Mayor Pillsdale would be at the top of Royce’s list except the man was short and round with graying hair and wore a moustache and Van Dyke goatee. Still his suspicions were aroused about the Mayor and he vowed to look further into the man’s business dealings.
Today Royce decided to visit the sheriff’s office. An introduction and a friendly hello from the new teacher. A chat over a cup of coffee. He did not expect to learn much on his first visit. Like most lawmen Sheriff Walden was not a talker. A sheriff did set the tone for the rest of the community and Royce could feel the undercurrents. Something was not right. Of course this could be Mayor Pillsdale’s doings. Royce admitted he did not like the Mayor and waited to get a feel for the town before visiting with Sheriff Walden.
“Hello,” Mrs. Gaines called from the open front door. Her straw bonnet was decorated with paper flowers the color of her blue dress. She wore a crocheted pearl white shawl over her shoulders and carried a wicker basket over one arm. “Mr. Hargadon,” she said pleasantly.
Mrs. Gaines crossed to his desk and placed her burden on one corner. Royce cursed his carelessness. He had left his list of names lying in plain sight. “Mrs. Gaines,” Royce greeted hoping to draw her attention to him.
“Bounty from our vegetable garden,” Mrs. Gaines explained. “Now don’t thank me,” she said before Royce could open his mouth to do so. “Lydia has taken a liking to you. That is thanks enough.”
“Lydia is a sweet child,” Royce replied.
“Yes,” Mrs. Gaines said. “But not everyone agrees.”
“She is not backwards if that is what you are worrying about. But she is easily intimidated and rather than assert her rights she chooses to become silent.” Royce spoke his opinion fervently.
Mrs. Gaines’s features softened. She was still an amazingly beautiful woman though Royce was sure she tried to hide this fact by dressing demurely. After all, she was a Minister’s wife. “Lydia is a different child at home,” Mrs. Gaines replied, “Talkative and happy.”
Royce cleared his desk without demonstrating any importance to his action. Shoving the controversial paper into the top drawer and closing it. He would burn it later. Mrs. Gaines’ interruption reminded him how important it was to be careful. Marshal Dean had been murdered. Royce could not be sure he was not under suspicion. His next slipup could cost him his life.
“I will see Lydia brings your basket home Monday after school,” Royce said in a dismissive tone. It was time to end his conversation with Mrs. Gaines without being too obvious. “I am on my way downtown. May I walk you home,” he asked.
“No thank you,” Mrs. Gaines replied.
Royce closed and locked the school door. He noted Miss Ferguson standing behind the Elementary School build looking their way. Was the woman prone to gossip or was curiosity what prompted the woman’s vigil. Royce decided to give her a salute by tipping his hat in her direction. Acknowledging her presence, “Good day Miss Ferguson,” he called.
“Good day,” Miss Ferguson replied.
He watched as Mrs. Gaines crossed the space between the two schools heading towards Miss Ferguson before turning towards town. Mrs. Gaines could handle any questions Miss Ferguson asked about their meeting. “I brought Mr. Hargadon a basket of vegetables,” he heard the Minister’s wife say. “How is your garden doing?”
Royce crossed the road and stepped upon the boardwalk. The afternoon sun was bright in the western sky. The breeze blowing off the mountains was pine scented. September could be a changeable month. One day cool and the next hot. Few people were on the boardwalks in front of the many businesses. The road was rutted from recent rains. Pools of water still stood in the deeper ruts. Passing the stage station Royce glanced across the road at the building housing the gunsmith. The sun caught the barrel of a rifle on display in the front window. Royce crossed the road and stopped. His heart pounded in his chest as blood rushed through his veins. The rifle had a winged metal plate on its wooden stock. The wooden stock had been sanded smooth and stained a dark brown. Yet Royce could make out where the initials GD had once been carved above the metal plate. He was looking at Marshal Dean’s rifle.
Royce pushed open the door and stepped into the shop. The room smelled of oils and gunpowder. The man seated behind the work counter was tall and good looking with blond hair and blue eyes. He had the appearance of a man that spent most of his days indoors. “Something I can do for you,” the man asked.
“I am Mr. Hargadon the new schoolteacher,” Royce said. “Mr. Morse talked me into signing up for the shooting contest.” He added in friendly tones, “May I look at the rifle in the window?”
Roger Cobb walked with a limp leaning heavily on a cane. He picked up the rifle running his left hand over the polished barrel. “She is a work of art,” he said handing the Springfield rifle to Royce. “Finest I’ve seen in these parts.”
Royce silently agreed. He had one like it back at his Pa’s ranch. Leaving it behind had been a real challenge. He had brought along his Henry rifle instead. “I’ve seen one like it before down near Waco,” Royce stated wondering what Cobb would say to his revelation. “The bronze plate is the giveaway. I believe they were special made for the Cavalry.” This was a lie. He knew
