Pearl River Junction: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

10

“One of us could go out a window in the back,” Thomas said.

“Which one of us were you thinkin’ of?” James asked.

“Well…you.”

“I ain’t goin’ out no window!”

“Well, I’m not—”

“That’s enough,” Shaye said. “Nobody’s going out a window.”

“So what are we gonna do?” James asked.

“Maybe,” Shaye said, “they’ll just get tired of waiting.”

The four men at the bar filed outside. Facing the Shayes on the street would take the bartender and his shotgun out of the play.

Outside Paul asked, “Now what do we do?”

“We wait,” Griffiths said. “We just wait.”

When the four men left the saloon, Abner called over a man named Pete Winchell, who mopped up the saloon every night and got to sleep in the back room for the privilege.

“What’dya need, Abner?” Winchell asked.

“I need you to go to the sheriff’s office and tell him there may be trouble,” Abner said. “Big trouble.”

“Sure, Ab,” Winchell said. He ran his hand over his dry mouth and Abner could hear his dry flesh scraping over his gray stubble. “Can I get a drink first?”

“No,” Abner said, “no drink until you get back.”

“Aw, Ab—”

“Now move!”

Griffiths watched the old drunk stumble through the batwing doors. He righted himself briefly, rubbed his mouth, and squinted at the sun. On a hunch, he stepped into the man’s way.

“Where ya goin’, ol’-timer?”

“Who’s askin’?”

“A man with money for a drink is askin’.” Griffiths took some coins from his pocket and let them jingle in his hands.

Pete’s eyes widened. “I—I got an errand to run for Abner.”

“Who’s Abner?”

“Fella runs the saloon,” Pete said. “The bartender?”

“The nigger?”

“That’s…uh, yeah, Abner.”

“What’s the errand, old man?” Ray Dolner asked, stepping up next to Pete.

“I, uh, I’m supposed to go and tell the sheriff that there’s trouble brewin’.”

“What kind of trouble?” Griffiths asked.

Still eyeing the hand that was holding his drink money, Pete said, “Uh, I dunno.”

“Trouble where?” Dolner asked.

“Here, I guess.”

“Tell you what,” Griffiths said. “You go inside and have a drink on us and we’ll deliver the message to the sheriff.”

“Ya will?”

“Sure.”

“That’s real nice of ya.”

“We’re friendly people,” Dolner said.

“Here ya go, old man,” Griffiths said, putting the coins into the old man’s hands. “Ray, why don’t you help our new friend back into the saloon?”

“Gotcha,” Dolner said.

He walked Pete back to the batwing doors, then made a spectacle out of holding the doors open for him.

“Enjoy your drink, ol’-timer,” Dolner said and left the batwings swinging in his wake as he left.

Abner saw one of the four strangers usher Pete back into the saloon.

“You deliver that message, Pete?” he asked when Pete got to the bar.

“Uh, no, but some new friends of mine said they’d do it, Ab,” he replied. “I got money for a drink now.”

Abner knew he should have put a back door in a long time ago. He also knew that Pete might break his neck trying to climb out a window.

“Yeah, okay, Pete,” Abner said. “One drink.”

He poured the old man a shot of whiskey, then stopped Pete’s hand as he tried to bring it to his lips.

“Go slow,” Abner said, “I ain’t givin’ you another one.”

“I can pay!” Pete said indignantly.

“You keep that money in your pocket, Pete,” Abner said, “and nurse that there drink.”

Abner released Pete’s hand and walked to the end of the bar so he could look out the front window. Sure enough, the four men were milling around out there. He knew they were waiting for the Shayes to come out and the Shayes knew it too. Folks had been leaving the three men alone during their infrequent visits to town. Now Dan Shaye was in town for the second day in a row and trouble was already dogging him.

There was going to be trouble. Even though it wouldn’t be their fault, Abner knew the Shayes would get the blame.

That’s just the way it was.