Head Of The Snake. G. Rehder

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      Chapter 6

      Interstate 25 was nothing like the roads I had traveled the previous day and night. A major route that handled a huge amount of truck traffic kept me alert. I had one quick coffee stop at a convenience store outside Cheyenne at the start of my trip. It provided me with a quick packaged pastry for breakfast, bottled water, and beef jerky to get me into the outskirts of Denver.

      I had a 365-mile journey ahead of me today that would take me about seven hours. I hoped to get to Mike’s ranch before 1500 hours. When I got on the road, I called him again but to no avail. He didn’t pick up his phone. I left a message telling him my ETA.

      Highway 25 took me straight south to the New Mexico border, through the middle of Colorado, into the heart of the state and its most populated areas. Traffic was dense in the Denver area, and I was relieved to get into the rolling prairie land to its south, more scenic and a lot less traveled except for the big rigs.

      When I crossed into New Mexico and into the small town of Roton, I turned off the Interstate onto Highway 64, into the high desert heading into the Cimarron Canyon.

      Traffic dwindled to a trickle, and I was able to relax behind the wheel and enjoy the scenery surrounding me. I pulled over at a turnout and got out to stretch my legs. The fall breeze was cool, and you could smell the sagebrush in the air. I made another call to Mike. My cell had only one bar, so I didn’t know if it would connect.

      Over the weak signal, I heard his phone begin to ring, still no answer, and in the static of the connection, I heard his answering machine announce its messages were full. I tried not to think the worst, but my concern was reaching alarm level.

      The canyons terrain changed from high desert to forest as I climbed in elevation. I was in that area of New Mexico that saw snow, deep at times during the winter. I traveled west, and my route brought me to the small town of Eagles Nest, where I turned off onto Highway 38, which would take me into Questa.

      At 1513 hours, I was finally in Questa, where 38 ended onto 522 North. I was twenty minutes out from Mike’s. I tried another call as I was parked off the intersection. Again, no answer. The good connection gave me a clear audible message this time, telling me his answering machine was full.

      I got onto 522 North. I reached Mike’s gravel road that wound in several miles to his ranch. As I got close enough to have a visual, I saw activity out front in his yard. When I arrived through his gate, there were three county sheriff’s vehicles and an older Nissan sedan in front of the house. Their lights weren’t flashing, their motors weren’t running, and the way the drivers had parked their SUVs indicated they already knew what they would find when they had arrived. There were no EMT vehicles on site.

      My heart sank. I felt my dread was about to become a reality.

      I parked and got out of the Four Runner, looking all around the perimeter, not seeing anyone outside except a young Hispanic woman sitting on a porch swing by the front door. Mike’s cow dog Winslow sat at her feet, watching my every move as I approached.

      I walked slowly her way, listening to the crunch of gravel under my boots. The sound was surreal like what I was about to encounter was a dream, and the sound was just a part of it. Winslow got up. I knew he recognized me. He moved to me, his tail barely wagging. I bent down and scratched his head.

      “Winslow boy, I’m here” was all I could say.

      As I got close to the woman on the swing, I saw tears streaming down her cheeks as she looked my way.

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