The first thing he did in Tucson was quit his job. The same day he bought twenty head of yearling stock, spending every last dollar he had, and drove his cattle the hundred and twenty miles back to the Saber River.
In the summer of his second year he built his own adobe, with the help of Manuel Acaso, four miles north of the store. He sold some of his full-grown beef to the army at Fort Buchanan and he continued to buy yearlings, buying them cheap from people around Tubac who’d had enough of the Apache and were willing to make a small profit or none at all just to get shed of their stock and get out of southern Arizona.
The next year he left Manuel Acaso with his herd and traveled back to Sudan. The girl, Martha Sanford, was waiting for him. They were married within the week and he brought her home to the Saber without stopping for a honeymoon. Then he worked harder than he ever imagined a man could work and he remembered thinking during those days: nothing can budge you from this place. You are taking all there is to take and if you don’t die you will make a success of it.
He was sure of it after living through the winter the Apaches came. They were Chiricahuas down out of the Dragoons and every few weeks they would raid his herd for meat. From November through April Cable lost over fifty head of cattle. But he made the Chiricahuas pay.
Lying prone high on the slope with a Sharps rifle, in the cover of the trees, he knocked two of them from their horses as they cut into his herd. The others came for him, squirming unseen through the pines, and when they rushed him he killed a third one with his revolver before they ran.
Another time that winter a war party attacked the house of Juan Toyopa, Cable’s nearest neighbor to the west, killing Juan and his family and burning the house. They reached Cable’s place at dawn-coming suddenly, screaming out of the grayness and battering against the door. He stood waiting with a revolver in each hand. Martha stood behind him with the shotgun. And when the door gave way he fired six rounds into them in half as many seconds. Two of the Apaches fell and Martha stepped over them to fire both shotgun loads at the Apaches running for the willows. One of them went down.
Then Cable rode to Denaman’s to get Manuel Acaso. They returned to the willows, found the sign of six Chiricahuas and followed it all day, up into high desert country; and at dusk, deep in a high-walled canyon, they crept up to the dry camp of the six Apaches and shot three of them before they could reach their horses. The survivors fled, at least one of them wounded, Cable was sure of that, and they never bothered him again.
Perhaps they believed his life was charmed, that he was beyond killing, and for that reason they stopped trying to take him or his cattle. And perhaps it was charmed, Cable had thought. Or else his prayers were being answered. It was a good thing to believe; it made him feel stronger and made him work even harder. That was the time he first had the thought: nothing can budge you from this land. Nothing.
The next year their first child was born. Clare. And Manuel Acaso helped him build the log addition to the house. He remembered planning it, lying here in this bed with Martha next to him and Clare, a month-old baby, in the same crib Sandy was sleeping in now; lying awake staring at the ceiling and thinking how he would build a barn after they’d completed the log room.
And now thinking about that time and not thinking about the years in between, he felt comfortable and at peace. Until the murmur of Martha’s voice, close to him, brought him fully awake.
“They’ll come today, won’t they?”
He turned to her. She was on her side, her eyes open and watching him. “I guess they will.”
“Is that what you were thinking about?”
Cable smiled. “I was thinking about the barn.”
“You’re not even worried, are you?”
“It doesn’t do any good to show it.”
“I thought you might be trying out your principle of not worrying about anything you can’t do something about.”
“Well, I thought about it.”
Martha smiled. “Cabe, I love you.”
He rolled to his side, pulling her close to him and kissed her, brushing her cheek and her mouth. His face remained close to hers. “We’ll come out of this.”
“We have to,” Martha whispered.
When Cable left the house the sun was barely above the line of trees at the river’s edge. The willow branches moved in the breeze, swaying slowly against the pale morning sky. But soon, Cable knew, there would be sun glare and deep shadows, black against yellow, and the soft movement of the trees would be remembered from another time with another feeling.
With Davis and Clare he brought the four team horses out of the barn and put them on a picket line to graze. It wouldn’t help to get them mixed with Kidston’s herd. He saddled the sorrel gelding, but let the reins hang free so it could also graze. The sorrel wouldn’t wander. After that he returned to the house.
Martha came out of the log room with Sandy. “What did you forget?”
“The Spencer,” Cable said. He picked it up, then turned sharply, hearing Clare’s voice.
The little girl ran in from the yard. “Somebody’s coming!”
Cable stepped to the doorway. Behind him Martha called, “Davis-Clare, where is he?”
“He’s all right.” Cable lowered the Spencer looking out past Davis who was in the yard watching the rider just emerging from the trees. “It’s Janroe.”
The first thing Cable noticed about Janroe was that he wore two revolvers-one in a shoulder holster, the other on his hip-in addition to a shotgun in his saddle boot.
Then, as Janroe approached, he noticed the man’s gaze. Taking it all in, Cable thought, seeing Janroe’s eyes moving from the saddled gelding to the gear-cooking utensils, clothing, curl-toed boots, bedding and the three holstered revolvers on top-that was in a pile over by the barn.
Janroe reined in, his gaze returning to the adobe. “Well, you ran them, didn’t you?” His hand touched his hat brim and he nodded to Martha, then fell away as Cable walked out to him. He made no move to dismount.
“I don’t think you expected to see us,” Cable said.
“I wasn’t sure.”
“But you were curious.”
Janroe’s gaze went to the pile of gear. “You took their guns,” he said thoughtfully. I’d like to have seen that.” His eyes returned to Cable. “Yes, I would have given something to see that. Was anybody hurt?”
Cable shook his head.
“No shooting?”
“Not a shot.”
“What’ll you do with their stuff?”
“Leave it. They’ll come back.”
“I think I’d burn it.”
“I thought about that,” Cable said. “But I don’t guess it’s a way to make friends.”
“You don’t owe them anything.”
“No, but I have to live with them.”
Janroe glanced at the saddled horse. “You’re going somewhere?”
“Out to the meadow.”
“I’ll ride along,” Janroe said.
They passed into the willows, jumping their horses down the five-foot bank, and crossed a sandy flat before entering the brown water of the river. At midstream the water swirled chest high on the horses, then receded gradually until they again came up onto a stretch of sand before mounting the bank.
“Now you’re going to run his horses?” Janroe asked.
“I’ll move them around the meadow,” Cable said. “Toward his land.”
“He’ll move them right back.”
“We’ll see.”
“You’re got a fight on your hands. You know that, don’t you?”
They were moving out into the meadow toward Kidston’s horse herd, walking their horses side by side, but now Cable reined to a halt.
“Look, I haven’t even met Vern or Duane Kidston. First I’ll talk to them. Then we’ll see what happens.”
Janroe shook his head. “They’ll try to run you. If you don’t budge, they’ll shoot you out.”
Cable said, “Are you going back now?”
Janroe looked at him with surprise. “I have time.”
“And I’ve got work to do.”
“Well,” Janroe said easily, “I was going to try to talk you into going back to the store with me. I’ve got a proposition you ought to be interested in.”
“Go ahead and make it.”
“I’ve got to show you something along with it, and that’s at the store.”
“Then it’ll have to wait,” Cable said.
“Well”-Janroe shrugged-“it’s up to you. I’ll tell you this much, it would end your problem all at once.”
Cable watched him closely. “What would I have to do?”
“Kill Vern,” Janroe said mildly. “Kill him and his brother.”
Cable had felt himself tensed, but now he relaxed. “Just like that.”
“You can do it. You proved that the way you handled those three yesterday.”
“And why are you so anxious to see the Kidstons dead?”
“I’m looking at it from your side.”
“Like hell.”
“All right.” Janroe paused. “You were pretty close to John Denaman, weren’t you?”
“He gave me my start here.”
“Did you know Denaman was running guns for the South?”
Cable was watching Janroe closely. “You’re sure?”
“He was just part of it,” Janroe continued. “They’re Enfield rifles shipped into Mexico by the British. Confederate agents bring them up over the border and the store is one of the relay points. It was Denaman’s job to hide the rifles until another group picked them up for shipment east.”
“And where do you come in?”
“When Denaman died I was sent out to take his place.”
Cable’s eyes remained on Janroe. So the man was a Confederate agent. And John Denaman had been one. That was hard to picture, because you didn’t think of the war reaching out this far. But it was here. Fifteen hundred miles from the fighting, almost another world, but it was here.
“I told you,” Janroe said, “I was with Kirby Smith. I lost my arm fighting the Yankees. When they said I wasn’t any more use as a soldier I worked my way into this kind of a job. Eight months ago they sent me out here to take Denaman’s place.”
“And Manuel,” Cable said. “Is he in it?”
Janroe nodded. “He scouts for the party that brings up the rifles. That’s where he is now.”
“When’s he due back?”
“What do you want to do, check my story?”
“I was thinking of Manuel. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
“He’ll be back in a day or so.”
“Does Luz know about the guns?”
“You can’t live in the same house and not know about them.”
“So that’s what’s bothering her.”
Janroe looked at him curiously. “She said something to your wife?”
Cable shrugged off the question. “It doesn’t matter. You started out with me killing Vern and Duane Kidston.”
Janroe nodded. “How does it look to you now?”
“You’re telling me to go after them. To shoot them down like you would an animal.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s called murder.”
“It’s also called war.”
Cable shook his head. “As far as I’m concerned the war’s over.”
Janroe watched him closely. “You don’t stop believing in a cause just because you’ve stopped fighting.”
“I’ve got problems of my own now.”
“But what if there’s a relation between the two? Between your problems and the war?”
“I don’t see it.”
“Open your eyes,” Janroe said. “Vern supplies remounts to the Union army. He’s doing as much to help them as any Yankee soldier in the line. Duane’s organized a twelve-man militia. That doesn’t sound like anything; but what if he found out about the guns? Good rifles that Confederate soldiers are waiting for, crying for. But even without that danger, once you see Duane you’ll want to kill him. I’ll testify before God to that.”
Janroe leaned closer to Cable. “This is what I’m getting at. Shooting those two would be like aiming your rifle at Yankee soldiers. The only difference is you know their names.”
Cable shook his head. “I’m not a soldier anymore. That’s the difference.”
“You have to have a uniform on to kill?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Janroe said. “You need an excuse. You need something to block off your conscience while you’re pulling the trigger. Something like a license, so killing them won’t be called murder.”
Cable said nothing. He was listening, but staring off at the horse herd now.
Janroe watched him. “That’s your problem. You want Vern and Duane off your land, but you don’t have the license to hunt them. You don’t have an excuse your conscience will accept.” Janroe paused. He waited until Cable’s gaze returned and he was looking directly into his eyes.
“I can give you that excuse, Mr. Cable. I can fix you up with the damnedest hunting license you ever saw, and your conscience will just sit back and laugh.”
For a moment Cable was silent, letting Janroe’s words run through his mind. All at once it was clear and he knew what the man was driving at. “If I worked for you,” Cable said, “if I was an agent, I could kill them as part of my duty.”
Janroe seemed to smile. “I could even order you to do it.”
“Why me? If it’s so important to you, why haven’t you tried?”
“Because I can’t afford to fool with something like that. If I’m caught, what happens to the gun running?”
“And if I fail,” Cable said, “what happens to my family?”
“You don’t have anything to lose,” Janroe said easily. “What happens to them if Vern kills you? What happens to all of you if he runs you off your land?”
Cable shook his head. “I’ve never even seen these people and you want me to kill them.”
“It will come to that,” Janroe said confidently. “I’m giving you an opportunity to hit first.”
“I appreciate that,” Cable said. “But from now on, how would you like to keep out of my business? You stop worrying about me and I won’t say anything about you. How will that be?” He saw the relaxed confidence drain from Janroe’s face leaving an expressionless mask and a tight line beneath his mustache.
“I think you’re a fool,” Janroe said quietly. “But you won’t realize it yourself until it’s too late.”
“All right,” Cable said. He spoke calmly, not raising his voice, but he was impatient now, anxious for Janroe to leave. “That’s about all I’ve got time for right now. You come out again some time, how’s that?”
“If you’re still around.” Janroe flicked his reins and moved off.
Let him go, Cable thought, watching Janroe taking his time, just beginning to canter. He’s waiting for you to call him. But he’ll have a long wait, because you can do without Mr. Janroe. There was something about the man that was wrong. Cable could believe that Janroe had been a soldier and was now a Confederate agent; but his wanting the Kidstons killed-as if he would enjoy seeing it happen-that was something else. There was the feeling he wanted to kill them just for the sake of killing them, not for the reasons he brought up at all. Maybe it would be best to keep out of Janroe’s way. There was enough to think about as it was.
Cable swung the sorrel in a wide circle across the meadow and came at the horse herd up wind, counting thirty-six, all mares and foals; seeing their heads rise as they heard him and caught his scent. And now they were moving, carefully at first, only to keep out of his way, then at a run as he spurred the sorrel toward them. Some tried to double back around him, but the sorrel answered his rein and swerved right and left to keep them bunched and moving.
Where the Saber crossed the valley, curving over to the east side of the meadow, he splashed the herd across with little trouble, then closed on them again and ran them as fast as the foals could move, up the narrowing, left-curving corridor of the valley. After what he judged to be four or five miles farther on, he came in sight of grazing cattle and there Cable swung away from the horse herd. This would be Kidston land.
Now he did not follow the valley back but angled for the near slope, crossed the open sweep of it to a gully which climbed up through shadowed caverns of ponderosa pine. At the crest of the hill he looked west out over tangled rock and brush country and beyond it to a towering near horizon of creviced, coldly silent stone. Close beyond this barrier was the Toyopa place, where Kidston now lived.