Elmore Leonard - Last Stand at Saber River

“If you think I was rude,” Martha said patiently, “I apologize. Perhaps I did-”

“Just wait a minute.” Janroe brought up his hand to stop her. “I want you to realize something. I want you to understand that I don’t have to smile at your husband for his business. If you don’t trade with me you go to Fort Buchanan and that’s a two-day trip. Add to that, I do business with the Kidstons. They buy most of the goods as fast as I receive them. And I’ll tell you right now, once they learn I’m dealing with your husband they’re going to come in here and yell for me to stop.”

“Mr. Janroe-”

“But you know what I’ll answer them? I’ll tell them to go to Buchanan or hell with their business, either one. Because no man on earth comes into my house and tells me what I can do or what I can’t do. Not Vern Kidston or his brother; not you or your husband here.”

Janroe relaxed against the back of his chair. “That’s how it is, Mrs. Cable. I’d suggest you think about it before you speak out the first thing that comes to your mind.”

Again there was silence. Cable saw his wife tense, controlling herself with a fixed tightness about her nose and mouth. She stared at Janroe.

“Martha,” Cable said mildly, “why don’t you take the children to the kitchen? Maybe you could help Luz dish up.” Martha looked at him, but said nothing. She held out her hand to Davis, gathered her children about her, and followed the girl to the kitchen.

“Your wife looks like a woman of strong character,” Janroe said as Cable sat down again.

“She sticks up for what she believes.”

“Yes,” Janroe said. “A strong-minded woman. I noticed you asked her when you told her to go to the kitchen. You said, ‘Why don’t you take the children?…’ ”

Cable stared at him. “I think I said that.”

“I’ve found,” Janroe said, “it works a sight better to tell women what to do. Never ask them. Especially a wife. You were away for a while and your wife took on some independence. Well, now you’re back I’d suggest you assume your place as head of the family.”

Cable leaned forward, resting his arms on the edge of the table. “Mr. Janroe, I’d suggest you mind your own business.”

“I’m giving you good advice, whether you know it or not.”

“All I know about you so far,” Cable said quietly, “is that you like to talk. I’ve got no reason to respect your advice. I’ve got no reason to respect you or anything about you.”

He saw Janroe about to speak. “Now wait a minute. You gave my wife a lecture on what she was supposed to understand. I stood by and watched you insult her. But now I’ll tell you this, Mr. Janroe: if you didn’t have the misfortune of being one-armed you never would have said those things. You might be a strong-minded, hard-nosed individual who doesn’t care what anybody thinks and who won’t stand for any kind of dependence. You might even be a man to admire. But if you had had both your arms when you said those things, I’d have broken your jaw.”

Janroe stared at Cable, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. He remained silent.

“I’m sorry I had to say that,” Cable told him after a moment. “But now we know where we stand. You’ve got your ideas and I’ve got mine. If they cross, then I guess you and I aren’t going to get along.”

Janroe sipped his mescal, taking his time, and set the glass down gently. “You were with Bedford Forrest,” he said then. “Were you an officer?”

“I reached captain.”

“That speaks well of you, doesn’t it-an officer with Forrest?”

“It depends from which side you view it.”

“How long were you with him?”

“Since June, sixty-two.”

“In the saddle most every day. Living outside and fighting-” Janroe’s head nodded slowly. He raised the glass again. “You might be able to break my jaw at that.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Don’t back off. I’m being realistic, not apologizing. I’m saying you might.”

Cable stared at him. “Maybe we should start all over again.”

“No, I think we’ve come a long way in a short time.”

“Except,” Cable said, “you know more about me than I do about you.”

“You don’t have to know anything about me,” Janroe said. “The Kidstons are your problem.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“But why should they talk to you?” Janroe watched him intently. “You’re one man against, say, fifteen. You’re an ex-Confederate in Union territory. The Kidstons themselves are Yankees. They sell most of their cattle and all of their horses to the Union army. Vern’s brother Duane even held a command, but now he’s back and he’s brought the war with him. Has everybody calling him ‘The Major’ and he orders Vern’s riders about like they were his personal cavalry.” Janroe shook his head. “They don’t have to listen to you.”

Cable shrugged. “We’ll see what happens.”

“How do you eat?” Janroe asked. “That’s your first problem.”

“For now,” Cable said, “I plan to buy provisions and maybe shoot something. Pretty soon I’ll start buying stock and build my herd again.”

“Buy it from where?”

“South. Luz’s brother has friends in Sonora. I sold my stock to them when I enlisted on the agreement they’d sell back whatever I could buy when I came home.”

“Manuel’s down that way right now,” Janroe said.

Cable’s eyes raised. “When will he be back?”

“In a few days, I suppose. But your problem is now. I said before, some of Vern’s men are living at your place.”

“I’ll have a talk with them,” Cable said.

“One of them was here this morning. Bill Dancey.” Janroe paused as Luz approached the table. She put plates in front of them and a serving dish of meat stew between them. Janroe asked her, “Where’s his wife?”

“With the children.” Luz served them as she spoke.

“Was Dancey here this morning?”

“I saw no one else.”

“Who’s up there with him?”

“I think Royce and the one named Joe Bob Dodd.”

“Tell Mr. Cable about them.”

Luz looked off, as if picturing them, before her eyes lowered to Cable. “Bill Dancey is head. He is a large man and wears a beard and is perhaps ten years older than the others. This Royce and the one called Joe Bob look much alike with their thin faces and bodies and their hats worn straight and low over their eyes. They stand with their hands on their hips in a lazy fashion and say things to each other and laugh, though not genuinely. I think they are Texans.”

“They are,” Janroe said. “I’m not sure about Dancey. But it’s said this Joe Bob and Royce, along with Joe Bob’s two older brothers, that’s Austin and Wynn, deserted from Sherrod Hunter’s Texas Brigade when he came through here and Duane Kidston hired them. They say if Duane knew they’d been Rebel soldiers he’d have a fit.” Janroe paused. “Royce and Joe Bob are the ones at your place. Austin and Wynn are probably at the main house.”

Cable said, “You’re telling me not to go home?”

“I’m telling you how it is. You do what you want.”

“We’ll leave as soon as we load up.”

From the platform Janroe watched the wagon, with Cable’s sorrel trailing, move off toward the willows. He watched intently, his right hand on the stump of his arm and massaging it gently, telling himself not to become excited or hasty or jump to conclusions.

But, my God, it was more than he could have hoped blind luck would provide-an Ex-Rebel suddenly showing up here; coming home to find the Kidstons on his land.

He’s your weapon, Janroe thought. Now it was right in front of him after months of waiting and watching and wondering how he could make it happen and never be suspected. If necessary he would even apologize to Martha for what he’d said. It had come out too quickly, that was all. He would smooth it over if he had to, because Cable’s presence could be far more important than where kids ate, or if they ate at all, for that matter. He would have to watch himself and not let his mind clutch at petty things just to be tearing something apart.