“We’ll do our duty, sir.”
“I’m counting on it.”
The governor proceeded to tell him that he and his Rangers were to find and arrest former Rangers John Checker and A. J. Bartlett for murder. They were to be brought directly to the governor’s office for a subsequent hearing.
Captain Temple’s face exploded into a rainbow of emotions, from surprise, to annoyance, to frustration and finally, to anger. He had never liked Citale—and never trusted him. Now he knew why.
“That I will not do. Nor will any of my men,” he said through clenched teeth. “Rangers Checker and Bartlett are two of my best. They are lawmen, not murderers.” He pointed his finger at Citale. “How much did Lady Holt pay you for this slimy act?”
A tense silence took over the room.
Without looking at the enraged captain, Citale removed a cigar from his desk humidor and rolled it in his fingers. He bit off the end, spat it toward the floor and lit the cigar.
After a long drag, he studied the cigar again in his hand, letting a ribbon of smoke find the ceiling through his teeth.
“Do I understand it correctly that you are refusing my direct order?” Citale said, glancing up.
“I am refusing to bring in two innocent and fine men,” Temple said, barely containing himself. “Two of Texas’s best. And you know it.” His jaw pushed forward and his fist curled around the hat brim.
Governor Citale cocked his head to the side and grinned. “You, sir, are no longer a Ranger—or one of its captains.” He leaned forward on the desk, pushing papers aside. Two sheets fluttered and fell to the floor. He pointed his finger to a small opened area. “Leave your badge. Right here. Now.” He returned the cigar to his mouth.
“You son of a bitch.”
“Maybe so. Leave the badge.”
Stunned, Temple pulled the Ranger badge from his vest and tossed it on the desk. The star shape bounced and slid off.
“I will appoint a new captain immediately,” Citale announced, leaning back in his chair and drawing on the cigar.
“My Rangers won’t ride for one of your…appointments.”
“Your men will be notified their services as Rangers are no longer needed, either.”
Slamming his hat on his head, Temple declared, “You won’t get away with this, Citale. You and that Holt woman.”
Governor Citale stroked his mustache again. A confident smile slowly took its place under the hair as he removed the cigar from his mouth. “You, sir, are under arrest.”
From a side door, Sil Jaudon sauntered into the room and pointed a gold-plated revolver at the former Ranger leader. It was a preplanned move.
“Take him away…Ranger Captain Jaudon,” Citale spat.
“Qui, my Governor. It shall be done.”
Temple folded his arms. “This is ridiculous. What’s the charge? Putting on a hat in the governor’s office?”
The fat Jaudon’s smile matched that of the governor’s. “Je regrette, but it is much more than that. You are accused of doing ze bad things with Ranger money.”
“That’s ridiculous, you fat bastard.”
“Ah…but it is true,” Jaudon said, reached inside the captain’s coat and yanked the Colt from his shoulder holster.
Chapter Fifteen
Inside her magnificent and sprawling ranch house, Lady Holt impatiently awaited word on the tactical moves she had put into place: the governor’s appointment, Eleven Meade’s ambush and the gunmen sent to pin down Emmett Gardner and the Rangers. To help keep her nerves from taking control, she undertook her daily ritual earlier than usual, standing in front of a large crimson bird figurine.
“Glorious Phoenix, you ever are my guide. Lead me to your Father, the Sun. As it dies each eve and is reborn each morn, so you direct me to become invincible,” she intoned, and continued in a mixture of Spanish and English ritualistic phrases.
The statuary was an odd combination of an eagle, a heron and a pheasant, carved from cottonwood and adorned with paint and feathers. At its base smoked a small mixture of aromatic herbs settled in a gold dish.
A knock at the door with its walls of red snapped her from the ceremony. She jumped up from her chair. Her eyes were dark with fury. Her servants knew she didn’t like being disturbed when she was in the Phoenix Room.
But the knocking continued.
She walked across the red-and-gold Mexican rug to the door and opened it, prepared to give the servant a severe tongue-lashing.
Blinking widened eyes, the black man stuttered, “M-essenger c-came from t-town, Lady Holt. Y-ya be sayin’ ya wants ta know. R-right away. Ab inconvenienti.” His occasional use of Latin phrases had endeared him to her, even when he didn’t always use them correctly.
“Of course, Elliott.”
He handed her the telegram just delivered by a messenger from town.
“Have you paid him?” she asked.
“Yes, m’lady. From the money’s bowl. Veritas odit moras.”
She smiled at his use of the Latin phrase “Truth hates delay.”
He bowed.
“Excellent. You may leave me now.”
“Yes’um.”
She returned to the Room of the Phoenix, sat in her chair, unfolded the paper and began to read.
AM NOW CAPTAIN…STOP…TEMPLE CHARGED WITH FRAUD…STOP…ALL AS PLANNED…STOP…AWAIT YOUR COMMAND…J
Her gleeful laugh bounced around the crimson room, creating its own echo.
“Iva Lee, we’ve done it! We’ve done it.” She laughed again, letting the sound join her first outburst. “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. That fool Citale. Beautiful.” She turned toward the large bird statue. “Thank you, Great Phoenix. Thank you.”
Her entire body was warm, so warm she ripped off her clothes, walked over to the small walnut desk and sat naked on the ornate chair. She took a piece of paper emblazoned with a small phoenix crest at the top and began to write with a grand flourish. Her pencil broke from the intensity of her effort and she cursed, took another from the red glass holding fifty sharpened pencils. Her ritual was forgotten for the moment.
Shoulders heaving, she read again what she had written, decided it was wrong, wadded up the paper and threw it. A second note was more calmly written and more succinct:
To Mr. Sil Jaudon, Hotel Blake, Austin, Texas
Good work. Newspaper here will carry story. My job. You stay. Make sure Captain notice sent to Hangar and Opat. Nowhere else. I do not think Poe will react. He is a political man. See Temple arrested. Keep me informed about Poe. I have a plan. H.
After completing the telegram message, she wrote a succinct offer to buy the Morgan Peale Ranch, another to buy the Charlie Carlson Ranch and a third to buy the Gardner Ranch. All four messages were folded, placed in separate envelopes and sealed. She stood and shook her freed hair, letting it sway on her shoulders. Slowly she redressed as if it were an everyday occurrence. Leaving the room and locking it behind her, she found Elliott and told him to find Tapan Moore and have him come to her immediately.
While she waited, Lady Holt strolled over to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a small glass of brandy. It was, indeed, a day to celebrate.
It wasn’t long before the curly-haired gunfighter strolled into the main room. A toothy smile brightened his square-jawed face. His confident walk told everything about him. He was as good with a gun as he was as a lover. Lady Holt’s current lover.
“Mornin’, m’lady,” he said cheerfully, and smiled.
“And to you, Tapan.” She laid her glass on the cabinet shelf and studied his handsome face. “I have an assignment for you.”