Jim walked into the busy saloon, scanning the crowd as he made his way to the bar. It was a mixed group, as one would expect in Denver. There were bankers of means dressed in tailored finery; miners, covered in dirt and sweat; and cowboys fresh from the range. Jim sauntered over to the bar, tilted his hat back, and leaned on one elbow.

The bartender approached West, "What'll you have?"

"Shot of whiskey."

The man poured West a drink, and Jim tossed some coins on the bar. He picked up the shot glass and turned to lean his back against the solid oak curvature, one foot hooked on the brass rail at the bottom. Jim took a sip of his whisky and watched the crowd. He glanced down at the end of the bar, and a man in a loud suit with a moustache quickly looked away. Jim frowned; he had never seen a suit scream quite like that. The man took a long drink of his beer, and when he pulled the mug away, his moustache remained in the head. The man quickly pulled the mustache from the foam, brushed it off, and tried to stick it back onto his face. It was crooked to say the least. Jim shook his head, and returned his attention to the room.

There were a few poker games in progress at the tables, and some extremely lively conversations. A few men were entertaining the saloon girls, and others were standing at the bar, drinking and carrying on with the barkeep. It was the table on his left toward the back that captured his attention, however. The four men sat quietly at the table, shot glasses in front of each, a bottle in the center. They sipped infrequently at the whisky; they weren't there to drink. They were engaged in the same activity as West - observation.

Jim tossed back the last of his whiskey and set the glass on the bar. Adjusting his hat, he walked over to the quiet table.

Can I interest you boys in a game of poker?

The men stared at West in stony silence.

It just looked like you fellas needed something to do.....

A burly man with a mustache answered gruffly, Does it now?

Yes, what do you say?

I'd say you're sticking your nose where it ain't wanted, another fellow answered.

Jim smiled, Really? Why is that?

The burly man replied, We don't like strangers.

Then let me introduce myself, the name's West, James West. Now we're not strangers. If you don't like cards, we can play twenty questions. I can ask the questions, you can answer.

The burly man stood up, drawing his gun, How about I shoot, you drop dead?

Jim sprang into action by upending the table on the burly man, and sending a right hook into the jaw of the man next to him. Two of the men jumped him, knocking him to the floor. West punched one in the face and kicked the other in the ribs. The third man leapt at Jim, who simply rolled out of the way, the man landed with a thud, dazing himself slightly.

The two men recovered and Jim jumped to a chair, using it as a spring board. He flew through the air at them, taking each one down with an arm. The burly man shook his head, gripped his firearm and pointed it once more at West.

That's as far as you're going, West.

The man in the loud suit approached, adjusting his spectacles, Drop the gun.

The burly man laughed heartily, What have we here? A little bug in a clown suit?

The small man reached for his holstered gun, I'm going to--

His gun seemed to be stuck in the holster.

He tried again, I'm going to--

Still it wouldn't budge.

The little man's face fell, Damn it...

The burly man laughed and punched the man in the loud suit, sending him careening through the room, landing in a heap on the floor, dazed. Jim used the distraction to his advantage, and slammed into the burly man's legs, toppling him like a giant tree. The gun fell from his hand, landing several feet away. West grabbed a bottle on a nearby table, and smashed the burly man over the head.

One down.

Once more, the two men came toward Jim. He grabbed a chair, and smashed it into the midsection of one of them, hitting the man hard over the head as he instinctively fell forward. West hit him again, and the man sank unceremoniously to the floor.

Two down.

The other man grabbed Jim from behind, choking him around the neck. Jim gripped the man's arm with both of his hands, trying to free himself. Bending his knees slightly, Jim pulled the man over his head, throwing him to the floor. He knelt down and landed two solid punches to the man's jaw, knocking him out.

Three down.

Jim turned to get the fourth man, and found himself staring into the barrel of a shotgun.

You don't know when to quit, do you?

I guess not.

In a fast move, Jim grabbed the long barrel and pulled it toward him, butting the man's head with his own. He pulled the gun into his hands, and smashed the butt of it in an uppercut to the man's face, then another to his arm. Jim tossed the gun to the floor, grabbed the man by the scruff of his jacket, and ran him head first into the solid oak bar. He collapsed to the floor.

And then there were four.

West looked at the shocked crowd, He didn't want to buy me a drink.

In the rush to buy the man in the blue suit his choice of beverages, Jim pulled the little man in the loud suit off the floor, shaking him awake.

Come on, Marvin, this is no time to take a nap.

Solomon was groggy and not quite with it, Did we win, Jimmy?

Yeah, Marvin, we did.

West quickly guided the woozy Solomon to the door and then to the horses, before the pack of men regained consciousness. He had completed his objective: established that the counterfeiters had a presence in the town, and let them know he was there and had pegged them. It would only be a matter of time before they sought him out and took him right where he wanted to go. The only question was what he was going to do with Solomon. The man was nothing short of a liability in the field.

Jim thought of Arte, and wished his partner was there to help him. He missed him more than he could have put into words.

*******

West handed Solomon an ice pack, and the small man held it gingerly to his head.

The men at the saloon are part of the counterfeiting ring?

I'm sure of it.

Marvin studied his partner; the man wasn't telling him everything.

What aren't you telling me?

Jim looked sharply at him; for seeming to be such a bumbler, he had a keen power of observation. Maybe Richmond wasn't crazy after all.

Marvin promped him, You think you know who's behind this, don't you...

Jim ignored his new partner, and sat down at the telegraph key, tapping out a message to Washington. It was a quick report on what had transpired in the saloon, and once again, he inquired about Gordon. The response came quickly, informing him that his message was received, and also that they had no word on his former partner. In addition, there was a warning, reminding West the danger to the country's ecomony should the market become flooded with counterfeit bills. Sighing, Jim stood up and headed toward the galley car. Marvin's voice was soft, but pointed.

Do you mind if I ask you about Artemus Gordon?

Jim froze in mid step, his back to Solomon. Without turning, he answered icily.

Yes, Marvin, I mind. I mind a great deal.

West walked out of the main car, leaving Solomon to ponder what it all meant.

*******

The sound of metal plates coming together with great force filled the abandoned mine shaft. Several men worked near the press, some replacing paper, some adding ink; others were cutting the finished pages into the perfect currency. The four men from the saloon entered through a tunnel, and peeled off into different directions. Three of them starting working in the room, and the burly man continued on his way through another tunnel. He made his way through that tunnel, and entered an area where several workmen were laying track and spikes for an underground railway.

The work zone was stifling from the heat and lack of ventilation. The men were working quickly, as much from the desire to get out of the hot space, as fear of the man who employed them. The burly man watched the large man with dark hair stop working, pull a red bandana from his back pocket, and wipe the sweat from his face and neck. The man had a crooked nose, heavy brows and bad teeth. The burly man didn't like him. The tall man looked up, his accent thick and Australian.

Hey mate, when do we get some grub?

When I say you do.

What are we puttin' all this track in down here for, mate? Seems like a waste of a lot of hard sweat....

The burly man moved into the face of the Aussie, You don't need to know nothing', just get back to work.

The Aussie glared at him, and spit his chewing tobacco out on the ground, Can't expect a man to keep workin' in this heat without no grub....

After making his case, the Aussie turned back to work. The burly man promised himself to keep his eye on that one; he seemed like trouble. He walked toward a ladder built on the wall of the shaft, and climbed up it. The Aussie watched him out of the corner of his eye.

*******

The burly man could hear the singing in the hallway. He hated it when they sang, although he didn't mind watching the woman, she was a looker. He took a deep breath, and entered the lavish room, waiting to be acknowledged. They didn't seem to notice him. He became uncomfortable as the duet continued, the striking of the harpsichord keys raising the hackles of his spine. Finally the song came to an end, and the tiny man with the big brain jumped down from the chair he was standing on.

He kissed the hand of the beautiful woman, That was lovely, Antoinette. Now off you go, I think it's time for tea.

She smiled at him and floated out of the room. The little man looked at the brute standing just inside the door, and his features clouded over with a pout, his voice taking on a timbre of annoyance.

What is it now, Kessler?

The man fidgeted, nervously passing his weight between his two feet, I just wanted to let you know we've completed the first set of dough.

Currency, Kessler, not dough. The former you spend, the latter you eat.

Yeah, whatever you say, doc. It's ready to go, just give the word.

The little man smiled, We're going to topple the United States Government, Kessler, and no one will be able to stop us.

Kessler started out then turned back, Oh, and that West fella you were so interested in--

--West? What about him?

He showed up in town today.

Was he alone?

No, he had a partner, just like you said.

The man's laughter filled the room, I knew it was a lie. West and Gordon would never split up. Did you have trouble with them?

West is formidable, but the other one..... he couldn't even get his gun out of its holster.

A frown covered the doctor's face, That doesn't sound like Artemus Gordon, especially if James West was at risk. Describe him.

He was a slight fella, skinny....

Taller than West?

No, about three inches smaller, and bony.

You're sure there was no one else with them?

As sure as can be, without knowing this Gordon guy.

He's tall, fleshy, dark hair. Annoying smile, and an even more annoying sense of humor.

Didn't see nobody like that in the saloon all day. And we was lookin'.

What a comfort.... It's of no consequence, Kessler. Mr. West is here, in Denver. With or without Artemus Gordon, the game is about to begin!

Kessler watched as the little man known as Dr. Miguelito Loveless jumped up and down, clapping his hands together in glee. It made Kessler's skin crawl.