Last Stand at Saber River

5

Cable said nothing, his eyes going to the shattered china still on the cupboard shelves, then to the stove again and to the battered chimney flue lying on the floor.

So Vern or Duane, or both of them, had become tired of waiting. Now they were doing something and this was a warning. Fix the house, Cable thought, then another time when you’re away they tear it apart again. How much of that could you take? Do you run out of patience right now or later sometime?

He could release his anger and kick at the broken dishes or yell at Lorraine, threaten her, threaten her father and Vern. But what good would it do? That was undoubtedly their intention-to rile him, to make him start something. And once you did what the other man wanted you to, once you walked into his plan, you were finished.

Lorraine was watching him. “When the wife is away, the house just seems to go to ruin, doesn’t it?”

He looked at her. “What do they expect me to do now?”

“I’m sure I don’t know.”

“Or care,” Cable said.

“Well, I’m sorry; but there’s nothing I can do about it, is there?”

“Did both of them have a hand in this?”

“I doubt if either of them did. They’ve been home all day.”

“I just saw Vern.”

“Alone?”

“You were with him.”

“Do I have to explain what we were doing?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Vern and I went for a ride after supper. When we reached the meadow he said he wanted to look at his horses. I told him to go ahead, I was going home.”

Cable said nothing.

“Well?” Lorraine looked at him inquiringly.

“All right. Then what?”

“Then I left him.”

“And came to see what he did to the house.”

Lorraine smiled, shaking her head. “Guess again.”

“Some other time.”

She caught the note of weariness in his tone. For a moment she said nothing, watching him stand the carbine next to the window and then move slowly to the table and place the field glasses there. “Did you see my horse outside?” she asked.

Cable glanced at her. “I didn’t notice.”

“No horse,” Lorraine said lightly. “That’s why I’m here.” She watched Cable gather the blanket and comforter and pile them on the slashed mattress.

“I was going up the path behind your house, taking the short cut home, when something frightened my horse. It happened very suddenly; he lost his footing and started to slide back and that’s when I fell off.” Lorraine touched her hair lightly and frowned. “I hit my head.”

Cable was looking at her again, sensing that she wasn’t telling the truth. “Then what happened?”

“Then he ran off. I could hear him way up in the trees, but I couldn’t very well chase after him, could I?”

“So you came to the house.”

“Of course.”

“You want me to look for your horse?”

“He’s probably still running.”

Cable paused. He was certain she was here for a reason and he was feeling his way along to find out what it was. “I’ve only got one horse here.”

“I know,” Lorraine said.

“You want me to ride you home?”

“The way my head hurts I don’t know if I could stand it.”

“Just for an hour? That’s all it would take.”

She was staring at Cable, not smiling now, holding him with the calm, knowing impudence of her gaze.

“We could wait until morning.”

He almost knew she was going to say it; still, the shock, the surprise, was in hearing the words out loud. Cable’s expression did not change. “What would your father say about that?”

“What could he say? I don’t have a choice. I’m stranded.”

Cable said nothing.

“Or I could tell him I spent the night outside.” Lorraine smiled again. “Lost.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“What do you think?”

“If you’re ready, I’ll saddle the horse.”

“I told you, I couldn’t bear the ride.”

“You told me a lot of things.”

The knowing, confident expression was in her eyes again. “I think you’re afraid of me. Or afraid of yourself.”

“Being alone with you?”

Lorraine nodded. “But I haven’t decided which it is. The only thing I’m sure of is you don’t know what to do. You can’t take me home by force; and you can’t throw me out. So?”

Momentarily, in his mind, he saw Lorraine at home sitting with Vern and her father evening after evening, looking up from her book and wanting to do something, anything, to break the monotony but having no choice but to sit there. Until she planned this, or somehow stumbled into it. Perhaps that was all there was to her being here. It was her idea of excitement, something to do; not part of a plan that involved Vern or Duane.

So, Cable thought, the hell with it. He was too tired to argue. Tired and hungry and her mind was made up, he could see that. He moved to the door of the next room, glanced in and saw that the two single beds had not been touched, then looked at Lorraine again.

“Take your pick.”

She moved close to him in the doorway to look into the room. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Whichever one you want.” He walked away from her and for the next few minutes concentrated on shaping and straightening the stove flue. He was able to put it up again, temporarily, but his hands and face were smudged with soot when he’d finished.

Lorraine waited until he started a fire in the stove, then told him to go outside and wash; she’d fix something to eat. Cable hesitated, doubting her ability at the stove; but finally he went out-washed up at the river, scrubbing his hands with sand and scooping the cool water into his face. He felt better being alone outside and he took his time at the river, then went to the barn and looked in at the sorrel again before returning to the house.

Coffee was on the fire; Cable smelled it as he came in. For a moment he watched Lorraine making pancakes in the iron frying pan and he thought: She wants you to be surprised. But he turned away from her and busied himself sweeping up the broken china. After that he turned the slashed mattress on the bed and spread the bedcovers over it. When it was time to sit down she served him the corn meal cakes in a pie plate and poured his coffee into a tin drinking cup. Lorraine sat down with him, watching him eat, waiting for him to say something; but Cable ate in silence.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Fine.” He was finishing the last of his coffee.

“Surprised I know how to cook?”

“You’re a woman, aren’t you?” he answered, knowing she would react to it, but saying it anyway.

“Does that follow,” Lorraine said peevishly. “Just because you’re a woman all you’re to be concerned with is cooking and keeping house?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’re probably hopeless. You deserve to live out here with a wife and three kids.”

“You make it sound like a sentence.”

“You are hopeless.”

“And tired,” Cable said. He got up from the table, walked around to Lorraine’s chair and pulled it out for her. “So are you.”

She looked up at him. “Am I?” Her tone was mild now.

“Tired out from that long ride with Vern.” He took Lorraine by the arm to the bedroom. “Have a good sleep and before you know it it’ll be time to fix breakfast.” He pushed her inside and closed the door before she could say a word.

Cable blew out the lamp, then walked to the open front door and stood looking out at the night, letting the stillness and the breeze that was coming off the meadow relax him. This was good. But it was a peace that lasted only as long as the night. Slowly Cable sat down in the doorway. Take advantage of the peace you can feel, he thought. Sleep was good, but it wasn’t something you could enjoy each minute of and know you were enjoying it.

So he sat in the doorway, feeling the silence and the darkness about him, thinking of his wife and children, picturing them in bed in the rooms above the store; then picturing them here, seeing himself sitting with the children close to him and talking to them, answering their questions, being patient and answering the questions that were unrelated or imaginary along with the reasonable ones. Clare would ask the most questions and through her eyes that were wide with concentration he could almost see her picturing his answers. It was like the times she would relate a dream she had had and he would try to imagine how she saw it with her child’s eyes and with her child’s mind. While he was talking to Clare, Davis would become restless and jump on his back, Davis with enough energy for all of them and wanting to fight or be chased or swim in the river. Sandy, lying against him, listening to them contentedly with his thumb in his mouth, would scowl and yell at Davis to stop it. Then he would quiet them and they would talk about other things until Martha called.

And after the children were in bed they would sit here on the steps, watching the willows turn to silent black shapes against the sky, hearing the night sounds in the pines and far out on the meadow. They would talk in low murmurs, feeling the familiar nearness of one another. They talked about the children and the house and about things they had done and about things they would do someday; but not talking about the future, because if they accomplished or acquired nothing more than what they had, it would be enough and they would be satisfied; perhaps as happy as anyone, any family, could expect to be.

If you can hold on to what you have, Cable thought. Right now you would settle just for that and not hope for anything more.

He was certain that the Kidstons had damaged the house, as a warning. Maybe not Vern. It seemed more like something Duane would do. But regardless of who did it, the effect was the same.

He heard the sound behind him, the bedroom door opening and closing. He turned, starting to push himself up, but Lorraine was already over him. Her hand went to his shoulder and she sank down beside him.

“I thought you were tired.”

“I’m going to bed in a minute,” Cable said. He saw that Lorraine was wearing one of Martha’s flannel nightgowns. He had felt it as she brushed against him to sit down.

“What were you thinking about?”

“A lot of things at once, I suppose.”

“Vern and Duane…the happiness boys?”

He looked at her. “I’d like to know what you’re doing here.”

“I explained all that.”

“You didn’t any more get thrown than I did.”

Lorraine smiled. “But I had to tell you something.”

“Did Vern send you?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Keeping you company.”

“I guess you are.”

Lorraine moved, rising to her knees and turning to him. Her hands went to his shoulders, then to his face caressingly as she kissed him.

“You’re not very responsive, are you?” She pressed close to him, kissing him again. “In fact you’re rather cold. I’m surprised.”

“You’ve got the wrong one, that’s all.”

“Oh, come now-”

“Or else the wrong time and place.”

“Would you like to go somewhere else?”

Quietly, Cable said, “Lorraine, you’re probably the pleasantest temptation I’ve ever had-but I’ve got enough things living in my mind the way it is.”

Close to him her head moved slowly from side to side. “The only halfway decent looking man within fifty miles and he has to have a conscience.” She felt his hands circle her waist and when they lingered, holding her, she said, “I’ll give you one more chance.”

But now he pushed her away and rose, lifting her with him. “I don’t think this would do either of us any good.”

In the darkness her eyes remained on him, but it was some time before she said, “I suppose your wife is very fortunate. But I doubt if I’d want to be married to you. I can’t help feeling there’s such a thing as being too good.”

The next morning Cable cleaned the main room and fixed the stove flue more securely. Later on, he decided, he would ride to Denaman’s Store. He would buy plates and cups, probably tin ones if Janroe had any at all; and he would stay as long as he could with Martha and the children.

Cable was outside when the two Kidston riders came by. He saw them crossing the river, approaching cautiously, and he walked out from the ramada, the Walker on his leg. He waited then as the two riders came across the yard toward him. A vague memory of having seen them before made Cable study their faces closely. No, he was certain he didn’t know them. Still-

The two riders looked somewhat alike, yet the features of one appeared more coarse and his coloring was freckled and lighter than the other man. It was as if both of their faces-both narrow and heavy boned-had been copied from the same model, but one had been formed less skillfully than the other. Both wore full mustaches and the darker of the two men showed a trace of heavy beard, at least a week’s growth.

“If you’re looking for Lorraine,” Cable said, “you’ve found her.”

The two riders were watching Cable, but now their eyes rose past him as Lorraine appeared.

She seemed a little surprised. “How did you know I was here?”

“Your daddy’s got everybody looking everywhere,” the dark man said. There was no trace of concern in his voice.

“Is he worried?”

“About out of his mind.”

“I can just see him.” Lorraine stepped down from the doorway and walked out to them. “You two will have to ride double,” she said, looking up. Neither of the men made a move to dismount. Lorraine moved toward the dark rider’s chestnut gelding. “This one.” Still the man hesitated and Lorraine added, “If you don’t mind.”

“Where’s yours?”

“I have no idea,” Lorraine answered.

The dark rider’s gaze moved to Cable. “Maybe we ought to use his then.”

Lorraine’s face showed sudden interest. “If he’ll let you.”

“He will.”

“We can’t do it while the girl’s here,” the other man said then. “Duane wouldn’t have any part of that.”

“I suppose we got time,” the dark one grunted.

“All we want,” the other rider said.

The dark one swung down. Not bothering to help Lorraine, he walked past her, raised his hand to the other rider and was pulled up behind him. He looked down at Cable again.

“Long as we got time.”

They rode out, past the house to the horse trail that climbed the slope. In the saddle now, straddling it with her skirt draped low on both sides, Lorraine waited long enough to say, “That was Austin and Wynn Dodd.”

Cable frowned. “I don’t know them.”

Lorraine smiled pleasantly. “You knew their brother. Joe Bob.”

She rode off toward the slope, following the Dodd brothers. Before passing into the pines behind the house, Lorraine looked back and waved.

There were times when Janroe could feel his missing hand; times when he swore he had moved his fingers. He would be about to pick something up with his left hand, then catch himself in time. A moment before this Janroe had absently raised his missing arm to lean on the door frame. He fell against the timber with his full weight on the stump, and now he stood rubbing it, feeling a dull pain in the arm that wasn’t there.

Luz Acaso appeared, coming from the back of the building. She was riding her dun-colored mare, sitting the saddle as a man would, her bare legs showing almost to her knees. Two of the Cable children, Clare and Davis, were following behind her as she crossed the yard toward the river.

Janroe stepped out to the loading platform.

“Luz!” The dun mare side-stepped as the girl reined in and looked back at him.

“Come over here.”

She held the horse, standing almost forty feet from the platform. “I can hear you,” she said.

“Maybe I don’t want to shout.”

“Then you come over here!”

Don’t ruffle her, Janroe thought. Something was bothering her. He had first noticed it as she served him his breakfast. She seldom spoke unless he said something to her first, so her silence this morning wasn’t unusual. Still, he had sensed a change in her. Her face was somber, without expression, yet he could feel a new tension between them. Even when she served him she avoided his eyes and seemed to reach out to place the coffee and food before him, as if afraid to come too close to him.

That was it. As if she was guarding something in her mind. As if she was so conscious of what she was thinking, she felt that if he looked in her eyes or even came too close to her, he would see it.

But while he was eating he would feel her eyes on him, watching him carefully, intently; although when he looked up from his plate she would be turning away or picking something up from the stove.

Now she was riding down to Hidalgo. Tonight there would be a gun shipment and Luz would lead it to the store, making sure the way was clear. Janroe said, “You’re leaving a little early, aren’t you?”

“I want to have time to see my brother.”

“About what?”

“Nothing.”

“You seem anxious enough over nothing.”

“I want to see him, that’s all.” She waited a moment longer, watching Janroe, but when he said no more she flicked the reins and moved on across the yard. Janroe watched her pass into the willows and even after she was out of sight he continued to stare at the trees. What was it about her-was she more confident? More sure of herself since the Cables had come home. Afraid when she was alone with him, still somewhat more confident.

He noticed the Cable children then. Clare and Davis were still in the front yard, standing close to each other now and looking up at him on the platform.

“I told you once to play in the back,” Janroe called out. “I’m not going to tell you again. I’ll get a stick next time, you understand?”

Clare stood rigid. Davis nodded with a small jerk of his head and reached for Clare’s arm. They turned to go.

“Wait a minute.” Janroe looked down at them sternly. “Where’s your father? Is he still here?”

“Upstairs,” the boy said.

“All right.” Janroe waved them away and they ran, glancing back at him as they rounded the corner of the building.

What do you have to do to a man like that? Janroe thought. A man that finds his house wrecked and comes moping in to buy tin plates and sit with his wife. Cable had arrived about mid-morning and had been here ever since.

Janroe stood for some time holding the stump of his arm, rubbing it gently. He was looking above the willows now, to the hillside beyond the full roundness of the treetops. But it was moments before he realized a file of riders had come down out of the pines and was descending the slope.

Perhaps because his hand still held the stump, or because he had jarred it and imagined the pain still present; because of this and then abruptly seeing the riders on the hillside and for the moment not caring who they were-his mind went back to another time, another place…

There had been riders then on a hillside; directly across the cornfield and not more than eight hundred yards away, a line of riders appearing along the crest of the hill, then stopping and dismounting. He had seen that they were unhitching the horses from artillery pieces-three of them-and rolling the guns into position.

He had waited then, studying the position through his field glasses for at least ten minutes, or perhaps a quarter of an hour; so by the time he brought his men out of the pines, screaming at them, shooting one and seeing the other soldier who had been afraid suddenly run by him, the field pieces were ready and loaded and waiting for him.

Janroe himself was no more than a hundred yards out from the woods when the first shell exploded. The blast was loud in his ears and almost knocked him down; but he kept moving, seeing two, then three, men come stumbling, crawling out of the smoke and dust that seemed to hang motionless in the air. One of the men fell facedown and didn’t move. As he watched, a second and third shell exploded and he saw one of the crawling men lifted from the ground and thrown on his back. Close around him men were flattening themselves on the ground and covering their heads.

But the ones in front of him were still moving, and with the next explosion Janroe was running again. He saw the man who had been afraid a few moments before, running, breathing heavily, his head back as if he was looking up at the three artillery pieces. Janroe was close to the man, almost about to run past him and yell back at him to keep coming, and then the man was no more.

It was as if time suddenly stopped, for Janroe saw the man, or part of him, blown into the air and he could remember this clearly, the fraction of a moment caught and indelibly recorded in his mind. And it was the same sudden, ground-lifting, sound-smashing burst of smoke and iron that slammed Janroe senseless and cleanly severed his left arm…

For some time the line of riders was out of sight, low on the slope now and beyond the bank of willow trees. Janroe waited, watching, judging where they would cross the river and appear out of the tree shadows. They would be Kidston riders, Janroe was certain of that. He wondered if he should call Cable. No, wait, Janroe decided. Act natural and just let things happen.

There were six of them. Janroe recognized Duane Kidston at once: Duane sitting a tall bay horse with one hand on his thigh, a riding quirt hanging from his wrist and his elbow extended rigidly. Duane wearing the stiff-crowned Kossuth hat squarely on his head, the brim pinned up on one side with the regimental insignia. Duane playing soldier, Janroe thought contemptuously. Pretending that he’s a man.

Have your fun, Major, Janroe thought then, not taking his eyes from Duane. Have all the fun you can. Your time’s about run out.

Briefly he noted the five men with Duane: Bill Dancey, the solemn, bearded one close to Duane’s right; then the two Dodd brothers, Austin and Wynn. They had been here only once before but Janroe remembered them well, the brothers of one of the men Cable had killed. Austin and Wynn Dodd, one light, the other dark, but both with angular, expressionless faces. Janroe remembered their eyes; they watched you coldly, impersonally, as if you were a thing that couldn’t look back at them.

Janroe was not sure if he had ever seen the two other riders before. He watched these two veer off midway across the yard and circle to the back of the store.

Moments later the two Cable children, Clare and Davis, came running around from the back yard. Then, seeing the four riders approaching the platform, they stopped and stood watching, their eyes wide with curiosity.

“Where is he?” Duane asked.

“Inside.” Janroe moved nearer the edge of the platform.

“Get him out.”

“What for?”

“That’s my business.”

“You want to kill him?”

“Duane’s got things to say to him,” Dancey said then.

Janroe’s eyes moved to the bearded man. “I wouldn’t want to think I fetched him to be killed.”

“We’re not going to kill him,” Dancey said.

“That would be an awful thing to have on your conscience,” Janroe said. “Calling a man to be killed in front of his children.”

Dancey shook his head. “You’ve got my word.”

“And with his wife here too,” Janroe said. “I couldn’t ever face her again.”

“Mr. Janroe,” Duane said, “if you don’t get him out here, you can be assured we will.”

Janroe looked past the men to the Cable children. His eyes settled on Clare.

“Honey, go tell your daddy there’s some men here to see him.”

Clare hesitated, but Davis pushed her and she ran up the steps to the platform, holding close to the wall as she ran by Janroe and into the store.

“Fine youngsters,” Janroe said pleasantly. “He’s got three of them.” Duane wasn’t listening. He glanced at Dancey. Then Dancey and the Dodd brothers dismounted and came up the steps to the loading platform. Duane remained in his saddle.

“Where is he?” Dancey asked.

“Upstairs a few minutes ago.”

“He mention what happened last night?”

“Not a word.” Janroe’s tone indicated only mild interest. “What did?”

“About Lorraine-”

“No!” Janroe’s face showed surprise, then an eager curiosity. “What happened?”

But Dancey’s gaze moved beyond him. Janroe turned. He heard the steps on the plank floor then Cable, wearing his Walker Colt, was standing in the doorway. Janroe saw Martha and the little girl a few steps behind him.

“Take off that gun,” Dancey said.

Cable looked from Dancey to the Dodd brothers-to Austin, the dark one, who was a step nearer than Wynn-then back to Dancey.

“What’s this about?”

“Take it off,” Dancey said again. “You’re covered front and back.”

Cable heard the quick steps behind him. He seemed about to turn, but he hesitated. The two riders who had circled the adobe had entered by the back door and had waited for Cable behind the counter. Now one of them pulled the Walker from its holster. Feeling it, Cable glanced over his shoulder. He saw the second man standing close to Martha.

As Cable turned back to Dancey, Austin Dodd moved. He stepped in bringing his balled left hand up from his side. Before Cable saw it coming the fist slammed into his face. He fell against the door frame, went to his hands and knees with his head down and close to the platform boards. Austin Dodd followed through. His right hand came up with his Colt, his thumb already hooking back the hammer.

“Hold on!” Dancey stepped in front of him. “We didn’t come here for that.” He looked out at Duane Kidston angrily. “You’d have let him, wouldn’t you?”

“Austin has his own reason,” Duane said. “Stopping him wouldn’t be any of my business.”

“We didn’t come here to satisfy Austin,” Dancey grunted.

Duane stared at the bearded foreman. “I’m beginning to wonder why I brought you.”

“You wouldn’t’ve if Vern had been around. You said you wanted to talk to this man. That’s all.”

“I’m going to.”

“But you’d have let Austin kill him.”

“It wasn’t your brother Cable shot down,” Duane said flatly. “That’s the difference.”

“He took him in a fair fight.”

“We’re not even sure of that. All we know is Joe Bob and Royce came home facedown over their saddles,” Duane said. “And it wasn’t your daughter he-”

Duane stopped. His eyes went to Cable who was still on one knee, but watching Duane now.

“Get him up.”

Dancey moved aside. He said, “Go ahead,” and stepped back to the edge of the platform near Janroe. The Dodd brothers pulled Cable to his feet. They planted themselves close to him, each holding an arm with both hands. Cable stood quietly, making no attempt to free himself. Behind him, Dancey could see Martha and the little girl in the square of light formed by the doorway. Martha seemed calm, Dancey judged. But you couldn’t tell about women. The little girl was afraid. And the little boy-Dancey’s gaze moved to the steps where Davis was squatting now-he’s wondering what they’re doing to his pa and he wouldn’t believe it if somebody told him.

Duane called, “Jimmie!” and one of the men who’d covered Cable from behind came out to the platform. Duane raised his reins, then dropped them and the man came down; but not until he’d picked up the reins did Duane dismount. He stepped down stiffly, straightened his coat, then walked around to the steps and up to the platform, past Davis without even glancing at him though he touched him with his riding quirt, in a gesture of brushing the boy aside.

His full attention was on Cable now. Duane stepped squarely in front of him, close to him, and stood for some moments in silence, his legs apart and his hands fisted on his hips. But before he spoke his hands dropped to his sides.

“I should let Austin kill you,” Duane said. “But I can’t do it. God knows everyone here would be better off for it, but I can’t pass final judgment on a mortal man, not even after he’s done what you did.”

“What did I do?” Cable asked, not with surprise or indignation, but calmly, wondering what had suddenly brought Duane here.

“Offended innocence,” Duane said. “You’d better keep your mouth shut. I’ve taken all of you I can stomach.”

“I asked a civil question.”

Duane’s quirt came up and lashed across Cable’s face. “And I said shut up!” He stepped back as Cable twisted to free himself. Wynn Dodd stumbled to one knee and Cable almost broke away, but Austin forced Cable’s right arm behind his back and jerked up on it.

“I’ll break it!”

Cable stopped struggling. He let his breath out slowly and his body seemed to sag. His eyes went to Davis still watching him from the steps, then away from the boy quickly, back to Duane.

“Do you have to do this in front of my children?”

Duane stepped close to him again. “How much respect did you show my daughter?”

“What did Lorraine say I did?”

“She didn’t have to say anything. She was all night at your place.”

Janroe, near the edge of the platform, looked at Martha, but her eyes were on her husband. He noticed Duane’s gaze move to her then.

“You hear that Mrs. Cable? Your husband and my daughter.”

“He told me about it,” Martha said quietly.

“He told you, did he.” Duane’s mouth barely moved. “Did he tell you how he dragged Lorraine into that hut?” He turned on Cable and in the motion slashed the quirt across his face. “Did he tell you how he kept her there all night?” The quirt came back across Cable’s face. “How he threatened her and forced his will on her?” He swung on Cable again and again, hacking at Cable’s cheeks and forehead with the rawhide. Cable’s eyes were squeezed closed and he would turn his head with each stinging blow. But he was off balance, leaning forward awkwardly, and he was unable to turn his body with Austin holding his arm twisted behind him. Duane struck him eight times before his arm dropped heavily to his side.

“Did he tell you all that, Mrs. Cable?”

“He told me everything that happened.”

“His version.”

“If you’ve finished, Mr. Kidston, may I take my husband inside?”

Duane stared at Martha, his face tight as he held back the temper ready to flare out at her calm, quiet manner.

He said then, “If you want him, take him. Take him anywhere you like, but not back to your house. You’re finished here, and I believe you’re intelligent enough to realize it. If you think this is unjust, that’s too bad; your husband is lucky to be alive. I’ll tell you frankly, if it wasn’t for your children he would be dead now.”

Bill Dancey watched Martha, waiting for her to speak again; but Martha said nothing, her hand on the little girl close to her side. Dancey walked across the platform. Going down the steps he patted Davis’s shoulder, but the boy pulled away from him. Dancey mounted, then looked up at Duane.

“You’ve said it. What’re you waiting for?”

Duane still faced Martha. He ignored Dancey, and said, “This evening my men leave for the horse pastures. They’ll be gone one week. If you haven’t cleared out by the time they return, we will take your husband out and hang him. That’s my last warning, Mrs. Cable.”

Duane turned and marched stiffly down the steps to his horse. The Dodd brothers followed, almost reluctantly, both of them looking back at Cable as they mounted and rode out after Duane.

Janroe came away from the edge of the platform and studied Cable’s face closely. “Duane laid it on you, didn’t he?”

Cable said nothing. He felt Martha standing next to him now, but he continued to watch the riders. When they had finally crossed the river and started up the slope, he looked at Janroe.

“That one Duane called Jimmie-what did he do with my gun? Did you see?”

Janroe stepped to the edge of the platform again and looked down. “He dropped it right there.”

“Get it for me.”

Janroe seemed to smile. “I’d be glad to.”

Cable felt Martha’s hand on his arm. He looked at her, at her soft, clear expression, at her eyes that seemed moist, though he wasn’t sure if she was crying.

She said, “Cabe, come inside now.”

He followed her through the store, through the main room to the kitchen, then sat down while Martha went to the sink. She dipped water from a bucket into a kettle, and put the kettle on the stove to heat.

Clare and Davis appeared in the doorway, staring at their father until Martha noticed them and told them to go outside and play.

Cable looked up. “No, let them stay,” he said. He motioned to the children. They came in hesitantly, as if this man with the red welts across his face was someone neither of them had ever seen before. But when he smiled and held out his arms, both of them ran to him and pressed against his chest. He kissed Clare on the cheek, then Davis. The boy’s arms went around his neck and clung to him and Cable felt the knot in his stomach slowly begin to relax.

Martha poured the warm water into a basin. She carried it to the table, then leaned close to her husband and began bathing the swollen red marks that crossed both of his cheeks, his nose and his forehead. A bruise colored his cheekbone where Austin Dodd had hit him.

Cable’s eyes raised. “Where’s Sandy?”

“Still taking his nap.”

“I’m glad he didn’t see it.”

Martha said nothing. She moved the two children aside to give herself more room, then pressed the wet cloth gently to Cable’s forehead.

“The second time they’ve seen me beaten,” Cable said. “Beaten up twice in front of my children-standing there turning the other cheek while a man rawhides my face.”

Martha raised his chin with her hand. “Cabe, you don’t have to prove yourself to them. You’re their father.”

“Something they don’t have anything to say about.”

“They’d love you under any circumstance, you know that.”

“Then it’s a question of proving myself to me.”

Martha shook her head. “It isn’t a matter of principle, a question of whether or not you’re a man. This is something that affects the whole family. We want to go home and live in peace. Clare and Davis and even Sandy, we want what is rightfully ours, but we don’t want it without you.”

“Then you want to leave here,” Cable said.

“I didn’t say that. If we run away, we lose. But if we have to bury you, we lose even more.”

“Martha, I don’t have a choice.”

She leaned close to him with her hands on the arms of the chair. “Cabe, don’t go after them just because of what Duane did.”

“You know it’s more than that.”

“You were beaten up in front of the children. Right now that’s all you can think about.”

“Sooner or later this will be settled with guns,” Cable said. “It might as well be now.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Martha said urgently. “If we wait, if we can put it off-Cabe, something could happen that would solve everything!”

“Like what?”

She hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

“Martha, I’m awful tired of waiting.”

She looked at him intently. “You could go to Fort Buchanan. Put it up to the authorities.”

“You know who they’d side with.”

“But we’re not sure. Cabe, at least it’s worth trying.”

From the doorway Janroe said, “I’ve got the only way to solve your problem.” He extended Cable’s Walker Colt, holding it in the open palm of his hand. “Right here.”

Martha turned, looking at him coldly. “That would solve nothing.”

“All right,” Janroe said. “Go up to Buchanan. Tell the Yankees you’re a Rebel soldier come home to find a gang of Yankee horse-breakers using your land and threatening to hang you.” Janroe moved into the kitchen. “You know what they’d do? Supply the rope.”

Martha motioned the two children to the back door. She held it open for them, then, closing it behind them, looked at Janroe again.

“Mr. Janroe, I don’t think this concerns you.”

“Ask your husband whether it concerns me or not.” He stopped in front of Cable and handed him the revolver. “Right?”

Cable said nothing. He took the Walker and looked at it idly, holding it in both hands.

Janroe watched him. “You’re going back to your place?”

Cable nodded.

“That’s the right direction,” Janroe said mildly. His eyes remained on Cable’s lowered head. “Did you hear what Duane said about his men going off this evening? They’ll go over to some pastures Vern’s got way north and west of here and start working the herds home. Duane said they’d be gone a week.” Janroe shook his head. “They’ll be gone longer than that. And just Duane and maybe Vern will be home, just the two of them.”

Cable looked up. “You told me that once before.”

Janroe nodded. “And Duane confirmed it.” His voice lowered. “It would be easy for a man like you. Ride in there and take both of them.”

Martha came away from the door. “You’re asking my husband to commit murder!”

Janroe glared at her. “Like any soldier murders.”

“This isn’t war-he isn’t a soldier now!”

“We’ve been all through that,” Janroe said. “Whether it bothers his conscience or not, your husband doesn’t have a choice. He’s got to kill them before they kill him.”

That evening, as soon as it was dark, Janroe slipped under the platform and let himself into the locked storeroom. He measured three strides to the crates of Enfield rifles stacked against the back wall, then stood in the darkness, wondering if there would be room for the wagon-load of rifles due to arrive later that night. The rifles that were here should have been picked up days ago.

You can worry about it, Janroe thought, or you can forget it and ask Luz when she comes. She should be here within two hours. Perhaps they told her in Hidalgo why the rifles had not been picked up. Perhaps not. Either way, there was something more immediate to think about. Something raw and galling, because it was fresh in his mind and seemed to have happened only moments before though it had been this afternoon, hours ago.

He had almost convinced Cable. No, not almost or maybe. He had convinced him. He had handed the man his gun and told him to kill the Kidstons or be killed himself, and Cable had seen the pure reality of this. If he had left at that moment, he would have gone straight to the Kidston place. Janroe was sure of it.

But Martha had interfered. She talked to her husband, soothing the welts on his face with a damp cloth while she soothed his anger with the calm, controlled tone of her voice. And finally Cable had nodded and agreed not to do anything that day. He would go home and watch the house-that much he had to do-but he would not carry the fight to the Kidstons; at least not while he felt the way he did. He agreed to this grudgingly, wearily, part by part, while Martha reasoned in that quiet, firm, insisting, never-varying tone.

Perhaps if he went out to see Cable now? No, the guns were coming and he would have to be here. In the morning then; though by that time the sting would be gone from the welts on Cable’s face and that solid patience would have settled in him again.

He had convinced Cable-that was the absolute truth of it-until the woman had started in with her moral, monotonous reasoning-

Janroe straightened. He stood listening, hearing the faint sound of a horse approaching. The hoofbeats grew louder, but not closer, and when the sound stopped, he knew the horse had reached the back of the store.

Luz? No, it was too early for her. He left the storeroom, carefully, quietly padlocking the door, came out into the open and took his time mounting to the platform and passing through the darkened store. He saw Martha first, standing in the kitchen, then Luz, and saw the girl’s eyes raise to his as he moved toward them.

“You’re early.”

“They’re not coming,” Luz said.

“What do you mean they’re not coming?”

“Not anymore.”

“All right,” Janroe said. “Tell me what you know.”

“The war’s over.”

She said it simply, in the same tone, and for a moment Janroe only stared at her.

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s true,” Martha said. “They told her as soon as she reached Hidalgo.”

He looked at Martha then, seeing her face no longer composed but for the first time flushed and alive and with a smile that was warm and genuine and seemed to include even him, simply because he was here to share the news with them.

He turned to Luz again. “Who told you?”

“Everyone knows it. They told me to come back and tell you.”

“But how do they know? How can they be sure?”

“They know, that’s all.”

“Listen, wars don’t just end like that.”

“How do they end?” Martha asked, not smiling now.

“There’s some warning-days, weeks before, that it’s going to end.”

“You know how news travels out here,” Martha said.

“No”-Janroe shook his head-“we would have heard something. It’s a false alarm, or a Yankee trick. It’s something else because a war just doesn’t end like that.”

“We’re telling you that the war is over,” Martha said. “Whether you believe it or not it ended five days ago, the day we came home.”

“And they’re just finding out now?” Janroe shook his head again. “Uh-unh, you don’t sell me any of that.”

“Would they have lied to Luz?”

“I don’t even know what they told her! How do I know she even went there?”

Martha was staring at him. “You don’t want to believe it.”

“What am I supposed to believe-everything this girl comes in and tells me?”

“Luz”-Martha glanced at the girl-“can I take your horse?”

Janroe saw Luz nodding and he said anxiously, “What for?”

“To tell my husband,” Martha answered, looking at him again.

“You think you should?” Janroe asked. It was moving too fast again, rushing at him again, not giving him time to think, and already it was the next step, telling her husband. They would not just stand and talk about it and see how ridiculous the news was; they would bring Cable into it, and if he argued about the sense of her going she would go all the quicker.

“I mean riding out alone at night,” Janroe said. He shook his head. “I couldn’t see you doing that.”

“I think my husband should know,” Martha began.

“I believe that,” Janroe said. The words were coming easier now. “But I think I better be the one to go tell him.”

Martha hesitated. Before she could say anything, Janroe had turned and was gone. She looked at Luz, but neither of them spoke, hearing Janroe just in the next room.

When he came into the kitchen again he was wearing a hat and a coat, the armless sleeve flat and ending abruptly in the pocket, but bulging somewhat with the shape of a shoulder holster beneath the coat.

“You will see him?” Martha said. “I mean make sure he finds out?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“And you promise to tell him everything?”

“I won’t be long.” Janroe went out the back door and mounted Luz Acaso’s dun mare.

He crossed the river and hurried the dun up the slope to the horse trail, following it north, almost blindly in the night darkness of the trees, brushing branches in his haste and kicking the dun. He moved along the ridge, though with no intention of visiting Cable.

He knew only that there was no time for Cable now. He could admit that to himself without admitting the other, that the war was over. Certainly it could be at the very edge of the end. This could be the last day. It might very well be the last day. All right, it was the last day and now there was no time for Cable. The war was not over yet, he told himself, but there was time to do only one thing now.

Four, raging, uninterrupted years of war did not end with two women standing in a kitchen and saying that it was over. You would expect that of women. It was typical. A woman would tell you anything. Lies became truth to them because they felt justified in using any means at hand to hold life to a sweet-smelling, creeping pace; to make this a woman’s existence with no room for war or fighting or so many of the things that men did and liked to do and only really proved themselves as men when they were doing them.

If he had not entered the kitchen he wouldn’t have heard anything. A man couldn’t wait and plan for eight months and know what he had to do, and then see it all canceled by walking into a kitchen. That couldn’t be.

So the two women had lied and it was stupid to think about it. And even if it was not a matter of their lying, then it was something else, something equally untrue; and whether the something was a lie from the women or a trick or an untruth from another source was beside the point.

He was hurrying, as if to keep up with time, so that not another moment of it would go by before he reached the Kidston place. But even after half admitting this was impossible he told himself that right now was part of a whole time, not a time before or a time after something. It was a time which started the day he came to live at the store and would end the day he saw the Kidstons dead. So this was part of the time of war. But almost as he thought this, it became more than that. Now, right now, was the whole of the war, the everything of a war that would not end until the Kidstons were dead.

It took him less than an hour altogether. By the time he left the horse trail he had cleared his mind of everything but the Kidstons. Winding, moving more slowly through the sandstone country, he was able to calm himself and think about what he would do after, what he would do about Cable, what he would tell Martha and Luz. Martha…

By the time he reached the edge of the timber stand bordering the Kidston place, looking across the open area to the house and outbuildings, he was composed and ready. He was Edward Janroe who happened to be riding by, say, on his way to Fort Buchanan. He was a man they had seen at least once a week for the past eight months. He was the one-armed man who owned the store now and didn’t say much. He was nothing to be afraid of or even wonder about. Which was exactly the way Janroe wanted it.