Elmore Leonard - Last Stand at Saber River

“You have exactly”-Duane studied his watch-“two hours and forty-three minutes to pack and get out. Not a minute more.”

Cable moved from shade to sunlight. He approached Duane, seeing him shift his feet and pocket his watch, and he heard Royce say, “Don’t let him get too close.”

Then Duane: “That’s far enough!”

Cable ignored this. He came on until less than six feet separated him from Duane.

“I thought if we didn’t have to shout,” Cable said, “we could straighten this out.”

“There’s nothing to straighten,” Duane said stiffly.

“Except you’re trying to run me from my own land.”

“That assumption is the cause of your trouble,” Duane said. “This doesn’t happen to be your land.”

“It has been for ten years now.”

“This property belonged to a Confederate sympathizer,” Duane said. “I confiscated it in the name of the United States government, and until a court decides legal ownership, it remains ours.”

“And if we don’t leave?”

“I will not be responsible for what happens.”

“That includes my family?”

“Man, this is a time of war! Often the innocent must suffer. But that is something I can do nothing to prevent.”

“You make it pretty easy for yourself,” Cable said.

“I’m making it easy for you!” Duane paused, as if to control the rage that had colored his face. “Listen, the easy way is for you to load your wagon and get out. I’m giving you this chance because you have a family. If you were alone, I’d take you to Fort Buchanan as a prisoner of war.” Duane snapped his fingers. “Like that and without any talk.”

“Even though I’m no longer a soldier?”

“You’re still a Rebel. You fought for an enemy of the United States. You likely even killed some fine boys working for that bushwhacker of a Bedford Forrest and I’ll tell you this, whether you’re wearing a uniform or not, if it wasn’t for your family, I’d do everything in my power to destroy you.”

Joe Bob shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “That’s tellin’ him, Major.” He winked, grinning at Bill Dancey.

Duane glanced over his shoulder, but now Joe Bob’s face showed nothing. He stood lazily, with his hip cocked, and only nodded as Duane said, “I’ll do the talking here.”

Like yesterday, Cable thought. They’re waiting to eat you up. His gaze shifted from Royce and Duane to Joe Bob.

Just like yesterday-

And the time comes and you can’t put it off.

Cable’s gaze swung back to Duane, though Joe Bob was still in his vision, and abruptly he said, “There’s a shotgun dead on you.” He waited for the reaction, waited for Joe Bob’s mind to snap awake and realize what he meant. And the moment the man’s eyes shifted to the house, Cable acted. He drew the Walker Colt, thumbed back the hammer and leveled it at Duane’s chest. It happened quickly, unexpectedly; and now there was nothing Duane or any of his men could do about it.

“Now get off my land,” Cable said. “Call a retreat, Major, or I won’t be responsible for what happens.”

An expression of shocked surprise showed in Duane’s eyes and his mouth came open even before he spoke. “We’re here under a flag of truce!”

“Take your flag with you.”

“You can’t pull a gun during a truce!”

“It’s against the rules?”

Duane controlled his voice. “It is a question of honor. Something far beyond your understanding.”

Royce stood with the truce-flag carbine cradled over one arm, holding it as if he’d forgotten it was there. “He makes it worthwhile. You got to give him that.”

“Major”-Joe Bob’s voice-“are you a chance-taking man? I was thinking, if you were quick on your feet-”

“I told you to keep out of this!” Duane snapped the words at him.

Looking at Duane as he spoke, at him and past him, Cable saw the horse and rider coming up out of the river, crossing the sand flat, climbing the bank now.

“I was just asking,” Joe Bob said lazily. “If you thought you could flatten quick enough, we’d cut him in two pieces.”

The rider approached them now, walking his horse out of the willows. A moment before they heard the hoof sounds, Cable said, “Tell your man to stay where he is.”

Joe Bob saw him first and called out, “Vern, you’re missing it!” Royce and Dancey turned as Joe Bob spoke, but Duane’s eyes held on Cable.

“You’ve waited too long,” Duane said.

Cable backed off a half step, still holding the Walker on Duane; but now he watched Vern Kidston as he approached from beyond Dancey, passing him now, sitting heavily and slightly stooped in the saddle, his eyes on Cable as he came unhurriedly toward him. A few yards away he stopped but made no move to dismount.

With his hat forward and low over his eyes, the upper half of his face was in shadow, and a full mustache covering the corners of his mouth gave him a serious, solemn look. He was younger than Duane-perhaps in his late thirties-and had none of Duane’s physical characteristics. Vern was considerably taller, but that was not apparent now. The contrast was in their bearing and Cable noticed it at once. Vern was Vern, without being conscious of himself. Thoughts could be in his mind, but he did not give them away. You were aware of only the man, an iron-willed man whose authority no one here questioned. In contrast, Duane could be anyone disguised as a man.

Vern Kidston sat with his hands crossed limply over the saddle horn. He sat relaxed, obviously at ease, staring down at this man with the Walker Colt. Then, unexpectedly, his eyes moved to Bill Dancey.

“You were supposed to meet me this morning. Coming back I stopped up on the summer meadow and waited two hours for you.”

“Duane says come with him else I was through,” Dancey said calmly, though a hint of anger showed in his bearded face. “Maybe we ought to clear this up, just who I take orders from.”

Vern Kidston looked at his brother then. “I go up to Buchanan for one day and you start taking over.”

“I’d say running this man off your land is considerably more important than selling a few horses,” Duane said coldly.

“You would, uh?” Vern’s gaze shifted. His eyes went to the house, then lowered. “So you’re Cable.”

Cable looked up at him. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I guess you have.”

“Vern”-it was Duane’s voice-“he pulled his gun under a sign of truce!”

Kidston looked at his brother. “I’d say the issue is he’s still holding it.” His eyes returned to Cable. “One man standing off four.” He paused thoughtfully. “His Colt gun doesn’t look that big to me.”

Cable moved the Walker from Duane to Vern. “How does it look now?”

Vern seemed almost to smile. “There’s seven miles of nerve between pointing a gun and pulling the trigger.”

Cable stared at him, feeling his hope of reasoning with Kidston dissolve. But it was momentary. It was there with the thought: He’s like the rest of them. His mind’s made up and there’s no arguing with him. Then the feeling was gone and the cold rage crept back into him, through him, and he told himself: But you don’t budge. You know that, don’t you? Not one inch of ground.

“Mr. Kidston,” Cable said flatly, “I’ve fought for this land before. I’ve even had to kill for it. I’m not proud of saying that, but it’s a fact. And if I have to, I’ll kill for it again. Now if you don’t think this land belongs to me, do something about it.”

“I understand you have a family,” Kidston said.

“I’ll worry about my family.”

“They wouldn’t want to see you killed right before their eyes.”

Cable cocked his wrist and the Walker was pointed directly at Vern’s face. “It’s your move, Mr. Kidston.”