With a wistful smile, Fiss said, “I was watching him through my field glasses. If he had started digging, I would have killed him.”
The statement was matter-of-fact.
“John Checker saved my life a few years back. I owed him that,” the black man continued, and motioned toward Morgan. “Mrs. Peale, she gave me a chance. I owed her, too.”
Conversation among the group grew once more, mostly about Lady Holt and what was happening. They avoided the subject of Checker’s condition.
“Can we see him?” Bartlett finally asked. His face was years younger in its relief to know his friend was alive.
Morgan frowned. “I don’t know. He’s been asleep since we found him. Or nearly so. Woke up briefly last night. Said something about Apaches. Then a woman…ah, named Amelia, I think. I couldn’t make out the rest.”
“Amelia, that’s his sister’s name,” Bartlett said. “Hasn’t seen her since they were little. Awful tale.”
Morgan smiled at hearing the woman was Checker’s sister and said, “Mr. Fiss has been treating him with some family remedies. We were afraid to ride for the doctor.”
The black man nodded. “Good remedies, they are. Especially with bullet wounds.” He paused and added, “The only lead in him was in his lower back. The rest were scrapes and burns. Really lucky. None caught anything vital. Got a wound in his left leg. Not from this gunfight. Looks like it’s been treated. Before.” He grimaced. “He’s got some old bullet scars. Not the first time he’s been hit.”
Emmett nodded. “Yeah. Got that hole in his leg fightin’ off Jaudon’s bunch. At my place.”
“The bullet in his back was a short .44.” Fiss put his hand against the lower left corner of his own back. “You don’t see many like that.”
“Eleven Meade.” Rule’s declaration had an ominous ring.
“Yes. I saw one of those Evans rifles in his carriage.” Fiss added, “Shoots a short .44. Shoots a lot of them.”
“How long before John can ride…again?” Bartlett asked.
Fiss looked at Morgan before responding. “He’s a tough man. You know that. But he lost a lot of blood. Awful weak.”
Almost crying, Morgan blurted, “He needs to sleep. To rest.”
“We owe both of you a lot,” Bartlett said. “How can we ever thank you?”
Morgan smiled gently. “Win this war against Lady Holt. Or we all go down.” She told about Eleven Meade delivering a letter from Lady Holt offering to buy her ranch for a cheap price. “I imagine that’s so she can tell others that she tried to buy it…before we got wiped out. I figure Charlie Carlson got the same letter. Got one for you, too.” She swung her fist in the air and grimaced.
Before anyone could respond, she invited them into her small kitchen for coffee and freshly baked donuts. Rikor was particularly pleased with the offering and had to be reminded by his father to only take one.
Morgan heard the whispered direction and said, “Rikor, there are plenty. Please help yourself. I would feel insulted if you didn’t.”
Glancing at his father for approval, Rikor thanked her and immediately took two donuts.
As they enjoyed the refreshment, Rule turned to Fiss and Morgan with a response to her earlier statement. “A few minutes ago, you said we needed to win. I agree. But that’s going to be more easily said than done, ma’am. We’re going to have to do what she doesn’t expect—and do it swiftly. And we’re going to have to be lucky.”
“What do you have in mind?” she said, putting her coffee mug down on the table.
Rikor sneaked another donut while the others were concentrating on Rule.
“As soon as this Jaudon returns from Austin, she’ll send him and his men on a sweep through here. Emmett’s place. Yours. Carlson’s. She’ll figure this Ranger setup won’t last long—so she’ll strike and strike hard,” Rule said softly.
No one spoke.
Emmett downed the last of his coffee and declared, “Why don’t we jes’ go an’ see that damn governor an’ send him skedaddlin’ out o’ Texas?”
After taking a bite of his donut, Rule responded, “Uncle Emmett, I think that’s a good idea.”
“Ya do?”
“Yes, I do.” Rule took another bite. “But we need to do some changes in Caisson first. Get those arrest warrants changed. Get Captain Temple back in charge of his Ranger force so we’ve got some men to go against hers.”
“I imagine there’s a good bunch of former Rangers all spitting and fuming right now,” Bartlett said. “Maybe they’ve already started something.”
“Maybe so. We’re going to need them.” Rule took a long swig of coffee and pushed his hat back on his forehead. He wanted to say they were going to need John Checker but didn’t.
Morgan licked her lower lip and looked away. “I don’t see how that’s going to happen. Governor Citale is dug in deep. His alliance with Holt has made him a rich man. Others, too. Railroad men mostly.”
“I didn’t say it would be easy,” Rule said. “But if we stay here, or at Emmett’s, her men will eventually overrun us. Our only weapon is movement and surprise.”
“Doesn’t sound like we’ve got much of a chance,” Emmett growled. “I’d jes’ like to wring…”
He didn’t finish the statement.
“All right, I’m in.” Morgan folded her arms. “Tell me what to do.”
Fiss walked over beside her. “I ride for Mrs. Peale.”
“Mr. Fiss, I don’t expect you…”
“I know you don’t, but I must.”
Rule frowned and sipped his coffee. “You know they might burn your place, Mrs. Peale. And make you an outlaw again, London.”
A noise in the other room stopped the conversation.
“What’s that?” Bartlett said, and spun toward the unseen disturbance.
“It came from John’s room!” Morgan headed in that direction before the statement was completely out of her mouth.
Everyone hurried toward the bedroom where John Checker had been sleeping. Rikor hesitated and grabbed another donut before leaving the kitchen. In the narrow room, Checker, already in his pants and boots, was putting on a shirt. His medicine pouch, dangling from his neck, bounced against his chest. His Comanche war tunic lay folded at the top of an old dresser, along with his rifle, gun belt and hat.
“John, what in the hell are you doing!” Bartlett said, and hurried into the room, passing Morgan. “You’ve got no business being up.”
Checker stared at him and frowned. “A.J., it’s mighty good to see you, too. I’m all right. A little stiff, that’s all. Where am I?”
“You’re in my home.” Morgan rushed past Bartlett and stood beside the wounded Ranger. “John Checker, you get back in bed.” She touched Checker’s arm and left it there.
Smiling weakly at her, he continued to put on his shirt.
“He gonna be all right?” Rikor asked, poking his head into the room and munching another donut.
“Guess that’s gonna be up to the good Lord—and Mrs. Morgan an’ Mr. Fiss hyar,” Emmett said.
Ignoring Morgan’s concerns as well, Fiss told Checker what had happened, including the news of Sil Jaudon being named a captain of the Rangers and of Captain Temple being dismissed and arrested—and the faking of the Ranger’s death to give them some time for him to heal.
Waving her arms in frustration, Morgan told him again to lie down and rest.
Stepping into the room and standing next to his father, Rikor grinned awkwardly and mumbled Checker wouldn’t get any donuts if he didn’t do what she said.
Shaking her head, Morgan took a step closer. “You need to rest, John Checker.”
“No, I need a horse. Mine’s dead. I remember that. I can pay.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “You’re lucky to be alive. You look like you’ve got a fever.” She reached up to touch his forehead, but his smile stopped her.
Edging closer, the black man explained how Rule expected Lady Holt to send her men to check out the Peale
