Nest of Vipers (9781101613283)

by Sherman, Jory

  While he lived with the Arapaho, he discovered that they used Wild Horse Valley to keep their wealth away from other tribes, including the Ute.

  When Jordan was sixteen, he stole away in the night with the three horses he owned, horses he had captured himself on a Kiowa raid with the Arapaho. He wandered around until he met a rancher who agreed to hire him on and let him keep and breed his horses. Jordan left with a stallion and two mares. The rancher had been impressed with Jordan’s knowledge of horses, and when he died, he left his ranch to Jordan, when Jordan was in his mid-twenties.

  Now in his thirties, Jordan owned a successful horse ranch but wanted more. He wanted more land and more horses. And he had found a way to raise the cash the way he had been brought up by the Arapaho. By stealing horses.

  “You ain’t takin’ the usual way up to the valley,” Toby said as they rode through a thick stand of timber where the elk were bedded down.

  “No. This is the old way up there,” Jordan said. “You can’t see it, but there’s a wide trail here. It’s all growed over now.”

  Toby looked around him at the ground. All he could see were rotting deadfalls, craggy rock outcroppings, and plenty of pine and spruce. There was a juniper tree that looked as if it had been blasted with dynamite, a tree that a bull elk had rubbed the previous fall, to sharpen its antlers, mark its territory, and attract a mate.

  “I don’t see sign of no trail in here,” Toby said.

  “Ain’t been used in years, like I said, Toby.”

  Toby snorted and continued to look for anything that resembled a trail. He shook his head after a few minutes and gave up.

  They climbed ever higher and it did seem to Toby that Jordan knew where he was going. There were a lot of fallen pines, and he detected the scent of bear scat near one log that had been ripped open in the bear’s search for grubs. The bear smell made the horses nervous, and Toby rode on with one hand on the butt of his pistol.

  They left the timber and crossed a swale of grass before Jordan spurred his horse to jump across a small creek and then they were in the timber again. It seemed to Toby that they were climbing straight up and the horses were straining to climb the steep slopes that were sparsely dotted with all kinds of trees, including a few firs, a blue spruce, smaller pines that had been stunted by the wind, and a few more junipers that had been ravaged by bull elk.

  “Figured out when we should get to that valley?” Clete asked. His horse was streaked with sweat and panting from the exertion of the climb.

  “Yeah,” Jordan said. “Noon or shortly after. And it looks like we’ll have clear weather all day.”

  “Seems like we used to ride up there on a more roundabout way,” Cletus said. “Warn’t so steep.”

  “This is the shortest and quickest way.”

  “If we was bein’ chased, maybe,” Clete said, half under his breath.

  Jordan said nothing. When the Arapaho had used the trail before, they were being chased and it was the quickest way to get to the valley and leave their pursuers behind. It had not seemed so steep then, but he was much younger in those days. Some of the Arapaho braves were bleeding from wounds, and some had arrows in their legs or backs and wanted only to lie in the valley next to the creek where they could tend to their wounds.

  The men riding behind Jordan, Cletus, and Toby were cursing the brush and the flies, batting at the insects with their hands, and slapping their horses’ necks to kill the deer flies.

  Jordan rode a black Arabian, fourteen and a half hands high, with a small star blaze on its forehead. The small hoofs made it more sure-footed in mountain terrain, and the horse did not struggle like those ridden by the others in Jordan’s band. He called the horse Sugarfoot and spoiled it by feeding it apples and sugar lumps when the animal was at pasture.

  The sun climbed higher in the sky as the earth turned in its orbit, blazing down through the trees and heating up the thin mountain air.

  Jordan looked up and marked the sun’s position in the sky. On a narrow strip of grassy plain, he raised his hand and called a halt.

  “We’ll rest here for a few minutes,” he said. “We’re about two miles from the mesa. From there, we follow a road to the valley. I want the horses rested before we make the last climb and we’ll halt again once we hit the tabletop.”

  “The horses are plumb tuckered from all that climbin’,” Jinglebob said. “That’s for sure.”

  “It’s good for their lungs,” Jordan said. “You do that once or twice a week, you got yourself a champion runner.”

  “I don’t want a champion runner,” Jinglebob said. “I just want a horse that’ll carry me from sunrise to sunset without founderin’.”

  “You’d have that, too, Jinglebob,” Toby said. “Jordan knows horses. Look at that Arab he’s ridin’. It ain’t hardly broke into a sweat.”

  The men stepped down from their saddles, rolled smokes, or bit off chews, and urinated into the brush. The horses shook themselves off, their tails switching at deer flies. They, too, urinated and dropped apples onto the turf.

  Jordan felt the muscles in Sugarfoot’s chest, squeezing them and kneading them with his supple fingers. He patted the horse on its rump and Sugarfoot tossed its head, making a waving shawl of its mane.

  The men slapped at flies on their necks and blew smoke at others that zizzed past their sweat-streaked faces.

  Then Jordan called for them to resume their trek up the mountain.

  The going was rough the rest of the way, and the horses doubled up their legs and propelled themselves up the steep incline like mountain goats. When they reached the tabletop, Jordan called another halt.

  “No smokes. Stay mounted,” he said. “It ain’t but a half mile or so to the rim of the valley.”

  “About damned time,” Terry grumbled.

  “Just a stretch of the legs,” Lenny said, as he worried a gob of tobacco back and forth in his brown-stained mouth.

  “Be quiet from here on in,” Jordan said. “Startin’ now.”

  The men snuffled and closed their mouths.

  One of the horses snorted, and Jordan gave the rider a sharp look of disapproval. Then he raised his hand and pointed down the road. “Stay sharp,” he said in a low tone of voice.

  They rode slowly toward the lip of the tabletop. When they reached the edge at the drop-off, Jordan stopped. The other riders rode up and lined up alongside him.

  They all looked down at the grassy valley and the dark shapes of horses grazing. One or two of the men sucked in their breaths at the sight of so many horses in one place. Their gazes roamed from side to side.

  Jordan looked down at the wagon cocked at an angle on the side of the road.

  “What the hell’s that wagon doin’ there?” he said to no one.

  “It’s probably broke down,” Toby said.

  “Anything in it?” Jordan asked.

  “Not that I can see,” Cletus said.

  Jordan listened in silence for a long time. Some tic of suspicion began to twitch in his mind.

  It was very quiet. Too damned quiet.

  He saw no men anywhere he looked. He saw only a valley full of his horses.

  Where in hell was this Brad Storm?

  “I don’t like it,” he muttered.

  “Looks like there ain’t nobody here,” Toby said.

  “No, and there should be. You watch your p’s and q’s,” he said. “Somethin’ sure as hell ain’t right.”

  Nobody said a word.

  Jordan eased Sugarfoot onto the down slope of the road. He kept his eyes focused on the empty wagon. He looked at both sides of the road where there was thick brush. He looked for any sign that he might be riding into an ambush.

  He walked his horse very slowly, and his right hand dropped to the butt of his pistol.

  Some of the men held on to the stocks of th
eir rifles.

  It seemed to Jordan that none of his men were breathing.

  He, too, was holding his breath, his nerves tingling like a dark cave full of jiggling beads on long strands of electrified wire.

  And the sun stood directly overhead, burning down onto hat brims and sweat-oiled faces.

  Even the horses in the valley were silent. The whole world was silent in those first few moments when all the riders began their descent into the peaceful valley that seemed rife with danger.

  FORTY

  Brad directed Wil and Joe to take up their hiding places on the side of the road opposite the wagon.

  “Julio and I will be on the other side. I’ll handle the twine to open the tailgate and snake box,” he said. “Lay low and stay quiet.”

  “It’s gonna be a long day,” Wil said.

  “Probably the longest day of your life,” Brad said.

  “We can handle it,” Joe said.

  “You probably won’t need your rifles, but keep them handy.” Brad hefted his Winchester for emphasis.

  “Yeah, when they come down the road and pass by the wagon, they’ll be real close,” Joe said.

  “And, when they get their wits back, they’ll be shooting right and left,” Brad said.

  “But we’re going to ask them surrender first, aren’t we?” Joe asked.

  Brad looked at him in the dim light of morning.

  “If you want it by the book, you can politely ask them, Joe.”

  “You know what I mean,” Joe said.

  “Yeah, I know. Go ahead and demand their surrender. But you better be ducked down when you do. Unless I miss my guess, Jordan’s men won’t throw up their hands and throw their guns down.”

  “No, I expect not,” Joe said.

  “Play it any way you like. But be ready to return fire if they start shooting,” Brad said.

  “We will,” Wil said. “I swear.”

  Brad watched the two men cross the road. Then he and Julio went to the wagon side and climbed into the brush. A cottontail jumped up and ran out as they entered the thicket.

  “Pow,” Julio said and squeezed a mock trigger with his right hand. “Supper,” he said.

  “Let’s just hope all the rattlers are in that box, Julio. Stomp around here to make sure.”

  Both of them made a racket as they burrowed out a place for them to sit and wait. It was a spot where they could both sit and stand up with an unobstructed view of the road and the wagon. The two strands of heavy twine lay a half foot away. Brad reached over and picked them both up. He sat down and pulled them almost tight. A quick jerk would drop the tailgate first and another jerk on the second strand would open the snake box and release the rattlers.

  He hoped the snakes would wriggle out the back of the wagon and start streaming toward the road. If any came their way, they could be in trouble.

  The men in hiding drank from their canteens at frequent intervals. They sweated under the hot sun, and wiped their sweaty hands frequently on their trousers. The morning wore on and the sun continued to climb the heavens.

  Then, at around noon, all of them heard the faint sound of hoofbeats up on the road. The riders were advancing very slowly.

  Brad hoped that Wil and Joe would resist the urge to stretch their necks to see who was coming down the road.

  He hunkered down and drew his pistol.

  He nodded to Julio who also drew his weapon.

  They waited.

  From his hiding place, Brad could see the top of the road as it dipped off the tabletop. In a few moments, the road filled with riders. A man on a black Arabian halted and the others crowded around him.

  Brad saw them all scan the valley with their eyes slitted.

  It seemed an eternity before any of the men on horseback moved.

  Then they all slowly began to descend the road.

  Brad figured the man on the black Arab was Jordan Killdeer. As the men rode down the road, he noticed that Jordan let them pass him as he continued to look in all directions. Jordan’s gaze was fixed on the wagon as they all approached it. He heard the low murmur of voices as the men in front of Jordan expressed their opinions on what they were seeing and not seeing, what they were not hearing, as well.

  Then, Jordan halted as the others rode on down toward the valley.

  “Storm,” Jordan called in a loud voice. “We’re here. Show yourself.”

  The men halted for a moment and turned to look back at their leader.

  “Storm, I’ve got your money. Come out, wherever you are.” Killdeer’s voice was even louder as he cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice as if he had a megaphone.

  Brad set his pistol down in front of him and picked up both strands of twine.

  The men in front of Killdeer resumed their descent into the valley. When they were just below the back end of the wagon, Brad pulled the cord attached to the tailgate.

  The tailgate opened and dropped. Wood slammed against wood.

  All of the men halted and stared at the wagon.

  A second later, Brad pulled the other cord and the snake box opened. He held the door open and watched for the snakes to wriggle toward the tail of the wagon.

  A second or two later, the first snake reached the edge of the wagon bed. The snakes began to shake their tails. Then the entire bunch of them steamed off the back of the wagon and dropped to the ground.

  The rattling of the snakes startled the horses and the men riding them.

  Snakes began to streak toward the road. The horses neighed in terror and a couple of them reared up and the riders had to force them back down on four legs.

  “Snakes,” one of the men shouted.

  “Rattlers,” cried another, and the riders began to fight for control of their mounts as the horses milled in confusion.

  Across the road, Joe shouted.

  “Drop your guns. You’re all under arrest.”

  Jinglebob was the first to draw his pistol. He cocked it and fired at the sound of Joe’s voice.

  The bullet sizzled over his and Wil’s heads, and caromed off a rock and spun off with an angry whine.

  Then all of the riders drew their pistols.

  Brad stood up and shot Jinglebob out of the saddle. The bullet from Brad’s .45 smashed into his left side and crushed ribs, mangled his left lung and smashed a hole though his stomach.

  Jinglebob doubled over and tried to turn his horse and raise his pistol. Instead, he dropped from the saddle and hit the ground, gushing blood from two wounds.

  All of the men started firing their weapons, both in Brad’s direction and at Joe and Wil.

  The blast of gunfire from several weapons thundered from different explosions.

  Julio stood up and picked out a target, shot a man in the upper chest.

  Lenny’s horse spun around in a half circle and he grabbed his saddle horn, mortally wounded.

  Joe and Wil shot at the milling riders as fast as they could pull the triggers on their guns. A horse was hit and fell forward as its knees buckled.

  Smoke filled the air. Sparks and flame flew from pistols.

  As Brad watched, Killdeer turned his horse and galloped up the road. He fired a quick shot at Killdeer, but the man topped the rise and disappeared in a drumbeat of hooves.

  “Drop your guns,” Joe shouted again.

  He and Wil stood up, rifles in their hands.

  “Now,” Wil shouted as he levered a cartridge into the firing chamber of his rifle.

  The remaining men dropped their pistols.

  Brad and Julio scrambled out of the thicket and approached the men on horseback.

  “Raise your hands,” Brad said. “Grab some sky.”

  The men raised their hands high as Wil and Joe came up on them with leveled rifles.

  Brad ran to
Jinglebob’s horse and grabbed the reins. He pulled himself into the saddle.

  “Tie ’em up,” he told Joe.

  “Where you goin’?” Joe asked.

  “Killdeer got away. I’m going after him.”

  Two men lay dead on the ground. Joe ordered the other riders to dismount.

  Snakes swarmed the road, their rattles frantically knocking together.

  Will kicked one away and stomped on another. The snakes wriggled into the brush on the other side of the road where he and Joe had been. They continued to rattle until they were out of sight.

  The riders dismounted and Joe made them all line up and turn their backs to him.

  Brad galloped off on the blue roan that had belonged to Jinglebob. A Winchester jutted from its scabbard. He disappeared over the rim of the tabletop.

  “Wil,” Joe ordered, “cut me a up a bunch of that twine. Julio, you shoot any man who turns around.” He began to kick the fallen pistols off the road while Wil dashed to the wagon and picked up one of the strands of twine.

  “You damned traitor,” Toby said to Wil.

  “Shut your mouth,” Joe commanded.

  Wil cut several lengths of twine and brought them to Joe.

  “Keep ’em covered, Wilbur,” Joe said.

  To the prisoners, he said: “Put your hands behind your back. Any funny moves and you get a bullet.”

  The men put their hands behind their backs. Joe tied Cletus’s hands together first and pulled the twine tight before he knotted it.

  “That hurts,” Cletus said.

  “It’s supposed to hurt,” Joe said.

  “You ain’t the law,” Toby growled.

  “Yes, I am,” Joe said, “and I told you to keep your damned mouth shut.”

  He went from man to man and tied their hands behind their backs. When he was finished, he, Wil and Julio marched them up the road as their horses ran down the road and onto the grass of the valley.

  All of the rattlesnakes had disappeared.

  When Joe looked back, he saw Brad up on the rimrock, following tracks.