certainly, but they had failed to notice his natural curiosity, intelligence, and creativity. He may have served ably for many years, but had Hollister not rescued him, he would have languished in prison and been dishonorably discharged, if he was ever released. The army, especially the post-war army, was not an intelligent or progressive institution. And though the war against slavery had been convincingly won by the North, racism was still alive. Good men like Chee were still going to be chewed up by it.
Hollister hadn’t realized Chee’s dog had disappeared until it returned, loping around the engine with a rabbit in its mouth. Apparently it was still hungry.
“I’ll be damned,” Monkey Pete said. “That is some critter. I’ll cook us up a nice pot of rabbit stew.”
Dog sat on his haunches next to Chee and growled low in his throat when Monkey Pete made to take the rabbit from his jaws.
“Whoa,” Monkey Pete said, scrabbling backward.
“Dog…” Chee said, snapping his fingers twice. Dog stood and stepped toward the engineer and placed the rabbit at his feet.
“Sorry, Mr. Pete, sir,” Chee said. “I forgot to tell him you were a friend. He won’t growl at you again.”
“How can you be so sure?” Hollister asked.
“He just won’t, sir, and he won’t growl at Mr. Pinkerton or Dr. Van Helsing either. Once I tell him, that is,” the sergeant replied.
“You, ‘tell him’?” Hollister asked, incredulous. “How, exactly?”
“I just tell him like I’d tell anyone, sir,” Chee replied. “He speaks English. And Creole. And a little Chinese. I didn’t have a chance to teach him French before I was… I had to go to Leavenworth.”
Hollister and Pinkerton stared at each other, then Pinkerton laughed.
“He speaks English, does he?” Hollister asked.
Chee just shrugged as if it were something beyond explaining. It just was.
“Let’s get under way, Monkey Pete,” Pinkerton said. “And see if Dr. Van Helsing is awake. If I know Abraham, he was up all night scribbling away in his journal.”
“Where are we?” Hollister asked, noticing for the first time that the train had pulled off on a siding in the middle of nowhere. Except for the train and the track, which disappeared on the horizon, there was no sign of civilization.
“We are about four hours away from Denver,” Pinkerton said.
Hollister was stunned. They had traveled over four hundred miles during the night. How was it possible?
“What… that can’t be! We just left Leavenworth…” Hollister was unable to keep the shock out of his voice.
“It has guns, armor, and an extended range,” Pinkerton said. “And there is one other thing you should know about your new train, Major.
“It’s fast as hell.”
Chapter Thirteen
As the prairie rolled by, Van Helsing and Pinkerton briefed Chee and Hollister with their accumulated knowledge of vampires. The information was sketchy, much of it second- and thirdhand. There was a great deal to digest, and Hollister found Chee’s contribution to their discussions both surprising and informative. He’d made a snap judgment about the kid, based on how he’d handled himself with McAfee. Of course he’d seen him around the yard and on other work details, but Chee was quiet and kept to himself. Now he had turned into a different person, and Hollister smiled to himself at the good luck of his choice.
They had worked straight through lunch and gone through Van Helsing’s book several times. He handed Hollister a portfolio.
“Da. Very gut! Major, here is a copy of my journal. I’ve had it transcribed for you. It contains all of the knowledge of the vampire we have accumulated. If and when you track down these vile beasts, I hope you will be villing to share your experiences with us,” Van Helsing said.
“Sure, Doctor. I don’t mind that at all. ’Course I’ll have to survive my encounter first, won’t I?” Hollister replied.
Van Helsing threw back his head and laughed. “Ach. So true, Major! So very, very true! You make a very good joke!” Hollister hadn’t intended it as a joke and knew Van Helsing wouldn’t be laughing either, if he’d been as close to one of those demons as Hollister had.
When they finally pulled into Denver, it was seven o’clock. The train chugged slowly onto a siding at the main station yard. The rails led the train inside a large warehouse. Checking his watch again, Pinkerton stood.
“Dr. Van Helsing, this is the end of the line for you, for now at least. Thank you for your assistance.” Van Helsing shook everyone’s hand.
“Ach. It is gut to have you with us, Major Hollister and Sergeant Chee. My thoughts and prayers will be with you on your mission,” he said.
Gathering up his papers and tucking them into his battered valise, he shrugged into his topcoat. “Adieu, gentlemen!” he said. He took one last look around the train, studying the devil’s traps and the markings on the walls; nodding in some internal agreement with himself, he reached the door of the car and paused. “Major, I want you to know something. What happened to you and your men, on that ridge in Wyoming… it vas not your fault. You could not have known what you were facing. And I believed you, Major, from the very first time I read the report. I just wanted you to know that. I believed you.”
The small man’s words were starkly sincere and Hollister could not help but be touched by them. No one had ever mentioned the incident to him in such a manner before. He gave the doctor a small salute. “Thank you, Dr. Van Helsing.”
Van Helsing returned the salute and left the car.
“Very good,” Pinkerton said. “Gentlemen, if you’ll accompany me outside. I think you’re going to enjoy meeting your gunsmith.”
“We have a gunsmith?” Chee asked. His appreciation of weapons at his disposal was already near euphoria and the idea of a personal gunsmith was close to sending him into hysteria.
“Yes, indeed,” Pinkerton said. “You might have heard of him. His name is Oliver Winchester.”
Chee and Hollister stared at each other in amazement. Winchester was the most famous gun maker in the country, next to Samuel Colt, who had died years ago. Winchester rifles were famous the world over, and his 1873 repeating. 30-caliber model had become the best-selling rifle in history. Practically every home, cowboy, rancher, and cattle thief on the western frontier owned, wanted, or had stolen one. Once again Hollister stopped to consider what he had gotten himself into.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pinkerton, but a gunsmith? I don’t think guns are going to work on these things. As you reminded me, my Colt…”
“All true; however, wait and see what Mr. Winchester has created. You’ll be going into battle with far more than a Colt, Major.”
They stepped off the train. Hollister marveled again that Pinkerton had managed to find a building big enough for the entire train. Almost as if on cue, the door opened at the far end of the warehouse. A slight but determined- looking man with a dark black moustache and beard, and wearing a fine suit with a bowler hat on top of his head approached them. He strode straight to Pinkerton without taking his eyes off him. The two men shook hands.
“Gentlemen, please meet Oliver Winchester, owner and president of the Winchester Repeating Arms Company,” Pinkerton waited a moment while the man greeted Hollister and Chee.
“Oliver, do you mind?” Pinkerton said, pulling the silver Saint Ignatius coin from his vest pocket. Winchester closed his hand around the offered coin. The three men waited, and Hollister wondered what would happen if someone, or something, held the coin who was not who they claimed to be. Would lightning strike them or smoke and fire seep out of their hand before they burst into flames?
But nothing happened. Hollister saw Pinkerton relax slightly and when Winchester retrieved his own coin from his coat and offered it to the detective, it felt as if some unspoken challenge had been laid to rest. Yet a small sliver of doubt still crept into Hollister’s mind. What if these creatures weren’t affected by silver? After all, Van Helsing
