Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel Read Online Free Page B

to turn into anger. He could feel the change come, a slow building growl that issued from deep in his throat, just as it did when someone was openly contemptuous in his court, or who had chosen unwisely to taunt him for his great height. These swine had run him long enough. It was time for a Tennessee turn about, a little whittlin’ an’ whuppin’ of his own.
    Gradually slowing his horse, Mobley allowed the two lead riders to close on him. When they came within two hundred yards, he reined Meteor to a quick sliding stop and dismounted. The animal was blowing hard, but was well disciplined in this particular maneuver. Hooves spread wide, she stood stock still as he yanked his Winchester from the rear mounted saddle scabbard and laid it across the yellow rain gear rolled and tied above the saddle bags.
    He whispered softly as he snugged the rifle to his cheek. “Come on boys, you’ve a date with the Devil and he’s a knockin’ at the door.”
    The first round shattered the quiet of the valley as it sped on its way; the empty cartridge careening through the air as Mobley automatically chambered and carefully fired another. A flock of blackbirds rose from the river rushes in a wild flush as the shots echoed from cliff to cliff. Burned black powder smoke, acrid and strangely sweet, wafted into his nose. He knew he had not missed.
    Thank you, Angus . One rider lay dead in the grass, his legs twitching. The other’s boot had caught in a stirrup. His horse was now bouncing his mortally wounded body across the prairie as it chased the rider-less horse of his partner. Both men likely died thinking they were safe, a hundred yards away on fast moving horses.
    Two down, thirteen to go. Time to move . Back into the saddle, legs sweeping a wide arc, Mobley kept his rifle in hand and turned directly for the cliff face. The horse’s tension and desire to run vibrated through Mobley’s legs, but he held her to a gentle lope. If he could whittle the odds further, he might be able to try another run. Meteor must be allowed to work off some of her heat or she would tire too quickly when the time came. Looking back, Mobley could see the remaining riders, barely visible by their dust on the horizon, and judged they would not attempt to get close just yet. They knew as well as he that he could not run forever. If they could stay within reasonable range and keep some of their horses fresh, he must eventually face them and shoot it out.
    Arriving at the cliff face, Mobley saw with relief a trickle of crystal clear water running out of the draw. It was headed generally south toward the river, but he could not see where it made its entry into that larger body.
    He scanned the small canyon opening, looking for a place to make his fort, distracted for an instant by what he thought a wisp of smoke coming from the top. He studied the cliff for a moment, but saw nothing.
    Looking farther down the cliff face, he spotted a small recess at the base of the wall, boulders protecting it on three sides. The recess itself, some six feet in width, sloped generally upwards back into the draw. No problem with ricochets. But, if they decided to climb the cliff, he’d be in trouble from the far side.
    Mobley turned into the opening, dodged low salty smelling rushes and green moss covered rocks, leaped to the ground and secured the Appaloosa to a clump of brush behind a large boulder. He snatched his spare ammunition from the saddlebag, and then scrambled over the jumble of huge rocks to stand in front of the small recess.
    Satisfied he had chosen the best possible site for the coming battle, Mobley settled into the cover. He jerked his matched .45 caliber Colt’s pistols from the wide triple wrapped red cummerbund around his waist, checked to make sure the cartridges were flush with the cylinder and would not hang up, then returned them to his sash belt. He thumbed two more shells into the rifle and mentally calculated the shots he would have. Fifteen