Arkansas Smith (8 page)

It was getting perilously close to sundown and still the other man had not returned to the small ranch house. Arkansas wasn’t comfortable with this development, or rather the lack of any real development whatsoever.

He didn’t want to be away from Will’s place overnight. The fact that Rycot was there made him feel a little easier, but with Lance due to ride in come dawn and attempt to take possession of the spread, he figured he’d better be there. Rycot seemed a good man, but Will was still on the mend and not up to a fight of any kind. No, he had to be there when Lance came with his fake papers and, no doubt, a heavily armed gang of men to back him up.

He was the only one who could stop John Lance and he was going to stop him: there was no question of that.

It had been a productive afternoon and Clay had sung like a bird. As soon as the man had regained consciousness and found his arms and feet bound with thick rawhide, Arkansas had started to question
him. Initially the man had been reluctant to talk, but Arkansas had used the ornately decorated knife to persuade him.

’Course Arkansas didn’t have it in him to coldly slice a man up, to torture him with expertly placed slashes of the flesh designed to cause the maximum pain, but that didn’t matter. The fact that Clay had thought Arkansas capable of such depravity had done the trick. All Arkansas had to do to loosen the man’s tongue was effect a cruel stare and allow the blade to briefly touch the man’s flesh.

The attack on Will’s place had been on Lance’s orders. Clay had been there, together with his partner Jim, and several other men in Lance’s employ. The other men had run Will’s stock off while Clay and Jim ransacked the house. It was at that point in the telling that Clay became visibly agitated and the wet patch in his pants widened. He pleaded that he had not wanted to shoot Will, neither had Jim, but if they didn’t carry out their boss’s orders they would be shot themselves.

They’d had no choice. Arkansas had to understand that.

The doc had been an accident and nothing to do with John Lance. They, Jim and himself, figured on finding out what the doc had been doing at Will’s place and if indeed Will was alive or dead. Trouble was, the doc had come over all spunky and refused to tell them anything. They had been trying to scare him when the gun went off. Clay claimed that it was Jim whose finger had been on the trigger.

That last point was moot to Arkansas. In his opinion
both men were as guilty as each other. He had assured Clay that if he testified to all this in a court he would be protected and, after a short jail term, be allowed to start again. The man wasn’t stupid and he realized that he was out of options. He nodded before breaking into tears and sobbing like a baby.

And now Clay was lying in the corner of the room, legs and arms still bound and a gag forced into his mouth. Whilst he had been co-operative thus far, Arkansas wasn’t going to take a chance of him screaming out and alerting his pard.

If the other man ever showed up that was.

Arkansas rolled and lit himself a quirly. He glanced out of the window at the horizon but there was no sign of anyone out there.

There were a number of possibilities for Jim failing to show up. Had he returned before Arkansas had hidden his horse away in one of the outbuildings and then fled before being noticed? Or was he simply taking his time with his hunting trip, going on till nightfall, chasing after some elusive prey?

Arkansas suspected the second option was the more likely.

He also knew that there was no way he’d wait until nightfall for the other man.

No, he’d have to leave now, take Clay with him. He’d have to get the man into Red Rock and then, after showing the sheriff his authorization papers, get Clay locked away. He suspected the sheriff and Lance were too close and that the lawman was not to be trusted, but Arkansas didn’t think the sheriff would go
against him when he saw the legal papers he held.

He didn’t like leaving Jim out there, loose ends were to be avoided and he would have much preferred to lead both men into town, but there was little choice. It was unlikely that Will and Rycot were in any immediate danger, but if Jim had returned and saw him here and then ridden on and informed Lance, then things could get mighty tricky.

Would Lance panic that Arkansas seemed to be getting closer to him and ride out with a heavily armed gang to Will’s place for a showdown? That wasn’t a chance Arkansas wanted to take.

‘No choice about it,’ he said and looked at Clay.

The bound man mumbled something beneath his gag.

‘Guess I’m taking you into town,’ Arkansas told him.

He crossed the room and peered through the window once more but again all he was greeted with was the glorious never-ending landscape. ‘Don’t worry, Lance won’t get at you. I’ll make sure of that.’

Clay nodded and this time didn’t even bother to mumble.

‘I’m going to get the horses,’ Arkansas said. ‘You stay there and shut up and I’ll untie you when I come back.’

Clay did all he could do and simply nodded.

Arkansas led his sorrel and a black mustang to the ranch house and tethered both animals to the hitching rail. Once again he scanned the horizon for Jim and once more saw nothing, before going back
into the house.

He took the ornate knife and sliced the bindings at Clay’s feet. He left Clay’s hands tied and then, before removing the gag, he pulled one of his Colts and pointed it directly into the man’s face.

‘Don’t try anything stupid,’ Arkansas warned. ‘Just like with the doc my gun could go off by accident if I stumble. ’Course if that happens then you won’t be around to know about it.’

‘Mister,’ Clay said, gasping for air, ‘I’m through with stupid things.’

‘Good to hear it,’ Arkansas said. ‘Now, up.’ He grabbed Clay’s still bound wrists and pulled him to his feet. He allowed the man to bend and straighten each leg in turn to work the cramp from his muscles. ‘Remember, nothing stupid, ‘he reminded the man.

Arkansas grabbed his Spencer and then placed the Colt back into leather. He prodded the barrel of the rifle into Clay’s back and pushed him towards the door.

‘Slowly,’ he said.

Clay moved on ahead – carefully, feeling the gun in his back with each step. He certainly wasn’t going to give any trouble and seemed terrified of the man with the rifle.

Once outside he paused on the stoop.

‘Make your way to your horse,’ Arkansas ordered. ‘I’ll help you mount up.’

Clay reached his horse and stood beside the mustang.

Again Arkansas removed a Colt and lowered the
rifle to the ground. ‘Now, no funny ideas,’ he said. ‘I’m gonna’ give you a foot up onto your horse and then bind your hands to the saddle horn. One wrong move and I’ll put a slug straight in the small of your back. At this range it’ll tear your organs apart. You’ll die quickly but it’ll be painful.’

‘Just get me on my horse.’ Clay said. ‘I don’t want to hear none of that kind of talk.’

Arkansas bent his knees and grabbed Clay by the back of his waist band. He lifted while the other man swung his legs over the horse.

The shot came from nowhere: breaking the afternoon air like a crack in the sky itself.

Arkansas hit the ground hard and grabbed the Spencer. He rolled and came up in a crouch, rifle ready to fire, eyes scanning for the shooter. There was another shot and Arkansas saw the rifle flash and let one off in that direction before running back for the doorway to the house.

At the sound of the first shot the mustang had bucked but had been unable to break free of its reins and it remained tethered to the hitch rail. Clay lay there, half on the horse and half off. He was completely motionless and Arkansas didn’t have to get any closer to know that the man had died. The way his lifeless eyes stared back at him told him that. Jim had returned and, crack shot hunter that he was, had missed his intended target and killed his pard.

‘Damn,’ Arkansas spat. With Clay dead his witness had gone and the case he had built against Lance had been instantly destroyed with the violent crack of
gunfire. He poked his head around the doorway and fired a shot in the general direction of where he figured Jim was hiding.

There was fire in return and then Arkansas heard the sound of galloping hoofs. The man was attempting to flee, no doubt riding to warn John Lance that things were moving up a step or two.

‘Shit,’ Arkansas cursed and ran out of the house and quickly mounted the sorrel. He didn’t bother checking on Clay – the man was dead. Arkansas figured his first priority was in catching up with the other man.

He spurred the horse into action and set off in pursuit of the myopic man called Jim.

The chase was hopeless.

Jim had too much of a head start and his horse seemed to move like the wind and had no problem keeping up its pace over the rocky terrain, but all was not lost. The great many years Arkansas had spent with the Rangers had turned him into an expert tracker, he could read the trail as other men would read a book. Not that he needed to since the tracks were fresh and Jim was pushing his horse to the limit and was making no attempt to cover up his tracks.

Arkansas hung back and allowed the other man to vanish from sight, figuring he’d stay at a distance until he was good and ready to attack. And, besides, he had a good idea where the man called Jim was heading. He didn’t have to check the map in his pocket to figure the man was riding towards Lance’s place.

Maybe the best option would be to allow the man to get there and then ride in and confront him. It would be dangerous with all the firepower Lance would have around him, but Arkansas didn’t figure any of them
had the stomach for a real fight. The way he saw it John Lance was a small-town businessman with tendencies to bully those around him. He relied on his men and the ever-present threat of violence to get his way but would fall apart against an opposition prepared to fight back. An opponent like Arkansas Smith, a man who had lived his entire life dodging one bullet or another, would be too much for Lance and his crew of cowboys.

Intelligence certainly wasn’t Lance’s men’s strongpoint. Killing the doc had served no purpose and the attack on Will had been clumsily executed. If the men had known what they were doing and killed Will, then there would be no way to disprove Lance’s claim of ownership of Will’s spread.

Arkansas had it all pretty much worked out, but there was one thing that still puzzled him. What was so important about Will’s place? What was it that made Lance want it so badly that he was prepared to send his men out to kill? And forging documents of sale would take some doing.

Although Arkansas hadn’t seen the papers as of yet, he assumed they would look legal enough with Will’s signature forged professionally. ’Course if Lance had had his way and Will had died in the attack then the rancher could have taken over the spread all sweet and dandy.

‘Things often don’t work out as planned,’ Arkansas answered his thoughts aloud and took the sorrel over a bluff.

In the distance he could see the dust trail thrown
up by Jim’s horse. He figured the man was maybe a mile or so ahead of him, but in this wide-open country he would have to be a lot further away to have vanished from sight. On a clear day a man could look out over the open plains and see for many miles in all directions.

Yep, no doubt about it – the cowboy was heading for John Lance’s place.

‘Your pard’s been some time,’ Rycot pointed out, and handed the whiskey bottle to Will.

Will took a slug and then smiled. ‘He’ll be back.’

‘You so sure?’

‘I am,’ Will said. ‘I’ve known that boy a long time and I don’t think the varmint’s been born who can take him on and come out on top.’

‘How long you known him then?’ Rycot asked, genuinely interested. He leaned forward on the upturned bucket he was using for a seat and stared at the other man. He smiled meekly as he leaned forward to break wind.

Will moved and winced at the pain in his side. Still, he was already better than he had any right to be and he managed to cross the room and sit himself down in the soft chair. There was an unpleasant smell coming from Rycot and no amount of pain would stop Will moving to the other side of the room.

‘We were Rangers together,’ Will said. ‘We saw a lot of action, fought a lot of fights.’ For a moment his eyes seemed to cloud over as he peered through the mist of the years to locate the memories. ‘Indians – we
must have fought every type of Indian there is at one time or another. We chased outlaws and Mexican bandits right across Texas and into territories that weren’t even named then. They were good days. Back then I never thought I’d get old but it soon caught up with me.’

‘The Texas Rangers?’ Rycot leaned for the whiskey bottle. He farted again and cursed the beans and jerky they’d shared for lunch.

Will nodded and carefully made himself a quirly before speaking.

‘Arkansas was nothing more than a kid when I first met him and I, being the veteran man, took him under my wing. The first time I saw him shoot you could have pushed me over with a twig. Never did see anyone who could shoot the way that boy shoots. Don’t think he really had much of a childhood since he was orphaned in an Indian attack and the folks who raised him died when he was still young. I think he must have been fending for himself when he was still a kid. He grew up kinda tough.’

‘There are lots of stories about him,’ Rycot said. ‘That’s he’s an outlaw, a bounty hunter, a mudsill. Some even say he’s some kind of special lawman with powers that take him all over the West.’

Will nodded. He knew the stories, the legends. A couple of years ago some shoddy hack writer had spent some time with Arkansas and then produced a dime novel –
The King of the Colt
by G.M. Dobbs. The writer, a green-horn Easterner with far too much imagination and little real facts, had filled the book
with sensationalist scuttlebutt. Will doubted any of it was true. ’Course the fact that the book had been a massive success meant that the name Arkansas Smith had the same recognition as any of the legendary lawmen and outlaws who populate the West.

‘I know what they all say,’ Will remarked. ‘Don’t believe much of it myself.’

‘You don’t think he’s an outlaw?’

‘Hell, no.’

‘A lawman, then?’

Will looked at Rycot and then smiled. ‘I don’t rightly know. I ain’t seen him for a good few years. At one point I’d heard he’d been hanged for killing three men down in Reno.’

‘That sure enough ain’t so.’

Will laughed. ‘The only thing I know for certain,’ Will said, ‘is that he was once a damn good Texas Ranger, anything else is all fancy frills.’

‘I heard he once fought off three Mexican bandits with only two bullets in his gun. The second bullet went straight through one man and into the other,’ Rycot said, quoting a story that filled an entire chapter of the dime novel that purported to tell the true story of Arkansas’s life.

Will smiled. ‘Let me tell you something,’ he said. ‘That damn book tells of how Ark wrestled a grizzly with his bare hands. That ain’t true for one thing because Ark’s terrified of grizzlies. I once seem him run clean across the Pecos screaming like a two-bit whore with a bear snarling after him. He was too scared to take aim at the beast, let along engage it in
hand-to-hand combat.’

Rycot stood up and worked a kink out of his back. He walked over to the window and looked at the crimson coloured sky.

‘Be dark soon,’ he said – and farted again.