by Jack Martin
The two men dragged the body of the Running Elk through the woods, Jake wincing with the pain from his ankle but clenching his teeth and concentrating on the job at hand. They placed the Indian’s body beside the big Texan and working together, had a wide grave dug in no time. Then they hefted both men into the hole, figuring they’d rode together so they shouldn’t mind eternity together, and tossed the dirt over them, finally patting down the mound with the back of the spades.
‘You going to say a few words over them?’ Jake asked, rubbing sweat from his brow with a rag from his pocket. He lowered himself to the ground and sat massaging his injured ankle.
‘Wouldn’t know how to,’ Arkansas said and then looked thoughtfully at the fresh grave. ‘Guess them varmint’s lucky enough we bothered to bury them.’
‘Want me to speak for them?’ Jake asked and hobbled to the head of the fresh grave.
‘If it helps,’ Arkansas said, though he wasn’t sure any platitudes would help these two varmints into the hereafter.
Jake said his words, keeping it simple, mouthing the Lord’s Prayer in a solemn tone and afterwards both he and Arkansas put an Amen to it.
They made their way back to the wagon where Ellie- May had packed everything away and once again they were ready to move on. Little Jakie was sat up on the seat of the wagon, the rifle besides him while the two girls played in the stream.
‘We’re going to be striking off again,’ Jake said and held out his hand to Arkansas.
Arkansas took the offered hand and they shook warmly. He thought for a moment of Brady’s gang. There was no telling where they would be now that they had been flushed out of their hole. They’d lost two men in attacking the wagon and it would be unlike them not to try and get revenge further up the trail. Brady’s lot were ruthless killers and they wouldn’t spare the woman and children from their bloodlust.
‘I guess I’ll ride with you someways,’ Arkansas said. ‘Least till you reach Dodge. It’ll be safe from there onto Kansas City.’
Jake smiled and slapped Arkansas on the back. He turned for a moment to wave to Ellie-May, signalling that he was coming and then turned back to Arkansas.
‘Pleased to have your company,’ he said.
‘Tumbleweed’s coming,’ Lucy said as she skipped past them and jumped up into the wagon. ‘We’ll sure be safe now.’
Arkansas watched the little girl as she disappeared through the canvas doorway. Would they? Was anyone safe from Brady’s cutthroats? He said nothing though and nodded to Jake, signalling for him to get up on the wagon.
‘I’ll ride up front some,’ Arkansas said and went to his horse. ‘Guess you should take drag.’
Five
The more Sam Brady thought about it the angrier he became.
He’d lost two men last night during what should have been easy pickings. And he himself had been winged, a slug creasing his left arm, but he’d bound the flesh wound and now that it had stopped bleeding, the pain had receded to a dull throb. Someone had come up behind them, placed them in the crossfire between the newcomer and the wagon’s people, and as unlikely as it seemed, the old bandit knew who that the newcomer must have been Arkansas Smith - somehow he knew that. Only Smith or an Indian could get that close to Brady without him being aware of it.
There was no other answer – Smith must have survived the caves.
‘Damn the man,’ Brady spat tobacco juice into the fire. ‘Why won’t he just die?’
‘Who?’ Tommy looked up from the fire, his simpleton eyes reflecting the flames of the fire, his lips pursed as if still holding the question.
Brady got to his feet and walked over to a small tree at the edge of the clearing. He pulled his knife from its sheath and stabbed the flesh of the tree; over and over he delved the knife into the soft wood of the sapling, tearing away chunks as if it were his mortal enemy.
As if it were Arkansas Smith.
‘Arkansas Smith,’ he said and spun on his feet. His eyes blazing, he held the knife out before him as though challenging anyone who felt the urge to disagree.
‘Smith’s dead,’ Tommy said and laughed but none of the other men joined in with the hilarity and all eyes were directed on the bandit who had led them for so long. Even the two Comanche stared at the old man with something like awe in their eyes.
‘Is he?’ Brady said with venom that silenced the laughter. Tommy may not have been the smartest of men; frankly he was a good throw beyond an idiot, but he had learned enough about the old bandit called Brady to recognise the need for silence. ‘Then like the Lord he’s been resurrected.’
‘Ressi- rec, ?’ Tommy’s face clouded over.
‘Brung back to life, fool,’ Jim Carter said and elbowed Tommy in the ribs.
‘Brung back to life,’ Brady mumbled and walked over to the Comanche known as Kicking-Horse. The bandit knelt so that he was face to face with the Indian who was lounging on the ground. ‘You said there was no other way out of those caves.’
‘There isn’t.’
‘Never trust an in’jun,’ the man known as Blade said but everyone ignored him.
Brady pulled his Colt and stuck its ugly eye up against the Indian’s forehead which caused his companion Flightless-Eagle who was seated next to Kicking-Horse to reach for his knife, but suddenly there were four guns pointed at him and the Indian held his hand clear of the weapon.
‘Then how did Smith escape?’ Brady asked and pushed the gun tighter against the Indian’s head, leaving an indentation in the skin.
‘Maybe he turned into a great bird,’ the Indian said matter of factly. ‘And flew out above the flames.’
Brady stared at the Indian and he considered pulling the trigger, blowing his brains out but that would be pointless. He holstered the weapon and stood up.
‘Listen to me, you heathen fools,’ Brady said, staring at the two Indians. ‘Arkansas Smith can’t turn into no damn bird. There must have been another way out.’
‘He can turn into a bear,’ Flightless-Eagle said.
‘What?’ Brady knew these Comanche could talk considerable mumbo-jumbo but this was too much for the aged bandit.
‘It is true,’ Kicking-Horse said. ‘Many tales are told of the man the white-eyes call Arkansas Smith. The Comanche call him the Whispering-Wind. He appears out of nowhere and is a changeling. He can come as any of the creatures under the Great Spirit’s sky. I saw him once turn into a bear.’
‘You saw him?’
Kicking-Horse nodded. ‘I was but a boy and the man called Arkansas was surrounded by braves. He turned and fled into a great forest and then emerged as a bear. Eight of the ten braves died that day and the bear man escaped.’
‘I’ll turn him into a dead man,’ Brady spat the words out and looked at the Indian with incredulity.
‘The man called Arkansas Smith is bad medicine,’ Flightless-Eagle put in wisely.
‘Well maybe he turned into a mole and burrowed his way out of them damn caves,’ Brady said and stomped over to the fire. He knelt and poured coffee into a tin mug and ran a hand through his hair. He pulled his hat up from where it hung between his shoulder blades and plopped it back on his head.
‘Heathen fools,’ he muttered and spat tobacco juice into the fire.
The last few weeks had been a war and Brady felt like a weary general who had seen one too many battles.
He’d had a bad feeling about this from the get-go and although never one for caution, Brady wished that this time he had listened to his own intuitions. That a posse had been sent out after them was no surprise, the last job had been an army payroll, and came after a string of bank and stage hold ups so it was to be expected. There was a large bounty on Brady’s head and lesser amounts on the heads of each of his rapidly dwindling gang. At first the posse had been of little concern and Brady had merely kept ahead of them and waited for them to lose his trail, but the realisation that the men were being led by Arkansas Smith had filled the bandit’s heart with dread.
What
was it they said about the man called Arkansas Smith?
That he walked like an ox, ran like a fox, swam like an eel and fought like a demon. He could spout like an earthquake, make love like a wild bull and swallow an Indian whole without choking. And what’s more, according to the two Comanche fools he could change into any animal at will.
‘Arkansas Smith,’ Brady said without realising he had spoken aloud. His men all looked at him but none said a word.
They’d first noticed the posse somewhere around Fort Laramie and had fled down towards Cheyenne but the posse kept pace, more than that it gained on them. Brady’s had decided to lay in wait for the posse, ambush them. They had chosen a likely spot and positioned themselves in the rocks above a wide but shallow lake. The posse would need to cross the lake and the outlaw felt confident that he had his gang could wipe out most if not all of the men in the ambush. Once they had reached the lake there would be no cover for the posse and nowhere to run. The outlaws would be able to pick them off like targets in a shooting gallery.
And so Brady had spread his men out at strategic points in the rock face while they lay in wait for the posse, who could be seen as a faint dust cloud on the far horizon, to approach. While the bandits waited Brady casually picked at his nails with the tip of his knife. He would look up from time to time, notice the posse had gotten that much closer, and then go back to the task at hand. Soon the posse were close enough for Brady to peer through his telescope and make out their faces. It was then that the bandit discovered Arkansas Smith was riding point, leading up the team of a dozen or so men. That had shocked the bandit. He had heard the rumours that Smith was now some sort of lawman but he hadn’t believed it. And yet the sight he had seen through the lens confirmed it.
Six
Jake spurred his horse forward and then pulled up alongside Arkansas. He cast a glance over his shoulder at the wagon and then looked to the terrain up ahead. His injured ankle throbbed mightily but he ignored the pain.
‘We’re coming into some rough country,’ he said.
Arkansas nodded but said nothing.
‘Perfect place to lay an ambush,’ Jake continued and spat tobacco juice out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Sure are a lot of places for a man to hide away.’
‘Figured as much,’ Arkansas answered without taking his eyes from the trail ahead. His face was without expression and there was coldness in his eyes. ‘We’ll keep on our guard.’ It was only then that he turned to face Jake and when he spoke he smiled. ‘I’d feel easier if you pulled back and rode drag. Protect the rear of the wagon.’
‘Sure thing,’ Jake nodded, turned his horse and galloped back to take up his position behind the wagon. He smiled at his wife and the girls as he passed them. Ellie-May was driving, the girls on the seat besides her while Little-Jakie sat behind them, on the raised seat, cradling a rifle across his lap.
Overhead the sun was high in the sky, at its most powerful and Arkansas figured they should stop to rest soon. They still had some ways to go and it was no use tiring either themselves or the horses out. Arkansas knew that Brady could attack them again at any moment, and when that happened he wanted the horses especially to have a reserve of strength should they have to outrun the murderous bandits. He and Jake could make a fight of it but he wanted to get the woman and children out of the way first. They were setting an easy pace but the afternoon heat was intense and made each and every step a major exertion. There was also the hint of a storm in the air, which added to the humidity and, all in all made for some uncomfortable riding.
Arkansas noticed a bunch of cottonwoods ahead that would offer them some shade while they watered and fed the horses and took the time to rest themselves. They would also have a good view around them and if Brady did decide to attack they would see him coming. It was as good a place as any to rest up and when they pulled off again they would have to follow the trail through valley and onto the thick forest and it was then, Arkansas guessed, that the old bandit would take his chance and attack the wagon. He would still be smarting from the beating he had taken earlier and Arkansas knew Brady would be eager for revenge. The bandit was that kind of man and would feel driven to kill anyone who had crossed him. When he had attacked the wagon it had been with robbery on his mind, but the next time his guns would be answering a grudge.
Arkansas’s orders, given over three weeks ago, were to hunt down and kill the old bandit. The powers that be had decided to save themselves the cost of a trial and wanted Brady shot down like the mad dog he was. It wasn’t the kind of work that Arkansas relished but he had little choice in the matter, since he himself had a death sentence hanging over his head and was only at liberty in order to do the bidding of the government department led by Justice O’Keefe. Arkansas had been promised a pardon and as soon as it came he planned on riding away from this life, turning his back on O’Keefe and the lawmakers.
All Arkansas wanted was the sky above him, the ground below him and no barriers to his wanderings. He had been born a free man and he wanted that freedom back for without it a man truly had nothing. There was no liberty in being a prisoner of circumstance.
Arkansas turned in the saddle and waved to Jake.
‘We’ll rest up yonder,’ he shouted and Jake waved back in acknowledgement.
Only days ago Arkansas had had a posse with him, they had been a dozen strong but now half of those men were dead and the others had fled. He was all that was left and if that wasn’t bad enough he now had a half crippled man, a woman and a bunch of children to concern him. Getting Brady should have been his chief concern but he had to get the Preston family to safety before he once again faced the old bandit.
Faced him for the final time.
His thoughts drifted back to the ambush Brady had laid for the posse maybe three days ago. Arkansas wasn’t really sure, and he guessed it could have been even four days. He wasn’t at all sure how long he’d stumbled about in the pure darkness of the cave system looking for a way out. But a way out he had eventually found and incredibly he’d discovered his horse close by, the well-trained sorrel drinking from a clear stream that ran down from the mountains while it awaited its master.
The ambush had been sudden and deadly and Arkansas still cursed himself for blindly leading the posse into it. Brady’s gang had hidden themselves in the rocks and as soon as the posse rode into rifle range a deadly barrage had been let loose. Men had been shot from their horses; horses had been shot from beneath the men. Fire was returned but there was no clear target to shoot at and Arkansas had laid down low in the saddle and spurred his horse forward into a gallop, riding through the whirlwind of hot lead. He had reached the foot of the rock face but couldn’t place any of the bandits to return fire. He dismounted, slapped his horse so that it ran off and hugged the rocks tightly, waiting for a chance to strike back at Brady and his murderous gang.
Arkansas had looked back at his own men and saw that they were being slaughtered; they were still returning fire when they could, but there was precious little for them to shoot at. The bandits were dug in well and able to use the rocks as cover so the fight was more a turkey shoot than a two-sided battle.
‘Get back,’ Arkansas had shouted to his men. ‘ Pull back out of range. They’re murdering you.’ He saw another member of the posse, Jim Jacobs, thrown backwards by the force of several bullets hitting him simultaneously. The man had danced about like a rag doll, seemingly suspended in thin air with his arms gyrating at his sides before his head exploded, sending a crimson blast into the air.
It was then that Arkansas noticed one of Brady’s men on a ledge above him and he had shot quickly before the man could target any more of the posse in his sights.
The man had screamed and pitched forward into mid air, tumbling over and over in his fall, screaming until his lungs filled with air and burst. He was already dead before hitting the ground only feet from where Arkansas hugged the rock face.
Arkansas had begun to climb then, leaving his Winchester on the
ground but keeping a Colt in his hand, the second holstered.
He spotted another of the bandits and fired, again hitting the man squarely and sending him falling to the hard ground below. The bandits had fired back but it was difficult for them to get a clear shot at Arkansas without revealing themselves and their slugs ricocheted with deadly music from the rock face.
Arkansas managed to reach a ledge and pull himself behind a large rock while bullets spat up chunks of rock and stone all around him. He reloaded his Colt and then placed a handful of cartridges on the ground beside him. If this was going to turn into a sustained fight then he was already at a disadvantage, one against many, six-guns against rifles. The one thing he had in his favour was his position since he presented an impossible target but soon Brady’s men would grow bolder and several would move towards him while the others occupied his attention with blistering gunfire that would keep him pinned down.
Arkansas had crouched there behind the rock while he watched the remainder of his posse ride away into the distance. He had been left alone and in a perilous situation but there was nothing new in that and it seemed that his entire life had been one hazardous situation after another. True enough he’d presented a difficult target for the bandits but he had nowhere else to go without allowing the bandits a clean shot. Behind him the ledge ran along to a cave and Arkansas let off two wild shots, scooped up the unused cartridges, and then rolled towards the cave. Dust puffed up at his feet as several of the bandits changed position and were now able to shoot directly at him. He had gone into the cave, followed by a hail of gunfire.
He had hid himself in the darkness while he listened to the bandits approach the cave. He guessed he could maybe hold them off until the posse returned.
If the posse returned.
‘Here’s seems a good a place as any,’ Jake said, breaking Arkansas’s reverie.
