“It’s loaded,” she said, “but I didn’t have any more shells.”
“Okay, Kimmie, thanks,” he said. “Where are Zack and Ryan?”
“Inside.”
“Zack know about this?”
“He won’t care,” she said. “He never touches that rifle.”
“Okay,” Lancaster said, “thanks, Kimmie, for everything. I don’t know when I’ll be able to repay you…or even if…”
“Someday, you will,” she said. “We’ll just wait and see.”
They shook hands awkwardly. He sensed she wanted more, but he didn’t have any more to give.
“Bye, Kimmie,” he said.
“Good-bye, Lancaster,” she said. “See you around, huh?”
Fourteen
Lancaster felt better walking the streets with the rifle in his hand, even though he wasn’t sure it would fire in its present condition. But he also needed a pistol and a holster. If the liveryman was the man to see for a used saddle, maybe he knew where to get a used handgun, as well. Or maybe Andy Black knew, but he was home and probably wouldn’t want to be disturbed.
He went to the livery, and actually found the man brushing Crow Bait.
“Told you I’d look out for him,” he said. “You didn’t have to come back and check.”
“I’m not checking,” Lancaster said. “What’s your full name?”
“Just Mal,” the man said. “What’s yours?”
“Lancaster. You only got one name?”
The man grinned, showed some gaps where there used to be teeth. “Men get to be our age, you realize one name’s enough, right?”
“Okay.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m gonna need a rig,” Lancaster said. “Saddle, saddlebags.”
“New I can’t help ya with, but used…”
“Used is good.”
“We can talk.”
“I also need a gun.”
Mal looked at the rifle in his hand.
“A handgun,” Lancaster said, “and holster.”
“New or used?”
“Can’t afford new.”
“We can talk.”
Lancaster looked around. “Got ’em here?”
“Let’s go in the office,” Mal said.
“Lead the way.”
Lancaster liked the way Mal stroked Crow Bait’s neck before walking away from him.
Mal led him to a door in the back, which led to a small office with a rolltop desk and a trunk. In one corner were three saddles, stacked.
“Sometimes folks don’t come back for their stuff,” Mal said. “Or they don’t pay their bill. Take your pick.”
Lancaster walked to the saddles, separated them, and examined them. “This one looks like it’ll hold together. How much?”
“Well,” Mal said, “it’s just sittin’ there gettin’ dusty…Twenty dollars?”
“With saddlebags?”
Mal walked to the chest, opened it, and pulled a worn pair of saddlebags. “Twenty-two, with the saddlebags.”
“Deal.”
Mal tossed the bags to him.
“Now how about that gun?”
Again, Mal reached into the trunk, came up with a rolled-up holster with a walnut grip of a pistol showing. He tossed it over. Lancaster deftly caught it, unrolled the leather. It was a Peacemaker with a worn grip, but it was generally clean and well cared for. So was the holster.
“Somebody’s been oiling this leather,” Lancaster said.
“The gun used to be mine,” Mal said. “I take care of it when I can.”
Lancaster took it, checked the action on it, spun the cylinder. “How much?”
“A hundred?”
“I don’t have a hundred.”
“A hundred for everything,” Mal said. “Saddle, saddlebags, and gun. But you gotta bring the gun back when you’re done.”
Lancaster took out the money he had left. “I have sixty dollars left. Then I’m broke.”
“You really need that gun, right?” Mal asked. “Rifle ain’t enough?”
“I really need the gun.”
“I tell you what,” Mal said. “Take it all, but when you’re done you gotta bring it all back.”
“Are you serious?”
“Except for one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I want the horse, too.”
“Crow Bait? Why?”
“I’m already fond of him.”
“What’s the real reason?”
Mal scratched his nose.
“I recognize your name,” he said finally. “You and me, we used to be in the same business.”
“What business is that?”
“The business that requires a handgun.”
“I’m not in that business anymore.”
Mal spread his arms and said, “Neither am I, as you can see. But you need a gun for somethin’, and I know the feelin’. So take it all, but bring it all back when you’re done.”
“You’re serious.”
“I’m serious.”
Lancaster looked around at everything, then said, “Thanks.”
“I’ll get back to your horse now.”
“Your horse,” Lancaster said. “I’m just borrowing it.”
“I forgot,” Mal said. “I’ll get the saddle in better shape for you. Gun, too, if you want.”
“I’ll work on the gun myself,” Lancaster said. “Thanks.”
They walked back out to Crow Bait, and Mal picked up the brush.
“I hope you get ’em,” he said.
“Get who?”
“Whoever gave you that limp, and the cuts and bruises,” Mal said.
Lancaster strapped the holster on, slid the gun in and out a few times before settling it back in.
“Feel better?” Mal asked.
“Yeah,” Lancaster said, “suddenly, I’m feeling a lot better.”
Fifteen
Lancaster was thinking that since his last kick in the head his luck had turned. He’d found Crow Bait, who had
