“Do it,” Lancaster said. “Go ahead. With your hands? Your gun? Or do you plan to kick me to death?”
Sweet stared at Lancaster.
“That’s what I thought,” Lancaster said. “You don’t have two more men to back your play this time.”
“Look, I told you already,” Sweet said. “It weren’t nothin’ personal. We was hired to do what we did.”
“And you’re gonna tell me by who and why.”
“Well,” Sweet said, “you got somebody mad at you, that’s for sure. Had somethin’ to do with somebody you killed.”
“So, what? Somebody’s wife? Somebody’s father? Brother?” Lancaster asked.
“I don’t know,” Sweet said. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t care. It was a lot of money.”
“And how specific was this person when they hired you?” Lancaster asked.
“Whataya mean?”
“Why the Mojave?”
“That’s what…they wanted,” Sweet said. “For us to strand you in the of the Mojave. They said take your horse, your gun, your water, and leave you.”
“And you didn’t ask why?”
Sweet shrugged. “Like I said, it was a lot of money.”
“But you didn’t leave me right in the middle of the desert,” Lancaster said. “If you had I might be dead now.”
“Well, I didn’t see any reason to wait,” Sweet said.
“You got impatient,” Lancaster said. “You hadn’t been paid yet, right?”
“Not all of it.”
“So after you left me you had to go and meet your employer to get paid. That means he or she was in Nevada, right?”
“So?”
“But do they live in Nevada?”
Sweet didn’t answer.
“Sweet,” Lancaster said, “the harder you make this on me, the harder it’s gonna be on you.”
“Naw,” Sweet said, “naw, you ain’t gonna kill me. Not while you don’t know who hired me.”
“And if you’re so bound and determined not to tell me,” Lancaster asked, “what’s the point of me keepin’ you alive?”
Sweet stared at Lancaster, then picked up his drink—whiskey, by the look of it—and swigged it.
“I ain’t just gonna lie down for you, Lancaster,” he said.
“I never thought you would,” Lancaster said. “But why cover for your employer? You’ll be dead and they’ll go on living.”
“And when they find out you’re still alive, they’ll hire somebody else,” Sweet said. “You’ll be lookin’ over your shoulder for the rest of your life. You don’t want me, Lancaster. You want who hired me.”
Lancaster gave that some thought. Sweet began to look hopeful. He didn’t think he had much chance going up against Lancaster in a fair gunfight. There had to be another way out. He looked at the batwing doors, hoping to see Fielding and Williams come through.
“Don’t be lookin’ for them,” Lancaster said.
“For who?”
“Fielding and Williams,” he said. “They’re in a cell in Amarillo.”
“Goddamnit!” Sweet said.
“Okay,” Lancaster said. “Okay, Sweet.”
“Okay, what?”
“You’re right,” Lancaster said. “I want the person who hired you.”
“And?”
“Tell me who hired you,” Lancaster said, “and I’ll let you walk out that door.”
Sweet looked hopeful, then suspicious.
“Oh no,” he said, “you gotta be more plain than that. You let me walk out, then you come out and shoot me. Huh-uh. I want you to say it. If I tell you the name, you’ll let me go.”
“If you give me the name of the person who hired you, I’ll let you go.”
“And you won’t come huntin’ for me again.”
“And I won’t come huntin’ for you again.”
“And you won’t ever kill me.”
Lancaster hesitated; then he said, “And I won’t ever kill you.”
Sweet still looked suspicious.
“This is too easy,” he said.
“Hey,” Lancaster said, “what can I say? You convinced me.”
Lancaster left the saloon with the name of the person who had hired Sweet to strand him in the desert. He also had the location.
He hated letting Sweet go, but he actually believed that the man would take his employer’s name to the grave just to be ornery.
He still had to find Gerry Beck. But even Gerry was going to have to wait until Lancaster settled with the person who paid to have him left in the desert.
The problem was, he thought that once he heard the name he’d know who it was. But even armed with the name, he had no idea who the hell this person was.
Sixty-two
Just outside Reno, Nevada
Lancaster had checked the ranch out in the daylight. It had a lot of hands, but at this time of night they were all in the bunkhouse. He had left Crow Bait in a stand of trees a few hundred yards away and come the rest of the way on foot.
He would like to have observed the place longer, but he didn’t have the time. He didn’t want to hang around Reno too long. Word might get back to the ranch. No, he had to go in tonight.
He worked his way to the back of the house without being seen and found a door that led to the kitchen. In daylight he’d been able to see that the house was a two-story Colonial with white columns in front, based on the mansions of the Deep South. A man with a house like this had to have servants—a cook, a maid, probably a manservant of some kind. He also might have had a wife and some children. But at the moment the kitchen looked dark and deserted.
He tried the door and found it locked, but with a little pressure from his shoulder it gave and he was in.
Once inside, he drew his gun and moved to the doorway. It led to a dining room, also dark and empty. He had chosen to hit the house at two A.M., feeling that any family would be asleep.
He moved across the dining room to the entry hall, and noticed that there was a light burning on the first floor of the house, at the end of a hall.
He looked upstairs, at the darkness there. Upstairs, family members might have been asleep in their beds, including the man he was looking for. But he decided to check the light out first.
As quietly as he could he moved across the hardwood floor to the hallway, toward the room with the light. It was probably the rancher’s office. If that was the case, then his search was over.
He stepped into the doorway, pointing his gun into the room. The figure behind the desk looked up at him in surprise.
“Who are you?” the girl asked.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“But I live here,” she said. “You don’t.”
“Good point.”
He looked back up the hallway, then stepped into the room, holding his gun down at his side.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Angie,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Lancaster. How old are you, Angie?”
“I’m fourteen, so don’t go thinkin’ I’m just a kid.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” Lancaster said.
“Are you here to steal?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then what are you doin’ in my house?”
“I’m looking for a man named Roger Simon. Do you know him?”
“Of course,” she said. “He’s my father. He’s upstairs asleep.”
“With your mother?”
“No,” she said. “My mother’s dead.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. How did it happen?”
“A man killed her,” she said.
“When did that happen?”
“Last year. Are you here to hurt my dad?”
“No, Angie,” he said. “I’m here to talk to him. Why don’t you go up and tell him I’m here?”
“He’ll be mad that I was in his office.”