Ride for Rule Cordell

Chapter Thirty-seven

They reached the top of the ridge and saw the dark shapes of horses ahead of them as planned. No one called out, but Checker thought that was smart. At this point, they couldn’t be certain if the entire gang had fled or not.

Wind had intimidated any clouds from the sky, making the moment seem more desolate than it was. The top of the ridge flattened out into a large spoon of quiet land. They passed a shallow pond. A struggling cottonwood stood not far from its life-giving water. Nearby was a squatty bowl of land where buffalo once rolled. Rule stared at it and remembered playing in something like that as a child. His best friend jumped into mind. Ian Taullary. They had protected each other growing up and fought beside each other during the war. Sadly, Taullary had gotten caught up in the wrong things in life, but had died trying to protect him. Again. He reminded himself that it was important to remember his friend’s good ways, their good times together.

He was tired and knew Checker had to be. Once a fight was over, energy left quickly, leaving the body drained. He glanced at the Ranger, but Checker was studying the silhouettes ahead of them. Ahead, their horses were grouped around three trees. Shapes of men were knotted against the dark sky.

Checker said, “Something’s wrong, Rule.”

An invisible voice was cruel and demanding. “Come on, Checker. You, too, Cordell. Walk easy toward us. Don’t try anything funny. Or the Peale woman and these two Gardners die.”

Without saying anything, Rule and Checker separated and walked toward the horses.

“Drop those rifles. Do it now.”

Both men let the long guns in their hands slip to the hard earth. The thuds of weapons hitting against the ground were four heartbeats. They dropped their hands to their sides, standing mostly in shadow.

The gray shapes in front of them became four Holt men. Luke Dimitry. Tapan Moore. And two men Checker didn’t know.

Tapan had his arm around Morgan’s neck, holding her close to him. In his hand was a cocked revolver. Dimitry stood, nonchalantly, pointing a rifle on Emmett and Rikor. The other two gunmen stood near the horses, holding rifles. Beside them, Checker saw the motionless body of London Fiss.

“Come on in, boys. The party’s just getting started,” Tapan said, motioning with his gun. “That was a good stunt you pulled on the Frenchman. What a stupid sonvabitch! Lady Holt should’ve had me become the Ranger captain, not him.” Tapan laughed. “Reckon he won’t stop running ’til he hits town. Him an’ his men.”

Checker and Rule stood with their arms at their sides.

Tapan’s eyes brightened. “I see you boys brought along all your big toys.” His smile reached only half of his mouth. “Luke an’ I had a hunch you might try something. So we went a different route.”

Dimitry glanced at the dead Fiss. “Ran into that colored boy and figured we’d just sit tight an’ see who came along. Lo and behold, all kinds of folks Lady Holt wants to see dead came wandering in.”

“Didn’t want to do that before we had a chance to talk with you two. Besides, you would’ve heard the shots,” Tapan explained. “That colored boy wasn’t so lucky. He got his while you all were firing up a storm.”

The curly-headed gunman smiled widely, his white teeth glistening in the moonlight, and continued, “Fact is, we would’ve shot you two when you came up the hill…but we wanted to know something.”

Morgan struggled against his tightened arm and he shoved his gun into her side.

“Stand still, lady. Or I’ll shoot you first.”

“Sorry, John, we done jes’ walked ri’t into this,” Emmett said, waving his arms in frustration.

Rikor’s expression was impossible to read. Was it anger or fear?

“I see you boys are carrying lots of iron. Ready for a war, huh?” Tapan motioned with his gun. “Unbuckle the gun belts. All of it. Real easy, now.”

Checker unbuckled his double-rowed cartridge belt and let it slide down his legs. The cartridge box tumbled ahead of it. Without being asked, he drew Bartlett’s pistol from his waistband and tossed it on the ground. The leather string attached to the trigger fluttered in the air. He drew the other revolver used in the fake barrage with his fingers holding the butt and dropped it as well.

At the same time, Rule unbuckled his gun belt and let it fall. Both of his barrage handguns followed; one had been the backup Colt carried in his front waistband.

Checker said, “You won’t get away with this. We’ve got Rangers…real Rangers…coming. Lady Holt is done.”

“Save that crap for the town newspaper,” Tapan snarled. “I want to know something. Eleven Meade was a friend of ours.”

“Where is he? Waiting to shoot us in the back?” Checker answered, and looked behind him.

“You know where he is. He’s dead. In Clark Springs.”

The tall Ranger looked at Rule on his left.

Shrugging, the gunfighter said, “Last time I saw him, he was on the saloon floor. From my fist. He didn’t die from that, I hope.” His remark snapped with sarcasm.

“I didn’t know that, Moore. When did it happen?” Checker said, hoping the conversation would keep going until he thought of something.

Tapan frowned and licked his lower lip. “Your friend here, he got a wire from Clark Springs about it. Someone named ‘A’ said Eleven was killed. There in Clark Springs.” The curly-headed outlaw jutted out his chin. “Lady Holt sent him there. To see where you were living. You, Cordell. She wanted you dead. Since you own the Gardner Ranch—or whatever that little game was.” The outlaw grinned again. “We want to know who ‘A’ is. Gonna pay him a little visit when this is over.”

Rule shrugged his shoulders again. “You must be more stupid than I thought. Just when do you think I would have seen this wire? We haven’t been to town. Or haven’t you been paying attention?” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know any man like that.”

“You don’t know who ‘A’ is? Come on, Cordell.”

“I sure don’t know any man with the name that starts with an A. Wait, I know a grocery store clerk…in Clark Springs…he’s Andrew. Andrew Gates.” Rule shook his head. “Don’t think he could’ve killed anybody. Andrew doesn’t even own a gun.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, wait a minute, there’s old Amos Pillar. He’s about seventy, I think. Spends most of his time in a rocking chair.”

“Well, you aren’t much help.”

“Sorry. I’ll keep thinking.”

“No need. There’s no reason you boys should live any longer, is there?” Tapan challenged.

Dimitry tugged on his Navajo coat and examined a particular large hole near its right-hand pocket. “This is quite a day. We kill two of the best there is, Checker and Cordell. And we get rid of two of the ranchers Lady Holt wants out of the way. I’d say we’ll have a big bonus coming.” He tugged on the coat again. “Reckon I’ll just see how that fancy tunic of yours fits, Checker. Be a nice way to remember this.”

“Mind if I have a last smoke?” Checker said.

Chuckling, Tapan said, “Sure, why not? Make it fast, though. We’ve got a long ride back to town. Lady Holt’ll want to hear this. Probably make some changes in that newspaper edition she was working on. When we left. Her and our colored boy, you know.” Tapan motioned with his pistol. “He knows how to set type, you know.”

“Thanks. Nice of you.”

“How about you, Cordell? Reckon it’s the right thing to do,” Tapan said.

“No, thanks. Tobacco and lead don’t set well with me.”

All four of the gunmen laughed.

Checker reached slowly inside his tunic and brought out a tobacco pouch and papers. He took a paper, creased it and began to pour tobacco shreds along the line. His hands shook and he dropped the paper.

“Kinda nervous there, aren’t ya, Checker?” Tapan said, watching the Ranger bend over to retrieve the paper.

The other gunmen’s attention went to the paper and the movement, chuckling at the Ranger’s obvious nervousness.

Checker came up firing his backup revolver carried in his back waistband. His first two shots hit Tapan in the face. The outlaw screamed. Morgan shoved her elbow in his side and dove. Blood covering his face, Tapan Moore fired his revolver as he fell. His shot sang past the tall Ranger’s head. Checker fired his gun twice more at the bearded gunman to Tapan’s left. Leaning over, the Ranger picked up the closest pistol, Bartlett’s, with his left hand.

The bearded gunman grabbed his stomach and groaned, dropping his rifle.

Rule’s own backup Dean & Adams revolver, also carried in his back waistband, was barely an eyeblink behind. His shots blasted into Dimitry and into the other gunman beside him. Dimitry spun halfway and tried to bring his rifle toward the diving Emmett. From a crouching position, Rikor pulled a handgun hidden in his back waistband and fired at the other gunman. The gunman’s rifle roared into the night and ripped along the top of Rikor’s shoulder. The young Gardner released his gun and grabbed for the searing pain.

Rule emptied his handgun into all four gunmen and grabbed one of the discarded weapons.

“They’re done, Rule,” Checker said, stepping closer. “Morgan, are you all right?”

Rule walked over to the dead gunmen, kicking their weapons away. He retrieved his gun belt and buckled it, adding his backup Colt to his waistband. He stood without talking, reloading the Dean & Adams gun.

Emmett was examining his son’s wound. It wasn’t serious, only a burn along his shoulder.

Quietly, Rikor confessed, “Pa, I saw Uncle Rule and John carry extra guns in their belts. In back. That’s what I did. Nobody thought I was carrying.”

“Smart o’ ya, son.”

Morgan was in Checker’s arms moments later. Tears covered her face. “They killed…Mr. Fiss. London. They shot him…in the back. Oh, I hoped you wouldn’t…come. They wanted to kill you and Rule so bad.”

Breath hissed through Checker’s clenched teeth. “Lady Holt has killed two very good men.”

She buried her head against his Comanche tunic and sobbed.

Rule was already heading to the horses. His face was frozen in fury.

Looking at the fast-moving gunfighter, Emmett said, “The one who done kilt Eleven Meade…that were Aleta, weren’t it? Ya figger her an’ the kids is all ri’t?”

Swinging into the saddle, Rule said, “I’m riding to town to find that wire. And see a British lady.”

He whirled the horse and galloped into the darkness, slapping its withers with the reins.

The tall Ranger stepped back from Morgan. “I must go with him. You and Emmett…and Rikor…ride back to your place.”

“Reckon we should go wi’ ya, John,” Emmett said, and looked at the grieving Morgan. “I’m sorry, li’l lady, but…”

“Not this time, Emmett. Please take London back to their ranch.” Checker looked at Morgan. “Maybe you’d like to bury him in the same place where…A.J. is.”

Walking toward him, the wounded Rikor said, “I’m going with you. They can’t do this to us.”

Checker shook his head. “Not this time, Rikor. They need you with them.”

The young man stared at the Ranger. “You figured they wouldn’t think of asking about backup guns—with all those irons you were carrying. Right?”

“That’s what I was hoping, Rikor.”

Wiping the tears from her face, Morgan walked over to the tall Ranger. “You come back. To me. You hear, John Checker?”

“I will. I promise.”

Saying the words made the image of his little sister fly through his mind. He touched Morgan’s cheek. “A long time ago, I gave that same promise to my little sister. When I had to leave Dodge. She took a button from my shirt. To remember me by. Didn’t have anything else.” He looked away. “I haven’t kept that promise, Morgan. Not yet anyway.”

She grabbed his shirt under his tunic and yanked a button free. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll help you keep it.”