Ride for Rule Cordell

Chapter Thirty

Only the sky’s pink underbelly signaled a new day. Five riders on four horses and a buckboard were black shapes against a brightening prairie. With Checker leading the way, Rule Cordell, Emmett, Rikor and Morgan Peale rode silently. London Fiss had volunteered to stay behind in town to see what might happen.

A cold wind intimidated any clouds from the sky, making the moment seem more depressing than it was. Checker was drawn sadly to memories of his best friend and the realization that they didn’t matter anymore.

The old rancher drove his buckboard carrying the wooden casket with the wrapped body of A. J. Bartlett. The casket had been donated by the undertaker. Checker had bought a new suit—and new socks—to bury his friend in. Bartlett’s journal had been placed in the casket as well, along with a book of Tennyson’s poems.

Their destination was a shallow rock pond the two Rangers had discovered when they had ridden from town to help Emmett. The pond was on the eastern corner of Morgan’s land. She had readily agreed to the burial there.

Checker tried to stay focused on what was ahead of them, instead of letting memories wash away his thinking. As usual, no one disagreed when he said where he wanted Bartlett buried. Rule’s eyes were clouded with his own anguish. Emmett glanced at his son, shook his head and cursed at the awfulness of the day.

As they rounded a patrol of boulders, Checker pointed at a glistening small pool twenty yards ahead, crowded with two cottonwoods, a mesquite tree and a patrol of bushes. The water itself was only a sometime thing, resting on a bed of white and brown rocks. A jackrabbit skirted from the green protection as they approached.

“This hyar be a ri’t purty place, John.” Emmett stopped the wagon and admired the tree-clustered pond. “Too small for herd use.” He rubbed his unshaven chin, as if deliberating his statement, and wrapped the reins around the brake stick.

Morgan smiled thinly and nodded. “Yes, it is. Quiet. Peaceful. I’ve always liked this place. I think A.J. will, too.”

Birds of red, brown and yellow were gathered in the trees, discussing their next meal and where it might come from. As the four men drew close, flapping wings made all of them reach for their guns.

Behind the shallow pond a few feet were three large, flat rocks piled upon each other with a fourth lying next to them. Rikor stared at the rock grouping and thought it was a grave; he sniffed away his runny nose, keeping his face away from the others.

“Rode by here when we were on the way to your place,” Checker said. “A.J. thought it was pretty. Reminded him of his home. As a kid. Back in Ohio.” He swung down and looped his reins around a low mesquite branch.

“Probably quoted Tennyson,” Rule said with a wry smile, reining his horse and dismounting.

“Yeah, something about ‘the white flower of a blameless life.’ ”

Rikor pulled his horse alongside the wagon, jumped down and spun his reins around the wagon’s brake stick.

“Any folks we need to be tellin’?” the young man asked, staring at the casket.

Checker explained there were two brothers and a sister, all back in Ohio. Ranger headquarters had the addresses, he thought. He would get them when he was in Austin. Emmett glanced at Rule, who was tying his reins to a cottonwood branch, but said nothing.

“What about a lady? A wife?” Rule asked without turning.

“No wife. There was a lady he mentioned several times.” Checker twisted his chin and tried to recall the name. “Harriet. Yes, Harriet. I should write to her as well.”

Rule glanced at Emmett and decided this wasn’t the time to ask the Ranger if he knew the woman’s last name—and where she lived. Morgan bit her lower lip and looked away.

“Hand me the shovel,” Rule said.

“I’ll dig the grave.” Checker’s tone was thunder.

Sternly, Emmett told the Ranger that he wanted to share in the work. So did Rikor, almost apologizing. Rule said he did, too. It would be his honor. After a few minutes, they selected a level place between the two oldest cottonwoods. Checker dug for twenty minutes, then handed the shovel to Rule. The tall Ranger was pale and gasping for breath. The four men rotated the digging and completed the task quickly with Rikor doing most of the final dirt removal.

Standing around the freshly mounded grave with its wooden cross in place, Checker spoke first, holding his hat in both hands. “A.J., ride easy, my friend. I put your notebook with you. Figured you and St. Peter will have some things to go over. Like you always did with…me. You’re ready to see him…with a new suit…and socks.” He choked back the emotion.” His hands tightened around his hat brim. “You have my word I won’t stop until this evil woman is finished. Or I join you.”

With that he walked over to his horse and produced a small book of Tennyson poems. He flipped open the pages and read the first three stanzas of “The Charge of the Light Brigade.” “ ‘All in the valley of Death rode the six hundred… Someone had blunder’d; Theirs not to make reply…Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do or die…Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them…Into the jaws of death, Into the mouth of hell…Rode the six hundred.’ ” He put the book down to his side and knew he couldn’t read more.

Silence grabbed the small group until Rikor began to sing “What a Friend We Have in Jesus.” Morgan joined him, then Emmett and Rule. Checker tried, but couldn’t.

When it was finished, Morgan stepped beside the grieving Ranger and took his hand.

Rule glanced at his new friend and said, “Let us pray. O God, our Father, whose very breath gives life to the world and whose voice is heard in the soft breeze of the morning and the great thunder in the evening, whose very touch gives color to the sunset and the birds of the land; hear us now. Our voices are small, but steady, for we mourn the passing of our great friend, A. J. Bartlett.

“He is coming to you now. You will know him by his great brave heart, his love for his friends and his enjoyment of poetry. He comes to you without shame, with clean hands and without fear, but he leaves us with many tears. It was too soon, O Lord. We need your strength and wisdom to understand.

“Direct us to ride in strength. Your strength. Help us learn the lessons you have hidden in every leaf and every rock. Help us to remain steadfast against those who would destroy us. Ever give us the song of A.J.’s laughter in our hearts. We ask this in Thy name. Amen.”

Morgan’s face was laced with tears as she murmured, “That was beautiful, Rule.”

Checker took her to him and held her. Tightly. Letting his hat drop to the ground. Then he walked over to Rule and hugged him, then the others, patting each on the back. His eyes were filled with wetness.

It was Emmett who finally broke the spell of the moment. “Well, we need to be movin’. A.J. wouldn’t have wanted us a-mopin’ over him. No, he wouldn’t’a.”

Picking up his hat and returning it to his head, Checker said, “You’re right, Emmett. We need to ride.” He walked over to the cross and adjusted it. “Adios, my friend. I will miss you.”

Softly, Morgan said, “Let’s go to my place for some coffee and breakfast. We need it, I think. Mr. Fiss should be rejoining us soon.”

Checker turned and his face was hard. The words from his mouth were Comanche. A commitment to death to his enemies or to his own in trying. Only Rule understood and whispered the same Comanche promise.