Crow Bait

Fifty

Lancaster rode out of Flagstaff, heading west. There was no guarantee that these two men were on their way to meet with Sweet, but he wasn’t losing anything by riding after them.

There were any number of towns in the Texas panhandle, but heading there usually meant Amarillo. Lancaster had been through Amarillo before, but he hadn’t been there long enough to make any lasting friendships. Actually, he didn’t make lasting friendships most places he went, but neither had he left behind any lasting acquaintances. He was going to be on his own when he got there, unless he once again tried to bring in the local law. So far, though, the local lawmen he’d encountered had not filled him with any sort of confidence.

It was also too much of a coincidence to think he’d find both Sweet and Gerry Beck in Amarillo at the same time.

So he figured to follow the tracks described to him by the liveryman as long as they kept heading west. In the event they veered off, he’d have to make a decision.

He found their sign not far out of Flagstaff. He could see what the liveryman meant about their horses needing new shoes. It made them easy to track. He took up a leisurely pace with Crow Bait, not wanting to catch up to the two men.

He camped each night, not bothering with a cold camp. He made sure he wasn’t close enough for the two men to smell his coffee. And even if they did, what would they care? As far as he knew, they weren’t running from anyone; they were simply riding, possibly to join up with Sweet. Besides, they’d be making their own coffee, so they probably wouldn’t smell his. He had some dried meat with him, and some canned goods, all in his saddlebags. In the old days he had traveled light, and old habits die hard. He usually restocked whenever he came to a large town, bypassed the smaller towns. By their tracks, the two men were doing the same.

He restocked after three days, and then four. Each time he discovered that the two men had come before him, purchased supplies, and caused no trouble. After the dustup in Flagstaff, maybe they were keeping their noses clean.

Amarillo was about six hundred miles from Flagstaff. He and the three men were keeping a sensible pace. They’d probably get there three full days ahead of him, according to the temperature of their camps when he reached them. But the entire trip would take a few weeks—perhaps a little less—unless they increased their pace toward the end.

Lancaster and Crow Bait were becoming fully bonded as horse and rider. He talked to the animal while they rode, and again at night when they camped. Crow Bait was responding to the sound and tone of his voice. The animal could sense when Lancaster was relaxed, or when he was agitated. The horse took on a similar mood.

In each town they stopped in, Lancaster had to listen to disparaging words about his horse. It was starting to grate on him. At some point some big mouth was going to have to pay for the insults of others.

So far he’d been able to hold his temper.

But who knew for how much longer?