James West and his partner Artemus Gordon sat in the saloon playing poker with three rather unsavory looking men. The wiry red haired man with a drooping mustache and a two day growth of beard was called Reds. He had the look of a snake, his beady eyes shifting from side to side as if looking to see if anyone was watching him. He drank heavily and it showed in the lines and creases on his face.
To his right, sat his friend, Joe, a burly man with a low forehead, bushy eyebrows and a perennial cigar planted in the corner of his mouth. His skin had the leathery, weathered look of a man who had spent too much time in the sun. The smile he kept plastered to his face made him look like an oily salesman trying to palm off cut glass for diamonds. The most impressive thing about Joe was the size of his hands. They were thick fingered and looked like they could crush stone.
The third in their trio, Otis, was a short, round, bald man, younger than he actually looked. Otis did not speak often, but when he did it was in simple sentences and usually garnered him a snicker or a taunt from the other two. He was obviously submissive to his companion's dominant behaviors.
"Will you bet, please?" Jim asked impatiently as Arte sorted and resorted the cards in his hand.
"Patience, James," Arte 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. Arte downed his whiskey and ordered another before continuing. He raised the last man's bet with an exaggerated flair.
"I'll raise you $100," he announced grandiosely.
"Mister, we got a $10 limit," Reds told him.
"We told you that a dozen times already," Joe added impatiently.
"All right, all right," Arte took back his money and tossed $10 into the pot, "I'll raise you $10."
Jim glared at Arte and called. Otis tossed his money in and then distributed cards as each man asked for 2, or 3 cards, discarding ones in their hand. Arte 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. Joe and Jim stood in unison and faced Arte angrily.
"Cheat!" Joe shouted.
Pulling an innocent face, Arte asked, "What are you talking about?"
"I saw it to, Artemus. You pulled a card from your sleeve," Jim accused.
"Ha!" Arte laughed drunkenly, "Prove it, my good man," he said with a wave of his hand as though dismissing the ridiculous accusation.
Jim yanked Arte out of his chair and pulled his jacket off. Several cards, all aces, fluttered to the floor.
Arte let out a nervous little laugh. "Oops," he slurred covering his mouth to hide a snicker, as everyone was standing menacingly around him calling him a cheat. Jim grabbed him by the front of his shirt and Arte cringed.
"You pompous, egotistical, cheat!" Jim sneered, his face close to Arte's. He drew back his fist.
"Remember, not too hard," Arte managed to whisper before Jim landed the prearranged sock to his partner's jaw that sent him sprawling, arms and legs flailing. Always, the dramatic, Arte let the momentum skid him across the floor before drunkenly struggling to get up, rubbing his jaw and working it side to side painfully.
Reds threw Arte'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 back of his 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 down and gathered up their 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. 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. Made me work with someone who doesn't want to do anything but drink. 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 as Jim suppressed his smile and pulled Arte's money toward himself. "We'll just split that drunk'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 actual 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 new friends 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.
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.
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. He hoped to join them and discover who was behind all the recent activity.
"Our boss is always looking for a good man with a gun," Otis told Jim.
Reds shot Otis a warning look and 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 Arte saw him, he stood and dropped the cloth onto the table.
"I thought you weren't going to hit me too hard, James," Arte growled. "That punch rattled my teeth!"
"Sorry, Arte, I had to make it look good," Jim grinned.
"Yeah? Well how good does this look," Arte turned his face so Jim could see the bruise on his jaw.
"Looks like it hurts," Jim chuckled softly, enjoying himself.
"It does hurt!" Arte thundered.
Jim began to laugh in earnest
"Let me belt you and we'll see what's funny then," his partner suggested making a fist and taking a step forward.
Jim backed up, laughing harder, his hands out placating him, "No, that's alright. I believe you, Arte. Honest. I'm sorry," he pleaded unconvincingly. He was laughing too hard to be convincing, "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," Arte 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?" Arte 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," Arte said leaning against Jim's dresser.
Jim shrugged, "Stinks to be me, I guess," he chuckled.
Arte opened a drawer and began emptying it one piece at a time onto Jim's bed.
"I don't have to take everything I own, Arte," Jim protested as clothing sailed across the room landing in a heap near him.
Arte 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 Arte 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?" Arte 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, Arte," he defended himself.
"You didn't convince me," Arte answered, slowly tossing item after item onto the bed, making a mess of Jim's things.
"Arte!" Jim said loudly as Artemus landed a shirt on his head.
"Alright," Jim said seriously, "I'm sorry, Arte. I got carried away in the moment," Jim apologized.
Arte 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," Arte smiled.
"I did, ok? I admit it, but I never meant to hurt you," Jim agreed giving Arte 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," Arte 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 Arte standing in the middle of his room.