He shook his head and shivered. There was no way he could have done that. But things were changing. Fencing was coming to Texas. Slowly, but it was coming. Already several big ranches in the Pandhandle were exploring cost-effective ways to control their lands and end free grazing. He had it on good authority, the governor’s, that Lady Holt’s empire would eventually be fenced as well.
He smiled and wished he had invested in one of the fencing companies popping up. Maybe there was still time. First, though, he had to assure the governor that he was with him in this latest decision. He fingered the pipe bowl, pushing in the tobacco shreds to make them fit better. It was a process he enjoyed, almost as much as the smoking. He relit the pipe and returned to the report he was finishing when the three Rangers interrupted. It was too bad, he thought, but one couldn’t always stand in the way of change. At least not and have a job.
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.”
Chapter Nineteen
Emmett Gardner and Rule Cordell rode silently from Clark Springs, both lost in their own thoughts. Rule carried the signed and witnessed bill of sale to Emmett’s ranch as planned. Emmett carried another signed bill of sale, returning the ranch to his possession. The precaution was Rule’s idea in case something happened to him before they could act.
Weary, but reenergized from the action taken in town, Emmett rubbed his unshaven chin and rolled his head to relieve the fatigue. To ease the tiredness, he rode with his boots hanging free of the stirrups. It gave some relief to his legs. His mind raced from his children sleeping at Rule’s house and wondering what would happen to them if he was arrested and hanged as Lady Holt planned, to the ranch he’d worked so hard to build, to his late wife, to wondering about John Checker, to wondering what would happen when Rule presented the new bill of sale.
Rule’s thoughts were more focused. Determining what had happened to Checker was first; then establishing some kind of surprise in Caisson was next. It was time to put this evil woman on the defensive for a change. At least for the moment. Surprise was the only significant weapon against a superior force.
As the sun bled into the horizon, they caught up with Bartlett and Rikor at the agreed-upon site. It was a good camp for the night. They had brought Checker’s packhorse with more food added.
Slightly elevated, the flat prairie ran into a steep bluff cutting north and south for two hundred yards before disappearing into rocks and shale. A creek with a reputation for occasional water staggered past, flirting its wetness with the land. No one could approach from three directions without being seen from a considerable distance—and coming slightly uphill as they did. The bluff itself ensured that there would be no threat from behind. Especially since they would camp close to its steep sides.
Rikor was asleep. Their horses were picketed next to the three mesquite trees clustered a few yards from the bluff itself. Bartlett had made a small cooking fire that was virtually unseen until they rode close. Boulders had been pushed around the tiny flames to further keep it hidden. Smokeless wood had been carefully gathered. A coffeepot was gurgling at its edges. Several more large rocks had been rolled into position farther away to provide better firing positions if they were attacked. Rule noted the protective action to himself, acknowledging Bartlett’s thoroughness.
“Good to see you boys,” Bartlett said, looking up from the fire. His Winchester lay on the ground a few feet away. “I’ll get some bacon on. And some potatoes. Aleta packed us some fine grub.”
Without being asked, the high-strung Ranger explained there were no tracks left of Emmett’s wagon. The rain had taken care of that concern. The last time Holt men could have seen the Gardner family they would have been traveling east, toward Austin. A feint Checker had advised Bartlett to take, before going after the gunmen.
Bartlett’s pained face told the story before he did. There were no signs of Checker, but he had not ridden as far as this ridge when they last saw him. Bartlett had searched this part of the region for as long as daylight allowed, looking for places where a man might hide. He hadn’t seen any Holt riders, either.
“Couldn’t see out there any longer,” Bartlett mumbled. “John’s the one who can see in the night. Like some Apache. More than a handful of outlaws have been real surprised to have him come up to their night camp. Really something.” He reached for a potato and began carving off the skin.
Rikor stirred, then jumped up, grabbing for his rifle.
“It’s fine, son. It’s your pa—and your uncle,” Bartlett said. “You go ahead and rest. I’ll wake you when supper’s ready.”
