The others all nodded.
“Go ahead,” Edson said, his excitement matched only by the feeling that he’d missed something important by leaving the Miner farm so early. “This sounds interesting.”
“Well, like Rufus said, we was working for Oliver, backing him up as he served eviction notices on people who’d not paid their proper taxes. We done it to two other families over east of here, and there’d been no trouble. But when we come up to the Miner’s place, their boys, all armed to the teeth with rifles just like ours, got the drop on us. They was led by this Marshal Lopes and answered to Judge Meadows. Now there is one dangerous man, Judge Mobley F. Meadows. He had old Oliver about to chip in his drawers.”
Huntoon slobbered out a laugh. The rest of the men nodded their agreement, chuckling now.
“Anyways, Judge Meadows shows Oliver a thing or two about the law. Says the papers were no good. In the end, Oliver ends up with a hole in his ear and a fat lip. We had to lift him into his buggy. It weren’t until we got all the way back to the bridge before he come to. All of a sudden-like, he’s madder’n a panther in a hog waller and decides we didn’t earn our money. We’d a shot Oliver right there if’n we’d had our guns.
Hell, I didn’t even know we was in Meadows’ court when we rode up. But we was, and it cost us our new rifles and all the pistols we had. It cost Oliver two hundred dollars in court costs and fines, and I think that’s why he figured to cheat us out of our pay, to make up for his own losses.”
“I tell you what,” Rufus said. “If you ever see that Judge Mobley Meadows coming, you’d better put your weapons away, because his court is wherever he says it is, and he don’t like people waving guns around at him. By God, you should have seen his face when he shot Oliver’s ear off.”
“Shot his ear off? The judge shot Oliver’s ear off? What on earth for?”
“Because he don’t like to be called Moby, or Toby, near as I could figure. Oliver called him somethin’ like that, makin’ sport of his name don’cha know; and quicker’n you could sneeze a squirt in your shorts, he had Oliver’s ear holed and bleedin’ like a toad on a sharp stick. Fastest draw I’ve ever seen. As a matter of fact, it was so fast all I saw was the smoke and him puttin’ the gun back in on the table.”
Edson sat back and let out a long, slow breath. He knew Mobley was good with a rifle, but he’d had no idea he was fast with a pistol as well. The man just did not look like he would be so quick.
“Dang, I believe I’ll give that man the widest part of the road if’n I ever see him.”
“Oh, you’ll likely see him. Oliver figures Meadows is on his way to Austin. He has to come here to catch the train. Everyone around these parts is waitin’ to take a look at him. The whole town is excited about the rulin’ he made on the reappraisal laws, and they say he’s close to seven foot tall.
Oliver now, he’s planning revenge, I think. First thing he did after he got back into town was go for the telegraph office. Probably sendin’ for that Ferdie fella in Austin. That man’s about as shifty as any man could be. Right dangerous too, if the stories about him are all true.”
Edson leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What stories are those?”
Rufus reached for the bottle, which was now splashing below the label, held it up to the dim light of one of the smoking lanterns, then poured most of the remaining liquid into his glass. “We’re out of whiskey.”
Edson turned to see the bartender staring at the stamped metal ceiling, eyes like worn holes in the bottom of a boot. Several customers were grumbling for service, but the man ignored them. Edson excused himself, pushed back and walked to the bar. He reached across to wave his hand in front of the bartender’s eyes. No response.
Edson lifted the end of the bar on its hinges and stepped around the man. He selected a bottle of Hopi Blue, dropped two dollars on the bar and returned to his chair. Several other men did the same. Soon, there was a rush to the bar, bottles flying around freely with few of the men bothering with payment.
Rufus laughed at the spectacle, and then resumed his story. “Ferdie’s supposed to be some kind of knife fighter. Likes to cut people up, they say. Carries a big Arkansas toothpick with a curved bone handle in his belt. Rarely ever uses a firearm, but some say he keeps a belly pistol.”
Rufus’s voice turned cold. “One of the blacks who came down from Austin with Ferdie said he gutted a whore once from crotch to breast bone, just for the fun of it.”
Edson felt his jaws tighten, his blood pound in his ears. The crawling sensation increased. He was stunned, angry beyond description. The thought of someone killing a woman like that was almost too much for him. To have done it for fun, was more than he could comprehend. The man must be totally insane. But he would pay, Edson vowed silently. If it was true and if they ever crossed paths, Edson would avenge this unknown whore. No true Cherokee could do less.
“Do you know who Ferdie works for? I mean, what was he doing down here helping Oliver?”
“Durned if we know. He just come and rounded us up, sayin’ as how he was a government man. But I don’t hardly believe it no more. Not even that Austin bunch would hire someone as skunk bad as that.”
* * *
It was midnight when Edson finally broke away from the Star Variety. Rufus and Smokey Mills were still conscious, but Filo and Huntoon lay face down on the table. Edson was more than a little light-headed. His path out the door was marked by several serious stumbles as he stepped over dead drunk hunters, misjudged, and fought to make his feet work correctly.
He finally staggered into room six at the Lone Star Hotel, to find Maggie waiting for him, a smile on her face. She wore nothing else.
CHAPTER 21
Yancy Potts burst into Governor Davis’s office, his hand waving a telegram. “You’re not going to believe this, Governor.”
Davis stood staring dreamily out the side window. A thunderstorm moved across the northern section of Austin, lightning spearing the ground all about. He did not move.
“Governor?”
Davis flinched, surprised and suddenly angry at the interruption. He turned. “Damn, Yancy. I’ve told you not to come in here unannounced. Don’t do it again.” Davis walked back to his desk and sat down hard. “Now, what’s so all fired important.”
Yancy hung his head slightly, a light sheen of sweat on his bald head betraying the urgency with which he had come. “Sorry, sir. I got carried away, but you’re just not going to believe what has happened. That new federal judge has overturned your reappraisal decrees. He ruled them unconstitutional.”
“He what? How could he do that? He doesn’t even have a courthouse, how could he have a trial and us not even know about it? Damn it all, Yancy, what’s going on here?”
Yancy moved quickly to the chair in front of the governor’s desk and sat down. He’d hardly had an opportunity to investigate Judge Meadows and knew practically nothing of his marshals. But he took a deep breath and started.
“There just hasn’t been time enough for me to do a thorough investigation, Governor. But from what Judge Oliver has reported, he and his men were trying to evict some farmer named Miner from his land and Judge Meadows was there. He held an appeal hearing right then and there, on the porch. It was supposed to be an appeal on the legality of the reappraisal decrees. Anyway, he overturned them and roughed Oliver up pretty badly in the process. He fined him two hundred dollars for contempt and disarmed all of his men. If they are to continue your program, we’ll have to send him some more money and get more weapons.”
Davis leaned forward, crossing his arms on the desk. “Miner? Wiley Miner? The rebel over by Waco?”
“Yes sir. He’s the one.”
Davis banged his fist on the desk. “That miserable sonofabitch. The traitorous bastard has been stirring up trouble among the cotton farmers ever since the war. I’d have had had him hung for treason if he hadn’t had so many supporters among the growers there in Waco. Now he’s got a federal judge on his side? W
hat the hell is going on, Yancy? How could the President do this to me?”
Yancy shook his head. “I don’t know, Governor. There just hasn’t been time to put it all together. I received a preliminary reply from our people in Washington this morning about Meadows. He’s the grandson of Angus Meadows, who owns the Meadows Line Shipping Company. That’s apparently how he got his appointment, through family influence. I understand his grandfather was a colonel on Grant’s staff during the war and still has considerable clout. I suspect he’s been a big financial backer for the President, but I have no evidence of that.
At any rate, Judge Meadows was highly thought of in Tennessee as a backwoods circuit rider. A bit of a buffoon, some say, but when he came up for approval in the Senate for this federal judgeship, he had no problem with confirmation. He was well qualified, I’m told, and he considers himself a man of the people.”
Davis snorted. “A man of the people? That’s a joke. A rich man’s son?”
“Well, it’s been said he left Harvard Law School after only two years because he couldn’t deal with the snobs there. He studied later with a man named Wild Eye Sagen who was a legend in the Tennessee hills. During the war Meadows served on board one of his grandfather’s ships. I think it would wise not to underestimate him. If he survived as a sailor, he must be pretty tough.”
Governor Davis turned in his chair to stare back out through the window, thinking. “Nonsense, Yancy. A sailor? He probably did that to avoid real service in the army.”
A loud crack of thunder reverberated through the window. Yancy flinched, glanced out over Davis’s shoulder. Another storm was bearing down on the city. He shrugged. “Well, maybe. But what are we going to do? If he keeps on as he has, he’ll destroy everything we’ve accomplished. His ruling on the reappraisal laws is a disaster. It’ll cost our supporters millions. Just think about all of the property they’ve picked up across the state. If they have to give it back—?”
Davis rose from his chair, paced back and forth, head down, jaw clamped tight. Yancy was right. The ruling would shake his administration to the core. Something had to be done. He stopped in front of his liquor cabinet, gave in and poured himself a stiff shot. He waved to Yancy to help himself, then continued to pace.
Yancy stared as the Governor moved forward, swiveled and turned as if on parade ground drill. Yancy shook his head. The man seemed to be losing control. He’d been drinking more than usual, was distant and hesitant about everything. Was this the time to move on? If the Governor lost his ability to make the hard decisions, everything could come apart.
Several minutes later, Davis stopped abruptly and looked up. The answer had come to him. One court ruling is as good as another. “Yancy, I want you to prepare an order for Judge Hook’s signature. I want it to rescind Judge Meadows’ decision on the reappraisal laws and specifically find they are legal and proper.”
Yancy looked at Davis, his mind racing. Yancy was not a lawyer, but understood the position Judge Hooks was in relative to Judge Meadows. Moreover, he would be making a ruling without an actual case before him. It would never stand up.
“But, Governor, Judge Hooks has no authority over Judge Meadows. They’re both U.S. Circuit Judges. He can’t overrule Meadow’s decision, only the Supreme Court can do that. Besides, Hooks has no authority to act without a specific case before him.”
Another thunderclap resounded, closer. Davis smiled. “So what? It will at least give us some respite. It’ll be a contrary decision in the same circuit. They will nullify each other until the Supreme Court acts, which could be months, even years. In the meantime, our supporters won’t be put off the lands they’ve taken and we’ll have time to deal with this buffoon, Meadows.”
Yancy began to smile. It might just work. No, it would work, for sure. “But, Judge Meadows will be madder than a wet cat and might try to find out more about Hooks. It could lead him to us.”
“I don’t think so.” Davis set his glass down on the bar and walked back to the window to watch the lightning display. “What we need is to discredit this Meadows fellow, maybe even get him suspended for misconduct. You said he roughed up Judge Oliver?”
“Yes. He shot a piece of Oliver’s ear off.”
Davis’s mouth dropped open, and then curled into a smile. “Perfect. Just perfect. That’ll look real good in the papers.
All right, Yancy, take care of it will you? We need a campaign to destroy this man, get him off our backs. When he gets to Austin he’ll think a ton of buffalo splat has fallen on him. Keep looking into his background. Once the initial attacks are over, we’ll need more if he doesn’t come around. Have you found out anything about his marshals?”
“No sir. It’s very strange. No one knows anything about them. It’s like they just popped out of thin air.”
“Well, keep at it. Something will show up. It always does.”
Yancy nodded and made his way toward the door. He felt strangely mellow. They were in a battle, a battle for which he’d prepared all his life. It would be fought on his turf, in his way. Even better, he would no longer have to worry about switching sides. If they could destroy Mobley Meadows politically and Richard Coke by association, they would have a better than average chance of winning the election. The public loved a good hero, but show him to be corrupt, or not what they thought him to be, they would vote for the opponent every time. Just for spite.
There was one last thing. Yancy turned and looked back at Governor Davis. “Have you heard from Ferdie Lance?”
Davis looked at Yancy for a moment and remembered his last experience with Ferdie. “I have no idea what he’s up to, but he doesn’t like this Judge Meadows. When he heard about the northern assault force being killed, I thought he would foam at the mouth. You know, of course, Ferdie is completely insane?”
Yancy nodded. “He certainly scares the hell out of me.”
“Me, too. Anyway, I think he’s out there somewhere plotting how to do Meadows in. If we’re lucky, we won’t have to worry about the good judge much longer.”
CHAPTER 22
Dark shaggy clouds hung low and drippy over Waco. The day had started gloomy, wet and cold. Mobley’s mood was almost as bad. Although he had slept clean and comfortable for the first time in weeks, he’d had mindlessly bad dreams, his thoughts whirling like a bucket of baitfish with the chum cutters grabbing at them.
First, there had been the one where President Grant dressed him down. Like a private who’d lost his rifle. But there had been no point or subject to it, just the yelling and stamping of feet. Then another where his mother, who’s face he’d still been unable to make out, clucked her tongue, tsk tsk tssssk, and waggled her finger in his face, over and over. “If you’re going to do something, Mobley Meadows, do it right!”
Then, there had been Lovey Miner’s chuckle and mention of the fact that his jacket did smell like mildew. Of course, she had just been having fun with him, with no serious meaning behind it, because his jacket had in-fact been a tad ripe, but still … he’d shot off a piece of Judge Oliver’s ear for less. Of course, he’d never have done the same to Lovey, but the whole thing had him to thinking. And that, as he had long known, tended to put him down in the black hole.
His mucky mood may have rubbed off on Jack, for he had been unusually quiet and introspective, not his usual alert self. But Mobley had appreciated being left alone. The Miner family had given them a fine send off, but during the long ride into town Mobley kept after himself, going over everything. He’d hoped to come into Texas quietly, do what he had to do, and get on with the business of his circuit. He had not intended to jump into the middle of an election year ruckus, or become the focus of Governor Davis’s wrath. The question now was—what would Davis do about it?
After hours of recrimination, he shook himself. Stop it. His only consolation, it seemed, was that he’d always done the same thing. Angus once told him a man who does not reflect upon his actions is a man doomed to repeat his errors, but to worry over spilt m
ilk was counter-productive. Somehow, clichés did not help. He should not have shot a hole in Oliver’s ear. Danged fool temper. It had been getting him into trouble since he was a boy. One day, he figured, he would do something stupid in the heat of the moment and it would get him killed.
As they’d approached Waco, Jack’s level of concern and alertness increased. One minute he’d been quiet, the next he saw danger behind every bush. Mobley had come to admire Jack and respect his views, but Jack still seemed overly cautious. The whole thing now seemed foolish. Sneaking into town like a couple of coyotes stalking a house cat. Mobley was not used to so much worry. He’d always felt confident enough in his abilities and instincts that he had not concerned himself of safety. Nevertheless, he’d taken his friend’s advice.
His mood began to lighten as he bent his head down to sniff his clean jacket. Lovey had scrubbed it clean and rubbed some kind of fat and flower-oil mixture all over to make it as soft as new and smelling of Bluebonnets on the prairie.
A bee buzzed about his head, and he ducked. The clean smell drew the honey makers, but not flies. It was some gain, he thought. But, not if one decides to bite.
They crossed the toll bridge without difficulty, the collector apparently taking a long breakfast. They continued on into town, which seemed peaceful at that moment, none of the stampeding cowboys Edson had reported being in evidence.
Jack drew up, looking to both sides of Washington Street. He waved off to the left. “My guess is that Edson boarded his horse there in the livery and booked himself into that hotel across the street.”
Mobley scanned the street, quiet now in the early of the morning, and agreed with Jack’s assessment. “Let’s go see if you’re right.”
* * *
Jack laughed at Edson’s condition as they found and dragged him out of the clutches of Maggie Hoolihan. Mobley was not amused. He’d frolicked with a few women in his life, but somehow the ease with which Edson had managed to get himself tied up in such a short time in town, aggravated him. The moment of hilarity and aggravation passed quickly, though, when the puffy-eyed young man told of his meeting with Oliver’s disgruntled policemen, and about the cold-hearted killer named Ferdie. What had that man’s role been in all this?
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