Davis stirred, squirming on the wooden case, making it creak and causing Janroe to look at them. Martha’s hand, with her arm around him, patted Davis gently. There was no sound from the other children now.
They were still locked in the upstairs bedroom and through the long afternoon Martha had listened to the faint sounds of their crying. Perhaps they were asleep now, even though they were frightened and had had nothing to eat since breakfast.
That seemed such a long time ago.
First Luz coming, riding in with the excitement on her face and talking to Janroe. Then returning, coming into the kitchen and telling her that it was over and that Cable was alive.
Then Janroe. She remembered the fear, the desperation in his eyes as he herded them upstairs, pushing them to make them hurry. He made Davis go into the bedroom where Clare and Sandy were playing; but as if something occurred to him, he brought Davis out and locked the door. He herded them downstairs again; closed the kitchen door and kicked at it angrily when he saw it had no lock. From the kitchen he moved them into the store, where they now sat.
When Cable came out of the trees and Janroe called to him to halt, Martha stood up. She caught only a glimpse of her husband in the yard before Janroe ordered her to sit down. Once Cable’s voice rose threateningly and Martha tensed, seeing the strained look of desperation come over Janroe’s face again.
But as the morning stretched into afternoon, Janroe seemed to gain confidence. Gradually his expression became calm and he sat quietly on the stool, his movements, as he looked from the yard to Martha, less nervous and abrupt.
Martha noticed it. She watched him closely, noting each change in his manner as he became more sure of himself. Occasionally, as he looked outside, her eyes would drop to the shotgun on the counter. It was five feet away, no more than that; but it was pointed at her. It would have to be picked up and turned on Janroe; while all he had to do was raise his revolver a few inches and pull the trigger.
Twice she asked him what had happened, why he was holding them; but both times he refused to talk about it.
Janroe came off the stool when Luz’s horse wandered from the platform to the trees. He stood at the window, his attention turned from Martha longer than at any time before. But finally he sat down again.
“My horse left me,” Janroe said, looking at Martha. “But all I have to do is call and they’ll bring it back.” He seemed to be reassuring himself.
Martha watched him. “Then you’re leaving?”
“In time.”
“Alone?”
“Now wouldn’t that be something.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Your boy’s going with me.”
Martha hesitated. “Will you take me instead?”
Janroe shook his head. “Him. He’s big enough to hold on, little enough to be managed.”
Martha felt Davis close to her. She glanced down at his hand in her lap, then at Janroe again. “What will you do to him?”
“That’s up to him. Tell him if he cries or tries to run, I’ll hurt him something awful.” Janroe’s eyes moved from the boy to Martha. “He’s no good to me dead; least not while I’m getting away from here.”
“And after that?”
Janroe shrugged. “I suppose I’ll let him go.”
“Knowing he’d be lost, and possibly never found?”
“Honey, I’ve got to look out for myself.”
“If you leave him or harm him in any way,” Martha said quietly, “my husband will kill you.”
“If he finds me he’ll try.”
“He gave you his word,” Martha said. “If you release us, he’ll let you go.”
“But will Vern?”
“At least talk to him again,” Martha urged. “Tell him where you’ll leave our boy.”
“That would be like giving myself up.”
They spoke only occasionally after that. Now the room was silent but for Davis’s restless movement. Martha watched Janroe, seeing his heavy-boned profile against the dull gray light behind him.
She thought of Clare and Sandy upstairs and of Davis, not looking at him, but feeling his small body pressed close to her side. If Janroe left with him she might never see her son again. Janroe would sacrifice Davis, admitting it with an offhand shrug, to save his own life. Could that happen? Would God let something like that happen?
No, she thought, don’t blame God.
Cabe had an idea about that. People, he said, blamed God for bad luck because they had to blame somebody. Some things you can do something about, and with God’s help you can do it even better. But others you can’t do anything about, so you wait and try not to worry or feel sorry for yourself.
Which was this?
You can do something, Martha thought. Because you have to do something.
Her eyes went to the shotgun. A dull, thin line of light extended from the breech to the blunt end of the barrel. Two steps to the counter, Martha thought. Her right hand would go to the trigger, raising the gun, swinging it on Janroe at the same time. Three seconds to do that. Four at the most. But it would take him only one.
Janroe turned from the window. “All right. Tell him he’s going with me.”
“You won’t talk to my husband again? To Vern?”
“Tell him!”
She saw Janroe turn to the window again and call out, “Cable-send Luz over here with the horse!” He waited. “You hear me? Just Luz. If anybody else comes I’ll kill your boy.” His voice rose to a shout. “I mean it!”
Then it’s now, Martha thought. She could feel her heart beating as she bent close to Davis and whispered to him. The boy started to speak, but she touched his mouth with the tips of her fingers, her own lips still close to his ear, telling him calmly, carefully, what he would have to do. The boy nodded and Martha kissed his cheek.
Janroe was looking at her again. “Is he ready?”
Martha nodded.
“As soon as she starts over with the horse, we go out to the platform.”
Janroe’s elbow rested on the window sill, his right shoulder against the side frame. The Colt in his hand was close to his body and pointed to just below the top of the counter.
When he moves it, Martha thought. The moment he turns.
Janroe looked out, but the Colt remained in the same position. Martha’s gaze held on it. She heard him call out again, “Luz, bring the horse! You hear me? Luz-”
Janroe wheeled, seeing Martha already at the counter. She was less than four feet from him, raising the shotgun, turning it on him. He slashed out with the Colt, knocking the barrel aside as Martha’s finger closed on one trigger. The blast was almost in his face and he struck the barrel again, lunging against the counter and turning Martha with the force of the blow.
“Janroe?”
Martha heard it-Cable’s voice-and in the same moment saw Janroe’s Colt swing toward the sound of it. Cable was in the doorway to the sitting room. He fired and Janroe stumbled against the wall. Cable fired again, but this shot smashed into the window frame. Janroe was already moving. He had been hit in the body, but he reached the doorway and lunged out to the platform.
Vern stepped away from the corner of the building. He fired three times, deliberately, taking his time, each shot finding Janroe, the last one toppling him from the edge of the platform.
Martha felt Cable move past her, past Davis, moving, quickly but making almost no sound in his stockinged feet. She thought of the children upstairs.
“Davis, get Clare and Sandy.”
She heard the boy run into the darkness of the next room before she turned and walked out to the platform to where Cable stood at the edge. Martha looked down, not seeing Janroe on the ground, but thinking of her children and her husband and wanting to be held.
The shotgun barrel slipped through her fingers until the stock touched the boards. She let it fall, feeling Cable’s arm come around her.