THE NIGHT OF THE MEXICAN IMPOSTURE
By Andamogirl
WWW
ACT THREE
Later
The sun was beginning to set in the desert, the sky turning a clear bright shade of orange when the two men, their horses and the pistoleros' horses reached the next waterhole to spend the night there. They were exhausted, soaked in sweat and covered with sand and dust.
Dismounting his stallion, Jim wiped his face with the corner of his jacket and said, "I'm going to take care of the horses." Then he led them to the pool, lined by round rocks and scrubby bushes.
Dismounting his gelding, Artie licked his chapped lips. "Time to set up camp. I'm going to find some wood to build a fire." Then he headed towards a group of stunted trees.
He had his arms loaded with dead branches and tumbleweed when he suddenly heard, "Artie, come here!" and he dropped the whole lot to the ground.
He met Jim beside the pool. His partner was pointing to the wet sandy ground. He noticed then footprints and traces of hooves. "No boots, but moccasins, no horseshoes." He observed. "Apaches, Jim. Three of them," he concluded.
His hand resting on the butt of his gun, trigger finger tingling, Jim added, "They are fresh footprints. The sand is still wet. They were here not so long ago. They watered their horses here." He looked around him, scrutinizing all the shadows, on guard. Artie did it too. "Perhaps it's not a good idea to make a camp fire, after all, Artie." Still looking around him to spot a potential threat – namely Apache, he continued, "But if they are still here, they'll have spotted us already."
The older man nodded. "But they may already be on their way. We'll see."
Shortly after, Artemus started the fire, adding tumbleweed to the flames, then he unsaddled the horses, removed the blankets and then removed the saddlebags and bedrolls.
Still on guard, the two agents crouched beside the fire – keeping silent to better listen to all the sounds around them.
But it was eerie silent.
The two men exchanged a very worried look.
Suddenly the horses got nervous and a split second later one Apache jumped on Jim while a second jumped on Artie. They all crashed to the sandy ground and the Indians immediately took combat positions, pulling knives out of their belts.
Jim put his hand on the butt of his gun – but the Indian lunged forward before he could un-holster it. The sharp blade sliced through his forearm, leaving a bloody gash. He grunted in pain and punched the Apache square on his nose, breaking it, eliciting a yelp from his attacker, who reeled back. giving him time to glance at Artie. His partner was pinned to the ground by a tall and broad Indian sitting astride him. The Apache had closed one large and powerful hand around Artie's neck, strangling him, and was bringing his blade to his companion's throat.
Struggling to breathe, Artie was holding the Apache away with his left hand and holding the Apache's wrist with his right, the blade a few inches from his throat.
Grunting, the hulky Apache used his brute strength to push all his weight behind the knife, baring his teeth in a feral grin, hoping to overpower the white man's arm and drive the knife in.
Jim wanted to help Artemus, but his opponent jumped on him again. Clinging at each other they rolled together towards the pool.
Meanwhile Artie – still blocking the knife just inches from his throat - could hear Jim fighting with the other Apache, but couldn't spare a look in their direction. He gritted his teeth, as he was beginning to tire. He was feeling a bit light headed because of the lack of oxygen coming to his lungs. Gathering his declining strength, Artie managed somehow to push his free elbow into his adversary's solar plexus. He dislodged the big Apache, and hit him hard with all he had – right on his jaw, before moving away on all fours.
He scrambled back to his feet. In a couple of seconds he caught a glimpse of Jim and the Apache still struggling beside the pond throttling each other.
Focusing on his own opponent, Artie grabbed his gun, but the Indian made a lunge at him.
He dodged to the right to avoid being skewered and spun – just to feel a sharp pain where the blade had cut… in his left side.
He let out a grunt of pain and fired.
It didn't stop the massive Apache, now bleeding profusely from a wound in his stomach. Moving backwards Artie tripped on a rock and lost his balance and landed hard on his injured side. He cried out in pain and fired a second time just as the Apache was about to stab him - and the world went black. He didn't see the hulky Indian finally drop to the ground, dead.
Meanwhile, Jim was still fighting against his opponent – for now they were circling each other. Then, suddenly the Indian stopped and ran full force at the white man, knocking him off balance and into the nearest rock, his knife at his throat.
In a flash, Jim grabbed the Indian's hand and twisted it until the knife fell to the ground. The Apache snarled and pulled out a second knife from his back, and dashed at the agent. But this time, Jim managed to un-holster his Colt and shot the other man in his chest, at close range, watching him crumple to the ground – dead!
Breathing heavily Jim took a second to wipe the blood off of his mouth, then he dashed towards Artie's prone form, a wave of panic running through him. He sank to his knees beside his fallen partner, noticing with dread his face, pale and still, and the blood soaked vest and shirt.
He touched his partner's throat and let out a sigh of relief, finding a strong pulse under the clammy skin. He raised his gun when he heard the horses neigh nervously.
He spotted another Indian – who fled on his horse, taking all the other horses with him – all except Blackjack and Chestnut, both kicking out.
He fired, but missed the Apache as he galloped away into the dark night.
Kneeling again beside Artemus, Jim rolled the other man onto his good side, and pulled his shirt up to get a better look at the wound. He winced. The cut was deep and it was bleeding a lot.
He immediately opened Artie's saddlebag and pulled out the medical kit they always carried with them wherever they were going. Then he un-rolled a bedroll and gently, slowly, pulled Artemus on it. After that he quickly removed Artemus's jacket and shirt, both blood-stained, and dropped them on the sand.
He was pouring disinfectant liberally over the cut when Artemus regained consciousness, moaning, eyes half-open.
Grimacing, Artie immediately hissed and arched on the ground, his whole left side throbbed, with shooting pains through his abdomen. He shifted and winced. "Ow! That hurts!" He clenched his jaw and then saw that Jim was bleeding too. "Jim you're hurt and bleeding!"
Replacing the cap on the bottle of homemade disinfectant, Jim said, "It's a simple cut, that's nothing. I'll take care of it later, it's not urgent. You first buddy; your injury is more serious than mine. It's a deep cut but fortunately it's not life-threatening." He smirked and added, "The knife cut is in your fleshy side Artie."
His male pride wounded, Artemus looked hurt. "My fleshy side? Are you insinuating that I'm fat?"
Taking a syringe, pre-filled with painkiller and sedative, Jim uncapped it and injected the transparent liquid into the hollow of his partner's arm, into a blue vein. "No, you're not, you're perfect, Artie. I don't see how you could gain weight and be fat with the hectic life we lead every day. You're just more 'fleshy' than me, that's all. Nobody is built the same."
Feeling drowsy Artie nodded. "That's true… "
Patting Artie's shoulder soothingly, Jim said, "You're perfect Artie – for a middle aged man who doesn't have a single silver hair."
Closing his eyes, Artie murmured, "You should have more respect for your elders my boy, remember you told me that old people are fragile…"
Jim smiled. "I was joking; you're not old Artie, just older than me."
Smiling too, Artie nodded. "I know. Oooh… that's a good drug…. Pain's going away."
Jim nodded. "That drug is very powerful."
Relaxing, Artie mumbled, "I know… I prepared that drug. Apache? Dead?"
From the kit, Jim took clean linen and turned the flask of disinfectant upside down against the cloth. "Yes, they're dead." He began to wipe it gently over the wound. "But there was another one waiting with the horses. He managed to escape with the pistoleros's horses, but Blackjack and Chestnut are still here. Blackjack doesn't tolerate anyone – except you and I – approaching him, and I'm the only one who can mount him. As for Chestnut, he didn't want to leave you; you are a too good master. You're spoiling him too much, giving him treats like apples, carrot pieces and sugar lumps."
The older man smiled. "That's a good boy…He… he likes me as much as I like him." His vision blurred and he felt his body becoming heavy. Then he went limp and totally still.
Using a fishhook-like needle and thread, Jim began to sew the wound. When it was over, he poured disinfectant on the stitched wound, placed clean linen on it, and then bandaged Artie's middle. After that he took care of his own bleeding gash.
WWW
Day 4
The next morning
It was dawn when Artemus cracked an eye open. He had slept like a rock all night long – while Jim had spent the night awake, his Winchester on his lap, ready to welcome any Apache with bullets.
Jim poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Artie, who had just propped himself on his elbows. "Morning Artie, how do you feel?"
With a muffled groan, Artie moved gingerly into a sitting position, and leaning against a rock, he took the cup of coffee. His head hurt, his mouth was dry and his vision was a little fuzzy: tell-tales signs of a post-anesthesia. He groaned.
Placing his hand on his injured side, which was burning, he replied, "Like I have a nasty cut on my fleshy side. It hurts as expected. Thanks for the stitches and for the coffee. You?"
Pouring a cup of coffee for himself, Jim smiled. "I'm fine, don't worry; it's just a cut that's nothing, no stitches needed, unlike you. Are you going to be able to ride?"
Looking up at his horse grazing a patch of dried grass, Artie nodded. "Yes, it's going to hurt, but yes." He smiled happily and added, "I'm glad he stayed."
Smiling, Jim swallowed his coffee. "Of course he did. Like I said last night, you're spoiling him. You feed him well – perhaps too well - you spend hours looking after him, giving him treats from time to time; his stall is always clean and covered with hay and when you need to think about something important, you hide yourself in his stall with a pencil and pieces of paper. He loves you."
Artie took a sip of coffee and grimaced. "Gaah! It tastes awful! You know there's a difference between coffee and molasses Jim…"
Lifting an eyebrow, amused, Jim asked, "Really?"
He swallowed a second mouthful of the thick and bitter liquid which tasted like ashes. "This stuff could wake the dead!... I always loved being with horses since I was a boy."
Jim nodded. "Blackjack is jealous of Chestnut, I think."
Looking at the black stallion, Artie chuckled. "He shouldn't be, he's a spoiled horse too. He loves apples and you give him at least three per day." He took a sip of coffee and then said, "We should leave as soon as possible. The next canyon is about 30 miles from here. Let's take advantage of the freshness at dawn."
Pulling himself up, Jim nodded. "You're right, let's leave Apache territory. You and I don't want to meet them again." He helped Artie to stand and placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder. "It's going to be alright. We should reach San Luis Rio Colorado by tomorrow midday. But before that, we should reach Yuma tonight and spend the night in a comfortable bed, in a hotel."
Clenching his injured side, Artie nodded. "Ah! That's good news! I'm longing for a long bath, a saloon with good beer, a juicy T-bone steak and a beautiful girl – not necessarily in that order – and especially a peaceful and restful night in a comfortable bed."
Jim chuckled. "Sybarite!"
Artie grinned. "Well, you know me." He finally noticed that he was wearing a black shirt. Vega's shirt. "Let me guess, my shirt was blood-stained and ruined."
Jim nodded. "Yes. I kept the yellow one, your favorite, in your saddlebag. But I'm sorry to tell you that your favorite corduroy jacket is bloodstained and cut beyond repair, Artemus. And as you brought just that one, you'll have to buy a new one in Yuma to be presentable in front of his Excellency the Governor of Baja California, señor Carlos Mendoza de León."
Frowning Artie nodded. "If he's still alive. His wife, Carmelita, wants him dead. Vega didn't tell us anything, but could have been assassinated recently."
Jim finished his coffee then said, "You, Artemus Gordon, are a bird of ill omen. If he is dead, it's simple, we return to Phoenix without him, and the Mexican justice will handle the case. End of the story. Then we'll wait for a new assignment."
Finishing his coffee Artie nodded. "Amen! Preferably not in a desert."
WWW
Later in the afternoon
They reached the canyon at noon, led the horses to the waterhole in the shade of ragged trees and then sat in a large hollow in the rock, protected from the scorching sun and dangerous heat.
Leaning against the rock wall, Artie wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve. He was sweating through his clothes, his vision was blurring and pain rippled across his injured side.
Frowning in concern, Jim said, "Lie down, I'm going to take a peek at your wound. I hope the stitches are still holding."
Closing his eyes Artie complied, exhausted. He was soon fast asleep.
Placing a jacket rolled into a ball under Artemus's head with one hand, Jim used the other one to pull Artie's shirt up to his chest. He removed the bandage and carefully lifted up the linen. It was bloodstained a little, but nearly all the stitches had held. Others were broken, and the tiny holes were bleeding sluggishly. "You'll have to see a doctor in Yuma, buddy," he said.
Shortly after, he opened the medical kit. He tipped some disinfectant onto a clean cloth and began dabbing at the wound. Artie moaned, winced, and shifted but didn't wake. Jim took a needle and began sewing the wound were stitches were missing. Then he placed new linen on the wound and finally re-bandaged his sleeping companion.
He let Artie sleep for a couple of hours then shook his shoulder. "Come on Artie! Wake up. You'll sleep in a bed tonight."
Opening his eyes, Artemus yawned and said, "My side hurts more than before. Did you play the nurse when I was out?"
Helping Artemus to sit, Jim nodded. "Yes, I had to Artie. Some stitches were broken and you were bleeding. Once in Yuma, you'll see a doctor."
Opening his saddlebag, he pulled out two bags containing slices of dried beef and two apples. He offered one to the other man. "Last frugal meal before eating real food in a saloon, Artie." Then he bit in his apple. "We should reach Yuma tonight."
WWW
Much later, at night, Yuma, Arizona Territory
Holding a glass of fresh beer, Jim West was sitting at one of the tables of the local saloon when Artemus pushed the batwing doors open and stepped inside. He was immediately immersed in a roar of chattering, drinking, smoking and bad music; his eyes adjusting to the smoky atmosphere, gas lights flickering against the red and gold wallpaper-covered walls.
Raising his hand Jim said, "Artie! Here!"
Holding a parcel under his arm, Artemus joined his best friend – more like surrogate brother and said, "Doctor Paterson told me that you did a good job, Jim. All the stitches are holding and the wound is clean. There's no trace of infection. He cleaned the wound, put a special ointment made with honey and resin on it to facilitate the healing and here I am." He placed the parcel onto the table, sat and added, "I did some shopping: I bought a new corduroy jacket, the same as the old one."
Smiling, Jim pushed a glass of foaming beer along the table towards his partner. They clanked glasses. "Salud!" he called and took a sip, Artie following suit.
Grimacing Artemus said, "It tastes awful," he said, examining his glass of barely-drinkable warm beer.
Jim smiled. "Their top shelf whiskey is probably just awful too. I took a room at the hotel on the other side of the street, a double room." He gestured towards the waitress and a lovely blonde dressed in a short red dress headed towards them, holding a tray covered with empty glasses. "Good evening miss, my friend and I are famished. What do you have to offer us? I'd like something wholesome and substantial."
She focused on Jim – on his green eyes, on his charming smile, not interested in Artie, who rolled his eyes. His best friend was a girl-magnet. He always – or almost – won them all. But he wasn't jealous, he mused. That was life with James 'Don Juan' West. He had become accustomed to it.
She fluttered her eyelashes flirtingly, and gave Jim her most seductive smile. "We have steak and sautéed potatoes with red wine gravy and roasted onions."
Raising his hand, Artie said, "Perfect! Two: one for my friend here, and one for me." Then he stretched his legs under the table. "I hope their cuisine is better than their beer."
Still eying Jim hungrily, the waitress didn't pay attention to Artie's remark and said, "My name's Samantha, but you can call me Sam, charming stranger. I finish serving in one hour…then I'll be free." She smiled and left.
Sipping his beer, Artemus surveyed the saloon around him: the place, noisy, crowded, smoky, was frequented by cowboys, sailors (the port was close), miners and off duty soldiers (Fort Yuma was close too). They were drinking at the bar or sitting around tables. They were playing poker or chatting lively. An old man was playing songs on a faded black out-of-tune piano near the staircase leading to the upper rooms of the saloon.
He glanced at the long mirror hung above the back of the bar, observing the faces of the people standing there.
Usual clients, exchanging banalities.
But two men seemed different, he noticed: two men both dressed in black, with the same shiny gun belts and hats adorned with silver ornaments. Twins. Their backs were turned to them – and their eyes were riveted to the mirror hanging above the rear part of the bar; they were watching Jim and he fixedly, like hunters watched their prey before the fatal shot. The two men in black were both drinking whiskey, slowly, their other hands lying flat on the counter, falsely calm.
He turned towards Jim and said, "Those two men in black at the bar are gunslingers, Jim, twin brothers and outlaws I'd bet. And they're watching us."
Looking at Artie, Jim nodded. "I know. I spotted them too. Be ready Artie, something tells me that we're not going to eat our steaks peacefully."
Said steaks arrived a couple of minutes later, each on a plate, with sautéed potatoes, wine gravy and roasted onions.
The waitress smiled, fingering her décolleté enticingly. "Anything else?"
Smiling Jim looked up at Samantha and shook his head. "No, thank you," he said politely but firmly – meaning 'don't bother me anymore'.
Disappointed the waitress pouted and left.
Salivating, Artie planted his fork and knife in the large piece of juicy meat – while keeping an eye on the gunslingers standing at the bar. "James, my boy, after the pistoleros, the Apache, now it's the turn of outlaws to try to kill us." He cut a large morsel of steak, dipped it in the gravy and onions and engulfed it hungrily. He closed his eyes in bliss. "Mmmm… real food. Not bad – for saloon food."
Cutting his steak too, Jim looked around him and spotted a third man sitting at a table next to the stairs leading to the first story. He too was looking at them like a cat would look at a mouse. "There's a third one next to the stairs, brown hat, black shirt, grey jacket. You take him, I'll take the others."
Swallowing a little beer, Artie nodded. "Okay. But after I've finished eating…" He cut another piece of tender beef and froze, his fork halfway between plate and mouth. The two gunslingers at the bar had just turned around with a chink-chink of (silver) spurs, hands on the butts of their six-shooters. He sighed. "Too late." He sat his fork and knife down on his plate. He swung round in his chair and faced the man sitting at a table next to the stairs. "Be careful, Jim." Then he stood, slowly – and the outlaw did that too.
Standing too, Jim nodded and said, "You too Artie. It shouldn't take long. Your steak won't have time to cool – mine either."
People in the saloon noticed that a gunfight was going to happen – and they chose to move back to safety or to leave.
The piano player stopped playing.
The saloon was suddenly deafeningly silent.
The man on the left pulled out a photo cut from a newspaper from the pocket of his jacket, took a look at it and showed it to his twin brother. "It's them, James West and Artemus Gordon." Then he dropped it to the floor and cracked his knuckles.
Artie sighed and said, "Secret Service agents shouldn't have their picture in the newspapers, so as not to get into trouble…"
Jim nodded. "Yes, but that's the bad side of it, think about the good side, Artemus, because of that, we're famous! Nothing but invitations in Washington by Senators, generals... and lovely ladies attracted by our exploits…"
His hand on the handle of his Colt, Artie nodded. "Who happen to be the wives of the aforementioned senators and generals. But not always, fortunately for us. Yes you're right, it's true, there is also a good side to fame …" Raising his hand he asked the twin brothers, "Before we start shooting at each other, I'd like to know something. Why do you want to kill James and me? It's just curiosity. We have so many enemies who want to kill us, so…"
The outlaw on the left responded, "Our boss, Jack Martin, wants you both dead to send a message to President Grant: don't prevent us from freely crossing the border between the US and Mexico… and as you are Grant's favorite agents.…"
Frowning, Jim said, "Jack Martin? You're members of Jack Martin's gang of thugs and thieves? I thought we had put his band behind bars three months ago…"
Fingers twitching in nervous anticipation, the outlaw on the right explained, "Yes you did, but he has a new gang now. Many outlaws want to work with him, like Hector Tindell, he killed the famous Marshall Frank Hammer two weeks ago in Denver…"
His features hardening, his eyes losing their gentleness, Artemus said, "He was a very good friend. I was his best man when he got married." He shifted into Special Agent mode. "It happens that the Martin's gang will be reduced by three members very soon…" He said, his voice cold.
Jim glanced at his partner, impressed – Artemus Gordon could be a badass when he wanted, he reflected. Thankfully, he was on his side.
The three outlaws stiffened their posture and suddenly, drew their guns. Jim's lightning reactions kicked in and he fired faster than the eye could register - before they could pull the trigger.
They crumpled together to the dusty wooden floor; guns still in hand – dead, blood spilling out over their chests.
In a flash, Artemus and the other outlaw also un-holstered their guns – but Artie was the faster. The bullet hit the outlaw in the shoulder. He tumbled backwards and landed on his back. He fired, missing Artemus completely – as the agent had moved out of his line of fire in the nick of time with the agility of a cat.
The outlaw prepared to shoot again at Artie with his Colt .45. Pointing his gun at the injured man, "Don't! Don't even try it!" Artie warned the other. "Don't make me kill you."
But the outlaw ignored the warning and placed his finger on the trigger. Artemus shot him again, this time hitting the outlaw fatally. His gun slipped from his fingers and he hit the floor, his chest spattered with blood.
Moving towards his partner who was tucking his gun back into his belt, Jim asked, "You okay?"
The older man nodded. But his face was grim. "Yes. I don't like killing people, as I don't like violence. I prefer talking my way out of situations. But sometimes I don't have any other choice."
Suddenly a man wearing a sheriff's star on his jacket entered the place, framed by his two deputies, and they took in the bodies littering the floor, guns still in hand, bleeding from fatal wounds. Then they looked at Jim and Artie, pointing their guns at them.
"What's the hell happened here?" the sheriff asked.
Pushing his gun back into the holster, Jim used his hand then to pull out his identity card from the Secret Services and showed it to the law man. "My name's James West, sheriff, and this is my partner, Artemus Gordon. We're both Special Agents working for the Secret Services. Those men were outlaws. They wanted to kill us – we were faster."
Artie sat in his chair and touched his steak. It was cold. "They're all dead, show off, end of problem, sheriff," he said. Then he took a sip of beer.
The sheriff took a look at Jim's card and nodded. "Okay." He snapped his fingers twice. "Larry, Frank, take those bodies outside, on the boardwalk. Then Larry, you ask the undertaker to come by with his buckboard as soon as possible." Looking at Jim and Artie, now both sitting side by side at a table, he asked, "It's the first time I met special agents of the Secret Services. Are you planning to stay long here in Yuma? Because I don't want anymore trouble in my town."
Jim shook his head. "No, just the night. We'll leave tomorrow morning." He took a swallow of beer. "Goodnight sheriff."
Once the sheriff, the deputies and the bodies of the outlaws were gone, Jim gestured towards Samantha and she quickly came over.
Impressed, she waved a hand and said, "Whoa! I never saw someone shoot as fast as you – Mr. West." Still ignoring Artemus, who smiled behind his glass of beer.
Smiling Jim pointed at the two plates containing the almost untouched and cold food. "Could you bring us two new plat du jour, please? The food's cold."
She nodded. "Of course Mr. West." She offered a seductive smile at Jim, trying her luck again, and left, glancing at him over her shoulder.
Turning towards Artie, Jim noticed that his companion was amused and he said, "You know it's not my fault if all women like me – a lot."
Smiling Artemus shook his head. "No, of course not. I'm not jealous you know. You don't need to justify yourself each time a woman falls under your charm and totally ignores me. I got accustomed to it, since we started to work together. You always win the girl at the end of our mission, or almost. Sometimes we head out with a lovely lady each. Don't worry; it doesn't bother me, at all. At least, when I am in Washington, women take an interest in me. Probably because I know everyone there - or almost. When I was an actor, I met a lot of important people – people that count in the Capital, and a lot of women. "
Jim nodded and added, "And because you love the events of social life, unlike me. You are a sophisticate, Artie, and the ladies of Washington love that kind of man. But I'm not jealous either buddy."
Samantha came back with a tray on which were two plates containing the plat du jour. "I hope you won't be interrupted this time. I'll be free in 30 minutes." She sat the plates on the table and asked, "Another glass of beer, Mr. West?"
Jim nodded. "Yes, please. I'm sorry Samantha, but my friend and I are exhausted. Perhaps another time. I won't forget you."
Samantha pouted, disappointed, but she finally smiled. "Okay. Next time. I won't forget you too Mr. beautiful-green-eyes West." She smiled seductively at him, and then she left.
Artemus rolled his eyes.
Tbc.
