Ride for Rule Cordell

Checker cocked his head. “You sit right there. You can be witnesses.” He glanced at Opat reaching under his walnut bench where he sat. “If you’re reaching for a gavel, that’s fine. If you come up with a gun, it’ll be your last hearing.”

The rooster-haired judge froze. His narrow, curved nose whistled in alarm. Slowly, his hands rose away from the podium.

“Good, Opat. You’re a smarter man than I thought,” Checker said, and motioned toward the main door. “Come on in, Emmett. Bring our guest.”

The grizzled rancher slipped inside. His lopsided grin reached his brightened eyes. With him came the editor of the Claisson Recorder, the town newspaper. Henry Seitmeyer’s bow tie and fresh shirt made him appear more dapper than usual. In his hand was a pad of paper and a pencil. Both hands were stained with old ink, a constant part of the profession.

“Henry, I’m sorry you had to be brought here against your will,” Opat said, trying to appear more confident than he felt. “I’ll get this cleared up.”

The stocky editor hunched his shoulders. “I came of my own free will, Judge. Sounded to me like a good story was going to happen. I’ll just sit here and listen.”

He took a seat near the front, resting his paper on his lap.

Checker smiled and nodded toward Morgan.

She stared at Opat. “Judge, as a rancher in this area, I demand a hearing. Right now. On the rustling charge against Emmett Gardner and the murder charges against John Checker and A. J. Barnett.” She folded her arms. “These are innocent men and you have been a conspirator to the will of Lady Holt. I expect real justice. Here and now.”

Opat pulled on the lapels of his oversized suit coat and glared at her. “I ruled on that matter, the rustling charge, earlier. Mr. Gardner needs to give himself up—and stand trial.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“No, we’re going to have a hearing. A real one. Not that jake leg thing you pulled earlier,” Morgan said, pointing her finger at the surprised judge.

Checker shifted the weight on his boots to keep it from his wounded leg as best he could. His body was stiff and sore. It was far too early to be moving, but he knew it was necessary. He had been shot before. Silently, he had prayed to both the white man’s God—and the Comanche Great Spirit—to help him.

“Opat, I don’t think you get it yet,” Checker said. “This Lady Holt is through making the laws around her. There’s a small army of us planning to make it so. Call us Fire. She will know what it means.”

Licking his lips, Opat said, “Well, we’ll need to call witnesses. Sil Jaudon is out of town. He brought the charge—and he’s on the stage, I believe. Coming from Austin.” He twisted his neck, first to the right, then the left. “Mr. Jaudon is a captain of the Rangers now. A worthy appointment, I believe. Of course, he has the details on this case.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. We’ll take care of Jaudon separately. He’ll be brought in—again—for attempted murder. By that time, we’ll have a real judge in place,” Checker said. “There’s no way he’s going to stay a Ranger —much less a captain. But that’s for another day, Opat. Nothing you need to worry about. This hearing will move on without him.”

“But there has to be someone for the prosecution present.”

“In your first hearing, you didn’t have the defendant present, so what’s the difference?” Checker’s voice was heavy with sarcasm. “I’m getting real tired of you, Opat. Do this right, real justice for a change—and you’ll be able to leave town a free man. Do it wrong, well, you get the idea. Either way, you’re leaving.”

“Are you threatening an officer of the court?”

“No. I’m telling a crooked henchman of Lady Holt’s that his time in this town has ended. How he leaves will be his choice,” Checker said. “I’ve been in a lot of courtrooms, but this is the first one I’ve seen with no idea of what justice is all about.” He paused and looked at Emmett. “Is Rule outside?”

“Yep. An’ he’s got him wi’.”

“Good. Have him come in.” Checker returned his stare to Opat. “But you will have your prosecution witness present.”

Rule Cordell pushed Sheriff Hangar inside. The hatless lawman looked half dazed and half scared; his empty holster spoke of an earlier confrontation. His cheek was reddened from a recent blow and his big mustache was pushed out of shape. His shirttails flapped below his coat on the right side.

He saw Opat, then Checker. When he saw the tall Ranger, his jaw dropped and bile slammed its way into his throat.

Swallowing, he managed to gulp. “Wh-hat’s th-this all about?”

“You’re going to be the witness for the prosecution, Hangar.”

“E-Eleven M-Meade said you were d-dead. S-said he shot…at you…in your grave,” Hangar spat. His eyes were wide.

“Sounds like Eleven likes to tell a good story,” Checker said. “Kinda like the rustling whopper you tried to lay on my friend. And that charge of murder on A.J. and me.”

“Th-hat wasn’t my idea.”

For the first time, Hangar realized Emmett Gardner was standing in the courtroom and then saw Seitmeyer. Cursing to himself, he should’ve known the British woman’s ideas about handling the two Rangers—and Rule Cordell—weren’t going to work.

“Sit down, right there, Hangar. You and Opat are through in this town. It’s time the good folks had a choice about these matters,” Checker said. “You’re going to present the cases against Emmett—and me and my partner. That’ll be your last official act here. In Claisson. Do it right and you’ll be able to ride out of here.” He looked at Rule, standing near the doorway. “Is A.J. all right?”

“Sure. He’s with Hangar’s two deputies. They’re having a nice, quiet talk. Figure they’ll be leaving town when this is over.”

“Probably discussing a little Tennyson.” Checker smiled.

“More than a little.”

“Rikor’s outside. Watching the back.”

Rule saluted Checker and left. The Ranger grinned in spite of the situation. The two gunfighters were quickly becoming friends.

Hangar tried to catch Opat’s attention, but the judge had no intention of looking at him. The onetime attorney was trying to think what he should do. He should have known this day was coming. No one would get to Lady Holt; she wouldn’t be touched. It would be her hirelings who would take the brunt of the counterattack. She owned too much land, too much money and enough of the right contacts to withstand any assault.

Even from the likes of John Checker and Rule Cordell.

To avoid looking at Hangar, Opat studied Checker. There was a small circle of fresh blood on the Ranger’s shirt, just above his belt, along his back. So the killer Meade hadn’t totally lied; he had wounded the famous Ranger. Just not enough. Opat looked away. Maybe if he played this straight, the townspeople would let him stay. Would Lady Holt let him, if he bent to what Checker wanted…to do what was right?

Scuffling at the door became Rule Cordell with a handful of Claisson townspeople. The blacksmith, a freighter, a young general store clerk, the woman who ran the dry goods shop, two Triple C cowhands who worked for Charlie Chance Carlson and several others. George Likeman joined them; he was the town undertaker and furniture builder. All had been selected by Morgan and Emmett. They weren’t quite sure why they were asked to come to the courtroom, but there was something about Rule Cordell that made it seem smart to go.

“Is London outside?” Checker asked, motioning for the new people to come forward and take seats.

“He is—and I’m joining him,” Rule said.

“Good. We won’t be interrupted, then.”

Turning his attention to the now-seated townspeople, Checker told them that they were going to be witnesses to a hearing, that although a hearing didn’t require a jury—or even anyone witnessing it—he and his friends had decided the town deserved a look at real justice for a change.

The blacksmith shook his head affirmatively and said loudly, “We do thank ye, Ranger, for trying. Lady Holt, she has men over in the saloon. The No. 8. They’re there every day. Just watching and waiting. They’re over there