Ride for Rule Cordell

Chapter Nine

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.