He eased his position, looking at Luz who was standing at the sink with her back to him, then at the screen door again and the open sunlight beyond. He had given his mind the opportunity to reject these questions, to answer them negatively.
But why not? Why couldn’t Cable be forced into killing the Kidstons? He had been a soldier-used to taking orders. No, he couldn’t be ordered. But perhaps now, with his wife and children staying here, he would be more easily persuaded. Perhaps he could be forced into doing it. Somehow.
In Janroe’s mind it was clear, without qualifying shades of meaning, that Vern and Duane Kidston were the enemy. In uniform or not in uniform they were Yankees and this was a time of war and they had to be killed. A soldier killed. An officer ordered his men to kill. That was what it was all about and that was what Janroe knew best.
They could close their eyes to this fact and believe they were acting as human beings-whatever the hell that meant in time of war-and relieve him of his command for what he did to those Yankee prisoners. They could send him out here to die of boredom; but he could still remember what a Yankee field piece did to his arm. He was still a soldier and he could still think like a soldier and act like a soldier and if his job was to kill-whether or not on the surface it was called gunrunning-then he would kill.
He felt his chest rising and falling with his breathing and he glanced at Luz, calming himself then, inhaling and letting his breath out slowly.
Still, an officer used strategy. He fought with his eyes open; not rushing blindly, unless there was no other way to do it. An officer studied a situation and used what means he had at hand. If the means was a brigade or only one man, he used that means to the best of his ability.
Janroe looked up as Cable entered the kitchen. He glanced at Luz then, catching her eye, and the girl dried her hands and stepped out through the back door.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” Janroe said.
“I was with my wife.” Cable hesitated. “We’re grateful for what you’re doing.”
“I guess you are.”
Cable sat down, removing his hat and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “Martha will be glad to help out with the housekeeping, and she’ll keep the children out from under your feet.”
“I took that for granted,” Janroe said.
“We’ll be out of your way as soon as I settle this business with the Kidstons.”
“And how long will that take?”
“Look, we’ll leave right now if you want.”
“You lose your temper too easily,” Janroe said. “I was asking you a simple question.”
Cable looked at him, then at his own hand curling the brim of his hat. “I don’t know; it’s up to the Kidstons.”
“It could be up to you, if you wanted it to be.”
“If I kill them.”
“You didn’t have any trouble last night.”
“Last night two men came to my home,” Cable said. “My family was in danger and I didn’t have any choice. Though I’ll tell you this: I didn’t mean to kill them. That just happened. If Vern and Duane come threatening my home, then I could kill them too because I wouldn’t be trying to kill them; I’d be trying to protect my home and my family, and there’s a difference. When you say kill them, just go out and do it; that’s something else.”
Janroe was sitting back in his chair, his hand idly rubbing the stump of his arm; but now he leaned forward. His hand went to the edge of the table and he pushed the chair back.
“We could argue that point for a long time.” He stood up then. “Come on, I’ll show you something.”
Cable hesitated, then rose and followed Janroe through the store and out to the loading platform. The children were at one end, stopped in whatever they were playing or pretending by the sudden appearance of Janroe. They looked at their father, wanting to go to him, but they seemed to sense a threat in approaching Janroe and they remained where they were.
Janroe said, “Tell them to go around back.”
“They’re not bothering anything.” Cable moved toward the children.
“Listen,” Janroe said patiently, “just get rid of them for a while-all right?”
He waited while Cable talked to the three children. Finally they moved off, taking their time and looking back as they turned the corner of the adobe. When they were out of sight, Janroe went down the stairs and, to Cable’s surprise, ducked under the loading platform.
Cable followed, lowering his head to step through the cross timbers into the confining dimness. He moved with hunched shoulders the few steps to where Janroe was removing the padlock from a door in the adobe foundation.
“This used to be a storeroom,” Janroe muttered. He pushed the door open and moved aside. “Go on; there’s a lantern in there.”
Cable hesitated, then stepped past him, glancing back to make sure Janroe was coming.
Janroe followed, saying, “Feel along the wall, you’ll find it.”
Cable turned, raising his left hand. He heard the door swing closed and he was in abrupt total darkness.
He heard Janroe’s steps and felt him move close behind him. Too close! Cable tried to turn, reaching for the Walker at the same time; but his hand twisted behind him and pulled painfully up between his shoulder blades. He tried to lunge forward, tried to twist himself free, but as he did Janroe’s foot scissored about his ankles and Cable fell forward, landing heavily on the hard-packed floor with Janroe on top of him.
Now there was silence.
With Janroe’s full weight on top of him and the cool hardness of the floor flat against his cheek, Cable did not move. He felt Janroe’s chest pressing heavily against his back. His right arm, twisted and held between their bodies, sent tight, muscle-straining pain up into his shoulder. Janroe had pulled his own hand free as they struck the floor. It gripped the handle of Cable’s revolver, then tightened on it as the boards creaked above them.
Faint footsteps moved through the store and faded again into silence. Cable waited, listening, and making his body relax even with the weight pressing against him. He was thinking: It could be Martha, gone out to call the children. Martha not twenty feet away.
He felt the Walker slide from its holster. Janroe’s weight shifted, grinding heavily into his back. The cocking action of the Walker was loud and close to him before the barrel burrowed into the pit of his arm.
“Don’t spoil it,” Janroe whispered.
They waited. In the darkness, in the silence, neither spoke. Moments later the floor creaked again and the soft footsteps crossed back through the store. Cable let his breath out slowly.
Janroe murmured, “I could have pulled the trigger. A minute ago I was unarmed; but just then I could have killed you.”
Cable said nothing. Janroe’s elbow pressed into his back. The pressure eased and he felt Janroe push himself to his feet. Still Cable waited. He heard Janroe adjust a lantern. A match scratched down the wall. Its flare died almost to nothing, then abruptly the floor in front of Cable’s face took form. His eyes raised from his own shadow and in the dull light he saw four oblong wooden cases stacked against the wall close in front of him.
“Now you can get up,” Janroe said.
Cable rose. He stretched the stiffness from his body, working his shoulder to relieve the sharp muscle strain, his eyes returning to Janroe now and seeing the Walker in Janroe’s belt, tight against his stomach.
“Did you prove something by that?”
“I want you to know,” Janroe said, “that I’m not just passing the time of day.”
“There’s probably an easier way.”
“No.” Janroe shook his head slowly. “I want you to realize that I could have killed you. That I’d do it in a minute if I thought I had to. I want that to sink into your head.”
“You wouldn’t have a reason.”
“The reason’s behind you. Four cases of Enfield rifles. They’re more important than any one man’s life. More important than yours-”