45
Aaron Langer put two men outside the saloon in chairs, keeping watch on the street. When those men noticed the deputy across the street, one of them got up and moseyed back inside.
“Lawman across the street,” he said to Aaron.
“That don’t matter,” Aaron said, looking up from his whiskey. “They’re just keepin’ an eye on us. According to Zeke, there’s one sheriff and only two deputies. You stay outside with Rafe and watch for my brother.”
“Right.”
That man went back outside. Aaron turned his head, looked around and settled on another. “Tate!”
“Yeah, boss.”
“Take a walk around town, see if you spot the other two lawmen anywhere.”
“Yeah, boss.”
“And take somebody with you.” He turned back around. “I don’t want any of us caught alone.”
“Right, boss.” Tate reached out and tapped another man on the shoulder. The man followed him outside.
Esteban Morales, seated across from Aaron, took the whole thing in but said nothing. He doubted the law would take any action unless they did first. This put his boss, Aaron Langer, firmly in control, which suited him just fine.
Sheriff Holcomb had put Ray Winston across from the saloon and Will Strunk across from the bank. He made rounds, checking both locations out. He was down the street from the bank when he saw the two strangers coming from the other direction. Across the street, standing in a doorway, smoking a quirly, was his deputy. Blowing smoke that way was a sure way to get noticed. Both his deputies were young—ten to twelve years younger than his own thirty-six—and would have to be told.
He claimed a doorway for himself and watched the strangers. They didn’t seem interested in the bank. Most of their attention was on the deputy. They watched him for a few moments, and Holcomb didn’t think Deputy Strunk was even aware they were there. After those few moments, they turned and headed back the other way—he assumed, to report back to their boss. Aaron Langer was clearly checking out the town and counting lawmen.
When the men were gone, Holcomb crossed the street to bawl out his deputy.
Thomas came up to Shaye’s side when they had only been riding about two hours.
“Pa?”
“Yes, Thomas?”
“I think I can make better time alone, pushing my horse,” he said.
“You’re probably right, Thomas.”
“I’d be able to check out Salina in the daylight.”
Shaye gave it some thought. “You’ll have to be careful, Thomas.”
“I won’t make a move on them,” Thomas said, “and they won’t recognize me—”
“That’s not what I mean. There’s going to be a lot of strangers in town. The law will assume that you’re with them.”
“I’ll have my badge,” Thomas said. “I won’t wear it into town, but I’ll go and see the local law and introduce myself.”
“All right,” Shaye said. “You seem to have thought this out.”
“I have.”
“Give your bag of supplies to one of your brothers, then, and go ahead. We’ll still stop just outside of town— about a mile or two due south—and wait to hear from you.”
“Yes, Pa.”
“If we don’t hear something from you tonight, we’ll come on in.”
“I’ll get back to you tonight, Pa.”
“You’d better, son,” Shaye said. “You’d better.”
46
Several hours after the arrival of Aaron Langer and his gang, Sheriff Holcomb had schooled both of his deputies and hoped they would now be a little less conspicuous. He, himself, had taken a chair from his office and was sitting out front watching the street. That’s where he was when the second set of strangers rode in.
Ethan Langer noticed the sheriff sitting in front of his office, and had the gall to tip his hat to the man.
“Where are we supposed to meet Aaron?” Ben Branch asked.
“In a saloon, where else?” Ethan answered.
“Which one?”
“I don’t know,” Ethan said. “Why don’t we try one with a deputy across the street from it.”
That turned out to be a good plan. They saw the deputy standing in the doorway across from the Somerset Saloon and reined in their horses in front of it. They also saw two men sitting in front of the saloon.
“Did you see the lawman across from the bank?” Branch asked Ethan.
“I saw him,” Ethan said. “The one in front of the office is the sheriff. The other two are deputies.”
“Think that’s all there are?”
“I don’t know,” Ethan said, “but assuming Aaron got here before us, he’ll know. You know the two men sitting out front?”
Branch took a look, then said, “I think one of them is Rafe Simpson.”
Ethan knew the name. “Okay, then,” he said. “Aaron’s here. Have two of our men take the horses over to the livery.”
“Right.”
“I’ll meet you inside.”
Ethan dismounted and entered the saloon without looking over at the two men.
“Asshole,” Rafe Simpson said under his breath.
“Don’t ever let Aaron hear you say that,” the other man warned.
“He says it himself.”
“It’s his brother.”
When Ben Branch stepped up onto the boardwalk, Rafe stood up and said, “Branch, ain’t it?”
“That’s right, Rafe.”
The two men shook hands.
“You look short,” Rafe said, eyeing the men behind Branch. “Where’s Petry?”
“Dead.”
Rafe looked surprised. “He get hit when you took the bank?”
“No,” Branch said, “Ethan killed him.”
Rafe looked even more surprised. “Who’s
“Me,” Branch said, “and it ain’t a job I ever wanted.”
“I don’t blame you,” Rafe said. “Goin’ inside for a drink?”
Branch hesitated, then said, “I think I’ll give Ethan a coupla minutes with his brother.”
Rafe grinned and said, “Don’t blame you for that either.”
When Ethan walked through the door, he spotted Aaron immediately. He ignored his brother’s men and walked to the table where Aaron was sitting with his
“It’s about time, little brother,” Aaron said. “We’ve been here for hours.”
“Hey, we’re here,” Ethan said, tossing his saddlebags onto the table, almost upsetting the bottle of whiskey Aaron had there.
Aaron reached down, lifted his saddlebags from the floor, and deposited them on the table with his brother’s.
“Morales, give my brother your chair,” he said.
Without a word, Morales stood up and walked away. Instead of joining the men at one of the other tables, he
