Leaving Epitaph: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

19

Of course, turning in early did not appeal to Thomas, Matthew, and James, so while Shaye went to his room to rest, they went in search of a saloon.

“Stay out of trouble,” was all their father told them. “Thomas, I’ll hold you responsible for your brothers’ actions, as well as your own.”

“Yes, Pa.”

They found a small saloon, not crowded, no gaming tables, and two girls working the floor. When they entered, the girls noticed them immediately and joined them by the time they reached the bar.

“I’m Dora,” one said. She was blond and pretty.

“I’m Henri,” the other, a small brunette, said.

“Henri?” Matthew asked.

“Short for Henrietta.” She pressed herself up again him. “You’re big. I like big men.”

“And you two are cute,” Dora said to Thomas and James. “You kinda look alike.”

“We’re brothers,” James said. “All three of us.”

“Ooh,” Henri said, touching Matthew’s badge, “and lawman. How exciting.”

“Where is…Epi-tat?” Dora asked, peering intently at Thomas’s badge.

“It’s in South Texas.”

“Well,” she said, holding onto his arm, “you’re a long way from home, Sheriff.”

“We’re deputies,” Matthew said.

“Deputies or sheriffs,” Dora said, “you probably need some company.”

Since the saloon was empty, the girls were able to spend a lot of time with them, flattering them and getting them to buy two or three beers instead of just one and nursing it. Still, Thomas was mindful of his father’s warning that he would be held responsible for any shenanigans, so he left it to his brothers to flirt with the girls while he watched for trouble. After all, most of the fights he’d been in up to now in his young life had been over a girl. And these two were just pretty enough and smart enough to cause a big one. However, as long as the saloon was empty…

The Shaye boys had been in the saloon about an hour when the bat-wing doors opened and some regulars arrived. Of the six who entered, two of them—Pat Booth and Tim Daly—considered Dora and Henri to be their girls. It didn’t matter how many times the girls told them they were “working” girls, when Pat and Tim entered the saloon with their friends in tow, they expected to be fawned over.

“What the hell!” Pat said, touching Tom on the arm. “What are those three jaspers doin’ with our women?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said.

From behind, their four friends—all from the same ranch—nudged them, and one of them said, “Looks like your ladies got themselves some new beaus.”

“Yeah, well not for long,” Tim said, and marched over to where Dora and Henri were entertaining the Shayes. Pat followed him, and the others trailed along.

“What are you strangers doin’ with our women?” Pat demanded.

Matthew and James turned to face the men, who caught sight of the stars on their chest.

Pat got a nudge from behind and somebody whispered in his ear, “Lawmen.”

The six were just ranch hands, and the only laws they broke was when they got into a fight in some saloon each week and caused some damage.

Pat grabbed for Tim’s arm, but Tim pulled it away.

“They’re lawmen, Tim,” Pat said hastily.

“That don’t make no never mind,” Tim said, peering at their badges. “They ain’t local. They got no—watchacallit—jurisprudence here.”

“Hey, friend,” Thomas said, “we were just keepin’ the ladies company until you got here. Why don’t we all have a drink and you can take your girls with you—”

“We ain’t their girls!” Dora complained loudly.

“Yeah,” Henri agreed, holding tightly to Matthew’s thick arm. “They think we are, but we’re always telllin’ them we’re not.” She looked up at Matthew, fluttered her eyelashes at him and said, “Make them go away, Matthew…please?”

“Matthew—” Thomas said, but he was too late.

The larger of the three brothers turned to face the ranch hands full on and said, “You heard the ladies, gents. Move along.”

“James,” Thomas said, but his young brother had already turned to face the six men so he could back up Matthew.

“You hear that, Pat?” Tim asked. “Now they’re sayin’ they ain’t our girls.”

“Well,” Pat said, “maybe they ain’t, Tim—”

“Pat’s givin’ his girl away, now,” Lou, one of the other men, said. He was big and beefy, and nudged Pat so hard that he propelled him forward, almost into Matthew, who put his big hand out to steady him.

“Easy,” Matthew said.

“Don’t push!” Pat snapped. He was talking to Lou, but Matthew thought he was talking to him.

“I didn’t push you, friend,” he said. “I just put out my hand to keep you from fallin’, is all.”

“No, I didn’t mean—” Pat started, but Tim pulled him out of the way so he could face Matthew, who now became his focus.

“You think your badge scares me?” he demanded. “Or your size? My pal Lou, here, could eat you for breakfast.”

Matthew looked at Lou, who puffed out his chest and smiled. Lou Scales was in his thirties, a full ten or twelve years older than Matthew. He was roughly the same height, but clearly outweighed the younger man by thirty pounds or more—most of it around his middle.

“My brother could handle your friend with no problem,” James shot back.

Thomas could see the situation getting out of hand. It had switched from the girls to who was bigger or badder, Matthew or this fella Lou.

“Now look, fellas,” he said, “nobody wants any trouble—”

“Your badges don’t mean nothin’ here!” Tim snapped.

“You’re right about that,” Thomas said, still trying to defuse the situation.

“We could kick the crap out of the three of you and nobody could do anything about it.”

“Well,” Thomas said, “that’s not quite true. I mean, we’d have to try and do somethin’ about it—”

“Me and my brothers can handle six saddle tramps like you!” James spat.

“Oh yeah?” Tim asked.

Thomas knew he couldn’t be sucked into this, that he had to do something before somebody went for a gun. They had become the center of attention in the saloon, which had suddenly become crowded. Now, as if sensing that gunplay was in the offing, everyone shrank away from them, hugging the walls and giving them room.

In that single moment the action could have gone in many directions.