Both men agreed. The tall Ranger made no attempt to explain what he wanted done. It was Fiss who suggested the editor be brought to the jail to see for himself what had happened.
From the cell, the deputy whined, “I—I’ll leave…an’ not c-come back. H-Hangar d-didn’t say anything about… this…kinda stuff. I…ah, I’m sorry.”
Rule glanced at him, but said nothing. Checker walked away as if he hadn’t heard the deputy. He stepped across the body of the dead skinny gunman and over the body of the wounded scarred gunman. The gunman shut his eyes and pulled his legs into his stomach.
As the tall Ranger reached the door again, Rule said, “The deputy said there was only one who got away. Dimitry. Ran south.”
“As soon as the hearing is over, we’ll find him. I’ll ask Seitmeyer if he wants to come here and see for himself what happened.” He took a deep breath. “He’s a good man, I think. A.J. thought so.”
“John?”
Checker paused at his name from Rule. “Yes?”
“We need this town if we’re going to stop her.”
“I know that.”
“Opat and Hangar should be arrested. Not shot.”
Checker’s eyes darted toward Rule as if they were bullets; then he nodded. “I know that.”
All eyes were on the tall Ranger as he returned to the courtroom. Morgan Peale ran toward him, hesitated and knew what had happened without asking.
The blacksmith stood and said, “Is everything all right?”
“No. No, it’s not. Lady Holt’s men tried to take over the jail. They killed one of Texas’s best Rangers, A. J. Bartlett. He stopped three.”
Opat watched the tall Ranger and knew this was a particularly dangerous time. John Checker was on edge, feeling the death of his friend, aching to fill the hole in his heart. With anything. Anything.
The small group of townspeople had grown since Checker left. The room was half-filled with stern-faced men and women. Lady Holt’s fist had driven them into submission for a long time. Now there seemed to be hope. It rested in the tall Ranger and his gunfighter friend.
“Ah, Ranger, sir, while you were gone, Sheriff Hangar tried to take over.” The blacksmith rubbed his big hands together. His face was streaked with black to match his clothes. He was a small man, but his upper arms and chest would have made it difficult for any man to best him.
“Had a hideaway gun in his boot,” the blacksmith continued. “Emmett Gardner’s boy came in from the back —and several of us took it from him.”
For the first time, Checker noticed a subdued Hangar standing in the corner; his hands were lashed together in front of him. His right eye was swollen shut with redness streaking from it. A few feet away stood Rikor with a rifle and a deep frown. On the other side of the tied lawman were the two Triple C cowboys; neither were armed.
“We’re gonna take our town back,” the blacksmith announced proudly. “Get ourselves some real law and order. A real judge. A real sheriff. Yes, sir, that’s what we’re gonna do. An’ we thank you for making it so.”
Morgan completed her advance and hugged the Ranger and he returned the emotion. “I am so sorry, John. So sorry.” Her eyes sought his for comfort and more.
“I know. It’s awful hard, Morgan. Awful hard. I wish that British woman was a man. I’d know what to do.” Checker’s face twisted with agony.
“Treat her no differently than anyone else who breaks the law,” Morgan said, and motioned to the sitting townspeople. “A lot happened here, John, and you—and A.J. and Rule—made it happen.” She wiped a tear trying to escape from her eye. “I almost forgot. The murder charges against you and A.J. were dropped.”
Checker listened without speaking. His gaze indicated he was a long way away. When he first met A. J. Bartlett at Ranger headquarters, the gentle Ranger had greeted him with a Tennyson quote, the one he had said a few minutes ago.
“So, what are you expecting from me?” Seitmeyer asked as he walked toward the Ranger.
“Newspapers are supposed to print the truth, aren’t they?”
“That’s what I try to do.” Seitmeyer’s answer was more confident than he felt.
“That’s all I want.”
“Well, I’ll certainly report on the hearings—and their outcome,” the editor said. “You know I can’t go directly accusing Lady Holt—just on your say-so, or anybody else’s,” Seitmeyer questioned, his brow furrrowing. “No offense, but I wouldn’t do that to anyone.”
“Of course not,” Checker said. “But I also know the town isn’t going to take a stand against her—and her hired guns—unless the truth gives them strength. A town needs a backbone. You can give them a backbone.”
“I’ll do my best.” Seitmeyer’s face was flushed. “You know the mayor’s her man. Alex Wilkerson. I’m pretty certain she owns the bank.”
“The truth’ll be plenty.”
“What are you going to do…with the sheriff—and the judge?” Seitmeyer’s eyes focused on Checker’s hard face.
“I’m going to make a citizen’s arrest. Of both of them. A real court can take it from there.”
From his bench, Opat yelled, “You said I could leave!”
Cocking his head to the side, Checker said, “That was before Lady Holt’s men killed my friend.” His eyes narrowed. “You can thank God that Rule Cordell was there at the jail with me. I was coming back to kill you—and Hangar. He told me my friend wouldn’t want that.”
Opat looked as if he was going to vomit.
“You and Hangar have been doing the bidding of Lady Holt ever since you boys hit town,” Checker growled. “That’s why you came to town in the first place, isn’t it, Opat?”
“Ah, I didn’t have…any choice. I really…didn’t.” Opat’s face went white and he swallowed twice before finding any words.
“I don’t have any choice, either,” Checker said. “Both of you are under arrest.”
The dry goods store woman stood and spoke. “Ranger, sir, who will be our sheriff? Our judge? Who’s going to protect us when that awful woman hears about this? She has all kinds of bad men working for her.” She folded her arms over her ample chest.
“As soon as I bury my friend, we’re going after her,” Checker said. “Pick someone you trust to be the sheriff —and someone to be judge.” He rubbed his chin. “I think you’d make a fine judge, ma’am, but that’s just my opinion.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “Ah, I haven’t had any training.”
The blacksmith blurted his support. “I think you’d be a good judge, too, Mrs. Loren. A good one.”
Several voiced similar support.
“Where are your council members?” Checker asked. “They can make this decision. Unless you don’t trust them.”
“There’s one I don’t. Wilson Tanner,” the blacksmith said, waving his arms. “He works for Lady Holt. I know it.”
“Sounds like you need an election. Why don’t you get them in here?” Checker said. “We’ll take Opat and Hangar to jail.”
“I’ll go get ’em,” the blacksmith said, moving toward the door. “Who’s gonna help me?”
Three men and a woman jumped from their seats and headed toward him.
Chapter Twenty-nine
It was nightfall before Wilson Tanner rode up to the Holt Ranch. His horse was lathered and streaked with sweat. Even though he hated this kind of riding, he knew she would want to know. He was also excited about his new appointment as the municipal judge.
