The Night of Michelito Loveless's Revenge

by Andamogirl

Updated story and re-post. Jim West and Artemus Gordon are back in the Secret Service now working under President Benjamin Harrison's direct orders. They meet again with their new arch-enemy, Michelito Loveless, Miguelito Loveless's son. But this time the famous duet becomes a trio with the presence of the dashing Andamo (Mr. Lucky), coming from 1960.

3. Act Two

THE NIGHT OF MICHELITO LOVELESS'S REVENGE

By Andamogirl

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ACT TWO

Desert Springs, November 10, 1890

Letting out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding, Andamo looked around him in awe with his eyes wide open. "Whoa!" He let out. He was so astonished that he dropped both his cigarette and the ashtray at his feet, instantly forgetting them. "Oh my!"

He wasn't in the Reception Hall of the Museum anymore but standing right in the middle of a western movies-like street with cowboys riding horses, others were sat in buckboards, in wagons, and there were saloons, taverns, gambling houses, brothels, a sheriff's office, a mercantile shop, a general store, a livery stable, etc. "It worked! It actually worked! Otepek sent me backward in time! I'm in the past, living a real western…that's so great!" he added, with a large smile spreading across his face. "This is awesome!'

The Latino headed toward the sidewalk made of planks and spotted his reflection in the tall mirror of the barber shop, placed next to the door.

He looked at himself. He was wearing his favorite black suit with a bolero jacket (he straightened it, erasing a crease on the left sleeve) a white 'Spanish' shirt and black, tight pants. "I think I will need new clothes to blend in here with the locals…and a gun too," he said. He searched his inside pockets; found his cigarette case, his lighter, a pen, but no money. "Anyway 20th century bank notes certainly won't be accepted here." He snapped his fingers twice. "I have to find Artemus Gordon, if Otepek sent me here, my grand-father has to be here too, somewhere in town. Let's start with the sheriff. Perhaps he knows where he is. Sheriffs usually know everything, at least in western movies…"

Andamo entered the sheriff's office a few minutes later. A white-haired man was sitting behind a writing table, holding a mug of coffee, a newspaper open in front of him.

The old lawman looked up and down at the man who had entered his office and asked, "Is there anything I can do for you my boy?"

The Latino nodded. "Hello sheriff. My name is Andamo. I need your help. I'm looking for a man called Artemus Gordon…" He said.

The sheriff smiled broadly and let out, "Of course you are." He chuckled seeing that the younger man was surprised.

Frowning, puzzled, Andamo asked, "How did you know that?"

The man with the silver star chuckled again. "How? Good Lord! You're the spitting image of your father. You look exactly like him when he was your age, it's truly incredible! You're like his double. You lost your dad son? He stood up and offered his hand to Andamo who shook it. "I'm Walter Finley an old friend of Artemus. Ah! Good old Artie, I know him very well, we've been friends many years, since the end of the war." He frowned a bit puzzled and added, "Well I thought I knew him well, but he didn't tell me that he had a son."

The Latino man shook his head. "I'm not his… " He abruptly stopped. 'Shut up Andamo! He thought. This man is going to lead you to Artemus,' he thought. "Er… yes. He usually doesn't tell anyone. He's afraid that his enemies could find that he has a son and that they could kill me as revenge… and… and I usually stay in Mexico with my mother. I don't come to the United States very often."

Finley smiled. "Well, that does explain your Mexican accent and your Mexican clothes too, son. So you lost good ol' Artemus? What happened?"

Raising his hand, Andamo waved it then. "It's silly, but I got lost… it's the first time I've come here. Perhaps you could tell me where he is, sheriff, please?"

The sheriff patted the younger man's shoulder with affection. "Follow me. He's not far. The railway station is located behind the church."

Utterly excited Andamo beamed. 'The Wanderer!... I'm going to see the famous Wanderer! I was playing with a wooden toy-replica of the Wanderer, when I was little that my father had carved for me… I'm going to see the real one!' he thought.

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Later, on the Wanderer

Midday

Sitting on the couch, James West opened the local newspaper and called, "Artemus?" He started reading the headlines and said aloud, "Your coffee is getting cold!"

Entering the parlor car, Artemus Gordon said, "I'm not deaf, you know. I was busy feeding the horses." And he started re-buttoning his brown and gold waistcoat. He lowered his hand to the coffee table and took the steaming mug sitting on it. "Thanks! Mmm… it smells good. You're finally capable of making good coffee – better later than never." Then he took a sip.

Smiling, Jim looked up. "Thanks Artie, but I'm still unable to prepare any food, not even the basics, like fried eggs and omelets. By the way, I'm beginning to get hungry. What's on the menu?"

Frowning, a bit irritated, Artie said, "I'm not your personal Chef, James West, and the Wanderer is not a restaurant on wheels."

Looking falsely surprised Jim said, "Since when?" Then he chuckled softly. "Ah! Come on! You love being in the galley, cooking, as much as being in your lab."

Suddenly a knock at the door surprised them both.

Immediately Jim's eyebrows drew together in concern. He asked, "Are you expecting someone Artie? Because I'm not." And he watched Artemus grab the gun hidden in the secret compartment of the faux fireplace and cock the hammer. "The answer is no."

Holding his revolver Artemus opened the door with caution and cocked the hammer… and felt himself freeze, his breath caught in his throat, staring agape and wide-eyed, in total and complete astonishment, at the image of the man he had been many years ago, in the shape of a younger man who was standing on the rear platform of the Wanderer.

Bewildered, he took a step backward, jaw hanging open, forgetting to breathe and his legs wobbling. "This-is-not-possible," he finally croaked after a long silence.

Taking a step forward Andamo couldn't help but stare at the older man as he felt tears roll onto his cheeks. His grandfather was here, at arm's reach. A man he had never known but had always dreamed of knowing, a man that his father and he admired, almost revered, he mused. "Hi, my name is Andamo", he said. He pointed at the gun Artie was holding with a trembling hand. "Could you lower that big gun please?"

Curious to see who was there – Artie's large frame hiding the man or was it a woman? - Jim took three long strides across the room and joined his best friend.

Blinking, he too stared at Andamo, eyes wide opened and his mouth dropped open a bit. After thirty seconds he finally said, "I didn't know that you had a son, Artie... oh my! He looks exactly like you when we started working together. That's incredible!"

Feeling embarrassed Artie abruptly sobered up. "I didn't know that either. I had intimate relationships with a few women in the past when I was young… So it's possible…"

Still amazed, looking at Andamo from head to toe, Jim replied, "I think it happened, buddy."

Smiling Andamo shook his head. "No, I'm not your son, Sir," he said to Artemus. "I'm your grandson and my name is Andamo. I traveled in time, to the past to meet you, to get to know you."

Speechless Artemus Gordon lowered his gun, a turmoil of emotions overwhelming him, first it was intense shock – 'He's what? My grandson?' - then it was a profound joy – 'I'm going to have a son! Then a grandson, but first, I'm going to get married and have a wife!' – and finally he felt an immense relief. 'Oh dear god! I'm not going to die alone, I mean without a family, that was my greatest fear,' he thought. Beaming he placed his free hand on the younger man's shoulder and said, "I just can't believe it! Oh boy! That's wonderful!" Then he pulled Andamo into a tight warm hug, "And truly incredible!" He parted from the other man and added. "Welcome on board the Wanderer, Andamo, and of course, welcome to the 19th century… because, if you are my grandson, you come from the future, and from…?"

Still staring at the famous Artemus Gordon, the Civil War super spy, the Secret Service most famous agent, hero of his youth, still amazed to have him in the flesh before him, Andamo stammered, "1960, Sir…"

Blinking in awe Artie breathed, "What? 1960! It's extraordinary! 1960!" He pointed at Jim. "Oh, let me present you my best friend and partner, James West."

The two men shook hands warmly. "It's a pleasure sir," Andamo said, beaming. "I heard lots of stories about you and my grandfather's adventures when I was a boy."

Smiling, Jim said, "Call me Jim. Really? Your father told you them?"

Andamo nodded. "Yes, Sir, I mean yes, Jim. He had heard them from his own father and mother." He entered the parlor car and looked around him, amazed. The place was luxurious, richly decorated and comfortable: "It's nice, exactly like my father described it to me. I often dreamed of being here, in the parlor car, but I had no idea that I'd actually be here someday…" He beamed with glee. "This is so great!"

Smiling, Artie placed his gun on the coffee table and said, "I'm sure. Have a seat, Andamo. You have a lot to tell us."

The Latino took his place on the golden silk brocade couch, touching the fabric to be sure it was real. "Thank you, Sir," he said.

He glanced at the Colt with the letters AG being engraved in the handle and recognized it. His father had placed it on a wooden plate hanging on a wall in his study. It was a precious relic that no one was allowed to touch, except him.

His smile broadening, Artemus let out, "Don't call me that, please. The last time someone called me that, I was still a Major in the Cavalry… a long time ago. Call me Artemus, or Artie," and he sat beside Andamo as Jim sat on a comfortable chair opposite.

Looking alternately at Jim and Artie, Andamo said, "I don't know where to start… and it's quite an extraordinary story to tell."

His eyes narrowing in suspicion, Jim crossed his arms on his chest and asked, "Okay, I need to hear the truth. Are you really Artie's grandson or a younger duplicate of Artemus Gordon sent by one of our arch enemies to kill Artie and me?"

Dumbfounded the Latino blinked twice. "What? A duplicate? You mean that I wouldn't be the real Andamo? No! I'm not a duplicate, I'm me, Andamo."

His brow furrowing a bit more, now intrigued, Jim asked, "Just Andamo. No last name? Why?"

Staring at his best friend, Artemus was appalled. "Jim! How can you think that? Of course he's my grandson –look at his eyes! This is not the look of a liar. He's sincere."

Not convinced Jim said, "You had doubles before Artie, remember? Michelito Loveless is still at large and I'm sure that he inherited his father's ability to create duplicates, without mentioning other very dangerous people too who can do that kind of trick."

The younger man cringed. "In answer to your question, I usually go by Andamo, just Andamo, no last name. It's a habit I took on because of where I come from. Because on Cholobolo, El Presidente didn't like foreigners, and Gordon is a foreign name there. My parents had problems with the police controlled by El Presidente because of that. For example the policemen vandalized our car, put graffiti on the walls of our home, of my school like 'Go back to the States!' or 'Go home Americanos!' and they were even insulted by them when they returned home after shopping, etc. They were constantly harassed by the police, and me too… Lucky was tolerated on the island because he was running a Casino and gave a lot of money to El Presidente to be allowed to stay there… To put an end to this, my parents chose to officially take my mother's name, Cárdenas instead of my father's, because it sounded Spanish and the troubles stopped, overnight. They didn't change it to Gordon after they left Cholobolo after that El Presidente was murdered."… 'Quite in a hurry because I helped a beautiful assassin to get into position to kill that pig! Good riddance! I hope he's burning in hell!' he thought. He finally added, "They now live in Mexico. And, so as not to have any problem with the Mexican authorities they even took Mexican nationality as my grandmother was Mexican, and a famous one. It speeded things up. But after I came to the US, I obtained permanent residency. I'm authorized to live and work in the United States of America permanently, but I can't vote."

Still gazing at Andamo with intense scrutiny, to make him feel uncomfortable, to make him speak, to make him tell the truth, Jim asked, "How did you manage to travel backward into the past?"

Feeling nervous to be questioned by Jim as if he was a liar, Andamo pulled his cigarette case out of his inside pocket along with his lighter. "I can tell you that Colonel Vautrain and Michelito Loveless are not involved in this," he said.

Pointing at Jim Artemus said, "See? He knows that Vautrain and Loveless sent us back in time, no one else know that except us and Colonel Richmond and President Grant. Our reports were confidential." Then he glanced at the younger man and asked, "Did you father tell you about what happened with Vautrain and Loveless? That's the only logical way you can know that."

Lighting up a cigarette, Andamo replied, "Yes and all of your other adventures." He held the lighter out to Artemus as he noticed that the older man was intrigued by it and said, 'It's a lighter, something very common when I come from. It's a portable device used to generate a flame. It's very handy to light cigarettes, cigars, well to light anything actually."

Completely fascinated Artemus examined the object then looking up at Andamo asked, "So, you're from an island called Cholobolo?"

Looking at his grandfather, right in the eyes, the Latino took the first drag of his cigarette, exhaled the smoke and said, "Yes, Cholobolo is a small island in the Caribbean. The national language there is Spanish. I was born there on March 22, 1920. I'm an only child. My mom, Elmira Cárdenas was born there too. My father, your son, is Feliz Gordon, he was born in Washington D.C. and he's an American citizen. Well, he was, because he had to renounce it, and you know why now. Your wife Lupita Quesada, my grandmother, was Mexican. My parents are still alive and, as you know now, live in Mexico."

Grinning Jim patted his best friend's knee. "Lupita Quesada?... Well, I guess your rendez-vous will go very well, and will be followed by many others… and followed by an engagement, a wedding and a baby. I knew there was something between Lupita and you, Artie. I realized that when you kissed her before she slapped you and after that, at the restaurant, you couldn't help but look at each other, holding hands… Then you spent that whole 'romantic' week together before she returned to Mexico. You were in love with her and she with you."

Smiling, Artie nodded, and placed the lighter on the coffee table, remembering everything. They had spent their time discussing what they liked and did not like, had dined at the best restaurants, went to balls, attended shows in cabarets and saloons, went to the theater, the opera, had wandered on horseback, in a carriage and had made love – a lot. "Life separated us… to bring us together again many years later. Isn't it wonderful? Lupita and me together again…" he said, with a grin.

Jim nodded. "And a couple – well, you will be a couple, future tense. You can start dating her the next time you see her. She won't say no, and she'll succumb to your charm – no doubt."

Artie's very big smile vanished as his face grew somber. He took a deep breath clenching his jaw, bracing himself and asked, "How did I die? And when?"

Shaking his head Andamo hesitated. "No, no, no, it's a bad idea… I'm not going to tell you anything. Neither you nor Jim."

But the older man insisted, "I insist. It's my life… or rather, it's my death. So I want to know everything. Tell me, please, Andamo. Tell me."

Shaking his head, the Latino said, "I can't. No."

It was Jim who intervened, "Artemus is the most stubborn man I know, and it's not gotten any better with age… (he ignored Artie's glare)… When he wants something, he always ends up getting it, even if he has to spend hours, days, weeks, and so on, on it. And if you don't want to hear him say 'tell me' several hundred times, and he will do it, believe me, I advise you to tell him everything."

Defeated Andamo nodded. "Like father, like son… my father is like as well, and I too. Okay. You win." Ill-at-ease Andamo sighed and said, "You died in your sleep, on July 3, 1910. Dr. Baker told my dad it was probably following a massive heart attack as you had minor heart attacks a few weeks before. Dr. Baker, had prescribed sleeping pills to treat your sleeplessness, so you felt nothing. You just stopped breathing, while sleeping soundly. I'm sorry."

Relief showing on his face Artemus heaved a sigh and nodded. "Don't be. Well, it's a good way to die. With my kind of profession, I always thought I would go out with a violent death, with a bullet to the chest, a knife to my heart, and relatively young… I'm glad it happened that way."

Repressing a smirk, Jim said, "Emphasis on relatively." Then, suddenly serious, he asked, "What about me?" How do I die? And when?"

Looking at Jim, still feeling uncomfortable, Andamo revealed, "You died on December 27, 1932, of old age. It was the end of the afternoon and you were surrounded by your family, me included."

Jim and Artie looked at each other at the same time, thinking the same thing. They weren't afraid to die, dying was part of life – everyone dies at one time or another – and death was part of their job. They could die anytime while on a mission. They had accepted it a long time ago when President Grant had asked them to join the Secret Service and it hadn't changed after they re-enlisted to serve President Harrison. They didn't fear death. But there was something – only one thing that terrified them when they worked side by side: that one of them might die first and that the other one was left alone, heartbroken with a terrible void at his side. They hoped to pass away together…

But sadly it wouldn't happen that way.

Jim's face crumpled at the same time his heart sank. He was feeling sick, nauseated at the idea of a dead Artemus lying in his bed; at the idea of living twenty-two years without the other man. "What am I going to do without you Artie?" he asked, his throat tightened by raw emotion. "Twenty-two years is an eternity!"

Eyes wet and stinging, Artemus attempted a smile but failed miserably, a lump stuck in his throat. "You'll find out, Jim. I'm not worried about that. In 22 years, you can do so many things… As for myself, well, I have 20 years left… and it's a long time. And I intend to enjoy every minute of it from now on."

To finish the heartbreaking subject, Andamo said, "As for grandma Lupita, she died on June 22, 1917, in her sleep too, peacefully." Then he decided to change the topic of conversation, and looking at Jim he said, "You were there when I was born sir, I mean Jim, and my grandmother Lupita chose you to be my godfather and my middle name is James."

Jim was very surprised, then he was very pleased and deeply honored. He bowed his head and said, "I hope I was a good godfather."

Feeling tears welling up in his eyes, Andamo nodded. "The best! When my grandfather died… you were there for my grandmother and my father to help them to overcome their grief. It was a very difficult time for everyone… And you were like a second grandfather to me."

Pause. The three men wiped their tears with their hands.

Standing, Jim moved toward the table and taking the pot of fresh coffee poured the dark, steaming liquid into a mug. "Do you want a cup of coffee, Andamo?"

The Latino shook his head, "No thank you," and watched Jim come back, holding his mug and an ashtray he had taken from the sideboard.

Once the ashtray was set down on the coffee table, Andamo flicked the ashes from his cigarette into it. "Thanks," he said.

Placing his mug onto his lap, Jim said, "Okay, let's go back on topic. How did you manage to get here? I mean travel in time?"

The Latino smiled, delighted to change the subject under discussion. "Ah! It's an incredible story – You're not going to believe me. I was at that reception at the Archeological Museum on the Oceanside when a statuette of an ancient god named Otepek…"

Both Jim and Artemus exchanged a surprised look.

Lifting his hand, Artie said, "Stop! I know what happened. You said the name 'Otepek' three times and then you were paralyzed by a blinding white light. And the god probed your mind, said that you were a good man and granted you the possibility to travel back in time to meet your ancestors. And you chose to meet me… and he sent you here, now."

Opening his chocolate eyes wide in astonishment, Andamo said, "Yes… except it's Otepek who told me about you, he told me he had met you in the past… and, as I always dreamed of meeting you, I accepted the chance to come here. " He frowned. "My father never told me about that story with Otepek and I wonder why…" He furrowed his brow a little more. "How do you know that?"

Pointing at the door leading to the narrow walkway leading to the other rooms and cars, Artie said, "Something similar happened to me a few days ago – except that I didn't travel in time to meet one of my ancestors… I said no. I had a mission to fulfill. By the way, that statuette is here, in my lab." He glanced at Jim and added, "Are you satisfied Jim? He's really my grandson and the whole story I told you really happened – because Andamo is here to prove it."

Relaxing in the armchair, Jim took a sip of coffee and replied, "Yes, I am. I want you to forgive me both for being suspicious, but we've met doppelgangers before. You remember the other Jim West that Dr. Loveless created? When Janus, my double and I were fighting, you were unable to keep straight which one was which and at the end, after I finally defeated Janus, you were still unsure that I was the true Jim, but you were after I kissed Marie." Then he smiled.

Rolling his eyes, Artie said, "You always ended up kissing the girl…" and caught Andamo chuckling softly around his cigarette. He frowned, a bit hurt. "You know that too…"

Placing his half-empty mug on the coffee table, Jim smiled and said, "Not always, and, if I recall correctly, many lovely women ended up in your arms, and then in your bed. I would say, 'very often'. But what's important is, that, in the end, you found the one for you, el General Lupita Quesada – I mean you will find the one for you, as it hasn't happened yet."

Smiling Artie patted the younger man's shoulder. "Andamo my boy, you're going to stay here during your visit, with Jim and I. You will sleep in the stateroom. President Cleveland was the last President to sleep in that bed. It was after we defeated Michelito Loveless." He looked up and down at Andamo and added, "You need new clothes, more like 19th century clothes."

Dropping the butt of his cigarette in the ashtray, Andamo said, "Great!" He was excited, eyes sparkling. "And I need a hat, a gun belt and a revolver too."

Frowning, Jim said, "No revolver for you. Carrying a gun can be dangerous. Someone could challenge you to duel for a trifle, it happens very often."

The younger man frowned, a pout to his lips, very disappointed. "Why? I use a gun rather often you know. I don't hesitate to shoot bad guys when necessary. Lucky and I we're in a business that brings us into contact with mobsters, gangsters, smugglers, hit men and counterfeiters too." He suddenly realized that his best friend and partner was probably searching for him – and wouldn't able to find him. Anywhere. "Oh, Lucky, he's going to be dead worried. He'll probably search everywhere with Rovacs and the police on his tail helping him…" He opened his cigarette case again and pulled one out.

Curious, Jim asked, "Who's this Lucky and who's Rovacs?"

Using the lighter to light his cigarette, Andamo responded, "Lucky is my best friend and partner." He took a first puff and added, "We have a yacht, called the Fortuna II. First it was a gambling casino, but it's a floating restaurant now. We run the business together. Rovacs is a Lieutenant of police. He's not a friend, but he helps us sometimes. He's not too bad for a cop, a police officer."

Artemus nodded. "Alright, then you're going to have new clothes, a hat, a gun belt and a gun. We'll make a 19th century man of you my boy. Do you ride horses, Andamo?"

The younger man smiled. "Yes, I had a horse when I was a boy, a gray mare called 'Carlita'." His stomach suddenly rumbled in hunger. "I'm sorry. I'm very hungry. I had an early breakfast this morning… by the way, what's the date?"

Standing, Jim said, "July 7, 1890." Then he took the mug and moved toward the table where he placed it beside the pot of coffee.

Blinking in surprise, Andamo let out, "1890! Woah! Then I had my breakfast seventy years ago. I am not surprised at being very hungry." He chuckled.

Jim pointed at Artie with a mischievous smile, "I fortunately have a Chef here, namely Artemus Gordon. He's going to prepare us something copious and delicious in the galley in no time. He's so good that we could turn the train into a restaurant – on wheels." Seeing that Artie was giving him a black look he said. "He loves cooking."

Nodding, Andamo rapidly glanced around him and looking at Jim he said, "The idea of a 'rolling restaurant' is very good, you know. Did you ever hear about the Orient Express?"

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Andamo spent the next hour wolfing down everything Artemus placed in front of him on the table – and between the dishes, he told the two very very curious other men what had happened between the end of the 19th century and the middle of the 20th century – wars (essentially the two world wars), the development of transportation (cars, planes, cruise ships) and technological inventions (washing machines, refrigerators, electric stoves, vacuum cleaners and the television) and the culture and entertainment (jazz music, rock and roll & cinema), and he finished his panorama of the 20th century with – according to him - the top inventions, the mini skirt and the bikini.

Of course Jim particularly loved them. Artemus rolled his eyes.

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Later in the Silver Star saloon

Grinning like a kid in a toy store Andamo had three curvaceous saloon girls dressed in low-cut, feathered and corseted colorful dresses, slightly showing of their generous breasts, wrapped around him, purring like big cats. One blonde, one brunette and one red-head. They had creamy white skin, full red-painted lips and lots of faux jewelry.

There was a foam covered glass sitting on the table before him – untouched. The Latino was too busy enjoying the kisses and the caresses of the lovely young women, their arms curled around him to think about drinking his cheap and probably bad beer.

Sitting in a corner, at another table, three tables away, Artemus took a sip of root beer and turned toward his partner sitting beside him, who had a glass of whiskey in his hand. "Look at him Jim. That boy is a charmer. He's exactly like me at his age. He probably has a girl in his arms and then in his bed every night, especially with his kind of work. He meets a lot of women."

Glancing at Artie, his eyes twinkling with playfulness, Jim chuckled, "If I remember correctly, when you were his age, I had all the girls, in my arms and in my bed, not you."

Furrowing his brow, upset, Artemus gave his best friend a dry look and seeing him dressed in allover blue clothes, bolero jacket, shirt, waistcoat and pants – with a black tie, he suddenly missed his much loved blue tailcoat suit which was still in the laundry room, in the laundry basket. So he had chosen a burgundy suit with a black waistcoat and tie.

His frowned deepened and he replied, "That was because they were more attracted by brawn than brain… but I didn't care. I wasn't jealous. I don't know what jealousy is." Jim had always been a ladies' man, flirting with pretty much anyone… until he met his wife, Juanita. As for him, Jim exaggerated, he had had a few women in his life, like Cassandra Peterson, the opera singer, like Lily Fortune the actress and Lupita Quesada, the colonel of the Mexican Secret Service, briefly… but it would change, he thought.

He would marry her and have a child, a boy, Feliz, he added in his mind as he took a gulp of cold Sarsaparilla smiling around the rim of his glass.

Furrowing his brow, a bit upset too, Jim paused rolling the glass between his hand and said, "Are you saying that I'm not intelligent?" I'm a highly educated man. Sure I'm not a walking encyclopedia like you, but I'm very intelligent."

Looking again at Andamo who was kissing the brunette girl while she slowly worked her hand up his thigh, Artemus raised his glass for another swig of fizzing liquid. "I had muscles…"

Jim smirked. "Had, yes."

Glaring at his companion, Artie asked, "Are you insinuating that I'm flabby? Overweight?"

A twinkle in his eye, Jim asked, "Are you feeling targeted, Artie?"

Raising his chin, Artie huffed in annoyance and explained, "I'm 60, remember? Body changes with age. You changed too – and the moustache makes you look old, by the way."

Placing his free hand on his stomach, Jim said, "I love my moustache, and Juanita too. And you're right, the body changes with age, but the muscles in my stomach are still pretty damn ripped… and those in my arms are solid, strong. Same things for my legs. You shouldn't have stopped following my morning exercise routine, Artie. You had lost weight and gained muscles."

Looking back at Andamo now kissing the blond-haired saloon girl's cleavage, Artie replied, "I can't build things to save our two asses and do exercise at the same time. I had to choose. Besides, Lupita doesn't love me because I'm built like a statue of a Greek God, but…"

Pleased to hear that, Jim interrupted his best friend, "I'm built like a statue of a Greek God?" Then he smiled proudly. "Thanks."

Suddenly two burly men, visibly irritated and inebriated, stood, sending their chairs crashing backwards as they stood up making them topple over with a thud, and they headed toward Andamo with the saloon girls seated around him.

Seeing that, Jim's shoulders tensed and he said, "Uh! Oh! Trouble ahead Artemus. Let's help Andamo. I think he's going to need it." He finished the drink he held in his hand and stood, his fingers near his Colt, quickly followed by his best friend, his hand settled on the handle of the gun at his right hip.

One of the men – the taller and broader one – pointed his gun at Andamo. "Move away girls. I need to speak to this little man here. He has no right touching you!"

Immediately the table patrons and bar patrons chatter stopped. The clinking of glasses stopped. In a matter of seconds, they dropped their cards on their poker tables, abandoned their whiskey-filled glasses and left the saloon in a hurry in order to avoid stray bullets. The pot-bellied bartender discreetly left, using the back door, for the same reason.

The other thug suddenly pivoted and pointed his gun at Jim and Artie, menacingly. The two agents stopped dead in their tracks. "Drop your guns to the ground and sit down grandpas or you're both dead." Then he cocked the hammer of his Colt.

Grandpas?

Jim and Artie looked at each other, both outraged. Then they dropped their guns to the floor before sitting back at their table obediently.

The saloon girls complied reluctantly.

But a few seconds later the red-haired woman moved toward the man built like a mountain and, repeatedly poking his large chest with her forefinger, with an annoyed look on her face, she said, "Yes he has! We're paid to

entertain the all-male patronage, remember? And he's a client. And you don't own us, Sal. We can have fun with any men here and not only with you. You're just damn jealous."

Sal slapped the young woman's face hard, making her cry. "You and I are going to have a nice chat after I take care of the fancy-dressed boy here." He clamped a large hand down on Andamo's jacket and pulled the Latino up, roughly, his body threateningly close to Andamo's, much larger than him, both in height and bulk. "Now, let's see what we've got here…"

Immediately Andamo, shoved the man backwards, both surprise and irritation flashing up in his eyes. "Don't you dare touch me!"

Sal chuckled and glanced at his accomplice, amused. "Did you hear that Tom? My! He could bite!" He sneered. He put his gun back in his holster then his eyes narrowed dangerously. He suddenly punched Andamo's face with his iron-like fist, right on his left cheek making the other man's head spin and knocking him sideways. The Latino collapsed on the ground limply while seeing stars in front of his eyes.

Tom chuckled. "Give him a good whack Sal!"

The mountain of a man glanced back at Artemus who was fuming in his chair, gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles white, and he said, "Stay where you are, old man, I wouldn't want to crush your fragile bones!" He chose to ignore the 'old man's' glare and looked down at Andamo who was pulling himself into a sitting position. "Come on, little man, show me what you've got! Make your daddy here proud of you. Fight me, come on!"

Gritting his teeth in anger Andamo pulled himself up. Then he launched himself at Sal in a low tackle and brought him to the ground. Then he hit the other man between his legs with as much force as he could muster, causing him to double over, before moving back, enjoying the giant's yelp of pain.

Furious, the big man recovered teeth bared in a snarl, nostrils flaring, "You're dead!" He growled, then he leaped toward Andamo and slammed a fist down on the Latino's face. "I hate Mexicans!" he said.

In a flash, Andamo managed to drop in time to get out of the way. "I'm Latino, not Mexican," he said and he choked out a gasp when Sal lunged at him, lifting him upright.

The thug punched Andamo in the face again and Andamo saw stars, his head reeling from the impact and he sloppily tried to get free.

His vision was starting to clear, when the brute started raining punches on the other man, pummeling his face hard again and again and trying to do as much damage as possible.

Still pointing his gun at the agents, Tom moved back slowly wanting to participate. "You always have all the fun," he said.

He slammed an elbow into Andamo's solar plexus propelling the Latino slamming into a table, sending glasses flying and crashing to the dusty floor.

Eyes closing, stars burst behind his eyelids, grimacing, Andamo let out a cry and he slumped backwards, knocked out cold, blood on his face.

His jaw tightened, Artemus gritted his teeth as his blood was boiling in his veins. Fists trembling, Jim was ready to leap like a tiger.

Red-faced, Sal seized the occasion to leap on his adversary. Pinning the Latino on the dusty floorboards with his large hand, pressing on the other man's chest and almost breaking his ribs, he began hitting Andamo's face. "My turn sassy boy!" and he growled like an angry bear, his eyes black.

Seeing red, unable to control himself anymore, Artemus rushed toward Tom. He grabbed the other man's wrist, twisting him round and snapping his arm in one movement. The thug cried out in pain and the revolver fell to the ground with a thud.

Following suit, Jim crushed his fist on Tom's nose in a sickening crunch. The man staggered back, blood pouring from his broken nose.

He knocked out Tom with a well-placed uppercut to his chin, and the man collapsed like a stone, everything going black.

Artie picked the gun up and fired at the ceiling and his baritone voice commanded, "That's enough!" He then aimed the revolver at Sal's head. "Move away from him, now. And don't try anything. I don't much like shooting people, but in your case, I'd be glad to make an exception." His voice was cold and his eyes were dark with barely repressed anger. Seeing that Sal didn't move, he added, "I'm old, I'm suffering from arthritis in my hand… thus my trigger finger is not as strong as it used to be, in the past and I tire rapidly…" He again cocked the hammer of the silver Colt he was holding, planted himself in front of the brute and pressed the mouth of his gun against Sal's throat, for extra emphasis, "Do what I said. Before I have an arthritic uncontrolled twitch in my trigger finger," he added, his voice low.

Sal hesitated. The man standing a few inches from him was old… he could easily break him in two within seconds.

As if he could read the thug's mind, Artie said, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. The bullet of my revolver will always be faster than your fist."

Sal did as he was told, reluctantly.

He backed away and towering above a barely conscious Andamo he smiled, looking smug. "It's just a bar brawl, I'll be out of jail tomorrow…cause my father owns the town," he drawled. He looked at Artemus with a cruel smile. "And I will crush you, old man, bone after bone until you die. Then I will take care of your son, with my knife." And he tightened his massive fist threateningly.

Placing a hand on Artie's own hand, Jim forced his partner to lower his gun, while he was aiming his at Sal. "Take it easy, Artie."

Livid, Artemus was trembling. His face was the picture of entitled rage.

Using his free hand, Jim pulled out his identification card from the inside pocket of his blue bolero jacket and showed it to Sal. "I don't think so. It happens that you threatened two federal agents with a gun and threatened to kill one. You're going to end up in a federal prison for a long time."

Sheriff Finley entered the saloon followed by four deputies. Jim gestured to them. "Here, Walter! Put those two men in prison – they threatened Artie and me with a gun. "He looked down at Andamo sprawled on the ground, passed out. "And Sal here hurt Andamo."

Finley nodded and pulled his gun, holding it on the two brutes. "Sal and Tom of course! The usual town troublemakers. Why am I not surprised? He snapped his fingers and the deputies, guns in hands escorted Sal and Tom out of the saloon. "Keep an eye on them, boys," he said to them.

Glancing at Artie, Jim frowned in concern. "You have arthritis in your hand? Since when? Why didn't you tell me that before?"

Eyes twinkling, Artie winked at Jim and said, "My hand is just fine. I was bluffing and it looks like I was very convincing," His smile vanished from his lips and he added, "The day I can't hold my gun, I will retire, but not before."

Feeling better, Jim smiled. Artie used a cane (hiding a long, sharp blade) from time to time when he had an arthritis crisis, when the weather changed. But the chronic pain was there and it hurt, less, but hurt nonetheless, he thought.

His knees creaking as a response, Artie winced and knelt beside Andamo, pulling him in his arms, and holding him tightly, trying his best to categorize his grandson's injuries. He was pretty beat up but he would be okay, he noticed in relief. He slid his fingers down to the other man's jaw and he slowly, gently turned his head from side to side. "Andamo my-boy, wake up, wake up."

Feeling calloused thumbs stroking across his cheekbones, Andamo managed, "I'm fine," without opening his eyes.

Frowning in concern, Artie shook his head. "No you're not, not yet. You fought well Andamo, I'm proud of you. Now let's take you to the doctor's office."

The Latino shook his head as he slowly moved into a sitting position, legs sprawled in front of him and a hand on his face feeling a trickle of blood running from his nose and mouth.

Pulling out a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket, Artemus gently dabbed the blood and placed the piece of cloth in Andamo's hand.

Feeling dizzy, Andamo breathed, "Thanks. But I don't want to go to the doctor's office. Want to go back to the train."

Nodding, Artie said, "Okay, then the doctor will come to the Wanderer, " and, grabbing Andamo's arms he pulled him to his feet, holding back a moan of pain as his bad knee hurt, before wrapping the Latino's arm around his shoulder.

Sheriff Finley holstered his revolver and said, "I'm going to send Walter Perkins to the Wanderer, he'll take care of Andamo."

Following Jim, Artie slowly began to drag Andamo out of the saloon the younger man's hand clutching the bloodied handkerchief.

WWW

Later in the afternoon, the Wanderer,

Frowning in concern Artemus was standing next to the doorjamb of the Presidential sleeping compartment. "How is he Doctor?" he asked.

Dr. Perkins put his stethoscope back in the black bag and said, "He's going to be alright. Nothing's broken, but he's going to be in pain for quite some time. The swelling should disappear within two days, as for the bruises they will vanish too, but it's going to take more time." From his bag he pulled a flask filled with brown powder and a round metallic box. "The powder is a pain suppressor. If the pain is intense, mix a spoonful in a glass of water, if the pain is bearable, use half a spoonful." He opened the small box and said, "It's a mentholated ointment with camphor. It will accelerate the healing of the bruises. Gently spray a layer of it on his face, three times per day." He looked down at Andamo lying on top of the bedspread, sleeping soundly. "The sedative I gave him should wear off in a few hours."

Dr. Perkins placed the flask and the box on a table then looked down at the younger man. "Your son really is your portrait Mr. Gordon," he said. "That's incredible."

WWW

Later

Sitting on the side of the bed, Artemus gently placed the waterproof cloth (one of his inventions) filled with pieces of ice on Andamo's right cheek. The younger man was limply lying on the bed, his eyes closed, his face swollen and colored with nasty black, blue, and purple bruises. "Here, how do you feel?"

The Latino slowly opened bleary eyes. "M' fine… but m' sore as hell and 'm very tired," he responded, his mouth cotton-dry. He touched his left cheek slick with the menthol-camphor ointment, flinching slightly from the touch on sore flesh. "What's that thing on my face? That smells funny. Is it some kind of ointment?"

Artie nodded. "Yes it is. It will accelerate the healing of your bruises." He smiled proudly and ruffled his grandson's thick black hair with deep affection. "You fought well in the saloon, Andamo. How did you learn to fight like that?"

The younger man gave a weak smile. "I didn't like school and did my best not to go there. I usually ended up playing with my compadres at the port, or in the forest. My education was rather… sparse. My parents were mad at me, first because they were school teachers, my own school teachers, then because it was dangerous to play in the streets with my friends because a few of them were revolucionarios. El president's Guardia Militar killed two of them, Alfonso and Pedro, right in front of my eyes. I grew up in the streets of Chobolobo and learnt to fight there, when I was just a boy."

Nodding, Artie patted the younger man's arm soothingly. "I'm sorry. So my son and his wife are both teachers, that's a noble profession. Do they still teach children, in Mexico?"

Andamo shook his head and winced. "No, they have retired. They have a small ranch and are raising Spanish horses. My mom loves them."

He closed his eyes and a moment later he was fast asleep.

Rubbing his temples tiredly Artemus yawned and then looked at the portable bunk stored there, leaning against the bulkhead, in case someone needed it.

He yawned again, his eyes closing, feeling himself drifting off to sleep. He settled on the portable bunk a few seconds later massaging his achy right knee and closed his eyes as exhaustion swept over him.

WWW

Later, in the evening

It was almost dark in the POTUS's sleeping compartment when Jim struck a match on the bulkhead and lit the gas lamp.

He sat on the edge of the bed on which Andamo was sprawled and the younger man looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, hair tousled. "Well, you had quite a first day here Andamo. Hopefully it's not like that every day. But it's true that Artie and I are often beaten up, knocked out – mostly Artie - stabbed, and hit by a bullet or two…" He chuckled. "There have been beds with our names on them at the Washington Military Hospital for 20 years now."

Opening his eyes completely, Andamo tried to smile but it hurt so badly that he capitulated. "Living at your time and being secret agents is dangerous, but I have my fair share of bad days too…" He lifted a hand and observed his bruised, sore knuckles for a few seconds. He lowered his arm and then he looked up at Jim. "Lucky and I always live with a gun in our chest of drawers on board the Fortuna II or in our pocket when we come ashore." He turned his head to look at Artie lying on his side on a portable bunk, lightly snoring and facing the bulkhead of the sleeping compartment, "Is he okay? He looks tired, no, more like exhausted."

Placing his hand on Artie's broad back, Jim smiled reassuringly. "Yes, he's alright. He had a pretty rough mission before you came here, that left him completely exhausted. He needs rest. Don't worry, Artemus Gordon is indestructible."

The Latino gritted his teeth and a moment later he was rising into a sitting position with Jim' help, the movement sending spikes of pain through his muscles. Thanks!" He looked at the older man again and said, "He was my hero when I was a boy, you know? Artemus Gordon, the famous federal agent fighting the bad guys… He died 10 years before I was born, I never knew him but I missed him. I had my grandmother's stories, my father's stories too, I had photos, letters, my dad showed me his sketchbooks he was keeping like precious relics… but he wasn't there. I so wanted him to be alive, like my grandmother was, but he was dead. I wanted to be like him, you know, some kind of white knight fighting for the good side, with his big guns and his incredible gadgets…"

Sitting beside Artemus, on the edge of the narrow portable bunk, Jim said, "From what you told us about your life, you too fight for the good side."

The Latino nodded. "My gun is not as big as yours, but it's a good gun, but I don't have mini knock-out gas bombs hidden in my jacket."

Jim let out a small huff of amusement. "In his jacket and in any of his other clothes too. He even has underwear with concealed explosives and fuses." He gently rolled his best friend on his back to check if he was okay eliciting a moan from the older man, but he didn't wake. He added, "There's only one Artemus Gordon." He observed his partner's slack and relaxed face, took his pulse at his throat, which was slow and steady, he noticed and said, "He's fine."

Relieved Andamo smiled. "You two are very close, like brothers."

Jim nodded. "Yes. He's actually my blood brother, but you know that I guess. He's family."

Andamo nodded. "Like Lucky and me. He's my best friend and my partner, and my big brother too. He's very protective toward me. He's family too."

Jim removed Artemus' boots, opened the top of his shirt, took a blanket from the cupboard and draped it over his partner's shoulders. "Artie is like an older brother to me too. And he's very protective toward me also, and I with him. We're very close - again."

The Latino nodded. "That's a good thing. My dad told me that you were very cross about something before parting after you both retired. He didn't tell me what though."

Jim smiled. "It's a long story. But we're together again, it's the most important thing – until we both decide to retire, for good, this time."

Feeling sluggish Andamo felt his eyes begin to droop as he was suddenly terribly tired. He yawned and let out, his voice weak and slurred, "it's good to have my grand-father watching over me…"

Soon he was fast asleep.

The train whistle blew and the Wanderer started to move.

WWW

Three days later, Denver, Colorado

Smiling broadly, Andamo looked at his reflection in the mirror of the presidential sleeping compartment, admiring himself, very pleased by what he was seeing.

He was wearing new clothes. He was dressed in dark grey pants, high black boots, a red shirt and a black bolero jacket with silver buttons.

He put his brown gun belt adorned with a silver buckle around his hips and placed his hand on his shiny revolver, taking a threatening pose. "Don't mess with me, pal. I'm the fastest gun ever in the West," he said then he chuckled softly.

The Latino entered the parlor car shortly after and asked the two men sitting there on each side of the table having breakfast, "How do I look?"

Upset, Artemus frowned and immediately glared at Jim. "I should have bought your clothes Andamo, not Jim. You look like a gunslinger."

Nodding, Andamo grinned. "Yes, I know, and I like it!"

Fishing a cookie out of a tin box Jim said, "That's what I wanted. Think about it! Dressed like that no one is going to mess with him again – or they'll hesitate before doing it, giving us time to act to protect him." He looked up and down at the younger man and smiled. "You're perfect Andamo. Your hat is on the couch, black with a silver band. It's a perfect match. You'll look great in it. Now come here. Artie prepared a delicious breakfast, you must be hungry. Take a seat."

Holding his cup of steaming coffee Artie was still upset. "He looks like Lightning McCoy – my version of Lightning McCoy.

Jim nodded. "Exactly. I know, I took inspiration from you. You were just perfect in that role Artie. That was one of your best disguises."

Taking his place beside Jim, Andamo poured himself a cup of coffee and dropped three pieces of brown sugar in it. "Oh yes! Lightning McCoy! My father told me that story a hundred times. It's so fantastic, so unreal – traveling in paintings. That's incredible! Unbelievable! And brilliant! Dr. Loveless was a genius – a mad genius, who tried to kill you both dozens of times, without success fortunately."

Scowling Artie said, "But he has a son, Michelito, who is as ruthless and dangerous as his father was, and we don't know where he is and what are his plans…He's probably preparing something very big and dreadful – and planning to kill Jim and me too. It's a family tradition of some sort."

Biting in his cookie, Jim nodded. "He has a daughter too, Carmelita. She's disappeared too, but she's less dangerous."

Pouring himself a third cup of coffee Artie gave Jim a long look. "She's exactly like him, plus she's sneaky. You said that because you kissed her!"

Placing a toast on a plate, Jim said, "It was just a goodbye kiss. I'm a married man, Artemus. I'm not running the petticoats anymore."

Pouring a lot of caramel sauce on top of the last pancake of the pile standing on his plate, Andamo said, "I'm famished!"

Eyes shining mischievously, Jim chuckled. "Another common point between the two Gordons: you both love to eat." He caught his partner's suspicious – and a bit hurt, look. "What? I didn't say anything."

Upset, Artie narrowed his eyes. "No, you didn't, but you're thinking a bit too loud, Jim. I can hear your thoughts. I'm not fat ... I've lost weight since I re-enlisted in the Secret Service."

Changing the topic of the conversation, Jim said, "We'll go into town after breakfast to see if you blend in well with the local population."

Cutting a piece of caramel-covered pancake with a spoon Andamo beamed. "I'd like to go to the saloon to test it… on the girls there."

Seeing that Artemus was frowning in worry, he added, "Don't worry Artie, we'll be at Andamo's side to protect him. But nothing's going to happen."

Frowning, Artie sighed. "You just jinxed us, Jim."

WWW

Later…

Sitting in a carriage parked discreetly next to the railway station, Michelito Loveless half opened the blind on his left.

His eyes burning with revenge, he watched James West, Artemus Gordon and a third man he didn't know but he noticed was the spitting, and younger, image of the older secret agent – leave the Wanderer, heading to the main street. "Artemus' son?" he asked himself. "That's the only explanation, the resemblance is too striking!" He frowned with irritation then looked at the other man sitting opposite him. He was so tall that his shoulders were hunched and his massive white haired head was touching the top of the carriage. "My file on Artemus Gordon is incomplete, Voltaire. It would seem that Mr. Gordon has a son I didn't know about." He let out a sadistic laugh and added, "We'll soon have another guest I will really enjoy playing with – Gordon Junior."

Voltaire pointed at the Wanderer. "I will wait for them inside."

Loveless raised a finger and said, "Be careful Voltaire, I want them alive. Be gentle with them – your way of course."

The black-clad giant beamed, his look cold and cruel.

Tbc.