Nest of Vipers (9781101613283) (11 page)

TWENTY-TWO

The question perched on the tip of Brad's mind, then flew to his lips.

“Colonel, is the army interested in buying any new mounts for the cavalry?”

Meacham drew himself up straight in his chair. His neatly trimmed sideburns and short-cropped hair seemed to reflect the stiffness of his military bearing. He was broad-chested and square-shouldered, with a ruddy face that seemed chiseled out of the same cloth as his uniform.

“Why, as a matter of fact,” he said, “I've just contracted with a rancher here in Cheyenne. Perhaps you know him, Jordan Killdeer. He raises fine horses. I've issued him a purchase order just this morning for two hundred head to be delivered in sixty days time to Fort Laramie, subject to my approval, of course.”

“Hmm. That's a sizeable order,” Brad said.

“Mr. Killdeer did not seem fazed by my request. Do you know the man?”

“Yes,” Brad said.

“You raise horses, do you?”

“A few,” Brad said. “Is there any chance you will be needing more?”

“Matter of fact, we may. There is trouble up north with the Sioux and Cheyenne, still, and General Crook may be stepping up the campaigns. So we are prepared to meet the challenges should they develop.”

“Well, Colonel, thanks for your time. If I'm in Fort Laramie, I will surely call on you again, with your permission, of course.”

“Always glad to talk horses with a breeder,” Meacham said.

He rose from his chair. “Good-bye, sir. Sorry we could not do business, but I'm sure you understand.”

“I do,” Brad said. “Good-bye, Colonel.”

The colonel walked over to the lieutenant who gave him his room key. The two left the lobby. Brad went back to the divan.

“I'll wait for you outside the saloon,” he told them. “As soon as you come out, we'll leave for Wild Horse Valley.”

The setting sun painted shadows on the street and the sides of buildings as Brad looked out the window.

“We'll wait until just after dusk,” he said.

“Killdeer will be at the saloon right after sunset,” Wilbur said.

An hour later, with a faint glow in the sky, Wilbur and Julio walked out of the hotel and down to the saloon. Brad waited another fifteen minutes, then left the hotel. He unwrapped the reins of their horses and strolled down to the saloon. He tied the reins to the hitch rail, then crossed the street and stood in the shadows between two buildings. He watched men ride up and dismount, then enter the saloon. A few minutes later, he heard musicians tune up their instruments inside the Silver Queen.

He did not see the horses that he had seen at Killdeer's ranch. He reasoned that they were probably in back of the saloon, along with Killdeer's. It didn't matter. He was ready to leave as soon as Wilbur and Julio emerged from the Silver Queen.

The sky darkened and stars began to appear like tiny gems on a charcoal sky.

The waiting seemed an eternity as the evening breeze stiffened and blew through the chimney between the buildings where Brad stood. He buttoned his jacket up tight and tightened his hat's grip on his head.

He waited with his hands in his pockets. One of them stroked the swatch of blue flannel and it gave him some comfort as the minutes crawled along like snails in a torpor.

TWENTY-THREE

One of the bartenders looked up as Wilbur and Julio came in through the bat-wing doors of the saloon. There were only three men at the bar and two more at a table.

“Why, howdy, Wil,” the bartender said. “long time no see.”

“Howdy, Ed,” Wilbur said. “Jordan back in his office?”

“Sure is. With Dugan and Hemphill. Just holler if you need anything.”

“Sure will, Ed,” Wilbur said. Then he turned to Julio. “Follow me,” he said.

There was a dark hallway beyond the bar leading to a back room and door. Near the end, lamplight cast an ochre glow across the hall and shimmered on the wall. Wilbur walked to the light and turned into the office, with Julio right behind him.

The outer office had a small divan, two chairs, a table, an ashtray, and a lamp. Seated at the table was Cletus Hemphill, a large beer-bellied man with a perpetually frowning mouth, close-set porcine eyes, and a pair of puffy, wet lips. His hat was off, hanging on a clothes tree in the corner. He was playing solitaire with a deck of worn cards that were stained with tobacco, whiskey, beer, and spittle. Hemphill had a wad of chewing tobacco in his mouth. He looked up when the two men entered the room. His small eyes narrowed as he recognized Wilbur.

“What you doin' here, Wilbur?” Hemphill said. “I thought you was up in the mountains.”

“I got a message for Jordan, Clete,” Wilbur said. “Can I see him?”

“What you doin' with a Mex in tow?”

“He's the messenger. I'm just escortin' him. I'd like to talk with Jordan.”

Hemphill put down the cards in his hand, setting them to the side of the piles of open-faced ones.

“He's in there. Just knock three times and wait for him to let you in. Him or Toby. Toby's in there with him.”

“Thanks, Clete,” Wilbur said.

He walked to the door of the inner office and knocked three times.

“Who is it?” called out a voice that was Toby Dugan's.

“It's Wilbur Campbell.”

“It's open. Walk in,” Toby said through the door.

Wilbur opened the door. He and Julio walked in to a large room with a pair of cheap desks, one of them piled high with receipts and bills of lading. At the other one sat Jordan Killdeer.

“Wil,” Jordan said. “What in hell are you doing down here? Who in hell's watchin' after the horses?”

Jordan was a short stocky man with coal-black hair that hung straight down. He had an aquiline nose and bright brown eyes set symmetrically parallel in a face that looked hammered out of copper. Toby was a tall, lanky man with a scarred pair of lips that were fixed in a constant snarl. He wore a thin muslin shirt stained with unknown substances. A hand-rolled cigarette dangled from his mouth. He sat in a chair next to the cluttered desk.

“Nobody's watching the herd, Jordan,” Wilbur said. “Jack's in the Denver jail and they let me go so's I could bring Julio down here to give you a message.”

“This is some kind of shit,” Jordan said. He looked at Julio. “Who in hell are you?” he asked.

“I am Julio Aragon. I got a message for you.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the folded note. He stepped forward with his hand outstretched and handed the note to Jordan.

Jordan opened the slip of paper and read it. He read it twice. His face did not betray his emotions. His expression was as impassive as stone.

“Who in the hell is this Brad Storm?” he asked Wilbur.

“He's . . .” Wilbur hesitated and looked at Julio. Julio's eyes narrowed and then opened.

“Yeah, go on,” Jordan said.

“He's the man who jumped us and another man carted Jack off to jail down in Denver.”

“This is a hell of a thing,” Jordan said.

“I just brought the messenger down, Jordan. I got to go back with him or that herd's going to be gone.”

“Yeah, that's what the note says.”

Jordan looked over at Toby.

“We got big trouble, Toby,” he said.

“Anything we can't handle?” Toby said.

“I'm thinking about it,” Jordan said. “Some sonofabitch has stolen our horses and is holding a gun to my head to buy 'em back.”

“Buy 'em back? They're our horses, ain't they?”

“Wil, something smells about this whole deal,” Jordan said.

“You know all I know,” Wilbur said. “More, because I don't know what the note says.”

“Read it,” Jordan said and thrust the note at Wilbur.

Wilbur read it.

Jordan turned to Julio.

“Do you know what the note says?” he asked.

“I do not read,” Julio said.

“Does that mean you can't read or you just don't read?” Jordan asked Julio.

“I do not know how to read or write,” Julio said.

“A hell of a messenger you are, Mex.”

Julio said nothing.

Wilbur read the note again. “I guess he's got you by the short hairs, Jordan,” he said.

“Who is this man that sent the note? Is he a gunslinger? A rustler? I never heard of him,” Jordan said.

“I don't know who he is, Jordan. I never saw him before. But he had men with him and he got the drop on us. One of 'em took Jack off to jail.”

“Who was the other man?” Jordan asked.

Wilbur shrugged.

“I don't know,” he said. His legs started to shake and he handed the note back to Jordan.

“Was he the law?” Jordan asked.

“I don't know, Jordan. I just know he said he was going to put Jack in jail and if I didn't agree to come down here, I'd probably be in jail now, too.”

“This is just shit,” Jordan said, his anger rising so that the bronze of his face was turning vermilion.

“You tell this man I'll pay his price,” Jordan said. “But if there's anything squirrelly about the deal, me and my men will just blow him clean to hell. You got that?”

“Sure, Jordan. Far as I know, this man just wants to make a little quick money.”

“What do you have to say, Mex?” Jordan asked. He glared at Julio.

“This man, this Storm, he just hire me to look after the horses. I don't know nothing.”

“No, you sure as hell don't,” Jordan said, a look of disgust on his face.

“Sorry, Jordan. I had no choice,” Wilbur said.

“Get the hell out of here, Wilbur. Me and the boys will ride to the valley and deal with this Storm feller. Get your ass out of my sight.”

Wilbur turned to go.

“Hold on a minute,” Jordan said.

Wilbur turned back around. He tried to look meek and wished his legs would stop trembling.

“You tell this Storm I'll pay his price, but he's got to get Jack out of jail and have him there when I come down. You got that?”

“Yeah, I got it, Jordan.”

“Now, get a-goin', Wilbur, you sorry sonofabitch.”

Wilbur and Julio left the office. He heard Jordan pound the desk with his fist and cringed. He could feel the anger come through the walls and slap him on the back.

Julio and Wilbur walked straight to the bat-wing doors and out into the night.

“Whew,” Wilbur said when they were outside. “I thought he was goin' to draw down on us and put out our lamps.”

“He wants the horses more than he wants to kill us,” Julio said.

They went to their horses. Brad emerged from the shadowy passageway between the two buildings and joined them.

Wilbur started to say something.

“We'll talk about it on the way,” Brad said. “We got to light a shuck before Killdeer's had a chance to think about my offer.”

The three men mounted up and rode at a brisk pace out of town. Wilbur kept looking back, and so did Julio. Brad stared straight ahead at the empty road. There were no travelers at that time of the night. The stars were out and the moon had not yet risen.

The first part of Brad's plan had been executed. Now he had to think ahead and plan the next stage if he was going to corral Jordan and bring him to justice.

When they were well clear of Cheyenne, Brad slowed his horse so that both men could ride up alongside him.

“Did Jordan accept my offer?” he asked Wilbur.

“He said he would bring the money. He wants you to have Jack Trask there, though.”

Brad chuckled.

“Oh, he'll see Jack Trask all right. In jail.”

“You're not going to give him all those horses, are you?” Wilbur asked.

“No, those horses will go back to their rightful owners.”

“What about Jordan? He'll have some tough men with him. You won't get him as easy as you got me and Jack.”

“No, I expect not,” Brad said.

And that was all Brad said that night about Jordan Killdeer. His mind was working and he was thinking about Felicity.

He was also thinking about vengeance.

And the two other men who had run away when he killed Abel Avery.

They still had to pay the piper.

He had one thought on his mind as they rode through the night, heading toward Denver.

Revenge.

Revenge for Felicity.

TWENTY-FOUR

It was near dusk when Gene Trask, Curly, and Nels reached the rim of the road leading down into Wild Horse Canyon. Halfway down, Trask slipped the halter off the lead horse and rapped it on the rump with the lead rope. The horse galloped down into the valley. Curly and Nels yelled and slapped a couple of the horses and they all followed the lead horse.

Then, they all rode down into the mass of horses grazing some distance from the corral.

“Funny,” Gene said. “I don't see no smoke.”

“Ner a fire,” Nels said. “And, it ain't dark yet. Wilbur and Jack should still be a-brandin'.”

“Ain't no horses in the corral, neither,” Curly said.

They rode over to the empty corral. Gene saw the ring of stones and the ashes in the fire pit.

“No runnin' irons here, and the fire's been out for some time,” he said.

“What the hell . . . ?” Nels said as he, too, saw the remains of the fire.

Curly looked around at the herd, which was stretched from one end of the long valley to the other. All he saw were horses.

“They ain't on horseback neither,” Curly said.

“This is mighty peculiar,” Gene said. Then he cupped his hands together and shouted out his brother's name. “Jack,” he yelled.

His voice echoed off the bluffs and died out in a deep silence.

“Let's ride over to where they keep their ridin' horses and lean-tos,” Nels said. “Maybe they're both sick.”

They all rode over to where the creek curled out of the timber and ran alongside the valley floor. A few horses drank at the stream. These looked up and turned their heads, then dipped their noses back into the water.

It was quiet when they entered the timber. They saw the small log structure that they used as a tack room. There were two lean-tos with bedrolls inside, under the roof of balsam, fir, and spruce.

“Jack,” Gene called.

“Hey, Wilbur, where you at?” hollered Curly.

“They ain't here,” Nels said. “They ain't been here all day.”

Gene dismounted and let his reins fall to the ground. He walked over to the log hut and swung the door open. He looked inside. It was dark and there were some running irons hanging on pegs, some harnesses, a hammer, a keg of nails, old wooden canteens, some halters and bridles dangling from wooden pegs, a pair of small crudely built sawhorses for saddles. These were empty.

He walked over to the corral where there were two horses. Two wagons stood nearby. He looked inside the supply wagon bed. It was empty.

“Strange,” he said when he walked back and picked up his reins.

He looked at Nels and Curly for a long moment.

“Looks like they just up and left,” he said.

“Why?” asked Curly.

“Damned if I know. Their horses are gone and them two in the corral ain't had no feed in some days. There's water in the trough. Why in hell would they just leave and keep these draft horses corralled?”

No one said anything for several moments.

“Well, they ain't here,” Nels said. “And it looks like they rode off on their own.”

“Let's start checkin' the tracks around here,” Gene said. “Maybe they'll tell us somethin'.”

Nels and Curly dismounted and ground-tied their horses. All three men fanned out and, hunched over, scanned the ground around the lean-tos.

Curly looked inside one of the shelters and then stooped over, picked something up.

“This here's Jack's rifle,” he said.

He held up a Spencer carbine.

Nels went to the other lean-to and brought out a rifle and scabbard.

“And here's Wilbur's Remington,” he said. “Now, why in hell would they saddle up and ride off somewhere without their rifles?”

Nels looked at footprints. The sky was turning dark as the sun sank below the high peaks.

“There's more tracks here than there should be,” he said. “Like someone walked over here with either Jack or Wilbur.”

“How many?” Nels asked.

“I see one extry track,” Gene said.

Nels and Curly looked at each other.

“You think . . .” Nels said.

“That Sidewinder feller,” Curly said.

“What?” Gene said.

“Them detectives we run into,” Nels said. “They must have come here and . . .”

“Arrested Jack and Wil?” Gene said.

“Yeah,” Nels said. “Bastards.”

“This place is giving me goose bumps,” Curly said. “It's like a—a ghost camp.”

Shadows began to slide into the timber and across the valley.

The three men climbed back on their horses and rode out of the trees and onto the grassy valley.

“There must be better'n two hunnert horses here,” Curly said.

“At least,” Nels said.

“We better get the hell out of here and ride up to Cheyenne. Jordan's got to know about this.”

“He'll be madder'n a wet hen,” Curly said.

“Well, I'm mad, too,” Gene said. “My brother's probably in jail.”

“We could go through Denver and find out,” Nels said. “Before we ride up to Cheyenne.”

Gene thought about it.

“Yeah, we might better do just that,” Gene said. “Then, we can tell Jordan so's he can do something about it.”

“It's that Sidewinder,” Curly said as they rode up the sloping road to the tabletop.

Neither Nels nor Gene said anything.

The night sky began to form, stealing away the blue, and blackening in the east as a few stars became visible, winking and blinking like tiny diamonds. A breeze flew down from the lofty reaches where the snow chilled it and made them button up their jackets and pull their collars up as they rode toward the gathering darkness in the silence of their separate thoughts.