“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 could 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. “Sweetie?”
“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.”
Now Royce said nothing.
“Not us do it,” Joe Bob said. “Him do it.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You don’t have to.” Joe Bob drank from the bottle, then stood holding it, staring at Cable. “As long as he does.” After a moment he handed Royce the bottle and walked over to Cable.
“You understand me, don’t you?”
Cable straightened against the back of the chair. He shook his head.
“You will.” Joe Bob stood close to him, looking down, and said then, “You’re a miserable man, aren’t you?”
Cable sat tensed. He could not fight Joe Bob now and there was nothing he could say. So he remained silent, his eyes going to Martha who stood with her hands knotted into slender fists. Still with his eyes on Martha, he felt the sudden, sharp pain in his scalp and in a moment he was looking up into Joe Bob’s tight-jawed face.
Close to his belt, Joe Bob held Cable’s head back, his hand fisted in Cable’s hair. “I asked if you’re a miserable man!”
Cable tried to swallow, but most of the blood-saliva remained in his mouth. He said. “I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t.” The words came hesitantly, through swollen lips. But he stared up at Joe Bob calmly, breathing slowly, and only when he saw the man’s expression change did he try to push up out of the chair. Then it was too late.
He went back with the chair as Joe Bob’s fist slammed into his face. On the floor he rolled to his side, then raised himself slowly to his hands and knees. Joe Bob stood looking down at him with both fists balled and his jaw clenched in anger.
“I hate a man who thinks he’s smart. God, I hate a man who does that.”
Joe Bob was feeling the whisky. It showed in his face; and the cold, quiet edge was gone from the tone of his voice. On Royce, the whisky was having an opposite effect. He was grinning, watching Joe Bob with amusement; and now he said, “If he bothers you, throw him out. That’s all you got to do.”
“Better than that,” Joe Bob said. He extended a hand to Royce though his eyes remained on Cable. “Give me his Colt.”
“Sure.” Royce pulled the revolver from his belt and put it in Joe Bob’s hand. He stepped back, watching with interest as Joe Bob turned the cylinder to check the load.
“You’re going to kill him?”
“You’ll see.” Joe Bob cocked the revolver. He pointed it at Cable and motioned to the door. “Walk outside.”
Cable came to his feet. He looked at Martha, then away from her and walked toward the open door, seeing the dark square of it, then the deep shadow of the ramada as he neared the door, and beyond it, over the yard, a pale trace of early moonlight.
Now he was almost in the doorway, and the boot steps came quickly behind him. He was pushed violently through the opening, stumbled as he hit the ground and rolled out of the deep shadow of the ramada. He pushed himself to his knees, then fell flat again as Joe Bob began firing from the doorway. With the reports he heard Martha’s scream. And as suddenly as the gunfire began, it was over. He heard Joe Bob say, “I wasn’t aiming at him. If I was aiming he’d be dead. I got rid of four rounds is all.”
Joe Bob leaned in the doorway looking out into the darkness, the whisky warm inside of him and feeling Royce and the woman watching him. He would make it good, all right. Something Royce would tell everybody about.
He called out to Cable, “One left, boy. Put yourself out of your misery and save Vern and me and everybody a lot of trouble. Pull the trigger and it’s all over. Nobody worries anymore.”
He flipped the Walker in his hand, held it momentarily by the barrel, then threw it side-arm out to the yard. The revolver struck the ground, skidded past Cable, and the door slammed closed.
What would Forrest do?
That was a long time ago.
But what would he do? Cable thought.
He’d call on them to surrender. Not standing the way Duane stood, but with a confidence you could feel. The Yankees felt it and that part was real. He’d convince them he had more men and more artillery than they did-by having more buglers than companies and by having the same six field pieces come swinging down around the hill and into the woods, which was the reason the Yankee raider, Streight, surrendered-and only that part was unreal. And if they didn’t surrender, he’d find their weak point and beat the living hell out of it.
But these two won’t surrender. You’re seven hundred miles away from that. So what’s their weak point?
Almost a quarter of an hour had passed since the door slammed closed. Cable lay on his stomach, on the damp sand at the end of the river. He bathed his face, working his jaw and feeling the soreness of it, and rinsed his mouth until the inside bleeding stopped. The Walker Colt, with one load in it, was in his holster. And now what?
Now you think it out and do it and maybe it will work. Whatever it is.
What would Forrest do?
Always back to him, because you know he’d do something. God, and Nathan Bedford Forrest, I need help. God’s smile and Forrest’s bag of tricks.
When too many things crowded into Cable’s mind, he would stop thinking. He would calm himself, then tell himself to think very slowly and carefully. A little anger was good, but not rage; that hindered thinking. He tried not to think of Martha, because thinking of her and picturing her with them and wondering made it more difficult to take this coldly, to study it from all sides.
Two and a half years ago, he thought, you wouldn’t be lying here. You’d be dead. You’d have done something foolish and you’d be dead. But you have to hurry. You still have to hurry.
But even thinking this, and not being able to keep the picture of them with Martha out of his mind, he kept himself calm.
He was thankful for having served with Forrest. You learned things watching Forrest and you learned things getting out of the situations Forrest got you into. There had been times like this-not the same because there was Martha and the children now-but there had been outnumbered times and one-bullet times and lying close to the ground in the moonlight times. And he had come through them.