Chapter Eighteen


An hour later, Captain Hershell Poe eased out of his carriage at the governor’s office, told the driver to wait and walked in.

“Governor…Captain Hershell Poe of the Rangers is outside. He requests a brief meeting, sir.” The stocky assistant tried to keep his forelock in place as he entered, but failed as usual.

Governor J. R. Citale looked up from his desk. “What kind of mood is Captain Poe in?”

Turning his head to the side, the assistant replied the captain seemed in a good mood, but he wasn’t a good judge of such things.

“Excellent. Show him in,” Citale said, and raised his hand. “Get a new box of cigars and bring them. You can interrupt us.”

“Yes, sir.”

The balding politican knew there would be repercussions from his firing of the Special Force. If Captain Poe objected, he had already decided to replace him. Only this replacement would be a political friend. He looked upon the expected uproar of ranchers along the border as a marvelous opportunity to raise more funds for his planned Senate race. He would point out to them how someone like Lady Holt was helped when one was helpful in return.

“Thank you for seeing me, Governor. I appreciate it very much.” Captain Poe bowed slightly, his narrow-brimmed hat in his hand. “I just wanted you to know that I support your decision…concerning Captain Temple and his men—and will do whatever is needed to make the transition to Captain Jaudon a smooth one.”

“I was hoping I could count on your loyalty.”

“You can, indeed. Thought you’d like to know I’ve also been notified of John Checker’s death.”

“That’s a shame.” Citale blinked his eyes three times.

Captain Poe shook his head. “Oh, he was too violent for my taste. But my reason for coming…I have some ideas to minimize the reaction from, ah, the ousted Rangers,” he said, smiling. “In fact, I have it on good authority that Spake Jamison is heading for Houston. To find work there. Made me think.”

“Glad to hear about Jamison. Let’s hear your ideas.”

Licking his lower lip, Captain Poe paused. “Well, you’re going to get some hollering from ranchers, down on the border. They want Rangers to control those Mexican rustlers. And you’ve got out-of-work Rangers angry as hell.”

Governor Citale cocked his head.

“Maybe you should contact the big ranchers along the border—and send them their own ex-Rangers. Might solve two problems at once.” He motioned with one hand to suggest a wide group. “Offer to pay the ex-Rangers’ salaries. For a few months.”

“I like that.” The governor frowned. “But don’t you think these ranchers…ah, should pay for this service? Instead of the state?”

“Oh, you’re right. You’re right, Governor.”

Citale’s assistant entered with the box of cigars.

The governor nodded. “Excellent, Jeffrey. Captain Poe, would you care for a good smoke?”

“That’s very gracious of you. Certainly, sir.”


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