Crow Bait

Forty-five

Flagstaff, Arizona

Lancaster rode into Flagstaff a week later, after a short stop in Seligman to outfit himself again.

That Flagstaff was a lively, busy town was obvious as he rode down the main street. He doubted that Sweet would still be there, but he hoped that he’d be able to get a lead on him. Also, he had to be very careful in his search, now that the other two men were dead. Sweet was his only connection to whoever had hired the three of them to strand him in the Mojave Desert.

The other good thing about Flagstaff was that it took him in the right direction, toward the Texas panhandle, where he hoped to get a line on Gerry Beck. After all, he had to earn the thousand dollars he’d already been paid, and the four thousand that had been promised to him.

There was no way he’d be able to go through Flagstaff in one day, so he rode directly to the livery to get Crow Bait taken care of.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said to the liveryman. “I’ve heard it all before. Just take good care of him.”

“Yes, sir.”

He left the livery and checked into the first hotel he came to, not paying any attention to its name. It didn’t matter, and neither did the quality, he just needed a room. These days the only time he considered quality was when he was looking to eat.

Lancaster decided to play this straight. He left the hotel and went right to the sheriff’s office. He decided that if Sweet heard he was looking for him he wouldn’t run. No, he’d come after him. Judging from the beating in the desert, he’d bring help, but this time Lancaster would be ready.

He realized that much of his anger over what had happened in the Mojave Desert was directed at himself. He should have been more alert. It was how he had stayed alive all those years of living by the gun. Now that he was just drifting, taking it a day at a time and not hiring out, he’d lost his edge. Taking a beating from two men who’d managed to get themselves killed by a woman and her four idiot brothers was ample indication of that fact.

When he got to the sheriff’s office, the door opened and a man rushed out, barreling into him.

“Oh, sorry,” the man said. “Gotta watch where I’m walkin’. You lookin’ fer me?”

“If you’re the sheriff, I am,” Lancaster said.

“That’s me, Sheriff Manning. I’m on my way to City Hall for a meetin’. You wanna walk with me or wait to see me later?”

“I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind,” Lancaster said.

“Good. Let’s go.”

The sheriff was as tall as Lancaster, but took shorter strides when he walked. Might have had something to do with the fact that he carried about fifty pounds more, mostly around his middle and in his ass. Lancaster had no trouble keeping pace.

“What can I do for you?”

“I just got to town, and I’m lookin’ for a man,” Lancaster said.

“Bounty hunter?”

There was no indication in the lawman’s voice how he would have felt if Lancaster had said yes. Lancaster had to decide if he wanted to make this a personal matter, or tell the man he was working for Wells Fargo.

“I’m working for Wells Fargo,” he said.

“That a fact?”

“Yes.”

“You got any paper that says that?”

“No, but—”

“So if we go over to the Wells Fargo office and I ask, they’ll say yes?”

“Their man might have to send a telegram,” Lancaster said, “but in the end, yeah, they’d confirm it.”

They walked in silence for a few strides, and then the sheriff said, “I’m gonna believe you. What’s your name?”

“Lancaster.”

“Who you lookin’ for, Lancaster?”

“Actually, two men,” Lancaster said. “A man named Sweet, and another man named Beck, Gerry Beck.”

“You got a first name on Sweet?”

“No,” Lancaster said. “Apparently nobody knows.”

“What about you?” the lawman asked. “You got a first name?”

“I don’t use it.”

“Fine,” the man said with a shrug. “Man’s got a right to call himself what he wants.”

The sheriff turned to cross the street so abruptly that Lancaster had to stop to let a buckboard go by before he joined the man.

“So, Sweet and Beck?”

“That’s right,” Lancaster said.

“Can’t say I know Beck, although I’ve heard of him,” Manning said.

“What about Sweet?”

“That’s not a common name,” Manning said. “Yeah, we had a man named Sweet here a couple of weeks ago.”

“When did he leave?”

“He was here about a week, so I’d say a week ago.”

“Any idea where he went?”

“I don’t, no,” Manning said. “All I know is that I ran him out.”

“Ran him out? Why?”

“Because he’s a troublemaker, that’s why.” The lawman stopped walking. “This is City Hall.”

“Well, okay, but can you tell me who Sweet might have spent time with?”

“Check the Broken Branch Saloon, and Maisie’s whorehouse. I think he spent most of his time in those places.”

“Thanks, Sheriff,” Lancaster said. “I appreciate it.”

“Watch yourself,” Manning said. “He might have made some friends while he was here.”

“Thanks for the warning, Sheriff.”

Manning opened the door to go into the three-story brick City Hall building, but stopped short.

“Let me know what happens, will ya? And when you leave town?”

“Sure,” Lancaster said. “I’ll check in with you.”

“Obliged if you would,” the lawman said, and went inside.