Fic: "The Night of the Promise"

Author: S.

firstcorpsanv@webtv.net

Fandom: Wild Wild West

Pairing: West/Gordon

Rating: G

Disclaimer: Not mine and I'm not making a profit.

Summary: Takes place after TNOT Pistoleros


The Night of the Promise
By S.

"Jim, I don't know about you, but I'm ready to head for a city where's some night life. These territorial assignments are all well and good, but if I don't see a fort for awhile, that will be all right with me!"

Artemus Gordon's green-eyed partner just sat there at the elegant desk in their parlor. His brocade vest accentuated the breadth of shoulder and narrowness of waist that characterized the physical attributes of the agent. James West was never a talkative man, but in the last few days he had been as quiet as the proverbial sphynx.

"Jim, did you hear what I said? Maybe we should ask Colonel Roper for a few days off? He hasn't sent us anything about a new assignmet."

"If you want to take a few days, go ahead. I can cover for you."

"No, James, I didn't mean that. After all, you're the one who did all that riding and ...."

"And watched your body be buried."

"Well, I suppose that's true in a way, except of course, it wasn't really me."

"I thought it was."

"I suppose you did."

"Artie, I don't think I could go through that again."

"What? An imposter who takes my place?"

The blue-green eyes looked over into those of brown. "Thinking you're dead!"

Gordon set the paper down that he had been reading. "Jim, I know it wasn't...pleasant, but realistically either one of us could be killed at any time."

"No! I won't let that happen to you. I promise."

"James, my boy, you are an excellent agent, but you're not God."

"Then, maybe we shouldn't be partners anymore."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I just don't think I can take watching you...die one more time. It was bad enough with Vautrain and on those stairs. Just how much is a man supposed to take?"

Gordon walked over to the younger man. "Jim, how do you think I felt when Starke tricked us into firing on each other? Somehow, we've always managd to survive. Why is this time any worse?"

"I...I don't know. Maybe it's just because I'm tired."

Now, Artemus was concerned. His friend never complained about fatigue or wounds that would prostrate the average man. "So why don't we head to the nearest town and take a few days to relax? I'll send a telegram to the Colonel."

"All right, Artie, we'll try. Maybe I just need to get away."

"Great. I'll send off the message straightaway. I can just hear the player piano and see those dancehall girls now!"

A reluctant smile crossed the firm lips of Jim West. "Sounds good,Artie. I think I'll go check on the horses now. Duke probably could use some extra grooming."

"Good idea. By the time, you're done, maybe I'll have an answer from Richmond."

Taking his time with the glistening black coat, Grant's favorite agent brushed and curried his beautiful horse. It was soothing to do this undemanding physical labor. It entailed no unwelcome thoughts about how his heart had screamed its anguish when he had seen his supposed-partner fall. Thank God, it hadn't been Artie this time.

In the aftermath of the mission, James T. West had seriously considered returning to Washington to take a desk job, but he had soon realized that leaving Artemus Gordon in the field alone was not the answer so he fully intended to keep his promise. He would protect his best friend or die trying.

Returning to the parlor car, Jim immediately knew that Richmond had denied their quest for time off. The grim look on Gordon's lined face telegraphed hi dejection.

"Jim, uh, the Colonel says we can have time off after we make one more stop."

"What stop?"

"It seems a Miss Adela Clarke has asked for help She is the owner of a ranch near
Pecos."

"So?"

"Evidently, she believes that her ranch foreman has become involved in running guns to various Indian tribes who do not look favorably upon the federal government."

"So why doesn't she fire him?"

"Miss Clarke is the daughter of one of Grant's brigade commanders."

"Adolphus Clarke?"

"Yes, it seems that after the war, he went out to Pecos. Adela was at school in the East. She joined him at the ranch just before he died under mysterious cicumstances. Miss Clarke believes that the foreman, Branch Norton, may have been responsible."

"So the President wants us to check out this Norton and make sure Miss Clarke is safe?"

"Basically."

"All right, tell Sam to head fo Pecos."

______________

Tobias Winfield entered the rather nondescript bar that Pecos boasted as the scene of the biggest poker game north of the Rio Grande. That claim was rather dubious, but it was true that men--with money--came from far and wide to participate in Branch Norton's weekly Saturday night extravaganzas.

Tobias Winfield certainly looked the part of the gambler. His red waistcoat, brimmed hat and slightly shifty countenance would have stated his profession to all but the most naive. Of course, the waistcoat had seen better days and the hat needed a good pressing, but Winfield's hands hadn't lost their touch. He knew he was a better player than ninety-nine out of 100 men in the area. The trouble was that the 100th man would certainly be Branch Norton who would most certainly not be above cheating. Since it was only Thursday, Winfield had come into Pecos a few days ahead of schedule. He wanted to insinuate himself among the natives so that when the night of the big game arrived, no one would look askance at the stranger. Of course, as long as the color of his money was right, Tobias assumed he would be welcomed.

Sitting down at one of the large tables, Artemus Gordon took out his silver flask for a little drink. This simple act immediately caught the eye of the bartender. "Hey, none o' that. In this bar, you drink our liquor."

In his most polished tones, the disguised Secret Service agent, remonstrated with the barkeep, "That rotgut you serve will never tarnish my throat!"

Taking exception to the man's words, the bewhiskered barkeep brought out a shotgun. Seeing this, Winfield changed his tone to conciliation, "But I have no objection to buying a bottle to share with any man who might wish to participate in a game of chance with me."

The local boozers lined up to get in the game. In fact, due to the liberality of his liquor, the conman made quite a few friends, especially since he took care not to win all the time. After all, he didn't want to fleece ranch hands. He was playing for much bigger game.

Just outside town, Gordon's partner, James West rode up to the Cannon and Anchor Ranch. Seeing the corps badge on the gate reminded West that Adolphus Clarke had served with the Ninth Corps which had used that symbol. Dismounting from his horse, the young agent knocked on the door. To his surprise, it was answered by Adela Clarke herself. Introducing himself as James Warren, an old friend of the Brigadier's, Jim entered. Surreptitiously looking about, he decided that Miss Clarke was alone.

The lovely young woman had obviously been weeping, but she acted as a gracious hostess offering coffee. "No thank you, Miss Clarke, but I believe I should tell you that I am here on behalf of President Grant. He received your letter and you have his full support."

Astonishment entered her hazel eyes. "You're from the President? I wasn't sure he would help me."

"The President thought highly of your father and if this man Branch Norton had anything to do with his death and running guns then I assure you I'll bring him to justice."

"But what can one man do? Half of the ranch hands are on his side and the other half are scared to death of him."

"Where is he now?"

"He's at the Twisted S Ranch. That's the second biggest ranch around here. I think Norton is in league with the owner, Barton Garvey who has huge lips and smells."

Jim chuckled. "He does sound repulsive."

Adela broke into a dimpled smile. "He is and he keeps insisting that I should marry him!"

"Well, Miss Clarke, don't worry about him either. I know that the President is not in favor of forced marriages."

"But what do you plan to do?"

"When Norton gets back, tell him that you hired a new man, an old friend of your father's, I'll take it from there."

Batting her hazel eyes at the young man, Adela thanked him prettily. "Just be careful. If he killed my father, there isn't anything he wouldn't do."

"A lot of men have tried to kill me and I'm still here, so don't worry. Now, I think I'll go out and look around while your foreman isn't here. He will be back in time for the game on Saturday night, won't he?"

"Of course. He lives for those games, although I don't understand what pleasure he gets out taking money out of the hands of poor ranch hands."

"I thought he played for high stakes?"

"He does, eventually. He starts with a penny ante game and takes in the suckers. Then as they're weeded out, the big ranchers come to the table. That's where he makes most of his money."

"Why do they continue to play?"

"I asked him that once, but he only laughed and said they had little choice. I wish just once someone would humiliate him!"

"Well, Miss Clarke, we'll...er...I'll do my best."

West tipped his hat the young woman, then went out to the bunkhouse which was above average in comforts. Probably Norton figured that happy hands were more loyal. Finding a bunk that seemed to be unoccupied, dropped his saddlebags and possessions. Naturally, he had nothing with him that would give away his identity.

As he walked around the stable, a big burly man stopped him. "Hey, we don't allow strangers around here. Just hit the road."

When Jim tried to explain that Miss Clarke had just hired him, the brute, aptly named Brutus, narrowed his eyes taking in the compact figure. West had left his tight pants and brocade vests on the train, but even in shirt and jeans, he still carried himself with an air of assurance, much like the officer he had been. The behemouth grunted, but left him alone for the time being.

As James scouted around the stable area, he did admire the horses that Miss Clarke now owned. Moving on he saw a small building with a man sitting in front of it As the green-eyed man approached, the guard stood up, barring the door to the building. "Sorry, Stranger, this is off limits."

"But I'm a new ranch hand. Miss Clarke just hired me."

"Don't care. Mr. Norton says no one gets in here, and I only take orders from him."

Jim put his hands up in submission. "Okay, I didn't know. I'll just go over to the corral."

"Good idee. I think they're breakin' some horses. Mebbe you can help out." The way he said it made Jim think the guard would prefer it if he broke his neck at the same time.

Still, Jim decided to go over to the corral. There were two or three men breaking the spirited equines. One horse in particular was a real beauty, snorting and stomping as the men gave it their best shot. As the smallest of the wranglers went flying off the tempestuous beast, there was silence, broken only by the sound of Jim's laughter.

The other two men merely stared at the compact man. Then the taller of the two extended his hand as if in invitation. Jim accepted with alacrity, mounting the black and hanging on for dear life.

The stallion sensed that the man on his back was different, that he didn't want to break the horse's spirit, only to gentle the wild heart. Whatever it was, James West sat out the bucking and jumping until the horse, with a nervous tremor, gave up and let the man be master.

Jumping down from the heaving horse, James led him around for sometime so that he could cool down. Then he took him into the stable for a good grooming. The three wranglers watched the new man. Despite themselves they were impressed with the man's knowledge and understanding of horses. Most of the men on the ranch looked upon the beautiful animals as nothing more than a means of transportation.

By the time, Jim was done, the ranch hands had invited him into the bunkhouse to share a pot of coffee before chow time.

Bedtime was early on a big ranch, but West found it difficult to sleep. He had found his place, but he still had to confront Branch Norton upon his return. Still, that didn't worry him as much as thinking about his best friend, Artemus Gordon. He knew that Artie could take care of himself, but he still hated it when they didn't work in close proximity to each other. If Artie needed him, how could he keep his promise from ten miles away?

West would probably have slept better if he could have seen his friend at the time. He was now firmly ensconced in the life of the Pecos Belle saloon. His liberal purse and amiable nature had made him a friend to one and all--and he had come out slightly ahead in the winnings. Now, all he had to do was get himself invited into the big game on Saturday night--and worry that his partner's true identity would be discovered without Artemus there to protect his back.
_____________

At dawn on Friday morning, James West awoke to the sounds of a huge ranch at daybreak. Most of the cowhands would be up and about soon and after breakfast would head out to accomplish their back-breaking chores. Jim did not envy them. It was not that he was afraid of hard work, but that for himself he needed more than the sometimes mindless routine of herding and branding as well as the endless dirt and discomfort.

Of course, he acknowledged, there were some who would not envy him his chosen profession either. It could be every bit as dangerous and uncomfortable as cowpunching, but it did have its rewards--the trust of the President, an exclusive home on wheels, and his partner, Artemus Gordon. Lying there for one more minute before rising, Jim promised himself that when Branch Norton was safely in prison, he would speak to Artie about his feelings. Just the thought of losing Gordon's friendship was terrifying, but West realized that he could not continue to hide his feelings much longer. It could cost them both dearly.

After a big breakfast, the slender man walked out into the corral area where he encountered the burly Brutus of the day before. "Boss wants ta see ya."

"Miss Clarke?"

"She ain't the boss. Mr. Norton is. He's over behind the smokehouse."

Making his way confidently towards the smokehouse, Jim rounded the corner to see a small man with thinning hair. "Ah, Mr. Warren, is it? I'm the foreman of the Cannon and Anchor. Name's Branch Norton." Jim started to hold out his hand, but the cold eyes in the thin face did not brook such familiarity. "Miss Clarke informed me that you served with her father in the Ninth Corps?"

"Uh, yessir that's right. He was a fine commander."

"Were you at Vicksburg with him?" West had indeed been at Vicksburg, but with U.S. Grant. "No sir, the Ninth Corps wasn't at Vicksburg. They served with the Army of the Potomac."

"Oh of course. I didn't fight in the war so I must admit I get those battles confused."

"Understandable. There were quite a few." **Right and I know when I'm being tested.**

"Some of my men told me that you seem to have a way with horses so for today why don't you concentrate on busting broncs? Next week we'll try you out on the range. Are you good with that gun you're carrying?"

"Better than average."

"Hmm! You might need that. We've been having trouble with wolves and mountain cats after the beeves. Anyway, work with the horses today and tomorrow. Oh, by the way, most of the men go into town with me tomorrow night. There's a big poker game. You're welcome to come along."

Jim's blue-green eyes took in the avaricious look on the thin face. "I just might do that, but I'm kind of tapped out right now."

"Don't let that bother you. I can always advance you some on your wages."

"Well, then I'd be delighted to go along."

"Splendid. We usually ride in about 5:00 and make a night of it."

West watched as the man walked away from him. Norton had certainly been a surpise, physically; but it was obvious that the foreman was intelligent and quite possibly capable of murder and gunrunning. Jim decided that he definitely needed to check out that guarded building tonight so that he would have some kind of idea what he was up against.

After a long day in the saddle, the agent's body ached in the extreme. He could certainly understand why most of the hands ate dinner, smoked or drank some and then headed to bed. By midnight the bunkhouse was quieter than a cemetery so the young man made his way out to the desired spot. As before there was a guard, but obviously he was not as dedicated to the job as his predecessor for he had been imbibing in a bottle of whiskey and seemed to be only one step away from oblivion. James West obligingly pushed him down that step.

Using one of Artie's inventions, Jim soon had the lock open. Lighting a match carefully, West entered to find case after case of rifles labeled U.S. Army. At least, he now knew for sure that Adela Clarke's suspicions were correct. Leaving the small building, Jim relocked the device, poured the rest of the bottle of liquor over the cowpuncher, and went back to his bunk. Tomorrow promised to be an eventful day.
________

Tobias Winfield awoke on Saturday morning with a degree of unease in his soul. He knew he was a good poker player, but Norton would have all of his men with him--including Jim West hopefully, so if anything went wrong, it would be just the two of them against who knew how many. Of course, he and Jim had beaten the odds before, but Artemus couldn't help but wonder how long that would continue.

Arising, the dapper former thespian finished his ablutions, had breakfast then made his way to the telegraph office. It wouldn't hurt to have some back up just in case. After sending his message, he retreated to the saloon and took his now accustomed chair at one of the huge tables to wait.

Some time after 5:00 PM a short man with thinning hair entered the saloon surrounded by a dozen men or so--one of them being James T. West. Of course, Jim did not acknowledge his partner's presence nor did Artie. Both men were content to watch as Norton and some of his hands started to play cards. A few of the braver townspeople or other cowpokes would play a few hands and then dropped out as their money diminished.

By 8:00 Norton was reduced to playing with his own men, but it was obvious that he was waiting for someone else to show up. An hour later, three men entered the saloon to sit down at Norton's table. Two of the men were sullen as if they would rather be anywhere but at that table, but the third, with the huge lips, was jovial and laughing. He ordered a bottle of whiskey to be brought to the table.

From his corner, Artemus Gordon knew that it was time to make his move. Heading over to the table, he inquired politely, "Excuse me, sirs, but I have come from afar to participate in a game of chance with you gentleman. May I be permitted to do so?"

Norton looked up at the tall man. "What's your name, Mister?"

"Tobias Winfield, Sir."

"Well, if your money is good, then you can play."

"My money is the finest that the United States government can produce." Artie held a bag that jingled with coins.

The avaricious look in Norton's eyes said everything. "Well, I always like to get new money into these games. Sit down, Mr. Winfield. These three gentlemen are Barton Garvey, Jacob Masterson and Theodore Palmer. My name is Branch Norton."

"Indeed, Sir. Everyone north of the Rio Grande has heard of you and your poker games. That is why I made a point of being here."

The weasely man snickered. "You sure do talk a lot. Do you play as well as you talk?"

Winfield did not take offense. "Excuse my verbosity. Shall we ante up?"

For the next hour the game remained a fairly low stakes affair with Artie and the rest of the participants all winning a few hands. Then as the liquor bottle emptied and the night became later, the stakes were upped and upped again. By 11:00 only Winfield, Norton and Garvey were still in the game.

Many of the ranch hands had started penny ante games among themselves at other tables. Jim had carefully positioned himself so that he could keep an eye on the main game from his table.

As it neared midnight, the piles of money in front of Winfield and Garvey had dwindled until even the repulsive ranch owner had given up. Now, the game was between Artemus Gordon and his quarry.

"Ah, Mr. Winfield, I do believe you are down to your last few dollars? Do you wish to stop the game now? That way you can still afford a drink?'

The insulting sneer of Norton's tone was enough to make Gordon flash back in anger. "I do not need your charity, Sir."

"Then, let's continue by all means." As Norton dealt the cards, Artie's sharp eyes picked up the palming of some of the cards in the deck. He had known that Norton had occasionally been cheating, but now it appeared that the man wanted to humilate him as well.

The cards that Gordon held in his hands were good, but not extraordinary. Normally, he would bet only a few dollars on them, but he knew he had to be reckless if he wanted to draw out Norton so he bet all that he had.

Smirking, the foreman raised the bet, thinking that Winfield couldn't cover it. To his surprise, Winfield took out a fat wallet loaded with greenbacks and added them to the pot.

After drawing the rest of their cards, the bets continued until Norton made the mistake of betting all that he had. When Artie called, and the cards were displayed it was all the agent could do not to laugh out loud when the little man saw Gordon's four aces which beat his own four kings.

The silence in the saloon was palpable as the defeated man seethed with fury. "You are a cheat!"

Gordon, who had expected the accusation, replied, "On the contrary, it is you who are the cheat. You have done it most of the evening and I do not understand why these gentlemen have put up with it. Now, I will take my money and leave. You can be sure that by morning, I will spread the news of your nefarious conduct to anyone who will listen."

Norton's hand flew to his gun, but before it had even cleared the holster, a bullet wound leaked blood down his arm. while James West's smoking gun held the others in place. Unfortunately, Jim did not see Brutus emerge from behind him before the giant could wrap his massive arms around the slender man.

Moving to help his partner, Artie shoved a ranch hand out of the way which set off a general melee. Many of the cowpokes and townspeople who had been consistent losers in Norton's games welcomed the chance to get back at the man who had taken their money.

Jim, with a backward kick that caught Brutus in the groin, freed himself and with a few well-aimed blows laid the big man low. Turning towards his partner, he saw Barton Garvey aiming his pistol at Artie's exposed back. Thrusting himself forward, he pushed his friend away from the path of the bullet even as it pierced his side. For a moment the pain was intense, then he felt comforting arms reach down to hold him. The blue-green eyes looked up into the terrified brown ones. "Promised...promised...you...." James West slipped into the blackness.

____________

The feeling of motion reached the young man as he lay in the narrow bed. For a moment, he thought he must be on the Wanderer, but that wasn't possible. The last thing he remembered was the fight in the saloon in Pecos. How could he now be on the train?

"Well, you're awake! The doctor thought you might finally stop malingering today."

"Artie? Are we moving?"

"Of course. President Grant ordered our return to Washington. For some reason, he believes that you should get a reward for helping Miss Clarke."

"Reward?"

"Well, in additon to medical leave, he's arranged for you to have a suite at the Willard and two weeks of vacation."

"But what about you?"

"Oh, I'll probably be doing some paperwork while you're out squiring the lovelies around Washington. Speaking of that Miss Clarke wants you to know how grateful she is to you for all that you did."

Shifting on the bed with a grimace of pain, the younger agent reached out his hand to his partner. "Come here."

"Why?"

"You must have a fever. The last thing I remember is lying on that dirty floor and we were at their mercy."

"Oh, I see what you mean. Well, I decided to telegraph for some assistance which fortunately arrived just in the nick of time. Also we had some timely help from the two other ranch owners and patrons who had been fleeced of their money. I guess they figured it was time to stand up for themselves."

"About time."

"I agree. Anyway, I got you to a doctor. He patched you up and then I brought you to the train. We should be in Washington in a few days."

"No."

"Jim, the President ordered us back."

"I don't care. Send him a telegram. Tell him that I'm too sick to trave any further."

"But Jim, we are talking about a Presidential order!"

"Please, Artie. I...I don't want to stay at the Willard. I don't care...about the lovelies."

"James my boy, you must still be in a delirium. When haven't you wanted to be with the ladies?"

"Since...since I realized that there's only one person I need in my life--and he's already here with me."

Artemus Gordon gently rubbed the slender hand he was holding. "Is that why you made that promise?"

The injured man nodded. "The thought of of losing you and never having...loved you terrified me. The only trouble was I was even more scared that once you knew, you'd leave on your own."

"Well, I think it's time to make my own promise. Jim, I will never willingly leave you. You are my partner, my friend, and when you're feeling better, I would like you to be my lover."

"Do we have to...wait?"

Artemus chuckled. "Jim, you've lost a lot of blood and you've been out of things for days. I think you need to wait."

"I need you. Could you at least lie down beside me?"

"I think I might be able to manage that."

Slipping in beside his partner, Artemus placed his hands around the handsome face and kissed the inviting lips. James immediately responded with a moan.

"Jim, sorry, I..."

"Don't be sorry. I want more and I think you do too," as he audaciously moved his hand down to Gordon's arousal.

"Jim, if you do that, I won't be able to contain myself."

"Don't then. I know I can't do everything I would like, but I can give you pleasure. Will you let me?"

Seeing the sincerity on the handsome face, the older man showed his agreement by removing his clothes and returning to the night-shirted man.

It didn't take long for Jim to use his slender, strong hands to bring his partner to orgasm. As Artie's shudders faded, the taller man carefully took West into his arms for some passionate kisses. "I'd like to give you the same pleasure, Jim."

Stroking the dark hair, West caressed his lover's face. "I know, but right now I'm content to lie here in your arms. At least now, we know we'll have time to be with each other."

"Thanks to you. Jim, don't ever do that again. I thought my heart would stop when I saw you go down with all of that blood on you."

"But Artie, I promised."

"I know and I also know that there's not much I can do to stop you. I just want you to remember that I feel the same way about you so if you want us to have a future together, take care of yourself, because I'm not sure that I could go on without my partner."

" Artemus, I love you, but I guess you'd better tell Sam to head to Washington. The Willard awaits."

"What? I thought you said...."

"Well, it is a Presidential order and if it's a suite, you can be in the other bedroom. We'll just have to remember to rumple up both beds!"

"And I know the perfect way to do that!" chortled his partner as he once again claimed West's tempting lips.



THE END