Snake Eyes (9781101552469) (14 page)

Vivelda Udaberri was a curious young woman. She was also very observant and, some said, too curious for her own good. She was a raven-haired beauty with warm brown eyes that missed very little. All afternoon she had been watching the Mexican, Verdugo. She had first caught sight of him when he was cutting wood for the evening campfire. She noticed him even more when he stood behind the pile of cut logs listening to the American, Brad, and her friend, the widow Leda. She thought that was very curious, but she said nothing at the time.

After that, she shadowed Verdugo everywhere he went. She was very careful so that he did not see her watching him so closely. She saw him at supper and noted that he did not eat much. He spoke but little to those sitting around him, but he seemed most interested in the women and children, and he found excuses to stand or sit near Leda and the detective, Brad Storm. He was very quiet, and few noticed him at all.

Vivelda thought he acted very strange when he slipped away as the men laid out the wagon sheets to make a small dance floor and the fiddle player tuned his instrument to the plucked strings of the guitar. He stepped away from the firelight and walked slowly to the stables.

Vivelda crept away from the others, all of whom were watching the musicians and talking with each other. Storm did not notice that the Mexican had walked away because he was engaged in a serious talk with a small girl in pigtails named Oriana and her brother, Zenzo, as their mother, Petra, stood by with an expression and attitude of motherly pride. Zenzo showed Storm a shiny harmonica and shook his head when the American asked him if he could play it. The boy shook his head and Storm said, “Neither can I.”

Vivelda kept to the shadows as Verdugo quietly led the mule out of the stable, walked it very slowly beyond the range of the firelight, and climbed onto its bare back.

Curious, she followed him long enough to see him ride toward the downslope of the ridge and disappear. She listened to the muffled sound of the mule's hooves and determined the direction the Mexican took. He rode to the top of the ridge and then turned westward toward the valley where she knew the cattlemen had their camp.

When she returned to the campfire, the music was in full swing and dancers swirled and dipped on the wagon sheets. She kept looking toward the stables to see if the Mexican would return. She became swept up in the joy and exuberance of the herders, their women and children, and even danced with Nestor Tiribio at the insistence of his wife, Renata.

The American detective, whom she thought was very handsome, despite his pale skin, danced with Renata, Leda, and to the delight of all who were there, with Oriana, who beamed as the tall man glided with her as if she were a princess. She curtsied afterward to wild applause from the spectators.

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.

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 or 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.”