“Major”—Joe Bob’s voice—“are you a chance-taking man? I was thinking, if you were quick on your feet—”
“I told you to keep out of this!” Duane snapped the words at him.
Looking at Duane as he spoke, at him and past him, Cable saw the horse and rider coming up out of the river, crossing the sand flat, climbing the bank now.
“I was just asking,” Joe Bob said lazily. “If you thought you could flatten quick enough, we’d cut him in two pieces.”
The rider approached them now, walking his horse out of the willows. A moment before they heard the hoof sounds, Cable said, “Tell your man to stay where he is.”
Joe Bob saw him first and called out, “Vern, you’re missing it!” Royce and Dancey turned as Joe Bob spoke, but Duane’s eyes held on Cable.
“You’ve waited too long,” Duane said.
Cable backed off a half step, still holding the Walker on Duane; but now he watched Vern Kidston as he approached from beyond Dancey, passing him now, sitting heavily and slightly stooped in the saddle, his eyes on Cable as he came unhurriedly toward him. A few yards away he stopped but made no move to dismount.
With his hat forward and low over his eyes, the upper half of his face was in shadow, and a full mustache covering the corners of his mouth gave him a serious, solemn look. He was younger than Duane—perhaps in his late thirties—and had none of Duane’s physical characteristics. Vern was considerably taller, but that was not apparent now. The contrast was in their bearing and Cable noticed it at once. Vern was Vern, without being conscious of himself. Thoughts could be in his mind, but he did not give them away. You were aware of only the man, an iron-willed man whose authority no one here questioned. In contrast, Duane could be anyone disguised as a man.
Vern Kidston sat with his hands crossed limply over the saddle horn. He sat relaxed, obviously at ease, staring down at this man with the Walker Colt. Then, unexpectedly, his eyes moved to Bill Dancey.
“You were supposed to meet me this morning. Coming back I stopped up on the summer meadow and waited two hours for you.”
“Duane says come with him else I was through,” Dancey said calmly, though a hint of anger showed in his bearded face. “Maybe we ought to clear this up, just who I take orders from.”
Vern Kidston looked at his brother then. “I go up to Buchanan for one day and you start taking over.”
“I’d say running this man off your land is considerably more important than selling a few horses,” Duane said coldly.
“You would, uh?” Vern’s gaze shifted. His eyes went to the house, then lowered. “So you’re Cable.”
Cable looked up at him. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I guess you have.”
“Vern”—it was Duane’s voice—“he pulled his gun under a sign of truce!”
Kidston looked at his brother. “I’d say the issue is he’s still holding it.” His eyes returned to Cable. “One man standing off four.” He paused thoughtfully. “His Colt gun doesn’t look that big to me.”
Cable moved the Walker from Duane to Vern. “How does it look now?”
Vern seemed almost to smile. “There’s seven miles of nerve between pointing a gun and pulling the trigger.”
Cable stared at him, feeling his hope of reasoning with Kidston dissolve. But it was momentary. It was there with the thought: He’s like the rest of them. His mind’s made up and there’s no arguing with him. Then the feeling was gone and the cold rage crept back into him, through him, and he told himself: But you don’t budge. You know that, don’t you? Not one inch of ground.
“Mr. Kidston,” Cable said flatly, “I’ve fought for this land before. I’ve even had to kill for it. I’m not proud of saying that, but it’s a fact. And if I have to, I’ll kill for it again. Now if you don’t think this land belongs to me, do something about it.”
“I understand you have a family,” Kidston said.
“I’ll worry about my family.”
“They wouldn’t want to see you killed right before their eyes.”
Cable cocked his wrist and the Walker was pointed directly at Vern’s face. “It’s your move, Mr. Kidston.”
Vern sat relaxed, his hands still crossed on the saddle horn. “You know you wouldn’t have one chance of coming out of this alive.
“How good are your chances?”
“Maybe you wouldn’t have time to pull the trigger.”
“If you think they can shoot me before I do, give the word.”
Twenty feet to Cable’s right, Joe Bob said, “Wait him out, Vern. He can’t stand like that all day. Soon as his arm comes down I’ll put one clean through him.”
Dancey said, “And the second you move the shotgun cuts you in two.”
Vern’s eyes went to the house. “His wife?”
“Look close,” Dancey said. “You see twin barrels peeking out the window. I’d say she could hold it resting on the ledge longer than we can stand here.”
Vern studied the house for some moments before his gaze returned to Cable. “You’d bring your wife into it? Risk her life for a piece of land?”
“My wife killed a Chiricahua Apache ten feet from where you’re standing,” Cable said bluntly. “They came like you’ve come and she killed to defend our home. Maybe you understand that. If you don’t, I’ll say only this. My wife will kill again if she has to, and so will I.”
Thoughtfully, slowly, Kidston said, “Maybe you would.” A silence followed until his eyes moved to Duane. “Go on home. Take your cavalry and get.”
“I’m going,” Duane said coldly. “I’m going to Fort Buchanan. If you can’t handle this man, the army can.”
“Duane, you’re going home.”
“I have your word you’ll attend to him?”
“Go on, get out of here.”
Duane hesitated, as if thinking of a way to salvage his self-respect, then turned without a word and walked off.
Kidston looked at his three riders. None of them had moved. “Go with him. And take your gear.”
They stood lingeringly until Vern’s gaze returned to Cable. That dismissed them and they moved away, picked up the gear Cable had piled by the barn and followed Duane to the willows.
“Well,” Cable said, “are we going to live together?”
“I don’t think you’ll last.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Kidston said quietly, “you’re one man; because you’ve got a family; because your stomach’s going to be tied in a knot wondering when I’m coming. You won’t sleep. And every time there’s a sound you’ll jump out of your skin…. Your wife will tell you it isn’t worth it; and after a while, after her nerves are worn raw, she’ll stop speaking to you and acting like a wife to you, and you won’t see a spark of life in her.”
Cable’s gaze went to the house and he called out, “Martha!” After a moment the door opened and Martha came out with the shotgun under her arm. Kidston watched her, removing his hat as she neared them and holding it in his hand. He stood with the sun shining in his face and on his hair that was dark and straight and pressed tightly to his skull with perspiration. He nodded as Cable introduced them and put on his hat again.
“Mr. Kidston says we’ll leave because we won’t be able to stand it,” Cable said now. “He says the waiting and not knowing will wear our nerves raw and in the end we’ll leave of our own accord.”
“What did you say?” Martha asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I don’t suppose there’s much you could.” She looked off toward the willows, seeing the men there mounting and starting across the river, then looked at her husband again. “Well, Cabe,” she said, “are you going to throw Mr. Kidston out or ask him in for coffee?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“Perhaps Mr. Kidston will come back,” Martha answered, “when we’re more settled.”
“Perhaps I will,” Kidston said. His eyes remained on Martha: a woman who coul
d carry a shotgun gracefully and whose eyes were dark and clear, warmly clear, and who stared back at him calmly and with confidence. He recalled the way she had walked out to meet him, with the sun on her dark hair, coming tall and unhurried with the faint movement of her legs beneath the skirt.
“Maybe you’ll stay at that,” Vern said, still looking at Martha. “Maybe you’re the kind that would.”
Cable watched him walk off toward the willows, and he was trying to picture this solemn-faced man kissing Luz Acaso.
For the rest of the morning and through the afternoon, there was time to think about Kidston and wonder what he would do; but there was little time for Cable and Martha to talk about him.
Vern wanted the land and if Cable didn’t move, if he couldn’t be frightened off the place, he would be forced off at gunpoint. It was strange; Vern was straightforward and easy to talk to. You believed what he said and knew he wasn’t scheming or trying to trick you. Still, he wanted the land; and if waiting wouldn’t get it for him, he would take it. That was clear enough.
Cable chopped wood through the afternoon, stacking a good supply against the back wall of the adobe. Soon he’d be working cattle again and there would be little time for close to home chores.
Then, after supper, he heard the creaking barn door. If the wind rose in the night, the creaking sound would become worse and wake him up. He would lie in bed thinking and losing sleep. You could think too much about something like this; Cable knew that. You could picture too many possibilities of failure and in the end you could lose your nerve and run for it. Sometimes it was better to let things just happen, to be ready and try to do the right thing, but just not think about it so much.
So he went out into the dusk to see about the door. Carrying an unlit lantern, Cable opened the door and stepped into the dim stillness of the barn. He hung the lantern on a peg and was bringing his arms down when the gun barrel pushed into his back.
“Now we’ll do it our way,” Joe Bob said.
3
Royce lifted the Walker from Cable’s holster. He stepped back and Joe Bob came in swinging, hooking his right hand hard into Cable’s cheek. In the semi-darkness there was a grunt and a sharp smacking sound and Cable was against the board wall. Joe Bob turned him, swinging again, and broke through Cable’s guard. He waded in then, grunting, slashing at Cable’s face with both fists, holding him pinned to the boards, now driving a mauling fist low into Cable’s body, then crossing high with the other hand to Cable’s face. Joe Bob worked methodically, his fists driving in one after the other, again and again and again, until Cable’s legs buckled. He had not been able to return a blow or even cover himself and now his back eased slowly down the boards. Joe Bob waited, standing stoop-shouldered and with his hands hanging heavily. Then his elbows rose; he went back a half step, came in again and brought his knee up solidly into Cable’s jaw.
Abruptly, Royce said, “Listen!”
There was no sound except for Joe Bob’s heavy, open-mouthed breathing. The silence lengthened until Royce said, between a whisper and a normal tone, “I heard somebody.”
“Where?”
“Shhh!” Royce eased toward the open door.
“Cabe?” It came from outside. Martha’s voice.
Royce let his breath out slowly. He stepped into the doorway and saw Martha in the gray dusk. She was perhaps forty feet from him, near the corner of the house.
“Who is it?”
“Evening, Mrs. Cable.”
“Who’s there?”
“It’s just me. Royce.” He stepped outside.
“Where’s my husband?”
“Inside. Me and Joe Bob came back for some stuff we left”—he was moving toward her now—“and your husband’s helping us dig it out.”
She called past Royce. “Cabe?”
No answer. Five seconds passed, no more than that, then Martha had turned and was running—around the corner of the log section to the dark shadow of the ramada, hearing him behind her as she pushed the door open into bright lamplight and swung it closed. She heard him slam against it, hesitated—Hold the door or go for the shotgun!—saw Clare wide-eyed and said, “Go to the other room!” Martha was near the stove, raising the shotgun when Royce burst into the room. His hand was under the barrel as she pulled the trigger and the blast exploded up into the ceiling.
Royce threw the shotgun aside. He stood breathing in and out heavily. “You like to killed me.”
“Where’s my husband?”
“Old Joe Bob’s straightening things out with him.”
She was aware of the children crying then. Past Royce, she saw them just inside the bedroom. Clare’s face was red and glistened with tears. And because she cried, Sandy was crying, with his lower lip pouted and his eyes tightly closed. Davis was staring at Royce. His eyes were round and large and showed natural fear, but he stood with his fists balled and did not move.
“There’s nothing to cry about,” Martha said. “Come kiss me good night and go to bed.” They stood in their flannel nightshirts, afraid now to come into the room. Martha started for them, but she stopped.
Cable stood in the doorway. Joe Bob pushed him from behind and he lurched in, almost going to his knees, but caught himself against the back of a chair. Davis watched his father. His sister and brother were still crying, whimpering, catching their breath.
Abruptly both children stopped, their eyes on Joe Bob as he came toward them. He said nothing, and no more than glanced at them before slamming the bedroom door in their faces. Immediately their crying began again, though now the sound was muffled by the heavy door.
Martha poured water from the kettle, saturating a dish towel; she wrung the water from it and brought it to Cable who was bent over the back of the chair, leaning heavily on it with his arms supporting him stiffly.
“Cabe, are you all right?”
He took the towel from her, pressing it to his mouth, then looked at the blood on the cloth and folded it over, touching it to his mouth again. His teeth throbbed with a dullness that reached up into his head. He could not feel his lips move when he spoke.
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
Joe Bob said, “Then maybe I should give you some more.”
Martha turned the chair around, helping her husband sit down.
Cable’s eyes raised. “The children—?”
“They’re all right. They’re frightened, that’s all.”
“You better go talk to them.”
“You better not,” Joe Bob said. “They’ll shut up after a while.”
Martha looked at him now. “What do you want?”
“I’m not sure,” Joe Bob said. “We’re taking one step at a time.” He glanced at Royce. “I wish Austin and Wynn were here.” He was referring to his two brothers who also worked for Kidston. “They’d have some ideas. Man, would they!”
“Do you want us to leave?” asked Martha.
“Not right yet.” Joe Bob glanced at Royce again, winking this time. “We might think of something.” His gaze went beyond Royce, moving over the room and coming back to Martha. “You’re such a fine housekeeper, maybe we’ll keep you here.” He winked at Royce again. “How’d you like to keep house for us?”
Martha did not speak, but she held Joe Bob’s gaze until he grinned and moved away from her, going toward the kitchen cupboards.
“I don’t know if I’d want her,” Royce said. “She like to took my head off.”
“I heard,” Joe Bob said. He had opened a top cupboard and was reaching up into it. “Man, look at this.” He took down an almost-full whisky bottle, smiling now and looking at Cable as he turned.
“Would you’ve thought it of him?” Job Bob uncorked the bottle and took a drink. “Man—”
Royce was next to him now, taking the bottle and drinking from it. He scowled happily, wiping his hand across his mouth. “Now this puts a different light on the subject.”
Joe Bob took the bottle again, extending it to Martha. “Swe
etie?”
“No, thank you.”
“Just a little one.”
Royce said, “Don’t pour it away. If she doesn’t want any, all right.” He watched Joe Bob lift the bottle and snatched it from him as it came down. Now he took his time, smiling, looking at the label before he drank again.
“I think we ought to sit down,” Royce said. “Like a party.”
“And talk to her about staying,” Joe Bob said.
Royce grinned. “Wouldn’t that be something.”
“Man, picture it.”
“Maybe we’d even pay her.”
“Sure we would. With love and affection.”
Cable said, “Does Vern know you’re here?”
Royce looked at Cable. “Maybe I ought to take a turn on him.”
“Help yourself,” Joe Bob said.
“Vern and I agreed to settle this ourselves,” Cable said.
Joe Bob looked at Royce. “He don’t talk so loud now, does he?”
“He knows better,” Royce said.
Joe Bob nodded thoughtfully. He drank from the bottle before saying, “You think we need him?”
“What for?” Royce took the bottle.
“That’s the way I feel.”
“Hell, throw him out.”
“What about the kids—throw them out too?”
“Do you hear any kids? They’re asleep already. Kids forget things a minute later.” Royce lifted the bottle.
“Just throw him out, uh?”
“Sure. He’ll lay out there like a hound. Else he’ll crawl away. One way or the other, what difference does it make?”
Joe Bob considered this. “He can’t go for help. Where’d he go, to Vern? To the one-arm man?”
Royce nodded. “Maybe to Janroe.”
“So he does,” Joe Bob said. “How’s the one-arm man going to help him?” Joe Bob shook his head. “He’s in a miserable way.”
“Sure he is.”
“Too miserable.”
“Don’t feel sorry for him.”
“I mean, put him out of his misery.”