Elmore Leonard - Last Stand at Saber River

“Royce, what’s the matter with you!”

Cable was perhaps halfway across the yard when he stopped. He half turned, planting his feet and bringing up the revolver; he extended it straight out, even with his eyes, and said, “Joe Bob-” Only that.

And for a moment the man stood still. He knew it was Cable and the knowing it held him in the light-framed doorway unable to move. But he had to move. He had to fall back into the room or go out or draw. And it had to be done now-

Cable was ready. He saw Joe Bob’s right-hand revolver come out, saw him lunging for the darkness of the ramada and he squeezed the trigger on this suddenly moving target. Without hesitating he lowered the barrel, aiming at where Joe Bob would have to be and fired again; then a third time; and when the heavy, ringing sound died away there was only silence.

He walked through the fine smoke to where Joe Bob lay, facedown with his arms outstretched in front of him. Standing over him, he looked up to see Martha in the doorway.

“It’s all right now,” Cable said. “It’s all over.”

“Is he dead?”

Cable nodded.

And Royce was dead.

Now, remembering the way he had used the rock, swinging viciously because there was one chance and only one, Cable could see how it could have killed Royce. But he hadn’t intended killing Joe Bob. He had wanted badly to hold a gun on him and fire it and see him go down, doing it thoroughly because with Joe Bob also he would have only one momentary chance; but that was not the same as wanting to kill.

Cable found their horses in the pines above the barn. He led them down to the yard and slung the two men facedown over the saddles, tying them on securely. After that he took the horses across the river and let them go to find their way home. Let Vern see them now, if he put them up to it. Even if he didn’t, let him bury them; they were his men.

When Cable returned to the house he said, “In the morning we’ll go see Janroe. We’ll ask him if you and the children can board at the store.”

Martha watched him. “And you?”

“I’ll come back here.”

Bill Dancey came in while the Kidstons were eating noon dinner. He appeared in the archway from the living room and removed his hat when he saw Lorraine at the table with two men.

“It’s done,” Dancey said. “They’re both under ground.”

Vern looked up briefly. “All right.”

“What about their gear?”

“Divvy it up.”

“You could cast lots,” Lorraine said.

Duane looked at her sternly. “That remark was in very poor taste.”

Duane was looking at Vern now and not giving Lorraine time to reply.

“You mean to tell me you weren’t present at their burial? Two men are murdered in your service and you don’t even go out and read over their graves?”

“They were killed,” Vern said. “Not in my service.”

“All right.” Duane couldn’t hide his irritation. “No matter how it happened, it’s proper for the commanding…for the lead man to read Scripture over their graves.”

“If the head man knows how to read,” Lorraine said.

“I didn’t know you were burying them right away.” Duane’s voice became grave. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’d have read over them. I’d have considered it an honor. Two boys giving their lives defending-”

Vern’s eyes stopped him. “That’s enough of that. Duane, if I thought for a minute you sent those two over there-”

“I told you I didn’t. They went on their own.”

“Something else,” Bill Dancey said. “Cable’s moved his wife and kids into Denaman’s.”

Vern looked at him. “Who said so?”

“Man I sent to the store this morning. He saw the wagon and asked Luz about it. Luz says the woman and the kids are staying there, but Cable’s going back to his place.”

Vern rose from the table and walked around it toward Bill Dancey. He heard Duane say, “You’ll run him out now; there’s nothing to stop you. Vern, you hear me? You let me know when you’re leaving because I want to be there.” Vern did not reply or even look at Duane. Dancey turned and he followed him out through the long, beam-ceilinged, adobe-plastered living room, through the open double doors to the veranda that extended across the front of the house.

Dancey said, “What about their horses?”

“Put them in the remuda.”

“Then what?”

“Then work for your money.” As Dancey turned and started down the steps, Vern said, “Wait a minute.” He moved against a support post and stood looking down at Dancey.

“How do you think he did it?”

“With a Colt and a rock,” Dancey answered dryly.

“I asked you a question.”

“And I don’t know the answer you want.” Dancey walked off, but he stopped within a few strides and looked back at Vern. “Why don’t you ask Cable?”

“Maybe I will.”

“With Joe Bob’s brother along?”

“He hit you, too, Bill. The first time you met him.”

“Not that hard,” Dancey said. He turned away.

Vern watched him continue on. So now it was even starting to bother Dancey, this fighting a lone man.

He was almost sure Cable had not murdered them. He was sure Joe Bob and Royce had gone to him with drawn guns, but somehow Cable had outwitted them and had been forced to kill them. And that was the difficult fact to accept. That Cable was capable of killing them. That he could think calmly enough to outsmart them, to do that while having a wife and children to worry about; and then kill them, one of them with his hands, a rock, yes, but with his hands.

What kind of a man was this Cable?

What was his breaking point? If he had one. That was it, some people didn’t have a breaking point. They stayed or they died, but they didn’t give up.

And now, because he had handled Joe Bob and Royce, Cable’s confidence would be bolstered and it would take more patience or more prying or more of whatever the hell it was going to take to get him off the Saber.

Kidston had made up his mind that the river land would be his, regardless of Cable or anyone else who cared to contest it with him. This was a simple act of will. He wanted the land because he needed it. His horses had grazed the lush river meadow for two years and he had come to feel that this land was rightfully his.

The news of Cable’s return had caused him little concern. A Confederate soldier had come home with his family. Well, that was too bad for the Rebel. Somehow Cable had outmaneuvered three men and made them run. Luck, probably. But the Rebel wasn’t staying, Kidston was certain of that.

He had worked too hard for too many years: starting on his own as a mustanger, breaking wild horses and selling them half-green to whoever needed a mount. Then hiring White Mountain Apache boys and gathering more mustangs each spring. He began selling to the Hatch & Hodges stage-line people. His operation expanded and he hired more men; then the war put an end to the Hatch & Hodges business. The war almost ruined him; yet it was the war that put him back in business, with a contract to supply remounts to the Union cavalry. He had followed the wild herds to the Saber River country and here he settled, rebuilding the old Toyopa place. He employed fourteen riders-twelve now-and looked forward to spending the rest of his life here.

During the second year of the war his brother Duane had written to him-first from their home in Gallipolis, Ohio, then from Washington after he had marched his own command there to join the Army of the Potomac-pleading with Vern to come offer his services to the Union army. That was like Duane, Vern had thought. Dazzled by the glory of it, by the drums and the uniforms, and probably not even remotely aware of what was really at stake. But it was at this time that Vern received the government contract for remounts. After that, joining the army was out of the question.