Sons of Thunder (Rule Cordell)

by Cotton Smith

  “Leave it—but your hand better be holding a match when it comes out.”

  With exaggerated slowness, Taullery withdrew a match, popped its head with his fingernail, and lit the cigar. “Care for one, Rule? Just got ’em in. A real fine smoke. Best in the area.”

  “I only smoke with my friends,” Cordell snapped. “Where is Lizzie Ripton?”

  “Lizzie Ripton? Why ask me? You told me she was at your place.” Taullery spoke through a white ribbon of cigar smoke.

  “Yes, and you were the only one I told.”

  Taullery’s face soured for an instant and returned to its put-upon expression. He pulled the cigar from his mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean? When did I quit being your friend? Just because I couldn’t leave everything to go riding with you last night?”

  “You quit being my friend when you and your masked buddies murdered two good men last night—and tried to kill my wife and some innocent children. An’ then kidnapped the Ripton girl. That’s when.”

  “That’s crazy, Rule. I’m your best friend, remember? Or have you forgotten all that we’ve been through together?” Taullery’s eyes burned with anger; his hands went to his hips, pushing back the tails of his suitcoat.

  “Don’t try it, Ian.”

  Taullery realized the significance of the move and said stiffly, “I’m not carrying, except for that pea gun. I’m a businessman, not a gunfighter. Like you.”

  “Let’s go to your house, Ian.” Cordell growled impatiently. “We’re in a hurry.” His stallion nudged its nose against his arm, and he rubbed it, then looped the reins over the buggy wheel opposite where the paint horse was tied. “I’ve got a coat button in my pocket. We just found it at Eliason’s factory, where we prayed over two fine men’s graves. I’m betting it’s from your suit, the one you had on yesterday. How’d you like to bet? I’m also betting we find a sheet with holes in it. What do you think?”

  Aleta added, “You have a very distinctive voice, Eee-un. I hear thees voice of yours last night, oh so clear. Just like you are talking now.” Earlier, they had agreed to press Taullery hard by bluffing about what they knew.

  Taullery swallowed, glanced away, and in a thin voice confessed, “P-please, Rule, I didn’t have any choice. Giles said he would have Padgett arrest me and take my store i-if I didn’t go along. No one was supposed to be hurt. Giles said it was just to warn you not to hold that school.” He paused, swallowed again, and shrugged his shoulders. “Y-you know I don’t like the b-blacks trying to take over an’ all. I tried to tell you about the ‘Knights of the Rising Sun’—an’ you didn’t want to listen. Rule, they’re good Southerners trying to get Northern carpetbaggers out of Texas.”

  “Giles is the worst kind of carpetbagger, Ian, taking land away from good Texans by having Padgett arrest them—or hang them. Or are you trying to tell me you didn’t know that?”

  “I—I thought if I went, I could protect Aleta.”

  Aleta bristled. “I don’t remember anybody stepping up to do that, Eee-un. I only remember a bunch of cowards keeling two men and hoping to get me and the children.”

  Stepping close to Taullery, Cordell stared into the taller man’s eyes. Taullery blinked away his concern and looked away. Cordell grabbed Taullery’s suit collar with his right fist. His voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere else. “Did you also tell Giles that I went to the Riptons’? Don’t lie to me.”

  “N-no.”

  Cordell’s vicious slap across Taullery’s face spun his head sideways and blood spurted from the corner of his mouth. His teeth snapped together so hard that his cigar broke and fell to the ground. “Try it again,” Cordell said.

  “N-no, I didn’t.”

  A second slap staggered Taullery and he stepped backward, but Cordell held him up by his coat lapels. Taullery swallowed the small end of the cigar remaining inside his mouth and choked.

  “I—I t-told him you went . . . to the R-Riptons’.”

  “I assume he had plenty of time to send someone to warn Padgett.” Cordell’s eyes bored into Taullery’s pained face.

  “W-well, y-yes, I s-suppose. H-he . . .”

  “Didn’t think one man would be much of a problem for all of Padgett’s men. You didn’t think so either, did you, Ian?”

  Taullery swallowed some of the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and choked on its warmth. “I—I t-told you not to g-go, Rule, remember?”

  “I’ll always remember . . . this,” Cordell said. “Where is Giles now?”

  “I—I don’t know. Haven’t seen him today. I think he went out to one of his ranches. Maybe.”

  “School is on again tonight. Is your little band planning on joining us?”

  Taullery looked back into Cordell’s face. “Honest, Rule, I—I don’t know. Y-you’re not going to do it—yyou can’t.”

  Cordell released Taullery’s coat and glanced at Aleta, then back at the nervous store owner. “Did you think a handful of white-sheeted fools would stop us? This time you’ll have to face me.”

  “R-Rule, I didn’t know, ah, we were going to the Negro school when y-you came to my store, honest I didn’t.” Taullery shrugged his shoulders and swallowed to push the biting chunk of cigar farther down his wind-pipe. “I—I knew Giles wanted the Ripton place, that’s all. Dammit, Rule, some of us have to go along with the tide, you know. We can’t all be like you.”

  Cordell’s stare was a saber to Taullery’s slightly rebounding courage. The taller man rubbed his chin with his right hand, looked at the blood on his fingers, then couldn’t decide where to rub it off so Cordell wouldn’t think he was going for his vest derringer. Finally, he rubbed his hand against his pants and left it at his side.

  “So it was all right for Giles and Padgett to run off the Riptons—as long as you didn’t get hurt.” Cordell’s voice was low and deliberate. “I suppose you knew about Harper before it happened too.”

  Taullery’s entire body tightened. His swelling lip quivered. “Come on, Rule, what was I supposed to do? You were preaching sweetness and light—and made a big deal outta putting away your gun. Even had that silly altarlike thing in your bedroom.” His teeth clenched, and he hissed, “I did what I had to do.”

  “I feel sorry for you, Ian.”

  “The hell with you, Rule. You’d love to have a store like mine. The best around, instead of that run-down horse farm of yours—and you know it.”

  Jabbing her gun into Taullery’s back, Aleta blurted, “Enough of your sorry crap, Eee-un. Where ees Lizzie?”

  Taullery looked down and involuntarily brushed himself off, then put his hands at his sides. For a moment, it looked like he was going to stall. “S-she’s in t-there.”

  “Eef she is worse, I weel put bullets in your knees,” Aleta threatened. “Maybe I weel anyway.” She pointed the gun at his knee and Taullery winced, then looked at Cordell for support.

  Cordell motioned toward the store’s back door, and Taullery took out his key and opened it. Inside, grayness controlled the crowded storeroom. He pointed toward the corner where a dark shape lay on the floor. Aleta shoved him out of the way and hurried to the lying Lizzie. Quickly, she removed a tight cloth tied around her mouth and another blinding her eyes.

  Blinking at the return of even the low light, the young girl blurted, “Oh, Mrs. Cord—Langford, I—I prayed you would come—before they did. I—I was so scared. It was some awful men . . . with their faces covered with white sheets. T-they were in the bedroom before I knew . . . t-they were all around me. W-where am I?”

  “You are safe, Lizzie. Captain Cordell ees here—and Ian Taullery.” Aleta looked at Taullery, who grimaced at her positioning him as helping. She untied the heavy ropes holding her hands and feet. She rubbed the girl’s wrists and ankles to stimulate circulation. A quick examination of her wound showed it hadn’t broken open again. Then a terrible thought crossed Aleta’s mind and she whispered, “Lizzie, did they . . . take you?”

  A rush of tears preceded her
soft answer. “O-one of them p-played with my b-breasts, but another stopped him.”

  Aleta turned toward Taullery; her eyes were hot.

  Nervously, Taullery mouthed, “It was Giles. I told him to quit.”

  Aleta’s expression was disbelief as she helped the young girl stand. Lizzie was wobbly but apparently not hurt more.

  “Thank you, Captain Cordell. Thank you, Mister Taullery. I knew you would come, I knew it,” Lizzie said as Aleta guided her to the doorway.

  “Tenga cuidado. Be careful,” Aleta said gently.

  Cordell asked, “How is she?”

  “She is all right. They tied her mucho tight, though, the bastards.”

  “If we go tonight, she must go with us—can she?”

  “I weel tell her thees. She weel be ready. She is a tough . . . woman.”

  Both men watched them pass, then Cordell turned to Taullery. “Ian, here’s what we’re going to do. Aleta, Lizzie, and I are going to Eliason’s factory. To teach the black kids.”

  “W-why are you telling me this?”

  “Because we were friends—once,” Cordell said, studying Taullery.

  “I—I’m s-sorry, Rule, I didn’t want this. I—I thought s-she would be s-safer here,” Taullery blubbered, his eyes wallowing in wetness. “I—I wouldn’t have let them h-hurt her. Really, I wouldn’t. I convinced Giles y-you’d never think to look here.” He swallowed and stared at the darkening sky. “I didn’t think you would.”

  “Just don’t tell me that it never occured to you that Giles was after the boot factory too—or that you didn’t think Padgett’s men would kill me.”

  Taullery acknowledged that the thoughts had crossed his mind but didn’t see how he could do anything about it. Cordell asked him where Eliason’s buggy was being hidden. The contrite store owner told him the buggy was out at Curt Keffer’s place. Without Cordell asking, Taullery rattled off the names of the other members of Giles clan. Cordell recognized one as the father of Ernest, the towheaded boy with two missing teeth. He shook away the thought of what he should do.

  “Giles will learn about the ‘Sons of Thunder’ when he talks with Padgett,” Cordell said, changing the subject, and motioned for Taullery to leave the storeroom. The image of Ernest on the schoolhouse steps lingered in his mind.

  “Who?”

  “Padgett thinks he was surrounded by thirty gunmen called ’Sons of Thunder.’ It was Caleb, Billy and his father, and me. Now he’ll know I was one of them.”

  Taullery chuckled and muttered, “Wish I’d been there. Sorta like old times I’ll bet.”

  As they stepped outside, Taullery turned toward Cordell and said, “I-I won’t tell him who the Sons of Thunder are—but he already knows you’re Rule Cordell.”

  “I figured you told him.”

  Taullery stopped and faced Cordell; his forehead furrowed. “No, honest, I didn’t. That killing bastard Lion Graham told him. I was there when he did.”

  Behind them came the sound of a thick stream of water, followed by a loud belch, and then, the clank of approaching spurs. Cordell stepped sideways so he could watch Taullery at the same time as he determined who was coming. A cowboy staggered through the shadows, trying to button his pants but each movement threw him off-balance. On his third step away from the saloon trench, his own boot came down on the corner of his batwing chap and he stumbled backward, waving his arms furiously.

  After landing hard, he looked around, pushed back his hat and started yelling. “H-Hey! Hiccup. W-Where the hell’s . . . my hoss? Hiccup.”

  Taullery snickered in spite of himself. He glanced at Aleta. She was helping Lizzie onto her horse and not paying attention. Cordell’s face was unreadable.

  “Ya ain’t seed . . . my hoss, has ya, boys? Hiccup. Left ’im . . . ri’t hyar.” The cowboy stuck his finger in the dirt. “Brown . . . with a white stocking. Right. Front. Hiccup. Ah, maybe . . . left.”

  Without turning toward the drunken man, Cordell pointed in the direction of the main street. “Your horse is probably over there.”

  “W-well, how the h-hell . . . did he git thar, ya reckon. Hiccup.”

  Cordell walked over and helped him stand. He explained that the cowboy was in the alley, but it didn’t register at first. After his third explanation, the drunk said, “Why didn’t ya say that . . . the first time, mistah? Hiccup. H-how’s I supposed to k-know . . . they dun m-moved the damn alley? Bin inside all day. Hiccup.”

  Shaking his head as the drunk meandered through the connecting alley toward the main street, Cordell turned back to Taullery as if their conversation had never been interrupted.

  “Lion Graham is dead,” he said without emotion.

  “You kill him?”

  “Not before he killed a cat and wounded two good friends.”

  Taking a deep breath, Taullery spoke in a soft voice. “I remember the good days, Rule. Remember Brandy Station? All of us with General Stuart passed in review of Marse Robert. God, we all looked magnificent. You and me were riding matched blacks—almost as fancy as Jeb’s horse, they were. Lee was going into Pennsylvania, and he praised us to the high heavens. Sometimes. I wish we could go back there.”

  Cordell listened and pushed his hat back on his forehead. “Yeah, but don’t forget the next morning the Federals ripped us apart, coming across the Rappahannock. I never saw so much blue.”

  “You were awesome that day, Rule. You and the General were everywhere. And ol’ Grumble Jones, too, in stockinged feet and long johns, an’ no pants. All o’ you fighting and yelling for us to keep at ’em. I—I can see you there, no shirt on yourself, with a pistol in each hand. We shoved ’em back across the river just as the sun was setting. I—I never told you—how proud I was to be your friend that day.”

  “No more than I was to be yours, Ian. Like you said, things change because they have to.” Cordell pulled the reins of his waiting stallion loose from the buggy wheel and leaped into the saddle. He stared again at Taullery, who stood unmoving. His eyes squinted into a look Taullery had seen often in battle. “Giles, Padgett—you an’ the rest—have two choices: Stop what you’re doing to innocent people, or kill me. I don’t kill easy. Ask Lion Graham. You’ll find him in Rome somewhere.”

  “I won’t tell Giles you found out. I’m going to tell him that I brought her back to you—so you wouldn’t be suspicious. He’ll buy that.”

  “Don’t say anything you can’t deliver, Ian.” Without waiting for a response, he nudged the horse and loped to catch up with Aleta, riding double with Lizzie in front.

  Taullery watched them disappear, pulled out a cigar from his coat, and lit it. He stepped into the seat of his buggy and yelled at the harnessed animal to run.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Seats on the planked pews filled rapidly Sunday. In his black robe, Reverend James Rule Langford greeted everyone warmly as they entered. Once again, Mrs. Tomlinson hoped he would be giving a sermon about the “vices” and rattled off her own list. This time she added book-reading and eating mushrooms. Henry Keller paused to ask if his roan stallion was for sale, and Harney Peale whispered that the minister’s wife should quit teaching the black children because it would give the town a bad name.

  Rule Cordell felt awkward about posing as their part-time pastor after returning to the gun. His healing arm and head were reminders of the path he had chosen. But the week had gone fast, especially after he decided what he must do. After a long night of talking, Aleta had agreed. News of the tragedy at Eliason’s factory and the attack on the Ripton ranch spread rapidly throughout the region. So had tales of the “Sons of Thunder,” who were being credited with all manner of deeds. Wanted bulletins appeared offering a five-hundred-dollar reward for information leading to their arrest.

  Murmurs of the pistol-fighter Lion David Graham being killed, along with several state police, burned their way through the community. The murder of Jacob “Suitcase” Eliason brought differing opinions, some harsh; nothing was mentioned of Zachim’s deat
h. There was even a wild tale circulating about the outlaw Rule Cordell being alive. The schooling of the black children had resumed without incident. Eliason’s buggy showed up at the factory one morning.

  When Cordell went back to bury Lion Graham and the two dead Regulators, he couldn’t find their bodies. He guessed wild animals had dragged them off and scared Graham’s horse into continuing its flight. Giles hadn’t been seen; neither had Padgett. He hadn’t talked with Taullery since the day they retrieved Lizzie Ripton. The Riptons had come and taken her home in their buckboard. Lizzie wanted to stay and help Aleta with the schooling, but Tallie Mae insisted she was needed at home as soon as she could get around.

  As he welcomed neighbors and townspeople, Cordell realized his feelings were similar to the ones he felt before a battle. He was ice-cold inside and had to work at smiling and chatting as the parishioners filed into the makeshift church. He was surprised to see Michigan Fainwald, the young editor of the Clark Springs Clarion. Cordell couldn’t remember him being in church before and wondered why the man had chosen this morning to come. Awkwardly, Fainwald asked if he might talk with Cordell after church, and Cordell agreed. Fainwald took a seat near the back.

  The bigger surprise for Cordell was the appearance of Mayor William Giles. Cordell assumed Taullery had told him everything and that the mayor was planning some counterassault on him. Or had Taullery been true to his word and not told Giles of what he knew? Giles sauntered into the morning-lit warehouse with his wife two steps behind him.

  The mayor’s eyes avoided meeting Cordell’s gaze as he honored people with salutations. A knowing smirk settled on his face as he sat on the third pew, his customary seat. His wife was dressed in a bright green bodice and skirt, with a fashionable hair net and a small matching handbag. Her thick petticoats rustled as she swooped onto the pew beside him. Next to them was a young mother struggling to make her three small sons sit still. She eyed the mayor and his wife with concern and returned to quieting her boys.

  Widow Bauer was already sitting in her regular position on the front row. Beside her, Aleta sat nervously, tightly gripping a small wild rose in both hands. Aleta caught Cordell’s eyes and said, “‘The Russian’ is here.”