“Help yourself,” Walden said.
Royce did not need a second invitation. The coffee was hot and bitter and strong enough to take rust off horseshoes. After the first sip Royce sat back down on the chair giving a deep sigh. “Just like my Pa makes,” he complimented. “I miss the comforts of home when away teaching,” Royce declared.
“When you are not teaching school what do you do for a living,” Walden asked. Royce was not his idea of a teacher. The young man had an outdoor complexion and work roughened hands.
“Pa owns a thorn and rock ranch outside of Clear Valley. Imagine a piece of dust and desert being called Clear Valley,” Royce answered. “Summer months I herd cattle and brand calves. We can’t make a living ranching so during the winter months I teach school. Better than starving,” he said simply. “I think Pa enjoys my being away. He complains I work him too hard.” Royce smiled over his words. He was stretching the truth and then some. His pa could out work him any day of the week. But having said his pa was once a sheriff he wanted to paint the man as shiftless. He was sure Walden knew the type and credited Royce with similar traits. Too lazy to make a living ranching so he preferred teaching school instead.
Leaning back in his chair Royce felt at home inside the sheriff’s office. He had spent most of his younger days cleaning up around a jail and making himself useful to his pa. There had been only him and Pa after his mother’s death. He barely remembered the woman except for her fiery red hair and green eyes. His green eyes were his mother’s gift. He also inherited her strong will. Stubborn pride Tinsley often referred to his nature. It was this stubborn will that had kept him alive after being shot and left for dead. When he had caught up with Gunter a few months later the man had been surprised. Royce had eventually brought in every man that had been in the shootout that day. He was still alive and they were all now occupying a six foot piece of ground.
Sheriff Walden was in his middle thirties. A big man with black hair and brown eyes. He was lean to the point of gauntness. “Finding the offspring of Junction City’s citizens a handful,” Walden asked. His look was friendly as he settled onto his chair and propped one boot on top of his desk. He tilted back his chair balancing on the chair’s hind legs. The chair groaned under the man’s weight.
“Until they settle into my way of teaching,” Royce replied. “Always takes a few weeks. Have to stay on guard against every prank known to boys and a few I haven’t heard about.” Royce grinned at his words. He was relaxed in his surroundings.
“A sheriff has to know about boyish pranks,” Walden admitted. “Last month a couple of boys tied a rope around one of the public outhouses and drug it away. Mrs. Schmitt was inside at the time. The woman nearly had apoplexy. When we found her Doc had to give her a dose of Laudanum. The good woman took to her bed for a week.”
“Discover which boys,” Royce asked.
“That wasn’t difficult. Mrs. Schmitt had scolded one of the town boys for picking fruit off her trees. By the way the lad is not one of your students. He runs with a wild crowd and I’ve tried to reign in some of his stunts. In a couple of more years he is sure to be spending time in the big House. I can try and reason with some of these roughnecks but it does little good. Not when they have older brothers that egg them on.”
Royce wanted to ask more question but refrained. After all he was in Junction City to teach school, not enforce laws. The information would come to him if he did not force the issue. Patience was the game he was playing.
“You’ve been making the rounds,” Walden said changing the subject.
“Getting acquainted,” Royce replied easily. “I’ve learned it pays to be friendly with folks. There will be fewer misunderstandings in the future if folks get to know me.”
Walden rubbed the back of his neck with one big hand. “Mayor Pillsdale has his opinions on how things are to be done,” Walden said. “He will get around to the school in time. Will try and tell you which Ts to cross and which Is to dot.”
“I know the type,” Royce replied “Your warning is appreciated.”
The sun was hanging low in the western sky when Royce left the Sheriff’s office. He had not really learned anything new and wondered as he walked towards the school building what he had expected Walden to confide if anything. Wind blew from the north causing trash and debris to scudder across the road in front of him. Loose shutters and boards banged against the sides of buildings. It was approaching suppertime and few people were out and about this time of evening.
Royce stopped at Junction City’s Newspaper Office to read the week’s headlines post on the blackboard out front. ‘BARLOW GANG ROBS WESTBOUND TRAIN,’ was the glaring headline. He read the particulars before stepping inside the office to buy a newspaper.
“Mr. Hargadon,” McLain greeted. The man was seated behind his big desk going through pages of notes.
Judith McLain, his daughter came across the room. She was dressed in a blue cotton dress and white pinafore apron. Her brown hair was braided and hung down both sides of her face. “Mr. Hargadon,” she said giving him a serious frown. “You want a newspaper,” she asked.
“Yes,” Royce replied.
“Two cents please,” Judith stated as she folded a newspaper. At seven years old she was a serious young girl.
Royce handed her two copper Indianhead pennies. “When did the robbery take place,” he asked. His was more than a passing interest.
Judith’s frown deepened. She glanced towards her father before giving
