“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.
18
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.