Leaving Epitaph (10 page)

“I loved your mother more than anything, Matthew,” Shaye said, trying to explain himself to his middle son. “I loved her more than any law created by God or man, and I’ll break any or all of those laws avenging her death. It’s as simple as that.”

“But won’t you go to jail?”

“Maybe.”

“And that don’t matter to you?”

“No.”

“What about us?”

“What about you?”

“Don’t you love us?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well,” Matthew said, “if you go to jail, what are we gonna do without a ma and a pa?”

“Matthew,” Shaye said, “you and your brothers are grown men. You don’t need a mother and father around to tell you what to do anymore.”

“Maybe Thomas don’t,” Matthew said, “or James, but me, I ain’t smart like them, Pa. What am I gonna do if you go to jail?”

Shaye hesitated, then said, “Thomas will look after you, Matthew. He’s the oldest and he’ll look after the both of you.”

“Will you tell him that?” Matthew asked.

“I’ll tell him.”

Matthew hesitated a moment, then said, “Okay.” He dropped back to ride with his brothers again.

There was another eventuality that Shaye had not discussed with Matthew. In fact, there were more than one.

First, there was the possibility that he might get killed while trying to avenge Mary’s death. Oh, he’d take those evil sonsofbitches with him if he could, but instead of going to jail, he might just outright get himself killed.

And on the other hand, since he had his three sons with him, one, two, or all of them might get killed as well.

Was he willing to sacrifice his sons—any or all of them—to avenge his wife’s death?

Were his sons willing to die—or watch their father die—to avenge their mother?

Was he willing to ask himself these questions, and answer them, if it meant giving up his hunt, his vendetta?

At the moment he had to admit that he wasn’t.

Leave it to Matthew—the simplest, most innocent of the brothers—to come up with the hardest questions of all.

Questions Dan Shaye was certainly not ready to answer.

It was getting dark, and apparently the other men had decided it was not worth risking their lives to take the saddlebags from Terry Petry. Petry was still sitting at the fire with the bags between his legs, but at the moment no one was looking at him.

He’d been staring down at the saddlebags, observing the way they were buckled. It wouldn’t be too hard to unbuckle them—maybe just on one side—and take a peek at the money. He had to admit he really wanted a looksee. Now that nobody was watching him he could just reach down and undo one buckle.

He decided to try it. He kept a cup of coffee in one hand and slid the other hand down along his leg. When he reached one of the saddlebags, he slowly undid one buckle. He figured he could lift one end of the flap and just take a quick look inside with no one being the wiser.

When he got the buckle undone he looked over
at the other men to be sure they were still not looking his way. Satisfied that he had gone undetected this far, he looked down, lifted one side of the flap, and took a look inside.

He was not at all prepared for what he saw.

When Ethan Langer rode back into camp, he was not in a good mood. He had not gotten what he wanted from his brother the priest, and so had wasted time bringing himself and his men to Oklahoma City. He should have shot up that damn church, he thought, that’s what he should have done. Maybe that would have made him feel better.

But that would not have done anything for his dreams. Could Vincent have been right? Would this woman never stop haunting his dreams? Was he never to have a good night’s sleep again?

When he rode into camp, all the men looked up at him, but he ignored them and rode by. He dismounted and began to unsaddle his horse when Terry Petry came over.

“Ethan we gotta talk.”

“About what?”

“About the money.”

“What about it, Terry?”

“Well…”

Ethan turned away from his horse and looked at Terry Petry. “You looked, didn’t you?” he asked.

“I—”

“You looked in the saddlebags.”

“I—uh, just one.”

“And what did you see?”

“Nothin’!” Petry said. “I mean, there ain’t no money in them, just some rocks and stuff.”

“To make them heavy,” Ethan said, “and to make them look nice and full.”

“But Ethan…where’s the money?”

Ethan went back to caring for his horse. “I hid it.”

“Where?”

“If I told you that,” Ethan said, “then it wouldn’t be hid anymore, would it?”

“But…why?”

“To test you,” Ethan said, “and to test the other men. Did any of them look in it?”

“No,” Petry said, “they wanted to, but I didn’t let them.”

“That was good.”

“I know—”

“But you looked in the saddlebags,” Ethan said, finished with his horse and turning to look at Petry.

“Well, I—uh, yeah, I just, uh, lifted one flap of one saddlebag and sort of…peeked.”

“That was bad, Terry.”

“Why?”

“’Cause that means that while I can trust the rest of the men,” Ethan said, “I can’t trust you, and you’re my second in command. You’re the one I’m supposed to be able to trust.”

“Well, I, uh, just wanted to make sure the, uh, money was all there—” Petry started.

“Why, Terry?” Ethan asked, cutting him off. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I, uh—”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“Well, sure—”

“So you trust me,” Ethan said, “and I trust the rest of the men. Seems the only one around here who ain’t trustworthy is you.”

Plus he was going to keep on having these dreams about the dead woman until who knew when? Since he hadn’t shot up the church—and he couldn’t very well shoot his own brother, whether he was a priest or not—he did the next best thing in order to blow off the steam that was building inside of him.

He drew his gun and shot Terry Petry dead.

When Shaye and his sons camped that night, the three boys were quiet. Shaye was quiet as well. He assumed they were all spending some time with their own thoughts.

In the past few days or so he’d done a piss-poor job of answering his sons’ questions. Now, their mother, she knew how to answer them when they had questions. She was able to satisfy them with her answers, set aside whatever fears they had, and make them feel better.

He felt sorely lacking in that area.

The boys were probably now convinced that he was some kind of amoral ex-outlaw who was going to turn to murder to achieve his goal. One man’s murder, though, was another man’s justice. Was that something he’d be able to make the three boys understand when the time came?

Perhaps it was time to give them an opportunity to change their minds. Now that they knew
what he was planning, maybe they wouldn’t be so eager to follow him anymore.

He decided the only way to find out was to ask them. They were, after all—as he had told Matthew—grown men, with their own minds to make up.

He waited until they were seated around the campfire, finished eating and drinking coffee.

“I want to talk to you boys about something,” he said.

“What’s that, Pa?”

“Since we left Epitaph, you boys have found out some things you didn’t know before.”

“What kind of things, Pa?” Matthew asked.

“Things about me,” Shaye said. “About the man I used to be, and about what I plan to do when we finally catch up to the Langer gang.”

“Pa,” Thomas said, “we knew when we left town what we were going to do when we found them.”

“But you didn’t know that the law might look at it as murder.”

“Well…no…” Thomas said.

“Now that you know,” Shaye said, “I think you three should be offered the opportunity to make up your own minds.”

“About what, Pa?” James asked. “Specifically?”

“About whether or not to continue with me,” Shaye said. “I’m offering you the opportunity to turn back if you want to.”

“Turn back?” James asked.

“And go where?” Thomas asked. “To Epitaph?”

“Well—”

“There’s nothin’ for us in Epitaph, Pa,” Thomas said. “Ma’s dead. The only family we have is you, and we’re stayin’ with you—at least, I’m stayin’ with you. You’re givin’ us the chance to make up our own minds, so I’ve made my decision.”

Shaye looked at his middle son. “Matthew?”

“I’m stayin’ with you, Pa.”

“James?”

“Me too,” the younger brother said. “No question.”

“Boys…there’s a possibility that the law might come after you too.”

“We’ll be ready for them, Pa,” Thomas said.

“We got a right to avenge our mother,” James said, “and your wife. Do any of us doubt that?”

Matthew and Thomas both shook their heads no. There was no doubt whatsoever.

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes, Pa,” Thomas said. “We got somethin’ to do, and we’re gonna do it.”

“With you,” Matthew said. “Where you go, we go, and what you do, we’re gonna do.”

Well, there was some doubt about that in Shaye’s mind, but what he said was, “Thank you, boys.”

“You don’t gotta thank us, Pa,” Matthew said. “She was our ma.”

Thomas and James nodded their agreement.

“You’re good—” Shaye stopped himself. “I was just going to say that you’re good boys, but that’s wrong. The three of you are all good men now.”

“You and Ma did a good job raisin’ us, Pa,” Thomas said.

“Your mother did all the work.”

“Not true, Pa,” Thomas said. “Maybe she was home all the time and you weren’t, but we learned a lot from you, just from watchin’ you…just from the kind of man you are.”

“It doesn’t matter what kind of man you were once, Pa,” James said. “It only matters what kind of man you been to us, what kind of father. I don’t think we could have had a better one.”

Thomas and Matthew nodded their agreement.

Shaye stared at all three of his sons with pride. If he had even the smallest amount to do with them becoming the men they were, he was also proud of himself.

“We’re all good men,” Matthew said proudly.

Thomas picked up the coffeepot and poured all their cups full so they could toast that fact. Privately, Dan Shaye wondered who else would be convinced of that once they had successfully done what they had set out to do.

When morning came, the other men in the Langer gang were still stunned by what had happened the night before. They only had to look over at the mound of dirt and stones they had piled atop Terry Petry’s body to remind themselves.

None of the men had spoken with Ethan Langer since he pulled the trigger on Petry. Ethan had told them to bury Petry, and asked if any of them had any questions for him about why he killed him.

“If you do,” he’d said, “ask them now, but remember what I told you all when I left camp. If anyone looked in those saddlebags, I was gonna kill ’em. Somebody looked inside, and I think it was Petry. Anyone else want to admit to it? Tell me I killed the wrong man?”

They had all shaken their heads.

“Fine,” he’d said, “then bury him, and somebody make somethin’ to eat. I’m hungry.”

Now, in the morning light, some of them had some questions, but they were wary of asking Ethan Langer anything. The same person who made dinner the night before made breakfast, and they all sat and ate in silence.

It was Ethan who broke that silence.

“Listen up,” he said. “In a few minutes we’re gonna head north to meet up with my brother Aaron. Petry was my
segundo
, and now he’s dead. Ain’t none of you fit to take his place, but a leader needs a
segundo
. I’ll decide later who it’ll be, maybe when we join up with my brother. Until then, you’ll all do what I say when I say it. Is that clear?”

They all nodded. Ethan had recovered the money from where he’d hidden it and had put it back in the saddlebags. Now he held up the bags.

“The money is in these saddlebags, and you’ll all get your share when we get where we’re going. If any of you wants to leave us now, you can, but you won’t get your share. Anybody got anything to say?”

They all shook their heads. There were six of them, and he was just one man. If he had been one of them, he would have made a move already. For all of them to be afraid of one man was ridiculous, but they were.

“Anybody want to leave?”

Nobody did.

“Good,” he said. “Then we understand each other. Break camp and get saddled up. We’re leaving.”

As they broke camp, Red Hackett said to the others under his breath, “He’s just one man. We could take the money from him if we want to.”

“Hackett is right,” Ted Fitzgerald said. “There’s plenty of money there for all of us, and with Petry and Langer dead, we get even bigger splits.”

“We also get Aaron Langer after us,” another man said, “and believe me, if you think Ethan is bad, Aaron is worse.”

The other men nodded their agreement.

“So we just do what we’re told?” Fitzgerald asked.

Ben Branch had been riding with the Langers for a long time. “Hey,” he said, “I joined up because I wanted to follow somebody I trusted. I trusted both Ethan and Aaron Langer to line my pockets with money, and that’s what they been doin.’ I don’t give a good goddamn when I get the money or who the
segundo
of this group is.”

“Don’t you want to be a leader instead of a follower?” Hackett asked.

“Hell, no!” Branch said. “You and Fitz want to be leaders? You take Ethan on. It’ll be two against one.”

“Six against one would work better,” Fitzgerald hissed.

Branch looked right at both Red Hackett and Ted Fitzgerald and said, “That ain’t gonna happen.”

They broke camp and rode out with Ethan Langer in the lead. The woman had come to him again last night, but he had come awake slowly and not with a start, like he usually did. Maybe he could just accept her as part of his life now. Maybe if he stopped fighting her, she’d go away.

He knew the men had to have had a discussion while saddling their horses about whether to take the money from him, yet while riding in front of them he had no fear of a bullet in the back. Several of them had been with him a long time—Branch and a few of the others. Red Hackett had been with him only a year, and Epitaph had been Ted Fitzgerald’s second job. If a challenge was going to come, it would come from one or both of them—but neither struck him as the type who would act without a lot of backup.

Once they met up with Aaron and his group, he needed to reevaluate who he kept in his gang. Hackett and Fitzgerald were going to go. He’d keep the other four, and while he told them that none of them was fit to be
segundo,
maybe he’d just give the job to whoever had been with him the longest—like Ben Branch.

As they headed north Ethan realized this was the first morning since the bank job that he felt calm. Maybe going to see his brother Vincent had been the right thing to do after all.