Crow Bait

Twenty-seven

Three days later Lancaster went to Doc Murphy’s to get checked out, then went to Mal’s livery to check on Crow Bait. Both of them got a clean bill of health, although Crow Bait still looked like hell.

Actually, so did Lancaster.

But it didn’t matter how they looked. What mattered was how they felt.

“He’s kickin’ down the stall,” Mal said. “I’m amazed. Based just on looks, you wouldn’t look at him twice. But I think you’re right about him. It’s all about stamina.”

“Is there any chance—” Lancaster said, then stopped himself.

“What?” Mal asked. “That he’ll suddenly become the horse he looks like?”

Lancaster nodded.

“Well, is there any chance you’ll suddenly become the man you look like?”

“Every day,” Lancaster said.

“There ya go, then,” Mal said. “You’ll both be takin’ a chance on each other.”

When Lancaster got back to his hotel, there was a message for him with the clerk. It was from Andy Black, asking if he’d come over and see him as soon as he got the note.

He did.

Andy looked up as Lancaster entered and stood up.

“Thanks for comin’ over so fast, Lancaster.”

“I didn’t know when you left the note.”

“It was only about an hour ago. Have a seat. Somethin’ to drink? Coffee?”

“Coffee’s good.”

Andy poured two cups of coffee, passed one over to Lancaster, then sat behind his desk.

“What’s goin’ on, Andy?”

“How’d you like to make some money?”

“What kind of money?”

“Good money.”

“I don’t do that kind of work anymore, Andy,” Lancaster said.

“No, not that,” Andy said. “Wells Fargo needs somebody tracked down and brought in.”

“Bounty hunter?”

“If you’re workin’ for us,” Andy said, “it ain’t called that.”

Andy had a point. And Lancaster did need to put some money together.

“How much are we talkin’ about?”

“A lot,” Andy said. “Enough for you to get properly outfitted and buy a new horse.”

“I’ve got a horse.”

“Well, whatever you need, then.”

“Who am I hunting, Andy?”

Andy sat back and took a moment. “It’s Gerald Beck.”

“Gerry Beck?”

Andy nodded.

“Five thousand dollars,” he said. “A thousand in advance, four when you bring him in.”

“Alive?”

“Just bring him in,” Andy said. “He’s been robbin’ us blind for years, and it’s time to stop it…for good.”

Now it was Lancaster’s turn to hesitate.

“What brought this on, Andy?” he asked. “Gerry’s been at this for at least ten years.”

“He robbed a Wells Fargo office earlier this week, killed two men—two clerks. Well, one clerk, and one agent.”

“Like you?”

“Yes,” Andy said, “exactly like me.”

Lancaster had known Gerry Beck for many years, although he hadn’t seen him in about eight. There was a time when they rode together, worked together, but that went back even further. Over the past ten years, Beck had turned from hiring out his gun to robbing Wells Fargo stagecoaches, offices, and banks. Why, Lancaster didn’t know, but he’d been making their lives hell for all that time and even the best Wells Fargo detectives—like Dodge and Hume—had been unable to bring him to justice.

But Lancaster had other things to do.

“You know what my plans are, Andy.”

“Yeah, I do, Lancaster,” he said. “That’s why when I got the telegram from the main office I told them I’d get you.”

“And why did you think I’d be interested?”

“Well, aside from the money,” Andy said, “the office he hit was in Henderson.”