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stream. The rest of his camp was wiped out. Each man was killed and the bodies were then thrown in the back of a wagon and carted away. Does this sound at all familiar, Captain?” Pinkerton looked up over the eyeglasses perched on the end of his nose.
    Hollister nodded. He began to sweat, feeling the heat of the rising sun on that Wyoming ridge, watching in horror as the bodies of his troopers were casually tossed into a wagon like sacks of grain.
    “The flesh eaters, as the man called them, rode away just before sunrise. This lone survivor finally made it into town and led a posse to the scene. As I’m sure you can guess, there was nothing to see. No bodies, some blood on the ground, a few signs of a struggle, but nothing else to support the man’s story.”
    “Excuse me, Mr. Pinkerton, but why are you here? What makes somebody with your connections come all the way to Fort Leavenworth to tell me this?” Jonas asked.
    “Because, Captain Hollister, things have changed. Your experience in Wyoming is being looked at in a new light.”
    “Is that so?” Hollister asked quietly.
    “Yes. In fact, Captain Hollister, we have a proposal for you. Something we think you are uniquely qualified for,” Pinkerton said.
    “What might that be?” Jonas asked.
    “To find these things. Whatever they are. And kill them.”

Chapter Four
    H ollister 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