Arkansas Smith (6 page)

The sheriff had been as much use as a hole in the head.

He had confirmed Lance’s claims that he had purchased the McCord place legally from William McCord, but said he was not authorized to show the documents to any proxy of Mr McCord. On the subject of the doctor’s disappearance, the sheriff had more or less implied that the doc did that from time to time. The only information of any use that Arkansas had gleaned from the lawman was that the name of the man left dead in the street was Pug Atkinson. The sheriff claimed to be unaware if the big man was working for Lance or not. And there was certainly no obvious connection between the shoot out and John Lance. ’Least, as far as the sheriff was concerned, there wasn’t.

Arkansas didn’t hold much credence in the sheriff’s claims. It was obvious from the man’s manner that the lawman was scared of John Lance and may have even been in his employ. Arkansas smelt a rat there, but it
didn’t really matter since he knew he would get to the bottom of it when he received the answer to his telegram.

There was no doubt in his mind that John Lance was talking through his hat regarding the purchase of Will’s spread. It was also as sure as the wind blew that Lance had been responsible for Will’s shooting. Maybe not directly, but he had at the very least ordered it. Arkansas felt he could place the man with the ornamental Colt at the scene and the fact that he worked for Lance was enough to press charges. Those charges would not stick without further evidence to back them up, but it was a start. Maybe he’d look up the man with the pretty gun.

Arkansas kept the sorrel at a steady pace. He felt no urgency to get back to the cabin.

He didn’t think Lance would be loco enough to try anything at the moment, not after witnessing one of his men gunned down in the street. The cattleman claimed to have legal documents proving ownership of Will’s place and when he came back it would be with the law at his side. Thing was, the man didn’t realize that Arkansas was going to overrule that law.

The sorrel stumbled for a moment but then regained its steady pace and Arkansas patted the side of her head with a soothing hand. He spurred her forward and headed towards the cabin.

Will was dozing when he heard the sound but he snapped instantly awake. He grabbed the Spencer and worked its action, sending a shell into the chamber.
He listened but there was nothing. Not a sound and he relaxed slightly but then he heard it again.

Someone was rapping on the door.

He slowly swung his legs over and out of the bed and then gradually put his weight on them. A wave of pain shot through his stomach and he had to shift his weight back onto the bed. When he had left Arkansas had left the bedroom door open and Will could see through to the main door.

‘Come in,’ he shouted, and held the Spencer with the butt resting against his hip.

The knocking sounded again and Will frowned.

‘Dammit, come in!’ he yelled and winced when a fresh wave of pain sent molten lava coursing through his nervous system. Though the pain didn’t last quite as long as before it still hurt like hell.

The door opened slowly and Will tensed, gritting his teeth against a secondary wave of pain as he pressed the rifle butt hard into his stomach. After what seemed an age a pretty face came around the door and then smiled when she saw him.

‘I thought I’d check in on you,’ Rebecca said, and entered the cabin and closed the door behind her. She was carrying a basket, the contents of which were covered with a thin tartan patterned cloth. ‘I usually take my ride about this time of day so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.’

‘Obliged,’ Will said, and rested the Spencer on the bed. He managed to lift himself up slightly so that he was seated, legs hanging over the edge of the bed.

‘You seem better,’ Rebecca said.

‘I’m on the mend,’ Will agreed.

‘I’ve baked some cakes for you and er—’ She looked around the cabin.

‘Arkansas,’ Will said. ‘He’s gone into town on some business. Shouldn’t be too long now.’ He was sure he had seen a look of disappointment on the girl’s face and he wondered if it really was
his
health that had prompted this visit.

Rebecca set the basket down on the table. ‘You want for me to get you some coffee?’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ Will said. He was feeling ravenous and guessed he must be getting some of his strength back. ‘And one of those cakes would be good.’ They were giving off a delicious aroma that set his mouth watering.

Rebecca smiled and disappeared from Will’s view when she went to the stove. Arkansas had left the pot half full of coffee and Rebecca decided it was still fresh enough to drink and poured a little into a tin cup. She took it through to Will and sat down on the bed next to him.

‘So, your friend?’ Rebecca asked.

‘Arkansas,’ Will said, and took a bite out of one of the rock cakes. It was delicious, the pastry crumbling in his mouth.

‘Arkansas,’ she said. ‘I’ve not seen him around these parts before.’

‘No.’ Will smiled. So it was interest in his friend that had brought her here and not his well-being. That was pretty much what he had expected. ‘I’ve not seen him for years. He turned up a couple of days ago. Lucky 
for me he did.’

‘Yes,’ Rebecca agreed, and ran a hand over the bed to remove the crumbs Will had dropped. ‘How did you get hurt?’

‘Not too sure about that,’ Will told her. ‘Someone ran off my cattle and shot me. Rustlers maybe.’

‘You’re very lucky to have such a friend,’ Rebecca said, and before Will could answer Arkansas came into the cabin and stood in the bedroom doorway. Neither of them had heard him ride up.

‘Howdy.’ He tipped his hat to them both. He was startled to find how glad he was to see the woman again. The feelings he was currently experiencing were alien to him and he didn’t much understand them.

‘Rebecca’s made us some lovely cakes,’ Will said. ‘Make a nice change from your cooking. No offence, but you never were one with the pots and pans.’

‘Obliged,’ Arkansas said, and then turned to the woman. ‘And after that dinner you cooked and all. Maybe you’re trying to fatten us up,’ he joked.

Rebecca blushed. ‘I’ll fix you some coffee,’ she said, and quickly pushed past Arkansas and went to the stove.

It was a little after six and the first signs of night were visible in the sky. The sun was sinking into the mountains and sending a red sheen over the horizon. The sky seemed to be made up of a patchwork of vibrant colours – red, purple, even carmine in places. The diffused light danced across Rebecca’s face and
glittered in her eyes. It didn’t seem possible but it made her even more beautiful.

Rebecca had said it was time she made a move and that her pa would worry about her if she didn’t get home well before dark. It had been an enjoyable afternoon and after the men had polished off her cakes, Rebecca had made a delicious meat pie, which they had eaten with potatoes and a thick gravy made from the fats.

‘I thank you for everything,’ Arkansas said. He had escorted her outside and now they stood at the corral fence. ‘I’m sure it’s your care that’s put Will on the mend so quickly.’

She smiled and once again her cheeks coloured as she blushed. For a moment she made eye contact with Arkansas and then self-consciously pulled her gaze away towards the far horizon. ‘It’s only neighbourly,’ she said. ‘We’ve been neighbours for some time, but until you brought my horse under control I don’t think we ever shared more than a word when we passed each other in town. I never even knew his name nor that his place was so close to ours.’

‘Where is your place?’ Arkansas asked.

‘I live a couple of miles yonder. My daddy owned the first ranch in this area. He came here long before Red Rock was a town.’

‘And your ma?’ Arkansas asked, and then wished he hadn’t. Was he probing too deeply? Being too forward? In the West it just wasn’t polite to ask too many questions.

Rebecca didn’t seem to think so and a forlorn look
crossed her face. ‘My mother died giving birth to me,’ she told him. ‘I was raised by my daddy.’

Arkansas smiled and nodded knowingly. He could understand her feelings of loss and how she must have felt growing up without knowing her own mother. He hadn’t known his real parents and although he’d had a good upbringing by his adoptive parents, he had often felt a void deep inside himself that felt at times like a cavity in his soul. It was a need for identity that would always be there and would never be fulfilled.

‘Life can be pretty cruel at times,’ Arkansas said, after a long silence.

Rebecca nodded and turned towards her horse. She untied the reins from the fence and pulled it towards her.

‘I may call tomorrow.’

‘Sure,’ Arkansas said. ‘That would be nice.’ He moved closer towards her and kissed her gently on the cheek and then stood back while she mounted her horse. He watched her ride off, waving and thinking that she was one of the finest women he had ever met.

‘After I spoke to you in town I got to thinking and I went out looking for the doc,’ Rycot said and had to catch his breath. ‘Figured he couldn’t be too far with my cart and all.’

‘Figures,’ Arkansas said and rolled himself a quirly.

‘I very nearly missed him since some attempt has been made to hide the body, but I recognized a piece of lumber from my cart. When I found him he was dead,’ Rycot said and then shook his head. ‘I came straight here because the sheriff would be next to useless and you were closer in any case. I figured you’d want to know.’

Arkansas nodded and handed Rycot the whiskey bottle. ‘Obliged.’

‘They tried to hide the cart, too,’ Rycot continued and took a slug from the bottle. ‘Smashed it all to pieces. If I hadn’t recognized that worm-eaten piece of lumber I wouldn’t have found him.’

Rycot had come riding in not ten minutes ago, driving his horse as if he had the devil himself on his
tail. It had taken him some time to catch his breath and now he slouched in a chair and and was swigging whiskey.

‘Damn well shook me up,’ Rycot said. ‘Seeing the doc like that.’ He shivered and made the sign of the cross with a finger upon his chest.

‘It’s too dark to go back out there now,’ Arkansas said. ‘You can stay here tonight, we’ll head back out at first light.’

Rycot nodded and took another slug of the whiskey. ‘Sure. Who do you think did for him?’

Arkansas shook his head. He had no real idea. It didn’t make any sense for Lance to be behind it: there would be no logical reason that he could see to do that to the doc.

Arkansas had a pretty good idea what Lance was up to. The documents detailing the sale of Will’s spread would obviously be forgeries, so the attempt on Will’s life made perfect sense. With Will out of the way Lance could just move right in and take control of the spread without his word being questioned. But his attempt to kill the man had failed. Now he’d have to produce the documents and deny Will’s claims that they were forged. Arkansas hoped that the reason Lance was so keen to get his hands on Will’s place would become clear when the answer to his telegram arrived in the morning. But whatever the reason, killing the doc would be a bizarre move for a man in John Lance’s position.

It was then that the bedroom door opened and Will came out using the Spencer as a crutch. He gritted his
teeth against his obvious pain and waved Arkansas away when he tried to come to his aid. He managed to reach a chair and sit himself down.

‘What’s happening?’ Will asked.

‘Howdy, Will,’ Rycot said, and took another mouthful of the whiskey.

Will nodded at Rycot and then frowned. ‘What in tar-nation’s happening?’

Arkansas filled his friend in on recent events. Telling him about the gunfight in town and of how the doc had been missing since leaving here a few nights previously. Rycot had found him, the cart driven off the side of the road and the body partly buried with rocks. The doc had been shot in the chest. Rycot felt that the man would have died instantly.

‘I don’t understand what’s going on here,’ Will said, shaking his head. ‘First someone tries to gun me down and now the doc. And Lance claims I sold this place to him. It makes no sense.’

‘Lance will probably come up with a plausible reason for you denying selling to him,’ Arkansas said. ‘He claims to have documents signed by you.’

‘I signed nothing for no man,’ Will said.

Arkansas nodded. ‘I’m mighty interested in seeing those documents.’

‘John Lance is a rattlesnake,’ Rycot contributed. ‘I ain’t never liked that man.’

‘But why kill the doc?’ Arkansas said and paced the room. ‘If he has documents and it becomes his word against yours that the signature is forged, then killing the doc seems mighty stupid. And whatever John
Lance may be I don’t think he’s stupid.’

‘Is that what you think?’ Will asked. ‘That Lance is behind it all?’

‘I do,’ Arkansas told him. ‘I think he’s forged your signature and that killing you and making it look like the work of rustlers took away the possibility of you disputing his claims. Or it would have if he had actually killed you. Now he’s just going to have to face you down, claim that you are trying to backtrack on the deal. I just can’t figure out any good reason to gun the doctor down. If anything that’s plumb loco.’

‘Someone killed him,’ Rycot said. His eyes had glazed over and the whiskey bottle was getting close to being dry. ‘That much I can tell you.’

‘I don’t think it was Lance, though,’ Arkansas said. ‘’Less he’s loco, a mad dog.’

‘Then who?’ Will grimaced and clutched his side as he felt a fresh wave of pain.

‘That’s what I aim to find out,’ Arkansas said. He took the makings from his shirt pocket and rolled and lit a quirly.

Sheriff Bill Hackman was a troubled man.

He’d hardly slept all night and, as the dawn broke, he suddenly felt exhausted. The little rest he had managed had hardly been reviving and he groaned as he worked a kink out of his back. Recent events were catching up with him and although only fifty years old he felt every one of those years tenfold.

He left the jailhouse, figuring he might as well patrol the town before the bustle of the day started. It would be impossible to snatch any sleep now that the day had arrived and even if he did get a chance, a quiet few hours, his mind would refuse to switch off.

Lance had been livid about the gunfight between Pug and the man called Arkansas Smith. He had demanded Smith be arrested, but the sheriff told him that was out of the question. It was a fair fight and half the town had witnessed it – dammit, he’d witnessed it himself. There was nothing the law could do, not even a law that belonged to John Lance. The arrival of this Arkansas Smith had certainly ruffled a few feathers
and was continuing to do so. He had a reputation as a gunslinger, a man who hired out his skills to the highest bidder. Why he was in Red Rock was beyond the lawman. And what exactly was his connection to William McCord?

The sheriff was just about to turn out of Main Street when he heard the arrival of riders coming into town from the south. He turned and saw them, two men, riding side by side. As they neared he could make out the thunder both seemed to carry in their faces. He recognized them both: one was Rycot and the other was the man called Arkansas Smith.

‘Sheriff,’ Arkansas said, as they pulled their horses to a stop a few feet from the lawman. ‘About four miles out of town, where the road forks off towards the mountains you’ll find the doc.’

The sheriff looked perplexed and he shrugged his shoulders. Drunken doctors were hardy his bailiwick.

‘He’s dead.’

The sheriff looked first at Rycot and then at Arkansas. ‘Dead?’ he said, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘How?’

‘Shot,’ Arkansas said. ‘By person or persons unknown. They tried to hide the body but Mr Rycot here’s a bloodhound. The cart the doc was driving was forced off the road and into the bushes, but Rycot spotted it.’

Rycot seemed to like that and he tipped his hat to the sheriff. ‘Recognized a piece of my cart. When you catch these skunks I hope the law will compensate me. That cart was not more than a year old.’ In truth, the
cart was long past its best and only fit for firewood, but Rycot figured he was due some remuneration for his troubles.

‘I’ll get some men together and ride out there straight away,’ the sheriff told them.

‘You do that,’ Arkansas said. ‘I’ll be needing to speak to you later.’ He turned his horse and started towards Rycot’s livery stable, leaving the sheriff staring at their backs as they crossed the street.

‘What time will the telegraph office open?’ Arkansas asked.

Rycot scratched his head. ‘Nine, I think. Takes a little while for most folk in this town to get going of a morning.’ He obviously didn’t have much use for such modern contraptions as telegrams.

Arkansas looked up at the sun. ‘Just over an hour,’ he said, and then smiled at Rycot. ‘You got coffee making facilities in that livery of yours?’

‘Sure,’ Rycot said, proudly.

‘Then get some brewing.’ Arkansas dismounted and led his horse into a stall. He threw some fresh grain into the trough and his horse went at it immediately.

‘Yes sir.’ The telegraph operator responded to Arkansas’s query and quickly crossed the room and grabbed two sheets of paper from a pigeonhole. ‘They arrived promptly this morning.’ He handed the sheets over.

Arkansas quickly ran an eye over both sheets, a thin smile forming at the corners of his mouth. 

‘Obliged,’ he said and tipped his hat. He walked out of the small telegraph office to where Rycot waited for him on the sidewalk.

‘Did it come?’

Arkansas stuffed the sheets into his pocket. ‘Sure did.’

‘Well, what’s so all-fire important?’

Arkansas smiled. Rycot seemed to have elected himself his pard. He decided to counter the question with another question rather than be evasive.

‘Is the sheriff back yet?’

Rycot shook his head.

‘No matter,’ Arkansas said. ‘I’ll catch up with him on the way back to Will’s.’

‘You want I should come with you?’ Rycot asked. ‘Having another man around may prove helpful with your pard still on the mend.’

‘Sure.’ Arkansas nodded, knowing that from here on in things could get a little tricky. Having another gun around would not do any harm. And besides, Arkansas had a theory he wanted to check out and leaving someone behind with Will seemed prudent. The telegram had offered no obvious reason for Lance’s desire to get his hands on Will’s spread but the rancher had acquired some properties in recent months and Arkansas had a hunch. He always played his hunches and more than once it had been an intuition, a strange feeling, which had saved his life.

They went across to the livery and readied their horses. Before they mounted up and left for Will’s place, Rycot hung a sign over the door saying that he
was closed for a few days but anyone using the stable should leave a signed IOU.

Both men were oblivious to that fact that across the street, John Lance stood in his office window watching them and he continued to do so as they started their horses out of town.

They had gone perhaps a mile when they saw the sheriff and half-a-dozen other riders coming towards them.