“What makes you think you can trust me now,” Walden asked.
“Imogen Gaines,” Royce replied and watched shock register on Walden’s face.
“Imogen. Miss Gaines,” Walden hastily amended clearing his throat. He had come to the conclusion he was in love with the young woman and was trying to generate enough gumption to say as much. To know she had faith in him was encouraging.
“Imogen Gaines is very perceptive,” Royce continued. “She knew Dean was a Territorial Marshal. She guessed I was the first time we met.”
“So I am alright because Miss Gaines approves of me,” Walden asked bewildered.
“Among other things,” Royce replied. “Now let’s get back to Hardin. I told you the reasons I am interested in the man. What can you tell me about him?”
“In light of what you said about Milton Ferguson I am no longer certain about the man,” Walden admitted rubbing the back of his neck. He knew Hardin and Ferguson or at least thought he did until a moment ago.
“Has Hardin a private income or does he live off what his ranch brings in,” Royce asked. This was the key question. Where did Hardin get his money. The answer to this one question often decides a man innocence or guilt.
“As far as I know Hardin does not have another income,” Walden said seeing the reasoning behind the question. “The man lives too well for working a few hundred head of beef.”
“What does Hardin look like,” Royce asked.
“If you’re thinking he might be Frank Barlow you can forget it. The man is stocky built. Can’t be more than five foot four inches tall. He does have brown hair but so does half of Junction City.”
“So I am back to square one,” Royce said as he stood. “I don’t know which one of Junction City’s citizens is Frank Barlow. I don’t want to scare Barlow off. Men like Hardin and Ferguson are replaceable.”
“Barlow would just resurface someplace else with other men to do his dirty work,” Walden concluded.
Royce left the Sheriff’s office with his insides churning. Until he could identify Barlow it was next to useless to suspect anyone of being a gang member. He mentally added Bob Hardin to his growing list of suspects. Would he still be around when this case was concluded or end up like George Dean. In a six foot grave to be mourned over by the lovely Gaines sisters. A chilling thought!
Royce walked across the road in the gathering dusk and unlocked the school’s side door. The room was still warm from a fire in the potbelly stove that stood in the corner of the classroom. Royce climbed the stairs to his rooms above. In the darkness he felt for the slip of paper he had placed over top of the door. It was still in place. There had been no visitor while he was away.
He cooked supper and cleaned the kitchen afterwards wondering what Faith was doing. He visualized her sunny face with an amused smile tilting up the corners of her lips, her eyes warm and friendly. The attraction was there. His impulse the evening before had been to kiss her. Would she have doubled up her fist and punched him. The thought was as intriguing as the thought of kissing her. Until he remembered Faith telling him her father expected her to marry Mr. Cook of the Feed and Grain.
Mr. Cook was going to be his next suspect Royce decided before shaking his head at his absurdity. Still, he would ask a few questions around town about Mr. Cook.
Standing at the window Royce stared across the Elementary School’s roof. Miss Ferguson’s house was in total darkness. If the woman was home there should be a light shining through the parlor window. What was Miss Ferguson up to and how did it fit into the case he was building against her younger brother. Only time and patience would reveal the answer.
Royce watched Miss Ferguson’s house until after midnight then he left off his vigil and went to bed. If Miss Ferguson did not return by morning he was going to have an additional fourteen rambunctious children to teach.
* * * * *
“Mr. Hargadon,” Miss Ferguson’s squeaky voice preceded her into the Secondary School building.
Royce stood and left his desk not wanting to be trapped by the woman. “Yes,” he answered. “I hope you are feeling better,” he added. The woman did look pale.
“Yes, thank you,” Miss Ferguson replied. Her blue eyes watched Royce with an intense light.
“Now that the weather has turned cold you must remember to wear your shawl,” Royce replied hoping he sounded conciliatory. The woman was wearing a long sleeved dark brown dress. The high lace collar was buttoned up to her throat with the long sleeves ending with a bit of matching lace at the wrist. “It is quite brisk out this morning. Is there something I can do for you,” Royce continued while in his mind he was seeing a trail of damp muddy boot prints across Miss Ferguson’s porch. He also realized he had not thought of her bedroom. Sure he had left prints on the hardwood floor. There was nothing he could do about it now.
“If you do not already know I want to inform you that school will be dismissed early today,” Miss Ferguson replied.
“Dismissed early,” Royce asked his puzzlement genuine.
“There is to be a funeral,” Miss Ferguson replied haughtily, “This afternoon. The town always turns out for a funeral.”
“I wasn’t aware there had been a death,” Royce admitted wondering why Miss Ferguson seemed to appear delighted by the prospect.
Miss Ferguson placed her hands together in front of her ample bosoms. “A vagrant,” she replied looking down her nose at Royce. “No one I know.”
Royce wondered why he felt Miss Ferguson was lying.
