Ride for Rule Cordell

the table. His hands slowly rose; the movement caused his ample belly to shake like waves on a lake.

“You learn well. Might make it through the night if you stay that smart,” Checker growled. “Now get rid of that other gun. Behind your back.”

His face blossoming into an eddy of angry wrinkles, Jaudon slowly withdrew the third weapon and laid it alongside the other two. The gun was a match to the first two. Checker had seen its shape in Jaudon’s coat when the fat man moved.

“You, unbuckle that belt and shove it to the floor.” Checker motioned with his rifle toward the seated half- breed. “Then get rid of that pistol in your boot. Do it real slow. I’m getting really tired of this.”

Nervously, the seated half-breed released the gun belt and holstered revolver and shoved it off the sofa as if it were contaminated. He reached down to his boot, looked up, and slowly withdrew a double-action Webley Bulldog pocket gun. His eyes flirted with shooting.

“Ah, lad, ever have your belly turned apart by one of these?” Bartlett said, his eyes squinting at the man as he motioned with his shotgun.

Jerking, the half-breed, Luke Dimitry, dropped the weapon and raised his hands.

Hans ran for his father and the gray-haired rancher held both boys tightly. “You’ve been real brave, sons. Real proud o’ ya.”

“Thanks, Pa. I was scared, though,” Andrew said, shaking his head.

“I was…a little,” Hans added, looking away.

“That’s what brave men do, boys. They do the ri’t thang even when they’re scar’t.” The old rancher’s wrinkled face became boyish as he looked at the two Rangers. “I knew ya Ranger boys would come. I knew’d it. These sonvabitches snuck up on me. Sorry to say. Got my youngest when he was in the barn. I couldn’t…”

Jaudon coughed and explained, his eyes glowing from hate, “Vous do not have ze chance, monsieur. Mon men are everywhere out there. But I vill let vous go. Vous are ze lawmen. No quarrel I have with vous.” He motioned with his head. “Only want this ol’ man. Sacre bleu, he has been rustling our beef—an’ the other ranchers, too.” He grinned again; his mouth twitching at the right corner. “All Madame Holt wants—is justice. Oui, justice.”

“That’s a goddamn lie—an’ ya knows it, Jaudon,” Emmett growled. “He kills an’ steals for that witch. Give me a gun, boys, an’ I’ll settle this crap, once an’ for all.”

Jaudon’s face was white, the corner of his mouth trembling.

Stepping away from his sons, Emmett rushed toward the fat man and spat. Brown liquid slammed into the outlaw leader’s face and rushed down his cheeks and mouth.

“Damn vous!” Jaudon wiped at his stained face. “I vill kill vous. I vill kill vous with mon hands bare.”

“If’n ya don’t shut up, I’m gonna spit ag’in,” Emmett growled, half smiling. “What ar’ we a-doin’ with these hyar clowns, Rangers? Shoot ’em?”

“That would be the fastest, but no,” Checker said with the hint of a smile. “We’re taking them into town. To jail. They’ll stand trial for attempted murder.”

Jaudon’s face brightened.

“That damn, no-good judge is in cohoots with Lady Holt. So’s the sheriff. They’ll just let ’em go,” Emmett pleaded.

“Emmett, we’re taking this bunch to town. For trial.” Checker’s voice was low and even. The soft yellow of gaslight draped across his tan, chiseled face with its once-broken Roman nose for an instant, making him look like a wild Comanche warrior in war paint.

The old rancher frowned and shook his head. “How we gonna do this?”

“The Frenchman is going out on the porch and calling in his men,” Checker said.

“This vill never work,” Jaudon snarled.

“Better hope it does,” Checker said. “Or you’re dead. Got any rope around the house, Emmett? I’d like to make sure the rest of this batch aren’t a problem.”

“Sure do. In the kitchen.” Emmett headed toward the back, paused and chuckled. “Most folks don’t keep lassos in with their cookin’ stuff. Almina wouldn’t have allowed it.” He bit his lower lip. “It’s new. Bin a-workin’ it some to get it nice an’ smooth.”

“Rangers, vous are new to ze region.” Jaudon put both large hands on the tabletop. “Madame Holt vill understand this. She is a grand woman. She vill own this part of Texas. But vous have got to stop now. She vill reward vous…greatly. She knows ze governor. She can be most helpful…to your careers.”

“Jaudon. I’m real tired of your jabbering,” Checker said. “I don’t want to hear anything more from you. ’Til I say so. Out on the porch.”

In minutes, the half-breed and the other two gunmen were tied and kerchiefs shoved into their mouths to keep them quiet. To make certain the new ropes would be taut enough, the men’s belts were added as restraints. The old rancher relished the task, tightening the cords and retightening them.

Checker motioned with his Winchester. “Emmett, take two of his fancy pistols. A.J., you’re going to need that rifle.” Gaslight danced again along the Ranger’s derby hat, then sashayed with his black hair moving near his shoulders.

Staring at him, the old rancher said, “How long ya bin wearin’ that…derby, John? Don’t look like ya.”

“About ten minutes, Emmett. My hat’s outside. Thought it would help us get close.” Checker grinned and pulled on the brim. “Why? Don’t you like it?”

“Jes’ ain’t you, that’s all.”

Picking up the discarded rifle, Bartlett added, “Ah, Frenchie, we know how many you have with you tonight.” He started to indicate how many and where they might be, but Checker’s eyes told him this wasn’t the time to elaborate because they didn’t know.

Emmett retrieved Jaudon’s golden revolvers and Rikor took the remaining handguns and shoved them into his belt.

Looking at the old rancher, Checker said, “A.J. and Rikor will head out the back. A.J., you take the side of the house closest to the barn. Rikor, you’ve got the other side. Stay out of sight, both of you. Emmett and I will escort Mr. Jaudon to the porch.”

Hans Gardner pursed his lips. “What about me, Ranger? What do you want me to do?”

“And me?” Andrew pouted.

Checker turned toward the boys, whose faces were filled with determination. For an instant, the sight of the boys took him back to Dodge City, where he had been forced to flee as a fourteen-year-old, leaving his younger sister with neighbors. Their mother had just died of whooping cough. Neighbors took in Amelia, but young John Checker posed too much of a threat. Pent-up anger at the way his mother had been treated in life by the merciless J. D. McCallister broke loose after his mother’s terrible death. The boy had gone to his uncaring father’s saloon to confront him and ended up fighting some of his men, wounding one with a knife. A sympathetic prostitute had helped him escape.

He shook his head to drive the memory back.

“We need you two to watch the back door,” Checker said.

“Do I get a gun?” Andrew asked

Glancing at Emmett and Rikor, who both nodded approval, the tall Ranger agreed and the older son pulled one of the hideout guns from his waistband and held it for the younger son.

“It’s double action, Andrew. You don’t have to cock it,” Rikor said as the fourteen-year-old took the gun.

“I know. Pa showed me lots of times.”

“How about me, do I get a gun?” Hans asked, his eyes bright with eagerness.

Checker shook his head. “No…I need you ready to run to the porch and tell us what’s happening.” He patted the boy on the shoulder. “Watch through the back door, but don’t stand where you can be seen. If anyone comes, you hurry back. It won’t be A.J. or Rikor.”

“Should I shoot if they come?” Andrew asked.

“Yes. Once. Then get away from the door. Ah, take Hammer with you.”