Artemus heard the door to the parlor car close. He chuckled and began folding the clothes and putting them back in the drawer.
The next morning, Jim sat sipping coffee and picking at a greasy version of eggs and biscuits when his companions from the night before entered. They joined him, sitting without waiting to be invited.
"Good morning, gentlemen," Jim greeted them pushing his plate away. He missed Arte's cooking already.
"Morning," Reds answered. He seemed to be the spokesman for their little group. "Boss wants to meet you," he told Jim.
"When?" Jim asked trying to sound anxious but not overly so. He noticed Otis eyeing the uneaten plate. Jim pushed it over in front of him. "Help yourself," he told Otis.
"Thanks," Otis dug into the greasy eggs happily.
"Didn't you eat enough already?" Joe asked disgusted, "You keep up that pace and you won't be able to sit a horse at all. You're not so good at it now," he chuckled.
"Leave him alone, Joe," Reds ordered then to Jim he said, "We'll take you to meet the boss this afternoon. He's busy til about 5:00. We'll meet you back here around 4:00," Reds glanced over at Otis who was just polishing the plate with a bit of biscuit.
"That's fine," Jim answered sincerely. "What kind of work will it be?" he asked wondering how Otis could consume nearly pure grease.
"Boss'll tell you if he decides to take you on," Reds told him. "If he doesn't, then you don't need to know. Otis, are you about done with that? They will wash the plate, you know," he added in an irritated voice.
"I'm done," Otis said licking his lips and wiping greasy fingers on his pants legs.
Joe and Reds rose, Joe pulled Otis roughly out of his seat, "See you at 4:00," he told Jim and the trio left.
At the door, Joe shoved a wizened old man out of their way. "Watch it there, sonny," the old timer shouted in a thick Cajun accent, staggering back with the rough shove.
"Shut up, pops," Joe growled giving him a second, harder shove that sent the old man down on his backside.
Jim shook his head with the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Poor Arte'd met the ground at the saloon twice now in less than 24 hours. Arte entered muttering under his breath and brushing dust off his backside.
"Hey, old timer," Jim called to him.
Stooped and bowlegged, Arte shuffled over to him. "What you want, sonny?" he asked.
"Let me treat you to a meal," Jim offered pushing a chair out with the toe of his boot.
"Ah, merci, merci bien," Arte answered and took the offered seat.
"Can you bring the old man a plate of breakfast?" Jim called over to the barkeep, who doubled as the cook during the morning hours. Then he leaned his forearms on the table and spoke softly to Arte. "What have you got?"
"Not a lot," Arte answered matching Jim's low tone, "Anderson, Hammond, and Clatterbuck, I still can't get over that name," he shook his head, "are three time losers. Petty stuff. They hire on with whoever's paying the most for a hired gun at the time. Been in and out of jail for theft, but nothing big like this," Arte told Jim as the barkeep came with a plate of the same greasy eggs and biscuits and set it in front of Arte.
"Merci, mon bon homme," Arte said to the barkeep. He eyed the greasy plate and made a face. "What the hell is this?" he asked Jim when the barkeep was out of earshot.
"Eggs and biscuits," Jim grinned at his partner.
"Oh, please," Arte said starting to push the plate away.
"Better eat it, Arte. Don't want to raise any suspicions. After all, you did come in for breakfast didn't you?" Jim teased.
"Breakfast, not an oil bath," Arte replied. He put a small bit of egg in his mouth. "Oh, Lord," he muttered.
Jim chuckled. "Any information on who they might have hired on with this time?" he asked as Arte swallowed.
"A couple of possibilities," Arte began, "Claude Benoit is a native and was just released from prison. He served 5 years for selling guns to a bunch of renegades trying to restart the war," he told his partner. "Think I can get some coffee? This stuff is disgusting," Arte asked pushing the plate away. "And that leads us to possibility number two," he continued as Jim ordered another cup of coffee for himself and one for Arte. "Sasson Delacroix," Arte said.
"Wait, I know that name," Jim interrupted trying to remember.
"Yeah, you should," Arte said, "Think Shiloh."
"Damn!" Jim swore softly, now remembering the man, "Is he still alive? He must be 70."
"He is, and a very healthy 70 at that. After you had him arrested for treason, he was sent to a federal prison. He's been out less than a year, moved down here when he got out and hasn't been heard from since," Arte told him.
"At least not in the criminal world, anyway. He comes to town every now and again for supplies but not much else. He has a place in the bayou."
The barkeep brought the coffee and left the bill as well. Arte took a sip from his cup.
"So, what do you think?" Jim asked him.
"It's not bad," Arte shrugged.
"What?" Jim asked confused.
Arte looked at his partner, frowning, "The coffee. It's not bad."
"I meant who do you think is our likeliest candidate," Jim explained.
"Oh. Well," Arte took in a long breath, let it out slowly as he pondered, "Benoit is young, itching for the south to rise, and these thefts would suit his needs perfectly," he replied thoughtfully, "I could see him behind this. But I could just as easily see Delacroix as the brains of the outfit. He'd like the unpleasantries to restart and with his military experience, the arms and supplies stolen, he could outfit a small army. So, I guess it could be either one or neither of them," Arte concluded.
"Thank you, that was very helpful," Jim answered sarcastically.
"I'm sorry, Jim, I just don't know," Arte replied.
"Does Benoit still have a home here?" Jim asked.
"Last report we have says his parents are deceased. He has no siblings so I imagine the family home went to him," Arte told Jim where Benoit's family home was in the bayou and finished the coffee.
"Did you get hired on?" he asked noticing they were starting to draw attention.
"I meet the boss at 5:00," Jim answered dropping money on the table and rising. Loud enough for the barkeep to hear, he said, "That's the last time I try to do something nice for an old scruff. You didn't even eat!"
Arte stood, "You invited me, monsieur, I did not ask for anything," he answered. He turned and shuffled away from Jim.
"How do you like that," Jim mused for the barkeep's benefit. "Who is that old creep?"
"Never saw him before, but these Cajuns have large families. He's somebody's grandfather, I expect. Seems a might touched," the barkeep answered tapping his temple with one finger.
"I'll say," Jim agreed and exited the saloon. He lit a cigar and stood by the rail watching Arte shuffle off in the direction of the bayou, letting him get a distance away before following.
Jim picked his way through the think tangle of trees and soggy ground following Arte's obvious path into the bayou. He reached an area that was only traversable by boat and looked around. He caught a glimpse of gray hair and moved up quietly behind his partner, crouched behind a tree. Jim saw Arte was soaking wet and smiled as he imagined Arte somehow winding up in the brackish water. He tapped Arte's shoulder, startling him.
"Whup!" Arte exclaimed softly turning to face Jim. "What's the matter with you?" he whispered angrily. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"What happened to you?" Jim grinned at him, then his smile faded to a grimace, "What's that smell?" He sniffed near Arte. "Oh, you stink," he said waving a hand in front of his face. "What did you fall into?"
"Scat," Arte wrinkled his nose.
"From what? That is really foul!" Jim stated the obvious.
"God only knows and He's not telling," Arte snapped back, "I slipped in a pile of something that came out of the south end of a north bound animal, that's all I know."
Jim waved his hand in front of his face again, "You need to wash it off, buddy."
"Why do you think I'm wet? I tried to wash it off," Arte answered testily.
"It didn't work," Jim quipped taking a step away. "Where are you staying?" he asked turning back to business.
"See that little shack?" Arte pointed through the trees to a run down, threadbare structure.
"How'd you find that place?" Jim asked.
"Cajun's are friendly folk. It's been abandoned for years, so they let me take it over," Arte answered.
"Why are you hiding out here, then?" Jim asked.
"Because I have uninvited guests," Artemus pointed again and Jim saw Joe, Reds, and Otis coming out of the shack. "What do you suppose they want?"
"My guess is they're checking you out," Jim told him. "I guess they make it their business to know who's in the bayou and you're a stranger. Watch yourself, Arte," Jim warned.
"Of course. You better get out of here before they spot you. I think it's time to go be hospitable," Arte smiled.
Jim started to clap him on the shoulder then thought better of it, drew his hand back and left his partner. Arte waited until Jim disappeared in the thick trees then stepped from his hiding place and trooped up to the shack.
Jim scouted around in the bayou coming to Delacroix's home, a small but elegant wood structure. He considered knocking on the door to surprise the man, but decided against tipping his hand too soon. Besides, Delacroix might not be behind the thefts and terrorism of the locals. Jim settled for circling the home and observing. Delacroix did not appear and all seemed quiet.
Deciding nothing would happen here, Jim made his way over to Benoit's family home. It was a much larger spread than Delacroix's with several other buildings besides the house. Jim slipped up to the largest, a barn like building and peered in through a back window. It was empty and Jim found that odd. He checked the other buildings, and all were equally empty. Jim wanted to go in the house and get a look around so he crept up to the back door. Pulling a lockpick from his lapel, he opened the door and entered. It was dark and quiet. He searched the house but it seemed deserted, unoccupied for a long time. Maybe Benoit had not taken over the family home, after all.
Jim pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He needed to get back to town before his escorts arrived to take him to the 'boss'. He left the Benoit home and made his way back through the tangled wall of trees. Glancing behind him to make sure he was proceeding unseen, Jim slid and went down on one knee. Picking himself up, he realized he'd slipped in the same sort of scat pile Arte had. Now it was more imperative than ever that he get back to town. He needed to change the stench was nearly unbearable.
"What you want here?" Arte laid on the accent as he stepped up onto the small collapsing porch to his shack.
"Nothing, old timer. Who are you anyway?" Reds answered.
Arte squinted and leaned toward the three, "Desmond Bijoux, who wants to know?"
"You're new here, aren't you," Joe growled pushing Arte back. "What are you looking at?"
"Jest trying to see who comes to my home," Arte answered putting on a show of trying to see them, "I don't see so good, no more."
""He don't recognize us," Otis said to his companions.
"All the better for him," Reds replied, "Where'd you come from?"
"I come back from Canada to be with my family, but they don't live here no more. Least I don't find them," Arte answered. "What he mean I don't recognize you? I meet you before?" he asked leaning close to them again.
All three backed away from him with a collective "Phew."
"Nah. He doesn't know what he's saying. Come on, boys, he's nothing but a stinking, old fart," Reds said leading his friends away from the shack.
Arte watched them go. He sniffed his sleeve. "Artemus, old son, they're right about the stinking part," he said to himself and went inside to get out of the reeking clothes.
When Jim came down from his room just after 4:00, his escorts were at the bar talking to the bartender. They glanced at Jim as he approached.
"Mickey here says you treated some old guy to breakfast this morning. The one coming in when we left. You know him?" Reds inquired suspiciously.
"No. I had a moment of compassion for the old timer and offered him something to eat. What a waste of food and money," Jim replied.
"What'd you talk about?" Joe asked lighting a cheroot and jamming it between his teeth.
"Nothing. He wasn't very talkative," Jim answered lighting a cigar of his own.
"He tell you who he was?" Reds asked.
"Like I said, it was a moment of compassion for an old coot. I didn't ask and he didn't say," Jim answered, "What's he got to do with anything anyway?"
"Not a thing," Reds said sizing Jim up. He paused a moment then asked, "You ready to meet the boss?"
"About time," Jim answered, "I thought we were going to stand here jawing about that old man all night."
He followed the trio out and mounted his horse. They led Jim to the waterway and tied their horses to a tree.
"We go by boat from here," Reds informed Jim.
"You don't mind rowing do you?" Joe sneered the smoldering stub of his cigar firmly affixed to the corner of his mouth.
"I guess not," Jim replied stepping into the boat and taking up the oars. "Is it far?" he asked.
"Not too far. Just go that way," Reds pointed east.
Jim began to steer them in the direction indicated. They weren't anywhere near Benoit's spread but Delacroix's home was just beyond the bend in the waterway. Reds told him to take the fork leading away from Delacroix's home, though. Jim scanned the trees and spotted Arte sitting on the porch of the shack whittling. His partner gave no indication that he even saw them, let alone recognized them.
"There's that old coot again," Joe said quietly, nudging Reds with his elbow, "Maybe we'll come back and have some sport with him," he laughed.
"If we have time," Reds said seriously. "Up around the next bend you'll see a felled tree. Pull up to it," he instructed Jim.
Rounding the bend, Jim saw the tree lying across the water. There were no homes or buildings of any kind around. He rowed up to the tree and stopped. "Now what?" he asked sounding impatient.
"Now tie us up to the tree and get out," Reds told him.
Jim tied the boat securely as Joe and Reds pulled themselves up onto the broad trunk. Otis let Jim go before him. Joe and Reds led the way across the trunk, jumped down onto the soggy soil and waited for Jim and Otis.
Standing next to them, Jim looked around. "This is where your boss is?"
Reds put his hand on a knot on a large tree and pushed. A door swung open in the trunk and Jim saw a flight of stairs leading down. "In there," Reds ordered.
Jim ducked through the low doorway and started down the steps. "I can't see," he said stopping on the third step. Reds lit a lantern and handed it to him.
Jim continued down to the bottom. He was in a corridor that led farther east. He waited for the others to join him before proceeding down the passageway. It meandered for what Jim judged was about half a mile before ending at a closed door.
Reds stepped up and unlocked it. "Right through here, Mr. West," he said opening the door wide.