Crow Bait (6 page)

Lancaster bought Stall one more drink before sending him on his way.

“You think of anything else, you let me know,” he warned Stall.

“Yessir, I’ll do ’er.”

Stall left the saloon and Lucky waved Lancaster over.

“Why are you buyin’ drinks for the town drunk?” he asked.

“He said he had information about Sweet,” Lancaster said.

“And you believed him?”

“He’s a drunk, but is he a liar?”

“Well, no, not usually,” Lucky answered.

“You think he’d lie for a drink?”

“Well, he’s a drunk.”

“He was telling me about some saloon at the edge of town with no name, and a hotel called the Autry.”

“Both cater to lowlifes and cheats, probably killers. So, yeah, if your guy was in town he was probably there.”

“Well, I guess I’ll go and have a look.”

“Be careful,” Lucky said. “I wouldn’t go there without somebody to watch your back. That’s the north end of town, a pretty dangerous area.”

Lancaster considered asking Lucky if he’d go with him, but decided against it. The man had a business to run, and no reason to take a hand in Lancaster’s game.

“Much obliged, Lucky.”

“Sure.”

“Hey,” Lancaster said, before leaving, “where can I get a good steak?”

“Got just the place for ya…”

Lucky directed Lancaster to a place called Rachel’s Café. “Rachel’s ugly as sin, but man, she can cook,” he said.

Lancaster entered and found the place with about half of its dozen tables taken. A young girl was waiting tables, and was much too pretty—and too young—to be Rachel. As she approached him with a weary smile, he noticed that at one table Mal was sitting alone, working on a steak. As she reached him Mal saw him and waved him over.

“I’m joining him,” he said, pointing. “And I’ll have a steak dinner.”

“Yessir. Comin’ up.”

Lancaster walked to Mal’s table and sat down.

“How’d you find this place?” Mal asked.

“The bartender at the K.O. told me about it,” Lancaster said.

“I gotta tell Lucky to keep his mouth shut,” Mal said. “Don’t want everybody findin’ this place.”

There was a pitcher of beer and a pitcher of water on the table. In front of Lancaster was a glass, sitting upside down. He righted it and filled it with water.

“No beer?” Mal asked.

“I hit my limit today,” Lancaster said.

While he waited for his meal, he told Mal how he had managed to do that, and also told him about his conversation with Bud Stall.

“Well, Stall was right. He may be a drunk, but he’s not usually a liar.”

“I heard that.”

The girl brought him his dinner, which was a steak that practically took up the entire plate, with some vegetables around it.

“So what are you gonna do?” Mal asked.

“I’m going to the north end of town to see what I can find out at that saloon, and that hotel.”

“That’s not an area to go to without somebody to watch your back,” Mal said.

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“I wish I could offer to go with ya,” Mal said, “but for one thing, that’s my gun you’re wearin’…”

“I understand.”

“And for another, I just don’t wear a gun anymore,” Mal finished.

“I said I understand, Mal.”

“But I think I know somebody who’ll go with ya,” Mal said.

“I can go alone,” Lancaster said.

“Normally, I wouldn’t question that, Lancaster, but I was around to catch you when you fell, remember?”

“I remember,” Lancaster said around a hunk of steak and onions.

“So I think you need somebody to watch your back.”

“Who do you have in mind?”

“A friend of mine,” Mal said. “After we finish here I’ll take you over to meet him.”

“Is he a good hand with a gun?” Lancaster asked.

“A gun, a knife, pretty much any weapon,” Mal said. “You’ll see.”

After they finished eating, Mal took Lancaster about as far from the dangerous north end as you could get, the southern end of town.

“This looks deserted,” Lancaster said as he looked at the buildings.

“It mostly is,” Mal said.

“And this is where your friend lives?”

“This is where he prefers to live, yeah,” Mal said. “He doesn’t like a lot of people.”

“But he likes you?”

“Maybe,” Mal said, “he dislikes me a little less than he does most people.”

“I think I can understand feelings like that,” Lancaster said.

“It’s over here.”

Mal led Lancaster to one of the abandoned-looking buildings. They approached the door and before Mal knocked he said, “Stand to the side. He’s been known to fire a shot through the door at the sound of a knock.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Mal knocked, waited, then knocked again.

“Mal, that you?” a voice called.

“How’d you know?”

“Nobody else has the nerve to knock on my door,” the voice said. “You alone?”

“No, I brought a friend.”

“I got no friends.”

“Come on, Ledge,” Mal shouted. “Open up!”

A few moments went by and then Lancaster heard the lock turn and the door opened.

“Come on in,” the voice said.

“Ledge?” Lancaster asked.

“His name’s Ledger,” Mal said. “Ben Ledger, but he goes by Ledge.”

Lancaster shrugged. After all, he and Mal had not exchanged anything but single names.

They entered and Lancaster was surprised. While the building looked like no more than a run-down cabin on the outside, the inside looked and smelled brand-new. He felt as if he was standing in a new house, with solid walls, wooden floors, a new fireplace, and a modern-looking kitchen with a water pump to bring water inside.

“Impressive,” he said.

“Thanks,” Ledge said. “Did all the work myself.”

Lancaster turned to face him. Again, he was surprised. Ledge was tall, powerfully built, with a head of shoulder-length snow-white hair. His face was heavily lined, as was his neck. His eyes, though, were clear and sky blue. His face looked sixty, but his body, his stance, his eyes, all bespoke a man much younger.

“Ledge, this is Lancaster,” Mal said.

“Lancaster?” the tall man asked. “I know that name.”

Lancaster didn’t say anything.

“You got a taste?” Mal asked.

“Don’t I always?” Ledge asked.

He grabbed a jug from a table, pulled out the cork, and passed it over. Mal accepted it and took a swig. He turned to Lancaster, who shook his head.

“Just a taste,” Mal said. “To be polite.”

Lancaster took the jug, took a small taste, just enough to wet his lips. The stuff had a kick like a mule, and he was just able to keep himself from choking. He handed the jug back to Ledge.

“Money gun, right?” Ledge asked.

“I was,” Lancaster said. “That was a while ago.”

“Quit?”

Lancaster nodded.

“Gives him somethin’ in common with you, don’t it, Mal?” Ledge asked.

“Yep.”

Ledge looked at Lancaster’s hip. “And that’s your gun, ain’t it?”

“Yep,” Mal said again.

Ledge took a hefty swig from the jug and then put the cork back. “I guess somebody should tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“It’s like this…” Mal said, and went on to tell Ledge what had happened to Lancaster, and what he was trying to accomplish.

When he was finished, Ledge pulled the cork and took another heavy drink.

“Goddamn, but I hate bushwhackers,” he said with feeling.

“Sounds like you have some experience,” Lancaster said.

Ledge looked at Mal.

“Show him,” Mal said.

Ledge turned around and lifted his shirt up to
his shoulder blades. Three healed bullet holes, one above the other, alongside his spine.

“Each one missed my spine, or I’d be crippled, or dead.” He dropped his shirt.

“He should be dead,” Mal said. “Don’t know how he pulled through.”

“Stubborn,” Ledge said, turning back around. “I hate back-shooters and ambushers.”

“And the men who shot you?”

“I tracked ’em and killed ’em,” Ledge said. “Two of ’em. And now I’m gonna help you do the same. Just let me get outfitted.”

There was another room, and Ledge quickly disappeared into it.

“I only need him to back me tonight,” Lancaster said to Mal.

“He’ll probably want to go all the way with you,” Mal said. “He hates bushwhackers that much. But that’ll be between you and him. Accept his help tonight, and deal with the rest when the time comes.”

“Sounds like good advice.”

Ledge reappeared, wearing a gun belt that held a pistol and a bowie knife. Across his chest was a bandolier that held extra cartridges and what looked like three throwing knives.

“You ready?” he asked.

Mal went back to his livery stables while Lancaster and Ledge walked clear across town, stopping first at the little saloon with no name.

“I been here before,” Ledge said. “Usually a bunch of cutthroats.”

“It’s my play, so I’ll do the talking,” Lancaster said.

“Hey,” Ledge said, “I’m just here to back you—but I gotta warn you…”

“About what?”

“When they see me they’re gonna be curious.”

“Good,” Lancaster said. “Let ’em.”

Lancaster walked through the batwing doors with Ledge close behind him. They walked directly to the bar, which was made of pitted, old wood. They were probably used to the bar getting destroyed in here, and easily replaced.

The place was small and doing a good business. Most of the tables were taken and there was only a space or two left at the bar. Lancaster used his elbows again, as he had at the K.O., and when the other patrons saw Ledge with him, they willingly moved.

As Ledge had predicted, he and Lancaster were
the center of attention. It was just not often that Ledge was seen in this part of town, let alone this saloon.

“Ledge,” the bartender said. “Surprised to see you here. What can I getcha?” He was fat, with mean little eyes buried in fat pouches. He had only a few hairs on his head, yet he appeared to only be in his thirties.

“That’s up to my friend here,” Ledge said.

The bartender looked at Lancaster curiously. He wasn’t used to having Ledge refer to someone as his friend.

“You remember a man named Sweet?” Lancaster asked. “Was in here last week with two other men.”

The bartender stared at Lancaster, then looked at Ledge. “What’s goin’ on, Ledge?”

“If I was you, I’d answer the man’s question.”

“We don’t like nobody comin’ in here askin’ no questions,” the bartender said. “You oughtta know that, Ledge. And why you come in here wearin’ a gun?”

“Because I’m thinkin’ I might have to shoot somebody,” Ledge replied.

“Sweet,” Lancaster said again. “With two other men, all stayin’ at the Autry House.”

The bartender’s eyes danced around in his head. He was either looking for help or just nervous that everyone in the room was now watching him to see what he’d say.

“Sweet, you say?”

“That’s right.”

“Wh-what’s he look like?”

“Trail clothes, probably thirties. The three of them were probably alike.”

“We gets lots of men—”

“Came in off the desert,” Lancaster said. “Stayed a couple of days, maybe.”

“I dunno—”

“Maybe you even sent them over to the Autry,” Ledge said. “You been known to do that, right, Eddie?”

Eddie the bartender gave Ledge an exasperated look, as if to say,
Thanks a lot!
“Well, sometimes—”

“Think hard, Eddie,” Ledge said. “Think real hard before you answer.”

Eddie was being watched by everyone in the bar, but he was wilting beneath the twin stares of both Lancaster and Ledge.

“Sweet,” he said, licking his lips. “Yeah, I think I remember somebody by that name. I mighta sent them to the Autry—him and his friends, I mean.”

“Did you ever hear them talking about where they might go after they left here?”

“I don’t think—”

“I already heard from somebody who said he did hear them talking in here,” Lancaster said, “so I’m just checking to see if you have the same information—or if you’re going to lie.”

Again, the bartender licked his lips. “Well…somebody mighta said somethin’ about going to Henderson.”

“Would it have been Sweet?”

“Now, that I really can’t tell ya,” Eddie said. “I don’t rightly remember which one said it. And that’s the truth.”

Lancaster turned and looked at the room. Half of the eyes slid away, but the others stared boldly back at him, as if daring him to challenge them.

Lancaster was in the mood for a challenge.

“Anybody here remember a man named Sweet?” he asked. “With a couple of partners?”

“Why’n’t ya go back where ya came from?” somebody asked. “Ya don’t belong here, askin’ questions.”

Lancaster pushed away from the bar and stood straight up. Ledge followed his lead.

“Who said that?”

Nobody answered.

“Come on,” Lancaster said, “you were brave enough to say something, be brave enough to take the credit.”

No answer. More eyes slid away; just a few were brave enough to at least keep staring.

“Bunch of cowards,” Lancaster said. “Now I see why you stay at this end of town and drink with the other yellow bellies.”

He turned back to the bartender.

“I find out you lied to me, I’ll be back to take this place apart,” he said, “and I’m in just the mood to do it.”

“Hey, I answered yer questions,” Eddie said. “Why take it out on me?”

“Because I don’t like the quality of your customers,” Lancaster said.

Eddie cast an accusing glance at his customers. For a moment Lancaster thought the bartender would point out the speaker, but it didn’t happen.

Lancaster looked at Ledge. “You got any idea who spoke?”

“I got a couple,” Ledge said. “I just might have a couple.”

Ledge left the bar and walked over to a table of three men. Two of them looked away, but one of them held Ledge’s stare.

“What about you, Jimmy? You the big mouth?” Ledge asked.

Still staring back, the man named Jimmy said, “If it was me, Ledge, I’d say so.”

Ledge looked over at Lancaster. “Yeah, he’s right. He would.”

Ledge moved on to another table, this one with two men. He put his hand on the shoulder of a man who jumped at the touch.

“This is Nappy, though. He’d speak up from out of a crowd, where it was safe, and then hide. Wouldn’t you, Nappy?”

“Whataya pickin’ on me fer, Ledge?” Nappy asked. “I din’t do nothin’ to you.”

“I think you got a big mouth, Nappy,” Ledge said. “What do you know about Sweet and his friends?”

“Nothin’.”

Lancaster saw Ledge’s hand close on Nappy’s shoulder. There was a lot of strength in that hand, and it was being brought to bear on the smaller man, who winced and wilted under the pressure.

“Okay, okay,” he whined. “I had a drink with Sweet and his friends.”

“What were his friends’ names?” Lancaster asked.

“I dunno,” Nappy said. “I only talked ta Sweet. The other two just listened.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“This and that.”

Ledge’s hand closed again.

“Ow!” Nappy looked around for help, but there was none available. “Okay. We talked about the desert, and how not many men come walkin’ in off it.”

“Why was Sweet talking about that?” Ledge asked.

“He just seemed interested in hearin’ if anybody had ever made it on foot,” Nappy said. “Like he was nervous about it or somethin’.”

Why would Sweet be nervous about leaving Lancaster in the desert—unless he was afraid that Lancaster would successfully walk out?

Maybe he remembered—as Lancaster had—that one of the other men had said his name.

Ledge looked over at Lancaster, who nodded. The big man took his hand off Nappy’s shoulder and walked back to stand by Lancaster at the bar.

“Anybody else got anything to say?” Lancaster demanded.

There was no response. He looked at Eddie the bartender again. “Remember what I said.”

“I ain’t lyin’ about nothin’,” Eddie said, spreading his hands helplessly.

“Let’s go,” Lancaster said to Ledge.

“You first,” Ledge said.

Lancaster left, Ledge covering his back, and then the big man backed out, as well.

Outside the saloon Ledge asked, “Did you get what you wanted?”

“I think so,” Lancaster said, “but maybe we can get more at the Autry.”

“Let’s go, then,” Ledge said, “before Eddie sends somebody over there to warn them we’re comin’.”