Arkansas Smith Page 2

  ‘I’m not standing here for the benefit of my health,’ the old man said irritably. ‘Names Rycot.’ He offered his hand to Arkansas but the gesture was ignored. The old timer frowned.

  ‘Where’s the doc?’

  ‘You sick?’

  ‘Where’s the doc?’ Firmer, with steel.

  The old man swallowed audibly. ‘End of Main Street,’ he said. ‘Turn left into First and you’ll find the doc’s place on the far left, next to the newspaper offices.’

  ‘Obliged.’ Arkansas said. ‘Freshen my horse up – I’ll need the hire of your cart. That OK with you?’

  ‘Sure,’ the old man said, smiling a toothless, wrinkling, grin.

  ‘Obliged,’ Arkansas replied, and walked off in search of the doctor.

  The doctor had taken some persuading to leave his place and ride out into the cabin. Arkansas had told him of how he’d ridden in yesterday and found Will all shot up, perhaps even close to death. The wound was festering and the fever was on the man and bringing him to town could kill him. The argument was finally settled when Arkansas informed the doctor that either he rode out with him, or he’d been nursing his own gut wound.

  Arkansas had left the man to collect his instruments and gone back to the livery stable. On the way he passed a few men in the street but he ignored them and kept his pace with grim determination.

  ‘I’ve done what you asked, mister,’ Rycot told him, as he saw Arkansas approach. He pointed to the cart, to which he had already rigged up a powerful-looking pack horse. The sorrel was tethered behind it. Both horses looked fresh, brushed down and watered.

  ‘Good,’ Arkansas said and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a roll of bills and counted off several. ‘That should cover it,’ he said, and stuffed the notes into the old man’s out-stretched hand.

  ‘Much obliged.’ The old man’s eyes were wide. It was twice the usual fee, but he stuffed it into his pocket all the same.

  ‘I’ll return the cart and horse later,’ Arkansas said. ‘Maybe even tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure,’ the old man replied. ‘Where you heading?’

  Arkansas gave the old man one of those looks that suggested in no uncertain terms that he stop asking fool questions.

  ‘I’m going over to the general store,’ Arkansas said, presently. ‘I’ll need you to tag along and help load the cart.’

  For a moment the old man looked as if he was about to protest that this wasn’t part of his duties, but then, perhaps remembering how much money he’d just been given, he nodded. ‘Only too pleased to help.’ He smiled again but this time the gesture failed to reach his eyes. The compensation of this was that his face didn’t wrinkle quite as much.

  They went directly to the store and Arkansas left the old man outside while he went in to carry out his business. He emerged ten minutes later with a harassed-looking store clerk who was struggling with a large barrel of Folgers coffee beans. Arkansas held a sack of flour and they loaded their respective goods onto the cart. The store clerk needed a hand to negotiate the barrel safely onto the cart and once that was done he quickly scuttled back inside.

  Arkansas looked at Rycot. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘there’s more waiting inside.’

  Rycot shrugged his shoulders and followed Arkansas back into the store.

  ‘You’re taking enough to feed an army,’ Rycot said, as he slid the last of the supplies onto the old cart. He took a quick look at the back axle, knowing that it had needed attention for some time, but he guessed it would hold out for this trip. Least he hoped it would. He tested that the panes of glass Arkansas had purchased were secure besides the flour sacks.

  Arkansas smiled and removed the makings from his shirt and lit himself a quirly. He handed the leather tobacco pouch to the old man while he brought a sulphur match to his smoke.

  ‘Obliged,’ the old man muttered and set about making himself a smoke that was just that little thicker than usual. He figured he’d deserved it with all this lugging and carrying.

  ‘Looks like we got company,’ Arkansas commented and watched as two men approached them from the far end of the street. Both men wore their rigs tied down and looked as if sudden violence was in their nature. There were a few people on the streets and they all gave the two men a wide berth as they passed.

  ‘They work for John Lance,’ Rycot told him and handed the tobacco back. ‘They won’t mean no harm. Just being nosy is all. We don’t get that many strangers around these parts. Least not those buying supplies like they were planning on staying.’

  Arkansas felt himself tense at the mention of the name, Lance. He stood perfectly motionless, the quirly dangling between his lips, as he watched the men approach.

  ‘Howdy,’ the taller of the two men said, as soon as they were within ten feet of Arkansas and the old man. ‘Don’t see too many strangers around these parts.’

  ‘You got anything against strangers?’ Arkansas asked and was aware of Rycot timidly slipping behind the cart.

  ‘No,’ the man replied, as his companion went over to the cart and took a look over the sides. ‘Just being neighbourly is all.’

  ‘Well, neighbour,’ Arkansas said, ‘I’d appreciate it if your friend got away from my cart.’ He allowed slight movement in his hands, ready to draw at the slightest provocation. He was hoping the threat would be enough to prevent the necessity of actually doing so.

  ‘Clay,’ the man said to his companion, ‘quit rooting about in the man’s property.’

  The man called Clay gave his companion a puzzled look and then he directed his eyes at Arkansas. For a second it seemed as if he was going to make a play, but he seemed to decide against it and walked back over to his friend. The men exchanged glances.

  ‘Hell,’ the other man continued, ‘let’s not step off on the wrong foot. This here’s Clay Tanner and I’m called Jim. I ain’t got no more name than that since I was an orphan and no one took the time to give me no second one.’

  Arkansas nodded and was aware of Rycot emerging from behind the cart. He relaxed slightly, feeling some of the tension ease between himself and the men.

  ‘You got a name then, stranger?’ Jim asked.

  ‘Smith.’ Arkansas dropped the quirly and ground it out beneath his heel. He climbed up onto the cart and took the reins in his hand. ‘Arkansas Smith.’

  The two men looked at each other but said nothing. The name seemed to have registered with them, as Arkansas knew it would, but neither of them made any further move. They stood there, both perfectly silent as they watched the man atop the cart.

  Arkansas reached out a hand and helped the old man up and then, ignoring the two men, drove in the direction of the doctor’s place.

  ‘You really Arkansas Smith?’ Rycot asked, as they turned the cart onto First Street. ‘I knew you was someone. Yep, you can tell that from the way you hold yourself. Mighty proud, like a strutting rooster.’

  ‘You calling me a chicken?’

  For a moment the ostler looked unsure of himself, scared even, but then deciding Arkansas was joshing on him he smiled. ‘Don’t think I’d call the great Arkansas Smith a chicken, or anything else for that matter.’

  Arkansas looked at him, said nothing, and merely offered a grim smile in reply. He cast a glance over his shoulder and noticed the two men called Clay and Jim had not moved and were still standing in the street. He guessed they’d try and put a bullet in his back if they could only be sure of killing him.

  ‘I heard of you,’ Rycot said. ‘Everyone’s heard of you. They say you were born on a battlefield. They say you’re faster than all other men rolled into one. They say you once faced off six men all on your lonesome and put three of them down before they’d even cleared leather. They say you’re so fast the wind can’t even catch you from a standstill.’ The old man became particularly animated and he slapped his thigh in delight.

  ‘Is that what they say?’ Arkansas considered Rycot with some amusement.

  ‘Sure do.’ Rycot was on a roll.
‘Anything I can do to help you, Mister Smith, you just say.’

  Arkansas pulled the cart to a stop outside the doctor’s whitewashed fence. ‘Well, go and tell the doc I’m ready to leave,’ he said. ‘And I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Rycot gave an exaggerated salute. He hopped down from the cart with the dexterity of a man half his age. This story would be worth quite a few drinks over at the Majestic.

  FOUR

  Night had finally vanquished the remnants of the day.

  It was a clear sky, a full moon gave the landscape an eerie glow and the cloudless heavens were studded with innumerable stars. Given the time of the year, Arkansas guessed that it was somewhere around ten o’clock. He had expected the doctor to be finished by now, but the man had not emerged from the small room where he had tended to the wounded man for more than a hour.

  The slug had been removed. Arkansas had been there, assisting that part of the operation. The doc hadn’t been too concerned at removing the bullet. All that was needed was a shallow incision and a deft hand with the forceps to get the slug out. Cleaning the wound presented the biggest difficulty and the doc had swabbed it several times before closing it with thick stitching. Finally, he dressed it with a field bandage, which he soaked in iodine.

  ‘I think he’ll make it,’ the doctor had said, and then chased Arkansas out of the room while he set about making the patient more comfortable.

  Arkansas sat on the step outside the cabin, content to wait for the doctor. He smoked and thought he’d make a start on fixing the place up come dawn. He’d repair the cabin first, fit the new glass he’d picked up in town and then he’d put the corral back together. When it became opportune he’d ride out and see if he couldn’t scrape up a few mavericks and get Will back on his feet again. But that would have to wait. He didn’t intend leaving his friend alone any more than was strictly necessary. The two men in town had spooked him somewhat and left an uneasy feeling. He felt as if he was missing something but was not at all sure what. There had been something about the two men that he had overlooked. Something important.

  He was, however, sure of one thing: his friend’s mishap had been more than a case of him having disturbed rustlers. Earlier, Will had mentioned the name Lance and then old man Rycot had said the two men in town had worked for John Lance. Arkansas wasn’t sure of the exact relevance of that, or who this John Lance was, but there’d be plenty of time to find out. As soon as Will was stronger he’d question him on the subject and if it did turn out that this Lance was trying to drive Will away for whatever reason, then things would get mighty unpleasant. Arkansas intended to see to that personally.

  He flicked his smoke away and watched it hit the ground, bursting into a glitter of sparks before blinking away into nothing. He was about to go back inside when the doctor came out onto the steps. His sleeves were rolled up and he was wiping his hands with a piece of cloth.

  ‘How is he?’ Arkansas asked.

  The doctor gave a slight smile. ‘Chances are he’ll live.’

  ‘He will,’ Arkansas said firmly, as if his words carried more weight than the medic’s opinion. ‘Will’s a tough old bird.’

  ‘He’s a very sick man,’ the doctor told him and, with a groan, sat down on the step next to Arkansas. ‘The bullet wasn’t in too deeply, as you know, but he lay there for at least two days before you found him. It’s a miracle the blood loss didn’t kill him.’

  ‘Like I said, he’s a tough old bird.’

  ‘Infection’s tougher.’

  Arkansas stared at the doctor with a grim expression on his face. ‘He’ll get through it.’

  ‘Keep him clean, comfortable and make sure he takes plenty of fluids and I believe he may.’ The doctor took a silver tin from his pocket and flipped the lid. It contained several cigars and he placed one between his teeth and stuck a match to it. He pocketed the tin without offering it to Arkansas. ‘Any idea what happened?’

  Arkansas shook his head. ‘Maybe rustlers,’ he said, and then asked, bluntly, ‘Who is John Lance?’

  ‘He’s a rancher,’ the doctor told him. ‘The biggest and richest around these parts. This spread and only one or two others are maybe the only land around that doesn’t belong to John Lance.’

  ‘Do you know him personally?’

  ‘I’ve ministered him in the past,’ the doctor said. ‘And his daughter, but I don’t really know that much about him. John Lance has an office in town but he pretty much keeps himself to himself. No one really knows him, only by sight. He seems a tough old bird.’

  Silence fell between the two men and lasted for some time, both of them lost in their own private thoughts. It was the doctor who finally spoke.

  ‘Why do you ask about John Lance?’

  ‘No reason.’ Arkansas gave the doctor a look that ensured the subject was dropped there and then.

  ‘I think I’ll wait until first light before heading back to town,’ the doctor told him. ‘I can check on the patient again in the morning. Change the dressing and such before I get on my way.’

  ‘Sure,’ Arkansas said. ‘Sorry it ain’t more comfortable around here but I plan on getting this place fixed up as soon as I can.’

  ‘Coffee’d be good right about now,’ the doctor said and tossed the remains of his cigar into the night.

  ‘I’ve got some on the stove.’

  ‘I know,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s sure giving off a delicious aroma.’

  Arkansas stood and was about to go back into the cabin when he suddenly froze. He held up a hand to silence the doctor and peered out into the night. There was someone out there: he had heard the unmistakable sound of a human whisper.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Arkansas looked at the doctor and held a finger to his lips. He continued to stare out into the night. He had definitely heard it and it had been the sound of a man. Of that there was no doubt – true it had been nothing more than a faint whisper, but Arkansas knew a man when he heard one.

  ‘Inside. Quickly.’

  He followed the doctor inside and then drew his Colt. ‘There’s someone out there,’ he said. ‘Someone who doesn’t want to be seen.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Arkansas nodded and went back to the open doorway. He stood there, gazing out into the darkness, his Colt hanging limply by his side. Someone was watching them and it was further confirmation, if more were needed, that the attack on Will had been more than a case of simply disturbing rustlers. Whoever was responsible they were out there now, watching the place. Arkansas had no idea what they had in mind, but whatever it was he would be ready for them.

  ‘What’re you going to do?’ thie doctor asked.

  ‘Nothing I can do,’ Arkansas replied. ‘Other than wait.’

  ‘All night?’

  ‘If I have to.’ He turned to look at the doctor and then shrugged his shoulders. And then suddenly he swung back around and looked out into the night. He could hear someone moving about, no, not someone, more than one. It sounded like two people and they seemed to be going away. This was confirmed when, moments later, Arkansas heard the faint sound of two horses being spurred into movement.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ the doctor asked, sensing Arkansas’s mood.

  ‘Whoever it was, they’re gone.’

  Arkansas had the feeling that whoever had been out there, had something to do with the two men he had seen in town earlier. It might have even been them, the men who had called themselves Clay and Jim. The way he figured it they had been curious, and probably had good reason for that curiosity. And they had followed a good ways behind when he’d left town with the doc. If they had been responsible for what had happened to Will, then they must have assumed they’d left him for dead.

  Until now that is. Now, they would know that he was very much alive, and that kind of knowledge could provoke some sort of action.

  Arkansas crossed the room and took a bottle of whiskey from the table. He unscrewed the cap and drank d
irectly from the bottle. He suddenly felt very tired and he figured he’d chance a few hours’ sleep.

  ‘Help yourself to that coffee,’ Arkansas offered.

  The doctor nodded. ‘Right now, he said, ‘I’d sooner have a little of that whiskey.’

  Arkansas handed the bottle to the doctor and without further words, bedded down on the floor next to the door. Within seconds he seemed to be in a deep sleep. It was a skill Arkansas had picked up in the years sleeping beneath the stars, when sudden danger was potentially never more than a split second away. In such circumstances a man had to snatch whatever rest he could. You never knew when the next opportunity would come along.

  The doctor took a slug from the bottle and then went over to the most comfortable-looking chair. He sat down and drank some more and then stared at the sleeping figure on the floor.

  There was no doubt about it, this Arkansas Smith was a curious man. A most curious man indeed.

  Ah, well, he thought and took another mouthful of the whiskey.

  ‘That guy’s going to be trouble,’ Jim said, and steadied his horse. He sent it forward slowly across the stream. ‘He’s got a reputation and if he’s pally with McCord then we could be looking at trouble.’

  ‘You don’t think McCord’s dead?’

  Jim shook his head. Clay could be mighty stupid at times. ‘With that Arkansas fellow there and the doctor – what do you think?’

  Clay considered carefully for the moment and then, seeming to agree it made sense, asked, ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We go tell the boss.’ Jim said, and spurred his horse into a gallop. His companion followed and together they galloped off into the night.

  YESTERYEAR

  ‘Savages.’ Walter Smith spat and took a look at the carnage around him.

  He felt for his rifle on the floor and, with a smile to his wife, placed it on the wagon seat beside them. He could see the concern in Edith’s face and he placed an arm around her shoulder, pulling her tighter to him. ‘They’re long gone. We’re in no danger.’