El Paso Way by Steven Law

me.”
    â€œAnd what do you see?”
    Another sigh. “A grasshopper.”
    â€œThen tell me, what should I do?”
    â€œIt is not for me to tell you, Pang. It is for you to decide.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œYou have been taught. You know the answers. You know the way. Just remember . . . a leopard stalks its prey before it attacks.”
    Pang thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “It does.”
    Vin nodded, then stood and walked to the cell door to summon the jail keeper. Deputy Bain approached with his spurs clanging and keys jingling. He looked through the bars and grinned smugly at Pang, then unlocked the door. Pang rose up on his elbows.
    â€œWhen can he leave?” Vin asked.
    â€œMaybe never, old boy. Probably hang the sumbitch.”
    â€œThey bury his father tomorrow. He has a right to mourn.”
    The deputy grabbed Vin’s arm and pulled him out of the cell, then slammed the door shut behind him.
    â€œHe’ll have to mourn there on that cot. Besides, he’s not going nowheres till the sheriff gets back. Now, you go on and git outta here.”
    Vin turned, looked solemnly at Pang, and gave him a nod. The deputy locked the door then pushed Vin away.
    As the deputy walked away, Pang realized his dilemma. His impulsive behavior had landed him in this position. He should have never gone to the saloon. If only he had stayed with his father, he would be with him now to pay his last respects and then go off on a well-planned mission to not only find justice, but save what was left of his family.
    Hopefully it was not too late.
    * * *
    A wedge of light was cast through the small, iron-barred window, and it soon vanished with the setting sun. Pang lay sore and uncomfortable on the cot, in a quiet darkness save for the sound of cicadas outside and the hint of light from the oil lamp on the sheriff’s desk. He was sure the deputy sat there, probably sleeping, or cleaning his gun, or playing solitaire.
    Though Sheriff Dutton might not seem to be on his side, he likely had saved Pang’s life by stopping him when he did. It was only when he was gone that the deputies reconvened their battery. In public the sheriff wouldn’t have wanted to display any sort of affection toward the Chinese because it would mean political ruin. Pang’s father had taught his son this reasoning of the whites. What Pang couldn’t understand was how a man could follow any direction but that powered by his own heart. Maybe such ill reasoning was required to live among the people of this culture. He couldn’t be certain. There were too many things about the whites that he couldn’t understand.
    * * *
    Though rising from the cot was painful, Pang was feeling stiff and cramped and needed to stand. He made his way to his feet and shuffled slowly across the stone floor to the steel-barred window, where he could now see a crescent moon. It wasn’t much to look at, but Pang envied its freedom, especially to see over all the earth, and he wished he could look down on the lives of his sister and his fiancée.
    Trying to regain his health, he exercised his breathing and stretched his muscles by squatting and leaning from side to side.
    He’d been in the jail three days now, trying to be patient. There was no sign of the sheriff’s return. Pang wondered if the posse would be enough to take Valdar and his men. It was hard to know such things. Regardless, Pang was dedicated to seeing justice done, whether by Dutton, him, or anyone else.
    During Vin’s visits, he had been bringing Pang soup and herbal tea for nutrition. He’d asked for something to ease his pain, but Vin did not believe in the man-made medicines. “It is better to heal naturally,” he’d said.
    Pang heard the front door to the office creak open, and the deputy spoke. “What are you doin’ here so late? I fed ’im