Crow Bait

Twenty-eight

When Lancaster rode into Henderson a week later, he had a thousand dollars in his pocket. Crow Bait had been steadfast the entire ride from Laughlin, had not faltered once. So far, so good with the animal.

Despite the fact that he’d been given a thousand dollars in advance by Wells Fargo, he decided to keep all of the borrowed outfit he’d gotten from Mal and use them to track down the bushwhackers. Mal’s gun—though it had been in the trunk for a few years—had been well cared for and had served Mal well all through his life as a money gun. And Lancaster was committed to tracking these men down with the help of Crow Bait. When he was finished with both tasks, and he collected the rest of his fee, that was when he would outfit himself anew.

Actually, he had a thousand dollars minus what he had spent for some new clothes—an extra shirt and an extra pair of jeans.

He was still wearing the same flat-brimmed black Stetson he always wore. At least they had left him that in the desert—which might have been an oversight. If you want a man to die in the desert, then take not only his horse and his water, but his hat.

Lancaster rode directly to the Wells Fargo office, tied Crow Bait off right outside, and walked in. There were two desks, one empty. Behind the other one sat a small man in his fifties, head down, working on some papers.

“Sam Worth?” Lancaster asked.

The man looked up. “I’m Worth. You Lancaster?”

“That’s right.”

“Come on in,” Worth said. “Have a seat.”

Lancaster pulled a chair over from the other desk and sat down.

Worth sat back, folding his arms. “So you’re the man who’s gonna bring in Gerald Beck when our best detectives haven’t been able to do it?”

“That’s me.”

“What makes you think you can succeed where they couldn’t?”

“I’m getting paid a lot of money to succeed,” Lancaster said.

“That’s it?”

“I happen to know Gerry Beck.”

That surprised Worth. “You know him? How?”

“We rode together once.”

“What are you, a reformed gunman?”

“Something like that,” Lancaster said. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“Sure,” Worth said. “Come on, I’ll walk you through it. I was here by the safe, my partner was at his desk, and there was another man…”

After Worth finished laying out the way it happened, Lancaster said, “You got lucky.”

“Whataya mean?”

“I mean all that flying lead and none hit you.” Lancaster looked around. There were chunks taken out of the walls from the shooting. “You must have a guardian angel.”

“What are you tryin’ to say?” Worth asked.

“Nothing,” Lancaster said. “I just know the way Gerry Beck works.”

“And how’s that?”

“He likes to get himself an edge.”

“What kind of edge?” Worth went over and stood behind his desk. The fingers of his left hand were touching the handle of the top drawer.

“He likes to use an inside man when he can,” Lancaster said. “He finds somebody who needs money, or has a family.”

Worth was easing the drawer open.

“Which one were you, Sam?” Lancaster asked. “And if you try to pull that gun out of the drawer, I’ll kill you.”

Worth pulled his hand away as if the drawer were hot.

“Now talk,” Lancaster said. “Do you have family in town?”

“No.”

“Then Gerry must have offered you money,” Lancaster said. “A cut.”

“H-he said he’d kill me if I didn’t go along with him.”

“If he was going to kill you, he would have done it when he was killing the other two,” Lancaster said. “No, there was no threat. He was cutting you in. Did you get your money yet?”

Sam Worth licked his lips.

“No, you didn’t get paid yet. So why are you still here?”

Worth frowned.

Lancaster laughed.

“You don’t know where he is, do you?” he asked. “He pulled a fast one on you.”

Sam Worth sank back in his chair with a defeated look on his face.