Ride for Rule Cordell

cattle baroness licked her lips and turned her head slightly to the right.

“What, Iva Lee? Let the woman go? Why? Oh, sure.”

Jaudon and his men weren’t sure what they were hearing. He motioned for his men to get their horses. Margaret walked down the sidewalk to Lady Holt.

Lady Holt stared at her as if not seeing. Her face paled, then turned red, then normal again. She pointed at Tapan, who was now sitting with Jaudon talking to him.

“Get a doctor for him. And for this man…inside. He fell down and hurt himself.” She spun and went inside the editor’s office without waiting for Margaret to reach her.

The dry goods store owner grabbed the doorknob. From inside, Lady Holt screamed, “I’ll kill you if you come inside. Me an’ Iva Lee.”

Chapter Thirty-three

Hesitating, Margaret Loren opened the newspaper office door and stepped inside. “Mrs. Holt, I need to talk with you. I was hoping you’d see that this isn’t the way to build a community.”

Lady Holt stood a foot away from the printing press. Her eyes were wild, her complexion crimson once more.

“I told you to get out.” The words blurted from her mouth, leaving spittle on her lips.

The energetic store owner took a half step backward, refound her courage and walked closer. For the first time, she saw the unconscious editor on the floor.

“Oh my! Henry…is he…?” She rushed to his side.

Haughtily, Lady Holt said, “I have no idea. He slipped and hit his head. I called for a doctor to come.” She glanced away as if hearing a voice and looked back, “Oh yes, Iva Lee wants me to tell you that you have on a pretty dress.” She blinked twice. “I want to buy…ah, six custom dresses from you.”

Either Margaret didn’t hear the comments or didn’t care. “Find me a towel. Anything! Hurry!”

Lady Holt stared at her, not believing she had heard correctly. This woman had dared to command her to do something. She turned away and sat down at the editor’s desk. Taking a pen and stroking it in the inkwell, she began to write. At the top of the paper, she wrote:

The Caisson Reporter, scratched out Reporter and wrote Phoenix next to it. Below the heading, she scratched Town Enjoys New Peace as Ranger Captain Sil Jaudon Combines Forces with Major Rancher.

Taking a second sheet of paper, she wrote Arrest Warrants Issued for Emmett Gardner, Charles Carlson, Morgan Peale, John Checker, London Fiss and Rule Cordell.

Smiling, she grabbed a third sheet, dabbed her pen into the ink again and wrote Lady Holt Agrees to Take Over Three Small Ranches After Owners Are Killed.

She would write the stories later. It was important to get the overall sense of them down. Elliott would know how to set type, she told herself. Her most important task, right now, was getting the stories ready for a special edition. She had already written the proclamation of emergency law Jaudon had announced in the street. Elliott would set it first.

A knock on the door, answered by Margaret, brought Jaudon and the town doctor. The Frenchman barely noticed the store owner, moving to the editor’s desk to report Tapan Moore was going to be fine; he had merely had the wind knocked out of him.

Her eyes flashed and she mouthed, “Thank you, Great Phoenix.”

He ignored the supplication; legends were for people with too much time on their hands. He also reported one of his riders had left for the ranch and Elliott. All of the new newspaper copies had been collected and were being burned.

“All of them?” she asked, turning her head to the left.

“Oui. All that we could find, m’lady.” Jaudon bowed slightly.

Lowering the pen, she straightened her back and stared at him. “That is not all. Didn’t I say that I wanted all of them collected and destroyed?”

The Frenchman listened without speaking. He hated this kind of rebuke. How the hell would he know if they got all of the copies? Somebody might have one hidden somewhere. What difference did it make? He smiled and said he would personally check out the situation.

“Good. I will expect a report of perfection.”

Outside, he saw Luke Dimitry walking toward him from across the street. His horse had just been tied to the hitching rack.

“Couldn’t find the darkie,” he said. “Didn’t look like he was headed for Peale’s place, more like due south. Maybe he’s running.”

“How bad was he hurt?”

“Don’t know that. Never saw him,” Dimitry said. “The way he was riding, I’d say he wasn’t hurt bad.”

Jaudon resisted asking how he knew that. Lady Holt would have asked the question, but he wasn’t Lady Holt. The Frenchman stepped down from the sidewalk and onto the street. “I want the blacksmith dead. He might cause trouble. Later.”

“Got it. I’ll do it myself.”

“A knife would be the best.”

“I would like that.”

Smiling evilly, Jaudon said he wanted all of his men ready to ride out after that. They would hit the Peale Ranch first, then the others. This would be the day.

“What happened to Henry?” the doctor said as he entered, ignoring both Margaret and Lady Holt.

“I have no idea.” Lady Holt snorted. “Fell against something, I guess. Can you get him out of here? We have work to do.”

The young, slim physician’s eyebrows cocked in reaction as he slid beside the unconscious editor. He opened his large black bag, took out a stethoscope and listened to Seitmeyer’s breathing. Lady Holt returned to her writing, as if the room were empty and this were her own domain. Jaudon stared over the doctor’s shoulder, occasionally making a comment, sometimes in French.

Margaret leaned over and asked if she could do anything to help.

“I’m going to need hot water and cloths,” the doctor said. “I can’t move him like this. It’s too big a risk.”

Margaret was on her feet quickly and headed to the back room of the newspaper office, an odd sort of part kitchen and part storeroom, grabbed the only container she could find. An old pot. A towel and a shirt lay on a cluttered shelf. She took them, too. Hurrying past Lady Holt, who was writing furiously, she handed the towel and shirt to the doctor and left. Minutes later, she returned with the pot filled from the city well and placed it on the stove to heat.

“There’s not much I can do for him,” the doctor announced. “After I clean his wound, we’ll just have to let him sleep—and see what God wishes.”

Lady Holt looked up from her writing. “You’re not serious, are you, Doctor? We’re going to need room to get the next edition out.” She waved her left arm to demonstrate the need for space.

Angrily, the young physician glared at her. “I am quite serious, madam. A man’s life is at stake.” He glanced past her toward Margaret standing by the stove. “Mrs. Loren, is the water hot? It doesn’t have to be boiling.”

Chapter Thirty-four

At Morgan Peale’s ranch, the small group of defenders ate silently. Rikor reluctantly agreed to stand watch down by the first ridge. Sending along some of Morgan’s donuts—and the promise of stew later—made it easier for