Sons of Thunder (Rule Cordell)

by Cotton Smith

  After walking through the abandoned Regulator camp, Caleb Shank, Billy Ripton, and his father were nearly back to the dark house. Eldon was talking about the new Winchesters and how well they worked. A few steps away, Shank released Belle because it wanted down. He watched the cat scoot away, then returned to sharing the joy at the outcome of the night. Billy laughed as he described his difficulty with shooting a pistol with his left hand at the same time as he fired one with this right. He marveled at Cordell’s “masquerade” idea and compared it favorably to the Virginia war episode, indicating that the only major difference was fake cannon. Shank made no attempt to point out that the Confederate masquerade had kept an entire Union sneak attack at bay for hours.

  Using his words with care, Eldon admitted that Cordell was mostly right about what would happen. He expressed greater satisfaction at getting to shoot at the Regulators when they went for their guns. Both Riptons were surprised at the Gatling gun exploding and puzzled by Cordell’s orders about the patrols. They weren’t certain what they were supposed to do and wondered if it was secret code they had missed. It was Shank’s turn to laugh.

  Reaching the house, they expressed surprise that neither Jeremiah nor Tallie Mae had come outside to greet them. Billy surmised that they didn’t feel they should leave their posts. Grumbling about the foolishness, Eldon knocked on the door and it swung open. Jeremiah was standing there with a sickly look on his face. He stammered for them to enter. Eldon Ripton led the way and the door slammed shut behind them.

  “Drop your guns, you simpletons. The little party’s over.” Lion David Graham stood where the open door had been, holding Tallie Mae next to him with his left hand over her mouth, and pointing a six-gun at the surprised men, then toward her temple. “If you move wrong, she’s dead.”

  In the shadowy light, the killer appeared ghostlike, with his gray suit, short cape, and derby—and his pale skin—blending with the room’s dullness. Only bespectacled eyes, a black goatee, narrow eyebrows, and two black-handled revolvers stood out. Around his waist, a gray silk sash held the second gun.

  Billy reacted quicker than his father or the big merchant. Swinging his rifle toward Graham, he barked, “Thar’s three o’ us—and only one o’ you, mister. What are you gonna do now?”

  Graham fired his pistol and Billy spun sideways, staggered against the wall, and fell. Tallie Mae struggled, but Graham yanked her tighter and jammed his gun into her ribs.

  A wicked grin crossed Graham’s face. “Next time you’d better have your gun cocked before you threaten someone, idiot.” For emphasis, he cocked the pistol, savoring the metallic click-click. “Now there’s only two of you. Want to try again?”

  Wide-eyed, Jeremiah blurted, “I—I’m s-sorry. H-he was gonna shoot M-Ma if’n I didn’ let you in. I’m s-sorry.” His face twisted and the tears came.

  “That’s all right, Jeremiah,” Shank assured, and let his rifle fall to the floor. Turning his back to Graham, he knelt beside Billy. The big man yanked off his handkerchief and pushed it against the young man’s bleeding right shoulder. Billy grimaced as the pain reached his brain. Eldon dropped his rifle, then two pistols, from his waistband, and held his arms up so high his fingers brushed against the low ceiling.

  “My goodness, you’re a real gunslinger, aren’t you, Ripton? Any good with those six-guns? Or are you as pathetic as that stupid, one-armed friend of yours? What was his name . . . oh yeah, Jenson. Had a funny voice. Died funny, too. Laugh, Ripton.”

  Eldon shook his head negatively and choked out sounds imitating a laugh.

  “Of course, you aren’t any good at laughing either.” Graham growled into Tallie Mae’s ear, “Is this cowardly fool your husband? What a shame.” His attention moved to Shank. “Don’t worry, big boy. I didn’t kill him. Just matched up his shoulders. I always hit what I aim at. I don’t want him dead—yet. He may be the one with the answers I want. One of you has them. After that, who knows? I may just let you all alone—or I may not.” Graham chuckled at his comment and paused, his eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute—I don’t think you believe me when I say I hit what I aim at.”

  A second blast from Graham’s revolver ripped through the tension of the room, and Shank’s left ear blossomed in crimson. The big man screamed and grabbed for it.

  “See?” Graham said, and recocked his revolver. “You won’t miss that little bit. Not much, anyway. Now do you believe me—or would you care for another demonstration? How about this little fool’s right eye? Or maybe . . .”

  “You made your point. Leave the boy alone. What do you want to know?” Shank responded, holding his bleeding ear and grimacing. His pained eyes tracked the handles of Billy’s revolvers extending from the young man’s waistband.

  Graham saw them too. “First, big boy, take those pistols and toss them this way. One at a time. Real slow.”

  Shank withdrew one revolver and threw it toward Graham. He took a deep breath and reached for the second.

  “Remember the little lady here before you try something stupid. She dies, then I’ll kill you before you can even get that hogleg aimed at me. I thought you believed me. How disappointing.”

  Graham fired again, and Billy’s left hand, lying outstretched on the floor, jumped and a red hole appeared. Billy groaned and grabbed for his hand. “Y-you son of a bitch! I’ll . . .”

  Shank’s shoulders rose and fell. He eased the gun from Billy’s waistband, holding the handle by just two fingers.

  Returning his first pistol to his waist and withdrawing his second, Graham snarled, “Now, all I want is your friend in the black coat. That’s all. One of you is going to tell me where he is—and what his name is.” The words slashed like a jabbed knife. “Who wants to live?”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “Thar’s thirty o’ our men outside a-comin’ up the hill. You’d better git yurself gone,” Caleb Shank advised, continuing to hold the handkerchief against the blossoming hole in Billy’s shoulder while he held the young man’s hand tightly to stop the bleeding. His own ear dripped red tears, but he ignored it.

  “You’re talking to Lion David Graham now, clown—not Padgett and his band of fools. There’s nothing out there but some hats on sticks.” Graham’s eyes bore on Shank’s face, and the big man blinked and looked again at Billy’s bleeding shoulder. The young Ripton was dazed but trying to regain his thoughts.

  Graham swung his revolver toward Eldon and told him to lock the door. A shiver wouldn’t release its hold on the Ripton elder as he walked over to the door, closed it hard, and lowered the lock beam in place.

  “I see you can do something right,” Graham snarled. “Now, once again, where’s the man in the black coat? And what’s his name?”

  Swallowing the last of his courage, Shank said, “Wal, sir, the last time I laid eyes on him, he were a-drivin’ that wagon o’ Padgett’s, with that crippled bastard in it. Calls himself . . . James.”

  “Don’t give me that crap.”

  “That’s the God’s truth. Watched it myse’f.”

  “What kind of fool is he?” Graham asked, his forehead rolled into a puzzled frown. “That means Padgett’s men will get the fun of killing him—not me. That’s not right. What was his name? I know it wasn’t James. I need to know. We will meet again—in another life.” He laughed.

  Shank glanced away to the open window, where Jeremiah had done his shooting, and stared into the blackness framed by the rough-cut wood. Is Rule Cordell really dead? he asked himself. Where is he? Graham was right. It was mighty foolish to be drivin’ that wagon into Padgett’s men. My Gawd! Breathing came hard as the thought of Cordell being dead pushed bile upward from his stomach. Determination kept it from coming further.

  A soft patter came from the darkness and Belle sauntered into the room, her nose high in the air. Graham’s gun swung to meet the noise, then moved back to Tallie Mae’s head. From the angle of its advance, the animal had entered through one of the open windows used for shooting earlier.

 
; “I hate cats,” Graham said, and aimed his gun at the curious animal.

  “Shoo, cat. Git outta hyar!” Shank yelled, and waved his arms.

  Graham’s gun jumped in his hand. Belle yipped and flopped to the floor.

  “Oh, not you, Belle,” Shank moaned. “Rule’ll be heartsick.”

  “What did you say?” Graham shoved Tallie Mae in the back so violently that she fell into Shank.

  Her eyes were wild as she lifted herself from him. Graham again drew his first pistol with his left hand and screamed, “Stay down, bitch. Don’t move, Ripton. Get down on your knees, big boy. You too, kid.” His shrill laugh haunted the room.

  Jeremiah choked to keep from crying as he crawled next to his mother. Squatting on her hands and knees, she patted his hand to reassure him. Eldon swallowed hard and slumped to the ground, awkwardly keeping his hands raised as he did. “Don’t shoot, mister, don’t shoot. We was jes’ followin’ orders, that’s all. Captain . . .”

  “Shut up.” Shank’s command snapped Eldon into silence.

  Graham snarled, “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be. Well, boys and girls, we’re going to play a little game, then. I’ll ask a question and you’ll give me an answer. If I don’t like the answer, one of you will die. Not a shoulder, or an ear, or a hand—one of you will die. Then we’ll play again. Got it? Now, what was the name of the man in the black coat?” Graham’s eyes burned into Eldon, and the tall man pleaded with his gaze at his wife.

  She shook her head negatively, and Eldon whimpered and said, “I—I d-don’ know.”

  Shaking his head to clear it of the swelling pain, Billy put his hand on Shank’s chest and whispered, “Ya gotta try.”

  “Hold this,” Shank muttered, and the wounded man held Shank’s blood-soaked handerchief. The big merchant shifted his feet so that he could spring at Graham as soon as he got the chance.

  Graham took a step toward Eldon and placed the barrel of his right-hand pistol next to Eldon’s trembling head. “Was he that preacher over in Clark Springs?” His voice suddenly became soft and gentle. “Come on, now. Your friend is dead. You heard the big man. He drove Padgett’s wagon—to his men. Bang. Bang.” He mimicked shooting his gun, laughed again, and shook his head.

  Terrified, Eldon looked at Shank, who mouthed “No.” Graham stared up at the ceiling. The cocking of his pistol ripped through the room.

  “Well, all right, Ripton, if that’s the way you want it.”

  “N-no, p-please. I-it w-was C-Captain Rule C-Cordell. H-he’s bin a-hidin’ as the preacher, l-like ya said.” Eldon whined and covered his head with shaking hands and squeezed his legs against his chest to shrink himself into a ball.

  A strange squeal gurgled from Graham’s mouth. Graham’s voice was thin and wistful. “We were Roman soldiers once, you know, in another life. Back in Jesus’ time. I figure that’s why Cordell became a preacher. I killed then—with a sword.”

  Shank didn’t look up. He didn’t know which was more terrifying, Graham’s haunting eyes or the jibberish coming from his twisted mouth.

  “Big boy, tell me this.” Graham broke into Shank’s mind. “You think Padgett’s men are good enough to kill Rule Cordell?”

  “No suh, I don’t.”

  Graham giggled gleefully and said, “I don’t either.” His voice had changed to that of a boy wishing for a pony. “So you think I can still kill him.”

  “I think ya kin try.”

  Graham’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I killed a man. In San Antonio, it was. No, no, it was Houston, for those same words.” He swung the revolver toward Shank and the merchant’s mind raced toward his dead wife and family and told himself he would be seeing them again. “Naw, you’ve given me hope, big boy. Rule Cordell will be mine to kill. Besides, Giles hasn’t put a price on you. Yet.” Graham’s gun returned to Eldon’s head. “Now, the Riptons, that’s another story. I get five hundred apiece for you.”

  The silence was slapped away by Eldon’s whimpering. “P-please, don’t kill us. P-please. I—I dun tolt ya what ya w-wanted to know. It’s Rule C-Cordell.”

  “I’ll bet you’d sign over the deed right about now, wouldn’t you, Ripton?” Graham drew the second gun from his red sash, cocked it, and placed the black-handled revolver alongside the first. Both barrels touched Eldon’s shaking head, inches apart. A cackle that sounded like wind whipping against an old water pump followed.

  “P-please, it’s all w-we have.”

  “Why the hell do I care?” Graham said, and glanced at Shank. “Big boy, I said I’m not going to kill you. But if you try what’s in your face, I’ll drop you before you take two steps. Now, don’t make me a liar. I don’t like killing people for free.”

  The corner of Shank’s mouth trembled. Giggling, Graham turned again to Eldon. “Don’t wet on yourself, man. That’s awful.” His laugh was shrill once more. “Hell, I don’t have a deed for you to sign anyway. You’ll have to wait until I bring Padgett back. Oh, he’ll be spitting mad to learn you fooled him.” Graham glanced again at Shank, who was holding Billy’s hand to stop the bleeding. He felt like Graham could read his mind and squinted to think of something other than the unsigned deed in Cordell’s pocket.

  Graham continued, cocking his head to one side, then the other to illustrate his dilemna. “Of course, if you’re all dead, he can buy this wretched piece of land from the tax man. I don’t know why he wants it so much, anyway. Crazy, isn’t it? Oh, but it’s a terrible burden for me. Deciding. Should I kill you now—or wait until later?” His chuckle was shortened by a hard knock at the door.

  Everyone jumped at the sound, including Graham. His eyes flashed, and he pushed both guns against Eldon’s head and whispered, “Ask who it is.”

  Shank responded, “I’ll do it.” Without waiting, he stood, threw back his shoulders, and yelled, “Who’s thar?”

  A slightly disgusted voice responded, “It’s Rule. Open the door.”

  Graham’s frown at Shank’s presumptive action popped into a wide, toothy grin. He motioned for Shank to open the door. Shank hesitated, and Graham aimed his revolvers at Tallie Mae and Jeremiah.

  “I’m a-comin’, Rule,” Shank said loudly as Graham stepped away from Eldon and positioned himself against the wall where the door would open and conceal his presence.

  “Thought ya’d have that big black o’ yurn a-runnin’ hard fer home an’ your pretty Rebecca.” Shank slowly lifted the lock bar from the iron frames and let it slip from his fingers. Cursing, he regrasped the beam, raised it free, and laid it aside. Taking a deep breath, he swung open the door, hoping Cordell had realized something was wrong because of his obvious misstatements.

  Shank stood without speaking, gulping air to stabilize the fierce thumping of his heart. After a few seconds, Graham sprang around the door to see what was going on. The doorway was empty. He took a cautious step forward to peer outside. Nothing. Nothing but darkness. And only the sounds of the night greeted him.

  “What the hell did you say to him?” Graham sputtered, spinning back into Shank. Graham’s face was swollen with madness. “Where is he?”

  “I’m right here, Lion.”

  Graham’s revolvers were a blur toward the open window behind him. Cordell’s first two bullets struck the killer in the chest and stomach almost the instant Graham fired. Graham’s own lead ripped wood from the frame next to Cordell’s head, powering splinters into his cheek and cutting through the thong that held his stone earring. Cordell fired again with both Colts, as the freed earring bounced inside. Black holes appeared in Graham’s forehead and cheek. His body buckled as his head snapped backward and he staggered through the doorway and onto the porch.

  A strange squeal gurgled from his open mouth. Graham fired his right-hand gun, but the barrel was aimed at the night sky. The gray-suited killer tried to shoot again, but his finger wouldn’t squeeze the trigger of the gun in his left hand. His eyes wouldn’t focus. Where was the one man he wanted to kill? He crashed against the railing and
spun toward the sound of Cordell rushing toward him.

  Cordell fired again at Graham’s vest, turning it crimson, and pounding him as he staggered on the porch. Moonlight danced across the killer’s revolvers as they hung by themselves for a moment in the air, then thumped on the wooden porch. He slipped to one knee and grabbed for the railing post. His quivering hand couldn’t hold on, and he crashed to the ground on his back.

  Shank couldn’t move, stunned by what he was seeing. He had been an instant from rushing at Graham and probably dying in the attempt. Unnoticed, the ear wound dribbled a line of red down his coat. Mumbling something that sounded like “Amen,” Tallie Mae hurried to her wounded son. Tears dissolved her face into a blister of water as she lifted Shank’s reddened handkerchief Billy held against his shoulder and patted the wound herself. Jeremiah stood and watched, trying to hold back the vomit. He couldn’t, and raced for the open window where Cordell had been. Eldon lay on the floor, afraid to look at the dying Graham. Finally, his gaze met Tallie Mae’s and she tried to smile; he could only nod.

  Outside, Rule Cordell waited beside the rasping Lion David Graham. Cordell holstered one smoking Colt but held the second revolver cocked in his right fist. The killer’s eyes stared at him through blood-soaked eyelashes. For an instant his face became that of Cordell’s father, then disappeared. Graham coughed, and blood splattered on his chin and cheek. “I—I w-was supposed . . . to k-kill you, l-like before. N-next time, I—I . . .”

  “I didn’t want this, Lion, we were friends—once. We played together, remember? You, an’ Ian, an’ me. I don’t . . .”

  “I—I always w-wanted to be y-you. E-everybody thought you were the g-great fighter, t-the leader, t-the b-best.” Blood flooded from Graham’s mouth and he choked on its heavy flow. “I-if I k-killed you, I would be the one t-they all looked to. K-killing w-was the only thing I w-was good at. I—I killed you b-before, you know, w-when we were Roman soldiers.”