THIRTY-FIVE
There was a trail leading to the strange conglomeration of iron-rich rocks where most of the stampeded cattle herd had wandered. Schneck and Loomis rode down the trail from the north. They began to see cattle in pairs, trios, and foursomes standing near small hills, their backs to the wind, their heads drooping, and their hides shedding rain.
The cattle seemed unmindful of the rolling thunder that pealed across the sky, or the occasional bolts of lightning that lanced the earth and the rocks.
When Schneck saw the huge red-hued rocks jutting at angles from the earth, he felt intimidated by their sheer size. There were cattle scattered all through the flat plain where the rocks were staggered like fallen monoliths. It was as if nature had dropped them all in a heap and then kicked them around like a child’s blocks.
“Spooky place, ain’t it?” Loomis said as they rode beneath a giant slab of rock that looked like the side of a large building. Rain splashed against its layered sides, and small waterfalls cascaded from every crevice and small shelf. Water ran everywhere in rippling rivulets, corkscrewing across open land, leaving puddles at every turn and twist. The noise of the rain on the gigantic rocks was loud enough, but the wind howled over and under them while lightning danced in the dark clouds like jagged lances hurled from some great height. And the thunder was amplified by the rocks. Schneck felt the concussive force of wind and thunder as Loomis lit up with lightning flashes, then became a dark silhouette atop a rain-slick horse.
They could hear cattle bawling in the recesses of the rocky terrain and, finally, they saw a man on horseback, waving a towel at several head, as if trying to drive them to some central or prearranged location.
Loomis and Schneck rode up to the harried man, and he turned and raised an empty hand.
“That you, Chet?” he said.
“Me and Mr. Schneck,” Loomis shouted above the howl of the wind and the boom of the thunder. “Where you drivin’ them cows, Rolly?”
“Hell, Chet, I ain’t drivin’ them nowhere. But Jess Crandall’s got near a thousand head down in a jumble of rocks. We’re tryin’ to get as much of the herd back together as we can in this damned storm.”
“We’ll help you, Rolly,” Loomis said. “I want to talk to Jess anyway.”
“It’s hard to turn these cows with all the noise. Only reason they don’t run like hell is that they’re plumb tuckered after twenty miles of runnin’.”
“Do you have a rifle, Rolly?” Schneck asked. Rolly was Earl Rollins, who worked on the Wyoming ranch and was a pretty fair hand at roping and branding.
“No, sir. The less I pack on these drives, the less my old horse has to work. You got that old single-shot .40, don’t you, Chet?”
“Yeah, but I only got three or four bullets for it. I carry it more or less for ballast.”
Rolly laughed.
“Sorry, Mr. Schneck. I don’t think any of the boys with me are packin’ rifles. Just pistols.”
“That means you’re out of luck, Otto, if you’re trying to roust up ca’tridges for that Winchester of your’n.”
“I wanted to put a man on that trail to look for the Sidewinder,” Schneck said.
“Sidewinder?” Rolly asked.
“Yeah, that’s what they call him,” Schneck said. “He’s riding a strawberry roan and I expect him to come down that trail. I’m looking for someone to blow him out the saddle when he shows up.”
“Hard to pick off a man with a pistol in this rain,” Rolly said.
“Never mind, Rolly,” Loomis said. “Let’s drive these few head down to where Jess is. Anybody else down there?”
“I don’t know, Boss. We got men and cattle scattered from hell to breakfast. But I think this is far as any of the cows got. Town of Morrison’s right down the way, but none of ’em run that far.”
The three men rounded up the few head and started to drive them to where Jess had a large part of the herd. Rolly rode drag, while Loomis and Schneck held in the flanks. The cattle lumbered off and joined the rest of the herd, filing into the main body with moos and throaty bellows.
“Where’s Jess?” Schneck asked Loomis.
“Dunno. We’ll look for him.”
They found Crandall under an overhanging rock. He squatted on the ground while another man, Will Purdy, held up a slicker to block the wind. Jess and Will had gathered some firewood from the hills above the red rocks and some squaw wood from the pines higher up to use for kindling. Jess had three burned-out matches lying at the edge of the squaw wood and was striking a fourth match on the side of a matchbox.
The three men dismounted and stood around Jess to shield him from the lashing rain and the blowing wind.
“Need any help, Jess?” Loomis asked.
Crandall looked up and saw who had ridden up.
“Howdy, Chet, Mr. Schneck. I’m tryin’ to light this fire so’s we can warm our hands. Look at ’em.”
He and Purdy held out their bone-white hands that were all wrinkled and puckered from the cold.
“Go right ahead, Jess,” Loomis said.
Crandall struck another match, cupped the flaming tip in both hands, and set the fire in the dry squaw wood. They heard a crackling sound, and the tiny filaments on the branches caught fire. Jess leaned down and blew gently on the fire to spread it.
“Looks like you got it, Jess,” Rolly said.
The larger branches caught fire and hissed as the rainwater evaporated into a fine mist. In a few minutes, they had a small campfire going. Purdy added more large limbs as it burned down. The men stood there for several minutes holding their wet, shriveled hands over the warmth. The smoke rose and flattened against the overhang and left a hazy smudge on its rosy surface.
“Who’s tending the herd, Jess?” Schneck asked as he turned his flat hands over and raised them a bit higher away from the flickering flames.
“Ain’t nobody here but me and Purdy,” he said. “Them cattle ain’t goin’ nowhere tonight.”
“They think they’ve found a home in these here rocks,” Purdy said, half joking. “ ’Sides, they’re worn out, same as us.”
“Who’s your best shot with a pistol, Jess?” Schneck asked.
The question caught Crandall by surprise. He looked at Rolly and Purdy, then at Loomis.
“Hell, I don’t know, Mr. Schneck. We don’t exactly hold matches among us, what with chasin’ cows all over creation and humpin’ down the trail day and night.”
“You don’t need to be sarcastic, Jess,” Schneck said. “I asked a question. I need an answer.”
“Rolly?” Crandall asked, looking over at Rollins.
“I seen you shoot some airtights onc’t or twice, Jess,” Rolly said. “And Purdy there, he’s a pretty good shot I reckon. Seen him tumble a coyote one night and a jackrabbit or two.”
“Yeah,” Crandall said. “Purdy, he’s pretty good with a pistol, come to think of it.”
“Hell, I ain’t never shot nobody,” Purdy said.
“Think you could dust a man off with that pistol of yours?” Schneck asked.
“If’n I was real close, I reckon I could,” Purdy said.
“How’s your eyesight, Will?” Schneck asked.
“Fair to middlin’ I reckon. Say, you want me to kill this Sidewinder?”
“There’s a fifty-dollar gold piece in it for you if you do, Will,” Schneck said.
“Golly, Mr. Schneck, I’d kill my own granny for that kind of money. Only she’s already dead and gone.”
The men all laughed.
Schneck walked over and put an arm over Purdy’s shoulder. He walked him a few feet away and put his mouth close to Purdy’s ear.
“I want you to ride or walk back to the trail leading in here,” he said. “Find a good big rock you can sit on and watch to see who comes down that trail. He’s riding a strawberry roan. He’s a tall fellow and is probably wearing a black or yellow slicker.”
“Yes, sir,” Purdy said.
“I want you to shoot him dead. Don’
t call out to him or ask him to stop. Just shoot him. Got that?”
“I got that. I’ll do my damndest, Mr. Schneck.”
“Get to it, then. When you get back with proof that Sidewinder is dead, I’ll put a fifty-dollar gold piece in your hand.”
“Golly, Mr. Schneck, that’s right generous of you.”
Purdy walked away to get his horse. Schneck returned to the campfire.
“Is he going to do it?” Loomis asked.
“I hope so. I saw a lot of big rocks by the side of that trail we rode in on. If Purdy’s any kind of shot at all, he should take care of Mr. Sidewinder for us.”
Loomis bit his tongue. He wanted to say, “You mean take care of him for you, Otto.”
But he said nothing, and the men stood by the fire and waited out the storm as the huge rock loomed over them and poured silvery shawls of rain off its massive shoulder.
They watched the lightning streak over Denver and listened to the rumble of heavy thunder as the cattle milled and jostled each other under the drenching downpour that blackened their curly hides.
THIRTY-SIX
For several miles, Brad thought he was either on a wild-goose chase or looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack. But the trackless mud began to show signs of hoofprints, small watery depressions in the trail made by four-footed animals packing weight. Soon, these turned into legible hoof marks that told him he was getting close.
The tracks were still blurred, but they were definable, even so. He rode on, ever more wary, his pulse racing. He saw a few head of cattle on the small hillsides, slipping and sliding to keep their footing on the soggy slopes.
Rocky outcroppings began to appear alongside the trail, which now showed a host of indecipherable gouges from the cloven hooves of cattle. The horse tracks were overlaid on these muddy hieroglyphics.
A jagged streak of lightning illuminated a man sitting atop one of the rocky cairns off to his left. He saw the back of a horse behind the rock. The man sitting there was wearing a gray slicker, and his hat was dripping rain from its brim. Thunder rumbled from out on the plain, and Brad thought he could see the dim streetlamps of Denver in the misty distance.
The next time the lightning flashed, Brad saw that the man was standing up. And he had a pistol in his hand. He was looking uptrail in his direction.
Brad slid off his horse and slapped Ginger on the rump so that the horse would continue on its path.
Then he walked on the opposite side, matching the horse’s gait. He knew the man on the rock could not see him since he had ducked down below his saddle.
When he drew close, Brad tugged on one rein. Ginger halted, its head twisted toward Brad.
Brad pulled out his rattles and shook them. He peered under his horse’s neck and saw the man’s head jerk toward the sound.
The man muttered something under his breath.
“You looking for somebody in particular?” Brad said.
“Huh? What’s that?”
“Schneck send you?” Brad said.
The man swung his pistol toward Ginger.
Brad drew his Colt and hammered it back to full cock.
The man on the rock raised his arm to take aim at somebody he could not see.
“Big mistake, feller,” Brad said. He lined up his sights and squeezed the trigger.
The pistol roared, and the man flew off the rock like a lizard blown off by a sudden gust of wind. His arms flailed and his pistol went flying. He hit the ground with a thud. Brad ran over to the other side of the rock and looked down at the stricken man.
Purdy’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. Instead, there was a liquid gurgle in his throat. His eyes rolled back in their sockets as if he were trying to look inside himself. The gurgle turned into a faint rattle and his eyes turned glassy. A sound of air issued from his throat. He quivered all over and died.
Brad ejected the spent cartridge and replaced it with another full round.
“Is this all you’ve got, Schneck?” he said and mounted Ginger. He stuck his pistol back in its holster and pulled the shotgun, Snake Eyes, from its sheath. He cracked it open and saw the two shot shells seated in the firing chamber. He laid the sawed-off over his lap and rode on.
He saw the campfire and heard voices. He also saw the steep overhanging rock. There was another just below it, slightly off the trail, and it stuck up at an acute angle in another direction. It was much smaller than the rock that overhung the campfire.
Brad counted three men who were standing there, warming their hands over the fire.
He rode above the large rock and dismounted. He was sure that none of the men had seen him. And they had probably not heard his shot since there was still the peal of thunder that masked many lesser sounds.
He walked back down to the trail where he could see the three men.
He spotted Schneck. He did not recognize the other two men.
They were still talking. Brad hunkered down and watched them.
The fire burned low. One of the men walked away. He met another man, and they walked down to where Brad could see a bunch of cattle huddled in a tight bunch. They walked past them and climbed onto horses. They rode off and disappeared behind slanted slashes of rain.
Finally, the man who was still with Schneck said something and walked out from under the overhang. He walked down the trail and when Brad next saw him, he was on horseback, heading toward the gathered herd of cattle.
Brad shook his rattle.
Schneck whirled and grabbed for his pistol.
Brad rattled again.
Schneck pulled his pistol from his holster and ran from under the rock. He ran across the trail and clambered up the other rock.
“Who’s that?” he called out.
Brad shook the rattles again, then ran up behind the overhanging rock. He ran to its edge and looked down at Schneck on the smaller outcropping.
Once again, he shook the rattles and he saw Schneck’s head turn and then tilt back to look up.
A flash of lightning silhouetted Schneck and made Brad’s form stand out like a sore thumb.
Schneck pointed his pistol at Brad.
“You bastard,” he said.
Brad cocked both hammers of the shotgun.
“See this, Schneck?” Brad held the shotgun slightly to one side, the barrels pointing directly at Schneck.
“You got a shotgun. But you came to the wrong place, Detective.”
“What does it look like?” Brad asked. “Look close at the two barrels.”
“So, it’s a sawed-off. So what?”
“You’re looking at snake eyes, Schneck.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Snake eyes. That means you lose, Schneck.”
Schneck took deadly aim with his pistol. He squinted as he lined up his sights.
Brad tugged at one trigger of the shotgun and then the other in rapid succession.
Double-ought buckshot spewed from both barrels following the loud duo of explosions. Shots whistled through the air like a swarm of angry bees. The buckshot smashed into Schneck’s torso, riddling him with holes from the lead pellets.
Schneck danced like a human contortionist for a half second.
He screamed like a woman.
He fired his pistol, but the bullet shot off at a crazy angle and smacked into a puddle of rainwater.
Schneck screwed himself into a tight, writhing ball and tumbled from the rock. He landed on his head, and Brad heard the crack as his neck broke.
Just as if he had been hanged from a gallows.
Brad cracked open the barrels of the Greener and the shells ejected, striking the rock with a brassy clatter. He reached in his pocket and took out two more shells and loaded them into the empty barrels. Then he snapped the shotgun closed and waited.
Three men rode up and saw the body of Schneck lying there with his neck broken, his shirt and trousers bristling with tufts of torn cloth.
The men looked up at Brad. He stood there with the shot
gun as if he were out bird hunting.
“Schneck was a murderer,” Brad said, as the rain lessened. “If he had surrendered to me, he would have been tried and hanged. Any questions?”
The three men shook their heads.
“Then, get back to your cattle, and if you want my advice, you’ll drive them back to Wyoming. They won’t be welcomed up in sheep country.”
One of the men, Loomis, opened his mouth to say something in protest, but thought better of it and remained silent.
Brad watched them all turn and go back to the herd.
He hefted the shotgun and walked off the huge rock and down to his horse. He wiped the barrels.
“Snake Eyes,” he said as he slipped the Greener back in its case.
He rode toward Denver as the black clouds sailed past the city and brought rain to the long prairie. He was finished with the Denver Detective Agency. He would see Pendergast in the morning, and then he would ride home. Home to Felicity and his own cattle.
Home. The sweetest sound in the English language.
Click here for more books by this author
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
Other Novels
THE DARK LAND
SUNSET RIDER
TEXAS DUST
BLOOD RIVER
THE SUNDOWN MAN
Snake Eyes (9781101552469) Page 19