Pearl River Junction: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

14

By the time Dan, Thomas, and James Shaye rode into Pearl River Junction, it had been almost four months since the letter had been sent from Belinda Davis.

Pearl River Junction was a good-sized town, one that was still growing. As they rode down the main street, the Shayes could see that many of the buildings were newly erected. In fact, they could still smell the new wood that had been used to build them. In the center of town was a new two-story building built of brick that was the town’s City Hall.

The streets were bustling with traffic at midday: horses and buckboards in the street and a lot of pedestrian traffic on the boardwalks.

“Looks like a lively town,” James said.

“Yeah,” Dan said, “the kind that harvests trouble.”

Thomas remained silent, but his eyes took in everything. He noticed that he, his father, and his brother were attracting some curious looks, most notably from a group of men in front of one of the saloons and from a deputy as they rode past the new brick sheriff’s office, which was right next to City Hall.

“Pa…”

“I see ’em, Thomas.”

“See who?” James asked, looking around.

“Lawman, givin’ us the eye,” Thomas said.

“So what? We ain’t doin’ anything wrong.”

“We’re strangers,” Shaye said. “That’s enough to make people curious. Wait a minute.”

Thomas and James reined in their horses while Shaye turned his horse and rode over to where the deputy was standing, watching them.

“Hello, Deputy.”

“Howdy,” the young badge toter said. “Just passin’ through?”

“Actually, no,” Shaye said. “We’re looking for a livery that’ll take our horses for a few days.”

“All the way to the end of the street, then go left, not right,” the deputy said. “You’ll see it.”

“Thanks.”

“When you’re done, come by the office,” the man added. “The sheriff’s gonna want to talk to you.”

“We’ll do it,” Shaye said. “Thanks.”

He turned his horse and rode back to his sons.

“He didn’t ask many questions,” he told them. “I guess he’s going to leave that to his boss. Come on, we’ll take care of the horses and then talk to the sheriff.”

“We’re not gonna get a hotel first?” James asked.

“After,” Shaye said.

“Why are we so eager to report to the local law?” James asked.

“Sheriff might be able to tell us where to find Belinda Davis,” Shaye said. “Besides, it’s better than having him come looking for us.”

They found the livery with no problem and arranged for their mounts to be taken care of. That done they grabbed their rifles and saddlebags and walked back to the sheriff’s office. Walking together, the Shayes continued to attract attention from the citizens on the boardwalks.

Dan Shaye knocked on the door to the sheriff’s office and then walked in. A wooden shingle next to the door said: SHERIFF RILEY COTTON.

When they walked in Shaye was immediately struck by the fact that the office had two stories. Glancing up, he saw that the cell block was on the second level. Downstairs was filled with furniture—several desks—the sheriff’s and, presumably, one each for two or more deputies to share. There were also chairs, filing cabinets, a pot-bellied stove, and two gun racks on opposite walls. In one corner was a safe worthy of a bank.

“Very impressive,” Shaye said.

“Glad you think so,” Sheriff Riley Cotton said. He stood up behind his desk. “My deputy told me we had three strangers in town. That’d be you three?”

“That’s us,” Shaye said. He approached the desk. “Dan Shaye. These are my sons, Thomas and James.”

“The Epitaph bank job Shayes?” the lawman asked.

“That what they’re calling us?” Shaye asked.

“Sorry,” Cotton said. He was a tall man in his forties, bearded, wearing a clean shirt, tie, and trousers. He was dressed more like a schoolteacher than a lawman, but Shaye could tell more from the way the man stood than the way he was dressed. There was a gun belt hanging on a hook on the wall right behind him. The leather and the pistol itself were well cared for.

“Word gets around,” Cotton said. “I notice you’re not wearing badges.”

“That’s because we’re not lawmen anymore.”

Cotton raised his eyebrows.

“That by choice?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad. From what I heard, you were good at it.”

“How long have you been sheriff?” James asked.

“Been wearin’ a badge for fifteen or sixteen years. I’ve been sheriff here for the last five. You fellas wouldn’t be, uh, workin’ in some, um, related capacity, would you?”

“What?” Thomas asked.

“He wants to know if we’re bounty hunters,” Shaye said. “The answer is no.”

“So then what brings you to Pearl River Junction?”

“We’re looking for someone,” Shaye said.

“Who?”

“A girl named Belinda Davis.”

The sheriff didn’t react.

“Do you know her?”

“Why do you want this girl?”

“So you do know her?”

“Answer my question first, please.”

“She sent me a letter asking for my help.”

“Do you have that letter on you?”

Shaye hesitated, then shifted his saddlebags from his right shoulder to his left so he could dig into his shirt pocket and come out with the letter. He held it up, but did not offer it to the sheriff.

“Can I see it?” Cotton asked.

“Answer my question now,” Shaye said. “Do you know her?”

“Yes, I know her.”

“And you can tell us where to find her?”

“I can,” the lawman said. “The question is: Will I?”

Shaye hesitated, then handed the letter over.

“I tell you what,” the sheriff said. “You fellas wait around your hotel or one of the saloons and I’ll get back to you.”