by Jack Martin
It was a risk Lance felt worth taking.
‘I suppose I could,’ Pug said, in his rough nasal voice, which was also the result of his multiple fractures.
The other man in the room was Jake, the ranch foreman, and he smiled conspiratorially at Lance before addressing Pug. ‘You could rip him apart limb from limb.’
Pug nodded and a look of evil crossed his face.
Lance had a thriving cattle business and his Red Rock business premises were perfectly suited to such a growing concern. Situated in the centre of Main Street, lodged between the Diamond Theatre and the First Bank, it was a spacious building where Lance would often entertain clients.
‘Arkansas dead,’ Lance mused, ‘would save us a lot of trouble when we go to take McCord’s spread.’
Pug nodded. He understood what his boss was saying.
‘You’ll have to provoke him into a fight,’ Lance told him. ‘Kill him legally, in front of witnesses. The sheriff gets a bit jumpy – I’d rather not give him anything else to worry about.’
Again Pug nodded but remained silent.
Lance watched Arkansas through the window. For a moment he thought he was coming to the offices but then he veered off and went into the telegraph place.
‘He’s gone in the telegraph office,’ Lance said. ‘I wonder why he’d want to send a telegram.’
Pug shrugged his massive shoulders. He wasn’t much of a one for thinking.
‘Get him when he comes out,’ Lance suggested.
‘I’ll get him,’ Pug said, his voice calm and even. ‘Don’t you worry none about that.’
Lance smiled weakly and watched his man go outside. He knew Pug was good with the gun, fast and usually hit what he shot at. But he couldn’t help feeling that he was sending him to his grave.
Arkansas folded the receipt, placed it in his shirt pocket and paid the telegraph operator.
‘You should get a reply by morning,’ Arkansas said. ‘I’ll be back.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The telegraph officer, a short myopic man, who had been most impressed to notice the telegram was going to the Presidential office in Washington, peered over the top his bifocals and smiled. ‘Yes indeed.’
‘Obliged,’ Arkansas said, and went out into the now powerful afternoon sunshine. The morning cloud had lifted and it had turned into a glorious day, though there was a faint hint of the coming winter in the air.
He had to shield his eyes against the glare and it took some moments for his eyesight to adjust after the murky interior of the small telegraph office. He looked up and down Main Street – it must have been close to noon now and the town was a hive of activity. Folk walked up and down the street, going about their business. Music escaped from the batwings of the Diamond Theatre. From across the street the dim thud of Rycot at work on his anvil could be heard, perhaps taking the frustration over his missing cart on some unfortunate piece of metal.
Arkansas shook his head. The doc’s disappearance was troubling as was the seeming lack of interest. If Rycot’s horse had come into town rider-less yesterday then surely the sheriff should have undertaken some sort of investigation into the doctor’s whereabouts. Had Rycot even informed the sheriff? Arkansas crossed the street towards the sheriff’s office. He wanted to enquire about Lance’s claims to Will’s place so he could kill two birds with one stone.
‘What did you call me?’
Arkansas had been aware of the big man walking behind him but he had paid him no mind. At first he though the big man had been addressing someone else but then the booming voice sounded again.
‘You ignoring me, mister?’
Arkansas turned and looked at the biggest, most unruly-looking man he had seen for some time. The man seemed to be close on seven feet and equally as wide. He was also as ugly as he was big.
‘I think your ears are playing tricks,’ Arkansas said.
‘What?’ The big man stood rigid, hands hanging at his side, the classic gunfighter pose.
‘There you are,’ Arkansas said, with a smile. ‘They’re doing it again.’ He made to walk off, but then the big man spoke again and this time his words held much more menace. He sounded primed to explode.
‘Don’t turn away, coward. Turn and face me.’
Arkansas did so. ‘You don’t want to do this.’
The big man grinned. ‘You insulted me, stranger. I don’t take that from no man.’
‘I insulted no one,’ Arkansas said firmly. ‘Though, now you come to mention it, you are one stupid-looking, ugly son-of-a-bitch.’
The large man went beserk, which was what Arkansas was hoping for. In the big man’s rage he was clumsy going for his gun and the smaller, far more agile man had covered the distance between them before the big man’s gun had even cleared leather. Before a single shot could be fired Arkansas brought one of his Colts crashing down hard on the side of the big man’s head, knocking him first senseless and then unconscious.
Arkansas bent and disarmed the fallen man. He looked at him for a moment, shook his head and then headed over to offices of the John Lance Cattle Company. The street, which had grown silent during the confrontation, was once more a frenzy of excited activity.
Arkansas kicked open the front door and stepped into the office. Lance was seated behind his desk with a man standing either side of him. Both men wore guns but neither went for them.
‘I just left one of your men asleep in the street,’ Arkansas told them. ‘No doubt you were watching through the window.’
Lance looked perplexed. He gave a puzzled look to each of his men and then shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
Arkansas walked across to the desk and leaned over so that he was face to face with John Lance. The tension in the room was noticeable, almost a physical entity and both of Lance’s men looked unsure of what to do. It was clear they felt the situation warranted guns, but Lance had obviously told them to hold their fire.
‘Don’t bother with the theatrics for my benefit. Just get your man off the street,’ Arkansas said. ‘The next man you send after me will come back dead.’ He slammed Pug’s guns down on the desk between them.
John Lance was finding it difficult to keep his usual composure. This man called Arkansas Smith had stepped over the line. Here he was in Lance’s own office, his domain, and yet he was shouting the odds. The fact that Lance had two guns against his one didn’t seem to bother him at all.
Lance stood up, not enjoying the way Arkansas was getting to him. The man seemed to have shifted the power of balance into his favour and the cattleman was not used to it. ‘Look.’ He pointed a finger at Arkansas. ‘I don’t know who you are or—’
‘That’s right,’ Arkansas said, cutting the other man off mid speech. ‘You don’t know who I am, or, more to that point, what I am.’
Lance’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Consider yourself warned,’ Arkansas said, and with that he turned and left the offices with the intention of conducting his business with the sheriff. He didn’t reach the sheriff’s office though before the big man, having regained consciousness, challenged him once more.
‘You slugged me, mister,’ Pug said, and stood dead centre of the street, legs wide, arms hanging at his sides, hands curled inwards. Someone had given him another gunbelt and he looked ready to bring his gun into play with one upward movement.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ Arkansas said. ‘I’m tiring of you now.’
‘Make your play,’ the big man insisted. An angry bruise was forming on the side of his head where Arkansas had hit him. He was furious over that and knew that this was going to end one way only. There was no avoiding gunplay now that the point of no return had been crossed.
Arkansas stood perfectly still and allowed his eyes to scan the street. Onlookers had gathered and were watching with interest. John Lance was in the doorway of his offices and Rycot had emerged from the livery stable and was watching Arkansas closely, no doubt hoping to witness the fabled fast draw with his own eyes.
‘Go for your gun,’ Pug yelled, ‘or I’ll shoot you down anyway.’
‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ Arkansas said, ‘but I warn you I’ll kill you this time.’
The coolness of the other man enraged Pug all the more and he snarled as he pulled his gun and shot, but his aim went wide, though the bullet did come perilously close to Arkansas’s head and seemed to part his hair as it whistled past him.
Pug didn’t get another chance before Arkansas’s bullet took him in the stomach and spun him around before dropping him to the ground. He groaned in pain but still had some fight, if not sense, and he lifted the Colt, squaring it at Arkansas.
‘No,’ Arkansas said and shot again. This time the bullet took the big man dead centre of his forehead. His head snapped back sharply, sending a spray of crimson onto the air. His tongue slapped his face like fish guts hitting a sink. The last breath from his lungs closely followed and the final beat from his heart came just afterwards.
Arkansas looked across at Lance and shook his head. ‘I warned you about this,’ he said. ‘You send another man after me and I’m going to send him back just as dead. And then I’m going to come after you.’
Coinciding with Arkansas’s second shot, the sheriff emerged from his office and now he walked across the street and stood next to Arkansas. He watched as Arkansas holstered his weapon.
‘I’ll need to speak to you about this,’ the lawman said.
‘It’s a small world,’ Arkansas said, and calmly walked ahead of the sheriff towards his office.
NINE
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. T
he 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.
