Leaving Epitaph: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

46

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.”