and his Ranger partner held up the piece of lead triumphantly.
“Got it! Got it. John, it didn’t hit anything bad, but you’ll not be riding for a while—until it heals,” Bartlett said, wiping his bloody hands on a towel from his saddlebags.
“No, I’ll ride now, A.J. We need to get that bunch to town.”
“But—”
“I’ll be fine.”
Running into the house, Hans brought Checker’s wide-brimmed hat, at his father’s suggestion. The boy beamed proudly as the tall Ranger thanked him and returned it to his head. The derby remained on the kitchen counter where he put it.
In spite of Bartlett’s concern, the two Rangers were soon riding to town. In front of them were Jaudon and his remaining men mounted on their horses. Their hands were tied behind them and each man’s saddle horn was connected to the next with rope. Two other men with bloody kerchiefs around their heads rode silently; another had one arm bound in a makeshift sling, but his hands were still tied together. Bartlett had tended to them somewhat. Behind Bartlett and Checker were three horses, each carrying a dead gunman.
Dawn was flirting with their alertness as the Rangers and their prisoners rode into Caisson, Texas. The growing town showed few signs of waking. Except for a well-dressed lawman who immediately left his office and confronted them in the street. It was Sheriff Allison Hangar, who served as the law in both the county and the town.
“What is all this?” Sheriff Hangar demanded.
In his crossed arms was a double-barreled shotgun. His pale, narrow face looked as if it were cut in two by the oversized mustache. His clothes were freshly pressed and his shirt collar looked new, holding in place a dark silk cravat. Unseen, but obvious, was a gun belt. He was hatless with closely cropped hair.
“These are our prisoners, Sheriff,” Checker said, forcing himself to be more alert than he felt. “They are under arrest for the attempted murder of Emmett Gardner and his family.”
“Oh, that can’t be,” Hangar growled.
“Sheriff, we’ve been riding most of the night,” Checker said. “If my partner and I hadn’t been there, the Gardners would all be dead by now. Are you questioning my statement—or our authority?”
Sheriff Hangar glanced at Jaudon, who nodded slightly. Checker caught the exchange, but let it go.
“Neither, I reckon,” Hangar replied. “There’s a drunk in my jail now. I’ll let him go an’ you can pour this bunch in.” He paused. “Guess I’d better fetch Doc—and George, George Likeman, he’s the undertaker. Well, he’s that and the town cabinetmaker an’ a few other things.”
Checker motioned toward the two wounded gunmen. “They’ve already been treated by my partner. But you’re welcome to bring the doctor if you wish. The state of Texas will pay for the burials.” He rubbed his chin. “But I reckon bounty money is there for, at least, Dimitry and Moore.”
At the jail, Bartlett watched his friend dismount. As usual, Checker’s face was unreadable. Bartlett knew his friend was hurting from the wound. Had to be. Checker had struggled with himself about dealing with evil; something within him wanted the evil to go away and leave him with a normal family. And it wouldn’t. Evil had a way of transforming everything.
Bartlett unlashed the ropes connecting the riders and began ordering them to dismount, one by one. He liked the precision of the order.
Across the street, a small gathering of townspeople had stopped to watch, uncertain of what had transpired. A well-dressed man in a charcoal-gray suit and a slightly tilted, short-brimmed hat announced they should go over and arrest the two strangers, certainly the town didn’t need their kind around, that Jaudon worked for Lady Holt and was a fine, upstanding citizen.
Murmurs of agreement followed, interspersed with brash comments, but no one moved. Especially not the well-dressed man. A frail-looking woman with snow-white hair harrumphed and crossed the street to ask what was happening. Her face went as white as her hair when Checker informed her of the situation. Her chin rose in defiance and she spun to return to the group and relate the details.
The tall Ranger wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or concerned.
As she retreated, the sound of peeing reached Checker’s ears. In the alley between the jail and a saloon, a silhouette weaved as he attempted to relieve himself. The tall Ranger returned his attention to the arrested men. His leg was throbbing and forcing pain throughout his body. Reacting to it would have to wait; sleep would have to wait. Until Jaudon and his men were safely behind bars. He barely heard the sheriff say they would have to cram the gunmen into the five cells, but Jaudon would have one by himself.
“We’re not through, Checker,” Tapan Moore yelled, and flashed a wide, toothy smile.
“Another time. Another time.”
Standing next to him, the half-breed Dimitry made a slicing motion across his neck with his hand.
Chapter Five
Above them in an apartment over the town bank, a green-eyed woman faced the scene in the street. She didn’t like being in town that much, but she wanted to be close when Jaudon brought the news of Gardner’s death, trying to escape. She was also looking forward to some special time with Tapan Moore. The sound of horses had awakened her immediately and she watched from the small window, dressed only in her nightgown of deep emerald.
Anger brought her skin to contrast her gown. It was obvious the night had not gone as planned. At first she thought Jaudon had brought Emmett Gardner in for the law to deal with. That wasn’t her instruction, but it was all right. A closer look told a different story: Jaudon and his men were bound. Tapan was among them; she grimaced and wanted to blow him a kiss. She recognized one of the dead gunmen draped over a horse as working for her. Two strangers had apparently brought them in. Who could they be?
Moira Holt, or Lady Holt as she insisted being called, told herself to be calm. This was not a time for her well-known temper. She must first learn of the situation. It appeared Jaudon and his men had been surprised at the Gardner Ranch. Surprised by two men she didn’t know. Even from here, she could tell the two were well armed; it looked as though the taller one had been wounded in the leg. She didn’t see Emmett Gardner or any of his sons, so either they remained at their ranch or Jaudon’s men were successful before these two arrived. She doubted it was the latter.
As she spun away from the window with its green curtains, her mind was whirling with questions that needed answers. The best way to do that was to meet these two strangers. As soon as she had bathed.
Her long red hair cascaded along her shoulders as she walked across the green-walled apartment, dropping her night garments as she walked. Lady Holt was a mature woman, born in Canterbury, England, and given a good education—and one with a fine face and figure, as she often reminded herself. Governor J. R. Citale definitely thought so. Her smile was vicious.
Two hours from town was her ranch headquarters, a stately mansion she had purchased from an old Mexican rancher. She had bought the spread shortly after arriving from New York. Her stay in the East had lasted long enough for her to decide Texas was the place to be. The old man had been shot on his way to town with the money she had given him for the ranch.
No suspects were ever found. Or the money.
That was six years ago. Since then, she had bought five other ranches in the area. In the same way. Only three remained that she was interested in. Emmett Gardner’s was the most important because of his water. Charlie Carlson owned another small spread and the third was owned by a young widow, Morgan Peale.
“That old fool has no business owning such land. I can turn it into gold. And power.” She stared at the empty room. “Iva Lee, I can do it. I can own Texas. You know I can. And you’ll be with me all the way.”
Iva Lee was her long-dead twin sister. Lady Holt often talked to her. Iva Lee was Moira’s twin, older by minutes. She died from cholera, when only twelve, back in England. The disease took their parents, too, and Moira grew up in an English house for orphans. During her early teens, it wasn’t long before her looks turned into a significant asset as men, young and old, sought her favors. Some of them didn’t live long. She left Britain a few
