Crow Bait by Robert J. Randisi

his muscles bunched, his jaw twitching.
    “Go ahead and try it,” Carver said. “I didn’t get to be this age by backin’ down from the likes of you.”
    Kent stared at Carver with undisguised rage, but eventually his muscles relaxed and he backed down. “You’re lucky I want Lancaster first.”
    Carver looked down at his desk and said, “I can’t even hear you anymore, Kent. You’re a memory to me. A bad memory.”

Thirty-six
    Lancaster used the time it took to ride from Henderson to Peach Springs to bond further with Crow Bait. He spoke to him each night as he rubbed him down and fed him, and then made sure to give him some green apples for a treat. To his eye the horse did not seem to be putting on weight, but each day the animal seemed to be getting stronger. He still looked like a bag of bones, but he felt stronger.
    And he swore the horse could understand him when he spoke to him. This was the most serene animal he’d ever ridden. Nothing seemed to faze him, whether they were on the trail or camped. They encountered a rattler at one point, and Crow Bait couldn’t have cared less while Lancaster shot the reptile. And nothing in the darkness ever rattled the horse. Although Lancaster felt certain that, if there were any danger approaching, the animal would have sounded the alarm.
    Lancaster swore that, for the rest of his life, he’d never judge anything by the way it looked—man or beast.
    Peach Springs was a small town—what some people would call a “one horse” town. As he rode in he saw only three buildings—one was a hotel, one a saloon,and one a livery. He reined in Crow Bait in front of the hotel. As he walked in he smelled food cooking. He wondered if this was the one place in town to eat.
    “Afternoon, friend,” the clerk said. He was a man in his fifties with a smile that looked plastered on. Lancaster wondered if he smiled all night, while he was asleep.
    “Good afternoon.”
    “Do you need a room?” the clerk asked. “We’ve got plenty. We don’t get many visitors.”
    “Who’s your kitchen cooking for, then?” Lancaster asked.
    “Anyone who wants to eat,” the man said. “Folks around here don’t have any place else to go.”
    “I see. Well, I’ll take a room, and then I’ll come down to eat.”
    “Excellent,” the man said. He turned, took a key from the wall, and handed it to Lancaster.
    “Do you want me to check in?” he asked.
    “It’s not necessary,” the clerk said. “If you don’t like the room, you can try another one. We have plenty.”
    “Thank you.”
    “The rooms are upstairs.”
    As Lancaster started for the stairs the clerk called, “What would you like to eat?”
    “What are my choices?”
    “Beef stew.”
    Lancaster waited, but when the clerk offered no alternative he said, “Beef stew will be great. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
    “Is your horse out front?” the man asked. “I can have it taken to the stable.”
    “That’d be helpful. Thanks.”
    “What does it look like?”
    “You won’t be able to miss it,” Lancaster said, and went upstairs.
    The man who brought him his bowl of beef stew looked just like the clerk, only a few years younger.
    “My brother said you wanted stew.”
    “He didn’t say I had another choice.”
    “He likes the stew,” the waiter said. He put it down next to the basket of rolls he had brought earlier. It looked delicious and smelled the same.
    “This will do nicely,” Lancaster said.
    “Enjoy.”
    The man walked away and Lancaster broke a roll, dunked it in the stew, and tasted. It was just as good as it looked. For the next twenty minutes, all he concentrated on was eating that, and a second bowl.
    “You were pretty hungry,” the waiter said, collecting the second bowl.
    “I didn’t realize how hungry until I tasted your food,” Lancaster said. “Tell me, does everyone in this area eat here?”
    “Unless they eat at home,” the waiter said.
    “Who lives in the area?”
    “There