Leaving Epitaph (14 page)

Aaron Langer and his men were the first to arrive in Salina. Riding in
en masse
, they attracted as much attention as they thought they would.

Watching them ride by from his window, Sheriff Matt Holcomb turned and said to his deputy, Ray Winston, “Ray, go and find Zeke and Will. I want all three of you here in half an hour.”

“What’s goin’ on, Sheriff?”

“Trouble just rode into town,” Sheriff Holcomb said, “in bunches.”

Holcomb didn’t recognize Aaron Langer as he led his men into town, but he did recognize trouble when he saw it, and these men were it.

There were several hotels in Salina, and some boardinghouses. The strangers had put their horses up at the livery and then split up, some to hotels, some to boardinghouses. Holcomb figured their leader was smart enough to keep them all from staying in one place.

“Have a seat,” he told his three deputies when they got back.

“What’s this is all about, Sheriff?” Zeke Abbott asked.

“A bunch of strangers rode into town today,” Holcomb said. “I didn’t like the look of them.”

“Why do you think they’re here?” Will Strunk asked.

“Trouble.”

“Like what?”

“The bank maybe,” Holcomb said. “We’re gonna keep an eye on the bank.”

Zeke swallowed and asked, “How many of them were there?”

“Maybe a dozen.”

“A dozen?” Will asked. “Like twelve?”

“That’s right.”

“Against the four of us?” Zeke asked.

“Relax,” Holcomb said. “Maybe I’m wrong. For now, we’re just gonna keep an eye on the bank, and on them.”

“Sheriff,” Zeke said, “it sounds to me like we need more men.”

“If we need them, we’ll get them, Zeke,” Holcomb said. “For now, just do as you’re told and we’ll be fine.”

Zeke wasn’t seeing it that way. He stood up, took off his badge, and put it on the desk.

“I can’t do this,” he said. “This is supposed to
be a quiet town. That’s the only reason I took this job six months ago.”

“It’s been a quiet town, Zeke,” Holcomb said. “Do you mean that at the first sign of trouble you’re just gonna quit?”

“That’s exactly what I’m gonna do,” Zeke said. “Sorry, Sheriff.”

As he went out the door, the sheriff faced his other two deputies.

“What about you fellas?” he asked. “Are you gonna quit too?”

“I’m not quittin’,” Ray Winston said.

“Me neither,” Will Strunk said.

“Well…good,” Holcomb said. “Now we just need to decide who watches the bank and who watches the leader of those men…whoever he is.”

Zeke Abbott left the sheriff’s office and crossed the street to the Somerset Saloon. Inside, he found Aaron Langer seated with a few of his men. There were no other patrons in the place, since they had vacated at the first sign of the outlaws. The bartender and owner, Sam Somerset, stood behind the bar, wiping the top with a rag. He was afraid to stay, but afraid to leave.

“Zeke,” Aaron Langer said. “What’s the good word?”

“The sheriff and two deputies,” Zeke said. “That’s it, Mr. Langer.”

“Good job,” Langer said. “Have a drink. Bartender, give the ex-deputy a beer, on me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Langer laughed, looked at his men and said, “Put in on my bill.”

“Yes, sir.”

Aaron Langer put two men outside the saloon in chairs, keeping watch on the street. When those men noticed the deputy across the street, one of them got up and moseyed back inside.

“Lawman across the street,” he said to Aaron.

“That don’t matter,” Aaron said, looking up from his whiskey. “They’re just keepin’ an eye on us. According to Zeke, there’s one sheriff and only two deputies. You stay outside with Rafe and watch for my brother.”

“Right.”

That man went back outside. Aaron turned his head, looked around and settled on another. “Tate!”

“Yeah, boss.”

“Take a walk around town, see if you spot the other two lawmen anywhere.”

“Yeah, boss.”

“And take somebody with you.” He turned
back around. “I don’t want any of us caught alone.”

“Right, boss.” Tate reached out and tapped another man on the shoulder. The man followed him outside.

Esteban Morales, seated across from Aaron, took the whole thing in but said nothing. He doubted the law would take any action unless they did first. This put his boss, Aaron Langer, firmly in control, which suited him just fine.

Sheriff Holcomb had put Ray Winston across from the saloon and Will Strunk across from the bank. He made rounds, checking both locations out. He was down the street from the bank when he saw the two strangers coming from the other direction. Across the street, standing in a doorway, smoking a quirly, was his deputy. Blowing smoke that way was a sure way to get noticed. Both his deputies were young—ten to twelve years younger than his own thirty-six—and would have to be told.

He claimed a doorway for himself and watched the strangers. They didn’t seem interested in the bank. Most of their attention was on the deputy. They watched him for a few moments, and Holcomb didn’t think Deputy Strunk was even aware they were there. After those few moments, they turned and headed back the other way—he assumed, to report back to their boss.
Aaron Langer was clearly checking out the town and counting lawmen.

When the men were gone, Holcomb crossed the street to bawl out his deputy.

Thomas came up to Shaye’s side when they had only been riding about two hours.

“Pa?”

“Yes, Thomas?”

“I think I can make better time alone, pushing my horse,” he said.

“You’re probably right, Thomas.”

“I’d be able to check out Salina in the daylight.”

Shaye gave it some thought. “You’ll have to be careful, Thomas.”

“I won’t make a move on them,” Thomas said, “and they won’t recognize me—”

“That’s not what I mean. There’s going to be a lot of strangers in town. The law will assume that you’re with them.”

“I’ll have my badge,” Thomas said. “I won’t wear it into town, but I’ll go and see the local law and introduce myself.”

“All right,” Shaye said. “You seem to have thought this out.”

“I have.”

“Give your bag of supplies to one of your brothers, then, and go ahead. We’ll still stop just outside of town—about a mile or two due south—and wait to hear from you.”

“Yes, Pa.”

“If we don’t hear something from you tonight, we’ll come on in.”

“I’ll get back to you tonight, Pa.”

“You’d better, son,” Shaye said. “You’d better.”

Several hours after the arrival of Aaron Langer and his gang, Sheriff Holcomb had schooled both of his deputies and hoped they would now be a little less conspicuous. He, himself, had taken a chair from his office and was sitting out front watching the street. That’s where he was when the second set of strangers rode in.

Ethan Langer noticed the sheriff sitting in front of his office, and had the gall to tip his hat to the man.

“Where are we supposed to meet Aaron?” Ben Branch asked.

“In a saloon, where else?” Ethan answered.

“Which one?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “Why don’t we try one with a deputy across the street from it.”

That turned out to be a good plan. They saw the deputy standing in the doorway across from the Somerset Saloon and reined in their horses in
front of it. They also saw two men sitting in front of the saloon.

“Did you see the lawman across from the bank?” Branch asked Ethan.

“I saw him,” Ethan said. “The one in front of the office is the sheriff. The other two are deputies.”

“Think that’s all there are?”

“I don’t know,” Ethan said, “but assuming Aaron got here before us, he’ll know. You know the two men sitting out front?”

Branch took a look, then said, “I think one of them is Rafe Simpson.”

Ethan knew the name. “Okay, then,” he said. “Aaron’s here. Have two of our men take the horses over to the livery.”

“Right.”

“I’ll meet you inside.”

Ethan dismounted and entered the saloon without looking over at the two men.

“Asshole,” Rafe Simpson said under his breath.

“Don’t ever let Aaron hear you say that,” the other man warned.

“He says it himself.”

“It’s his brother.”

When Ben Branch stepped up onto the boardwalk, Rafe stood up and said, “Branch, ain’t it?”

“That’s right, Rafe.”

The two men shook hands.

“You look short,” Rafe said, eyeing the men behind Branch. “Where’s Petry?”

“Dead.”

Rafe looked surprised. “He get hit when you took the bank?”

“No,” Branch said, “Ethan killed him.”

Rafe looked even more surprised. “Who’s
segundo
?”

“Me,” Branch said, “and it ain’t a job I ever wanted.”

“I don’t blame you,” Rafe said. “Goin’ inside for a drink?”

Branch hesitated, then said, “I think I’ll give Ethan a coupla minutes with his brother.”

Rafe grinned and said, “Don’t blame you for that either.”

When Ethan walked through the door, he spotted Aaron immediately. He ignored his brother’s men and walked to the table where Aaron was sitting with his
segundo
, Esteban Morales.

“It’s about time, little brother,” Aaron said. “We’ve been here for hours.”

“Hey, we’re here,” Ethan said, tossing his saddlebags onto the table, almost upsetting the bottle of whiskey Aaron had there.

Aaron reached down, lifted his saddlebags from the floor, and deposited them on the table with his brother’s.

“Morales, give my brother your chair,” he said.

Without a word, Morales stood up and walked away. Instead of joining the men at one of the other tables, he went and stood at the bar.

“Morales!” Aaron called out. “A glass.”

The Mexican turned, took a glass from the bartender and tossed it to his boss, who caught it with one hand. Aaron set the glass down and poured it full from the bottle. As Ethan sat, his brother pushed the glass toward him across the table.

“Good to see you, Ethan,” Aaron said, lifting his own glass. “You look like shit.”

“Good to see you too, Aaron.” He lifted his glass, drained it, and slapped it back down on the table.

Ben Branch came in then, leading Ethan’s men, followed by Aaron’s two who had been sitting outside.

“You look short a man or two,” Aaron said.

“I had to kill Petry.”

“Had to?”

“No choice,” Ethan said.

Aaron accepted his brother’s word without asking for an explanation. Once all the men were in the saloon, their total number was nineteen.

“We’ll have to get you a couple more men,” Aaron said, “to even our number out.”

“Whatever,” Ethan said. “We don’t have to worry about that until tomorrow. What’s with the law outside?”

“They’re keepin’ an eye on us,” Aaron said.
“Now that you’re here, they’ll be keepin’ an eye on all of us.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Nothin’ to worry about?”

“Not a thing.”

Ethan scratched his chin, then rubbed his face with both hands. The last couple of nights, the woman had come back in full force, screamin’ until he woke up. Last night he had almost put his gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, but that would have been letting her win.

“Ethan?” Aaron said. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” Ethan said. “When are we gonna count?”

Aaron studied his brother and knew something was wrong. Ethan was keeping something from him, and that wouldn’t do.

“Later,” Aaron said. “Have another drink.” He poured another glass. “Let’s talk awhile.”

“About what?”

“Let’s see what we can come up with.”

Pushing his horse hard, Thomas Shaye reached Salina one hour after Ethan Langer and his men. He paused just outside of town, his horse blowing beneath him, removed his badge and placed it in his shirt pocket. He gave the horse a few more moments to catch its breath, then started for town at a walk.

Sheriff Holcomb was unhappy with the fact that all the strangers were in the Somerset Saloon and had been there for an hour. But at least they hadn’t gone near the bank yet. He knew they had to be planning something, though.

Over the past couple of hours, the traffic had dwindled down until the street was empty. Word had gotten around, and people had taken to the safety of their homes, expecting an explosion. He had two deputies, and at his best count there were at least eighteen gunmen in the saloon—maybe nineteen.

The fella riding down Main Street at the moment could well be making it twenty, but he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to do it.

What surprised the lawman about this man was that he rode right up to his office and stopped. Then he reined his horse in and looked down at him.

“Can I help you?” Holcomb said.

“You the sheriff?” the stranger asked.

“That’s right.” The man dropped his arms to his sides, either to get his hand near his gun or to show off the badge on his chest. “Holcomb’s the name.”

“My name’s Thomas Shaye, Sheriff,” Thomas said. He looked up and down the street. “It’s real quiet around here.”

“A town can generally feel when trouble’s abrewin’,” the lawman explained.

“You got trouble here?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“I have an idea.”

“Your friends are in the Somerset Saloon,” Holcomb said, “if you want to join them.”

“How many?”

“Maybe twenty,” Holcomb said, “with you.”

“Nineteen, then.”

“You ain’t with them?”

Thomas was still concerned that someone was going to see them. “Can we go in your office and talk?”

“Give me one good reason.”

Thomas looked around again, then removed his badge from his pocket and showed it to the sheriff.

“Okay,” Holcomb said, getting up from his chair, “that’s a good enough reason.”

He led the way into his office.

Aaron and Ethan exchanged stories about their bank jobs, and Aaron was quite interested to hear about the woman.

“So you just rode her down?”

“The bitch stepped out in front of us, Aaron,” Ethan said. “There wasn’t any way to avoid her.”

“You never killed a woman before, Ethan,” Aaron said. “How’d you take it?”

Ethan snorted and said, “She got what she deserved.”

The bags beneath Ethan’s eyes told Aaron his younger brother had not been sleeping well. Abruptly, though, he turned his head and shouted at Rafe.

“Get back outside, we’ll want to know if that lawman is comin’ this way.”

“Right, boss.”

“Take somebody with you.”

“I’ll go,” Ben Branch said. Grabbing his beer from the bar, he followed Rafe outside, but they were too late to see Thomas going into the sher
iff’s office. They both saw the horse in front, but it didn’t register with either of them as unusual. They sat down and started exchanging stories about their bosses, ignoring the deputy who was still stationed across the street.