Last Stand at Saber River

1

Paul Cable sat hunched forward at the edge of the pine shade, his boots crossed and his elbows supported on his knees. He put the field glasses to his eyes again and, four hundred yards down the slope, the two-story adobe was brought suddenly, silently before him.

This was The Store. It was Denaman’s. It was a plain, tan-pink southern Arizona adobe with a wooden loading platform, but no ramada to hold off the sun. It was the only general supply store from Hidalgo north to Fort Buchanan; and until the outbreak of the war it had been a Hatch & Hodges swing station.

The store was familiar and it was good to see, because it meant Cable and his family were almost home. Martha was next to him, the children were close by; they were anxious to be home after two and a half years away from it. But the sight of a man Cable had never seen before-a man with one arm-had stopped them.

He stood on the loading platform facing the empty sunlight of the yard, staring at the willow trees that screened the river close beyond the adobe, his right hand on his hip, his left sleeve tucked smoothly, tightly into his waist. Above him, the faded, red-lettered Denaman’s Store inscription extended the full width of the adobe’s double doors.

Cable studied the man. There was something about him.

Perhaps because he had only one arm. No, Cable thought then, that made you think of the war, the two and a half years of it, but you felt something before you saw he had only one arm.

Then he realized it was the habit of surviving formed during two and a half years of war. The habit of not trusting any movement he could not immediately identify. The habit of not walking into anything blindly. He had learned to use patience and weigh alternatives and to be sure of a situation before he acted. As sure as he could be in his own mind.

Now Cable’s glasses moved over the wind-scarred face of the adobe, following the one-armed man’s gaze to the grove of willows and the river hidden beyond the hanging screen of branches.

A girl came out of the trees carrying a bucket and Cable said, “There’s Luz again. Here-” He handed the glasses to his wife who was kneeling, sitting back on her legs, one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun glare.

Martha Cable raised the glasses. After a moment she said, “It’s Luz Acaso. But still it doesn’t seem like Luz.”

“All of a sudden she’s a grown-up woman,” Cable said. “She’d be eighteen now.”

“No,” Martha said. “It’s something else. Her expression. The way she moves.”

Through the glasses, the girl crossed the yard leisurely. Her eyes were lowered and did not rise until she reached the platform and started up the steps. When she looked up her face was solemn and warm brown in the sunlight. Martha remembered Luz’s knowing eyes and her lips that were always softly parted, ready to smile or break into laughter. But now she wore an expression of weariness. Her eyes went to the man on the platform, then away from him quickly as he glanced at her and she passed into the store.

She’s tired, or ill, Martha thought. Or afraid.

“She went inside?” Cable asked.

The glasses lowered briefly and Martha nodded. “But he’s still there. Cable, for some reason I think she’s afraid of him.”

“Maybe.” He watched Martha concentrating on the man on the platform. “But why, if Denaman’s there?”

“If he’s there,” Martha said.

“Where else would he be?”

“I was going to ask the same question.”

“Well, let’s take it for granted he’s inside.”

“And Manuel?” She was referring to Luz’s brother.

“Manuel could be anywhere.”

Martha was still watching the man on the platform, studying him so that an impression of him would be left in her mind. He was a tall man, heavy boned, somewhat thin with dark hair and mustache. He was perhaps in his late thirties. His left arm was off between the shoulder and the elbow.

“I suppose he was in the war,” Martha said.

“Probably.” Cable nodded thoughtfully. “But which side?” That’s something, Cable said to himself. You don’t trust him. Any man seen from a distance you dislike and distrust. It’s good to be careful, but you could be carrying it too far.

Briefly he thought of John Denaman, the man who had given him his start ten years before and talked him into settling in the Saber River valley. It would be good to see John again. And it would be good to see Luz, to talk to her, and Manuel. His good friend Manuel. Luz and Manuel’s father had worked for Denaman until a sudden illness took his life. After that, John raised both of them as if they were his own children.

“Now he’s going inside,” Martha said.

Cable waited. After a moment he turned, pushing himself up, and saw his daughter standing only a few feet away. Clare was six, their oldest child: a quiet little girl with her mother’s dark hair and eyes and showing signs of developing her mother’s clean-lined, easily remembered features; resembling her mother just as the boys favored their father. She stood uncertainly with her hands clutched to her chest.

“Sister, you round up the boys.”

“Are we going now?”

“In a minute.”

He watched her run back into the trees and in a moment he heard a boy’s shrill voice. That would be Davis, five years old. Sandy, not yet four, would be close behind his brother, following every move Davis made; almost every move.

Cable brought his sorrel gelding out of the trees and stepped into the saddle. “He’ll come out again when he hears me,” Cable said. “But wait till you see us talking before you come down. All right?”

Martha nodded. She smiled faintly, saying, “He’ll probably turn out to be an old friend of John Denaman’s.”

“Probably.”

Cable nudged the sorrel with his heels and rode off down the yellow sweep of hillside, sitting erect and tight to the saddle with his right knee touching the stock of a Spencer carbine, his right elbow feeling the Walker Colt on his hip, and keeping his eyes on the adobe now, thinking: This could be a scout. This could be the two and a half years still going on…

As soon as he had made up his mind to enlist he had sold his stock, all of his cattle, all two hundred and fifty head, and all but three of his horses. He had put Martha and the children in the wagon and taken them to Sudan, Texas, to the home of Martha’s parents. He did this because he believed deeply in the Confederacy, as he believed in his friends who had gone to fight for it.

Because of a principle he traveled from the Saber River, Arizona Territory, to Chattanooga, Tennessee, taking with him a shotgun, a revolving pistol and two horses; and there on June 21, 1862, he joined J. A. Wharton’s 8th Texas Cavalry, part of Nathan Bedford Forrest’s command.

Three weeks later Cable saw his first action and received his first wound during Forrest’s raid on Murfreesboro. On September 3, Paul Cable was commissioned a captain and appointed to General Forrest’s escort. From private to captain in less than three months; those things happened in Forrest’s command. Wounded twice again after Murfreesboro; the third and final time on November 28, 1864, at a place called Huey’s Mills-shot from his saddle as they crossed the Duck River to push Wilson’s Union Cavalry back to Franklin, Tennessee. Cable, with gunshot wounds in his left hip and thigh, was taken to the hospital at Columbia. On December 8 he was told to go home “the best way you know how.” There were more seriously wounded men who needed his cot; there would be a flood of them soon, with General Hood about to pounce on the Yankees at Nashville. Go home, he was told, and thank God for your gunshot wounds.

So for Cable the war was over, though it was still going on in the east and the feeling of it was still with him. He was not yet thirty, a lean-faced man above average height and appearing older after his service with Nathan Bedford Forrest: after Chickamauga, had come Fort Pillow, Bryce’s Crossroads, Thompson’s Station, three raids into West Tennessee and a hundred nameless skirmishes. He was a calm-appearing man and the war had not changed that. A clear-thinking kind of man who had taught himself to read and write, taught himself the basic rules and his wife had helped him from there.

Martha Sanford Cable was twenty-seven now. A West Texas girl, though convent-educated in New Orleans. Seven years before she had left Sudan to come to the Saber River as Paul Cable’s wife, to help him build a home and provide him with a family…

Now they were returning to the home they had built with the family they had begun. They were before Denaman’s Store, only four miles from their own land.

And Cable was entering the yard, still with his eyes on the loading platform and the double doors framed in the pale wall of the adobe, reining in his sorrel and approaching at a walk.

The right-hand door opened and the man with one arm stepped out to the platform. He walked to the edge of it and stood with his thumb in his belt looking down at Cable.

Cable came on. He kept his eyes on the man, but said nothing until he had pulled to a halt less than ten feet away. From the saddle, Cable’s eyes were even with the man’s knees.

“John Denaman inside?”

The man’s expression did not change. “He’s not here anymore.”

“He moved?”

“You could say that.”

“Maybe I should talk to Luz,” Cable said.

The man’s sunken cheeks and the full mustache covering the line of his mouth gave his face a hard, bony expression, but it was not tensed. He said, “You know Luz?”

“Since she was eight years old,” Cable answered. “Since the day I first set foot in this valley.”

“Well, now-” The hint of a smile altered the man’s gaunt expression. “You wouldn’t be Cable, would you?”

Cable nodded.

“Home from the wars.” The man still seemed to be smiling. “Luz’s mentioned you and your family. Her brother too. He tells how you and him fought off Apaches when they raided your stock.”

Cable nodded. “Where’s Manuel now?”

“Off somewhere.” The man paused. “You been to your place yet?”

“We’re on our way.”

“You’ve got a surprise coming.”

Cable watched him, showing little curiosity. “What does that mean?”

“You’ll find out.”

“I think you’re changing the subject,” Cable said mildly. “I asked you what happened to John Denaman.”

For a moment the man said nothing. He turned then and called through the open door, “Luz, come out here!”

Cable watched him. He saw the man’s heavy-boned face turn to look down at him again, and almost immediately the Mexican girl appeared in the doorway. Cable’s hand went to the curled brim of his hat.

“Luz, honey, you’re a welcome sight.” He said it warmly, and he wanted to jump up on the platform and kiss her but the presence of this man stopped him.

“Paul-”

He saw the surprise in the expression of her mouth and in her eyes, but it was momentary and she returned his gaze with a smile that was grave and without joy, a smile that vanished the instant the man with one arm spoke.

“Luz, tell him what happened to Denaman.”

“You haven’t told him?” She looked at Cable quickly, then seemed to hesitate. “Paul, he’s dead. He died almost a year ago.”

“Nine months,” the man with one arm said. “I came here the end of August. He died the month before.”

Cable’s eyes were on the man, staring at him, feeling now that he had known Denaman was dead, had sensed it from the way the man had spoken-from the tone of his voice.

“You could have come right out and told me,” Cable said.

“Well, you know now.”

“Like you were making a game out of it.”

The man stared down at Cable indifferently. “Why don’t you just let it go?”

“Paul,” Luz said, “it came unexpectedly. He wasn’t sick.”

“His heart?”

Luz nodded. “He collapsed shortly after noon and by that evening he was dead.”

“And you happened to come a month later,” Cable said, looking at the man again.

“Why don’t you ask what I’m doing here?” The man looked up at the sound of the double team wagon on the grade, his eyes half closed in the sunlight, his gaze holding on the far slope now. “That your family?”

“Wife and three youngsters,” Cable said.

The man’s gaze came down. “You made a long trip for nothing.” He seemed about to smile, though he was not smiling now.

“All right,” Cable said. “Why?”

“Some men are living in your house.”

“If there are, they’re about to move.”

The smile never came, but the man stared down at Cable intently. “Come inside and I’ll tell you about it.” Then he turned abruptly, though he glanced again at the approaching wagon before going into the store.

Cable could hear the jingling, creaking sound of the wagon closer now, but he kept his eyes on Luz until she looked at him.

“Luz, who is he?”

“His name is Edward Janroe.”

“The man acts like he owns the place.”

Her eyes rose briefly. “He does. Half of it.”

“But why-”

“Are you coming?” Janroe was in the doorway. He was looking at Cable and with a nod of his head indicated Luz. “You got to drag things out of her. I’ve found it’s more trouble than it’s worth.” He waited until Cable stirred in the saddle and began to dismount. “I’ll be inside,” he said, and stepped away from the door.

Cable dropped his reins, letting them trail. He swung down and mounted the steps to the platform. For a moment he watched Luz Acaso in silence.

“Are you married to him?”

“No.”

“But he’s been living here eight months and has a half interest in the store.”

“You think what you like.”

“I’m not thinking anything. I want to know what’s going on.”

“He’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Luz, do you think I’m being nosy? I want to help you.”

“I don’t need help.” She was looking beyond him, watching the wagon entering the yard.

All right, he thought, don’t push her. It occurred to him then that Martha was the one to handle Luz. Why keep harping at her and get her nervous. Martha could soothe the details out of her in a matter of minutes.

Cable patted her shoulder and stepped past her into the abrupt dimness of the store.

He moved down the counter that lined the front wall, his hand gliding down the worn, shiny edge of it and his eyes roaming over the almost bare shelves. There were scattered rows of canned goods, bolts of material, work clothes, boxes that told nothing of their contents. Above, Rochester lamps hanging from a wooden beam, buckets and bridles and coils of rope. Most of the goods on the shelves had the appearance of age, as if they had been here a long time.

Cable’s eyes lowered and he almost stopped, unexpectedly seeing Janroe beyond the end of the counter in the doorway to the next room. Janroe was watching him closely.

“You walk all right,” Janroe said mildly. “Not a mark on you that shows; but they wouldn’t have let you go without a wound.”

“It shows if I walk far enough,” Cable said. “Or if I stay mounted too long.”

“That sounds like the kind of wound to have. Where’d you get it?”

“On the way to Nashville.”

“With Hood?”

“In front of him. With Forrest.”

“You’re a lucky man. I mean to be in one piece.”

“I suppose.”

“Take another case. I was with Kirby Smith from the summer of sixty-one to a year later when we marched up to Kentucky River toward Lexington. Near Richmond we met a Yankee general named Bull Nelson.” Janroe’s eyes narrowed and he grinned faintly, remembering the time. “He just had recruits, a pick-up army, and I’ll tell you we met them good. Cut clean the hell through them, and the ones we didn’t kill ran like you never saw men run in your life. The cavalry people mopped up after that and we took over four thousand prisoners that one afternoon.”

Janroe paused and the tone of his voice dropped. “But there was one battery of theirs on a ridge behind a stone fence. I was taking some men up there to get them…and the next day I woke up in a Richmond field hospital without an arm.”

He was watching Cable closely. “You see what I mean? We’d licked them. The fight was over and put away. But because of this one battery not knowing enough to give up, or too scared to, I lost a good arm.”

But you’ve got one left and you’re out of the war, so why don’t you forget about it, Cable thought, and almost said it; but instead he nodded, looking at the shelves.

“Maybe Luz told you I was in the army,” Janroe said.

“No, only your name, and that you own part of the store.”

“That’s a start. What else do you want to know?”

“Why you’re here.”

“You just said it. Because I own part of the store.”

“Then how you came to be here.”

“You’ve got a suspicious mind.”

“Look,” Cable said quietly, “John Denaman was a friend of mine. He dies suddenly and you arrive to buy in.”

“That’s right. But you want to know what killed him?”

When Cable said nothing Janroe’s eyes lifted to the almost bare shelves. “He didn’t have enough goods to sell. He didn’t have regular money coming in. He worried, not knowing what was going to happen to his business.” Janroe’s gaze lowered to Cable again. “He even worried about Luz and Vern Kidston. They were keeping company and, I’m told, the old man didn’t see eye to eye with Vern. Because of different politics, you might say. So it was a combination of things that killed him. Worries along with old age. And if you think it was anything else, you’re going on pure imagination.”

“Let’s go back to Vern Kidston,” Cable said. “I never heard of him; so what you’re saying doesn’t mean a whole lot.”

Janroe’s faint smile appeared. “Vern came along about two years ago, I’m told. He makes his living supplying the Union cavalry with remounts. Delivers them up to Fort Buchanan.”

“He lives near here?”

“In the old Toyopa place. How far’s that from you?”

“About six miles.”

“They say Vern’s fixed it up.”

“It’d take a lot of fixing. The house was half burned down.”

“Vern’s got the men.”

“I’ll have to meet him.”

“You will. You’ll meet him all right.”

Cable’s eyes held on Janroe. “It sounds like you can hardly wait.”

“There’s your suspicious mind again.” Janroe straightened and stepped into the next room. “Come on. It’s time I poured you a drink.”

Cable followed, his gaze going from left to right around the well-remembered room: from the door that led to the kitchen to the roll-top desk to the Hatch & Hodges calendar to the corner fireplace and the leather-bottomed chairs, to the pictures of the Holy Family and the Sierra Madre landscapes on the wall, to the stairway leading to the second floor (four rooms up, Cable remembered), and finally to the round dining table between the front windows. He watched Janroe go into the kitchen and come out with a bottle of mescal and two glasses, holding the glasses in his fingers and the bottle pressed between his arm and his body.

Janroe nodded to the table. “Sit down. You’re going to need this.”

Cable pulled out a chair and stepped over it. He watched Janroe sit down and pour the clear, colorless liquor.

“Does my needing this have to do with Vern Kidston?”

Janroe sipped his mescal and put his glass down gently. “Vern’s the one living in your house. Not Vern himself. Some of his men.” Janroe leaned closer as if to absorb a reaction from Cable. “They’re living in your house with part of Vern’s horse herd grazing in your meadow.”

“Well”-Cable raised the glass of mescal, studying it in the light of the window behind Janroe-“I don’t blame him. It’s good graze.” He drank off some of the sweet-tasting liquor. “But now he’ll move his men out. That’s all.”

“You think so?”

“If he doesn’t vacate I’ll get the law.”

“What law?”

“Fort Buchanan. That’s closest.”

“And who do you think the Yankees would side with,” Janroe asked, “the ex-Rebel or the mustanger supplying them with remounts?”

Janroe looked up and Cable turned in his chair as Luz entered from the store. Behind her came Martha holding Sandy’s hand and moving Clare and Davis along in front of her.

“We’ll see what happens,” Cable said. He rose, holding out his hand as Davis ran to him and stood close against his leg.

“Mr. Janroe, this is my wife, Martha.” He glanced at Janroe who had made no move to rise. “This boy here is Davis. The little one’s Sanford and our big girl there is Clare, almost seven years old already.” Cable winked at his daughter, but she was staring with open curiosity at Janroe’s empty sleeve.

Martha’s hand went to the little girl’s shoulder and she smiled pleasantly at the man still hunched over the table.

“Mr. Janroe”-Martha spoke calmly-“you don’t know how good it is to be back here again.” She was worried one of the children might ask about Janroe’s missing arm. Cable knew this. He could sense it watching her, though outwardly Martha was at ease.

Luz said, “I invited them for dinner.”

Janroe was staring at Clare. She looked away and his eyes went to Davis, holding him, as if defying him to speak. Then, slowly, he sat back and looked up at Luz.

“Take the kids with you. They’ll eat in the kitchen.”

Luz hesitated, then nodded quickly and held out her hand to Sandy. The boy looked up at her and pressed closer into his mother’s skirts.

“They’re used to being with me,” Martha said pleasantly. Gently she urged Clare forward, smiling at Luz now, though the Mexican woman did not return her smile. “While Cabe…while Paul was away the children didn’t have the opportunity to meet many new people. I’m afraid they’re just a little bit strange now.”

“If they eat,” Janroe said, “they still eat in the kitchen.”

Martha’s face colored. “Mr. Janroe, I was merely explaining-”

“The point is, Mrs. Cable, there’s nothing to explain. In this house kids don’t sit at the table with grownups.”

Martha felt the heat on her face and she glanced at her husband, at Cable who stood relaxed with the calm, tell-nothing expression she had learned to understand and respect. It isn’t your place to answer him, she thought. But now the impulse was too strong and she could no longer hold back her words, though when she spoke her voice was calm and controlled.

“Now that you’ve said it three times, Mr. Janroe, we will always remember that in this house children do not eat with grownups.”

“Mrs. Cable”-Janroe spoke quietly, sitting straight up and with his hand flat and unmoving on the table-“if your husband has one friend around here it’s going to be me. Not because I’m pro-South or anti-Union. Not because I favor the man who’s at a disadvantage. But because I don’t have a reason not to befriend your husband. Now that’s a pretty flimsy basis for a friendship.”

“If you think I was rude,” Martha said patiently, “I apologize. Perhaps I did-”

“Just wait a minute.” Janroe brought up his hand to stop her. “I want you to realize something. I want you to understand that I don’t have to smile at your husband for his business. If you don’t trade with me you go to Fort Buchanan and that’s a two-day trip. Add to that, I do business with the Kidstons. They buy most of the goods as fast as I receive them. And I’ll tell you right now, once they learn I’m dealing with your husband they’re going to come in here and yell for me to stop.”

“Mr. Janroe-”

“But you know what I’ll answer them? I’ll tell them to go to Buchanan or hell with their business, either one. Because no man on earth comes into my house and tells me what I can do or what I can’t do. Not Vern Kidston or his brother; not you or your husband here.”

Janroe relaxed against the back of his chair. “That’s how it is, Mrs. Cable. I’d suggest you think about it before you speak out the first thing that comes to your mind.”

Again there was silence. Cable saw his wife tense, controlling herself with a fixed tightness about her nose and mouth. She stared at Janroe.

“Martha,” Cable said mildly, “why don’t you take the children to the kitchen? Maybe you could help Luz dish up.” Martha looked at him, but said nothing. She held out her hand to Davis, gathered her children about her, and followed the girl to the kitchen.

“Your wife looks like a woman of strong character,” Janroe said as Cable sat down again.

“She sticks up for what she believes.”

“Yes,” Janroe said. “A strong-minded woman. I noticed you asked her when you told her to go to the kitchen. You said, ‘Why don’t you take the children?…’ ”

Cable stared at him. “I think I said that.”

“I’ve found,” Janroe said, “it works a sight better to tell women what to do. Never ask them. Especially a wife. You were away for a while and your wife took on some independence. Well, now you’re back I’d suggest you assume your place as head of the family.”

Cable leaned forward, resting his arms on the edge of the table. “Mr. Janroe, I’d suggest you mind your own business.”

“I’m giving you good advice, whether you know it or not.”

“All I know about you so far,” Cable said quietly, “is that you like to talk. I’ve got no reason to respect your advice. I’ve got no reason to respect you or anything about you.”

He saw Janroe about to speak. “Now wait a minute. You gave my wife a lecture on what she was supposed to understand. I stood by and watched you insult her. But now I’ll tell you this, Mr. Janroe: if you didn’t have the misfortune of being one-armed you never would have said those things. You might be a strong-minded, hard-nosed individual who doesn’t care what anybody thinks and who won’t stand for any kind of dependence. You might even be a man to admire. But if you had had both your arms when you said those things, I’d have broken your jaw.”

Janroe stared at Cable, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. He remained silent.

“I’m sorry I had to say that,” Cable told him after a moment. “But now we know where we stand. You’ve got your ideas and I’ve got mine. If they cross, then I guess you and I aren’t going to get along.”

Janroe sipped his mescal, taking his time, and set the glass down gently. “You were with Bedford Forrest,” he said then. “Were you an officer?”

“I reached captain.”

“That speaks well of you, doesn’t it-an officer with Forrest?”

“It depends from which side you view it.”

“How long were you with him?”

“Since June, sixty-two.”

“In the saddle most every day. Living outside and fighting-” Janroe’s head nodded slowly. He raised the glass again. “You might be able to break my jaw at that.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Don’t back off. I’m being realistic, not apologizing. I’m saying you might.”

Cable stared at him. “Maybe we should start all over again.”

“No, I think we’ve come a long way in a short time.”

“Except,” Cable said, “you know more about me than I do about you.”

“You don’t have to know anything about me,” Janroe said. “The Kidstons are your problem.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“But why should they talk to you?” Janroe watched him intently. “You’re one man against, say, fifteen. You’re an ex-Confederate in Union territory. The Kidstons themselves are Yankees. They sell most of their cattle and all of their horses to the Union army. Vern’s brother Duane even held a command, but now he’s back and he’s brought the war with him. Has everybody calling him ‘The Major’ and he orders Vern’s riders about like they were his personal cavalry.” Janroe shook his head. “They don’t have to listen to you.”

Cable shrugged. “We’ll see what happens.”

“How do you eat?” Janroe asked. “That’s your first problem.”

“For now,” Cable said, “I plan to buy provisions and maybe shoot something. Pretty soon I’ll start buying stock and build my herd again.”

“Buy it from where?”

“South. Luz’s brother has friends in Sonora. I sold my stock to them when I enlisted on the agreement they’d sell back whatever I could buy when I came home.”

“Manuel’s down that way right now,” Janroe said.

Cable’s eyes raised. “When will he be back?”

“In a few days, I suppose. But your problem is now. I said before, some of Vern’s men are living at your place.”

“I’ll have a talk with them,” Cable said.

“One of them was here this morning. Bill Dancey.” Janroe paused as Luz approached the table. She put plates in front of them and a serving dish of meat stew between them. Janroe asked her, “Where’s his wife?”

“With the children.” Luz served them as she spoke.

“Was Dancey here this morning?”

“I saw no one else.”

“Who’s up there with him?”

“I think Royce and the one named Joe Bob Dodd.”

“Tell Mr. Cable about them.”

Luz looked off, as if picturing them, before her eyes lowered to Cable. “Bill Dancey is head. He is a large man and wears a beard and is perhaps ten years older than the others. This Royce and the one called Joe Bob look much alike with their thin faces and bodies and their hats worn straight and low over their eyes. They stand with their hands on their hips in a lazy fashion and say things to each other and laugh, though not genuinely. I think they are Texans.”

“They are,” Janroe said. “I’m not sure about Dancey. But it’s said this Joe Bob and Royce, along with Joe Bob’s two older brothers, that’s Austin and Wynn, deserted from Sherrod Hunter’s Texas Brigade when he came through here and Duane Kidston hired them. They say if Duane knew they’d been Rebel soldiers he’d have a fit.” Janroe paused. “Royce and Joe Bob are the ones at your place. Austin and Wynn are probably at the main house.”

Cable said, “You’re telling me not to go home?”

“I’m telling you how it is. You do what you want.”

“We’ll leave as soon as we load up.”

From the platform Janroe watched the wagon, with Cable’s sorrel trailing, move off toward the willows. He watched intently, his right hand on the stump of his arm and massaging it gently, telling himself not to become excited or hasty or jump to conclusions.

But, my God, it was more than he could have hoped blind luck would provide-an Ex-Rebel suddenly showing up here; coming home to find the Kidstons on his land.

He’s your weapon, Janroe thought. Now it was right in front of him after months of waiting and watching and wondering how he could make it happen and never be suspected. If necessary he would even apologize to Martha for what he’d said. It had come out too quickly, that was all. He would smooth it over if he had to, because Cable’s presence could be far more important than where kids ate, or if they ate at all, for that matter. He would have to watch himself and not let his mind clutch at petty things just to be tearing something apart.

But think it out carefully, he thought, now that there could be a way. Don’t stumble; he’s right here waiting, but you have to use him properly.

Cable-Janroe could feel the certainty of it inside of him-was going to help him kill Vern and Duane Kidston. And then, thinking of Cable’s wife, he decided that before it was all over, Cable would be as dead as the two men he would help kill.

Cable forded the river at the store and followed it north out into the open sunlight of the mile-wide valley, then gradually west, for the valley curved in that direction with the river following close along its left, or west, slope. The far side of the valley was rimmed by a low, curving line of hills. The near slope also rolled green-black with pines; but beyond these hills, chimneyed walls of sandstone towered silently against the sky. Beyond the rock country lay the Kidston place.

Sandy was asleep. Davis and Clare sat on the endgate, Davis holding the reins of the sorrel. And Martha sat with Cable, listening in silence as he told her everything Janroe had said about the Kidstons.

When he had finished, Martha said, “What if they won’t leave, Cabe? The ones in our house.”

“Let’s wait and see.”

“I mean with the children to think of.”

“The children and a lot of things,” Cable said.

They talked about Luz then. Even in the kitchen, Martha said, Luz had acted strangely: tense and almost reluctant to talk even about everyday things. She did tell that the store had been left to them, to Manuel and herself, in John Denaman’s will; and they would stay here. The grave of their mother in a Sonora village was the only tie they had with their birthplace; the store had been their home for a dozen years. Luz had been only six, Manuel twelve, when their father came here to work for John Denaman. The next year their father died of a sickness and John Denaman had cared for them from that day on.

But she related little more about Edward Janroe than what she had told Cable-the man’s name, the fact that he owned a half interest in the store and had been here eight or nine months.

But if business was so poor, Cable asked, why would Janroe want to buy into the store?

Because of Luz? Martha offered.

Perhaps. Luz was a good-looking girl. Janroe could easily be attracted to her.

But Martha was sure that Luz still liked Vern Kidston. Luz mentioned that she used to see Vern frequently; but that was before Janroe came. Something else to wonder about. Though Janroe himself was the big question.

“What do you think of him?” Cable asked.

“All I’m sure of is that he has a low opinion of women,” Martha said mildly, “judging from the lecture he gave me.”

“He won’t do that again,” Cable said. “I talked to him.”

Martha smiled. She moved closer to her husband and put her arm through his.

They rode in silence until they saw, through the willow and aspen along the river, horses grazing farther up the meadow. Martha handed her husband the field glasses and took the reins.

“About thirty, just mares and foals,” Cable said after a moment. “And a man with them.”

Martha kept the team moving. They were close to the base of the slope with the dark well of pines above them and the river close on their right. Their house was perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead, no more than that, set back a hundred feet from the river; but it was still out of sight, hidden by the pine stands that straggled down from the slope.

Through the glasses, Cable saw the rider come out of the trees on this side of the river. He noticed that the man was bearded and remembered Luz Acaso’s description of the one named Bill Dancey: older by ten years than the other two; the one in charge.

“He must have seen us,” Cable said. “He just crossed over.”

“Waiting for us?” asked Martha.

“No, going for the house.” He handed the glasses to Martha, feeling the children close behind him now.

Davis said, “Can I look?”

“Not right now.” Cable half turned on the seat. “Listen, I want you children to stay right where you are. Even when we stop, stay there and don’t jump off.”

Clare’s dark eyes were round and open wide. “Why?”

“Because we’re not sure we’re staying.”

Cable looked at the boy again. “Davis, you hold on to Sandy. You won’t let him jump out now, will you?”

The little boy shook his head solemnly. “No, sir.”

Cable smiled at his children. His hand reached to the wagon bed, felt the short barrel of the Spencer carbine, then moved to the shotgun next to it and brought it out, placing it muzzle-down between them on the seat.

“Martha, this one’s yours. Put your hand on it when I climb off, but don’t lift it unless you see you have to.”

He drew the Walker Colt from its holster, eased back the hammer, turned the cylinder carefully, feeling the oil-smoothness of the action, and lowered the hammer again on the empty chamber.

“There’s the house,” Martha said anxiously. “Part of it.” She could see an adobe-colored shape through the pines close in front of them.

Then, coming out of the trees, the house was in full view: a one-story adobe with an addition made of pine logs, a shingled roof and a ramada that ran the length of the adobe section. Beyond, part of the barn could be seen.

Cable’s eyes were on the bearded rider. He was near the house, still mounted but facing them now, watching them approach. A second man had come out of the house and stood near the mounted man.

“This is far enough,” Cable said. They were less than fifty feet from the men now. As the wagon stopped a third man, thumbing a suspender strap up over his bare chest, appeared in the doorway of the adobe. All three men were armed. Even the one in the doorway, though half dressed, wore crossed belts holding two holstered revolvers.

“The one in the door,” Cable said. “Keep a close eye on him.” Martha made no answer, but he didn’t look at her now. He breathed in and out slowly, calming himself and putting it off still another moment, before he jumped down from the wagon, holding his holster to his leg, and moved toward the mounted man.

“You were a while getting here,” Bill Dancey said. He dismounted, swinging his leg over carefully, and stood with his feet apart watching Cable coming toward him.

Within two strides Cable stopped. “You knew we were coming?”

“Janroe mentioned it.” Dancey’s short-clipped beard hid any change of expression. He nodded toward the man who stood near him. “Royce here went in for something I forgot this morning and Janroe told him.”

Cable glanced at the one called Royce: a tall, thin-framed man who stood hip-cocked with his thumbs hooked into his belt. His hat was tilted forward, low over his eyes, and he returned Cable’s stare confidently.

Royce must have taken the horse trail, a shorter route that followed the crest of the slope, to and from the store; that’s why they hadn’t seen him, Cable decided.

He looked at Dancey again. “Did Janroe tell him it’s my land you’re on?”

Dancey nodded. “He mentioned it.”

“Then I don’t have to explain anything.”

“That’s right,” Royce said. “All you have to do is turn around and go back.”

There it was. Cable gave himself time, feeling the tension through his body and the anger, not building, but suddenly there as this lounging, lazy-eyed poser told him very calmly to turn around and go back. At least there was no decision to make. And arguing with him or with Dancey would only waste time. Even with Martha and the children here he knew how far he would go if necessary. He wanted to feel the anger inside of him because it would make it easier; but he wanted also to control it and he let his breath out slowly, shaking his head.

“I was afraid this was going to happen.”

“Then why did you come?” Dancey asked.

The back of Cable’s hand moved across his mouth, then dropped heavily. “Well, since I own this place-”

Dancey shook his head. “Vern Kidston owns it.”

“Just took it?”

“In the name of the United States government,” Dancey said. “Mister, you must’ve been dreaming. You ever hear of Rebel land in Union territory?”

“I’m not a soldier anymore.”

“You’re not anything anymore.” Dancey glanced at the wagon. “Your wife’s waiting for you. And the kids. You’ve got kids, haven’t you?”

“Three.”

“A man doesn’t do anything crazy with three kids.”

“Not very often,” Cable said mildly. His eyes moved to Royce, then past him to the bare-chested man who had come out to the edge of the ramada shade. This would be Joe Bob Dodd. He stood with one hand on his hip, the other raised to a support post. He wore his hair with sideburns to the angle of his jaw. This and the dark line of hair down the bony whiteness of his chest made him appear obscenely naked. He was somewhat shorter than Royce but had the same slim-hipped, slightly stoop-shouldered build.

Cable’s eyes returned to Dancey. “I’ll give you the rest of the afternoon to collect your gear and clear out. Fair enough?”

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.