by Jory Sherman
“I thank you for the cattle,” Wading Crow said. “Much meat for people.”
“I must return to my home,” Brad said.
Wading Crow set the pipe down on the firering stones and reached in back of him. He brought forth a set of brass scales and set them on the ground in front of him.
“Dust or nuggets?” Wading Crow asked.
“Dust.”
“Blow away in wind.”
“No, I’ll keep it safe.”
Wading Crow beamed. He reached behind the sash around his waist and pulled out a heavy pouch.
“Have pouch?”
Brad shook his head.
Wading Crow reached behind him again and brought out a small leather pouch with a leather drawstring. He handed it to Brad.
“You keep,” Wading Crow said.
Brad took the sack, set it down. He and Julio watched as Wading Crow started eking out gold dust from the sack in his hand. He put a counterweight on one of the scales.
“Four ounces,” Wading Crow said.
When the scales balanced from the first pouring, Wading Crow held out a hand for Brad’s empty sack. He lifted the small cup of gold dust and poured it into the empty sack. He performed this same procedure until he had measured out twenty ounces of gold dust. Then he pulled the drawstring tight and handed the bulging sack to Brad.
“Thank you, Wading Crow,” he said.
“Good,” Wading Crow said. “You eat?”
Brad shook his head. He could hear the teepee next to Wading Crow’s going down. The rustle of sewn hides, the crash of poles to the earth, the footpads of the women and children.
Gray Owl finished blessing the meal, dusted his hands together, then poured the meal back into the sack.
“Sidewinder,” he said. “It is good my eyes have seen you this day.”
“It’s good to see you, Gray Owl. You caught enough snakes?”
“Thirty snake,” Gray Owl said. “They sleep. Soon, they dance.”
Brad was glad he wasn’t going to be around for that particular ritual.
He used his hands to sign as he spoke to Wading Crow. “Soon, the sun will set, Wading Crow. Julio and I will go. We must ride fast to our home and our women.”
“Yes,” Gray Owl said, which surprised Brad, since he had spoken to Wading Crow.
He turned to look at the Hopi.
There was an odd expression on Gray Owl’s face and smoky light in his eyes. He looked up through the smoke hole of the teepee and closed his eyes for a moment, then leveled his gaze at Brad.
“You go quick,” he said.
Brad looked at Wading Crow.
“Is Gray Owl telling Sidewinder something?” he said.
“Gray Owl wise man. Snake Priest. Him know many things. Him see far. Him see over mountains.”
“Does he see my home?”
Gray Owl’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. He seemed to go into a kind of trance as he closed his eyes, and rocked back and forth in silence.
“What is it, Gray Owl?” Brad asked. “What do you see?”
Gray Owl said nothing. He just kept rocking back and forth.
Brad felt a tug on his arm. He turned to look at Julio.
“Vamanos,” Julio whispered. “Let us go.”
“I want to hear what Gray Owl has to say,” Brad said.
“You wait,” Wading Crow said. “Gray Owl see far. Gray Owl looking.”
It was agony for Brad to wait while the Hopi rocked back and forth, his eyes closed. Brad felt as if he were a prisoner waiting to hear his sentence from an incompetent judge. He wiped sweat from around his neck, and had the urge to grab the Hopi and shake him until he spoke.
Finally, Gray Owl opened his eyes.
“Sidewinder,” he said. “Give me your rattles.”
Brad looked down, but the rattles were inside his shirt. He pulled them out, took the sinew from around his neck, and handed the rattles to Gray Owl.
Gray Owl took them, then reached into the sack. His fist came back with meal, and he held the rattles in one hand, sprinkled the holy meal on the rattles, then returned the remaining meal to the sack. He said something in the Hopi language, closed his eyes, then opened them. He handed the rattles back to Brad.
“Keep safe, Sidewinder. Much medicine now. You go home.”
“What did you see, Gray Owl?” Brad asked as he draped the sinew with the rattles around his neck.
“Many cattle running. Many men riding horse. Hair of woman flying in the wind. Me see empty house. Me see dog spirit rising. That is all.”
“What does he say?” Julio asked.
“I don’t know,” Brad said. “I don’t take much stock in it. Injun stuff maybe.”
“I do not like his words,” Julio muttered.
Brad tucked the pouch of gold inside his belt and stood up with his rifle.
“Good luck, Wading Crow,” Brad said in Spanish. “Come see me if you want more cattle before the snow flies.”
“I will come,” Wading Crow said.
Brad said good-bye to Gray Owl, whose eyes were wet and rheumy as if he had rubbed cornmeal into them. He had a sad look on his face as he held his hand up in farewell.
The horses were waiting outside, held by two young braves. There was only one teepee still standing, the one they had been in. When Gray Owl and Wading Crow stepped outside, some women and young girls went inside and came out carrying blankets, robes, rugs, and other goods. They bundled them up in a large buffalo robe. None of them spoke, and Brad clucked to Ginger and ticked his flanks with his spurs. He and Julio rode back toward the saddleback.
When Brad looked back, the teepee was gone. He saw Arapaho braves tying their travois to horses and others riding toward the corrals.
The noises of the fading village died away as the two men rode down into the valley. The sky was streaked with gray and golden clouds; the sun was about three fingers from the jagged mountain horizon. A mule deer jumped away from the creek as the two men passed by, and dark birds flew along its length, heading east.
“I have worry,” Julio said, as they rode through the timber at the far end of the valley.
“About what?”
“About what that Hopi said.”
“What do you think he said?” Brad asked.
“I do not know.”
“Neither do I,” Brad said, but he knew how Julio felt. There was something ominous in the Hopi’s words, something deeply disturbing. It was as if Gray Owl was looking into the future and seeing something ominous. The empty house, a woman’s hair flying in the wind, a dead dog. Past, present, or future?
For now, Brad couldn’t get home fast enough.
SEVENTEEN
The men had started grumbling the night before. Now, an hour before daylight, Delbert Coombs was kicking them out of their bedrolls in their dry camp. His brother, Hiram, was the first to get up, the first to curse the darkness and the cold.
“Damn it, Del, you don’t wake a man without’n you have a cup of hot coffee in your hand.”
“If I did, Hiram, I’d pour it all over your sorry pate. Now, get up and start saddlin’ horses.”
Two other men got up, their mouths sticky with dried tobacco juice, their throats sore from breathing through their mouths all night.
“What now, Delbert?” Abner Wicks asked. “We done checked that ranch for two days runnin’. I tell you they ain’t nobody there ’ceptin’ for two wimmin, a Mex, and one old curly-haired dog.”
“That’s right,” Ridley Smoot said. “Them cattle is strung out all over creation just waitin’ to be gathered.”
“I want you two to check one more time, Abner, before sunrise, and then, if the time is right, we’ll jump ’em all.”
The other two men, Fred Raskin and Tod “Toad” Sutphen, crawled out of their bedrolls last. Toad scratched his beard stubble, and the sound was so loud it sounded like sandpaper rubbing over a chunk of cross-grained hickory. Raskin got up and walked a few yards into the draw and urinate
d on the limestone wall.
“You sound like a cow pissin’ on a flat rock, Freddie,” Sutphen said.
“Drank too much branch water last night,” Raskin said, buttoning up his dirty trousers.
“You’ll shed those coats when that sun comes up,” Hiram said to the men. He came back leading two horses. “Here you go, Ridley.” He handed the bitter end of the reins to Smoot. “Abner, take your’n and mount up. Time’s a-wastin’.”
“Hiram,” Wicks said, “if’n my fist wasn’t froze up, I’d wring your damned neck.”
“Yeah, and if I had a quirt handy, I’d stripe your backside with forty lashes.”
“Quit the bitchin’,” Delbert Coombs said. “Let’s get to gettin’. We’ll be waitin’ down at the far end of the crick when you boys get through scoutin’. Now, I don’t want them women touched. Shoot the Mex. Make sure he’s stone dead, then help us.”
“You aim to kidnap them wimmin?” Hiram said to his brother.
“We’ll have some fun with them and keep ’em hostage in case Storm tracks us.”
“Mighty risky,” Hiram said.
“What ain’t?” Delbert said as the two men rode off toward the Storm ranch. The others saddled their horses and rubbed out all traces of the dry camp, which weren’t much, and gave their horses handfuls of grain.
“Don’t give ’em too much,” Hiram said. “We don’t want no founderin’ when we run them cattle.”
“Just enough to flatten their bellies,” Delbert added. “Check your pistols and rifles. And follow me.”
Wicks and Smoot rode to the creek in full darkness. They rode slow and careful. They knew the way, having scouted the ranch for nearly a month, mostly in the early morning and at night. They rode right to the spot where they had the best view of the main house and both bunkhouses. They reined up in a copse of aspen and alder bushes. Smoot took the binoculars out of his saddlebags and strung them over his neck with gloved hands. There was a chill in the air but no breeze.
There were no lamps lit in any of the dwellings. The first light to show was in the little bunkhouse where the Mexican stayed. They knew his name was Carlos something. Delbert had told them. He knew all of their names. He’d had his eye on this ranch and these cattle for a long time.
“The Mex is gettin’ up,” Smoot said.
“Yeah, he’ll boil him some coffee, and then go to the stables and saddle up.”
“Or go see that Mex gal, Pilar. She might even cook him some breakfast.” He laughed a leering laugh.
“She can pull my rope any time she wants,” Wicks said.
“You ain’t got no rope to pull, Abner,” Ridley said.
“We better be quiet. We don’t want to give the Mex no warnin’.”
They were quiet as they waited for the sun to rise, the creek layered with a foggy, cool blanket, wisps of mist rising off the waters. A trout broke the surface and both men jumped at the slap of water. They drew into their coats and slumped in their saddles to keep their warmth from escaping. In the glint of moonlight, they could see their breaths, soft steam clouds that evaporated inches from their faces.
A light breeze floated down from the high range, wafting perfume to the watchers as the flowers released their aromas. The two men shrugged deeper into their wool-lined coats, pulled their collars up, and stuck their gloved hands back in their coat pockets. The horses nibbled water at the edge of the creek, a coyote yipped to the south of them, and an answering chorus of high-pitched yodels sounded from somewhere deep in the timber.
A lamp suddenly came lit in the other bunkhouse. A few minutes later, they saw yellow light through a window in the big house, and smoke streamed from the chimney.
“They’re rousin’ up,” Wick said.
“Seems like.”
“You watch the Mex’s bunkhouse. I’ll keep an eye on the main house.”
“You got the binocs.”
“Want ’em?”
“Naw, you keep ’em. I got eyes like a buzzard.”
“I got eyes like a hawk.”
“Buzzards see better.”
“They don’t see. They smell.”
The talk between Ridley and Abner died down as the eastern horizon began to lighten almost imperceptibly. The men wriggled their toes inside their boots to warm them, and the horses took to the grass, pulling up clumps of green, wallowing them in their mouths before cutting them with their teeth. Their bits clacked as they worried the grass before swallowing the masticated mash.
Carlos emerged from his bunkhouse. He stood outside for a moment. He looked over at Julio’s bunkhouse, then turned and walked toward the barn, much to Ridley’s surprise.
“He ain’t goin’ over to the other bunkhouse,” he said. “Headin’ for the barn, looks like.”
“Keep your shirt on,” Abner said. “He’s probably goin’ up there to pee.”
“I hope he don’t saddle up and start snoopin’ around them cattle.”
“We seen enough. Let’s go find Delbert.”
“Sure enough,” Ridley said. “Be full light right soon.”
The two men rode down to the other end of the creek at the south end of the pasture.
“They’re all up,” Abner said to Delbert. “The Mex went back to the barn, the two wimmin are inside cookin’ breakfast.”
“Let’s ride up on the south side of the main house. Me and Hiram will get the Storm gal. Ridley, you track down that Mex. The rest of you grab the Mex woman. We’ll tie ’em both up and saddle up their horses.”
“And then?” Abner asked.
“And then we gather up that herd and hightail it to the corrals.”
“With the wimmin?” Ridley asked.
“Yeah, in case Storm and that other Mex comes back a-lookin’.”
They broke into three groups and rode toward the ranch headquarters. The sky paled to a soft gray, and the stars began to die out like frozen fireflies. The eastern horizon turned scarlet and yellow along a cream fissure in the sky. Objects took on definition. Bushes and cattle appeared out of the darkness, trees took on shapes, and the grass was tinged with an uncertain light, as if the footlights of a stage were slowly turned higher.
Ridley eased his horse around the main house and headed for the barn. He pulled his rifle from its scabbard as he rounded the house. Hiram and Delbert dismounted at the side of the house and walked to the back door, their boots crunching on light gravel.
The other riders made their way to Julio’s bunkhouse, their backs lit by the slowly rising sun, the rumps of their horses glistening like dark palettes smeared with daubs of multicolored paint.
The back door was unlocked. Delbert opened it, put his finger to his lips as he turned to his brother.
He entered the house. A lamp burned in the kitchen, and the wood stove crackled with fresh kindling in the firebox. His footsteps made the boards creak as he walked toward the hall.
Felicity came out of the bedroom, saw the silhouetted shape of Delbert Coombs.
“Brad? How come you came in the back door?”
Delbert drew his pistol. Cocked it.
“Guess again, Missus Storm,” he said.
Felicity froze.
Curly, who had been curled up in front of the fireplace in the living room, came up behind her, tail wagging. The dog brushed against her legs as he walked toward Delbert.
Delbert didn’t hesitate. Just as Curly was about to leap up on him in a friendly manner, he aimed his pistol and shot him in the head. Curly made no sound as blood spurted from his eye and forehead. He fell to the floor, blood streaming from his head. His hind legs twitched. He gave a short gasp and went limp.
Felicity screamed as Delbert stepped toward her.
She turned to run, and he grabbed one of her arms. He jerked her off her feet and dragged her down the hall. She kicked and screamed.
“You make it hard,” Delbert said, “and I’ll make it hard. How’d you like a gun barrel bashin’ in your face, lady?”
“You bastard.
Let go of me,” she shouted.
“Better give what I said some thought, Missy. I can shut that mouth of yours with one swipe of my Colt.”
“Bastard,” she hissed, and he jerked her to her feet.
“You got some of that tie rope, Hiram?” Delbert asked.
“In my pocket.”
“Get it out and tie her hands behind her back.”
Felicity looked at the two men.
She had never seen either of them before.
“Where’s Brad?” she asked. “What have you done with him?”
She realized a second later that it was the wrong thing to say. Brad was up in the mountains, probably riding back from the Arapaho village. Probably close by.
“So, you don’t know where your man is, eh?” Delbert said. “That makes it easy.”
“He—he’s here. I mean he’s coming. He’s—he’s . . .”
“Oh, shut up,” Delbert said.
Hiram tied her hands behind her back with store twine. Tightened the double knot.
“That’ll fix her, Del,” he said.
“To the barn,” Delbert said, and walked out the back door. Hiram and Felicity were behind him. Hiram pushed the barrel of his pistol into the center of her back.
“Just so’s you know, I don’t mind blowin’ a hole in a woman,” he said in his gruff voice. “In fact, I’d like to do just that if you act up any.”
“I’m sure you would,” Felicity said, her throat constricted with fear, her anger like a furnace in her mind.
They met the others with Pilar in tow, her hands tied behind her back. She was spitting and cursing in rapid Spanish until one of the men clouted her with his fist.
“Pilar, I’m so sorry,” Felicity said as the two groups came together.
“Julio will kill you,” Pilar screamed. “He will kill you all.”
“Be quiet,” Delbert said, “or you’ll be beggin’ for your life.”
“Cabrón,” Pilar said. “Bastard.”
They all stopped outside the barn.
“Ridley?” Delbert called.
There was no answer.
He called Ridley again, louder.
From behind the barn they all heard him answer.
“Comin’, Del,” he said.