Free The Serpent's Bite by Warren Adler

his head in admiration of the white cottony puffs of clouds gathering against the background of the cerulean blue sky. He hoped such weather would hold, although the longer-term weather report called for rain.
    That first trip through the West had been his father’s idea as well. He had characterized it as an obligatory educational trip to see parts of the country radically different from city life in New York. He characterized it then as a broadening experience.
    Earlier in Courtney’s and Scott’s preteen life, their parents had taken them to Europe, Mexico, and the West Coast. Always, they had considered these family trips educational opportunities for the children. Always for the children. Their parents during those early years rarely traveled without their children. Both Scott and Courtney, eager frisky teenagers with exploding hormones, had welcomed the earlier Yellowstone trek with great anticipation. The family had flown to Jackson Hole, hired a car, and proceeded to West Yellowstone.
    Their mother, who had never shown any inclination to outdoor adventure, took to it with surprising gusto and goodhumor. At their last meal around the campfire, she was voted Miss Congeniality by the family, complete with a burst of applause that echoed through the canyons. The recall brought a surprising film of tears to Scott’s eyes, and he turned away to hide its effect.
    Going over Eagle Pass had been a particular trial for their mother, but she had been a good soldier, making the descent mostly with eyes closed, stiff with fear in the saddle, dismounting with effort as she led her horse along the dangerously narrow switchback trails. When they reached the valley floor, she had thrown up and vowed “never again.” But they all acknowledged her as a genuine heroine, offering hugs and kisses of acclaim. The steep climb and equally hazardous descent along narrow switchback trails was often cited as “the worst few hours of her life,” and she could always mesmerize guests with a blow-by-blow account, which grew greatly exaggerated by the passage of time.
    His father had done considerable research to find the very best outfitter with the finest reputation. This turned out to be Harry McGrath, then the most experienced and expensive in the business. He was determined that the trek give his children a real taste of the hardships of the wilderness and the joys of an adventurous experience. It had easily fulfilled both criteria, although they had experienced it as far more profound than they had bargained for.
    More than twenty years had passed since then, and there was no denying that a man in his seventies would have a tougher time than any of them. Chronology was chronology. Their father was indeed putting himself at risk. Courtney was correct inthat assessment. Scott pushed her suggestive comments from his mind.
    â€œBeats Central Park, Dad,” Scott joked, determined to use banter to keep the atmosphere light and friendly.
    His father nodded and smiled. Scott watched his nostrils twitch as he took a deep breath.
    â€œThe air is cleansing,” his father said.
    â€œAnd thin,” Scott said. “Less oxygen to feed the brain cells.”
    â€œNot to worry, Scottie,” Courtney chuckled. “Probably not much left for you to feed.”
    Courtney giggled at her little deprecating joke, and they all laughed. Their general attitude augured well. They were all behaving admirably, Scott observed, a good sign. He exchanged glances with Courtney who, catching the message, nodded agreement.
    â€œGood idea, kids. Wasn’t it?” their father said, a reminder of the way they had been addressed growing up.
    â€œSo far,” Scott commented.
    He called to Harry, who was checking one of the mules’ legs. “How much longer?”
    Harry looked at the sky. “Maybe six hours to camp.”
    Scott nodded. Six hours seemed like forever. He popped two more ibuprofen