“Morales,” Shaye said. “Where is he?”
“Red Cloud,” the Mexican said. “Waitin’ for me with the money.”
“You think so?”
“If he’s not there,” Morales said, “you track him. Don’t…let him spend my money.”
“Morales…” Shaye said, but the man was dead.
He looked down at the body with a great degree of satisfaction, seeing that both of his shots had hit home.
He didn’t bother to bury Morales. He didn’t particularly care if critters made a meal of the man’s corpse. He rounded up the dead man’s horse, rode back to where James was, and made camp there.
The bullet in James’s hip was going to have to come out.
The wound wasn’t serious, but he had seen many men die from infection of a less than serious wound. A lucky break was finding a half-finished bottle of rotgut whiskey in Morales’s saddlebags. Not great for drinking, but it served well in cleaning the wound out. James tried to bite his lips as Shaye poured it on his wound, but in the end he howled like a hyena and then passed out.
Now Shaye sat beside him, keeping the fire going and listening to the animals who were being drawn to Morales’s corpse. He hoped none of the bigger ones would get brave and approach their fire.
While James was asleep, he used an extra shirt he’d found in Morales’s saddlebags as a new bandage for his own wound, and also used the last of the whiskey to clean it out. He cinched his own bandage tight, hoping to stop the bleeding. They were alone out here, and the last thing he needed was for both of them to bleed to death.
There was no money in Morales’s saddlebags. Why had the Mexican actually allowed Aaron Langer to go on with all the money while he waited to ambush them? It made more sense to think that Aaron probably had not given his segundo a choice. That sounded more like the Aaron Langer Shaye remembered.
He hadn’t yet told his sons that he’d once ridden with Aaron Langer, but he was pretty sure they’d figured it out by now. It had only lasted a year, and that was not a year Shaye ever thought back fondly on. He was amazed he’d been able to avoid becoming a murderer during that time. Or maybe, having watched as Aaron murdered, he was one, just by association.
He’d discussed the subject one night with Mary early in their marriage, and she had taken him into her arms and assured him that he was not a murderer, he was not responsible for what a man like Aaron Langer did.
“He would have done it whether you were there or not,” she’d told him.
Leave it to her to always find the right thing to say.
Shaye was dozing when James suddenly came awake. Embarrassed that he had almost fallen asleep while he was supposed to be on watch, Shaye moved eagerly to his son’s side. I’m getting old, he thought, old and tired.
“James? Can you hear me?”
“I hear you, Pa,” James said, confused. “What happened?”
“You got shot, son.”
James frowned, then said, “Oh yeah…in the ass.”
“Not quite,” Shaye said. “It’s more of a hip wound.”
“Oh, good,” James said with relief. “Now I won’t have to tell Thomas and Matthew I got shot in the ass.”
“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.