CHAPTER 13
Wiley Miner stood on the farmhouse porch chewing a toothpick as he watched the approach of the three riders. His right hand fingered a small revolver in the pocket of his overalls. Visitors came by now and then, but the Miners took nothing for granted; especially now that Judge Oliver had returned from Austin. The man had sworn revenge on the people of Waco, and on Wiley Miner in particular.
The seven Miner children, all adults ranging in age from eighteen to twenty-seven, were stationed about the property armed with single shot Springfield rifles. Wiley’s rifle leaned against a wooden porch column within easy reach.
Lovey Miner, fifty years old and looking every day of it, sat to Wiley’s left in her rocking chair, a loaded Navy Colt under her knitting. If the approaching men were inclined to trouble, they would find it in spades. Wiley stretched his long skinny frame and scratched his hairless chin as the riders slowly drew near. His hat remained on the table at the opposite end of the porch. His matted hair, big callused hands, and sweat stained overalls said it all. He’d been hard at work and was bone tired. It was supper time, and the intrusion of strange men irritated him. Why was it visitors always came in time for afternoon table?
Wiley looked down at Lovey. The dark, gray-streaked bun pulled tightly up behind her head, held together by a net, made her look severe. As a prairie farmer’s wife of thirty years, he knew she loved and welcomed having visitors; but today had been especially hard on her. He and the boys were in the middle of harvesting the wheat crop, and needed extra care. As soon as that was done, they had to start on the cotton. Her white apron covering the only blue gingham dress she owned was splotched with cooking spills, and he knew her back ached from the dull look of her face. She’d been busy since well before dawn.
* * *
Mobley walked Meteor slowly, her hooves dragging in soft silt of the road kicking up small puffs of dust as they approached the low picket fence defining the shady front yard of the farmhouse. He carefully surveyed the scene. Everything looked peaceful, but he knew things were not as they seemed. Jack and Edson held back slightly, twitching and looking around.
“Don’t do anything rash, Jack,” Edson whispered, loud enough for all of them to hear. “There are at least seven rifles aimed dead at us here. These folks are ready for war.”
Jack started looking around, his head moving in short jerks. “What? Where? I don’t see a thing?”
Mobley couldn’t see the guns, but he could feel them, smell them. There was no itch, though, no music. No real danger. These people were nervous and on guard, but not prepared to kill innocent people.
Edson snorted a soft laugh. “It’s too late now, Jack. You should have seen ‘em when we were a mile back.”
Mobley was impressed. Edson was unafraid. His instincts were apparently as good as Marsten had said. But Jack was not happy.
“You saw them a mile back? Why on earth didn’t you say something? Lord save me, that’s just what I need, a tight-lipped partner. Now I’m going to be shot down on an empty stomach by some itchy-fingered farmer.”
“Dang, Jack, I knew you were hungry, but I didn’t know you were blind.”
Mobley felt a warm glow as his two new friends poked at each other. He made eye contact with the skinny man standing on the porch, but turned to face the lady still sitting on the couch. He decided to be both direct and precisely correct, as his father had taught him.
He removed his hat and with an exaggerated bow from the waist, swept the hat around in a large circle. “Good afternoon, Ma’am—Sir.” He straightened and cocked his head slightly. “I am United States Circuit Court Judge Mobley F. Meadows. These two squabblin’ men with me are Deputy Marshals Jack Anthony Lopes and Edson Rabb. We’ve just come off’n the prairie and are about to suffer stomach collapse from short rations.
Jack here is the worst off, as you can see. If the breeze picks up much, he’s a goner. Edson’s a little better, since he only recently joined me from the Mitchell Marsten place over to Dallas. If you folks are as civilized and prosperous as you look, I’d be grateful if you would call off your troops and invite us to supper. We can pay genuine money. We might even have a story or two to make your table more enjoyable.”
Wiley straightened himself to full height and stared. “Are you the judge who done in all them Comancheros that stole Marsten’s breedin’ stock?”
“Well, yes and no,” Mobley replied, surprised. How had they heard of it so soon? Marsten? “I did indeed have a little talk with some Comancheros, at least that’s what Marshal Jack Anthony Lopes thinks they were, but there were only fifteen. How did you folks happen to hear about that sordid affair?”
Wiley smiled. “Word travels fast out here. One of Marsten’s wranglers spread the word in Dallas. The Mayor sent it out by telegraph all over the state. There’s few people anywhere around these parts who haven’t heard about it by now.”
Mobley glanced at Jack. “Did you hear that, Jack? We’re famous.”
Jack screwed up his face, his head still swiveling around. “I’d feel a whole lot better about it if those rifles were put away. How about it mister? We’re hungry and tired, but I’d just as soon skip the meal if it means I have to keep looking over my shoulder.”
Wiley looked to his wife and scanned the area carefully before answering. “The name’s Wiley Miner. This is my wife, Lovey. Step down and join us for supper. We were about to start loadin’ the table when you boys appeared. George, Charley. Take care of our guests’ animals. The rest of you put down your rifles and come on in.”
Mobley was shocked to see six husky boys and a gorgeous, young, black-haired girl step out from various hiding places, all within twenty yards of their position. He could see Jack trying to watch the boys, but he kept shifting his eyes back to the young girl. She was stunning. Doeskin tan, dark sparkling eyes, wild eyebrows that grew almost together, and a notable bosom poorly hidden under a plain white linen dress. She stood straight backed, legs spread with one hand on her hip, the other holding a rifle pointed down across the front of her narrow waist.
Mobley forced his eyes away. She was too young, too pretty. He’d learned long ago not to bother with such girls. They tended to be flighty, prone to cheat, and sure to break many a man’s heart before settling into maturity. He could see Jack’s interest, but judged he had no chance. She was staring at Edson Rabb, who was trying hard not to stare back. The girl looked to be in a trance.
“Whooee, Edson,” Jack whispered as he nudged the suddenly nervous wrangler with his elbow. “Remind me not to take you with me when we go into town. You’ll have me playing mumblety-peg with the boys while all the ladies are trying to run you to ground.”
“It’s a curse, Jack,” Edson whispered back. “Believe me, it can be a real problem. This looks like one of those times.”
Jack looked at Edson as if he thought the wrangler was losing his mind. Mobley could see Edson was worried as he tried to look away from the girl. The situation was almost comical.
The three men stepped off their horses and beat the dust off their clothes. Mobley walked up to the broad porch, appraising the quality of the Miner home as he did so. The house was of classic southern plantation design, smaller of course, built mostly of local pinkish white limestone. The porch was long and wide, with large wooden columns supporting an extended roof and second story. A dining table sat at one end of the porch, while a short sofa covered in cowhide rested at the other. The house was very solidly constructed, designed to protect the family from weather or any other predation that might present itself.
“This is certainly a fine lookin’ home you have here, Mr. Miner. Fine lookin’ family, too. You’ve reason to be proud, from what I can see.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I am proud. We’ve worked long and hard, Lovey and me. Now the Lord is rewardin’ our labors. But, come on boys, set yourselves down. Supper will be on the table in a few minutes.”
“You can drop the, “Your Honor,” business, Mr. Miner.
That appellation is due only when my court is in session. My friends call me Mobley. Back home it was Stretch, when I was a boy and outgrowin’ everyone. But, now—Mobley is just fine.”
“Mobley it is then. You can call me Wiley.”
“I’d be happy to do that, Wiley. By the by, I don’t suppose you would have wee drap o’ the barleycorn about, would you? We’re dry as a popcorn poop. Shared the last of our sipping whiskey with Marsten and his boys several days ago.”
Wiley smiled. “Well, now. Here’s a man who knows the true meanin’ of life. Cinda, would you—oh, I’m sorry Mobley, I haven’t introduced you to the rest of my family. Sorry kids.”
“I’m not a kid,” Cinda said, her cheeks flushing.
“Of course you’re not, Cinda. There goes my old mouth again. Well, anyway, this here’s my one and only daughter, Cinda Sue. And these strappin’ lads are, from left to right, my sons Fred, Harvey, Cody, and Bart. George and Charley, the oldest, are off takin’ care of your critters. Cinda Sue is the youngest, but as you can plainly see, she ain’t no child.”
Mobley nodded. He could indeed. Cinda Sue was at least eighteen years old, tall, maybe five-eight. Her sensuous smile reminded him of his first adventure with his neighbor, Dolly McGee, in the haystack. Angus used to say of Dolly, “She’s a ripe’n, a’waitin’ fer the pickers.” And it was true. Dolly had certainly been ripe and ready to pick, but not pretty like Cinda Sue.
Wiley turned. “Cinda Sue, would you please round up one of my sour mash sippin’ jugs and bring it out, with glasses for everyone?”
Cinda Sue brightened and hurried with her mother into the house. Mobley caught himself watching as the young beauty purposefully wiggled her way toward the kitchen. He turned quickly back to Wiley. “You make real sour mash? Where did you learn that trick?” He’d thought the process a secret known only to certain backwoodsmen.
“Why, from my dear old daddy back in Tennessee. There ain’t no better sippin’ whiskey in the world.”
Mobley nodded. “I am forced to agree. For I, too, am from Tennessee.”
“Well, howdy do. Welcome to Texas, Tennessee. You’ve come a long way, just in time.”
“Just in time for what?”
Wiley laughed, “Why, just in time to taste this new batch, of course.”
CHAPTER 14
Mobley settled onto the big leather sofa next to Wiley and relaxed. For a while he’d thought things were going to be as rough with the Miner family as they had been with everyone else he’d met in Texas. Now they were being treated as invited guests, even friends. This was the way his own family would have behaved.
Edson sat down at the long supper table across from Jack and two of the Miner boys, wishing he could relax. Cinda Sue bounced out of the kitchen a few moments later holding a large ceramic jug and several glasses. She poured drinks for everyone, Edson last. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she rubbed against him. Edson shivered as she poured herself a glass and sat down beside him. Her hand slipped surreptitiously under the table cloth and onto his thigh. He began to sweat. He’d run into bold women before, but Cinda Sue took the blue ribbon prize. He put his hand on hers and moved it away. She smiled wickedly. He knew she’d get bolder as she drank, but for the moment Wiley saved him.
“Cinda Sue, your mother will need help with supper. There’ll be plenty of time for you to get to know Marshal Rabb, so hurry on up there. These boys are starving.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She stood and turned for the kitchen. “Don’t worry, there’s more food than you could eat in a week coming out.” She smiled at Edson as she turned toward the kitchen. “Don’t go away, good looking. I’ll be back before you know it.”
George and Charley returned from the barn as the first drinks were taken. They poured themselves healthy glasses of the amber liquid, then pulled two table chairs away from the table and carried them to the porch to sit in front of Mobley and Wiley. They straddled their chairs, arms resting across the tops. George, like the other boys, was tall and stocky. Mature for his twenty seven years, his deep blue eyes shined with curiosity and intelligence.
“You seem rather thoroughly armed, Mr. Meadows. Are those new Winchesters on your mule the same rifles you took off’n the Comancheros?”
Mobley nodded. “Indeed they are. Ain’t it something? Them ol’ boys were armed to the teeth, but it did them no good in the end.”
George looked to his father, who nodded. “Well, uh … Mr. Meadows. We, I mean the family, have been trying to buy new repeating rifles for over two years, but haven’t had any luck. Every time a shipment comes in at the gunsmith or the hardware store in town, they’re snatched up before we can get in our licks. Last year we special ordered a full case just for ourselves, but when they came in some government man stepped in and claimed them for a silly bunch of Blue Bellies.”
George paused, as if gearing himself up for a challenge. “Would you consider selling some of the ones you have to us, Mr. Meadows?”
“Well, I—”
At that moment Lovey Miner and Cinda Sue arrived with huge steaming platters of food. Mobley could see Jack’s mouth had begun to water. He was moving his lips around and swallowing repeatedly. Mounds of fried chicken, fresh baked bread, mashed sweet potatoes, gravy made from chicken drippings, and several vegetables, including tomatoes, were passed under his eyes. Butter and honey was available in quantity. Mobley tried to think of the last time he had actually tasted real honey, but could not.
Jack was unfamiliar with the table manners expected of guests at a Texas farm supper, so resisted the temptation to throw himself directly onto the platters like a starving coyote. He assumed a pose of serenity; thinking all the while of shooting anyone who might get in his way when the socializing was over and the eating began.
After everyone, including Lovey and Cinda Sue, were seated at the table and had their glasses full, Mobley spoke up. “Mr. and Mrs. Miner, boys, I’d like to propose a toast. “Here’s to new found friends, fine sons, a beautiful and prosperous farm, and most of all, beautiful ladies.”
“Here, here,” Jack said, as he prepared to take a large drink from the glass. “I’ve traveled some myself. Not as much as Mobley, but enough to recognize rare beauty when I see it.”
Lovey and Cinda Sue blushed. The boys all cheered. Edson continued trying to avoid eye contact with Cinda Sue. She was the spitting image of her mother, and it was very difficult.
“Mr. Lopes,” Cinda Sue said as she gave up her visual attack on Edson. “Is that not an English accent I hear in your voice?”
“It is indeed,” Jack replied with pride. “My mother was the Lady Madeleine Smythe of London. I inherited this particular language disability from her side of the family. She was a fine woman, but could not survive the harshness of … this land. I will be forever grateful for the care and diligence she put into raising and educating me, however; and I forgive her completely for inflicting this handicap upon me.”
Cinda Sue put her hand to her mouth, smiling. “Handicap? Why, I think you sound just darling. Don’t you think so, Mother?”
“It is kind of interesting,” Lovey replied. “Sounds so upper class, somehow. Did your father not have any effect upon your life?”
Jack felt his smile tighten. Be careful. “He certainly did, but I am afraid his influence was not of the proper kind. He abandoned me after my mother died, leaving me to be raised by ne’r-do-wells and others of questionable character when I was still young. Had it not been for the good Judge Meadows, I fear I would have found resort in an evil occupation. Frankly, if I ever happen to run into my natural father, I shall promptly dispatch him to the nether world.”
Jack noticed the more haughty he sounded, the more Cinda Sue paid attention to him. Perhaps this was the way to steal her heart. It would serve Edson right for not telling him about the rifles trained on them.
Mobley interrupted. “Mrs. Miner, I hope it would not offend you if I were to ask permission to say the table grace. I’m afraid if w
e let old Jack keep up this talk, he’s likely to collapse from lack of nutrition.”
Lovey’s eyes widened and she put her fingers over her mouth as if embarrassed. Mobley guessed she was rarely asked permission to do anything. With all the men around, she probably found it easier to acquiesce than put up a stink. Wiley smiled at Lovey and nodded.
She turned to Mobley. “Why, thank you Mr. Meadows. We’d be honored. Frankly, Wiley’s prayers have become a bit stale. Perhaps he’ll learn a thing or two.”
Mobley coughed lightly and lowered his head. “Dear Lord, I want to thank you for helping this family survive and become prosperous in this harsh land. From what I can see, they and their fine lot of grown up children are likely to be of genuine consequence as this great state grows. They’re proud and strong people. I believe someday they will spread their seed and make this world a better place for everyone. Please bless this food and forgive us if we make fools of ourselves as we dive in. Ol’ Jack, here, he’s plumb starved and likely to shoot me if I don’t cut this word short. Amen.”
“Amen,” everyone chimed in.
Plates began to be passed around, and as the chicken arrived in front of Jack, he clearly could stand it no more. He took a large bite from a thigh dripping with fat and batter, settled back into his chair as if his backbone had turned to jelly, and moaned with pleasure.
The table erupted with laughter. Mrs. Miner said, “Let’s go, boys. Show these hard fightin’ marshals how real farmers eat.”
After all plates were full, there remained piles of food on the platters. The Miner family ate well.
* * *
Mobley pushed back his chair and looked up to the roof of the porch. He was so full he doubted he would be able get up.
Jack looked down at his stomach, as if wondering whether he could stuff more into that distended organ, then also pushed back from the table.
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