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?”