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A handsome man in a bespoke charcoal-gray suit came in, made brief eye contact, just the barest hint of a smile. We kept glancing at each other, pretending we weren't. "You like him?" she murmured as she strolled back in, catching me glancing at him in the mirror. "Nice looking," I agreed, as I applied her color to my lips. "And a bit of mischief in his smile." "Let's go talk to him." I took a deep breath, took my last swallow of my mojito, and followed her over. I sat on his other side. "Hello, stranger," she smiled at him. "My friend Sarah likes you." "I like her too," he smiled at me. I blushed. Would it really be this easy? "Feeling generous toward a couple of escorts for the evening?" He looked at her, seemingly at a loss for her meaning. Finally, "Oh!" He blushed a little. "Um, I have to meet someone in a couple of hours, but maybe until then." Chris glanced at me in the mirror; we nodded silently. Chris took his arm, We all slid from our barstools. He left a generous payment. ”Carrying Rose of Sharon Robinson.“Heading?”“Almost due south, a little east.”“Away from their own people.”That was about the extent of our palaver for this leg. Cayuse wasn’t much of a talker and there wasn’t much to talk about. Good chance Rosie was dead by now. Or if the Chippewas were keeping her alive, it was only for the purpose of rape and torture. Three of them and one of her.I thought back. It had been one day shy of two weeks since Cayuse and I had trailed them to that smokeless campsite. I’d had reservations about coldblooded killing. I’d been wrong.Well, they were three dead men. Rosie, we’d have to see.Cayuse and I rode steady. We’d rest our mounts and the packhorse when they needed it. We were two days behind and would have been losing ground except for Rosie and that sodbuster plow horse.It felt more like revenge than rescue. More like stealth than speed. When we did catch up ... well the Chippewas could leave Rosie and probably outrun us, but they couldn’t outlast us..
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