Ride for Rule Cordell

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.”

Jaudon’s shaved eyebrows tightened over his eyes. “Sacre bleu, vous cannot mean this.”

“You doubt my word, Sil?”

“I do not understand, Madame.” He shifted his wide rear in the chair, deciding it was sturdy enough to support him. His hat fell off his lap, but he dared not try to lean over and retrieve it.

Haughtily, she explained that she wanted Jaudon to send his remaining gunmen to watch the Gardner Ranch. They were to spread out and keep them bottled up, but not attempt to attack. She expected the two Rangers and the Gardner family to be waiting for their advance.

She walked to the table where he sat and put her arm on his shoulder. “Sil, we shall have some brandy. To celebrate my wonderful idea. Then you go find Tanner. He will know how to contact the governor.”

Jaudon licked his lips. “Je comprends. I salute vous, Madame.”

“This will be the end of the Rangers,” she said, walking toward a cabinet. “Their captain will refuse to ride against these two.” She withdrew a filled glass decanter and two glasses. “The governor will have no choice but to fire him.”

“S’il vous plait, but they will only replace him with another Ranger.”

She smiled. It was a wicked smile.

“Ah, no, Sil. The governor will pick you.” She filled the glasses and handed him one.

“Merci beau coup! Captain Jaudon,” he said with his eyes sparkling. “Oui, Captain Jaudon has a nice ring to it.”

She went on to explain Jaudon would then be able to pick his own men as Rangers to ride with him—and that he would likely want to add a few good guns to replace the men killed.

He stood and bowed as deeply as his thick waist would allow. “Madame Holt, I bow to votre…your brilliance.”

They clinked glasses and downed the brandy.

Jaudon laid the glass on the table and then returned to the earlier subject. “Am I to assume Eleven Meade is to be one of my Rangers?”

“No. That would be too much to ask of the governor. Even I have limits,” she said, and smiled. “His job will be to take care of this John Checker, the Ranger.”

“I want to do that.”

She smiled. “Of course you do.” She stood and walked to the window again. “When he is dead, you can piss on his body.”

Jaudon’s eyes flashed. “You do not think I am good enough to take him?”

Turning from the window, Lady Holt snarled, “If I did, do you think I would have said what I just said?”

“Non. Non.” Jaudon waved his fat arms in front of him. “Pardon, Madame, I was just trying to help…you.” He swallowed his reaction and added, “You know, he is so strange, Madame. Always with ze white cat. It is…not natural.”

“Eleven Meade is a killer. For now, he is my killer.” She flitted her eyes. “Do not feel badly, Sil. I do not think Tapan or Luke could kill him, either.”

“Oui,” he said, shook his head and asked, “How did Eleven get such a strange name? Is it…how you say, ze nickname?”

She refilled their glasses, took hers and sipped it this time.

“No, it’s his real name,” she said. “He told me his mother was into astrology—and numerology. The number eleven is, ah, the master number, the symbol of the light within us. Very spiritual stuff.”

Jaudon shook his head. “What’s he say about all theez?”

“That his mother was a fool. A much better name would have been Harold.” She leaned over and picked up his hat and handed it to him.