James West, once more looking (and still smelling) like a no-good bum – but not in his original, even smellier rags – slowly stood up in the alleyway. He'd been crouched motionless in the evening shadows as he waited to watch a quartet of Enrique's soldiers escort the wagon of very special piñatas through a precinct of Santa Bonita very close to Hector el Tigre's stronghold. The piñatas themselves had been disguised in military provision sacks, just to make the smuggling story seem even more plausible. A certain amount of care was needed in transporting such a quantity of contact-explosives and volatile chemicals anyway. Plus, several of the piñatas had been filled with false glittering rings from the nearby toy, novelty and junk shops whose owners had already taken a strategic holiday. At least three of the less explosive piñatas contained very realistic looking 'paste' jeweled rings from the Wanderer's disguise collection. Detectable as fakes only to an expert, those ought to lead to some memorable fights indeed. Everything was going according to plan.

Well, almost everything. At one point during his silent sentry duty, Jim had been assailed by a large dark bird that had flapped into the alley. Keeping as still as possible, Jim realized there were other disadvantages to smelling like trail-kill. He was afraid the bird might try to peck at his eyes. But Tequila had seen it too from her own hidden vantage point and had sent it flying off in haste with a well-placed sling shot warning. One less worry averted – or was it? As the bird had taken off, Jim could've sworn he heard it saying something, though he couldn't quite make out what it was. Was this creature another one of Loveless' trained pets? Or one belonging to Hector el Tigre? Or was this whole assignment starting to make him a bit paranoid? He had some uneasy flashbacks to the trained birds used by Tycho and Dr. Occularis, birds which had triggered the diabolical hypnotic spells that had nearly turned Jim and fellow agent Frank Harper into murderers. Birds, especially ravens, hadn't been among his favorite animals after that. Good thing Arte liked to do all the doting on Henrietta and Arabella!

Jim set aside thoughts of worrisome fowls as a first 'customer' came into view. He signaled to Tequila, who signaled to Enrique's second-in-command in a subtle fashion. All three of them saw the far less subtle saunterer trying to sneak up on the wagon from the shadows of one of the side streets. He apparently had a partner too. Jim caught the barest glimpse of a rifle barrel sticking out of the upstairs window of a building that should have been empty. Not a bad plan. One person to fire on the military guards from up above while the person on the ground – possibly with another buddy or two – goes for the smash-and-grab. Too obvious in its execution though. These weren't the elite crooks Jim was expecting el Tigre to employ, just some local opportunists. As such, they needed to be dealt with, and dealt with in the right way. Coolly, Jim drew out the special rifle he had prepared for this occasion and waited for the person behind the other rifle to lean forward just a little more to try for a shot. It only took a few seconds. With the same unerring aim that had once allowed him to shoot a silver dollar off the top of a church steeple, Jim fired first.

Jim's special gun, a compressed-air powered rifle that was one of Arte's clever inventions, didn't fire bullets at all, but launched darts and other projectiles instead, and it did so silently. The drugged dart struck home and the other rifle barrel slumped as its wielder went down for an unexpected siesta. Jim then tossed the air rifle over his shoulder – its major disadvantage being that it needed hand reloading after every shot – and drew his pistol, scanning upper stories and rooflines for any more opponents. Enrique's men, on alert, were scanning too. The sauntering man on the ground, now dangerously exposed, was looking up as well. This small-time crook must have been wondering why his co-conspirator wasn't firing. As one of Enrique's soldiers began to approach him, he threw a small smoke bomb and made a run for it without any prize. Jim and Tequila signaled the soldiers not to pursue, but to let the troublemaker go.

This was exactly what they needed. The failed attempt, the successful defense of the wagon, would confirm in the minds of any better-hidden professional criminals that the treasure was real. The next attempts would not be so clumsy. One or more – ideally more – attempts would succeed, since the whole point was to get these decorative decoys stolen and divided up by soon-to-be competing parties. The real trick was making sure none of the soldiers got injured or killed in the process.

As the wagon made its way closer to the immediate outskirts of el Tigre's citadel, Jim and Tequila continued to shadow it from the alleys. Now the hour was growing late. The lanterns illuminating el Tigre's squalid party town kept the nearby streets well lit too. But Jim noticed with grim satisfaction that most of the usual partiers were nowhere in sight. What a coincidence. Oh, yes, here was the perfect ambush spot, and Jim spotted the next ambusher. Well, well, well – Appaloosa Al Pintoni. The Tiger did have some interesting recruits after all. This was a good opportunity for Jim to engage in dissent creation. Watching Appaloosa Al move from behind one of the party-camp's tents at the head of his own small crew of henchies, Jim unslung the air-rifle again and loaded it with a very different type of ammunition. He waited until Appaloosa Al broke cover and raised his twin six guns to begin the attack, then fired the wide-dispersion rock salt cartridge (another invention of Arte's) straight at Al's butt. This wasn't Jim's preferred, manly way of attacking a criminal, but the cartridge performed exactly as its maker intended. Upon impact, the non-lethal shell's soft fabric cover split apart and sent dozens of tiny, stinging rock salt pellets straight through the outlaw's pants and deep into the Pintoni posterior. The air-rifle might not have made any sound, but Appaloosa Al sure did, leaping up with a screaming yelp of pain and reflexively firing off his pistols so that the bullets hit not the military caravan, but tents on either side of him and his gang. Judging by the cries that came from within those tents, they'd been occupied by more potential attackers.

Now complete chaos ensued. Appaloosa Al, still dancing and screaming, dropped both of his pistols to grab his pained and bleeding rump with his hands, causing two more bullets to discharge and scatter his band of followers. The other raiders rushing out of the tents ran straight into that crew and a withering crossfire from the wagon's soldier-guardians. The soldiers fell back though, protected by volleys from Enrique and more of their compatriots stationed up on the nearby heights. Even above the sounds of battle, Jim could hear the criminals cursing and shouting accusations at one another. No sooner had Enrique's men retreated from the wagon they'd been guarding when the bewildered and greedy criminals began fighting each other for possession of the sacks of piñatas. Guards in el Tigre's colors boiled out of the Tiger's fortress to join in the fracas. That was Jim's cue to make his next move.

With the bandit-chief's guards running out and weapons being fired or thrown everywhere, no one even noticed the rag-clad beggar who slipped inside el Tigre's front gates and around to a side entrance in the darkness. It was locked, of course, but not guarded, and locks were no problem for Secret Service agent Jim West. He was inside the palace in less than thirty seconds and, as far as he could tell, unobserved. In fact, so many of el Tigre's staff were joining in the spectacle outside that the palace appeared deserted. Instead of being forced to take immediate cover, Jim seemed to have the run of the place. Where was el Tigre though? And more to the point, where were Artemus and Dr. Loveless? And how much time did he have to look for them?

C'mon, Arte!

Jim knew his partner would be smarter than to be caught up in the mess going on outside. He would recognize the booby-trapped piñatas and phony treasure rumors as Jim's handiwork too. But as Jim slipped from room to room, he found no sign of either 'Señor Gonzaleez' or Dr. Loveless. Jim discovered and retrieved several small objects concealed in blobs of explosive putty stuck to ceiling alcoves. Artemus had been here, but he didn't appear to be here now. Nor could Jim find anything like a piece of paper with explanation or instructions on it in any of the globs he located. Either he was off his game, failing to notice some clue his partner had left him, or something had gone very, very wrong. And with Loveless involved, Jim bet he knew which was the likelier possibility.

Where are you? he thought silently, aware that precious minutes were running out. Then, just as he feared, he heard footfalls in the outside corridor to the current room he was searching that did not sound like they belonged to Arte. The distinctive click-click-click of a woman's heels drew nearer and nearer, the confident steps of someone who belonged here. Jim cursed inwardly. He was off his game. This third story room had only one doorway, no closets or wardrobes, and only one large curtained window overlooking an unsurvivable drop. Jim's quick glance didn't show him anything out there he could fire his grapple hook into either. He was as good as caught and still too smelly to rely on the power of seduction to save him. The woman who clacked boldly into the room wasn't anything like he was expecting though. He recognized her at once in spite of her outfit being radically different from the last one he'd seen her in.

"Kit-" he started to say when his voice was suddenly cut off by a garotte around his throat. Someone had been hiding behind the curtain next to the window and now he was double-ambushed, with Kitten Twitty standing in the doorway and what felt like a boa constrictor in human female form clamped onto him. The wire cutting off his breath through the grip of small but strong hands was matched by equally strong, fishnet-stockinged legs compressing his diaphragm.

"Hoo-ee! Ain't we a stinky one?" Sadie Silver complained, but stayed clutched on fast.

Strangling, Jim tried to scrape her off against the back wall, but it was no use. His attacker might be a woman, but she was physically powerful and ruthless, like a spider with its prey. He looked over to see Kitten Twitty advancing on them, her own meaty fist raised. With spots forming in his vision, the blow and darkness would be coming next.

It didn't come for Jim West. To his surprise, Kitten didn't bring her fist down on his head, but on his attacker's. All at once, the death grip on his throat and midriff ceased, the spider-lady on his back falling to the floor unconscious. Jim gasped for breath, pulling the wire loose from his neck and almost collapsing to his knees himself. His rescuer was staring at him, intense and curious.

"Thanks, Kitten," he croaked, wondering how long she might be on his side this time.

"Why do you call me that?" she asked. "My name is Ghattina." But her gaze on him became even sharper. "I do not recognize you, Señor, but you thought you recognized me, yes?"

Still winded, Jim nodded and took a closer look at the woman asking the question. He prided himself when it came to recognizing and remembering people. She had the face and physique of Kitten Twitty, even the same voice, but now that he could pay closer attention, he noticed there were differences. The body language wasn't the same, for one thing, and the voice, though tonally similar, carried the trace of an accent closer to Tequila's than anything he'd heard out of Loveless' former helper.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, wondering who she might be, really. "I met someone who looks exactly like you. I thought you were her."

However he might have expected her to react, she surprised him again, this time by latching onto both of his arms, lifting and almost crushing him again in her eager pursuit of information.

"Who?" she cried. "Where is she? Where did you see her?" There was no anger or aggression in that voice – only desperate desire. "What is her name? You must tell me!" After a few seconds, she apparently recognized that she was interfering in his ability to speak with the strength of her grip and set him back down on the floor. "Please!" she begged. "I must know!"

Jim shook himself and took a deep breath to recover a second time. He had no desire to endanger the real Kitten Twitty, although that didn't seem to be what this stranger wanted.

"Please," she begged again, almost in a whimper. "If you know where my twin sister is, you must tell me! I have been searching for her for so long!"

Twin sister? That would explain the resemblance. But how should he answer? Her next words decided for him.

"That wicked little man has been teasing me for weeks, but he has told me nothing! And now it is too late!" she lamented. "If you know . . . ."

Well, Jim certainly knew who fit the bill for her description of 'wicked little man' all right. But what did she mean by too late? He didn't like the sound of that at all.

"This wicked little man," Jim asked. "His name wouldn't happen to be Miguelito Loveless, would it?"

"Yes!" As she said it, her expression changed to one of disgust. She almost appeared ready to spit on the floor. "The vile beast!"

Still winning hearts and spreading sunshine like he always does, Jim thought. "How about a trade of information," he proposed. "Because I'm looking for Loveless. You tell me where I can find him, and I'll tell you what name your sister's going by."

"But you will not find him, Señor." She shook her head, downcast. "My Hector has taken him and the other man, Gonzaleez, to throw into the volcano."

"Vol-?" Jim's head reeled. "Which volcano? How long ago?"

"But you can do nothing!"

We'll see about that! Jim thought. "Tell me where they are, the name of the volcano! Do you want your sister's name or not?" As he braced himself to make a run for the door, he palmed one of the small round objects he had retrieved from Arte's ceiling glob maneuver.

"Yes!" she said, though she now appeared uncertain, as Kitty had been when helping them against Dr. Loveless. "It is called Ceboruco. It is a mile north."

"Ceboruco," Jim repeated. He vaguely recalled seeing this geographic feature on a map of the area that they'd been given, but he hadn't granted it any significance at the time. Well, a deal was a deal. "The woman I thought you were is named Kitten Twitty. I last saw her in Wilton, Nebraska. She was working for Dr. Loveless, but he doesn't treat his employees well and I don't think she works for him anymore." It was all the truth he had for her. She was still standing between him and the door and he couldn't waste any more time. He threw the small round object onto the floor in front of her and held his breath from the cloud of green smoke that rose out of it. Ghattina slumped toward the floor unconscious. Jim managed to catch her enough to slow her fall so she wouldn't be seriously hurt, but even he staggered under her bulk. Sorry to do that, he thought to her as he ran from the room, but I've got to save my partner!

Now frantic, Jim raced down the palace's central staircase unopposed until he almost ran straight into another female, but one he recognized with relief.

"Tequila! Do you know the fastest route to get to Ceboruco?"

"Si, Señor West, every child in Santa Bonita knows this. Why?"

"Because we've got to get there fast!" He grabbed her by the arm and ran with her all the way down the stairs toward the side entrance, hoping they could rustle up a pair of horses that hadn't run off with the sound of explosions and gunfire coming from seemingly every quarter of el Tigre's party town. "I'll explain on the way!"