Free Arkansas Smith by Jack Martin Page A

cargo.
    ‘Because I’ve got some legal papers all of my own,’ Arkansas mumbled, and then rode off with Rycot in tow.
     
    Arkansas felt better at leaving Will now that Rycot had taken up the position of companion and guard. They were both armed with rifles that belonged to Rycot, so Arkansas had brought his own Spencer with him. Things went a certain way, he might end up having to use it. He kept the sorrel at a steady pace. His destination was less than six miles away, but there was a lot of rough ground between here and there and he didn’t want to strain the animal. Before he had left, Will had given him a map of the general area and the Bowen place was clearly marked. He would have no trouble finding it.
    The telegrams he had received were nestled snugly in his pocket. The first came directly from the territorial governor’s office and stated that ArkansasSmith was acting on behalf of the US Government and had full legal powers. The second came from the land registration office and could show no reason for John Lance to be interested in Will’s land claim. Land could suddenly prove valuable if needed for the railroad’s extension across the West, but no plans were evident for the railroad to come anywhere near Red Rock. There was also no chance of the land in this area containing any precious minerals. Lance’s desire for Will’s place was a mystery. The telegram also informed Arkansas that John Lance had acquired several ranches over the last twelve months, bought from the owners at less than the current market value. One man had cried foul and claimed that he had been swindled out of his spread but he’d vanished shortly afterwards and his claims were never followed up. That property, once owned by Clive Bowen, an Irish immigrant, was now under Lance’s ownership but was reportedly lying empty.
    Rycot had known the place and had also known old man Bowen. He’d said his disappearance was a mystery that still troubled him and he hated to think of Bowen lying dead somewhere in a shallow and unmarked grave. Done for, the way the doc had been.
    If Arkansas was to tie Lance into Will’s shooting then he needed to find the owner of the ornately handled knife and his partner. But neither of the men had been seen around town lately and it was certain that they were hiding out somewhere. Arkansas doubted that Lance would be stupid enough to keep them too close. It made perfect sense for them to behiding out at the Bowen place since it seemed to be the only one of Lance’s extensive list of properties that was standing empty. It was also far enough away from Red Rock, and off the beaten track, for someone to keep away from attention.
    Least that was the hunch and Arkansas, true to form, was playing it.

YESTERYEAR
    Arkansas stared across the desk at the curious-looking man with the head that was almost perfectly dome-shaped Everything about the man was globular – a rotund head, sunk into a podgy neck which sat atop a pair of rounded shoulders. His belly ballooned out over his belt like some great fleshy ball and his legs bulged at the knees forming a half circle.
    ‘You’ve got me at a disadvantage,’ Arkansas said. ‘You know my name and I don’t seem to recall yours.’ The chains around Arkansas’s wrists were biting into the skin but he ignored the pain. The chain ran downwards alongside his legs and was attached to the heavy shackles he wore.
    ‘I’m Justice O’Keefe,’ the man said. He adjusted the tie slightly and ran a finger behind his ill-fitting collar as though struggling for air. ‘And you – once a Texas Ranger, a war hero, and now just a common criminal. A killer, no less, who has an appointment at dawn with the rope. What a disappointment.’
    ‘I’m none too pleased about it myself.’
    The portly man smiled. ‘Good to keep a sense of humour,’ he said. ‘It’ll be of comfort on your way to the gallows.’
    ‘Look,’ Arkansas snarled, tensing and pulling at his chains, but