Last Stand at Saber River - Leonard Elmore John (читать книги txt) 📗

Janroe paced the length of the space behind the counter, but it was too confining. He went out to the loading platform and for some time stood gazing out at the sunlit sweep of the valley; then at the willows and the slope beyond. He went inside again, through the store to the sitting room. From here he saw Martha still in the kitchen. Davis, the older boy, was with her, standing on a chair to put the breakfast dishes away.

He heard a noise from upstairs, then remembered that the other two children were up there. Martha had sent Clare up to make her bed and the younger one had gone with his sister. They’d probably forgotten all about the bed and were playing.

He was out on the platform again in time to see the rider come down the slope and drop from sight behind the willows. Waiting, Janroe was aware of the tight feeling in his stomach and the ache, the dull, muscle ache, in the arm that wasn’t there. But the next moment the tension and the pain were gone. He could feel only relief now, watching Luz appear out of the willows and come toward him across the yard.

He saw her watching him as she came, all the way, until she had reached the platform.

“What happened?”

“It’s over.”

“He’s dead?”

Luz glanced at the doorway behind them, then back to Janroe and nodded quickly.

“Where is he?”

“At home.”

“I thought Vern would be coming.”

Luz shrugged. “I don’t know.” She dismounted and came up on the platform. “I’d better go tell her.”

Janroe stepped aside. “Go ahead.” He said then, “You don’t seem broken up any.”

Luz said nothing.

“Didn’t Vern say he was coming?”

Luz shook her head. “I don’t remember.” She moved past him into the store.

Janroe followed. “Wait a minute. Tell me what happened.”

“After,” Luz said. She hurried now to the next room.

Janroe still stood at the edge of the counter after she was gone.

But why wasn’t she crying? She could be nervous about telling Martha, but she would have cried, if not now sometime before, and she would show signs of it.

From this the suspicion began to build in his mind. Why wouldn’t she tell what happened? She seemed to want to get away from him, to see Martha too quickly; not holding back, putting it off, reluctant to face Martha; but wanting to see her, to tell her…to tell her what?

He moved through the store in long, hurried strides, across the sitting room and saw them in the kitchen, Martha and Luz and the little boy: Martha looked at him, her eyes alive and her hand going to Luz suddenly to stop her. “What’re you telling her?”

Luz turned, stepping back as he came in. “Nothing. I was just beginning-”

“What did she tell you?” He turned to Martha abruptly.

“This doesn’t concern you, Mr. Janroe.”

“Answer me!” His hand clamped on Martha’s arm and he saw her wince, trying to pull away. “She said your husband was still alive, didn’t she? She said not to worry that he was all right, that he was coming.” Janroe shook her violently. “Answer me!”

He heard Luz moving. He wheeled, reaching for her, but she was already past him. “Luz-”

She ran through the store ahead of him, out to the loading platform and jumped. Janroe reached the doorway. He pulled the Colt, cocking it, and screamed her name again, a last warning. But beyond Luz he saw Cable step out of the willows with the Spencer in his hand. Then Vern, closer, running past the corner of the building. Janroe pushed back inside. He thought of Martha and ran into the sitting room in time to see her starting for the stairs. She reached the first step before she heard Janroe and turned to face him.

“You couldn’t leave the two upstairs, could you?” Janroe said.

Now they were in the willows watching the front of the store. Vern had been down farther, in view of the rear door, but he had come back as Luz ran out of the store and Janroe shouted at her.

“That nails it down,” Vern said. “He killed Duane. I wonder what he’s thinking, seeing us together.”

Cable, at the edge of the trees, said nothing.

Luz was staring vacantly at the adobe. “I shouldn’t have run,” she said. “I should be there with your wife and children.”

“You did the best thing,” Cable said.

“But I ran, leaving them alone with him.”

“We shouldn’t have let you do it,” Cable said.

“No,” Vern said. “It was the only way and it had to be tried. It was worth that much.” The plan had been for Luz to tell Janroe that Cable was dead. Then to tell Martha, somehow without Janroe hearing, to take the children and slip out. That would leave Janroe alone in the adobe and in time they would take him. But now they would have to think of something else.

“Where was Martha?” Cable asked Luz.

“In the kitchen.”

“The children with her?”

“Just Davis.” She looked at him then. “Could Clare and Sandy be outside?”

“They’d be close. But I haven’t seen them.” He glanced at Vern. “In back?” When Vern shook his head, Cable said, “Then they’re all inside.”

“He wouldn’t harm them,” Luz said. “He would be too afraid to do that.”

“Now he’ll be thinking of a way out,” Vern said.

“Unless he’s already thought of it.” Cable was still watching the adobe. “I think I’d better talk to him.”

Vern looked at him. “Just walk out there?”

“I don’t know of any other way,” Cable said. He parted the willow branches and started across the yard. Almost at once Janroe’s voice stopped him.

“Stay where you are!”

Luz’s horse, by the loading platform, raised its head at the sound.

Cable’s eyes moved from the screen door to the first window on the right. One of the wooden shutters was open. If Janroe was there he would be in the store, behind the counter that ran along the front wall. Cable started toward the adobe again.

“Stand or I’ll kill you!”

That’s where he was, by the window. Cable was sure of it now.

“Janroe, you’re in enough trouble. Let my family come out.”

There was no answer from the store.

“You hear me? Send them out and nobody will harm you.” He saw Janroe at the window then, part of his head and shoulder momentarily.

“How do I know that?” Janroe’s voice again.

“You’ve got my word.”

“I’ve got something better than your word.”

“Janroe, if you harm my wife and children-”

“I’m through talking to you, Cable!”

“All right”-Cable’s tone lowered, became more calm-“what do you want?”

“I’ll tell you when I’m ready. Go back where you were. Try sneaking up and you’ll hear a shotgun go off.”

Cable stared at the window, not moving.

“Go on!”

“Janroe,” Cable said finally, “if you harm my family you’re a dead man.” He turned then and moved back into the willows to stand with Luz and Vern.

Soon after, Luz’s horse moved away from the platform, the reins dragging. It wandered aimlessly at first, nosing the ground; but finally the horse’s head rose and it came toward them, drawn by the scent of water.

Taking the reins, Luz looked at Cable. “He could threaten us to bring it back. Why doesn’t he?”

“He knows he can do it any time he wants,” Cable answered.

They waited, watching the store and seldom speaking. The afternoon dragged by and there was no word from Janroe; not a sound reaching them from the adobe.

In the late afternoon, with the first red traces of sunset, a rider came down the slope from the horse trail south. It was Manuel, back from Hidalgo. Back for good, he said.

He looked at Vern, then at Cable inquiringly and Cable told it, beginning with Duane and bridging to the present time. They had been here nearly six hours now, waiting for Janroe to make his move. There was nothing they could do. There wasn’t much doubt that Janroe would take a hostage when he decided to make his run. Probably one of the children. Probably, too, he was waiting for dark. But you couldn’t count on anything-it was Luz who added this-because something was wrong with the man’s mind. But Cable was sure Janroe would know they would hold back for fear of harming the child, and Janroe would lose them long before daylight.