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.”
“I wouldn’t put it in quite those terms, but yes.” He picked up the paper he’d wanted Hollister to sign. “It’s all laid out here in writing. If you accept reinstatement you’ll be assigned to a special detail of the U.S. Secret Service and report directly to me. You’ll be paid, outfitted, and to assure the army’s cooperation whenever you need it, you’ll be restored to your rank. You’ll have authority from General Sherman to use whatever facilities or troops you deem necessary to expose and eradicate this threat.”
“Paid, you say. How much?” Hollister asked.
“Two hundred fifty dollars a month, plus board and horses. You’ll also be given access to a private, specially outfitted train.”
The amount of money stunned Jonas. It was nearly quadruple what his army pay had been before he was sent up the river. However, if he found these “flesh eaters,” he’d most likely get himself killed and he’d never spend the money anyway.
Jonas paced. Pinkerton waited patiently.
“Still doesn’t answer my second question, sir. Why now? Why does anyone believe me?” Hollister asked.
Pinkerton rested his elbows on the desk. He suddenly looked tired.
“The man who survived this most recent attack is from a family of some consequence. He has made noise. This noise has reached the president.”
“Who is this family?”
“Their name is Declan,” Pinkerton reluctantly answered.
Jonas recognized the name. James Declan had discovered the second-largest silver lode in the country. He was wealthy and powerful. Jonas understood things a little more clearly.
“I still don’t understand. If there were no bodies, no evidence
…” Jonas’s words trailed off.
“You’re wondering why attention is being paid to this attack when yours was ignored?” Pinkerton suggested.
Hollister nodded.
“Senator Declan has enormous financial holdings in Colorado. Mining, land, ranching. He started with a small herd of cattle, became a big rancher, then the silver strike happened and he was rich,” Pinkerton said.
“And since he is now a U.S. senator whose position is compromised, the president dispatched me to Colorado to investigate personally. Based on my observation of the scene, I concluded the story the survivor is telling is true. The senator is claiming it’s nothing more than an Indian attack. Utes who are tired of the miners taking more and more land. He is doing this for a variety of reasons; to force the president to send more troops to Colorado, to keep the citizens calm, and Indian attacks are a much easier sell than telling the world what really happened. And then, of course, there are the creatures. People there are in danger, Captain Hollister. Grave danger. The senator doesn’t care about them, but if people were to learn the truth and flee the state? What would happen to his finances? It would be a disaster.”
“But what if the senator is right?” Hollister said. “Utes know how to fight. I’ve fought a few of them in my day.”
“True, but this was not an Indian attack,” Pinkerton said.
“How do you know?”
“Had it been Utes, there would still be bodies left. Scalped and mutilated, but left there to instill terror and inform the local populace that they are back on the ‘warpath.’ And there was almost no blood, Captain. With that many men, shot or scalped by Indians, there would be blood everywhere. I found hardly any.”
“Maybe they were rounded up and killed elsewhere,” Hollister suggested, knowing that wasn’t the case. He could fill the fear rising in him again: the same feeling he had felt when he spotted the camp through his spyglass. Something wasn’t right, and trying to poke holes in the detective’s theories was the only way he could quell the rising terror.
Pinkerton reached into his satchel and removed a small glass tube with a cork stopper in one end. It held something white, long, and sharp, and when Pinkerton handed it to him and he looked at it closely, he nearly dropped it in alarm.
“I thought as you did, until I found this,” Pinkerton said.
It was a fang. Hollister recognized it immediately. He had seen them on the creatures that’d attacked his men. He handed it back to Pinkerton like it was something hot.
“Might be from a bear or cougar,” Hollister muttered, knowing it wasn’t but feeling like he needed to say it anyway.
“It’s not, Captain. You know it. It must have been knocked loose in the struggle. My examination of the scene was more… thorough. I found it in between the floorboards of the camp saloon.”
Hollister was quiet a moment while he absorbed the details of Pinkerton’s story. He saw the tall white-haired thing standing in the advancing sunlight, his clothes and skin beginning to smoke. Heard the voice speak to him. He shook his head to drive the memory away.
“Still doesn’t answer my second question. Why me? You could send anyone after these things. Why do you believe me now?” Hollister asked.
“There are a few reasons. Aside from young Mr. Declan-”
“Wait,” Hollister interrupted. “The survivor of the attack is the senator’s son?”
“Yes. I thought I mentioned that.”
“No, you didn’t. So, the good senator doesn’t believe his own son?”
Pinkerton shook his head. “The senator and his son are… estranged. And given what he considers to be the young man’s ‘wild tale,’ the president has some concerns. Those concerns must be addressed.”
“I’ve been locked up for four years, Mr. Pinkerton. Explain it to me,” Hollister said.
“Senator Declan is trying to convince the local population that this was nothing more than an Indian attack. I… we know differently. If word gets out about these ‘flesh eaters,’ we’ll have panic everywhere and the good senator will lose a great deal of money. Whatever these things are, this is the first documented evidence we have that they have killed again. We need someone who has seen what they are capable of to find them. And find a way to kill them. Does that answer your questions, Captain?”
It did. As usual, it was about money. Nobody cared that Jonas was telling the truth. Only that they didn’t lose money. He could be bitter about it, but what Pinkerton was offering was a way out. A chance to find the things that killed his men. Vengeance. Redemption. Vindication. All wrapped up in a neat little bow and handed to him with a big fat paycheck. Whatever the reason for Pinkerton’s springing him from Leavenworth, this was his chance.
“Major,” Hollister said.
“I beg your pardon?” Pinkerton replied.
“If I agree, it will be Major Hollister. It will also be a salary of five hundred a month. Plus all of my back pay at captain’s grade since I’ve been in this hole. The back pay will be wired immediately to John and Nancy Hollister in Tecumseh, Michigan. All of it. I’ll want a telegram back from my father confirming he received the money. In the telegram, he’s also to reply with the year I broke my arm in the thresher on the farm. That way, I’ll know he really received it
…”
“Captain, this is outrageous! I don’t have the autho-”
“It’s Major Hollister and I’m not finished,” Hollister went on. “I may report directly to you, but I make the decisions as to how, where, and when we take on these things. Eleven of my troopers were killed in a matter of minutes. I’ve replayed that day a thousand times in my head and I think these things might have some weaknesses, but not many. I don’t want anyone questioning me, or my methods. Are we clear?”
Pinkerton slumped back in his chair, a man not used to being outmaneuvered.
“And one more thing. There’s an inmate in here named Chee. This morning he got thrown in the box for getting the bulge on a tub named McAfee. Whatever he’s in for, he’s to be granted a full pardon, released immediately, and promoted to sergeant major. He will also receive his back pay, to be distributed at his discretion, and is to be placed under my command.”
Pinkerton’s shoulders slumped. “Is there anything else, Captain Hollister?”
“Major Hollister. And no, I think that about covers it.”
“All right. I’ll agree to your terms. But I will need your colonel’s clerk to redraw these papers. It will take some time,” Pinkerton said.
“Fine. I’ve got nothing but time,” Jonas replied.
“Very well.” Pinkerton stuck out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Hollister shook his hand, surprised at the strength of the elderly man’s grip. He didn’t see the pistol until it was right up under his chin and he felt his fingers start to hurt as the grip turned to iron.
“Just two more things, Major Hollister. You may think you have the upper hand here, and given the gravity of this situation, you might be right. But never forget who is in charge. And never, ever, mention President Lincoln to me again. Are we clear?”
Hollister’s eyes rolled downward, looking at the pistol jammed against his flesh.
“Yes. We’re clear,” Hollister said.
“Excellent,” Pinkerton replied, the pistol vanishing as quickly as it appeared. “Excellent. Now excuse me, Major, while I call upon Colonel Whitman’s clerk to make a few changes in these documents.”
Hollister watched the stooped older man gather up the papers and scurry out of the room.
“Huh…” he said to the empty room.