“Take it easy, Morales,” Diehl said. “I was just funnin’.”
“Esteban?” Walters said.
“We are all riding into Salina tomorrow,” the Mexican said.
“All of us?”
“Sí.”
“We’re gonna be pretty noticeable,” July Edwards said.
“Sí,” Morales said. “That does not seem to matter so much to el jefe.”
“I guess not,” Diehl said.
“What about Ethan?” Walters asked. “If he’s there too, with his men, we’re gonna make a big crowd.”
Morales shrugged. “Whatever he wants, that’s what we do,” he said, jerking his head toward Aaron Langer. “That is how it has always been, and that is how it will be.”
The other men fell away into groups while Walters moved over closer to Morales.
“Is he plannin’ somethin’ crazy, pardner?”
Morales gave Walters a baleful look and asked, “Isn’t he always?”
Thirty miles south of Salina, Ethan Langer and his men were camped for the night.
“We’re gonna push tomorrow and get to Salina by afternoon,” Ethan said. “I don’t want Aaron and his men gettin’ there much earlier than we do.”
The other men nodded, and Ben Branch said, “Okay, Ethan.”
Branch was feeling bad about the bragging he’d done to that pretty little gal at the general store in Wichita. If word ever got back to Ethan about that, he knew he’d be dead. The man who had been with him, Larry Keller, hadn’t heard him, so he figured he was pretty safe. Wasn’t exactly the kind of thing a new segundo should be doing.
“If we get to Salina at the same time as Aaron, we’re gonna attract a lot of attention, Ethan,” Red Hackett said.
“So what?”
“We ain’t wanted in Kansas, Red,” Branch said.
“That don’t matter,” Ethan said. “Me and Aaron, we go where we want, when we want. Don’t matter if we’re wanted.” He looked around at his men. “Anybody don’t want to go to Salina tomorrow? Let me know now and you’ll give up your share. Anybody? No? Then shut the hell up for the rest of the night. I’ll kill the next man who asks me a question. Got it?”
They all got it, and didn’t say a word.
The next morning three separate groups of riders began to make their way toward the town of Salina, Kansas.
44
Aaron Langer and his men were the first to arrive in Salina. Riding in en masse, they attracted as much attention as they thought they would.
Watching them ride by from his window, Sheriff Matt Holcomb turned and said to his deputy, Ray Winston, “Ray, go and find Zeke and Will. I want all three of you here in half an hour.”
“What’s goin’ on, Sheriff?”
“Trouble just rode into town,” Sheriff Holcomb said, “in bunches.”
Holcomb didn’t recognize Aaron Langer as he led his men into town, but he did recognize trouble when he saw it, and these men were it.
There were several hotels in Salina, and some boardinghouses. The strangers had put their horses up at the livery and then split up, some to hotels, some to boardinghouses. Holcomb figured their leader was smart enough to keep them all from staying in one place.
“Have a seat,” he told his three deputies when they got back.
“What’s this is all about, Sheriff?” Zeke Abbott asked.
“A bunch of strangers rode into town today,” Holcomb said. “I didn’t like the look of them.”
“Why do you think they’re here?” Will Strunk asked.
“Trouble.”
“Like what?”
“The bank maybe,” Holcomb said. “We’re gonna keep an eye on the bank.”
Zeke swallowed and asked, “How many of them were there?”
“Maybe a dozen.”
“A dozen?” Will asked. “Like twelve?”
“That’s right.”
“Against the four of us?” Zeke asked.
“Relax,” Holcomb said. “Maybe I’m wrong. For now, we’re just gonna keep an eye on the bank, and on them.”
“Sheriff,” Zeke said, “it sounds to me like we need more men.”
“If we need them, we’ll get them, Zeke,” Holcomb said. “For now, just do as you’re told and we’ll be fine.”
Zeke wasn’t seeing it that way. He stood up, took off his badge, and put it on the desk.
“I can’t do this,” he said. “This is supposed to be a quiet town. That’s the only reason I took this job six months ago.”
“It’s been a quiet town, Zeke,” Holcomb said. “Do you mean that at the first sign of trouble you’re just gonna quit?”
“That’s exactly what I’m gonna do,” Zeke said. “Sorry, Sheriff.”
As he went out the door, the sheriff faced his other two deputies.
“What about you fellas?” he asked. “Are you gonna quit too?”
“I’m not quittin’,” Ray Winston said.
“Me neither,” Will Strunk said.
“Well…good,” Holcomb said. “Now we just need to decide who watches the bank and who watches the leader of those men…whoever he is.”
Zeke Abbott left the sheriff’s office and crossed the street to the Somerset Saloon. Inside, he found Aaron Langer seated with a few of his men. There were no other patrons in the place, since they had vacated at the first sign of the outlaws. The bartender and owner, Sam Somerset, stood behind the bar, wiping the top with a rag. He was afraid to stay, but afraid to leave.
“Zeke,” Aaron Langer said. “What’s the good word?”
“The sheriff and two deputies,” Zeke said. “That’s it, Mr. Langer.”
“Good job,” Langer said. “Have a drink. Bartender, give the ex-deputy a beer, on me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Langer laughed, looked at his men and said, “Put in on my bill.”
“Yes, sir.”
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.