There had been riders then on a hillside; directly across the cornfield and not more than eight hundred yards away, a line of riders appearing along the crest of the hill, then stopping and dismounting. He had seen that they were unhitching the horses from artillery pieces-three of them-and rolling the guns into position.
He had waited then, studying the position through his field glasses for at least ten minutes, or perhaps a quarter of an hour; so by the time he brought his men out of the pines, screaming at them, shooting one and seeing the other soldier who had been afraid suddenly run by him, the field pieces were ready and loaded and waiting for him.
Janroe himself was no more than a hundred yards out from the woods when the first shell exploded. The blast was loud in his ears and almost knocked him down; but he kept moving, seeing two, then three, men come stumbling, crawling out of the smoke and dust that seemed to hang motionless in the air. One of the men fell facedown and didn’t move. As he watched, a second and third shell exploded and he saw one of the crawling men lifted from the ground and thrown on his back. Close around him men were flattening themselves on the ground and covering their heads.
But the ones in front of him were still moving, and with the next explosion Janroe was running again. He saw the man who had been afraid a few moments before, running, breathing heavily, his head back as if he was looking up at the three artillery pieces. Janroe was close to the man, almost about to run past him and yell back at him to keep coming, and then the man was no more.
It was as if time suddenly stopped, for Janroe saw the man, or part of him, blown into the air and he could remember this clearly, the fraction of a moment caught and indelibly recorded in his mind. And it was the same sudden, ground-lifting, sound-smashing burst of smoke and iron that slammed Janroe senseless and cleanly severed his left arm…
For some time the line of riders was out of sight, low on the slope now and beyond the bank of willow trees. Janroe waited, watching, judging where they would cross the river and appear out of the tree shadows. They would be Kidston riders, Janroe was certain of that. He wondered if he should call Cable. No, wait, Janroe decided. Act natural and just let things happen.
There were six of them. Janroe recognized Duane Kidston at once: Duane sitting a tall bay horse with one hand on his thigh, a riding quirt hanging from his wrist and his elbow extended rigidly. Duane wearing the stiff-crowned Kossuth hat squarely on his head, the brim pinned up on one side with the regimental insignia. Duane playing soldier, Janroe thought contemptuously. Pretending that he’s a man.
Have your fun, Major, Janroe thought then, not taking his eyes from Duane. Have all the fun you can. Your time’s about run out.
Briefly he noted the five men with Duane: Bill Dancey, the solemn, bearded one close to Duane’s right; then the two Dodd brothers, Austin and Wynn. They had been here only once before but Janroe remembered them well, the brothers of one of the men Cable had killed. Austin and Wynn Dodd, one light, the other dark, but both with angular, expressionless faces. Janroe remembered their eyes; they watched you coldly, impersonally, as if you were a thing that couldn’t look back at them.
Janroe was not sure if he had ever seen the two other riders before. He watched these two veer off midway across the yard and circle to the back of the store.
Moments later the two Cable children, Clare and Davis, came running around from the back yard. Then, seeing the four riders approaching the platform, they stopped and stood watching, their eyes wide with curiosity.
“Where is he?” Duane asked.
“Inside.” Janroe moved nearer the edge of the platform.
“Get him out.”
“What for?”
“That’s my business.”
“You want to kill him?”
“Duane’s got things to say to him,” Dancey said then.
Janroe’s eyes moved to the bearded man. “I wouldn’t want to think I fetched him to be killed.”
“We’re not going to kill him,” Dancey said.
“That would be an awful thing to have on your conscience,” Janroe said. “Calling a man to be killed in front of his children.”
Dancey shook his head. “You’ve got my word.”
“And with his wife here too,” Janroe said. “I couldn’t ever face her again.”
“Mr. Janroe,” Duane said, “if you don’t get him out here, you can be assured we will.”
Janroe looked past the men to the Cable children. His eyes settled on Clare.
“Honey, go tell your daddy there’s some men here to see him.”
Clare hesitated, but Davis pushed her and she ran up the steps to the platform, holding close to the wall as she ran by Janroe and into the store.
“Fine youngsters,” Janroe said pleasantly. “He’s got three of them.” Duane wasn’t listening. He glanced at Dancey. Then Dancey and the Dodd brothers dismounted and came up the steps to the loading platform. Duane remained in his saddle.
“Where is he?” Dancey asked.
“Upstairs a few minutes ago.”
“He mention what happened last night?”
“Not a word.” Janroe’s tone indicated only mild interest. “What did?”
“About Lorraine-”
“No!” Janroe’s face showed surprise, then an eager curiosity. “What happened?”
But Dancey’s gaze moved beyond him. Janroe turned. He heard the steps on the plank floor then Cable, wearing his Walker Colt, was standing in the doorway. Janroe saw Martha and the little girl a few steps behind him.
“Take off that gun,” Dancey said.
Cable looked from Dancey to the Dodd brothers-to Austin, the dark one, who was a step nearer than Wynn-then back to Dancey.
“What’s this about?”
“Take it off,” Dancey said again. “You’re covered front and back.”
Cable heard the quick steps behind him. He seemed about to turn, but he hesitated. The two riders who had circled the adobe had entered by the back door and had waited for Cable behind the counter. Now one of them pulled the Walker from its holster. Feeling it, Cable glanced over his shoulder. He saw the second man standing close to Martha.
As Cable turned back to Dancey, Austin Dodd moved. He stepped in bringing his balled left hand up from his side. Before Cable saw it coming the fist slammed into his face. He fell against the door frame, went to his hands and knees with his head down and close to the platform boards. Austin Dodd followed through. His right hand came up with his Colt, his thumb already hooking back the hammer.
“Hold on!” Dancey stepped in front of him. “We didn’t come here for that.” He looked out at Duane Kidston angrily. “You’d have let him, wouldn’t you?”
“Austin has his own reason,” Duane said. “Stopping him wouldn’t be any of my business.”
“We didn’t come here to satisfy Austin,” Dancey grunted.
Duane stared at the bearded foreman. “I’m beginning to wonder why I brought you.”
“You wouldn’t’ve if Vern had been around. You said you wanted to talk to this man. That’s all.”
“I’m going to.”
“But you’d have let Austin kill him.”
“It wasn’t your brother Cable shot down,” Duane said flatly. “That’s the difference.”
“He took him in a fair fight.”
“We’re not even sure of that. All we know is Joe Bob and Royce came home facedown over their saddles,” Duane said. “And it wasn’t your daughter he-”
Duane stopped. His eyes went to Cable who was still on one knee, but watching Duane now.
“Get him up.”
Dancey moved aside. He said, “Go ahead,” and stepped back to the edge of the platform near Janroe. The Dodd brothers pulled Cable to his feet. They planted themselves close to him, each holding an arm with both hands. Cable stood quietly, making no attempt to free himself. Behind him, Dancey could see Martha and the little girl in the square of light formed by the doorway. Martha seemed calm, Dancey judged. But you couldn’t tell about women. The little girl was afraid. And the little boy-Dancey’s gaze moved to the steps where Davis was squatting now-he’s wondering what they’re doing to his pa and he wouldn’t believe it if somebody told him.