Ride for Rule Cordell

The boys beamed with the responsibility given them and solemnly headed for the back door with the dog trotting obediently between them.

Nodding, Checker turned toward the sullen Jaudon. “If anything goes wrong, Emmett, shoot the Frenchman.”

The French outlaw leader walked toward the front door; his eyes avoided looking at anyone. His face was a deep crimson; his ample belly jiggled with the movement. Hatred poured from his eyes and his fists opened and closed to release some of the anger building within him.

Chapter Three

Renewal of the threat straightened the pig-faced man’s back and he began to walk stiffly as if precision would fully indicate his desire to comply. A few shadows lined up to support his compliance. Shifting the shotgun to his other hand, Bartlett grabbed the rifle as he and Rikor followed the boys to the back.

A dozen steps later, John Checker, Emmett Gardner and Sil Jaudon stood on the wood-planked front porch that covered the entire front of the ranch house. Four posts supported the overhanging roof, but provided little cover if needed. Shapes moved in the darkness. The Ranger could see two men standing under a thick cottonwood near the edge of the open ranch yard. Others were moving near the barn where he had seen them earlier.

If the Ranger report was correct, Lady Holt—and Jaudon—had at least forty gunmen working for her. Checker guessed there were twenty there tonight. Four were down and three were in the house under control. That left thirteen. If his speculation was right. Being only one off would be enough to cause trouble, though.

Without looking, Checker knew Bartlett had taken a position near the front of the house, crouched behind a scraggly bush. The barn and corrals were to their right. He couldn’t see where Rikor was hiding on the other side closest to the shed.

“Rikor, keep your eye on the shed and the trees around it. All right?” Checker said quietly. “I’ve got the front.”

“Got it.”

“A.J., there were men around the barn earlier,” Checker cautioned. “Most will be coming from that direction, I think. I’ve got the front. Two are there, for sure.”

Bartlett’s response was lengthy as usual, pointing out the difficulty of seeing anyone in the shadows around the barn, and wondering if the gunmen Checker had knocked out would be found. Before Bartlett could continue with a meandering speech, Checker told him to watch for movement in the darkness.

“All right, Jaudon, call in your boys,” Checker said. “If you say anything I don’t understand, I’ll assume it’s ordering an attack. Make sure nobody is slow coming. If one lags behind, you won’t like what happens.”

Jaudon’s shoulders straightened. “Vous are through, Gardner,” he finally blurted without looking at him. “Wait an’ vous vill see. I vill watch votre…your sorry ass hang. I vill be the one pissin’ on votre face.”

“Emmett, stand behind Jaudon. You know what to do if his men don’t come in quietlike.”

“Be my pleasure,” the old rancher growled. “Got these two fine pistols cocked an’ ready.”

Remembering his medicine pouch, Checker touched the small lump under his shirt and tunic. Somewhere a wolf cry haunted the land, as if his touch had brought the response. His rational mind told him it was just a coincidence. They had been hearing wolves off and on all day.

Jostling his shoulders to rid the nerves taking over, the Frenchman called out, “Venir…come in! Come in! Venir! Ve haff them. Ve haff them. Come in. Now. Ve haff much to do.” His voice was packed with anger, but he made no attempt to start anything. His fat face was like a red pumpkin.

Across the darkened ranch yard, voices carried Jaudon’s relayed command. So far, the others hadn’t discovered any of their downed associates. Checker told himself the darkness was helping, but he had dragged them out of the way, too.

Jaudon muttered something French under his breath.

“Remember, I want English when they get closer, Jaudon,” Checker said.

Emmett chuckled.

“Keep those pistols out of sight, Emmett.”

“They’ll be behind me back. A-waitin’.”

“Good.”

Supportive grunts and calls popped through the night. Dark shapes began to emerge from the blackness and head toward the house. Checker’s dark eyes assessed the advancing twosome. “I think the yellow-haired fellow is Whitey Wesson. He’s wanted in El Paso. Murder.”

“I did not know this,” Jaudon volunteered.

“Of course you didn’t. You were just hiring boys who were good with ropes, right?”

“Hey, boss! Vince’s been coldcocked. Over here, behind this shed!” The cry came from the area where Checker had dragged the unconscious gunman earlier.

Checker froze. He should have expected the reaction. “Jaudon, tell him it’s all right. You’ve got work to do.” He jabbed the fat man in the stomach with the butt of his rifle for emphasis.

“Rikor, keep a close watch,” Checker cautioned.

“I have him. There is only one.”

“Leave heem. Ve vill care for heem later,” Jaudon yelled loudly. “It is bien. Come on. Ve haff work to do.”

“B-but he’s hurt. Head’s bleeding real bad.”

“I said come.” Jaudon’s voice bit hard into the night.

“Yeah, yeah.”

From the other side of the ranch yard, two well-armed men appeared from near the corral and strolled toward the porch. The shorter gunman with an oversized handlebar mustache stopped and squinted.

“Wait, Tapan. That man with the boss. I know him,” the gunman gushed. “Saw him in El Paso. Last year, it was. That’s John Checker, the Ranger.”

“John Checker, damn! What’s he doin’ here?” Tapan Moore said, his breath coming in short bursts.

“Well, it ain’t to help us. Let’s get closer and then take him,” the short gunman declared softly, “before he knows we’re on to him. Remember that sonvabitch is a heller with a gun. Saw him in action in El Paso. Never saw the like. Maybe better’n you—or Luke. Be careful, though. The boss is standing right next to him.”

“All right. I’ll take Checker an’ you get ol’ man Gardner. He must be carryin’, I reckon.” A toothy smile from Tapan Moore followed.

“No, we’d better both take Checker.”

“Oh, all right. But I don’t like that ol’ man.”

“You can have him next.”

“Sure.”

They walked toward the porch, trying to act nonchalant, as the other Jaudon gunmen did the same. Neither saw Bartlett slip behind them at a comfortable distance and check out the barn to determine there were no gunmen waiting. Satisfied, he turned his attention to following the two gunmen.

At the porch, Checker focused on the gunmen sidling toward them from the cottonwoods. He was glad they didn’t look around while they were standing there. The creek where he had dragged the two men earlier was only fifteen feet behind them.

Halting twenty feet from the porch, the gunmen from the barn swung their rifles into position.

“Drop ’em, boys.” Bartlett’s command was like a lightning bolt out of a clear sky.

Tapan Moore dropped his rifle, jerking his arms into the air as if they were being pulled by unseen strings. The shorter man hesitated, then swung his gun toward Bartlett.

The Ranger’s rifle barked twice and the gunman yipped, dropped his gun and went to his knees. The