“Why four?” Shaye asked.
“I’m celebratin’ with ya,” Abner said. “Which one of you boys made your pa a grandaddy?”
“Neither one of us,” James said. “It might’ve been Matthew, our other brother.”
“Might’ve been?”
“We’re not sure,” Thomas said, picking up his beer.
“Is there or is there ain’t a baby?” Abner asked.
“There is,” Shaye said,” but we’re not sure if it’s family or not.”
“So what the hell did I let you in my saloon early for?” the black saloon owner demanded.
“Gives you an excuse to have a cold beer early in the day, you old faker.”
“Well,” Abner said, picking his up, “there is that.”
By the time the Golden Garter officially opened for business, the Shayes were into their second beer.
“Nurse this one, boys,” Shaye said when Abner set them on the bar. “We might be here for a long time.”
“If you gonna be here for a long time, you better be buyin’ more’n two beers each,” Abner complained. “Don’t be takin’ up no space at my bar if’n you ain’t drinkin’.”
“Abner,” Shaye said, “you’ll have plenty of men in here drinking in no time. We won’t be getting in anybody’s way. In fact, we’ll just take these beers and go sit at a table.”
With that the Shayes picked up their mugs and walked to a back table while one was still empty. The Golden Garter was the most popular saloon in town and usually started filling up the moment Abner opened the doors. There were so many regular customers that there was never any danger of Abner having a bad day. This was also the reason Abner always noticed a stranger—and today four of them came in and bellied up to the bar together. He reached under the bar and briefly touched the shotgun he kept there because he didn’t like the way these four hombres looked—and he was usually a good judge of character.
Somebody at the bar wondered aloud what Dan Shaye and his sons were doing in town and Abner noticed the four men look over at the Shaye table with interest.
“I help you boys?” Abner asked, stopping in front of the four men.
“Beer,” one of them said, “four of ’em.”
“Comin’ up.”
Abner drew four beers and set them in front of the men.
“Did we hear right?” one of them asked. “Those are Dan Shaye and his sons?”
“That’s them,” Abner said.
“What are they doin’ here?” one of the other men asked.
“They live around here,” Abner asked. “What’s it to ya?”
“Hey, ol’-timer,” a third man said, “take it easy. We’re just curious, is all.”
“You know what they say about curiosity, don’t ya?” Abner asked.
“No,” the fourth man asked, “what?”
Abner hesitated, then said, “If’n ya don’t know, I sure ain’t gonna tell ya.”
9
The four men were on the run, but they weren’t wanted in Wyoming. They’d come to Winchester to hide out for a while, but this opportunity was too good to pass up.
“I never heard of them,” Paul Brocco said with a shrug.
“That’s because you’re stupid, Paul,” George Griffiths said.
Paul sniffed, the way he always did when one of the other three men called him stupid.
“Don’t gotta be smart to hear a name,” he argued. “I ain’t never heard of no Dan Shayne.”
“It’s Shaye, you moron,” Lem Sanders said. “Dan Shaye and his two sons. They cleaned up the Langer gang.”
“All of ’em,” the fourth man, Ray Dolner, added. “I heard the pa, he got Aaron, and the oldest son, he got Ethan.”
“Thomas,” Griffiths said, “Thomas Shaye. I hear he’s pretty good with that handgun.”
“And the other one?” Paul asked. “He looks real young. Can’t be all that tough.”
“I tell you what, Paul,” Griffiths said. “You can have the young one.”
“Have him?” Paul asked. “For what?”
Dolner turned to face the others, who closed ranks so they couldn’t easily be overheard.
“We’re gonna take Shaye and his boys, are we?” he asked.
“Ain’t they lawmen?” Sanders asked.
“I don’t see no badges on them,” Griffiths said. “I think they was lawmen, but they ain’t no more.”
“We come here to lie low, George,” Dolner said.
“I know that, Ray,” Griffiths said, “but we didn’t know they was here. We take ’em fair and square and we’re gonna have big reputations. A fair fight’s a fair fight.”
“You wanna take ’em fair?” Dolner asked.
“Hell, why not?” Griffiths asked. “There’s four of us and three of them.”
“That don’t sound fair,” Paul said.
“Shut up, Paul,” the other three men said.
Brocco fell silent and pouted.
“Where do we do it?” Dolner asked. “In here?”
“No,” Griffiths said. “That barkeep’s got a shotgun behind the bar for sure. You see the way he was eyein’ us?”
“Outside, then,” Sanders said.
“Yeah,” Griffiths said. “Outside.”
“When?” Dolner asked.
“No time like the present,” Griffiths said. “We finish our beers and wait outside. They gotta come out sooner or later.”
“Okay, then,” Dolner said.
“Fine with me,” Sanders said.
“Me too,” Paul chimed in.
“Shut up, Paul!” they all said.
Abner carried three fresh mugs of beer over to the table the Shayes were seated at.
“Fresh one,” he said.
“We ain’t done with these—” Thomas said, but Abner shushed him by slamming the mugs down on the table.
“Four men came in,” he said. “They look like bad ones and they was interested in you.”
With that he collected the other half-finished beers and took them back to the bar with him.
“Pa?” James asked.
“I saw them when they came in,” Shaye said. “They’re a wrong bunch, all right. See? This is why we stay out at the ranch most of the time.”
“You think they know who we are?” James asked.
“If they didn’t know, they heard it from somebody,” Thomas said.
“Likely,” Shaye said.
“What do we do?” James asked. “They’re gonna be waitin’ outside, ain’t they?”
“Likely,” Shaye said again.
“I could go out the back way and get the sheriff,” James said.
“That might work,” Thomas said, “except for one thing.”
“What’s that?” Shaye asked.
“Ain’t no back way out of here, Pa.”
10
“One of us could go out a window in the back,” Thomas said.
“Which one of us were you thinkin’ of?” James asked.
“Well…you.”
“I ain’t goin’ out no window!”
“Well, I’m not—”
“That’s enough,” Shaye said. “Nobody’s going out a window.”
“So what are we gonna do?” James asked.
“Maybe,” Shaye said, “they’ll just get tired of waiting.”
The four men at the bar filed outside. Facing the Shayes on the street would take the bartender and his shotgun out of the play.
Outside Paul asked, “Now what do we do?”
“We wait,” Griffiths said. “We just wait.”
When the four men left the saloon, Abner called over a man named Pete Winchell, who mopped up the saloon every night and got to sleep in the back room for the privilege.
“What’dya need, Abner?” Winchell asked.
“I need you to go to the sheriff’s office and tell him there may be trouble,” Abner said. “Big trouble.”
“Sure, Ab,” Winchell said. He ran his hand over his dry mouth and Abner could hear his dry flesh scraping over his gray stubble. “Can I get a drink first?”