Louis L'Amour - Sitka

Far up the road he glimpsed a light. That would be the old Chancel house, and not a quarter of a mile beyond was the tavern, and only a little farther, a few steps only, was his own home. At last he ran up the path and burst into the door.

His mother started to her feet, her face tear-stained, and his father, who had been pacing the floor as he always did when worried, turned sharply, ready to scold. When he saw Rob's face and the condition of his clothing the words died unspoken.

"What is it, son? What's wrong?"

The story spilled out in sobbing gasps, and for the moment he forgot that he had been forbidden to go into the swamp or to associate with Jean LaBarge. His father listened, his eyes on Rob's face, seeing more than was being said. He knew his own son, and sometimes had wondered about the boy. Now he saw courage there, and if there was fear also, it was fear for Jean. Rob had always been frightened of his father, a quiet, stern man. Suddenly, for the first time, he felt they were on common ground. His father asked no foolish questions, wasted no time on angry complaints.

"You can take us back there? Do you know the way?"

"Yes, Father."

"Three men, you said? And Jean thought they were the Carters?"

"Yes."

"Come." Walker put his hand on his son's arm. "We'll go to the tavern." "But can't you take care of it without him?" Rob's mother protested. "The child hasn't eaten and look at his clothes! He ..."

"He will have to come with me. Anyway," Rob's father added, "it is his story and I believe he had better tell it."

Side by side they walked to the tavern. Rob had rarely been inside, only when he and Jean had slipped in to listen to stories being told, when some traveler was there from the west, or going west. It was a large room, low-raftered and smoky. On the right was a huge fireplace and near it a dozen men sat about a worn black table with mugs of beer or rum, smoking their pipes. The place had a dark, rich smell that was always exciting, and the glint of light on burnished copper. As they entered, all eyes swung to them. Across the table Captain Hutchins lifted his level blue eyes and looked at Rob, then nodded to Rob's father. "Hutchins," Walker said abruptly, "my son has something to tell you." Rob began to speak, hesitantly at first, and then remembering Jean he spoke more boldly and swiftly, telling the story from the beginning. He repeated what conversation they had overheard from within the stone house, and Jean's whispered report that three men were inside. Captain Hutchins listened without speaking, his eyes never leaving Rob's. When Rob finished, Walker got to his feet and knocked out his pipe.

"I believe that is plain enough," he said. "How many of you are with me?"

There were nine in the group who rode out from the village. Four were from the local company of militia, and even old Mister Dean, armed with a tremendous double-barreled shotgun, had come along.

"Will there be time to reach the cabin?" Hutchins asked, turning in his saddle to look at Rob.

"No, sir. I don't think so. And with so many men there would be noise."

Walker spoke up angrily. "By the Lord, Captain, if they've killed that boy ...

!"

"Hsst!"

They drew up sharply at the signal, stopping in the black shadow of a roadside tree. They heard a murmur of voices and an oath as somebody stumbled. Men were coming through the brush.

Hutchins swung to the ground, very cool, very businesslike. Rob's father tossed his reins to Rob and dismounted. "Hold the horses, Rob," he said, "and don't be frightened."

Breathless with excitement, Rob watched his father. He carried a rifle, and from somewhere he had gotten a large pistol which was thrust into his waistband. Moreover, he seemed completely at home with both weapons. Rob had noticed with pride the businesslike way in which his father loaded them. The four militiamen disappeared into the trees opposite the noise in the brush. Hutchins stood his ground, in the middle of the moonlit road. Some twenty feet farther along, standing partly in the shadow, was Walker. The other men had scattered themselves, two slipping into the brush, planning to come in behind the Carters and cut off any attempted escape.

Fud was the first Carter to reach the road. "Right across here there's a rock," he was saying. "We can wait there until Hutchins ..." His voice broke off sharply as he saw the slim, erect figure standing in the light of the sinking moon.

The others emerged from the woods, Ring pausing on the edge of the brush, warned by the sudden breaking off of Fud's speech.

"Stand where you are, men," Hutchins spoke clearly. "You're well taken."

A rustle of movement in the brush behind him made Sam start, then relax slowly. Fud was weaving uncertainly as his slow brain attempted to cope with the situation, a situation already beyond him. The shock of the trap was too much for Fud.

"You'll drop your weapons!" Walker's voice was crisp. "If you do not comply at once, we shall shoot to kill!"

Fud found his voice. "What's this?" he blustered. "Can't a man travel the high road 'thout bein' held up?"

"Our point exactly," Hutchins replied cheerfully. "I'm Hutchins, if you'd like to know. I understand you planned to meet me later. Now tell us: where's the boy?"

"What boy?" Fud tried to seem surprised.

"Don't pretend, man." Hutchins walked up to him. "You have been found out so you'd best tell us. If that boy has been harmed I shall personally attend to your hanging."

Rob's attention had been riveted upon the tense scene in the road's center. All at once his eyes swung to the edge of the road. Sam was still there, a man behind him with a gun at his back, but the third man was gone. "Father!" he called sharply. "The other man's gone!" Before anyone could speak, Sam lifted his voice. "Hutchins, you'd better get to the cabin and save that boy. Ring's got away and he hates the lot of you. He'll kill that lad. I know Ring. He'll kill him certain sure." Fud turned his heavy head to glare at Sam. "Why don't you keep shet?" he demanded.

Sam shrugged, smiling wryly. "You heard the man. If anything happens to that boy, we hang. Do you want to hang, Fud?"

"Did you say Ring?" Walker crossed the road to Sam. "I thought we'd killed the lot of them."

"This here's Bob Ring. You killed his father and brother. They were the first of the Carters."

Walker turned to his son. "Rob, can you take us to the cabin? I don't like to ask you. I know you're tired, but ..."

"I want to go!" Rob slid from his horse. "I know the way." Four men took Sam and Fud, their hands tied behind them, and started for the village. The others followed Captain Hutchins and Walker into the woods, and Rob led the way. Out there in the stone house Jean LaBarge waited for help, and he was bringing it.

The light outside the knothole slowly turned gray. Unless Rob had reached them in time Captain Hutchins would now be approaching the place where the Carters lay in wait for him on Mill Creek Road.

What if Rob was not believed? But he would be, for Rob was a serious boy, not given to pranks, and he had a way of making people listen to him. He knew how to talk, and had the words for it. That was because he read books. Jean made a mental resolution to read more ... if he got out of this. He got to his feet and went to the door. The cabin smelled of dirty clothes and stale tobacco smoke. He tried to get his fingers into the crack between the door and the jamb but there was no space for them, nor could he budge the heavy planks at the window.

Somewhere out in the woods there was a sound, and he went to the knothole, peering out. The grass of the clearing beyond the hemlocks was gray with morning dew; with the rising sun it would turn to silver. A bird came out of a tree and sat on a stump, preening his feathers. There was no sound, there was no other movement.