“Chee, you got any ideas?” Hollister whispered, his eyes glued to the line of mounted warriors.
“No, sir,” Chee whispered back.
Hollister cursed himself. He had been so eager to get here, to find a trail to follow, that he’d acted without any common sense. He had the Ass-Kicker and his Colt, and Chee had his two pistols, all of them loaded with the special ammo Winchester had given them. He wasn’t sure how accurate the new guns would be at a distance. And Winchester had said the Ass-Kicker only had four shots before it needed to be recharged by the steam engine, which of course was all the way back in Denver. Crap on a biscuit.
The Ute leader, a tall, regal-looking man, nudged his pony forward as he pulled his rifle from the saddle scabbard. It looked to be a breech-loading Sharps. Hollister cursed again. Favored by snipers and buffalo hunters, it would be accurate at a great distance. The Ute made no other threatening move, but kept his pony striding toward them at a slow walk. After a few paces, the rest of his war party drew their weapons and followed suit.
“Chee, I think we…” Hollister started to say, but never finished-for out of the woods to their right and up above the mine shaft, plunged a lone figure on horseback. The horse was a large, black stallion, and the rider was cloaked in a hooded duster, covered in black from head to toe. The horse ran impossibly fast, and whoever guided it was obviously experienced in the saddle.
“What in God’s name…” Hollister muttered.
“It is the woman,” Chee said. “She has followed us here.” He had no proof of this, but he was sure of it just the same.
“Get ready, Chee,” Hollister said.
Chee said nothing, unsure of what he was supposed to get ready for, but he took a few short steps back, easing his way toward the horses and the cover of the buildings.
She reached the outskirts of the camp, reining the horse around the buildings, barrels, empty wagons, and other obstacles. Surprisingly, she headed straight toward the Ute war party. Dog was up now, his hackles raised and a low growl sounding in his throat as he watched the mysterious rider confront the Indians.
“Dog, hold,” Chee said. Dog moved so that he was now in front of Hollister and Chee, his rump pushing into Chee’s legs. He quieted but never took his eyes off the rider.
The woman spurred the stallion again and it bounded forward another thirty yards, where she reined to a stop. The Utes looked as surprised and confused as Hollister and Chee did. But after a moment, they regained their senses and started forward again.
The woman threw back the hood of her duster and her long blond hair unfurled.
Chee and Hollister kept backing toward the horses and the general store, taking advantage of the diversion. Dog crept along with them, his muscles tensed and coiled.
A Ute war cry pierced the quiet and the sound of it nearly made Hollister jump. To his surprise, the Utes turned their horses and rode hard back to the north instead of charging. In shock, Hollister and Chee watched until they disappeared from sight.
Their eyes went to the solitary figure on the horse. With the Indians gone, the woman dropped her head, slumping at the shoulders. Hollister wondered if she might be praying, but then she raised back up, stretching back and forth as if she had just woken from a nap. She turned the horse and slowly trotted back toward where the two confused and surprised men stood.
Hollister couldn’t be sure, but he could almost swear that smoke was rolling off her face and hair.