THE NIGHT OF THE ICE COLD DEATH
By Andamogirl
Author's notes:
Season 3. References to the following episodes "The night of the inferno", "The night of the lord of limbo", "The Night of The Man-Eating House" and "The night of Jack O'diamonds".
Reference to my stories The Night of The Outlaw & The Night of The First Mission.
References to the Paleo-Indians, to the Clovis Culture and to the relations between indigenous peoples of Siberia with the indigenous peoples of the Americas.
I placed Artemus Gordon's date of birth in 1830. It's different from the date we can see in the TV movie "The Wild Wild West revisited" (1835), because 1) I placed my stories in chronological order, starting with season 1 set in 1873. In the series, the dates given don't match the order of the seasons. For example, The Night of the Whirring Death (season 1) opens with the caption San Francisco 1874 and in The Night of the Arrow" (season 3), a cavalry general resigns his commission as of April 6, 1874, and 2) Ross Martin was 45 when the first season began in 1965 and 45 – 1873 = 1830.
Many references to the season 2 episode The Night of The Lord of Limbo.
I tried to bring answers to The Night of The Lord of Limbo's big questions: Colonel Vautrain sent Artemus Gordon to the past, so why did Artie think he was someone else? A man called Jack Maitland? Why did Vautrain send Artemus to that particular period of the past? Why was Vautrain younger and Jim and Artie were not. Plus other questions left open with no answers given in the episode.
Sordo: Hey, you are not bad for a gringo.
Jim: Yeah, what do you know about gringos?
Sordo: Not much. I try to avoid them. It's bad company.
Jim: Yeah? What about you?
Sordo: oh, not so good company either. I am a bandit. I rob a little. Sometimes I kill a little. It's not a very good living, but it's all I got.
"The Night of Jack O'diamonds".
Jim: The colonel is a rather unique travel agent.
Artie: And a most unusual magician, too.
"TNOT Lord of Limbo"
Warning: temporary main character death, graphic violence & torture (physical & psychological). Tissue warning. Time travel story.
WWW
TEASER
Las Mesas,
Texas, close to the border with Mexico
El Zorro cantina
Mounting Lockpick, the false Miguel Esposito (Artemus Gordon), dismounted in front of the El Zorro cantina and sweat pouring off his face, he tied his gelding to the hitching post.
Lockpick huffed nervously and nuzzled his master's hair in concern. Smiling Artie said, "Don't worry, I'll be careful," to his worried horse and rubbed his neck soothingly.
The (disguised) special agent of the US Secret Service looked around him: the street was deserted, or almost. Only two old men were sitting in the shade of some stunted trees, sat around a small table, talking and playing chess, protected from the blazing sun.
He entered the cantina shortly after – instantly appreciating the freshness of the place and sighed in relief. He mopped his face and neck with the back of his hand, without worrying that his fake tan would go, congratulating himself on having recently invented a cream based on a decoction of the chestnut bark, a long-lasting product which disappeared by itself after a week.
He glanced around him.
The cantina was empty, except for a pair of Mexicans sitting at a table and sipping a foamy beer. They were dressed in white clothes, but had a black poncho and a black sombrero de charro. Their hat, gun-belts and boots were decorated with silver geometric ornaments. They had silver spurs too.
He hid a smile. 'El Gato's men's uniforms… I knew I could find some of them here as it is the only cantina for miles around, and the closest to the border and territory of El Gato… Well done, Artie old boy, your plan starts well,' he thought.
There was another patron here. He glanced at a man, sitting at a table in the furthest corner from the door. He was dressed in a blue suit and had a black hat. He was drinking a glass of whiskey – and staring at him, his face neutral. 'Hi Jim!'
He headed toward the bar and beckoned to the bartender. "Whiskey por favor, and give me your best, the one you keep under the bar," he said with a Mexican accent, throwing a pocketful of pesos on the dirty counter to cover his drink.
Immediately the bartender, a big Mexican man scooped the money up and shoved it in the pocket of his threadbare apron.
Miguel Esposito removed his big hat and wiped away the shine of sweat from his hairline, then ran a hand over his fake long gray hair, smoothing it down. "I'm looking for El Gato, he said to the bartender. "I heard he comes here from time to time…I have a proposition for him."
The bartender pulled a bottle of whiskey and a glass out from under the bar and set them the counter. "Who? I don't know who this El Gato is…" Licking his lips nervously, he glanced furtively at the two men sitting at a table near the back of the room, before moving back to wipe some glasses.
Feeling eyes boring into his back and hiding a proud smile, Artie thought. 'Oh, I'm sure you do, on the contrary, and you just glanced at two of El Gato's men'.
He uncorked the bottle of whiskey with his teeth and spat the cork at his feet, to the dusty ground. He poured himself a shot, the auburn liquid nearly filling the glass and froze as he heard someone scraping a chair against the floor with a screech and he turned around… to face Jim.
Nose to nose.
He hid a new smile then thirstily drank the passable liquor, feeling it burn his throat as he swallowed, before it hit his stomach, a gentle warmth settling in his belly. He put his glass on the counter and took a step away from the bar. 'Let's start the show!'
Miguel Esposito raised an interrogative eyebrow and asked, "Buenos días señor. What can I do for you?"
Pulling out his identity card from the inside pocket of his jacket, Jim said, "My name is James West, I'm a special agent of the Secret Service… I'm looking for El Gato too. So you have a proposition for him… what kind of proposition? Something declared outlaw I bet… perhaps I should have you arrested and interrogated. And I didn't hear your name…"
Esposito smiled broadly, his chocolate eyes glistening with mischief, taunting the federal man. "That's because I didn't say it, señor."
His face turning into granite, Jim suddenly grabbed Artie's by the lapel of his jacket and propelled him against the counter, hard.
He groaned, his voice low, "You don't want to mess with me…"
Iin the mirror hanging on the wall, behind the bar, Jim saw the two Mexican banditos lower their cards and move their hands, slowly, toward their guns. "I'm sure that you know things about El Gato and you're going to help me arrest him… "
Esposito shook his head. "Help you? No señor! Never! Never!" then he chuckled. "You want to arrest El Gato? Alone? Good luck with that!"
Smiling, Jim nodded. "Yes, me alone." He suddenly whirled around seeing in the mirror the two banditos un-holster their guns.
He was faster pointing his Colt at them. "Drop your guns, now," he commanded, jaw tightened, eyes dark. Glaring at Jim the two men complied reluctantly. "Good! Now put your hands on your head and sit down. I'll deal with you later… But you make one move, just one and that will be your last one."
Hiding another smile, Artie thought, 'Now, let's start the fun part!'
He pushed Jim to the side, violently, and raised his fist. "Váyase! Váyase!" he cried out to the two Mexicans. 'I'm going to punch this gringo and…"
He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence before taking a steel-like fist to his chin and he collapsed like a ragdoll to the floor a few seconds later.
The two banditos fled.
Looking at Artemus lying out cold on the floor, he said to the bartender, "Go find the sheriff; this man will spend the night in a cell."
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El Paso, Texas.
Inside the Wanderer stationed on the railroad yard.
Morning.
Special agent James West of the US Secret Service Division of the Department of the Treasury entered the parlor car his stomach rumbling with hunger.
He smiled seeing that his partner sitting at the table in front of a copious breakfast was still dressed in his whole Mexican bandito disguise, minus the large hat sitting on the nearest couch, he noticed. He noticed that AG his black, fluffy, kitten had claimed it as his, as he was sitting on the extra-wide brim, scratching it with his claws. Marmalade, Artie's white and tawny cat was rolled in a ball on the armchair, keeping a mother's vigilant eye on the kitten she had adopted.
Moving forward, he said, "Good morning, compadre, how was your night?"
Smiling Artemus Gordon spread a layer of butter on his toast. "Hi, Jim! Oh, it was good. I slept like a rock all night long – but not in my bed, but in a cell, as you know." He smiled and asked, "Did you really have to hit me that hard?" And he rubbed his aching, bruised, chin.
Cringing, feeling a bit guilty, Jim took his place on a chair in front of his best friend, "I'm sorry, Artemus. But you asked me to knock you out in a fight against me… and as you take blows pretty good, I had no other choice but to hit you hard to deck you."
Frustrated and a bit hurt, Artie replied, "When exactly did I fight you? Because I don't remember I did. You haven't given me the opportunity to do so, may I point out? You decked me flat out with one solid, rock hard uppercut after a couple of seconds! I know that I didn't specify how long that fight between us had to last… but two seconds? We could have fought each other a bit longer, like two minutes, and you could have hit me more than once you know… I'm not made of glass." He huffed and then touched his fake thick drooping mustache and long sideburns to see if they were still holding and they were.
Pouring himself a coffee Jim said, "I know that, Artie. You're tough and indestructible. But I didn't want to hurt you more than necessary. I don't like to hurt you and see you suffer."
Artie smiled. "Thank you."
Smirking Jim added, "Besides, I couldn't let an old bandito fight against me more than one minute… What about my reputation, Artie? I can KO four hulky men in ten seconds, tops." He smirked and added, "And my mother taught me to have respect for the elderly, that's why I touched you there and not anywhere else. Old men are fragile."
Falsely offended Artemus frowned and waved a stern finger. "Elderly? Old men? You may be younger than me young whippersnapper, but I'm not that old – only 15 years older than you, Jim, that doesn't make me elderly. I'm 45 not 75!" he said with a thick Mexican accent." He smiled broadly and regretted it instantly, wincing and rubbing his bruised chin. Seeing that his partner looked a bit miserable he added, "It's alright Jim. I'm okay. That was part of the game. But next time try to avoid hitting my chin, even my teeth and jaw hurt… I was very lucky nothing was broken."
Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Jim smiled and said, "No promises… and you are starting to grumble like an old grumpy man… But your plan worked, buddy, you said that you had a proposition for El Gato in front of his men, you stood up to the best of the special agents of the Secret Service… and you allowed them to escape. I'm sure El Gato will take the bait and contact you soon."
Artie nodded. "I hope so, yes." Copying his partner, he poured himself a third cup of coffee and closed his eyes in bliss as he inhaled the steam once more. "Mmm…delicious." Then he took a sip savoring the powerful aroma of the South American special blend." Sheriff Gilbert offered me a cup of coffee when I woke up lying on a hard bunk, in his cozy cell. But it was as thick as molasses and smelled like wet dirt, and looked just as undrinkable. But I drank it anyway, because I can't begin the day without a coffee in the morning… even a very bad one. But it can't be compared with this one – which is a new brand I discovered in a tiny import shop in Washington last month. It's just a pure merveille! I just bought one tin box of it to test it, but next time I'll buy a whole crate of it."
Jim chuckled, "You're such a sybarite, Artie." he took his first sip of coffee. "Mmm, you're right, it's very good. I can see why you love it."
The older man smiled. "I'm a sybarite, yes. I admit that. Life is short – and for me all the pleasures are good to enjoy, while I can do it," he said and he continued, "Speaking about the sheriff he released me about half an hour ago, at dawn, after he was sure that all the bandidos had left the town. I told him I didn't want them to see me coming back here. They sure would have suspected something. Banditos don't usually travel in luxury trains, rather they attack them to rob the passengers or steal the cargo, or both. That's why I hadn't time to change clothes and remove my disguise." He took a couple more sips and said, "I came back 30 minutes ago, but I took time to make coffee and prepare breakfast for both of us."
Eying the various dishes hungrily, Jim said, impressed, "And you can do miracles in 30 minutes. Mmm, it looks delicious, my compliments to the Chef."
Smiling, pleased by the compliment, Artemus bowed his head. "Thank you, Jim." He took another sip then used his free hand to straighten up his two cartridges belts that crossed his chest. "I already disguised myself like that once you know; impersonating el bandito Pancho… when you were busy playing with Sordo and my explosive Havana cigars…"
Jim chuckled. "They worked just fine."
Artie smiled too. "Speaking of explosives, my explosive fake bullet works just fine too! You just need a bottle of liquor, and boom! There's immediately of lot of smoke." Glancing at the cats, both sleeping now, AG nestled against Marmalade, Artie said, "Aww! Look at them, they're so adorable!"
Jim nodded. "Yes they are."
Looking at his partner again, Artie continued, "Of course I modified a few things in my disguise. I'm Miguel Esposito, not Pancho – because he's dead. People could recognize Pancho and wonder why he's still alive, and ask me questions later, or kill me like that Panchito character tried to with his men. Thanks to the smoke I managed to escape alive from that cantina…" He finally bit into his toast, finished it and said, "I am going to keep señor Miguel Esposito's disguise for now. I have planned to go back to that cantina this afternoon to drink a beer or two. And I'm sure that El Gato will send his men fetch me. I will tell him what I intend to do tonight: kill the guards of the federal armory in order to steal rifles to offer them to El Gato in exchange for being accepted into his famous merry band of bank robbers, kidnappers and murderers. And if he doesn't contact me today, we'll postpone the plan until later. We'll see."
Jim nodded. "In any case, I'll be there with a detachment of cavalry to arrest them – and you too señor Esposito – after you robbed that federal armory deposit. I just hope that their leader, El Gato, will be there too. Our orders are to capture him and his men and to put them behind bars. As you know they murdered thirty five US Army soldiers in the attack on a military post at the border with Mexico." He planted his fork in a slice of crispy bacon, frowning in concern. "You'll be very careful, right? They are a bunch of cold murderers and I won't be there guarding your back."
Cutting a piece of omelet with sautéed potatoes and herbs with his knife, Artie said, "I will be careful. You're not going to lose me Jim."
Cutting his slice of bacon with his knife, Jim said, "Good. Because it would be too difficult to find a new partner with your talents and then to train him."
Artemus gave a short laugh. "Thank you James. I don't want to die either, that's why I'll wear my bullet-proof vest. Because I'm sure El Gato will want to eliminate Esposito once he has the weapons in his possession."
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Las Mesas, Federal armory deposit, midnight.
Miguel Esposito (Artemus Gordon) lifted the last box of Winchester 73s into the wagon then took a step back with a broad smile, tugging on his long, thick black mustache in satisfaction. For now everything was fine, as expected: he had 'killed' the guards (he had fired with blanks), they were still playing their role perfectly and the federal armory deposit robbery had gone perfectly well - and soon Jim and the soldiers would be there to arrest everyone, El Gato included.
He glanced behind him. El Gato, the leader of the banditos was standing in the middle of the street, framed by two of his bodyguards.
El Gato had observed everything since the beginning of the robbery, and glancing in his direction from time to time, Artie had seen him nod in appreciation.
He was glancing at the other banditos gathered not far from their boss, in front of the telegraph post, when he heard someone snap his fingers and looked back at El Gato.
El Gato gestured at Artemus, "Esposito, come here," he commanded.
Esposito complied and removed his sombrero with deference. "Si señor El Gato?" While prudently keeping his other hand on his firearm.
El Gato smiled. "You did a good job, Esposito. So, you did all that… just because you want to be one of my men?"
Esposito nodded. "Si, si, señor El Gato. I want to be one of El Gato's men. It means to have plenty of money and beautiful women, and be a feared bandido."
El Gato burst out of laughing. "Yes, you're right!" Looking at the older man from head to toes, he added, "After we talked together this afternoon, I did some checking on James West… I used the telegraph and contacted people I know in the Estados Unidos and in Mexico… Señor West has quite a reputation; he uses his fists and gun at the speed of lightning. I know now why you tried to fight him and was knocked out two seconds later. You didn't stand a chance against him." Still staring at Esposito, El Gato narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I was told too, that Señor West usually works with his best friend and partner, a man named Artemus Gordon. They're inseparable. If West is here, Gordon's here too. He has the reputation to be a master of disguise, a man of many faces... A man who can play any role to perfection…"
Feeling anxiety making knots in his stomach, Artemus Gordon rubbed his chin pensively doing his best to keep a neutral face. 'Oh! Oh! Artie old boy, I think you have been busted', he thought. He unconsciously touched his chest, feeling the impenetrable fabric of the bullet proof vest he was wearing beneath his old, dusty, jacket and full-of-holes-shirt. Yes, he was wearing his bullet proof vest alright… 'But El Gato could put a bullet in your head, old boy, did you think about that? A big NO,' he mused, feeling a shiver ran along his spine. He removed his hat to mop his forehead with his sleeve and ran a nervous hand through his long, unruly, fake graying hair, "Artemus Gordon? What does he look like?"
El Gato lowered his hand on the butt of his gun. "About your height and corpulence… younger though and he has no mustache…"
Feeling beads of perspiration roll along his temples, Artie realized that he had no plan B… and he was sure now that El Gato knew who he really was. 'Try to save time, Artie, Jim and the soldiers are not far away…' he thought. "I didn't see him Señor. Maybe West is here alone. That partner of his could be on another assignment or sick in the bottom of his bed, who knows?"
El Gato gave his best crocodile smile. "I asked my men to take information on you Esposito because I like to know everything about everyone in my territory. No one seems to know you. It's like you had suddenly appeared from thin air. Strange isn't it?"
Artemus swallowed hard. 'Showtime!' "That's because… I'm not from this territory, Señor. I'm from Mexico. I just arrived here two days ago."
El Gato suddenly reached out and grabbed a fistful of Esposito's greying hair and… pulled out the wig from Artemus's head.
Instinctively moving back, Artie cursed.
El bandito exclaimed, "I knew it! You're Artemus Gordon and you're dead!" while throwing the fake hair to the ground before un-holstering his revolver.
Adrenaline pulsing through his veins, the special agent drew his gun to defend himself but the Mexican bandito was faster.
El Gato fired at point-blank range.
Artie was thrown backward under the impact. His chest on fire he yelped, swayed and landed in a crumpled heap on the ground, limbs askew, before succumbing to unconsciousness.
El Gato raised his hand, "Vamonos compadres!" he said to his men. "Don't stay here! Be on your guard, it's probably a set up. Andale!"
He jumped on his horse and was joining his men when suddenly thirty soldiers led by James West encircled them. Shots were exchanged and a dozen bandidos were killed after a few seconds. The others were rapidly captured.
El Gato framed between two sergeants holding their pistols at his head grinned evilly when he saw a man that could only be James West kneel beside Artemus Gordon and roll him over. "He's dead West! I killed your best friend and partner," he said, then he grinned, proud of himself. "I had never killed a federal agent before… I enjoyed it much."
Ignoring the bandito's words Jim maneuvered Artie into a sitting position, holding his back. He gently slapped the other man's face. "Come on, wake up, Artie!"
El Gato chuckled. "Dead people don't come back to life gringo…"
His eyes fluttering open, Artie groaned in pain, slowly coming around. "Ooooh…boy! That close contact shot knocked the breath out of me, and that bullet … Ow!... is going to leave a big, nasty bruise on my chest… Ow!" He winced, touching his aching ribs and looking at Jim kneeling beside him he frowned, upset. "Hey Jim! Fancy meeting you there. I was expecting you sooner, pal. I've been waiting for you. What took you so long? Met a lovely señorita on the way? And you stopped to chat with her and drink a beer?"
Jim smiled. "You know me so well…"
El Gato dumbfounded, finally said, "He's not dead!"
James West stood up pulling Artemus Gordon up with him. "No, as you can see he's not dead, he's alright, he's just bruised."
Placing a hand on his chest, throbbing with pain, he grimaced. "I am badly bruised. I was lucky he… he didn't aim his gun at my head…"
Smiling Jim patted his partner's back, "Said the grumpy old man… Sorry for the delay, Artie, but there was a large herd of cows at the entrance of the town which blocked our way a few moments." He saw a cavalry Lieutenant heading toward them. "Good job Lieutenant Davidson. Secure these men and escort them to the fort. Tell Colonel Bridges that I'll send him instructions regarding the prisoners as soon as I received a telegram from Washington detailing them."
The officer saluted, "Yes Sir."
Smiling, Jim patted Artie's shoulder, "Good work Artie! Now, let's go home. You seriously need a bath and a shave and to change clothes. You stink buddy."
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Later in the Wanderer
Eyes closed in pleasure, his cheeks freshly shaven and already showered twice, Artemus Gordon was now enjoying a nice hot bubble bath in the small bathroom.
Holding a glass of brandy in one hand and a (non-explosive) half burned cigar in the other hand, eyes closed, he was humming contently in the bathtub as he relaxed, the warm water enveloping him, soothing his sore limbs, loosening his muscles, his whole body going lax.
Marmalade was sitting on a chair beside her owner, grooming herself.
Suddenly there was a soft knocking on the door. He opened her eyes and lifted his head, "Come in Jim!" he called.
The door opened and Jim appeared in the narrow walkway, leaning against the door jamb. As usual AG was perched on his shoulder. "Hi Artie, how do you feel?"
Artie smiled. "I'm fine." He pushed the thick layer of rainbow-y sandalwood scented bubbles of soap that coated the water away from his chest and pointed at a large red and blue bruise he had there. "See? I told you, that's a bruise, a big one." He rubbed his chin where a first bruise colored his skin in purple. "It's my second bruise in two days."
Smiling, Jim stepped into the smoky room and sat down on a stool beside the tub. "I'm responsible for this one, but not of the one on your chest. But I'm glad you had on bullet-proof vest. It has saved your life Artie. Without it, you'd be dead."
Moving the cigar to his lips, Artie inhaled, and then exhaled slowly, blowing a steady stream of smoke into the air above him. Then, he cupped some bubbles in his palm, and said, "I'd be dead, and you planning my funeral right now." And he blew them in Marmie's direction.
It instantly caught the cat's attention and Marmalade clawed them all, popping them.
Marmalade looked at her owner and meowed 'more! I love that!'
Smiling between two puffs, Artie pulled out his cigar from his lips and giggled. "She loves when I do that." He looked up at AG who was fidgeting and meowing on Jim's shoulder. "AG wants to play too."
Frowning, Jim said, "That's not funny Artie. I mean talking about your funeral." And he placed his kitten between Marmie's front paws.
Marmalade gave AG a cat-mom's lick on his head.
Suddenly serious, the older man said, "I'm not immortal, Jim. I have survived many injuries since the war, and a few drownings, some wild animals attacks… but one day… my luck will run out…" and he started blowing streams of bubbles at the two cats sitting on the stools eliciting happy meows.
Shaking a finger Jim said, "I forbid you to die Artie! I need you at my side, forever."
Bringing the glass to his lips, Artemus took a sip of brandy. "I'll try, but no promises." He sighed and added, "The bullet-proof vest is one of my first inventions, but it's my best invention so far. It has saved my life several times already." He took a sip of brandy and then asked, "Did you send a wire to the Colonel about the success of our mission?"
Moving AG onto his lap, Jim nodded. "Yes, I did, and he congratulates both of us for the capture of El Gato and his men. There was something else in the telegram we received. The President wants us to be in Washington as soon as possible."
Intrigued, Artie frowned. "Did he say why?"
Jim sighed. "Yes, someone wants to kill him – again."
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Ulysses S. Grant's office, the White House, a week later.
President Grant furrowed his brow in concern when he saw Artemus's bruised chin. "Are you alright Artemus?" he asked.
Standing at attention, Artemus Gordon smiled. "I'm alright Mr. President, thank you. Let's say that Jim got 'carried away' by his enthusiasm during our last assignment."
Jim shot Artie an impish smile.
Grant caught the two men exchange a complicit look and let out a puff of bluish smoke. "I'm sure it's a fascinating story. I hope to hear it one day. Please, sit down gentlemen."
Complying, the two special agents took their place on chairs set on the other side of the President's large desk which was cluttered with files, papers and ashtrays filled with dozens of cigar butts.
Taking a letter, brandishing it, Grant said, "Two days days ago, I received a letter signed by a group called MEOPG group, MEOPG stands for Mortal Enemies Of President Grant, telling me that an assassin will kill me during my speech tomorrow in front of the National Museum. Of course after four attempts to get rid of me in the last month – each of which you stopped in the nick of time - I'm taking this new threat very seriously. Colonel Richmond already has people investigating that MEOPG group…Gentlemen you have until tomorrow noon to find that assassin before I begin to deliver my speech, not a minute more."
Furrowing his brow in deep worry, Jim proposed, "With all due respect Sir, you should postpone that speech. It would then leave enough time for Artie and me to find the assassin."
The President shook his head. "Impossible! A dozen ambassadors will be there, as well as many dignitaries from other countries. You have until tomorrow noon."
Raising a hand, Artemus proposed, "In case we don't find the assassin in time may I suggest you to wear one of my bullet-proof vests, Sir?"
Narrowing his blue eyes, a bit hurt, the President Grant shook his head. "I appreciate the offer, but no. I won't hide behind your bullet-proof vest, Artemus. Bullets never frightened me during the war and still don't scare me now that I am the President of the United States."
Rubbing the still-aching bruise on his chest, Artie insisted. "Yes Sir. But a bullet-proof vest is sometimes indispensable , Sir, to stay alive when you're sure someone is going to kill you."
Grant smiled. "Do your best to find that assassin, but if you can't, I won't be cross at you, because I have every confidence in Jim and you to assure my protection, Artemus. I'm sure everything will go well." Then he puffed on his cigar.
But Artie's gut-feeling of anxiety disagreed. 'I've got a bad feeling about this…' he thought. Something terrible would happen, he knew it.
He proposed, "Let's start with the people who would love to see you dead, Sir. The ex-Confederate officers living here, in Washington."
Jim nodded. "And I will pay a visit to my usual contacts…"
Tbc.