Crow Bait

Forty-six

Lancaster had some direction now, so he decided to take the time to have something to eat. He hadn’t had a good meal since the beef stew in Peach Springs—the only memorable thing about that visit, unless you call killing four men memorable. The meal he’d had during the few hours he was in Seligman left much to be desired.

He stopped into a saloon for a beer and some advice from the bartender on where to eat.

“Got a few good places in town,” the young man said, “but my pick is Jilly’s. Go out the door, turn left, and walk two blocks. It’s small, but really good.”

“Thanks.”

“Ain’t you gonna finish the other half of your beer?” the bartender asked.

“Half is good for me,” Lancaster said. “Thanks.”

After a good steak at Jilly’s, he went to the Broken Branch, the saloon the sheriff had said Sweet frequented while he was in town. If it wasn’t the largest, busiest saloon in town, it had to be close. Somebody was pounding on a piano in the corner—badly—while girls worked the floor, bringing drinks to men who were either gambling or just sitting at tables, laughing and drinking.

The bar was crowded, but as usual Lancaster was able to find a space big enough for him. He got the bartender’s attention, ordered a beer, then proceeded to nurse it while listening to the conversations going on around him. In a bar this crowded, there was no point in starting to ask questions about a man named Sweet. It made more sense to wait for the place to empty out some. The only thing was, he didn’t think he could nurse one beer that long.

Of course, it would take a lot less time to question women than men, since there seemed to be about five girls working the floor. Maybe one of them would remember.

He still decided to wait a while, though. He’d attracted a little attention entering as a stranger. Better to give the novelty some time to wear off, give people a chance to forget that he was there.

There were two bartenders working the long bar, and he noticed one of them watching him. The man was experienced, in his forties, with eyes that saw everything. He noticed Lancaster was taking a long time to finish one beer, so Lancaster called him over.

“Can I get a fresh one?” he asked. “This has gone kind of warm.”

“Sure thing.”

The man drew him a fresh beer and brought it over.

“Don’t let that one go warm,” he advised.

“I’ll try not to,” Lancaster said, “but two is usually my limit. I’m afraid I’ll have to make this one last.”

“Well,” the bartender said, “you only drank half of the first one, so you got another half to go.”

There were too many customers for the bartender to spend too much time with one, but Lancaster noticed the man kept an eye on him even while serving others. A man like that would notice everything that happened around him. Lancaster might not have to ask anyone questions if he started with the bartender.

But the barman would be busy most of the night. Lancaster decided to finish the beer and head over to the whorehouse. Maybe somebody there would be able to give him something.

“Leavin’?” the bartender asked. “How about that other half a beer?”

“I’ll be back for it,” Lancaster said.

The bartender nodded, and Lancaster left.