The Night of the Lethal Horse
Note: This story has 16 chapters. The story ends without any kind of cliffhanger in Chapter 16. That said, I've teased a sequel in Chapter 17. Why the note? The sequel involves characters from another show from the same time period in a natural evolution. The story remains Wild Wild West centric despite the guest appearances of those characters. But if you don't like that kind of meandering, stop at Chapter 16!
Chapter 1 - Aimless and Artie-less Wandering
The Wanderer chugged slowly into the Freehold train station detouring from the planned route. Fortunately, Jim wasn't in a hurry. Artie was stuck in DC waiting to testify in a counterfeiting trial five days after Jim's testimony had concluded. Jim had offered to stick around to wait, but Artie knew Jim was restless to leave the city and its politics. Both were weeks overdue for a vacation. Artie sucked up his jealously that he couldn't go with Jim and suggested Jim start his leave early — so long as Jim promised not to exhaust all the wine, women and song in New York City before he could join him. Jim agreed to do his best.
Three days after Jim left DC, the train — having encountered numerous track delays — was finally nearing the New York border. Then an axle on the varnish car broke. Jim and Orrin managed to stabilize it enough to get the train someplace repairs could be done quickly, or so they hoped. Monmouth County wasn't a booming metropolis, but it wasn't Palookaville either. Unfortunately, the station manager at Monmouth Junction directed them to a siding off the adjacent Freehold & Jamesburg line, sending them further off course.
As soon as the train limped into Freehold, Jim gave Orrin with a letter of credit and authority to deal with repairs and left the listing varnish car. Jim's sole goal was to find a decent meal. It should have been a half day's journey to New York on the Wanderer, so Jim hadn't laid in provisions beyond lunch. Then, as luck would have it, none of the track delays occurred close to towns. The pantry contained little more than canned beans and jerky. Jim picked at these, but he had recently lost his taste for both, leaving him hungry and grumpy.
Jim walked to the station proper to get his bearings on the town of Freehold. He was surprised to see so many people in the streets and well-heeled looking ones at that. He remembered that Freehold had been the site of a notable battle in the Revolutionary War, but knew little more. A quick check at the train station informed him that a major horse sale was going on this week. He knew there were horse breeders in the area, and knew horses well enough, but on a government salary, Jim was fortunate to have the prize American Quarter Horse he did own. General Grant had initially owned the horse, but finding him full of "piss and vinegar," he made a personal gift of the stallion to Jim West. Grant had no time for such an obstinate horse and besides, as he told Jim, something about the horse reminded him of his former aide-de-camp, Captain James West. While Jim had no intention of replacing his horse anytime soon, he found the idea of looking at high quality horseflesh a surprisingly appealing diversion at the time.
He headed to the town's large hotel, the American Hotel, for lunch only to be told he'd need to leave his gun at the sheriff's office before entering the saloon. As for a room, forget it. There wasn't one left to be had in town according to the hotel clerk.
Hunger and annoyance gnawing at him — compounded by a grueling couple of months' activity prior — Jim marched on down to the Sheriff's office. He found the sheriff at his desk, head down, slurping up stew from a spoon.
"Afternoon, Sheriff. I heard that I need to leave my gun here before dining at the hotel." Jim held it by the muzzle and placed it on the table.
The sheriff obligingly put down his spoon and looked up. "Captain West?"
"Yes." Jim stared for a second or two before it registered. "Lieutenant Mutter?"
The Sheriff hastily leapt up with his hand extended. "So good to see you, Captain."
"It's just Jim now, Ollie. The war is long over, thankfully."
"Still, it's good to see you. What brings you to our little borough? The horse sale?"
"Not exactly. I was on my way to New York when I experienced some transportation difficulties."
"So the horse sale might just be a fortunate coincidence after all?"
"Not exactly. I came in by train."
"Are you telling me that that little number that just limped in and parked off the siding is yours?"
"Not mine. A good friend lets me use it."
"Nice company you keep!"
"Oh, there are plenty of strings attached, I assure you."
"So what are you up to these days?"
"A little of this and that."
"Sounds suspiciously like the old days to me."
"Nothing so gruesome, I assure you. Right now, I'd just like a decent meal."
"No personal chef on the private train?"
"No, not this trip," Jim winked.
"I wish I could join you, but I've got no relief here until dinner. How about we get together then?"
"We could, but as of now, I don't even have a place to stay. I hear the town is packed."
"I'd offer you a couch at my house, but truth is that it's rented out for the whole week. My wife is visiting her sister in Monmouth and I've been bunking on a cot in an empty cell. My worry is the cells fill up the next night or two and I'll have no place to sleep either."
"Worse comes to worst, I can sleep on a slant in the varnish car. I've certainly . . . well, I don't have to tell you."
"Slept in worse, you mean? I shudder to remember. Listen, go get lunch and come back. Maybe I'll come up with an idea for a place for you to spend the night."
"I'll do that."
Jim arrived as the lunch crowd was thinning, although the tables remained quite full with folks talking and drinking. He enjoyed a good clam chowder followed by a bouillabaisse. Fresh seafood was a boon he hadn't expected on this trip and he was delighted by it. Before Washington DC, he'd been tracking that monster Jake Criolla through the Badlands. Jim ate ferrets, snakes and anything else he could catch supplemented by the meager supply of canned beans and jerky he'd packed. Since leaving South Dakota, Jim had craved fish, fresh fruit and vegetables.
Jim craved good company too, but he couldn't quite get in a mindset yet to randomly socialize. He worried that he might not even be able to for a while. If only he'd had a chance to talk to Artie in person in DC when he finally returned from South Dakota. But by the time Jim arrived in town, the judge — wanting to forestall any efforts by the high powered defense attorney to seize upon a mistrial — ordered sequestration of the witnesses. Only because the judge knew Artie and Jim were they permitted to communicate for the five minutes they did in the presence of the judge.
Jim finished off lunch with a whiskey. It was pleasantly smooth and a second was tempting, but without firm plans for a place to spend the night, Jim passed. He headed back to see Sheriff Mutter. Good old Ollie Mutter, Jim thought, a man who'd proven his mettle when tested in battle, a man whose good instincts had saved an entire company from near certain death.
"Jim, come in. As you can see, my fear is coming true. My temporary abode begins to fill with drunks and disorderlies. Perhaps we should pitch a tent together tonight?"
"I'd rather sleep standing against a wall than camp out again."
"Bad experience recently?"
"Too much camping, that's all." Jim was a little surprised he'd admitted as much as he had. He really was in need of a vacation.
"Look, I know where you could bunk in a nice warm house a ways out of town and see some of the finest horseflesh you've ever seen, but . . . uh . . . the recommendation comes with some hesitation."
"Tell me more."
Ollie pushed Jim's gun back toward him along with a letter. "It's an authorization for you to carry while in town."
"Mighty generous of you, thanks."
"Well, it vaguely ties in to what I'm about to discuss with you. Jim, I need you to be straight with me before I say more. Your friend with the train, is he a government man by any chance?"
"You could say that."
Ollie smiled. "I didn't see you selling bonds on Wall Street. So you're a federal agent now?"
"Is this just between old friends?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"Yes, I report directly to the President."
"Good for you! You ever see or hear from folks we served with?"
"Sometimes. People have scattered."
"How about Robert Foley?"
Jim shook his head. "Not a happy ending. Survived the amputation, but died from infection two years later."
"How about that clown who kept us in stitches with his theatrics, Gordon?"
"That clown is my partner and a damn fine one too."
"Artemus Gordon and you work together?"
"He's the brains. I'm the brawn."
"I'm not buying that, well, maybe a little."
"Let's just say that there was a time when I worked alone and I wasn't half as good as we are working together."
"He's not here with you, though?"
"No, he's stuck in DC waiting to testify at a trial. Artie's methods are more subtle than mine, so when cases go to trial, he usually ends up on the stand longer than me. That's certainly one thing I don't mind. Artie, well, he loves to tell a good story to a crowd."
"I don't think I ever heard one from him that was the same twice!"
"No, which is why it's a good thing he only tells them once in court. So tell me, what's my line of work got to do with a room to let?"
"It's complicated."
"Try me."
"There's a woman, a fine woman if you ask me."
"I like how the story starts."
