Ride for Rule Cordell (6 page)

After Checker rode on, the buckboard and its outrider continued in silence for several minutes. Finally, Morgan turned toward the black gunman.

“You know him, don’t you?”

Fiss nodded without looking at her.

She wasn’t satisfied and reined the wagon to an abrupt halt. Fading sunlight sought her face; bright eyes sought the black man’s face.

He grinned and knew they weren’t going any farther until he shared more. He eased his horse alongside the wagon seat and reined it to a stop. She had hired him only after he made clear she knew of his past. As the problems with Lady Holt had increased, Morgan relied on his protection more and more—and sought his counsel often as well. Her husband had been killed from a kick in the head by a horse he was breaking. She had held the ranch together by sheer grit.

“Mrs. Peale, he is John Checker. A Ranger. One of the best. Not a man to mess with.” Fiss ran his fingers along the butt of the hanging shotgun. “He’s the one who brought me in.”

“You hate him, then.”

“Suppose I should. But there were a lot of lawmen closing in on me.” He looked away. “I was cornered. In a tiny adobe hut. Checker told the others to wait a quarter mile back and he came in alone.” The black man licked his lower lip. “He rode up to the door. No gun in his hand. Reined up, leaned forward and said, ‘Awful hot. Too hot for a gun battle. What say you ride back to town? With me. You’ll be safe. You have my word.’ ”

Her face was a question as Fiss continued. He surrendered and they rode back to the posse. Checker made it clear to the waiting lawmen that the black man was not to be harmed. A wild-eyed deputy pulled a gun, yelling Fiss had taken his family’s money from the bank.

“Checker drew on him, faster than you could hiccup. Made the deputy drop his gun—and nobody tried anything after that. Rode into town real peaceful-like. He and the Rangers stood guard until the district judge came in.”

“Why do you think he did that?” she asked.

Fiss told her about a small boy getting away from his mother and running in front of him as he escaped from the bank robbery. He swerved his horse out of the toddler’s way, stopped and went back. He reached down and pulled the boy onto his saddle. Then he rode over to the distraught woman and handed off her crying child.

“Checker heard about it. Told me so. Thought I could be trusted—and deserved a break. He made sure the judge heard that story, too.”

“Interesting man,” Morgan said. “Wonder if he’ll stick around?” She snapped the reins and the wagon moved again.

Nightfall wasn’t too far away. As he entered the ranch yard, Checker saw a silhouette on the barn roof.

He waved.

A slim figure waved back. It was Rikor. A smart location for the young sharpshooter, Checker thought. The young man was as steady and brave as his parents.

Reining up, he yelled, “Emmett! A.J., what’s for supper?”

Emmett stepped into the doorway, holding a Sharps .50 buffalo gun that would tear a man apart. He patted the gun and smiled.

“How long we got, John, ’til they come?” Bartlett appeared from his position on the west side of the house. In his hands was another Sharps carbine.

Checker swung down, wrapped the reins and the lead rope around the hitching rack near the front porch and told him what had happened without directly answering Bartlett’s question. Hammer barked his greeting and Checker gave him the attention he wanted.

The two young boys were setting the table and talking as if it were an ordinary day.

“John, there ain’t no way I branded them beeves,” Emmett
declared. “Hell, a greenhorn could see a smoke-over like that a mile away.” He shook his head. “Guess it don’t really matter. That she-devil’s got her cap set for my place—an’ that’s that.”

“I know you didn’t steal her cattle, you old cougar. If you want, I could try to negotiate a sale,” Checker said, studying the rancher’s wrinkled face.

“What? Are you tryin’ to insult me?”

Checker pushed his hat back on his head. “No, Emmett. I’m trying to do whatever you want to do. It’s your place.”

“Right. That’s what it is. My place. Me an’ my boys. We ain’t movin’.” He patted the rifle again. “My Almina’s buried hyar, by God. A.J. told me what ya said. That we should run. I cain’t do that, John.”

Checker nodded. “Figured you’d say that.”

“Come on in,” Emmett said. “Got supper near ready. Ain’t much, but it’s fillin’.” He motioned toward the packhorse. “What ar’ ya carryin’?”

“Food. Bullets. Thought they might come in handy.”

Emmett grinned. “We’ll give ’em what-fer. Rikor’s up on the barn roof an’ he can see if they start a-comin’—from anywhere.”

Bartlett bit his lip and asked again, “When do you expect them, John?”

Checker hitched his heavy gun belt and said there was no way to know for certain. They could come right away. They could wait until they had reinforcements. He thought the latter was most likely, guessing Jaudon’s men would be reluctant to face them this soon. Without a pause, he said there was a real possibility that Rangers or troops would join the effort. Or both. Lady Holt had that kind of pull with the governor, he thought.

Emmett and Bartlett were stunned at the likelihood of Rangers being involved, or cavalry. Neither had thought of that.

“My God, you don’t think Rangers would come at us, do you, John? Not really?” Bartlett asked. He rolled his shoulders to let the tension escape.

“I wouldn’t put it past her, A.J. All she has to do is convince the governor that it’s the right thing to do,” Checker said, and added, “You know Citale.”

The studious lawman stared at Checker without speaking. “That would mean we’d be shooting at…our friends.”

“That’s what it would mean,” Checker said. “And they would be shooting back.”

“They might refuse.”

“Might. Then they would be fired. Like us.”

“Damn!”

“Yeah.”

Emmett looked at both men. They were longtime friends. “Hey, I don’t expect you boys to do nothin’ like that. You’ve already done a bunch. We’d never made it through last night without you showin’ up.” His shoulders rose and fell. “That devil Englishwoman got the governor to take away your badges. That’s more’n anyone should have to pay. On my account. You boys ride back an’ patch things up. We’ll get along. Honest.”

“Now you’re trying to insult
us
, Emmett,” Checker said, and placed a hand on the rancher’s shoulder. “We’re here—and we’re staying.”

Emmett Gardner looked away for a moment. “Let’s eat, and then I’ll change places with Rikor, so he kin git some chow. He’ll be wantin’ to hear what’s up.”

They walked inside and the two boys eagerly greeted the tall Ranger and he returned their enthusiasm.

“Are they comin’ back?” Andrew asked.

Checker studied the boy. He deserved more than a fairy tale. “Yes, Andrew. They’ll be comin’ back.”

“Figured.” The boy looked down at his well-worn boots, then back into Checker’s face. “I can shoot.”

Checker patted him on the shoulder, then Hans’s shoulder.

Hans looked up. “I can fight, too, sir.”

“I know you both can.”

Emmett joined them and changed the subject to eating. They ate in silence as most western men did. Downing a venison stew, biscuits and coffee. The boys drank milk, fresh from their milk cows in the barn. Hammer enjoyed some leftovers in his bowl in the corner.

When they were finished, Checker said, “When I was coming here, I passed a fine-looking woman. She turned off. West.”

“That’d be Morgan Peale. Owns a little spread just on the far side of my pond,” Emmett said, savoring the last of his coffee. “She’s a widow. Real looker, she be. But tough as old leather. Kept that ranch a-goin’ after her man was killed. Hoss kicked him. Two years back, it were.” He took another sip. “We try to help out when we can. You know, spring roundup an’ such. Charlie Carlson over north o’ hyar, he does, too.”

“A.J., she’s got London Fiss riding for her,” Checker said.

Bartlett looked puzzled. “Wonder if she knows?”

To Emmett’s question, Checker explained Fiss had done time in prison for robbing banks and stagecoaches. The old rancher watched the Ranger closely as he spoke, then added, “You like that black man, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Any riders workin’ for you right now?” Bartlett changed the subject; his interest was obvious.

“No. Not now. I always hire short riders when we need ’em. Can’t afford no regulars. Not yet anyway. She’s got Fiss.
Charlie’s got a few.” He looked around the table. “ ’Sides that, I’m growin’ my own.”

Both boys smiled and agreed.

“We work our beeves nice an’ slow. No need for them to wander. Good grass. Good water.” Emmett grimaced. “That’s why that devil woman wants our place. She’ll be after the others soon as we go down.”

“Got an idea I want you to chew on, Emmett,” Checker said, and pushed his chair away from the table. “But it’s one we’d have to act on quickly.”

“Well, I’ll sure listen. Andrew, ya call in Rikor, an’ stand lookout. Would ya do that, son. Shoot in the air if’n ya see anybody comin’.”

“Yes, sir.”

The three men walked into the main room and Checker outlined what had been forming in his mind. It was the same idea, but with more reasoning behind it. Waiting for Lady Holt to attack—in whatever way she decided—was not what they should do. Instead, they should leave. It would mean leaving the ranch and herd unguarded and accepting that the buildings would probably be burned. He thought the cattle would remain where they were; there was no advantage in moving them at this time. If they stayed here to protect the ranch, they would eventually be killed. All of them.

Emmett shook his head. “Worked awful hard to build this place.” He looked around the room. “Lot o’ memories here.”

“I know, Emmett. But we can rebuild it when this is over—an’ make a lot more memories,” Checker said. “First, though, we need to move the boys to a place safe. Away from here. Until we can figure out how to win this thing.” He glanced outside. “Thought about asking Mrs. Peale to watch them for a while. But I don’t think it would be right. That might bring her trouble.”

Bartlett settled into a big chair that had once been blue and was now mostly gray. He said nothing. Waiting.

“We’ll take ’em to Rule Cordell. He’s my nephew, you know. On my sister’s side,” Emmett declared, jutting his chin out in determination.

It was obvious he had agreed to Checker’s plan, in spite of his earlier statements. “Lives over in Clark Springs. Him an’ his wife. Raises horses. Does some fine preachin’ on the side. Or did. Think he’s outta that now.” He rubbed his unshaven chin. “His pappy were my sister’s husband. Cruel sonvabitch. A preacher, but I don’t think he knew much about God. Not really. Beat Rule somethin’ awful when he was a young’un. My sister left him finally. Ran off with a farmer.”

“Didn’t Rule ride with Johnny Cat Carlson’s outfit after the war?” Bartlett said, sitting up in his chair. “Thought he was dead.”

“So did the rest of Texas fer a piece. But he’s mighty alive and well. He gave all that up. Years back.” Emmett rubbed his chin. “Well, there was a mean spell there after the war. Captain Padgett and his Regulators went after friends o’ his’n.” He chuckled and shook his head. “That brought out the old Rule Cordell. That’s when he took down that Lion David Graham feller.” He shook his head again. “Governor gave him clemency a year or so ago. Not that clown Citale, but the feller previous.”

“Howard Short.”

“Yah.”

Both Rangers nodded. The Rangers had been disbanded after the conflict and the state police, Regulators, created by General Sherman’s appointed governor. Sherman had a force along the Rio Grande to assist in keeping Texans from resuming the fight. Rule Cordell’s name had been one tossed around with King Fisher, Clay Allison, Lion David Graham, Ben Thompson, John Wesley Hardin—and John Checker.

“Didn’t I hear where he created this fake battalion that stopped a sneak Union advance? In Virginia. Near the end.” Checker rubbed his chin. “Seems to me, he and a few others were on a scouting patrol when they came across a Union force, Humphrey’s Two, heading right for the Confederates’ open flank. Hill’s Third. Boydon Plank Road, it was. The way I heard it, Rule saved them from being surprised. Probably kept them being overrun.”

“Yeah. That’s Rule. Made one o’ them empty Rebel breastworks look like it was full o’ soldjurs an’ ready fer a fight. Even created cannons outta tree trunks. Made it to look like they was a-firin’. All kinds o’ stuff that wasn’t real. Scarecrow soldjurs. Set up a way to fire a bunch o’ guns at the same time.”

Emmett grinned and continued. “Hid sacks o’ powder to blow up…an’ put some sacks with cannonballs that were left behind. Put ’em up in the pine trees whar them Union boys were a-comin’ through. Ya know, so’s Rule an’ his friends could shoot ’em down an’ make it look like they was a-firin’ cannon.” He chuckled. “Fooled ’em somethin’ fierce an’ gave the boys in gray time to stop ’em cold.”

Nodding appreciation for the strategy, Checker glanced at Bartlett and cocked his head. “We should go tonight, Emmett. Soon as it’s dark.”

Rikor come into the house and the three men turned to watch. The oldest Gardner son reminded both of Emmett’s late wife. His young face was determined, but strong; his blue eyes sought understanding.

“Rikor, it’s good to see you again. You’re quite the young man,” Checker said, and held out his hand. “Wish the reason was different.”

“Everything quiet up on that roof?” Bartlett said with a forced grin.

“Yeah. Only Ranger Checker coming in.” The young man returned the handshakes. “When are they coming?”

Emmett told his son about the situation and Checker’s idea.

Rikor looked around the room. “We can rebuild, Pa. But it’s your call.”

“No, son, it ain’t. We’re in this together.” Emmett frowned. “What do you think about taking the boys an’ leaving ’em with Rule?”

Glancing at both Rangers, Rikor said, “Maybe Uncle Rule’ll help us, too. One of these days, we’re going to have to stop that awful woman. We can’t just keep walking around her.”

“Maybe. You go in an’ git somethin’ to eat. Then we’ll pack the wagon.”

“Sure.” Rikor walked into the other room and sat down at the table.

“You’ve got three sons to really be proud of, Emmett,” Checker said, ignoring the oldest son’s comment about Lady Holt. “They’re going to do good things.”

“If’n they get the chance.” The rancher’s mind drew into a hard line.

“They will, Emmett. They will.” Checker crossed his arms to reinforce his thought.

Turning toward the dining table, Emmett said, “I reckon the boys’ll want to ride alongside the wagon. Think that’s all right?”

“Sure. Do we have to cross Holt land?” Checker said.

Emmett closed his eyes for a moment as if thinking through the route. “Yah, the fastest way’ll go across her land.”

“So, how do we win this, John?” Bartlett asked, his mind on Checker’s earlier statement.

“Good question. Stir up enough trouble that a real judge—and real justice—are brought in.” Checker moved to the corner table where a small framed photograph of Emmett and his late wife posed for their wedding day. “Probably…we’re going to have to get rid of Lady Holt.”

“You mean killing her?” Bartlett raised himself halfway in the chair.

Checker stared at him without seeing and didn’t answer. “Right now, we need to buy time. We can figure the rest later.”

Bartlett knew his friend had no intention of answering his question.

“We could be across her land in two hours, John. It’s just a corner piece.” Emmett added, “Should be at Rule’s by noon or so, I reckon.”