Snake Eyes (9781101552469) (2 page)

“It was? I—I don't understand how you could come to any conclusion concerning the murderer at all.”

“In the valley where we graze our sheep, there is competition from cattle. In another valley, a man grazes a large herd of cattle. Some of these cattle stray into our valley. This man told me last year not to drive my herd of sheep into this valley. He said that if I did, it would mean war.”

“War?”

“That is the word that this man used, yes.”

Garaboxosa touched a finger to a spot below his eye where a single tear had strayed. He wiped the moisture away and stiffened in his chair. His dark eyes narrowed and glowed like mirrored coals as the sunlight caught them in a snare of sprayed light.

“Jefferson Territory, this place they are calling Colorado,” Pendergast said, “is cattle country. Sheep are a rarity, and I'm afraid there is deep hostility toward sheepmen among the cattle ranchers.”

“That hostility has touched me and my fellows,” Garaboxosa said. His eyes widened and turned black with suppressed rage. “I found the valley first, Mr. Pendergast. For two years now, we have been grazing our sheep in that same place. We have made camps and we have put up houses below the valley. We have brought our wives and children to the mountains and we have lived in peace.”

“It seems to me that this is a private matter between you and the cattlemen. I don't see the need of a detective agency to solve your problem.”

“This cattleman, the one who murdered Eladio, left a written note in my cousin's pocket. It said that we would all die unless we removed our sheep from the mountains.”

“Do you have the note?” Pendergast asked.

Garaboxosa reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of wrinkled brown paper. He handed it across the desk to Pendergast.

The note was written in red ink, ink the color of blood. Pendergast read the words of warning.

“There is no signature,” he said. “What is that at the bottom? A drawing of some sort. It looks like a snake. A rattlesnake, I presume. Very crude.”

“It is a drawing of a snake with rattles,” Garaboxosa said. “See the forked tongue, the swirls of the tail?”

“Yes, I see those things.”

“The man who threatened me is a German. His name is Otto Schneck. His men call him ‘Snake.' ”

“Snake?”

“Yes, we have heard the cowboys call him by that name.”

“What do you want my agency to do, Mr. Garaboxosa?”

The Basque sheepman steeled his jaw and leaned forward in his chair.

“I want you to follow this man and catch him, bring him to justice. I am prepared to pay with a generous sum of money. In advance.”

Pendergast watched as Garaboxosa pulled an oblong wallet from his back pocket. The wallet was bulging with greenbacks.

“Here is two thousand dollars,” Garaboxosa said and laid the stack of bills on Pendergast's desk.

Pendergast whistled when he saw the money. He picked it up and saw bills in two denominations: fifties and hundreds.

“That's a great deal of money, sir,” Pendergast said.

“We are serious, Mr. Pendergast. We wish to hire you to remove this snake from our midst.”

Pendergast leaned back in his chair. He fanned the bills and listened to the crisp rustle of money.

“I might have just the man to investigate your case, Mr. Garaboxosa.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. His name is Brad Storm. He is a cattle rancher, but he is also a tough man who believes in justice. Funny thing is, they call him Sidewinder.”

“What is this ‘sidewinder' name?”

“A sidewinder is a snake, sir. A rattlesnake.”

Garaboxosa let out a breath of air.

“Ah,” he said. “It sounds like justice. You send a rattlesnake to kill a rattlesnake, no?”

Pendergast smiled and thumbed the money again. It made a sound like the whisper of a rattlesnake's tail.

“Exactly,” he said.

Brad Storm rode down to the foothills above Leadville in late afternoon. He wore buckskins over red flannel long johns to ward off the chill. The pale fire of the sun washed the bleak sky through thin scrims of high clouds. He headed for the wide, sheltered valley that had provided winter quarters for his cattle herd. He rode Ginger, a strawberry roan gelding with a white blaze flared on his forehead.

There were still streamers and clumps of snow in the wind-stunted scrub pines that stood on tiptoe among the crags of limestone that bordered the valley. Water ran into a natural catch basin where some of the cattle were drinking. They made burbling sounds with their rubbery lips as they blew and chaffed with their noses and muzzles. On one side of the valley, a creek flashed diamonds in the sun from every wave crest as it hurtled downward from twelve thousand feet where the snows were deep but had begun to melt in the day's sun.

In the far reaches of the valley, some cattle were lying down, resting in the shade of the limestone outcroppings. Storm saw a man on horseback emerge from a shallow, brush-choked draw, driving a yearling calf ahead of him and his horse.

Brad lifted a hand and waved. He recognized the horseman as his foreman, Julio Aragon. He prodded Ginger's flanks with his blunt spurs and began closing the distance between them. Julio waved back and turned his horse.

The two men met near the upper part of the valley. Ginger whickered and Julio's horse, Chato, a pinto, nickered in reply.

“
Hola, Jefe
, how did you find the ranch? Is there snow on the ground?”

“You get right to the point, don't you, Julio?”

Julio grinned. He had the high cheekbones of the Indian race in his blood, the skin taut and faintly redolent of vermilion as if he bore the faint traces of war paint. His black eyes twinkled like sun-shot agates whenever he turned his head to catch the radiant streaks of the afternoon light. His hair was long and black, curly as ebony shavings from a carpenter's plane.

“The cattle, they look to the mountains every day. They wish to chew on long grass again.”

Brad laughed.

“Homesick cattle? Maybe,” he said. “Well, most of the snow has melted, and there is inch-high grass between the creeks. The creeks are running full and flowing onto the land on both sides. I think we can drive the herd back very soon. I saw elk heading for the high country, and you could count ribs under their hides.”

“Then, we go as soon as we can get the men,” Julio said. “I will tell those who wait in town.”

“A day or two ought to do it. I just hope there won't be a late snow.”

“It is not late for snow in the mountains, Brad.”

“I know.”

Julio stood up in the stirrups, looked over Brad's head, toward the road to Leadville. His eyes widened, and he waved.

Brad turned and saw a woman riding toward them.

“How does a woman know?” he asked. “They must be born with some kind of sixth sense.”

“They can hear the talk in your mind,” Julio said.

“Sometimes Felicity knows what I am thinking before I say anything, Julio.”

Both men laughed.

“The horses, too, they read your thoughts, I think.”

Brad waved to his wife, and she put her horse, Rose, a bottom-heavy bay mare, into a slow gallop.

Felicity was a slim, wiry woman with a patrician nose set in the center of sculptured facial features. She bore an expression of excitement on her face, and her hazel eyes sparkled with sunlight and an inner fire.

“You just get back, Brad?” she asked in an almost breathless voice.

“Minutes ago,” he said.

She rode up close, leaned from her saddle, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Then, she drew a folded piece of paper from her shirt pocket. She wore a mackinaw blouse, with a yellow scarf tied around her neck. Unlike many women of her day, she wore tight gabardine trousers cut to fit snugly to her hips and legs. Her feet were encased in kid boots that expressed their smallness and daintiness.

“Pendergast sent this note by messenger, so I hurried up here, hoping you'd be back from our ranch,” she said.

She handed the note to Brad.

He read it quickly and his facial features hardened into an intense look of anger by the time he had read Pendergast's signature.

“He wants me to come to Denver right away,” he said, a bitter edge to his voice.

“I know,” she said. “He doesn't say why.”

“He never does. ‘Most urgent,' he says.”

“I wonder what it is?” she said.

Julio looked at both of them but said nothing.

“I'm sorry I got roped into this detective business,” he said.

“Do you have to go?” she said.

“I guess so. I gave my word that he could call on me when he needed to.”

Felicity's face rumpled up as she fought back tears and tried to quell her disappointment.

“Hell,” he said, “I've ridden all day, with Ginger picking his way through snowdrifts and muddy ground, so I guess I can ride to Denver. I can down a cup of strong coffee and chew on some grub while I ride.”

“Surely you won't leave right now,” she said, her eyes squinched to keep from weeping.

“Honey, ‘right away' means right away. Harry even underlined those words.”

“Oh, damn him,” Felicity said, then clamped a hand over her mouth.

“He paid for these cattle, darlin',” Brad said. “I owe the man.”

Felicity took in a deep breath and sat up straight, the anguish on her face a mere shadow as she composed herself.

“Brad Storm,” she said, “one of these days you're going to have to decide whether you're a cattle rancher or a detective. You can't sell your soul to Harry Pendergast. The price is just too dear.”

“We shook hands on it, Felicity.”

“Oh, you men and your damned code of honor. Harry snaps his fingers and you come running.”

“My obligation to him won't last forever, honey.”

“It's lasted too long already,” she snapped.

“When I see him, I'll tell Harry I won't do any more detective work,” Brad said.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he said.

“I have your word on that, Brad?”

“Yes, honey. You have my solemn word.”

She reached back and opened one of her saddlebags. She pulled out a bulky package wrapped in butcher paper and tied with twine. She handed it over to her husband.

“I can't give you hot coffee,” she said, “but there's more than enough food in there to get you to Denver.”

Brad took the package in one hand, lifted it to his face. He smelled it.

“Roast beef sandwiches,” she said.

“Better than the jerky and hardtack I've been chewing on for the past three days,” he said. He slipped the food package into his saddlebag.

“You can stop in Leadville for coffee, maybe,” she said.

“No, I'll ride the shortcut to Denver. Can't be any worse than what I've just been through.”

He turned to Julio.

“So can you take the herd up in a day or two, Julio?”

“Yes. I will call the men back tonight and we can drive the cattle up maybe tomorrow or the next day.”

“There's no hurry. Just so you're up there when I get back.”

“When will that be?” Felicity asked.

“Three days at the most,” he said.

“Are you going to quit when you see him or after you do the job he asks you to do?” Her words were blunt fists that he could not easily ward off.

“I can't promise to do it right off, darling. First, I'll hear what Harry has to say.”

“What if . . . ?”

He waved her to silence.

“We won't be speculating on what I'll run into in Denver,” he said. “I'll decide when I hear what Harry has to say.”

“Write me what he says, Brad.”

“You'll be at the hotel?” Pendergast had arranged for Storm to have permanent rooms at the hotel. It was where Felicity stayed when she had to spend a night or two away from the ranch.

“For a week or so. I'll expect you back sometime within the week, and we can ride up to the ranch together.”

“I'll write you as soon as I know anything. And, if luck is with me, I'll beat the mail stage back to Leadville.”

She reached over and grasped his arm. She squeezed it and looked into his blue eyes.

“Hurry back,” she said.

He wanted to take her into his arms just then and hold her tight. A lump appeared in his throat and he couldn't speak for a moment or two. He patted her arm.