“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.”
17
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. “
“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.”
