Crow Bait

Fifty-two

At the Wells Fargo office he was surprised to find five men there. They were in a heated discussion with the agent, who Lancaster assumed was the man behind the desk. When he entered, all the men paused to look at him. Several of them continued to study him while one of them turned back to the agent and continued to berate him.

“If you think this is acceptable, then you’re sadly mistaken, Turner,” the man said. He was older than the others, about fifty, with steel gray hair and a tree trunk body. “My boys here are ready to take you apart if I give the word.”

“Now, look, Mr. Atkins,” the agent said, “there’s no need for that. You set these boys of yours on me and somebody’s bound to get hurt. That doesn’t get you what you want, does it?”

“If what I want is to see you get hurt, it does,” the man said.

“Don’t do it, Atkins,” the agent, Turner, said.

To Lancaster the man looked like he could handle himself in a fight, but the odds were four-to-one. Since Lancaster was technically working for Wells Fargo, he felt more than entitled to take a hand.

“Excuse me,” he said.

All faces turned to him. The spokesman, Atkins, was scowling.

“Just a second, fella,” he said. “I got business here.”

“Sounds to me like you’re just making threats, mister,” Lancaster said. “Doesn’t sound like business to me.”

“Mister, you oughtta mind your own business,” Atkins said.

“I am minding my business,” Lancaster said. “I work for Wells Fargo. You got a beef with Mr. Turner here, you got a beef with me.”

“Turner?” Atkins asked. “You know this fella?”

“Not by sight,” Turner said, “but I got a feeling his name is Lancaster. That right, friend?”

“That’s right, Mr. Turner. I assume you got a telegram about me?”

“Yes, sir,” Turner said. “Nice to see you—especially right about now.”

“Wells Fargo hirin’ gunmen now?” one of the other men asked.

“Shut up, Wiley.”

“Lemme take ’im, Mr. Atkins,” Wiley said. He was about thirty and anxious to die, apparently.

Atkins studied Lancaster, as if he was considering letting his boy go, but in the end he just shook his head.

“Son,” he said to Wiley, “this man would chew you up. You and the boys wait outside.”

“But, boss—”

“Just do like I say, boy!”

Wiley gave Lancaster a hard look, which Lancaster returned with a languid look of his own. The other two men actually pushed Wiley out the door.

“This ain’t over, Turner,” Atkins said.

“I didn’t think it was, Mr. Atkins.”

Atkins walked up to Lancaster and fronted him. They were eye-to-eye. As thick as the man was, he was taller than he had first looked.

“You just get to town?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

“Tryin’ to earn your money already?”

“I just came in to report to Mr. Turner,” Lancaster said. “You seemed to be makin’ an ass out of yourself, so I thought I’d save you from yourself.”

“You got a mouth on you.”

“My mother used to tell me that.”

“Your mother should’ve warned you to stay out of other people’s business,” Atkins said. “Next time I see you, maybe I’ll let Wiley have a go at you.”

“You were right,” Lancaster said. “I would chew him up, and you’d be minus a man.”

“Oh, he won’t be alone.”

“He wasn’t alone today, either,” Lancaster said.

“Two cowpokes weren’t gonna back his play,” Atkins said. “Next time will be different.”

“Time for you to leave, Mr. Atkins,” Lancaster said. “Me and Mr. Turner have official business.”

Atkins glared at Lancaster for a few moments, then walked past him and out of the office, slamming the door behind him.