The following morning Vivelda walked over to Brad as the horses were being hitched to the supply wagon and the wagon that would transport some of the women and the children.
“Did you notice the Mexican man leaving last night?” she asked.
“I know that he left.”
“Do you know where he went?”
“I suspect that he rode to the valley where the cattlemen are quartered,” he said.
“Did you notice how much attention he paid to the women last night?” Strands of her hair hung in ringlets in front of both ears, framing a face of rare beauty and intelligence.
“No,” Brad said. “I figured he was spying for Schneck, the cattle rancher.”
“Well, he was. I fear that we might all be in danger.”
“Why?” Brad asked.
“I do not trust that man they call ‘Snake.’ He has already murdered two men in the most horrible way.”
“Yes, that’s true. But you and the other women and all the children are leaving this morning. You will be safe if Snake mounts an attack on us up here.”
“I wish you were going with us. I think I would feel a lot safer.”
“You won’t be far away, Vivelda,” he said, “and two of Mikel’s men are escorting you.”
“Yes, Fidelio and Benito will take us to our camp, but they won’t stay. Benito is just a boy. He has but eighteen years.”
“I’m sure they will take good care of you,” Brad said.
“I would feel much safer if you came with us. You have the experience. I have heard that you are very fast with a gun, Mr. Storm.”
“Being fast doesn’t mean as much as you think. It helps, but a good aim is what a man needs when he pulls a gun. The men going with you are good shots or Mikel wouldn’t trust them to see that you got to your destination safely.”
“Come on, Vivelda,” Leda called from the passenger wagon. “We are leaving. Hurry.”
“I must go,” Vivelda said. “Good-bye, Mr. Storm.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed Brad on the cheek, then dashed away. Leda and another woman helped pull her up into the wagon.
The wagons pulled ahead with Benito and Fidelio on horseback, riding flank on the passenger wagon. Brad saw that they were packing pistols, rifles, and short shotguns. The women and children all waved to the herders gathered to say farewell.
Mike walked up to Brad.
“We’re driving the sheep, most of them, to that other valley, Brad. It’ll take us at least two days to get them all over on the new graze.”
Brad looked at the ocean of sheep that were slowly moving as they pulled at shoots of grass, ragged by the small shepherd dogs that did not yap or bark, but nipped at the slow ones and kept the sheep from straying.
“Keep your eyes peeled, Mike.”
“We will. I’ll breathe easier with the women and children gone and safe from Schneck downriver.”
“I’ll know more about Schneck’s plans and whereabouts after I see Sorenson again sometime today.”
“I hope you get him, Brad. Schneck, I mean.”
“I know who you mean. I can’t ride up there blind or I’d be on my way. Sorenson will give me an idea of how to corral Schneck and maybe clap him in irons.”
“Clap him in irons?”
“A figure of speech,” Brad said. “Handcuff him or hog-tie him and haul him down to Denver to stand trial for murder.”
“Good luck,” Mike said.
“Thanks,” Brad said as Garaboxosa walked away toward the herders who were waiting for orders.
The wagons disappeared down the road that led through the timber and over to the Poudre. Soon, he no longer heard the rumble or the clatter of their wheels. There was only the bleating of the sheep as the flocks kept moving toward the trails that would lead them into the big valley where they would spend the summer and drop their spring lambs.
He had the uneasy feeling that there was trouble just waiting to happen when the sheep reached that other valley. Schneck was not a man to allow sheepherders to graze their flocks on land he had already staked out for his cattle.
He wished he could just ride up there and brace Schneck, call him out, and let the chips fall where they may. But he was outnumbered and unfamiliar with the cattleman’s routine.
He would wait for Sorenson to show up and then plan his next move.
One thing was sure. He didn’t have much time if he was going to prevent a bloody range war. Once those sheep hit that valley, Schneck would be hopping mad. He would stop at nothing to drive the sheepmen out of the mountains.
“Hurry, Thor,” he said to himself.
The sounds of the sheep seemed to him like the ticking of a gigantic clock. And the sheep were as oblivious to the danger as the herders who guided them toward an uncertain destiny.
EIGHTEEN
Sorenson saw Schneck and three other men mount their horses and ride off. He watched as Verdugo turned and walked back into the stables while the other men returned to their bunks, shadows in the moonlight, furtive figures in a strange nightscape. He had been awake when the Mexican rode up on his mule and pounded on Schneck’s door.
He couldn’t hear what the two men talked about, but he was wide awake when Verdugo awakened all the others and they gathered in Schneck’s hut as Verdugo and two other men went to the stables and saddled four horses. He saw Schneck, Wagner, and two other men walk to the stables carrying rifles and packing iron on their hips.
They were going somewhere, he knew, and there would be shooting. But where?
Sorenson bunked alone under a small lean-to he had built himself, with spruce boughs interwoven for a tight roof. He was sheltered in a stand of pines behind the log dwellings. From there he had a good view of the cabins in daylight and a fair glimpse of them at night. He preferred sleeping alone with only the sounds of the night creatures and the wind, rather than the snoring of other sleepers. From his vantage point, too, he could hear when men arose to relieve themselves or rise up to take the midnight watch. He often could hear the night riders singing to the herd and he found this a soothing sound, as well, since most of the voices were pitched low and came from far away. He felt at home with the yodeling carols of coyotes or the occasional howl of a lone wolf. Sometimes he heard the cough of a cougar as it prowled through the trees sniffing the scents of cattle and men as it moved on soft padded feet among the silent evergreens.
He slept with his clothes on, his rifle and pistol next to his bedroll.
After he saw the four men ride off and disappear in the darkness, Sorenson arose and put on his boots. He strapped on his gun belt outside of his shelter and walked toward the stables. As he drew near he could hear Verdugo inside, the clink of an empty airtight against the wooden grain barrel, the snort and whinny of horses, the soft bray of the mules. He stuck a chaw of tobacco in his mouth and waited outside for Verdugo to leave the stable.
He did not have long to wait.
The Mexican jumped when he saw the silhouetted figure of Sorenson standing there, hatless, a foot taller than he.
“What have you been up to, Jorge?” Sorenson asked.
“Huh?” Verdugo looked rattled and uneasy in the pale wash of moonlight over his face.
“I saw you ride up on that mangy mule an hour ago. Where in hell were you?”
“That is none of your business, Thor,” Verdugo said.
“I’m making it my business, Jorge. I want to know where you were all day and what you were doing.”
“I was working for Snake, like always.”
“Yeah, but doing what?”
Sorenson moved a step closer to Verdugo. His manner was plainly menacing and Verdugo’s eyes widened and looked from right to left, as if seeking to escape Sorenson’s withering gaze. He was unarmed, and the bullets in the Swede’s gun belt gleamed like lethal jewels.
“I do not think Mr. Schneck wants you to know what I was doing for him.”
“Well, damn it, I want to know and you’d better tell me o
r I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life.”
Verdugo huffed out a breath, an exasperated breath. Sorenson was taller than he and outweighed him. He was also packing iron, and Jorge didn’t have so much as a knife on him.
“I went to the valley where the sheep graze. Schneck sent me there.”
“Why?” Sorenson asked.
“I—I do not like this talk. I cannot tell you. I will not tell you.”
“You’ll tell me, Verdugo, or when I finish busting your mouth, you won’t be able to talk at all.”
“Do not threaten me, Sorenson. You are not with the cattle. You are only a scout.”
“Only a scout? Why, you little Mex weasel, I work for Schneck same as you, and I want to know what you were doing down there at the sheep camp.”
“Ask Schneck,” Verdugo said.
“I’m asking you. I know Schneck and Wagner rode out of here a while ago. So, you tell me what you were doing down there with those sheepmen.”
Sorenson grabbed Verdugo’s collar and jerked him close to him so that their faces were inches apart. Verdugo tried to pull away, but Sorenson’s grip was too tight. He could feel the clenched fist pressing against his throat.
“Spit it out, Verdugo. What were you doing down at that sheep camp?”
Sorenson pushed his fist against Verdugo’s Adam’s apple and the Mexican gagged and choked.
“I do the spying,” he spluttered as he gasped for breath.
“Spying. On who?” Sorenson’s anger was building and Verdugo could feel his rage, smell it on his breath. He cowered and raised both arms, clamped his hands on Sorenson’s wrists, trying to break free.
Sorenson slapped Verdugo’s arm down and shoved him against one of the poles of the stable. They both heard it creak under the strain.
“All right,” Verdugo said, “I will tell you. Snake wanted me to watch the women and tell him where they slept at night.”
“The women?”
“Yes, the women and their little kids.”
“Jesus,” Sorenson muttered. “Did you tell him?”
“I—I told him that the women and kids was going away in the morning.”
“Going away? Going away where?”
“Let me go,” Verdugo pleaded. “Let me go and I will tell you. But Schneck will fire me. Or kill me.”
“I’ll kill you if you don’t tell me what I want to know. Where are the women and children going?”
“I do not know. To some camp place down on the Poudre. They have the wagons and the food and tents. The men do not want their wives and kids to stay there no more.”
“Is that where Schneck and Wagner are headed now?”
“I—I think so. Sweeney and Jackson went with them.”
“And what does Schneck plan to do, Verdugo?”
“I do not know. He did not say.”
“He might not have told you, but you know, don’t you? You know where Schneck is going and what he’s going to do?”
“No, I do not know.” Verdugo started to step away, but Sorenson grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back.
“Leave me alone,” Verdugo said and struggled to free himself from Sorenson’s grip on his shirt.
“Damn you, Jorge. You tell me all of it, or else.”
“I do not know anything. Schneck, he don’t tell me.”
“You were there when he told Wagner and the others, though, weren’t you?”
“I did not hear what Schneck said.”
“You’re a damned liar. I want to know what he said to Jim and the other two men who rode out with him. I know you heard every word Schneck said.”
Verdugo shook his head, and Sorenson ran out of patience. He let loose the Mexican’s shirt and swatted him across the face with the back of his hand.
Verdugo staggered, then fought back. He lashed out at Sorenson with a clenched fist and grazed his jaw.
“You little Mex bastard,” Sorenson growled.
He waded into Verdugo with a left hook to the smaller man’s jaw, then followed up with a right to Verdugo’s gut.
Verdugo doubled over and cried out in pain. Sorenson straightened him back up with a punishing uppercut and Verdugo’s head snapped back with the sharp sound of a crack. His eyes rolled in their sockets and tears boiled up in them.
“Tell me, you little bastard,” Sorenson said and drew back his right fist ready to launch it straight into Verdugo’s face.
“He—he is going to kill them,” Verdugo sobbed. “He is going to kill all the women and all the little kids.”
“The sonofabitch,” Sorenson said, and dropped his arm and fisted hand.
“I am sorry,” Verdugo cried out. “I am sorry.”
“You miserable bastard. How much did Schneck pay you?”
“He has not paid me. Twenty dollars.”
“You’re no better than Judas Iscariot. You sent all those people to their deaths.”
“I did not know Snake was going to kill them.”
Sorenson appeared as if he was going to walk away, but when he turned back to Verdugo, he went into a crouch and slammed a fist square into Verdugo’s jaw. He knocked the man down.
Verdugo was out cold. His eyelids fluttered but did not open.
Sorenson stepped over him and went inside the stable.
He rummaged around in the dark for his saddle and bridle, then led Monty outside. He began to saddle his horse as he listened to the shallow breathing coming from Verdugo.
The moon inched across the sky, and the stars wheeled so slowly they could not be tracked.
When he finished saddling Monty, Sorenson led him to his lean-to, grabbed his rifle, and slid it into his scabbard. He had a ridge to climb, a tabletop to traverse, and another cliff to descend. He wondered if he could make it to the valley of the sheep before the women left. He could not hurry in the darkness. There was too much of a chance that Monty would injure a leg, or an ankle.
When he mounted up, he saw the dark hulk of Verdugo attempting to rise. He was holding one side of his head and appeared groggy.
“You better hope Schneck doesn’t kill those women and kids, Verdugo,” he said. “If they die, you die.”
Verdugo said nothing. He staggered around in a half circle and then fell against a post and braced himself so that he would not fall.
Sorenson rode off without looking back. He didn’t expect to see Verdugo again. If he did, he just might make good on his threat.
But the man he wanted to kill was not Verdugo but Schneck.
He wanted to kill him before the bastard murdered those women and their children.
He knew it was a tall order, but with the help of Brad Storm, he just might get the chance.
It was a long, slow ride to the sheep camp and there were clouds rolling across the night sky. They would mask the moon and make the going more difficult, he knew.
He rode with his anger and his fear.
He could not measure which was greater as the high thick clouds plunged the world into total darkness and the stars disappeared, too, and Sorenson had never felt more alone, nor more helpless.
NINETEEN
It was nearly noon when Sorenson appeared atop the rimrock, leading his lame horse. Brad spotted him as he stood in line at the chuck wagon, an empty bowl in his hand. He could see that Monty was limping, favoring his left hind leg.
Brad stepped out of line and set down his bowl on a stump next to one of the wagon wheels. He waved at Sorenson. The Swede waved back and then beckoned for him to come and meet him as he headed for the talus slope where he could descend into the valley.
Brad took off in a lope to meet Sorenson as the sheepherders looked on in puzzlement.
Huge snowy-white thunderheads billowed up from behind the distant mountains. They floated like giant balloons over the ridges and valleys, heading for the wide prairie. Their shadows crept across the valley and the few sheep that were still grazing and threatened to blot out the sun. The breeze behind them was stiff and steady, bu
ilding to a high brisk wind that would sail the clouds far and wide like full-sheeted ships in full sail, antic as seabirds before a storm.
Brad felt the chill as he ran, his boot heels gouging small holes in the soft ground, his soles turning green from the crushed grasses underfoot. As he neared the talus slope, Sorenson stepped slow and careful ahead of his crippled horse, holding Monty in check so that he didn’t slide on the loose gravel and further injure himself.
Sorenson’s eyes widened as he scanned the other side of the valley in vain.
“Where are the women and kids?” he shouted as he neared the bottom of the slope. Monty crashed through heavy brush on three good legs, his ears flattened, his eyes rolling in fear.
Brad stopped short and waited for Sorenson to make it the rest of the way down to the flat plain.
He tipped his hat back on his head, a worried look crawling across his face.
“They’re gone, Thor,” he called back. “Left this morning, early. Why?”
Sorenson panted for breath as he came to a stop a few yards in front of Storm.
“Hell, we’ve got to catch up to them, stop them.”
“What?”
“Schneck aims to bushwhack them. He’s probably waiting for them down on the Poudre.”
Brad uttered a blasphemous oath and squared his hat on his head.
“Can you get me a good horse? Monty stepped into a hole during the night and I feel like we’ve walked a hundred miles.”
“I can find you a good horse. How long ago did Schneck leave?”
“Just after midnight, Brad. There’s no time to waste.”
“Don’t say anything about this to those men over by the chuck wagon,” Brad said. “They’ll panic and run off this mountain like a pack of rabid dogs.”
“Schneck’s got three men with him and they all got rifles.”
Brad swore again. He and Sorenson walked as fast as they could with the injured gelding hobbling in their wake. Brad headed straight for the stables.
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