“Well,” Dan said, “I do know somethin’.”
“What?”
“Finish your beer and then come out back with me and I’ll show you,” Dan said.
“What’s out back?”
Dan smiled and said, “You’ll see.”
Forty-four
Lancaster finished his beer and followed Dan to the rear of the building. The bartender opened a back door and led the way out. When they got out there, Lancaster saw a bunch of crosses and wooden headstones.
“This is our Boot Hill,” Dan said.
Lancaster looked out over the expanse of graves and said, “All these people used to live here?”
“At one time,” Dan said, “we were a whole town. Then one day there was a fire. Most of the buildings burned down. A lot of the people were killed, and the rest left. Except for Hermione and the brothers.”
“And you.”
“I came later, but I been here for a while,” he said. “But not all of these graves are people who used to live here.”
“Who else is here?”
“People who wouldn’t pay the toll,” Dan said. “Or people who just crossed Hermione.”
“So the brothers put some people back here with their guns?”
“Take a walk with me.”
They walked through the graveyard and when they got all the way to the back Dan stopped in front of two new-looking graves.
“There ya go,” he said.
Lancaster looked and saw the names Cardiff and Adderly on the wooden crosses.
“She said they weren’t here anymore,” Lancaster said. “I guess this is what she meant.”
“They killed Cardiff when Hermione was through with him,” Dan said. “Then they killed Adderly when he came lookin’ for Cardiff.”
Lancaster remembered the beating they had administered to him along with Sweet.
“These were hard boys,” he said. “I can’t believe the brothers took them both.”
“Separately,” Dan reminded him, “and did you think they were dangerous when you got here?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“They act—acted—like four idiots who were run by their sister,” Dan said. “Well, they were run by her and they were idiots, but they were dangerous when they worked together. They were just no match for you. You presented them with a situation they had never seen before, and they panicked.”
“So everybody’s dead but me and you.”
“And I’m okay with that,” Dan said. “But I got somethin’ else to tell you. Come back inside.”
Once they were back at the bar, Dan offered Lancaster another beer, which he turned down.
“What’s this other thing you’ve got to tell me?” he demanded.
“I heard Cardiff tell Hermione about Flagstaff.”
“What?”
“I overheard them. She was playin’ like she wanted him to stay, but he told her he had to meet somebody in Flagstaff.”
“And he said the name?” “He did,” Dan said.
“He said Sweet.”
“And how about Adderly, when he got here? Any word about Sweet?”
“No,” Dan said, “he didn’t last very long.”
Lancaster gave Dan a long look. “You wouldn’t be as big a liar as your cousin Hermione, would you?”
“Nobody was as big a liar as her, but look. You just did me a huge favor. I got no reason to lie to you. Besides, I got one more favor to ask.”
“What’s that?”
“Would you help me bury my family before you leave?”
Lancaster found Dan’s desire to bury his “family” odd. However, once they had dug all the graves, rolled the bodies in, and covered them up, Dan’s final words over the graves sort of clarified things.
“Good riddance,” he said.
Still not convinced that the last family member wasn’t going to try to kill him, Lancaster was alert while he saddled Crow Bait to leave town. When he rode the animal out of the livery, he raked the rooftops and windows of the hotel and saloon with his eyes, looking for a rifle barrel. Satisfied that Dan was true to his word and wasn’t going to try to kill him, Lancaster turned Crow Bait south and headed for Flagstaff, Arizona.
Forty-five
Flagstaff, Arizona
Lancaster rode into Flagstaff a week later, after a short stop in Seligman to outfit himself again.
That Flagstaff was a lively, busy town was obvious as he rode down the main street. He doubted that Sweet would still be there, but he hoped that he’d be able to get a lead on him. Also, he had to be very careful in his search, now that the other two men were dead. Sweet was his only connection to whoever had hired the three of them to strand him in the Mojave Desert.
The other good thing about Flagstaff was that it took him in the right direction, toward the Texas panhandle, where he hoped to get a line on Gerry Beck. After all, he had to earn the thousand dollars he’d already been paid, and the four thousand that had been promised to him.
There was no way he’d be able to go through Flagstaff in one day, so he rode directly to the livery to get Crow Bait taken care of.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said to the liveryman. “I’ve heard it all before. Just take good care of him.”
“Yes, sir.”
He left the livery and checked into the first hotel he came to, not paying any attention to its name. It didn’t matter, and neither did the quality, he just needed a room. These days the only time he considered quality was when he was looking to eat.
Lancaster decided to play this straight. He left the hotel and went right to the sheriff’s office. He decided that if Sweet heard he was looking for him he wouldn’t run. No, he’d come after him. Judging from the beating in the desert, he’d bring help, but this time Lancaster would be ready.
He realized that much of his anger over what had happened in the Mojave Desert was directed at himself. He should have been more alert. It was how he had stayed alive all those years of living by the gun. Now that he was just drifting, taking it a day at a time and not hiring out, he’d lost his edge. Taking a beating from two men who’d managed to get themselves killed by a woman and her four idiot brothers was ample indication of that fact.
When he got to the sheriff’s office, the door opened and a man rushed out, barreling into him.
“Oh, sorry,” the man said. “Gotta watch where I’m walkin’. You lookin’ fer me?”
“If you’re the sheriff, I am,” Lancaster said.
“That’s me, Sheriff Manning. I’m on my way to City Hall for a meetin’. You wanna walk with me or wait to see me later?”
“I’ll walk with you, if you don’t mind,” Lancaster said.
“Good. Let’s go.”
The sheriff was as tall as Lancaster, but took shorter strides when he walked. Might have had something to do with the fact that he carried about fifty pounds more, mostly around his middle and in his ass. Lancaster had no trouble keeping pace.
“What can I do for you?”
“I just got to town, and I’m lookin’ for a man,” Lancaster said.
“Bounty hunter?”
There was no indication in the lawman’s voice how he would have felt if Lancaster had said yes. Lancaster had to decide if he wanted to make this a personal matter, or tell the man he was working for Wells Fargo.
“I’m working for Wells Fargo,” he said.
“That a fact?”
“Yes.”
“You got any paper that says that?”
“No, but—”
“So if we go over to the Wells Fargo office and I ask, they’ll say yes?”
“Their man might have to send a telegram,” Lancaster said, “but in the end, yeah, they’d confirm it.”
They walked in silence for a few strides, and then the sheriff said, “I’m gonna believe you. What’s your name?”
“Lancaster.”
“Who you lookin’ for, Lancaster?”
“Actually, two men,” Lancaster said. “A
man named Sweet, and another man named Beck, Gerry Beck.”
“You got a first name on Sweet?”
“No,” Lancaster said. “Apparently nobody knows.”
“What about you?” the lawman asked. “You got a first name?”
“I don’t use it.”
“Fine,” the man said with a shrug. “Man’s got a right to call himself what he wants.”
The sheriff turned to cross the street so abruptly that Lancaster had to stop to let a buckboard go by before he joined the man.
“So, Sweet and Beck?”
“That’s right,” Lancaster said.
“Can’t say I know Beck, although I’ve heard of him,” Manning said.
“What about Sweet?”
“That’s not a common name,” Manning said. “Yeah, we had a man named Sweet here a couple of weeks ago.”
“When did he leave?”
“He was here about a week, so I’d say a week ago.”
“Any idea where he went?”
“I don’t, no,” Manning said. “All I know is that I ran him out.”
“Ran him out? Why?”
“Because he’s a troublemaker, that’s why.” The lawman stopped walking. “This is City Hall.”
“Well, okay, but can you tell me who Sweet might have spent time with?”
“Check the Broken Branch Saloon, and Maisie’s whorehouse. I think he spent most of his time in those places.”
“Thanks, Sheriff,” Lancaster said. “I appreciate it.”
“Watch yourself,” Manning said. “He might have made some friends while he was here.”
“Thanks for the warning, Sheriff.”
Manning opened the door to go into the three-story brick City Hall building, but stopped short.
“Let me know what happens, will ya? And when you leave town?”
“Sure,” Lancaster said. “I’ll check in with you.”
“Obliged if you would,” the lawman said, and went inside.
Forty-six
Lancaster had some direction now, so he decided to take the time to have something to eat. He hadn’t had a good meal since the beef stew in Peach Springs—the only memorable thing about that visit, unless you call killing four men memorable. The meal he’d had during the few hours he was in Seligman left much to be desired.
He stopped into a saloon for a beer and some advice from the bartender on where to eat.
“Got a few good places in town,” the young man said, “but my pick is Jilly’s. Go out the door, turn left, and walk two blocks. It’s small, but really good.”
“Thanks.”
“Ain’t you gonna finish the other half of your beer?” the bartender asked.
“Half is good for me,” Lancaster said. “Thanks.”
After a good steak at Jilly’s, he went to the Broken Branch, the saloon the sheriff had said Sweet frequented while he was in town. If it wasn’t the largest, busiest saloon in town, it had to be close. Somebody was pounding on a piano in the corner—badly—while girls worked the floor, bringing drinks to men who were either gambling or just sitting at tables, laughing and drinking.
The bar was crowded, but as usual Lancaster was able to find a space big enough for him. He got the bartender’s attention, ordered a beer, then proceeded to nurse it while listening to the conversations going on around him. In a bar this crowded, there was no point in starting to ask questions about a man named Sweet. It made more sense to wait for the place to empty out some. The only thing was, he didn’t think he could nurse one beer that long.
Of course, it would take a lot less time to question women than men, since there seemed to be about five girls working the floor. Maybe one of them would remember.
He still decided to wait a while, though. He’d attracted a little attention entering as a stranger. Better to give the novelty some time to wear off, give people a chance to forget that he was there.
There were two bartenders working the long bar, and he noticed one of them watching him. The man was experienced, in his forties, with eyes that saw everything. He noticed Lancaster was taking a long time to finish one beer, so Lancaster called him over.
“Can I get a fresh one?” he asked. “This has gone kind of warm.”
“Sure thing.”
The man drew him a fresh beer and brought it over.
“Don’t let that one go warm,” he advised.
“I’ll try not to,” Lancaster said, “but two is usually my limit. I’m afraid I’ll have to make this one last.”
“Well,” the bartender said, “you only drank half of the first one, so you got another half to go.”
There were too many customers for the bartender to spend too much time with one, but Lancaster noticed the man kept an eye on him even while serving others. A man like that would notice everything that happened around him. Lancaster might not have to ask anyone questions if he started with the bartender.
But the barman would be busy most of the night. Lancaster decided to finish the beer and head over to the whorehouse. Maybe somebody there would be able to give him something.
“Leavin’?” the bartender asked. “How about that other half a beer?”
“I’ll be back for it,” Lancaster said.
The bartender nodded, and Lancaster left.
Forty-seven
Maisie’s was a two-story building that had seen better days. Shutters were either hanging or missing, but all the windows were intact, and they were clean. There were other buildings in the area the same age, but in a more advanced state of disrepair. Lancaster had a feeling the rent was cheaper than somewhere else in town.
Lancaster entered and was immediately approached by the madam.
“Are you Maisie?”
“That’s me, honey,” she said. She had heavy makeup on her face to try to hide her wrinkles, but unsuccessfully. The fact that she was closing in on sixty was obvious. “What kind of girl do you like?”
He decided to play this differently than he had done in Henderson.
“I’m tracking a man. I understand he was in town a couple of weeks ago, and I know he likes prostitutes. Somebody told me you have the best girls in town.”
“Well, that’s true,” she said. “What’s your man look like?”
“Average-lookin’, but his name is Sweet. I’m hoping one of your girls will remember him.”
“Don’t bother,” she said. “He was here—twice. After that I banned him.”
“Why?”
“He hurt one of my girls.”
“Which one?”
“Her name was Carla.”
“Was?”
“She’s gone,” Maisie said. “Left town right after that. Might have left the business, too.”
“When did she leave?” Lancaster asked.
“A few days after the sheriff ran Sweet out of town,” she said.
“Where’d she go?” he asked. “Do you know?”
“Why?”
Lancaster shrugged. “I’m just curious.”
Maisie gave him a long look.
“You’re good at this,” she said. “You think maybe she liked bein’ hurt and followed him?”
“It’s possible.”
She frowned at him.
“Haven’t you ever known women who liked being hit?” he asked.
“Unfortunately,” she said, “yes.”
“What about this one?”
“She wasn’t here long enough for me to get to know her that well,” Maisie said, “so I can’t say.”
“Was Carla her real name?”
“Yeah. She was new to the business, so she used her real name.”
“Did she make any friends?”
“Not one,” Maisie said. “Nobody liked her.”
“All the more reason she might have followed him,” Lancaster said.
“You married?” she asked.
“No.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Why not?”
“You seem to kn
ow women too well for one to want to live with you.”
“Well,” he said, “I’ve never been accused of that before. And I don’t really lead the kind of life a woman would want to share.”
“You like the hunt too much, huh?”
“No,” he said. “This is personal.”
“Got anything to do with the cut over your eye?”
“Definitely. I don’t suppose Sweet said anything while he was here that you might’ve heard, that would tell me where he went?”
“No,” she said, “but Carla did say somethin’.”
“What?”
“She said she thought she might do better for herself someplace like Amarillo.”
Amarillo, he thought.
The Texas panhandle.
He left the whorehouse with a good feeling. All he needed was something from the bartender to confirm that Sweet headed for Texas. The man watched and he listened. If Sweet said anything useful, the bartender would have heard it.
As he was approaching the saloon again, he noticed the sheriff coming from the other direction.
“Lancaster,” he said.
“Sheriff.”
“A minute of your time?”
“Why don’t we go inside—”
“Too noisy,” Sheriff Manning said. “Let’s talk out here.”
“Okay,” Lancaster said. “Okay.”
Forty-eight
“What’s on your mind?” Lancaster asked.
“I talked to Abe Walker,” Manning said. “He’s the Wells Fargo man here.”
“And?”
“He confirmed what you told me,” Manning said.
“Okay.”
“But you told me you’re trackin’ a man named Sweet?” Manning said. “He only knows that you were hired to find a man named Beck.”
“I told you that,” Lancaster said. “I gave you both names.”
“Yeah, but you told me you were tracking both of them for Wells Fargo.”
“I don’t think I really said that, Sheriff.”
“Well, you led me to believe it.”
“If I did, sorry,” Lancaster said.
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