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

Royce looked over at Joe Bob, grinning. “You hear what he said?”

The man at the ramada nodded. “I heard him.”

“You don’t have the time to give.” Dancey said. “I told you, you’re going to turn around and go back.”

“Bill,” Joe Bob called, “tell him he can leave his woman.”

Cable’s eyes went to him, feeling the tingle of anger again. No, wait a little more, he thought. Take one thing at a time and don’t make it harder than it already is. His gaze returned to Dancey.

“Go get Kidston and I’ll talk to him,” Cable said.

“He wouldn’t waste his time.”

“Maybe I would though,” Joe Bob said easily. His hand came down from the post and both thumbs hooked into his crossed belts. “Reb, you want to argue over your land?”

“I’ll talk to Kidston.”

“You’ll talk to me if I say so.”

Watching him, seeing him beyond the lowered head of Dancey’s horse and feeling Dancey still close to him, Cable said, “I think that’s all you are. Just talk.”

“Bill,” Joe Bob said, “get your horse out of the way.”

Cable hesitated.

He sensed Dancey reaching for the reins, his body turning and his hands going to the horse’s mane.

And for part of a moment Dancey was half turned from him with his hands raised and the horse was moving, side-stepping, hiding both Royce and Joe Bob, and that was the time.

It was then or not at all and Cable stepped into Dancey, seeing the man’s expression change to sudden surprise the moment before his fist hooked into the bearded face. Dancey stumbled against his horse, trying to catch himself against the nervously side-stepping animal, but Cable was with him, clubbing him with both fists, again and again and again, until Dancey sagged, until he went down covering his head.

Cable glanced at the wagon and away from it with the sound of Martha’s voice and with the sound of running steps on the hard-packed ground. He saw Joe Bob beyond Dancey’s horse. Now a glimpse of Royce jerking the bridle, and a slapping sound and the horse bolted.

Both Joe Bob and Royce stood in front of him, their hands on their revolvers; though neither of them had pulled one clear of its holster. They stood rooted, staring at Cable, stopped suddenly in the act of rushing him. For in one brief moment, in the time it had taken Royce to slap the horse out of the way, they had missed their chance.

Cable stood over Dancey with the Walker Colt in his hand. It was cocked and pointing directly at Dancey’s head. Joe Bob and Royce said nothing. Dancey had raised himself on an elbow and was staring at Cable dumbly.

“Now you take off your belts,” Cable said. He brought Dancey to his feet and had to prompt them again before they unbuckled their gun belts and let them fall. Then he moved toward Joe Bob.

“You said something about my wife.”

“Me?”

“About leaving her here.”

Joe Bob shrugged. “That wasn’t anything. Just something I felt like saying-”

Abruptly Cable stepped into Joe Bob, hitting him in the face before he could bring up his hands. Joe Bob went down, rolling to his side, and when he looked up at Cable his eyes showed stunned surprise.

“You won’t say anything like that again,” Cable said.

Dancey had not taken his eyes off Cable. “You didn’t give him a chance. Hitting him with a gun in your hand.”

Cable glanced at him. “You’re in a poor position to argue it.”

“In fact,” Dancey said, “you didn’t give me much of a chance either. Now if you want to put the gun away and go about it fair-”

“That would be something, wouldn’t it?”

Dancey said, “You’re not proving anything with that gun in your hand.”

“I don’t have anything to prove.”

“All right, then we leave for a while.” Dancey looked over at Royce. “Get the stuff out of the house.”

“Not now.” Cable’s voice stopped Royce. “You had a chance. You didn’t take it. Now you leave without anything,” Cable said. “Don’t come back for it either. What doesn’t burn goes in the river.”

Royce said, “You think we won’t be back?”

Cable’s gaze shifted. “You’ll ride into a double load of buckshot if you do. You can tell Kidston the same.”

Royce seemed to grin. “Man, you’re made to order. Duane’s going to have some fun with you.”

Dancey’s eyes held on Cable. “So one man’s going to stand us off.”

“That’s all it’s taken so far.”

“You think Vern’s going to put up with you?”

“I don’t see he has a choice,” Cable answered.

“Then you don’t know him,” Dancey said flatly.

2

With daylight a wind came out of the valley and he could hear it in the pines above the house.

Cable lay on his back listening, staring at the ceiling rafters. There was no sound in the room. Next to him, Martha was asleep. In the crib, beyond Martha’s side of the bed, Sandy slept with his thumb and the corner of the blanket in his mouth. Clare and Davis were in the next room, in the log section of the house, and it was still too early even for them.

Later they would follow him around offering to help. He would be patient and let them think they were helping and answer all of their questions. He would think about the two and a half years away from them and he would kiss them frequently and study them, holding their small faces gently in his hands.

The wind rose and with it came the distant, dry-creaking sound of the barn door.

Later on he would see about the barn. Perhaps in the afternoon, if they had not come by then. This morning he would run Kidston’s horses out of the meadow. Then perhaps Martha would have something for him to do.

They had worked until long after dark, sweeping, scrubbing, moving in their belongings. There would always be something more to be done; but that was all right because it was their home, something they had built themselves.

Just make sure everything that belonged to Royce and Joe Bob and Bill Dancey was out of here. Make double sure of that. Then wait. No matter what he did, he would be waiting and listening for the sound of horses.

But there was nothing he could do about that. Don’t worry about anything you can’t do something about. When it’s like that it just happens. It’s like an act of God. Though don’t blame God for sending Vern Kidston. Blame Vern himself for coming. If you can hate him it will be easier to fight him.

And there’s always someone to fight, isn’t there?

Ten years ago he had come here from Sudan, Texas-a nineteen-year-old boy seeking his future, working at the time for a freight company that hauled between Hidalgo and Tucson-and one night when they stopped at Denaman’s Store he talked to John Denaman.

They sat on the loading platform with their legs hanging over the side, drinking coffee and now and then whiskey, drinking both from the same cups, looking north into the vast darkness of the valley. John Denaman told him about the river and the good meadow land and the timber-ponderosa pine and aspen and willows, working timber and pretty-to-look-

at timber. A man starting here young and working hard would have himself something in no time at all, Denaman had said.

But a man had to have money to buy stock with, Cable said. Something to build with.

No, Denaman said, not necessarily. He told about his man Acaso who’d died the winter before, leaving his two kids, Manuel and Luz, here and leaving the few cattle Denaman owned scattered through the hills. You’re welcome to gather and work the cattle, Denaman said. Not more than a hundred head; but something to build on and you won’t have to put up money till you market them and take your share.

That was something to think about, and all the way to Tucson Cable had pictured himself a rancher, a man with his own land, with his own stock. He thought, too, about a girl who lived in Sudan, Texas.