Crow Bait

Fifty-four

Lancaster made his way across the crowded street and found the sheriff’s office. Seemed like all he was doing of late was going from the Wells Fargo offices to the sheriff’s office every time he hit a new town. He wanted to have this job over with.

“Sheriff Jacobs?”

“The man behind the desk was tall and lean, gray haired with eyes to match, and a heavily lined face. He seemed to wear his career as a lawman on that face.

“Help ya?”

“I just came from the Wells Fargo office,” he said. “My name’s Lancaster.”

“Lancaster.” It was as if he were tasting the name. “Seems familiar.”

“Maybe I can save you some trouble,” Lancaster said. “The Chancellorville Revolt? That was me. The Fort Vincent War? Me.”

“That Lancaster!” the man said.

“Yes.”

“Well,” the lawman said, “what war are you fighting around here?”

“I didn’t know there were any wars around here.”

“Oh, several. Unfortunately for you, wars these days are fought less with guns and more with words. Actually, that’s unfortunate for you and me. See, we’re dinosaurs, Mr. Lancaster, as we head for a new century.”

“Well, Sheriff, I can tell you I ain’t looking forward to a new century.”

“You’re younger than me,” Jacobs said. “You’ll still be young enough to enjoy it. Me? I’m not even sure I’ll be around.”

The two men stood there, several feet apart, alone with their own thoughts for a few seconds.

“Well,” Jacobs said, breaking the silence, “what can I do for you, sir?”

“I’m doin’ some work for Wells Fargo,” Lancaster said. “Tracking Gerry Beck.”

“Have a seat,” Jacobs invited. “Beck’s been hittin’ them hard, I hear.”

“Hard enough to pay me to track him.”

“And you’ve tracked him here?”

“This direction, yeah,” Lancaster said. “And he might be meeting up with a few other men.”

“Like who?”

“Well, I’ve only got one name. A man called Sweet. Ring a bell?”

“Sweet.” Jacobs thought a moment. “Can’t say I recognize it.”

“There’s two more. But I don’t know their names.”

“And all trails have led you here?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, feel free to look around,” Jacobs said. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. We have had some strangers in town lately, but then we always have strangers in town. It’s that kind of place.”

“You have some deputies?”

“Two,” he said. “Young, both of them, but I think one of them is gettin’ ready to run against me next election. Probably beat me, too.”

“You don’t sound very confident.”

“I’ve had my time,” Jacobs said. “Might be time for some new blood.”

“How old are you?”

“Be sixty soon.”

“That ain’t old, Sheriff.”

“Yes, Mr. Lancaster,” Jacobs said. “It is.”

Lancaster stood up.

“If I find my man—or men—can I count on you for support?” he asked.

“If they’ve broken the law, it would be my job to aid you. So yes, you can.”

“I appreciate it.”

Before he could say any more, the door opened and two men walked in. Both were young—one in his late twenties, the other early thirties. Both were wearing deputy’s badges.

“Sheriff,” one of them said.

“Ah, boys,” Jacobs said. “This is Mr. Lancaster. He’s here tracking Gerry Beck for Wells Fargo. These are my deputies, Lyle and Bodeen.”

Both men nodded at him, and Bodeen said, “The Chancellorville Revolt? That Lancaster?”

“That was me,” Lancaster said.

“Damn,” Lyle said.

“I’ve promised Lancaster our support if he runs into his men here.”

“Men?” Bodeen asked.

“I’ll explain it to you both,” Jacobs said. “Lancaster was just leaving.”

“Thanks for your help, Sheriff,” Lancaster said on his way out.

“He’s trouble,” Bodeen said, when Lancaster left.

“Whataya mean?” Lyle asked.

“Wherever he goes there’s a war,” Bodeen said, “and if there ain’t, he finds one.”

“You’re talkin’ about the old days, Bodeen,” Jacobs said.

Bodeen was the deputy Jacobs thought wanted to be sheriff.

“I hope you’re right, Sheriff,” Bodeen said, “but if you don’t mind, I’m gonna keep an eye on him.”

“That’s your job, Bodeen,” the sheriff said.

“Right.”

Bodeen left and Lyle looked at Jacobs.

“He wants your job, you know,” Lyle said.

“I’ll tell you a secret, Lyle.” Jacobs held his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “I’m this close to tellin’ him he can have it.”