Arkansas Smith (10 page)

‘Here they come,’ Arkansas warned and worked a slug into the chamber of the Spencer. He looked at Will and Rycot and nodded for them to take up their positions, which they did with the minimum of fuss.

They had been preparing for this since first light. The plan had been talked over in great detail – when Lance and his men arrived Arkansas was going to go out to meet them, while Will would take up position at the window, rifle ready should anyone go for their guns. Rycot would stand in the doorway, his ancient but reliable rifle offering further deterrent against trouble.

Arkansas felt that John Lance didn’t have the stomach for real trouble and would be unlikely to provoke a gunfight if there was the slightest chance of him getting hurt. He would have no compulsion about killing them all if it suited his needs, but he would much rather get others to carry out his killing while he remained at a safe distance. As it was none of them wanted to have to use their weapons, but it
didn’t hurt to let the opposition know what they were up against.

‘How many?’ Will asked, straining his eyes to make out the men coming down the slope above the valley.

‘I count maybe ten men,’ Arkansas said. ‘We’ll know soon enough.’

‘I recognize the sheriff,’ Rycot said. ‘I know that long coat he wears. And that’s John Lance beside him. I’d know that arrogant, smug, son of a bitch anywhere. Could spot him a hundred miles away in a snowstorm if both my eyeballs had been poked out and their lids stitched together.’

As the men neared, it became evident that both Arkansas and Rycot had been correct in their guesses. Lance rode up front, the sheriff behind him while eight other men, all armed, wearing gunbelts as well as carrying rifles, the butts protruding from the saddle boots, came just behind them. They looked like a well-armed militia and were obviously intending to intimidate.

Arkansas stepped out onto boardwalk and coolly waited for them. He left the Spencer leaning in the open doorway but within easy reach. At close range he was quicker and far more effective with his
six-shooters
in any case, but it wouldn’t hurt to have the rifle should the need arise.

Lance smiled when he saw Arkansas and he brought his horse to a halt a few feet from the man. The sheriff pulled up level beside him and the rest of the men remained behind but spread themselves out in a straight line either side of their boss.

Arkansas had to give them credit. They certainly knew what they were doing; spread out like that they gave the impression of numbering more than they truly were. They were a formidable looking bunch even without the military tactics.

‘You know what I’ve come for,’ John Lance said, addressing his words at Arkansas.

‘Remind me,’ Arkansas replied, speaking to Lance but looking directly at the sheriff who shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He quickly looked to his left as he saw the end of Will’s rifle protrude out through the gap in the window. Will was making sure the men knew he was there but offering as small a target as possible. His years with the Rangers had not been forgotten.

John Lance shook his head and spat onto the ground. ‘Show him the papers.’

The sheriff reached into his coat pocket and brought out a legal-looking document. It was rolled into a tube and secured by a red ribbon. ‘This proves that John Lance is now the rightful owner of this property,’ he said, and had to clear his throat. ‘We intend to take possession here and now.’

‘Can I see that?’ Arkansas asked, and stepped closer to the sheriff.

‘Sure.’ The sheriff dismounted and then held the document out.

Arkansas reached out and took the document from him, opened it and then it was his turn to shake his head. ‘I don’t believe this is genuine,’ he said, though he had to admit to himself that Will’s signature looked
real enough. Whoever had done the forging they were certainly a master of their craft. Maybe that was why Will’s place had been ransacked the night he had been shot, he thought. Perhaps Lance’s men were looking for an example of Will’s signature someone could copy. It was a damn fine forgery in any case.

He walked over to the window and held the document against the glass. ‘You recognize this?’

‘Ain’t never seen it before,’ Will answered.

Arkansas walked back over and stood before the open door. He smiled at Rycot who was standing there, pointing his rifle directly at John Lance, but his legs were shaking slightly.

‘As I say,’ Arkansas said, ‘I don’t believe this is genuine.’

‘It’s genuine,’ Lance said, with much venom in his voice. With his private army spread out around him he seemed to possess a confidence that had not been evident earlier. He looked at his men each side of him with an exaggerated turn of the head, as if reminding Arkansas that they were there and that he was hopelessly outnumbered. ‘Don’t make us use our guns,’ he warned.

‘We don’t want trouble,’ the sheriff said, quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation. ‘But I must tell you it is my legal duty to see that McCord is evicted and that the law is served.’

‘I believe I’ll keep these documents,’ Arkansas said, and rolled them back up, secured the ribbon and placed them into his pocket. ‘Now I’ve got papers also.’

‘What is this?’ John Lance asked. He bit his lip in anticipation and stared at the man called Arkansas Smith.

Arkansas pulled one of the telegrams he had received only days ago from his jacket and coolly walked over and handed it to the sheriff.

Arkansas stood there, hands hanging at his sides with thumbs facing inwards towards his guns while he waited for the reaction he knew would surely come.

There was confusion. Lance looked across at the sheriff and then leaned over in the saddle and snatched the papers from him. He read through them several times before speaking.

‘What manner of joke is this?’ he asked, and then read the papers yet again as if willing the words contained there to disappear. His face went a vivid crimson and his eyes narrowed to slits.

‘Now, Sheriff,’ Arkansas said, ‘I require the arrest of John Lance. And when the justice arrives he can make a ruling on this so-called sale. I’ll be bringing charges of murder, forgery and whatever else I can dig up on Mister John Lance.’

‘Are you going to stand for this?’ Lance said, waving the telegram about. He glared at the sheriff. ‘These papers don’t mean anything. How do we know they are genuine?’ He crumpled the telegram and threw it onto the ground next to Arkansas who bent and smoothed them out before returning them to his pocket.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sheriff Hackman said, looking at John Lance ‘There’s nothing I can do here. That telegram’s
from the Territorial Governor’s office and the orders came there from Washington. I’m being ordered to take orders from this man.’ He pointed to Arkansas who smirked at Lance.

‘What is this?’ Lance screamed. ‘McCord sold this place and now he’s trying to back down on the deal.’

‘This is bigger than you and me,’ Hackman said, and gave Lance a timid look.

Lance’s men grew visibly nervous and it seemed that any moment now they would start shooting. They didn’t completely understand what was happening here. What had been written on the paper Arkansas had shown the sheriff? They held back, but each and every one of them was like a coiled spring.

Will opened the window and looked Lance directly in the eye before speaking. ‘I wouldn’t sell anything to you,’ he said. ‘Now get off my land.’ He pushed the eye of his rifle out of the window and squared it directly at the rancher.

‘Sheriff’ – Lance turned to the sheriff – ‘you can’t side with these men. I demand you do your duty, or I’ll do it for you.’

‘I ain’t siding with anyone,’ Hackman said. ‘I got no choice here. Those orders, John. They come from the Presidential office. Do you understand that?’

‘You work for me,’ Lance screamed, which made the sheriff wince.

‘John,’ the sheriff said. He knew Lance’s temper would get the better of him and there was no telling where this would go now. It was all an unknown to him and he wasn’t qualified to guess. He was just a small
town sheriff and those papers he had seen had come from the top. There was no higher.

The wise thing to do would be to go along with this Arkansas Smith and see what developed, try and figure a way out later when they’d all had a chance to better consider their options. Only that wasn’t going to happen. John Lance was too used to getting his own way and would stir up a whirlwind when things didn’t go in a fashion that suited him.

‘You work for me!’ Lance repeated, yelling wildly. His eyes burnt with feral intent and he pulled his lips back in a snarl over gritted teeth.

‘The sheriff is supposed to work for the law,’ Arkansas said. ‘If he can’t do that he ain’t worth a damn and I’ll have his badge here and now.’

‘Look, John’ – the sheriff stared Lance directly in the eyes – ‘we’ll do what this fella says for now. We can prove your innocence of all this when the judge arrives. For now we’ve got no choice but to comply with this man’s orders. You read the telegram.’

‘Get off your horse,’ Arkansas ordered, ‘and relinquish your firearms. I’m arresting you as is my right under the special powers invested in me by the President.’ Behind him he heard Rycot let out a small chuckle. The events seemed to have brightened up his day no end.

‘Do as he says,’ the sheriff again pleaded. ‘It’s the only way, John. We’ve got no choice.’

‘I own you,’ Lance snarled.

Suddenly, before anyone could react, Lance produced a highly polished derringer from his sleeve
and shot the sheriff directly in the chest. The .410 slug was deadly effective at such close range and the sheriff’s chest opened up in a burst of crimson spray as he was thrown backwards to come down hard against the cabin wall.

The sheriff slid to the ground and he looked down at his bloodstained shirt in disbelief. He brought a hand to the wound as if willing it to not be there.

‘You shot me,’ he said, incredulously.

John Lance fought to keep his horse under control and he stared back at the sheriff as if not believing himself what had just happened.

‘You shot me!’ the sheriff said again. Somehow he’d always known his association with John Lance would end this way. He cursed the day he had first met the rancher. Then he felt a tremendous wave of pain, but also a great feeling of release, as his heart slowly ground to a halt.

With that he was dead.

Lance fired the derringer again, but this time he was aiming at Arkansas.

It was then that all hell broke loose.

Between the second explosion from the derringer and the sheriff being thrown backwards time seemed to stand still.

Arkansas heard the click of guns as triggers were squeezed and hammers pulled back. He pulled his own Colt from leather and let off a wild shot before leaping for the doorway.

He collided with Rycot and both men tumbled to the floor.

Arkansas rolled and kicked the door closed just as the wood splintered and a bullet screamed past his head. It had been so close that he had felt the air warm up as it went on its way into the wall behind him with a burst of dust and splinters.

Will was at the window, firing with the rifle through the opening. He let off two shots and then turned quickly away from the window just in time as the glass exploded and shards went every which way. Immediately he worked the action of the rifle and turned back to the window, hit the remainder of the
glass out and fired again.

‘Got one,’ he said and watched a man thrown backwards off his panicked horse.

The flimsily built cabin was scant protection against the onslaught of bullets and holes suddenly appeared in the walls, sending tiny splinters onto the air. Arkansas got to his feet, checked Rycot. He was fine, other than being terrified.

Arkansas ran towards the window. Again fortune shone on him and another bullet tore through the wall and passed by even closer than the last. It had been so close he could have shaken hands with it and wished it well on its merry way.

He got to the window and grinned at Will.

‘Just like old times,’ he said, and quickly fired through the window. One of his shots found a target and he saw a man throw up his arms and slide from his startled horse. His legs got tangled up in the saddle and the galloping horse dragged him, but he didn’t seem to mind any seeing as he was already dead. The second shot went wide of a mark.

Outside Lance’s men returned fire and Will and Arkansas had to fall to the floor and lay prone while bullets passed through the walls as if they were butter. Rycot still hadn’t got up from the floor and he could see no reason to bother at the present moment.

‘This ain’t good,’ Rycot yelled, but the roar of gunfire drowned his words out. He buried his face in the floor and placed his arms over his head as wood splinters and lead flew overhead. If he ever saw hell then he was sure that this was pretty much what it
would be like.

‘You OK?’ Arkansas asked.

With a grimace, Will rolled onto his back and started reloading the rifle.

‘Never felt better,’ he yelled. ‘Forgotten how good it felt to have a damn good fight.’

‘Good? This ain’t what I call good,’ Rycot yelled. The old man was obviously better suited to tending horses than battling gunmen. ‘You two is plumb loco if you’re asking me.’

A large section of the door imploded as someone outside let off a shotgun.

‘Ready?’ Arkansas nodded at Will.

‘Yeah,’ Will said. ‘But just help me up.’

They both understood each other and the tactic they were about to try was second nature to them. They had done it so many times in the past that neither needed to outline their plans to the other.

Arkansas reached out and grabbed Will beneath his arm. They both got to their knees and knelt besides the window.

‘After three,’ Arkansas said, and held tighter beneath his friend’s arm. ‘One.’

A bullet smashed into a picture on the wall behind and it fell to the floor.

‘Two.’

Rycot’s whimpering grew louder and he positively screamed as the shotgun blew in a large section of the wall.

‘Three …’

The two men came upright as one and both started
shooting from their respective positions, neither of them aimed but instead shot repeatedly in opposite directions before, still shooting, and screaming like banshees they each brought their aim towards dead centre. As they moved they created a wide line of fire and the men outside had to pull back.

Arkansas had emptied one of the Colts and Will had used up all seven his rifle had to offer. Arkansas let off three shots in quick succession while Will reloaded and then as soon as the older man had resumed firing through the window, he ducked back and reloaded both Colts.

‘We got them on the run,’ Will yelled, delight evident in his voice. He was enjoying each and every moment of the chaos that surrounded him.

Throughout all this Rycot felt it prudent to remain hugging the floorboards, but he reconsidered when a bullet kicked up dust from the floor only inches away from his left leg. He yelped and with surprising agility got to his feet and ran across to the bedroom.

‘They’re running,’ Will whooped with delight. ‘We scared them away.’ He let off a shot for good luck and in the distance saw another of Lance’s men fall from his horse.

‘We spanked them good,’ Rycot said, and emerged from the bedroom. He ran over to the window and peered at what looked like a battlefield. After the chaos of only moments ago everything was eerily silent. ‘How many of the varmints did we get?’

‘If any of them are hiding in the bedroom,’ Arkansas said, ‘I’m sure you got them good.’

He walked over to the door and went outside with Will and Rycot following closely behind.

‘Four of them,’ Rycot said. ‘We got four of them.’

‘Five more dead,’ Will said, and looked down at the sheriff.

The lawman looked back at him from lifeless eyes.

There were three more men dead outside the cabin and another body could be seen some thirty feet away where he had finally fallen from his terrified horse.

John Lance didn’t appear to be among the slain.

In the distance, a thick dust cloud could be seen, thrown up by the retreat of Lance and his men. Considering only ten minutes or so ago they had been so keen to take possession of this place, they were sure in a damn hurry to get away.

‘What you going to do now?’ Will asked, feeding fresh shells into his rifle.

Arkansas allowed his eyes to drift over the battlefield his friend’s land had become. Five men killed here today and he knew there would be more before all this was over. And for what? So John Lance could own a little more land than he already owned, so that he could put his name to yet another spread. It was all a senseless waste and it made Arkansas sick to the stomach.

If the West was ever going to become a safe and decent place to live, to raise a family, to run a business, then people like John Lance had to be eliminated and taken out of the running. If this new United States of America was ever to prosper and realize its full potential then John Lance, and others of his kind, had
to be removed from the foundations before greatness could be built.

When Arkansas Smith had escaped that hangman’s noose back in Reno it became his duty to eradicate the John Lances of this world.

‘I’ve got to go after Lance,’ he said, and bent and pulled the star from the sheriff’s shirt. He pinned it on his own chest and rolled and lit a quirly. ‘Guess this means I’m the law around here. Least for the moment.’