“No,” Mal said, “but I heard of Peach Springs.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s a small town in Arizona, east of Henderson.”
“That’s gotta be it, then,” Lancaster said. “Henderson and Peach Springs.”
“And you’re still takin’ Crow Bait?”
“Unless you tell me he can’t make it.”
“Ain’t gonna tell ya that,” Mal said. “He looks awful, but he seems to be okay.”
“So he’ll make it?”
“He should make it,” Mal said, “if that’s good enough for you.”
“It’s good enough for me.”
Twenty-seven
Three days later Lancaster went to Doc Murphy’s to get checked out, then went to Mal’s livery to check on Crow Bait. Both of them got a clean bill of health, although Crow Bait still looked like hell.
Actually, so did Lancaster.
But it didn’t matter how they looked. What mattered was how they felt.
“He’s kickin’ down the stall,” Mal said. “I’m amazed. Based just on looks, you wouldn’t look at him twice. But I think you’re right about him. It’s all about stamina.”
“Is there any chance—” Lancaster said, then stopped himself.
“What?” Mal asked. “That he’ll suddenly become the horse he looks like?”
Lancaster nodded.
“Well, is there any chance you’ll suddenly become the man you look like?”
“Every day,” Lancaster said.
“There ya go, then,” Mal said. “You’ll both be takin’ a chance on each other.”
When Lancaster got back to his hotel, there was a message for him with the clerk. It was from Andy Black, asking if he’d come over and see him as soon as he got the note.
He did.
Andy looked up as Lancaster entered and stood up.
“Thanks for comin’ over so fast, Lancaster.”
“I didn’t know when you left the note.”
“It was only about an hour ago. Have a seat. Somethin’ to drink? Coffee?”
“Coffee’s good.”
Andy poured two cups of coffee, passed one over to Lancaster, then sat behind his desk.
“What’s goin’ on, Andy?”
“How’d you like to make some money?”
“What kind of money?”
“Good money.”
“I don’t do that kind of work anymore, Andy,” Lancaster said.
“No, not that,” Andy said. “Wells Fargo needs somebody tracked down and brought in.”
“Bounty hunter?”
“If you’re workin’ for us,” Andy said, “it ain’t called that.”
Andy had a point. And Lancaster did need to put some money together.
“How much are we talkin’ about?”
“A lot,” Andy said. “Enough for you to get properly outfitted and buy a new horse.”
“I’ve got a horse.”
“Well, whatever you need, then.”
“Who am I hunting, Andy?”
Andy sat back and took a moment. “It’s Gerald Beck.”
“Gerry Beck?”
Andy nodded.
“Five thousand dollars,” he said. “A thousand in advance, four when you bring him in.”
“Alive?”
“Just bring him in,” Andy said. “He’s been robbin’ us blind for years, and it’s time to stop it…for good.”
Now it was Lancaster’s turn to hesitate.
“What brought this on, Andy?” he asked. “Gerry’s been at this for at least ten years.”
“He robbed a Wells Fargo office earlier this week, killed two men—two clerks. Well, one clerk, and one agent.”
“Like you?”
“Yes,” Andy said, “exactly like me.”
Lancaster had known Gerry Beck for many years, although he hadn’t seen him in about eight. There was a time when they rode together, worked together, but that went back even further. Over the past ten years, Beck had turned from hiring out his gun to robbing Wells Fargo stagecoaches, offices, and banks. Why, Lancaster didn’t know, but he’d been making their lives hell for all that time and even the best Wells Fargo detectives—like Dodge and Hume—had been unable to bring him to justice.
But Lancaster had other things to do.
“You know what my plans are, Andy.”
“Yeah, I do, Lancaster,” he said. “That’s why when I got the telegram from the main office I told them I’d get you.”
“And why did you think I’d be interested?”
“Well, aside from the money,” Andy said, “the office he hit was in Henderson.”
Twenty-eight
When Lancaster rode into Henderson a week later, he had a thousand dollars in his pocket. Crow Bait had been steadfast the entire ride from Laughlin, had not faltered once. So far, so good with the animal.
Despite the fact that he’d been given a thousand dollars in advance by Wells Fargo, he decided to keep all of the borrowed outfit he’d gotten from Mal and use them to track down the bushwhackers. Mal’s gun—though it had been in the trunk for a few years—had been well cared for and had served Mal well all through his life as a money gun. And Lancaster was committed to tracking these men down with the help of Crow Bait. When he was finished with both tasks, and he collected the rest of his fee, that was when he would outfit himself anew.
Actually, he had a thousand dollars minus what he had spent for some new clothes—an extra shirt and an extra pair of jeans.
He was still wearing the same flat-brimmed black Stetson he always wore. At least they had left him that in the desert—which might have been an oversight. If you want a man to die in the desert, then take not only his horse and his water, but his hat.
Lancaster rode directly to the Wells Fargo office, tied Crow Bait off right outside, and walked in. There were two desks, one empty. Behind the other one sat a small man in his fifties, head down, working on some papers.
“Sam Worth?” Lancaster asked.
The man looked up. “I’m Worth. You Lancaster?”
“That’s right.”
“Come on in,” Worth said. “Have a seat.”
Lancaster pulled a chair over from the other desk and sat down.
Worth sat back, folding his arms. “So you’re the man who’s gonna bring in Gerald Beck when our best detectives haven’t been able to do it?”
“That’s me.”
“What makes you think you can succeed where they couldn’t?”
“I’m getting paid a lot of money to succeed,” Lancaster said.
“That’s it?”
“I happen to know Gerry Beck.”
That surprised Worth. “You know him? How?”
“We rode together once.”
“What are you, a reformed gunman?”
“Something like that,” Lancaster said. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“Sure,” Worth said. “Come on, I’ll walk you through it. I was here by the safe, my partner was at his desk, and there was another man…”
After Worth finished laying out the way it happened, Lancaster said, “You got lucky.”
“Whataya mean?”
“I mean all that flying lead and none hit you.” Lancaster looked around. There were chunks taken out of the walls from the shooting. “You must have a guardian angel.”
“What are you tryin’ to say?” Worth asked.
“Nothing,” Lancaster said. “I just know the way Gerry Beck works.”
“And how’s that?”
“He likes to get himself an edge.”
“What kind of edge?” Worth went over and stood behind his desk. The fingers of his left hand were touching the handle of the top drawer.
“He likes to use an inside man when he can,” Lancaster said. “He finds somebody who needs money, or has a family.”
Worth was easing the drawer open.
“Which one were you, Sam?” Lancaster asked. “And if you try to pull that gun out of the drawer, I’ll kill you.”