Post by qohart on Feb 14, 2009 19:45:40 GMT -8
The Night of The Bayou Devil
by Cris Hart
James West and his partner Artemus Gordon sat in the saloon playing poker with three rather seedy looking men.
"Will you bet, please?" Jim asked impatiently as Artie sorted and re-sorted the cards in his hand.
"Patience, James," Artie replied, his words slurring slightly, "Never rush a master of the cards."
"Drunken master," Jim said under his breath growing annoyed.
Artemus shot his partner a look and placed his bet. All around the table the others followed suit. Artie downed his whiskey and ordered another before continuing. He raised the last man's bet with a flair.
"I'll raise you $100," he announced grandiosely.
"Mister, we got a $10 limit," a red haired man aptly called 'Reds' told him.
"We told you that a dozen times already," a big, swarthy man named Joe added impatiently.
"All right, all right," Artie took back his money and tossed $10 into the pot, "I'll raise you $10."
Jim glared at Artie and called. The third man playing with them was a short, round, bald man named Otis. He tossed his money in and then distributed cards as each man asked for 2, or 3 cards, discarding ones in their hand. Artie did not take any. Glancing around the table, he slid a card down his sleeve and into his hand, palming one that would do him no good. Joe saw the clumsy exchange and threw his cards down. He and Jim stood at the same time facing Artie with angry faces.
"Cheat!" Joe shouted.
Pulling an innocent face, Artie asked, "What are you talking about?"
"I saw it to, Artemus. You pulled a card from your sleeve," Jim accused.
"Ha!" Artie laughed drunkenly, "Prove it."
Jim yanked Artie out of his chair and pulled his jacket off. Several cards, all aces, fluttered to the floor.
Artie let out a nervous little laugh. "Oops," he slurred as now everyone was standing menacingly around him calling him a cheat. Jim took him by the front of the shirt and Artie cringed.
"You pompous, egotistical, cheat!" Jim sneered, his face close to Artie’s. He drew back his fist.
"Remember, not too hard," Artie managed to whisper before Jim landed the prearranged sock to his partner's jaw that sent him sprawling.
Artie skid a few feet and staggered up rubbing his jaw and working it side to side painfully. Reds threw Artie's jacket at him. "Get the hell out of here," he yelled as the bartender came over in a hurry.
"What's all the ruckus here?" he demanded. "This is a respectable joint!"
"That man's a cheater," Joe informed the bartender, "And a drunk!"
The bartender seized Artemus by the collar and the back of his trousers, hauled him to the door and dumped him unceremoniously into the street. "And stay out!" he shouted turning away, slapping his hands against each other, done with the troublemaker.
The four remaining poker players peered out the window snickering as the drunken cheat swayed down the street singing loudly. Then they sat back at the table and gathered up the cards.
"What's your name, mister," Joe asked in his gravelly voice, shifting his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other without using his hands.
"James West," Jim introduced himself.
"That joker a friend of yours?" Reds asked thumbing toward the door.
"He used to be. He's an insufferable bastard and I hope I never see him again," Jim informed the men.
His card partners exchanged glances.
"I'm Reds Anderson," Reds introduced himself, "This here's Joe Hammond, and Otis Clatterbuck. Are you the James West that's a secret service man?"
"I was. They've paired me off with that clown too long. Make me work with someone who doesn't do anything. He can't even appreciate the finer points of fighting and believe me I tried to teach him. All he's good for is drinking," Jim spat. "I quit that lame job this morning," he added, "Now I'm just Jim West, private citizen looking for work."
Another quick exchange of glances. Jim suppressed his smile and pulled Artie’s money toward himself. "We'll just split the bastard's money and start over, what do you say, boys?" he smiled all around.
"I like the way you think," Reds answered as the others settled back into their seats.
"So you're not a drinker?" Joe asked Jim. His deep gravelly voice sounded more like a growl than speech.
"I drink, I'm just not a drunk. Makes a man sloppy," Jim grinned, calmly accepting the cards Reds tossed in front of him.
Jim spent the next few hours playing cards and working hard to convince his mates that he had left the service and was looking for more 'rewarding' work. He plied them with drinks, taking his time with his own, until they were tipsy and talkative.
What he already knew was that the governor of the Louisiana Territory had requested help in finding out who or what was terrorizing the people in the bayou into running scared and leaving shipments of arms and goods for the fort, open to theft. The reports the bureau had received cited a 'monster', a 'devil', running loose along the bayou waterways. The Cajuns were superstitious and scared. What Jim hoped to learn was who was behind the terrorism and thefts. Discreet questions around town had gleaned that these three roamed the bayous unafraid. They kept to themselves; no one really knew who they were or where they were from. To Jim, none of the three seemed capable of being the brains behind whatever was going on.
"Our boss is always looking for a good man with a gun," Otis told Jim.
Reds shot Otis a warning look; Joe kicked him under the table. Otis closed his mouth and began to study his cards intently.
"Oh yeah? Think he'd hire me?" Jim asked casually, placing a bet. "I'm better than most with a gun."
"Everything we've heard says you've been one half of a team," Joe said snidely.
"That glory hog?" Jim exclaimed, "He's worthless and the service is going to find out just how worthless now that I'm gone," Jim answered with bravado.
"That a fact," Reds commented quietly.
"It is," Jim assured him deliberately losing the hand. "So what do you think? Is there a job for me in your organization?"
"Where can we reach you? We'll talk to the boss in the morning and let you know," Reds answered gathering the pot he'd just won.
Jim sat back and considered, "I guess this place is as good as any," he said looking around the saloon. "I just have to get my gear from the train I used to share with Mr. Moron," he chuckled.
"Then we'll meet you here tomorrow morning, Mr. West," Joe stood and extended a beefy hand to Jim.
Jim rose and shook it firmly. "Thanks, fella's." He left the saloon, mounted his black stallion and rode quickly away.
"What do you think, Reds?" Joe asked.
"If he's telling the truth, the boss'll be glad to have him. Think of all the things he knows about when and where more shipments will be coming in," Reds answered.
"And he's through with that partner of his," Joe added. "That'll make the boss real happy."
Then he turned to Otis and slapped him on the back of his bald head. "Next time, shut your trap, Otis. We wanted to find out a little more before we made the offer," he said not really angry. He just liked harassing Otis.
"Sorry, boys, I just thought," Otis started.
"Stupe! You don't think, remember? The boss told you never to try to think. It might use up what little brains you've got left," Joe growled guffawing out a loud laugh.
The three left the saloon and rode to the nearest waterway, disappearing into the bayou by boat.
Jim entered the train and found Artemus sitting on the sofa, holding a cool cloth to his jaw. When Artie saw him, he stood and dropped the cloth onto the table.
"I thought you weren't going to hit me too hard, James," Artie growled. "That punch rattled my teeth!"
"Sorry, Artie, I had to make it look good," Jim grinned.
"Yeah? Well how good does this look," Artie turned his face so Jim could see the bruise on his jaw.
"Looks like it hurts," Jim chuckled softly enjoying himself.
"It does hurt!" Artie thundered.
Jim began to laugh in earnest
"Here, let me belt you, see what's funny then," his partner suggested making fist and taking a step forward.
Jim backed up, laughing harder, his hands out placatingly, "No, that's alright. I believe you, Artie. Honest. I'm sorry," he pleaded unconvincingly. He was laughing too hard for that. "You took it well, though. They really believed you were drunk and that I was mad at you."
"That's because I'm a fine actor," Artie said calming. He rubbed his jaw gingerly. "Next time I get to deliver the punch."
"You did on our last case, remember? Consider this payback," Jim reminded his partner, heading for his room.
"So? Did you get a job with them?" Artie asked following Jim down the corridor, ignoring the reminder.
"I'll know in the morning. I told them I had to come back to get my things. I'll be staying at the saloon," Jim told his partner tossing what he'd need into his valise.
"What a dump," Artie said leaning against Jim's dresser.
Jim shrugged, "Stinks to be me, I guess," he chuckled.
Artie opened a drawer and began emptying it a piece at a time onto Jim's bed.
"I don't have to take everything I own, Artie," Jim protested as clothing sailed across the room landing in a heap near him.
Artie smiled at Jim, "Really? How do you know?" He tossed Jim's underwear onto the bed.
"What's that supposed to mean," Jim asked putting the clothes back into his drawer even as Artie pulled out more. "Stop it!" Jim raised his voice.
"I could very easily change the locks while you're gone, you know. Then what would you do?" Artie smiled evilly, pulling out a shirt and letting it unfold before tossing it with the rest on the bed.
Jim stopped what he was doing. "I said I was sorry, Artie," he defended himself.
"You didn't convince me," Artie answered, slowly tossing item after item onto the bed, making a mess of Jim's things.
"Artie!" Jim said loudly as Artemus landed a shirt on his head. "Alright," Jim said seriously, "I'm sorry, Artie. I got carried away in the moment," Jim apologized.
Artie tossed another article of clothing onto the bed looking Jim in the eye.
"What?" Jim asked, "What do you want me to say?"
Yet another piece of clothing landed on the bed. "That you did it on purpose," Artie smiled.
"I did, ok? I admit it, but I never meant to hurt you," Jim agreed giving Artie his most winning smile.
Artie dropped the shirt he'd pulled out back into the drawer letting it hang half in and half out. He was finished making a mess. "So what do you want me to do?" he asked casually, moving away from the dresser.
"Find out who these guys are. Their names are Reds Anderson, Joe Hammond, and Otis Clatterbuck," Jim told his friend continuing to pack.
"Are you kidding me? Except for Hammond, those don't even sound like real names," Artie protested mildly.
"Well that's how they introduced themselves. Get word to me when you have some information," Jim said snapping his valise closed. He looked at the mess on his bed and turned to his partner as he reached the door. "You're cleaning that up," he said quietly, leaving Artie standing in the middle of his room.
Artemus heard the door to the parlor car close. He chuckled and began folding the clothes and putting them back in the drawer.
The next morning, Jim sat sipping coffee and picking at a greasy version of eggs and biscuits when his companions from the night before entered. They joined him, sitting without waiting to be invited.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Jim greeted them pushing his plate away. He missed Artie’s cooking already.
"Mooring," Reds answered. He seemed to be the spokesman for their little group. "Boss wants to meet you," he told Jim.
"When?" Jim asked trying to sound anxious but not overly so. He noticed Otis eyeing the uneaten plate. Jim pushed it over in front of him. "Help yourself," he told Otis.
"Thanks," Otis dug into the greasy eggs happily.
"Didn't you eat enough already?" Joe asked disgusted, "You keep up that pace and you won't be able to sit a horse at all. You're not so good at it now," he chuckled.
"Leave him alone, Joe," Reds ordered, then to Jim, "We'll take you to meet the boss this afternoon. He's busy till about 5:00. We'll meet you back here around 4:00," Reds glanced over at Otis who was just polishing the plate with a bit of biscuit.
"That's fine," Jim answered sincerely. "What kind of work will it be?" he asked wondering how Otis could consume nearly pure grease.
"Boss'll tell you if he decides to take you on," Reds told him. "If he doesn't, then you don't need to know. Otis, are you about done with that? They will wash the plate, you know," he added in an irritated voice.
"I'm done," Otis said licking his lips and wiping greasy fingers on his pants legs.
Joe and Reds rose, Joe pulled Otis roughly out of his seat, "See you at 4:00," he told Jim and the trio left.
At the door, Joe shoved a wizened old man out of their way. "Watch it there, sonny," the old timer shouted in a thick Cajun accent, staggering back with the rough shove.
"Shut up, pops," Joe growled giving him a second, harder shove that sent the old man down on his backside.
Jim shook his head with the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Poor Artie’d met the ground at the saloon twice now in less than 24 hours. Artie entered muttering under his breath and brushing dust off his backside.
"Hey, old timer," Jim called to him.
Stooped and bowlegged, Artie shuffled over to him. "What you want, sonny?" he asked.
"Let me treat you to a meal," Jim offered pushing a chair out with the toe of his boot.
"Ah, merci, merci bien," Artie answered and took the offered seat.
"Can you bring the old man a plate of breakfast?" Jim called over to the barkeep that doubled as the cook during the morning hours. Then he leaned his forearms on the table and spoke softly to Artie. "What have you got?"
"Not a lot," Artie answered matching Jim's low tone, "Anderson, Hammond, and Clatterbuck, I still can't get over that name," he shook his head, "are three time losers. Petty stuff. They hire on with whoever's paying the most for a hired gun at the time. Been in and out of jail for theft, but nothing big like this," Artie told Jim. The barkeep came with a plate of the same greasy eggs and biscuits and set it in front of Artie. "Merci, mon bon homme," Artie said to the barkeep. He eyed the greasy plate and made a face. "What the hell is this?" he asked Jim when the barkeep was out of earshot.
"Eggs and biscuits," Jim grinned at his partner.
"Oh, please," Artie said starting to push the plate away.
"Better eat it, Artie. Don't want to raise any suspicions. After all, you did come in for breakfast didn't you?" Jim teased.
"Breakfast, not an oil bath," Artie replied. He put a small bit of egg in his mouth. "Oh, Lord," he muttered.
Jim chuckled. "Any information on who they might have hired on with this time?" he asked as Artie swallowed.
"A couple of possibilities," Artie began, "Claude Benoit is a native and was just released from prison. He served 5 years for selling guns to a bunch of renegades trying to restart the war," he told his partner. "Think I can get some coffee? This stuff is disgusting," Artie asked pushing the plate away. "And that leads us to possibility number two," he continued as Jim ordered another cup of coffee for himself and one for Artie. "Sasson Delacroix," Artie said.
"Wait, I know that name," Jim interrupted trying to remember.
"Yeah, you should," Artie said, "Think Shiloh."
"Damn!" Jim swore softly, now remembering the man, "Is he still alive? He must be 70."
"He is. And a very healthy 70 at that. After you had him arrested for treason, he was sent to a federal prison. He's been out less than a year, moved down here when he got out and hasn't been heard from since," Artie told him. "At least not in the criminal world, anyway. He comes to town every now and again for supplies but not much else. He has a place in the bayou."
The barkeep brought the coffee and left the bill as well. Artie took a sip from his cup.
"So, what do you think?" Jim asked him.
"It's not bad," Artie shrugged.
"What?" Jim asked confused.
Artie looked at hi partner, frowning, "The coffee. It's not bad."
"I meant who do you think is our likeliest candidate," Jim explained.
"Oh. Well," Artie took in a long breath, let it out slowly as he pondered, "Benoit is young, itching for the south to rise, and these thefts would suit his needs perfectly," he replied thoughtfully, "I could see him behind this. But I could just as easily see Delacroix as the brains of the outfit. He'd like the unpleasantries to restart and with his military experience, the arms and supplies stolen, he could outfit a small army. So, I guess it could be either one or neither of them," Artie concluded.
"Thank you, that was very helpful," Jim answered sarcastically. He still had no opinion from his partner.
"I'm sorry, Jim, I just don't know," Artie replied.
"Does Benoit still have a home here?" Jim asked.
"Last report we have says his parents are deceased. He has no siblings so I imagine the family home went to him," Artie told Jim where Benoit's family home was in the bayou and finished the coffee. "Did you get hired on?" he asked noticing they were starting to draw attention.
"I meet the boss at 5:00," Jim answered dropping money on the table and rising. Loud enough for the barkeep to hear, he said, "That's the last time I try to do something nice for an old scruff. You didn't even eat!"
Artie stood, "You invited me, monsieur, I did not ask for anything," he answered. He turned and shuffled away from Jim.
"How do you like that," Jim mused for the barkeep's benefit. "Who is that old creep?"
"Never saw him before, but these Cajuns have large families. He's somebody's grandfather, I expect. Seems a might touched," the barkeep answered tapping his temple with one finger.
"I'll say," Jim agreed and exited the saloon. He lit a cigar and stood by the rail watching Artie shuffle off in the direction of the bayou, letting him get a distance away before following.
Jim picked his way through the think tangle of trees and soggy ground following Artie’s obvious path into the bayou. He reached an area that was only traversable by boat and looked around. He caught a glimpse of grey hair and moved up quietly behind his partner, crouched behind a tree. Jim saw Artie was soaking wet and smiled as he imagined Artie somehow winding up in the brackish water. He tapped Artie’s shoulder, startling him.
"Whup!" Artie exclaimed softly turning to face Jim. "What's the matter with you?" he whispered angrily. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"What happened to you?" Jim grinned at him, then his smile faded to a grimace, "What's that smell?" He sniffed near Artie. "Oh, you stink," he said waving a hand in front of his face. "What did you fall into?"
"Scat," Artie wrinkled his nose.
"From what? That is really foul!" Jim stated the obvious.
"God knows and He's not telling," Artie snapped back, "I slipped in a pile of something that came out of the south end of a north bound animal, that's all I know."
Jim waved his hand in front of his face again, "You need to wash it off, buddy."
"Why do you think I'm wet? I tried to wash it off," Artie answered testily.
"It didn't work," Jim quipped taking a step away. "Where are you staying?" he asked turning back to business.
"See that little shack?" Artie pointed through the trees to a run down, threadbare structure.
"How'd you find that place?" Jim asked.
"Cajun's are friendly folk. It's been abandoned for years, so they let me take it over," Artie answered.
"Why are you hiding out here, then?" Jim asked.
"Because I have uninvited guests," Artemus pointed again and Jim saw Joe, Reds, and Otis coming out of the shack. "What do you suppose they want?"
"My guess is they're checking you out," Jim told him. "I guess they make it their business to know who's in the bayou and you're a stranger. Watch yourself, Artie," Jim warned.
"Of course. You better get out of here before they spot you. I think it's time to go be hospitable," Artie smiled. Jim started to clap him on the shoulder then thought better of it, drew his hand back and left his partner. Artie waited till Jim disappeared in the thick trees then stepped from his hiding place and trooped up to the shack.
Jim scouted around in the bayou coming to Delacroix's home, a small but elegant wood structure. He considered knocking on the door to surprise the man, but decided against tipping his hand too soon. Besides, the man might not be behind the thefts and terrorism of the locals. Jim settled for circling the home and observing. Delacroix did not appear and all seemed quiet.
An hour later, Jim crept up to Benoit's family home. It was a much larger spread than Delacroix's with several other buildings besides the house. Jim slipped up to the largest, a barn like building and peered in through a back window. It was empty and Jim found that odd. He checked the other buildings, smaller than the barn, and all were equally empty. Jim wanted to go in the house and get a look around so he crept up to the back door. Pulling a lock pick from his lapel, he opened the door and entered. It was dark and quiet. He went through the house but it seemed deserted, unoccupied for a long time. Maybe Benoit had not taken over the family home, after all.
Jim pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He needed to get back to town before his escorts arrived to take him to the 'boss'. He left the Benoit home and made his way back through the tangled wall of trees. Glancing behind him to make sure he was proceeding unseen, Jim slid and went down on one knee. Picking himself up, he realized he'd slipped in the same sort of scat pile Artie had. Now it was more imperative than ever that he get back to town. He needed to change, the stench was nearly unbearable.
"What you want here?" Artie laid on the accent as he stepped up onto the small collapsing porch to his shack.
"Nothing, old timer. Who are you anyway?" Reds answered.
Artie squinted and leaned toward the three, "Desmond Bijoux, who wants to know?"
"You're new here, aren't you," Joe growled pushing Artie back. "What are you looking at?"
"Jest trying to see who comes to my home," Artie answered putting on a show of trying to see them, "I don't see so good, no more."
""He don't recognize us," Otis said to his companions.
"All the better for him," Reds replied, "Where'd you come from?"
"I come back from Canada to be with my family, but they don't live here no more. Least I don't find them," Artie answered. "What he mean I don't recognize you? I meet you before?" he asked leaning close to them again.
All three backed away from him with a collective "Phew."
"Naw. He doesn't know what he's saying. Come on, boys, he's nothing but a stinking old fart," Reds said leading his friends away from the shack.
Artie watched them go. He sniffed his sleeve. "Artemus, old son, they're right about the stinking part," he said to himself and went inside to get out of the reeking clothes.
When Jim came down from his room just after 4:00, his escorts were at the bar talking to the bartender. They glanced at Jim as he approached.
"Mickey here says you treated some old guy to breakfast this morning. The one coming in when we left. You know him?" Reds inquired suspiciously.
"No. I had a moment of compassion for the old timer and offered him something to eat. What a waste of food and money," Jim replied.
"What'd you talk about?" Joe asked lighting a cheroot and jamming it between his teeth.
"Nothing. He wasn't very talkative," Jim answered lighting a cigar of his own.
"He tell you who he was?" Reds asked.
"Like I said, it was a *moment* of compassion for an old coot. I didn't ask and he didn't say," Jim answered, "What's he got to do with anything anyway?"
"Not a thing," Reds said sizing Jim up. He paused a moment then asked, "You ready to meet the boss?"
"About time," Jim answered, "I thought we were going to stand here jawing about that old man all night."
He followed the trio out and mounted his horse. They led Jim to the waterway and tied their horses to a tree.
"We go by boat from here," Reds informed Jim.
"You don't mind rowing do you?" Joe sneered the smoldering stub of his cigar firmly affixed to the corner of his mouth.
"I guess not," Jim replied stepping into the boat and taking up the oars. "Is it far?" he asked.
"Not too far. Just go that way," Reds pointed east.
Jim began to steer them in the direction indicated. They weren't anywhere near Benoit's spread but Delacroix's home was just beyond the bend in the waterway. Reds told him to take the fork leading away from Delacroix's home, though. Jim scanned the trees and spotted Artie sitting on the porch of the shack whittling. His partner gave no indication that he even saw them, let alone recognized them.
"There's that old coot again," Joe said quietly to Reds, "Maybe we'll come back and have some sport with him," he laughed.
"If we have time," Reds said seriously. "Up around the next bend you'll see a felled tree. Pull up to it," he instructed Jim.
Rounding the bend, Jim saw the tree laying across the water. There were no homes or buildings of any kind around. He rowed up to the tree and stopped. "Now what?" he asked sounding impatient.
"Now tie us up to the tree and get out," Reds told him.
Jim tied the boat securely as Joe and Reds pulled themselves up onto the broad trunk. Otis let Jim go before him. Joe and Reds led the way across the trunk, jumped down onto soggy soil and waited for Jim and Otis.
Standing next to them, Jim looked around. "This is where your boss is?"
Reds put his hand on a knot on a large tree and pushed. A door swung open in the trunk and Jim saw a flight of stairs leading down. "In there," Reds ordered.
Jim ducked through the low doorway and started down the steps. "I can't see," he said stopping on the third step. Reds lit a lantern and handed it to him.
Jim continued down to the bottom. He was in a corridor that led farther east. He waited for the others to join him before proceeding down the passageway. It meandered for what Jim judged was about half a mile before ending at a closed door.
Reds stepped up and unlocked it. "Right through here, Mr. West," he said opening the door wide.
Jim had an uneasy feeling but entered as directed. He gazed around the room surprised. It looked like a living room one would expect to find in a fine home, not an underground hideout. There was a comfortable seating area with overstuffed chairs and a sofa, end tables and brightly lit lamps. Fine painting hung on the walls and a sideboard held a crystal decanter and matching glasses.
"Very nice," Jim commented as the others entered.
"The boss likes to live well," Reds replied.
One of the paintings swung out revealing a glass window. Jim could not see into the room behind it. Reds, Joe and Otis left Jim alone in the room.
"Mr. West," a thin, reedy, voice from behind the glass greeted him.
"That's right," Jim answered trying to remember if he'd ever heard the voice before.
"I understand you have left your position with the government and wish to join my organization," the voice continued. "May I ask why?"
"Uncle Sam doesn't pay very well for the work required. I don't plan on working till I'm too old to enjoy my retirement. So I'm looking to make more money faster," Jim replied.
"And what of your friend, Artemus Gordon?" the voice queried.
"I'm sure your men told you how I feel about him," Jim said evenly.
"They did, but I want to hear it from you personally," the voice answered firmly.
"I can't stand the sight of him any longer," Jim spat. "He's a boozer who makes me do all the work and tries to grab all the credit. He's dead to me," Jim stated a hint of anger in his reply.
"Very good, Mr. West. I suppose you would not object to a test of your loyalty then?" the voice asked.
"Do I have a job with you?" Jim wanted to know.
"Pass this test and you will retire a rich, young man, Mr. West. Fail and die an unemployed ex government agent," came the answer.
"What's the test?" Jim asked.
"Kill Artemus Gordon," the voice answered mildly, "If he isn't the worthless fool you make him out to be, he's likely already searching for you. Kill him and seal your employment with me."
"When do you want it done?" Jim asked sounding unconcerned.
"Just like that? No remorse? No qualms of any kind?" his interrogator wanted to know.
"I told you. He's dead to me," Jim answered evenly.
"In that case, do it tonight. My men will know if you have succeeded, I assure you. Now, please help yourself to a drink. My men will return soon to lead you back to town. In the meantime, perhaps you can tell me if you know when the next shipment of arms and supplies for Fort Louisiana will be coming in?" the voice asked.
Jim knew. It was one of the reasons he and Artie had been assigned to solve this case right away. The shipment was due in two days. The previous ones had been hijacked and the fort was low on ammunition and supplies.
"Day after tomorrow," Jim answered honestly.
"Wonderful! I'm pleased to see you are sincere," the voice laughed heartily. "Please, pour yourself a drink. I will join you in a moment."
Jim went to the sideboard and poured a glass of sherry from the decanter, giving it a quick sniff before taking a sip.
"Do not go walking through the bayou tonight, mon ami," the dark, Cajun told Artemus, "The devil is loose."
"Incroyable!" Artie exclaimed, "The devil? What you saying, Henri," he asked.
"My brother and I just return. We hear it running through the trees. If you go out tonight, you meet the devil for sure, I guarantee," Henri replied sounding edgy. "If you hear him, run, and do not look back to see."
"I will remember what you say, Henri," Artie assured the man as they shook hands.
Artie moved between the trees following the waterway in the direction he'd seen Jim rowing. A sinister sound stopped him in his tracks, he listened intently. He heard the low growling sound again coming from behind him and whirled scanning the surroundings but saw nothing. A movement to his left and Artie turned that way peering through the dense trees. A flash of long brown fur. Something large was moving toward him. Larger than a man, it slipped between two large trees. Artie crouched lower, not sure if it had seen him, and waited. Apparently it had, for now it charged through the underbrush directly at him. The head was wolfen with a long muzzle and very sharp looking teeth. Artie caught a whiff of the foul stench that had covered him earlier and pulled out his pistol. The creature moved fast, barreling down on his position. He raised his gun and fired hitting the creature squarely in the chest. It had no effect, the beast hurtled at him, launched itself and landed with it's short front paws on his chest knocking him backward to the ground. Artie fired into the beast's side at point blank range and again it seemed to have no effect. It closed is jaws on his shoulder and bit down hard sinking it's teeth into him. Artemus cried out in pain and emptied his remaining rounds into the creature. Enraged, the beast slashed it's claws across his chest, then his cheek. It opened it's mouth wide and roared in his face, fetid breath hot against his skin. Artie turned his face away, felt it bite into his shoulder again it's teeth scraping against bone and shaking him like a rag doll.
Then it released him and ran off into the trees, the attack over as fast as it had begun. Artie rolled onto his side, his right arm across his chest, his hand holding his injured left shoulder. He truly believed the creature might return. Or worse, he feared, it might find Jim before he did. Artie struggled to his feet. He felt sick to his stomach and wondered if it was the foul breath he'd breathed or aftershock from meeting that living, breathing, nightmare. Artie swayed, nearly passing out. He had a decision to make. Wander the bayou searching for Jim or go to the train and treat his wounds. If he passed out, he'd be no good to Jim or himself at all. Treat his wounds and return and he stood a chance of finding Jim and helping him solve this bizarre case. The decision made, Artie turned away and headed for home praying the 'devil' did not find Jim.
by Cris Hart
James West and his partner Artemus Gordon sat in the saloon playing poker with three rather seedy looking men.
"Will you bet, please?" Jim asked impatiently as Artie sorted and re-sorted the cards in his hand.
"Patience, James," Artie replied, his words slurring slightly, "Never rush a master of the cards."
"Drunken master," Jim said under his breath growing annoyed.
Artemus shot his partner a look and placed his bet. All around the table the others followed suit. Artie downed his whiskey and ordered another before continuing. He raised the last man's bet with a flair.
"I'll raise you $100," he announced grandiosely.
"Mister, we got a $10 limit," a red haired man aptly called 'Reds' told him.
"We told you that a dozen times already," a big, swarthy man named Joe added impatiently.
"All right, all right," Artie took back his money and tossed $10 into the pot, "I'll raise you $10."
Jim glared at Artie and called. The third man playing with them was a short, round, bald man named Otis. He tossed his money in and then distributed cards as each man asked for 2, or 3 cards, discarding ones in their hand. Artie did not take any. Glancing around the table, he slid a card down his sleeve and into his hand, palming one that would do him no good. Joe saw the clumsy exchange and threw his cards down. He and Jim stood at the same time facing Artie with angry faces.
"Cheat!" Joe shouted.
Pulling an innocent face, Artie asked, "What are you talking about?"
"I saw it to, Artemus. You pulled a card from your sleeve," Jim accused.
"Ha!" Artie laughed drunkenly, "Prove it."
Jim yanked Artie out of his chair and pulled his jacket off. Several cards, all aces, fluttered to the floor.
Artie let out a nervous little laugh. "Oops," he slurred as now everyone was standing menacingly around him calling him a cheat. Jim took him by the front of the shirt and Artie cringed.
"You pompous, egotistical, cheat!" Jim sneered, his face close to Artie’s. He drew back his fist.
"Remember, not too hard," Artie managed to whisper before Jim landed the prearranged sock to his partner's jaw that sent him sprawling.
Artie skid a few feet and staggered up rubbing his jaw and working it side to side painfully. Reds threw Artie's jacket at him. "Get the hell out of here," he yelled as the bartender came over in a hurry.
"What's all the ruckus here?" he demanded. "This is a respectable joint!"
"That man's a cheater," Joe informed the bartender, "And a drunk!"
The bartender seized Artemus by the collar and the back of his trousers, hauled him to the door and dumped him unceremoniously into the street. "And stay out!" he shouted turning away, slapping his hands against each other, done with the troublemaker.
The four remaining poker players peered out the window snickering as the drunken cheat swayed down the street singing loudly. Then they sat back at the table and gathered up the cards.
"What's your name, mister," Joe asked in his gravelly voice, shifting his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other without using his hands.
"James West," Jim introduced himself.
"That joker a friend of yours?" Reds asked thumbing toward the door.
"He used to be. He's an insufferable bastard and I hope I never see him again," Jim informed the men.
His card partners exchanged glances.
"I'm Reds Anderson," Reds introduced himself, "This here's Joe Hammond, and Otis Clatterbuck. Are you the James West that's a secret service man?"
"I was. They've paired me off with that clown too long. Make me work with someone who doesn't do anything. He can't even appreciate the finer points of fighting and believe me I tried to teach him. All he's good for is drinking," Jim spat. "I quit that lame job this morning," he added, "Now I'm just Jim West, private citizen looking for work."
Another quick exchange of glances. Jim suppressed his smile and pulled Artie’s money toward himself. "We'll just split the bastard's money and start over, what do you say, boys?" he smiled all around.
"I like the way you think," Reds answered as the others settled back into their seats.
"So you're not a drinker?" Joe asked Jim. His deep gravelly voice sounded more like a growl than speech.
"I drink, I'm just not a drunk. Makes a man sloppy," Jim grinned, calmly accepting the cards Reds tossed in front of him.
Jim spent the next few hours playing cards and working hard to convince his mates that he had left the service and was looking for more 'rewarding' work. He plied them with drinks, taking his time with his own, until they were tipsy and talkative.
What he already knew was that the governor of the Louisiana Territory had requested help in finding out who or what was terrorizing the people in the bayou into running scared and leaving shipments of arms and goods for the fort, open to theft. The reports the bureau had received cited a 'monster', a 'devil', running loose along the bayou waterways. The Cajuns were superstitious and scared. What Jim hoped to learn was who was behind the terrorism and thefts. Discreet questions around town had gleaned that these three roamed the bayous unafraid. They kept to themselves; no one really knew who they were or where they were from. To Jim, none of the three seemed capable of being the brains behind whatever was going on.
"Our boss is always looking for a good man with a gun," Otis told Jim.
Reds shot Otis a warning look; Joe kicked him under the table. Otis closed his mouth and began to study his cards intently.
"Oh yeah? Think he'd hire me?" Jim asked casually, placing a bet. "I'm better than most with a gun."
"Everything we've heard says you've been one half of a team," Joe said snidely.
"That glory hog?" Jim exclaimed, "He's worthless and the service is going to find out just how worthless now that I'm gone," Jim answered with bravado.
"That a fact," Reds commented quietly.
"It is," Jim assured him deliberately losing the hand. "So what do you think? Is there a job for me in your organization?"
"Where can we reach you? We'll talk to the boss in the morning and let you know," Reds answered gathering the pot he'd just won.
Jim sat back and considered, "I guess this place is as good as any," he said looking around the saloon. "I just have to get my gear from the train I used to share with Mr. Moron," he chuckled.
"Then we'll meet you here tomorrow morning, Mr. West," Joe stood and extended a beefy hand to Jim.
Jim rose and shook it firmly. "Thanks, fella's." He left the saloon, mounted his black stallion and rode quickly away.
"What do you think, Reds?" Joe asked.
"If he's telling the truth, the boss'll be glad to have him. Think of all the things he knows about when and where more shipments will be coming in," Reds answered.
"And he's through with that partner of his," Joe added. "That'll make the boss real happy."
Then he turned to Otis and slapped him on the back of his bald head. "Next time, shut your trap, Otis. We wanted to find out a little more before we made the offer," he said not really angry. He just liked harassing Otis.
"Sorry, boys, I just thought," Otis started.
"Stupe! You don't think, remember? The boss told you never to try to think. It might use up what little brains you've got left," Joe growled guffawing out a loud laugh.
The three left the saloon and rode to the nearest waterway, disappearing into the bayou by boat.
Jim entered the train and found Artemus sitting on the sofa, holding a cool cloth to his jaw. When Artie saw him, he stood and dropped the cloth onto the table.
"I thought you weren't going to hit me too hard, James," Artie growled. "That punch rattled my teeth!"
"Sorry, Artie, I had to make it look good," Jim grinned.
"Yeah? Well how good does this look," Artie turned his face so Jim could see the bruise on his jaw.
"Looks like it hurts," Jim chuckled softly enjoying himself.
"It does hurt!" Artie thundered.
Jim began to laugh in earnest
"Here, let me belt you, see what's funny then," his partner suggested making fist and taking a step forward.
Jim backed up, laughing harder, his hands out placatingly, "No, that's alright. I believe you, Artie. Honest. I'm sorry," he pleaded unconvincingly. He was laughing too hard for that. "You took it well, though. They really believed you were drunk and that I was mad at you."
"That's because I'm a fine actor," Artie said calming. He rubbed his jaw gingerly. "Next time I get to deliver the punch."
"You did on our last case, remember? Consider this payback," Jim reminded his partner, heading for his room.
"So? Did you get a job with them?" Artie asked following Jim down the corridor, ignoring the reminder.
"I'll know in the morning. I told them I had to come back to get my things. I'll be staying at the saloon," Jim told his partner tossing what he'd need into his valise.
"What a dump," Artie said leaning against Jim's dresser.
Jim shrugged, "Stinks to be me, I guess," he chuckled.
Artie opened a drawer and began emptying it a piece at a time onto Jim's bed.
"I don't have to take everything I own, Artie," Jim protested as clothing sailed across the room landing in a heap near him.
Artie smiled at Jim, "Really? How do you know?" He tossed Jim's underwear onto the bed.
"What's that supposed to mean," Jim asked putting the clothes back into his drawer even as Artie pulled out more. "Stop it!" Jim raised his voice.
"I could very easily change the locks while you're gone, you know. Then what would you do?" Artie smiled evilly, pulling out a shirt and letting it unfold before tossing it with the rest on the bed.
Jim stopped what he was doing. "I said I was sorry, Artie," he defended himself.
"You didn't convince me," Artie answered, slowly tossing item after item onto the bed, making a mess of Jim's things.
"Artie!" Jim said loudly as Artemus landed a shirt on his head. "Alright," Jim said seriously, "I'm sorry, Artie. I got carried away in the moment," Jim apologized.
Artie tossed another article of clothing onto the bed looking Jim in the eye.
"What?" Jim asked, "What do you want me to say?"
Yet another piece of clothing landed on the bed. "That you did it on purpose," Artie smiled.
"I did, ok? I admit it, but I never meant to hurt you," Jim agreed giving Artie his most winning smile.
Artie dropped the shirt he'd pulled out back into the drawer letting it hang half in and half out. He was finished making a mess. "So what do you want me to do?" he asked casually, moving away from the dresser.
"Find out who these guys are. Their names are Reds Anderson, Joe Hammond, and Otis Clatterbuck," Jim told his friend continuing to pack.
"Are you kidding me? Except for Hammond, those don't even sound like real names," Artie protested mildly.
"Well that's how they introduced themselves. Get word to me when you have some information," Jim said snapping his valise closed. He looked at the mess on his bed and turned to his partner as he reached the door. "You're cleaning that up," he said quietly, leaving Artie standing in the middle of his room.
Artemus heard the door to the parlor car close. He chuckled and began folding the clothes and putting them back in the drawer.
The next morning, Jim sat sipping coffee and picking at a greasy version of eggs and biscuits when his companions from the night before entered. They joined him, sitting without waiting to be invited.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Jim greeted them pushing his plate away. He missed Artie’s cooking already.
"Mooring," Reds answered. He seemed to be the spokesman for their little group. "Boss wants to meet you," he told Jim.
"When?" Jim asked trying to sound anxious but not overly so. He noticed Otis eyeing the uneaten plate. Jim pushed it over in front of him. "Help yourself," he told Otis.
"Thanks," Otis dug into the greasy eggs happily.
"Didn't you eat enough already?" Joe asked disgusted, "You keep up that pace and you won't be able to sit a horse at all. You're not so good at it now," he chuckled.
"Leave him alone, Joe," Reds ordered, then to Jim, "We'll take you to meet the boss this afternoon. He's busy till about 5:00. We'll meet you back here around 4:00," Reds glanced over at Otis who was just polishing the plate with a bit of biscuit.
"That's fine," Jim answered sincerely. "What kind of work will it be?" he asked wondering how Otis could consume nearly pure grease.
"Boss'll tell you if he decides to take you on," Reds told him. "If he doesn't, then you don't need to know. Otis, are you about done with that? They will wash the plate, you know," he added in an irritated voice.
"I'm done," Otis said licking his lips and wiping greasy fingers on his pants legs.
Joe and Reds rose, Joe pulled Otis roughly out of his seat, "See you at 4:00," he told Jim and the trio left.
At the door, Joe shoved a wizened old man out of their way. "Watch it there, sonny," the old timer shouted in a thick Cajun accent, staggering back with the rough shove.
"Shut up, pops," Joe growled giving him a second, harder shove that sent the old man down on his backside.
Jim shook his head with the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Poor Artie’d met the ground at the saloon twice now in less than 24 hours. Artie entered muttering under his breath and brushing dust off his backside.
"Hey, old timer," Jim called to him.
Stooped and bowlegged, Artie shuffled over to him. "What you want, sonny?" he asked.
"Let me treat you to a meal," Jim offered pushing a chair out with the toe of his boot.
"Ah, merci, merci bien," Artie answered and took the offered seat.
"Can you bring the old man a plate of breakfast?" Jim called over to the barkeep that doubled as the cook during the morning hours. Then he leaned his forearms on the table and spoke softly to Artie. "What have you got?"
"Not a lot," Artie answered matching Jim's low tone, "Anderson, Hammond, and Clatterbuck, I still can't get over that name," he shook his head, "are three time losers. Petty stuff. They hire on with whoever's paying the most for a hired gun at the time. Been in and out of jail for theft, but nothing big like this," Artie told Jim. The barkeep came with a plate of the same greasy eggs and biscuits and set it in front of Artie. "Merci, mon bon homme," Artie said to the barkeep. He eyed the greasy plate and made a face. "What the hell is this?" he asked Jim when the barkeep was out of earshot.
"Eggs and biscuits," Jim grinned at his partner.
"Oh, please," Artie said starting to push the plate away.
"Better eat it, Artie. Don't want to raise any suspicions. After all, you did come in for breakfast didn't you?" Jim teased.
"Breakfast, not an oil bath," Artie replied. He put a small bit of egg in his mouth. "Oh, Lord," he muttered.
Jim chuckled. "Any information on who they might have hired on with this time?" he asked as Artie swallowed.
"A couple of possibilities," Artie began, "Claude Benoit is a native and was just released from prison. He served 5 years for selling guns to a bunch of renegades trying to restart the war," he told his partner. "Think I can get some coffee? This stuff is disgusting," Artie asked pushing the plate away. "And that leads us to possibility number two," he continued as Jim ordered another cup of coffee for himself and one for Artie. "Sasson Delacroix," Artie said.
"Wait, I know that name," Jim interrupted trying to remember.
"Yeah, you should," Artie said, "Think Shiloh."
"Damn!" Jim swore softly, now remembering the man, "Is he still alive? He must be 70."
"He is. And a very healthy 70 at that. After you had him arrested for treason, he was sent to a federal prison. He's been out less than a year, moved down here when he got out and hasn't been heard from since," Artie told him. "At least not in the criminal world, anyway. He comes to town every now and again for supplies but not much else. He has a place in the bayou."
The barkeep brought the coffee and left the bill as well. Artie took a sip from his cup.
"So, what do you think?" Jim asked him.
"It's not bad," Artie shrugged.
"What?" Jim asked confused.
Artie looked at hi partner, frowning, "The coffee. It's not bad."
"I meant who do you think is our likeliest candidate," Jim explained.
"Oh. Well," Artie took in a long breath, let it out slowly as he pondered, "Benoit is young, itching for the south to rise, and these thefts would suit his needs perfectly," he replied thoughtfully, "I could see him behind this. But I could just as easily see Delacroix as the brains of the outfit. He'd like the unpleasantries to restart and with his military experience, the arms and supplies stolen, he could outfit a small army. So, I guess it could be either one or neither of them," Artie concluded.
"Thank you, that was very helpful," Jim answered sarcastically. He still had no opinion from his partner.
"I'm sorry, Jim, I just don't know," Artie replied.
"Does Benoit still have a home here?" Jim asked.
"Last report we have says his parents are deceased. He has no siblings so I imagine the family home went to him," Artie told Jim where Benoit's family home was in the bayou and finished the coffee. "Did you get hired on?" he asked noticing they were starting to draw attention.
"I meet the boss at 5:00," Jim answered dropping money on the table and rising. Loud enough for the barkeep to hear, he said, "That's the last time I try to do something nice for an old scruff. You didn't even eat!"
Artie stood, "You invited me, monsieur, I did not ask for anything," he answered. He turned and shuffled away from Jim.
"How do you like that," Jim mused for the barkeep's benefit. "Who is that old creep?"
"Never saw him before, but these Cajuns have large families. He's somebody's grandfather, I expect. Seems a might touched," the barkeep answered tapping his temple with one finger.
"I'll say," Jim agreed and exited the saloon. He lit a cigar and stood by the rail watching Artie shuffle off in the direction of the bayou, letting him get a distance away before following.
Jim picked his way through the think tangle of trees and soggy ground following Artie’s obvious path into the bayou. He reached an area that was only traversable by boat and looked around. He caught a glimpse of grey hair and moved up quietly behind his partner, crouched behind a tree. Jim saw Artie was soaking wet and smiled as he imagined Artie somehow winding up in the brackish water. He tapped Artie’s shoulder, startling him.
"Whup!" Artie exclaimed softly turning to face Jim. "What's the matter with you?" he whispered angrily. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"What happened to you?" Jim grinned at him, then his smile faded to a grimace, "What's that smell?" He sniffed near Artie. "Oh, you stink," he said waving a hand in front of his face. "What did you fall into?"
"Scat," Artie wrinkled his nose.
"From what? That is really foul!" Jim stated the obvious.
"God knows and He's not telling," Artie snapped back, "I slipped in a pile of something that came out of the south end of a north bound animal, that's all I know."
Jim waved his hand in front of his face again, "You need to wash it off, buddy."
"Why do you think I'm wet? I tried to wash it off," Artie answered testily.
"It didn't work," Jim quipped taking a step away. "Where are you staying?" he asked turning back to business.
"See that little shack?" Artie pointed through the trees to a run down, threadbare structure.
"How'd you find that place?" Jim asked.
"Cajun's are friendly folk. It's been abandoned for years, so they let me take it over," Artie answered.
"Why are you hiding out here, then?" Jim asked.
"Because I have uninvited guests," Artemus pointed again and Jim saw Joe, Reds, and Otis coming out of the shack. "What do you suppose they want?"
"My guess is they're checking you out," Jim told him. "I guess they make it their business to know who's in the bayou and you're a stranger. Watch yourself, Artie," Jim warned.
"Of course. You better get out of here before they spot you. I think it's time to go be hospitable," Artie smiled. Jim started to clap him on the shoulder then thought better of it, drew his hand back and left his partner. Artie waited till Jim disappeared in the thick trees then stepped from his hiding place and trooped up to the shack.
Jim scouted around in the bayou coming to Delacroix's home, a small but elegant wood structure. He considered knocking on the door to surprise the man, but decided against tipping his hand too soon. Besides, the man might not be behind the thefts and terrorism of the locals. Jim settled for circling the home and observing. Delacroix did not appear and all seemed quiet.
An hour later, Jim crept up to Benoit's family home. It was a much larger spread than Delacroix's with several other buildings besides the house. Jim slipped up to the largest, a barn like building and peered in through a back window. It was empty and Jim found that odd. He checked the other buildings, smaller than the barn, and all were equally empty. Jim wanted to go in the house and get a look around so he crept up to the back door. Pulling a lock pick from his lapel, he opened the door and entered. It was dark and quiet. He went through the house but it seemed deserted, unoccupied for a long time. Maybe Benoit had not taken over the family home, after all.
Jim pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He needed to get back to town before his escorts arrived to take him to the 'boss'. He left the Benoit home and made his way back through the tangled wall of trees. Glancing behind him to make sure he was proceeding unseen, Jim slid and went down on one knee. Picking himself up, he realized he'd slipped in the same sort of scat pile Artie had. Now it was more imperative than ever that he get back to town. He needed to change, the stench was nearly unbearable.
"What you want here?" Artie laid on the accent as he stepped up onto the small collapsing porch to his shack.
"Nothing, old timer. Who are you anyway?" Reds answered.
Artie squinted and leaned toward the three, "Desmond Bijoux, who wants to know?"
"You're new here, aren't you," Joe growled pushing Artie back. "What are you looking at?"
"Jest trying to see who comes to my home," Artie answered putting on a show of trying to see them, "I don't see so good, no more."
""He don't recognize us," Otis said to his companions.
"All the better for him," Reds replied, "Where'd you come from?"
"I come back from Canada to be with my family, but they don't live here no more. Least I don't find them," Artie answered. "What he mean I don't recognize you? I meet you before?" he asked leaning close to them again.
All three backed away from him with a collective "Phew."
"Naw. He doesn't know what he's saying. Come on, boys, he's nothing but a stinking old fart," Reds said leading his friends away from the shack.
Artie watched them go. He sniffed his sleeve. "Artemus, old son, they're right about the stinking part," he said to himself and went inside to get out of the reeking clothes.
When Jim came down from his room just after 4:00, his escorts were at the bar talking to the bartender. They glanced at Jim as he approached.
"Mickey here says you treated some old guy to breakfast this morning. The one coming in when we left. You know him?" Reds inquired suspiciously.
"No. I had a moment of compassion for the old timer and offered him something to eat. What a waste of food and money," Jim replied.
"What'd you talk about?" Joe asked lighting a cheroot and jamming it between his teeth.
"Nothing. He wasn't very talkative," Jim answered lighting a cigar of his own.
"He tell you who he was?" Reds asked.
"Like I said, it was a *moment* of compassion for an old coot. I didn't ask and he didn't say," Jim answered, "What's he got to do with anything anyway?"
"Not a thing," Reds said sizing Jim up. He paused a moment then asked, "You ready to meet the boss?"
"About time," Jim answered, "I thought we were going to stand here jawing about that old man all night."
He followed the trio out and mounted his horse. They led Jim to the waterway and tied their horses to a tree.
"We go by boat from here," Reds informed Jim.
"You don't mind rowing do you?" Joe sneered the smoldering stub of his cigar firmly affixed to the corner of his mouth.
"I guess not," Jim replied stepping into the boat and taking up the oars. "Is it far?" he asked.
"Not too far. Just go that way," Reds pointed east.
Jim began to steer them in the direction indicated. They weren't anywhere near Benoit's spread but Delacroix's home was just beyond the bend in the waterway. Reds told him to take the fork leading away from Delacroix's home, though. Jim scanned the trees and spotted Artie sitting on the porch of the shack whittling. His partner gave no indication that he even saw them, let alone recognized them.
"There's that old coot again," Joe said quietly to Reds, "Maybe we'll come back and have some sport with him," he laughed.
"If we have time," Reds said seriously. "Up around the next bend you'll see a felled tree. Pull up to it," he instructed Jim.
Rounding the bend, Jim saw the tree laying across the water. There were no homes or buildings of any kind around. He rowed up to the tree and stopped. "Now what?" he asked sounding impatient.
"Now tie us up to the tree and get out," Reds told him.
Jim tied the boat securely as Joe and Reds pulled themselves up onto the broad trunk. Otis let Jim go before him. Joe and Reds led the way across the trunk, jumped down onto soggy soil and waited for Jim and Otis.
Standing next to them, Jim looked around. "This is where your boss is?"
Reds put his hand on a knot on a large tree and pushed. A door swung open in the trunk and Jim saw a flight of stairs leading down. "In there," Reds ordered.
Jim ducked through the low doorway and started down the steps. "I can't see," he said stopping on the third step. Reds lit a lantern and handed it to him.
Jim continued down to the bottom. He was in a corridor that led farther east. He waited for the others to join him before proceeding down the passageway. It meandered for what Jim judged was about half a mile before ending at a closed door.
Reds stepped up and unlocked it. "Right through here, Mr. West," he said opening the door wide.
Jim had an uneasy feeling but entered as directed. He gazed around the room surprised. It looked like a living room one would expect to find in a fine home, not an underground hideout. There was a comfortable seating area with overstuffed chairs and a sofa, end tables and brightly lit lamps. Fine painting hung on the walls and a sideboard held a crystal decanter and matching glasses.
"Very nice," Jim commented as the others entered.
"The boss likes to live well," Reds replied.
One of the paintings swung out revealing a glass window. Jim could not see into the room behind it. Reds, Joe and Otis left Jim alone in the room.
"Mr. West," a thin, reedy, voice from behind the glass greeted him.
"That's right," Jim answered trying to remember if he'd ever heard the voice before.
"I understand you have left your position with the government and wish to join my organization," the voice continued. "May I ask why?"
"Uncle Sam doesn't pay very well for the work required. I don't plan on working till I'm too old to enjoy my retirement. So I'm looking to make more money faster," Jim replied.
"And what of your friend, Artemus Gordon?" the voice queried.
"I'm sure your men told you how I feel about him," Jim said evenly.
"They did, but I want to hear it from you personally," the voice answered firmly.
"I can't stand the sight of him any longer," Jim spat. "He's a boozer who makes me do all the work and tries to grab all the credit. He's dead to me," Jim stated a hint of anger in his reply.
"Very good, Mr. West. I suppose you would not object to a test of your loyalty then?" the voice asked.
"Do I have a job with you?" Jim wanted to know.
"Pass this test and you will retire a rich, young man, Mr. West. Fail and die an unemployed ex government agent," came the answer.
"What's the test?" Jim asked.
"Kill Artemus Gordon," the voice answered mildly, "If he isn't the worthless fool you make him out to be, he's likely already searching for you. Kill him and seal your employment with me."
"When do you want it done?" Jim asked sounding unconcerned.
"Just like that? No remorse? No qualms of any kind?" his interrogator wanted to know.
"I told you. He's dead to me," Jim answered evenly.
"In that case, do it tonight. My men will know if you have succeeded, I assure you. Now, please help yourself to a drink. My men will return soon to lead you back to town. In the meantime, perhaps you can tell me if you know when the next shipment of arms and supplies for Fort Louisiana will be coming in?" the voice asked.
Jim knew. It was one of the reasons he and Artie had been assigned to solve this case right away. The shipment was due in two days. The previous ones had been hijacked and the fort was low on ammunition and supplies.
"Day after tomorrow," Jim answered honestly.
"Wonderful! I'm pleased to see you are sincere," the voice laughed heartily. "Please, pour yourself a drink. I will join you in a moment."
Jim went to the sideboard and poured a glass of sherry from the decanter, giving it a quick sniff before taking a sip.
"Do not go walking through the bayou tonight, mon ami," the dark, Cajun told Artemus, "The devil is loose."
"Incroyable!" Artie exclaimed, "The devil? What you saying, Henri," he asked.
"My brother and I just return. We hear it running through the trees. If you go out tonight, you meet the devil for sure, I guarantee," Henri replied sounding edgy. "If you hear him, run, and do not look back to see."
"I will remember what you say, Henri," Artie assured the man as they shook hands.
Artie moved between the trees following the waterway in the direction he'd seen Jim rowing. A sinister sound stopped him in his tracks, he listened intently. He heard the low growling sound again coming from behind him and whirled scanning the surroundings but saw nothing. A movement to his left and Artie turned that way peering through the dense trees. A flash of long brown fur. Something large was moving toward him. Larger than a man, it slipped between two large trees. Artie crouched lower, not sure if it had seen him, and waited. Apparently it had, for now it charged through the underbrush directly at him. The head was wolfen with a long muzzle and very sharp looking teeth. Artie caught a whiff of the foul stench that had covered him earlier and pulled out his pistol. The creature moved fast, barreling down on his position. He raised his gun and fired hitting the creature squarely in the chest. It had no effect, the beast hurtled at him, launched itself and landed with it's short front paws on his chest knocking him backward to the ground. Artie fired into the beast's side at point blank range and again it seemed to have no effect. It closed is jaws on his shoulder and bit down hard sinking it's teeth into him. Artemus cried out in pain and emptied his remaining rounds into the creature. Enraged, the beast slashed it's claws across his chest, then his cheek. It opened it's mouth wide and roared in his face, fetid breath hot against his skin. Artie turned his face away, felt it bite into his shoulder again it's teeth scraping against bone and shaking him like a rag doll.
Then it released him and ran off into the trees, the attack over as fast as it had begun. Artie rolled onto his side, his right arm across his chest, his hand holding his injured left shoulder. He truly believed the creature might return. Or worse, he feared, it might find Jim before he did. Artie struggled to his feet. He felt sick to his stomach and wondered if it was the foul breath he'd breathed or aftershock from meeting that living, breathing, nightmare. Artie swayed, nearly passing out. He had a decision to make. Wander the bayou searching for Jim or go to the train and treat his wounds. If he passed out, he'd be no good to Jim or himself at all. Treat his wounds and return and he stood a chance of finding Jim and helping him solve this bizarre case. The decision made, Artie turned away and headed for home praying the 'devil' did not find Jim.