Last Stand at Saber River - Leonard Elmore John (бесплатная регистрация книга TXT) 📗

“There is a big difference between holding a gun and using it. If you’re bluffing, Mr. Janroe, trying to frighten me, I advise you to give it up and go home.”

“I’m not bluffing.”

“Then you’re out of your mind.”

“Major, I don’t think you realize what’s happening.”

“I realize I’m talking to a man who hasn’t complete control of his faculties.”

“That’s meant to be an insult, nothing else,” Janroe said. “If you believed it, you’d be scared out of your wits.”

Duane hesitated. He watched Janroe closely, in silence; the hand holding the cigar had dropped to his side. “You wouldn’t dare use that gun,” he said finally.

“It’s the reason I came.”

“But you have no reason to kill me!”

“Call it duty, Major. Call it anything you like.” Janroe put the front sight squarely on Duane’s chest. “Do you want to run or stand there? Make up your mind.”

“But the war’s over-don’t you realize that!”

Janroe pulled the trigger. In the heavy report he watched Duane clutch the railing, holding himself up, and Janroe fired again, seeing Duane’s body jerk with the impact of the bullet before sliding, falling to the porch.

“It’s over now,” Janroe said.

He reined and kicked the dun to a gallop as he crossed the yard. Behind him he heard a window rise and a woman’s voice, but the sounds seemed to end abruptly as the darkness of the trees closed in on him.

Now back to the store. There was no reason to run. He would tell the women that Cable was not at home, that he’d looked for him, but with no luck. Tomorrow he would ride out again, telling the women he would try again to locate Cable.

But he would take his time, giving Vern time to learn about his brother’s death; giving him time to convince himself that it was Cable who’d killed Duane; giving him time, then, to go after Cable. No, there was no need to run.

It had been a satisfying time. The best since the days near Opelousas when he’d killed the Yankee prisoners.

Bill Dancey had spent the night in a line shack seven miles north of the Kidston place. The day before, after the incident at Denaman’s, after watching Duane demonstrate his authority with a rawhide quirt, after riding back to the Kidston place with Duane and the Dodd brothers and not speaking a word to them all the way, Dancey had decided it was time for a talk with Vern.

But Vern was still away. Since that morning he’d been visiting the grazes, instructing his riders to begin driving the horses to the home range. Vern could be gone all night, Dancey knew, and that was why he went out after him. What he had to say wouldn’t wait.

By late evening, after he had roamed the west and north pastures, but always an hour or more behind Vern, Dancey decided to bed down in the line shack. It was deserted now, which suited him fine. It was good to get away from the others once in a while, to sit peacefully or lie in your blanket with quiet all around and be able to hear yourself think. It gave him a chance to review the things he wanted to tell Vern.

With the first trace of morning light he was in the saddle again; and it was at the next pasture that he learned about Duane. There were five men here, still at the breakfast fire. They told him that Vern had been here; but a rider came during the night with news about Duane-one before that with word about the war being over; it had sure as hell been an eventful night-and Vern had left at once, taking only the two Dodd brothers with him.

By six o’clock Dancey was back at the Kidston place. He crossed the yard to the corral, unsaddled and turned his horse into the enclosure before going on to the house.

Austin and Wynn Dodd were sitting on the steps: Wynn sitting low, leaning forward and looking down between his legs; Austin sitting back with his elbows resting on the top step, Austin with his head up, his stained, curled-brim hat straight over his eyes. Both men wore holstered revolvers, the butt of Wynn’s jutting out sharply from his hip because of the way he was sitting. Austin, Dancey noticed then, was wearing two revolvers, two Colts that looked like the pair Joe Bob had owned.

Dancey stopped in front of them. “Vern’s inside?”

Wynn looked up. Austin nodded.

“He told you to wait for him?”

“Right here.” Wynn leaned back saying it, propping his elbows on the step behind him.

“If that’s all right with you, Bill,” Austin said dryly.

Dancey moved through them to the porch. He opened the screen then stood there, seeing Vern and Lorraine at the stove fireplace across the room. Dancey waited until Vern saw him before moving toward them.

“I’ve been looking for you.” Vern said it bluntly, and the tone stirred the anger Dancey had held under control since yesterday afternoon.

He wanted to snap back at Vern and if it led to his quitting, that was all right. But now Duane was dead and before he argued with Vern he would have to say he was sorry about Duane. And Lorraine was here. Her presence bothered him too. She didn’t appear to have been crying, but stood staring at the dead fire; probably not even thinking about her father, more likely wondering what was going to happen to her. She seemed less sure of herself now; though Dancey realized he could be imagining this.

He looked at Vern. “Your brother’s dead?” And when Vern nodded Dancey said, “I’m sorry about it. Where is he now?”

“Upstairs. We’ll bury him this afternoon.”

“All right.” Dancey’s eyes moved to Lorraine. “What about his girl?”

“I think she’ll be going back home,” Vern said. “This brought her up pretty short. She might have even grown up in one day.”

“It could do that,” Dancey said. “When was it, last night?”

Vern nodded. “He rode in while Duane was on the porch. Lorraine was upstairs. She heard the two shots and looked out her window in time to see him riding off.”

“Who’s he?”

“Who do you think?”

“Did she see him clearly?”

“She didn’t have to.”

“It’s best to be sure.”

“All right, Bill, if it’s not Cable, who would it be?”

“I know. It’s probably him; but you have to be sure.”

“I’m sure as I’ll ever be.”

Vern moved past him and Dancey followed out to the porch. The two Dodd brothers were standing now, watching Vern.

“There’ll be just the four of us,” Vern told them. He waited until they moved off, then seemed to relax somewhat, leaning against a support post and staring out across the yard. He said to Dancey behind him, “They’ll bring you a fresh horse.”

“I can get my own,” Dancey said.

“I guess you can, but they’ll bring it anyway.”

“Now we go visit Cable-is that it?”

“You don’t have to come.”

“Then I sure as hell don’t think I will.”

Vern turned suddenly from the post, but hesitated then. “Bill, do you realize the man’s killed three people now, one of them my brother?”

“Are you telling me you’re going after Cable because you and Duane were so close?”

“Be careful, Bill.”

“What would you have done if two men came to your house at night-two men like Royce and Joe Bob? What would you have done if somebody busted your house-”

“I had no part of that; you know it.”

“Duane said yesterday he didn’t either.” Dancey paused. “Maybe Lorraine just made it up.” The tone of his voice probed for an answer.

But Vern said only, “Who did it isn’t my concern.”

“All right,” Dancey said. “How would you see it if somebody had taken a rawhide quirt to your face while two others held your arms?”

“I don’t have to see it! The man killed my brother, do you understand that?”

“You’ve got something to say for your stand.” Dancey saw the anger etched deeply in Vern’s eyes, hardening the solemn, narrow-boned look of his face. “But what are you going to do about it?”

“Take him up to Fort Buchanan.”

“You better go in shooting.”