“Didn’t he say those boys were Rangers?” The guard frowned.
“Yeah, guess he did.”
“Guess that means Tapan Moore’s a Ranger.”
“Damn.”
As the stage bounced over the ridge, Tapan, Tanner and the other Holt man eased their horses to a walk to wait for Jaudon. Already the Frenchman’s horse was laboring under the man’s weight.
“What’s going on?” Jaudon demanded as he caught up. “Do vous have nourriture… ah, any food? I am starving.” His horse, thankful for the rest, spotted some blades of grass that looked interesting and began to nibble on them.
”You’ll have to wait, Sil.” Tapan fiddled with the flagpole resting in a special saddle sheath and pointed toward the closest ridge.
From over the rolling land came another rider, riding sidesaddle on a black horse. Lady Holt’s long red hair danced on her shoulders. She was dressed in a dark red riding suit with a matching hat highlighted by a crimson feather. Black boots, decorated with beading around the top, reached past her knees. In her black-gloved hands was a coiled whip.
“Bonjour, Madame Holt. Tres heureux de voux,” Jaudon declared loudly, removed his hat and bowed from the saddle.
She nodded in return. She loved the sound of French and knew he had said he was delighted to see her.
The pig-faced Frenchman in the dust-laced, three-piece suit opened his mouth, shut it and finally asked, “Comment allez-vous?”
“Assez bien, merci,” she responsed to his polite question of how she was doing.
Tapan’s face reddened with jealousy, but he kept telling himself that she was interested in the fat man only for business.
“Let us ride, Sil,” Lady Holt said. “I’ll tell you on the way. The rest of your men are waiting outside town.”
“I thought we were going to, ah, your place,” Jaudon said.
“Not now. We have work to do.”
The Frenchman’s stomach growled.
Late afternoon brought new fear to Caisson.
Riding down the main street of town came Lady Holt with thirty-two armed riders strung out behind her. Beside her was Sil Jaudon. Behind him rode Tapan Moore holding the red flag. They rode slowly down the street like a cavalry unit taking a predeteremined position.
People stopped and stared. Word sped through the stores and offices. Lady Holt had come to town. Traffic in the street disappeared magically. A stray mongrel dog dared to bark and was shooed into silence by three men.
No one noticed Wilson Tanner returning to the livery a few minutes later. He shook his head, watching the Holt army take control of Caisson just by entering it.
In front of the telegraph office, Lady Holt reined her horse and swung down from her sidesaddle rig and handed the reins to Tapan. Jaudon dismounted in awkward stages and handed the reins to Tapan as well.
She stood, letting the drama of her appearance be absorbed by the townspeople. She enjoyed the effect and decided she must do it more often. She commanded Tapan to hold the men in the center of the street until they returned. With that, she went inside the telegraph office with Jaudon a few steps behind. The telegraph operator almost stumbled, attempting to greet them. He was shaking from nervousness.
“A-afternoon, L-Lady Holt. Ah, C-Captain Jaudon. H-how may I help you today?” The greasy-haired operator rubbed his sweaty hands on his wrinkled pants.
“He needs to send a wire to the governor. Now.”
“Of course. Of course. I’ll get you some paper—ah, and a pencil,” the operator declared, turning around and banging into his own desk.
“I have no need of either. Here.” She held out a folded piece of paper. “Send this.”
“I—I certainly w-will, ma’am. H-hope you are d-doing well today,” he said, his hands shaking. “W-we don’t have the h-honor of your presence…in town…often enough.”
Her smile was one of disdain. “Send the wire.”
Methodically, he unfolded the paper.
TO GOVERNOR CITALE:
RETURNED TO FIND ANARCHY IN CAIS-SON. SHERIFF AND JUDGE HELD. OUTLAWS IN CONTROL. DEMAND FULL AUTHORITY TO RETURN ORDER. AWAIT YOUR ORDER. CAPTAIN JAUDON
She watched him read the message and snapped, “What’s the matter?”
“Ah, nothing, I guess.” The operator sniffed nervously.
“Do you disagree with this assessment?”
“Ah, no. No. Of course not. Glad Captain Jaudon is here to…help.”
“Send it.”
Jaudon sneared as the operator sniffed again, unlocked the telegraph key and began sending the message.
“I know Morse code.” She folded her arms and one eyebrow arched triumphantly.
He nodded and ignored the sweat bead rolling down from his forehead and finding the end of his nose.
On the corner of the operator’s table was a folded paper, a message received but not delivered. Jaudon looked closer. Rule Cordell’s name was written in the upper corner. Without asking, he picked it up, unfolded the paper and read:
ELEVEN MEADE DEAD…STOP…TRIED TO AMBUSH US…STOP…HE DID NOT SUCCEED…STOP…ALL WELL…STOP…LOVE, A
He handed the paper to Lady Holt, who read and returned it to the fat Frenchman, who laid it back on the table. If the operator noticed, he didn’t say.
“At least that explains why he didn’t wire me,” she said. “I thought he had run off with the money I paid him.” She paused and her eyelashes flitted as if out of control. “Where is that money now? I want it back.”
Turning toward Jaudon, she told him to wire the Clark Springs marshal and follow up. He should claim the money was stolen. Without waiting for his response, she took a sheet of paper from the desk, wrote a short note about retrieving the “stolen” money and laid it beside the operator tapping out the initial message. He would know who to send it to in Clark Springs. On top of the sheet, she left several coins.
Minutes later, Lady Holt emerged from the telegraph office. Jaudon came behind her, waving the return message.
“I am authorized to take ze control,” he yelled to his men. “Vous know what to do.” He waved the paper again for emphasis.
Tapan nudged his horse forward and led the Holt men to the sheriff’s office. All of them drew rifles from their saddle scabbards, cocked and aimed them at the sheriff’s door. The blacksmith-turned-sheriff emerged, holding a cocked Winchester. Scared, but determined, he stood in the doorway as the armed riders lined up in front of him. Muscles in his arms twitched with nervous energy.
“Wh-hat can I d-do for you, gentlemen?” he said in his best voice, hoping to keep the fear from bubbling over.
“The governor has just given Captain Jaudon military control of this town,” Tapan declared, and pointed at Jaudon standing beside Lady Holt outside the telegraph office.
He pushed the flagpole forward in its leather holster. “We have been deputized as Rangers.” He pointed to the badge on his shirt and grinned.
“I d-don’t u-understand.”
“Understand this, then. Resign as sheriff now or die…now.”
The blacksmith choked back the fear climbing in his throat. A wet spot appeared at his groin, bringing chuckles from the string of riders facing him. He wasn’t certain he could even walk. Finally, his hands let the Winchester drop and it thudded on the planked sidewalk, barely missing his boots.
“The hell with this. I—I r-resign.” He yanked the badge from his soot-covered shirt and dropped it. Without looking at them, he walked away.