Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel by Gerald Lane Summers Read Free Book Online

settled his sight on the man farthest to his right and fired. The man fell hard from his horse, tried to get up, lay still. Juan fired again, another down. The rest fell to the fire of the gringo, all but two; the leader riding the black stallion and one other whose horse had fallen in front of the gringo .
    The leader turned and galloped away, whipping the stallion, zig-zagging in an effort to get out of range. The other, a big hairy chested half-breed with two pistols stuffed in his belt, picked himself up. He glared at the gringo thirty feet away.
    Juan quickly reloaded and drew a bead on the man’s chest, but held his fire. What would the gringo do? If smart, he would kill the foolish man without mercy.
    The gringo stood slowly erect, leaned his rifle against the boulder protecting his fort, and then stepped forward. He was very tall, over six foot four, maybe even seven feet, big and broad shouldered. The man was certainly two full heads taller than his opponent. The two men stared at each other for several seconds. Then, in a flash, the half breed pulled both of his pistols. One would have been faster, and he should not have had them tucked so securely in his belt. Estupido! But, even then, the man was very fast and Juan assumed for a brief instant that he would win. But the gringo had turned sideways to present a narrow target and dropped smoothly into a crouch, his movements without hitch. His big hands and impossibly long arms were a blur of flame and smoke.
    BOOMBOOMBOOM .
    Madre de Dios .
    Juan was stunned. The gringo’s reflexes were incredible, his draw lightning fast. The fastest Juan had ever seen from a man so large. Before the hairy rider had cleared his pistols from his belt, he was dead, three closely grouped bullet holes in his chest.
    Juan stepped back from the edge of the cliff and released his breath in a rush. He looked out to see that the leader of the now dead Comancheros had ridden out of the gringo’s range. He could have continued riding away, but stopped and began yelling, waving his fist in the air. A foolish move.
    “Well, gringo , he may be out of your range, but he’s not out of mine.”
    Juan adjusted the folding-ladder sight on his long barreled Sharps, estimated distance at four hundred yards and reminded himself to fire low to compensate for the downward trajectory. He dropped to one knee, braced his elbow on the other, took careful aim and squeezed.
    The shot echoed across the canyon, bounced off the far valley wall and came back to him several times. His ears rang. It always seemed louder when a shot was deliberate, not in the heat of battle. He lowered the rifle and waved away the smoke. He knew the shot was true, but the rider had not responded to the impact. He stepped off the stallion, stood for a few seconds looking down at his chest, then sagged to the ground like a pair of pants with no one in them.
    Juan did not cross himself. He clenched his teeth and swore. The man deserved to die. Now, for the stallion. It was frightened, running in circles around its dead rider. Juan would have to get down quickly before it ran off to the river, but he’d better be careful. No telling how the gringo would react.
    Juan was afraid of no man, but was possessed of very good sense. The man below was honorable, brave, and exceedingly dangerous. Juan would not enjoy killing him, but he would have that horse at all cost.

CHAPTER 3
    The dead pistolero’s pupils had disappeared far into his forehead, the whites now praying to the bright blue sky. Mobley stood over him, legs wide and stiff. He would have collapsed to the ground himself, his knees were shaking so, but his mind was on another plane. Replaying the duel, wondering if it had actually happened, knowing that it had, but finding it difficult to believe and wondering why he had been so stupid as to stand up and allow the man any kind of chance.
    Certainly, had it been up to the dead man, he would have been shot down without mercy. But