Free Crow Bait by Robert J. Randisi Page A

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