Arkansas Smith (4 page)

If he’d had time to consider the situation Arkansas might have found the sight that greeted him amusing. As it was there was no such time and he ran to his horse, which he had always kept saddled, and spurred her into an immediate gallop.

The object of his pursuit – a woman, who had come from God alone knew where – was holding on for dear life and screaming as her horse, a pure white creature, galloped. It reached the corral fence and then veered off to the left, caused the woman to slip in her saddle and she screamed even louder as she felt her grip on the reins loosening. Any moment now and it seemed she’d be thrown to the hard ground.

Arkansas spurred his horse harder, gaining more speed from the sorrel that had suited him so well in so many tricky situations and, true to form, she gave him the extra push needed to gain on the other horse. Arkansas reached out and grabbed the reins of the woman’s horse and then by pulling his own sorrel back, he expertly brought it to a halt. He dismounted
and then held out his arms, helping the woman down.

‘Snake,’ she said, unsteady on her feet so that Arkansas had to support her.

‘There’s no need to call me that,’ Arkansas said, amused.

‘Spooked my horse.’ Her eyes suddenly rolled backwards and she fainted away into Arkansas’ arms.

He smiled. Typical, he thought. He’d never seen a woman who didn’t faint clean away after a spell of blood-rushing excitement. He lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the cabin where he intended to revive her with a little water.

She was a beautiful woman. Her skin was handsomely tanned, almost coffee coloured. She had a round face with thick red lips and luxurious black hair that fell down over her slender shoulders. Her eyes, currently closed, had been a chocolate brown. Arkansas would have placed her age somewhere around the mid twenties.

He placed her down gently on the floor, since there was nowhere else suitable and Will had the one and only bed. And then went and dipped his bandanna in a bucket of water. He swabbed at the side of her neck, all the while resting her head in his hand. She stirred gently and then her eyes snapped open and she sat up.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

Arkansas stood back up. He put the bandanna down on an upturned crate. ‘Your horse bolted,’ he said. ‘You said something about a snake.’

‘Yes,’ she said, and Arkansas noticed that her eyes were as warm and inviting as a summer’s day. ‘It seems
we ran for miles. Is my horse OK?’

‘Will be,’ Arkansas said. ‘I tethered it out back. It’s drinking a lake of water at the moment. Just needs a little rest is all.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Mister, er—?’

‘Smith,’ Arkansas said. ‘Arkansas Smith.’ This time the name didn’t seem to get any special reaction.

She smiled and the gesture seemed to set off a celestial display within her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ she repeated. ‘I’m Rebecca La—’ Her words were cut off by a yell of enquiry from Will in the other room; he wanted to know, in his own words, what the hell-fire and brimstone was going on.

‘It’s OK, Will,’ Arkansas shouted. ‘Just a young lady out riding and lost control of her horse.’ He shrugged his shoulders and went through to the other room. The woman followed behind.

‘Is he all right?’ Rebecca asked.

‘Sure,’ Arkansas took the Spencer from Will and rested it against the wall. ‘Will’s been shot but it’s not the first time.’

‘Probably won’t be that last,’ Will said, and laughed but then groaned and held his side as a fresh wave of pain reminded him all too clearly of his situation. Rebecca went to him and held one of his hands tightly. ‘I nursed during the war,’ she said. ‘You must let me help.’

‘Ain’t nothing but a flesh wound,’ Will protested.

‘You must let me help,’ Rebecca insisted.

Arkansas shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘But don’t you have somewhere you have to go?’

‘No.’

‘Kin who’ll be wondering where you are?’ Arkansas frowned at the woman. She was well dressed and obviously a woman of some means. She had to have come from somewhere.

Rebecca’s face clouded over momentarily. ‘Only Daddy,’ she said. ‘But he won’t notice. He won’t be home for hours yet.’

‘Well,’ Arkansas said, rubbing the back of his head, ‘there’s nothing really for you to do. He’s seen a doctor. Just needs rest is all.’

‘Nonsense,’ Rebecca said. ‘There’s plenty I could do. I can give this place a proper clean up for a start. And I could cook you two something before I leave.’ She smiled, warmly. ‘I’d like to thank you for saving me and my horse.’

‘That would be dandy,’ Will said. ‘I think I could manage a little food made proper and all.’

‘Shoot,’ Arkansas said. For some reason that he couldn’t understand he was feeling awkward in the company of the woman. He rolled his eyes and went outside for a smoke.

‘I don’t rightly know, Sheriff,’ John Lance said, and sucked on one of his large Juan de Fuca cigars. ‘All I do know is that this Arkansas Smith, a known gunfighter, is out there. McCord being dead or alive is beyond my knowledge since no one can find the town doctor to ask him just what his business was out there.’

‘Doc does this from time to time,’ Sheriff Bill Hackman said and sat back in his chair, resting his
hands on his ample belly. ‘He’ll be off drunk and most likely with some whore. He’ll turn up when he’s good and ready. And there are no papers that I know of on any Arkansas Smith. I looked through everything we have and as far as I can tell he ain’t wanted for anything anywhere.’

Lance frowned. ‘So exactly what do you know of this Arkansas character?’

‘Only what folk say,’ the sheriff replied. ‘That’s he’s fast with a gun. Maybe the fastest.’

‘You’re sheriff,’ Lance said. ‘You should know what goes on around here. The doctor rode out to the McCord place with a stranger and you knew nothing about it.’

‘I can’t be expected to see every move anyone ever makes,’ Hackman protested. ‘I’m the only law in this town and I’m often dealing with a million things at the same time.’

‘You seemed busy enough when we rode in.’ Lance’s words dripped heavy with sarcasm. They had arrived an hour ago and found the sheriff slumbering behind his desk.

‘I was resting my eyes. Ain’t had much time to sleep lately.’ The sheriff ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’m run ragged these days.’

Lance leaned over the desk, his knuckles white against the rich wood, and blew cigar smoke over the sheriff.

‘I’m intending to take possession of the McCord property on the first of the month, as is my legal right, and I expect you to ensure that legal right is not
impeded in any way.’ His eyes blazed with a thunderous threat and the sheriff sat upright. ‘That’s in four days’ time,’ Lance concluded, and went over to the window and looked out onto the street.

‘Of course.’ Hackman said. ‘I’m the law and I will see the law done.’

‘You are the law.’ Lance nodded but didn’t look away from the window and added, ‘My law. Don’t forget that.’

The sheriff nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I know who calls the shots in this town. Don’t you think I already know that?’ Defeated, he skulked off into the back of the building to where he kept his whiskey.

The following morning Arkansas woke a little later than was usual. He put this down to the substantial meal the woman Rebecca had prepared before leaving the previous evening. Even Will had managed half a bowl of the delicious stew and had then fallen into a contented sleep. Arkansas’s care had been all very well, but there was something about a woman’s touch when it came to getting chow done.

Arkansas stood on the porch, smoking a quirly, drinking a tin cup of strong coffee and looked off at the far horizon. He had to give Will credit, it was a beautiful land. If someone was looking to settle down this was as good a place as any. In the distance, snow-capped mountains could be seen, Ponderosa pines reaching towards the sky.

Later, after tending to Will who was looking better than ever and now able to sit up in bed, Arkansas took the sorrel out for a quick look around. He didn’t want to go too far from the cabin until he knew for certain who had done for his friend. Before leaving, he had armed Will with the Spencer. You could never be too
careful; they had both learned that valuable lesson long ago, and the rifle’s .54-calibre slug provided ample insurance against further unwanted visitors.

Arkansas kept the cabin in sight and merely circled the perimeter around the building. He could see why Will had picked this spot to lay his land claim. The valley was protected from all sides by densely planted mountains and a stream ran down from those hills and went directly through Will’s land. Water could often be a valuable commodity in long summers when the rain refused to come. He was about to go further into the mountain when he saw three men riding towards him.

He turned the sorrel and spurred it into a gallop back towards the cabin. He wasn’t sure who the mounted men were but he wanted to be close to his friend if it meant further trouble.

He reached the cabin and sent the sorrel into the corral.

He ran into the cabin and went through to Will. ‘Someone’s coming.’

Will sat up in bed, wincing slightly with the effort. He grabbed the Spencer from beside the bed where he’d left it. ‘How many?’

‘Three men.’

‘What do you think?’

Arkansas shrugged his shoulders. He supposed they could be anyone – drifters, men in search of work. But then again, by the same token they could be connected with whoever it was had attacked Will in the first place.

‘Be ready with that Spencer,’ Arkansas said. ‘I’ll go
out and meet them.’

‘Be careful.’

Arkansas smiled, grimly. ‘As always.’

Arkansas got back outside just as the three men reached the corral fence. He stood in the doorway, watching them.

‘Looks empty,’ a well-dressed man said. He was obviously the leader of this particular trio. The other men held their horses level with him, one each side.

‘State your business,’ Arkansas said.

The man who had spoken earlier smiled. ‘I’m John Lance,’ he said. ‘I’m here to speak with William McCord.’

Arkansas took a long lingering look at Lance before speaking. He was bigger than he’d imagined him to be and looked oversized on his horse. ‘About what?’

‘My business is with McCord,’ Lance said. ‘You have me at a disadvantage. Who might you be?’

Arkansas smiled. ‘That depends.’

Suddenly the atmosphere between them became charged and the men either side of John Lance tensed, readying themselves for action should the need arise.

‘Depends on what?’ John Lance asked.

‘On you starting trouble,’ Arkansas told him. ‘Then you’ll find out who I am. Then you’ll find out quick and good.’

The two riders suddenly became alert at the implied threat, but John Lance held up a hand to steady his men. He shifted in his saddle, trying not to show how the over confident man was making him feel.

‘May I speak with McCord?’ Lance asked.

‘No,’ Arkansas said. ‘You may not.’ He stared at the men with Lance and locked eyes with each of them in turn, willing them to make a play.

‘And may I ask why?’

Arkansas smiled at Lance. ‘Because he’s recuperating,’ he said, ‘after being shot by some low down skunk. But he’ll be fine on account of that skunk’s a poor shot.’

‘Oh dear,’ John Lance said. ‘That is most unfortunate and I sympathize. But I’m here to iron out details of taking possession of this place.’

‘Possession?’ Arkansas was confused.

‘Why yes,’ John Lance said. ‘I bought this place from Mr McCord.’

Arkansas hadn’t expected this. It made no sense. Surely Will would have said if he’d sold the place to Lance. Even in his present state he surely would have mentioned that little fact. He’d said the man had made several offers to buy him out, but he hadn’t said he’d taken him up on the deal.

What was Lance trying to pull here?

‘Can you prove that?’ Arkansas asked.

‘Of course. The documentation’s in town, lodged with both my lawyer and the sheriff. As of the first of the month this place becomes mine. I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you and McCord vacate the premises. ’Course as a gesture of goodwill I’m more than willing to arrange a bed at my hotel for McCord to recuperate from his injury.’

It suddenly came to Arkansas. The thing that had
been bothering him about the two men he had seen in town when collecting the doc, the men who had worked for Lance. One of them had been wearing a fancy-looking gun, the handle of which was identical to the knife he’d found in the cabin. He’d thought it had looked familiar because it had been Will’s. Yet he’d seen the same ornate pattern on the cowboy but its significance hadn’t registered until now.

‘I saw two of your men in town the other day,’ Arkansas said. ‘Two stupid-looking brutes.’ He cast his eyes at the men either side of Lance. ‘Just as stupid-looking as these men.’

Both men flinched at the insult and made a move to their guns, but before either of them could reach their weapon, Arkansas’s Colt had cleared leather. No one had really seen him move. It was as if the gun had just appeared there in his hand.

‘I wouldn’t,’ Arkansas told them. ‘Now, ride away, John Lance, and take your lies with you.’

Lance’s face clouded over and thunder entered his eyes. ‘I’ll be back in three days, Arkansas Smith.’ He smiled and then spat onto the ground. ‘Oh, I know who you are. I’ll be back and I’ll have the law with me.’

‘Sure,’ Arkansas said, feeling he’d like nothing better than to put a bullet between John Lance’s eyes here and now. The temptation to do so and damn the consequences was great. Only these days he didn’t do things that way. ‘Watch out for rustlers as you go,’ he said with a grim smile.

John Lance looked at Arkansas for a moment and
then made the sign of the cross and again spat onto the ground.

He turned his horse and spurred it forward. His men followed close behind.

Arkansas stood watching them until they were out of sight and then went back inside and retrieved the knife from the crate. He held it up in view of his friend.

‘Is this yours?’ he asked. Will shook his head, confused. ‘What was all that about out there?’

Arkansas turned the knife over and over in his hand. He looked at his friend and then smiled. ‘This,’ he said, enigmatically, ‘proves that the men who shot you were working for John Lance.’

‘What do you mean?’ Will asked, his face a blueprint for confusion.

‘We need to talk.’ Arkansas sat on the edge of the bed, tossed the knife down on the bedspread and told his friend of the events of moments ago.

‘The two-bit, fork-tongued skunk,’ Will said, after listening to Arkansas’s story. ‘I never sold him anything. I’d burn this place before I’d sell to that no good varmint.’

‘Which is what I thought,’ Arkansas said. ‘He say’s he’s got the legal papers.’

Will frowned. ‘Papers?’

‘Forgeries no doubt.’ Arkansas placed the knife into his waistband and stood up from the bed. He crossed the room and then lingered in the doorway for a moment before turning back to his friend. ‘John Lance is going to wish he had never been born.’