Last Stand at Saber River

  Now Royce said nothing.

  “Not us do it,” Joe Bob said. “Him do it.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “You don’t have to.” Joe Bob drank from the bottle, then stood holding it, staring at Cable. “As long as he does.” After a moment he handed Royce the bottle and walked over to Cable.

  “You understand me, don’t you?”

  Cable straightened against the back of the chair. He shook his head.

  “You will.” Joe Bob stood close to him, looking down, and said then, “You’re a miserable man, aren’t you?”

  Cable sat tensed. He could not fight Joe Bob now and there was nothing he could say. So he remained silent, his eyes going to Martha who stood with her hands knotted into slender fists. Still with his eyes on Martha, he felt the sudden, sharp pain in his scalp and in a moment he was looking up into Joe Bob’s tight-jawed face.

  Close to his belt, Joe Bob held Cable’s head back, his hand fisted in Cable’s hair. “I asked if you’re a miserable man!”

  Cable tried to swallow, but most of the blood-saliva remained in his mouth. He said. “I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t.” The words came hesitantly, through swollen lips. But he stared up at Joe Bob calmly, breathing slowly, and only when he saw the man’s expression change did he try to push up out of the chair. Then it was too late.

  He went back with the chair as Joe Bob’s fist slammed into his face. On the floor he rolled to his side, then raised himself slowly to his hands and knees. Joe Bob stood looking down at him with both fists balled and his jaw clenched in anger.

  “I hate a man who thinks he’s smart. God, I hate a man who does that.”

  Joe Bob was feeling the whisky. It showed in his face; and the cold, quiet edge was gone from the tone of his voice. On Royce, the whisky was having an opposite effect. He was grinning, watching Joe Bob with amusement; and now he said, “If he bothers you, throw him out. That’s all you got to do.”

  “Better than that,” Joe Bob said. He extended a hand to Royce though his eyes remained on Cable. “Give me his Colt.”

  “Sure.” Royce pulled the revolver from his belt and put it in Joe Bob’s hand. He stepped back, watching with interest as Joe Bob turned the cylinder to check the load.

  “You’re going to kill him?”

  “You’ll see.” Joe Bob cocked the revolver. He pointed it at Cable and motioned to the door. “Walk outside.”

  Cable came to his feet. He looked at Martha, then away from her and walked toward the open door, seeing the dark square of it, then the deep shadow of the ramada as he neared the door, and beyond it, over the yard, a pale trace of early moonlight.

  Now he was almost in the doorway, and the boot steps came quickly behind him. He was pushed violently through the opening, stumbled as he hit the ground and rolled out of the deep shadow of the ramada. He pushed himself to his knees, then fell flat again as Joe Bob began firing from the doorway. With the reports he heard Martha’s scream. And as suddenly as the gunfire began, it was over. He heard Joe Bob say, “I wasn’t aiming at him. If I was aiming he’d be dead. I got rid of four rounds is all.”

  Joe Bob leaned in the doorway looking out into the darkness, the whisky warm inside of him and feeling Royce and the woman watching him. He would make it good, all right. Something Royce would tell everybody about.

  He called out to Cable, “One left, boy. Put yourself out of your misery and save Vern and me and everybody a lot of trouble. Pull the trigger and it’s all over. Nobody worries anymore.”

  He flipped the Walker in his hand, held it momentarily by the barrel, then threw it side-arm out to the yard. The revolver struck the ground, skidded past Cable, and the door slammed closed.

  What would Forrest do?

  That was a long time ago.

  But what would he do? Cable thought.

  He’d call on them to surrender. Not standing the way Duane stood, but with a confidence you could feel. The Yankees felt it and that part was real. He’d convince them he had more men and more artillery than they did—by having more buglers than companies and by having the same six field pieces come swinging down around the hill and into the woods, which was the reason the Yankee raider, Streight, surrendered—and only that part was unreal. And if they didn’t surrender, he’d find their weak point and beat the living hell out of it.

  But these two won’t surrender. You’re seven hundred miles away from that. So what’s their weak point?

  Almost a quarter of an hour had passed since the door slammed closed. Cable lay on his stomach, on the damp sand at the end of the river. He bathed his face, working his jaw and feeling the soreness of it, and rinsed his mouth until the inside bleeding stopped. The Walker Colt, with one load in it, was in his holster. And now what?

  Now you think it out and do it and maybe it will work. Whatever it is.

  What would Forrest do?

  Always back to him, because you know he’d do something. God, and Nathan Bedford Forrest, I need help. God’s smile and Forrest’s bag of tricks.

  When too many things crowded into Cable’s mind, he would stop thinking. He would calm himself, then tell himself to think very slowly and carefully. A little anger was good, but not rage; that hindered thinking. He tried not to think of Martha, because thinking of her and picturing her with them and wondering made it more difficult to take this coldly, to study it from all sides.

  Two and a half years ago, he thought, you wouldn’t be lying here. You’d be dead. You’d have done something foolish and you’d be dead. But you have to hurry. You still have to hurry.

  But even thinking this, and not being able to keep the picture of them with Martha out of his mind, he kept himself calm.

  He was thankful for having served with Forrest. You learned things watching Forrest and you learned things getting out of the situations Forrest got you into. There had been times like this—not the same because there was Martha and the children now—but there had been outnumbered times and one-bullet times and lying close to the ground in the moonlight times. And he had come through them.

  Their weak point, Cable thought. Or their weakness.

  Whisky…its effect on Joe Bob. His act of bravado, throwing the one-load revolver out after him, telling him to use it on himself.

  What if he did?

  What if they heard a shot and thought he did? Would they come outside? The one-load revolver could be Joe Bob’s mistake. His weak point.

  There it was. A possibility. Would one come out, or both? Or neither?

  Just get them out, he thought. Stop thinking and get them out. He crawled on his hands and knees along the water’s edge until he found a rock; one with smooth edges, heavy enough and almost twice the size of his fist. He rose now, moved back to the chest-high bank, climbed it and stood in the dark willow shadows. Drawing the revolver, cocking it, he moved closer to the trunk of the willow. Then, pointing the barrel directly at the ground, he squeezed the trigger.

  The report was loud and close to him, then fading, fading and leaving a ringing that stretched quickly to silence; and now even the night sounds that had been in the trees and in the meadow across the river were gone.

  Through the heavy-hanging branches he watched the house, picturing Joe Bob standing still in the room. Wonder about it, Cable thought. But not too long. Look at your friend who’s looking at you and both of you wonder about it. Then decide. Come on, decide right now. Somebody has to come out and make sure. You don’t believe it, but you’d like to believe it, so you have to come see. Decide that one of you has to watch Martha. So only one of you can come out. Come on, get it through your head! That’s the way it has to be!

  And finally the door opened.

  He saw a man framed in the doorway with the light behind him. The man stood half turned, talking back into the room. Then he stepped outside, drawing his revolver. Another figure appeared in the doorway, but the man outside came on alone. Cable let his breath out slowly.

  He stood close to the tr
unk of the tree now, holding the rock against his stomach, watching the man coming carefully across the yard. He was not coming directly toward Cable, but would enter the trees about twelve or fifteen feet from him.

  Now he was nearing the trees, moving cautiously and listening. He came on and a moment later was in the willows, out of sight.

  “I don’t see him!” The voice came from the trees, shouted toward the house. It was Royce.

  From the doorway, Joe Bob called back, “Look along the bank.”

  Cable waited. He heard Royce. Then saw him, moving along the bank, stepping carefully and looking down at the sand flat. Cable tightened against the tree, waiting. Now Royce was near, now ducking under the branches of Cable’s tree—his revolver in his right hand, on the side away from Cable. Royce stepped past him and stopped.

  “I don’t see him!”

  From the house: “Keep looking!”

  Royce started off, looking down at the sand flat again. Cable was on him in two strides, bringing the rock back as he came, holding on to it and slamming it against the side of Royce’s head as the man started to turn. Cable’s momentum carried both of them over the bank. He landed on Royce with his hand on the revolver barrel and came up holding it, cocking it, not bothering with Royce now, but ducking down as he wheeled to climb out of the cutbank and into the trees again.

  From the house: “Royce?”

  Silence.

  “Royce, what’d you do?”

  Take him, Cable thought. Before he goes back inside. Before he has time to think about it.

  He took the barrel of the revolver in his left hand. He wiped his right hand across the front of his shirt, stretched his fingers, opening and closing his hand, then gripped the revolver again and moved out of the trees.

  Joe Bob saw him and called out, “Royce?”

  Cable remembered thinking one thing: You should have taken Royce’s hat. But now it was too late. He was in the open, moving across the yard that was gray and shadow-streaked with moonlight.

  “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 bol
stered 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.

  The next December Duane arrived with his daughter. Duane had not wanted to return to Gallipolis after having been relieved of his command. They had made him resign his commission because of incompetence or poor judgment or whatever shelling your own troops was called.