by money. So it was only a matter of time.
“But the entire Special Force?”
He looked around for his pipe, filled the bowl from a small leather pouch and lit it. Smoke slid from his clenched teeth and toward the ceiling.
The Special Force was the unit charged with protecting the border from rustlers, bandits and Indians. His own force, the larger one, was charged with protecting the rest of the state; his men were spread out in all corners of Texas. He was good at keeping them where they needed to be. At least most of the time. Texas was a huge place and no one could be everywhere at once. He had done a good job of securing credit for their efforts; most often with him making the statements.
Puffing on his pipe helped him think. Should he inform his own men of this abrupt change? Regular wires kept his Rangers moving on their assignments—and their return telegrams kept him informed of their progress. What would they think? He knew what they would think and didn’t like it.
“Temple should have known better than to send Rangers into Lady Holt’s territory,” he declared. “And John Checker no less. Damn.”
He hadn’t seen any of Temple’s Rangers since the word went out. Nor had he seen Temple waiting in jail for a hearing. Without knowing the details, he understood the charge against Temple was false. If anyone could be trusted with public money, it was Temple. The charge had to be political, an easy way to get rid of him so this Sil Jaudon could take over. He didn’t know Jaudon but knew who he worked for. It wasn’t hard to figure out where this whole mess had come from. Lady Holt. She was scary. There were whispers that her empire might even become greater than the huge King Ranch one day.
Still, Captain Poe worked for the governor and at the governor’s request.
What should he do? He pushed himself away from his desk and went for more coffee. No one was in Ranger headquarters today, except him. There were rarely a handful at any given time. A majority were on the trail somewhere, bringing justice. He liked it that way. A good time to catch up on paperwork and redirect his forces. He had no illusions about his job; it, too, was political. So far, he had been able to keep it in spite of two governors. The trick was to compliment the leader every chance he got—and to keep him informed of things happening around the state. It wasn’t really his job, but it made good sense.
The door to the small office opened and three Rangers stepped inside. All three were Temple’s men. Each had just received a wire notifying of his immediate release.
“What’s going on?” the chunky lawman yelled, and waved the wire over his head.
“I just heard Captain Temple’s been arrested,” the bearded Ranger said.
The third Ranger, a lanky man with mostly gray in his close-cropped hair, rubbed his unshaved chin and shoved his wide-brimmed hat back on his forehead. His left eye was covered with a black patch, a result of the war.
“This is Citale’s doin’, ain’t it?” he asked without expecting an answer. “Somebody’s shoving gold into his pocket real deep this time. That no-good sonvabitch.”
Captain Poe stood and removed the pipe from his mouth. He didn’t like this Ranger. Spake Jamison was a hard man and a longtime Ranger. A tough older breed of lawman. A lot like an older John Checker. Honest and no- nonsense. An eight-gauge, sawed-off shotgun was carried in a quiver over his shoulder to go with his belt gun.
“I’m as shocked as you are, men. Harrison is a good friend—and, I thought, a good Ranger. I intend to talk with the governor about this. I’m sure there’s a reason we’re not privy to,” Poe declared without looking at Spake.
“Is the whole Special Force gone—or just us?” the older Ranger asked, heading toward the stove and its waiting coffeepot. Next to it was a short shelf littered with coffee cups, spoons and half-filled ashtrays.
Poe noticed he was holding a small sack in his left hand. Most likely it was licorice, Spake’s one vice. He didn’t drink or gamble. Supposedly, there was an older woman he kept company with from time to time. His long coat carried three old bullet holes and many trails; it hid a holstered Colt and a bowie knife. His shotgun chaps had seen long wear as well. And he moved like a man who had been in the saddle too long.
“I have been informed that is so,” Captain Poe said, pointing to a paper on his desk. “Sil Jaudon is the new Special Forces captain—and he has the authority to hire his own Ranger force. He is doing so.”
“That’s nuts. Just nuts,” the bearded Ranger declared, not moving from the doorway. “Doesn’t that damn governor understand what we do? Who the hell’s this Jaudon fella anyway?”
Poe returned the pipe to his mouth without answering.
After pouring a full cup of steaming black coffee, Spake Jamison blew on its surface and tasted the brew. “Got any sugar, Captain?”
“Over there. In that blue bowl.”
“Thanks. Didn’t see it.”
Laying his licorice sack on the shelf, he grabbed the bowl from its corner spot on the shelf. After pouring a short stream directly into the cup, he returned the bowl. He took a sip and asked, “What are ya gonna do about this mess, Captain? You know damn well our cap ain’t playin’ games with money. If’n anybody is, it’s that damn Citale.”
The chunky lawman shoved both thumbs into his gun belt. “You said you were gonna see the governor. You want us to go with you?”
“Say, I heard John and A.J. were fired—and charged with murder. That right?” the older Ranger asked, enjoying the sweetened coffee. “Sounds like somebody’s been drinking too much—or smoking too much opium. Reckon the idea is to get rid o’ us.” It was clear the last statement was what he thought.
Poe placed both hands on his desk and frowned. “I’m afraid what you heard is true. John Checker and A. J. Bartlett have been dismissed from the Rangers—by the governor—and charged with murder. I don’t know any of the details.”
The older Ranger shook his head. Pointing a finger at the captain, Spake Jamison said, “What the hell’s going on, Captain?”
“Sadly, I don’t know. That’s why I’m going to see the governor.”
“What should we do?” the stocky Ranger asked, his face a tanned puzzle.
“For now, nothing. I don’t need trouble from…Rangers. I need time,” Poe said, sitting down again. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish this report—and then go see him.”
The older Ranger drained the cup, set it down on the shelf, grabbed his sack and headed toward the door. “Well, I’m not waitin’ around to find out. Headin’ for Houston. Always liked that town. Should be able to find work there. Those ranchers’ll be worried about not having anybody around to stop those Mexicans coming across an’ gettin’ their beef.”
He stopped and held out the sack. “Almost forgot. Have a licorice, Captain. Just bought it. Good ’n fresh.”
“Ah, no, thanks. I’m just fine.”
The older Ranger held out the sack for the other two and both took black candy pieces.
“You’re gettin’ too old to be a Ranger anyway,” the bearded Ranger said, and laughed.
“Stiff-legged an’ all, I can whip your ass any day. Never forget that, boy.” Spake patted him on the shoulder and continued walking.
Captain Hershell Poe didn’t look up as the three men left. He drew on his pipe, but it had gone out. A swift pop of a match returned the tobacco to life. He didn’t like this situation at all and wondered if the governor realized what kind of repercussions this move was going to bring. Ranchers along the border would be howling. He knew what Jaudon was going to do, clean out the region for Lady Holt. That was obvious.
At least, John Checker was charged with murder and wasn’t nearby to cause more trouble. He didn’t know the famed Ranger well, but respected his fierceness. The thought of Spake Jamison and John Checker being teamed up made him shiver. A. J. Bartlett was a good Ranger, but nothing like either of these fierce warriors.
Straightening his string tie, he recalled hearing about a battle Checker and Spake had fought against a band of twenty Chiricahua Apaches three years ago at a stage station. The two Rangers were en route to El Paso and were riding to the station to get a meal. Three women and five men were riding to Santa Fe; one woman had three small children with her. The Apaches killed the stage guard and the station keeper before the two Rangers got there. Checker and Spake drove off the Indians, killing eight, then took the stage and its passengers safely to the next station.
