“I always do,” Lancaster said. “Take care of that horse.”
“That’s my business, mister,” the man answered. “I’ll take care of ’im like he’s my own.”
“See that you do.”
Lancaster came out of his hotel into the chaos that was Main Street’s traffic. Buckboards, freight wagons, riders and their horses pretty much choked the street. The foot traffic on the boardwalks was also heavy, and several times he had to step aside for ladies who were rushing somewhere. Men probably smelled that he was on the hunt, for they stepped aside for him.
Walking the streets, checking hotels, boardinghouses, and saloons would take forever. He wasn’t sure that talking to the local Wells Fargo agent, or the local law, would be any kind of shortcut, but he had to try something. So far, in his search, he had not run across a lawman who impressed him. A good sheriff or marshal knew when strangers came to his town, and he checked them out. If that was the case in Amarillo, it would solve his problems, but he finally decided to go to the Wells Fargo office first. Maybe the agent there would be able to fill him in on what kind of law the town had.
He had passed the office on the way into town, so he knew where it was and headed over there.
Fifty-two
At the Wells Fargo office he was surprised to find five men there. They were in a heated discussion with the agent, who Lancaster assumed was the man behind the desk. When he entered, all the men paused to look at him. Several of them continued to study him while one of them turned back to the agent and continued to berate him.
“If you think this is acceptable, then you’re sadly mistaken, Turner,” the man said. He was older than the others, about fifty, with steel gray hair and a tree trunk body. “My boys here are ready to take you apart if I give the word.”
“Now, look, Mr. Atkins,” the agent said, “there’s no need for that. You set these boys of yours on me and somebody’s bound to get hurt. That doesn’t get you what you want, does it?”
“If what I want is to see you get hurt, it does,” the man said.
“Don’t do it, Atkins,” the agent, Turner, said.
To Lancaster the man looked like he could handle himself in a fight, but the odds were four-to-one. Since Lancaster was technically working for Wells Fargo, he felt more than entitled to take a hand.
“Excuse me,” he said.
All faces turned to him. The spokesman, Atkins, was scowling.
“Just a second, fella,” he said. “I got business here.”
“Sounds to me like you’re just making threats, mister,” Lancaster said. “Doesn’t sound like business to me.”
“Mister, you oughtta mind your own business,” Atkins said.
“I am minding my business,” Lancaster said. “I work for Wells Fargo. You got a beef with Mr. Turner here, you got a beef with me.”
“Turner?” Atkins asked. “You know this fella?”
“Not by sight,” Turner said, “but I got a feeling his name is Lancaster. That right, friend?”
“That’s right, Mr. Turner. I assume you got a telegram about me?”
“Yes, sir,” Turner said. “Nice to see you—especially right about now.”
“Wells Fargo hirin’ gunmen now?” one of the other men asked.
“Shut up, Wiley.”
“Lemme take ’im, Mr. Atkins,” Wiley said. He was about thirty and anxious to die, apparently.
Atkins studied Lancaster, as if he was considering letting his boy go, but in the end he just shook his head.
“Son,” he said to Wiley, “this man would chew you up. You and the boys wait outside.”
“But, boss—”
“Just do like I say, boy!”
Wiley gave Lancaster a hard look, which Lancaster returned with a languid look of his own. The other two men actually pushed Wiley out the door.
“This ain’t over, Turner,” Atkins said.
“I didn’t think it was, Mr. Atkins.”
Atkins walked up to Lancaster and fronted him. They were eye-to-eye. As thick as the man was, he was taller than he had first looked.
“You just get to town?” he asked.
“That’s right.”
“Tryin’ to earn your money already?”
“I just came in to report to Mr. Turner,” Lancaster said. “You seemed to be makin’ an ass out of yourself, so I thought I’d save you from yourself.”
“You got a mouth on you.”
“My mother used to tell me that.”
“Your mother should’ve warned you to stay out of other people’s business,” Atkins said. “Next time I see you, maybe I’ll let Wiley have a go at you.”
“You were right,” Lancaster said. “I would chew him up, and you’d be minus a man.”
“Oh, he won’t be alone.”
“He wasn’t alone today, either,” Lancaster said.
“Two cowpokes weren’t gonna back his play,” Atkins said. “Next time will be different.”
“Time for you to leave, Mr. Atkins,” Lancaster said. “Me and Mr. Turner have official business.”
Atkins glared at Lancaster for a few moments, then walked past him and out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
Fifty-three
Turner let out a breath as Lancaster approached his desk.
“Most days like that?” Lancaster asked.
“Pretty much,” Turner said, “but Atkins is one of the bigger mouths around here. Unfortunately, he’s also one of the richest men.”
“Yeah, well, in my experience those two pretty much go hand in hand.” He stuck out his hand. “Lancaster.”
“Bud Turner,” the man said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for the help.”
“I thought you could’ve handled that character Wiley, but four-to-one odds is too much for any man to have to handle.”
“He would’ve set them on me, too,” Turner said. “They wouldn’t have killed me, but I would have taken a beatin’. Thanks again.”
“Sure thing.”
“Any word on Gerry Beck?” Turner asked, sitting down.
“Well, I did hear that he was headed this way, but he could’ve been here and gone by now. I’m also tracking a man named Sweet.”
“I heard. Somethin’ personal, right?”
Lancaster touched the scar over his eye and said, “That’s right.”
“Won’t let that get in the way of your Wells Fargo business, will you?”
“I’ll do what I’m being paid to do.”
“Speakin’ of which, you think Beck is around here? Or was?”
“Possibly,” Lancaster said. “But I just trailed two men here who may be meeting with Sweet.”
“Any chance Sweet is meetin’ up with Beck—or is that too much of a coincidence?”
“That’s way too big a coincidence for me to even consider,” Lancaster said. “Bad enough I have to deal with the coincidence of both of them even coming here.”
“So what’s your plan?”
“Well, I was going to talk to the local sheriff, but I wanted you to fill me in on him.”
“His name’s Jimmy Jacobs,” Turner said. “Career lawman on the way out. Be sixty next year. I think he’s gonna retire then.”
“Honest?”
“As the day is long.”
“So I can trust what he says?”
“Pretty much, although he may remember you from the old days, given his age.”
“I’ll chance it,” Lancaster said. “If I need it will you vouch for me?”
“Wells Fargo will.”
“Good enough.”
Lancaster stood up.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“When you walked in,” Turner said, “you sized up the situation pretty good.”
“Well,” Lancaster said, “I saw you facing four men, and didn’t think you were threatening them. It wasn’t that hard to pick a side.”
“Well, thanks for pickin’ mine.”