Free Ride for Rule Cordell by Cotton Smith Page B

it.”
    She went on to explain Jaudon would then be able to pick his own men as Rangers to ride with him—and that he would likely want to add a few good guns to replace the men killed.
    He stood and bowed as deeply as his thick waist would allow. “Madame Holt, I bow to votre …your brilliance.”
    They clinked glasses and downed the brandy.
    Jaudon laid the glass on the table and then returned to the earlier subject. “Am I to assume Eleven Meade is to be one of my Rangers?”
    “No. That would be too much to ask of the governor. Even I have limits,” she said, and smiled. “His job will be to take care of this John Checker, the Ranger.”
    “I want to do that.”
    She smiled. “Of course you do.” She stood and walked to the window again. “When he is dead, you can piss on his body.”
    Jaudon’s eyes flashed. “You do not think I am good enough to take him?”
    Turning from the window, Lady Holt snarled, “If I did, do you think I would have said what I just said?”
    “ Non . Non .” Jaudon waved his fat arms in front of him. “Pardon, Madame, I was just trying to help…you.” He swallowed his reaction and added, “You know, he is so strange, Madame. Always with ze white cat. It is…not natural.”
    “Eleven Meade is a killer. For now, he is my killer.” She flitted her eyes. “Do not feel badly, Sil. I do not think Tapan or Luke could kill him, either.”
    “ Oui ,” he said, shook his head and asked, “How did Eleven get such a strange name? Is it…how you say, ze nickname?”
    She refilled their glasses, took hers and sipped it this time.
    “No, it’s his real name,” she said. “He told me his mother was into astrology—and numerology. The number eleven is,ah, the master number, the symbol of the light within us. Very spiritual stuff.”
    Jaudon shook his head. “What’s he say about all theez?”
    “That his mother was a fool. A much better name would have been Harold.” She leaned over and picked up his hat and handed it to him.

Chapter Twelve
    False dawn was filled with the sounds of creaking saddle leather and snorting horses as Emmett Gardner, his sons and the two Rangers moved east toward Clark Springs. The old rancher drove the loaded buckboard with the milk cow and Checker’s packhorse tied behind it, moving east.
    With a rifle across his saddle, Rikor rode the point, knowing the land. The two other boys rode flank on one side of the wagon; Bartlett and Checker rode drag, pushing the handful of Emmett’s horses.
    As expected, leaving the house had been teary for the two smallest children. Each got to bring along his favorite treasure; Andrew had a small frog in his coat pocket; Hans carried a cigar box filled with rocks and a few marbles. In the wagon seat, alongside Emmett Gardner, was Hammer. Beside the sleeping dog was a yellow cat.
    All of the family were solemn; all were fighting the lack of sleep. They had left behind everything that was home. When they left, Emmett tried to remind them that home was wherever they all were. Together. The old man choked when he spoke, then said they had to be brave.
    On the ridge to their left, the figures of three riders appeared in the night sky, then vanished.
    Checker nudged his horse and galloped beside Emmett in the wagon.
    “That’s trouble. Most likely it’s Holt riders. Coming after us.”
    “Yeah, we’re ’bout halfway across’t their land,” Emmett said.
    “I’m going to ride toward them,” Checker said. “I’ll try to keep them away from you. And busy.”
    Bartlett rode alongside him. “What’s up, John? I saw the riders. The lady’s boys, I’m sure.”
    “Just told Emmett the same. I’m going to ride that way. Discourage them from trying to stop us.”
    “I’ll go with you.”
    “No, A.J. If they get past me, your gun will be needed,” Checker said, and turned in the saddle toward the wagon. “Emmett, push through the Holt land fast. We don’t want to get boxed in there.”
    “We won’t,