Tanner blinked. He hated her when she did this, challenging each word, each nuance. “ ‘They’ is the group of people who sat through the hearings. Townspeople. From what I heard, it was a handpicked group.”
“Handpicked by whom?”
He smiled. Should’ve seen that one coming, he thought. “By the people who forced the hearings. Checker and Cordell.”
She walked across the room and straightened a book on the fourth row. “How did they know who the right people were?”
He explained Emmett Gardner and Morgan Peale did the selecting, or so he thought.
“Of course.” She straightened another book. “Ever read
He was surprised by the question. “Ah…
“Never mind. The written word is powerful, isn’t it?” It wasn’t really a question. “I want to buy the Caisson newspaper. Is this Seitmeyer open to being bought—one way or the other?”
“I don’t think so. He seems like a man hell-bent on goodness and mercy,” Tanner said. “Understand he really went after Hangar in the hearings. Did you ask Hangar to get a story published about Rule Cordell being an outlaw—and involved in Gardner’s rustling?”
“I did. Hangar never was very good at that sort of thing. Maybe Seitmeyer doesn’t understand how good and merciful I can be—once I take over the region,” Lady Holt said, and turned to the side. “We will take it, won’t we, Iva Lee?”
“I’m sorry. Iva Lee? I don’t understand.”
Her eyes blinked, and for a moment, she was flustered and red-faced. She coughed into her fist to give her time to think. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day. Iva Lee used to work for me—before Elliott. A sweet woman. She died two years ago.”
Tanner decided it wasn’t wise to pursue the matter further and swallowed the rest of his drink. He put down the empty glass on the small table adjacent to a long brown sofa.
“Don’t put it there. It’ll leave a ring,” she demanded, the nostrils in her nose flaring in anger.
He grabbed the glass as if it were in need of saving. He must be careful; she was on edge—or getting close to being drunk.
“You need a refill.” She turned her head and yelled, “Elliott!” She looked at the attorney, laughed and said, “Almost said Iva Lee again. She’s really been on my mind today.”
“Yes. m’lady. Coming, m’lady.
“Bring the whiskey.” She grinned to herself; there was yet a stronger reason to come.
She seemed only mildly interested in Opat and Hangar being arrested. Her eyelids blinked four times and she snarled, “I was supposed to get a wire from Eleven Meade. He went to Clark Springs. Yesterday. Rule Cordell lives there somewhere.” She smiled wickedly. “Or so I’ve been advised.”
“Well, obviously he’s waiting for him to return.” Tanner glanced at the magazine at the table and looked away quickly.
“More’n likely he’s headed back to New Mexico—with my payment for killing John Checker in his pocket. That bastard.” She noticed her blouse was badly buttoned, smiled, faced the books and rebuttoned it.
Tanner watched with interest, hoping she might turn around to give him a tease. He was, after all, a handsome man. She might even ask him to spend the night. He straightened his cravat and brushed his coat lapels. The slender servant glided into the room, holding the whiskey decanter on a silver tray. When she spun toward the servant’s entrance, her blouse was correctly buttoned. She noticed the attorney glance at her corrected blouse and what it hid, and smiled.
She nodded toward Tanner’s glass and held out her own. Elliott poured whiskey into Tanner’s glass, then refilled Lady Holt’s and left.
“Oh, I almost forgot. Has that half-breed come back to the ranch?” Tanner asked, waving his arm.
“Dimitry? I don’t know. Why?”
Tanner explained about the killing of Ranger Bartlett and Dimitry being the only one who got away. He smiled and suggested she keep him out of sight for a few days.
“We haven’t toasted your new position, Judge,” she said, and held up her glass to salute him.
He grinned and clinked his glass against hers and both took a drink. Feeling confident, the attorney said, “M-y horse, he’s worn out. I beat him up getting here.”
“Elliott will have the boys saddle one of ours.”
“I—I could wait here and ride back tomorrow morning.” He gulped most of the whiskey.
She matched his gulp and studied him as a wolf studies a lamb. “Sure. Good idea. I’ll ride in with you. I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to send some men to get Jaudon off that coach and bring him here. So we can go over things.” Her eyes brightened and she ran her hand through her hair. “We’re going to turn this into a triumphant takeover—and get rid of these pissant ranchers forever.”
Giggling, she declared, “He can wire Citale. Get full authority to do whatever is needed…to quell the insurrection in Caisson.” She finished the glass. “You can ride with my boys—as an official of the city. To get the great Ranger captain.” She laughed long and loudly. “After we straighten out the town, he’ll take a band of Rangers to the Gardner Ranch—and the one that belongs to that damn woman. And Carlson’s, while we’re at it. We’ll finish it. I’ve got more important things to do, you know.”
His glass halfway to his mouth, Tanner stopped. “What band of Rangers?”
“Jaudon will swear in my men as Rangers, of course. I even have badges ready. Made of silver.”
Chapter Thirty
Only the sky’s pink underbelly signaled a new day. Five riders on four horses and a buckboard were black shapes against a brightening prairie. With Checker leading the way, Rule Cordell, Emmett, Rikor and Morgan Peale rode silently. London Fiss had volunteered to stay behind in town to see what might happen.
A cold wind intimidated any clouds from the sky, making the moment seem more depressing than it was. Checker was drawn sadly to memories of his best friend and the realization that they didn’t matter anymore.
The old rancher drove his buckboard carrying the wooden casket with the wrapped body of A. J. Bartlett. The casket had been donated by the undertaker. Checker had bought a new suit—and new socks—to bury his friend in. Bartlett’s journal had been placed in the casket as well, along with a book of Tennyson’s poems.
Their destination was a shallow rock pond the two Rangers had discovered when they had ridden from town to help Emmett. The pond was on the eastern corner of Morgan’s land. She had readily agreed to the burial there.
Checker tried to stay focused on what was ahead of them, instead of letting memories wash away his thinking. As usual, no one disagreed when he said where he wanted Bartlett buried. Rule’s eyes were clouded with his own anguish. Emmett glanced at his son, shook his head and cursed at the awfulness of the day.
As they rounded a patrol of boulders, Checker pointed at a glistening small pool twenty yards ahead, crowded with two cottonwoods, a mesquite tree and a patrol of bushes. The water itself was only a sometime thing, resting on a bed of white and brown rocks. A jackrabbit skirted from the green protection as they approached.
“This hyar be a ri’t purty place, John.” Emmett stopped the wagon and admired the tree-clustered pond. “Too small for herd use.” He rubbed his unshaven chin, as if deliberating his statement, and wrapped the reins around the brake stick.
Morgan smiled thinly and nodded. “Yes, it is. Quiet. Peaceful. I’ve always liked this place. I think A.J. will, too.”
Birds of red, brown and yellow were gathered in the trees, discussing their next meal and where it might come from. As the four men drew close, flapping wings made all of them reach for their guns.
Behind the shallow pond a few feet were three large, flat rocks piled upon each other with a fourth lying next to them. Rikor stared at the rock grouping and thought it was a grave; he sniffed away his runny nose, keeping his face away from the others.
“Rode by here when we were on the way to your place,” Checker said. “A.J. thought it was pretty. Reminded
