Martha straightened, wiping her hands on her apron. “That’s nice.”

Lorraine regarded her suspiciously. Then, as if feeling a compulsion to defend herself, she said, “If there is nothing about him personally to deserve respect, I don’t see why it’s due him just because he’s a parent.”

Cable was leaving it up to Martha now. He watched her, expecting her to reply, but Martha said nothing. The silence lengthened, weakening Lorraine’s statement, demanding more from her.

“I don’t suppose you can understand that,’ ” Lorraine said defensively.

“Hardly,” Martha said, “since I’ve never met your father.”

“You’ve met him,” Lorraine said, glancing at Cable. “He’s the kind who can say nothing but the obvious.” Cable was looking out the window, paying no attention to her, and her gaze returned quickly to Martha.

“I know exactly what he’s going to answer to every single thing I say,” Lorraine went on. “One time it’s empty wisdom, the next time wit. Now Vern, he’s the other extreme. Vern sits like a grizzled stone, and at first you think it’s pure patience. Then, after a few sessions of this, you realize Vern simply hasn’t anything to say. I haven’t yet decided which is worse, listening to Duane, or not listening to Vern.”

“It sounds,” Martha prompted, “as if you haven’t been with them very long.”

That brought it out. Lorraine recited a relaxed account of her life, using a tone bordering on indifference, though Martha knew Lorraine was enjoying it.

Her mother and father had separated when Lorraine was seven, and she had gone with her mother. That didn’t mean it had taken her mother seven or eight years to learn what a monumental bore Duane was. She had simply sacrificed her best years on the small chance he might change. But finally, beyond the point of endurance, she left him, and left Gallipolis too, because that Ohio town seemed so typical of Duane. Wonderful years followed, almost ten of them. Then her mother died unexpectedly and she was forced to go to her father who was then in Washington. In the army. That was two or three years ago and she remained in Washington while Duane was off campaigning. Then he was relieved of his duty-though Duane claimed he “resigned his active commission”-and, unfortunately, she agreed to come out here with him. Now, after over a year with Duane and Vern, Lorraine was convinced that neither had ever had an original thought in his life.

Cable listened, his gaze going out across the yard and through the trees to the meadow beyond. You could believe only so much of that about Vern and Duane. Even if they were dull, boring old men to an eighteen-year-old girl, they could still run you or burn your house down or kill you or whatever the hell else they wanted. So don’t misjudge them, Cable thought.

He heard Martha ask where they had lived and Lorraine answered Boston, New York City. Philadelphia for one season. They had found it more fun to move about.

Even with that tone, Martha will feel sorry for her, Cable thought, watching the stillness of the yard and the line of trees with their full branches hanging motionless over empty shade.

He tried to visualize the girl’s mother and he pictured them-Lorraine and her mother-in a well-furnished drawing room filled with people. The girl moved from one group to another, nodding with her head tilted to one side, smiling now, saying something; then everyone in the group returning her smile at the same time.

Cable saw himself in the room-not intending it-but suddenly there he was; and he thought: That would be all right about now. Even though you wouldn’t have anything to say and you’d just stand there-

He saw the first rider when he was midway across the river, moving steadily, V-ing the water toward the near bank. Now there were three more in the water and-Cable waited to make sure-two still on the other side. They came down off the meadow; and beyond them now, over their heads, Cable saw the grazing horse herd. They had returned the mares and foals.

As each man crossed the river, he dismounted quickly, handed off his horse and ran hunch-shouldered to the protection of the five-foot cutbank. One man was serving as horse holder, taking them farther down the bank where the trees grew more thickly.

Out of the line of fire, Cable thought. Behind him he heard Lorraine’s voice. Then Martha’s. But he wasn’t listening to them now. This could be nine months ago, he thought, watching the trees and the river and the open meadow beyond. That could be Tishomingo Creek if you were looking down across a cornfield, and beyond it, a half mile beyond through the trees and briars, would be Bryce’s Crossroads. But you’re not standing in a group of eighty-five men now.

No, a hundred and thirty-five then, he thought. Forrest had Gatrel’s Georgia Company serving with the escort.

How many of them would you like?

About four. That’s all. Shotguns and pistols and the Kidstons wouldn’t know what hit them. But now you’re out-Forresting Forrest. He had two to one against him at Bryce’s. And won. You’ve got six to one.

He could just see their heads now above the bank, spaced a few feet apart. He was still aware of Lorraine’s voice, thinking now as he watched them: What are they waiting for?

A rifle barrel rose above the bank, pointed almost straight up, went off with a whining report and Lorraine stopped talking.

Cable turned from the window. “Martha, take the children into the other room.” They watched him; the children, Martha, and Lorraine all watched him expectantly, but he turned back to the window.

He heard Lorraine say, “He’s going to die when he finds out I’m here.”

“He already knows,” Cable said, not turning. “Your horse is outside.”

Her voice brightened. “That’s right!” She moved to Cable’s side. “Now he won’t know what to do.”

“He’s doing something,” Cable said.

The rifle came up again, now with a white cloth tied to the end of the barrel, and began waving slowly back and forth.

“Surrender,” Lorraine said mockingly, “or Major Kidston will storm the redoubts. This is too much.”

Cable asked, “Is that him?”

Lorraine looked past his shoulder. Four men had climbed the bank and now came out of the trees, one a few paces ahead. He motioned the others to stop, then came on until he’d reached the middle of the yard. This one, the one Cable asked about, wore a beard, a Kossuth army hat adorned with a yellow, double-looped cord, and a brass eagle that pinned the right side of the brim to the crown; he wore cavalry boots and a flap-top holster on his left side, butt to the front and unfastened.

He glanced back at the three men standing just out from the trees, saw they had not advanced, then turned his attention again to the house, planting his boots wide and fisting his hands on his hips.

“Sometimes,” Lorraine said, “Duane leaves me speechless.”

“The first one’s your father?” asked Cable, making sure.

“My God, who else?”

“That’s Royce with the flag,” Cable said.

“And Joe Bob and Bill Dancey in reserve,” Lorraine said. “I think Bill looks uncomfortable.”

Cable’s eyes remained on her father. “Where’s Vern?”

“I told you, he went to Fort Buchanan,” Lorraine answered. Her attention returned to her father. “He loves to pose. I think right now he’s being Sheridan before Missionary Ridge. Wasn’t it Sheridan?”

“Cable!”

“Now he speaks,” Lorraine said gravely, mockingly.

“Cable-show yourself!”

Cable moved past Lorraine into the open doorway. He looked out at Duane. “I’m right here.”

Duane’s fist came off his hips. For a moment before he spoke, his eyes measured Cable sternly. “Where do you have my daughter?”

“She’s here,” Cable said.

Again Duane stared in silence, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set firmly. The look is for your benefit, Cable thought. He’s not concentrating as much as he’s acting. He saw Duane then take a watch from his vest pocket, thumb it open and glance at the face.