Martha Sanford Cable was twenty-seven now. A West Texas girl, though convent-educated in New Orleans. Seven years before she had left Sudan to come to the Saber River as Paul Cable’s wife, to help him build a home and provide him with a family…
Now they were returning to the home they had built with the family they had begun. They were before Denaman’s Store, only four miles from their own land.
And Cable was entering the yard, still with his eyes on the loading platform and the double doors framed in the pale wall of the adobe, reining in his sorrel and approaching at a walk.
The right-hand door opened and the man with one arm stepped out to the platform. He walked to the edge of it and stood with his thumb in his belt looking down at Cable.
Cable came on. He kept his eyes on the man, but said nothing until he had pulled to a halt less than ten feet away. From the saddle, Cable’s eyes were even with the man’s knees.
“John Denaman inside?”
The man’s expression did not change. “He’s not here anymore.”
“He moved?”
“You could say that.”
“Maybe I should talk to Luz,” Cable said.
The man’s sunken cheeks and the full mustache covering the line of his mouth gave his face a hard, bony expression, but it was not tensed. He said, “You know Luz?”
“Since she was eight years old,” Cable answered. “Since the day I first set foot in this valley.”
“Well, now-” The hint of a smile altered the man’s gaunt expression. “You wouldn’t be Cable, would you?”
Cable nodded.
“Home from the wars.” The man still seemed to be smiling. “Luz’s mentioned you and your family. Her brother too. He tells how you and him fought off Apaches when they raided your stock.”
Cable nodded. “Where’s Manuel now?”
“Off somewhere.” The man paused. “You been to your place yet?”
“We’re on our way.”
“You’ve got a surprise coming.”
Cable watched him, showing little curiosity. “What does that mean?”
“You’ll find out.”
“I think you’re changing the subject,” Cable said mildly. “I asked you what happened to John Denaman.”
For a moment the man said nothing. He turned then and called through the open door, “Luz, come out here!”
Cable watched him. He saw the man’s heavy-boned face turn to look down at him again, and almost immediately the Mexican girl appeared in the doorway. Cable’s hand went to the curled brim of his hat.
“Luz, honey, you’re a welcome sight.” He said it warmly, and he wanted to jump up on the platform and kiss her but the presence of this man stopped him.
“Paul-”
He saw the surprise in the expression of her mouth and in her eyes, but it was momentary and she returned his gaze with a smile that was grave and without joy, a smile that vanished the instant the man with one arm spoke.
“Luz, tell him what happened to Denaman.”
“You haven’t told him?” She looked at Cable quickly, then seemed to hesitate. “Paul, he’s dead. He died almost a year ago.”
“Nine months,” the man with one arm said. “I came here the end of August. He died the month before.”
Cable’s eyes were on the man, staring at him, feeling now that he had known Denaman was dead, had sensed it from the way the man had spoken-from the tone of his voice.
“You could have come right out and told me,” Cable said.
“Well, you know now.”
“Like you were making a game out of it.”
The man stared down at Cable indifferently. “Why don’t you just let it go?”
“Paul,” Luz said, “it came unexpectedly. He wasn’t sick.”
“His heart?”
Luz nodded. “He collapsed shortly after noon and by that evening he was dead.”
“And you happened to come a month later,” Cable said, looking at the man again.
“Why don’t you ask what I’m doing here?” The man looked up at the sound of the double team wagon on the grade, his eyes half closed in the sunlight, his gaze holding on the far slope now. “That your family?”
“Wife and three youngsters,” Cable said.
The man’s gaze came down. “You made a long trip for nothing.” He seemed about to smile, though he was not smiling now.
“All right,” Cable said. “Why?”
“Some men are living in your house.”
“If there are, they’re about to move.”
The smile never came, but the man stared down at Cable intently. “Come inside and I’ll tell you about it.” Then he turned abruptly, though he glanced again at the approaching wagon before going into the store.
Cable could hear the jingling, creaking sound of the wagon closer now, but he kept his eyes on Luz until she looked at him.
“Luz, who is he?”
“His name is Edward Janroe.”
“The man acts like he owns the place.”
Her eyes rose briefly. “He does. Half of it.”
“But why-”
“Are you coming?” Janroe was in the doorway. He was looking at Cable and with a nod of his head indicated Luz. “You got to drag things out of her. I’ve found it’s more trouble than it’s worth.” He waited until Cable stirred in the saddle and began to dismount. “I’ll be inside,” he said, and stepped away from the door.
Cable dropped his reins, letting them trail. He swung down and mounted the steps to the platform. For a moment he watched Luz Acaso in silence.
“Are you married to him?”
“No.”
“But he’s been living here eight months and has a half interest in the store.”
“You think what you like.”
“I’m not thinking anything. I want to know what’s going on.”
“He’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Luz, do you think I’m being nosy? I want to help you.”
“I don’t need help.” She was looking beyond him, watching the wagon entering the yard.
All right, he thought, don’t push her. It occurred to him then that Martha was the one to handle Luz. Why keep harping at her and get her nervous. Martha could soothe the details out of her in a matter of minutes.
Cable patted her shoulder and stepped past her into the abrupt dimness of the store.
He moved down the counter that lined the front wall, his hand gliding down the worn, shiny edge of it and his eyes roaming over the almost bare shelves. There were scattered rows of canned goods, bolts of material, work clothes, boxes that told nothing of their contents. Above, Rochester lamps hanging from a wooden beam, buckets and bridles and coils of rope. Most of the goods on the shelves had the appearance of age, as if they had been here a long time.
Cable’s eyes lowered and he almost stopped, unexpectedly seeing Janroe beyond the end of the counter in the doorway to the next room. Janroe was watching him closely.
“You walk all right,” Janroe said mildly. “Not a mark on you that shows; but they wouldn’t have let you go without a wound.”
“It shows if I walk far enough,” Cable said. “Or if I stay mounted too long.”
“That sounds like the kind of wound to have. Where’d you get it?”
“On the way to Nashville.”
“With Hood?”
“In front of him. With Forrest.”
“You’re a lucky man. I mean to be in one piece.”
“I suppose.”
“Take another case. I was with Kirby Smith from the summer of sixty-one to a year later when we marched up to Kentucky River toward Lexington. Near Richmond we met a Yankee general named Bull Nelson.” Janroe’s eyes narrowed and he grinned faintly, remembering the time. “He just had recruits, a pick-up army, and I’ll tell you we met them good. Cut clean the hell through them, and the ones we didn’t kill ran like you never saw men run in your life. The cavalry people mopped up after that and we took over four thousand prisoners that one afternoon.”