Crow Bait

Fifty-nine

Sweetwater, Texas

Fielding and Williams had told Lancaster that Sweet left them a message to meet him in Sweetwater. They also told him that Sweet had a bank job planned, but they weren’t sure where it was. Could be Abilene, or maybe even Fort Worth.

Lancaster wondered about Sweet wanting to meet in Sweetwater. Did the man have that much of a sense of humor, or was the irony lost on him?

He rode into town, armed with a more accurate description of the man given him by Fielding. He hoped that when he saw Sweet he’d recognize him. The man’s face was still a mystery in his memory of the events in the Mojave Desert. His brain was still trying to put it all together, which led to bad dreams that ended in him coming awake in a cold sweat. The doctor had said his memory might come back on its own, might not come back, or might return as the result of a shock.

He hoped that seeing Sweet’s face would be that shock.

The man known as Sweet didn’t use his first name. He hated it. He had once told a woman his name, and she had begun calling him that and he finally had to kill her to shut her up. Well, he also had to kill her so he wouldn’t have to share the proceeds from a big robbery with her, but that was another story. The way she used his first name was reason enough to have killed her.

Sweet was sitting in a saloon in Sweetwater, wondering when those two idiots, Fielding and Williams, would show up. If they didn’t get there in the next few days, he was going to have to try to find men someplace else. The payroll that was going to be in the Abilene bank would not be there forever. He couldn’t afford to wait more than a few more days.

The furthest thing from his mind at that moment was what had happened to Lancaster in the Mojave Desert. That was just an old job at the back of his mind and it never occurred to him to wonder about Lancaster, or about his two partners in that job. He was only looking ahead to future jobs.

Lancaster decided to keep a low profile. He was not going to ask questions in any of the saloons, and he wasn’t going to consult with the local law. He didn’t want to ask anybody about a man named Sweet. He was just going to look for him himself.

But Sweetwater was not a small town, and he knew a horse like Crow Bait would attract attention on the street, so he had to get him into the livery.

“That horse got you here?” the man in the livery asked.

“He’s done a lot more than that,” Lancaster said, dismounting. “And don’t talk about him to anybody. I hear you been bad-mouthing this horse and I’ll be back to see you.”

“Hey,” the man said, eyes wide, “I won’t say a word, mister.”

“See that you don’t,” Lancaster said. “And take good care of him.”

“I will, I swear.”

Lancaster pointed his finger at the man one more time before taking his saddlebags and rifle and walking out.

He deliberately got himself a room in the smallest hotel in town. He left his rifle and saddlebags there, and then hit the street to start his search for Sweet.

Along the way he came across a small café and went inside for a bite to eat. The waiter was a quiet, middle-aged man who didn’t talk beyond asking him what he wanted, which suited Lancaster fine.

Lancaster did something he usually never did—sat at the window. He wanted to watch the street while he ate. Maybe Sweet would simply cross in front of him, making it easy to find him.

And maybe not.

He finished eating, then went back out to walk the town and check the saloons.

The Texas and Pacific Railroad had come through Sweetwater in 1883, and the town had grown since then to the point where it had five saloons and many other businesses. As far as he was able to tell, though, having walked through the town one time, there was no whorehouse. There might have been whores in the saloons, but he didn’t see a houseful of them.

He checked three of the saloons, preferring to peer in over the batwing doors rather than go in and have a beer at each of them. If he did that he’d be in no shape when he finally found Sweet.

When he got to the fourth saloon, a place called Del’s Saloon, he looked in the window, saw a man sitting alone at a table, and stared.

Was that him?

He moved to the batwing doors to get a better look. With the description from Fielding, this certainly looked like Sweet, but what if Fielding had been lying?

Lancaster decided to take a chance and walk into the saloon. Maybe Sweet would see him and recognize him. He knew if he had kicked a man half to death and left him to die in the desert, he would remember him.

The saloon was less than half-full, and Lancaster was able to belly up to the bar without having to attract attention.

“Beer,” he said to the bartender.

“Comin’ up.”

The man put a full mug in front of him, but Lancaster wasn’t paying attention. He had his head turned and was looking at the man at the table. Suddenly, as if he knew he was being watched, the man raised his head and their eyes met.

Lancaster felt the shock he’d been waiting for as he saw the man’s face.