“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Mr. Pillsdale’s voice rose to silence the crowd. “We have twelve contestants. Will you men step forward and select a number.” Mr. Pillsdale held a hat in one hand. He tossed the numbers in the hat to mix them before allowing Mr. Forbes to take the first number.
The old man rubbed his chin turning the piece of paper around in his hand. He held it away from him then brought the paper up close to his eyes. He turned the paper upside down. “Young man,” he said turning towards Royce. “Can you make out what this says,” he showed his selection to Royce.
“Number seven,” Royce replied.
“Seven,” Mr. Forbes replied. “Are you sure,” he asked. “I don’t want there to be a mistake.”
“Seven,” Royce answered realizing the man could not read. “I am the new schoolteacher,” he explained.
“You don’t say,” Mr. Forbes said looking Royce over for the first time. “You don’t look like a schoolteacher,” he declared. “No sir. Schoolteachers are frumpy old ladies that smell funny.”
“Men were teaching school long before women,” Royce replied not offended by the older man’s remarks.
It was Royce’s turn to take a number. He reached into Pillsdale’s hat and drew out his number. The number five.
“Contestants will line up behind the line,” Mr. Pillsdale announced. For a brief span of time the men shuffled around lining up in the order of the number they drew. John Layfield stood at the end of the line having drawn the first number. “One at a time each contestant will fire three shots at the paper target in front of him,” Pillsdale explained, “Starting with John Layfield.”
John Layfield raised his rifle to his shoulder. The morning air was split by three blasts. Mr. Pillsdale and Mr. Morse were judges. After looking over the target Mr. Morse took a silver dollar out of his vest pocket and placed it over the holes. Mr. Pillsdale nodded his head. “All three shots fit inside a silver dollar,” he announced. “You’ve been practicing,” he added with approval.
John Layfield grinned broadly.
Milton Ferguson had drawn number four. He stood beside Royce muttering under his breath. The man smelled of flowery toilet water and his stringy hair was coarse looking. His face streaked with grime. Royce was beginning to suspect there was more to Ferguson than met the eye.
The next two contestants shot wide of Layfield’s opening standard. Ferguson mumbling to himself raised his rifle to his shoulder and shot three times. Then, he placed the butt of his rifle against the ground and waited Mr. Pillsdale’s and Mr. Morse’s verdict. “All three shots fit inside a silver dollar,” Mr. Pillsdale announced as the crowd murmured.
“Mr. Hargadon can beat that,” Lydia whispered to her sister.
“Shush,” Faith whispered wondering why her heart was beating wildly. Her hands felt clammy and she wiped them against the sides of her dress. She crossed her fingers noticing Lydia did the same. She jumped when Royce fired three shots. The sound of his Henry rifle echoing off the hills. Faith had not heard the other rifles’ echo. Breathlessly she awaited Mr. Pillsdale’s announcement.
“All three shots fit inside a silver dollar. Ladies and Gentlemen I have never seen such shooting. Three finalists have been chosen so far,” Mr. Pillsdale’s voice boomed with excitement.
Royce wondered why he had entered the contest in the first place much less his shooting so well. He should have had enough sense to shoot wide. Sure questions would be raised about his prowess with a rifle. Was he trying to impress Miss Gaines or was his shooting designed to anger Milton Ferguson. The man had won five years in a row. Was he irritating Ferguson to see what the man would do. One thing was for certain Ferguson displayed too many contradictions to be genuine. Then there was the man he had seen entering Miss Ferguson’s house. No one he asked seemed to believe Miss Ferguson had more than one brother. Of course that did not mean she did not have another brother.
The next two men were disqualified. The next man placed his shots close together. Mr. Pillsdale’s booming voice announced as much. Standing and waiting for the final four contestants to shoot, Royce wondered if the man’s booming voice was the reason he was elected Mayor. Amos Walden was the last man to shoot. He was the only remaining man to make the finalist list. Pillsdale announced the next round was pistol shooting. The paper targets were replaced as he announced the rules. The men checked their revolvers. The contestants lined up in reverse order with Walden shooting first. Mr. Morse’s silver dollar was placed over the holes. “Our first finalist,” Mr. Pillsdale shouted excitedly.
Royce glanced towards the crowd. Imogen Gaines was clapping and cheering, bouncing up and down on her toes. The young woman’s color was high on her cheeks. So, that was the way the wind was blowing, Royce thought. George Dean would want Imogen to find happiness. It had been four months since the Marshall’s death. It was time Imogen moved on. Sheriff Walden was a good man. Royce no longer had suspicions where the sheriff was concerned.
Royce remembered to space his shots. Spreading them just wide enough apart not to arouse suspicion. “Holes touching the rim of the silver dollar,” Mr. Pillsdale’s booming voice announced. Royce waited for the remaining contestants to take their turn. Mr. Pillsdale and Mr. Morse conferred. “We have our winner,” Mr. Pillsdale announced. “Sheriff Walden.” The crowd was exuberant. “In second place,” Mr. Pillsdale shouted and waited for the crowd to quiet. “Mr. Hargadon the town’s new schoolteacher!” A gasp ran through the crowd before applause broke out. “In third place Mr. Ferguson! I want to thank all the contestants
