“Shakespeare?” she asked without taking her eyes off Checker.
“Tennyson, m’lady.”
“Oh. Of course.”
In an instant, her mouth became a slit; her eyes narrowed. Bartlett thought she looked like a cougar about to pounce. “Have you gentlemen ever heard of a phoenix? It’s a wonderful tale of everlasting life.” Her voice carried the hint of an English accent.
Bartlett said, “Yes, I have. The story is old. A fictional bird that gets burned up and returns to life. Something like that. Many think it came from seeing a large bird stomping on a dead fire’s ashes to warm himself—and causing the old fire to flame again.”
“I find it quite comforting. Like Christianity’s myths are to others,” Holt said.
Both Rangers frowned.
She laughed heartily. “I see I hit a chord. A ‘myth’ is simply a story that has grown large around some key principle or fact.” She studied them for an instant. “Pardon me for saying so, but you gentlemen don’t strike me as the churchgoing type.”
“What is that type?” Checker said with an edge to his voice.
She changed the subject abruptly. “How much do you make…as Rangers? I’ll triple it. I need good men.” Her eyes measured Checker.
“You have a good day, ma’am.” Checker returned his hat to his head and headed for the door, trying not to let his wounded leg be so apparent.
Bartlett joined him as Checker reached the door. Behind them came Lady Holt’s now sweet voice. “You take care of that leg wound, Ranger. Texas needs men like you.”
Chapter Seven
After seeing the doctor about Checker’s leg, the two Rangers wired Captain Temple with a report of the situation, checked into the hotel and immediately went to sleep in separate rooms. Checker was washing up in the late afternoon when the sounds of cattle, being driven down the main street, drew him to the window.
He studied the cattle moving toward the far end of town, toward a corral used for gathering beef for local transactions. He didn’t know the men driving them. The brands caught his eye. Each steer was carrying Emmett’s brand. He knew what this meant.
The steers would be shown as proof that Emmett Gardner was a rustler! If necessary, one would be killed and skinned to show the original brand underneath. The Phoenix Ranch brand, Lady Holt’s.
Dressing quickly, the tall Ranger went to the next room and knocked. Bartlett, too, was already dressed.
“That’s real trouble down there, isn’t it?” Bartlett said as he opened the door
“Yes. Emmett warned us about Judge Opat and the sheriff,” Checker said. “Now they’ll have all the justification they need to have Emmett arrested.”
“And hanged.” Bartlett cocked his head.
Checker frowned. “You ride for Emmett’s place. Tell him what is happening. Tell him that he and his sons need to get out of there. Go where they can’t find them until we can get this cleared up.”
“What if he won’t go?”
“Stay with him, then. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
“I’m on my way. Where are you going?”
“I’m going to make sure no posse starts out there—until you’ve had time to move.” Bartlett’s eyebrows arched.
Behind them, footsteps on the planked stairway caught their attention. A teenage boy in a too-tight shirt was bounding up the stairs two at a time. Catching his breath, he looked at the Rangers and said, “Are you Ranger Checker and Ranger Bartlett?”
“We are, son.”
“Got a wire for you from a Captain Temple. Said it was urgent you get it.”
Checker reached into his pocket and handed the boy a coin. “Thanks, son, appreciate the fast delivery.”
“Yes, sir, that’s what Mr. McGraffin insists on.”
“Give him our thanks, too.”
Checker unfolded the telegram, read it and handed it to Bartlett.
The older Ranger gulped and stammered, “Wh-hat is this? Th-this cannot be. It cannot be.”
Tugging on his hat, Checker read the wire again:
RANGERS CHECKER AND BARTLETT…STOP…GOVERNOR HAS ORDERED ME TO REMOVE YOU AS RANGERS…STOP…HE IS NOTIFYING CITIES ACROSS TEXAS OF HIS DECISION…STOP…DOES NOT LOOK LIKE WE CAN STOP THIS MOVE…STOP…TOO MUCH POWER…STOP…APPEARS LADY HOLT BEHIND THIS…STOP…SHE CLAIMS YOU EXCEEDED YOUR AUTHORITY AND ARE PROTECTING RUSTLERS…STOP…WATCH YOURSELVES…STOP…EXPECT LOCAL LAW TO TRY TO ARREST YOU…STOP…REGRETFULLY CAPTAIN TEMPLE
“That lady makes things happen, doesn’t she?” Bartlett said, shaking his head. “Wonder if the sheriff—and the judge—know this yet?”
“Of course they do.”
Checker’s hands went to his gun belt. “We still need to warn Emmett. You ride. I’ll try to delay Hangar and his posse.”
“You think there won’t be a hearing?”
“Not one that’s going to help.”
Bartlett patted his gun belt. “You want to take ’em right here?”
“No. We’ve got to let them have the first move. They are the law. It won’t help anything to challenge that right now,” Checker said.
After seeing his friend ride off from the livery where their horses were stabled, Checker saddled his own mount, in case he had to leave town in a hurry. He expected the sheriff, with the judge’s support, to release Jaudon and his men—and deputize them to bring in Emmett Gardner. What should he do? What could he do? He was certain the two local authorities would already know the Rangers had been dismissed.
What would Stands-In-Thunder do? The aging Comanche war chief had become the father he had never known and the great warrior saw him as a son to replace those lost in war. They had met two years ago when Checker was trying to find a half-breed accused of robbing a bank and suspected of hiding on the Fort Sill reservation. He found the old man, but not the half-breed, and a strong friendship began. Whenever possible, Checker went to visit the old man, both enjoying the company of the other.
Stands-In-Thunder would attack, he told himself. Attack.
He rolled his shoulders, took a Colt from his saddlebags and shoved it into his back waistband. Then he pulled the Winchester from its sheath on his saddle. He hurried along the planked sidewalk toward the jail, passing several couples and one whiskered gentleman smoking a pipe, who stopped to watch him after he passed. Coming from the other direction was a harried Sheriff Hangar. Checker guessed he had just left the judge’s office.
“Where are you headed, Hangar?” Checker barked.
Checker’s voice jolted the lawman from his focused destination. He shuffled his feet and stopped. His hand began an instinctive move toward his belted handgun; then his mind rejected the idea.
“Well, well, look who’s here,” Sheriff Hangar snorted. “You’re just in time to help me let Mr. Jaudon and his men go. Judge Opat ruled they’re innocent.” His smile indicated a return of his confidence. “Oh, and I’ve been authorized to deputize them. Your buddy, Emmett Gardner, is wanted for rustling Lady Holt’s beef.”
“Since when does a judge have a hearing without the prosecution present?” Checker barked, closing the gap between them.
Hangar forced a laugh. “Guess he didn’t think it was needed. You see that bunch of steers come in? They’re all Lady Holt’s animals your friend stole an’ stuck his brand on.”
“You know that’s a lie, Hangar.” Checker’s statement was a bullet.
“You callin’ me a liar?” Hangar’s eyes reddened and his cheeks flinched.
“What do you think I’m calling you?”
Hangar hesitated, unsure of what to do or say. He was certain that to move for his gun was to die.
“Turn around,” Checker ordered, “and bring the judge here. Do it now.”