Austin reached Vern and handed him the reins. Cable waited. Would Vern mount and ride out? If he did, it would be over. Over for this time, Cable thought. Then he would wait for the next time-then the next, and the time after that. Unless you do something now, Cable thought.
Tell him, and make it plain-
No, Cable knew that to make his stand clear and unmistakably plain, without the hint of a doubt, he would have to start shooting right now, right this second. And that was something he couldn’t do.
He did not see this in his mind during the moments of waiting. He didn’t argue it with himself; but the doubt, the conscience, the whatever it was that made him hesitate and be unsure of himself, was part of him and it held him from killing Vern Kidston now just as it had prevented him from pulling the trigger once before.
Briefly, he did think: You can be too honest with yourself and lose everything. He hesitated because this was a simple principle, a matter of almost black or white, and whatever shades of gray appeared, whatever doubts he might have, were still not strong enough to allow him to shoot a man in cold blood.
Though there was more to it than that. A simple principle, but not a simple matter. Not something as brutally, honestly simple as war. He couldn’t shoot Vern in cold blood. But if he could…If the urge to end this was stronger than anything else, would his shooting Vern end it? Would he be sure of getting Austin, too? Then Wynn and Dancey and Duane…and how many more were there?
It wasn’t good to think. That was the trouble, thinking about it and seeing it as black and white and good and bad and war or not war. Wouldn’t it be good if they could go back six days and start over and not have the Kidstons here or Janroe, not having anything that has happened happen, not even in a dream?
No, it was not merely a question of not being able to shoot Vern in cold blood. It never was just that. It was being afraid, too, of what would happen to his family. To him, and then to his family.
If they would fight, he thought. If they would hurry the hell up and fight, you could fight back and there would be nothing else but that to think about and there wouldn’t even be time to think about that.
He saw Vern Kidston draw his revolver. He saw Austin Dodd dismounting, pulling a Sharps rifle from his saddle boot. Both men walked toward the adobe and within a few strides, from this angle, watching them from the barn and looking past the front corner of the house, they passed from Cable’s view.
They’ll wreck it for good this time, Cable thought.
If you let them.
He felt the tenseness inside of him, but he was not squeezing the Spencer and his legs felt all right. Stepping from the barn, he glanced toward the back of the adobe. The clearing between the pine slope and the house was empty. Then he was running across the yard, watching the front now, until he reached the windowless side wall of the house. He edged along to the front, cocked the Spencer and stepped around.
Vern and Austin Dodd were coming out of the front door, under the ramada now, Vern with his hands empty, his Colt holstered again, Austin Dodd holding the Sharps in one hand, the barrel angled down but his finger through the trigger guard. Both men saw Cable at the same time, and both were held motionless by the same moment of indecision.
Cable saw it. He stopped, ready to fire if either man moved a finger, waiting now, leaving the decision with them and almost hoping to see the barrel of the Sharps come up.
“Make up your mind,” Cable said, even though he felt the moment was past. He moved toward them, along the log section of the house, until less than a dozen strides separated him from the two men.
“You came to wreck it a second time?”
“I came to talk,” Vern said flatly. “That first.”
“With your gun in your hand.”
“So there wouldn’t be an argument.”
“Well, you’ve got one now.”
Vern’s gaze dropped to the carbine. “You better put that down.”
“When you get off my land.”
“If you want a fight,” Vern said, with the same sullen tone, “one of us will kill you. If you want to come along peacefully, I give you my word we won’t shoot.”
“Come where?”
“To Fort Buchanan.”
Cable shook his head. “I’ve got no reason to go there.”
Vern stared at him, his full mustache accentuating the firm line of his mouth. “I’m not leaving before you do,” he said. “Either shoot your gun off or let go of it.”
Almost at once Cable had sensed the change in Vern Kidston. Four days ago he had stood covering Vern with a gun and Vern had calmly told him that he would outwait him. But now something had changed Vern. Cable could hear it in the flat, grim tone of the man’s voice. He could see it on Vern’s face: an inflexible determination to have his way now. There would be no reasoning with Vern, no putting it off. Cable was sure of that. Just as he knew he himself would not be budged from this place by anything less persuasive than a bullet.
Still, momentarily, he couldn’t help wondering what had brought about the change in Vern, and he said, “So you’ve lost your patience.”
“You visited Duane last night,” Vern said. “We’re returning the call.”
“I never left this house last night.”
“Like you don’t know anything about it.”
“Well, you tell me what I did. So I’ll know.”
“In case you didn’t wait to make sure,” Vern said, “I’ll tell you this. Duane’s dead. Either one of the bullets would have killed him.”
Cable stared at Vern, almost letting the barrel of the Spencer drop and then holding it more firmly. He could not picture Duane dead and he wondered if this was a trick. But if Vern was making it up, what would it accomplish? No, Duane was dead. That was a fact. That was the reason Vern was here. And somebody had killed him.
Janroe.
Janroe, tired of waiting. Janroe, carrying the war, his own private version of the war, to Duane. It could be Janroe. It could very well be and probably was without any doubt Janroe.
But he couldn’t tell Vern that. Because to convince Vern it was Janroe he’d have to explain about the man, about the guns, and that would involve Luz and Manuel. And then Vern would go to the store and Martha and the children were there now, and they’d seen enough…too much. Besides, this thing between him and Vern still had to be settled, no matter what Janroe had done.
Cable said, “I didn’t kill your brother. If I had sneaked up to kill anybody, if I’d carried it that far, it would have been to put a sight on you.”
“You’re the only man who had reason to do it,” Vern said.
“That might seem to be true,” Cable answered. “But I didn’t. Like you’re the only one who had reason to wreck my house. Did you do it?”
“I never touched your place.”
“So there you are,” Cable said. “Maybe we’re both lying. Then again, maybe neither of us is.”
“You’re not talking your way out of it,” Vern said flatly.
“I don’t have to.” Cable raised the carbine slightly. “I’m holding the gun.”
“And once you pull the trigger, Austin will put a hole through you.”
“If he’s alive,” Cable said, centering his attention on Austin Dodd who was still holding the Sharps in one hand, the tip of the barrel almost touching the ground. The man seemed even more sure of himself than Kidston. He studied Cable calmly, with an intent, thoughtful expression half closing his eyes.
Like you don’t have a gun in your hand, Cable thought, watching him. He’s not worried by it because he knows what he’s doing. So you go for Austin first if you go at all.
In his mind he practice-swung the Spencer on Austin, aiming to hit him just above his crossed gun belts. When a man is stomach-shot he relaxes and there is no reflex action jerking his trigger, no wild dead-man-firing. Then he pictured swinging the carbine lower and farther to the left. Austin might drop and roll away and it would be a wing shot, firing and letting the man dive into it. No, it wouldn’t be like that, but that’s the way it would seem. He thought then: That’s enough of that. If you have to think when it’s happening, you’ll be too late.