” Kopf said, “less’n they’re on the run or else huntin’ for someone themselves. I got a feeling that’s you. Huntin’ for someone.”

When asked about “Ramon,” Kopf was little help. He had not one but two Ramons working on his spread. One was the cook. “Best cook in south Texas. That’s why I’m here today, stockin’ up. Gotta keep him happy. Plenty of other fellows, they’d like to hire him away from me.” The other was a long-time ranch hand. “Good fellow. Gets a little lazy at times, but knows his way around cattle.”

All afternoon Jim tried to make himself visible, inviting contact. Nothing happened except the old Mexican cadged a quarter for a beer from him in the saloon where Lila worked. She was not there; likely with her hours she slept most of the day. After supper, Jim decided he needed to visit the Black Cat again. Instinct told him that that was where he was likely to find the most action—of one sort or another.

Ramon Fortuna was at his table playing solitaire again, but Kansas was not in sight. That did not stop other men from staring at Jim as he entered, varying degrees of admiration and hatred in their expressions. Quite aware that some of them were capable of shooting him in the back, Jim casually bought a glass of beer and carried it to Fortuna’s table. At least the glass appeared cleaner this time.

“Mr. West,” Fortuna barely glanced up as he concentrated on his game. “Pretty much didn’t expect to see you in here again after last night.”

Sitting down, Jim shrugged. “Seems to be the only place in town that has any life to it.”

“It’s my select clientele, Mr. West. My select clientele.”

“I noticed.”

“Still looking for Ramon?”

“Still looking.” Jim took a long drink of the beer, found it more than acceptable. “Got another question for you. Have you ever heard the name Artemus Gordon?” Jim asked the question with his eyes fastened closely on Fortuna. He was rewarded by the slightest hesitation as Fortuna was moving a card, and by a small shift in the shoulders.

Fortuna did not look up. “Don’t think so. Why?”

“Just someone else I’m on the lookout for.” What should have been a revelation only added to the confusion. If Ramon Fortuna was the Ramon he was looking for, why had nothing further happened? Other than Kansas’s attack, all had been quiet. “Where’s Kansas tonight?”

Now Fortuna did glance up. “I don’t keep track of these characters. They come and go. Likely he’s off nursing his grudge against you. Maybe went to a cantina on the other side to keep away from you. He didn’t like the snickering that was going on here last night. Kansas isn’t accustomed to being bested that way.”

“I know. Last time we met, it pretty much went the other way. Experience is a good teacher.”

Jim lingered in the Black Cat for nearly two hours, carefully nursing his beers, as well as watching carefully when a new one was drawn. Too many times he had been slipped a knockout drug when not alert. The piano player showed up, as well as several women, and Jim allowed himself to be persuaded to dance with a couple. Kansas, however, did not make an appearance.

Finally, close to eleven and ignoring the cajoling of the bar’s women, he departed, mounting the restlessly waiting black horse to ride back to the hotel. He experienced an instant sense of being watched, but a surreptitious look around revealed nothing. In any case, he remained on alert, the feeling not entirely leaving. He was particularly cautious when he took the horse to the hotel’s stable but saw and heard nothing, and the horse did not appear alarmed.

Walking back to the street he made a quick decision to visit the quiet saloon across the street. Lila should be there and she might have remembered something about where she heard Artie’s name. But he did not see the woman in the saloon, and when asked, the bartender merely shrugged. He paid his girls on commission. If she did not care to show up for work, she did not get paid. No skin off his nose.

Jim, however, felt uneasy, not entirely knowing why. He had involved Lila in his quest. Suppose she passed on what he had asked her to the wrong person? The bartender did not know where Lila lived. One of the shacks east of town, he figured. The other women in the saloon were more interested in his company than talking about their competition.

On the off chance that Lila had decided to ply her trade in another of the several watering holes, Jim left that saloon and started down the board walkway to the next one. He realized later that he had not been quite as alert as he might have been, his thoughts occupied with the missing woman and what she might be able to tell him.

The hard blow on his shoulder as he crossed a dark alley staggered him, and before he could react, he found himself ensnared by bands of steel around his arms and chest. At least they might as well have been bands of steel. Jim knew instantly that he had been ambushed by Kansas, and he also knew he was in a bad situation as he was dragged into the darkness of the alley.

Kansas’s curses rasped in his ear as the arms tightened, cutting off his ability to breathe freely. Jim struggled, trying to kick back against Kansas’s shins with his boot heels but the man had learned some things over the years, spreading his legs wide apart to make them more difficult to reach. Jim could also not get his arm free enough to spit out the derringer in his sleeve, let alone get to the pistol at his hip. The inability to get a good breath hampered his ability to yell as well.

As oxygen was cut off from his brain, he started feeling lightheaded. Damn it, Artie… where are you…? That was his last thought as he sank into oblivion.

W*W*W*W*W

“Don’t move too much. I’m still not positive if anything was broken or not.”

The familiar—much too familiar—voice penetrated through the fog of darkness and pain. Despite the warning, he grasped at the sides of the bed and tried to lift himself up, and fell back with a groan.

“You never do listen, do you? I swear, James, I simply cannot leave you on your own for a minute without you getting into a peck of trouble. Here, drink this.”

The cool water helped clear his head, and his vision, and he gaped. “Artie?” The familiar face was close as a hand lifted his head, holding the glass to his lips. Even stranger, Jim West realized he was in familiar surroundings, his own compartment. “The train…? How…?”

Artie let him back down gently. “I figured it was the best place for now. It was a rough ride from San Felipe but you made it. How do you feel?”

“Sore as the devil.” Jim placed his hand on his ribs, felt the tight bandages wrapped around his chest. “How…?”

Artemus got to his feet, putting the tumbler on the bedside stand, gazing down at his partner. “Did you really think you could leave me behind?”

“I didn’t want to. But the president…”

“Yeah, I know. I read Richmond’s notes.” Acid was in Artie’s tone.

Now Jim gingerly pushed himself back against the pillows into a half sitting position, and again he gaped at his partner, seeing the attire Artie was wearing: the rough tunic and trousers so often favored by Mexican laborers. The rough tunic and trousers he had seen on the old man. In fact, some makeup still lingered on Artie’s face.

“Damn it, Artie! Why didn’t you let me know who you were?”

Artie cocked his head. “I figured you would do that on your own. But you seemed pretty preoccupied.”

“I was,” Jim sighed, then regretted the deep movement in his chest. “Do I have broken ribs?”

“I don't think so. There’s no doctor in San Felipe, but as near as I can tell, it’s no worse than the last time. Didn’t you learn to stay away from Kansas, Jim?”

“I was trying. But… Artie, what are you doing here? President Grant and the colonel were adamant…”

Artie grabbed the sole chair in the small compartment and spun it so that he could straddle it and face his partner, leaning his arms on the back. “When I found your note in the car, I immediately went to Richmond to find out what was going on. I suspect you figured on that.” When Jim just grinned, he continued. “Of course, Richmond didn’t tell me anything, but I noticed that he was protecting a certain folder that he didn’t want me to see. So I went back later and…”

“You broke into department headquarters?”

Grinning at his partner’s astonished expression, he flexed agile fingers. “Easy as the proverbial pie. You might want to speak to Richmond about that.”

“Me? You can.”

Artie shook his head. “I resigned.”

Now Jim West sat up straight, wincing at the pain the movement caused, but ignoring it. “You what?”

Artie’s face reflected the hurt he was feeling, and his voice was sharply bitter. “If they don’t trust me any further than that…”

“Artie, that wasn’t it! You said you read Richmond’s notes. Didn’t he mention that the conditions were that you weren’t to be informed?”

“Yes… but I thought that was their decision, his and Grant’s.”

“No. Julian Church. He turned that letter over to them with the stipulation that I was do to the investigation, me and me alone.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“I know, and it makes less sense now. I’ve been in San Felipe two days and other than being attacked by Kansas, nothing has happened.”

Artie cocked his head. “You didn’t see Erling Paley?”

Jim’s gasp was audible. “Paley! Are you sure?”

“Sure as I can be. It was after you headed out on your early morning ride. I suspect he has been staying out of sight from you, but of course he didn’t mind a viejo spotting him. He came down the stairs from the upper floor over the saloon across the street from the hotel, and headed south, toward the border or…”

“El Gato Negro,” Jim finished. Then he frowned. “Were you out there last night, watching me?”

“You didn’t spot me did you?” Artie was momentarily alarmed. He had thought he had kept completely out of sight.

“No, but I felt I was being watched.” No wonder the stallion was not bothered. Jim glanced around his familiar compartment. “How did the train get here?”

“I brought it.”

“Artie! You…!”

“I know. I should say I stole it. What the heck is the theft of a train going to matter? As soon as I read the papers in Richmond’s office, I went to the depot and talked to a few people. Being well known around the railroad station is a big plus, I tell you. I found out which train you took. Then I gave Orrin and the boys the choice of helping or opting out. Guess which they chose? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they don’t get into trouble. I forced them to run the train at top speed from Washington to south Texas, a gun at their head the entire trip.”

“We’ll deal with that later,” Jim said. And I’m supposed to be the wild one! “Artie, I’ve felt that Julian Church hasn’t the intelligence or patience to set something up like this. He would have just handed that letter over to the papers and gloated over the aftermath.”

“Which is why seeing Paley here makes a hell of a lot of sense. Jim, you know he wants to get vengeance on the department, and on you and me in particular. What better way than to destroy our reputations and as a consequence, probably lessen the effectiveness of the Secret Service?”

Now Jim carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed. “How did you stop Kansas?”

“Same as before. Hit him with a two-by-four. I, at least, learn my lessons well.” Artie could not suppress a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah. I took care of him just fine the night before at the Black Cat.”

“Then no wonder he ambushed you. Tsk, Jim, you just can’t go around making enemies like that!”

“Tell me about it. Speaking of which… Paley. What do we do about him?”

Artie shook his head. “Nothing much until he does something… something we can prove.” The last time they encountered the wealthy Illinois merchant and then assistant head of the Secret Service, Paley had gotten off because they had no proof whatsoever of his involvement. [See “The Night of the Malevolent Deception.”]

“The big question may be what that ‘something’ is going to be. He wanted me here, alone.”

“And he doesn’t know, I trust, that I’m here. If you didn’t recognize me, it’s not likely he did.” Artie’s frown was deep. “But why you alone? If he’d allowed Church to publish the letter, my disgrace would be complete, whether the charges were ever proved or not.”

“Could be he blames me for breaking up his previous scheme. I didn’t follow his orders, after all.” Jim pondered a moment. “Obviously, not publishing the letter is what got me here. You were supposed to be the good little agent and remain in Washington.”

“But why?” Artie persisted. “Why not rope you into the same snare? The letter could have mentioned your involvement. We’d both be tarred with the same brush.”

Jim got to his feet, gritting his teeth against the discomfort the movement caused. “I’d better get back to San Felipe. Obviously I’m supposed to be there for whatever Paley has in mind.”

Artie wanted to protest but knew it would be useless. He handed him his shirt. “I’m guessing that either Kansas isn’t part of the plot, or he went against orders. Surely the idea wasn’t for you to be mauled to death in a dark alley.”

“No, that’s not the way Paley would work. I’m afraid we’re going to have to wait for him to make the first move. What did you do with Kansas, by the way?”

“Left him in the alley. I’m hoping he wakes up with the world’s worst headache.” He did not tell his partner how it had taken two blows with the piece of lumber that he found to loosen Kansas’s hold and fell the gorilla-like man. “I’m also hoping he didn’t see me. I’d hate for him to chase a poor old man down the street.”

“I think you can outrun him,” Jim quipped. “Wish I had time for a cup of your coffee, but I think I need to get to the hotel, hopefully before Vasquez is up and about.”

“Nice fellow, that Vasquez. What’s wrong?” He saw Jim’s sudden frown.

“I’m thinking about the woman I met in Henry’s Saloon, name of Lila. I decided to ask a couple of people if they’d ever heard your name mentioned, and she thought she did, but couldn’t remember where. She wasn’t around this evening. Knowing Paley was on the premises makes me even more concerned.”

Artemus had brought Jim back to the train on the back of Blackjack, explaining that he had not ridden his own horse to town. One of the crew had gone partway with him, taking the chestnut back to the train while Artie walked the remaining distance to town. An impoverished viejo would not own a horse like that. But, he said, the black horse recognized him and behaved quite well, especially once he had the stallion’s unconscious owner in the saddle with him.

“I’ll do the same thing to get back to town, but I’d better stay well away from you, just in case.”

W*W*W*W*W

By the time Artie trudged into town, the sun was high above the horizon. He went immediately to the restaurant and cadged some stale tacos and a cup of coffee, pretending he was starving although he had eaten a good breakfast before heading out. Jim was nowhere to be seen and for a little while, Artie fretted, until he spotted his partner striding along the sidewalk from the direction of the Black Cat. He could discern from Jim’s posture that the badly bruised torso was bothering him.

We’re going to have to figure out a way for me to check that wrapping. It needs to stay tight, just in case something is cracked there. He was fairly certain no rib was broken clean through, but a cracked bone could be dangerous, especially if Jim got involved in another fracas. Had he gone looking for Kansas this morning?

Sitting down on the edge of the restaurant’s porch again, Artie stole a surreptitious look from under the brim of his floppy sombrero toward the second floor of Henry’s across the street. He hoped Paley was there, perhaps watching for Jim. Gives me a modicum of pleasure realizing that Paley is trapped there for the time being; at least until he’s ready to reveal himself to carry out his plan. If only we knew when that would be… and what the plan is!

Jim stepped up onto the porch and paused to first drop a coin into the outstretched hand and then to light a cigarillo, talking behind his cupped hands as he held the match up. “Kansas is nowhere to be seen. Fortuna said he hasn’t been around for a couple of days.”

Artie kept his head down. “I somehow doubt that Fortuna can be believed.”

Jim strolled on and entered the hotel, while Artemus remained where he was for a while longer, before pushing himself off the porch and shuffling across the street to the saloon, which had just opened its doors for the day. The bartender eyed him as he approached.

“¿Puedo tomar una cerveza por favor?”

No move was made until the old man placed a coin on the counter. Only then did the barkeep turn and draw a beer from the keg behind him, placing it on the counter without comment and gathering up the coin. Artie made a great show of savoring the brew. Awfully early in the day, but I think it’s in character for this old fellow.

“Señor,” he said then, haltingly, “you need help? I sweep? Wash?”

The bartender frowned, then shrugged. “There’s a pile of glasses back there. Clean them up and I’ll give you a bottle of tequila.”

Artie grinned broadly. “Si, señor! I make them shine!”

He followed the bartender to a room behind the bar where a pot of water was heating on the stove. It was used to fill a basin, and with soap, Artie began to scrub the dozens of glasses that were piled nearby. Not my favorite job, but it keeps me in here for a spell. Now to see if Erling Paley shows up!

W*W*W*W*W

“I didn’t see him, but I heard him. He apparently came down the stairs part of the way to talk to the bartender—whose name by the way is Henry. I couldn’t hear all the conversation but I did hear your name mentioned. I think Paley was asking if you had been seen.” Artemus leaned against the closed door, arms folded across the serape he still wore.

Jim got up from the bed, pulling on his shirt after Artie had tightened the bandages around his chest. He paced the room briefly, looking toward the window where he had drawn the shade when Artie came in, after coming up the back stairs of the hotel. “What is going on, Artie?”

Artie knew his partner did not expect an answer to that. “I wonder what would happen if you noised it around that you were leaving town.”

Jim paused. “That’s a thought. But I think we should give them a little more time. I’m still concerned about Lila. You didn’t see her?”

“The only woman who came in while I was there was blonde. I think Henry called her Millie or something like that. How much time do you want to give them, James? Enough time to kill you?”

“I don't think that’s the idea, Artie. Not right away at least. If that was what they wanted, they’ve had two days to do it. No, something else is going on. Paley’s not going to be satisfied with just seeing me dead.”

Artie sighed, pushing away from the door. “Jim, we need to force his hand! We pull out, make him come out into the open.”

“He’ll just try something else, Artie. Maybe he’ll release the letter to the newspapers. That would destroy your career, along with damaging the department.”

“My career be damned. It’s already over. I broke into headquarters, stole a train. Remember?”

“I remember.” Jim turned, going to the window to push the shade aside slightly and peer out. I also remember that I don’t like working solo, Artie. He glanced back. “I suppose we could take up potato farming in Idaho.”

Artie did not grin, though he felt like it. “That’s an option. However, before those fields get plowed, we have a job to do here.”

Jim turned back. “Maybe I should just confront Paley.”

His partner shook his head. “No. That would just drive him underground. He’d go back to Illinois and work out another scheme for the future.”

Jim grimaced. “And he’d make sure the letter was released to the public. Artie, I hate waiting around!”

“I know you do. I’m thinking I should try another disguise.”

“Such as?”

“Some kind of shady character that Paley might want to have on his side.”

Jim shook his head vehemently now. “No. Artie, you’d be putting yourself in a nest of vipers, without knowing which one was going to strike next!”

“James, this is no different from any other situation. Same as when I became Lightnin’ McCoy to trick Loveless, or Bluebeard to infiltrate the insurrectionists in Canada.”

“But it’s not your job anymore.”

“I wondered when you were going to throw that in my face.” Artie smiled to soften his words. “I look at it this way, Jim. Helping you is my job. Chances are very good that the fate Paley has in store for you is not, shall we say, very nice. We’re completely in the dark about his plans. I need to get on the inside. And I’m going to do it.”

Jim saw the set of his partner’s chin and shoulders and gave up. “All right. But be damn careful.”

“Aren’t I always?”

W*W*W*W*W

Artie had worked out a scheme with the train crew where every morning and evening one of them would ride to a certain point a few miles out of town, to watch for him or a message from him. So the following morning he set out early on foot to reach that point and catch a ride back to the train.

Jim was uneasy about the whole business, and he was unsure why, given Artie’s successful history. He had every confidence that Artemus could carry off the ruse with aplomb, as he usually did. Erling Paley, however, knew Artemus Gordon personally, much better than almost every other villain except perhaps Loveless. Artie had fooled Loveless time and again, but Loveless was a completely different breed of cat, wrapped up in his own ego and schemes…

Maybe Paley is as well. But it’s not the same. Not nearly the same. Loveless tries to conquer the world. All Paley wants right now is the ruination of the department, and especially me and Artie. In this case, Paley likely believes that Artie is still back in Washington, and I’m alone. If somehow he gets wind that Artie left Washington…

They had decided that Jim should stay within Paley’s view, that is, in and around Henry’s Saloon. That was not difficult, as he was living in the hotel and eating in the restaurant directly across the street from Henry’s. Doing so not only gave Jim an opportunity to watch for Paley but also would keep Paley closeted in his quarters—a notion that was satisfactory to both agents. It was damnably boring, however. They had not ruled out the participation of Ramon Fortuna at El Gato Negro, and Jim would have liked to visit that establishment again.

He visited the saloon across the street from the hotel a couple of times, and asked the bartender about Lila. This time he got the sense that Henry was not quite as nonchalant about his missing bar girl. In fact, he got a bit annoyed and walked away when Jim persisted in his questioning. I’m really afraid something bad has happened to Lila, Jim mused as he sat at a table where he had a perfect view of the stairway—the stairs Paley would have to use to leave the upstairs area. That Lila may have even spoken to Paley about Artemus Gordon was entirely possible. I should have cautioned her….

At that time he had had no notion, however, that Paley was in San Felipe. He had no reason to think that she had overheard the name from the mastermind of the whole affair. Chances were Paley had spent time downstairs before Jim West came to town. Perhaps Lila had entertained him. She spent time with any man who spent money on her.

At the hotel, Jim asked Raul whether he had ever seen a man of Erling Paley’s description, a skeletally thin man with an equally thin face and slicked down hair. Raul was nodding even before Jim finished describing him. Yes, he had seen such a man a week or two ago. Just once or twice, across the street at Henry’s. “I did not see him enter town, and he did not come here for a room. I also did not see him leave, but I believe he must have, as I have not seen him in many days.”

Vasquez obviously had not been looking outside yesterday when Artie spotted Paley. Despite the mild satisfaction experienced with the knowledge that Paley was more-or-less a prisoner inside his hideout above Henry’s, Jim wished the man would act. Before Artie comes back in whatever disguise he’s cooked up. I’m tired of waiting, but I’m more worried about Artie entering Paley’s lair, especially when we have no idea what Paley’s plans are!

Jim was standing on the hotel’s porch late that afternoon when he saw the black-clad rider on the chestnut horse who rode slowly down the center of the street, eyes sharply on his surroundings. Jim did not smile. Artie had chosen well. His “Lightnin’ McCoy” disguise had been one of his best, a sinister-appearing character who seemed to be completely at odds with the man Artemus Gordon. The disguise had been so good that Jim himself had not immediately recognized him in Loveless’s bizarre world inside a painting. Only when Artie slunk down the stairs and approached him did Jim realize that his partner was in that world with him. Together, as usual, they defeated Loveless.

Lightnin’ might be the kind of man Paley would want on his payroll. In any case, he’ll certainly draw some attention.

W*W*W*W*W

The easiest way to be cheated is to believe yourself to be more cunning than others.
— Pierre Charron (1541-1603), French philosopher

Artemus sat on his horse in front of El Gato Negro for several long seconds, staring down two men who had just emerged from the cantina and paused to gape at him. Under his cold-eyed gaze, the pair backed away quickly, heading for their own horses, talking rapidly between themselves, obviously wondering who the devil this fellow was. When they rode off, Artie slowly dismounted, continuing to warily scan the area. He tied off the horse and strolled in through the open doorway.

The fact that the room, which contained perhaps two dozen men and women at the time, was silent when he entered told Artie that his approach had been noticed. With an insolent glance sweeping over the assemblage, he made his way to the bar and asked for a tequila. The Mexican bartender hurried to serve him.

Ugh. I see what Jim meant about the sanitary conditions. However, my character is not going to be that persnickety.

He downed the drink in two gulps and put the glass back down for a refill, daring the barkeep with a cold glare to ask for payment. No request was made. “Who’s the boss here?”

The bartender swallowed and pointed to a rear table. Artie looked that direction and saw the man Jim had described. Blond Ramon Fortuna. Interesting. Picking up his glass he moved among the tables, noting that the conversation had resumed, though at a low level that was probably unusual for a place like this.

Without waiting for an invitation, Artie kicked the chair out and sat down. “I’m looking for a job.”

The blond man barely glanced up. “What kind of work?”

“Anything that pays good.”

Now Fortuna raised his eyes. “What’s your name?”

For a long moment, Artie just glared at him. “Some call me Panther.”

“Never heard of you.”

“That’s good.”

Fortuna’s blue eyes widened momentarily, then he smiled. “I see what you mean. You haven’t been in these parts before.”

“No… not for a long time. I’ve been spending time well south of here the last few years. Cooler down there.”

“South? South America? You know it well?”

“Well enough.” Obviously I hit on something that caught Fortuna’s interest. “Why?”

Fortuna finally placed the cards he had been holding on the table. “Your name is Panther. How well do you do caging wildcats?”

“What?”

“I have a friend that plans to capture and cage a particular wildcat. He wants this wildcat transported to Bolivia in one piece, but he’s worried because the wildcat is very clever. He’s also afraid that the men currently in his employ can’t handle the wildcat.”

Artie fought against the chill coursing through his veins. Wildcat? That has to be Jim. To Bolivia? He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m a panther. I should be able to handle a wildcat. Why is it being shipped to Bolivia?”

“That’s my friend’s business. I have a hunch about you, Panther. I have a hunch you might be the fellow my friend is looking for. But he’s going to have to meet you and decide for himself.”

“Well, where is he? I’ll go talk to him. I want some jingle in my pockets.”

“He’ll come to you. Stick around. He’ll be here late tonight.”

Artie frowned. “I’m hungry.”

“We can fix you up—if you don’t mind tamales and beans.”

“Sounds fine to me.” Artie downed the tequila remaining in his glass. At least they serve good tequila here. “I’ll eat then go back into town to get a room at that place I saw…” I need to warn Jim.

Fortuna was shaking his head. “No. You better stay here now until you meet my friend.”

W*W*W*W*W

Behold, on wrong Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong.
— The Odyssey (bk. VIII, l. 367), (Pope's translation), Homer (Circa 850 BC)

Jim spent the evening at Henry’s, where Raul Vasquez and both his sons joined him. They enjoyed beer and conversation. Jim hoped he was able to disguise the unease he was still experiencing. Artie had not made another appearance after heading through town toward the Black Cat. Lila was still missing. One of the other women who knew where she lived stated that she had stopped by Lila’s cabin earlier, starting to experience some concern herself. Lila was not there and it appeared that she had packed up belongings and left.

I hope that’s what happened. He could not shake the worry that Lila might be buried out in the desert somewhere. He hoped he was wrong.

The Vasquez family left around eleven, stating they were workingmen. Jim lingered in the saloon half hoping Artie might show up. He had been surprised his partner had not returned to meet with him, and was not sure what it meant. The worst worry was that his disguise had been penetrated and Artie had been captured—or worse. But he also knew it could mean many other things. Perhaps only that he was waiting to meet someone, perhaps Paley.

Finally around midnight Jim left the saloon and started across the street toward the hotel. About halfway, he heard his name called, and turned to see Kansas coming out of the alley alongside Henry’s. His bulk was fully recognizable even in the darkness.

“Now I’m going to get you, West.” Kansas’s voice was slurred.

“Go sleep it off, Kansas,” Jim replied easily, keeping his hand near his gun. Of all things, he did not want to get into a wrestling match, not with his sore ribs.

“Scared, West? I don't know who helped you last night, but whoever it was, he ain’t around now. I’m going to crush you like a bug!”

Jim took two steps back, lifting his pistol from its holster. “Just go on about your business, Kansas.”

The instant before it happened he realized that he had fallen into a trap. With his attention on Kansas, someone had crept up behind him, footfalls muffled in the soft dust of the street. He started to turn, but something hard slammed into the side of his head. A moment of pain, and then darkness.

W*W*W*W*W

He awakened in a darkened room, his hands bound behind his back, ankles trussed together, and a gag in his mouth. Jim was immediately aware that his hidden weapons had been stripped away, including the knife in the back of his coat and the one in his boot. Paley would have been aware of those weapons from his time at department headquarters.

He could see light around the edges of a closed door, and heard muffled voices from beyond it. Am I upstairs at Henry’s, or did they bring me somewhere else? The Black Cat? The trap had been perfect. He now had to wonder whether Kansas’s earlier assaults were staged, although the one last night certainly seemed real. If Artie had not intervened…

The door suddenly jerked open. The silhouette of the man standing there was unmistakable, and the voice all too familiar. “You’re awake, West. Excellent. I hope you have a devil of a headache.”

Jim glared at Erling Paley, almost glad that the gag prevented his speaking. He knew he would have spewed out curses, which would have only pleased Paley. Paley stepped back from the door and spoke to someone. Two men entered, grabbing Jim under the arms and dragging him into a larger room where several men, including Kansas, were. He was placed on a chair and another rope wrapped around his chest to secure him there.

Paley now stood in front of him, eyes gleaming, mouth twisted in an ugly smile. “Now, Mr. James West, I’m going to tell you your fate. I know you’ve been wondering about that the last few days. I’m sorry to have made you wait, but it was necessary to complete a few plans first. Tonight the last piece fell into place.

“You are going to take a journey, West. A long journey to the south. An acquaintance of mine owns a tin mine in Bolivia, and he’s always looking for new laborers. Cheap laborers. In fact, he prefers free labor. Slaves. You are going to be taken to Bolivia so that you can make my friend happy by working in his mine. I’m sorry to say my friend has a habit of mistreating his workers, which is why he finds them in short supply. They die on him.”

Paley rubbed his hands together as he paused, keeping his gaze on Jim face, obviously looking for a reaction. When he saw none, his mouth tightened. “There’s more, West. You undoubtedly have wondered why I drew you here and arranged for Gordon to remain in Washington. It’s quite simple. The letter detailing Gordon’s traitorous behavior will be released to the newspapers. Of course, Gordon will be dismissed from the service in disgrace. In fact, the disgrace will weigh so heavily on his mind—along with your disappearance—he will hang himself.”

Jim stiffened. He could not stop the reaction. Even knowing that Artie was not in Washington waiting for his fate did not quell his fury. Paley was so pleased with himself and his plans.

“In the end, both you and Gordon will be in disgrace, because the information will be leaked out that you fled to South America to escape from similar charges, as you were also involved in the same scheme as Gordon, which will be accepted due to the closeness between the pair of you. Word will eventually come back to Washington that you were killed in a drunken brawl after you joined some Brazilian bandits. Of course, that won’t happen until after I make sure you learn of Gordon’s tragic demise.

“You and Gordon ruined my previous plans. I should be the head of the Secret Service now, running that department as it should be run. I would know how to use the type of information you men amass. As head of the service, I would soon be controlling Washington—and the nation. I almost wish you and Gordon could be kept around long enough to see that happen, but I’m afraid you two are just too dangerous. I could not trust that you wouldn’t somehow get in the way again. No, you have to be in your graves first. Then I’ll go about furthering my plans to take dear Colonel Richmond’s place.”

[California gal]

W*W*W*W*W

Quem metuont oderunt, quem quisque odit periisse expetit.
[Whom men fear they hate, and whom they hate, they wish dead.]
— Thyestes, (Atreus log.), Quinus Ennius (Circa 239 BC – Circa 169 BC), Roman poet

“Where the devil is this friend of yours? You think I’m going to sit around all night waiting for him?” The hour was well after midnight.

Fortuna’s expression was mild. “He’ll be along soon, Panther. If things went as planned, he’ll hire you to transport the wildcat starting tomorrow.”

I don’t like the sound of that. Artie scowled, toying with the glass of tequila in front of him. He had managed to dump quite a few glasses of the liquor on the sawdust floor without being detected, but he had had to consume some, and knew that he was close to his limit. I want to remain clearheaded and effective. If what I’m surmising is right, Paley plans to grab Jim tonight. Jim will be on his guard to a certain extent, but he doesn’t know what’s going on!

“Ah,” Fortuna said, grinning now. “There he is.”

Artemus glanced toward the front door and saw Erling Paley entering. Paley paused just a moment then strode through the crowded tables toward where Fortuna and “Panther” were seated. His confident manner brought ice anew to Artie’s veins. He knows he doesn’t have to watch for Jim!

Paley’s eyes were fastened on Artie as he neared. “Is this the fellow you sent the note about, Fortuna?”

“It is, Mr. Paley. This is Panther. I’m thinking he’s the man you need to transport that ‘wildcat’ safely to its destination.”

“Maybe,” Paley said, drawing out a chair in between the two other men and sitting down, he had his ivory-headed cane as usual. So far as Artie had ever been able to determine, Paley was not lame in any manner. The cane, with its exquisitely carved elephant’s head, was an affectation. “Tell me about yourself, Panther.” His eyes fastened on the man clad in black.

Artie scowled with narrowed eyes, making sure to keep his face down slightly so that the black hat shadowed his features as much as possible. He had retained the hat for that reason. “Ain’t nothin’ to tell. I want work and I want good money. I can handle most anything you throw at me, includin’ ‘wildcats.’ You wanta tell me more about the one you’re wanting moved to South America?”

“Are you familiar with Bolivia?”

“Nah.” Artie shrugged. “But all those countries down there are alike. I speak the language pretty good. How much you paying?”

Now Paley gazed at him a long moment then seemed to come to a decision. “Fifty thousand dollars. Ten thousand up front, the remainder when you bring me a ‘receipt’ that the wildcat was delivered.”

“Panther” nodded slowly. “Sounds okay. This wildcat must be very important, huh?”

“A rare breed, Panther. Needs special handling… and training. A friend of mine in Bolivia is going to see to that training… in his tin mines.” Paley’s eyes glittered. “I intend to make a journey to Bolivia myself when I receive word from my friend that the training is nearly… complete.”

Artie fought to disguise his anger, staring down into his half-full tequila glass. He did not need details. Pretty obviously Paley was planning to ship Jim to someone in Bolivia who would abuse the agent, perhaps bring him close to death. Paley wanted to be there to watch that last breath. What fate does he have in store for Artemus Gordon?

“When do I leave?” he asked then.

“In two days if things are on schedule. You are not going to be traveling alone with the… wildcat. I have to select the crew who will accompany you…”

“I don’t need no help!” Artie growled.

“You will with this one. I’ll give you more details later. I’ve got a special cage constructed, but the wagon to carry it is still en route from El Paso. Everything has to be just right. My plans must not fail!”

Artie involuntarily caught his breath as he saw the hatred glitter in Paley’s eyes. Somehow we have to stop this madman this time. He has to be put away, not allowed to have another opportunity to inflict his vengeance on us… or the world.

W*W*W*W*W

He had been shoved back into the small dark room, still securely bound and gagged. Jim had tried scooting around the room in an attempt to find a nail or a rough board on which to saw his bindings, but thus far had found nothing. The ropes that secured him were very strong and well tied, and the cloth around his mouth was tight, tight enough to abrade the edges of his mouth. He also heard enough noise beyond the door to reveal that guards had been stationed. Paley was taking no chances.

Artie is still free and Paley doesn’t know he’s in San Felipe. We hope. Paley had not said anything to indicate awareness that Artemus Gordon had left Washington. Julian Church must know, but perhaps without a telegraph here, he is unable to get the news to Paley. Thank goodness! I doubt very much if he would release the letter to the newspaper without Paley’s say-so.

It occurred to Jim that Colonel Richmond would assuredly be aware that Artie had invaded his office, and that the Wanderer was gone from its siding at the depot. Would he surmise that Artie headed west to assist his partner? Even more importantly, was Richmond—and Grant—sending assistance? If so, if they had acted promptly, that help could arrive any day, although Jim could not guess in what form it would be. Another agent or two, or the military? Richmond would undoubted believe he had to act cautiously. Not knowing about Paley’s involvement, he would not want Julian Church to release that letter to the newspapers.

One thing that bothered Jim was that Paley had asked who bandaged his chest after Kansas’s assault. Paley admitted that Kansas acted against orders both times when he attacked Jim, but that it had all worked out well in the end, setting up the trap that had ensnared the agent. But his interest in the bandage was worrisome.

Jim had still been gagged so that when Paley asked if the people at the hotel tended to him, he had simply nodded—and hoped that would not draw trouble to the Vasquez family. Yet Paley’s eyes had narrowed, as if he did not quite buy that answer. In retrospect, Jim realized he should not have responded at all. Paley undoubtedly knew that Artemus Gordon possessed some medical knowledge, especially when it came to treating wounds and injuries.

Paley had commented, during his bragging about what he had accomplished and what he planned to do, that he chose San Felipe because of its remoteness and its location on the border. He muttered that he wished it had a telegraph, but that lack was a minor inconvenience. Most important was being in a location without a regular lawman on hand, and again, right on the Rio Grande. Once Jim West was transported to the other side of the river, things could be complicated for United States law enforcement, Jim knew. Mexican officials would cooperate eventually, but in the meantime, the federal agent could be lost in the deserts and mountains of Mexico—and then into Central and South American countries where perhaps the cooperation would not be so forthcoming.

Artie’s out there. That was what Jim had to pin his hopes on right now. He would continue to try to free himself, and look for chances to escape. But as long as Artemus was free and undetected in his disguise, Jim West liked his odds. Thank God Artie broke a few rules and came. We can deal with that later. Either he’ll be reinstated or we’ll both… Jim mentally shook his head. No use dwelling on that now. That future might not even arrive if things did not work out as they planned here.

W*W*W*W*W

You are permitted in time of great danger to walk with the devil
until you have crossed the bridge.
— Bulgarian Proverb

The sky was just beginning to lighten in the east when Artemus returned to Henry’s with Paley. His nerves were taut; one part of him was certain that Paley had not seen through his disguise, the other portion fretting about some of the sharp glances the thin man had cast his way. Paley was known to be a suspicious man. Artemus had heard that one of the ways he amassed his wealth had been to betray his partners and undercut his competitors. Thus, Paley expected that everyone would behave that same way toward him. He never trusted anyone.

So is that why he’s giving me those fishy looks? Or only because of his distrustful nature? Paley was also a penny-pincher. Shelling out fifty thousand dollars, even to accomplish a “dream” had to leave a sour taste in his mouth. Maybe Paley is thinking about how he can shortchange a man like Panther and get away with it. I may need to instill a little respect—and fear—in him.

They went up some back stairs at Henry’s to the second floor, which turned out to be a single room containing some rude furniture—a bed and sofa, along with a small table and a few chairs. Two doors were in the walls. One, Artie figured, opened to the staircase that led down into the bar. The other one…?

Jim was not in sight. A length of rope lay on the floor near one chair. As Paley seated himself on the sofa, Artie deliberately chose the chair by the rope, swinging it around to straddle it, drawing a less-than-pleased look from Paley. A dark glance from Panther seemed to prevent the thin man from commenting.

“Now what? Where’s this wildcat? What am I supposed to do while you get this wagon you talked about?”

“You’ll have to be patient, Panther. As I said, the wagon is coming from El Paso. I had it manufactured especially for this trip.” He smiled, obviously pleased with himself. “It will look like an ordinary freight wagon, but the boxes will be merely a shell, a camouflage. Inside is a hollow, where the cage will be placed. The… wildcat will be muzzled during the entire journey to prevent him from crying out.”

“I suppose I’m expected to feed and mollycoddle this wildcat all the way, huh?” Artie put on his best scowl.

Paley’s smile was thin, his eyes glittering. “Only enough to keep him alive, Panther. He must reach the tin mines alive. That’s important. This wildcat has to be tamed. Broken. When next I see him, I want him groveling in the dirt when I give him the wonderful news of his good friend’s death. After that, he can die himself… slowly and inexorably, regretting the wrongs he has done to me.”

Artie had no problem putting a chill in his voice. “Seems like this ‘cat is someone you don’t like much.”

“You might say that.”

“When do I get to meet him?”

“Right now,” Paley said, pushing himself up with the walking stick and reaching into a coat pocket.

Artie got to his feet as well, waiting tensely as Paley went to one of the two doors, the one away from the direction of the stairs. He unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“Mr. West, I hope you are not too uncomfortable. I want you to meet your caretaker. You and Mr. Panther are going to be spending a good deal of time together in the near future.”

Artie moved slowly to the doorway and stared down icily at his partner, helpless on the floor, bound hand and foot as well as gagged. “He doesn’t look like so much to need all this… fuss. Who is he?” How did they get you, Jim? Why did you let your guard down?

Paley stepped back, closed and locked the door. “I suppose you haven’t heard of him because you’ve spent so much time out of the country. His name is James West. He’s a government agent.”

“Government! U.S. government?” Artie allowed some alarm into his voice and expression now.

“Of course. But you need not worry. By the time the federal people are aware that he is missing, you’ll be deep in the Central American jungles. They’ll have no idea where to start their search. He will vanish mysteriously, and completely.”

“You said something about a friend of his.”

“I did. His partner. He’s back in Washington City, in disgrace, which will only grow worse in the future. I expect he will not be able to withstand the scandal and shame and will take his own life.”

Artie’s stomach tightened. “With some help, I reckon.”

Paley’s laugh was dry. “I expect to be present to encourage him. Now, Panther, you know as much as you need to know right now. Go back to the Black Cat and remain there until I summon you, which will be when the wagon arrives. Get some rest. You’ll be leaving in the dead of night, day after tomorrow, I hope.

W*W*W*W*W

Jim was a little surprised that Paley did not drag him out of the storage room to gloat, and he almost wished that would happen. Time was elapsing relentlessly slow as he lay in the darkness, helpless. He had continued to attempt to find something on which to abrade his bonds but, almost as though Paley had made certain that no such features existed, none were to be found. The floor was smooth, as were the lower portions of the surrounding wall that he could reach.

He had heard the voices in the outer room after a long period of silence, and wondered whether he was recognizing his partner’s voice. That was proved correct when the door suddenly opened. Apparently Artie, in his guise as “Mr. Panther” was being hired to escort him to South America. That was heartening news. Even if they were not able to escape here in San Felipe, Artie would be working on it as they began the trek. Undoubtedly Paley was planning other escorts, but Jim had confidence that Artie could handle them.

The ideal situation would be to escape here in San Felipe, to be able to arrest Erling Paley and take him back to Washington to face charges. With any luck, Julian Church would also be arrested, although Jim knew that it might be more difficult to prove Church’s involvement. A lot might depend on how much Paley was willing to reveal.

In frustration, Jim pulled his arms against the bindings, wincing because too much pulling and chafing had already worn his skin raw. I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to be free, able to help Artie!

W*W*W*W*W

“What do you think, Panther? Think that cage is sturdy enough to hold our wildcat?” Ramon Fortuna smiled broadly. He had told Artie that he designed the cage.

Artie gazed at the box without expression. It had been fashioned partly from a wooden crate, but was strongly fortified with steel. One side only consisted of bars, each easily an inch in diameter, about four inches apart from each other. The other walls were still wood, but on the outside had been fastened bands of steel, secured with heavy nails. Breaking out would require strong acid, or some kind of explosive.

Worse, perhaps, were the dimensions, not more than about four feet in any direction. Whoever was held inside would be unable to straighten his body, constantly crouching or curling. No sanitary facilities, obviously. After the long trip to Bolivia, Jim would be in desperate condition, whether or not he was fed and given water regularly.

“It’ll do, I guess. Couple of the boys have been telling me about this West fellow. Seems he’s pretty good at getting out of tight situations.”

“So I’ve heard. But I frankly think Paley has figured this out well. Once he’s locked inside there, he won’t get out. The door is going to be welded shut, not to be opened until it reaches its destination. Then it’ll take rasps and crowbars to get it open.” Fortuna grinned, apparently imagining the scene.

“You know this West yourself?” Artie asked idly. This is diabolical and points up why we have to end this in San Felipe. Once Jim is sealed in that cage…

“No, not until this week when he came to the saloon. But I’d heard about him. I have a friend or two he put behind bars… or killed.”

“Yeah, I don’t have no doubt that once I start lookin’ up old pals, I’ll find out he had something to do with them not being around neither.”

They were in an old barn behind the Black Cat saloon, where the cage was resting on a pallet. The wagon that was coming from El Paso had been constructed with the specifications of the cage in mind. The cage would be slid inside, and except for times when his escorts chose to open it to pass in food or water, the prisoner would be in complete darkness, with little fresh air.

“I hope that wagon gets here on time,” Panther grumbled then.

Fortuna chuckled. “Don’t get nervous, Panther. Paley has this figured out real good. West is here on a special assignment and there’s no way for him to have gotten in touch with his pals in Washington or anywhere else. They won’t expect to hear from him. By the time they start to get worried, the wildcat will be on his way to his doom.”

Artie had other thoughts about that possibility. He had followed Jim across country, arriving just a day behind him. Richmond would have realized what had occurred the day after, and would have undoubtedly sent agents trailing Artemus Gordon. That might have taken half a day, or a day, to organize. But chances were very good that help was nearby.

He had ridden into town earlier, claiming boredom after awakening at noon in his room above El Gato Negro. Although Fortuna had tried to tell him he needed to stick around the saloon, he had no authority to order Panther to do so. He did not know that Paley had told Panther to remain at the border saloon.

During the ride, Artie had scrutinized everyone he saw. Agents other than himself were adept at disguise, though he liked to believe none were as expert. However, other than a thin, bent-over white-haired old man who possessed the physical traits of Frank Harper, he saw no one. A young Mexican man who might be a grandson, helping him along the walkway, accompanied that old man.

And of course, another problem might be whether any agent would recognize me! He had told Jerry about this Lightnin’ McCoy disguise during a lull when they were comparing notes and discussing makeup techniques. That did not mean Pike would remember, not to mention that describing was not the same as seeing.

As usual, it’ll probably be Jim and me against the world, or in this case, against Paley and his gang. Not good odds, but we’ve faced, and licked, worse.

W*W*W*W*W

Raul Vasquez frowned deeply as he watched the large girthed man climb the stairs. “George Blank” was the name he had signed on the register. He said he was a beer salesman. He would be visiting all the local saloons to try to convince them to switch to his client. That was not so very unusual. Whiskey peddlers appeared now and then as well. What was really unusual is that Señor Blank, as he was signing the register, noticed the name of the previous signer.

“James West? James West. I know that name. Tall blond fellow right? Big nose? Talks with a lisp?”

Raul had shaken his head. “No, Mr. West has dark hair, green eyes. Very nice man.”

“Hmm… oh, I must be getting the names mixed up. Sure. That Jim West. I was thinking of Stan North. West has a room here?”

“Si… he has not been back to his room today.”

Raul remembered how Señor Blank had looked at him that moment, with sharpness in his eyes above the huge bigote that covered his upper lip and a portion of his jaw. He suddenly had a sense that Señor Blank was not exactly what he said he was. Trouble for Señor West? Raul was concerned about James West. He and his sons had left Señor West in Henry’s late last night. This morning, when Miguel took hot water to Señor West’s room, he came back down to say that the room was empty, the bed had not been used. The black horse was still in the stable.

W*W*W*W*W

Hasta la muerte todo es vida.
Until death all is life. (Where there's life there's hope.)
— Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547-1616), Spanish novelist, poet, and playwright.

They removed the gag and untied his hands long enough for Jim to drink some water and eat a bowl of frijoles. He was then tied again and put back into the dark room. Paley had not been present at the time, but Kansas was. Kansas was the one who roughly pulled Jim out of the room, and then shoved him back inside, grinning when Jim grunted from the pain the movement caused in his chest.

Jim had asked where Paley was, but none of the four men in the room responded. He could see through the windows in the upstairs room that it was daylight, but he was unsure whether it was morning or afternoon.

He had hoped Artie would be around, but surmised that Paley would want his “chief guard” to stay away as much as possible. He would not want anyone to remember seeing Panther in the vicinity, just in case someone put two and two together. What can Artie do against the number of men Paley had? He’s alone unless… unless Washington sent some help. Can they get here in time? And now that Artie is in disguise—will anyone recognize him to offer help and cooperate?

W*W*W*W*W

Artemus knew he had missed his opportunity. He should have taken Paley prisoner during the time they traveled between the Black Cat and Henry’s, when they were alone. Now other of Paley’s men were constantly present, too many for him to take on by himself, and not gathered close enough together to try to use a gas bomb on. They mostly loitered in the Black Cat, waiting for orders, as he was supposedly doing, and were spread out through the room, drinking or playing cards, along with men who, as far as Artie knew, were not involved with Paley’s schemes.

It’s going to have to happen at Henry’s, when I can untie Jim and the odds will be just a little better. His greatest fear was that Paley would install Jim in the cage, in the wagon, before summoning Panther. Somehow I’ve got to get back there, whether summoned or not. He had already defied Paley’s instruction by riding downtown and back. Paley had not seen him, or at least had not accosted him.

Casually Artie cast his gaze around El Gato Negro and silently counted the men he knew were on Paley’s payroll. As far as he could tell, only Kansas and two other men were missing. Were they at Henry’s with Paley? If so, the odds would be pretty good in his favor. This could well be the time to move… if he could get out of here without causing any distraction or having other men offering to come with him.

He had been sitting at a table near Fortuna’s, watching a desultory poker came, declining to participate when invited. Now he got to his feet and stretched. “Guess I’ll go see a man about a horse.”

Couple of the men grinned at him, but continued their game. Fortuna was engrossed in his solitaire game as Artie casually turned and headed out the back door. His horse was tied in front, but getting around the building unnoticed was not difficult. He mounted the chestnut and rode toward the middle of town.

He cut off on an intersecting street and approached Henry’s from the rear, where for a moment his stomach contracted when he saw the large, high-sided wagon sitting behind the saloon. The special vehicle to transport the cage had already arrived. Artie did not relax until he came around the wagon to see the yawning hole in the rear, still empty. But obviously things were moving faster than Paley anticipated. Nevertheless, they would not be able to either transfer Jim to the cage at The Black Cat or bring the cage to this busier part of town until late at night at least.

Retracing his path, Artie emerged onto the main street, where he left his horse several buildings away from Henry’s then walked the remainder of the distance on the board walkway. As he entered the saloon, he paused for a moment, taking stock of the customers on hand. Two men were playing checkers at a rear table. The old white-haired man he had noticed yesterday was at another table, again in the company of the young Mexican man. A burly man in a garishly plaid jacket and bowler hat, with a massive walrus-style mustache, was at the bar engaging Henry in conversation. As Artie approached the bar, he realized that the man was trying to sell Henry on stocking a new beer.

The salesman obviously saw Artie’s approach in the mirror and he immediately turned to him. “Here’s a fella who looks like a well-traveled man of the world. You ever try Heidenrich’s beer, mister? Best brew in the world, right? Mr. Henry here could triple his business by stocking Heidenrich’s!”

Artie retained his aplomb and glared. “I don’t give a damn about your beer. Is the boss upstairs?” He directed his question to Henry. “I need to talk to him about that wildcat he wants to transport south.” The very subtle wink he had received from the beer drummer was all he needed to know. Excellent disguise, Jer! In the mirror, he saw the old man idly gazing his way. The young man with him also glanced over.

“I don't know if he’s up there or not,” Henry growled. “You better watch your tongue too!”

Artie reached over and grabbed the man’s shirtfront, jerking him hard into the edge of the bar. “Don’t you go telling Panther what to do, mister!” He released the shirt with a slight shove, cast a long angry look around the bar, taking in agents Jeremy Pike, Frank Harper, and Ned Malone. “I got business with Mr. Paley!”

With that he turned and stomped up the stairs, making sure to make a lot of noise doing so. He grabbed the door handle, found it locked, shook it hard, then pounded on the door with his fist. “Hey! Open up in there!”

The door was opened by Kansas, the last man Artie wanted to see. “What the hell you want?” Kansas demanded.

Artie pushed by him. Paley rose from the sofa, walking stick in hand. Jim was tied to one of the straight-backed chairs. Artie saw the bruises on his partner’s face. Paley must be allowing Kansas to amuse himself. Jim was of course unshaven, and his attire was filthy. He seemed to be dazed, barely noticing Artemus's entrance, head sagging. As anticipated, two other men were in the room, both on their feet and wary.

“What are you doing here?” Paley’s voice was sharp, his eyes burning with anger.

Artie hitched at his gun belt, then allowed his hand to drop near the weapon suspended from it. “I got to thinking, Paley. Fifty thousand ain’t enough for this job. I want double!”

Paley gasped. “We made a deal!”

“You made a deal. You decided the terms. Well, I’m changin’ them. I seen the wagon out there so I figure the move is on for tonight. You ain’t going to want to spend time looking for another straw boss—and you ain’t gonna find a better one than me.” Artie moved slowly, almost casually, toward the chair where Jim was seated as he spoke.

“This here wildcat of yours,” he continued, pausing and gripping Jim’s shoulder, “he’s risky cargo. There’s going to be border guards all over the place. Someone get nosy and find this guy stuck inside the wagon like that, and he tells them who he is… well, there’s gonna be hell to pay. Not many of those guys running those countries will want to tangle with Uncle Sam.” Under his palm, he felt Jim’s muscles tense.

“Mr. Paley,” Kansas spoke up, “I told ya before I could do the job. I can get rid of this guy for ya too.”

Paley stared at the gorilla like man, plainly agitated by this development. Artie casually moved behind Jim, let his left hand fall loosely at his side, and flicked out the small but very sharp knife he had secreted under his shirt cuff. With deft movements he sliced at both the rope that secured Jim to the chair, and also the ones around his wrist. I can’t get to the ones on your boots, pal. You’re on your own there! Because he did not cut all the way through, the ropes remained in place, but he knew that with a sharp tug, Jim could free himself.

Jim remained still, feigning a stupor. He had actually been stunned by Kansas’s assault a short while ago, aware at the same time that Paley was enjoying the brutality. But his head had cleared shortly before Artie started pounding on the outer door. Pretty obviously Artie had a reason for making the break at this time. Paley had taunted Jim earlier with the knowledge that the transport wagon had arrived earlier than expected and Jim knew that his partner likely realized it was now or never.

“You’ll be on your way to Bolivia tonight,” Paley had chortled.

Aware that Artie, like himself, had believed they had another day, Jim had fretted a little. I should have known. Artie is not one to dawdle when there are things to be done!

“Your muscleman ain’t gonna be able to get through the border guards,” Artie snickered. “Especially when his muscles are in his head too. Takes a thinking man.” Artie tapped his head with his left hand, moving slightly to put himself between Paley and Jim. The other two men had moved nearer to Paley, awaiting his instructions, while Kansas was farther away, closer to the door.

As expected, Kansas took umbrage as he grasped the insult to his intelligence. “You just shut your yap, Panther! I ain’t lived this long without no brains!”

Artie sneered, allowing his gaze to sweep over the top-heavy man. “I think you’re mixing up thinking with bein’ able to smash a smaller fellow down. How many times you took on a man your own size, Kansas?” Although he was hearing no sounds from beyond the closed—and now unlocked—door, Artie was certain his fellow agents were taking action downstairs. Too bad I wasn’t able to talk to them previously and make plans!

Kansas glared, taking a couple of steps toward Artie. “And all you do is just shoot ‘em down! That don’t take no balls!”

Artie’s smile was ugly. “Quicker and surer, though. Seems like you had a problem with this wildcat here.”

Jim cautiously pulled his wrists apart, ignoring the smarting pain from the abrasions, as he felt the ropes give slightly. He knew he was going to have to act fast to get his ankles undone or he would not be of much assistance if Artie needed help. Three against one—discounting Paley—were not bad odds, unless one got into physical combat with Kansas. Artie surely knew that, and although his first choice might be to shoot Kansas, things did not always work out just the way they should. Beyond that, Jim knew that Paley was armed; he had spotted a neat shoulder harness under Paley’s impeccable jacket.

“I coulda took care of West easily,” Kansas defended himself, “but I knew the boss didn’t want him kilt right off.”

Besides, you let an old Mexican man clobber you. “Sure, sure,” Artie twitted. “Now he’s tied up so you can safely work him over.”

“Panther!” Paley spoke sharply. “Let’s get back to business. We made a deal and you’re going to abide by it.”

“Naw,” Artie drawled. “I don’t need to. I got plenty of places where I can make better money. Easier jobs too. This one is gonna take a few weeks with that slow wagon, and figuring out ways to go to avoid towns and guards and such like. Hundred grand or nothing, Paley. And twenty-five grand up front.” Get ready, Jim. Paley’s about to the boiling point and the boys downstairs should be ready to make their move. He could almost see the steam emanating from Paley’s ears. Quite probably, Paley did not have that much cash on hand here. He might have the ten thousand, but certainly not twenty-five. “Hand it over and me’n’ the wildcat will be on our way to Bolivia tonight.”

Jim did not allow the severed ropes to fall completely away, grasping them in his fingers. Artie’s body was shielding him from view at the moment, but the bindings slipping to the floor might be noticed. He now leaned forward cautiously and again felt the strands of the rope around his chest giving. Taking a deep breath, he experienced a twinge in his chest. I don’t want to get into too rough of a tussle if I don’t have to… especially not with Kansas. What was that? Had he heard someone outside the door? How could he warn Artie?

Paley was wagging an irate finger. “You’re going to stick to the bargain, Panther! We made it in good faith!”

Artie snickered. “What’s that? My faith is in my ability, Paley. I know I can do the job, and you know it too. You want it done right, and done fast, you come up with the money. Otherwise you risk someone finding your wildcat… and you.” It’s now or never. Paley was distracted by rage, Kansas by his impotence in being able to respond to Panther’s taunts, and the other two men were simply gaping at the proceedings.

He jerked his gun out of its holster. “All four of you,” he spoke sharply, “move together. Over here.”

Jim immediately severed the rope that secured him to the chair, leaning forward at the same time to get at the bonds on his booted ankles. He instantly realized that the knot was going to be difficult, if not impossible to undo, at least not swiftly. “Artie, your knife.”

“Gordon!” Paley screeched in sudden awareness. “Kill him! Kill him!”

With a roar, Kansas hurtled toward Artie, arms outstretched. Artie turned and fired. He saw the red splotch blossom on the man’s muscular shoulder but it barely staggered him. Knowing he should not get into a hand-to-hand with Kansas, Artie tried to sidestep, but Jim’s chair got in his way. He knocked the chair—and Jim—over just as Kansas reached him.

Jim rolled over, hampered by his bound legs, seeing the gun as it flew out of Artie’s hand. He was conscious that the stairway door had opened, but he did not try to see who was coming in, aware only that he had to get that gun before becoming overwhelmed by sheer numbers. He started to roll over and experienced fury as a hand grabbed at his shoulder. He started to whip his legs around.

“Jim, stop!”

“Hold it, Paley!” another voice bellowed. A gunshot echoed in the room.

Jim looked around, astonished. He saw a fat man in a garish coat and an old white-haired man, along with a Mexican youth, all with guns in their hands. The youth had Paley by the arm and was dragging him away from the door that led out the back way.

“Ned!” Jim called sharply, “watch it! He has a gun!” He himself made one more dive for Artie’s gun, this time grasping it and twisting around just as Paley extricated his own weapon from the inside of his jacket, bringing it to bear on the still struggling Artie in Kansas’s grasp. Pike was there pounding on Kansas’s head with his gun butt to little avail. Kansas was roaring insanely.

Jim fired once. Paley staggered back, his weapon going off. Jim immediately rolled around, aiming the gun toward Kansas. However, he was too late. The big man was slumping to the floor, a round hole in his forehead. Paley’s shot had found a target, though not the one he intended.

One of the other two men had made a dash for the saloon door, but Pike stopped him with the barrel of his pistol alongside the fellow’s skull. The other one dropped his weapon and raised his hands high.

Frank produced a knife to slice the remaining ropes then helped Jim to his feet. After such an extended period of inactivity, not to mention little food and water, Jim found himself a little shaky and he grabbed the back of a still standing chair for momentary support. He barely glanced over to where Ned was leaning over Paley, who was groaning and whimpering, begging for help for his shoulder wound, moving toward Artie, who was on the floor, his arms hugged to his chest as he gasped for breath.

“My God, Jim!” he wheezed. “Why didn’t you tell me it hurt this bad?”

Jim just smiled as he and Harper moved to carefully help Artie over to the sofa. He glanced at Frank. “How long have you guys been in town?”

“Just since this morning,” Frank replied. “Nothing like fast action, huh? I think you guys have a tale to tell.”

“Wildcat?” Jeremy looked at his fellow agents. Both would qualify under that designation.

“It’s quite a tale,” Artie breathed. “How’s Paley?”

“He’ll live, unfortunately,” Ned Malone grated. He was among many who had endured abuse and embarrassment when Erling Paley had been a member of the department.

“No,” Jim spoke icily. “It’s a good thing. He’s going to face what he deserves now.”

“Amen,” Artemus murmured. Both agents had suffered at the hands of Erling Paley in one manner or another. Artie could not forget the anguish he experienced when he had been led to believe that Jim was dead in Paley’s previous machinations, nor that Paley intended for both of them to be murdered at that time, as well as having their reputations sullied. His plans this time were no less brutal, perhaps more so.

The trio of agents had arrested bar owner Henry downstairs and cuffed him to a pipe, so he was still waiting for them when they descended the stairs with their additional prisoners. The whining Paley had to be supported. Although the wound in his shoulder was painful and incapacitating, Ned was right. With treatment he would survive to stand trial and face prison. With the testimony of the five agents, he would not escape charges this time.

They took Paley across the street to the hotel, where Jim and Jeremy, with the assistance of Raul Vasquez and his wife, attended to his wounds, as well as Artie’s bruised torso, along with Jim’s wrists, while Ned and Frank hurried to El Gato Negro. They returned with Ramon Fortuna in manacles. “We might have taken a few others,” Harper explained, “but it hardly seemed worthwhile. Those underlings will disperse pronto, probably south of the border.”

Although anxious to be going, both Jim and Artemus realized the wisdom of Jeremy’s suggestion that both of them get a good night’s rest before heading back to the train. Jim felt the stimulating effects of good food and plenty of water, not to mention a hot bath, but he was still tired and sore. He helped convince Artie that an extra night would do wonders for his aches, especially considering the long ride back to the train.

Vasquez provided a sturdy storeroom to secure the prisoners and he and his younger son assisted in standing guard outside the door during the night so that the shifts for the other three agents were not as long as they might be.

With no physician available in San Felipe, the bullet in Paley’s shoulder remained there until they transported him back to the train and to a larger town further down the rails. The wagon that had been constructed to carry the caged “wildcat” to South America was put to use as a prison wagon to carry the five prisoners to the Wanderer. The rolling cell was crowded, even with Paley being ensconced in the guest compartment. Jeremy complained mildly about having to sleep in the parlor car, whern he lost the roll of dice and had to sleep on the floor the first night.

Jim was much relieved to learn from Henry that Lila had indeed fled. Henry claimed that when he heard her asking others about the name Artemus Gordon he warned her she was going to be in big trouble, because undoubtedly she had overheard her boss discussing Gordon with Henry or one of the other men. Jim was not certain that was the absolute truth. Henry may well have warned Lila to keep her mouth shut whereupon she took the hint quite strongly and departed for safer pastures.

A week later the Wanderer reached its private siding in Washington. The prisoners were turned over to federal marshals who had been alerted via telegraph. They received the welcome news that Julian Church had been arrested on the strength of those wired messages which had promised to provide incontrovertible proof in the form of letters they had found in Paley’s possession; letters from Julian Church as well as copies of letters from Paley to the Texas congressman. Paley was a man who kept thorough records.

Reports on the incident were written promptly and charges filed. Finally the day Artemus Gordon was dreading arrived. He and Jim were summoned to the White House. Artie knew he was going to be severely reprimanded, probably fined; perhaps even arrested. He had left behind proof of his break-in of the colonel’s office, and stolen government property in the form of the train.

Well, it was all worth it. Jim’s safe. My reputation as an agent—prior to these crimes—is safe. The agency will not be tarred by the scandal. And Erling Paley is in jail. I can live with that. However, I have a feeling I’m going to have to talk like a Dutch uncle to keep Jim from resigning as well!

Colonel Richmond was in Grant’s office of course. Artie was very surprised by the enthusiastic welcome both received. He steeled himself for the moment the guillotine would fall on his neck. Likely the president did not want to ruin the moment of Jim’s glory. Could be the arrest of Artemus Gordon would occur later, privately.

“Amazing exploits, gentlemen, as usual,” Grant gushed, shaking Jim’s hand again and reaching for Artemus. “I am not sure I’ll ever cease to be astonished when I hear about your deeds.”

“It was touch and go for awhile, sir,” Jim smiled. “We were really blind as to what was going on, even after we discovered Paley was involved. I want to thank you for sending Mr. Gordon to assist me. I could not have done it alone.”

Artie looked at the president and head of the service, scrutinizing their faces. Jim’s bland expression of gratitude did not seem to faze them. That’s got to be it. They’ll pull me aside later, then break the news gently to Jim. Don’t want to ruin his moment of glory here. And they sure don’t want to lose him!

“You are quite a pair,” Richmond said, shaking his head. “I sometimes think you are going to send me to an early grave with your death-defying stunts. Somehow they always seem to work out, don’t they?”

“So far,” Jim grinned. “By the way, sir, I hope you are aware that both Mr. Gordon and I are a bit incapacitated right now.” He put a hand against his still bandaged ribs. “A few days off would be welcome.”

Artie started to open his mouth to point out that he was no longer an agent needing permission to take time off, but Grant slapped a hand on the desktop. “Done! Take as long as you need, gentlemen. You’ve done this country a great service. Had Paley’s plan worked out, chaos would have ensued. Counterfeiters, traitors, assassins would have had a field day!”

“Mr. President,” Artemus began, but Richmond cut him off.

The colonel had reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small leather folder. “By the way, Gordon, you must have dropped this when you paid me a visit the afternoon before you departed under orders to assist Mr. West.” He extended the folder toward Artemus. “Not a good idea to be off on departmental business without your official identification.”

For a long, stunned moment, Artie just gaped. Jim reached out to take the folder, turning to tuck it into his partner’s inside coat pocket, green eyes glinting. “Fortunately, we didn’t find it necessary to show identification, did we, Artie? Folks we were dealing with knew us quite well.”

“Uh, yeah. Yes. Thank you, sir. Yes, it was careless of me. Thank you.”

Ulysses S. Grant caught his agent’s eye. “I trust you will be more cautious in the future, Mr. Gordon.” Then he smiled, shaking his head. “What am I saying? I don't think that’s possible. Colonel, I think the best we can hope for is that this pair continues to work as well as they have thus far in the service of their country. I’d express the wish that we had a dozen like them, but I don't think either of our hearts could stand it.”

Both agents were silent as they strode down the long corridors to the exit, and along the pathway to the street where their hack was waiting. Once settled inside, Artemus allowed himself a sigh, despite the twinges it caused in his chest.

“No potato farming, I guess.”

Jim grinned. “Actually I had second thoughts about that. I figured to go to California and grow wine grapes. I had a long talk with Lyle Peters about that awhile back. He knows quite a bit about making wine.”

Artie shook his head. “That’s a long ways into the future, I hope.”

“Yep, a long time off.” Jim looked out the window at the passing street scenes, then back to his partner sitting across from him. “Makes you wonder though.”

“About retirement?”

“No. About just how much we could get away with. You’re forgiven for breaking and entering, stealing a train…”

Artie was waving a hand. “Hold it, Jim. We get into enough trouble on the spur of the moment without planning for it ahead of time!”

They were quiet again for several minutes then Jim brought his gaze from the passing scenery out the window to his partner. “Artie, you don’t suppose President Grant and Colonel Richmond expected you to follow me.”

Artie blinked, then shook his head firmly. “No. They don’t know us that well… do they?”

Jim laughed then extended his hand. “Did I tell you how much I appreciated you turning to a life of crime?”

“My pleasure,” Artemus replied, gripping that hand warmly. “As always, my pleasure, partner.”

Saepe intereunt aliis meditantes necem.
Those who plot the destruction of others often fall themselves.
— Fables—Appendix (VI, 11), Phaedrus (Thrace of Macedonia) (Circa AD 8)

THE END