To the east on the mountainside just above the mine shaft and well hidden in the trees, Shaniah sat astride Demeter, watching the scene below and cursing her bad luck. Her plan had been to follow Chee and Hollister and see if they had a plan for finding Malachi. In her mind, she hoped the witch-man Chee would be able to conjure some clue from the scene of the rogue Archaics’ last massacre. Any indication that would tell him where they had gone. It was her only hope. The trail had gone cold and Malachi’s time was drawing ever near. At the age of fifteen hundred years he would become an Eternal. Virtually unable to die unless killed in battle by another Eternal, and she would need to wait more than a hundred years before she herself became Eternal. By then it would be far too late. His plan to wreak havoc on humankind was foolish and would only succeed in destroying her people.
For now, Archaics lived in the shadows. Hidden high in the mountains. There were nothing but whispers and legends, scary stories told to children to keep them afraid of the night things. Malachi was ruining all of that. If they were revealed, if humans learned of their actual existence, they would use their technology, armies, and superior numbers, and her people would cease to exist, all because of Malachi’s vanity. She could not allow this.
She should have hidden the looters’ bodies more carefully. Killing the three men had been easy, but she had been careless and in a hurry to find Malachi. In her haste, she had almost forgotten the bodies were still there. And Chee had found them in a matter of minutes. It was becoming clearer to her by the minute that she would need to kill Chee before he discovered who she was and stopped her.
The Indians’ arrival gave her pause. She wondered what Hollister would do. Would he try to fight his way out? Or talk? Should she help them if it came to a fight?
The next few minutes would prove interesting, at least.
S later and his men stayed well back in the trees. The mining camp was in a small valley near the river, and from the rise to the south they could see everything unfolding before them quite clearly. He was certain Hollister and the breed knew they were being followed. And in fact, Slater and his men had made no real effort to conceal themselves other than staying far enough back so as not to be visible to the naked eye. Seven men on horseback weren’t easy to hide, and besides, he knew Hollister and Chee were experienced enough to know they would be coming.
He had not counted on running into forty mounted and armed Utes, however.
One of his six men, Baker, a heavyset, slow-witted thug, nudged his horse forward until he was next to Slater.
“What we gonna do, Boss? Should we help ’em out?” he asked.
Slater shook his head. “Not my orders. Mr. Declan wanted them followed, he didn’t say anything about fightin’ Utes.” But he was conflicted. At first, Senator Declan had wanted this whole affair swept under the rug. Let everyone think his son was a coward, a drunk who had run away from an Indian massacre. Eventually all the excitement would die down and things would go back to normal, and the Torson City killings would become just another ghost story.
It might have worked, but Slater had visited the camp and seen signs for himself. This wasn’t something that was going away. It hadn’t. People were talking, gossip was spreading. A few farmers and ranchers had already picked up and left. Whether they believed what had happened at Torson City had been because of monsters or Indians didn’t really matter. People leaving the territory was bad for business and bad for the senator.
And since his own fortunes rose and fell with those of Declan, he needed to make sure this was handled. The only way to do that was to let Hollister and Chee find these creatures and kill them. Then Slater would step in.
Down below, the two men stood rooted to their spots, neither they nor the Utes moving. It was an uncomfortable standoff. Slater had momentarily forgotten his interest in the three bodies they had pulled out of the shed. He was waiting to see what happened next and wishing he could hear what they were saying.
Michael P. Spradlin
Blood Riders