Jim left with Reds and Joe. He did not show the worry he felt. Who was Belial and what had he done to Arte? Jim cautiously scanned the trees for some sign of his partner as they rowed back to where they'd left the horses. He could not see much of anything in the darkness and the density of the trees. He hoped Arte was alright and wondered for a moment how he was going to pull off killing Arte if he was lying in the bayou somewhere, 'dead or dying', as Reds had put it.
"So where do we find your ex-partner?" Joe asked Jim as they rode into town.
"Back at the train, if I know him, drunk out of his mind, worrying how he's going to survive without me," Jim answered. "Who's Belial?" he posed to the two men riding with him.
"Otis' pet," Reds snickered.
"Pet?" Jim queried. "What sort of pet?"
"Some kind of wolf, I think," Joe answered, "But not like any wolf you've ever seen. He's some kind of mutant. Big, bigger than even me or you. His front legs are shortened so he mostly goes around on his two hind feet. Otis is the only one who can really keep him calm. Belial's been good for business, though," Joe chuckled.
"Why set him on the old man?" Jim asked hiding his rage.
"For sport," Reds replied with a snort, "And letting Belial get the taste of blood keeps him agitated. After he does his job, we satisfy Belial's taste for blood by feeding him raw meat."
"Hmm," Jim commented, "I can't wait to see this pet."
"You will, if the boss hires you. We use him on every job now," Joe assured Jim.
They were nearing the train. Jim saw lights on and hoped that meant Arte was inside. They pulled up and Jim dismounted. "Are you coming in with me?" he asked the other two.
"No need. You do what you have to and we'll check it out after you're done," Reds told him.
Jim sent up a silent prayer of thanks. He'd have at least a few minutes alone with Arte. He stepped up onto the platform and opened the door.
"Don't take too long, West," Joe growled with an evil smile.
"You'll know when I'm done," Jim answered and closed the door behind him.
Nearly hidden in the pattern of the carpet, Jim saw splotches of blood leading across the room. He hurried down the corridor to the w.c.
"Arte," he said as he opened the door. Arte was dabbing disinfectant on the deep teeth marks in his shoulder. Ugly gashes on his chest seeped blood, staining him red to his waist. When he turned toward him, Jim saw three identical gashes on Arte's cheek. His face glistened with a light sheen of perspiration.
"Belial," Jim muttered.
"What?" Arte asked weakly, leaning heavily on the sink.
"You met Belial," Jim answered.
"That beast has a name?" Arte was incredulous. "Well at least it's appropriate."
"What do you mean?" Jim asked taking over the administration of the wounds. He could feel the heat of fever coming off his partner's body.
"Belial, another name for the devil, Satan, Beelzebub, any of this taking on a familiar ring?" Arte asked wincing as Jim swabbed the moistened cloth across his chest.
"Yeah, the devil monster that's been terrorizing the locals," Jim answered. After a moment of silence, Jim announced, "You know, I'm here to kill you?"
"Oh, fine. Why?" Arte asked sarcastically.
"A test. If I pass I get the job, if not, we're both dead," Jim answered quietly.
"So how are you going to manage that?" Arte swayed as a wave of dizziness swept over him.
"Take it easy, Arte," Jim steadied his friend. He took him into the parlor car and sat him in a chair at the table. "Where's your shirt?" Jim asked getting an idea.
"In the w.c." Arte answered closing his eyes against another wave of vertigo.
Jim came back with the bloodied shirt. "Arte, I hate to ask you this, but can you cover the gashes on your face with make up?"
"That wouldn't be my first choice, but yes, I can," Arte answered. "Why?"
"I'm going to shoot a hole in your shirt then you put it back on and lay on the floor. Those two morons will think I've shot you and report back that I completed the test successfully," Jim explained.
"Two morons? Weren't you in the company of three morons?" Arte asked getting up to get his make up case. He was listing badly as he returned to the table and nearly missed the chair sitting down.
"Take it easy, Arte," Jim put his hands on Arte's shoulders steadying him in the chair. "What's wrong?" Jim asked urgently.
"Just dizzy," Arte waved off Jim's concern hoping to hide from his partner how bad he actually felt.
"Tell me what happened to goon number 3?" Arte asked starting to cover the gashes on his face with putty. Make up was not going to be enough.
"Otis got sick in the corner when the other two were telling the 'boss' what they did to you, or, rather, to the old man," Jim explained watching Arte carefully pretending to be interested in the transformation taking place.
"A goon with a conscience. That's a new one. Who's the boss?" Arte asked struggling to concentrate. The room was spinning and he felt like passing out. He couldn't have lost that much blood. Something else was at work here.
"No idea. I can't place his voice and he kept his face hidden with a mask. A devil mask at that! I find out in the morning if I'm successful with this test. Are you about done? They must be wondering what's taking me so long," Jim urged his friend to hurry. If Reds and Joe came in, Arte would be dead for real.
"That'll have to do, what do you think?" Arte turned toward Jim and almost fell out of the chair as the room took a particularly swift spin.
"It's fine. Are you that dizzy?" Jim was concerned. He put his hand on Arte's forehead. "You're burning up," he said.
"Just let me get on the floor. I can't possibly fall any farther than that," Arte tried to joke.
Jim helped him sit on the floor, put away his friend's make up case then picked up Arte's bloody shirt. He fired into the center of the chest area and handed it to Arte who slipped it on. Jim helped him into a jacket to cover the blood at the shoulder and Arte laid down. It was a relief to be flat on his back. He closed his eyes hoping the dizziness would pass. He heard Jim open the door and call to Reds and Joe.
"It's done," Jim announced.
"Good. We were beginning to wonder," Reds answered joining Jim in the doorway. Joe followed close behind. They stared at the prone figure on the floor. There was a clear black hole in the center of the chest and lots of blood all around it.
"Good shooting," Reds complimented and turned toward Jim.
Jim wasted no time. He'd decided he didn't need these two to find his way back to the masked man's hideout. He punched Reds in the nose so hard the man's head snapped back. Jim followed this with a quick, hard jab to the throat and Reds went to his knees. Jim crumpled him with doubled fists to the back of his neck.
"Hey!" Joe shouted realizing what was happening.
He flung his cigar butt aside and grabbed Jim in a strangle hold around the throat. Jim stepped to the side as he tried to pry Joe's big fingers from his neck. Then suddenly, Joe was falling forward into him. Joe's grip released as he tried to break his fall. Jim stepped back and let him hit the ground. Quickly, he landed a kick to the back of Joe's head, slamming his broad face into the floor. Joe stopped moving and Jim handcuffed him. He looked over at Arte who was leaning on one elbow.
Jim straightened his jacket. "Thanks, Arte," he said knowing his partner had pulled Joe's legs out from under him.
"Well, I couldn't very well let him choke you to death. Even though you did come back just to kill me," Arte quipped. Suddenly the smile left his face and he pitched forward unconscious.
Jim rushed to check on Arte. His breathing was uneven. Jim dragged the unconscious Reds and Joe down the corridor and locked them in the holding cell beyond the stable car. Then he returned to his partner, lifted him and took him to his room. He did not have to be back to the hideout until morning so in the meantime he would do what he could for his friend.
It was a long hard night. Arte tossed and thrashed waking often in a delirium. He was agitated and spoke nonsense, fighting Jim. Jim calmed him, got him to lie down and dozed lightly between the bouts. In the morning, Jim opened his eyes, stole a look at the clock on Arte's dresser. 7:00. He'd slept 3 hours without interruption. Jim went to the bed where Arte now lay sleeping quietly.
"I'll be back soon," Jim murmured as he left to wash up and change before returning to the hideout.
Entering the parlor car, Jim pulled up short. How was this possible? Joe sat with his back to the door in a chair at the table. Silently, Jim pulled his gun and placed it at the back of the man's head, cocked it.
"Don't shoot, Jim, it's me," Arte said quickly, freezing.
"Arte," Jim sighed and holstered his gun, "What do you think you're doing?"
Arte turned toward Jim, his face made up to an almost exact likeness of Joe. He popped a cheroot stub into his teeth and grinned at Jim. "How do I look?" he asked imitating Joe's voice perfectly.
"That's scary, Arte," Jim answered, "But I repeat, what do you think you're doing?"
"Going with you, of course," Arte stated simply.
"No you're not. You need to rest," Jim chided.
"I'll be the judge of that, if you don't mind. Besides, you can't very well go back without at least one of those two," Arte reasoned, thumbing over his shoulder at the corridor. He pulled on a pair of dusty old boots.
Knowing it was probably pointless to argue, Jim tried anyway, "Look, you were pretty seriously injured last night by that outlandish sounding pet of theirs. And you spent most of the night delirious. I don't think you're in any condition to go traipsing around the bayou," he told his friend.
"Pet? That thing is a pet? Oh, that seals it, Jim. I have to meet the man who has that creature for a pet," Arte said firmly. "Have you seen that thing?"
"No. Reds and Joe described it to me. And seeing what it did to you, I believe every word they said," Jim argued back.
"It was huge, Jim. With a mouth this big," Arte demonstrated with his hands spread. Jim noticed the wince when he moved his left arm. "And full of sharp teeth. It looked like a wolf. Sort of, only bigger, and it walked on two legs!" Arte exclaimed.
"It is a wolf," Jim told him, "Some sort of mutant. Apparently they feed it raw meat to slake its taste for blood. It's Otis' pet," Jim finished.
"Oh, what a mental picture that is," Arte rolled his eyes. "That little round simpleton in control of that enormous beast. We can't let them let it loose again, Jim, you know that. And I won't let you go alone to face it," Arte closed the argument.
Jim regarded his partner, lips pursed then he relented. "All right, but if you start to feel dizzy or sick, I want your word you'll stop," Jim demanded.
"You have it," Arte agreed.
"By the way, what's Joe wearing?" Jim asked indicating the clothes Arte was wearing.
"Underwear," Arte shrugged.
Along the way, they came up with a story for the missing Reds. He had been shot by Artemus before Jim could stop him. As Joe, Arte would attest to the fact that Artemus Gordon was dead. Jim told him the masked man's plan to heist the arms and supplies bound for the fort and that he'd learned they would use Belial to scare away the workers.
"Jim," Arte now ventured seriously, "Last night, I emptied my gun point blank into that beast. It didn't even slow it down. How are we going to stop it?"
"I don't know what we're going to do, but we'll think of something. We always do," Jim told his partner.
"Do you think we could swing Otis to our side? Maybe promise him Belial won't be hurt if he controls him and doesn't let him harm anyone?" Arte asked.
"Maybe. He doesn't seem to like Joe much nor Joe him, so you better let me try," Jim answered.
"Clatterbuck," Arte murmured, "I can't seem to get the name out of my head. Seems I've heard it before, but I don't know where."
"I don't recall that name at all, Arte. Was it during the war?" Jim asked trying to jog his partner's memory.
"I don't think so. Maybe right after that, though. I just can't remember," he shook his head. Oh, big mistake, he thought to himself as his world took a quick spin. No shaking of the head, he told himself glancing at Jim to see if he'd noticed.
Jim had noticed, but did not let on. He'd known all along, that Arte would not keep his word unless things got really bad and had already decided to just keep his eye on his pig headed partner.
They reached the waterway and climbed into the rowboat.
"Want me to row?" Arte offered.
"No, I know the way, you don't," Jim countered. As if I'd let him row in his condition, Jim said to himself.
When they reached the fallen tree, Arte said, "Right over there is where Belial attacked me, Jim," he pointed to a spot very near the end of the fallen tree.
"Then you were almost to the hideout," Jim told him tying off the boat. He climbed up onto the trunk and offered his hand to Arte who took it gratefully.
"Thanks, Jim. That would have been tough with a bum wing," Arte said and followed Jim to the tree with the hidden door. "So now what?" he asked his partner.
Jim smiled and pushed the knot on the tree that activated the door.
"That's very clever," Arte commented ducking into the tree.
Jim handed him a lantern and whispered, "Just go down the steps and through the passageway to the end."
"Why are we whispering?" Arte whispered back.
"In case anyone's listening. You're Joe, remember? You're supposed to know the way," Jim answered.
"Right."
Coming to the door, Jim twisted the knob. It was locked. He looked up at Arte.
Arte searched Joe's pockets and found a key. He inserted it and received the satisfying sound of the tumblers dropping. He opened the door and they entered.
The picture swung away from the wall and the masked man spoke from behind the glass.
"Where is Reds?" he asked immediately.
Imitating Joe's voice, Arte answered, "That Gordon fella shot him dead before West could stop him."
"And Gordon?" the man asked anxiously.
"He's dead, boss. I saw the body myself," Arte replied.
"Good. Very good, I'll join you presently," the man said. The picture swung closed and a moment later a door silently slid open for him to enter. He again wore the devil mask. The man strode purposefully right up to Artemus and began to chastise him, poking his finger into his chest emphasizing each word.
"Otis has told me how you treated him, Hammond," he said angrily with a sharp jab of his finger. "I have told you more than enough times not to tease him. He can't help it that he's simple. He's a good boy and does as he's told," jab went the finger again.
It was everything Arte could do not to grimace as each poke reminded him of last night's experience. "I'm sorry, boss," Arte answered sincerely.
"See that it never happens again," jab, jab, jab, "or Belial will have sport with you!" One very hard jab and Arte did wince.
"Yes, sir, boss," he said softly. The man glared at him a moment longer then turned to Jim.
"Now, Mr. West. You're hired," he said all sweetness and light. "You will help Joe prepare for tomorrow's event. With this shipment, the fort will be crippled. We'll have all the supplies and ammunition necessary to raise the south to glory," came the gleeful cry from behind the mask.
"You said we'd meet face to face," Jim reminded the man.
"Ah, curiosity. I like that. I did say that, didn't I?" he turned away and called out, "Otis, join me, my son!"
Jim and Arte exchanged glances. Son?
Otis came in, head down and stood next to the masked man.
"I am about to reveal our secret, my boy. Are you ready to drop all charades and join me?" he asked.
Otis nodded, what seemed to Jim, a little reluctantly.