Arkansas Smith (9 page)

Arkansas brought the horse to a halt as he reached the boundaries of the Lance property. In the distance he could see the large ranch house and the outbuildings. It certainly looked an impressive spread. The outbuildings alone, all built in a mixture of the Spanish and American styles, looked more comfortable than most houses he had ever seen.

Damn, he’d never even stayed in a house as fancy as those outbuildings.

Jim must have already ridden into the property since Arkansas had not seen hide nor hair of him for the last couple of miles, but his tracks were clear enough. Arkansas patted the side of the sorrel’s head and whispered comforts to it while he decided what to do next.

Night was still being held away by the remnants of the evening, but the sky was cobalt and the temperature had dropped a few degrees. And Arkansas was desperate to get back to Will’s place before nightfall.

For a moment he thought of Clay, laying there dead back at the old Bowen place, killed by a stray bullet and the doc supposedly shot by accident. Each of those deaths were the responsibility of John Lance. And what of the man called Pug who had provoked and lost a gunfight with Arkansas? And, of course, there was old man Bowen who had mysteriously disappeared. Was he another victim of Lance’s empire building? Not to mention Will who, too, would have been dead were it not for a stroke of luck when the bullet failed to destroy any vital organs and got snagged up in thick fatty tissue.

‘Come on,’ Arkansas said to the horse and started it slowly towards the ranch. He wasn’t sure what he exactly intended to do, but he knew he had to confront Lance. He realized how foolish it was to ride in by himself – effectively into a hornets’ nest. He was one gun, a crack-shot maybe, but still only one against many. He’d faced greater odds in the past, though.

Arkansas was counting on the fact that John Lance wouldn’t go up against him on the spur of the moment, that the rancher was too devious for that and would prefer to attack later, preferably when he (Lance) was far away and could not be implicated in events. The man was a coward and, if anything, that made him all the more dangerous. You knew where you were with a fighting man, but a coward would come at you from behind or when you were asleep. A coward would strike at those close to you, cowards had all the moral boundaries of a gutter rat.

Arkansas didn’t much like cowards.

As he neared the ranch Arkansas saw a group of men standing immediately outside the grand ranch house, John Lance was at the head of the group. He quickly scanned the faces but there was no sign of the man called Jim.

Arkansas pulled his horse to a halt outside the ranch gates and waited, saying nothing.

John Lance, flanked by several armed men, walked towards him.

‘What can I do for you?’ Lance asked.

Arkansas smiled. ‘Tell your men that anyone so much as moves I’ll kill them stone dead.’

‘Brave talk for a lone man,’ Lance said.

‘Try me.’ The words had a dread about them that hung heavy in the air and caused more than one of Lance’s men to twitch involuntarily.

‘Why would we want to hurt you?’ Lance asked. ‘I’m am a peaceable rancher.’

‘You’re a low-down, lying varmint is what you are,’ Arkansas told him and shifted casually in his saddle.

Briefly Lance was angered but he managed to pull himself under control.

‘State your business,’ he said, firmly. He didn’t want to lose face in front of his men and he was damned if he’d show any physical signs that the man called Arkansas Smith worried him.

‘My business,’ Arkansas said, ‘is to see you hang.’

Lance was taken aback and he produced a large cigar from his pocket and struck a match to it. He looked ill at ease as he smoked and it was obvious from
his manner that he was struggling to remain calm. He drew heavily on the cigar and allowed the smoke to twist between his teeth.

‘One of your men, goes by the name of Jim, rode in here not too long ago,’ Arkansas said.

‘Did he?’ Lance spoke through a thick plume of smoke.

‘He did,’ Arkansas said. ‘Him and his pard, a man known as Clay, killed the doc. Clay’s dead himself. Shot by his short-sighted pard. He’s lying back at the old Bowen place.’

‘The doc?’ Lance was genuinely surprised. Maybe he had nothing to do with that, but either way he obviously had not yet had a chance to talk to Jim.

‘They were both among the gang that shot William McCord – men acting on your orders. Killing the doc they did on their own initiative, or so it seems. And the man called Pug that I gunned down in Red Rock. You forced that fight on me. You couldn’t be any more responsible if you’d pulled the trigger yourself.’

‘Well,’ Lance said. ‘That’s a mighty dandy tall tale, but I’ve got no time for this. But for the record I don’t know any men called Jim and Clay, but if there is a dead man back at the Bowen place then that concerns me. That’s my property now and as for the doc—’

Arkansas cut Lance off mid speech when he pointed a finger directly at the man.

‘Cut the hogwash,’ he said. ‘I know what you are and I know the bill of sale you have for Will’s place is a forgery.’

‘I don’t much like your tone, mister,’ Lance said, obviously having given up any attempt to hold his back his anger. ‘I bought McCord’s property fair and square. Now I’m a law-abiding man, but as from dawn tomorrow your friend will be a squatter and it’s within my rights to have the law remove him from my land. And believe me, Arkansas Smith, we do things the correct way around here. When I come to McCord’s place I will have the law right beside me. And that law will enforce my legal and proper entitlement to McCord’s place.’

‘A law you control.’

‘On the contray, Lance said. ‘A law that does what’s right. We don’t want the likes of you and your friend around here. This place is intended for good people to live, not drifters like you. Nor, for that matter, small-time sod busters like McCord.’

Arkansas allowed his eyes to scan each and every man present before settling back on John Lance. To a man they fidgeted when his eyes fell on them and the tension in the air seemed to thicken somewhat.

He shifted in his saddle and shook his head.

‘I plan to get Sheriff Hackman to arrest you for conspiracy to murder,’ Arkansas said. ‘And then I’m going to bring charges of forgery, land grabbing and attempted murder.’ Arkansas leaned forward on his horse and again pointed a finger directly at John Lance. ‘I’m going to ensure you hang, John Lance. You’ll swing from the hemp like the common thief you are.’

The men laughed at that, but the look of sheer
malevolence they received from their boss stilled their hilarity. Lance’s complexion had turned redder than the approaching sunset and his eyes blazed like the fires of hell itself. He had to bite down hard on his lip to keep himself under control.

‘You’re on my land now,’ Lance said. ‘And I don’t take to saddle bums coming around with all sort of fancy accusations. Go now and take your gibberish with you or—’

Arkansas stopped him once again in mid speech. ‘Or what?’ he snarled.

Things may have progressed further at that point; it seemed that gunplay was inevitable, but then Arkansas saw a woman come out of the ranch house and stand on the boardwalk, looking puzzled at the mêlée before her.

Arkansas recognized her immediately as Rebecca.

‘Daddy?’ she said, in that drawl of hers and stepped down onto the dirt. She came closer to John Lance and then stopped dead when she saw Arkansas, their eyes locked and a look of sheer incomprehension crossed her face. For a moment it seemed as if she was about to say something, but no words came forth and the look of confusion on her face intensified.

Daddy! She was Lance’s daughter!

Arkansas felt his stomach churn. A sharp stabbing pain in his chest that he didn’t fully understand followed this. He shook his head to clear his befuddled mind but it did no good. He was stunned and felt as if a ten-pound hammer had struck him. The feelings disturbed him and the sight of Rebecca
standing there stirred up conflicting emotions.

Without saying another word he turned his horse and galloped back the way he had come.

John Lance crossed the room and placed the oil lamp on the mantel. He rubbed his hands down his trousers and looked at Jake, his foreman.

‘Get Jim in here,’ he said. Since the man had returned earlier he had not had a chance to speak to him, what with Arkansas Smith and then having to explain the situation to his daughter.

‘Sure thing,’ Jake said, and crossed the room in three massive strides.

Lance was left alone for a moment and he leaned on the mantel and stared into the flames of the fire, reflecting on the day just gone. After Arkansas had left earlier, tearing off across the grasslands like the devil was on his tail, Rebecca had come to her father, wanting to know what was happening. Apparently she knew Arkansas and had been visiting McCord’s place, helping the old man who, she said, had been shot by rustlers.

That revelation had resulted in a fierce row between father and daughter.

Lance had forbidden his daughter to have anything further to do with Arkansas Smith and William McCord. She had stormed off, not understanding her father’s reasoning, and it had taken some time for him to talk her round. He’d convinced her that McCord was gulching on a deal: that he’d sold his spread fair and square and had now had second thoughts and was claiming the sale never occurred; that the bill of sale was a forgery.

The entrance of the two men broke his reverie. Jim came in first with Jake following behind. The big man closed the door and stood in front of it, huge arms crossed before his impressive chest.

‘You wanted to see me?’ Jim asked. He wore his nervousness like a loud shirt and he gulped audibly as John Lance’s eyes burned into him. If it weren’t for the fact that Lance’s daughter was asleep upstairs Jim would have feared for his life.

Lance nodded and took a cigar from the box. He bit off the end and spat it into the fire before taking a match to it and swallowing a mouthful of the sweet tasting tobacco.

‘Tell me about Doc Cooter,’ Lance said, and reclined in the soft chair beside the fire. He drew on the cigar and crossed one leg over the other, waiting.

Jim gulped once more. He didn’t sit down and almost leapt out of his skin when he heard footsteps behind him, but he relaxed when he turned and saw Jake. They were old friends and he knew the big man wouldn’t do him any harm.

‘We just wanted to find out if McCord was alive or
dead, boss,’ Jim said, trying to keep his voice firm and even but mostly failing. ‘For you – because you’d asked us and we didn’t know. It was an accident. We tried to scare him and the gun misfired.’

‘I told you to go straight to Bowen’s place.’ Lance said, his voice dripping with menace, but on a sonic scale barely more than a whisper. ‘Not go off looking for the doctor.’

Jim nodded. He decided against telling him that the doc was already dead before they had been ordered to go to the old Bowen place. ‘We thought you’d want to know. We didn’t mean to kill him.’

‘What happened to Clay?’

Jim looked his boss firm in the eye and started to speak, but his words tripped over his tongue, which felt like a dry rag in his mouth.

‘Well?’ Lance prompted.

‘He’s dead.’

‘I know that,’ Lance said. ‘Arkansas implied you shot him.’

‘I weren’t aiming for him,’ Jim said, as if that explained everything. ‘I was looking to take that Arkansas fella down but Clay came into my line of fire at the last moment. I couldn’t do anything about it.’

‘I see.’ Lance placed the cigar in an ashtray and steepled his fingers to his lips. ‘You weren’t aiming for him! You killed the doc by accident and you weren’t aiming for Clay! Seems you have a lot of accidents.’

Jim shrugged his shoulders and had to tense to stop his trembling knees from knocking together. His mouth was as dry as the hinges of hell and he just
couldn’t work up any spit. He had to keep telling himself that he was safe, that they wouldn’t do anything with Rebecca asleep upstairs.

They wouldn’t hurt him – not here, not now.

‘You’ve caused me some problems.’

‘I’m sorry, boss.’ Jim’s voice broke and he lost control. ‘Let me go get this Arkansas now,’ he pleaded, ‘I’ll kill him for you.’

‘Yes,’ Lance said, and then nodded at Jake.

Before Jim could react, Jake’s powerful hands grabbed his throat and started to squeeze. The pressure would allow nothing more than a muted gurgle to escape rom Jim’s lips and he kicked and scrambled wildly. He dug his nails into Jake’s hands, tearing the flesh, but the big man didn’t seem to feel a thing. He pulled at the man’s grip as he felt himself being lifted from his feet. His eyes pushed at their sockets and felt as if they would burst free in a splash of optic fluid. The pressure on his throat increased and he started to feel light-headed as the last of the oxygen in his body was used up. It was at that last moment of life that Jim locked eyes with John Lance and he saw only a demonic coldness.

It was a slow and painful way to die, but it was the way Jim went and it was some time before Jake released his grip and the cowboy’s lifeless body fell to the floor with the hollow thud that only a dead body could make.

Lance shook his head, but before he could say a single word the door opened and Rebecca stood in the doorway. She looked first at her father and then at
Jake and then her eyes fell onto Jim’s lifeless body.

Rebecca opened her mouth and screamed.

‘I knew you was law,’ Rycot said, and smiled so widely that the only teeth he had were visible. ‘I knew it from the start. A man on the willow don’t strut around like no damned rooster.’

‘You calling me a chicken again?’ Arkansas said, and smiled.

He had just finished telling Will and Rycot of the day and of what he’d learned. The only thing he had left out was that Rebecca was Lance’s daughter; that bit of knowledge was still gnawing away at his insides. He was angrier with her than he had any right to be. The fact that she had been around on the pretence of helping Will recover while secretly getting information for her father made him madder than a drunken Indian. His feeling made him feel foolish and dented his pride somewhat; he hadn’t thought he was the type to let a woman get to him like this.

He had concluded his story by showing Will and Rycot – though he doubted the livery stable man was lettered – the telegram from the Justice O’Keefe which outlined the legal standing of Arkansas Smith as a special government marshal.

‘And another man has died today,’ Will said, in a cold, matter-of-fact way.

‘Yeah,’ Arkansas said and thought of Clay. ‘And there’ll likely be more before all this is over.’

‘So what happens next?’ Will asked.

‘I think Lance will be here with his so-called legal
papers in the morning,’ Arkansas said. ‘He’ll have the sheriff and a few hastily sworn in deputies with him, no doubt. But what they don’t realize is I can overrule the sheriff.’

Will smiled. ‘They’re going to be spitting teeth over this.’

Arkansas smiled. ‘I expect so,’ he said. ‘And even more so when I order the sheriff to jail Lance to await trial by Justice O’Keefe.’

‘Lance won’t stand for that,’ Rycot said.

‘He’ll have no choice,’ Arkansas said firmly. ‘My evidence is flimsy and it’ll come down to my word against his, but I think the law will take my side. I’ve already started the ball rolling and Justice O’Keefe is looking into all the land deals Lance has made over the last few years.’

‘I know a few people Lance has cheated out of their spreads,’ Rycot pointed out and lit himself a cigarette. ‘He’s an empire builder is what he is. And he doesn’t care who he hurts to get what he wants.’

‘That’s true,’ Will said. ‘The land around here is thin soiled. Only suitable for grazing and to make serious money in the cattle business you need thousands of acres. Guess that’s what Lance is trying to do.’

Arkansas took the water from the stove and poured three cups of coffee. He handed one to both Will and Rycot and took his own and went and stood over by the window.

Was that the reasoning behind all this? He wondered. Was Lance merely empire building? Was it
sheer greed that drove him to try and buy up every spread around the area? And what if folk refused, if his money couldn’t entice them to move? Would he then try and persuade them with a gun? It certainly looked that way with Will whose land seemed to have no worth other than the actual land value, which wasn’t a great deal at the moment. And old man Bowen’s disappearance was still very much a mystery.

‘I reckon we’d best all get some rest,’ Arkansas said, and peered out of the window at the inky black landscape. ‘We’re all gonna need our wits about us come morning.’

‘I’m fit enough to handle a gun,’ Will said, and stood up as if to prove the point. There was still some pain in his side, but overall he guessed he was doing OK everything considered.

Arkansas nodded. Even although it had been little more than a flesh wound Will’s recovery was remarkable. The fever, which had sapped his strength, seemed to have all but vanished.

Showed how strong he still was: once a Ranger always a Ranger.

‘Never been one for shooting myself,’ Rycot said. ‘But if a target’s big enough I can sure hit it. Might not always kill it, but I’ll slow it down some.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ Arkansas said, though he knew that wasn’t very likely.

He was hoping that things would start to unravel when he showed his papers to the sheriff and Lance realized he couldn’t hide behind the law. Maybe Lance wouldn’t have any fight in him when he knew
he’d be unable to use the law to justify his crimes. It was easy enough to do all manner of ill when a man knew the law wasn’t going to intervene.

‘It will,’ Will said, matter-of-factly. ‘The only way to get a skunk like John Lance to listen is with red-hot lead.’

Arkansas turned and looked at his old partner and an understanding passed between them. They both knew that whatever morning brought them then bloodshed would be a part of it.

That much was inevitable.

‘Well, we’ll be ready for them,’ Arkansas said.

‘We’ll be outnumbered,’ Rycot interjected, nervously.

‘My Colts are six-shooters and the Spencer takes seven. That’ll be enough,’ Arkansas told him, and turned his attention back to the window and the rapidly retreating night outside. Dawn would be here in a matter of a few hours and with it would come the day of reckoning. ‘We’d best get some sleep now.’

‘Who can sleep with all this going on?’ Rycot paced the room, as jumpy as a tick on a hot plate. ‘Damn, couldn’t sleep if I tried.’ He continued to pace and when he got no answer he turned and noticed the other two men were indeed fast asleep. Will was slumped in the soft chair and Arkansas was curled in the foetal position on the floor.

He shook his head in wonder. He couldn’t understand how these men could switch off so easily. Come dawn, Lance and his men would turn up, armed to the teeth and bloodshed would surely follow. And yet these two men were sleeping away as if they
didn’t have a care in the world. He shook his head again and crept slowly over to the table and grabbed the remainder of the whiskey before sitting himself down in a corner.