Spake grinned. “Thought you boys could use a hand. You must’ve spooked this bunch something awful. They were runnin’ like the Devil himself was chasin’ them. Said a bunch of Rangers ambushed ’em.” He shook his head. “Ran right into us. Didn’t have much fight left in ’em.” He motioned toward the downed bodies. “Reckon they didn’t know how real Rangers act.”
After a short exchange about Captain Temple’s arrest, the governor’s involvement with Lady Holt and the mass Ranger firing, Checker told him about the fake gun barrage, that Tapan Moore and Luke Dimitry were dead—and their murder of London Fiss. He told them the Gardners and Morgan Peale had taken his body back to her ranch.
“Been a hard ride for you, I hear. Sorry about A.J. Gonna miss that ol’ boy—and his poems.” Spake’s hard face softened.
Checker nodded, excused himself and rode over to a disgruntled Jaudon, standing with two mounted Rangers holding rifles on him.
Swinging from the saddle, Checker handed his reins to the red-haired Ranger beside him. “Hold these a minute, will you, Sawyer? Got something that needs doing.”
Checker strode toward the fat Frenchman. “Jaudon, you and your men killed two good men. Good friends of mine.”
Hunching his shoulders, Jaudon spat a French curse and glanced at his three gold-plated revolvers lying on the ground a few feet away.
As he stepped next to Jaudon, Checker slammed his right fist into the fat man’s stomach. The blow’s power was driven by pent-up fury and sorrow. Jaudon doubled over, gasping for breath that had disappeared into the night. He gagged and vomited on his own guns.
Stunned by Checker’s sudden action, the Rangers and the arrested gang members watched in silence.
Stepping out of the way of the projected vomit, Checker delivered a wicked uppercut to Jaudon’s chin that lifted the Frenchman off his feet and stumbling backward. The fat man collapsed on the ground. Checker grabbed his shirt with his left hand and yanked the stunned gang leader back on his feet. A right cross slammed into Jaudon’s face, spewing blood and spinning his head sideways. A long cut opened along the Frenchman’s right cheek.
Wild-eyed and desparate, Jaudon threw a windmill punch Checker stopped with his left arm and drove an uppercut into the Frenchman’s already throbbing belly. Jaudon wobbled; his legs wouldn’t hold him up. Grabbing him before he could fall, Checker held the half-conscious man by his bloody shirt, smashed a short jab into Jaudon’s face and cocked his fist to strike again.
“No, John. Let him go. A.J. wouldn’t like that. Neither would London.” Rule’s voice was clear.
Not even Spake Jamison added a word.
Checker stared at the blurry-eyed Jaudon and released him. The Frenchman crumpled to the ground. A whimper followed. The tall Ranger turned and asked for his reins.
“Better get those hands into water, John. They’ll swell on you,” the redheaded Ranger said quietly, as if advising someone to wash his hands for supper.
Almost without understanding, Checker looked at his raw and bloody knuckles.
He looked over at Rule. “I haven’t met your wife.”
Chapter Forty-one
Red streaks of a new day greeted a strange group of riders entering the quiet town of Caisson. Thirty Rangers surrounded Holt’s gunmen, their hands tied in front of them, as they entered the main street. In the rear were five horses carrying dead Holt gunmen.
A barely conscious Jaudon, with his face blossoming in purple and yellow bruises, rode in the center. His horse was led by the redheaded Ranger. His hands were tied together and grasped the saddle horn.
At the front rode John Checker, Rule Cordell, Aleta Cordell and Spake Jamison.
An excited young boy ran into the street and alongside them. “What’s going on? You aren’t real Rangers, are ya? My ma says there’s a bad bunch claiming to be Rangers.”
Aleta was the first to respond. “Buenos dias. Sí. These ees real Rangers. They ees bringing ze bad ones in. To justice.” She looked down at him and smiled. “Como esta usted? Ah, how are you thees morning?”
“I’m fine, lady. I gotta go now. Tell my ma. She’ll be very happy.”
“Adios.” She waved and the boy ran off.
Spake turned in the saddle back toward the other Rangers. “Let’s take them to the city corral. Down at the end of the street. We can tie them to the poles. Any of ’em give us trouble, we’ll shoot ’em. Be less to mess with. They can stay there ’til the circuit judge can get here. Ol’ Judge Jones’ll be just what we need.”
Checker motioned toward Jaudon. The Ranger’s hands were puffy and swollen.
Spake pointed. “Except for the Frenchman. He goes in the jail.”
From the newspaper office burst a disheveled Lady Holt. She screamed, “I demand to know what is going on here! Those are my men. That is Ranger Captain Sil Jaudon. Unhand him, I demand it.”
None of the Rangers responded, focusing on the street ahead and watching as townspeople were beginning to gather along the sidewalk.
“You don’t understand. I own this town.” She waved a large sheet of paper. “This is the first edition of the Caisson Phoenix! It tells what is happening here.” She hurried over to the closest Ranger and shoved the paper toward him. “Here, read it. It’s exciting. There’s even a poem about Iva Lee.”
He brushed it aside and rode on.
She ran toward the first riders, pointing and screaming, “That’s John Checker—and Rule Cordell! They are wanted…for murder. Arrest them. Arrest them.”
Turning toward her, Checker said, “Better start a new edition. I’ve got the headline. ‘Lady Holt and Her Men Arrested for Murder and Attempted Land Theft.’ How’s that sound?”
She looked at him, not comprehending. “Shoot him, Jaudon. Shoot him.” As the group rode past, she frantically looked at the arrested gunmen. “Where is Tapan? I don’t see Tapan. Where is my Tapan?”
Rule pulled his horse from the group and rode over to her. “Tapan Moore is lying on the top of a ridge. Back where he tried to kill us. So is Luke Dimitry. They weren’t good enough. Your men tried to wipe out some good people. Your men weren’t good enough, either. You hired Eleven Meade to kill John Checker. He wasn’t good enough, either.” Cocking his head to the side, he said, “You aren’t good enough, either, lady.”
Aleta and Checker joined the gunfighter, easing their horses toward the wild-eyed woman.
“I’ll triple what you’re earning right now. Triple the wages!” She waved her arms and screamed, “I’m the Queen of Texas! Iva Lee, I’ve done it!”
Waving the Rangers to a stop, Spake joined Checker, Rule and Aleta in confronting the unstable English rancher.
“You’re under arrest, Holt. You’re going to jail. With your buddy here, Jaudon.” Checker swung down from his horse.
“You’re not the law. Tapan is the sheriff. Jaudon is…the Ranger captain. I’ll wire Governor Citale. He’ll put a stop to this nonsense. He’ll—”
“Citale’s about two weeks away from resigning,” Checker snarled. “Either that or he can stand trial like the dog he is.”
“No! No! He’s the governor. My governor. I am the Queen of Texas!”
For the first time, she saw that townspeople were gathering. “My people! My people! How good you are here. I need your help. These awful men are trying to ruin us. You must help me stop them. Stop them! Our glorious empire depends on it.” She stutter-stepped toward the closest group, crossing her hands over her heart.
“Glorious Phoenix, you ever are my guide. Lead me to your Father, the Sun,” she cried out. “As it dies each eve and is reborn each morn, so you direct me to become invincible.”