Moon of Cobre (A William R. Cox Western Classic Book 1) by William R. Cox

Author:William R. Cox
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: colt 45, piccadilly publishing, gunfighters of the old west, westerns ebook, william r cox, westerns fiction general, cemetery jones, marshal hancock
Publisher: Piccadilly

Mayor Taggart stood upon the lawn of his house on School Street, parallel to and above Buxton Street, and stared at the white moon over Cobre. His wife, a small woman with a prominent nose and wispy brown hair, placed a hand upon his arm.

“It’s not to worry. Worriment breaks the spirit.”

“Someone must worry,” he told her.

The house was imposing, of red brick, a cupola atop its third story, bay windows in front and on one side. Within was an entrance hall, with rooms right and left and a stairway leading up to four bedrooms including the attic chamber. Fireplaces were on first- and second-floor front rooms. The furniture was from the East, horsehair and plush. The bank held a mortgage on it all, also imposing.

Tinkling notes from the only piano in town came through an open window. Gary and Timmy, twin small boys, who took lessons from Sister Joseph Cupertino down the street, were practicing. It was a discordant sound.

Taggart said, “Better put the boys to bed. They get underfoot among their elders.”

“Please not to worry,” she repeated. “It is not your part to carry them all upon your shoulders.”

“A man makes plans. He tries to be sure that life is safe and good for his family. Then something like this happens.”

“Judge Grey is here. He is a fine, godly man. Have faith, Lou dear. Have faith.” She was very constant at mass, a pillar of Father Donner’s flock. She went into the house and he heard her admonishing the boys in her colorless, patient voice.

He leaned against one of the rare cottonball trees. Buxton Street lay below him, with all its lights and life. Behind him were the Burro Mountains, to the north the Mogollons, to east and south the Coopers and the San Andres. They towered to the clouded skies, stars twinkled at their peaks. They were too much, he thought, too many, too enormous. He longed for the rolling hills of upper New York State.

There had been disappointments there, also. Always there had been some kind of frustration not of his making. It had been the mills which shut down, causing him a serious loss of capital. Now they were prospering again, he knew, but for him they had proven worthless. That was why he had come West with what money he had left—and what money his wife inherited from her barkeeper father, the late Harry Moriarty. Now he was threatened in Cobre by the clash of law and Candlestick. At least there had been no violence back in New York, no shooting of people. The very thought of shooting made him nervous. He had paid his way out of the war in ’65 to avoid guns. Had he known the West was not tamed he would never have removed here.

Gus Mueller came lumbering up Alamo Street from below. He was not the kind of man Taggart would have chosen as a friend, but he did have a sense of values, the mayor thought. Mueller would

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