“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.”
“No problem,” Lancaster said. “If you run into any more trouble while I’m in town, give me a holler and I’ll help if I can.”
“Much obliged,” Turner said.
As Lancaster reached the door, Turner called, “Come by the Red Ribbon Saloon later and I’ll buy you a drink.”
“Red Ribbon?”
“It’s owned by a woman.”
Lancaster nodded and went out.
Fifty-four
Lancaster made his way across the crowded street and found the sheriff’s office. Seemed like all he was doing of late was going from the Wells Fargo offices to the sheriff’s office every time he hit a new town. He wanted to have this job over with.
“Sheriff Jacobs?”
“The man behind the desk was tall and lean, gray haired with eyes to match, and a heavily lined face. He seemed to wear his career as a lawman on that face.
“Help ya?”
“I just came from the Wells Fargo office,” he said. “My name’s Lancaster.”
“Lancaster.” It was as if he were tasting the name. “Seems familiar.”
“Maybe I can save you some trouble,” Lancaster said. “The Chancellorville Revolt? That was me. The Fort Vincent War? Me.”
“That Lancaster!” the man said.
“Yes.”
“Well,” the lawman said, “what war are you fighting around here?”
“I didn’t know there were any wars around here.”
“Oh, several. Unfortunately for you, wars these days are fought less with guns and more with words. Actually, that’s unfortunate for you and me. See, we’re dinosaurs, Mr. Lancaster, as we head for a new century.”
“Well, Sheriff, I can tell you I ain’t looking forward to a new century.”
“You’re younger than me,” Jacobs said. “You’ll still be young enough to enjoy it. Me? I’m not even sure I’ll be around.”
The two men stood there, several feet apart, alone with their own thoughts for a few seconds.
“Well,” Jacobs said, breaking the silence, “what can I do for you, sir?”
“I’m doin’ some work for Wells Fargo,” Lancaster said. “Tracking Gerry Beck.”
“Have a seat,” Jacobs invited. “Beck’s been hittin’ them hard, I hear.”
“Hard enough to pay me to track him.”
“And you’ve tracked him here?”
“This direction, yeah,” Lancaster said. “And he might be meeting up with a few other men.”
“Like who?”
“Well, I’ve only got one name. A man called Sweet. Ring a bell?”
