When the first streaks of light crossed the sky Royce gave up his vigil and went back to bed. He would post a letter to his father containing an encrypted message for Marshal Tinsley. He spent the remainder of the night plotting out what his letter home would say.
* * * * *
Friday morning at nine o’clock Royce locked the schoolhouse door and headed towards town. School was closed for the day. A banner strung across the road between Morse’s General Store and the hotel proclaimed Junction City’s Annual Fair Day. The streets were full of festive people all talking and shouting back and forth to one another. Spirits were high. Under the banner a platform had been erected in the middle of the road. Pillsdale was standing on top of the platform giving his annual speech. He wore a dark suit with a wide ribbon across his chest and a black stovepipe hat. His cheeks were puffed out and his moustache waxed until the ends curled up. His goatee was trimmed. He looked pompous. Papers containing his written speech were held between fat fingers. His voice was raised above the noise of the crowd.
Royce found a vacant place on the boardwalk and leaned one shoulder against the corner of the Newspaper Office with his arms crossed over his chest. Pillsdale was giving the citizens of Junction City a good show. He was theatrical in his performance.
“Now ladies and gentlemen what you have been waiting for, the opening of Junction City’s Annual Fair. Ladies and Gentlemen,” Pillsdale’s voice boomed over the crowd. “I don’t have to tell you for the past two months Mr. Morse has been handing out tickets to anyone spending more than five dollars at one time in his store. To start off today’s festivities at nine thirty on the dot Mr. Morse will hold his drawing. The lucky winner will receive twenty five dollars to spend at the general store.” A murmur ran through the crowd. Twenty five dollars was as much as most families earned in a month. While Mr. Pillsdale droned on Mr. Morse took out his pocket watched and counted down the minutes. He stepped forward signaling to Pillsdale it was now nine thirty by his watch.
“Ladies and Gentlemen the time has arrived,” Pillsdale’s voice boomed. “Mr. Morse will now select this year’s winner.”
On the table in front of Mr. Morse was a glass pickle jar and placed inside were countless pieces of paper. He placed his hand inside the jar and stirred the contents. Everyone held their breath as Mr. Morse lifted out one folded paper. With great fanfare the General Store owner held up the paper for all to see. “The winner is,” Pillsdale announced in a booming voice. “May I have the name,” he asked turning back to Mr. Morse. “Sadie Newcombe,” Pillsdale announced a moment later.
The middle aged woman was beside herself. Her face turned chalk white then beet red. The man beside her held onto her arm to keep her from falling. “Oh my. Oh my,” she was heard shouting.
“Sadie Newcombe,” Pillsdale announced again.
“Here,” the man shouted waving his hat over his head. “I think she has fainted,” the man bellowed amid laughter.
“No,” the woman called. “I am on my way.” She pushed her way to the front of the crowd and climbed the steps. “Oh my,” she repeated. One hand held over her pounding heart.
“A delighted winner,” Pillsdale shouted.
Mr. Morse handed the woman a slip of paper saying twenty five dollars would be credited to her account.
“Do you wish to say a few words,” Pillsdale asked the befuddled woman.
“Oh my,” she replied amid friendly laughter from the crowd.
“I take that to mean she is satisfied with her winnings,” Pillsdale called. The woman was escorted off the platform. Well wishes rang out from family and friends.
“Next,” Pillsdale shouted. “Next,” he repeated as the crowd quieted down. “On today’s agenda will be the Ladies Horserace. The race will start at the far end of town in fifteen minutes. Tables are set up outside the saloon for anyone wanting to place a bet. The contestants are Miss Caroline Pillsdale riding Moonlight. Miss Courtney Layfield riding Arrow. Miss Imogen Gaines riding Get-a-long. Miss Mary Dials riding Wind Dancer. Miss Alice Delaney riding Gentle Lad. Miss Sarah Freeburg riding Prince. Miss Susan Freeburg riding Chief. Miss Rose Randall riding Top Notch.”
The men rushed towards the saloon and betting tables. The women headed towards the far end of town where bleachers were erected and the race course was laid out.
“Come sit with us,” Lydia said tucking her hand under Royce’s arm. The young woman looked up at him hopefully.
“Thank you,” Royce replied. “I will be delighted.”
Lydia bubbled with happiness. Truly, she was the prettiest of the Gaines sisters. Her pale yellow hair was braided under a wide brimmed straw hat. Her brown eyes glowed with red lights. She had an impish smile. Her slim figure was still boyish. Royce delighted in the transformation of the once shy girl. Someday she would be a heartbreaker.
“Imogen is riding Get-a-long,” Lydia announced. “We call him Get-a-long because he is as stubborn as a mule and it takes persuasion to get him to get along.” She laughed merrily. “He usually comes in last.” The girl added softly.
“Is that right! I am glad I didn’t place a wager,” Royce replied.
“No one ever bets on Get-a-long. Imogen rides for the fun of it,” Lydia explained her smile widening. “Come along we don’t want to be late. The bleachers are always full. We don’t want to have to stand along the fence. I won’t be able to see.” Lydia tugged on Royce’s arm hurrying him towards the race course.
“What is your
