Leaving Epitaph

by Robert J. Randisi

  “No, you won’t.”

  James tried to move, then grimaced. “It hurts, Pa.”

  “I know, son,” Shaye said. “It’s going to hurt for a while.”

  “How about you, Pa?” James asked. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Shaye said. “I rebandaged my wound and it’s fine.”

  “And Morales?”

  “Dead.”

  “You fired twice?”

  Shaye nodded. “Hit him with both shots.”

  James’s eyes went wide. “Wow!”

  “I was lucky.”

  “Lucky with one shot, maybe,” James said, “but not with two. Wait until I tell Thomas and Matthew. They’ll wish they’d seen it. Heck, I wish I’d seen it.”

  “You did your job, son,” Shaye said. “You’re just as responsible for getting him as I am.”

  “Sure…” James’s eyes began to flutter.

  “James?”

  He touched his son’s face, lifted his eyelids to have a look. He’d simply fainted. Maybe he’d sleep until morning. That would be good for him.

  Shaye made a decision to go to sleep himself. He wouldn’t be any good the next day if he didn’t. There was little chance that Aaron Langer would stumble on them, and if he built the fire up enough, it should keep the animals away.

  It was a chance he knew he had to take.

  67

  The only thing Ethan could think to do was go and see Vincent. That meant back through Indian Territory to Oklahoma City.

  “We got lucky once, Ethan,” Ben Branch said. “We got through there without runnin’ into any Indians. We’re pressin’ our luck tryin’ it again, if you ask me.”

  “I didn’t ask you, Branch,” Ethan said. “You got your money, you can go your own way.”

  They were camped for the night about sixty miles east of Dodge City. In the morning, Ethan intended to start traveling southeast, with Oklahoma City his ultimate goal.

  “Naw, I’ll ride with you for a while longer, Ethan,” Branch said.

  “Then do it with your mouth shut.”

  Branch nodded, tossed some more wood on the fire.

  “You take the first watch,” Ethan said. “I need some sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  He rolled himself up in his bedroll, not at all sure he was going to sleep. The dead woman was in his dreams all the time now. But he knew he needed sleep or he’d be falling out of the saddle.

  He thought about Aaron slapping him around in Salina. He was tired of that. Maybe it was time they split up permanently. He didn’t need Aaron anyway. He’d do just fine on his own. First, though, he had to do something about these dreams. Vincent had to know something that would help, something he hadn’t told him before. After all, he was a goddamn priest, wasn’t he? Priests were supposed to help people. This time “Father” Vincent would help him, or he’d put a bullet in his brain.

  Brother or no brother.

  Branch poked at the fire, wondering why he was going with Ethan Langer. His own brother had had enough of him, maybe what he needed to do was get off on his own. Still, he’d never made the kind of money on his own that he’d made since joining up with Ethan. Maybe he wasn’t the smartest of the Langer brothers, but they’d done all right. Maybe now that he didn’t have to answer to Aaron, he’d get smarter. Branch was willing to give it some time to see what happened.

  But going back to see his brother the priest wasn’t a good start. He hadn’t been able to help him before, so what were the chances he’d be able to do it now? Actually, Branch didn’t even know what kind of help Ethan thought he needed, but apparently he thought he needed it from a priest.

  He looked over at the sleeping form of Ethan, who did not seem to be sleeping comfortably these days. More than once Branch had seen him snap awake and then look around him, as if to see if anyone noticed. Maybe whatever nightmare he was having was what he needed help with. A priest could help with that, couldn’t he?

  If they didn’t get killed by Indians first.

  Branch was sleepy. He was about to wake Ethan for his turn on watch when suddenly Ethan cried out and sat up. He looked around, wild-eyed, unseeing. Branch had no idea that Ethan was still deep in a dream—a dream where a dead woman was chasing him.

  “Ethan—” he said, getting up and walking toward him.

  Ethan continued to look around wildly, then grabbed for his gun.

  “Hey, Ethan—” Branch said, alarmed. “What the hell—”

  Ethan looked up and his eyes seemed to focus on Branch. Only he wasn’t seeing Ben Branch. He was seeing a dead woman.

  “Get away!” he shouted. “Get away from me!”

  He pointed the gun at Branch, who made the mistake of freezing in his tracks. He couldn’t believe that Ethan would shoot him, but before he could say a word, the gun went off. The bullet plowed into his chest, and all the strength went out of his limbs.

  Jesus, he thought, as he fell to the ground, killed by a man who might not have even been awake.

  The shot woke Ethan Langer up. He looked around him for the source, then realized he was holding his gun in his hand. He looked around again and saw Ben Branch lying on his back.

  “Branch?”

  No answer.

  Ethan got to his feet, reached out toward the body, but didn’t approach. “Ben?”

  Still no answer.

  Ethan lifted his gun and stared at it. He realized that it had been fired, but he didn’t remember firing it. He holstered it, then walked over to Ben Branch. He saw that he’d been shot in the chest and was dead.

  “Oh Christ,” he said, not loudly. “Oh Jesus, I—I killed him in my sleep?”

  He whirled around, as if someone was behind him, but there was no one there. But he thought he could hear someone laughing…a woman…a woman’s laughter…coming from…where?

  There it was again.

  He pulled his gun and looked all around him.

  “Where are you?” he called out.

  This woman was going to haunt him in his waking hours now? Or taunt him?

  “There’s nobody there,” he told himself aloud. “There’s nobody there.”

  He holstered his gun, walked away from Branch’s body, and hunkered down by the fire. There was no way he was going to go to sleep again. He poured some coffee and drank it scalding hot.

  Father Vincent had to help him this time. He had to.

  68

  There was still enough of summer in the air that it didn’t grow cold at night. This made keeping James warm easier. Shaye, although committed to sleeping, did not sleep well. He was too worried about James, and about the fire. Consequently, when James awoke that morning, Shaye had breakfast ready for him.

  “Pa,” James said as Shaye handed him a plate of beans and beef jerky, “this is holdin’ us up. Langer is gettin’ farther and farther away.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Morales wasn’t dead when I found him,” Shaye said. “He told me Aaron was waiting for him in Red Cloud, Nebraska, just across the border.”

  “You think he’s really gonna be there? Why would Morales believe that?”

  “I don’t know,” Shaye said. “He’s dead and we can’t ask him, but it’s due north of here, so that’s where I’m going.”

  “You?” James asked. “You mean we.”

  “No,” Shaye said, “I’ll travel faster without you, James.”

  “You’re wounded too.”

  “My wound won’t make sitting a saddle hard,” Shaye said. “Look, if Aaron is in Red Cloud, I’ve got to get there fast. You’ll have to stay here until I come back for you.”

  “Pa—”

  “If I don’t come back,” Shaye went on, “head back to the last town we passed. What was it—”

  “You’ll come back,” James said. “I know you will.”

  “If I don’t, just head back to that last town and see a doctor,” Shaye said. “Then find your brothers. Unde
rstand?”

  “I understand, Pa,” James said. “But you’ll be back.”

  “I think so too, son,” Shaye said. “I think so too.”

  Later, Shaye saddled his horse and left all his supplies with James.

  “Don’t try to leave here too soon,” he warned his son. “You open that wound and I’m not here to help you, you could bleed to death. I come back and find you dead, I’m going to be real angry with you.”

  “Don’t worry, Pa,” James said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Keep your gun close, keep the fire high at night.”

  “Do you really think Langer will wait for Morales?” James asked. “After all, he has both their shares of money.”

  “They’ve been riding together for a long time,” Shaye said. “I just have to hope that means something to Aaron.”

  “Then get goin’, Pa,” James said. “You’re wastin’ valuable time.”

  “I’ll see you in a few days, at most.”

  “Good luck.”

  “You too, son.”

  He hated to do it, but Shaye finally gave his horse his heels and left camp at a gallop.

  Aaron Langer was sitting in a saloon in Red Cloud, a small town about twenty miles inside of Nebraska. Beneath his chair were the saddlebags filled with money. Aaron was a big enough, mean enough looking man that no one in the saloon wanted to give him a second look. He sat alone with a bottle of whiskey and a deadly glare. Some of the men in the saloon even knew who he was and didn’t want any part of him.

  Aaron wasn’t sure why he was waiting in Red Cloud for Morales. He had all the money, didn’t he? He didn’t need anybody, did he? Hadn’t he just cut his own brother loose?

  But when it came right down to it, Morales was closer to him than Ethan ever was. And riding alone…well, that just wasn’t something he had ever really done. There was a time in his life when he thought his partner for life might be Danny Shaye, but that didn’t happen. Shaye got religion. Oh, not the way his brother Vincent had, but he got married, and sometimes that was even worse than getting religion.

  So then he hooked up with Morales, and that partnership actually worked, and lasted. Not that Aaron ever told Morales he considered him his partner. They both seemed to have settled into their roles, though, and both had profited by it.

  Like now, with the money that was under his chair.

  Of course, if Morales never showed up, that would be okay too. The money would more than make up for it, and he could always find a new partner, couldn’t he? He’d give the Mexican until tomorrow morning, and then he’d be on his way.

  He looked up as a big brunette in a low-cut blue dress approached him. She had a hard-looking face but a big, soft-looking body.

  “Hello, handsome,” she said. “Lookin’ for company?”

  “Company’s just what I could use, honey.”

  “Down here,” she asked, “or upstairs?”

  He grinned, forgetting Morales and Shaye. He grabbed his bottle and his saddlebags and said, “Upstairs sounds just fine.”

  69

  Shaye rode into Red Cloud on a tired horse. He didn’t even know if he’d ruined the animal, but he’d find that out later. There were other, more important things to worry about.

  He encountered the livery as soon as he rode in, and decided not only to leave his horse there, but get his questions answered. The local lawman might take up too much of his time.

  “Help ya?” the liveryman asked. He was long and lean, with a spring in his step. He wore sixty years on his frame real well. “Lawman, are ya?”

  “That’s right,” Shaye said, “from Texas. Looking for a man. A man with two sets of saddlebags.”

  “You talkin’ about Aaron Langer?”

  “You know him?”

  “I seen him before,” the man said. “Knew somebody’d come lookin’ for him when he rode in.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Amos.”

  “Do you know where he is, Amos?”

  “Everybody in town knows where he is,” the man said. “Over to the saloon.”

  “Which one?”

  “Ain’t got but one.”

  “Got a lawman here?”

  “Not much of one,” the man replied. “He’s been hidin’ in his office since Langer arrived.”

  “Okay,” Shaye said. “Thanks.”

  “You gonna arrest ’im?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “He’s been upstairs with Trudy all day,” Amos said. “Havin’ bottles of whiskey sent up, and some food. Guess mebbe they’re wearin’ each other out up there.”

  “I’m much obliged for the information, Amos.”

  “Just doin’ my part for law and order,” Amos said. “That sumbitch been ridin’ roughshod over these parts for years, ain’t he?”

  “That he has.”

  “He wanted in Nebraska? I ain’t heard.”

  “I don’t know,” Shaye said, “but that doesn’t really matter.”

  Amos’s eyebrows went up. “You ain’t gonna arrest him,” the older man said, “yer gonna kill ’im. You got no authority here.”

  “Amos,” Shaye said, touching his gun, “I got all the authority I need right here.”

  Shaye walked through town and found the only saloon with no trouble. It didn’t even have a name. Folks gave him curious looks as he went, for his stride was purposeful and the look on his face said he meant business.

  He entered the saloon and found it about half full. In a town that size, that was about as full as it got.

  “What’ll ya ha—” the bartender started to ask him, but Shaye cut him off.

  “Which room are they in?”

  “Who?”

  “Aaron Langer and Trudy.”

  The man frowned. “Well, Trudy’s had a fella up there with her the whole day, but I didn’t know—”

  “Oh, shut up, Ed,” another man at the bar said. “By now everybody knows that’s Langer.”

  “Which room?” Shaye asked again.

  “Head of the stairs,” the bartender said. “First room. You gonna kill ’im?”

  Shaye turned and headed for the stairs without another word.

  “If you kill him, don’t make a mess!” the bartender shouted after him.

  70

  Upstairs, Aaron Langer was too busy continuing to satisfy a Herculean appetite for both whiskey and sex to hear anything from downstairs. The saddlebags full of money were hanging on the bedpost, along with his gun belt. Trudy was sitting on top of him, dangling her big breasts in his face and pouring whiskey from the bottle into his mouth. When the door slammed open from a vicious kick, Aaron bucked Trudy off so hard she fell from the bed. He sat up and started reaching for his gun, but stopped when he saw Shaye standing in the doorway.

  “Daniels,” he said. “I knew it was you.”

  “It’s Dan,” Shaye said, “Sheriff Dan Shaye, of Epitaph, Texas.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Aaron said. He looked at the naked woman cowering on the floor. “You sort of caught me in the middle of somethin’.”

  “Careless of you, Aaron,” Shaye said. “I don’t remember you being this careless.” He looked at the woman too. “Get your clothes and get out.”

  Now that the shooting had not started right away, Trudy got sort of brave. “He ain’t paid me!”

  “You’ll be paid,” Shaye said. “Go downstairs and wait.”

  “But he—”

  “Go!”

  She gathered her clothes up and started to put them on hastily as she ran out the door.

  “I didn’t even know she wanted to be paid,” Aaron said. “I thought she liked me.”

  “Nobody’s ever liked you, Aaron.”

  “Yeah, maybe not…why didn’t you come in shootin’, Daniels?”

  “It’s Dan!”

  “Okay, okay…Dan.”

  “I knew the girl was in here.”

  “You ain’t even got your gun out,” Aaron said. “I figure I got m
ore than an even chance here.”

  “Make a move, then.”

  Aaron seemed to relax. “Let’s talk a bit,” he said. “Catch up on old times.”

  “There’s no old times to catch up on between you and me, Aaron,” Shaye said. “Your brother came to my town, robbed the bank, and killed my wife.”

  “Your wife?” Aaron asked, surprised. “Jesus, he’s a bigger idiot than I thought, but what’s that got to do with me?”

  “He learned everything he knows from you.”

  “You got deputies with you, Shay—Sheriff? You had some in Salina, I bet.”

  “My sons,” Shaye said. “Three of them.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “They’re tracking Ethan.”

  “So you came for me alone?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m sorry about your wife, Sheriff,” Aaron said, “but I still don’t think that had nothin’ to do with me. By the way, what happened to Morales? You kill him?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Too bad,” Aaron said. “Me and him rode together a long time. I thought you and me were gonna ride together a long time, once.”

  “I got smart.”

  “That’s what you call it,” Aaron said. “Wearin’ a badge for forty a month and found don’t strike me as a smart move. Musta been your wife’s idea.”

  “Don’t talk about my wife.”

  “You ain’t married no more, Dan,” Aaron said, “you’re a widower now. Toss the badge out the window. I got enough money in these saddlebags for two.”

  “No deal, Aaron.”

  “You takin’ me in?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Gonna kill me for what my brother did?”

  “Why not?”

  “You got to be a hard man, didn’t you?”

  “Not so hard,” Shaye said, “until lately.”

  “Yeah,” Aaron said, scratching his hairy chest, “losin’ a wife’ll do that to ya, I guess.”

  “Enough talk, Aaron.”

  “Whataya want me to do? Go for my gun while my gun belt is on the bedpost?”

  “That’s better than the alternative.”

  “Which is what?”

  “I shoot you right where you are.”

  “How would that look? An officer of the law shootin’ a man while he’s naked in bed?”