Leaving Epitaph: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

54

The lawmen were outnumbered, but they had the outlaws outgunned. Holcomb, Strunk, and Winston all let loose with their shotguns, both barrels, and then put their pistols to use. Men cried out and blood splashed onto the bar, the floor, and the walls.

Shaye picked off several men from the balcony with his Winchester—levering and firing, levering and firing—before they knew what hit them.

Matthew and James put their rifles to use from the floor level, then pressed their handguns into action. There was no hesitation from either of them. This was clearly a kill or be killed situation.

Thomas, preferring his handgun to his rifle, used that weapon first, and didn’t switch to the rifle until his hammer fell on an empty chamber. Like his brothers, he never hesitated, but unlike them, he was calm, which surprised him. Not only was he calm, but he was deadly accurate, and every bullet he fired slammed into somebody’s flesh.

The outlaws were confused, unsure where to shoot first. With no direction, they were easy pickings, even though there were more of them. A couple jumped behind the bar, where the poor bartender was cowering, but they were visible from the balcony and Shaye took care of them.

From his vantage point, Shaye could see his sons in action. As proud of them as he was, he was actually watching to make sure they didn’t get hurt. He knew he was making a mistake—possibly a deadly one. In watching out for his sons, he was leaving himself open, but this was the first time they had been involved in a gun-fight. If one of them panicked, he wanted to be able to help them.

He saw a bullet strike Will Strunk, who was standing next to James, and the deputy went down. To James’s credit, he just kept on shooting.

As Shaye had taught them, his sons went to one knee, or to cover, in order to reload.

In Thomas’s case, he upturned a table and ducked behind it.

James dropped to a knee, as did Matthew, but Matthew was still a big target.

Shaye did his best to protect his sons with his rifle, and then with his pistol, until the room filled with so much gun smoke that he couldn’t see them.

He was about to rush to the stairs when the shooting abruptly stopped.

His trained ear picked up the sounds of men moaning, empty shells striking the floor as some reloaded, rifle levers being worked and shotguns being broken over to reload.

He didn’t wait for the smoke to clear, but headed for the stairs. Halfway down, he was able to see again. He anxiously sought out his sons.

Thomas was standing up behind the table he’d overturned, calmly reloading.

James was crouched over the fallen deputy.

Matthew was still down on one knee, but he held his gun at the ready. Next to him, Deputy Winston was holding his hand over a wound he’d sustained to his arm.

Sheriff Holcomb was moving among the fallen outlaws. There didn’t seem to be any left standing, but from the sound they were making, quite a few of them were still alive.

“Pa,” Thomas said, still calm, “you’re hit.”

“What?” Shaye looked down at himself and saw blood on his side. He hadn’t felt it, but a bullet had plowed a furrow in his left side and kept on going. He probed it with his fingers, then looked up at Thomas.

“It’s not bad,” he said. “The bullet’s not there. You boys all right?”

“I’m, fine, Pa,” James said, “but the deputy’s dead.”

“Damn!” Holcomb said.

“Sorry about your man, Sheriff,” Shaye said. “Looks like your other one is hit but okay.”

“I’ll live,” Winston said.

Shaye moved in among the fallen men and began checking them with Holcomb. He saw two who were alive, but blood bubbles on their lips said not for long.

“We need one man to question,” he said aloud. “They’re not all here. The Langers aren’t here.”

“There’s one over here, Pa,” Thomas said.

Shaye went over and stood next to his son, and was soon joined by the sheriff. They looked down at the fallen man, who was holding his hand to his side and glaring up at them. His wound seemed similar to Shaye’s, except that the blood was deeper red and there was more of it. The bullet was still there.

“Pa,” Matthew said, coming up next to him, “we gotta get a doctor over here.”

“Your son is right,” Holcomb said.

“If you talk,” Shaye said to the man, “we’ll get you to a doctor.”

“Fuck you.”

“Where’s your boss?”

“Go to hell,” Red Hackett said. He’d started the whole fracas by going for his gun, and he was still alive. Shaye had no idea of the irony involved, though.

“The Langers left you here to get killed while they took off with the money.”

Hackett just continued to glare.

“The money’s not here, is it?”

“Get me a doctor.”

“Where’d they go?”

“I don’t know!” Hackett shouted. “They went upstairs a little before you hit us. Get me a doctor!”

“I’ll get the doc,” Holcomb said.

“Upstairs?” Shaye said, looking up. “Damn!”

He ran for the stairs, followed closely by his sons.