ARKANSAS SMITH II: THE TUMBLEWEED TRAIL

by Jack Martin

  ‘That’s plumb loco,’ Bill Tillman said. ‘What if we don’t return?’

  ‘I figure we’re maybe a day behind Smith, two at the most. If we ain’t back in five days, the marshal said. ‘Then whoever stays behinds simply rides off with the prisoner. He can report the rest of us missing on the chase when he gets into the nearest law office.’

  ‘That’s a lot of trouble for an Indian,’ Kane said.

  ‘He’s a man,’ the marshal looked Kane directly in the eye, steel in his stare. ‘And he’s my prisoner.’

  ‘He ain’t no white man. He’s a red man. No better than a wild animal.’

  ‘A man nonetheless,’ the marshal insisted.

  ‘I sure as hell ain’t staying behind with this Indian,’ Kane spat into the dirt.

  There were grumbles from the other men and although none of them actually said anything it was abundantly clear they also didn’t relish the idea of remaining with the Indian.

  ‘You men are deputised,’ the marshal said, firmly. ‘You’ll do as I say. We’ll draw straws and the shortest stays behind.’

  ‘I ain’t doing it,’ Kane insisted.

  The marshal got to his feet with a groan. ‘You’ll do it if you draw short,’ he said and went and pulled up a handful of the thick grass. He selected four pieces and dropped the rest to the ground and then after snapping each blade so they were all equal in length, he snapped one in half again.

  ‘This is crazy,’ Kane said but everyone ignored him and all eyes were trained on the marshal.

  Kicking Horse stared raptly at what was going on and he hoped that it wasn’t the man called Kane who drew the short straw. The Indian suspected the man would put a bullet in him as soon as the others were out of sight, and then claim that he had tried to escape. He continued to struggle with his bonds but he was secured tightly and expertly. These men certainly knew how to tie a knot and all of Kicking-Horse’s struggles had not even loosened his bounds in the slightest.

  ‘You men ready?’ the marshal asked. ‘Form a straight line. Shortest piece of grass stays with the prisoner.’

  The man lined up next to each other, even Kane joined the line but he continued to grumble until the marshal stood before them and held out his hand, the four blades of grass protruded from his fist.

  Kane went first, snatching a blade of the grass and then sighing his relief when he found he had selected a long blade. He slapped a knee and did a delighted little jig that shook his hat from his head.

  Kicking Horse nodded, relief in his eyes.

  ‘Next,’ the marshal prompted.

  Bill Tillman took a blade and also drew a long blade. That left two blades and two men – a fifty/fifty chance.

  ‘If you men don’t return the poor bastard left behind’s got a job on his hands. It’s a six day ride to the closest town,’ Max Tant said and took a blade of grass. He immediately bowed his head when he noticed he had drawn short. ‘Ain’t never been lucky. That’s why I don’t gamble.’

  ‘I still say we’re better off killing the Indian,’ Kane said and kicked up the ground.

  The marshal ignored him and spoke directly to Tant.

  ‘We’ll leave you enough supplies,’ he said. ‘And a little extra for the prisoner. You keep a rifle, a side arm and spare ammunition.’

  ‘Don’t see why we should share our food with this murderous son-of-a-bitch,’ Kane grumbled again and gave Kicking Horse a look of pure hatred.

  The marshal ignored him and continued to address Tant.

  ‘As I say give us five days and then ride out. I figure if we’re not back then we ain’t coming back.’

  Tant nodded, defeated.

  The marshal tapped Tant on the shoulder. ‘We’ll be back,’ he said and then turned to the others. ‘Get mounted. Let’s get on with this.’

  ‘Well I’ll just sit here and kick up my heels until you do,’ Tant said.

  The marshal took a sack of coffee from his own saddlebags and handed it to Tant. Next he went around each man’s saddlebags in turn and too a few slices of jerky and some dried biscuits from each.

  ‘You may be able to catch some critter for fresh meat,’ he said and handed the provisions to Tant.

  ‘Or you can eat the Indian,’ Kane said, laughing and climbed into his saddle. ‘Don’t know what he’ll taste like but some of then squaws can be mighty tasty.’

  Kicking Horse glared at Kane with pure hatred in his deep brown eyes. At last he could feel some give in the bindings at his wrist, and he knew that in a few more hours of struggling he would be able to break free.

  ‘If you don’t quit that,’ the marshal said, glaring at Kane. ‘I’ll put a slug in you here and now. And give the prisoner your share of the food.’

  Kane said nothing more.

  Sixteen

  Once again the wagon had become trapped in the thick mud, the wheels sinking down to the axle and it was clear that they would be able to go no further. They were now only a couple of hours drive away from the forest, and had entered the valley, but they had no option but stop here and wait out the storm.

  In a hour or two it would be dark in any case.

  Arkansas looked around them. He would have preferred to have gotten to the forest, but they had at least entered the valley that ran down towards the forest. It only offered them limited protection from the raging wind and torrential rain but he supposed that was some mercy. He dismounted and walked over to the wagon, bending to examine the wheels.

  ‘We’ll hitch our own horses to the team,’ he yelled to Jake. ‘Then we’ll put the canvas back on and set up camp here for the night. I don’t think the storm’s gonna’ last too much longer. It’s weakened somewhat in any case.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ Jake said and with some discomfort got down from the wagon. He slid his makeshift crutch from the box and limped over to Arkansas.

  ‘She’s stuck good,’ he said.

  Arkansas nodded. ‘Get everyone off, lighten the load and I’m sure the horses will pull it free. If not we can lay the canvas down under the wheels, pull it out that way.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ Ellie-May asked, her head emerging from the sodden canvas.

  Jake looked at her and smiled. She looked almost childlike with her head emerging from the canvas, which lay across her and the children like an oversized blanket.

  ‘Snug enough in there?’ Jake asked, good humour in his tone.

  ‘Are we stuck again?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re bogged down good and proper,’ Arkansas said.

  ‘Afraid you’re all gonna’ have to join us in the rain,’ Jake said, addressing his wife. ‘We need to pull the wagon free and then we’ll set camp. Sit and wait the storm out.’

  Ellie-May looked up into the grey sky and then wrinkled her nose, but said: ‘Can’t say I’ll be sorry to make camp.’

  ‘Then let’s get moving,’ Arkansas said. ‘Soon as we get the wagon free we’ll put the canvas back on. Make things more comfortable for everyone.’

  It took a little over thirty minutes to pull the wagon free of the sucking mud and get the canvas back over the wagon barrels. The wind had let up some but it still made it a major chore fixing the canvas to the wagon. Each and every one of them, children included were soaked through to the skin by the time it was done and Arkansas and Jake stood out in the rain while the women and children changed into fresh clothes. By then the rain had let up some and was now little more than a drizzle but the wind still blew.

  Jake changed clothing himself and then gave Arkansas a fresh shirt and pants. Once that was done they all felt a little better and when the rain stopped completely Arkansas was able to use some of the chips they carried in the box under the wagon and get a small fire going. There wasn’t much in the way of dry wood around then but Arkansas managed to collect together a bunch of kindling, which he lay besides the fire to dry out some.

  ‘We’ll make the forest before noon tomorrow,’ Arkansas said, while they watched Ellie-May prepare a warm meal.
As far as Arkansas was aware the woman only had some beans, flour and animal fat to work with but the aroma the food gave off was exhilarating. ‘I’ll stay with you folks until we get through the forest. Then you’ll be safe and have the Arkansas River to lead you all the way into Dodge.’

  ‘I appreciate everything you’ve done,’ Jake said and massaged his injured ankle.

  Arkansas nodded. ‘Truth be told,’ he said. ‘I’ve enjoyed my time with you folks.’

  ‘You must come visit us in Kansas City,’ Jake said, the offer genuine. He didn’t care squat for all the stories he’d heard about this man called Arkansas Smith. He considered himself a good judge of character and from what he could see Arkansas was a mighty fine man.

  Arkansas smiled. ‘I may take you up on that one day,’ he said.

  ‘You’ll sure be welcome.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Both men stared at the fire, lost in thought. Behind them the three children sat in the wagon doorway waiting for the food to be ready, the two girls concentrated on a picture book, Lucy’s ever present Miss Sally sat next to them, while Little Jakie sat staring out into the darkness, watching the two men smoke.

  If Arkansas was honest with himself the short time he had spent with the family had left an indelible mark on him. Maybe it had made him re-evaluate his own life and question the worth of his existence.

  He was a wandering man and knew it was unlikely he would ever lay down roots and have a family of his own. Even if he was so inclined, which was something he wasn’t at all sure about, Justice O’Keefe and the politicians who controlled him would never let him go. He had a death sentence hanging over him and was only ever one task ahead of the rope.

  O’Keefe called him, a blunt tool, a trouble-shooter for the government, someone to carry out the dirty work no one else wanted to do. And it was those lawmakers and politicians that kept the warrant for his arrest inactive. If he ever lost his usefulness to them then he had no doubt that warrant would come into force. Of course they had promised him that a full pardon would come one day, that he’d be able to walk away a free man and live his life whichever way he saw fit, but Arkansas doubted that. It was far more likely that one day he’d take a bullet during one of the jobs O’Keefe set him, and no one would shed a tear when Arkansas Smith fell, there would be no one to mourn the man. And no doubt many would say good riddance when he was finally dead. Death, Arkansas figured, was his only avenue of escape from the position in which he found himself.

  He flicked the remains of his quirly onto the sodden ground and sighed. It would do him no good to think along these lines, but all the same he couldn’t help but envy Jake Preston. The man knew where he was going, had clearly defined goals to strive for. He had a loving wife and children who would carry on his name and his bloodline. Perhaps to some he would appear commonplace, totally unremarkable, just a man no different than a thousand others, but sitting here now, watching Ellie-May prepare the food, Arkansas would have given anything to swap places with the man.

  ‘We’ll move out at first light,’ Arkansas said and then made himself another quirly.

  From the Diary of Ellie-May Preston

  I sense a great sadness in this Arkansas Smith. It’s not as if he says anything; he doesn’t really say much of anything. It’s more in his eyes, as if the chill of loneliness resides deep inside him and is visible within those deep blue eyes. At times he seems quite cheery, but there is a solemnity within his nature that he just can’t hide.

  He’s travelled with us for a few days now and yet we know no more about him that when we first met. Indeed what we do know comes from the legends and stories told of him. For the name Arkansas Smith is well known in the West. If one believed everything that is said about him he would be a bloodthirsty killer, an Indian fighter, a lawman, and a violator of women, a government assassin and a demon sent by the devil to do his evil work. For all of these things, and more, have been said of Arkansas Smith. Some say that he is the fastest draw there ever was and that he rode with the border rebels during the war, raping and looting while towns burnt around them. It seems to me that at one time or another he has been blamed for everything from the assassination of President Lincoln to the great floods that led Noah to escape in his ark.

  I doubt if even a smidgen of these stories are true, though. From what I can see of him he seems a good, if troubled man. And whilst he is secretive about his past and reluctant to talk about himself in any substantial way, I do not and cannot see him as a bad man. Lucy has especially taken to him and I see the kindness in his eyes when he speaks to her. Lucy too seems comfortable around him and only Little Jakie is a little guarded but then the boy thinks of himself as protector of the family and is wary of anyone who does not share his own blood. It is in his nature to be like this. His father is very much the same, though Jake seems to trust Arkansas fully and the two men get on greatly. I think this is largely because Jake knows Arkansas will protect us from any danger. With his broken ankle, Jake knows he would be next to useless in a real fight and needs Arkansas Smith to help us get through to Dodge. There Jake will be able to see a doctor and the rest of our journey will be through much less hazardous territory.

  We have just come through a ferocious storm with winds and rain that I never thought would end. The rain has stopped now and as I write the children are asleep besides me while Jake and Arkansas are sat outside by the fire, sharing small talk while they drink coffee laced with a little whiskey. Only a trace of whiskey though for the bunch of cutthroats led by Sam Brady are still out there somewhere, and whilst the men seem more relaxed we must constantly remain vigilant.

  In country such as this it could prove fatal to drop our guard for even a moment. Who knows what would come in on the whispering wind?

  At night like this it seems so peaceful and the air so fresh now that the storm has passed. There is cleanness about everything, as if the storm has washed away the dust and grime of a hot summer. We are camped within a valley and a few miles distant lies the Great Forest and although the men have said nothing to neither the children nor myself, I have overheard them talking. They seem of a mind that once we have crossed the forest we are out of any danger, but I know they fear an ambush within the confines of the forest. And the forest stretches for many miles, with each of those miles offering ample places for men to conceal themselves and lay in wait for us to come by. This is a big country and the perils faced are just as immense. One cannot afford to lose one’s vigilance for even a second; each and every second is spent on constant alert.

  I long to reach Kansas City and restart our lives, to worry about the mundane everyday things and not fear a killer may be lurking over our shoulder or a tribe of warring Indians waiting to attack us. And yet this has been a great adventure and I suspect that in time we will all look back on these days with a certain fondness.

  Seventeen

  ‘Good thing the rain’s ended,’ Brady said, smirking at Blade. ‘Ain’t no shelter to be found there.’

  Blade removed his hat and ran a hand through his thinning hair.

  ‘Last time I was through this way the entrance was open. Landslide must have blocked it all up.’

  ‘Or dynamite,’ Brady said. The rocks above the old mine shaft certainly bore the scars of an explosion.’ Who knows? Don’t really matter none in any case.’

  ‘Why would anyone want to do a thing like that?’ Blade asked but received no reply.

  Brady looked around.

  Even with the old mine entrance now concealed by the landslide this was as good a place as any to rest up for a few hours. The pace during the storm had been slow; almost a crawl and the old bandit felt that if they rested for just a few hours, the horses would be fresh.

  They could ride out before dawn and catch up with Smith and the sodbusters, who surely couldn’t be too far ahead now. It would have been slow going with the wagon at the best of times and the storm would have stopped them almost completely. Brady guessed that they would be so
mewhere in the valley a few miles ahead, heading towards the forest that would eventually bring them out onto the plains which ran all the way down to the Arkansas River.

  Soon, Brady thought. Very soon he would send Arkansas Smith straight to hell.

  He dismounted and led his horse towards the cliff face and worked a kink out of his neck. Immediately weary he sat down on a small rock and closed his eyes.

  ‘We rest, he said. ‘Two hours. No More.’ With that the old bandit slept. Sitting there upon the rock, his face resting in cupped hands he slept as soundly as if he had been stretched out on a soft feather mattress.

  With the exception of Blade the rest of the men dismounted and, as if oblivious to the saturated ground beneath them, sat with their backs against the rock face. In almost one synchronised movement they each pulled the brim of their hats down over their faces and then were still.

  Blade looked first at Brady and then at the other four men. He shifted uneasily in his saddle and for a moment he considered pulling his gun and blasting Brady away while he slept. He was sure he was better qualified to lead this gang than Brady who was getting old and soft, and no longer had the heart for banditry.

  Something however, stayed his hand. Perhaps it was the fear of not killing Brady with a single shot and having Brady make a fight of it with the rest of the men sticking by their leader. Blade wasn’t at all sure why he didn’t fire and other than the fact that it had nothing to do with loyalty to his leader, he was at a loss to understand what prevented him acting on his impulse. More than anything else he wanted to take over control of the gang and he knew the only way he would ever achieve leadership was with Brady dead and gone.

  ‘I’m gonna’ look on ahead,’ he said and other than a mumbled reply from Tommy, no one seemed to have heard him.

  He spurred his horse into a steady trot and continued along the trail. He wasn’t sure how far he had travelled when he detected the aromas of wood smoke in the air, but he guessed it must have been several miles. He had been lost in thought as he rode and night had now fallen, the entire landscape covered by an inky blanket with little or no illumination from the moon which glowed weakly through thick clouds. He had entered the valley that led towards the Great Forest and he pulled his horse to a stop, straining his ears to pick out any sounds.