“Well, ah, no, I…ah, I…”
“Never mind. Jaudon should be back from Austin tomorrow. All of his men are officially Rangers—or we can say they are. I’ll have them take out this Rule Cordell and take over the Gardner Ranch at the same time.” She placed her teacup on the table. “Eleven, did you deliver the letter to that Peale woman as I asked?”
“Of course.”
“Tell me how you know John Checker is dead.”
Rubbing his hands together, Meade explained what had happened at the Peale Ranch and his subsequent inspection of the Checker burial, ending with his shooting into the dead man’s face.
She stood and looked down at the killer. “So you always carry a shovel with you?”
“What?”
“I asked if you carry a shovel in your carriage.” Her mouth was a slit with a snarl appearing at the right corner. “Surely you didn’t dig him up with your bare hands.”
Meade glanced at the amused sheriff and said, “No, I don’t—and I didn’t. I made the colored man do it. The one who works for the Peale woman.”
Her smirk disappeared.
“He didn’t want to…but he did.” Meade patted the holstered pistol at his hip.
Lady Holt ran her hands over her gold-striped blouse, looked down at herself and said, “You think she beds that black?”
Meade was happy to have her attention on something else. But how would he know if the woman was involved with her hired hand? All he knew for certain was London Fiss was a formidable man who would protect her with his last breath. He shivered. Facing such a man was not something he wished to do.
“Here’s what I want you to do, Hangar.” Lady Holt was focused on the lawman again.
She began to pace, rattling off what she expected. Hangar was to get Judge Opat to issue a warrant for Rule Cordell’s arrest and wire the governor to have Cordell’s pardon revoked. After that, he was to go to the town’s newspaper editor and tell him about the outlaw coming to town and being a part of Emmett Gardner’s rustling operation. She made it clear Hangar was to insist on the story being run. What wasn’t said was that Henry Seitmeyer, the editor, was his own man.
Hangar looked as if he had been slapped in the face. Why did he have to do all the dirty work?
Lady Holt’s directive to Meade was simple. “Find this A. J. Bartlett and kill him. I’ll pay you the same as the other Ranger.”
Meade nodded, stood and nudged Hangar to respond the same way. As they started to leave, she said, “Wait. Where does this Rule Cordell live? Do you know?” Her smile was radiant, her eyes wide and bright. “That’s where Emmett Gardner and his stupid sons are hiding. Has to be.”
Hangar and Meade stood in the hallway, both unsure of what she wanted.
“Ah, Hires said the deed was written up in…ah, Clark Springs,” Hangar said.
“That’s it, then. Eleven, I want you to ride there,” Lady Holt demanded. “You can be there by morning.” She nodded agreement at her own thinking. “Find where he lives. Then wire me. I’ll decide what happens next. Don’t kill him ’til I tell you to.”
Hangar was relieved. His assignments seemed easier by contrast.
Meade straightened his cravat. “You’re going to have to be more clear, m’lady. Is this project in addition to the Bartlett assignment—or instead of? Either way, what are you going to pay me for this search? It might be quite timeconsuming.”
Lady Holt’s expression transformed from enthusiastic to vengeful. Her eyes narrowed as her gaze homed in on the hired killer.
“Maybe I should just have Ranger Captain Jaudon arrest you for murder?” The snarl reappeared at the corner of her mouth.
Meade’s first impulse was to challenge the statement with his own threat. “Well, now, what’s to keep me from shooting you—and your darling star packer here—taking my money and leaving?” He rested his right hand on the pearl handle of his holstered gun. “What would you say to that, m’lady?”
“I would say turn around. Real slow. Elliott doesn’t like quickness.”
“
“That’s Latin for ‘heart or death.’ Interesting choice of words, huh? In case you didn’t look, Elliott is holding a shotgun. Is it cocked, Elliott? Ah yes, it is.”
Meade chuckled. “Touche, m’lady.”
“Find where Rule Cordell lives—and I’ll pay you five hundred dollars.”
“For that, I’d kill him.”
“I’ll remember you said that.” She smiled and ran her fingers through her hair. “Oh, Elliott, please give Mr. Meade his money—and after you’ve seen them out, please find Mr. Moore. Have him come and see me. I need his report on his meeting with Charlie Carlson.” Her smile was lustful.
Chapter Twenty-six
It was midmorning when Eleven Meade pulled up in front of the first saloon he saw upon entering the town of Clark Springs. He was tired and dirty. He couldn’t remember when he last drove so long in such a short time. Something about Lady Holt made a man do things he didn’t want to do. Ah, but the money was good. Very good.
A drink, something to eat and a bath were his priorities. After that, he would check into finding Rule Cordell’s home. He didn’t think it would be hard to do. A nap would also be wonderful, but he wouldn’t allow himself that pleasure. Not yet.
Unlike Lady Holt, he didn’t expect to find much there. Anything, actually. He figured Emmett Gardner had taken his sons and gone on, probably heading toward New Mexico. Santa Fe, likely. And not Nebraska as the fool Hires had reported. He smiled. If Lady Holt wanted him to do so, he could return there and find them.
His apartment in Santa Fe wasn’t much, but it was home when he wasn’t working. Like now. He wrapped the reins of his tired horse around the hitching rack and strolled inside, telling his cat to remain in the carriage. The happy noise of the saloon always pleased him. Comforting.
An open table caught his eye and he moved to it, slid into a chair and let his body relax. Soon a Mexican waitress came to find out what he wanted; she was also offering herself in the back. He snorted and said he was too tired and just wanted a drink and something to eat. Then he changed his mind.
“Say, I’m looking for Rule Cordell. He’s an old friend. Heard he lived here. In Clark Springs. Do you know him?” He handed her a coin and she took it, slipping it between her breasts visible above the wrinkled peasant blouse.
“
He handed her another coin. “Good. That’s good. Do you know where he lives?”
She thought for a moment and said she needed to check with someone. After talking with a hard-looking vaquero in the far corner of the long bar, she returned and told him where to find the Cordell house. He paid her again and asked for a bottle and whatever they were serving for food.
After eating, he left, found the town public bath, a service in the back of the barbershop, and bathed. Completing his initial self-prescribed tasks, he returned to his horse and carriage. The animal looked tired, so Meade headed to the livery and exchanged horses, paying in advance for the stable manager to feed and water his horse.
There was no hurry. Lady Holt would be wired after he went to the Cordell house and found it empty. Of that, he was certain.
The directions were easy to follow and he soon found himself overlooking a small house with three corrals, a windmill and several outbuildings. He reined the horse within a narrow crease in a mile-long ridge that yo-yoed across the prairie. Viewing the entire ranch yard would be excellent from here, he decided.
