Last Stand at Saber River

by Elmore Leonard

  And after the children were in bed they would sit here on the steps, watching the willows turn to silent black shapes against the sky, hearing the night sounds in the pines and far out on the meadow. They would talk in low murmurs, feeling the familiar nearness of one another. They talked about the children and the house and about things they had done and about things they would do someday; but not talking about the future, because if they accomplished or acquired nothing more than what they had, it would be enough and they would be satisfied; perhaps as happy as anyone, any family, could expect to be.

  If you can hold on to what you have, Cable thought. Right now you would settle just for that and not hope for anything more.

  He was certain that the Kidstons had damaged the house, as a warning. Maybe not Vern. It seemed more like something Duane would do. But regardless of who did it, the effect was the same.

  He heard the sound behind him, the bedroom door opening and closing. He turned, starting to push himself up, but Lorraine was already over him. Her hand went to his shoulder and she sank down beside him.

  “I thought you were tired.”

  “I’m going to bed in a minute,” Cable said. He saw that Lorraine was wearing one of Martha’s flannel nightgowns. He had felt it as she brushed against him to sit down.

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “A lot of things at once, I suppose.”

  “Vern and Duane…the happiness boys?”

  He looked at her. “I’d like to know what you’re doing here.”

  “I explained all that.”

  “You didn’t any more get thrown than I did.”

  Lorraine smiled. “But I had to tell you something.”

  “Did Vern send you?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “Keeping you company.”

  “I guess you are.”

  Lorraine moved, rising to her knees and turning to him. Her hands went to his shoulders, then to his face caressingly as she kissed him.

  “You’re not very responsive, are you?” She pressed close to him, kissing him again. “In fact you’re rather cold. I’m surprised.”

  “You’ve got the wrong one, that’s all.”

  “Oh, come now—”

  “Or else the wrong time and place.”

  “Would you like to go somewhere else?”

  Quietly, Cable said, “Lorraine, you’re probably the pleasantest temptation I’ve ever had—but I’ve got enough things living in my mind the way it is.”

  Close to him her head moved slowly from side to side. “The only halfway decent looking man within fifty miles and he has to have a conscience.” She felt his hands circle her waist and when they lingered, holding her, she said, “I’ll give you one more chance.”

  But now he pushed her away and rose, lifting her with him. “I don’t think this would do either of us any good.”

  In the darkness her eyes remained on him, but it was some time before she said, “I suppose your wife is very fortunate. But I doubt if I’d want to be married to you. I can’t help feeling there’s such a thing as being too good.”

  The next morning Cable cleaned the main room and fixed the stove flue more securely. Later on, he decided, he would ride to Denaman’s Store. He would buy plates and cups, probably tin ones if Janroe had any at all; and he would stay as long as he could with Martha and the children.

  Cable was outside when the two Kidston riders came by. He saw them crossing the river, approaching cautiously, and he walked out from the ramada, the Walker on his leg. He waited then as the two riders came across the yard toward him. A vague memory of having seen them before made Cable study their faces closely. No, he was certain he didn’t know them. Still—

  The two riders looked somewhat alike, yet the features of one appeared more coarse and his coloring was freckled and lighter than the other man. It was as if both of their faces—both narrow and heavy boned—had been copied from the same model, but one had been formed less skillfully than the other. Both wore full mustaches and the darker of the two men showed a trace of heavy beard, at least a week’s growth.

  “If you’re looking for Lorraine,” Cable said, “you’ve found her.”

  The two riders were watching Cable, but now their eyes rose past him as Lorraine appeared.

  She seemed a little surprised. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Your daddy’s got everybody looking everywhere,” the dark man said. There was no trace of concern in his voice.

  “Is he worried?”

  “About out of his mind.”

  “I can just see him.” Lorraine stepped down from the doorway and walked out to them. “You two will have to ride double,” she said, looking up. Neither of the men made a move to dismount. Lorraine moved toward the dark rider’s chestnut gelding. “This one.” Still the man hesitated and Lorraine added, “If you don’t mind.”

  “Where’s yours?”

  “I have no idea,” Lorraine answered.

  The dark rider’s gaze moved to Cable. “Maybe we ought to use his then.”

  Lorraine’s face showed sudden interest. “If he’ll let you.”

  “He will.”

  “We can’t do it while the girl’s here,” the other man said then. “Duane wouldn’t have any part of that.”

  “I suppose we got time,” the dark one grunted.

  “All we want,” the other rider said.

  The dark one swung down. Not bothering to help Lorraine, he walked past her, raised his hand to the other rider and was pulled up behind him. He looked down at Cable again.

  “Long as we got time.”

  They rode out, past the house to the horse trail that climbed the slope. In the saddle now, straddling it with her skirt draped low on both sides, Lorraine waited long enough to say, “That was Austin and Wynn Dodd.”

  Cable frowned. “I don’t know them.”

  Lorraine smiled pleasantly. “You knew their brother. Joe Bob.”

  She rode off toward the slope, following the Dodd brothers. Before passing into the pines behind the house, Lorraine looked back and waved.

  There were times when Janroe could feel his missing hand; times when he swore he had moved his fingers. He would be about to pick something up with his left hand, then catch himself in time. A moment before this Janroe had absently raised his missing arm to lean on the door frame. He fell against the timber with his full weight on the stump, and now he stood rubbing it, feeling a dull pain in the arm that wasn’t there.

  Luz Acaso appeared, coming from the back of the building. She was riding her dun-colored mare, sitting the saddle as a man would, her bare legs showing almost to her knees. Two of the Cable children, Clare and Davis, were following behind her as she crossed the yard toward the river.

  Janroe stepped out to the loading platform.

  “Luz!” The dun mare side-stepped as the girl reined in and looked back at him.

  “Come over here.”

  She held the horse, standing almost forty feet from the platform. “I can hear you,” she said.

  “Maybe I don’t want to shout.”

  “Then you come over here!”

  Don’t ruffle her, Janroe thought. Something was bothering her. He had first noticed it as she served him his breakfast. She seldom spoke unless he said something to her first, so her silence this morning wasn’t unusual. Still, he had sensed a change in her. Her face was somber, without expression, yet he could feel a new tension between them. Even when she served him she avoided his eyes and seemed to reach out to place the coffee and food before him, as if afraid to come too close to him.

  That was it. As if she was guarding something in her mind. As if she was so conscious of what she was thinking, she felt that if he looked in her eyes or even came too close to her, he would see it.

  But while he was eating he would feel her eyes on him, watching him carefully, intently; although when he looked up from his plate she would be tur
ning away or picking something up from the stove.

  Now she was riding down to Hidalgo. Tonight there would be a gun shipment and Luz would lead it to the store, making sure the way was clear. Janroe said, “You’re leaving a little early, aren’t you?”

  “I want to have time to see my brother.”

  “About what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You seem anxious enough over nothing.”

  “I want to see him, that’s all.” She waited a moment longer, watching Janroe, but when he said no more she flicked the reins and moved on across the yard. Janroe watched her pass into the willows and even after she was out of sight he continued to stare at the trees. What was it about her—was she more confident? More sure of herself since the Cables had come home. Afraid when she was alone with him, still somewhat more confident.

  He noticed the Cable children then. Clare and Davis were still in the front yard, standing close to each other now and looking up at him on the platform.

  “I told you once to play in the back,” Janroe called out. “I’m not going to tell you again. I’ll get a stick next time, you understand?”

  Clare stood rigid. Davis nodded with a small jerk of his head and reached for Clare’s arm. They turned to go.

  “Wait a minute.” Janroe looked down at them sternly. “Where’s your father? Is he still here?”

  “Upstairs,” the boy said.

  “All right.” Janroe waved them away and they ran, glancing back at him as they rounded the corner of the building.

  What do you have to do to a man like that? Janroe thought. A man that finds his house wrecked and comes moping in to buy tin plates and sit with his wife. Cable had arrived about mid-morning and had been here ever since.

  Janroe stood for some time holding the stump of his arm, rubbing it gently. He was looking above the willows now, to the hillside beyond the full roundness of the treetops. But it was moments before he realized a file of riders had come down out of the pines and was descending the slope.

  Perhaps because his hand still held the stump, or because he had jarred it and imagined the pain still present; because of this and then abruptly seeing the riders on the hillside and for the moment not caring who they were—his mind went back to another time, another place….

  There had been riders then on a hillside; directly across the cornfield and not more than eight hundred yards away, a line of riders appearing along the crest of the hill, then stopping and dismounting. He had seen that they were unhitching the horses from artillery pieces—three of them—and rolling the guns into position.

  He had waited then, studying the position through his field glasses for at least ten minutes, or perhaps a quarter of an hour; so by the time he brought his men out of the pines, screaming at them, shooting one and seeing the other soldier who had been afraid suddenly run by him, the field pieces were ready and loaded and waiting for him.

  Janroe himself was no more than a hundred yards out from the woods when the first shell exploded. The blast was loud in his ears and almost knocked him down; but he kept moving, seeing two, then three, men come stumbling, crawling out of the smoke and dust that seemed to hang motionless in the air. One of the men fell facedown and didn’t move. As he watched, a second and third shell exploded and he saw one of the crawling men lifted from the ground and thrown on his back. Close around him men were flattening themselves on the ground and covering their heads.

  But the ones in front of him were still moving, and with the next explosion Janroe was running again. He saw the man who had been afraid a few moments before, running, breathing heavily, his head back as if he was looking up at the three artillery pieces. Janroe was close to the man, almost about to run past him and yell back at him to keep coming, and then the man was no more.

  It was as if time suddenly stopped, for Janroe saw the man, or part of him, blown into the air and he could remember this clearly, the fraction of a moment caught and indelibly recorded in his mind. And it was the same sudden, ground-lifting, sound-smashing burst of smoke and iron that slammed Janroe senseless and cleanly severed his left arm….

  For some time the line of riders was out of sight, low on the slope now and beyond the bank of willow trees. Janroe waited, watching, judging where they would cross the river and appear out of the tree shadows. They would be Kidston riders, Janroe was certain of that. He wondered if he should call Cable. No, wait, Janroe decided. Act natural and just let things happen.

  There were six of them. Janroe recognized Duane Kidston at once: Duane sitting a tall bay horse with one hand on his thigh, a riding quirt hanging from his wrist and his elbow extended rigidly. Duane wearing the stiff-crowned Kossuth hat squarely on his head, the brim pinned up on one side with the regimental insignia. Duane playing soldier, Janroe thought contemptuously. Pretending that he’s a man.

  Have your fun, Major, Janroe thought then, not taking his eyes from Duane. Have all the fun you can. Your time’s about run out.

  Briefly he noted the five men with Duane: Bill Dancey, the solemn, bearded one close to Duane’s right; then the two Dodd brothers, Austin and Wynn. They had been here only once before but Janroe remembered them well, the brothers of one of the men Cable had killed. Austin and Wynn Dodd, one light, the other dark, but both with angular, expressionless faces. Janroe remembered their eyes; they watched you coldly, impersonally, as if you were a thing that couldn’t look back at them.

  Janroe was not sure if he had ever seen the two other riders before. He watched these two veer off midway across the yard and circle to the back of the store.

  Moments later the two Cable children, Clare and Davis, came running around from the back yard. Then, seeing the four riders approaching the platform, they stopped and stood watching, their eyes wide with curiosity.

  “Where is he?” Duane asked.

  “Inside.” Janroe moved nearer the edge of the platform.

  “Get him out.”

  “What for?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “You want to kill him?”

  “Duane’s got things to say to him,” Dancey said then.

  Janroe’s eyes moved to the bearded man. “I wouldn’t want to think I fetched him to be killed.”

  “We’re not going to kill him,” Dancey said.

  “That would be an awful thing to have on your conscience,” Janroe said. “Calling a man to be killed in front of his children.”

  Dancey shook his head. “You’ve got my word.”

  “And with his wife here too,” Janroe said. “I couldn’t ever face her again.”

  “Mr. Janroe,” Duane said, “if you don’t get him out here, you can be assured we will.”

  Janroe looked past the men to the Cable children. His eyes settled on Clare.

  “Honey, go tell your daddy there’s some men here to see him.”

  Clare hesitated, but Davis pushed her and she ran up the steps to the platform, holding close to the wall as she ran by Janroe and into the store.

  “Fine youngsters,” Janroe said pleasantly. “He’s got three of them.” Duane wasn’t listening. He glanced at Dancey. Then Dancey and the Dodd brothers dismounted and came up the steps to the loading platform. Duane remained in his saddle.

  “Where is he?” Dancey asked.

  “Upstairs a few minutes ago.”

  “He mention what happened last night?”

  “Not a word.” Janroe’s tone indicated only mild interest. “What did?”

  “About Lorraine—”

  “No!” Janroe’s face showed surprise, then an eager curiosity. “What happened?”

  But Dancey’s gaze moved beyond him. Janroe turned. He heard the steps on the plank floor then Cable, wearing his Walker Colt, was standing in the doorway. Janroe saw Martha and the little girl a few steps behind him.

  “Take off that gun,” Dancey said.

  Cable looked from Dancey to the Dodd brothers—to Austin, the dark one, who was a step nearer than Wynn—then back to Dancey. />
  “What’s this about?”

  “Take it off,” Dancey said again. “You’re covered front and back.”

  Cable heard the quick steps behind him. He seemed about to turn, but he hesitated. The two riders who had circled the adobe had entered by the back door and had waited for Cable behind the counter. Now one of them pulled the Walker from its holster. Feeling it, Cable glanced over his shoulder. He saw the second man standing close to Martha.

  As Cable turned back to Dancey, Austin Dodd moved. He stepped in bringing his balled left hand up from his side. Before Cable saw it coming the fist slammed into his face. He fell against the door frame, went to his hands and knees with his head down and close to the platform boards. Austin Dodd followed through. His right hand came up with his Colt, his thumb already hooking back the hammer.

  “Hold on!” Dancey stepped in front of him. “We didn’t come here for that.” He looked out at Duane Kidston angrily. “You’d have let him, wouldn’t you?”

  “Austin has his own reason,” Duane said. “Stopping him wouldn’t be any of my business.”

  “We didn’t come here to satisfy Austin,” Dancey grunted.

  Duane stared at the bearded foreman. “I’m beginning to wonder why I brought you.”

  “You wouldn’t’ve if Vern had been around. You said you wanted to talk to this man. That’s all.”