“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.”
Twenty-two
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.
Twenty-three
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.