Shores had something else to gripe about. “Why in hell didn’t you shoot that damn thing instead of into the ground? I’d rather it was dead so it won’t ever go after anyone else.”
“Take many arrows kill grizzly. By then grizzly eat you.” Red Fox kneed the paint. “Get arrows now. Much work to make. Not lose them.”
“I’ll wait here.” Shores was tired of the Shoshone treating him like an idiot who couldn’t pull on his own boots without help. Maybe he wasn’t a savvy frontiersman, but he was a grown man and could get by just fine on his own.
Dismounting, Shores squatted and angrily plucked at the buffalo grass. He would still rather be on his own. But without Red Fox it would take a lot longer to find the Hoodoos, and Shores dearly wanted to complete his assignment and return to Washington, D. C. and his comfortable life there. He had a nice apartment and nice clothes, he ate at nice restaurants. The wilderness held no appeal for him at all. Quite the opposite. Given his choice between a stroll down a tree-lined avenue and spending an entire day in the saddle sweating to death, constantly bothered by dust and insects, he would choose the city every time.
Shores supposed some would consider it sacrilege for a Texan to feel that way. But not all Texans lived in the country, and not all Texans thought a horse was God’s gift to creation.
Red Fox, Shores saw, was taking his sweet time collecting the arrows. He picked at his teeth with a blade of grass and thought about what he would do with all the money he would get for the Hoodoos. Seven thousand dollars was enough for a nice house. For new clothes. For a gold watch. Or maybe he would just hold on to it. Eventually he hoped to meet the right young woman and settle down. But he was in no rush. Three Washington lovelies were dating him at the moment, and he liked the variety.
Shores straightened and stretched. He was feeling restless, which he attributed to his narrow escape from the bear. It had set his blood to racing, and it would be a while before he was his old self.
The claybank nuzzled him, and Shores patted its neck. It wasn’t a bad horse, but he would be damned if he would let himself grow attached to it. Once his job was done, he would take it back to the livery in Cheyenne, and that would be that.
After a while, Red Fox rejoined him. “Better hurry, Brother John. Rain come later. Much rain, much thunder.”
Shores tilted his head. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. “What makes you think we’re in for a thunderstorm?”
The Shoshone sniffed. “Smell in air.”
Shores sniffed a few times, but all he smelled was horse sweat and dust. “Do you read palms too?”
“Sorry, Brother John?”
“Never mind.” Shores forked leather and clucked to the claybank. “Come on, old man. Let’s pretend one of us knows what he’s doing. I’d like to find the Hoodoos before next year.”
“We find before half moon,” Red Fox predicted. “Many die, Brother John. Maybe me. Maybe you.”
Shores hoped the old man was wrong.
Denver
Colorado Territory
The building was in a crowded section of the city decent people avoided after dark. Ubel Gunther climbed to the third floor, avoiding litter and stains of questionable origin. The stink caused him to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose . . . when he breathed at all.
“These people live like swine,” Hans remarked.
“Swine have their uses,” Ubel observed. “Perhaps this one will be the right one.”
“Mr. Radtke isn’t happy it’s taking us so long. He says we should have left days ago.”
“Are you saying I’m not performing my duties efficiently? That you could do it better?”
Hans’s beefy face mirrored sudden fear. “I would never say a thing like that, Mr. Gunther. I know my place. Mr. Radtke trusts you. That’s enough for me.”
“He trusts me enough to know these things can take time,” Ubel said, mollified. “It’s not my fault most of these so-called scouts and trackers are drunks or braggarts or worse.”
“The next one comes highly recommended.”
“They all came highly recommended,” Ubel reminded him. “And they have all proven worthless.” He went from door to door until he came to Room 34. He rapped with his cane.
“Go away!” someone demanded. A female someone.
“Is this Mr. Trask’s apartment? Mr. Blue Raven Trask?” Ubel put an ear to the door and heard rustling.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“My name is Ubel Gunther. I would like to tender a business proposition. May I speak with him?”
The door opened a crack, and a brown eye peeked out. “That’s all you want my husband for?”
“Why else would I seek him out?” Ubel was growing impatient with her timidity. “Please, madam. I am in need of a tracker, and I have been informed he is one of the best.”
“There’s none better,” the woman confirmed. “But he told me not to tell anyone where he went.”
“What harm can it do?”
“He’s got enemies, mister. Maybe you didn’t hear, but he’s the one who tracked down those stage robbers a while back. Their friends have sworn to get even with him. Just the other night, one tried to knife him in the back.”
This was news to Ubel. “What happened?”
“Blue cut him from ear to ear.” The woman opened the door wider. She had a pleasant face and fine brown hair and was a half-blood. “I’m his missus, Nora.”
Ubel doffed his bowler. “My name is Gunther. I’m extremely pleased to make your acquaintance. Would you prefer I leave an address where I can be reached, and you can have him contact me at his convenience?”
“You sure do spout a lot of fancy words.” Nora gnawed on her lip. “No, you won’t need to go to that much trouble. He’s at the billiard hall at the end of the block. He’ll be the one wearin’ the headband. Tell him I sent you. And if I’m wrong about you, and you try to kill him, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry you sent us?”
“Sorry for you, mister. He don’t kill easy. He’ll do the both of you before you can blink.” Nora smiled and shut the door.
The billiard hall catered to some of Denver’s rougher element. Hans stayed by the door as Ubel walked past two billiard tables to one at the rear. The glances cast his way were rife with distrust and more than a little envy. Leaning on his cane, he addressed a short, wiry man in buckskins and a raw-hide headband. “Blue Raven Trask? Your wife said I would find you here. We’ve been told you are an excellent tracker, and my employer would like to hire your services.”
Trask bent over the table to take a shot. Since it was against the law to wear a sidearm within the city limits, he did not appear to be wearing a revolver, although the right side of his shirt bulged suspiciously. On his other hip, wedged under his belt, was a tomahawk.
When there was no reply, Ubel said, “I would be grateful for a few moments so you can hear me out. I’ve already interviewed eight men who failed to impress me. I hope I’m not wasting my time again.”
Trask stroked his stick, and the cue ball struck the seven with a sharp crack. The seven disappeared down a side pocket.
“You are the man, are you not, who rescued the farmer’s wife abducted by Yellow Badger’s renegades last year?”
“That was me.” Trask changed position to take another shot.
“Where did you learn to track, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“In case you can’t tell, mister, I’m a breed. My father was Arapaho. He started teachin’ me to read sign almost as soon as I could walk. There aren’t but a handful of men better than me in the whole country.”
“Then you are exactly the person I need.” Ubel offered his hand. “Name your price and give me a list of what we will need, and we can be on our way.”