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

that is what separates the good from the bad, the honorable from the dishonorable, or was it? What good would it do for the good to be dead? What good would it do for the world to allow men such as this to prowl about with impunity, taking every courtesy as an opportunity to take advantage?
    Grandmother Featherheart had told him a thousand times, to be good you must do good. And a man who does not practice goodness and charity to others does not deserve the love of the Lord. Grandfather Angus, of course, would nod at these sentiments and secretly tell Mobley that it was all right to be good to those who deserved it, but to keep close watch on those whose honor he had not seen for himself.
    Mobley had tried to learn, but always had trouble figuring whether one person was good and another bad, whether one man had honor and deserved respect, or needed to be eliminated from the human race. The problem was that people did not always follow precise patterns. Some were good most of the time, bad at another. Some were bad most of the time, good at another. How to deal with such folks? Wild Eye Sagan, his law teacher and mentor, had once said laughingly that you should just kill ‘em all and let God sort them out, but Mobley knew he could never bring himself to do such a thing, nor, he suspected, could have Judge Sagan, wild eye or not.
    Mobley’s knees felt as if they were made of tule reed, unsubstantial and liable to collapse at any moment, but another jolt of fear fired them into action. There was still danger, someone left who must be dealt with.
    Turning, like a wobbly spindle top, he wound his way back to the sparse cover of his boulder and snaked himself around as best he could so he could fire up at the cliff without in turn presenting too much of a target. Whoever had fired from there was still in position to shoot down on him. It might have been one of the Indians who had tried to flank him. Several shots had been fired and one of the Indians had been blown over the cliff. Maybe the other had decided to change sides after their leader shot the wounded man. The only other explanation was that someone had been up there all along. The smoke . He had thought he’d seen smoke at the top of the cliff just before he’d made it to his fort.
    Whatever the situation, Mobley could not assume the danger was over. Snatching up his rifle, he quickly reloaded it, and then his pistol. He looked out again to the man he’d killed in the duel. A big, brave, hairy man whose luck had run out. But he shook his head at his own stupidity. Why had he stood up? Why had he given the man a chance to kill him? It didn’t make sense, but like Angus had said many times, nothing ever did make sense in the heat of battle. His blood had been up, his brain on automatic. The man had challenged him. His rifle had been empty. In that brief instant of challenge he’d been unable to do anything else.
    He scanned the top of the cliff again, ready to continue the battle. Whoever was up there was a very good shot. The last man killed had been at least four hundred yards away. A Yellow Boy Winchester, such as the ones carried by his attackers, would not have carried that far with any kind of accuracy; more so even than Mobley‘s new 44-40 Winchester. No, the man above had used a large caliber rifle. That would account for the big noise, all the smoke. A Buffalo hunter?
    Mobley scanned the rim again. If he could cross to the other side of the canyon, he’d be less of a target.
    It was at least fifty yards, but there were boulders he could duck behind as he moved. If he got to them safely, he might make a run for it. His horse, Meteor, had pulled her rein from the brush where he’d picketed her and drifted near the far wall of the canyon. She was nuzzling a stand of cattails, carefully licking salt from the razor edged stems. She seemed oblivious to everything else.
    He took a deep breath. His mouth was dry and still tasted of metal and bitter smoke. He ducked