No guts, no glory . . .
Brad pulled on the leather thong around his neck until the rattles were just out of sight inside his shirt.
Abel spread his legs in a gunfighter’s stance and held his arms out like a pair of parentheses, ready to draw.
“Snake,” Brad shouted and looked down at Abel’s feet.
He shook the rattles, and Abel jumped three inches off the floor. His face drained of blood as he looked around. The two men at the table scraped their chairs and lifted their boots off the floor. They, too, were looking for a rattlesnake crawling around somewhere.
Abel’s right hand streaked for his gun.
Before Abel could clear leather, Brad snatched his pistol from its holster. He thumbed back the hammer on the rise as he brought the barrel up to bear on Abel’s gut.
Brad held his breath and squeezed the trigger.
The .45 Colt bucked in his hands as its blue-black snout spewed lead, orange sparks, and white smoke.
The bullet smashed through Abel’s belt buckle, cracked into his spine, and blew a hole the size of a small grapefruit in his back. His blood spattered the two men at the table, Curly and Nels.
Abel slumped to the floor, wild red blood gushing from the hole in his stomach. The stench from his ruptured intestines filled the air.
Berkley titles by Jory Sherman
The Vigilante Novels
THE VIGILANTE
SIX-GUN LAW
SANTA FE SHOWDOWN
John Savage Novels
THE SAVAGE GUN
THE SAVAGE TRAIL
THE SAVAGE CURSE
SAVAGE HELLFIRE
SAVAGE VENGEANCE
The Sidewinder Novels
SIDEWINDER
DEATH RATTLE
SNAKE EYES
NEST OF VIPERS
Other Novels
THE DARK LAND
SUNSET RIDER
TEXAS DUST
BLOOD RIVER
THE SUNDOWN MAN
NEST OF
VIPERS
A SIDEWINDER NOVEL
JORY
SHERMAN
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA
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NEST OF VIPERS
A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with the author
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Berkley edition / December 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Jory Sherman.
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ISBN: 978-1-101-61328-3
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Contents
No guts, no glory . . .
Also by Jory Sherman
Title Page
Copyright
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
FORTY-SEVEN
ONE
The men rode out of a white fluffy cloud.
There were three of them. They all bore scruffy beards on their lean, hatchet-sharp faces. Their eyes burned like dark coals as they urged their horses to the edge of the precipice. Mist rose up around them. Their horses were festooned with ropes and quirts, extra pistols dangling from worn leather holsters. Rifle butts jutted from their saddle scabbards.
They halted their horses at the top of the sheer bluff and looked down at the lush valley below.
One of them lifted the pair of field glasses dangling from his grimy neck and adjusted the lenses after he put them to his eyes. He scanned the valley with the binoculars, from right to left and then back again.
“Most of the horses are in a corral just at the edge of the timber,” Nels Canby said. “Some are grazin’ over by the crick yonder. Maybe two or three.”
“Let me take a look, Nelson,” Abel Avery said. He reached an arm out.
Nels slipped the sling from his neck and handed over the binoculars.
Abel swept the magnifying glasses down at the house where a thin tendril of smoke spiraled from a brick chimney. Then he worked the glasses in a circular motion to take in the barn, a bunkhouse. He stopped as he stared at the bunkhouse for several moments. It, too, had a chimney, but there was no smoke
rising from its metal stack. He lingered there for a few more minutes, then swept his gaze over to the far creek and down to the end of the valley and back up on the other side along the timberline. He paused when he saw a gap in the timber about a half mile down from the house.
“Well?” Canby said as Avery took the glasses away from his eyes.
“Pretty quiet, Nels, like you said it would be.”
“What in hell are we waitin’ for, then?” the man in the middle asked. They called him Curly, but his name was Dan Jimson, and he was as bald as a porcelain darning egg.
“You can see where Storm and his hired hand rode out. They left a pair of swaths right through that wet grass,” Canby said.
“I see it,” Jimson said, “and there, over yonder by the bunkhouse and barn you can see where some of the hands rode out to that cut in the timber.”
“Yeah, that’s where Storm ranges his cattle in the spring and summer,” Canby said.
“So, the nighthawks will be comin’ back to sleep,” Jimson said. “We’d better get to it, if we’re goin’ to rustle them horses.”
Canby turned his horse to the right. The two other men followed him. There was a talus slope where the bluff ran out, and it led right down to the valley. They rode down it, their horses braking with their hooves to keep from sliding or pitching forward. The ground was wet there and the iron horseshoes made little sound.
“Somebody must be in the house,” Nels said. “Man wouldn’t leave his fire a-burnin’.”
“His woman,” Canby said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Well, we got to take care of her,” Nels said. “She might come after us with a scattergun.”
“Or a broom,” Jimson said, a wicked smile on his face.
“Shut your traps,” Canby said. “You boys get your ropes unlimbered at that corral while I check the house.”
“We always get the shit jobs,” Nels said.
“I’m takin’ the dangerous one,” Canby said. “If his woman’s got a Greener a-settin’ by the door, I might just get my balls blowed off.”
“Likely she’ll hit you with a fry pan,” Avery said.
The other two men chuckled under their breaths.
“Shhhh,” Canby warned as they reached the bottom of the wide slope. He turned his horse away from the other two men as they continued riding toward the corral. He kept his horse to a slow walk, straight toward the small porch and the rough-hewn front door. He kept his gaze fixed on the door as he let his horse creep up on the house. He dropped his right hand to his pistol and lightly grasped its butt.
The horses in the corral whickered softly as if murmuring among themselves as the two rustlers approached. Canby stiffened and halted his horse for several seconds. Then, he continued on, making his horse step out, one hoof at a time.
He looked over at Abel and Curly. Abel shook out a coil of rope he had detached from his saddle. He began to build a loop. Curly untied the thong that held one of his ropes and shook it out. It slithered on the ground like a galvanized snake.
Canby rode up to the porch and swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted. He tied his reins around a post that held up one corner of the slanted roof that shaded the porch. He stepped onto the porch from the side and walked to the door.
He stood there for several seconds, his head bent to hear any sound from inside.
He thought he heard something from the rear of the house. Inside. Perhaps the kitchen. The sound was like a soft tinny clang. He touched the latch and lifted it with great care. The latch released, and the door eased open on leather hinges.
Canby tiptoed through the door. The front room was deserted. In the hearth, a fire blazed. The wood crackled as it released pockets of stored gases. He stepped into the center of the room and heard the clank of a pot from somewhere down the hall. In the dim light of the room, he could not see much beyond the doorway that led down a hallway.
He heard another clank and stepped into the hall. He drew his pistol and eased along the passageway. A floorboard creaked under the weight of his boot.
He stopped as he saw a ghostly figure in the room beyond the hallway.
“Brad, is that you?” Felicity called from the kitchen.
Canby held his breath and flattened himself against the wall.
“Brad?”
She held a coffeepot in her hand and stepped toward the hallway, her hazel eyes narrowed to pierce the dimness.
“This isn’t funny, Brad,” she said. Then, she entered the hallway.
“Julio? Is that you?” she said, her voice softer and this time, with a slight quaver to it.
She froze as she saw the shadowy figure of a man pressed against the wall.
Canby stepped away from the boards and the blued steel of his revolver flashed with a glimmer of light.
Felicity screamed when she saw that the man in the hallway was not her husband, Brad Storm.
She heard the click as the man hammered back his pistol to full cock. The sound was a snick that resonated in her brain like a knife blade jabbing into a bone in her skull.
She screamed again and there was rage in her voice, rage and a deep fear that she was going to die.
TWO
Felicity’s scream shattered the morning stillness. It froze Avery in his tracks. He had a horse roped, and Curly was about to slip a halter over its head when he, too, stiffened and his hands stopped in midair.
“What the hell was that?” Avery asked.
Then they heard a loud yell, followed by a banging of metal striking wood.
From the house, they heard the explosion of a pistol shot.
Both men dropped rope and halter and dashed to the corral fence. They clambered over it and heard a series of screams coming from the house.
“Sounds like Canby’s tied into a wildcat,” Avery said.
“A female wildcat,” Curly puffed.
Sunlight gamboled in the pines and shot shadows in long lines from trees, bushes, and structures. The billowing clouds rising amid the high, snow-capped peaks turned pink and salmon as the clouds floated toward the valley.
Abel ran through the open door with Curly on his heels.
Muffled sounds of a struggle came from down the hall.
“Nels, what you got?” Abel asked as he saw two silhouettes tussling in the hall.
“A wild bitch,” Nels replied and locked an arm around Felicity’s neck.
He wrestled her down the hall as Curly and Abel backtracked to the front room. Felicity’s blue flannel nightgown was ripped from the neckline to her belly and her pert breasts glared out from the torn opening in the fabric.
Curly’s eyes bulged as Nels lifted her off her feet and she kicked with both of them. She twisted to free herself, but Nels held her fast.
“I’m going to put the boots to this little tigress,” Nels said and threw her down on the divan.
Felicity screeched at him. “You filthy bastard,” she spat.
Nels slapped her across the mouth. Blood seeped from cracks in her lips.
As Felicity moaned in pain, Nels drew his hunting knife from its scabbard and slit both of her sleeves. He jerked the remainder of her nightgown from her body, then grabbed her right arm and jerked her to the floor.
Felicity lay there on her back as naked as the day she was born.
Abel and Curly stared at the young woman with feral eyes, eyes that glistened with lust.
Nels unbuckled his gun belt, then his pants belt and dropped his trousers to a puddle around his boots.
Felicity opened her eyes and stared upward. She screamed and tried to scoot away from the savage standing above her ready to pounce.
Nels dropped to his knees and smashed her in the jaw with his fist. Felicity’s head snapped backward and struck the hardwood floor. Her eyes went askew, then closed. She was unconscious.
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Nels crawled over her and spread her legs wide. Then he plunged into her as Curly and Abel cheered him on.
“Give it to her, Nels,” Abel gruffed, as he rubbed a hand up and down on his crotch.
“Stick her good,” Curly growled in his throat, his eyes wide and bulging.
Nels finished quickly and rose to his feet. He pulled up his trousers and buckled his belt.
Abel dropped his pants and raped Felicity like some animal coupling in a frenzy.
Then, Curly took his turn and grunted and groaned until Felicity came to and lashed out at him with her open hands. Her fingernails ripped chevrons on his forearms and he grabbed both wrists and pinned her down until he had finished.
Felicity, with swollen lips, cursed the three men.
“My husband will kill you,” she spat, and blood flew out with her spittle.
“You little whore,” Nels said, then drew his knife.
Felicity sat up and scooted backward to get away from Nels.
An evil leer contorted his face and he strode over to her.
She lifted both arms to ward off the blow that she knew was coming. The knife blade flashed as a beam of sunlight streamed through the front window and caught its metal.
Nels slashed Felicity’s arm, and it dropped like a tree limb in a windstorm. Then he stepped in close and slashed her throat in a wide sweep of his arm. The blade sliced her neck and opened her throat. Blood gushed from the gaping wound, and the knife ripped the other side of her neck in its lethal course.
Felicity’s eyes opened wide and she sucked in a breath that went no farther than the gaping wound in her neck. The air formed bubbles of blood that dropped and fomented as she slumped over, her eyes glazed with the final frost of mortality.
She made no sound. Her heart stopped and pumped no more blood through her neck wound.
“That’ll take care of the witness,” Nels snarled.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Abel said.
“We got to get them horses and light a shuck,” Curly said as he buckled on his gun belt.
The three men charged out the front door and left it open.
A deep silence settled in the empty house.
In the corral, a horse whickered.
Nest of Vipers (9781101613283) Page 1
