“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.
As Ledge had predicted, he and Lancaster were the center of attention. It was just not often that Ledge was seen in this part of town, let alone this saloon.
“Ledge,” the bartender said. “Surprised to see you here. What can I getcha?” He was fat, with mean little eyes buried in fat pouches. He had only a few hairs on his head, yet he appeared to only be in his thirties.
“That’s up to my friend here,” Ledge said.
The bartender looked at Lancaster curiously. He wasn’t used to having Ledge refer to someone as his friend.
“You remember a man named Sweet?” Lancaster asked. “Was in here last week with two other men.”
The bartender stared at Lancaster, then looked at Ledge. “What’s goin’ on, Ledge?”
“If I was you, I’d answer the man’s question.”
“We don’t like nobody comin’ in here askin’ no questions,” the bartender said. “You oughtta know that, Ledge. And why you come in here wearin’ a gun?”
“Because I’m thinkin’ I might have to shoot somebody,” Ledge replied.
“Sweet,” Lancaster said again. “With two other men, all stayin’ at the Autry House.”
The bartender’s eyes danced around in his head. He was either looking for help or just nervous that everyone in the room was now watching him to see what he’d say.
“Sweet, you say?”
“That’s right.”
“Wh-what’s he look like?”
“Trail clothes, probably thirties. The three of them were probably alike.”
“We gets lots of men—”
“Came in off the desert,” Lancaster said. “Stayed a couple of days, maybe.”
“I dunno—”
“Maybe you even sent them over to the Autry,” Ledge said. “You been known to do that, right, Eddie?”
Eddie the bartender gave Ledge an exasperated look, as if to say, Thanks a lot! “Well, sometimes—”
“Think hard, Eddie,” Ledge said. “Think real hard before you answer.”
Eddie was being watched by everyone in the bar, but he was wilting beneath the twin stares of both Lancaster and Ledge.
“Sweet,” he said, licking his lips. “Yeah, I think I remember somebody by that name. I mighta sent them to the Autry—him and his friends, I mean.”
“Did you ever hear them talking about where they might go after they left here?”
“I don’t think—”
“I already heard from somebody who said he did hear them talking in here,” Lancaster said, “so I’m just checking to see if you have the same information—or if you’re going to lie.”
Again, the bartender licked his lips. “Well…somebody mighta said somethin’ about going to Henderson.”
“Would it have been Sweet?”
“Now, that I really can’t tell ya,” Eddie said. “I don’t rightly remember which one said it. And that’s the truth.”
Lancaster turned and looked at the room. Half of the eyes slid away, but the others stared boldly back at him, as if daring him to challenge them.
Lancaster was in the mood for a challenge.
“Anybody here remember a man named Sweet?” he asked. “With a couple of partners?”
“Why’n’t ya go back where ya came from?” somebody asked. “Ya don’t belong here, askin’ questions.”
Lancaster pushed away from the bar and stood straight up. Ledge followed his lead.
“Who said that?”
Nobody answered.
“Come on,” Lancaster said, “you were brave enough to say something, be brave enough to take the credit.”
No answer. More eyes slid away; just a few were brave enough to at least keep staring.
“Bunch of cowards,” Lancaster said. “Now I see why you stay at this end of town and drink with the other yellow bellies.”
He turned back to the bartender.
“I find out you lied to me, I’ll be back to take this place apart,” he said, “and I’m in just the mood to do it.”
“Hey, I answered yer questions,” Eddie said. “Why take it out on me?”
“Because I don’t like the quality of your customers,” Lancaster said.
Eddie cast an accusing glance at his customers. For a moment Lancaster thought the bartender would point out the speaker, but it didn’t happen.
Lancaster looked at Ledge. “You got any idea who spoke?”
“I got a couple,” Ledge said. “I just might have a couple.”
Twenty-four
Ledge left the bar and walked over to a table of three men. Two of them looked away, but one of them held Ledge’s stare.
“What about you, Jimmy? You the big mouth?” Ledge asked.
Still staring back, the man named Jimmy said, “If it was me, Ledge, I’d say so.”
Ledge looked over at Lancaster. “Yeah, he’s right. He would.”
Ledge moved on to another table, this one with two men. He put his hand on the shoulder of a man who jumped at the touch.
“This is Nappy, though. He’d speak up from out of a crowd, where it was safe, and then hide. Wouldn’t you, Nappy?”
“Whataya pickin’ on me fer, Ledge?” Nappy asked. “I din’t do nothin’ to you.”
“I think you got a big mouth, Nappy,” Ledge said. “What do you know about Sweet and his friends?”
“Nothin’.”
Lancaster saw Ledge’s hand close on Nappy’s shoulder. There was a lot of strength in that hand, and it was being brought to bear on the smaller man, who winced and wilted under the pressure.
“Okay, okay,” he whined. “I had a drink with Sweet and his friends.”
“What were his friends’ names?” Lancaster asked.
“I dunno,” Nappy said. “I only talked ta Sweet. The other two just listened.”
“What’d you talk about?”
“This and that.”
Ledge’s hand closed again.
“Ow!” Nappy looked around for help, but there was none available. “Okay. We talked about the desert, and how not many men come walkin’ in off it.”
“Why was Sweet talking about that?” Ledge asked.
“He just seemed interested in hearin’ if anybody had ever made it on foot,” Nappy said. “Like he was nervous about it or somethin’.”
Why would Sweet be nervous about leaving Lancaster in the desert—unless he was afraid that Lancaster would successfully walk out?
Maybe he remembered—as Lancaster had—that one of the other men had said his name.
Ledge looked over at Lancaster, who nodded. The big man took his hand off Nappy’s shoulder and walked back to stand by Lancaster at the bar.
“Anybody else got anything to say?” Lancaster demanded.
There was no response. He looked at Eddie the bartender again. “Remember what I said.”
“I ain’t lyin’ about nothin’,” Eddie said, spreading his hands helplessly.
“Let’s go,” Lancaster said to Ledge.
“You first,” Ledge said.
Lancaster left, Ledge covering his back, and then the big man backed out, as well.
Outside the saloon Ledge asked, “Did you get what you wanted?”
“I think so,” Lancaster said, “but maybe we can get more at the Autry.”
“Let’s go, then,” Ledge said, “before Eddie sends somebody over there to warn them we’re comin’.”
Twenty-five
The Autry was a run-down two-story hotel that looked one good storm away from being a pile of rubble.
“You know the owner here?” Lancaster asked.
“No,” Ledge said. “I knew the previous owner, but he was killed.”
“By the present owner?”
“No, by a former guest.”
“What about clerks?” Lancaster asked. “Know any of the clerks?”
“That depends,” Ledge said with a shrug. “Why don’t we just go in and see who’s working? I might know ’em, but I might not.”
They approached the hotel and entered the lobby. There were the remnants of a couple of chairs on the floor, as if there had just been a fight. Behind the desk a bored clerk watched them as they came up to the desk.
“You ain’t lookin’ fer a room,” he said.
“How do you know?” Lancaster asked
“I can tell. You got somethin’ on yer mind.”
“I got some questions,” Lancaster agreed. “Are you gonna have some answers?”
“I guess that depends on how bad you want answers,” the clerk said. He was young and cocky for a young fellow who worked in a dump.
“How bad do I need to?” Lancaster asked.
“Well, you can threaten me, maybe beat me up,” the clerk said, “but that’ll take longer.”
“Longer than what?”
“Payin’ me.”
The young man seemed pretty sure of himself. Lancaster noticed he had one hand in view and the other below the desk. What were the chances he had a gun underneath the desk?
“Well,” Lancaster said, “I could pay you, but the fact of the matter is I don’t have any money, so we’re gonna have to go another way.”
“Hey, I gotta gu—”
Working as one, Lancaster and Ledge picked up the front desk and rammed it and the clerk against the wall behind them. The clerk cried out, both hands going out to try to protect himself.
Lancaster and Ledge pulled the flimsy desk away and tossed it aside, where it fell to pieces. On the floor at their feet was an old Navy Colt that the clerk had been holding.
“Okay,” Lancaster said, grabbing the clerk by the front of the shirt and pulling him up, “we went another way.”
“Take it easy,” the clerk said. “I’m just tryin’ to make a few extra dollars.”
“How about no money, and no beatin’ up?” Ledge asked. “We’ll just ask some questions and you answer ’em.”
“Okay, then,” the clerk said. “That’ll work.”
“I want to see your register for the past couple of weeks,” Lancaster said.
“Why didn’t you just say so? It’s on the floor, there. Um, with my broken desk.”
Ledge looked down at his feet, saw the book, and picked it up. He passed it to Lancaster, who let go of the clerk and opened the book.
“Here we go,” Lancaster said. “It was actually about a week ahead of me. Sweet, Adderly, and Cardiff.”
“You remember them?” Ledge asked.
“Who wouldn’t remember a man named Sweet?” the clerk asked. “He was touchy about it.”
“You ever hear them talk about where they were goin’ when they left here?” Lancaster asked.
“You sure there ain’t a few dollars in this for me?” the clerk asked.
“I can wrap the rest of this desk around your neck,” Ledge said.
“Hey, okay,” the clerk said. “I heard somethin’ about Henderson, and I think one of them said some
thin’ about Peach City, or somethin’ like that.”
“Peach City?” Lancaster asked.
Ledge just shrugged.
“Never heard of it,” he said.
“That it?” Lancaster asked the clerk.
“Hey, mister,” he said, “that’s all I heard.”
Lancaster looked at Ledge again and the man said, “I think that’s all we’re gonna get.”
Lancaster pushed the register into the clerk’s chest. The man grabbed it with both arms.
As Lancaster and Ledge headed for the door, the clerk called out, “What am I gonna tell my boss happened to the desk?”
Lancaster turned, waved at the floor, and said, “Blame it on whoever broke these chairs.”
As they went out the door, they heard the clerk mutter, “That’s actually not a bad idea.”
Twenty-six
Lancaster invited Ledge to the K.O. Saloon for a drink, but Ledge declined.
“I stay out of the saloons in town,” he said.
“Why’s that?” Lancaster asked.
“I get into too much trouble when I go to saloons,” Ledge said. “That’s why I make my own squeezin’s. I can get drunk at home without gettin’ into any trouble.”
“Makes sense.”
“So come back and share a jug.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t so long ago I was a drunk, Ledge,” Lancaster said. “I can’t risk it again.”
“I understand,” Ledge said. “I can make a pot of coffee, and then we can talk about what we’re gonna do next.”
“What we’re gonna do?”
“Yeah,” Ledge said, “to track those bastards who bushwhacked you.”
They were walking back to Ledge’s place.
“Ledge, I don’t expect you to pick up and leave your home to help me track them down.”
“You gonna track three men alone?”
“I’m gonna track ’em one at a time.”
“Well,” Ledge said, “what the hell, let’s have some coffee and talk about it. Maybe I can say somethin’ that’ll help.”
“What kind of horse?” Ledge asked.
“Crow Bait.”
“That’s his name or what he is?”
“It’s what he looked like when we found each other on the desert,” Lancaster said, “but he walked me out of there. He saved my life.”
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