Ethan wasn’t sure why he kept dreaming about her. She was the first woman he’d ever killed, maybe that was it, but killing had never bothered him before. Why now? She hadn’t been real young, but she had been pretty. He’d noticed her even before they hit the bank. She’d been across the street in the dress shop, but then he lost sight of her when they went into the bank. The next time he saw her, he was riding her down.
Someone stirred. He looked over and saw Petry at the fire, making a pot of coffee. He needed to get up and move around. He wished Aaron was there, but they were days, maybe weeks, from meeting up with his older brother. Besides, what could Aaron tell him? He’d probably make fun of him for dreaming about a woman he’d killed. Aaron had killed lots of people and, so far as he knew, not one of them haunted his dreams.
No, he couldn’t tell Aaron about this, or anyone else for that matter. This was something he was going to have to deal with himself.
“Coffee’s almost ready,” Petry said to him when he approached the fire.
“Good.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Fine,” Ethan said. “Why would you ask me that?”
Petry shrugged and said, “I’m just makin’ conversation.”
“Well, talk about somethin’ else.”
“You think we got a posse after us from Epitaph?”
“Why wouldn’t we?” Ethan asked. “We robbed a bank. Don’t they always send a posse after us when we do that? They won’t cross into the territories, though. They got no jurisdiction.”
“What about that woman we killed?”
“What about her?” Ethan snapped.
“Won’t they cross the border ’cause of her?”
“Even if they do, they got no authority,” Ethan said. “And if they catch up with us, we’ll do what we always do.”
“Take care of ’em?”
“That’s right,” Ethan said. “We’ll take care of ’em.”
Petry poured out a cup of coffee and handed it to his boss, who took it without thanks.
“I was just thinkin’ about Epitaph—” he began, but Ethan cut him off.
“Jesus Christ, can’t you talk about nothin’ else?”
His voice was so loud he woke the rest of the camp. The men sat up or rolled out of their bedrolls and looked around to see what all the ruckus was about.
“It’s time for all you sonsofbitches to get up!” Ethan shouted. “We got to get a move on.”
“What about breakfast?” somebody asked.
“Fuck breakfast,” Ethan said. “Have some coffee and get your damn horses saddled.”
He stalked away from the fire with his coffee.
Red Hackett walked to the fire and took a cup of coffee from Terry Petry.
“What’s eatin’ him?” he asked, nodding toward Ethan.
“I don’t know,” Petry said. “He’s been actin’ real peculiar since we left Epitaph.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Hackett said. “He ain’t been sleepin’ real good and he’s real short-tempered.”
“How can you tell?” Nick Taylor asked, coming up behind them. “He’s always short-tempered, far as I can see.”
“You ain’t rode with him as long as we have,” Petry said. “This is different.”
“Well,” Taylor said, “he killed that woman.”
“We all killed her,” Petry said. “We rode her down.”
“Stupid bitch got in the way,” Hackett said.
“Yeah, but Ethan’s horse was the first one to ride over her,” Taylor said. “He killed her. He ever killed a woman before?”
Petry and Hackett exchanged a glance.
“Can’t say I know,” Hackett replied.
“Naw, that can’t be it,” Petry said. “Ethan’s killed lots of people. Him and Aaron have killed more people than the rest of us put together.”
“Yeah,” Taylor said, reaching for some coffee, “but has he ever killed a woman? Makes a difference to some men.”
Maybe, Terry Petry thought, but did it make a difference to Ethan Langer?
13
Ten days into the hunt, Shaye and his sons were in Oklahoma Territory. Their badges hadn’t been much good since they’d left their own county, but now that they were in Oklahoma they were less than good.
“Should we even keep wearin’ them, Pa?” James asked as they were about to cross the border.
“It can’t hurt,” Shaye said. “At the very least it’ll get us some professional courtesy, even if we have no official standing.”
Shaye knew they’d need all the professional courtesy they could get. Lawmen with vendettas were usually not looked upon very favorably by other lawmen, and Shaye had no illusions about his and his sons’ motive for tracking the Langer gang. It was a vendetta, pure and simple—even though he’d had to explain to his boys just what “vendetta” meant.
“We won’t speak of your mother’s death to these other lawmen we come across,” Shaye told them. “In Oklahoma or anywhere else, our hunt takes us.”
“Why not, Pa?” Matthew had asked. “Won’t they sympathize with us?”
“Professional lawmen remain objective, Matthew,” Shaye had explained. “They don’t let their emotions get in the way of doing their jobs.”
“But you’re a professional lawman, Pa,” James said.
“We all are,” Thomas said, “but I think what Pa is sayin’ is that this is a special case.”
“That’s exactly right, Thomas,” Shaye said. “It’s special to us, but it’s not going to be special to anyone else we run into. When we encounter other men with badges, we’ll have to act like this is all in a day’s work.”
“But won’t they know it’s not?” Thomas asked. “After all, we’re Texas lawmen in Oklahoma.”
“We’ll talk about the bank’s money—the town’s money—and the death of an innocent woman. We won’t ever let them know who that woman was, though.”
“I still don’t get it—” Matthew began, but Thomas cut him off.
“This is the way Pa wants to do this, Matthew,” he said. “He’s the sheriff and we’re his deputies. He knows what he’s doin’, so let’s just do it his way, huh?”
“Well…okay.” That explanation made sense to Matthew.
“James?” Thomas said.
“I understand what Pa is sayin’, Thomas,” James assured his older brother. “I’ll go along with it.”
“Good.” Thomas had looked at his father then. “We’re behind you, Pa.”
“I know you are, boys,” Shaye said, “and I appreciate it.”
When they crossed into Oklahoma Territory, it was with a plan, and a new name for their hunt: “vendetta.”
The first town they came to was called Lawton. If they continued due north, they would need to travel almost two hundred miles through Indian Territory before they came to Kansas. That was supposing the gang continued north and did not veer off and head in the direction of Oklahoma City.
They camped outside of Lawton, since there was no guarantee that Sam Torrence had indeed given up his badge and had not decided to spread the word that the Shaye men were wanted for assaulting a peace officer.
“You’re part of a gang that has robbed a bank and got away with a good amount of money,” Shaye said to his sons. “Where would you go?”
“To a big town,” Matthew said, “a city, and spend it.”
“Like Oklahoma City?” Shaye asked.
“Yes.”
“James?”
“I don’t think I’d spend it right away, Pa,” James said. “I wouldn’t want anybody lookin’ at me funny while I’m spending a lot of cash.”
“That’s good thinking, James,” Shaye said, “but I’m afraid you’re a little smarter than most bank robbers. How about you, Thomas?”
“Well,” Thomas said, “if I’m Ethan Langer and I’m supposed to meet up with my older brother, Aaron, I don’t think I’d spend a dime until I did—and I wouldn’t let anyone else either.”