ARKANSAS SMITH II: THE TUMBLEWEED TRAIL Read online

  What the hell had happened out there?

  Something like ten minutes had crawled by without any sound at all and so far nobody had approached the wagon. Jake didn’t think it was a trick played by the Indians. He was sure they had gone but he had not the faintest inkling of who had come to their aid. Maybe it had been the legend called Tumbleweed, Jake thought and then smiled at his own foolishness. Tumbleweed was a trail-tale, a fairy story, nothing more. Something told to comfort children, an illogical impossibility designed by the human need for such fancies. Like the Tooth Fairy and Father Christmas, the man called Tumbleweed was not a man at all but a phantom of the imagination. It would be dawn soon and it couldn’t come quick enough for Jake. As soon as it turned light enough to see where he was going, he would take a look around, broken ankle or no broken ankle.

  He was suddenly reminded of that ankle when Ellie-May pulled a strip of the makeshift bandage a little too tightly but the pain, although intense, was momentary and left him even more alert. The woman had set the bone the best she could, and the splint and bandages had reduced the pain to a dull throb. Jake knew he wouldn’t be able to walk upon it for some time but he’d be able to ride sure enough. Come first light he’d make some sort of crutch from the branch of a tree.

  Whatever had happened out there Jake planned on getting away from here as quickly as possible, and putting some miles behind them before the night fell again. And now his wife’s head came back out between man and son and this time both of the girls followed. Five heads protruded from the doorway, all watching the sky begin to lighten slowly as dawn began to battle the night for dominion.

  Jake tensed when he heard movement, like a twig snapping underfoot. He could see now, a few feet at least and a milky almost ethereal mist floated just beyond the tree line, seeming to wisp in and around the trees.

  He heard it again.

  Someone was coming towards them.

  ‘Who is it?’ Jake called. ‘Identify yourself. I’m armed.’

  Lucy closed her eyes and mumbled: ‘Tumbleweed.’ She crossed her fingers and said it over and over again, as if wishing the man into existence. ‘Tumbleweed, Tumbleweed, TumbleweedTumbleweedTumbleweed.’ The word became one long verbal snake.

  ‘Hello the camp,’ came a man’s voice and the man emerging from the opaqueness of the early morning could hear Jake’s guarded sigh.

  ‘If you’re friendly,’ Jake shouted back. ‘You are most welcome. But if not I’ll put a hole in your belly.’

  Arkansas Smith suddenly appeared to them, as if magically materialising out of the mist. One moment there had been no one and the next he was there.

  ‘Oh, I’m friendly enough,’ he said and held his hand up as he approached the wagon. He looked at the five faces in turn and smiled. They were cute kids and the man and woman looked a handsome couple.

  ‘I chased them critters that were bothering you off. You’re safe now,’ he said.

  ‘Are you Tumbleweed?’ Lucy, the youngest of the children, asked. She had her doll beneath one arm, clutching it to her chest.

  Arkansas was taken aback by the young girl’s question and he paused for a moment and then smiled. He too had heard the legends of the man called Tumbleweed, the benign spirit of the old trapper who supposedly protected the mortal souls of those who travelled the trail he himself had carved out of the wilderness.

  ‘Stop bothering the man.’ Ellie-May scolded her daughters and then ushered their heads back through the flap of the doorway. ‘You are most welcome Mr, er -?’

  ‘Arkansas Smith,’ he said and dropped his arms. ‘Ain’t no Mr about it.’

  Ellie-May and her husband exchanged a concerned glance, the name obviously meaning something to them, which didn’t surprise Arkansas since his name was known across the West and even further afield. He took no pride in this but rather accepted it as a fact and a rather bothersome fact if truth were told. Everywhere he went it seemed some up and coming gunman wanted to test their hand against Arkansas Smith and those that did usually ended up horizontal. Arkansas was tired of killing men that way.

  ‘Then you are welcome Mr Smith.’ Jake said and finally put the Sharps aside.

  ‘Arkansas will do. Anymore’s a mouthful,’ Arkansas said and removed his hat, shook the dust from it and then ran a hand through his thick hair before placing it back on his head.

  The girls pushed back through the flap and this time her mother ignored them.

  ‘I’m Jake,’ the man said. ‘This here’s my son Little Jakie, my wife’s Ellie-May and those cute little bundles are Lucy and Sarah. We’re all pleased to make your acquaintance Arkansas.’

  ‘Obliged to know you,’ Arkansas said and leaned against the wagon. He looked directly into Jake’s eyes. ‘What you folk doing out here? Alone like this?’

  ‘We’re heading for Kansas City,’ Jake said and then lowered his voice. ‘Help me down,’ he said. ‘I’ve broke my fool ankle but all the same I’d rather talk away from the children.’

  Arkansas nodded, held out his arms and grabbed Jake by the pit of his arms while he wriggled, serpent like, from the wagon. Arkansas took his weight and Jake pointed towards the trees. Arkansas nodded and led the man a few feet from the wagon.

  ‘Indians?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Sort of,’ Arkansas said. ‘A couple of rogue braves operating with a bunch of bandits. They like to make things look like Indian attacks to get the army all stirred up chasing shadows while they plunder and kill. I’ve been following them for sometime.’

  ‘You a lawman?’

  Arkansas nodded. ‘Something like that.’

  Jake nodded, knowing that there was no use probing any further. He had heard the stories of the man called Arkansas Smith. Some said he was an outlaw, others claimed him a lawman and there were others still that said he was a combination of the two and so much more besides. Indeed if every story told about Arkansas Smith was given credence then the man would have been some sort of bizarre cross between Wild Bill, The Kid Antrim and Satan himself.

  ‘You kill them?’ Jake asked.

  ‘I got one,’ Arkansas said. ‘A Texan known as, El Asesino. And I think I winged another. And you folks got Running Elk.’

  ‘We figured we’d hit someone,’ Jake said. ‘Weren’t too sure, though.’

  ‘You hit him sure enough. One of the rogue braves. I saw the body in the brush,’ Arkansas said. ‘Hit with a shotgun by the look of him. The others I chased away.’

  ‘All on your lonesome?’

  Arkansas smiled, weakly. ‘They couldn’t see me and they figured I could see them. They didn’t like those odds.’

  Now it was Jake’s turn to smile. He slapped Arkansas on the back. ‘Let’s hop on over to the wagon and get us something to eat,’ he said with a smile. ‘You hungry?’

  ‘I could eat a horse,’ Arkansas said. ‘And speaking of horses I’d best get mine.’

  Jake nodded and reached and snapped a branch from a tree before removing his arm from Arkansas’s shoulder.

  ‘You will eat with us?’ Jake asked, leaning against a tree and cutting the branch into some sort of walking aid with his knife. He had the irrational fear that the man would vanish just as he had come.

  Arkansas nodded and went back through the tree-line.

  Three

  Arkansas crouched besides the body of the big Texan and shook his head.

  ‘El Asesino,’ he said. The name meant, The killer. ‘I guess you won’t be living up to that name any longer. The killer’s been killed.’ Arkansas took a look around him and smiled grimly when he discovered a trail of blood that led into the thick foliage and then disappeared. So he had hit another one of them. He wasn’t sure how bad he’d wounded the man but the fact that he had hit anyone at all was a miracle since he’d been firing blind, guessing positions, during a night so black it gave nothing away. With El Asesino dead and the brave the settlers had hit, it left seven members of the gang at large. And now they would know he was once again on their
tail, that he had escaped the caves.

  Brady’s gang would be on their guard now. He cursed his luck. Why did the damn wagon have to pass this way and lull the gang out of their hiding hole? He had hoped to take the entire gang together, while they were off guard and he would have too, had Brady not decided to attack the wagon.

  ‘Sure is a mess,’ he said and spat a shred of tobacco out from between his teeth. He took another look at the big Texan and once more shook his head.

  He supposed he had better bury the man. He may have been a bad man and never shown such courtesy to his many victims but Arkansas wouldn’t leave anyone for the critters to gnaw on, not even a piece of trash like El Asesino. He’d bury the man; give him a better send off than he deserved and then do likewise for Running Elk, but not until he’d eaten.

  He took one final look at the dead man and then went to his horse, grabbed the reins and led it through the trees towards where the wagon was parked. He whispered soothingly to the sorrel and patted the side of its head while he walked the magnificent looking creature, its coat showing a fiery red where the pale sunlight filtered through the trees, keeping in perfect step with its master.

  ‘I sure hope you’re still hungry,’ Jake said as Arkansas emerged from the tree line and tethered the sorrel to a thick stump. ‘Ellie-May’s fried up some bacon, beans and a whole pot of coffee.’

  Arkansas could smell the food cooking. The aroma immediately reminded him of how long it had been since he’d eaten anything other than a piece of cold jerky and he felt his muscles tighten in anticipation.

  ‘Hungry ain’t the word for it,’ he said.

  Ellie-May emerged from behind the wagon. She had a pan in her hands containing a mess of steaming hot beans.

  ‘You wash up,’ she said and pointed to the stream. ‘Just because we’re in this wilderness don’t mean we don’t keep a clean table. Won’t be a moment and I’ll be dishing out,’ she turned to the children and told them to get the plates from the back of the wagon and the girls did so while Little Jakie stood his ground, staring at Arkansas.

  ‘Obliged,’ Arkansas said and went to the stream where he rolled his up his shirtsleeves and splashed the freezing cold water onto his face. Feeling immediately fresh he was just about to go get the food when he saw Jake come over to him. The man was limping. Without the use of his makeshift walking stick he would have fallen flat on his face.

  ‘My girls are scared,’ Jake said. ‘Especially Lucy.’

  ‘It’s understandable.’

  ‘Sure is.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine.’

  ‘That’s as maybe,’ Jake scratched at his beard, as though figuring what to say next. ‘Thing is Lucy thinks you’re this Tumbleweed.’

  ‘The legendary Tumbleweed,’ Arkansas smiled. ‘It’s a harmless enough tale.’

  ‘You know the story?’

  ‘Sure, don’t everyone?’

  ‘I guess so,’ again Jake scratched at his beard. ‘It gives her hope, I guess.’

  ‘That maybe the whole point of the story.’

  ‘Is what I figure,’ Jake scratched the beard so furiously that clumps of skin must have been coming up under his fingernails. ‘Maybe she’s better off believing it.’

  ‘Figures,’ Arkansas said and then laughed. ‘And she thinks I’m this Tumbleweed!’

  ‘She sure does.’

  ‘You don’t want me to tell her otherwise.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ Jake said and smiled back. ‘ No harm in it. It’ll make Lucy sleep easier to think Tumbleweed’s is watching over her.’

  ‘No,’ Arkansas said. ‘I don’t mind. I can think of worse things to pretend to be than some ghostly trapper turned guardian angel.’

  Jake laughed again and slapped Arkansas on the back. ‘Then let’s be eating us a fill.’

  ‘You’ll get no arguments from me,’ Arkansas said and allowed the man to lead him over to the fire.

  From the diary of Ellie-May Preston

  Jake is firm in his conviction that the move to Kansas City represents a new start for the family and ultimately a better life. He is resolute in this belief and whilst I have many concerns, I will not voice them, now will I grumble, since it is the duty of every god-fearing wife to stand by her man. And Jake is a very good man and I will strive to be the best wife I can be.

  We have been attacked during the night. At first we thought by Indians but we have since learned from a man who goes by the name of Arkansas Smith that it was an outlaw band with Indians among their numbers. The man, Arkansas Smith, saved us from certain peril but I have heard stories told of this man and if these stories are true then he is no better than the thieves and cutthroats that would have done us ill. He certainly looks like a gunfighter and wears his guns, two of them, tied down low as is the fashion with such people. However I must show charity towards him since without his intervention during the night we would have surely faced our doom.

  Earlier Jake had been telling the children the story of that mythical man known as Tumbleweed. Honestly sometimes I swear he believes the tall tale himself. I intend to write the legend down within these pages when time allows but as far as I am concerned it’s all fish stories and hot air.

  It was during this attack that Jake stumbled and snapped his left ankle in two. I had to take up a weapon in our defence, as did Little Jakie, but we would sure have been doomed if not for this man Arkansas Smith.

  The children all seem to have taken to him, Lucy especially who has convinced herself that the man is Tumbleweed himself. They say that children are able to read character far clearer than an adult, unfettered by adult concerns they can sense the good or evil in man. And whilst I do not know if I believe that, I do feel my children are no fools when it comes to judging people.

  Jake too seems to trust the man and I know he hopes Arkansas will remain with us, ensuring our safety for the remainder of our journey.

  Still, I am cautious of this man, and perhaps wise to be so. There have been deeds attributed to the man called Arkansas Smith that are too terrible to document, but by equal measure I have heard stories told of his great courage and sense of justice. For every one person who says Arkansas Smith is a scoundrel, thief and killer there are two more who swear him a saint.

  I myself see none of this in his eyes. They are of the palest blue and seem guarded, hunted almost, like the eyes of a creature trapped in a snare. There is a kindness of sorts there, I can see that but the eyes are always alive, looking beyond the present as if preparing for dangers yet to come. He is very polite around me, courteous to a fault and acts like a gentleman of the finest breeding, but all the same I can sense him coiled like a spring and ready to go at any moment. Indeed if there is one feeling that Arkansas Smith gives off it is one of restlessness.

  I must though by charitable and trust to the instincts of my husband and children. Jake is no fool and I do not believe it possible for him to be taken in by a charlatan and he is perfectly comfortable with this Arkansas Smith. I know Jake has heard many of the stories, both good and bad told of the man, but seems to have paid them no mind.

  So I also shall not.

  Four

  ‘So you were trailing these men, why?’ Jake asked. ‘You already said you ain’t exactly a lawman.’

  Arkansas drew on the cigarette, feeling comfortable sitting besides the campfire with his belly full of the tastiest food he’d eaten for quite some time. Ellie-May and the children were down by the stream, washing the crockery while the men, Little Jakie included sat by the fire. It seemed that Little Jakie, considering that he’d been there with gun in hand during the attack, had decided he was grown up enough to be eligible to sit around jawing with then men while the womenfolk carried out their chores.

  Arkansas looked at the man for several moments before answering and he noticed that his silence was making the man nervous. He didn’t want to do that, these seemed nice people and so he smiled and said: ‘I’ve been trailing t
he gang for sometime. They’ve been hitting trains, wagons, stages and anything else that takes their fancy. They’re not afraid to kill either.’

  ‘But you ain’t a lawman?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Bounty hunter?’

  ‘I work for the government,’ Arkansas said and refused to be drawn further on the subject. After all what more could he say? That he had a death sentence hanging over his own head and that he was working towards a full pardon? That was more or less the truth but it wasn’t something he wanted to get into. Technically until that pardon came he was still an outlaw. Though if he’d ever get that pardon was doubtful, and he guessed he’d be sent on one dirty task after another until he was killed himself or grew too old to be of further use.

  Maybe then and only then would the pardon be forthcoming.

  Jake pulled a corncob pipe from his pocket and thumbed tobacco into the small bowl. He used a piece of kindling from the fire and sucked the tobacco to life, billowing pungent smoke from the corners of his mouth.

  ‘You’re after these men alone?’ it was Little Jakie who asked the question.

  ‘I do most things alone,’ Arkansas said and smiled at the boy. The boy had the makings of a fine man and Arkansas could see from the pride in Jake senior’s eyes that the man knew it.

  ‘A man should always have someone else to share his troubles,’ Jake said thoughtfully and stared deep into the fire. That sentence proved to be pretty much a conversation killer and for some time there was silence.

  ‘I had a posse with me,’ Arkansas said, presently.’ But Brady’s gang ambushed us a ways back, killed some of the men and chased the others off. The posse are out there somewhere but maybe I’m the only one still trailing Brady’s gang.’ And with that explanation the conversation was firmly and finally laid to rest.

  Afterwards Arkansas went to bury the two members of Brady’s gang with Jake insisting on helping. Little Jakie had wanted to come along but his father had made him stay with the wagon. ‘Look out for the womenfolk,’ he had had told the disappointed boy.