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.”
Chapter Eleven
An hour after Checker rode out of town, Sil Jaudon was in Lady Holt’s apartment. The shouts of the jailed men had finally brought curious townsmen. His face was a red ball of crimson. Outside on the street, his men were saddled and ready to ride. He sat at a small table where she had directed his presence. In his hands was his hat with one brim pinned to its crown.
“Je suis desole, Madame…ah, I am sorry,” he spat. “I will bring back ze heads of theez Rangers—and ze old rancher.”
“You didn’t do so well the first time.” Lady Holt’s eyes almost snickered.
“Oui, that was so. They were cunning. Surprised us. That will not happen again,” Jaudon said, his face draining of its color. “S’il vous plait… Ah, please, let us do our job. Is that not tres bien?”
She stood, walked to the window and stared into the street. Dusk was taking over the day. “I thought the idea was for you to surprise them. Here’s what you’re going to do.” She spoke without turning around.
“Madame, but I—I want to bring vous…theez treasure. Theez rich land. Merci.”
She turned toward him and the soft light from outside hovered about her shoulders. “I know you do, Sil. And I have great confidence that you will.” A smooth smile matched her sparkling eyes. “But when you ride, you will lead the Rangers as their captain. It is perfect.”