Scrambling to his feet Royce bolted the door then sat with his back against the wall taking in deep calming breaths. The attack had his heart pounding in his ears. Sweat popped out on his forehead. His hands shook.
He sat a moment coming to grips with the realization he had taken a bullet. He could smell his own blood. Feel the hot burning sensation in his shoulder as seconds ticked by. His mind went racing back over past events. He could rule out Ferguson, John Layfield and Turner. They were miles from Junction City by now. His next thought was Walden. Was he wrong about the Sheriff. Then there was Bob Hardin. The man voted to keep Miss Ferguson on as schoolteacher when it was oblivious the woman should not be anywhere near children.
Royce was not sure how long he sat in the darkened classroom. It could have been seconds or minutes. His breathing returned to normal. His tingling nerves quieted. On unsteady legs he stood and walked across the darkened room. Climbed the stairs to his rooms above and made his way to the stove. With his good arm he chucked wood into the firebox and closed the metal door before sinking onto the kitchen chair. Blood was sticking his shirt against his back. His next thoughts were he needed to attend to his wound and stop the bleeding.
Reaching for a match Royce lit the kerosene lamp on the kitchen table then turned the wick down low. A pool of light shone against the tabletop. For a moment Royce sat wondering if the shooter would notice the light and return to finish the job. He took out his pistol and laid it on the tabletop. He waited taking deep breaths while trying to remember if he had locked the front door. The attack had been sudden and unexpected. He rose on unsteady legs to fill the kettle with water and placed the pot on the stove. The room was spinning by the time Royce removed his winter coat. After unbuttoning his shirt he sat at the kitchen table gulping in air. He would wait another minute before going back downstairs and checking the bolt on the door. The fire in his shoulder was numbing his hand. A fine sheen of sweat covered him. His shoulder was throbbing. Sliding out of his chair and hitting the floor was the last thing Royce remembered.
* * * * *
Bobby Smith banged his fist against the school door and shouted.
“There’s something wrong,” Elizabeth declared her voice sounding urgent. “Mr. Hargadon always has the school unlocked by this time.”
Johnny Meyers came around the building’s corner. “The side door is locked also,” he announced to the anxious students gathered on the front porch.
Miss Ferguson rushed across the schoolyard and arrived breathless. Her squeaky voice more nasal than normal, “What is wrong,” she demanded.
“The school is locked,” Bobby Smith answered.
A tight smile pinched Miss Ferguson’s lips into a straight line. “If you will unlock the door,” Elizabeth said. “I can start classes. Maybe Mr. Hargadon had business elsewhere and forgot the time.”
Miss Ferguson looked down her nose at Elizabeth. The sound she made in the back of her throat spoke volumes. “The man is irresponsible,” the woman declared haughtily. “He is incapable of teaching school. I shall tell Mr. Hervey about this infraction.”
“Yes Miss,” Elizabeth replied while the rest of the students stared with open mouths at Miss Ferguson.
Keys jingled when Miss Ferguson unlocked the front door. “I will be back at noon,” she said looking at Elizabeth. Her blue eyes were hard marbles of distain. Her attitude was formidable.
“Yes Miss,” Elizabeth answered, “Everyone inside.” Elizabeth shut the door and leaned back against the cool wood. “Johnny, get the fire going in the stove,” she ordered. “Bobby, I want you to go upstairs and check on Mr. Hargadon. The rest of the class, go to your desks.”
Bobby Smith opened the stairwell door and crept up the stairs cautiously. The door at the top stood open. The room flooded with morning light. Elizabeth stood at the bottom of the stairs watching him. Lydia placed her head against her sister’s shoulder as the remaining students pressed against their backs. All were wide eyed and anxiously waiting to find out what had happened to Mr. Hargadon.
“He’s lying on the floor,” Bobby shouted hoarsely. “There’s blood all over the back of his shirt.” The young man’s heavy footsteps hurried across the floor. He appeared at the top of the stairs. “He’s been shot!”
The group of students gathered closer around Elizabeth all gasping in surprise. “Colin, hurry and find Doctor Thomas,” Elizabeth ordered. “Johnny, go for Sheriff Walden.”
“It’s too early for Sheriff Walden to be in his office,” Johnny replied. His eyes were round saucers in a pale face.
“You know where Sheriff Walden lives go there.” Elizabeth marveled her voice sounded so calm. Her body was trembling while her heart pounded in her ears. Shot! “May I come up,” Elizabeth called to Bobby. Bobby did not reply. “Is Mr. Hargadon decently dressed,” she asked, mortified Bobby had not understood her meaning. Boys were such morons at times.
“Yeah,” Bobby replied.
Elizabeth did not wait for more explanation. She hurried up the stairs and peeked around the stairwell wall. Not sure she trusted Bobby’s judgment when it came to the issue of Mr. Hargadon being decently attired.
Lydia peeked around Elizabeth’s shoulder tears running unchecked down her pale cheeks. “Poor Mr. Hargadon,” she whispered.
“Let me see,” Jill insisted shoving Lydia into the
