Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel (21 page)

“
Edson,
Wake up! Dad-blast
it, are you going to stare out that window all day?”

Edson shook himself free. He would try again later. It had been months since he’d tried to communicate with Bowl, and he knew the more time that had gone by, the longer it would take to regain the spirit. Bowl had warned him. Stay away too long, the spirit would move on, seeking another plateau. Spirits needed company, to talk to their loved ones, to be of help. Without these things, they withered.

Somehow, living in the white man’s world had affected Edson. He’d fallen into bad habits and thoughts. He must pay more attention to his duties. His destiny would not just happen. He would have to work for it. If he was to fulfill prophesy, he must use all of his talents, concentrate all of his efforts toward that goal. Bowl had said it:
Destiny waits for no man.

CHAPTER 30

Fresh cool air whispered through the hotel room window and caressed Mobley’s brow. He inhaled deeply. A storm was coming. He could smell the rain but could not see the mists he knew must be forming over the Colorado River as it wound its way down the hills to pass through Austin.

Sweat still poured off his body, but his fluids had been replenished. The delirium was gone, though he knew it would return. His head still hurt. His side burned. The fever had subsided since Lydia had forced him to consume liquids, but he had not urinated in two days. Various potions of her own concoction had reduced the pain in his joints, but the infection was worse and spreading. He could smell it.

Doctor Montgomery had been adamant. Without
proper
treatment at the hospital, he would be dead in two weeks.

Mobley had resigned himself to his fate, whatever it happened to be. If he must die, he wanted to be with his friends, not cooped up in an evil smelling hospital. Jack hovered near while Edson remained on the small verandah, chanting softly. Lydia was exhausted, asleep in another bedroom.

Mobley cleared his throat. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes and soaking his pillow. “Who were those bastards? Why did they attack the train?” His voice was still weak from his earlier dehydration.

Jack nodded. He’d wondered when Mobley would ask. He, too, cleared his throat, his mind flashing for the moment on the wounded young bandit he’d caught and
convinced
to talk. He probably should not have killed the man, but his rage had been such he’d been unable to stop himself.
The little cabron. He’d had a lot of nerve begging for mercy after what they’d done to the people on the train.

Jack pulled his chair up close to the bed and wiped Mobley’s forehead with a fresh wet towel. With his voice low so as not to disturb the others, he told Mobley what he had learned. “As best we can figure, there were twenty men in on the attack. They were part of an outlaw gang run by a man named
Kinch West
. We found twelve dead or wounded men scattered around the area. Five passengers—two women and three men—were killed. Five others, including you, were wounded. I captured several members of the gang who’d been shot off their horses. They all confessed—before they died. They’d been hired by a skinny, ferret-faced man carrying a big knife. Kinch West managed to get away, and he was the only one who knew who the man was; but I figure it was the Ferdie Lance fellow. They were all paid in gold, same as before.”

Jack paused as Mobley grimaced in pain. Mobley’s eyes and puffy lids were tinged yellow
. A bad sign
. Jack picked up the small pitcher of water on the nightstand and poured a glass for his friend. “Kinch West and a man named
Pokey Eye
Porter were the leaders. Only two others have been identified. One, a man named
Snag Weris,
has been wanted for train robbery and murder. Another, Snag’s partner, goes by the name
Screech
. The nicknames are appropriate. Porter’s father supposedly beat him with a four by four when he was a boy and damaged his left eye. It’s now bigger than the other and lags behind most of the time. He wears an eye patch when he’s in town. Snag has deformed front teeth. Screech has three deep scars on his forehead supposedly put there by a pissed-off barn owl.”

Mobley tried to sit up. Jack adjusted the pillow behind his back.

“Jack, we’ve got to catch this danged Ferdie Lance. He’s the key. I want you two to stop hovering over me and go find him. If I’m to die, I’d like the satisfaction of knowing he won’t get away with it.”

Jack nodded and looked out to Edson who was untangling his legs from the position he had been in for so long. He was bare-chested. Red circles and symbols adorned his forehead and upper body. A strange far-away look in his eye suggested he had not completely shaken off the trance or returned from wherever his mind had taken him.

“Edson? Are you all right?”

Edson looked down at them as he walked back into the room. “I know what to do.” His voice was deep, almost hollow sounding. “My grandfather spoke to me. I know how to cure this infection.”

Mobley’s raised his eyebrows. Jack was skeptical.

“Where’s Lydia? My grandfather says she will know I’m right. He has been talking to her. She has the gift too, you know.”

Jack felt his mouth drop open. “Come on, Edson. Your grandfather has been dead for years. How—?

“I’m sorry, Jack. I can’t explain it, but it’s true. That old man could do things, talk to spirits, move through time. I remember a little of what he did when I was a boy, but most of it is still considered sacred, not to be spoken of. Anyway, I remember he’d found a way to stop infections from spreading, but I couldn’t remember what it was. Now, I know. So does Lydia.”

“Edson, go get them.”

Jack turned. Lydia was standing in the doorway, her hair a muss. She’d just gotten out of bed and had not bothered to straighten up. Her eyes were glazed just like Edson’s. She walked into the room, stopped in front of Edson and stared at him. Their gazes seemed locked in some special understanding. She touched him on the cheek.

“Go get what?” Jack looked back and forth between Edson and Lydia.

Lydia did not answer. She simply stared at Edson. “Thank you, Edson. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. There were reports of this in the medical literature after the war, but no one took it seriously. It offended the eastern medical establishment, stuffed-shirt doctors who would rather resist change than believe their eyes. It was never tried again.”

“What?”
Jack demanded. “What are you two talking about? Go get what?”

“Flies, Jack,” Edson said. “Flies make maggots. Maggots eat dead flesh. It’s the dead flesh that causes the problem. Isn’t that right, Lydia?”

“That’s right. When we keep an infected wound covered up, the flies can’t get in. If they do get in, maggots will grow, eat the dead flesh and help slow the infection. They sometimes even destroy it completely. During the war, doctors noticed that patients who had lain exposed on the field without treatment or bandages recovered from infections more quickly than others. The difference was that maggots had grown in the wounds before they were taken to hospital.”

Mobley struggled to sit up. “You two are nuts, if you think I’m gonna let you put maggots on me. Dang, where’d you ever get such an idea?”

Lydia put her hands on her hips. Her eyes flashed. “When we are in court, Judge Mobley Meadows, you can tell me what to do. Here in my hotel room, under my care, you will do as I say. Now
, be quiet
.”

Mobley stared at Lydia. Her voice was hard, her eyes dark. Deep, but no sparkle. His certainty disappeared. She was serious. He closed his eyes and winced at the pain.

Lydia turned away from Mobley. She hugged Edson. “Thank you, Edson. Your grandfather was a wonderful man.”

Mobley felt the pang of jealousy again, but let it go. Edson was true blue, honest and forthright.
Could they be onto something with this maggot thing?
Edson would not have mentioned it, and certainly Lydia would not have agreed to it if it had no basis in fact. Even now he could feel himself weakening from the flow of poison pounding through his veins. Something had to be done, or he would soon be past healing. He relaxed back on the pillow, allowing his tension to flow away.
Don’t fight it.

* * *

“You know, after you get used to looking at them, they’re not so bad.” Jack adjusted a small hand mirror, turning it from side to side, and reflecting light so Lydia could examine Mobley’s wound. It was fascinating to watch the little maggots writhe and squirm. The yellow tinge around Mobley’s eyes seemed better, but he was asleep or unconscious, groaning. There was no telling how long he would stay in this condition. If he did survive, it could be several weeks before he would be up and around.

Lydia carefully scrutinized the wound, looking for telltale streaks of blood poisoning. Her biggest concern was how long to leave the maggots in place. Edson had suggested they be permitted to stay as long as they chose, or until they hatched into flies, but that didn’t seem right to her. At some point she must remove them and begin to treat the wound with sterile fluids and bandages. If she did not, the wound might never heal. As she pondered the problem, she realized her only basis for the decision would be the relative pinkness of the wound, which would tell her when all of the dead tissue was gone. It was a simple judgment call.
Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.

She looked up at Jack and found herself amused at the curious look on his face as he watched the maggots. She was now certain Mobley would live. His color was better and he had begun to pass water. This could mean only one thing. His liver and kidneys were recovering from the massive amount of poison flowing through his system.
Hurry up and heal, Mobley Meadows. I need you.

* * *

“We have to go about this systematically, Edson. Trying to find a slippery skunk like Ferdie Lance in a city as big as Austin will take time. The first thing we need to do is make ourselves look like marshals. Mobley wanted us to get new clothes when we got here, and I think he was right. If we’re to go snooping around, asking a lot of questions, we’ve got to look the part. People will know us by name and reputation, but if we look like criminals ourselves, we’ll get nowhere.”

Edson nodded. He looked down at his clothes. He’d had the pants since the end of the war. They’d been patched numerous times and were dangerously thin about the seat. His boots had split down the back seam and he’d had them repaired several times. The buckskin shirt had been made for him by a Waco Indian woman more than two years before. It was time to move up in the world, to improve his image.

Jack turned to Lydia, who was still at Mobley’s side. It was incredible, he thought, how she’d taken over. She’d fallen for Mobley completely. He’d never seen anything like it. The love in her eyes when she looked at Mobley was matched only by her determination to make him well. Whatever had happened between them during the attack on the train must have been like something out of a fairy tale.

“Lydia. We have to go out. To find the man responsible for the train attack. He’s probably right here in Austin. I want you to make sure the door is bolted at all times. Keep Mobley’s gun close at hand. It’s possible, but not likely, the man will try to get at him here.

We intend to put the word out that the man is wanted, so he’ll probably hide out. That’s what most outlaws would do anyway, but there’s no guarantee with this one. He may think himself safe because of his connections with the government and just keep on doing what he’s been doing. If so, it shouldn’t take us long to grab him. If he hides, it could take weeks.”

Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “
Government connections
? What do you mean? The man responsible for that horrible attack works for the government? How can that be?”

“We aren’t sure. It looks like he works for the State Reappraisal Commission. We know for certain he’s responsible for the attack on the train. Mobley was the specific target. Whoever he works for wants Mobley dead, and will stop at nothing to see it done. We have to get to the man first, and we can’t do it sitting around on our bums.”

CHAPTER 31

“So, what the
hell
are we going to do?” Governor Davis paced back and forth across his office. “The man’s been mortally wounded, but he’s still being treated like a hero by most of the newspapers. Shouldn’t we be on the offensive? I mean, if he lives, he can still cause us a lot of trouble.”

Yancy stood obediently before the governor’s desk, waiting to be sure Davis had finished his question. The man often ran several ideas or statements out for discussion before he expected an answer. Yancy scratched his head, worried the several lone hairs above his ears into proper order, and looked down at the path the governor had worn in the carpet. At the rate Davis was abusing it; the tightly woven Turkish rug would be in tatters before the end of the year. Yancy shook his head and fumbled with his stovepipe hat. His mind shifted through various ideas he’d considered before the meeting. There was still only one appropriate response. Several seconds went by before Davis stopped and turned. Yancy took this as his cue.

“I don’t know. He’s led a charmed life so far, but the doctors say there’s no way he can survive the wound he’s suffered. It’s badly infected. They give him two weeks at the most. I think we ought to wait. It wouldn’t look good for us to try a political attack on a dying man. Besides, his two deputies are out there beating the brush for Ferdie Lance, and there’s no telling what might happen. How they found out about Ferdie, I don’t know. But they did. Judge Meadows has issued a warrant for his arrest, so we’d better not allow ourselves to be seen with Ferdie. That wouldn’t look good either.”

“
Now
you tell me. He’s supposed to be here this afternoon.” Davis turned back to his desk, let out a long whooshing breath, and plopped in his chair.

“You know, Yancy, I’m really sorry we ever hooked up with Ferdie. He’s not right in the head. One day he’s going to lose all control. I don’t want to be around when it happens.”

Yancy smiled and allowed his fingers to caress the new gold watch his most recent lover had given him. He stepped closer to the desk. “Neither do I. Do you think it’s time we hired someone to take care of him?”

Davis shrugged. “Not yet. He still has some value. As long as those two marshals are out there, Ferdie’s our first line of defense. He’s pretty slippery. It may take them a long time to catch up with him. Let’s wait and see. We’ve got nothing to lose. It he gets caught, we’ll have him killed in jail before he can turn on us. Marshal Thomas would be quite happy to assist, don’t you think?”

Yancy smiled. City Marshal Ben Thomas was deeply in debt to the Governor. Not only for his appointment, but also for a rather large sum of money. “Yes, and I am thinking perhaps we missed a good opportunity to have him take care of Judge Meadows while the man was still at the hospital. Now, he’s being protected in his hotel room and it would take a miracle for one of our people, even Ferdie, to get to him.”

Davis stood, stretched his back, hands on his hips, and turned to the bar. He nodded agreement with Yancy’s comment, but was less concerned of that tactical error than of the fact that he had finally made a decision regarding Ferdie Lance. “You are probably right. I had thought about it, but—no point crying over spilt milk. Davis poured a short shot of whiskey into his favorite crystal glass, and then returned to his desk. “All right, what else is happening? What’s on your agenda?”

Yancy sat in the small side chair and dropped his stove pipe hat on the floor. “You’re going to have to speak with your supporters, especially those hot-heads over in Fredericksburg. They’re making noises about your campaign—or lack of it. They’re beginning to think you’re not trying.”

“Why should I try? Haven’t you told them about my petition to Grant to cancel the election?”

Yancy lowered his gaze. “We received a message from Grant today. He’s refused to call it off.”

Davis dropped his head onto the desk and did not move for several minutes.

Yancy shifted impatiently, got up and walked to the bar. Yancy could not abide self pity. So far, Davis had shown strength and resiliency no matter the crises. Now, he seemed to be losing everything, even his backbone.

Governor Davis saw his life pass before his eyes. He’d fought all his life for the things he held true, to hell with method. The end justified the means. In his entire career he’d never known a politician who did not subscribe to that
Machiavellian
philosophy. Few would admit it, but most considered themselves superior beings and measured success by how effectively they managed the ignorant masses. His friends in Washington knew this, but President Grant was not one of them. Grant had achieved his popularity as a general in war. He knew nothing of practical politics.

Shrugging his shoulders, Davis let out another long breath, and then turned in his leather chair to stare out the window. “Damn that Judge Meadows. He’s probably responsible for this, too.”

Yancy looked at the Governor, but said nothing until he was sure the man was listening. “Sir, things are bad, I agree. But there’s still hope. I’ve heard from my informants in San Antonio about this man Jack Lopes. If what they say is true, we may have Judge Meadows right where we want him. I’m still waiting for confirmation.”

Governor Davis looked at Yancy expectantly. “Well, are you going to tell me or let me sit here like a moron?”

“Frankly, sir, I’d rather wait. It sounds too good to be true, and you know what they say about that. If I’m to get your hopes up, I’d rather do it with something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like the idea I have for you to get the election nullified if you lose, and you surely will.”

“Is it that certain?” Davis knew his chances were not good but he’d still held out hope. Now even Yancy had given up—
or had he
?

“Hear me out, sir. It’s bound to happen. You know it. With all the rebels coming in from Georgia and Alabama, and with no way for us to stop them all from voting, it’s inevitable. But we’re still in control. We just have to figure out a way to appeal the election to the State Supreme Court when it happens. I mean, after all, you appointed all of those judges, so they’re bound to do as you say. Especially if we make it look like you are not involved in the case they have to rule on.”

Davis leaned back in his chair, and looked at Yancy skeptically. “Yes, I appointed them. And, under normal circumstances I might expect each of them to return the favor in some limited way. But overturn an election? I don’t think so. And how would we make it look like we were not involved?”

Yancy nodded, a smirk on his face. “I have it all figured out, sir. We arrange to have someone arrested for voting twice, which, as you know, is bound to happen because both sides will be stuffing the ballot boxes as fast as they can. Then, as part of the man’s defense to the criminal case, we make sure he argues that he cannot be prosecuted because the election law, as set forth in the new constitution, is itself unconstitutional. I’ve looked it over and there are several arguments they could rely on to make such a ruling. The Court will see it as an opportunity to rule on the election law without it being a direct challenge sponsored by the sitting government—meaning you.”

Yancy paused. “And, of course, if Richard Coke tries to appeal their decision, it would have to be in the federal court where Judge Hooks sits. You know how he would rule, since he’s in your pocket.”

Davis nodded. “It might work, but still, if those judges are thinking about the future, they might try to turn on us in the hope of keeping their jobs under Richard Coke.”

Yancy smiled. “Sir, I have enough on each one of them to guarantee they will not do that. Every last one of them has been compromised by their dealings with our reappraisal people. They have all become land barons by buying up tax forfeited properties. They’re vulnerable.
Criminally vulnerable
. All it will take is a gentle reminder of the fragility of their positions.”

Davis screwed up his lips, twisting them around like a cow chewing cud. It might work. If Coke refused to accept the court decisions, they could demand help from the army to crush them. Grant would have to approve. He nodded. “All right, Yancy. Good thinking. That’s about as good a plot as I’ve ever heard out of you. It’s very sound, based on reality, and gives us plenty of outs. Let’s do it.”

Yancy bobbed his head, allowed a smile to form for an instant, and then suppressed it. It had taken years to get all of the judges in compromising positions, but he’d known instinctively it would pay off some day. Greed was such a wonderful tool. Every one of the judges had jumped when offered seized property at low prices. Now they would pay the piper.

Yancy stood and began to pace back and forth. “As far as Judge Meadows is concerned, I think we should do nothing. If he survives his wound, Ferdie can still get him. If Ferdie fails, we can still try to get close and see if we can turn him to our side, like we did with Judge Hooks and all the rest. If he won’t go along, we destroy him politically so the people will see him as the buffoon he is. Tom Dooley at
The Austin Telegraph
has prepared a campaign against him that will curl your hair. We’ll see if the good judge can stand the heat.”

Governor Davis chuckled. “Yeah, at the least he’ll find out what it’s like being in the public eye.” Davis put his arm around Yancy’s shoulder and moved toward the bar. “Yancy, let’s drink a toast.” He poured them both a shot of whiskey and held up his glass. “Here’s to four more years.”

Yancy bobbed his head. “Four more years.” He clinked his glass against the Governor’s and downed his drink. Time to get back to work. He set the glass on the bar and turned toward the large oak door. Ferdie Lance opened it first, almost knocking Yancy down as he arrogantly stomped in without invitation. Yancy glanced briefly at the Governor, walked out, and closed the door behind him.

“Ferdie,” the Governor said in a surprised tone as he stood up and extended his hand over the desk. “How good to see you.”

Ferdie ignored Davis and went directly to the liquor cabinet. Davis felt his face flush, but maintained his composure. Turning slightly to keep an eye on Ferdie, he considered taking refuge in his wingback, decided against it, and casually walked onto the balcony overlooking the front gate. He could see the new capitol building in the final stages of construction a block away and admired the beautiful pink stone growing from the rubble.

As he stared out over Austin, his thoughts focused on Ferdie Lance, alternating between abject fear and unrestrained anger. He wanted desperately to throw the vile shrimp of a man down on the floor and stomp the life out of him, but, again, restrained himself. Was it self-preservation, need, or both?

All I would have to do is walk to the desk, take out my service revolver and blow this miserable little shit to hell. I’d be praised from here to Washington. But I can’t. I need the bastard.

Ferdie walked onto the balcony and stood beside the Governor. He took a long drink from his glass and poured himself another from the decanter still in his hand. Davis eyed him carefully, but said nothing for the moment, feigning interest in the view.

Ferdie studied the Governor warily.
The man’s scared to death of me. Last time, he almost wet his pants when I told him what we were doing. Now he’s trying to act nonchalant. Damned politicians, they always have to be on top, no matter what the circumstance. He’s scared to death, but won’t show it.

“They’re calling that fiasco down by Round Rock Station the
Battle of Armstrong’s train
,” Davis said softly. “Hell, it wasn’t much of a battle, was it?”

Davis paused. “How could it happen, Ferdie? There were twenty some-odd killers in Kinch West’s gang. How could it happen?”

“I don’t know, Governor. I know only what I hear, and that’s coming from a lot of drunken passengers who’re blowin’ the thing out of proportion. At any rate, the judge and his marshals somehow managed to organize the people on board to fight back. Our boys were slaughtered. That’s the fact of it.”

“But Kinch survived, I’m told, along with a few other men. Do you think he’ll be able to put another gang together?”

“Kinch is resourceful and still has plenty of money. He’ll try to join up with some other gang, probably up along the Colorado River or west of Fredericksburg. But we won’t know until he comes out of hiding. I’m trying to get a message through, but it’ll be several days before we know if we can still count on those boys to fight for us. If we can’t, I’m afraid you’ll have to give up this terror idea for the time being.”

Davis turned. “Give it up? Are you out of your mind? It’s the only chance I have to convince my people to stay with me. I can’t give it up. You’ve got to bring in more men.”

Ferdie looked the governor in the eye, his anger flaring out of control. “This isn’t a damned war, Governor. I can’t just call up the troops. The only two organized gangs in east Texas have been killed by this damned Judge Mobley Meadows, and the men I hired to help Judge Oliver have been disarmed. It’ll take weeks to organize others. When we do, we’ll have to show them a good plan or they’ll all run out. Can’t you use some of your
Blue Bellies
, the Texas State Police?”

Davis shook his head. “You’re wrong, Ferdie. There are only two states of reality among rivals as far as I am concerned, war or diplomacy. And at the moment it certainly cannot be called diplomacy. As for the state police, I cannot use the state police as guerrilla fighters. For one thing, they wouldn’t do it. They like to think of themselves as doing the right thing, and terrorizing innocent civilians won’t be tolerated. They have to be convinced the people are traitors. I’ve been able to convince them of that so far, at least as to those folk who have joined secret societies or are clearly plotting against us, but attacking a train full of men, women and children would not go down well with most of them. And secondly, if I used them, I’d never be able to deny involvement in it.