Ride for Rule Cordell by Cotton Smith Page A

him a brandy and another for herself. Contemptuously, he recounted the unexpected opportunity, first making it clear the men she had sent to keep Emmett Gardner’s family and the two Rangers surrounded had failed, that they had escaped during the night, headed west.
    When he finished, her face was stone. “So my men let that old fool get away? How can that be? They had their orders. My God, doesn’t anybody know how to do anything right?” Her fists were clenched at her sides. Madness slid into her eyes.
    “Don’t know about that. I followed their tracks from Gardner’s and Checker had them pinned down. Never saw the family. That’s when I killed him. You’ll have to wait for their report,” he said. “My guess is that they lost them in therain. That was Checker’s objective. To give the rancher time to get away.”
    “Don’t guess. I don’t like guesses.” She cocked her head. “Speaking of guesses, you didn’t get close…to Checker’s body, I take it.”
    “Well, no, I didn’t. That colored fella would’ve cut me in two with his scattergun.” He twirled the bowler in his hands. “But I didn’t need to. John Checker is dead. He must have five or six bullets in him. Mine. And a couple of your…men hit him, too.”
    “I suggest you return to the Peale Ranch and find out, Eleven. For certain. I don’t pay for ‘maybes.’ Or ‘guesses.’ ” She drained her glass. “Oh, and find Tapan. He has an envelope for Mrs. Peale. You can take it instead.”

Chapter Sixteen
    By the time Emmett Gardner and his family got to Clark Springs, the day was well past noon. Rain had delivered on its threat and soaked them thoroughly through the morning and midday. All, except Emmett, had nodded off a few times in the saddle, napping for a few minutes at a time.
    In the distance was a well-built, adobe-and-timber house. Nearby were a sturdy barn, a windmill, a blacksmithing shack and three corrals. Horses of brown, black and tan milled about the enclosures. Rain caught their backs and made them glisten. A large brown-and-white dog barked his warning.
    Reining up the wagon, Emmett yelled through the thickening rain, “Rule! Aleta! It’s me, Emmett. Me an’ my boys. We got trouble.”
    In the shadowed doorway of the front porch stood a familiar figure with a chiseled face and a lithe frame. Dark eyes studied the scene. Long brown hair touched his shirt.
    “That’s all right, Two. It’s all right. They’re family,” Rule Cordell said, and whistled at the dog. “Come here, boy. Here, Two.”
    With his tongue hanging out, the dog hurried to theporch and stood beside Rule. He leaned over to scratch the animal behind its ears. A silver cross tangled free of his opened shirt from a leather cord around his neck. Under his shirt was a second symbol of spiritual attention, a small medicine pouch also hung from a leather cord. It was a gift of an aging Comanche shaman named Moon before Rule left for the war.
    Both tributes to spiritualism he usually wore.
    His days as a preacher were over now; he had declined the town’s offer to become the full-time minister. His experience in fighting the Regulators had convinced him that his calling was in raising and training horses. Moon had told him a man could serve the Great Spirit in many ways. Mostly, if he was doing what he really wanted to do. His feelings for God were better expressed in working with a fine horse, he thought, and being outside in His creation than bottled up in some building. Regardless of how beautiful the structure might be. That kind of spiritual guidance was best left to someone else.
    The revolver in his fist lowered as he turned toward the inside of the house and said, “Aleta, it’s Emmett—and his boys. Come quick. Something’s wrong.”
    At Rule Cordell’s side soon appeared a stunning, doe-eyed Mexican woman with long black hair. She, too, had ridden with Johnny Cat Carlson after the war—until she met Rule.
    A boy and a smaller girl