Leaving Epitaph: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

43

Twenty miles north of Salina, Aaron Langer sat at his campfire while his eleven men sat around their own. Even his longtime segundo, Esteban Morales, was not allowed at his fire without an invitation. Next to him he had the saddlebags with the money from the Pierre bank. The ride here from the Bad River in South Dakota had been uneventful for him and his gang, and unlike his brother, he had no trouble sleeping. Killing did not haunt Aaron Langer, it didn’t matter if it was man, woman, child, or dog. If they got in his way, they deserved killing.

He turned and looked over his shoulder at the men around the other fire. That was all the signal Morales needed to stand up and come walking over, carrying his plate of beans and bacon.

“Hunker down, Esteban,” Aaron said.

“Gracias, Jefe.”

“We’ll be ridin’ into Salina tomorrow.”

“All of us, Jefe?”

“Yeah, all of us,” Aaron said. “With a show of force like we got, nobody’s gonna bother us, not even the local law. And once Ethan arrives, we’ll have the town under our thumb, if we want it.”

“And do we want it?”

“I don’t know yet,” Aaron said. “We’ll have a look around. If the bank looks good, maybe we’ll take it.”

“We don’ usually do that when we meet Ethan in a town,” Morales pointed out.

“I know that,” Aaron said. “Maybe it’s time we did. It would add to our take.”

Morales shrugged. Whatever his boss wanted to do was all right with him. Morales had a lot of money put away in a bank in Sonora because he never argued with Aaron Langer. He was also still alive because he never argued.

“Sí, Jefe,” he said. “Whatever you say.”

“Damn right,” Aaron said. “Damn right.”

Even his stupid younger brother would never argue with him. Morales had the feeling that if Ethan ever did argue, Aaron wouldn’t hesitate to kill his own brother. Chinga, for two brothers who had a priest for a third brother, they were both crazy!

“Go on back, Esteban,” Aaron said. “I want to be alone to think about tomorrow.”

“Bueno,” Morales said, and returned to the other fire.

“What’d he have to say, Esteban?” Greg Walters asked.

“Yeah,” John Diehl said, “what’s the crazy bastard up to now?”

“If he ever heard you call him that, he would kill you,” Morales said. “In fact, if I ever hear you call him that again, I will kill you myself.”

“Take it easy, Morales,” Diehl said. “I was just funnin’.”

“Esteban?” Walters said.

“We are all riding into Salina tomorrow,” the Mexican said.

“All of us?”

“Sí.”

“We’re gonna be pretty noticeable,” July Edwards said.

“Sí,” Morales said. “That does not seem to matter so much to el jefe.”

“I guess not,” Diehl said.

“What about Ethan?” Walters asked. “If he’s there too, with his men, we’re gonna make a big crowd.”

Morales shrugged. “Whatever he wants, that’s what we do,” he said, jerking his head toward Aaron Langer. “That is how it has always been, and that is how it will be.”

The other men fell away into groups while Walters moved over closer to Morales.

“Is he plannin’ somethin’ crazy, pardner?”

Morales gave Walters a baleful look and asked, “Isn’t he always?”

Thirty miles south of Salina, Ethan Langer and his men were camped for the night.

“We’re gonna push tomorrow and get to Salina by afternoon,” Ethan said. “I don’t want Aaron and his men gettin’ there much earlier than we do.”

The other men nodded, and Ben Branch said, “Okay, Ethan.”

Branch was feeling bad about the bragging he’d done to that pretty little gal at the general store in Wichita. If word ever got back to Ethan about that, he knew he’d be dead. The man who had been with him, Larry Keller, hadn’t heard him, so he figured he was pretty safe. Wasn’t exactly the kind of thing a new segundo should be doing.

“If we get to Salina at the same time as Aaron, we’re gonna attract a lot of attention, Ethan,” Red Hackett said.

“So what?”

“We ain’t wanted in Kansas, Red,” Branch said.

“That don’t matter,” Ethan said. “Me and Aaron, we go where we want, when we want. Don’t matter if we’re wanted.” He looked around at his men. “Anybody don’t want to go to Salina tomorrow? Let me know now and you’ll give up your share. Anybody? No? Then shut the hell up for the rest of the night. I’ll kill the next man who asks me a question. Got it?”

They all got it, and didn’t say a word.

The next morning three separate groups of riders began to make their way toward the town of Salina, Kansas.