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

and bounded forward, leaping the last few yards to the first decent boulder twenty yards out. No firing. He looked up. Nothing.
    Another deep breath and he was off again. This time the rock was much smaller and he found himself spraddled flat on the ground, face almost in the shallow water of the creek. He would have lapped some up had it not reeked of decayed moss and algae where it flowed around the rock.
    One more quick scramble and he found himself panting against the far cliff a few feet from Meteor. She turned toward him, snorted cattail fluff from her nose, and returned to her careful attack on the rushes.
    Safe for the moment, Mobley reached for his canteen tied to the saddle horn. He took a long drink. From the saddle bag he pulled a piece of hard candy and popped it into his mouth. Now,—wait. Be ready to run or fight.
    * * *
    Juan’s horse wobbled in its tracks as he led it down the steps of the escarpment. Prairie grass was not particularly nutritious, and for an animal constantly on the run, it was completely inadequate. Juan dismounted well before he came upon the gringo , to give the horse a rest and appear friendly as he approached. The animal was no doubt grateful, but died anyway. Its front legs gave way first, its rump sagged sideways, and it fell over. A grunt, one last hard blow, and it became still.
    Juan felt sick as he looked at the dead horse and considered all it had meant to him. “You have served me well, caballo , but could you not have lasted a few minutes more? Good grass and water not a hundred feet away and you die? What will the gringo think of me, letting my horse die of starvation?”
    Juan slumped cross-legged on the rocky ground, stared at the animal and lovingly stroked its head. He’d not given it a name. His friend Ramon had laughed at him when he’d first suggested naming the horse, saying you don’t give a name to an animal you may have to eat. Still, it had served him well and even if he had been one inch from death, he would not have, could not have eaten it.
    He had stolen this horse five years before during a raid on Palo Verde, near Saltillo. The whining old patron from whom he had taken it had cried, screamed and threatened as Juan rode away. The next thing Juan knew, Mexican troops were harassing his band. No longer mere bandidos, they had somehow become revolutionarios. The troops swore they would capture or kill them all. But this caballo was so fast it could outrun the best of the animals ridden by the soldiers. It had saved Juan’s life many times.
    Swearing softly, Juan crossed himself and rose awkwardly, his malnourished legs cramping in protest. He turned, narrowed and shaded his eyes to examine the man now emerging from the canyon. Juan clenched his teeth and uttered a barely audible warning. “Gringo, you’d better not get between me and that black stallion.”
    * * *
    Mobley stepped carefully from his position against the cliff wall, keeping his eye on the stranger while trying not to look obvious. He reached for Meteor’s rein, missed his first attempt and felt foolish waving his hand blindly about until he had the leather of it in his hand.
    The man did not appear threatening, but still, one never knew. Of medium height and skinny as a rail, the man held a long rifle in the crook of his arm as he looked down on his fallen horse. His face was dark, with emotion rather than race, Mobley judged, with lips a thin line under a mean looking mustache. He was obviously in distress, perhaps angry, but more likely because of the death of his horse. He made no threatening moves.
    Mobley straightened his back, adjusted his pistols in the wide double wrapped cloth belt at his waist, and nodded almost imperceptibly, acknowledging mutual eye contact. In a gesture of peace, he turned and shoved his rifle back into its saddle scabbard. The man visibly relaxed, but kept his legs apart, balanced for action.
    Mobley knew he was taking a chance, for he had yet to know the man