Ride for Rule Cordell

sugar.”

“Two cups, sir?”

“Just one. Captain Temple won’t be staying long.” The gaunt politician brushed his fingers along the neatly trimmed mustache.

The assistant spun on his heel and left, impressed by his own precision.

Governor J. R. Citale grimaced. He had been paid well for this move. Very well. Of course, U.S. Senate campaigns were costly. The incentive had come with the tacit understanding there would also be a sudden Senate seat opening whenever he was ready.

Still, it was a sensitive matter that needed handling well. He was good at that, in spite of what some were saying about him. A newspaper story would be placed tomorrow, positioning the Ranger leader as corrupt and under arrest. A secret bank account in his name would be discovered as proof of his guilt. It was one of Citale’s with the name changed. The whole thing was well planned. In one stroke, Lady Holt would gain part of the law enforcement in Texas.

“You ordered my appearance, Governor,” Captain Harrison Temple said as he strode into the office.

His wide-brimmed Stetson was held in his tanned hands in front of him. A brown coat and vest showed signs of hard riding; his white shirt and paper collar signs of much wear. The governor’s order had not been unexpected, but he thought it would have to do with the charge of murder against two of his best men. The crow’s-feet around his eyes were deep with his focused intent to make it clear they were innocent men. His gun belt had been left on his saddle horn of his tired horse.

“It’s good to see you, Temple,” Governor Citale said without standing. His pale eyes took in the cluttered desk and did not seek the Ranger leader’s face. “I have new orders for you and your men that will require immediate attention. For your full force.”

“We’ll do our duty, sir.”

“I’m counting on it.”

The governor proceeded to tell him that he and his Rangers were to find and arrest former Rangers John Checker and A. J. Bartlett for murder. They were to be brought directly to the governor’s office for a subsequent hearing.

Captain Temple’s face exploded into a rainbow of emotions, from surprise, to annoyance, to frustration and finally, to anger. He had never liked Citale—and never trusted him. Now he knew why.

“That I will not do. Nor will any of my men,” he said through clenched teeth. “Rangers Checker and Bartlett are two of my best. They are lawmen, not murderers.” He pointed his finger at Citale. “How much did Lady Holt pay you for this slimy act?”

A tense silence took over the room.

Without looking at the enraged captain, Citale removed a cigar from his desk humidor and rolled it in his fingers. He bit off the end, spat it toward the floor and lit the cigar.

After a long drag, he studied the cigar again in his hand, letting a ribbon of smoke find the ceiling through his teeth.

“Do I understand it correctly that you are refusing my direct order?” Citale said, glancing up.

“I am refusing to bring in two innocent and fine men,” Temple said, barely containing himself. “Two of Texas’s best. And you know it.” His jaw pushed forward and his fist curled around the hat brim.

Governor Citale cocked his head to the side and grinned. “You, sir, are no longer a Ranger—or one of its captains.” He leaned forward on the desk, pushing papers aside. Two sheets fluttered and fell to the floor. He pointed his finger to a small opened area. “Leave your badge. Right here. Now.” He returned the cigar to his mouth.

“You son of a bitch.”

“Maybe so. Leave the badge.”

Stunned, Temple pulled the Ranger badge from his vest and tossed it on the desk. The star shape bounced and slid off.

“I will appoint a new captain immediately,” Citale announced, leaning back in his chair and drawing on the cigar.

“My Rangers won’t ride for one of your…appointments.”

“Your men will be notified their services as Rangers are no longer needed, either.”

Slamming his hat on his head, Temple declared, “You won’t get away with this, Citale. You and that Holt woman.”

Governor Citale stroked his mustache again. A confident smile slowly took its place under the hair as he removed the cigar from his mouth. “You, sir, are under arrest.”

From a side door, Sil Jaudon sauntered into the room and pointed a gold-plated revolver at the former Ranger leader. It was a preplanned move.

“Take him away…Ranger Captain Jaudon,” Citale spat.

“Qui, my Governor. It shall be done.”

Temple folded his arms. “This is ridiculous. What’s the charge? Putting on a hat in the governor’s office?”

The fat Jaudon’s smile matched that of the governor’s. “Je regrette, but it is much more than that. You are accused of doing ze bad things with Ranger money.”

“That’s ridiculous, you fat bastard.”

“Ah…but it is true,” Jaudon said, reached inside the captain’s coat and yanked the Colt from his shoulder holster.

Chapter Fifteen

Inside her magnificent and sprawling ranch house, Lady Holt impatiently awaited word on the tactical moves she had put into place: the governor’s appointment, Eleven Meade’s ambush and the gunmen sent to pin down Emmett Gardner and the Rangers. To help keep her nerves from taking control, she undertook her daily ritual earlier than usual, standing in front of a large crimson bird figurine.

“Glorious Phoenix, you ever are my guide. Lead me to your Father, the Sun. As it dies each eve and is reborn each morn, so you direct me to become invincible,” she intoned, and continued in a mixture of Spanish and English ritualistic phrases.

The statuary was an odd combination of an eagle, a heron and a pheasant, carved from cottonwood and adorned with paint and feathers. At its base smoked a small mixture of aromatic herbs settled in a gold dish.

A knock at the door with its walls of red snapped her from the ceremony. She jumped up from her chair. Her eyes were dark with fury. Her servants knew she didn’t like being disturbed when she was in the Phoenix Room.

But the knocking continued.

She walked across the red-and-gold Mexican rug to the door and opened it, prepared to give the servant a severe tongue-lashing.

Blinking widened eyes, the black man stuttered, “M-essenger c-came from t-town, Lady Holt. Y-ya be sayin’ ya wants ta know. R-right away. Ab inconvenienti.” His occasional use of Latin phrases had endeared him to her, even when he didn’t always use them correctly.

“Of course, Elliott.”

He handed her the telegram just delivered by a messenger from town.

“Have you paid him?” she asked.

“Yes, m’lady. From the money’s bowl. Veritas odit moras.”

She smiled at his use of the Latin phrase “Truth hates delay.”

He bowed.

“Excellent. You may leave me now.”

“Yes’um.”