Pearl River Junction: The Sons of Daniel Shaye

8

Sheriff Harvey Dillon of Epitaph, Texas, had also sent Dan Shaye a telegram telling him he’d check Pearl River Junction to see if the girl still lived there. That meant that they didn’t know anything they hadn’t known before.

“When another response comes in,” Shaye told the clerk, “one of us should be at the Golden Garter Saloon.”

“Yes, sir.”

Outside Shaye told Thomas and James the news, which was no news.

“So what do we do now?” James asked.

“We stay around town until we hear somethin’,” Shaye said.

“And if we don’t hear?”

“We’ll leave in the morning,” Shaye said. “Head for Pearl River Junction. Whatever happens happens.”

“When’s the Golden Garter open?” Thomas asked.

“Today,” Shaye said, “when we get there. Come on…”

When they reached the Golden Garter Saloon, Dan Shaye banged on the door with his fist.

“What the hell—” The doors swung open and the owner of the saloon, Abner Moore, a black man in his sixties, appeared.

“Come on, you old geezer, open up. Me and the boys are thirsty.”

“Dan Shaye, that you?” Moore asked, squinting against the sun. “When the hell did you start drinkin’ early?”

“Today,” Shaye said, “only we aren’t gonna do much drinking unless you let us in.”

Abner looked at Thomas.

“What’s got into this man, boy?”

“He just found out he might be a grandpa,” Thomas said.

“Well, hell’s bells, man,” Abner said, staring at Shaye. “Why didn’t you say so?”

He stepped back, unlocked the batwing doors, and let the Shayes enter.

“Blessed events is somethin’ that’s got to be celebrated,” Abner said. “What’ll you boys have?”

“Three beers, Abner,” Shaye said, “and make ’em cold ones.”

If Dan Shaye had one friend in Winchester, it was Abner Moore. The two had hit it off from the moment they first met.

“My beers is always cold, goddamn it.”

Abner drew four beers and set them on the bar.

“Why four?” Shaye asked.

“I’m celebratin’ with ya,” Abner said. “Which one of you boys made your pa a grandaddy?”

“Neither one of us,” James said. “It might’ve been Matthew, our other brother.”

“Might’ve been?”

“We’re not sure,” Thomas said, picking up his beer.

“Is there or is there ain’t a baby?” Abner asked.

“There is,” Shaye said,” but we’re not sure if it’s family or not.”

“So what the hell did I let you in my saloon early for?” the black saloon owner demanded.

“Gives you an excuse to have a cold beer early in the day, you old faker.”

“Well,” Abner said, picking his up, “there is that.”

By the time the Golden Garter officially opened for business, the Shayes were into their second beer.

“Nurse this one, boys,” Shaye said when Abner set them on the bar. “We might be here for a long time.”

“If you gonna be here for a long time, you better be buyin’ more’n two beers each,” Abner complained. “Don’t be takin’ up no space at my bar if’n you ain’t drinkin’.”

“Abner,” Shaye said, “you’ll have plenty of men in here drinking in no time. We won’t be getting in anybody’s way. In fact, we’ll just take these beers and go sit at a table.”

With that the Shayes picked up their mugs and walked to a back table while one was still empty. The Golden Garter was the most popular saloon in town and usually started filling up the moment Abner opened the doors. There were so many regular customers that there was never any danger of Abner having a bad day. This was also the reason Abner always noticed a stranger—and today four of them came in and bellied up to the bar together. He reached under the bar and briefly touched the shotgun he kept there because he didn’t like the way these four hombres looked—and he was usually a good judge of character.

Somebody at the bar wondered aloud what Dan Shaye and his sons were doing in town and Abner noticed the four men look over at the Shaye table with interest.

“I help you boys?” Abner asked, stopping in front of the four men.

“Beer,” one of them said, “four of ’em.”

“Comin’ up.”

Abner drew four beers and set them in front of the men.

“Did we hear right?” one of them asked. “Those are Dan Shaye and his sons?”

“That’s them,” Abner said.

“What are they doin’ here?” one of the other men asked.

“They live around here,” Abner asked. “What’s it to ya?”

“Hey, ol’-timer,” a third man said, “take it easy. We’re just curious, is all.”

“You know what they say about curiosity, don’t ya?” Abner asked.

“No,” the fourth man asked, “what?”

Abner hesitated, then said, “If’n ya don’t know, I sure ain’t gonna tell ya.”