Checker reminded them Jaudon would be bringing a force of nearly forty men, all experienced fighters. Among them would be Tapan Moore and Luke Dimitry—and maybe Eleven Meade. Tapan, in particular, would be hard to handle. The tall Ranger shook his head, pushing away the weakness in his body that wanted control. Not now. There was no time for giving in to the ache from the wound.
Only Rule and Morgan noticed. She wanted to hug him; Rule wanted to tell him it was all right to feel the bullets that had tried to kill him.
“I don’t like the idea of taking on forty,” Checker said, “when we’re really just after three.” He stared at the stew, then took another spoonful.
Rule rubbed his chin. “Holt. Jaudon. Citale.”
“Right.” Checker washed a third spoonful down with coffee. The movement brought a pain to his wounded side that he tried to ignore. He added Jaudon would likely lead the Holt gang if they attacked, then asked Fiss what Lady Holt was doing in town. Fiss responded that she was in the newspaper office when he left; Jaudon had been there, too, firing at him from the doorway.
“Hard to miss that big boy, but I did.” He forced a grin and continued eating.
“That means Henry Seitmeyer is in trouble. Or worse,” Checker said. “He was going to bring out an edition telling about the hearings.”
“Didn’t see him. But I heard a couple of businessmen talking about the story.” He turned his head to the side. “Probably should have gotten a copy.”
“Mrs. Loren was all right when you left?” Morgan asked, leaning forward in her chair.
All of them complimented Margaret Loren for her courage. He retold what had happened, expanding it to include the resignation of the blacksmith as temporary sheriff.
Checker thought he had shown both courage and judgment. “Not much wisdom in going up against forty guns—by yourself.”
Hoofbeats signaled Rikor’s return. The young man entered the house with a question. “What’s goin’ on?”
Checker summarized the situation while Morgan rose and went to the kitchen again, returning with a filled coffee cup, tableware and a napkin.
“Sure did like those donuts, ma’am,” Rikor exclaimed.
“You have some stew and I’ll see if we have any left.” Morgan set a bowl filled with stew in front of him.
“Oh my, that looks mighty good. You sure can cook, ma’am. Bet your husband liked coming home.” He stopped, realizing the insensitivity of his statement, and apologized.
She smiled and told him an apology wasn’t necessary and quickly asked if the others wanted more coffee. None did.
Checker stared at his empty cup for a moment before looking up. “Let’s go to town—and arrest her. Citizens’ arrest.”
Rule’s face brightened. “Well, we can’t protect the ranches. Trying to do that puts all the advantage on their side. And puts us…dead.” He turned to Morgan. “Are you ready for this? They’re going to burn this fine home. Run off your cattle.”
“I can rebuild a house. I can round up cattle.” Her response matched the fierceness in her eyes.
“All right, let’s do it,” Rule said. “Got a thought, John.”
“Of course.”
“We need to ride like the guerrilla fighters did. During the war. Carry lots of weapons. Bullets. Food. Water. With us. Stay on the move. Until this thing’s over.”
“You’re right. What ever happened to that packhorse with food and bullets I brought to your place, Rikor?” Checker asked.
The young man grinned and looked more like a wolf than a man for a moment. “Ah, sir, we brought it along. What we ain’t done et anyway. Packhoss is in the corral. With our other hosses.”
Smiling, Morgan set out a plate of donuts.
“Oh, ma’am, are those fer me?”
“Enjoy. There’s more stew in the kitchen. That’s all of the donuts, though. Would you like some more coffee?”
“Yes’m.” He grabbed a donut.
“Got another suggestion,” Rule said, looking at Checker. “Let’s hide out up the trail a mile or so—some place where we can sting them when they come. Tonight. Then leave for town.” The gunfighter ran his forefinger along the table. “Might make them think twice about coming for the ranches. Especially if we make them think there are more of us.”
Checker looked at him. “I can’t shoot men who can’t defend themselves. Even Jaudon’s bunch.”
The return gaze from Rule was an understanding one. “I can’t, either. But maybe we could scare the hell out of them. Make them think other Rangers had joined us. Might make them make a mistake. Give us time anyway.”
“Hot damn! That’s what Pa were a-talkin’ about,” Rikor said with a mouthful of donut. “Doin’ the masquerade thing all over.”
Nodding at the young man, Checker said, “It’s risky. What if they don’t bite—and stay to fight, instead?”
“We’ll set ourselves up to get out of there. Quick. Leave them wondering.” Rule drew a circle with his finger on the table, then moved it swiftly away.
Checker was silent a moment; his eyes sought Morgan’s, then returned to Rule. “I’m ready, if the rest of you are.”
The location of the ambush was Morgan’s suggestion. A short valley on the eastern edge of her grazing land, and not far from town. The main road from Caisson went right through there. There were plenty of boulders and ridges to hide behind. They would be able to hide their horses close by, fire down at Holt’s men and ride away before they could reorganize.
“Wal, I reckon that thar’s a good ’nuff plan,” Rikor said as he raised a spoonful of stew to his mouth. “Whar do we head after?”
“Lady Holt.”
“Ya mean her ranch?” Rikor drawled.
Checker cocked his head. “No. I mean her. Wherever she is. We’re going to take her to Clark Springs. For trial.”
“That’ll be somethin’.”
“Yeah. Maybe so,” Checker said, and drew the handgun he carried in his back waistband to check its loads.
Chapter Thirty-five
After repacking the packhorse, filling canteens with well water and gathering every weapon they could find, the small party left the Morgan Peale Ranch and headed toward town. It was important to stay out of sight until they got to the valley where Morgan thought they should wait for Holt’s men.
Fiss and Rikor took the point, knowing the land better than the others. Narrow ravines, an occasional stand of trees, a string of ridges and even a herd of grazing cattle provided the screening they desired en route. They didn’t intend to go far, at least not now. Just far enough.
Nightfall found five of them hidden in separate shooting positions along the road from town, settled on both sides of the shallow valley. Two on the south side, three on the north. The positions were selected by Checker and Rule. Each was picked for its concealment from the road—and its easy escape to their horses. Each shooter was to come to the horses as soon as possible after firing on the Lady Holt gang. Shooting was to be over their heads unless the gang started firing back.
Located fifty yards behind the shooting positions, their saddled horses were tied to branches among a grove of pecan, mesquite and cottonwood trees. A shallow pond was the reason for their growth. Fiss was put in charge
