Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel

by Summers, Gerald Lane

  “Is that true, Mr. Oliver?”

  “Yes it is. We don’t notify these miserable rebel pigs. It just gives them time to fort up and cause us trouble.”

  “I see.” Mobley turned to face the ten policemen and Jack Anthony Lopes, who now held his rifle on Oliver’s back. “I have considered the applicable law and the facts as have been stated by Judge Oliver for the State of Texas and by the Wiley Miner family. I have made my decision. This decree Oliver has been waving around ain’t worth the paper it’s written on.”

  He paused and smiled at the seated men. “Governor Davis has had no power to rule by decree since Texas was re-admitted to the Union in 1868. I’m not concerned here with any decree other than the one before me, but hear this: if there’s to be any land reappraisal in this state, it must be done in strict accordance with Texas law, not by unilateral decree issued by a dictatorial governor.”

  Taking out his docket book, Mobley wrote for some moments before he continued his speech. “Judge Oliver, have you heard of the 14th Amendment to the Constitution of these United States?”

  Oliver looked down at his feet.

  “No? Well, you do recognize, do you not, that the Constitution of the United States is the supreme law of the land?”

  “I have heard that, yes.” Oliver turned to glare at his men.

  “The Bill of Rights, which are the first ten amendments to the Constitution, spells out the rights every citizen has to protect him against action by the government. The 14th amendment, passed and ratified in 1868 by every state in the Union, guarantees Mr. Minor and every other person in the country, rebel or not, black or white, the right to receive equal protection under the law and due process before his life or any of his property can be taken from him.”

  A look of confusion spread across Oliver’s face. “Due process? I’ve never heard of that. What is it?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Oliver. No one does, as yet. But it’s a fact that whatever it is, this here form of unilateral decree ain’t it. At a minimum, I’d say a man was entitled to know in advance what the government intended doing to him, so he can answer it properly, don’t you think?”

  “Well, I—but—.”

  “No buts about it. This decree’s as defective as a four balled billy goat and a whole lot more dangerous. As a consequence, it is the court’s rulin’, which will be duly entered in my docket book and later recorded in every county in this state, that the reappraisal law of 1873 is unconstitutional and void. All takin’s of property in accordance with that law are likewise void. That includes the attempted takin’ here of Mr. and Mrs. Miner’s fine farm.”

  Mobley turned to Jack. “Deputy Marshal Jack Anthony Lopes, I direct you to confiscate all firearms of which these gentlemen were possessed when they came into my courthouse all threatenin’ like, and turn them over to the court for later sale to the highest lawful bidder.”

  “But you can’t—.”

  “You are in contempt of court, Mr. Oliver. Shut up!”

  Mobley picked up his pistol. “Judge Oliver, you do not deserve to be left alive to roam this fine land, but the law does not permit me to take a life just because it belongs to a no good thievin’ carpetbagger. You are directed to leave the Miner farm and never set foot here again. If you do, I will consider it an intentional breach of the peace and my deputies will see you regret it. But, before you go, you will pay the sum of one hundred dollars as costs of suit to Mr. Miner and one hundred dollars as penalty for insulting the court.”

  Judge Oliver gasped, bolted out of his chair and put his hand on the derringer still in his watch pocket. “You can’t do that. I’m a lawful representative of the State of Texas. You can’t make me pay money to you, nor can you take our weapons.” He started to pull the derringer from his pocket.

  Jack spotted the weapon in Oliver’s hand and reacted instantaneously. He reached out with the butt of his rifle and soundly rapped Oliver’s furious looking chin, dropping him to the ground like a gunny sack full of rattlesnakes. Jack bent down, removed the pistol and held it up for everyone to see.

  “Judge Oliver,” Mobley said to the unconscious man. “I suggest you put in for reimbursement from the state. I’m sure the legislature will be happy to fix you up, considering how hard you’ve been supporting their interests. Marshal Lopes, relieve this man of the necessary funds and send him on his way.”

  Mobley turned to face the policemen. “You boys can help, too. Don’t forget a word of this lesson in the law. It may come in handy for you some day.”

  The black policemen got up and walked over to Oliver. Some spat on him. Two white officers dragged him by the feet and tossed him into his buggy. Within minutes, they were all mounted and leading the sorrel out of sight. Mobley had no doubt they would abandon Oliver somewhere along the road.

  He relaxed, and looked directly at Jack. “Good job, Jack. You’ve got a good handle on this bailiff business. Court is adjourned. Break out the sippin’ whiskey. All that palaver has puckered my tongue.”

  “It’s already broke out,” Wiley said as he picked up the jug and poured Mobley’s glass full. “Here, Judge Meadows. Have another snort. You deserve it.”

  Mobley accepted the glass from Wiley and sipped it in silence. He felt stone sober, though he’d consumed more whiskey this day than at any other time in the past several months. All around him was jubilation. The Miner family had a right to be excited, but Mobley knew the implication of his actions. There was no getting around a conflict with Governor Davis now. But that was just the way it was and the way it would have to be. The rest, well, nothing was ever clear when politicians were involved, but there was no real cause for alarm. At least, any cause that made sense. Davis was a man who lived and died by the law, or should be, so he might be expected to accept the decision with grace.

  CHAPTER 18

  Tingling with excitement, Edson spurred Beauty on toward Waco. His release from the clutches of Cinda Sue Miner and the danger she’d posed was gratifying. He was free. Free to do as he pleased, free to do the job he had accepted and for which he had trained all his life.

  Snooping for information was much like tracking. Keep your eyes and ears open, sooner or later the true path would appear. Mobley’s confidence in him felt good. Edson was powerful once again.

  He reached the toll bridge on the north side of the Brazos River as the bridge master walked back to his quarters on the south. The blockish suspension bridge loomed before him, an amazing feat of engineering for a small frontier town. The bridge pole was down, but Edson was not about to allow such an impediment to stop him. “Come on, Beauty, show your stuff.” He reached the restraining pole at full gallop. Beauty cleared the barrier effortlessly and pounded past the shocked collector before he could react. Whooping and yelling, Edson roared past the startled man. A good way to start a night on the town.

  Still feeling frisky, Edson allowed the horse her head for the short distance remaining to the center of the city. Waco had changed much since his last visit. The genteel, pleasant farming community he’d known before the war was now a rip-roaring boom town. False front stores hawking merchandise of all kinds, saloons and theaters, including the notorious Star Variety Theater that had been turned into a saloon, lured passersby. Cowboys rampaged up and down the streets, blind drunk, having the time of their lives with money in their pockets after months of choking on dust and cattle stink. Waco’s businesses were primed to remove the cash from these men, one nickel at a time if necessary.

  Edson slowed Beauty to a halt and allowed her to high step in place, skittering from side to side as he took in the scenery. It was late afternoon, plenty of time to get organized before sniffing out the local taverns. He found a livery stable and noticed a small hotel close by. As he approached the stable, he saw a wizened old man about to close the large barn doors.

  “Hold on old fella,” Edson called out. “You’ve got another customer. Keep them doors open for a few more minutes.”

  Turning to check out
this late customer, the man curled up his lip, feelings written clearly on his face. Another danged wrangler. “Why should I? My dinner’s on the table, and you ain’t likely to make me rich this day, aire ye?”

  Edson stepped easily from his horse and extended his hand. “That’s a fact, sir. But I’ll be happy to pay you a fair price for the night, for my horse only, and I’ll do the rub down work. I don’t like anyone else foolin’ with my horse, anyway.”

  “My price is a dollar a day, take it or leave it.”

  Edson raised his eyebrows. “Does that include hay and oats?”

  “No, that’ll be half again as much, a dollar four bits, if you can’t cipher.”

  “I can cipher, mister. I don’t mind paying a fair price, but with me doing all the work, seems you ought to be a little more flexible in your pricing policy.”

  “A dollar, two bits. That’s my bottom line.”

  “Done.”

  “Just shut up the doors when you’re finished, Mr.—?”

  “Rabb,” Edson said. “The name’s Red Rabb, late of the Marsten Ranch up to Dallas. We’re honest folk, so don’t you worry yourself about getting’ paid. I’ll pay you in the morning before I pick up my horse.”

  The man shook his head. “You’ll pay me now or be on your way, son. I know of Mitchell Marsten and you ain’t him. His credit is as good as gold, but yours ain’t; worked for him or not.”

  Edson looked down his nose at the old man, irritation building within. “You’re a hard man, Mr.—. What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t say, but it’s the same as that on the barn door right in front of your eyes.”

  Pushing back his hat, Edson looked at the door and realized he’d missed the sign because it was too big to be obvious. Stony Brooks Stable.

  “Well, Mr. Stable.” Edson smiled. “Here’s your money. Now, if you’ll point me to the rubbin’ tools, I’ll get on with my job and you can get on with your supper.”

  Stony Brook’s hard lined face cracked into a grin and without further warning, his nose commenced to suck air and snort it back with each louder breath, “heh-snock, heh-snock.” It was probably the first time he’d laughed in several months. Edson was amazed at the man’s transformation.

  Stony finally stopped his laughter by squeezing his nose as one might do after consuming too much horseradish. “All right, boy, so you can read. That’s a comfort these days. Most can hardly spell their name, let alone make a joke of someone else’s. You’ll do well, if’n you manage to stay out of them real bad saloons like the Star Variety. People get killed in there for less’n a fart on a high wind. Try the Empire Buffalo just down the street. Nice people run it, and they’ve most everythin’ you might want.”

  “Thank you, Stony. I’ll try ‘em both. I’ve got the time and the money. In the meantime, you might see a doctor about that there laugh of yorn. It’s stick’n to the roof of your mouth when you kick it into a gallop.”

  Stony Brooks followed Edson into the barn, heh snockin all the way in. “Mr. Stable.” Heh snock. “I’ve got to remember that one.”

  Beauty snorted and bobbed her head as Edson removed her bridle, saddle and blanket. He picked up the curry comb and brush supplied by Stony and went to work. Fifteen minutes of washing, brushing, and combing left Beauty shiny and clean. Edson forked several bundles of fresh cut hay into her trough and slapped her on the rear. In response, she shook herself and broke wind in his face.

  Edson waved his hat in the air, holding his nose. “Just for that, you’ll get your oats in the morning. I’ve no time to sit around and wait for you to stuff yourself.”

  Edson removed his rifle from the saddle scabbard and slipped it under his arm. He would leave it at the hotel. The last thing he wanted was a heavy rifle slowing him down. He had things to do, and places to go.

  Everything was in order as Edson walked out, carefully closed and latched the door, and set off toward the raucous noise emanating from saloons around the corner on Washington Street.

  Half way down the block, he tipped his hat to two well dressed ladies who openly gawked at him and whispered as they passed. He stopped at a women’s apparel store, his attention attracted by the reflected image in the window. What do they see in me?

  The face looking back was no longer that of the big nosed adolescent he had seen the first time his father handed him a trade mirror. The face was squared off and firm in its angles. His cheeks were high, eyelids barely epicanthic and squinted, as befit a man of the prairie. The silver clasp holding the wind strings of his hat together was his only concession to heritage. A simple silver circle with a cross in the center. The sign of the Cherokee world divided into its four segments. He caressed the object once, thought briefly of the day his grandfather had presented it to him, adjusted the pistol stuffed in his belt and turned away to look across the street.

  The small brick hotel he’d chosen advertised its business. A neatly printed sign on the second floor read: Lone Star Hotel, Maggie Hoolihan, Prop. A smaller sign in the first floor window offered, Breakfast, all you can eat, five cents. Edson walked across the sticky mud of the street, carefully wiped his boots on the boardwalk and entered the hotel. He ignored the stares of two richly dressed young ladies sitting at a circular sofa in the middle of the lobby. An old lady knitting beside them chastised the girls after he’d passed. He smiled to himself as he realized she was berating them for their stares. He found himself standing at the front desk.

  “May I help you, sir?” A prim looking woman in her forties smiled at him from behind the front desk. Her blue eyes sparkled a welcome and softened as he held her gaze. She blinked, looked down, and then flushed about the cheeks.

  “Yes, I need a room for the night. I hope your rates are not as high as that old coot’s down the street. He charged me a dollar, two bits just to board my horse. Lord, you’d think this town was something special.”

  “Well it is, young man,” the lady said, recovering her composure. She placed her hands on full hips, her narrow waist startling in contrast. “This is the hottest town in the west. And it will be until the railroads get farther out. There’s no other place for cattle or people to cross the Brazos in a hundred miles. We’re the focal point of all central and eastern Texas. Can’t you tell by the crazies running up and down the street, shooting off their guns and stampeding everything in their way?”

  “Now that you mention it, I did notice. It is a mite rambunctious. Does that mean I’ll have to sleep with my horse for want of the necessary funds?”

  “No, I think we can work something out.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “The name’s Maggie. What’s yours?”

  “Red Rabb,” he replied as he appraised the woman more closely. She was definitely not an average middle aged woman. Her bosom, hidden somewhat by the high collared bodice and long dress, was well defined. Her face was not exceptional, but attractive. Her complexion was clear and fair, lightly powdered to disguise the few freckles peeking through on her nose. The way she lowered her head, blue eyes looking up at him through a loose wisp of long auburn hair, was sensuous. It stirred him. She knew who she was and what she was doing. He liked that. No nonsense.

  “Fine, Mr. Rabb. That’ll be one dollar, payable in the morning after breakfast. Is that acceptable?”

  “Sounds good to me. Could you point me to my room and where I can find a bath?”

  “I surely will. We can have a bath with hot water brought in immediately.” Turning, she yelled to someone in the back room. “Eliaza, bring the tub and hot water up to—let’s see, room six. Do it now, Eliaza, not tomorrow.

  Here is your key, sir. The room is up the stairs to the left. You can’t miss it. Have a nice stay.” She brushed the hair out of her face, elegantly displaying her slender wrists and remarkably young looking hands.

  CHAPTER 19

  Maggie Hoolihan stared as Red Rabb walked up the stairs, his slim hips and powerful thighs clearly defined through threadbare cavalry pants
. A wrangler. She turned to see the young girls gawking and whispering.

  Rabb was handsome and very sexy. That nose, she thought, like Michelangelo’s, David. Eyes black as well water seemed to have read her thoughts. She felt a flush of excitement pulse through her body, tingle her most delicate parts. She smiled knowingly at the girls and their now flustered chaperone.

  The old lady harrumphed. “Hussies. Can’t you girls act like ladies just once in your lives? Staring after that nice young man like he was piece of prized pork. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

  Maggie nodded. “He is something, isn’t he?”

  The lady turned to her and sneered, nose in the air. “I’m sure you’ll waste no time finding out.”

  Maggie clenched her jaw and felt the heat spread across her face. There was no call for that. She’d been exceptionally nice to this family. Their stay had been a good one, but she had sensed disapproval from the old crone that she, a single woman, would have the audacity to be running a hotel. She slammed the register book closed.

  “Not a bad idea. It’s good to see you haven’t forgotten what it is that makes a man different from a woman. Too bad you’re too old to do anything about it.”

  “Oh, my!” The woman whirled about and grabbed at the two young ladies. “I don’t have to sit here and take insults from a trollop. Let’s go, girls. We can wait for your father at the restaurant. I’ll not stay here one minute longer.” The woman shooed the two giggling girls out the hotel door and stomped off down the boardwalk.

  Good riddance. “Eliaza, have you got that tub ready yet?”

  “Yes’m,” the maid answered from the kitchen. “The water’s heatin’ up now. I’ll be ready to take it up in just a few more minutes.”

  “Just take it to the door. I’ll handle the rest. When you’ve finished, come on out here and watch the desk.” That old lady was nasty, but right. Maggie Hoolihan decided then and there, Red Rabb would not escape without a fight.