The necessary personnel had assembled. Henry called Luke and the storeroom manager, Old Whitey, into his office.
"For the next few days, while I'm gone, Luke will be in charge of external affairs. Whitey, you'll handle internal department matters. If there's a major external incident—a murder, a large-scale fight—Whitey, you will take command, and Luke, you will provide support. Is that understood?"
"Understood!" Luke replied sharply.
"I'll do my best," Old Whitey said, his voice a low rumble.
"Good. If you run into anything you can't handle, delay as best you can and wait for my return."
"Understood."
"That's all. I'll announce the temporary appointments, and then we'll be on our way."
Henry led the two men out into the main hall, announced the chain of command, and then departed with an escort of nine deputies.
The group included Pete, Thor, and Hank, as well as four of the other young recruits Henry favored. The last two were older, experienced men: a thirty-three-year-old named Charles and a thirty-two-year-old named Owen. Both had lived in Frisco for over three years, had families in town, and knew the road to Denver like the back of their hands.
Henry had chosen the men for their reliability. If he had to break off from the main group to deal with an ambush, he couldn't risk a traitor stabbing him in the back.
"Thor, go to the Phoenix Saloon, get their four-wheeled carriage, and take it to Linda's. Help her with the luggage."
"Charles, take the rest of the men to Linda's and help them pack. We need to be on the road by seven."
The men rode off to carry out their orders. Henry spurred his own horse toward the Mayor's manor.
The eighty-five-mile journey to Denver was seventy miles of treacherous mountain roads. A carriage would be lucky to cover that distance in ten hours of hard driving, and that was without stopping to rest. With the final stretch on the plains, the entire trip would take at least twelve hours. If they left at 7 AM, they would be fortunate to arrive by 7 PM, and that was assuming they faced no ambushes or accidents.
When he arrived at the manor, the butler, Pierce, greeted him at the door. "Good morning, Sheriff Henry. The carriage is ready. Please wait one moment."
"Good morning, Pierce. Thank you," Henry said with a nod.
A moment later, a sleek, two-door Brougham carriage, pulled by two fine horses, was brought around to the front.
"Wright," the butler instructed the driver, "you will follow Sheriff Henry's orders on the road."
"Yes, sir," the driver replied smartly.
"Thank you, Pierce. Goodbye," Henry said, and turned his horse to leave, the carriage following behind.
He made a quick stop at his own house to grab his suitcase, then continued on to Linda's. The lawyer, Benjamin, was among the small group of people who had come to see them off.
By 7 AM, the party was on its way. Ten riders and two carriages, a total of fifteen people and fourteen horses. Pete's wife, Mary, rode with them. She was the daughter of a rancher, an expert horsewoman with the fiery red hair and pale skin of her Scottish ancestors.
Linda and the two children rode in the Mayor's luxurious carriage. The smooth suspension rocked them gently, and Andre and Becky, nestled among the plush cushions, were soon lulled to sleep.
Charles and Owen rode ahead, scouting the road a half-mile and a full mile out. The sky was clear, the weather perfect for travel.
After Henry's party had left, Old Whitey went to the Mayor's manor.
"Have your patrols keep a special eye on Linda's and Henry's houses for the next few days," William said after hearing his report.
Just as Whitey was about to leave, the butler, Pierce, entered the study. "Sir, there was a major incident at the McKinley smelting plant last night. A man named Larson is here. Should I show him in?"
William and Whitey exchanged a look. "Send him to the garden," William said. "I'll be right out."
He turned to Whitey. "Come. Let's hear what he has to say."
In the garden, they met Larson, a young man in his twenties who worked in the logistics department at the McKinley mine.
"The shooting started around 8 PM last night," Larson reported, his voice trembling. "It went on for a long time, and then we heard explosions."
"Later, about twenty of us went with the logistics chief, a man named Colm, to the smelting plant. The place was deserted. Everyone was gone. There was a huge hole blown in the fence, and they said a large portion of the silver ingots and military supplies from the warehouse were missing."
"The smelting room was completely destroyed."
"There were still a lot of valuables in the main warehouse. A dozen of the workers mutinied. They killed Colm and a few of the other McKinley loyalists, loaded up twelve wagons with supplies, and fled into the night."
"The mine is shut down today. By the time I left, miners and guards were coming down from the mountain, gathering at the plant, waiting for someone from the McKinley family to come and take charge. But no one has shown up."
"What about the cavalry?" William asked. "There should have been a company of over two hundred men. Did you see any of them?"
Larson shook his head. "No, sir. On my way here, I saw a lot of blood on the road leading up from the factory, and… some body parts. But not a single corpse. The road beyond that was clean."
"Pierce," William said, his voice grim, "take Mr. Larson inside and see that he gets some rest."
After they had left, William turned to Whitey. "Who do you think is responsible?"
"It's not the Palermos," Whitey said. "They don't have the strength for an operation like this. As for anyone else, I can't say."
"We also received reports of gunfire and explosions from the direction of Dwyer Manor yesterday," William said. "And they failed to pick up their supplies. You'll take some deputies and ride out to the manor. Find out what's happened."
"I'll see to it at once," Whitey said, and departed.
William then sent for his private investigator, Raphael.
In the McKinley manor in Denver, Brendan's brow was furrowed. "Sean still hasn't replied to my telegram from yesterday. I want you to take ten guards, join Richard Mellon's escort, and once you are halfway there, ride ahead to Dwyer Manor at full speed. I want a report by this afternoon."
The steward, Elendt, bowed and left to carry out his orders.