him to go. Anyone coming from town could be seen for miles from that vantage point.
John Checker said he wasn’t hungry and resisted anyone looking at the wound on his side, even though it had bled through his shirt. He insisted that he was fine, doing so gruffly. The death of his friend lay heavily on him and it was obvious. He stood by the fireplace, drinking coffee and staring into the yellow coals.
After eating, Emmett said, “Ya know, I’d sure like to be a-seein’ my boys. The rest o’ ’em. Reckon yu’re a- missin’ your family, too, Rule. Think we could take a ride down thar? To yur place?” He put the last bite of stew into his mouth and savored it. “Like to see mine, too. See if my beeves are still happy. Got a lot of things to do there. That barn roof’s in need of fixin’.”
“That’s up to John,” Rule said, sipping his coffee. “Mrs. Peale, that was a fine meal. We thank you. Best stew I’ve had in a long time.”
“You’re welcome—and please call me Morgan,” Morgan said, removing some of the used dishes from the table and heading to the small kitchen.
From the counter, she looked back at the tall Ranger, drawn to him in ways she hadn’t felt since her feelings for her late husband. They were feelings she didn’t think would ever arise again. Or should. Yet she wanted to go to him. To comfort him, she told herself. Of course, to comfort him. He was a lonely man; any woman could read that. A man difficult to reach. Would he allow her close? To his soul? Had a woman ever done so?
She placed the dishes in a large bowl filled with hot water, cut off some soap shavings from the large bar and massaged the water to create a thin line of suds.
In the main room, Checker studied the tiny dancing flames within the hot coals. His mind danced with them, along yesterdays: A. J. Bartlett recited Tennyson from one corner of his mind; his little sister reminded him of his promise to return in another. In between were the shadows of Jaudon, Tapan, Dimitry and Meade. He couldn’t bring himself to think about what had to be done. He tried, but his thoughts kept curling back to other times.
Touching the small pouch under his shirt, Checker couldn’t help thinking about Stands-In-Thunder’s views on death, on the afterlife. The old war chief was convinced all Comanches went to live in a magnificent valley, where everyone was young and virile. At some point, each would return to the earth and be reborn, to help keep the People strong. There was a beauty in his words.
Would he ever see Stands-In-Thunder again? Or A.J.?
It took Emmett to pull him—and all of them—back to the day.
“Thought London would be back by now. Said so,” the old rancher declared. “What if that evil woman’s guns all came to town after we done left? When was that Jaudon supposed to be back? Soon, I reckon.” He took another gulp of coffee. “Why don’t them other Rangers come an’ help us?”
Checker turned from the fireplace. “Citale would’ve fired all the Rangers in the Special Force. Jaudon’ll make Rangers out of his men.”
“What about that thar regular bunch of Rangers, then? Ain’t there more than just yur bunch, John?”
“Yes, the full force. But they’re spread out all over Texas, Emmett. Besides, Captain Poe knows which side his bread is buttered on,” Checker said. “I imagine he’s stayed out of this. And will. He can’t go against Citale and stay in his job. He’ll keep his men out of it. Or try to.” He shook his head.
“Ya mean he’s gonna let them do whatever to…ah, yur captain?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, Emmett.” Checker moved from the fireplace to the table.
Leaning forward at the table, Rule rubbed his hands together and stared at them. “What about this Spake Jamison? A.J. told me he was a tough old warrior.”
Checker was surprised Rule knew the older Ranger. “He is. Be a good hand to have on our side.” He slammed his fist on the table. “But he’s not here. None of them are. We can’t plan on wishes.”
“Wonder why we haven’t seen Eleven Meade,” Rule said, changing the subject. He held up three fingers. “Guess it doesn’t matter. She’s got three really bad ones, besides him. Sil Jaudon. Tapan Moore. And Luke Dimitry.”
“Figure we’re going to see all of them soon enough,” Checker said. “Might not see Meade unless we’re watching our backs.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “I’m going to get some more coffee. Anybody need some?”
“Naw. Done coffee’d out.”
“No, thanks, John.”
The tall Ranger headed into the small room and was greeted by Morgan with a warm smile.
“What do ya think, Rule?” Emmett’s tired face was a question.
At first, Rule thought the old rancher was talking about the attraction between Checker and Morgan. Then he realized the gunfighter was talking about their situation. “We bought a little time.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know how much. I’d say we’re going to have to leave here as soon as we can. My guess is they’ll hit tonight.”
“ ’Member when ya fooled all them Yanks?” Emmett stroked his unshaven chin as if he wasn’t listening. “Wha’d they call it? Masquerade Battalion, I think. Yah, that’s it. How ’bout we try somethin’ like that?”
Rule winced, trying to think of some gentle way to tell the older man that it was a different situation in a different time with a different objective. All he was trying to do then was to slow down the Union sneak attack long enough for the Confederates to prepare for the advance.
Shaking his head, the gunfighter explained, “Not sure how we could do anything like that, Emmett.” He pointed out that his scouts had taken advantage of an abandoned breastworks with left-behind uniforms and gear.
“We even had some cannonballs,” he said. “No cannons, but we faked those. It’s not the same, Uncle. All we were trying to do was slow them down so our boys wouldn’t be ambushed. We knew exactly where the Yanks were heading.”
“Well, ya faked out them Regulators, too. With that ‘Sons of Thunder’ stuff. That big boy…ah, ‘the Russian’… the travelin’ trader tolt me ’bout it. Said he did some helpin’.”
Rule shook his head, watching Checker come back into the room, sipping a filled mug. “Yes, Caleb Shank was a big part of bringing them down. Still…” He stopped talking and looked at Checker. “You know, Uncle Emmett, we’re not even sure where they’ll hit first. They should come here, but they might not.”
“You’re right, Rule. But a smart play is that they will.” Checker walked over to the fireplace where he had been before. He took another sip. “Ever been around Luke Dimitry or Tapan Moore?”
“Can’t say as I have.” Rule ran his fingers along the table. “How good are they?”
“We aren’t going to like facing them.”
Checker turned toward the fire and drank his coffee. Rule and Emmett gathered the rest of the used dishes and took them into the kitchen. The old rancher took charge of washing, in spite of Morgan’s insistence that she would finish the chore. With a backward glance at Checker, she took an old watering pot outside to fill at her well and water a string of struggling flowers on the east side of her house.
“I’ll be right back, Uncle Emmett,” Rule said. “Want to tell John something. Before I forget it.”
“Sure. I’m an old hand at this…since my li’l lady up an’ died on me.” He bit his lower lip and looked away.
Rule spun back toward the main room. His own thoughts were huddling next to his wife, Aleta. He missed her very much. And Ian and Rosie. And Two, for that matter. In his mind, his children hugged him every night before he went to sleep. His dog, Two, joined in the warmth. Being separated, sometimes, was the cost of liberty.
Lady Holt seemingly had every advantage going for her against the three small ranches. She had money and influence, the governor, a gang of gunmen and now she had the Rangers. That meant the law. Like Checker, he had no illusion about what they had accomplished in town. The overturn of the charges against Emmett and the two Rangers would only last until Lady Holt heard about them. The townspeople couldn’t be expected to stand up against her power.
Pausing, he laid a hand on the back of the closest chair. John Checker had his back to him, lost in yesterdays.
“John, may I bother you?” he said, walking closer.
“What? Oh, of course, Rule.” Checker turned toward him and waved his hand. “I was just…doesn’t matter.”
“Sure it does. A.J. was a great friend,” Rule said. “He died fighting…for a better Texas. That’s what he wanted.” The gunfighter stood next to Checker and laid a hand on the tall man’s shoulder. “It’s our job to make it
