Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel (18 page)

Turning to Richard Coke, Mobley nodded. “Can I rely on you, Sir, to make sure my order is carried out, in my absence?”

Richard Coke puffed out his chest. “Judge Meadows, you have my solemn word as a Texan that these men will receive every last penny to which they are entitled.”

The crowd resumed its raucous behavior and this time did not stop. Mobley, Jack and Edson were hoisted on the shoulders of several buffalo hunters and spirited off for drinks at the Empire Buffalo, from where they emerged only after Richard Coke arrived to advise them of the train’s eminent departure. It was watering, chuffing and belching steam at the station.

CHAPTER 25

Mobley stepped onto the weathered wooden dock in front of the station, took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. He loved trains and loved riding on trains even more. Without consciously trying, he found himself plonking his boot heels down harder on the dock as he walked along, enjoying the hollow sound and trying to make it louder. Other noises, familiar only to a railway station, added to his pleasure.

Fellow travelers scurried about, lugging items of personal luggage, pushing to get in line and aboard lest they be left behind. Anxious mothers counted heads while fathers stood aloof in their best suits trying to maintain an appearance of dignity, as if they traveled by train every day.

The steaming locomotive drew Mobley like a bee to a flower. There was something about such machines that thrilled him.
Massive, compelling
. The engineering and technology required to create such wonders boggled his mind. Like a new rifle, he felt an urge to touch it, take it apart, move its levers and wheels, see what made it tick. Locomotives brought out the child in him.

This particular engine appeared well maintained. Newly painted slate black with red, white, and orange trim, it looked brand new. Mobley knew it was not. Newer machines did not sport the wildly rakish cowcatcher or the intricate ironwork of the smokestack.

The number
“9”
stood out in white on the front end of the boiler and below the cab. Ornate gold leaf letters on the side of the engineer’s cabin identified the machine as belonging to the
Houston and Texas Central Railroad.

Mobley watched, fascinated, as steam escaped in a regular rhythm from safety valves making a strangely hollow,
BONG,
each time it hissed out a puff of white. The smell of axle grease, oil, wood smoke and steam added to the sensation. It was caged power demanding release, singing and whining while its masters dawdled.

Two men in striped overalls fussed about in the cab preparing for departure. One of them smiled down at Mobley and nodded, knowingly. Mobley smiled back, touching his hat with a two-fingered wave.

Farther down the ramp, passengers formed an orderly line, handing their tickets to the conductor. Mobley glanced at Jack and saw him standing several feet back, nervously eyeing the engine. Edson grinned like a little boy about to pull his sister’s pigtails.

Jack turned. “How fast do these trains go? I’ve never been on one before.”

Edson sidled up to Jack and nudged him in the ribs with the point of his elbow. “You’ve never been on a train before? Why, Jack, you are about to have the time of your life. These things move up to twenty-five miles an hour. I’ve heard tell of some moving forty miles an hour. They say if you stick your head out the window, it’ll suck the breath right out’n your mouth.”

Jack stared down the length of the train and shifted his weight from foot to foot before turning back to Edson with a glare. “I know a better way to have my breath sucked than sticking my head out of a train window,
smarty pants.
I’ll bet you’ve never been on one yourself.”

Edson assumed a natural pose of nonchalance, his hands on his hips. “You’d lose that bet, Jack. All during the war we were moved around by train, horses and all. I’ve never sat in a real passenger car, but I’ve rode plenty of stable cars.”

Jack’s eyes lit up. “Well, maybe you’d be more comfortable riding back there with the
stink
.” He turned to Mobley. “Did you get all passenger seats or can we let Edson ride back with the animals?”

Mobley saw his opening in the game. “Well dang me, Edson. If I’d known you were partial to horse puckey and yellow water straw, I would’ve booked you a special place in the back and saved us all some money on the ticket. Jack, would you take this ticket back and see if we can still exchange it for Edson?”

“
No you don’t
. Give me that ticket.” Edson reached out and snatched the ticket from Mobley’s hand. “Dang, a man tries to be helpful, and look what he gets, rode hard and put up wet.”

Mobley laughed and turned toward the passenger car. They handed their tickets to the conductor, a short red headed man, who sneered at their clothes and backed away as if they stank. Mobley sniffed his jacket to make sure, gave the man a glare, and then stepped aboard. The passenger car was next to last in order from the steam belching engine. Ahead was a baggage car and a tender. Behind, an open slat stable car had taken on a variety of animals for the trip, including their own.

Stopping at the door, Mobley looked down the narrow passageway. It was an old immigrant car. A number of years before, Mobley had read Robert Louis Stevenson’s description of the immigrant car he’d taken to California on the Union Pacific. Stevenson had talked of it as essentially a long narrow box, like a flat roofed
Noah’s Ark
with a stove and convenience, one at either end, a passage down the middle and transverse benches on either hand. The benches were described as too short to comfortably accommodate any but a small child.

The man had been right. For a tall man, they were impossible. Mobley felt his anger rise. These cars should not be in regular passenger service. They were designed for poor immigrants and Chinese workers who would accept being crammed in like cattle and who knew better than to complain lest they be
black-listed
and lost their passage.

As Mobley led the way down the narrow aisle, he saw the car was approximately three quarters full. He selected two benches separated on each side by empty ones, so he could push the ones they were to sit on backwards a little and extend their leg room. In order to accomplish this, it would be necessary to detach the benches from the four bolts holding them to the floor. After placing his saddle bags and rain gear in a corner, Mobley handed his rifle to Jack and motioned for Edson to do the same.

“What’re you doing, Mobley?” Jack asked.

“It’s called
self help
. I’m gonna get us some more leg room. These benches will have us looking like a trio of splay-legged hound dogs squattin’ for a dump. I, for one, don’t intend to ride like that all the way to Austin. My legs would be so bent it’d take half a year to unkink ‘em.”

Edson looked nervously around. “I don’t think the conductor will like that very much.”

“Yeah,” Jack added. “We don’t need to start this trip off with a fight.”

“
Nonsense!
I have no intention of allowing this railroad to ruin my tailbone, cramp my knees, or otherwise fool with my health. We’re entitled to decent accommodation and we’re going to have it. Here, Edson, help me lift these two benches off’n their nails.”

Edson shrugged and bent to help. They reached under one of the benches and with a mighty grunt, managed to lift the wooden structure free of its attachments. They did the same to another facing it and moved the two benches two to three feet farther apart. Several of the other passengers began to murmur among themselves. Three other tall gentlemen got up to see what was happening. A pretty little girl, maybe five years old, giggled to her mother. “Look mommy, they’re breaking up the chairs.”

The child’s mother turned in her seat. Mobley looked up at that moment and stared. A shock tingled through his body as her flashing eyes locked with his own. He felt his mouth drop open. She smiled, held the gaze for a second longer than proper, and then turned away. She was not wildly beautiful, but had a creamy white complexion, rosy brown, almost auburn hair and eyes that seemed to glow, iridescent, shimmering first emerald, blue, and then turquoise.

Mobley looked nervously around. Had anyone noticed his reaction to the woman? Jack was examining the damage they had done to the bench. Edson had a thin smile, a smirk almost, on his face. He’d read the situation perfectly.
Dagnabit!

Embarrassed, Mobley stood up straight and coughed. “There, these seats look a bunch better now, huh?”

Edson nodded. “They sure do. Still a tad narrow, though. I wonder why they make them like that? Dang, you’d have to be a midget to get more’n half your butt to stay on ‘em.

The last train I was on, we rode in a similar car. It was up by Ft. Smith. The conductor rented extra boards for people to stretch across the seats and cushions for when they wanted to sleep. Two bitty little people could sleep that way, but not me. Maybe we could prevail on the conductor to rent us a few so we could widen things up.”

Jack nudged Mobley. “We won’t have long to wait. Here he comes, and he doesn’t look to be in a good mood.”

The red-headed conductor, a smallish man wearing a dark, black or navy blue uniform and an official looking pill box cap, was clearly not happy. He stomped down the aisle, fury rising in his eyes. Edson and Jack stiffened in preparation for the onslaught. They were not fast enough. The man whipped a short billy club from his belt and wailed into them with practiced jabs and backhands.

Edson took the first blow to his stomach, Jack the second to the side of his head. Mobley stumbled backward and caught himself on the bench, barely dodging a wicked blow aimed for the back side of his head. He managed to pull his pistol as a third vicious swing whistled past his ear. He spun around, tried to face his attacker, who was now a dervish of activity. A wild round-house right from Edson left the wiry man vulnerable to a kick from Jack who could do nothing else from the floor. Mobley seized the opportunity to strike before the man could regain his balance. He grasped his pistol butt-first and stunned the man to his knees. Jack grabbed the billy as Edson struggled to force the man flat in the aisle.

The conductor spluttered and snarled as he reached for a small pistol under his official conductor’s jacket. “Get off this train, you
hillbilly
scum
. Do you think you can just come here and start tearing my train apart? Damn you, I’ll have you all arrested and hung.”

Edson grabbed the man’s hand and twisted the gun away.

Mobley felt his lips curl, his jaw muscles flex. “So,” he said coldly, “you
admit
the miserable condition of this train is your responsibility?”

“Of course it’s my responsibility. I’m the
Conductor
, and by God, I’ll not have a flock of two-bit
hillbilly egg-suckers
straight out of
hell
breaking it all up.”

Mobley stood up straight, his head no more than an inch from the ceiling. He shoved his pistol back in his waist belt, and pulled down on his buckskin shirt. “You are under arrest, sir. Boys, tie this man up so’s he can’t hurt anybody else.”

“
What
? What the
hell?
” the conductor yelled as Jack joined Edson in holding him down. He continued to sputter and cuss as Jack removed the man’s belt and suspenders and used them to secure his arms behind his back. Finally, each taking one of his arms, the two marshals picked the man up and placed him squarely on one of the narrow benches.

The conductor promptly slid off onto the floor. He looked up, more angry than before and began to scream. “By God, who do you think you are? I’ll have you drawn and quartered when we get to Austin. You can’t take over my train like this.”

Jack grabbed a handful of the conductor’s red hair and pulled his head back. “What’s your name, mister?”

“It’s right there on my jacket, you illiterate ….” The man stopped in mid-sentence as Jack stabbed the end of the small billy club into his mouth.

“Do you want to eat this, mister, or do I shove it where the sun doesn’t shine?”

“
Urrarghh,”
the man gurgled.

“Mr. Cotton Armstrong,” Mobley said as he read the fancy embroidered name off of the man’s jacket. “You’ve run off at the mouth long enough. Now you’re going to answer for your dereliction of duty. Jack, take that billy out of Conductor Armstrong’s mouth and call the court to order.”

Jack stepped back from the conductor and slowly walked down the aisle glaring at the other passengers. “Ladies and gentlemen, this fine man here in the sweet smelling buckskin jacket is none other than Mobley F. Meadows, United States Circuit Court Judge for all of the Western District of Texas. He has decided a trial is in order to address the wrongs this conductor has inflicted upon you good citizens.

I am United States Deputy Marshal Jack Anthony Lopes. That fine looking man over there is Deputy Marshal Edson Rabb. I’m going to call the court to order and until the Judge declares court to be adjourned, you will all remain absolutely silent. If you do not, you will find yourselves
walking
to Austin. If anyone uses profanity during the trial, they will be held in contempt of court. You don’t want to know the penalty you will suffer for that breach.”

Mobley listened to Jack, looked down for a moment as he suppressed a smile. Jack learned fast. Before long he’d be running the whole show.
Hmmm
? The germ of an idea flashed through Mobley’s mind.

“
O’yez, O’yez, O’yez,”
Jack bellowed. “The Circuit Court of the United States of America for the Western District of Texas, the Honorable Judge Mobley F. Meadows presiding, is now in session. Everyone remain seated and come to order. Don’t move until you’re told otherwise.”

“But I’ve got to go potty,” the pretty little girl whimpered. “Aren’t these mean men going to let us use the potty?” Her mother tried desperately to shush her, placing her hand over the child’s mouth.