down a peg or two. Whitman was about to say something else but decided against it, choking on the words, and spun around, returning to his spot at the window.
“I might be able to help you, Captain,” Pinkerton said
“Help me with what, sir?” Hollister asked.
“Get out of here. Permanently, I might add.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. But I need to hear from you what happened.”
Hollister smiled. Then laughed. He wasn’t sure why he was laughing-and he saw Whitman’s face redden, which only made him laugh more. His nerves were jangled, and he felt as though he might burst if he didn’t laugh. It was the only thing he could think to do. In Leavenworth, dark humor was one of the few things that could keep you alive, and for Hollister it was all he had right now.
“Is something funny, Captain?” Pinkerton asked.
Hollister calmed himself. “Yes, sir. I’d say it borders right on hilarious. You know what happened in Wyoming. You’ve read my testimony and my regimental commander’s report on the incident. Out of nowhere, the most famous detective in America shows up at Fort Leavenworth Military Prison and asks me what happened on that ridge three years, ten months, and eleven days ago, which, I might add, I never dreamed would happen. So I’m thinking there’s only two things that could have happened. One, you’ve suddenly decided I wasn’t lying, which I doubt, since no one else has ever believed me. Or two, it’s happened again.”
Pinkerton’s eyes narrowed and he studied Hollister. Something washed over his face. It was only a flicker, but Jonas saw it, clear as day. Pinkerton had arrived at a decision. Jonas didn’t know what it might be, but he clearly had reached some determination of vital importance. Hope stirred in his chest.
“Colonel, I’d like to talk to the captain alone, please,” Pinkerton said.
“I’m afraid that’s not allowed. It’s against regulations for any prisoner to be-”
“Colonel, when I first arrived, you promised me full cooperation, did you not?” Pinkerton asked. “Here’s hoping I won’t have to send a cable to General Sherman requesting…”
Without another word, Whitman threw up his arms and stomped out of his office, slamming the door.
“Pompous jackass,” Pinkerton muttered. He strolled casually around the desk to Whitman’s chair and sat down. “Please, Captain, sit. Let’s talk.”
“All the same, I’d prefer to stand, sir,” Jonas said. He felt completely in the dark. He had no control over whatever was happening, and so he was determined to hold on to those things he could control. He wasn’t going to let this strange man gain any advantage if he could avoid it. At least not until he knew what was going on.
Pinkerton shrugged and turned to another page in the ledger. “Very well. You’re correct in your assumption, Captain.” He said, looking up at Jonas.
“Which assumption would that be?” Jonas asked.
Pinkerton let out a big sigh. “Captain, I can assure you, I am here as your advocate. However, if you can’t at least listen to what I have to say with an open mind, we’re not going to get very far.”
Jonas said nothing for a moment. “Pinkerton.” He paused, thinking. “Weren’t you in charge of President Lincoln’s security?”
“I was,” Pinkerton replied.
“That sure worked out well,” he said.
Pinkerton’s eyes clouded and Jonas watched as the man’s mouth straightened into a thin line. His color changed from pale to bright red and Jonas set his feet, half expecting the detective to launch himself over the desk and pummel him into the floor. Yet the fury subsided as quickly as it had risen, and Pinkerton composed himself, settling in the chair again.
“As I said, Captain, you are correct. We’ve had another incident, similar in details to what happened to your command in Wyoming. In this case it was a mining camp in Colorado. One man escaped and reported an assault on the camp by what he called ‘flesh eaters.’ When the creatures attacked, the man jumped across the stream where the sluice box was set up. For some reason they didn’t pursue him there. They didn’t want to or for some reason weren’t able to cross the stream. The rest of his camp was wiped out. Each man was killed and the bodies were then thrown in the back of a wagon and carted away. Does this sound at all familiar, Captain?” Pinkerton looked up over the eyeglasses perched on the end of his nose.
Hollister nodded. He began to sweat, feeling the heat of the rising sun on that Wyoming ridge, watching in horror as the bodies of his troopers were casually tossed into a wagon like sacks of grain.
“The flesh eaters, as the man called them, rode away just before sunrise. This lone survivor finally made it into town and led a posse to the scene. As I’m sure you can guess, there was nothing to see. No bodies, some blood on the ground, a few signs of a struggle, but nothing else to support the man’s story.”
“Excuse me, Mr. Pinkerton, but why are you here? What makes somebody with your connections come all the way to Fort Leavenworth to tell me this?” Jonas asked.
“Because, Captain Hollister, things have changed. Your experience in Wyoming is being looked at in a new light.”
“Is that so?” Hollister asked quietly.
“Yes. In fact, Captain Hollister, we have a proposal for you. Something we think you are uniquely qualified for,” Pinkerton said.
“What might that be?” Jonas asked.
“To find these things. Whatever they are. And kill them.”
Chapter Four
Hollister was back in the colonel’s office two hours later, bathed, clean shaven, and in a fresh uniform. He tried not to notice the fact that the blue blouse showed captain’s bars at the neck, but his fingers went to them and touched them unconsciously. Pinkerton was still there, in Whitman’s chair, and he held out a sheaf of papers.
“Just a few formalities and we’ll be on our way, Captain. I’ll need you to sign a few documents, after that we’ll board a train for Denver. My private car is waiting at the station in town,” Pinkerton said.
He dipped a pen in the inkwell on the colonel’s desk and held it out for Jonas.
Jonas stood, hands clasped behind his back. Not moving and making no effort to take the pen. Pinkerton, head down as he shuffled through the papers on his desk, finally looked up.
“Is there a problem, Captain?” he asked.
Jonas nodded. “I expect there is.”
“Would you care to elaborate?”
Jonas stuck out his arm and rubbed the clean, fresh cloth of his new uniform.
“Certainly, Mr. Pinkerton. I’d be happy to. There’s too much going on here that I don’t understand. First question: you say what happened to my men in Wyoming has happened again in Colorado. I don’t see how that affects me. No one believed me then, so why all of a sudden is my story accepted as the truth?”
Pinkerton was about to answer, then thought better of it. He sat back, staring at Hollister, waiting for him to finish.
“Second question: after why me, why you? You are not unknown to me. You are famous and connected. So why are you here?”
“When this is over, I’d like you to consider working for me as a detective. You have a keen mind, Captain.” Pinkerton smiled.
“Not according to the United States Army, Mr. Pinkerton.”
Pinkerton waved a dismissive hand. “Yes. Well. Admittedly, mistakes were made. We know it now. We’d like make it up to you, but we’d also like your help.”
“And if I refuse?” Jonas asked.
Pinkerton frowned. “I’m afraid you’ll remain here and finish out your sentence.”
“Ah,” Jonas replied. “So that’s it. You’re not really exonerating me. You’re asking me to take on a duty that will most likely get me and perhaps others killed. And if I refuse, I stay here digging Whitman’s dirt until my sentence is up.”
