Arkansas Smith by Jack Martin

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 watchingthrough 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 withthat he turned and left the