“Yes, sir,” Chee answered.
“Well, I’m glad you’re on my side, Sergeant.” Hollister laughed.
A few blocks away from the warehouse and they picked up their first tail. Hollister recognized him as one of the men who had been with Slater in the alley the previous night.
“Major?” Chee said.
“I see him. One of Declan’s men. Probably under orders to watch us and report back to Slater.”
They kept walking, a brisk pace as if they had somewhere to be, avoiding people and not making eye contact with anyone. Before long they reached the livery.
“Any sign of the woman?” Hollister asked.
“No, sir,” Chee said.
“She worries me more than Slater and his men for some reason,” Hollister said.
“Yes, sir. I believe she is far more dangerous,” Chee said.
“Great. Just what we need. A whole passel of blood devils, a bunch of Declan’s gun thugs, and now a dangerous woman,” Hollister muttered.
“Is there any other kind of woman, sir?” Chee asked.
Hollister laughed. “Well put, Chee!”
Monkey Pete had made arrangements with the livery to have the horses saddled and ready for them. They’d been purchased outright and Hollister made a note to compliment the man on his knowledge of horses the next time he saw him. His mount was a beautiful sorrel mare, strong in the hindquarters and thick through the chest. Hollister thought the horse would do well in the mountains.
He took off his duster and wrapped up the Ass-Kicker, tying it to the back of his saddle. His attention was diverted by Chee, who was muttering quietly to his horse, a fine-looking black mustang with a white star on the forehead and two white socks on its rear legs. Hollister watched in fascination as Chee stroked the horse’s forehead and talked softly to it.
“Chee, sorry to interrupt, but what are you doing?” Hollister asked.
“We’re talking, sir. I had to ask him his name,” Chee said.
“His name? Your horse has a name?”
“Yes, sir, but I needed to ask him if he was willing to reveal it to me,” Chee said.
“I see. And did your horse tell you his name?”
“Yes, sir. His name is Smoke.”
Hollister was genuinely perplexed. “Chee, I’m sorry, but you give your horse a name, but call your dog just plain old ‘Dog’? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I did not give him the name, sir. It was his all along. Dog is a dog and not a horse. Horses are much more open with people about their true names than dogs, sir,” he replied, as if that explained everything.
“Uh-huh. Well, that is right interesting, Sergeant Major. What about my horse? Does she have a name?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And what is it?”
Chee suddenly looked uncomfortable. “I… they don’t…”
“What is it?” Hollister asked.
“Horses aren’t as particular about their names, sir. But I would still have to ask her permission first.”
“By all means, Chee, please do.”
Hollister watched in amazement as Chee repeated his exercise with Hollister’s mare. A few soft pats on the withers and some quiet murmurs and Chee looked at Hollister.
“Her name is Rose, sir,” he said.
“Rose and Smoke. Well, I’ll be,” Hollister said. The young man who stood before him might be the strangest person he had ever met. But still, Chee’s presence made him feel more at ease. He’d seen what these creatures could do, what they were, and it had been proven to him firsthand the world was full of strange things. Whatever you wanted to call it, Chee had a connection to this strangeness, and having him watching his back gave Hollister a measure of relief.
Without further talk, they mounted the horses and in minutes had left the streets of Denver behind and were heading west for the foothills of the Rockies.
Before they had left the train, Hollister had memorized the trails they’d need to follow to reach Torson City. He’d always been good with maps, and two hours out of town, they stopped on a small bluff to study the trail behind them.
“Somebody there?” Hollister asked Chee, who studied the land to their rear. He pulled a small set of binoculars from his saddlebag, scanning the area they’d just ridden through. He saw nothing. The man who had been tailing them had disappeared once they reached the livery stable and Jonas had no doubt he had scurried off to his bosses to report on their movements.
“Yes. Six, maybe eight men, they’re staying back, they know where we’re going. And someone else…” Chee stopped.
“The woman?” Hollister asked.
“Maybe. I’m not sure. I know we’re being watched,” Chee said, his gaze slowly moving over the surrounding terrain.
“Could be Indians. There’s Utes and Arapahoe around here. Neither one of them is too happy with the miners, or whites in general,” Hollister said.
“Yes, sir,” Chee murmured.
“Dog. Ahead. Hunt!” Chee said. Dog had been lying on the ground resting while they were stopped. At his master’s command he leapt up, loping west ahead of them.
“If someone is watching us or waiting, Dog will find them,” Chee said.
Hollister nodded. “Excellent. It’ll be noon in another three hours. We should be in Torson City by then. I want to get there with plenty of daylight. Let’s try to avoid anyone who might get in our way.”
He turned his horse and Chee followed, wondering how it was that the major was able to keep his fear in check.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Ain’t much of a city,” Hollister said. They sat on the hillside above Torson City, studying the small deserted camp below them. There were approximately ten buildings and a few tents, most of them having partially fallen down in the weeks since the attack, the canvas flapping and making a snapping noise in the breeze. Chee sat astride Smoke, not paying attention to the ground below them, instead studying the surrounding woods and mountains.
“They around?” Hollister asked.
“Yes, sir, no more than two miles back,” Chee said. “The same group.”
“Where’s Dog?”
“I don’t know, sir,” Chee said quietly. “Still hunting I expect.”
“I hope whoever is following us didn’t catch him or shoot him or something. I’m starting to grow fond of the critter,” Hollister said.
Chee shook his head as if such a thing was impossible. Dog would not be caught by Slater and his men or by any Utes or Arapahoes. Had it been Comanches or Kiowas, Chee might have had a moment of concern. Comanches and Kiowas were crafty and not likely to let a mutt sneak around and spy on them. But he wasn’t worried about the others.
“Hmm. Well. Whoever is following us knows where we’re headed. No reason for us not to check it out,” Hollister spurred his horse and loped down the small rise, entering what would have been the main street if it had been a real town. They rode slowly, Hollister felt jumpy, like something might spring from one of these buildings and grab him. They tied off the horses in front of the general store and walked inside.
There were small patches of dried blood that had soaked the wood floor. The stains had turned a dark brown but Hollister had seen enough of it in his day to recognize it. He didn’t know why, but he kept his hands on his
