He stared in both directions of the quiet main street. A boy on a bicycle went by, not paying any attention. He didn’t notice the black man watching from the alley. The speech was exactly as Lady Holt had written. He had promised to leave out any French words or she would have Tapan deliver it.
Loudly, he began again, explaining Hangar and Opat had been executed because they were found to be working with the outlaws. The mayor and town council would be disbanded until order was reestablished. Tanner would remain the municipal judge and Tapan Moore would be the acting sheriff until an election could be held.
Tapan held up the sheriff’s badge and put it on, just under the Ranger badge on his leather vest.
Warrants would be issued for John Checker, Emmett and Rikor Gardner, Morgan Peale, London Fiss, Charlie Carlson and Rule Cordell. Rewards would be established for each, dead or alive. He finished his proclamation with the statement that it would be printed up and placed on display throughout the area.
Hearing his declaration, Margaret Loren rushed from her dry goods store and hurried toward them. Her face red with anger, she screamed at him. “This is insane! That Holt woman is trying to ruin our town!
Jaudon moved his hands toward his holstered revolvers, laughed and told Tapan to take care of the matter. He spun his horse and headed toward the newspaper office, where Lady Holt was already waiting.
Margaret followed him, screaming for others to come and help her.
Holding the flag in its saddle boot, Tapan swung his horse toward her, kicked it into a gallop and rammed the running animal into the woman before she had a chance to get out of the way. The horse’s shoulder hit the side of her face as she stumbled and fell.
He rode past her without looking back.
She lay in the street. Unmoving. From the alley across the street, the black man came running.
Jaudon shook his head, stepped inside the newspaper office and slammed the door behind him.
Chapter Thirty-two
The lone window rattled with the force of Jaudon’s entry. Lady Holt was already inside, delivering a combined offer and threat to the young publisher.
Henry Seitmeyer stood behind his desk with his arms crossed; his shirt was blotched with black. Neither it nor his bow tie had been changed since the hearings. His expression was easy to read: he didn’t like either Lady Holt’s words or the deliverer of them.
A large, metal printing press stood silently behind him, its job finished for the moment. Seitmeyer had had it shipped from Finsbury, London; it was “an improved Coumbia press.” The small office was cluttered with paste pots, type trays, ink bottles, stacks of paper, a dozen books, two coats, a stack of printed posters and a large ashtray holding a cold pipe. A sack of loose tobacco rested against the tray.
Piles of the latest edition of the
“You should be ashamed of printing such garbage.” Lady Holt pointed at the newspapers. “Did the outlaws make you do this?”
“Ma’am, freedom of the press is guaranteed. By the Constitution,” Seitmeyer said. “I will publish what I want, when I want.”
“How much for this silly place?” Lady Holt asked, waving her arms.
“The newspaper is not for sale, ma’am. Neither am I.”
She glared at him, but her intensity was more than matched by his own. “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Seitmeyer. Progress is coming to Caisson. I am bringing it. Soon this land will be completely under my authority. Behind that will come the railroad and barbed wire. Riches will follow.” She cocked her head. “Some will have the wisdom to see what I bring—and some will not.”
“What happens to that second group?” Seitmeyer growled.
“Oh, nothing, I suppose. Although most likely, they will decide other places are more comfortable.” She reached out and touched the top newspaper with her forefinger, leaving it there.
“You mean like Gardner, Peale and Carlson?”
“No. Those people are guilty of breaking the law. They will be tracked down and punished.” Lady Holt’s mouth curled into a long sneer that made her look more like a sinister man than a woman.
“The court just conducted a hearing on the charges against Emmett Gardner and found him innocent of rustling. The same for the big Ranger, John Checker—and his murdered partner.”
Jaudon walked over to the printing press and studied it. “That was ze illegal court. And John Checker is no longer ze Ranger. He is ze murderer.”
Seitmeyer licked his lower lip. “Jaudon, he’s a lot more of a Ranger than you’ll ever be. So is A. J. Bartlett, who was murdered by your men, Mrs. Holt.” His jaw tightened; a glimmer of fear flickered in his eyes, but he had no intention of backing down. “You can’t try a man for the same thing twice. That’s double jeopardy. That, too, is against the law.”
The Frenchman glanced at Lady Holt, who explained the charges were new ones; new rustling had been discovered—and Checker’s initial murder charge did not cover the killing of a deputy and two more of her men. Morgan Peale and Charlie Carlson were charged with attempting to impede justice.
“You mean Mrs. Peale testifying at the hearing was illegal?” Seitmeyer said; his face was full of disgust. “Mr. Carlson wasn’t even there.” He waved his right arm. “The men you say were murdered by Ranger Checker were actually killed by Ranger Bartlett, who was defending the jail against their assault.”
Lady Holt’s retorts were thorough and completely distorted, but delivered with intense passion. “No, Carlson wasn’t there, but employees of his were, acting on his behalf. The Peale woman was helping the outlaws. And I have it on good authority that it was Checker who did the shooting at the jail. He was attempting to break out and my men tried to help the deputies there.”
“I see. That’s quite a twist of the truth, ma’am.”
Jaudon rubbed his nose. “I need ze poster. Now. It is ze proclamation for ze town to understand.”
“Find someone else.” Seitmeyer rubbed his nose. “I’m too busy.”
Lady Holt motioned Jaudon away and smiled warmly at the editor. “I understand how you feel, Mr. Seitmeyer. You see us as unmerciful—and uncaring.” She waved her finger. “But that is not so, sir. I intend to donate the money to build a church for Caisson. The money will be turned over to the council as soon as this terrible lawlessness, this rustling, the murdering, is ended.”
“That’s a very generous offer, Mrs. Holt.”
“Yes, it is, but I am a very generous person. And caring. When I take hold of this entire region, many will benefit,” she said. “Certainly the
Without responding, the editor walked over to the table next to the wall. It was stacked with papers, books and envelopes. He shuffled through one stack, then another.
Finally, he found what he was looking for and yanked the newspaper clipping free of the others.
“I wrote this last year. You should read it, Mrs. Holt.” He handed the crumpled paper to her. “I haven’t changed my mind—and won’t, no matter how many churches you pay for.”
She took the clipping, looked at it and crumpled the paper in her fist. The headline read Holt plans to control entire region by any means necessary. Her face transformed into purple hate.
“You stupid little man. I will squash you like this piece of paper.” Lady Holt looked over at the Frenchman and nodded.
Returning the subtle directive with a grin, Jaudon stepped closer to Seitmeyer.
“I want you two out of here. There’s no outlawry in Caisson—except for you. Get out.” The editor shoved the bigger Jaudon away.
“
