Leaving Epitaph (6 page)

“Gentlemen,” the sheriff said when he reached their table, “my name’s Ray Stover. I’m the sheriff here in Lawton.”

“Sheriff,” Shaye said. The man was his age and had the look of a longtime lawman. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Dan Shaye, sheriff of Epitaph, Texas. These are my sons, and my deputies.”

“Shaye?”

“That’s right.”

“I’ve heard of you.”

“Have you?”

“You been in Texas a long time, haven’t you?”

“Twelve years or so.”

“I heard of you before that, though.”

“Maybe you did.”

Stover licked his lips. “If you boys wouldn’t mind comin’ to my office when you’re done eatin’,” he said, “we could talk there.”

“I reckon I could come on over, Sheriff,”
Shaye said, “although I don’t see any reason for the boys to come with me, do you?”

“I suppose not,” Stover said.

“Good,” Shaye said. “I’ll come over in a little while and we’ll have a talk.”

“That’s fine,” Stover said. “Uh, enjoy your meals.”

“Thanks, Sheriff.”

Folks in the restaurant watched as Ray Stover left the place, then focused their attention back on Shaye and his sons.

“What was that about, Pa?” Thomas asked.

“What did he mean, he heard of you?” James asked.

“Can we get some more pie?” Matthew asked.

“You can have some more pie, Matthew,” Shaye said. “I’m going to have to go and talk with the sheriff for a while, boys. When I’m done, I’ll come to the hotel and we can talk some.”

“About what?” James asked.

“About your questions,” Shaye said. He took the napkin off his lap and dropped it on the table. “Thomas, you got enough money to pay for dinner?”

“Yes, Pa.”

“Then get your brother some more pie,” he said, standing, “pay for dinner, and I’ll see you all back at the hotel. Maybe we’ll go and have another beer and talk.”

“Sure, Pa,” Thomas said.

All three boys watched their father leave the restaurant, as did the other patrons.

“What do you think that’s about, Thomas?”

“I don’t know, James,” Thomas said, “but I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Shaye knocked on the lawman’s door before he entered, out of courtesy. Ray Stover was seated behind his desk and watched nervously as Shaye closed the door behind him.

“Coffee?” Stover asked, holding up a mug of his own.

“No, thanks,” Shaye said. “I had enough over at the restaurant.” He sat in a chair opposite the local lawman. “Pretty nice place for a small town.”

“We’re growin’,” Stover said.

“I can see that.”

The two men studied each other for a few moments. Stover took a sip from his mug, and Shaye had a feeling the contents was not coffee.

“You’re Shaye Daniels, aren’t you?” Stover finally asked. “
The
Shaye Daniels?”

“I’m Sheriff Dan Shaye these days, Sheriff,” Shaye said. “What’s past is past.”

“I thought you was dead.”

“Not dead,” Shaye said. “Just living in South Texas.”

“And wearin’ a badge.”

“That’s right.”

“Well…who woulda thought it?”

“Not me,” Shaye said, “not fifteen years ago, anyway.”

“So what are you doin’ in Oklahoma?” he asked.

“We’re passing through, actually.”

“Not lookin’ for anyone in particular?”

“Like who?”

Stover shrugged. “I heard somethin’ about a bank robbery in South Texas, thought maybe that had somethin’ to do with you bein’ here.”

“Bank robbery,” Shaye said, frowning. “You think a bank robbery would bring me this far from home, Sheriff?”

“I don’t know,” Stover said. “I heard it was the Langer gang.”

“What else did you hear?’

“That they also hit a bank in South Dakota.”

“The Langers.”

“That’s right.”

“Ethan and Aaron, right?”

“Right.”

“You know either one of them, Ray?”

“Uh, no, not really.”

“What’s that mean, not really, Ray?”

“I mean, I may have met Ethan a time or two, but we ain’t, uh, friends, or anything.”

“Then what are you?”

“Well…” Stover moved his shoulders nervously. He looked into his cup, and apparently it was empty. He licked his lips.

“Go ahead, Ray,” Shaye said. “Have another drink. You don’t mind if I call you Ray, do you?”

“Uh, no, not at all,” the lawman said. He took a bottle of whiskey from the bottom drawer of his desk and poured a generous dollop into his mug. He put the bottle back, then sipped gingerly from the mug.

“Does Ethan call you Ray?”

“Huh? Uh, no.”

“What’s he call you?”

Stover shifted uncomfortably. “I ain’t seen Ethan Langer in years.”

“He hasn’t passed through here recently?”

“You’re after him, ain’tcha?”

“I told you, Sheriff,” Shaye said, “we’re just passing through. However, if I happened to run into the Langer gang, I’d count it my duty to bring them in. Wouldn’t you?”

“I sure would.”

“Then I guess they haven’t passed through here.”

“If they came this way,” Stover said, “they bypassed comin’ into town.”

“Well, lucky for them,” Shaye said, “or for you.” He stood up. “How long you been sheriff here?”

“A few years.”

“What’d you do before that?”

“Wore a badge some other places.”

“So you never rode with the Langers, or anything like that.”

“No,” Stover said, “I never did.”

“Yeah,” Shaye said, “I had you figured for a longtime lawman. You like it here?”

“I like it fine,” Stover said. “It’s a growin’ town. I wouldn’t wanna do anythin’ to mess up this job.”

“Well, I hope you don’t,” Shaye said. “I hope you hold onto this job for a long time to come.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Enjoy your drink.”

Stover looked into his cup, then set it aside. “I reckon I had enough.”

“We’ll be moving on tomorrow, Sheriff,” Shaye said. “We just stopped overnight for some rest.”

“That’s fine,” Stover said. “That’s just fine.”

Shaye walked to the door and stepped outside without a word. Sheriff Ray Stover had recognized all of the names involved—his, Ethan and Aaron Langer’s—but Shaye doubted he knew more than that. The man was too comfortable in his job to want to mess it up, just like he said.

As he walked toward the hotel, he wondered just how much he was going to have to tell his sons.

The boys were waiting for him outside the hotel. Thomas and James had found chairs, and Matthew was leaning against a pole.

“You boys could have waited inside.”

“What’s goin’ on, Pa?” Thomas asked.

Shaye looked up and down the street, spotted a saloon several doors down. It was open, looked and sounded quiet. It’d be dark soon, and the saloon wouldn’t be quiet for long.

“Let’s get a beer, boys,” Shaye said. “I think there’s some things about your pa you should know.”

When they got settled at a table in the Aces Up saloon, each with a beer in front of them, Dan Shaye told his boys a story about a young outlaw named Shay Daniels….

When he was sixteen years old, Danny Shaye’s parents both died of a mysterious fever that
made it necessary for all of their belongings—and their Missouri home—to be burned afterward. Too old to be adopted, too ornery and bitter to live with anyone else, Danny was left to fend for himself. He decided to do it with a gun, using the name “Shay Daniels.”

Practicing until he was proficient and deadly with his father’s Colt, he proceeded to terrorize most of Missouri and Kansas, and some of Oklahoma Territory. By the time he met Mary Fitzgerald and married her, when he was in his late and she in her early twenties, he had earned a full-fledged reputation as an outlaw and gunman, and was wanted in three states. He continued to try to live in Missouri, Kansas, or Oklahoma, but finally tired of having to sneak home to see Mary and their three boys.

Finally, he decided to take the family and move to Texas, where he was not wanted at all, or even that well known. He heard about a South Texas town called Epitaph that was looking to hire a sheriff—not run one for election, but hire one. He applied for the job, got it, and moved his family there. In his late thirties he became Sheriff “Dan” Shaye, and left Shay Daniels in the past.

Until now…

That’s the story Shaye told his three sons, figuring they didn’t need to hear the whole story.

“You were an outlaw?” Matthew asked, eyes wide.

“A gunman?” James asked.

“I remember,” Thomas said. “I remember, as a kid, wondering why you were away so much.”

“Now you know,” Shaye said. He looked at Matthew and James. “I was never as bad as my reputation made me out to be—but that’s how reputations go.”

“How many men did you kill?” James asked.

“That’s not important, James,” Shaye said. “The reason I’m telling you this is that now that we’re out of Texas and in Oklahoma—and we’ll probably be going to Kansas as well—there’s bound to be others who will remember the old Danny Shaye.”

“Is that why you hardly ever left Texas before?” Thomas asked. “Except to go to Ol’ Mexico, or Louisiana, or New Mexico? Never north?”

“That’s why, Thomas,” Shaye said. “I just never wanted to have to deal with the old stories.”

“Is that why this sheriff was scared of you?” Matthew asked. “Because of your reputation?”

“I suppose so,” Shaye said. “He’s just the right age to remember what I used to be.”

“I’m having a hard time understanding this,” James said. “Why don’t I remember any of this?”

Shaye looked at his youngest son.

“You were only seven when we moved to Texas, James,” he said. “There’s no reason why
you should remember.” He looked at all three of his sons. “There’s no reason why any of you should remember anything. Your mother and I kept it from you.”

“Why would Ma marry an outlaw?” Matthew asked.

All three of the other men looked at him.

“What kind of a question is that?” Thomas asked.

“It’s a fair question, Thomas,” Shaye said. “Your mother was a wonderful woman. She saw things in me I didn’t even know existed. She got me off that path, but by that time no one in Missouri or Kansas or Oklahoma would give me a chance. That was why we had to move to Texas to start over.”

“And they made you sheriff of Epitaph even though you were an outlaw?” Matthew asked.

“Nobody in South Texas knew my name,” Shaye said. “They accepted me for what I showed them, and they liked that I had brought a family with me. They figured that meant I’d settle down and keep the job for a long time.”

“Twelve years,” Thomas said. “That is a long time.”

“I want you boys to understand this doesn’t change who I am,” Shaye said. “I’m still your father, the same man you’ve always known. I’m still me.”

All three boys studied him, and he knew it couldn’t be helped. He looked different in their
eyes at that moment, but he hoped they’d be able to adjust.

“What happened with the sheriff, Pa?” Thomas asked. Shaye was grateful to his older son for having the presence of mind to change the subject.

Shaye told them about his meeting with the lawman, who knew not only his reputation but that of the Langer brothers as well.

“Do you think he’ll let them know we’re lookin’ for them?” Thomas asked.

“I don’t think he’ll do anything to jeopardize his position here,” Shaye said. “He likes it here too much.”

“So he can’t help us,” James said.

“No.”

“So what do we do now?” Matthew asked.

“We get a good night’s sleep,” Shaye said, “and in the morning we keep heading north.” He hesitated, then added, “That is, unless one or two or all of you want to head back.”

The three boys exchanged a glance, and then Thomas said, “We’re goin’ where you go, Pa.”

“Well, good,” Shaye said, “because right now I’m going to my hotel room to get some rest.”

Of course, turning in early did not appeal to Thomas, Matthew, and James, so while Shaye went to his room to rest, they went in search of a saloon.

“Stay out of trouble,” was all their father told them. “Thomas, I’ll hold you responsible for your brothers’ actions, as well as your own.”

“Yes, Pa.”

They found a small saloon, not crowded, no gaming tables, and two girls working the floor. When they entered, the girls noticed them immediately and joined them by the time they reached the bar.

“I’m Dora,” one said. She was blond and pretty.

“I’m Henri,” the other, a small brunette, said.

“Henri?” Matthew asked.

“Short for Henrietta.” She pressed herself up again him. “You’re big. I like big men.”

“And you two are cute,” Dora said to Thomas and James. “You kinda look alike.”

“We’re brothers,” James said. “All three of us.”

“Ooh,” Henri said, touching Matthew’s badge, “and lawman. How exciting.”

“Where is…Epi-tat?” Dora asked, peering intently at Thomas’s badge.

“It’s in South Texas.”

“Well,” she said, holding onto his arm, “you’re a long way from home, Sheriff.”

“We’re deputies,” Matthew said.

“Deputies or sheriffs,” Dora said, “you probably need some company.”

Since the saloon was empty, the girls were able to spend a lot of time with them, flattering them and getting them to buy two or three beers instead of just one and nursing it. Still, Thomas was mindful of his father’s warning that he would be held responsible for any shenanigans, so he left it to his brothers to flirt with the girls while he watched for trouble. After all, most of the fights he’d been in up to now in his young life had been over a girl. And these two were just pretty enough and smart enough to cause a big one. However, as long as the saloon was empty…

The Shaye boys had been in the saloon about an hour when the bat-wing doors opened and some regulars arrived. Of the six who entered, two of
them—Pat Booth and Tim Daly—considered Dora and Henri to be their girls. It didn’t matter how many times the girls told them they were “working” girls, when Pat and Tim entered the saloon with their friends in tow, they expected to be fawned over.

“What the hell!” Pat said, touching Tom on the arm. “What are those three jaspers doin’ with our women?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said.

From behind, their four friends—all from the same ranch—nudged them, and one of them said, “Looks like your ladies got themselves some new beaus.”

“Yeah, well not for long,” Tim said, and marched over to where Dora and Henri were entertaining the Shayes. Pat followed him, and the others trailed along.

“What are you strangers doin’ with our women?” Pat demanded.

Matthew and James turned to face the men, who caught sight of the stars on their chest.

Pat got a nudge from behind and somebody whispered in his ear, “Lawmen.”

The six were just ranch hands, and the only laws they broke was when they got into a fight in some saloon each week and caused some damage.

Pat grabbed for Tim’s arm, but Tim pulled it away.

“They’re lawmen, Tim,” Pat said hastily.

“That don’t make no never mind,” Tim said, peering at their badges. “They ain’t local. They got no—watchacallit—jurisprudence here.”

“Hey, friend,” Thomas said, “we were just keepin’ the ladies company until you got here. Why don’t we all have a drink and you can take your girls with you—”

“We ain’t their girls!” Dora complained loudly.

“Yeah,” Henri agreed, holding tightly to Matthew’s thick arm. “They think we are, but we’re always telllin’ them we’re not.” She looked up at Matthew, fluttered her eyelashes at him and said, “Make them go away, Matthew…please?”

“Matthew—” Thomas said, but he was too late.

The larger of the three brothers turned to face the ranch hands full on and said, “You heard the ladies, gents. Move along.”

“James,” Thomas said, but his young brother had already turned to face the six men so he could back up Matthew.

“You hear that, Pat?” Tim asked. “Now they’re sayin’ they ain’t our girls.”

“Well,” Pat said, “maybe they ain’t, Tim—”

“Pat’s givin’ his girl away, now,” Lou, one of the other men, said. He was big and beefy, and nudged Pat so hard that he propelled him forward, almost into Matthew, who put his big hand out to steady him.

“Easy,” Matthew said.

“Don’t push!” Pat snapped. He was talking to Lou, but Matthew thought he was talking to him.

“I didn’t push you, friend,” he said. “I just put out my hand to keep you from fallin’, is all.”

“No, I didn’t mean—” Pat started, but Tim pulled him out of the way so he could face Matthew, who now became his focus.

“You think your badge scares me?” he demanded. “Or your size? My pal Lou, here, could eat you for breakfast.”

Matthew looked at Lou, who puffed out his chest and smiled. Lou Scales was in his thirties, a full ten or twelve years older than Matthew. He was roughly the same height, but clearly outweighed the younger man by thirty pounds or more—most of it around his middle.

“My brother could handle your friend with no problem,” James shot back.

Thomas could see the situation getting out of hand. It had switched from the girls to who was bigger or badder, Matthew or this fella Lou.

“Now look, fellas,” he said, “nobody wants any trouble—”

“Your badges don’t mean nothin’ here!” Tim snapped.

“You’re right about that,” Thomas said, still trying to defuse the situation.

“We could kick the crap out of the three of you and nobody could do anything about it.”

“Well,” Thomas said, “that’s not quite true. I
mean, we’d have to try and do somethin’ about it—”

“Me and my brothers can handle six saddle tramps like you!” James spat.

“Oh yeah?” Tim asked.

Thomas knew he couldn’t be sucked into this, that he had to do something before somebody went for a gun. They had become the center of attention in the saloon, which had suddenly become crowded. Now, as if sensing that gunplay was in the offing, everyone shrank away from them, hugging the walls and giving them room.

In that single moment the action could have gone in many directions.