The Silver Shooter

by Erin Lindsey

  “Just unnerved.” Literally. Parts of my brain still felt numb.

  Thomas went to the window and looked out, as though he might spot the ghost fleeing into the night. “I assume it was our missing prospector, Mr. Upton?”

  “He didn’t introduce himself, but that would be my guess. He matched the description in Mr. Roosevelt’s letters.” I shuddered. “I sensed him, Thomas. Just the same as if he were a shade.” I’d been able to do it ever since the Hell Gate incident, when the shade of Matilda Meyer had accosted me in my bedroom. A fragment of her spirit had become lodged in my breast, and it had nearly killed me; ever since, a pang of cold warned me when shades were near. “I didn’t realize it would be the same for ghosts.”

  “Neither did I.”

  “I could see him, too, and not just in the mirror. He was right over there.” Thomas didn’t turn around, so I added, “In the corner. And even from over there, I could feel his touch. Like icy fingers in my head. Is that normal?”

  “No. Or rather … Not exactly.” He didn’t elaborate, and that worried me.

  “What was he doing here, anyway? It was supposed to be your room that was haunted.” We’d paid extra for the privilege, since apparently Benjamin Upton’s old room was a hot commodity among treasure hunters looking for clues as to the whereabouts of his missing gold. We’d expected the ghost to show up sooner or later, but Thomas had been confident he could handle it when the time came. “Maybe the fellow at the front desk got it wrong. Maybe this was the haunted room all along.”

  “It’s possible, though I rather suspect…” Thomas started to turn around before checking himself abruptly.

  Why does he keep doing that? “What’s the matter?” I asked, exasperated.

  He cleared his throat. “Perhaps you ought to put on something a bit warmer. You don’t want to catch a chill.”

  I looked down.

  Sweet Mary and Joseph. In all the excitement, I’d forgotten what I was wearing: a thin cotton nightgown that was practically see-through in the moonlight. I snatched up the blanket at the foot of my bed and wrapped it around my bare shoulders. “Sorry,” I muttered, my face burning. “You were saying?”

  He turned around at last. “I’ve been wondering about something ever since I met your mother for the first time. Do you recall that night? She mentioned something that has stayed with me ever since. About smelling the dead.”

  “I remember. She told me I smelled like them. Which I suppose I must have, with Matilda Meyer’s shade attached to me.”

  “Exactly. Mrs. Meyer left a sort of imprint on you, and somehow your mother sensed it. That’s highly unusual, and it makes me wonder if perhaps she has the gift.”

  “What do you … Oh.”

  That gift. The one that let you hear the dead, and talk to them, and apparently smell them, too. Though if that’s a gift, I couldn’t tell you what a curse looks like.

  “Wouldn’t she know it?”

  “Not necessarily. The signs are not always apparent to those who don’t know what to look for. And if she passed something of that gift on to you, it would explain a great deal. Why Mrs. Meyer chose you, for example, and perhaps even how you survived your encounter, when so many others would not have.”

  I digested that. Unsettling as the idea was, I couldn’t deny it might come in handy. “If you’re right, maybe I should try to talk to the ghost of Mr. Upton. Find out if—”

  “Absolutely not.” Thomas stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Rose, consider what communing with ghosts has done to your mother. Her health is irretrievably shattered. It takes years of practice, not to mention a strict regimen of precautionary measures, to interact safely with ghosts.”

  “But how else are we going to find out what happened to him? It’s been almost a year since he went missing.”

  “We’ll work it out somehow. Or if we can’t, we’ll send for a professional medium. We’re in no hurry, after all. Poor Mr. Upton isn’t getting any deader. Right now, our priority ought to be locating the creature.”

  I supposed that made sense. Of the three mysteries we’d been sent here to solve, only one was actively killing people. “What about in the meantime? He’s bound to come back sooner or later.”

  “And when he does, we’ll be ready. We know how to defend ourselves.”

  One of us does, anyway.

  He saw it in my expression. “The first encounter is always difficult, but you’ll know what to expect next time. Still, I’m happy to switch rooms, if you’d prefer.”

  “If your theory is right, that’s not going to help. He’ll latch onto me wherever I am.”

  “True enough. Well, I suppose we could … Ah, that is…” Thomas’s glance strayed about the room before falling, inevitably, on the single bed. He swallowed.

  Dear Lord, that’s all we need. “Er, no thank you, I’ll manage.”

  The relief on his face was almost comical. “You’re quite sure?”

  “It just caught me off guard, that’s all. You’re right. I know how to defend myself.”

  “Still, given your sensitivity, I think it would be a good idea to drink a glass of saltwater each night before going to bed. It fortifies you.”

  “That’s easy enough.” Every agent in the special branch kept a pouch of salt on hand at all times. Like ash wood, it had protective qualities that made it an essential part of the arsenal against ghosts and shades. “I’ll make some now.”

  Thomas nodded and reached for the door. “Get some sleep. We’ve an early start tomorrow. And remember, I’m just on the other side of that wall.”

  As though I could forget.

  * * *

  Early morning found me standing in front of the mirror, giving the waistband of my borrowed blue jean trousers an experimental tug. They’d stay up, thanks to the suspenders Thomas had given me, but just barely. I’d already had to punch an extra hole in my new gun belt, and I’d need to sew some darts into Thomas’s shirt when I had a moment. About the only thing that actually fit was my boots, and they were all but invisible under the too-long hem of my blue jeans. I grabbed my hat and rifle, posing in the mirror as though for a photograph. I looked like one of those lady outlaws you sometimes saw in Harper’s or Frank Leslie’s.

  Oh, Mam, if you could see me now. Shaking my head, I headed off to find my partner.

  Dawn was just breaking as we hit the trail. The place John Ward had marked on the map was many miles south of Medora—and yet still a very long way from the Great Sioux Reservation. That worried me. “Do you suppose Little Wolf and his hunters have permission to be out here? Away from the reservation, I mean?”

  “I don’t know.” Thomas gazed idly over the landscape, taking in the wildflowers and sagebrush as though we were out for a leisurely morning ride. “Is that any of our affair?”

  “It might be, if they’re expecting trouble. Things are already tense with the ranchers. If they’re worried about the authorities descending on them at any moment…”

  “We don’t look like soldiers.”

  “No, but we probably look like Pinkertons, and around here, that’s practically the same thing.” The Agency had made quite a name for itself chasing outlaws and protecting the railroads from bandits. That made us personae non gratae in these parts.

  “It’s unlikely anyone would identify us as agents. Besides, as I said before, I don’t see that we have any choice. We’ll simply have to proceed with caution. That’s assuming we find them at all. This terrain isn’t exactly to our advantage.”

  That was putting it mildly. The surrounding hills looked like the perfect place to hide, for people and for predators. In truth, Little Wolf and his hunters were probably the least of our worries. I’d bet my new britches there were more than a few banditos around here—and, oh yes, a monster. Something allegedly strong enough to tear a horse in half.

  I gave Luna’s neck a nervous pat. Then I loosened the holster at my hip, making sure the Colt was ready to hand. The Winchester, meanwhile, was s
lung in a scabbard along the side of my saddle; Thomas had done the same with his shotgun. Armed to the teeth, both of us wearing Thomas’s finely tailored denim, we most definitely looked like Pinkertons—or very fancy outlaws. But there was nothing to be done about it now.

  Sometime after eleven o’clock, Thomas drew up. “We ought to let the horses rest for a spell, and I’d like to check the map again. This shady spot by the river should do nicely.”

  We tied the horses off under a tree, loosening their cinches and letting them crop at the lush grass sloping down to the riverbank. The water looked cool and inviting, so I headed down.

  Grasshoppers whirred in the long grass. I crouched at the riverbank and splashed some water on my face. Somewhere in the trees, a squirrel chattered.

  Behind me, I could hear Thomas muttering over his map. “As I thought. We’ve been in the area Mr. Ward indicated for at least an hour. Perhaps we ought to veer east…”

  The insects fell suddenly silent. My head snapped up. A figure stood on the opposite bank, his features shadowed under the brim of his hat. Long, dark hair spilled down his back, some of it tied off in braids. He wore a button-down shirt and buckskin leggings, and he held a rifle in one hand, its stock resting in the grass.

  Swallowing past a dry throat, I raised a hand in greeting. “Hau.”

  “Good morning.”

  A brief silence, filled with the burble of water and the buzzing of grasshoppers.

  “You should not drink in this place,” the man said.

  “I’m sorry.” I kept very still, acutely aware of the rifle in his hand. “Is it yours?”

  He laughed. “How can a river be mine?”

  “I, er…”

  “There’s a beaver dam just south of here.” He gestured upstream. “The water is not good.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling ridiculous.

  He stepped closer to the bank, bringing his features into view. His bronze skin was smooth, his hair a youthful, glossy black. About my age, I judged, maybe a little older. The dark eyes that met mine sparkled with amusement. He’d chosen the perfect moment to show himself, catching Thomas and me off guard. That wasn’t a coincidence, I felt sure.

  Thomas cleared his throat behind me. “Good morning. I hope we aren’t intruding.”

  The young man’s mouth twitched, as if he were holding back a wry response.

  “I wonder if you might be the fellow we’re looking for. Little Wolf?”

  Dark eyes narrowed. “What do you want with Little Wolf?”

  “We were hoping to consult him about an animal we’re tracking. A man-eating predator. We were speaking with a Mr. John Ward yesterday—perhaps you know him? He mentioned that Little Wolf and his hunters might have some information about this creature.” Thomas took a careful step forward. “May I?”

  The young man nodded. Slowly, I straightened from my crouch, keeping my hands in plain sight as Thomas made his way down to the riverbank. The young man, meanwhile, said something over his shoulder, and two more hunters appeared out of the brush. They were armed too, one with a bow and the other with a rifle, but neither weapon was raised.

  “This is Red Calf.” The young man gestured at one of his companions. “And this is Two Horses. I’m Little Wolf.”

  Thomas inclined his head formally. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Thomas Wiltshire, and this is Miss Gallagher. We’re photographers.”

  “Photographers.” Little Wolf’s gaze fell to the gun at my hip. “My mistake. I thought you were Pinkertons.”

  I gave Thomas a flat look.

  Little Wolf laughed. “I hope that was not rude.”

  “No.” Thomas sighed. “I’m the one who’s been rude. Miss Gallagher and I are in the habit of concealing the true nature of our work. Pinkertons are not always warmly received, especially in this part of the world. Still, that’s no excuse. Lies are a dreadful way to begin a relationship. You have my heartfelt apologies.” He gave a very English little bow.

  Little Wolf looked like he didn’t quite know what to make of us, and I couldn’t really blame him. “You are friends of John Ward?”

  “We met him yesterday,” I said. “He told us about the tracks he found. The rest of what Mr. Wiltshire said is true. About the animal, I mean. We are trying to find it—just not for a photograph.”

  Two Horses said something in their language, and Red Calf laughed. Little Wolf translated. “He says the animal you seek walks on two legs and has white skin.”

  Thomas nodded. “Mr. Ward thought you might say that. He disagrees, as I’m sure you know. Either way, something strange is going on, and we hope to find out what it is.”

  “I will take you to one who knows more.”

  “We should be very obliged,” Thomas said.

  “Do you need to rest more before we go? Or drink, maybe? I have good water.” Little Wolf glanced at me, his eyes dancing again.

  I felt myself blushing. “Thank you for telling me about the dam.”

  “There is an old saying among my people. Beware of shallow waters.”

  I had a feeling he was teasing me, but I couldn’t be sure, so I just smiled and said, “That sounds like good advice.”

  Little Wolf tilted his head. “This way,” he said. “Your horses can cross over here.”

  CHAPTER 8

  DAKOTA DOUGHNUT—A COUNTERFEIT CURSE—HORSESHOES

  “My father had a horse like that once.” Little Wolf glanced over my shoulder at Luna as we walked. “Gold, with a white mane and tail. I was very young, but I remember her well. She was taken in a raid. I cried for days.”

  “How awful.”

  He laughed. “I should not admit that, but as I said, I was young. Five, or maybe six. Old enough that I already had my first bow. I remember that, because I wanted revenge. I thought that if I had skill enough to shoot an arrow through a rolling hoop, I was ready to be a warrior.” He shook his head, smiling.

  “Did such things happen often?” Thomas leaned past me to address Little Wolf. The three of us walked abreast, leading the horses, while Red Calf and Two Horses trailed behind, keeping a close eye on Thomas and me.

  “Capturing horses was the way of things in those days,” Little Wolf said. “Before the Lakota were herded off to the agencies.”

  “Lakota?” I echoed, confused. “Are you not Sioux?”

  “That’s what your people call us, but it is not our word. The people you know as Sioux are actually many different tribes. Even within the Lakota, we have Seven Council Fires. We are the Hunkpapa, those who camp at the end.”

  “And this area was your homeland?” I asked. “Before the reservation, I mean?”

  “This was not the place where we camped, but we have hunted here for a long time. These lands were set aside for us by treaty. Unceded Indian Territory, they called it. Then they found gold in the Black Hills.”

  Even I knew what came after that. The Great Sioux War, and especially the Battle of the Little Bighorn, had riveted the nation. To this day, I can hear my da’s voice reading aloud from the papers, Mam scolding him for filling my eleven-year-old ears with such violence.

  I didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry was so inadequate that it almost felt insulting. I said it anyway. “I’ve read a little about what happened out here. How you were forced from your lands. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

  “You speak as if it was the past.” Turning, I found Red Calf looking at me with hard eyes. “For us, it is not the past.”

  There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence. Then Little Wolf continued. “With the buffalo gone, we have had to range farther each year to hunt. These lands have been good for the past few years. Plenty of deer and elk. The annuity food is never enough, so when the time comes to make meat for the winter, we send hunters out from the agency. Small groups, so there is no trouble with the government men.” He didn’t mention whether they had permission or not, and I didn’t ask. As Thomas said, it was none of our affair.


  “And the ranchers?” I asked.

  “We have learned to avoid each other. We were not friendly, but there was peace, of a kind. Until last year. That’s when the animals in this area started disappearing, and it made things very bad between us.”

  “We’d like to hear more about that,” Thomas said. “When did you first notice something was wrong?”

  “Right away. We came here to hunt, as we have for many summers. But for the first time, it was not easy finding game. A few deer here and there, but nothing bigger. Instead, we found only bones. At first we thought white hunters were to blame, but then we started to find fresh kills. Animal kills. Only these were not made by a cougar or a pack of wolves.”

  “How could you tell?” I asked.

  “The signs were wrong. Especially the tracks. We had never seen anything like them before.”

  “Because they were false,” Red Calf put in from behind us.

  Little Wolf nodded slowly. “Some said so. Others did not agree. There were arguments in the camp. It was not long after that our horses were stolen.”

  “Stolen?” Thomas echoed. “Not killed?”

  “Both, eventually. But first they were stolen.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “We would have heard an animal attack. When a horse is afraid, it will not stay silent. It will scream and kick. And there would have been signs. Blood. Hair. Marks in the earth. We found none of these things.”

  “Interesting. Where exactly was this?”

  “I will show you on your map when we reach the camp. It’s not far now.”

  A few minutes later, the smell of woodsmoke pricked my nose, and we came to a clearing dotted with tents. At its center, a campfire burned low, surrounded by blankets and furs for seating. Strips of pounded meat hung on a rack under the sun, and a pair of hides had been stretched over hoops to dry. From the look of things, Little Wolf and his hunters hadn’t been here long: The grass was still green, the meat rack little more than a few logs propped together. The horses grazing at the edge of the camp were saddled and ready, their beaded bridles throwing flashes of color between the blades of grass. It looked as though the hunters could pack up and leave at a moment’s notice.