ARKANSAS SMITH II: THE TUMBLEWEED TRAIL Page 4

  Arkansas felt himself torn back to the here and now and he looked at Jake. Ellie-May and the children were watching the two men, obviously eager to rest up themselves. They had gone many miles since first light and both the horses and people were feeling the strain of an increasingly humid afternoon.

  Arkansas smiled – the threat of a coming storm felt stronger that ever, and resting up for a moment, replenishing their energies seemed a good enough idea. If a storm did come, then they would have to ride through it if they were to keep ahead of the bandits. Being fresh and dandy for it made perfect sense. There was also the fact that Jake, although uncomplaining, needed to rest up that ankle. He’d been in the saddle all day and his discomfort was evident in his eyes.

  ‘Sure,’ he nodded. ‘Here’s as good as anywhere.’

  The diary of Ellie-May Preston

  We have passed through some lovely country. I only wish we had time to stop and admire all the different wild flowers, the likes of which I have never seen. One particular flower, a dainty, fragile looking beauty with the palest red petals I have pressed into the back of this diary to identify later. Only yesterday we passed through a field of these flowers - they grew everywhere, their cheery faces poking out amongst the grasses and leaving off a sweet perfume as we went by. It is indeed a beautiful country but I have to keep reminding myself that it is also a dangerous country.

  The man called Arkansas Smith has agreed to remain with us, at least until we reach Dodge. The country from there onto Kansas City will not be as wild and is better populated. There we will have the law to protect us from any bad men, whilst out here in the wilds the only law is that of the gun. There is however something about this man called Arkansas that troubles me, but all the same I am thankful he has agreed to ride with us. The protection he offers us is most welcome and although I know Jake would fight to the death to protect his family he has never really been a fighting man. He is a family man and I love him all the more for it. His strength comes from his dependability and his sense of responsibility towards his kinfolk. To my mind this makes him stronger than any drunken brawler or flash gunslick.

  Lucy has particularly taken to Arkansas and she is convinced he is the fabled Tumbleweed. None of us have found it necessary to tell her otherwise, to destroy this childish belief. Jake says that if it gives her comfort then there is no harm in her believing. She is but a child and there will be plenty of times for her to discover fairy stories are not real when she grows up..

  I have fixed Jake’s ankle the best I can. All the while Jake gritted his teeth while his eyes rolled back in his head but he let out not a murmur, though I know he must have experienced intense pain. Lord I swear as soon as we reach Kansas City I will never allow this family to wander again.

  Seven

  ‘We have to kill him,’ Brady said. ‘He’ll keep coming until we do. We can’t just ride away.’ Brady knew that was true. If Arkansas Smith was after him then the only way to stop him was to face him head on. Smith would come and come until he was stopped stone dead.

  Arkansas Smith was that kind of critter.

  ‘Got to find the son-of-a-bitch first,’ Jim Carter pointed out.

  ‘My guess is he’s with those folks from the wagon,’ Brady concluded after a long moment during which all eyes were trained upon the bandit leader. There was also the question of the remainder of the posse somewhere behind them, but Brady didn’t really consider that too much of a danger.

  No, the real threat lay in front of them.

  ‘Yep,’ Brady said. ‘He’s with that wagon, those sodbusters. And that makes him vulnerable.’

  ‘How so?’ Tommy asked, spooning the last of the beans from the pot.

  Brady looked at Tommy and then shook his head at the man’s constant stupidity. ‘Getting me will no longer be his chief concern,’ he said. ‘He’ll want to protect those sodbusters. We have to use that to our advantage or keep looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives.’

  ‘Won’t be very long lives with Arkansas Smith chasing around after us. And if the rest of the posse return we could get stuck between them.’ Chuck spat tobacco juice onto the ground. He was a big man, aged somewhere around his mid fifties, though no one knew for certain just how old he was. Rumour was he had ridden with both Quantrill and the James Gang at one time or other but no-one could say if that was true or not. What was certain was that for the past couple of years he had been a part of the Samuel Brady outfit. Chuck was a cold blooded killer whom, as another legend had it, had killed his own ma for the few dollars savings the old woman had hidden away in an Arbuckle’s coffee tin.

  ‘Then what are we waiting for?’ Jim Carter asked. ‘He took us by surprise last night but it won’t happen again. Let’s ride down upon them now. Now’s a good a time as any for a killing.’ He pointed his Colt at thin air and mimed shooting. Then he smiled, kissed the butt of the gun and returned it to its holster.

  ‘I’m all for that,’ Blade, a Mexican who seldom uttered a word spoke and smiled. His teeth were like gravestones in the slit of his cruel mouth.

  Brady looked thoughtfully at his men and then shook his head. The wind was picking up and he pulled his collars tighter around his neck. Briefly he cast his eyes at the far horizon, at the darkening sky. Brady was a superstitious man, always had been and he wondered if the muddy sky was some kind of omen.

  ‘Before this is over Arkansas Smith will be dead,’ Brady said with a firm conviction that he just didn’t feel. ‘But we ain’t just attacking blindly. We need to be smart. Smarter than we were with those so-called inescapable caves,’ Brady aimed the last remark at Flightless Eagle but the Indian’s expression remained impassive.

  The failure to kill Smith in the caves still rankled with the bandit. The man should have been a sitting target, and Brady had been about to send a couple of men in after him when Flightless Eagle had pointed out that there was other way out of the caves. With them standing there at the cave mouth it meant that Arkansas was trapped, his one avenue of escape blocked by their guns, and so they had lit a huge fire in the cave mouth, dragging a mass of kindling and dead bushes onto the flames, sending billows of suffocating smoke into the caves.

  Then, with the last of their dynamite, they had caused a landslide cutting off what, they had believed, was the one and only exit. If the smoke didn’t choke Arkansas to death that he would eventually succumb to starvation. It was the latter option that appealed to Brady since it meant the man would suffer all the more. The thought of Arkansas Smith driven half mad by starvation, stumbling about in the darkness until he finally fell down dead had been a good one.

  Only Flightless Eagle had been wrong.

  There must have been another way out.

  ‘Flightless Eagle,’ Brady said. ‘I want you to ride on ahead, find out where Smith and the sodbusters are at this present moment and then come back and let us know. We’ll be following behind at a steady pace, keep the horses fresh for the attack. This time we’re gonna send them all to hell and there won’t be no mistakes.’

  The Comanche nodded, said nothing and immediately went for his horse. He mounted up and pausing for only a moment to look at Kicking Horse he sent the horse galloping.

  Within moments he had vanished from view.

  ‘Kicking Horse,’ Brady said. ‘You go in the other direction and find out how far back that posse is. The rest of you mount up and let’s ride.’

  The men set about collecting their belongings together and saddling their horses. Brady stood besides the fire, watching them. His gang now totalled but seven men including himself, but the old bandit knew that was more then enough to do the job at hand. If Smith hadn’t have taken them by surprise that night, if they’d known he was there, it would have been a different story. Had that been the case then Brady had no doubt that both Smith and the sodbusters would now be dead.

  As soon as the men were ready Brady poured the last of the coffee over the fire and then kicked dust over the hissing embers. He wal
ked over to his own horse, which was already saddled and pulled the Sharps Big Fifty from its boot. He was an expert with the powerful weapon, capable of hitting a five-inch bull’s-eye at more than 200 yards. The weapon took massive three and a quarter inch cartridges and was not for nothing known as the Buffalo Gun. When it hit it was with devastating force and during the war Brady had seen men torn apart by the weapon. It was intended to be shot from a rest rather than the shoulder but Brady was a bulky man and by adapting the stock and carving into the butt he had no problem using the gun as if it were a much smaller weapon. He could even shoot it while mounted but his accuracy was somewhat reduced. He went through the usual checks on the weapon and then replaced it in the boot.

  He mounted his horse.

  ‘Let’s ride,’ he yelled and spurred his horse, all the while thinking of Arkansas Smith trapped in the sights of that big old Sharps.

  Eight

  ‘Coffee’s mighty tasty,’ Arkansas said and watched as Ellie-May removed the straps from her husband’s injured ankle. The ankle was swollen and the bruising had turned the entire foot an ugly purple colour. If the ankle didn’t set correctly then the man would forever walk with a pronounced limp, and if infection set in there was a chance he’d lose the whole darn foot from the ankle down.

  Jake forced a smile but the beads of sweat being squeezed out of his forehead revealed the intense pain he was feeling. He winced slightly as he wife gripped the ankle and started to massage it slowly, feeling for the broken bone.

  ‘I’ve done the best I can,’ Ellie-May said. ‘But I think you need a sawbones to look at this.’

  ‘Want me to take a look?’ Arkansas asked.

  ‘You know how to set a broken bone?’ Ellie-May asked.

  ‘Some, ‘ Arkansas said and knelt over Jake. ‘I had cause to help a few men out during the war.’

  Ellie-May nodded and moved aside.

  ‘Obliged to you,’ Jake said.

  Arkansas gently gripped the man’s ankle and then moved his hands up and down across the joint. He could feel the break and he figured it was clean and would mend nicely given the chance. In a perfect world Jake would be able to take to his bed, rest up for a few weeks and then be as good as new. As it was with the arduous journey still ahead of them he guessed the man would recover sure enough but would most likely hold a reminder of the injury in his step forever.

  ‘If you were a horse,’ Arkansas said with a smile. ‘I’d recommend shooting you but as it is I think you’ll be fine. I’ll need to pop this back into place.’

  Jake nodded, gritting his teeth against the discomfort. Even with Arkansas gently handling the ankle as if it were a newborn kitten there was still pain, considerable pain.

  ‘You may want to slug some whiskey,’ Arkansas suggested. ‘I’ve got a little in my saddlebags.’

  ‘No,’ Jake shook his head. ‘Just do what has to be done.’

  ‘Please be careful,’ Ellie-May chipped in and then turned away and went to sit with the girls who were playing in the dirt at the front of the wagon. Little Jakie stood off to one side, cradling the rifle.

  Arkansas felt for the break and then gripped the ankle tighter. ‘This is going to hurt some,’ he said.

  ‘Just do it,’ Jake said, grit in his voice. And then whined. ‘Quickly.’

  ‘I’m about to.’

  ‘Then do it. The quicker the better.’

  Arkansas suddenly twisted the ankle, The pain must have been intense as he twisted some more until he felt the bone snap into place and the break come together with a clicking sound, but Jake uttered nary a groan and sat there with his teeth grinding together. Arkansas then gripped the ankle tighter still, squeezing, else that bone snap apart again and called for Ellie-May to reapply the bandages and splint, telling her to bind the ankle as tightly as possible but not cut off the blood flow.

  The woman didn’t need telling twice and she ran to his aid.

  ‘Is that it?’ Jake asked, presently. His face was so wet with sweat that he looked as if he’d just bathed. He didn’t quite smell as fragrant, though.

  ‘That’s it,’ Arkansas nodded and smiled grimly when Jake fell into blessed unconsciousness. ‘Best bind the ankle tightly now while he’s out. Less pain that way.’

  Ellie-May nodded and looked with concerned eyes at her husband, thinking how peaceful he looked, as if he had fallen into a restful sleep. She expertly applied the bandages, pulling them tightly and knotting them around the foot.

  ‘Best leave his boot off,’ Arkansas said. ‘He’ll need to keep his weight off the foot so he won’t need the boot. It’ll be more comfortable for him without.’

  ‘I’ll put an extra layer of bandage around the foot,’ Ellie-may tore a long strand of material from her shawl. ‘One thing I got plenty of is clothes,’ she said. ‘Most of them are rags though.’

  ‘Need must,’ Arkansas said.

  ‘When we get to Kansas City,’ Ellie-May said without looking up from the task in hand. ‘I’m going to buy myself the sweetest dress you ever did see. And the children too. I’m going to kit them out with new clothes and wash all this trail dust away. We sure enough deserve it. After all this we sure enough deserve it.’

  Afterwards Arkansas stood besides the small campfire, smoking a quirly and sipping the last of the coffee. Jake, now conscious, sat beside him, the injured ankle resting on a rounded rock.

  ‘We need to be moving on,’ Arkansas said. ‘There’s a storm brewing and we’ve still got some mighty rough country to cross.’

  ‘I’m ready,’ Jake said and lifted himself to his feet. The new crutch that Arkansas had carved from the sturdy branch of an Alder made getting about easier and now that the break had been set Jake found the pain much more bearable. He could hobble about with the crutch pretty much unaided.

  Arkansas smiled as Lucy ran behind them, being chased by her sister who held a long worm dangling from her fingers. He watched them for a moment, enjoying the childishness of their game and as Sarah caught up with her younger sister and dropped the worm down her back, he laughed. Lucy screamed in disgust and fell to the floor, arching her shoulders, kicking her legs, and yelling for someone to: ‘get it out, oh please get it out. It’s ‘gusting!’

  The screams were the cue for Ellie-May to get involved and she scolded Sarah before lifting Lucy and shaking the worm out of her clothing. The creature fell to the dirt and seemingly unfazed by its ordeal slithered into the ground.

  ‘Get into the wagon, girls,’ she said and then looked at Arkansas and her husband. ‘Guess we’re ready to move on.’

  Little Jakie emerged from behind the wagon, still holding the rifle and saying nary a word, he climbed up onto the wagon and sat himself down in the seat. The boy had already checked the team that pulled the wagon and had, in fact, kept pretty much busy throughout their stop. As soon as he had eaten he had gone and fed and watered the horses, as well as the pack mule, which ambled along behind the wagon. The boy was quiet and Arkansas recognised the look of intense concentration in his eyes. Now that his father was injured the boy felt that he had taken on the role of protector to the womenfolk. He’d grow up into a fine man one day, Arkansas thought. As fine a man as his pa seemed to be.

  Arkansas helped Jake cross to his horse and lifted the man, making a stirrup out of his hands and pushing while Jack swung his bad leg up and over the saddle. He then guided the man’s injured leg into its stirrup and made his way to his own horse, knowing that Jake would have been better riding in the wagon but the man wouldn’t hear of it and wanted to be in the saddle, looking out for his family as they continued on their journey.

  ‘I’ll continue riding point,’ Arkansas shouted back over his shoulder. ‘ I like to reach the Great Forest as soon as we can. There’s a storm brewing and the forest trail will mean we’re less exposed. You take up the drag.’

  Jake said nothing and it was clear from the set of his mouth that he was experiencing considerable pain after getting up into the saddle. He im
mediately turned his horse and took up position at the rear of the wagon.

  ‘Let’s kick up some dust,’ Arkansas yelled and gently spurred his horse into motion as the sky above them turned a foreboding cobalt blue.

  Nine

  Flightless Eagle whispered soothingly to his horse while he watched the wagon making its way through the long grasses that stretched for many miles towards the valley. From his vantage point he could see Arkansas Smith clearly heading up the trail. The Indian mumbled an ancient prayer to ward off the bad medicine that surrounded the man he thought of as, Whispering Wind.

  There were only the two men – Smith riding up front and the sodbuster bringing up the drag. Flightless Eagle wasn’t sure how many people were in the wagon but he guessed it would be the sodbuster’s woman and the children. He was sure that as soon as Brady learned all this, the old bandit would want to attack at once. He would like these odds and would prefer to kill off Arkansas Smith and the sodbusters before the surviving members of the posse returned and strengthened their numbers. Two men and a woman and children would be no match for the outlaws but all the same Flightless Eagle felt uneasy. There was no honour in slaughtering women and children.

  He remained where he was for many minutes, watching the wagon until it had entered the thicket and vanished from view. The trail snaked its way through the tall grasses that could cover a man in places. Miles distant was the valley and beyond that still the massive forest, through which the road trailed went for many miles before emerging into the hills that stretched onwards to the Arkansas River. It would take two days for the wagon to travel through the forest and it would be easier to sneak up on the sodbusters before they emerged into the hills. With the cover the numerous Whitebark and Ponderosa pines provided, the Indian was sure they would be able to get close enough to the wagon to pick the men off before they even knew what had hit them. This was not the way the brave liked to fight, there was no honour in facing an enemy unless it was face to face, but then he knew that Whispering Wind was no mortal enemy and perhaps the only way to strike the man down was by swift surprise, not allow him the chance to react and bring his bad medicine into practise.