Nest of Vipers (9781101613283) (21 page)

FORTY-FOUR

The prisoners lay asleep in their bedrolls when Brad rode up with Jordan and his horse in tow. Firelight flickered on the blankets of the sleepers. Joe was sitting on the log near the fire with a rifle across his lap. Brad saw that Julio and Wilbur were also asleep, and their blankets danced with black shadows, orange and blue tongues of light.

Joe looked up as Brad approached.

“Is that Jordan's body on his horse?” he asked as he stood up, his voice pitched low.

Flames from the fire scrawled arabesques of color across his face, glanced off the metal and wood of his rifle like living wraiths of multicolored light.

“No, Joe,” Brad said as he swung out of the saddle, “he's alive. Got a busted arm and a few bruises and welts is all.”

Joe swore in disbelief.

He walked to the side of Sugarfoot and looked at Jordan's swollen face. He was out cold. There were puffy lumps under his eyes and one of his earlobes was the size of a small peach.

“You got him trussed up like a sack of meal,” Joe whispered.

“I wanted him alive,” Brad said. “I want to see him hang for his crimes.”

“I'll lay out his bedroll and help you get him down,” Joe said. “Tired?”

“Beyond tired,” Brad said. “My muscles are locked up tight, and every bone in my body is screaming. I could use a cup of strong coffee and a few hours of sleep.”

“Maybe some oil for your joints, too,” Joe said.

He walked back and untied Jordan's bedroll and laid it near the lumps of prisoners. He and Brad lifted the limp body of Jordan out of the saddle after Brad loosened the ropes under the horse's belly and the one attached the saddle horn.

They carried Jordan to his tarp and lay him down.

“He's still breathing, anyway,” Joe whispered as he pulled the blanket over Jordan.

“Get me one of those lengths of rope I left back there,” Brad said. “I'm going to tie his feet together.”

“Sure,” Joe said. He went quickly to where Brad had dropped the ropes and picked up one of them. When he got back, Brad was kneeling at the feet of Jordan. Joe handed him the rope.

Brad lifted Jordan's boots and wrapped rope around the ankles. He tied them tight. Jordan did not awaken.

“That ought to hold him,” Brad said. He stood up.

“He ain't goin' nowhere soon, that's for sure,” Joe said. “There's still coffee left in the pot. Probably cold by now. I'll set the pot on the fire and stoke it up.”

The two men walked to the fire ring. Joe put more wood on the hot coals, then set the coffeepot where the flames could reach the bottom. They sat down while the horses stood hipshot, staring at the fire.

“Well, Brad,” Joe said, “we got almost all we need. As soon it gets light, I'll take Wilbur down to the valley with me and I'll start writin' down brands to take to court.”

“You trust Wilbur?” Brad asked as he rubbed his hands together over the fire to warm them.

“I think he's a changed man,” Joe said. “What about you?”

“Pendergast might want to hire him,” Brad said.

“You'd recommend him?”

“Yeah, I would. I think Wil might make a good detective. There's nothing like a reformed criminal to track down others of his kind.”

“You may be right. He'll be a big help to me in the morning when I check those brands.”

“Oh?”

“The ones that are changed. He can tell me what they were, or what kind of running iron he and Trask used so I can figure it out.”

“Big job,” Brad said.

“With Wilbur's help, we can go through the horses pretty fast,” Joe said.

They drank coffee and talked in low tones. Then Brad and Joe unsaddled the two horses and hobbled them with the others. Brad said good night and went to his bedroll. He was surprised to see his rifle lying half under it.

“Julio got your rifle,” Joe said, “and your canteens after the fight. He chased out a couple of rattlers where you was hidin'.”

Brad chuckled as he pulled the blanket over him. “I can take the watch when you get tired, Joe.”

“I'll wake Julio in a couple of hours. You get some sleep. You got to be worn to a frazzle.”

“I am,” Brad said and closed his eyes as Joe walked back toward the fire. He heard him drop more wood on the fire. The wood crackled as it released gases and sparks into the night air.

One of the prisoners droned on in a soft snore and Brad fell into a deep sleep.

When he woke up, Joe and Wilbur were gone. Pale light illuminated the eastern sky and shafts of light filtered through the pines. Julio sat by the fire and Brad smelled the enticing aroma of coffee.

He threw off his blanket and stretched. He strapped on his gun belt and walked over to the fire.

“Morning, Julio.”

“Morning.”

“All the prisoners are still asleep.”

“They are tired from the wrestling,” Julio said.

“The wrestling?”

“They still think they can untie themselves and run away.”

Brad sat down. Julio poured him a cup of coffee.

“They are no trouble,” Julio said. “They have the ropes on the hands and the feet. You caught Jordan, eh?”

“You saw him?”

Julio nodded.

“He give out the moans when I wake up. I give him some water and he go back to sleep. His face look like he in a big fight.”

“He was in a fight,” Brad said.

“You did not kill him,” Julio said.

“The rope will kill him,” Brad said.

Julio grinned wide. He poured himself some coffee.

“We get our horses back, no?” Julio said.

“When we finish up with putting these rascals in jail, we can get our horses and go back home.”

“That is good,” Julio said.

Later, Julio and Brad rousted the outlaws out of their sleep and sat them up in a circle where Julio indicated they should sit.

“We will feed them now,” Julio said. “You feed two. I feed two.”

“We have enough grub?” Brad asked.

“They have grub in the saddlebags. There is much food.”

Brad sipped his coffee. Then he got up and walked over to where Jordan was still curled up in his bedroll. He knelt down and shook him.

“Wake up, Killdeer,” he said. “Get something to eat. Are you thirsty?”

“Yeah, I'm thirsty and I hurt all over.”

“You'll live,” Brad said. “For a while, anyway.”

“You bastard. You ain't seen the last of me yet. I still got an ace or two to play.”

“You're finished, Killdeer. Your thieving days are over.”

“We'll see,” Jordan said.

Brad helped him sit and then get to his feet. He forced Jordan to hop over to the circle of men and sat him down hard.

“Howdy, Boss,” Cletus said. “Sorry you got caught up with the rest of us.”

Jordan huffed up with a lungful of air and just glared at Brad.

“He beat you up pretty bad, looks like,” Toby said. “We didn't do too good, either. Them boys plumb snookered us.”

“CJ will fix this,” Jordan said.

“Yeah,” Toby said.

Brad was kneeling down and picked up hardtack and jerky from a flour sack. He half heard what the men were saying, but put no importance on any of it.

He took food to the prisoners. Julio was already feeding Lenny and Terry by hand. He gave them both sips of coffee when they finished chewing.

Brad fed Toby and Cletus. He looked at Jordan.

“You hungry, Killdeer?” he said.

“I can't eat just now. My lips are all swolled, and I got so much pain I don't know if I could chew.”

“Coffee, then?” Brad asked.

“Maybe. A little.”

Brad picked up the same cup he'd used to serve Cletus and Toby in between bites. He held it to Jordan's lips and tilted it slightly.

Jordan's mouth filled with a tablespoon of coffee. He winced at the pain in his lips, but swallowed the coffee.

“More,” he said.

Brad gave him more coffee as Toby and Cletus looked at their boss.

“Better eat, Jordan,” Cletus said.

“Later,” Jordan said.

Inside of an hour, Julio and Brad had finished feeding the prisoners. All except Jordan, who looked like a battered prizefighter with a broken arm.

“We got to piss,” Toby said.

“Piss your pants,” Brad said. “You're staying right where you are. All of you.”

The prisoners cursed Brad. Jordan merely glared at him with a burning hatred sparking in his slitted eyes.

Joe and Wilbur returned in late afternoon. Joe had a tablet in his hand when he dismounted.

“Get all of them?” Brad asked.

“I think so. Most of 'em are brands I know from my work with the breeders association.”

“Is this good evidence to take into court?” Brad asked.

“It's all we need. We can bring some of the horses down when we need them as evidence. I'll get the judge to issue subpoenas once he sets a court date, and then I'll round up the witnesses we talked to at Arapaho Gulch and the lumber camp.”

“Will you need my help with those subpoenas?”

“Nope, Brad. I know where to go and who to give 'em to. Your job is just about finished, I reckon.”

“Good. Julio and I want to get our own horses and head back to Leadville. Unless you need them?”

“I don't need 'em,” Joe said.

Wilbur sat down after he finished unsaddling the horses and hobbling them in the timber with the others. He looked at Jordan for a long time.

“Traitor,” Jordan hissed.

Wilbur turned his back on him and joined Brad and Joe. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It came away wet with sweat.

“A lot of horses they stole hadn't had their brands changed yet, including yours, Brad. So, they wouldn't work as evidence.”

“Good. I'm anxious to get back to my own ranch, and Julio's wife is probably throwing plates at the wall by now.”

Julio laughed.

“She does not throw the plates,” he said. “She pulls hard on the cow's teats.”

Wilbur and Joe laughed.

Later, Brad walked into the timber with Joe.

“We could start down toward Denver any time now,” Joe said. “I got all I need.”

“Let's ride, then,” Brad said. “It might be slow going and we have to make sure none of those boys get the itch to run.”

“Once we get moving, we can keep a close eye on them.”

“Okay, let's saddle up and start loading bodies into saddles,” Brad said.

“Boy, CJ will be pleased,” Joe said as they walked to where they had stored their saddles and bridles.

“What did you say?” Brad asked.

“I said Cliff will be right happy to see we broke up the gang,” Joe said.

“No, you didn't say that,” Brad said. “You said something like CJ.”

“Yeah. Cliff Jameson. Some call him CJ.”

“Well, I'll be damned,” Brad said as he leaned over to pick up his bridle.

“What?” Joe asked.

“Nothing, Joe. I'll let you know if there's anything to it.”

“When?”

“After we put these bastards in jail.”

It took more than an hour to saddle up all the horses and another half hour or so to get the prisoners in their saddles. Brad tied Jordan to his saddle the same way he had lashed him to his horse before.

The lights of Denver glistened in the early dusk as the procession dipped below Lookout Mountain on their way back to the city.

Brad was leading Jordan's horse well behind the others, who had moved at a fair pace all the way to the foothills.

All during the ride down, Brad's mind had raced as he went over the conversation he had overheard. Something Jordan had said about having an ace in the hole. And, more than once, Jordan had said that it was not over yet. He had some plan in his mind, or he did, indeed, have an ace in the hole.

Then, when Joe had mentioned that CJ would be pleased, it jarred loose the buried conversation between Jordan and his men.

Jordan had mentioned CJ.

Then Joe had said that some people called Cliff by his initials.

This was either an odd coincidence or it meant something.

Brad knew what he had to do when he got to Denver. Just the thought of it made the bile stir in his stomach. Something was wrong if Jordan Killdeer thought he could beat the charges and beat the hangman.

The prairie disappeared in shadow and the lights of Denver wavered in the pale light of dusk as if it were a sunken town just drifting below the dark waters of a calm sea.

And the knot in Brad's stomach grew hard as a balled-up fist.

FORTY-FIVE

Joe booked his and Brad's prisoners into the Denver jail. Jordan Killdeer was taken to the infirmary where a doctor set his broken arm and put it in a plaster cast.

Afterward, Joe, Brad, Wilbur, and Julio put all the outlaws' horses into the livery stable near the stockyards. Then the four of them rode back to the Brown Palace Hotel and entered the dining room.

After a waiter took their orders, Brad turned to Joe.

“Let me have a look at those brands, Joe, the ones you wrote down on a tablet.”

“Sure,” Joe said. He reached inside his jacket and pulled the folded notepapers from his pocket.

He handed them to Brad while Wilbur and Julio drank from their water glasses.

Brad scanned the list once, then read the brands again more slowly.

“What's Cliff's brand, Joe?” Brad asked.

“It's CJ. That's what he calls his ranch and that's the brand he puts on his horses.”

“Well, there's no CJ brand listed here,” Brad said.

Joe's face mirrored his surprise.

“What? Let me take a look.” Joe took the notepapers from Brad and read them over twice.

“I'm dumbfounded,” he said. “I was sure that Cliff had horses stolen from him. Maybe they were sold and just weren't there.”

“Don't try to make excuses for Cliff Jameson,” Brad said. “I think he's in this thing up to his neck.”

“Maybe,” Joe said, “but how do you prove it?”

“I have a hunch,” Brad said.

“A hunch? There you go again, Brad. What's your hunch?”

“You'll see. Let's get some grub in our bellies and then I'm going to the telegraph office.”

Joe looked at Wilbur.

“You remember seeing the CJ brand on any of the horses you and Trask put to the running iron?” Joe asked.

“Nope. Don't recall,” Wilbur said. “And that would have been a hard one to change.”

“How would you change it?” Brad asked.

Wilbur thought about it for a minute or two.

“Well, it'd be tricky, but it could be done, I s'pose.”

“That's what I thought,” Brad said. “Cliff never had any horses stolen by Killdeer.”

“He's the president of the breeders association, for God's sake,” Joe said.

“Seems he's playing both sides of the field,” Brad said.

“I can't believe it,” Joe said.

“We'll see,” Brad said.

After they finished their supper, all of them followed Brad to the telegraph office. There, he sent a telegram, which he showed to the others before he had the clerk send it.

The telegram read:

COLONEL BEACHAM

FORT LARAMIE, WYOMING

SIR: CAN YOU TELL ME THE NAME OF THE PERSON WHO DIRECTED YOU TO PURCHASE HORSES FROM JORDAN KILLDEER? IMPORTANT.

HARRY PENDERGAST

DENVER DETECTIVE AGENCY

BROWN PALACE HOTEL

DENVER, COLORADO

“What do you expect to learn from the colonel?” Joe asked.

“We'll see,” Brad said.

They walked to the Brown Palace and checked in at the desk, taking four rooms and charging them to the Denver Detective Agency.

“We'll see Harry in the morning,” Brad said. “Wilbur, I'm going to trust you to stay in your room.”

“I ain't goin' nowhere,” Wil said. “This whole mess is getting real interestin'.”

Joe laughed.

“Wait'll you meet Pendergast, Wil. He might offer you a job. On my recommendation, of course.”

“I—I don't know what to say,” Wil said.

“Say good night,” Brad said. “I'll see you all the morning, say eight o'clock? For breakfast.”

The others assented as they took their keys and walked upstairs to find their rooms.

They all carried their bedrolls, saddlebags, and rifles with them. Brad stayed at the desk for a few more moments.

Brad told the clerk to put their horses up for the night at the nearest livery.

As he ascended the stairs, Brad glanced down the mezzanine. The detective agency's offices were dark. He went to his room on the second floor, the one Harry always retained for him when he was on a case. He went inside and dropped his rifle and gear on the table. Then he pulled out the swatch of blue flannel cloth that had been part of Felicity's nightgown.

He sat down and stroked the cloth in the palm of his hand.

Tears welled up in his eyes and flowed down his cheeks.

“I haven't forgotten you, darling,” he whispered.

Then he got up, lit the lamp with the matches and box beside it.

His tears dried on his face when he lay down, and he had the faint taste of salt in his mouth as he dropped off to sleep.

He dreamed of Felicity, but in the landscape of his mind, she was a small girl skipping rope and playing with a doll that resembled him. She spoke to the doll in a strange language that he could not understand, and there was a rope around the doll's neck. She pulled on the rope to make the boy doll dance and then the face of the doll changed and became an Indian's face. The Indian's face was covered with war paint and the doll brandished a rifle that turned into a buzzing rattlesnake.

Someone in the dream screamed.

It was his own scream that Brad heard, deep in the dark and shadowy world of the dream where everything seemed real, but in truth, none of it was.