“I just told you. He’s dead.”
Meade looked down, realized his action might be mistaken for an aggressive move to his gun and expanded his hands to grip both sides of the carriage.
“I know you did, sir, but you know lawmen. They want proof.”
“Tell him to come out an’ see for himself, then.” London Fiss turned to leave.
“I think you should know, sir, Sil Jaudon is the new Ranger captain for the Special Force. Governor Citale appointed him.”
Meade’s words stopped Fiss in midstride.
“The previous captain has been arrested. Some kind of financial matter as I understand the whole of it. Sad, really.”
As he spun around, Fiss’s tightened mouth flickered at the corner. He knew what Meade’s announcement meant to his boss. His words were a snarl.
“Tell the fat Frenchman that he’ll have to come through me, badge or no badge.”
“I believe he looks forward to that…sir.” Meade’s eyes sparkled with challenge.
“So do I,” Fiss stated without emotion, and slammed the door behind him.
Meade looked down at the envelope beside him. He would need to get the black man out again. Oh how he hated doing things he wasn’t hired to do.
Before he could call out, Morgan Peale emerged from the ranch door. Her face was pale, but determined. In her hands was a rifle. He noted it was cocked.
“Tell Sheriff Hangar that we buried Ranger Checker. Under that string of cottonwoods. To the south. Nice an’ shady there.” She paused and added, “You can dig up the body yourself if you want to. But I want him reburied.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Peale, I appreciate the information.”
“I understand you have a letter for me.”
“Yes, ma’am. Here.”
She opened the envelope, read the letter and threw both to the ground. When she looked up, her face was hard. “You tell that woman you work for…to go to hell. I’m not selling to her or anybody else. Now get off my land —and don’t come back!”
She didn’t wait for his response and spun around, heading back inside.
Meade watched the door for a few moments before taking the reins and clicking his horse into trotting away. Minutes later, the gunfighter reined his carriage to a halt beside a freshly dug mound with a small wooden cross placed at one end. He studied it, rubbing his cat’s back, and decided there was no way in the world he was going to dig up the body. Lady Holt would just have to take Mrs. Peale’s word for it. Why would she lie?
He laughed out loud, drowning out the morning’s songbirds, and urged his horse again into a trot. Important news shouldn’t be delayed.
Not long afterward, four riders reined up on the ridge overlooking Morgan Peale’s land. The sun was struggling to gain control of the sky. Vultures hovering in the gray sky saddened them. It was a sign they hadn’t wanted to see. A sign of death.
Spurring their horses forward, A. J. Bartlett, Rule Cordell, Emmett Gardner and Rikor Gardner cleared the ridge and trotted across the grassland. A dark shape became a downed horse. Huge birds and a coyote were enjoying themselves.
Bartlett groaned, pulled his rifle from its scabbard and fired three times. Two birds flopped to the ground and the others fled skyward. The lone coyote yipped and scooted away. Bartlett’s fourth bullet dusted the ground behind the fleeing animal.
“I’m sorry, Rule,” Bartlett said, lowering his rifle. “I—I…well…”
“Don’t apologize,” Rule said. “I would’ve done it, if you hadn’t.”
Their advance to the dead animal was a silent one; their horses were skittish, not wanting to get close to the stench of death.
Rule reined up and pointed. “Was that Checker’s horse?”
“Yes. The right flank had a small white splash.” Bartlett’s face registered the sadness his entire body felt.
“Well, A.J., somebody took away the saddle and bridle. See?” Rule pointed. “And there’s no sign of a body. That’s good, A.J.” His eyes searched the open area for sign. Any sign of a man. Nothing. Yesterday’s rain had taken away all traces of the violence, except the dead animal itself.
Emmett made a sweeping gesture with his right arm. “We ’uns rode ri’t down thatta way. With the wagon an’ all.”
Rikor nodded agreement, nudged his horse into a lope and rode out toward the ridge where Checker had gone.
Bartlett’s shoulders rose and fell. “Probably some bastard needed the saddle.”
“Maybe. But there’s no reason for Holt’s men to take the gear. Why would they?” He looked over at the distraught Ranger. “Maybe somebody came to help him. Took the saddle with them—and him.”
Bartlett listened and finally muttered, “Maybe…they took him…to town.”
Rule rode in a wide circle around the area of death, continuing his assessment. “Rain took away all the signs of a fight. But somebody came by this morning. In a carriage. Came and went. From town. Any idea who that might be, Emmett?”
“No, cain’t say as I do. Wilkerson, he drives a carriage. He’s the banker. Mayor, too. Figger he’s owned by Lady Holt. Might be he was headin’ to Peale’s place.” He shook his head. “Holt’s gonna want it, too. An’ Charlie’s.”
“Whoever was in that carriage knew there was a dead animal here.” Rule reined his horse and studied the land.
“What?” Bartlett’s attention was returned.
“Look.” Rule motioned toward the lines in the land. “There’s no pause. No stopping. Just a wide loop around it.”
Bartlett licked his lower lip. “Maybe he thought it was a dead steer.”
Rule waved his hand toward the ridge. “Wouldn’t you be curious if you saw a dead horse? Wouldn’t you want to see if there was someone hurt?”
Bartlett struggled with the reality lying in front of them. It was hard to believe so much had happened so quickly. He and Checker were Rangers one minute and wanted murderers the next. Now his mind was churning and replaying the time when Checker left the wagon. He shouldn’t have let his friend go alone. He shouldn’t have. Was his friend in jail? Wounded? How badly? Where was he? Was he…dead?
“Yeah. Could be. If it was Wilkerson, though, that ol’ boy wouldn’t like bein’ close to no dead animal,” Emmett declared.
“Maybe. It still looks to me like he knew the horse was there. John’s horse.”
“Why don’t we ride into town? Might find out who belongs to that carriage,” Bartlett said. “Maybe those bastards took John to jail.” Bartlett didn’t believe his own statement.
Rikor rode back and reported there were no signs of Checker or anyone else along the ridge. No one had expected any; the rain had done its job in that regard.
Rule pointed in the direction the carriage had been heading. “You say there’s a ranch that way, Emmett?”
“Yes, suh. Morgan Peale’s place ain’t too far from hyar. She’s gonna feel that bitch a’fer long, I reckon. Don’t reckon the black feller’s gonna be able to stop ’em for long.”
Rikor nodded agreement.
“I think we should head for town. This man in the carriage knows something, I think,” Rule said.
“Yu’re a-thinkin’ the doc came to he’p him some?” Emmett asked, staring toward the horizon as if he could see the Peale Ranch. “Ol’ Doc Curtis, he rides a buggy, ya know.”
“Could be. I don’t know. Just seems like we should try there first. What do you think, A.J.?” Rule asked, leaning forward on his saddle horn.
Bartlett swung his horse toward the west, trying hard to clear his mind of the guilt sitting there. “It’s worth it. Let’s go.”
