Nest of Vipers (9781101613283)

by Sherman, Jory

  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.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Larimer Street was bustling at that hour of the evening when Brad, Julio, and Wilbur rode into Denver on the third day of riding down from Cheyenne. Gaslights glowed on their standards, music poured from brightly lit taverns and saloons. Horses and riders, pedestrians and drummers prowled the street looking for excitement and pleasure.

  They rode on past all the tempting establishments until they spotted a hotel at the dimmer part of the street, where the streetlights were set farther apart. They pulled up at the Hotel Windsor, a two-stor
y clapboard building with lamps burning in the lobby and throwing a rectangle of light onto the hitch rings and boardwalk.

  “We stayin’ the night here?” Wilbur asked.

  “As good as any. I have to get some things here on Larimer Street before we ride back up to Wild Horse Valley. Might be here a day or two.”

  “I just hope the beds are soft and there ain’t no bugs,” Wilbur said.

  Julio dismounted and untied his rifle and scabbard, then pulled out his bedroll and saddlebags.

  They tied their horses to the hitch rings set in concrete.

  Brad climbed out of the saddle and pointed down the street where there were no more gaslights.

  “There’s a livery down yonder,” Brad said. “You remember it, don’t you, Julio?”

  “Yes. Hay and grain, one dollar,” he said.

  Brad laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “Finley’s Livery. After we check in, we’ll board our horses then walk up Larimer and get some grub. That okay with you, Wil?”

  “You bet,” Wilbur said. “I could eat porkypine and lizards.”

  “So, you are a mountain man, then,” Brad said.

  “I’m just starved,” Wilbur said. He took his rifle out of its scabbard, slipped his bedroll from behind the cantle, and slung his saddlebags over his shoulder.

  Brad did the same.

  The lobby was empty. A clerk rose up from a chair when he heard them come in and stood there with his green eyeshade and garters on his shirtsleeves. He was in his sixties, with a bald spot in the middle of his head and long gray hair hanging straight at the sides.

  “Three rooms?” he said to Brad as he stood at the counter.

  “Two rooms. One with two beds.”

  The clerk’s eyebrows arched. “Two dollars for the one. Three for the two-bed room.”

  “Kind of high, isn’t it?” Brad said.

  “These are lean times, son, and we’re well below the rates of the fancier hotels up the way.”

  “All right,” Brad said.

  “How many nights?” the clerk asked.

  “I’ll pay for two nights,” Brad said. He dug in his pocket and peeled a sawbuck off the sheaf. He laid the bill on the counter.

  “You all got to sign the register,” the clerk said.

  He pushed an open ledger toward Brad and slid over an inkwell and quill pen. Brad signed his name. Wilbur and Julio stepped up while the clerk was filling out a receipt and both signed the register. Julio wrote down an ‘X.’

  The clerk handed a receipt to Brad, then turned to the rack of cubbyholes and drew out two keys for adjoining rooms.

  “There’s a door between these rooms, so you can visit without going out in the hall. No extra charge. My name is Ben Cobbler and I get off at six in the morning. There’s no room service, but there’s a café up the street, Emmalene’s, and further on, there’s places where you can eat and drink liquor if that’s your pleasure. I don’t recommend any of them, however, but they serve beefsteaks, beer, wine, and spirits.”

  “Thanks, Ben,” Brad said. “We’ll put our stuff in the rooms, then board our horses and get some grub.”

  “You have yourselves a fine evening, gentlemen,” Ben said.

  Brad looked at the numbers on the keys.

  “First floor,” Ben said. “Straight down the hall. The two beds are in room three and the single bed is in four.”

  “Thanks,” Brad said. He handed the key to room four to Julio. He picked up his gear and the three of them walked down to their rooms. Small lamps lit the corridor, but it was still dim and shadowy. Brad opened the door to his and Wilbur’s room.

  “How come I got to stay with you, Brad?” Wilbur asked. “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Not entirely, but you offered to help us, Wil.”

  He opened the door and went inside. The room was dark, with only a scrap of light leaking through the window. Wilbur dropped his gear and found a table with a lamp and a small box of matches. He lifted the chimney and lit the lamp.

  There were two beds side by side. Against one wall there stood a small bureau and next to it a wardrobe with its door open. There was a chamber pot on the floor of the wardrobe. Atop the bureau there were two glasses, a pitcher, and a porcelain bowl. Next to these were small towels, slightly larger than washcloths.

  “You take the bed by the window, Wil,” Brad said. “I’ll take this one.” He dropped his rifle, saddlebags, and bedroll on the bed nearest the door.

  “When are you goin’ to trust me, Brad?” Wil asked as he walked to the farthest bed with his gear.

  “When I’ve arrested Jordan Killdeer,” Brad said.

  “So, I’m really a prisoner still,” Wil said as he draped his saddlebags over the wooden end of the bedstead. He leaned his rifle against the wall next to a small nightstand with a small lamp. The lamp had a frosted glass with roses painted on it. There was also a small box of matches next to that lamp, as well.

  Brad laid his saddlebags under the bed and set his bedroll next to them. Then he leaned his rifle against the flimsy side of his headboard.

  “You’re not in custody, Wil, but you’re kind of on probation for a while.”

  “I hope you keep your part of our bargain,” Wil said.

  “If I let you go right now, Wil, where would you go? You can’t work for Killdeer. He’s going to jail and then to the gallows. You’re not a thief. Maybe you can wrangle horses or cowboy for some rancher. This way, you’ve got room and board.”

  “But no salary,” Wilbur said.

  “No. You might collect something when this job is finished. A bonus, or a reward. I’ll work on it.”

  “That gives me some hope.”

  “Wilbur, there’s always hope,” Brad said.

  He walked to the door adjoining the two rooms. He pulled a bolt and knocked on the other door. Julio opened it.

  “Let’s leave these unlocked, Julio. Just in case.”

  “There is a toilet at the end of the hall,” Julio said. “With a tub and a water pump.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I’ll shave in the morning.”

  Julio felt his beard. “I will keep my hair,” he said.

  “Come on in, Julio. You ready to put up our horses and get something to eat?”

  “Oh, yes. I have hunger, Brad.” He rubbed his belly and grinned.

  They walked their horses to the livery stable, and Brad paid for two days of boarding. Then they strolled up Larimer in the middle of the street.

  Wilbur stopped and turned away to look into the window of a smoke shop.

  Brad and Julio joined him and they all looked at the boxes of cigars, the stacks of cigarette papers, and sacks of Bull Durham and other brands. There were store-boughts, too, in gaudy packages, matches and tapers.

  “I could use some terbacky,” Wilbur said. “I run out of the makin’s a couple of days ago.”

  “I’ll buy you some tobacco tomorrow,” Brad said.

  “You don’t smoke?”

  “No, not anymore,” Brad said. “It interferes with my sense of smell. When I’m hunting, I can smell the elk or deer or bear scat. If I smoke, well, my smeller doesn’t work as good.”

  They walked on and finally saw a saloon that served meals. They could smell the cooked beef from outside. There was no music, but there was the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses.

  Brad looked up at the name on the false front.

  SAGEBRUSH TAVERN, the sign read, and there was a board outside that listed the fare, but not the prices.

  “This looks like a good place to eat,” Brad said.

  “Fine with me,” Wilbur said.

  “’Sta bueno conmigo,” Julio said.

  They went in through the open doorway. There were tables with red and blue checkered cloths, a long bar, and diners eating and drinking at both plac
es.

  They found an empty table near the front window where they could look out onto the street and watch the passersby. They sat down and Brad picked up a slate with the menu written in chalk. He read it and passed it to Wilbur, who did the same and passed it to Julio, who only glanced at it.

  “I’ll order for you, Julio, whatever you want. Unless you want me to read the bill of fare to you.”

  “Beefsteak,” Julio said.

  A waiter came over with a blank slate and a piece of chalk.

  “What’ll it be, gents?” he said. “Something to drink before you give me your order?”

  “Whiskey,” Wil said rather quickly.

  “And two beers,” Brad said.

  “Comin’ right up,” the waiter said and stepped toward the bar.

  They ordered food as they drank their drinks.

  “I never been to this part of Denver before,” Wilbur said. “It’s lively.”

  “You can find most anything here on Larimer,” Brad said. “In fact, I have some purchases to make tomorrow before we go back up in the mountains.”

  “Mind if I ask what?” Wilbur said.

  Brad shook his head.

  “You’ll find out tomorrow. But it won’t help you much.”

  “You mean I’m prying again,” Wilbur said.

  “I guess that’s your nature,” Brad said.

  “Just curious, I guess.”

  “Curiosity’s fine,” Brad said. “Just so it doesn’t get you killed. Like the cat.”

  Wilbur sipped his whiskey.

  Brad looked out the window. He saw three men ride down the middle of the street. They looked tired and dusty in the misty light of the gas lamp.

  They also looked like gunslingers.

  And two of them looked familiar enough for him to study them more carefully.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

  “What is it?” Julio asked. He looked out the window. “Who do you see?”

  “Those three men that just rode by. Did you see them, Wil?”

  Wilbur shook his head.

  “No, I didn’t see ’em.”

  “Well, Julio and I have seen two of them before. Julio, go out there and see where they light. Quick.”