“Then I guess he’ll be lookin’ for you,” Cardiff said.
“That’s why I’m headin’ for Flagstaff.”
And that’s why, Cardiff thought, I’m only ridin’ a short way with you.
Twenty
Lancaster woke refreshed and ready for a steak. There was a small dining room in the hotel, but he decided to go out and find out if Laughlin had a good steak house.
As he hit the street, dusk was nudging its way in. He’d slept for almost an hour, and while he still had aches and pains and a slight headache, he felt better than he had in days.
He started walking, keeping an eye out for a likely café or restaurant, when suddenly a man appeared in front of him. Actually, he didn’t just appear, he stepped out from an alley. Lancaster put his hand on his gun and eyed the man warily.
“You Lancaster?”
“Who wants to know?”
The man was in his thirties, thin and trembling, had black stubble on his face that gleamed with sweat. He licked his lips, then wiped them with the back of his hand. He was not wearing a gun.
“I heard you were lookin’ fer a man called Sweet?” the man said.
“Are you Sweet?”
“N-no, naw, not me,” the man said. “B-but I kn-know him.”
“Where is he?”
“Um, wh-what’s it worth to ya?”
“I don’t have any money.”
The man frowned, looked like he was about to cry. “N-nothin’?”
“No.”
“Wh-what about a drink?” the man asked. “One drink?”
“Look, friend,” Lancaster said, “Sweet and his two friends almost killed me, left me stranded in the desert to die. That’s why I’m looking for them. Now, what do you think I’m gonna do when I find him?”
“Um, k-kill ’im?”
“So what do you think I’ll do to you for the information?”
“Jeez, mister, I’m j-just tryin’ ta get a drink,” the drunk said.
“Is this information good?” Lancaster asked. “Because if you’re lyin’ to me—”
“I—I ain’t lyin’, mister,” the man said. “Ask anybody, Bud Stall don’t lie. I’m a drunk, but I ain’t a liar.”
“Okay,” Lancaster said, “okay, Stall, come with me.”
They walked into the saloon and were ignored as they walked to the bar. Lancaster found a space, used his elbows to make it big enough for two. The men on either side misinterpreted and thought that Stall had been elbowing them.
“Goddamnit, Bud!” one of them said. “You elbow me again I’m gonna stomp you into a mud puddle.”
The speaker was shorter than Stall, but much bulkier. He was, however, shorter than Lancaster, who stared down at him.
“That was me, friend,” he said. “You want to try stomping me into a mud puddle?”
The man eyed Lancaster and backed off.
“Hey, friend, no harm,” he said. “I just thought this drunk was pushin’ me.”
“This drunk happens to be a friend of mine and I’m buying him a drink. Got a problem with that?”
“Nossir,” the man said. “No problem. In fact, I—I’ll give ya some more space.”
The man then walked quickly to the batwing doors and out.
“Step up, Bud,” Lancaster said.
“Thank you, Mr. Lancaster.”
Lucky came along and asked, “He with you, Lancaster?”
“He is, Lucky. Give him a drink.”
“Whiskey,” Stall said.
“Beer for you?” Lucky asked.
“No, nothing for me.”
“Whiskey,” Lucky said. He got a shot glass and a bottle and filled it.
Stall reached for the glass, but Lancaster stopped him.
“The information first, Stall,” he said, “then the drink.”
Stall licked his lips and stared at the drink. Again, he looked like he was going to cry.
“S-Sweet came to town with two other men a few days ago,” he said. “Th-they drank at a small saloon on the edge of town, stayed in a run-down hotel there, and then left before you got to town.”
So they had come to town after leaving him in the desert.
“How many days ago did they leave?”
“’Bout five, I guess.”
“Do you know where they went?”
“I—I was drinkin’ in the saloon when they was there,” Stall said. “Heard one of them say something about Henderson.”
“Henderson?”
“Town some north of here,” Stall said.
“Was it Sweet?” Lancaster asked. “Did he say he was going to Henderson?”
“I was pretty drunk,” Stall said, “but I don’t think it was him.”
“What were the names of the other two men?”
“I dunno,” Stall said, “but you could get that from the hotel they stayed in, or from the bartender in that saloon. He s-seemed to know them.”
“What’s the name of the saloon?”
“Ain’t got a name.”
“What about the hotel?”
“D-down the street from the saloon. Called the Autry House Hotel.”
“That it?” Lancaster asked. “That all you got?”
“That’s all I can remember now, but a drink might help,” Stall said.
Lancaster removed his hand from Stall’s arm and said, “Go ahead.”
Stall’s hand was trembling, but he managed to get the glass to his lips without spilling a drop. There was a noticeable lessening to the tremble as he set the glass down and breathed a sigh of relief.
Twenty-one
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.