ANDERSON CROW DETECTIVE BY GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON Author of "Brewster's Millions, " "Truxton King, " "Sherry, " etc. _ILLUSTRATED BY_ _JOHN T. McCUTCHEON_ NEW YORKDODD, MEAD AND COMPANY1920 COPYRIGHT, 1918, 1919, 1920BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, INC. VAIL-BALLOU COMPANYBINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK [Illustration: _Three seconds later the two youngsters had the ear ofAnderson Crow_] CONTENTS A NIGHT TO BE REMEMBERED "YOU ARE INVITED TO BE PRESENT" THE PERFECT END OF A DAY THE BEST MAN WINS VICIOUS LUCIUS THE VEILED LADY AND THE SHADOW THE ASTONISHING ACTS OF ANNA NO QUESTIONS ANSWERED SHADES OF THE GARDEN OF EDEN! JAKE MILLER HANGS HIMSELF ILLUSTRATIONS Three seconds later the two youngsters had the ear of Anderson Crow "Wha--what was that you said?" gasped her husband, flopping back in theseat Then, a hundred feet ahead, his lights fell upon the dauntless, abandoned flivver Words failed Mr. Crow The Rev. Mr. Maltby, pastor of the Congregational Church, happened to bepassing the town hall Several heartbroken gentlemen threatened to shoot themselves "The celebrated Anderson Crow?" asked the man with the glasses The Marshal started off in the direction of the "shanty" "I--I surrender! I give in!" he yelled Something terrible must have happened or Marshal Crow wouldn't besummoned in any such imperative manner as this In the centre of this group was the new candidate for town marshal Harry Squires stepped to the front of the platform When they appeared on the street together He altered his course, and as she passed him, the flat of the spadelanded with impelling force Eight or ten people were congregated in front of the Fry house The veiled lady made her daily excursions in the big high-powered car Yanking open the screen-door, he plunged headlong into the softlylighted veranda He was surrounded by conquerors Over him stood two men with pistols levelled at the white, terrifiedface "Hold on, Mort!" called out Mr. Crow. "Don't monkey with that trunk" His wife was now standing guard over it on the porch of the Grand ViewHotel These smiling, complacent women formed the Death Watch that was towitness the swift, inevitable finish of the Sunlight Bar At the trial he was shamelessly complimentary about Mrs. Nixon's pie "I am going to reveal to you the true facts in the case of our latelamented friend, Jake Miller" ANDERSON CROW, DETECTIVE A NIGHT TO BE REMEMBERED Two events of great importance took place in Tinkletown on the night ofMay 6, 1918. The first, occurring at half-past ten o'clock, was ofsufficient consequence to rouse the entire population out ofbed--thereby creating a situation, almost unique, which allowed everyone in town to participate in all the thrills of the second. When thehistory of Tinkletown is written, --and it is said to be well under wayat the hands of that estimable authoress, Miss Sue Becker, some fiftyyears a resident of the town and the great-granddaughter of one of itsfounders, --when this history is written, the night of May 6, 1918, willassert itself with something of the same insistence that causes theworld to refresh its memory occasionally by looking into theencyclopedia to determine the exact date of the Fall of the Bastile. Thefire-bell atop the town hall heralded the first event, and two smallboys gave notice of the second. Smock's grain-elevator, on the outskirts of the town, was in flames, andwith a high wind blowing from the west, the Congregational and Baptistchurches, the high school, Pratt's photograph gallery and the twomotion-picture houses were threatened with destruction. As AndersonCrow, now deputy marshal of the town, declared the instant he arrived atthe scene of the conflagration, nothing but the most heroic andindefatigable efforts on the part of the volunteer fire-department couldsave the town--only he put it in this way: "We'll have another Chicagofire here, sure as you're born, unless it rains or the wind changesmighty all-fired sudden; so we got to fight hard, boys. " Mr. Crow, also deputy superintendent of the fire-department, was late ingetting to the engine-house back of the town hall--so late that thehand-engine and hose-reel, manned by volunteers who had waited as longas advisable, were belabouring the fire with water some time before hereached the engine-house. This irritated Mr. Crow considerably. He wasout of breath when he got to the elevator, or some one would have heardfrom him. Another cause of annoyance was the fact that his rubber coatand helmet went with the hose-reel and were by this time adorning theperson of an energetic fire-fighter who had no official right to them. After a diligent search Mr. Crow located his regalia and commanded thewearer, one Patrick Murphy, to hand 'em over at once. What PatrickMurphy, a recent arrival at Tinkletown, said in response to this demandwas lost in the roar of the flames; so Anderson put his hand to his earand shouted: "What say?" Patrick repeated his remark with great vigour, and Mr. Crow, apparentlycatching no more than the final word in the sentence, moved hastilyaway, but not before agreeing with Mr. Murphy that it _was_ as hot asthe place he mentioned. Ed Higgins, the feed-store man, was in charge of the fire-fighters, whowere industriously throwing a single stream of water from thefire-cistern into the vast and towering conflagration. It was liketossing a pint of water into the Atlantic Ocean. "Got her under control?" roared Anderson, bristling up to Ed. "Sure!" shouted Ed. "She's workin' beautiful. Just look at that stream. You--" "I mean the fire, " bellowed Anderson. "Oh, I thought you meant the engine. I don't think we'll get the fireunder contral till the derned warehouse is burned down. Gee whiz, Chief, where you been? We waited as long as we could for you, and then--" "Don't blame me, " was Anderson's answer. "I'd ha' been the first man atthe engine-house if I hadn't waited nigh onto half an hour trying to getthe chief of the fire-department out of bed and dressed. I argued--" "What's the matter with you? Ain't you chief of the fire-department? Areyou crazy or what?" "Ain't you got any brains, Ed Higgins? My wife's been chief ever sinceshe was elected marshal last month, an' you know it. That's what we getfer lettin' the women vote an' have a hand in the affairs of the nation. She just wouldn't get up--so I had to come off without her. Where's mytrumpet? We got to get this fire under control, or the whole town willgo. Gosh, if it'd only rain! Looked a little like rain this evenin'--an'this wind may be bringin' up a storm or--" "Here's your trumpet, Mr. Crow, " screeched a small boy, bursting throughthe crowd. Half of the inhabitants of Tinkletown stood outside of the rim of heatand watched the fire, while the other half, in all stages of deshabille, remained in their front yards training the garden hose on the roofs andsides of their houses and yelling to every speeding passer-by totelephone to the commissioner of water-works to turn on more pressure. Among his other offices, Mr. Crow was commissioner of water-works, having held over in that office because the board of selectmen forgot toappoint any one else in his place after the last election. And while agreat many citizens carried the complaint of the garden-hose handlers tothe commissioner, it is doubtful if he heard them above the combinedsound of his own voice and the roar of the flames. Possessed of his trumpet, the redoubtable Mr. Crow took his stand besidethe old hand-pumping "fire-engine" and gave orders right and left in avaliant but thoroughly cracked voice. "Now, we'll git her out, " panted Alf Reesling, the town drunkard, speaking to Father Maloney, the Catholic priest, who was taking a turnwith him at the pumping apparatus. "Ed. 's all right, but it takesAnderson to handle a fire as she ought to be handled. " Father Maloney, perspiring copiously and breathing with greatdifficulty, grunted without conviction. "Leetle more elbow-grease there, men!" shouted Anderson, directing hiscommand to the futile pumpers. "We got to get water up to thatsecond-story winder. More steam, boys--more steam!" "Aw, what's the use?" growled Bill Jackson, letting go of the pump towipe his dripping forehead. "We couldn't put her out with Niagary Fallsin flood-time. " "Bring your hose over here, men--lively, now!" called out the leader. "Every second counts. Lively! Git out o' the way, Purt Throcker! Consarnyou fool boys! Can't you keep back where you belong? Right over here, men! That's the ticket! Now, shoot her into that winder. Hey! One of youboys bust in that winder glass with a rock. All of you! See if you c'nhit her!" A fusillade of stones left the hands of a score of small boys andclattered against the walls of the doomed warehouse, some of them comingas near as ten feet to the objective, two of them being so wide of themark that simultaneous ejaculations of surprise and pain issued from thelips of Miss Spratt and Professor Smith, both of the high school. The heat was intense, blistering. Reluctantly the crowd, awed andfascinated by the greatest blaze it had ever seen, --not even exceptingthe burning of Eliphalet Loop's straw-ricks in 1897, --edged farther andfarther away, pursued by the relentless heat-waves. The fire-fighterswithdrew in good order, obeying the instinct of self-preservationsomewhat in advance of the command of their superior, who, indeed, hadanticipated such a man[oe]uvre by taking a position from which he could_lead_ the retreat. By the time the fire was at its height, "lightingthe way clear to heaven, " according to Miss Sue Becker, who had toborrow Marshal Crow's pencil and a piece of paper from Mort Fryback sothat she could jot down the beautiful thought before it perished in the"turmoil of frightfulness!" "More elbow-grease, men!" roared Anderson, "She'll get ahead of us if welet up for a second! Pump! Pump!" And pump they did, notwithstanding the fact that the stream of waterfrom the nozzle in the hands of Ed Higgins and Petey Cicotte was nowfalling short of the building by some twenty or thirty feet. "Serves old man Smock right!" declared Anderson in wrath, addressing thetown clerk and two selectmen who by virtue of office retainedadvantageous positions in the front rank of spectators "If he'd done asI told him an' paid fer havin' water-mains extended as fer out as hiswarehouse, we could have saved it fer him. It looks to me now as ifshe's bound to go. Where's Harry?" Harry Squires, the reporter for The _Banner_, notebook in hand, came upat that instant. "Looks pretty serious, doesn't it, Chief?" he remarked. "The fire-company deserves all the credit, Harry, " said Andersonmagnanimously. "I want you to put it in the paper, just that way, ascomin' from me. If it hadn't been for the loyal, heroic efforts of thefinest fire-department Tinkletown has ever had, the--Hey! Pull that hoseback here, you derned fools! Do you want to get it scorched an' ruinedso's it won't be fit fer anything agin? Fetch that engine over hereacross the road too! Do you hear me?" Turning again to the reporter, heresumed: "Yes sir, if it hadn't been fer them boys, there wouldn't havebeen a blessed thing saved, Harry. " Harry Squires squinted narrowly. "I can't say that anything _has_ beensaved, Chief. Just mention something, please. " Anderson looked at him in amazement. "Why, ain't you got any eyes?Hain't they saved the engine and every foot of hose the town owns?" "They could have saved that much by staying at home in bed, " said Mr. Squires dryly. "I've just seen Mr. Smock. He says there were fiftythousand bushels of wheat in the bins, waiting for cars to take it downto New York. Every bushel of it was going abroad for the Allies. Doesthat put any sort of an idea into your nut, Anderson?" "What?" "Into your bean, I should say. Or, in other words, hair-pasture. " "He means head, Mr. Crow, " explained Miss Sue Becker. "Well, why don't he say head--that's what I'd like to know. " "Do you deduce anything from the fact that the grain was to go to theAllies, Anderson?" inquired Harry. The harassed marshal scratched his head, but said: "Absolutely!" "Well, what do you deduce, Mr. Hawkshaw?" "I deduce, you derned jay, that old man Smock won't be able to deliverit. Move back, will you? You're right in my way, an'--" "I suppose you know that the Germans are still fighting the Allies, don't you? Fighting 'em here as well as over in France? Now does _that_help you any?" Mr. Crow's jaw fell--but only for a second. He tightened it up almostimmediately and with commendable dignity. "My sakes alive, Harry Squires, you don't suppose I'm tellin' my realsuspicions to any newspaper reporter, do you? How do I know you ain't aspy? Still, dog-gone you, if it will set your mind at rest, I'll saythis much: I have positive proof that Smock's warehouse was set on fireby agents of the German gover'ment. That's one of the reasons I was alittle late in gettin' to the fire. Now, don't try to pump me any more, 'cause I can't tell you anything that would jeopardize the interests ofjustice. Hey! Where in thunder are you fellers goin' with that hose an'engine?" The firemen were on a dead run. "We're goin' a couple of hundred yards down the road, so's we won't bekilled when that front wall caves in, " shouted Ed Higgins, withoutpausing. "Better come along, Anderson. She's beginning to bulgesomething awful. " Anderson Crow arose to the occasion. "Lively now!" he barked through the trumpet. "Get that hose and engineback to a safe place! Can't you see the wall's about ready to fall?Everybody fall back! Women and children first! Women first, remember!" Down the road fled the crowd, looking over its collective shoulders, soto speak--followed by the venerable fire apparatus and the still morevenerable commander-in-chief. Harry Squires, in his two-column account of the fire in the _Banner_, dilated upon the fact that the women failed to retain the advantage sogallantly extended by the men. For the matter of about ten or fifteenyards they _were_ first; after which, being handicapped by petticoats, they fell ingloriously behind. Some of the older ones--maliciously, hefeared--impeded the progress of their protectors by neglecting to getout of the way in time, with the result that at least two men wereseverely bruised by falling over them--the case of Uncle Dad Simms beinga particularly sad one. He collided head-on with the portly Mrs. Loop, and failing to budge her, suffered the temporary loss of a full set ofteeth and nearly twenty minutes of consciousness. Mr. Squires went on tosay that the only thing that saved Mr. Simms from being run over andkilled by the fire-engine was the fact that the latter was about a blockand a half ahead of him when the accident occurred. Sparks soared high and far on the smoke-laden wind, scurrying townwardacross the barren quarry-lands. The vast canopy was red with the glow offlying embers and fire-lit clouds. Below, in the dusty road, swarmed thelong procession of citizens. Grim, stark hemlocks gleamed in the weird, uncanny light that turned the green of their foliage and the black oftheir trunks into the colour of the rose on the side facing the fire, but left them dark and forbidding on the other. The telegraph-polesbeyond the burning warehouse lining the railroad spur that ventured downfrom the main line some miles away and terminated at Smock's, loomed uplike lofty gibbets in the ghastly light. Three quarters of a mile fromthe scene of the conflagration lay the homes of the people who lived onthe rim of Tinkletown, and there also were the two churches and themotion-picture houses. "We got to save them picture-houses, " panted Anderson, and then in hastyapology, --"and the churches, too. " "You got to save my studio first, " bawled Elmer K. Pratt, thephotographer, trying to keep pace with him in the congested line. "Halt!" commanded the chief, not because tactics called for such anaction but because he was beginning to feel that he couldn't keep upwith the engine. The cavalcade eased down to a walk and finally came to a halt. Every eyewas riveted on the burning structure which now stood out alone in allits grandeur beyond the quarries and gravel-pits. Every one waited inbreathless suspense for the collapse of the towering walls. A shrill, boyish voice broke out above the subdued, awe-struck chatterof the crowd. "Where's Mr. Crow? Mr. Crow! Where are you?" "Sh!" hissed Alf Reesling, glowering upon the excited boy, who had justcome up at full speed from the direction of the town. "Don't you make somuch noise! The walls are going to cave in, an'--" "Where's Mr. Crow?" panted the boy, a lad of twelve. His eyes appearedstarting from his head. A second boy joined him, and he was trembling soviolently that he could not speak at all. All he could do was to pointat the lank figure of the old town marshal, some distance back in thecrowd. Three seconds later the two youngsters had the ear of Anderson Crow, andbetween them they poured it full of news of the most extraordinarycharacter. The crowd, forgetting the imminent crash of the warehousewall, pressed eagerly forward. "Wait a second--wait a second!" roared Anderson. "One at a time now. Don't both of you talk at oncet. You, Bud--you tell it. You keep still, Roswell Hatch. Take your time, Bud!" "Lemme tell it, Mr. Crow, " begged Roswell. "I knowed it first. It ain'tfair for Bud to--" "But I got here first, " protested Bud, and there might have beensomething more sanguinary than mere words if Marshal Crow had notinterfered. "None o' that, now! What's the matter, Bud?" "Somethin' turrible has happened, Mr. Crow--somethin' awfully turrible, "wheezed the boy. "If you derned little scalawags have run all the way from town to tellme that Smock's warehouse is on fire, you'd--" "Oh, gee, that ain't nothin'!" gulped Bud. "Wait till you hear what Iknow. " "I can't wait all night. I got to save Mr. Pratt's studio, an'--" "Well, you know them two tramps you put in the lock-up yesterdayafternoon?" cried Bud. "Desperit characters, both of 'em. I figgered they was up to somedevilment an--" "Well, they ain't in any more; they're out. Ros an' me seen the wholebusiness. We wuz--" "Geminy crickets! What's this? A jail-break? Out of the way, everybody!Two desperit villains are loose in town, an--" "Hold on, Mr. Crow, " cried the other lad, seizing his opportunity. "There's more'n two. Three or four more fellers from the outside come upan' busted in the door an' _let_ 'em out. Then they all run down thestreet to where the new bank is. Me an' Bud seen some of 'em climb intoone of the winders of the bank, an' nen we struck out to find you, Mr. Crow. We thought maybe you'd like to know what--" The rest of Roswell's narrative was lost in the hullabaloo of commandand action. The fickle populace turned its back on the burning warehouseand swept down the lane in quest of new excitement. The tottering wallcame down with a crash, but its fall was unwitnessed except by thoseinfirm old ladies and gentlemen who had lagged so far behind in thefirst rush for safety that they were still in ignorance of the latestcalamity. It was a pity, wrote Miss Sue Becker in her diary, that thegods crowded so much into a single night when there were "three hundredand sixty-four more perfectly good nights available. " The story of the two boys proved not only to be true, but also woefullylacking in exaggeration. The jail-delivery and the looting of the FirstNational Bank of Tinkletown turned out to be but two in a long andfairly complete list of disasters. Investigation revealed an astonishing thoroughness and impartiality onthe part of the bandits. The safe in Brubaker's drugstore was missing, with something like nineteen dollars in cash; Lamson's store had beenentered, and the cash-register rifled; Fryback's hardware-store, Higgins' feed-store and Rush Applegate's tailor-shop were visited, and, as Harry Squires said in the _Banner_, "contents noted. " Two brand-new"shoes" and a couple of inner tubes were missing from Gillespie'sUniversal Garage, and Ed Higgins' dog was slain in cold blood by the"remorseless ravagers. " * * * * * Nobody went to sleep that night. Everybody joined in the search for therobbers. Citizens hurried home after the first alarm and did their partby looking under every bed in their houses, after which the moreventuresome visited garrets, cellars and woodsheds. Anderson Crow, after organizing a large posse and commandeering severalautomobiles, suddenly remembered that he had left his silver watch and awallet containing eleven dollars under his pillow. He drove home asrapidly as possible in John Blosser's 1903 Pope-Toledo and wasconsiderably aggravated to find his wife sound asleep. He awoke her withsome rudeness. "Wake up, Eva! Consarn it, don't you know the town's full of highwaymen?It'd be just like you to sleep here like a log and let 'em come in an'nip my watch an' purse right out o' your own bed. I wouldn't 'a' been abit surprised to find 'em gone--an' you chloryformed and gagged. I--" "Burglars, did you say?" cried his wife, sitting up in bed and staringat him in alarm. "Dozens of 'em, " he declared, pocketing his watch and wallet. "Get upand help me search the house. Where's my revolver?" "Oh, Lordy, Anderson! Your--your revolver? You're not going to shoot itoff, are you?" "I certainly am--if the derned thing's loaded. Where's it at?" She sank back with a sigh of relief. "Thank heavens, I just rememberedthat Milt Cupples borrowed it last winter to--" "Borrowed my revolver?" roared Anderson. "Why--" "To loan to a friend of his'n who was going down to New York onbusiness. " "An' he never brought it back?" "He never did. " Anderson's opinion of Milt Cupples was smothered in a violent chorus ofautomobile horns. Mrs. Crow promptly covered her head with thebed-clothes and let out a muffled shriek. "It's only the posse, " he shouted, pulling the covers from her face. "Don't be scairt, Evy. Where's your courage? Remember who you are. Rememb--" "I'm only a poor, weak woman--" "I know that, " he agreed, "but that ain't all. You are marshal o'Tinkletown, an' if you're goin' to cover up your head every time a horntoots, you'll--" "Oh, go on away and leave me alone, Anderson, " she cried. "I don't wantto be marshal. I never did. I resign now--do you hear me? I resign thisinstant. I was a fool to let the women elect me--and the women wereworse fools for voting for me. That's what comes of letting women vote. We had a good, well-trained marshal--because that's what you are, Anderson. And--" The door flew open. Alf Reesling burst into the room, followed by bothof Anderson Crow's daughters. "Come on, Anderson!" shouted Alf, gasping with excitement. "Good even', Mrs. Crow. Howdy do? Hurry up, Ander--" "We tried to keep him out, Ma, " broke in Caroline Crow, glaring at Alf. "We told him you were in bed, but he--" "Well, gosh a'mighty, " cried Alf in exasperation, "we can't wait allnight. We got track o' them fellers, but if we got to set around outhere till mornin' just because your ma's in bed, I--I--well, that's allI got to say. " He turned to Anderson for support, and catching the lookin his eye, bawled: "No, I ain't been drinkin', Anderson Crow! I'm assober as a--" "Get out of my bedroom this minute, Alf Reesling, " cried Mrs. Crow. "I'll tell your wife how you're behavin' if you--" "Go ahead an' tell her, " snorted Alf, goaded beyond endurance. "Sheain't had a good laugh since the time Anderson had his pocket picked upat Boggs City, fair-week. Go ahead an'--" "Come on, Alf--lively now, " broke in Mr. Crow hastily. "We got to be onthe jump. Gosh, listen to them dogs! Never heard so much barkin' in allmy life. " Out of the house rushed the two men. Anderson immediately began issuingorders. "Ed Higgins, you take a squad o' men and go back to the fire. We got ourhands full tonight. Now, all you fellers as has got pistols an' shotgunsgo home an' get 'em at oncet. Come back here as quick as you canan'--what say, Harry?" He turned to the reporter. "I said the first thing to do is to shoot about thirty or forty of theseinfernal dogs. " "We can't afford to waste ca'tridges, Harry Squires, " said Andersonseverely. "We got to tackle a desperate gang 'fore we're through. " "Where is your daughter Caroline, Mr. Crow?" inquired the reporterirrelevantly. "She's in the house tryin' to quiet her ma. A drunk man bust into herroom a little while ago an'--" "Well, tell her to get on the job at once. She's chief telephoneoperator down at the exchange, and she ought to be there now sending outwarnings to every town within twenty miles of--" "Carrie! Car-ree!" shouted Anderson, racing up the path. "How many timeshave I got to tell you to 'tend to that telephonin'? Go down to theoffice this minute an' call up Boggs City an'--" "I'm not the _night_ operator, " snapped Caroline, appearing in thewindow. "What's the matter with Jane Swiggers and Lucy Cummings? They'resupposed to be on duty all night. " "Don't sass back! Do as I tell you. Telephone every town in the countyto be on the lookout fer an automobile with two tires and a couple ofinner tubes--" "Two _new_ tires, Caroline, " amended Harry Squires. "And carrying a tin safe with George W. Brubaker's name on it in redletters. Say that a complete description of the robbers will follow. Isyour ma still in bed?" "Yes, she is. " "Well, you tell her I'll be home soon as I capture them desperadoes. " Hewas moving toward the front gate. Caroline's paraphrase pursued him andleft a sting: "What is home without a father!" Followed now a lengthy and at times acrimonious argument as to thefurther operations of the marshal's posse. "We're losing valuable time, " protested Harry Squires at the end of ahalf-hour's fertile discussion. _Fertile_ is here employed instead of_futile_, for never was there a more extensive crop of ideas raised byhuman agency. "We can't do anything till we find out which way the derned rascalswent, can we?" said Mr. Crow bitingly. "We got to find somebody thatseen 'em start off in that automobile. We--" "Stuff and nonsense!" cried Harry. "We've got to split up into partiesand follow every road out of Tinkletown. " "How in thunder do you expect me to lead five or six different posses?"demanded Anderson. "Yes, an' what in thunder would we do if we caught up with 'emunexpected-like if we didn't have Anderson with us?" said Alf Reesling, loyal to the core. "In the first place, we wouldn't have any legal rightto capture 'em, and in the second place we couldn't do it anyhow. " By this time there were a dozen shotguns on the scene, to say nothing ofa most impressive collection of antiquated revolvers, "Flobert" rifles, Civil War muskets and baseball bats. "I move we move, " was the laconic but excellent speech of Mr. HenryPlumb. He already had his forefinger on the trigger of his"single-barrel. " "Second the motion, " cried out Ed Higgins loudly. "I thought I told you to go an' 'tend to that fire, Ed Higgins, " saidAnderson, in some surprise. An extremely noisy dog-fight put an end to the discussion for the timebeing, and it was too late to renew it after Situate Jones' mongrel Petehad finished with Otto Schultz's dachshund Bismarck. So vociferous wasthe chorus put up by the other dogs that no one noticed the approach ofan automobile, coming down the Boggs City pike. The car passed at fullspeed. Three dogs failed to get out of the way in time, and as a result, the list of casualties was increased to four, including Ed Higgins'previously mentioned black and tan. The speeding car, a big one loaded with men, was a hundred yards awayand going like the wind before the startled group regained its senses. "There they go!" yelled Harry Squires. "Exceedin' the speed limit, dog-gone 'em!" roared Anderson. "They oughtto be locked up fer ten days an' fined--" "Come on, men!" shouted Harry. "After 'em! That's the gang! They've beenheaded off at Boggs City--or something like that. " "Did anybody ketch the number of that car?" shouted Anderson. "I c'ntrace 'em by their license number if--" The rest of the speech was lost in the rush to enter the waitingautomobiles, and the shouting that ensued. Then followed a period offrantic cranking, after which came the hasty backing and turning ofcars, the tooting of horns and the panic of gears. Loaded to the "gunnels, " the half-dozen machines finally got under way, and off they went into the night, chortling with an excitement all theirown. A lone figure remained standing in front of Anderson Crow's gate--atall, lank figure without coat or hat, one suspender supporting a pairof blue trousers, the other hanging limp and useless. He wore a redundershirt and carried in his left hand the trumpet of a fire-fightingchieftain. "Well, I'll be dog-goned!" issued from his lips as the last of the carsrattled away. Then he started off bravely on foot in the wake of thenoisy cavalcade. "Now, all of 'em are breakin' the speed laws; an' it'sgoin' to cost 'em somethin', consarn 'em, when I yank 'em up 'foreJustice Robb tomorrow, sure as my name's Anderson Crow. " Presently he heard a car approaching from behind. It was very dark inthe outskirts of the town, and the lonely highway that reached down intothe valley was a thing of the imagination rather than of the vision. Profiting by the catastrophes that attended the passing of the bigtouring-car Anderson hastily leaped to the side of the road. A couple ofsmall headlights veered around a curve in the road and came down theslight grade, followed naturally and somewhat haltingly by an automobilewhose timorous brakes were half set. There was a single occupant. Anderson levelled his trumpet at the driver and shouted: "Halt!" "Oh-h!" came in a shrill, agitated voice from the car, but the machinegave no sign of halting. "Hey! Halt, I say!" "I--I don't know how!" moaned the voice. "How do you stop it?" "Good gracious sakes alive! Is--is it _you_, Eva?" "Oh, Anderson! Thank goodness! I thought you was a highwayman. Oh, dear--oh, dear! Ain't there any way to stop this thing?" "Shut off the power, an' it'll stop when you start up the grade. " Anderson was trotting along behind, tugging at one of the mud-guards. "How do you shut it off?" "The same way you turned it on. " "Goodness, what a fool way to do things!" The little car came to a stop on the rise of the grade, and Andersonside-stepped just in time to avoid being bumped into as it started backagain, released. "It's Deacon Rank's car, " explained Mrs. Crow in response to a series ofbewildered, rapid-fire questions from her husband. "He offered to sellit to me for fifty dollars, and I've been learnin' how to run it for twowhole days--out in Peters' Mill lane. " "How does it happen I never knowed anything about this, Eva?" demandedhe, regaining in some measure his tone of authority. "I wanted to surprise you. " "Well, by gosh, you have!" "Deacon Rank's been giving me lessons every afternoon. I know how tostart it and steer it, goin' slow-like--but of course I've got a lot tolearn. " "Well, you just turn that car around an' skedaddle for home, Eva Crow, "was his command. "What business have you got runnin' around the countrylike this in the dead o' night, all alone--" "Ain't I the Marshal of Tinkletown?" she broke in crossly. "What righthave all you men to be going off without me in this--" "The only official thing you've done, madam, since you got to bemarshal, was to resign while you was in bed not more'n an hour ago. Iaccepted your resignation, so now you go home as quick as that blamedold rattletrap will take you. " "Besides, I saw the ornery fools go off an' leave you behind, Anderson, and that made me mad. I run over to Deacon Rank's and got the car. Now, you hop right in, and I'll take you wherever you want to go. Get in, Isay. I hereby officially withdraw my resignation. I'm still marshal ofthis town, and if you don't do as I tell you, I'll discharge you asdeputy. " So Anderson got up beside her and pulled desperately at hischin-whiskers, no doubt to assist the words that were struggling toescape from his compressed lips. After considerable back-firing, the decrepit machine began to climb thegrade. Presently Mr. Crow found his voice. "Didn't I tell you to turn around, Eva?" "Don't talk to me when I'm driving, " said she, gripping the wheeltightly with the fingers of death. "You turn the car around immediately, woman. I'm your husband, an' Iorder you to do as I tell ye!" "I'll turn it around when I get good and ready, " said she in a strainedvoice. "Can't you see there ain't room enough to turn around in thisroad?" "Well, it don't get any wider. " "Besides, I don't know how to turn it around, " she confessed. "Why, you just back her, same as anybody else does, an' then reverseher, an'--" "You old goose, how can I back her when she keeps on going for'ard?" Anderson was silent for a moment. "Well, if I may be so bold as to ask, madam, where are you going?" heasked, with deep sarcasm in his voice. "You leave it to me, Anderson Crow. I know what I am doing. " They went on for about a quarter of a mile before she spoke again. "There's only one way to turn around, and I'm taking it. How far is itto Fisher's lane?" "You can't turn her around in Fisher's lane, Eva. It's all a good-sizeddog c'n do to turn around in that road. " "I asked you how far is it?" "'Bout a mile an' a half. " "I ain't going to turn around in Fisher's lane, Anderson. I'm going tofoller it straight to the Britton toll-road, and then I'm going to turninto that and head for Tinkletown. That's how I'm going to turn thisplagued car around. " "Well, of all the--why, geminently, Eva, it's--it's nigh onto nine mile. You shorely can't be such a fool as to--" "I'm going to turn this car around if it takes twenty miles, " she saidfirmly. There was another long, intense silence. "I wonder if the boys have got that fire out yet?" mumbled Anderson. "Course, there ain't no use worryin' about them robbers. They got away. If I'd been along with that posse, we'd 'a' had 'em sure by this time, but--oh, well, there ain't no use cryin' over spilt milk. " In due time they came to Fisher's lane. Mrs. Crow made a very sharp buttriumphant turn, and the second leg of the course was before them. Halfan hour later the valiant machine sneaked out of the narrow byway intothe Britton pike and pointed its nose homeward. "Let her out a little, Eva, " said Anderson, taking a long breath. "It'sfour mile to town, an'--" "Oh, goodness!" squeaked the driver, giving the wheel a perilous twist. "Look! There comes a car behind us. Help! They'll run into us!They'll--" "Pull off to the side of the road--no, this side! Gosh! Hurry up, Eva. They're comin' like greased lightnin'! Look out! Not too fer over!There's a ditch alongside--" The remainder of the sentence was lost in the wild shriek of a siren, shriek after shriek succeeding each other as a big car, withfar-reaching acetylene lamps, roared down upon them. Like a mightywhirlwind it swept by them, careening perilously on the sloping edge ofthe road. Suddenly the grinding of brakes assailed the ears of thethanksgiving Crows, and to their astonishment the big machine came to astandstill a hundred yards or more down the road. Mrs. Crow promptly"put on" the accelerator, and but for a vehement warning from herhusband would have gone full tilt into the rear end of the mightystranger. She managed to stop the little car when its faithful nose wasnot more than two yards from the little red light ahead. "Hey, Ford!" called out a man who had arisen in the tonneau of the bigcar and was looking back at them. "Hey, yourself!" responded Anderson. "Is this the road to Albany?" "No, it ain't. " "We've lost our way. Where does this road take us?" "Into the city of Tinkletown. " Three or four voices in the car were guilty of saying things in thepresence of a lady. "Well, where in hell are we?" demanded the spokesman. "You ain't in hell yet, but you will be pretty soon if you keep up thatreckless driving, lemme tell you that. " "Where do we get the Albany road?" called out another voice from thecar. "The quickest way is to go into Tinkletown an' take the first turn tothe left after--" "But we don't want to go to Tinkletown, you damned old hayseed. We--" "Shut up, Joe!" cried one of the men. "He's excited, Mister. His wife'ssick, and we're trying to get him home before she--before she croaks. " "Oh, I'm so sorry, " cried Mrs. Crow before Anderson could speak. Shealso kicked him violently on the ankle-bone. "The quickest way to get tothe Albany road, " she went on, "is by cuttin' through back of Cole'ssawmill an' crossin' the river at Goose's Ferry. That's about sevenmiles from here. Take the first lane to your left, half a mile furtheron. " "Much obliged, ma'am. " "You're entirely welcome, " said she, this time poking her elbow intoAnderson's ribs. He grunted. "Is the road pretty good all the way?" "It's a good dirt road. " "We're in a great hurry, ma'am. Is it safe to hit it up a little on thedirt-road? His wife specially wanted to see him before she died. " "Perfectly safe, as long as you keep _in_ it. " "Nightie!" called the spokesman, and the big car leaped forward as ifsuddenly unchained. "Well, of all the--" began Anderson wrathfully. "Get out and crank this car, Anderson, " she broke in excitedly. "You know as well as I do that that dirt road ends at Heffner's farm. Itdon't go nowheres near the river. What ails you, Eva Crow? That poorfeller's wife--" "Crank, I tell you!" He got out and cranked the car, grumbling all the while. As he got backin the seat beside her, he exploded: "An' what's more, there's that soldiers' camp at Green Ridge. They won'tbe allowed to go through it without a pass. There must be a thousand menthere. They're marchin' to some'eres in America, the feller told me thismornin' when he come in at Jackson's to get some smokin' terbaccer. Campat Green Ridge fer two days, he says, an' then--Hey! Don't drive soblamed reckless, Eva! Can't you get her under control? Put on yourbrakes, woman! She'll--" "Hush up, Anderson. You let me alone. " The little old car was sailing along at a speed that caused every jointto rattle with joy unconfined. To Anderson's amazement, and to a certainextent consternation, Mrs. Crow swung into the dirt-road over which thebig car was now whizzing a mile or so ahead. "Here! Where you going?" barked Anderson, arising from the seat. "There's going to be hell to pay before you know it, Anderson Crow, "said she, her voice high and squeaky. "Wha-what was that you said?" gasped her husband, flopping back in theseat. He couldn't believe his ears. [Illustration: _"Wha--what was that you said?" gasped her husband, flopping back in the seat_] "I learned that from my predecessor in office, " she replied somewhatguiltily. "I've heard you say it a million times. " "But I ain't no woman. I--" "Set still! Do you want to fall out and break your neck?" And Anderson sat still, dazed and helpless in the direful presence of awoman who, to his utter horror, had gone violently insane. He begansilently but urgently to pray that the gasoline would give out, when hewould find himself in a position to reason with her, gently or forciblyas the situation demanded. He broke into a profuse and chillyperspiration. His wife crazy! His wife of forty years! His old comrade! He was aroused from these horrifying, sickening reflections by a hoarsebut imperative word coming from nowhere out of the darkness of the roadahead. "Halt!" Mrs. Crow put on the brakes. "Who goes there?" "Friends!" faltered Mrs. Crow. "The marshal of Tinkletown, " added Anderson, vastly relieved by hersingularly intelligent answer. "Advance and give the countersign!" "All right. What is it?" inquired Mrs. Crow. A couple of non-commissioned officers joined the sentry at this moment. They were but half dressed. "What the devil's the meaning of all this?" exclaimed one of them, planting himself beside the car and flashing a light in Mrs. Crow'sface. "Don't you hayseeds know any better than to bust into a militarycamp--" His companion interrupted him. "Keep your shirt on, Bill. Didn't I hearthe man say he was the marshal of Tinkletown?" "No, sir, you didn't! I said _we_ are the marshal of Tinkletown. I--" "All right, all right. Do you happen to be chasin' a gang ofjoy-riders?" "We do--we are!" cried Mrs. Crow. "They zipped through this camp like a rifle-shot about ten minutes ago. They've raised a lovely row. Officer of the day bawlin' everybody out, and--Here, hold on!" "We've just got to catch them men, " pleaded Mrs. Crow. "One of 'em's got a sick wife, " added Anderson, "an' we've got to tellhim he's on the wrong road. " "Well, you just sit right where you are, " spoke the top sergeant. "They'll be back this way in a few minutes. This road ends about a mileabove here, and they'll have to come back. The sentries say they wentthrough here so fast they couldn't see anything but wind. " "Are you going to stop them?" cried Mrs. Crow eagerly. "We sure are, " said the other non-com. "See that bunch of men formingover there? Well, they've got real guns and real bullets, and they'remad, Mrs. Marshal. You can't blame 'em. " Off at one side of the road a little distance away a company of soldierswas lining up. The sharp command of an officer rang out. "Thank goodness!" cried Mrs. Crow. "Look here, Eva, " said Anderson nervously. "I guess you'd better pulloff to one side of the road, just in case them soldiers don't stop 'em. We're right smack in their way, an' gosh only knows where we'd land ifthey smashed into us. It'd take a week to find us, we'd be so scatteredabout. " "Don't be uneasy, " said the top sergeant. "They'll stop, all right, allright. " "Let me whisper something to you, Mr. Officer, " said Mrs. Crow. "It'svery important. " He obligingly held up an ear, and she leaned down and spoke rapidly, earnestly into it. "You don't say so!" he cried out. "Excuse _me_!" And off he dashed, calling out to his companion to follow. A minute later the most extraordinary activity affected the group ofsoldiers over the way. Commands were now issued in lowered tones, andmen marched rapidly away, dividing into squads. "What did you say to that feller?" demanded Anderson. "I told him who those men are, Anderson Crow. " "You couldn't. They're perfect strangers. If they wasn't, how'd theyhappen to miss the road?" "They are the very men I'm looking for, " said she. "They're therobbers, --and the men who set fire to Smock's warehouse, I'll betyou--and everything else!" "Jumpin' Jehoshaphat!" An officer rushed up. "Turn that flivver around in the middle of the road and jump out quick. That will stop them. Let 'em smash it up if necessary. It isn't worthmore than ten dollars. " While a half-dozen men were dragging the car into position as abarricade, Mrs. Crow exclaimed to her husband: "That old skinflint! He said it was cheap at fifty dollars. Thankgoodness, I--" But Anderson was hustling her out of the car. In the distance theheadlights of the bandits' car burst into view as it swung around a bendin the road. Soldiers everywhere! They seemed to have sprung out of the ground. Oncame the big car, thundering into the trap. Bugle-calls sounded; acouple of guns blazed into the air as the car flew past the outposts, lights flared suddenly in the path of bewildered occupants, and loudimperative commands rang out on the air. Into the gantlet of guns the big car rushed. The man at the wheel bentlow and took the reckless chance of getting through. Then, a hundred feet ahead, his lights fell upon the dauntless abandonedflivver. He jerked frantically at the brakes. [Illustration: _Then, a hundred feet ahead, his lights fell upon thedauntless, abandoned flivver_] "Halt!" shouted Anderson Crow from the top of the roadside bank. "Surrender in the name of the Law!" He spoke just in time. Crash! They halted! Deacon Rank's little car died a glorious, spectacular death. (HarrySquires, in his account, placed it all alone in the list of"unidentified dead. ") Three minutes after the collision, brawny soldiers were bending over thestretched-out figures of five unconscious men. Mr. And Mrs. Crow stood on the edge of the group, awe-struck and silent. "They're coming around, all right, " said some one at Anderson's elbow. "He was slowing down when they struck. But there's no hope for the poorold flivver. " Anderson found his voice--a quavering, uncertain voice--and exclaimed: "Stand aside, men! I am the marshal of Tinkletown, an' them scoundrelsare my prisoners. " His progress was barred by a couple of soldiers. An officer approached. "Easy, Mr. Marshal--easy, now. This is our affair, you know. I guessyou'd better come with me to the colonel. Don't be alarmed. They shan'tescape. " "They're mighty desperit characters--" began Anderson. "Step this way, please, " said the other shortly. * * * * * It was four o'clock in the morning when Mr. And Mrs. Crow were depositedat their front door by the colonel's automobile. The robbers, underheavy guard, remained in the camp, pending action on the part of thecivic authorities. They were very much alive and kicking when Andersonleft them, after a pompous harangue on the futility of crime in thatneck of the woods. "Yes, sir, Colonel, " he said, turning to the camp commander, "a crookain't got any more chance than a snowball in--you know--when he tries topull the wool over my eyes. I've been ketchin' thieves and bandits an'the Lord knows what-all for forty years er more, an' so forth. I want tothank you, sir, an' your brave soldier boys--an' the United StatesGovernment also--fer the assistance you have given me tonight. I doubtvery much whether I could 'a' took 'em single-handed--handicapped as Iwas by havin' a woman along. An' when you git over to France with thesebrave troops of yours, I c'n tell you one thing: the Kaiser'll know it, you bet! Never mind about the old car. It's seen its best days. An' itain't mine, anyhow. I'll be out here bright and early tomorrow morningwith my posse, an' we'll take them fellers off'm your hands. If you'llexcuse me now, I guess I'll be movin' along to'ards home. I've still gota fire to put out, an' a lot of other things to do besides. I've got tolet the bank know I have recovered their money an' left it in goodhands, an' I've got to send a posse out to see if they c'n locate GeorgeBrubaker's safe along the road anywheres. An' what's more, I've got torepair the jail, and officially notify Deacon Rank he's had an accidentto his car. " Mrs. Crow had little to say until she was snugly in bed. Her husband wasgetting into his official garments. "I think you're foolish to go out again, Anderson, " she said. "It's notdaylight yet. There won't be anybody around, this time of day, to listento how you captured those robbers, --and--" "Don't you believe it, " said he. "I bet you fifty cents you are the onlyperson in Tinkletown that's in bed at this minute. They're all _afraid_to go to bed, Eva, an' you can't blame 'em. Nobody knows I've got themdesperadoes bound hand and foot and guarded by a whole regiment of U. S. Troops, specially deputized for the occasion. " "YOU ARE INVITED TO BE PRESENT" Anderson Crow sat on the porch of the post-office, ruminating over theepidemic that had assailed Tinkletown with singular virulence, and, in asense, enthusiasm. Not that there was anything sinister or loathsomeabout the plague. Far from it, he reflected, because it had broken outso soon after his bitter comments on the prolonged absence of theslightest symptom, or indication that a case was even remotely probable. And here he was, holding in his hand four fresh and unmistakable signsthat the contagion was spreading. In short, he had just received andopened four envelopes addressed to Mr. And Mrs. A. Crow, and eachcontained an invitation to a wedding. Alf Reesling, commonly known as the town drunkard, sat on the top step, whittling. "No law against gittin' married, is there, constable?" he inquired. "I don't know much about this new eugenric law, " mused Mr. Crow, gingerly pulling at his whiskers. "So fer as I know, it ain't beenviolated up here. " "What's the harm, anyway? You was sayin' yourself only the other daythat it's a crime the way the young fellers in this town _never_ gitmarried. Just set around the parlour stoves all winter holdin' hands, and on the front steps all summer----" "Like as not the gosh-derned cowards heard what I said and got up spunkenough to tackle matrimony, " interrupted the venerable town marshal. "June seems to be a good month fer weddin's everywhere else in the worldexcept right here in Tinkletown. The last one we had was in December, and that was two years ago. Annie Bliss and Joe Hodges. Now we're goin'to have 'em so thick and fast there won't be an unmarried man in theplace, first thing you know. Up to date, me and Mrs. Crow have hadseventeen printed invitations, and I don't know how many by word o'mouth. Fellers that never even done any courtin', so fer as I know, aregittin' married to girls that ain't had a beau since the Methodistrevival in nineteen-ten. They all got religion then, male and female, and there's nothin' like religion to make people think they ought tohave somebody to share their repentance with. " "George Hoover's been goin' with Bessie Slayback ever sence McKinleybeat Bryan in 'ninety-six. Swore he'd never git married till we hadanother democratic president. We've had one fer more'n four years andnow he says he never dreamed there'd be another one, so he didn't thinkit was worth while to save up enough to git married on. You don't happento have a bid there fer his weddin', have you, Anderson? That would betoo much to expect, I guess. " "How old do you make out Bessie is, Alf?" asked Mr. Crow, shuffling theenvelopes until he found the one he wanted. He removed the card, printedneatly by the _Tinkletown Banner_ Press, and squinted at it through hisspectacles. "Forty-nine, " said Alf, promptly. "Twenty-sixth of last January. " "Well, poor old George'll have to do his settin' in Sofer's store afterthe third o' June, " said the other, chuckling. "She has threw him over, as my daughter would say. " "What's that?" "Yep. Bessie's goin' to be married next Sunday to Charlie Smith. " "Fer the Lord's sake!" gasped Alf. "How c'n that be? Charlie's got awife an' three grown children. " "'Tain't old Charlie. It's young Charlie, " said Anderson, looking hardat the invitation. "'Charles Elias Smith, Junior, ' it says. " Alf was speechless. He merely stared while the town marshal made mentalcalculations. "She's twenty-six years older'n he is, Alf. " "There must be some mistake, " muttered Alf. "Not if you're sure she's forty-nine, " said Anderson. "Subtracttwenty-three from forty-nine and you have twenty-six, with nothin' tocarry. Besides, old Charlie's middle name is Bill. " "Well, I'll be dog-goned, " said Alf, in a weak voice. "And here's another'n', " said Anderson, passing a card to his companion. Alf read: "'The son and daughter of Mrs. Ellen Euphemia Ricketts requestthe pleasure of your company at the marriage of their mother to Mr. Pietro Emanuel Cocotte, on June 1, 1917, at twelve o'clock noon at thefamily residence, No. 17 Lincoln Street, Tinkletown, New York. ' Well, I'll be--" Alf interrupted himself to repeat one of the names. "Who isthis Pietro Emanuel Cocotte? I never heard of--" "Petey Sickety, " said Anderson. "The sprinklin'-cart driver?" "The same, " said the marshal, his lips tightening. He had once tried toarrest the young man for "disturbing the peace, " and had been obliged tocall upon the crowd for help. "Why, good gosh, he don't earn more'n ten dollars a week and he sendshalf of that back to Sweden, " said Alf. "Europe, " corrected Anderson, patiently. He had put up with a good dealof ignorance on the part of Alf during a long and watchfulacquaintanceship. "Anyhow, " said the town drunkard, arising in some haste, "I guess I'llbe gittin' home. Maybe I ain't too late. " He was moving off withconsiderable celerity. "Too late for what?" called out Anderson. "That measley, good-fer-nothin' Gates boy dropped in to see my girlQueenie last night. First time he's ever done it, but, by criminy, theway they're speedin' things up around here lately there's no tellin'what c'n happen in twenty-four hours. " "Hold on a minute, Alf. I'll walk along with you. Now, see here, Alf, "--Mr. Crow laid a kindly, encouraging hand on the other's shoulderas they ambled down the main street of the village--"no matter whathappens, you mustn't let it git the best of you. Keep straight, oldfeller. Don't touch a drop o'--" Mr. Reesling stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk. "Dog-gone it, Anderson--leggo of my arm. Do you want everybody to think you're takin'me to jail, or home to my poor wife, or somethin' like that? It'll beall over town in fifteen minutes if you--" "'Tain't my fault if you've got a reputation, Alf, " retorted the townmarshal sorrowfully. "Well, it ain't my fault either, " declared Alf. "Look at me. I ain't hada drink in twenty-three years, and what good does it do me? Every time astranger comes to town people point at me an' say, 'There goes the towndrunkard. ' Oh, I've heerd 'em. I ain't deef. An' besides, ain't theyalways preachin' at me an' about me at the Methodist an' Congregationalchurches? Ain't they always tellin' the young boys that they got to becareful er they'll be like Alf Reesling? An' what's it all come from?Comes from the three times I got drunk back in the fall of'ninety-three when my cousin was here from Albany fer a visit. I _had_to entertain him, didn't I? An' there wasn't any other way to do it inthis jerk-water town, was there? An' ever since then the windbags inthis town have been prayin' fer me an' pityin' my poor wife. That's whata feller gits fer livin' in a--" "Now, now!" admonished Anderson soothingly. "Don't git excited, Alf. Youdeserve a lot o' credit. Ain't many men, I tell you, could break offsudden like that, an'--" "Oh, you go to grass!" exclaimed Alf hotly. Anderson inspected him closely. "Lemme smell your breath, Alf Reesling, "he commanded. "What's the use?" growled Alf. "Wouldn't last fer twenty-three years, would it?" "Well, you talk mighty queer, " said the marshal, unconvinced. Hecouldn't imagine such a thing as a strictly sober man telling him to goto grass. He was the most important man in Tinkletown. Further discussion was prevented by the approach of Mr. Crow's daughter, Susie, accompanied by a tall, pink-faced young man in a resplendentchecked suit and a dazzling red necktie. They came from Brubaker'spopular drugstore and ice-cream "parlour, " two doors below. "Hello, Pop, " said Susie gaily, as the couple sauntered past theirhalf-halting seniors. "H'are you, Mr. Crow?" was the young man's greeting, uttered with theconvulsive earnestness of sudden embarrassment. "Fine day, ain't it?" Mr. Crow said that it was, and then both he and Alf stopped short intheir tracks and gazed intently at the backs of the young people. Evenas they stared, a fiery redness enveloped the ears of Susie's companion. A few steps farther on he turned his head and looked back. Somethingthat may be described as sheepish defiance marked that swift, involuntary glance. Mr. Reesling broke the silence. There was a worried, sympathetic note inhis voice. "Got on his Sunday clothes, Anderson, and this is only Wednesday. Beatsthe Dutch, don't it?" "I wonder--" began Mr. Crow, and then closed his lips so tightly and soabruptly that his sparse chin whiskers stuck out almost horizontally. He started off briskly in the wake of the young people. Alf, forgettinghis own apprehensions in the face of this visible manifestation, shuffled along a few paces behind. Miss Crow and her companion turned the corner below and were lost toview. "By gosh, " said Alf, suddenly increasing his speed until he came abreastof the other; "you better hurry, Anderson. Justice Robb's in his office. I seen his feet in the winder a little while ago. " "They surely can't be thinkin' of--" Mr. Crow did not complete thesentence. "Why not?" demanded Alf. "Everybody else is. And it would be just likethat Schultz boy to do it without an invitation. Ever since this war'sbeen goin' on them Schultzes have been blowin' about always bein'prepared fer anything. German efficiency's what they're always throwin'up to people. I bet he's been over to the county seat an' got a licenseto--" Anderson interrupted him with a snort. He put his hand on his right hippocket, where something bulged ominously, and quickened his pace. "I been watchin' these Schultzes fer nearly a year, " said he, "an' thewhole caboodle of 'em are spies. " They turned the corner. Susie and her companion were on the point ofdisappearing in a doorway fifty yards down Sickle Street. Anderson slowed up. He removed his broad felt hat with the gold cordaround it, and mopped his forehead. "That's the tin-type gallery, " he said, a little out of breath. "Worse an' more of it, " said Alf. "That's the surest sign I know of. Itnever fails. Mollie an' me had our'n taken the day before we was marriedan'--an'--why, it's almost the same as a certificat', Anderson. " "Now, you move on, Alf, " commanded the marshal. "How many times I got totell you not to loiter aroun' the streets? Move on, I say. " "Aw, now, Anderson--" "I'll have to run you in, Alf. The ord'nance is very p'ticular, an' thatnotice stuck up on the telephone pole over there means you more'nanybody else. No loiterin'. " "If you need any evidence ag'in that Schultz boy, just call on me, " saidAlf generously. "I seen him commit an atrocity last week. " "What was it?" "He give that little Griggs girl a lift in his butcher wagon, " said Alfdarkly. Anderson scowled. "The sooner we run these cussed Germans out o' townthe better off we'll be. " Alf ambled off, casting many glances over his shoulder, and the marshalcrossed the street and entered Hawkins's Undertaking and Embalmingestablishment, from a window of which he had a fair view of the"studio. " Presently Susie and young Schultz emerged, giggling and snickering overthe pink objects they held in their hands. They sauntered slowly, shoulder to shoulder, in the direction of Main Street. Mr. Hawkins was in the middle of one of his funniest stories whenAnderson got up and walked out hurriedly. The undertaker had areputation as a wit. He was the life of the community. He radiatedoptimism, even when most depressingly employed. And here he was tellingAnderson Crow a brand-new story he had heard at a funeral over inKirkville, when up jumps his listener and "lights out" without so muchas a word. Mr. Hawkins went to the door and looked out, expecting to seea fight or a runaway horse or a German airplane. All he saw was themarshal not two doors away, peering intently into a show-window, whilefrom across the street two young people regarded him with visibleamusement. For a long time thereafter the undertaker sat in his officeand stared moodily at the row of caskets lining the opposite wall. Couldit be possible that he was losing his grip? Miss Crow and Mr. Otto Schultz resumed their stroll after a few moments, and the marshal, following their movements in the reflectingshow-window, waited until they were safely around the corner. Then heretraced his steps quickly, passed the undertaker's place, and turnedinto the alley beyond. Three minutes later, he entered Main Street ablock above Sickle Street, and was leaning carelessly against the Indiantobacco sign in front of Jackson's cigar store, when his daughter andher companion bore down upon his left flank. Mr. Alf Reesling was a few paces behind them. As they came within earshot, young Schultz was saying in a suspiciouslyearnest manner: "You better come in and have anodder sody, Susie. " Just then their gaze fell upon Mr. Crow. "Goodness!" exclaimed Susie, startled. "By cheminy!" fell from Otto's wide-open mouth. He blinked a couple oftimes. "Is--is that you?" he inquired, incredulously. "You mean _me_?" asked Anderson, with considerable asperity. "Sure, " said Otto, halting. "Can't you see it's me?" demanded Mr. Crow. "But you ain'd here, " said the perplexed young man, getting pinker allthe time. "You're aroundt in Sickle Street. " "Alf!" called out Anderson. "Look here a minute. Is this me?" He spokewith biting sarcasm. Mr. Reesling regarded him with some anxiety. "You better go home, Anderson, " he said. "This sun is a derned sighthotter'n you think. " "Didn't we see you a minute ago around in Sickle Street, Pop?" inquiredSusie. "Looking in that hair-dresser's window?" "Maybe you did and maybe you didn't, " replied Mr. Crow, shrewdly. Then, with thinly veiled significance: "I'm purty busy lookin' into a goodmany things nowadays. " He favoured Otto with a penetrating glance. "Eversence the U. S. A. Declared war on Germany, Mr. Otto Schultz. " "How aboudt that sody, Miss Susie?" said Otto, in a pained sort ofvoice. "You'd better be saving your money, Otto, " she advised, with suchfirmness that her father looked at her sharply. "Oh, spiffles!" said Otto, getting still redder. Mr. Crow was all ears. Alf Reesling burned his fingers on a match heheld too long in the hot, still air some six or eight inches from thebowl of his pipe. "Well, getting married is no joke, " said Susie, shaking her pretty headsolemnly. Otto took a deep breath. "You bet you it ain'd, " he said, with feeling. That seemed to give him courage. He took off his straw hat, and, as heran his finger around the moist "sweat-band, " he blurted out: "I don'tmind if you tell your fadder, Susie. Go and tell him. " "Tell him yourself, " said Susie. "As I was saying a few minutes ago, " said Otto ingenuously, "the onlyobchection I had to your tellin' your fadder was that I didn't wanteverybody in town to know it before I could get home and tell my motheryet. " "Don't go away, Alf, " said Mr. Crow, darkly. "I'll need you as awitness. I hereby subpoena you as a witness to what's goin' to happen inless'n no time. Now, Mr. Otto Schultz, spit it out. " Otto disgorged these cyclonic words: "I'm going to get married, Mr. Crow, that's all. " Mr. Crow was equally explicit and quite as brief. "Only over my dead body, " he shouted, and then turned upon Susie. "Yougo home, Susan Crow! Skedaddle! Get a move on, I say. I'll nip thisblamed German plot right in the beginning. Do you hear me, Susan--" Susan stared at him. "Hear you?" she cried. "They can hear you up inthe graveyard. What on earth's got into you, Pop? What--" "You'll see what's got into me, purty derned quick, " said Anderson, andpointed his long, trembling forefinger at the amazed Mr. Schultz, whohad dropped his hat and was stooping over to retrieve it without takinghis eyes from the menacing face of the speaker. It had rolled in the direction of Mr. Alf Reesling. That gentlemanobligingly stopped it with his foot. After removing his foot, heundertook to return the hat without stooping at all, the result beingthat it sped past Otto and landed in the middle of the street sometwenty feet away. "So you think you c'n git married without my consent, do you?" demandedAnderson, witheringly. "You think you c'n sneak around behind my backan'--" "I ain'd sneakin' aroundt behind anybody's back, " broke in Otto, straightening up. "I don't know what you are talking aboud, Mr. Crow, --and needer do you, " he added gratuitously. "What for do I haf toget your consent to get married for? I get myself's consent and mygirl's consent and my fadder's consent--Say!" His voice rose. "Don't youthink I am of age yet?" "If you talk loud like that, I'll run you in fer disturbin' the peace, young feller, " warned Anderson, observing that a few of Tinkletown'scitizens were slowly but surely surrendering squatter's rights tochairs and soap-boxes on the shady side of the block. "Just you keep acivil tongue in--" "You ain'd answered my question yet, " insisted Otto, with increasedvigour. "Here's your hat, Otto, " said Alf Reesling in a conciliatory voice. Hewas brushing the article with the sleeve of his coat. "A horse must'a'stepped on it or somethin'. I never see--" "Ain'd I of age, Mr. Crow?" bellowed Otto. "Didn't I vote for you at thelast--" "That ain't the question, " interrupted Anderson sharply. "The questionis, is the girl of age?" He favoured his sixteen-year-old daughter witha fiery glance. Otto Schultz's broad, flat face became strangely pinched. There wassomething positively apoplectic in the hue that spread over it. "Oh, Pop!" shrieked Susie, a peal of laughter bursting from her lips. Instantly, however, her two hands were pressed to her mouth, stiflingthe outburst. Otto gave her a hurt, surprised--and unmistakably horrified--look. Thena silly grin struggled into existence. "Maybe she don'd tell the truth aboud her age yet, Mr. Crow, " he saidhuskily. "Women always lie aboud their ages. Maybe she lie aboud hers. " Anderson flared. "Don't you dare say my daughter lies about her age--oranything else, " he roared. "Whose daughter?" gasped Otto. "Mine!" "But she ain'd your daughter. " "_What!_ Well, of all the--" Words failed Mr. Crow. He looked helplessly, appealingly at AlfReesling, as if for support. [Illustration: _Words failed Mr. Crow_] Mr. Reesling rose to the occasion. "Do you mean to insinuate, Otto Schultz, that--" he began as he startedto remove his coat. By this time Susie felt it was safe to trust herself to speech. Sheremoved her hands from her mouth and cried out: "He isn't talking about me, Pop, " she gasped. "It's Gertie Bumbelburg. " "Sure, " said Otto hastily. Mr. Crow still being speechless, Alf suspended his belligerentpreparations, and cocking one eye calculatingly, settled the matter ofMiss Bumbelburg's age with exasperating accuracy. "Gertie's a little past forty-two, " he announced. "Born in March, 1875, just back o' where Sid Martin's feed-store used to be. " The marshal had recovered his composure. "That's sufficient, " he said, accepting Alf s testimony with a profoundair of dignity. "There ain't no law against anybody marryin' a woman oldenough to be his mother. " "Everybody in town give Gertie up long ago, " added Alf, amiably. "Onlygoes to show that while there's life there's hope. I'd 'a' swore shewas on the shelf fer good. How'd you happen to pick her, Otto?" "She's all right, " growled Otto uncomfortably. Then he added, withconsiderable acerbity: "I'm goin' to tell her you said she wasforty-two, Alf Reesling. " "Well, ain't she?" demanded Alf, bristling. "No, she ain'd, " replied Otto. "She's twendy-nine. " "Come, come, " put in Anderson sternly. "None o' this now! Move on, Alf!No scrappin' on the public thoroughfares o' Tinkletown. You're gettin'more and more rambunctious every day, Alf. " "He ought to be ashamed of himself, speakin' by a lady when he knowshe's in such a condition, " said Otto, turning from the unfortunate Alfto Miss Crow. "Ain'd that so, Susie?" "Don't answer, Susie, " said Mr. Crow, quickly. "This is no time to sidein with Germany. " "I'm as good an American as you are already, " cried Otto, goaded beyondendurance. Mr. Crow smiled tolerantly. "Git out! Let's hear you say 'vinegar'. " "Winegar, " said Otto triumphantly. "I can say it as good as you canyet. " Anderson nudged Mr. Reesling, and chuckled. "That's the way to spot 'em, " he said significantly. "There's a better way than that, " said Alf. "How's that?" Alf whispered in the marshal's ear. Anderson shook his head. "But where are you goin' to get the weenywurst, Alf?" "Come on, Otto, " said Susie, impatiently. "I have an engagement. " They moved off rapidly, passing the ice-cream parlour withouthesitating. "D'you hear that?" said Alf, after a moment. "She said she was engaged. " That night Anderson Crow, town marshal, superintendent of streets, chiefof the fire department, post-commander of the G. A. R. , truant officer, dog-catcher, member of the American Horse-thief Detective Association, member of the Universal Detective Bureau, chairman of TinkletownBattlefield Society, etc. , lay awake until nearly nine o'clock, seekinga solution to the astonishing problem that confronted Tinkletown and itsenvirons. * * * * * Late reports, received by telephone just before retiring, ran the numberof prospective marriages up to twenty-eight. His daughters, Susie andCaroline--the latter the eldest of a family of six and secretlyapproaching the age of thirty-two--confided to him that they had hadeleven and three proposals respectively. A singular feature of the crazewas the unanimity of impulse affecting men between the ages of twentyand thirty, and the utter absence of concentration on the part of theapplicants. It was of record that some of them proposed to as many asfive or six young women before being finally accepted. Rashness appearedto be the watchword. The matrimonial stampede swept caution andconsequences into a general heap, and delivered a community of thebackwardness that threatened to become a menace to posterity. As Anderson Crow lay in his bed, he tried to enumerate on his fingersthe young men who remained unpledged. Starting with his thumb he got asfar as the third finger of his left hand and then, being sleepy and theeffort a trying one, he lost track of those already counted and had tobegin all over again, with the maddening result that he could go nofurther than the second finger. One of the eligibles had slipped hismind completely. The whole situation was harrowing. "Fer instance, " he ruminated aloud, oblivious of the fact that his wifewas sound asleep, "what is a feller like Newt Blossom goin' to keep awife on, I'd like to know. He c'n hardly keep himself in chewin'tobaccer as it is, an' as fer the other necessities of life he wouldn'thave any of 'em if his mother wasn't such a dern' fool about him. Theidee of him tryin' to get our Susie to marry him--an' Carrie too, ferthat matter--w'y, I git in a cold sweat every time I think of it. " He shook his wife vigorously. "Say, Ma, " he said, yawning, "I just thought o' somethin' I want you toremember in the mornin'. Wake up. " "All right, " she mumbled, sleepily. "What is it?" But Mr. Crow was now fast asleep himself. * * * * * Early the next morning he entered the kitchen, where he found Carolinehelping her mother with the breakfast. Mrs. Crow paused in the act of paring slices from a side of bacon. Sheeyed her husband inimically. "See here, Anderson, you just got to put a stop to all thisfoolishness. " "Don't bother me. Can't you see I'm thinkin'?" said he. "Well, it's time you did somethin' more than think. That Smathers boywas here about ten minutes ago, red as a beet, askin' fer Susie. Carrietold him she wasn't up yet, and what do you think the littlewhipper-snapper said?" Anderson blinked, and shook his head. "He said, 'Well, I guess you'll do, Caroline. Would you mind steppin'outside fer a couple of minutes? I got somethin' I want to say to you inprivate. '" Caroline sat down and laughed unrestrainedly. "Well, by geminy crickets!" gasped Anderson, aghast. Then he addedanxiously: "You--you didn't go an' do anything foolish, did you, Carrie?" "Not unless you'd call throwing a pail of cold water on him foolish, "said Carrie, wiping her eyes. "Somethin's got to be done, Anderson, " said his wife, compressing herlips. Susie came in at that juncture. She was the apple of Anderson's eye--theprettiest girl in town. Mr. Crow hurried to the kitchen door. "Go back upstairs, " he ordered, casting a swift, uneasy glance aroundthe back yard. "What's the matter, Pop?" Mr. Crow did not respond. His keen, roving eye had descried a motionlessfigure at the mouth of the alley. Caroline explained. "Can you beat it?" cried Susie, inelegantly, but with a very properscorn. "I told him yesterday he ought to be ashamed of himself, tryingto coax Fanny Burns away from Ed Foster. " "Ed Foster?" exclaimed Mr. Crow sharply, turning from the doorway. "Why, he's not goin' to be married till after the war, an' that's a long waysoff. Ed's around in his uniform an' says the National Guard's likely tobe called 'most any day now. He--" "That's one of the arguments Joe Smathers put up to Fanny, " said hisyoungest daughter. "He said maybe the war would last five years, and hethought she was a fool to wait that long. What's more, he said, if Edever does get to France he's likely to be killed--or fatallywounded--and then where would she be?" Anderson suddenly lifted his right leg and slapped it with great force. "By the great Jehoshaphat!" he shouted. "I've got it! I've solved thewhole derned mystery. Come to me like a flash. Of all the low-down, cowardly--" Mrs. Crow interrupted him. "Do you mean to say, Anderson Crow, that younever suspected what's got into all these gay Lotharios?" He was instantly on his guard. "What are you talkin' about, Ma?" hedemanded querulously. "You surely can't mean to insinuate that I--" "What is this mystery you've just been solvin'?" she asked relentlessly. He met this with a calm intolerance. "Nothin' much. Just simply got to the bottom of a German plot to stuffthe young men of America so full of weddin' cake they won't be able togit into the trenches, that's all. " "My goodness!" exclaimed Mrs. Crow, who, as a dutiful wife, never failedto be impressed by her husband's belated discoveries. "Eggin' our boys into gittin' married, so's they can't be drafted, " wenton Anderson, expanding with his new-found idea. "It's a generalpro-German plot--world-wide, as the sayin' is. Now, I'll tell yousomethin' else. Shut the door, Susie. Like as not some spy's listenin'outside this very minute. They know I'm onto 'em. " He lowered hisvoice. "You'd be surprised if I was to tell you that the whole dernedplot originated right here in Tinkletown, wouldn't you? Well, that'sexactly what I'm goin' to tell you. Started right here and spread fromone end of the land to the other. Sort of headquarters here. I don'tknow as there is any more prominent or influential Germans in the wholeUnited States than Adolph Schultz, the butcher on Main Street, andHeiney Wimpelmeyer, the tanyard man, and Ben Olson, the contractor, and--" "Ben Olson is a Swede, " interrupted Carrie. "He _claims_ to be a Swede, " said her father severely. "Don't try totell me anything, Carrie. I guess I know what I'm talkin' about. " Hepaused to mentally repair the break in his chain of thought. "Um--ah--what _wuz_ I talkin' about?" "About the Swedes, " said Carrie, snickering. "Breakfast's ready, Pa, " said Mrs. Crow. "Call the boys, Susie. " "How are you going to stop it, Pop?" inquired Susie, after they were allseated. "Never you mind, " said he. "I've got the thing all worked out. I'll stopit, all right. " "You can't keep people from gittin' married, Anderson, if they're set ondoin' it, " said his wife. "You bet if I was old enough I wouldn't be gittin' married, " saidfourteen-year-old Hiram, in a somewhat ambiguous burst of patriotism. Immediately after breakfast Mr. Crow set out for the town hall. He wasdeep in thought. His whiskers were elevated to an almost unprecedentedlevel, so tightly was his jaw set. He had made up his mind to preservethe honour of Tinkletown. Meeting Alf Reesling in front of the postoffice, he unburdened himself in a flood of indignation that left thetown drunkard soberer than he had been in years, despite his vauntedabstemiousness. "But you can't slap all the Germans in jail, Anderson, " protested Alf. "In the first place, it ain't legal, and in the second place--in thesecond place--" He paused and scratched his head, evidently to somepurpose, for suddenly his face cleared. "In the second place, the jailain't big enough. " "That ain't my fault, " said the marshal grimly. "We've got to nip thisthing in the bud if we have to--" "What proof have you got that the Germans are back of all this? Got tohave proof, you know. " "Gosh a'mighty, Alf, ain't you got any sense at all? What are all thesefellers gittin' married for if there ain't somethin' behind it? Theyain't--" "They're gittin' married because every blamed one of 'em is a slacker, "said Alf forcibly. "A what?" "Slacker. They don't want to fight, that's what it means. " Anderson pondered. He tugged at his whiskers. "They don't want to fight _who_?" he demanded abruptly. "W'y--w'y--nobody, " said Alf. "They don't want to fight the _Germans_, " said Mr. Crow triumphantly. "That ought to settle the matter, Alf. What better proof do you wantthan that? That shows the Germans are back of the whole infernal plot. They are corruptin' our young men. Eggin' 'em into gittin' marriedso's--" "Well, " said Alf, "there's only one way to put a stop to that. You gotto appeal to the women and girls of this here town. You simply got totalk to 'em like a Dutch uncle, Anderson. These boys of our'n have justgot to remain single fer the duration of the war. " "That puts an idee in my head, " said Anderson. "S'posin' I put up anofficial notice from Washin'ton that all marriages contracted before thedraft are fer the duration of the war only. How's that?" "Thunderation! No! That's just what the boys would like better'nanything. " "But it ain't what the _girls_ would like, it is?" Mr. Reesling was silent for a long time, letting the idea crystallize, so to speak. "Supposin' they hear about it in Washin'ton, " said he doubtfully, butstill dazzled by the thought. "President Wilson don't know this town's on the map, " said Anderson, amost surprising admission for him. "An' even if he does hear about it, he'll back me up, you c'n bet your boots on that--even if I am aRepublican. Come on, Alf; let's step around to the _Banner_ printin'office. " Shortly before noon a hastily printed poster, still damp and smelling ofink, appeared on the bulletin-board in front of the town hall. A fewminutes later a similar decoration marred the façade of the Fairbanksscales in front of Higgins's Feed Store, and still another loomed up onthe telephone pole in front of the post office. With the help of the editor, who was above all things an enterprisingcitizen and a patriot, the "official notice" was drafted, doctored andapproved in the dingy composing-room of the _Tinkletown Banner_. Thelone compositor, with a bucket of paste, sallied forth and, under thecritical eye of the town marshal, "stuck up" the poster in places whereno one could help seeing it. The notice read: OFFICIAL!!! War Proclamation No. 7!!! The Undersigned by Virtue of the Authority vested in him by his fellowmen hereby gives DUE NOTICE to the citizens of Tinkletown that the President of These United States and Congress in solemn conclave have uttered the following decree, to become effective immediately upon publication thereof: All marriages entered into by Male Citizens of the United States of America between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-one on and after this date, the 21st of May, 1917, shall be in force for the duration of the War only. This measure is taken at this time for the purpose of making things as easy as possible for our young heroes, who, in the grave hour of battle, must not be worried with thoughts of the future. Men so marrying shall have precedence over all others in the SELECTIVE DRAFT for the National Army Immediately to be Called. Such men shall be the first called to the Colours. TEMPORARY WIDOWS of any and all such Soldiers shall not be entitled to PENSIONS in the Event of the Death of said Provisional Husbands, and shall revert upon notice thereof, to the State of Single-blessedness from which they were LURED!!! By order of ANDERSON CROW, Marshal. As the first of these desolating posters was put in place, the Rev. Mr. Maltby, pastor of the Congregational Church, happened to be passing thetown hall. He halted and, in astonishment, read the notice. [Illustration: _The Rev. Mr. Maltby, pastor of the CongregationalChurch, happened to be passing the town hall_] "My dear man, " said he to Mr. Crow, "this cannot be true. " "Does seem a little high-handed, don't it?" said Anderson guiltily. "Can it be possible that the President has issued such arevolutionary--" "Listen a minute, Mr. Maltby, " said the marshal, taking him by the armand furtively glancing over his own shoulder. "It ain't true--not aderned word of it. Now, wait a minute. Don't fly off the--Mornin', Father Maloney, mornin' to you. " The sunny-faced Catholic priest had joined them. He adjusted hisspectacles and peered at the notice. "Well, well, bless my soul!" he exclaimed, staring blankly at theCongregationalist. "What's all this I see?" "Come inside, " said Anderson hastily. "Alf, if you happen to see Mr. Downs, the Methodist preacher, and Justice Robb, bring 'em here rightaway, will you?" "Shall I go ahead and paste any more of these, Anderson?" inquired thecompositor, shifting his quid. "Certainly, " said the marshal. Later on the marshal left the town hall, followed by several smilinggentlemen of the cloth, Justice Robb, and the editor of the _Banner_. "Bless your heart, Marshal Crow, " said Father Maloney, "we're with ye toa man. It's a glorious lie ye're telling, and ye've got the church solidbehind ye. " "Naturally _we_ shall not be obliged to falsify, " said the Rev. Mr. Maltby, still a bit shaken. "We can simply say that the matter is newsto us. Eh, brothers?" "Sure, " said Father Maloney. "We can do that much for the good of thecountry. Indeed, if I'm closely pressed I may go as far as to say that Icaught a glimpse of the official despatch from Washington. This is notime to deny the President, gentlemen, no matter who issues hisproclamation. " He added the last with a whimsical smile and a wink thatrather shocked his Methodist brother. "Especially when the whole matteris vouched for by our respected town marshal, who, to my certainknowledge, possesses the veracity of a George Washington. Have you everbeen caught chopping down a cherry tree, Mr. Marshal?" "No, _sir_, " said Anderson promptly. Father Maloney beamed. "There ye are!" he exclaimed heartily. "I told yeso. The epitome of veracity. There isn't another man of his age inAmerica who would have answered no to that question, with no one in aposition to contradict him. " The editor had his notebook. "Gentlemen, would you object to beinginterviewed on this important message from Washington? Giving your viewson the situation and anything else--" "You may say for me, Harry, that I warmly indorse the President of theUnited States in any act which he may deem wise and expedient, " saidRev. Mr. Maltby, rising nobly to the occasion. Father Maloney and Rev. Mr. Downs promptly acquiesced. "And also that I am prepared to issue marriage certificates for theduration of the war to all females so desirin' 'em, " said Justice of thePeace Robb. "It ain't cuttin' me out of any fees, " he went on, addressing the marshal. "Fer as I c'n make out, they all want to gitmarried fer nothin'. " "I will be very careful how I word your remarks, gentlemen, " said EditorSquires, putting up his notebook. "Now, I'll start out and interview afew of the prospective brides. It ought to make good reading. " Long before nightfall the sleepy village of Tinkletown was in a state ofagitation unsurpassed by anything within the memory of the oldestinhabitant.... Along about supper time one could have heard animatedarguments rising above the clear stillness of the air, penetrating evento the heaven which was called upon to witness the unswerving fidelityof two opposing sexes. There was a distinct difference, however, in theduration of this professed fidelity. Masculine voices pleaded for theimmediate justification of undying constancy, while those of a femininequality preferred a prolongation of the exquisite agony of suspense. Inshort, the brides-elect were obdurate. They insisted on waiting, even tothe end of time, for the realization of their fondest, dearest hopes. Several heartbroken gentlemen, preferring anything to procrastination, threatened to shoot themselves. [Illustration: _Several heartbroken gentlemen threatened to shootthemselves_] "What's the sense of doing that?" argued one middle-aged widow of apractical turn of mind. "You can save funeral expenses by letting theGermans do it for you. " The next day the merchants of Tinkletown--notably the Five and Ten CentStore and Fisher's Queensware Store--did a thriving business. From oneend of the town to the other came people returning presents thatfortunately had not been delivered, and others asking to have theiraccounts credited with presents already received. Of the twenty-odd weddings announced for the week ending June 3, 1917, only one took place. Mr. Otto Schultz was married on Saturday to Miss Bumbelburg. He was theonly candidate in town who was worth suing for breach of promise. MissBumbelburg, having waited many years for her chance, was not to befrightened by a Presidential proclamation. The duration of the war meantnothing to her. She had unlimited faith in the Kaiser. When the war wasover he would come over to the United States and revoke all the sillyold laws. And she was so positive about it that, after a rather heatedinterview in the home of Mr. Schultz, senior, that gentleman admitted itwould be cheaper for her to come and live with them after the weddingthan to present her with the thousand dollars she demanded in case Ottopreferred war to peace. Mr. Crow, on the 5th of June, strode proudly, efficiently, up and downMain Street, always stopping at the registration booth to slap formerfiancés on the back and encourage them with such remarks as this: "That's right, son. If you've _got_ to fight, fight for your country. " To Mr. Alf Reesling he confided: "I tell you what, Alf, when this here Kaiser comes up ag'inst me hestrikes a snag. He couldn't 'a' started his plot in a worse place thanhere in Tinkletown. Gosh, with all you hear about German efficiency, you'd 'a' thought he'd 'a' knowed better, wouldn't you?" THE PERFECT END OF A DAY ANDERSON CROW GETS ONE ON THE KAISER A long, low-lying bank of almost inky-black clouds hung over a blood-redhorizon. The sun of a warm, drowsy September day was going to bed beyondthe scallop of hills. Suddenly the red in the sky, as if fanned by an angry wind, blazed intoa rigid flame; catching the base of the coal-black cloud it turned itsedges into fire; and as the flame burnt itself out, the rich yellow ofgold came to glorify the triumphant cloud. The nether edge seemed to dipinto a lake, the shores of which were molten gold and upon whose surfacecraft of ever-changing colours lay moored for the coming night. Anderson Crow, Marshal of Tinkletown, leaned upon his front-yard fenceand listened to the rhapsodic comments of Miss Sue Becker on the passingpanorama. Miss Becker, who had contributed several poems to the columnsof the Tinkletown _Banner_, and more than once had exhibited encouragingletters from the editors of _McClure's_, _Scribner's_, _Harper's_, andother magazines, was always worth listening to, for, as every one knows, she was the first, and, so far as revealed, the only literary geniusever created within the precincts of Tinkletown. "You'll have to write a piece about it, Sue, " said Anderson, shiftinghis spare frame slightly. "No mortal pen, Mr. Crow, could do justice to the grandeur, theoverpowering splendour of that vista, " said she. Anderson took another look at the sunset, --a more or less stealthy one, it must be confessed, out of the corner of his eye. Sunsets were notmuch in his line. "It's a great vister, " he acknowledged. "I don't know as I can think ofa word that will rhyme with it, though. " "There is such a thing as blank verse, Mr. Crow, " said Miss Becker, smiling in a most superior way. Mr. Crow was thinking. "Blister wouldn't be bad, " he announced. "Something about the vister causin' a blister. I don't know as you areaware of the fact, Sue, but I wrote consider'ble poetry when I was ayoung feller. Mrs. Crow's got 'em all tied up in a pink ribbon. It's amighty funny thing that she won't even show 'em to anybody. " "Oh, but they are sacred, " said Miss Becker feelingly, as she lookedover the rims of her spectacles at a spot in the sky some forty-fivedegrees above the steeple of the Congregational Church down the street. "I don't know as I meant 'em to be sacred at the time, " said he; "butthere wasn't anything in 'em that was unfittin' for a young lady toread. " "You don't understand. What could be more sacred than the outpouringsof love? What more--" "'Course it was a good many years ago, " Mr. Crow was quick to explain. "Love's young dream, " chided Miss Becker coyly. Mr. Crow twisted his sparse grey beard with unusual tenderness. "Beatsall, don't it, Sue, what a poet'll do when he's tryin' to raise amoustache?" "I am sure I don't know, " said Miss Becker stiffly. "Speakin' about sunsets, " said he hastily, after a quick glance at hershaded upper lip, "how's your pa? I heard he had a sinkin' spellyestiday. " "He's better. " A moment later, with fine scorn: "His sun hasn't set yet, Mr. Crow. " "Beats all how he hangs on, don't it? Eighty-seven last birthday, an'spry as a man o' fifty up to--" He broke off to devote his attention toa couple of strangers farther down the tree-lined street: two men whoapproached slowly on the plank sidewalk, pausing every now and then topeer inquiringly at the front doors of houses along the way. Miss Sue Becker, whose back was toward the strangers, allowed her poeticmind to resume its interest in the sunset. "Golden cloudlets float upon a coral--What did you say, Mr. Crow?" "Ever see 'em before, Sue?" "Hundreds of times. They remind me of the daintiest, fleeciest puffsof--" "I'm talkin' about those men comin' up the street, " said the old townmarshal sharply. Miss Becker abandoned the transient sunset for something more durable. Forty-odd summers had passed over her head. For one professedly indifferent to the opposite sex, Miss Becker wentfar toward dislocating her neck when Anderson Crow mentioned theapproach of a couple of strange men. "I've never seen either of them before, Mr. Crow, " she said, a littlejump in her voice. "That settles it, " said Anderson, putting on his spectacles. "Settles what?" "Proves they ain't been in Tinkletown more'n twenty minutes, " hereplied, much too promptly to suit Miss Becker, who favoured him with alook he wouldn't have forgotten in a long time if he had had eyes in theback of his head. "They must be lookin' for some one, " he went on, squinting narrowly. "Good-bye, Sue. See you tomorrer, I suppose. " "I'm not going yet, Mr. Crow, " she said, moving a little closer to thefence. "You don't suppose I'm going to let those men pursue me all theway home, do you?" "They don't look like kidnappers, " he said. "Besides, it ain't darkenough yet. " "Just what do you mean by that, Anderson Crow?" she snapped. "What do I mean by what?" he inquired in some surprise. "By what you just said. " "I mean you're perfectly safe as long as it's daylight, " he retorted. "What else could I mean?" The two strangers were quite near by this time--near enough, in fact, tocause Miss Becker to lower her voice as she said: "They're awfully nice looking gentlemen, ain't they?" Evidently Mr. Crow's explanation had satisfied her, for she was smilingwith considerable vivacity as she made the remark. Up to that instantshe had neglected her back hair. Now she gracefully, lingeringlyfingered it to see if it was properly in place. In doing so, she managedto drop her parasol. To her chagrin, Marshal Crow took that occasion to behave in a mostincredible manner. It is quite probable that he forgot himself. In anycase, he picked up the parasol and returned it to her, snatching it, infact, almost from beneath the foot of the nearest stranger. "Oh, thank you--thank you kindly, Mr. Crow, " she giggled, and proceededto let it slip out of her fingers again. "Oh, how stupid! How perfectlyclumsy--" "Did I hear you addressed as Mr. Crow?" inquired the foremost of the twostrangers, halting abruptly. He was a tall, florid man of forty orthereabouts, with a deep and not unpleasant voice. His companion wasalso tall but very gaunt and sallow. He wore huge round spectacles, hooked over his ears. Both were well dressed, one in grey flannel, theother in blue serge. "You did, " said the town marshal, straightening up. "You dropped yourumbrell' ag'in, Sue, " he added. "Yes, sir, my name's Crow. " Miss Becker waited a few seconds and then picked up the parasol. "The celebrated Anderson Crow?" asked the man with the glasses, openinghis eyes a little wider. [Illustration: _"The celebrated Anderson Crow?" asked the man with theglasses_] Mr. Crow suddenly remembered that he was in his shirt-sleeves. His fadedblue sack-coat--"undress, " he called it--hung limp and neglected on thegate-post. "More or less, " he admitted, wishing to goodness he had on his best pairof "galluses" instead of the ones he was wearing. "Marshal of Tinkletown, I believe?" said the florid stranger, raisinghis eyebrows slightly. "Excuse me, " said Anderson, conscious of a certain disparaging note inthe speaker's voice, which he quite naturally laid to the "galluses. "Without turning his back toward them he retrieved his coat from thegate-post, remembering in time that those "plaguey" suspenders hadplayed him false that day and Alf Reesling had volunteered to "tie aknot in 'em, " somewhere in the back. "I could fine myself five dollarsfer goin' without my uniform, " said he, as he slipped an arm into onesleeve. "It's one of my hide-boundest rules, " and his other arm wentin--not without a slight twinge, for he had been experiencing a touch ofrheumatism in that shoulder. "Yes, sir, I'm the Marshal o' Tinkletown, "he added, indicating the bright nickel star that gleamed resplendentamong an assortment of glittering and impressive dangling emblems. The man with the spectacles peered intently at the collection on Mr. Crow's breast. "You appear to be almost everything else as well, Mr. Crow, " said he, respectfully. "Well, I guess I'll have to be going, " put in Miss Becker at thisjuncture. "Give my love to the girls, Mr. Crow. " She moved off up the board-walk, her back as stiff as a ramrod. Any onewith half an eye could see that she was resolved not to drop the parasolagain. No savage warrior on battle bent ever gripped his club withgreater determination. "So long, " was all that Marshal Crow could spare the time to say. "Yessir, " he went on, making a fine show of stifling a yawn, "yes, sir, I'vehad a few triflin' honours in my day. You gentlemen lookin' fer any onein partic'lar?" "Not now, " said the florid one. "We've found him. " The spectacled man had his nose quite close to Mr. Crow's badges. Heread them off, in the voice and manner of one tremendously impressed. "Grand Army of the Republic. Sons of the American Revolution. Sons ofVeterans. Tinkletown Battlefield Association. New York ImperialDetective Association. Bramble County Horse-Thief Detective Association. Chief of Fire Department. And what, may I ask, is the little roundbutton at the top?" The marshal was astonished. "Don't you know what that is?" "It doesn't appear to have any lettering--" "It don't have to have any. That's an American Red Cross button. " "So it is, --so it is, " cried the other hastily. "How stupid of me. " "And this one on the other lapel is a Liberty Loan button, --one hundreddollars is what it represents, if anybody should ast you. " "I recognized it at once, sir. I have one of my own. " He raised his handto his own lapel. "Why, hang it all, I forgot to remove it from my othercoat this morning. " "Well, " said Anderson drily, "there 'pears to be some advantage inhavin' only one coat. " "Mr. Marshal, " cut in the larger man brusquely, "we came to see you inregard to a matter of great importance--and, I may add, privacy. Havingheard of your reputation for cleverness and infallibility--" "As everybody in the land has heard, " put in the other. "--we desire your co-operation in an undertaking of considerablemagnitude. Quite frankly, I do not see how we can succeed without yourvaluable assistance. You--" "Hold on! If you're tryin' to get me to subscribe to a set of books, so's my name at the head of the list will drag other suckers into--" "Not at all, sir--not at all. We are not book-agents, Mr. Marshal. " "Well, what are ye?" "Metallurgists, " said the florid one. "I see, I see, " said Anderson, who didn't see at all. "You started offjust like a book-agent, er a lightnin'-rod salesman. " "My name is Bacon, --George Washington Bacon, --and my friend bears aneven nobler monicker, if that be possible. He is Abraham LincolnBonaparte--a direct descendant of both of those illustrious gentlemen. " "You don't say! I didn't know Lincoln was any connection ofBonaparte's. " "It isn't generally known, " the descendant informed him, with becomingmodesty. "Well, I'm seventy-three years old an' I never heard--" "Seventy-three!" gasped Mr. Bonaparte, incredulously. "I don't believeit. You can't be more than fifty, Mr. Crow. " "Do you suppose I fought in the Union Army before I was born?" demandedMr. Crow. "Where'd I get this G. A. R. Badge, lemme ast you? An' youdon't think the citizens of this here town would elect a ten-year-oldboy to the responsible position of town marshal, do you? Why, gosh snapit, I been Marshal o' Tinkletown fer forty years--skippin' two yearsback in the nineties when I retired in favour of Ed Higgins, owin' to amisunderstandin' concernin' my health--an'--" "It is incredible, sir. You are the youngest-looking man for your yearsI've ever seen. But we are digressing. Proceed, Mr. Bacon. Pardon theinterruption. " Marshal Crow had drawn himself up to his full height, --a good sixfeet, --and, expanding under the influence of a just pride, his chestcame perilously near to dislodging a couple of brass buttons. His keenlittle grey eyes snapped brightly in their deep sockets; his sparse chinwhiskers, responding to the occasion, bristled noticeably. Employing histhumb and forefinger, he first gave his beard a short caress, afterwhich he drew it safely out of line and expectorated thinly between histeeth with such astounding accuracy that both of the strangers stared. His objective was a narrow slit in the tree-box across the sidewalk. "I couldn't do that in a thousand years, " said Mr. Bacon, deeplyimpressed. "You could do it in half that time if you lived in Tinkletown, " wasAnderson's cryptic return. "You ought to see Ed Higgins. He's ourchampeen. His specialty is knot-holes. Ed c'n hit--" "Are you interested in metallurgy, Mr. Crow?" broke in Mr. Bacon, alittle rudely. Anderson pondered a few seconds, squinting at the tree-tops. The twostrangers waited his reply with evident concern. "Sometimes I am, an' sometimes I ain't, " said he at last, veryseriously. He even went so far as to shake his head slowly, as if toemphasize the fact that he had made a life-long study of the subject andhad not been able to arrive at a definite conclusion. "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Bonaparte. "That proves, Mr. Crow, that you are aman of very great discernment, very great discernment indeed. " Mr. Crow brightened perceptibly. "I have to know a little of everythingin my line of work, Mr. Lincoln. " Mr. Bonaparte made no attempt to correct him. As a matter of fact, for amoment or two he was in some doubt himself; it was only after indulgingin a hasty bit of mental jugglery that he decided his friend couldn'tpossibly have introduced him as Bonaparte Abraham Lincoln, or AbrahamBonaparte Lincoln. He wished, however, that he had paid a little closerattention when Mr. George Washington Bacon arranged his names for him. "We should like to have a few minutes' private conversation with you, Mr. Marshal, " said Bacon, lowering his voice. "Fire away, gents. " "I--ahem!--I said private, Mr. Crow. " "Well, if it's anything you don't want the birds to hear, I guess we'dbetter go up to the house. If you don't mind that woodpecker up yanderan' them two sparrers out there in the road, I guess this is about asprivate a place as you'll find in Tinkletown. " "Haven't you--an office, Mr. Crow?" demanded Mr. Bacon. "Yes, but it ain't private. Whenever I've got anything private to 'tendto--er even _think_ about--I allus go out in the middle of the street. Shoot ahead; nobody'll hear you. " "It will take some little time, " explained Mr. Bonaparte, anxiously. "Have you had your dinner?" Anderson looked at him keenly. "What's that got to do with it?" "Mr. Bonaparte means supper, " explained Mr. Bacon. "He is a bit excited, Mr. Crow. " "He _must_ be, " agreed Anderson, glancing at his watch. "Half-past six. Go ahead. We won't be interrupted now till it's time to go to bed. " The two strangers in Tinkletown drew still closer--so close, indeed, that the town marshal, having had his pocket picked once or twice at theCounty Fair, fell back a little from the fence. "You must be careful to show no sign of surprise, Mr. Crow, " said Bacon. "What I am about to say to you may startle you, but you--" Anderson reassured him with a gesture. "Perceed, " he said. Whereupon the spokesman, Mr. Bacon, did a tale unfold that caused thetown marshal to lie awake nearly all night and to pop out of bed thenext morning fully an hour earlier than usual. For the time being, however, he succeeded so admirably in simulating indifference that themen themselves were not only surprised but a trifle disturbed. He wasn'tconducting himself at all as they had expected. At the conclusion ofthis serious fifteen minutes' recital, --rendered into paragraphs byAnderson's frequent interruptions, --the eager Mr. Bonaparte exclaimed: "Well, Mr. Crow, doesn't it completely bowl you over?" "What's that? Bowl me over? I should say not! Why, I knowed fer I can'ttell you how long that there's gold up yander in my piece of timberlandon Crow's Mountain. Knowed it ever since I was a boy. " His hearers blinked rapidly for a few seconds. "Really?" murmured Mr. Bacon. "Do you mean to say there actually _is_ gold--" began Mr. Bonaparte, buthe got no farther. Whether accidentally or otherwise, Mr. Bacon's footcame sharply into contact with the speaker's shin, and the questionterminated in a pained look of surprise, directed with some intensityand a great deal of fortitude at nothing in particular. "Well, you _are_ a wonder, Mr. Crow, " said Mr. Bacon hastily. "I amimmensely relieved that you _do_ know of its existence. It simplifiesmatters tremendously. It has been there all the time and you've neverknown just how to go about getting it out of the ground--isn't that thecase, Mr. Crow?" "Exactly, " said Mr. Crow. Mr. Bacon shot a significant look at Mr. Bonaparte, and that worthy puthis hand suddenly to his mouth. "Well, that's what we're here for, Mr. Crow--to get that gold out of theearth. If our estimates are correct--or, I should say, if ourinvestigations establish the fact that it is a real vein and not merelya little pocket, there ought to be a million dollars in that piece ofland of yours. Now, let me see. Just how much land do you own up there, Mr. Crow?" "I own derned near all of it, " said the marshal promptly. "'Boutseventy-five acres, I should say. " "Nothing but timberland, I assume--judging from what we have been ableto observe. " "All timber. Never been cleared, 'cept purty well down the slope. " "And it is about five miles as the crow flies from Tinkletown, eh?" "I ginerally say as the wild goose flies, " said Mr. Crow, somewhatcurtly. "Well, you have heard the proposition I bring from my employers in NewYork City. Think it over tonight, Mr. Crow. Then, we will meet tomorrowmorning at your office to complete our plans. I shall be prepared tohand you a draft for two hundred dollars to bind the bargain. What timedo you reach your office?" "Ginerally some'eres between six and a quarter-past. " "My God!" muttered Mr. Bonaparte. "We will be there at six-fifteen, " said Mr. Bacon firmly. "Good evening, Mr. Crow. " Far in the night, Mrs. Crow peevishly mumbled to her bedfellow: "Whatails you, Anderson Crow? Go to sleep!" "Never mind, never mind. I can't tell you, so don't pester me. All I astof you is to wake me at five if I happen to oversleep. " "Well, of all the--do you suppose I'm goin' to lay awake here all nightwaitin' for five o'clock to----" "How in thunder do you expect me to go to sleep, Eva, if you keepjabberin' away to me all night long like this? Ding it all to gosh, hereit is after one o'clock an' you still talkin'. Don't do it, I say. Don't ast another question till five o'clock, an' then all you got to doit to ast me if I'm awake. " "Umph!" said Mrs. Crow. * * * * * Messrs. Bacon and Bonaparte were an hour and forty minutes late. It was nearly eight o'clock when the two gentlemen came hurrying aroundthe corner into Sickle street, piloted by Alf Reesling, the towndrunkard. A long, important-looking cigar propitiated Mr. Crow, and after Mr. Reesling and other citizens had been given to understand that thestrangers were figuring on buying all the timber on Crow's Mountain, thethree principals set forth in Anderson's buckboard. In due time they arrived at the top of the "Mountain. " Now Crow'sMountain was no mountain at all. It was a thickly wooded hill that hadachieved eminence by happening to be a scant fifty feet higher than theknolls surrounding it. From the low-lying pastures and grain-fields tothe top of the outstanding pine that reared its blasted storm-strippedtip far above its fellows, the elevation was not more than three hundredfeet. Nevertheless, it was the loftiest hill in all that region andcapped Anderson Crow's agricultural possessions. Just before the Boggs City National Bank at the county seat closed thatafternoon Mr. Crow appeared at the receiving-teller's window. Hedeposited two hundred dollars in currency. Mr. Bacon had decided that adraft on New York might excite undue curiosity. "If people were to get wise to what we are really after up here on thismountain, Mr. Crow, " said he, "it would play hob with everything. If itgets out that we are after gold--why, the price of land would be so highwe couldn't--" "Lot of these hayseeds been wantin' to sell fer years, the dernedrubes, " broke in Anderson, pityingly. "Well, you get me, don't you? Keep our eyes open and our mouths closed, and we will be millionaires inside of a year--or two, at the outside. " "Mum's the word, as the feller said, " agreed Mr. Crow. "And of course you see the advisability of having our articles ofincorporation filed secretly in New Jersey. This contract we have signedwill be ratified by our employers in New York, and the regular articlesdrawn up at once. Wait till you see the names of the men who are behindthis enterprise. The first meeting of the board of directors will bringtogether a dozen of the greatest--" "Where will the meetin' be held?" broke in Anderson, somewhat anxiously. "New York City, of course. It wouldn't surprise me in the least to seeyou elected President of the Corporation, Mr. Crow. " "Oh, gosh-a-mighty! I--I can't accept the honour, Mr. Bacon. It's toomuch of a responsibility. Besides, I don't see how I'm goin' to be ableto get away from Tinkletown this fall to attend the meetin'. The CountyFair opens next week at Boggs City, an' the second week in Octoberthere's to be a Baptist revival--" "You can send in your proxy, Mr. Crow, " explained Mr. Bacon. "It will beall the same to us, you know. " "Well, I guess I better, " said Anderson thoughtfully. A fortnight went by. Crow's Mountain had become the scene of sharp butstealthy activity. Anderson went about the streets of Tinkletown as ifin a daze. Acting upon the stern, almost offensive, advice of his newpartners, he did not go near the "Mountain" after the first couple ofdays. They made it very plain to him that _everything_ depended on hisshrewdness in staying away from the "Mountain" altogether. The Tinkletown _Banner_, in reporting the vast transaction, incorporatedan interview with Mr. G. W. Bacon, who announced that the syndicate herepresented had in mind a project to erect a huge summer hotel on top ofthe "most beautiful mountain east of the Rockies, " in the event thatsatisfactory terms could be arranged with Mr. Crow. As a matter of fact, explained Mr. Bacon, he had been instructed to make certain preliminaryinvestigations in regard to construction, and so forth--such asascertaining how far down they would have to go to bed-rock, and allthat sort of thing. Practically all of the syndicate's preparatory work on Crow's Mountainwas done under cover of night. Motor-trucks that were said to have beendriven all the way from Pittsburgh--on account of the dreadfulcongestion on the railroads--delivered machinery, tools, drills, rods, bolts, rivets and thin jangling strips of structural steel. Marshal Crow, assuming an importance he did not feel, strutted aboutTinkletown. * * * * * His abstraction had a good deal to do with the accident to old Mrs. Twiggers. He was dreamily cogitating at the time she was run down bySchultz's butcher-wagon, and as the catastrophe took place almost underhis nose, more than one citizen called him names he wouldn't forget. Theold lady had her spectacles smashed and lost a dozen eggs in theconfusion. Moreover, Ed Higgins's hen-roost was robbed; and three trampsspent as much as half a day on Main Street before Anderson took anynotice of them. Ordinarily, he was death on tramps. Crime, as Mr. HarrySquires put it in a caustic editorial in the _Banner_, was rampant inTinkletown. It was getting so rampant, he complained, that it wasn'tsafe to cross the street--especially while eggs were retailing atforty-two cents a dozen. It remained for Alf Reesling, the town drunkard, to bring order out ofchaos. Not that he seized the opportunity to go on a spree whileAnderson was moon-gazing, --not at all. Alf loathed intoxicating liquors. He did not drink himself, and he had a horror of any one who did. He hadbeen drunk just three times in his life, but as he had managed to crowdthe three exhibitions into the space of one week--some twenty yearsbefore--Tinkletown elected him forthwith for life to the office of townsot. Now, Alf had a grievance. He finally got the ear of Marshal Crow and letloose in a way that startled the old man out of his daze. "Here you been watchin' me, an' trailin' me, an' lecturin' me for twentyyears, dern ye, --an' pleadin' with me to keep sober fer the sake ofTinkletown's fair name, an' you let this feller Bonyparte git full an'keep people awake half the night. He's been drunk more times in the lastthree weeks than I ever was in all my life. He--" "What's that? Did you say drunk?" demanded Anderson, blinking. "Who toldyou he was drunk?" "_He_ did, " said Alf. "He don't make any bones about it. He tellseverybody when he is drunk. He's proud of it. " "An' I suppose everybody believes him, " said Anderson scathingly. "Thepeople of this here town will believe _any_ thing if--" "Las' night that pardner of his'n an' two other fellers from up the hillhad to take him up to his room an' lock him in. He was tryin' to singthe Star Spangled Banner in _Dutch_. Gosh, it was awful! He orter bearrested, same as anybody else, Anderson Crow. You got me undersuspicion every minute o' the time--night _and_ day--" "That'll do, that'll do, now Alf. No more back talk out o' you, "exclaimed Anderson menacingly. "You might as well _be_ drunk as to _act_drunk. Don't you know any better'n--" "Are you goin' to arrest this Bonyparte feller?" Anderson eyed him sternly for a moment. "I got half a notion to run youin, Alf Reesling, fer interferin' with an officer. " "How'm I interferin'?" "You're preventin' me from arrestin' a violater of the law, dern you. Can't you see I'm on my way over to Justice Robb's to swear out awarrant against Abraham Lincoln Bonaparte for bein' intoxicated? What doyou mean by stoppin' me an'--" "I'll go along, Andy, " broke in Alf, suddenly affable. "I'll swear to itif you--" "'Tain't necessary, " announced Anderson loftily. "I c'n attend to my ownbusiness, if you can't. Nobody c'n sing the Star Spangled Banner inDutch without havin' a charge of intoxication filed ag'in him, lemmetell you that. Git out o' my way, Alf. " Mr. Crow's pride had been touched. The shaft of criticism had gone home. He would arrest Mr. Abraham Lincoln Bonaparte, no matter what came ofit. He did not like Mr. Bonaparte anyway. It was Mr. Bonaparte who hadordered him off Crow's Mountain--his own mountain, mind you--and toldhim not to come puttering around there any more. On second thoughts, he accepted the nominal town sot's offer to makeaffidavit against a real offender, but declined his company andassistance in effecting the arrest. Down in the old Marshal's heartlurked the fear that his new partners would put up such strenuousobjections to the arrest that he would have to give way to them. It wasthis misgiving that caused him to make the trip to Crow's Mountaininstead of confronting his man that evening at the hotel or in thestreet, in the presence of an audience. Arriving at the cross-roads half a mile from the foot of Crow'sMountain, he encountered two men tinkering with the engine of a bigautomobile. They stopped him and inquired if there was a garage nearby. While he was directing them to Pete Olsen's in town, he espied two moremen reposing in the shade of a tree farther up the lane. As he drove on, leaving them behind, he found himself possessed of thenotion that the two men were strangely nervous and impatient. Hedecided, after he had gone a half mile farther that they had, as amatter-of-fact, acted in a very suspicious manner, --just as automobilethieves might be expected to act in the presence of an officer of thelaw. He made up his mind that if they were still there when he returnedwith his prisoner, he would yank 'em up for investigation. He went through the motions of hitching old Hip and Jim to a saplingnear the top of the "Mountain. " They went to sleep almost instantly. In the little clearing off to the left, a couple of hundred yards away, Marshal Crow observed several men at work constructing a "shanty. "Closer at hand, almost lost to view among the pines, rose the thin, open-work steel tower from which the "drill" was to be operated. Standing out among the tree-tops were the long cross-bars of steel, andfrom them ran the "guy" wires to the ground below. Mr. Crow had neverseen a "drill" before, but he had been told by Mr. Bacon that this wasthe newest thing on the market. The Marshal started off in the direction of the "shanty" and suddenly amost astonishing thing happened. Mr. Crow disappeared from view as if bymagic! [Illustration: _The Marshal started off in the direction of the"shanty"_] In order to give the drill as wide a berth as possible, he had deployedwidely to the left of the path, making his way somewhat tortuouslythrough a rough lot of underbrush. Without the slightest warning, theearth gave way beneath him and down he shot, clawing frantically at theedges of a well-camouflaged hole in the ground, taking with him a vastamount of twigs, branches and a net-work of sapling poles. Not only did he drop a good twelve feet, but he landed squarely uponthe stooping person of Mr. Bacon, who emitted a startling sound thatbegan as a yell and ended as a grunt. He then crumpled up and spreadhimself out flat, with Mr. Crow draped awkwardly across his prostrateform. For the time being, Mr. Bacon was as still as the grave. He wasout. Anderson scrambled to his feet, pawing the air with his hands, his eyestightly shut. He was yelling for help. Now, it was this yelling for help that deceived the astonished Mr. Bonaparte. He jumped at once to the conclusion that the Marshal wascalling for assistance from the _outside_. So he threw up his hands! "I--surrender! I give in!" he yelled. "Keep them off! Don't let them getat me!" [Illustration: _"I--I surrender! I give in!" he yelled_] Anderson opened his eyes and stared. He found himself in a small, squat room lighted by a lantern which stoodupon a crudely made table in the corner beyond Bonaparte. There was aboard floor well littered with soil and shavings. In another cornerstood a singular looking contraption, not unlike a dynamo. Marshal Crow bethought himself of his mission. Although the breath hadbeen jarred out of his body, he managed to say, --explosively: "I--I got a warrant for your arrest. Come along now! Don't resist. Don'tmake a fuss. Come along peaceably. I--" "I'll come, Mr. Crow. I was dragged into this thing against my will. _Gott in Himmel! Gott!--_" "Never mind what you got, " exclaimed Anderson sharply. "You come alongwith me or you'll get something worse'n that. " "Is--is he dead!" groaned Bonaparte, his eyes almost starting from hishead. Anderson backed away from the sprawling, motionless figure on the floor. "I--I--gosh, I hope not. I--I was as much surprised as anybody. Say, yousee if he's breathin'. We got to git him out o' this place right awayan' send for a doctor. The good Lord knows I didn't intend to light onhim like that. It was an accident, I swear it was. You know just how ithappened, an'--you'll stand by me, won't you, if--" Just then a loud voice came from above. "Hey, down there!" A second's pause. Then: "We've got you dead torights, so no monkey business. Come up out o' that, or we'll pump enoughlead down there to--" "Don't shoot, --don't shoot!" yelled Mr. Bonaparte shrilly. "Tell yourmen not to fire, Mr. Crow!" "Tell--tell _who_?" cried Anderson blankly. Suddenly he sprang to hiscompanion's side; seizing him by the arm, he whispered hoarsely: "Bygosh, I thought there was somethin' queer about that gang. Have you gotany of the gold here? I recollect that feller's voice, plain as day. They're after the gold. They've heard about--" "Are you coming up?" roared the voice from the outer world. "Who are you?" called back Anderson stoutly. "Oh, I guess you'll recognize United States marshals when you see 'em. Come on, now. " Abraham Lincoln Bonaparte faced Marshal Crow, the truth dawning upon himlike a flash. "You damned old rube!" he snarled, and forthwith planted his fist underAnderson's chin-whiskers, with such surprising force that the old manonce more landed heavily on the prostrate form of the unfortunate Bacon. "O-oh, gosh!" groaned Anderson, and as his eyes rolled upward he saw amillion stars chasing each other around the ceiling. "I'll get _that_ much satisfaction out of it anyhow, " he heard some onesay, from a very great distance. Sometime afterward he was dimly aware of a jumble of excited voicesabout him. Some one was shouting in his ear. He opened his eyes andeverything looked green before them. In time he recognized pine trees, very lofty pine trees that slowly but surely shrank in size as he gazedwonderingly at them. There were a lot of strange men surrounding him. Out of the mass, hefinally selected a face that grew upon him. It was the face of AlfReesling. "By jinks, Anderson, you done it _this_ time, " Alf cried excitedly. "Itold 'em you was on your way up here to arrest these fellers, an' byjinks, I knowed you'd get 'em. " "Le--lemme set down, please, " mumbled Anderson, and the two men whosupported him lowered him gently to the ground, with his back against atree trunk. "Come here, Alf, " he called out feebly. Alf shuffled forward. "Who are these men?" whispered Anderson. "Detectives--reg'lar detectives, " replied Alf. "United Statesdetectives--what do you call 'em?" "Scotland Yard men, " replied Anderson, who had done a good deal ofreading in his time. "I started out after you on my wheel, Andy, thinkin' maybe you'd havetrouble. Down the road I met up with these fellers in a big automobile. They stopped me an' said I couldn't go up the hill. Just then up comesanother car full of men. They all seemed to be acquainted. I told 'em Iwas a deputy marshal an' was goin' up the hill to help you arrest afeller named Bonyparte. Well, by jinks, you oughter heard 'em! Theycussed, and said the derned ole fool would spile everything. Then, 'foreyou could say Joe, they piled into one o' the cars an' sailed up thehill. I didn't get up here till after they'd hauled you an' yourprisoners out o' that hole, but I give 'em the laugh just the same. Youcaptured the two ringleaders. By gosh, I'm glad you're alive, Andy. Ibet the Kaiser'll hate you fer this. " "The--the what?" "Ole Kaiser Bill. Say, you was down there quite a little spell, an' theywon't let me go down. What does a wireless plant look like, Anderson?" * * * * * That evening Marshal Crow sat on the porch in front of Lamson's store, smoking a fine cigar, presented to him by Harry Squires, reporter forthe _Banner_. He had a large audience. Indeed, he was obliged to raisehis voice considerably in order to reach the outer rim. He had been called a hero, a fearless officer, and a lot of otherpleasant things, by the astonished United States marshals, and he hadbeen given to understand that he would hear from Washington before long. Mr. Bacon (Kurt von Poppenblitz) and Mr. Bonaparte (Conrad Bloom) hadalso called him something, but he didn't mind. His erstwhile partners, with their four or five henchmen, were now well on their way to limbo, and Mr. Crow was regaling his hearers with the story. During the firstrecital (this being either the ninth or tenth), Alf Reesling had beenobliged to prompt him--a circumstance readily explainable when one stopsto consider the effect of the murderous blow Mr. Crow had received. "'Course, " said Anderson, "they _did_ fool me at first. But I wasn'tlong gittin' onto 'em. I used to sneak up there and investigate ever'now an' ag'in. Finally I got onto the fact that they was German spies--Igot positive proof of it. I can't tell you just what it is, 'cause it'sgovernment business. Then I finds out they got a wireless plant all inorder, an' ready to relay messages to the coast o' Maine, from some'eresout west. So today, I goes over to Justice Robb's and gits a warrant forintoxication. That was to make it legal fer me to bust into their shantyif necessary. Course, the drunk charge was only a blind, as I told theU. S. Marshal. I went right straight to that underground den o' their'n, an' afore they knowed what was up, I leaped down on 'em. Fust thing Idone was to put the big and dangerous one horse de combat. He was theone I was worried about. I knocked him flat an' then went after t'otherone. He let on like he was surrenderin'. He fooled me, I admit--'cause Idon't know anything 'bout wireless machinery. All of a sudden he give mea wireless shock--out o' nowhere, you might say--an' well, by cracky, Ithought it was all over. 'Course, I realize now it was foolish o' me totry to go up there an' take them two desperadoes single-handed, butI--What's that, Bud?" "Mrs. Crow sent me to tell you if you didn't come home to supper thisminute, you wouldn't git any, " called out a boy from the outskirts ofthe crowd. "That's the second wireless shock you've had today, Anderson, " saidHarry Squires, drily, and slowly closed one eye. THE BEST MAN WINS! ANDERSON CROW MEETS HIS WATERLOO AND HIS MARNE For sixteen consecutive years Anderson Crow had been the Marshal ofTinkletown. A hiatus of two years separated this period of service fromanother which, according to persons of apparently infallible memory, ranthrough an unbroken stretch of twenty-two years. Uncle Gid Luce stoutlymaintained--and with some authority--that anybody who said twenty-twoyears was either mistaken or lying. He knew for a positive fact that itwas only twenty-one for the simple reason that at the beginning of theCrow dynasty a full year elapsed before Anderson could be convinced thathe actually had been victorious at the polls over his venerablepredecessor, ex-marshal Bunker, who had served uninterruptedly forsomething like thirty years before him. It took the wisest men in town nearly a year to persuade the incredulousMr. Bunker that he had been defeated, and also to prove to Mr. Crow thathe had been elected. Neither one of 'em would believe it. It was the consensus of opinion, however, that Anderson Crow hadserved, all told, thirty-eight years, the aforesaid hiatus being theresult of a decision on his part to permanently abandon public life inorder to carry on his work as a private detective. Mr. Ed. Higgins heldthe office for two years and then retired, claiming that there wasn'tany sense in Tinkletown having _two_ marshals and only paying for one. And, as the salary and perquisites were too meagre to warrant adivision, and the duties of office barely sufficient to keep _one_ manawake, he arrived at the only conclusion possible: it was only fair thathe should split even with Anderson. After thinking it over for some time, he decided that about the best wayto solve the problem was for him to take the pay and allow Anderson todo the work, --an arrangement that was eminently satisfactory to theentire population of Tinkletown. Elections were held biennially. Every two years, in the spring, asprovided by statute, the voters of Tinkletown--unless otherwiseengaged--ambled up to the polling place in the rear of Hawkins'sUndertaking Emporium and voted not only for Anderson Crow, but for atown clerk, a justice of the peace, and three selectmen. No one everthought of voting for any one except Mr. Crow. Once, and only once, wasthere an opposition candidate for the office of Town Marshal. It is onrecord that he did not receive a solitary vote. Republicans and Democrats voted for Anderson with persistent fidelity, and while there were notable contests for the other offices at nearlyevery election, no one bothered himself about the marshal-ship. The regular election was drawing near. Marshal Crow was mildlyconcerned, --not about himself, but on account of the tremendous battlethat was to be waged for the office of town clerk. Henry Wimpelmeyer, the proprietor of the tanyard, had come out for the office, and wasspending money freely. The incumbent, Ezra Pounder, had had a good dealof sickness in his family during the winter, and was in no position tobe bountiful. Moreover, Ezra was further handicapped by the fact that nearly everyvoter in Tinkletown owed money to Henry Wimpelmeyer. Inasmuch as it wasjust the other way round with Ezra, it may be seen that his adversarypossessed a sickening advantage. Mr. Wimpelmeyer could afford to slapevery one on the back and jingle his pocketful of change in the mostreckless fashion. He did not have to dodge any one on the street, nothe. Anderson Crow was a strong Pounder man. He was worried. HenryWimpelmeyer had openly stated that if he were elected he would bepleased to show his gratitude to his friends by cancelling everyobligation due him! He was planning to run on what was to be called the People's ticket. Ezra was an Anderson Crow republican. Tinkletown itself was largelyrepublican. The democrats never had a chance to hold office except whenthere was a democratic president at Washington. Then one of them got thepost-office, and almost immediately began to show signs of turningrepublican so that he could be reasonably certain of reappointment atthe end of his four years. Anderson Crow lay awake nights trying to evolve a plan by which HenryWimpelmeyer's astonishing methods could be overcome. That frank andunchallenged promise to cancel all debts was absolutely certain todefeat Ezra. So far as the marshal knew, no one owed Henry more thanfive dollars--in most cases it was even less--but when you sat down andfigured up just how much Henry would ever realize in hard cash on theseaccounts, even if he waited a hundred years, it was easy to see that theelection wasn't going to cost him a dollar. For example, Alf Reesling had owed him a dollar and thirty-five centsfor nearly seven years. Alf admitted that the obligation worried him agreat deal, and it was pretty nearly certain that he would jump at thechance to be relieved. Other items: Henry Plumb, two dollars and aquarter; Harvey Shortfork, ninety cents; Ben Pickett, adollar-seventy-five; Rush Applegate, three-twenty; Lum Gillespie, one-fifteen, --and so on, including Ezra Pounder himself, who owed thestaggering sum of eleven dollars and eighty-two cents. There was, afterall, some consolation in the thought that Ezra would be benefited tothat extent by his own defeat. Naturally, Mr. Crow gave no thought to his own candidacy. No one wasrunning against him, and apparently no one ever would. Therefore, Mr. Crow was in a position to devote his apprehensions exclusively to therest of the ticket, and to Ezra Pounder in particular. He could think of but one way to forestall Mr. Wimpelmeyer, and that wasby digging down into his own pocket and paying in cash every single centthat the electorate of Tinkletown owed "the dad-burned Shylark!" He evenwent so far as to ascertain--almost to a dollar--just how much it wouldtake to save the honour of Tinkletown, finding, after an investigation, that $276. 82 would square up everything, and leave Henry high and drywith nothing but the German vote to depend upon. There were exactlytwenty-two eligible voters in town with German names, and seven of themprofessed to be Swiss the instant the United States went into the war. Mr. Crow was making profound calculation on the back of an envelope whenAlf Reesling, the town drunkard, came scuttling excitedly around thecorner from the _Banner_ office. "Gee whiz!" gasped Alf, "I been lookin' all over fer you, Anderson. " "Say, can't you see I'm busy? Now, I got to begin all over ag'in. Moveon, now--" "Have you heard the latest?" gulped Alf, grabbing him by the arm. "What ails you, Alf? Wait a minute! No, by gosh, it's more like onions. For a second I thought you'd--" "I'm as sober as ever, " interrupted Alf hotly. "That's what you been sayin' fer twenty years, " said Anderson. "Well, ain't I?" "I don't know what you do when I'm not watchin' you. " "Well, all I got to say is I never felt more like takin' a drink. An'you'll feel like it, too, when you hear the latest. Maybe you'll dropdead er somethin'. Serve you right, too, by jiminy, the way you keepinsinyating about--" "Go on an' tell me. Don't talk all day. Just _tell_ me. That's allyou're called on to do. " "Well, " sputtered Alf. "Some one's come out ag'in you fer marshal. Iseen the item they're printin' over at the _Banner_ office. Seen thename an' everything. " Anderson blinked two or three times, reached for his whiskers and missedthem, and then roared: "You must be crazy, Alf! By thunder, I hate to do it, but I'll have toput you in a safe--" "You just wait an' see if I'm--" "--safe place where you can't harm nobody. You oughtn't to be runnin'round at large like this. Here! Leggo my arm! What the dickens are youtryin' to--" "Come on! I'll _show_ you!" exclaimed Alf. "I'll take you right aroundto the _Banner_ office an'--say, didn't you know the People's Partynominated a full ticket las' night over at Odd Fellers' Hall?" Anderson submitted himself to be led--or rather dragged--around thecorner into Sickle Street. Several business men aroused from mid-morning lassitude allowed theirchairs to come down with a thump upon divers mercantile porches, andfell in behind the two principal citizens of Tinkletown. Somethingterrible must have happened or Marshal Crow wouldn't be summoned in anysuch imperative manner as this. [Illustration: _Something terrible must have happened or Marshal Crowwouldn't be summoned in any such imperative manner as this_] "What's up, Anderson?" called out Mort Fryback, the hardware dealer, wavering on one leg while he reached frantically behind him for hiscrutch. Mort was always looking for excitement. He hadn't had any tospeak of since the day he created the greatest furor the town hadexperienced in years by losing one of his legs under an extremely heavykitchen stove. "Is there a fire?" shouted Mr. Brubaker, the druggist, half a blockaway. * * * * * Mr. Jones, proprietor of the _Banner_ Job Printing office, obliginglyproduced the "galley-proof" of the account of the People's Convention, prepared by his "city editor, " Harry Squires, for the ensuing issue ofthe weekly. Mr. Squires himself emerged from the press-room, andsarcastically offered his condolences to Anderson Crow. "Well, here's a pretty howdy-do, Anderson, " he said, elevating hiseye-shade to a position that established a green halo over a perfectlypink pate. "Howdy-do, " responded Anderson, with unaccustomed politeness. He wasstaring hard at the dirty strip of paper which he held to the light. "Didn't I _tell_ you?" exclaimed Alf Reesling triumphantly. "There sheis, right before your eyes. " Mr. Reesling employed the proper gender in making this assertion. "She"was right before the eyes of every one who cared to look. Andersonslowly read off the "ticket. " His voice cracked deplorably as hepronounced the last of the six names that smote him where he had neverbeen smitten before. Clerk--Henry Wimpelmeyer Justice of the Peace--William Kiser Selectman, First District--Otto Schultz Selectman, Second District--Conrad Blank Selectman, Third District--Christopher Columbus Callahan Marshal--Minnie Stitzenberg. A long silence followed the last syllable in Minnie's name, broken atlast by Marshal Crow, who turned upon Harry Squires and demanded: "What do you mean, Harry Squires, by belittlin' a woman's name in yourpaper like this? She c'n sue for libel. You got no right to make fun ofa respectable, hard-workin' woman, even though she did make a dernedfool of herself gittin' up that pertition to have me removed fromoffice. " "Well, that's what she's still trying to do, " said Harry. "What say?" "I say she's still trying to remove you from office. She's going to getyour hide, Anderson, for arresting her when she tried to make thatSuffrage speech in front of the town hall last fall. " "I had a right to arrest her. She was obstructin' the publicthoroughfare. " "That's all right, but she said she had as much right to block thestreet as you had. You made speeches all over the place. " "Yes, but I made 'em in good American English, an' she spoke half thetime in German. How in thunder was I to know what she was sayin'? Shemight 'a' been sayin' somethin' ag'in the United States Government, ferall I knew. " "Well, anyhow, she's going to get your scalp for it, if it's in woman'spower to do it. " "I'm ag'in any female citizen of this here town that subscribes to aGerman paper printed in New York City an' refuses to read the _Banner_, "declared Anderson loudly--and with all the astuteness of the experiencedpolitician. "An' what's more, " pursued Anderson scornfully, "I'm ag'inthat whole ticket. There's only one American on it, an' he was aDemocrat up to las' Sunday. Besides, it's ag'in the law to nominateMinnie Stitzenberg. " "Why?" demanded Harry Squires. "Ain't she a woman?" "Certainly she is. " "Well, ain't _that_ ag'in the law? A woman ain't got no right to run fornothin', " said Anderson. "She ain't--" "She ain't, eh? Didn't you walk up to the polls last fall and vote togive her the right?" demanded Harry. "Didn't every dog-goned man in thistown except Bill Wynkoop vote for suffrage? Well, then, what are youkicking about? She's got as much right to run for marshal as you have, old Sport, and if what she says is true, every blessed woman inTinkletown is going to vote for her. " Marshal Crow sat down, a queer, dazed look in his eyes. "By gosh, I--I never thought they'd act like this, " he murmured. Every man in the group was asking the same question in the back of hisstartled brain: "Has _my_ wife gone an' got mixed up in this scheme ofMinnie's without sayin' anything to me?" Visions of feminine supremacyfilled the mental eye of a suddenly perturbed constituency. Therealization flashed through every mind that if the women of Tinkletownstuck solidly together, there wasn't the ghost of a chance for the sexthat had been in the saddle since the world began. An unwitting, orperhaps a designing, Providence had populated Tinkletown with at leasttwenty more women than men! * * * * * Alf Reesling was the first to speak. He addressed the complacent Mr. Squires: "I know one woman that ain't goin' to vote for Minnie Stitzenberg, " saidhe, somewhat fiercely. "What are you going to do?" inquired Harry mildly. "Kill her?" "Nothin' as triflin' as that, " said Alf. "I'm goin' to tell my wife ifshe votes for Minnie I'll pack up and leave her. " "Minnie's sure of _one_ vote, all right, " was Harry's comment. Fully ten minutes were required to convince the marshal that MinnieStitzenberg was a bona fide candidate. Anderson finally arose, drew himself to his full height, lifted hischin, and faced the group with something truly martial in his eye. "Feller citizens, " he began solemnly, "the time has come for us men tostand together. We got to pertect our rights. We got to let the womenknow that they can't come between us. For the last million years we havebeen supportin' an' pertectin' and puttin' up with all sorts of women, an' we got to give 'em to understand that this is no time for them togit it into their heads they can support and pertect us. Everybody, includin' the women, knows there's a great war goin' on over in Europe. Us men are fightin' that war. We're bleedin' an' dyin' an' bein'captured by the orneriest villains outside o' hell--as the feller says. I'm not sayin' the women ain't doin' their part, mind you. They're doin'noble, an' you couldn't git me to say a thing ag'in women _as_ women. They're a derned sight better'n we are. That's jest the point. We got to_keep_ 'em better'n we are, an' what's more to the point, we don't want'em to find out they're better'n we are. Just as soon as they git to beas overbearin' an' as incontrollable as we are, then there's goin' to bethunder to pay. I'm willin' to work, an' fight, an' die fer my wife an'my daughters, but I'm derned if I like the idee of them workin' an'fightin' ag'in _me_. I'm willin' the women should vote. But theyoughtn't to run out an' vote ag'in the men the first chance they git. When this war's over an' there ain't no able-bodied men left to runthings, then you bet the women will be derned glad we fixed things so's_they_ won't never have to worry about goin' to war with theding-blasted ravishers over in Germany. If the time ever comes--an' itmay, if they keep killin' us off over there--when the women have to runthis here government, they'll find it's a man-sized job, an' that wetook care of it mighty well up to the time we got all shot to piecespreservin' humanity, an' civilization, an' all the women an' childrenthe Germans didn't git a chance to butcher because we wouldn't let 'em. Now, I'm ready any time to knuckle under to a man that's better'n I am. But I'm dog-goned if I'm willin' to admit that Minnie Stitzenberg's thatman! Yes, sir, gentlemen, we men have got to stand together!" "'Sh!" hissed Mort Fryback, jerking his head in the direction of MainStreet. With one accord the men on the porch turned to look. Miss Minnie Stitzenberg had come into view on the opposite side of thestreet, and was striding manfully in their direction. The Higgins dogtrotted proudly, confidently, a few feet ahead of her. She waved afriendly hand and called out, in a genial but ludicrous effort to mimicthe lordly Mr. Crow: "Move on there, now. Don't loiter. " A little later, the agitated town marshal, flanked by the town drunkardand the one-legged Mr. Fryback, viewed with no little dismay a group ofwomen congregated in front of Parr's drygoods store. In the centre ofthis group was the new candidate for town marshal. Alf Reesling stoppedshort and said something under his breath. His wife was one of MissStitzenberg's most attentive listeners. [Illustration: _In the centre of this group was the new candidate fortown marshal_] Marshal Crow was not disheartened. He knew that Minnie Stitzenberg couldnot defeat him at the polls. The thing that rankled was the fact that awoman had been selected to run against him. It was an offence to hisdignity. The leaders of the People's Party made it quite plain that theydid not consider him of sufficient importance to justify anything sodignified as masculine opposition! On the day of the Republican Convention, which was to be held in thetown hall in the evening, Anderson went in despair and humility to HarrySquires, the reporter. "Harry, " he said, "I been thinkin' it over. I can't run ag'in a woman. It goes ag'in the grain. If I beat her, I'd never be able to lookanybody in the face, an' if she beats me--why, by gosh, I couldn't evenlook myself in the face. So I'm goin' to decline the nominationtonight. " He was rather pathetic, and Harry Squires was touched. He had a greatfondness for the old marshal, notwithstanding his habit of poking fun athim and ridiculing him in the _Banner_. He laid his hand on the oldman's arm and there was genuine warmth in his voice as he spoke to him. "Anderson, we can't allow you to withdraw. It would be the vilest thingthe people of this town could do if they turned you out of office afterall these years of faithful service. We--" "Can't be helped, Harry, " said Anderson firmly. "I won't run ag'in awoman, so that's the end of it. " Harry looked cautiously around, and then, leaning a little closer, said: "I know something that would put Minnie in the soup, clean over herhead. All I've got to do is to tell what I know about--" "Hold on, Harry, " broke in the marshal sternly. "Is it somethin' ag'inher character?" "It's something that would prevent every man, woman and child inTinkletown from voting for her, " said Harry. "Somethin' scand'lous?" demanded Anderson, perking up instantly. "Decidedly. A word from me and--" "Wait a second. Is--is there a man in the case?" "A _man_?" cried Harry. "Bless your soul, Anderson, there are fifty menin it. " Anderson fell back a step or two. For a moment or two he was speechless. "Sakes alive! _Fifty?_ For goodness' sake, Harry, are you sure?" "Not exactly. It may be sixty, " amended Harry. "We could easily find outjust how many--" "Never mind! Never mind!" cried Anderson, recovering himself. "If it'sas bad as all that, we just got to keep still about it. I wouldn't allowyou to throw mud at her if she's been carryin' on with only _one_ man, but if there's fifty or--But, gosh a' mighty, Harry, it ain't possible. A woman as homely as Minnie--why, dog-gone it, a woman as homely as sheis simply couldn't be bad no matter how much she wanted to. It ain'thuman nature. She--" "Hold your horses, Anderson, " broke in Harry, after a perplexed stare. "I guess you're jumping at conclusions. I didn't say--" "There ain't going to be no scandal in this campaign. If MinnieStitzenberg--German or no German--has been--" "It isn't the kind of scandal you think it is, " protested Harry. "WhatI'm trying to tell you is that it was Minnie Stitzenberg who got thatguy up here from New York two years ago to sell stock in the Salt WaterGold Company, and stung fifty or sixty of our wisest citizens to theextent of thirty dollars apiece. I happen to know that Minnie got fivedollars for every sucker that was landed. That guy was her cousin andshe gave him a list of the easiest marks in town. If I remembercorrectly, you were one of them, Anderson. She got something like twohundred dollars for giving him the proper steer, and that's what I meantwhen I said there were fifty or sixty men in the case. " "Well, I'll be ding-blasted!" "And do you know what she did with her ill-gotten gains?" Anderson could only shake his head. "She went up to Boggs City and took singing lessons. Now you know theworst. " The marshal found his voice. "An' it went on for nearly six months, too--people had to keep their windows shut so's they couldn't hear heryellin' as if somebody was tryin' to murder her. An' when I went to heran' respectfully requested her to quit disturbin' the peace, she--do youknow what she said to me?" "I've got a sneaking idea. " "Well, you're wrong. She said I was a finicky old jackass. " The memoryof it brought an apoplectic red to his face. "And being a gentleman, you couldn't deny it, " said Harry soberly. "What's that?" "I mean, you couldn't call her a liar. What did you say?" "I looked her right in the eyes an' I said I'd been neutral up to thatminute, but from then on I'd be derned if I'd try any longer. By gosh, Iguess she knowed what I meant all right. " "Well, as I was saying, all you've got to do is to tell the voters ofthis town that she helped put up that job on them, and--" Anderson held up his hand and shook his head resolutely. "Nope! I'm through. I'm not goin' to run. I mean to withdraw my nametonight. " Considering the matter closed, he sauntered to the middle of the streetwhere he held up his hand and stopped a lame and venerable Forddriven--or as Mr. Squires was in the habit of saying, urged--by DeaconRank. "What's your speedo-_meter_ say, Deacon?" inquired the marshal blandly. "It don't say anything, " snapped the deacon. Anderson saw fit to indulge in sarcasm. "Well, by gum, I'd 'a' sworeyour old machine was movin'. Is it possible my eyes deceived me?" "Course it was movin'--movin' strictly accordin' to law, too. Six milesan hour. What you holdin' me up for?" "So's I could get in and take a little joy ride with you, " said Mr. Crowaffably. "Drop me at the post office, will you?" He stepped up besidethe deacon and calmly seated himself. The deacon grumbled. "'Tain't more'n a hundred yards to the postoffice, " he said. "Stoppin' me like this an'--an' makin' me get out andcrank the car besides. An' I'm in a hurry, too. Couldn't you--" "Well, I ain't in no hurry. If I was, don't you suppose I'd 'a' walked?" That evening the town hall was filled with discouraged, apprehensiveRepublicans. A half-dozen newly enfranchised women occupied front seats. Ed. Higgins confided to those nearest him that he felt as though he wasin church, and Alf Reesling loudly advised the convention to becareful, as there were ladies present. Mr. Hud Lamson, as usual, was the chairman of the "Convention. " No oneelse ever had a chance to be chairman for the reason that Hud did notinsist upon having the honour thrust upon him. He simply _took_ it. Following the usual resolutions condemning the Democratic Party toperdition and at the same time eulogizing the Democratic Administrationat Washington, Mr. Ezra Pounder was nominated by acclamation for theresponsible post of town clerk. In swift succession, Ed. Higgins, AbnerPickerell and Situate M. Jones were chosen for selectmen. Justice Robbwas unanimously chosen to succeed himself. Then ensued a strange, significant silence--a silence fraught withexceeding gravity and the portentous suggestion of something devastatingabout to overtake the assemblage. Some one in the back of the hallcleared his throat, and instantly, with one accord, every eye was turnedin his direction. It was as if he were clearing the way for action. Harry Squires, the perennial secretary of all conventions held by allparties in Tinkletown, by virtue of his skill with the pencil, arosefrom his seat--and stepped to the front of the platform. [Illustration: _Harry Squires stepped to the front of the platform_] "Order!" called out Marshal Crow, in his most authoritative voice, sweeping the convention with an accusing eye. "Mr. Chairman, fellow Republicans and voters of the opposite sex, " beganHarry, in a distinctly lugubrious tone, "we have now come to the mostcritical moment in the history of Tinkletown. It is with ineffablesorrow and dismay that I stand before you this evening, the bearer ofsad tidings. On the other hand, I expect to derive great joy inoffsetting this sad news later on in my humble speech. I am now, gentlemen--and ladies--speaking of our most noted and most cherishedcitizen, Mr. Anderson Crow, known to you all, I believe, withoutexception. I--" At this juncture, up jumped Alf Reesling and shouted: "Three cheers for Anderson Crow!" And three cheers were given with a vim. Uncle Dad Simms, a patriot oflong-standing but of exceedingly short memory, took the convention bystorm by crying out in a cracked but penetrating voice: "Three cheers for the President of the United States! I don't keer if heis a Democrat! Come on, now, men! Three cheers for President Cleveland!" A roar of laughter went up and Uncle Dad, being quite deaf, followed itwith two squeaky cheers, all by himself, and then looked about intriumph. Alf Reesling proposed three cheers for President Wilson, andagain the welkin rang. Having established a success as a promoter ofenthusiasm, Alf mounted a chair and roared: "Now, let's give three cheers for General Pershing an' the boys over inFrance, includin' the four noble young men from Tinkletown who are withhim in the trenches, killin' the botches! Now, hip--hip--" And once more the air shivered under the impact of vocal enthusiasm. Mr. Squires held up his hands and checked what might have become a habitby thanking the convention for the timely and admirable interruption, explaining that the digression had given him an opportunity to regaincommand of his emotions. "It is, however, with pain that I am authorized to announce, not only tothe glorious Republican Party, but to the City of Tinkletown, that--Holdon, Alf! We can get along without three cheers for Tinkletown! Toannounce that the name of Anderson Crow is hereby withdrawn from theconsideration of this convention for the--er--the nomination for TownMarshal. Mr. Crow positively declines to make the race. It is notnecessary for me to dilate upon the manifold virtues and accomplishmentsof our distinguished marshal. His fame extends to the uttermost cornersof the earth. For nearly half a century he has kept this town joggingalong in a straight and narrow path, and I for one--and I feel that Ivoice the sentiment of every citizen here and elsewhere--I for one donot resent the frequent reproaches and occasional arrests he has heapedupon me in the discharge of his duty. It was all for the good of thecommunity, and I am proud to say that I have been arrested by MarshalCrow more times than I have fingers and toes. And, I am further proud toadd, that on not a single occasion did Marshal Crow hesitate to admitthat he was mistaken. Gentlemen, it takes a pretty big man to admit thathe is mistaken. But, if you will read the next issue of the _Banner_, you will see that I can write about him much more eloquently than I canspeak. He has positively decided not to be a candidate for re-election. While we are thereby plunged into grief of the darkest hue, I am here totell you that our grief is mitigated by the most gorgeous ray of lightthat ever beamed upon the human race. It is my pleasure, gentlemen ofthe Republican Party--and ladies of the same sect--to present foryour--" Alf Reesling's voice was heard in plaintive protest. He spoke to hiselbow neighbour, but in a tone audible to every one, far and near. "I'll be dog-goned if I'll stand for that. It's an insult to every manhere to say they are of the same sex. We give 'em the vote and, by gosh, they claim our sex. I--" "Order!" commanded Marshal Crow. The orator resumed. "It is my privilege to present for yourconsideration the name of one of our most illustrious citizens for thehonourable office of Town Marshal. A name that is a household word, second only to that of the present incumbent. Circumstances over whichwe have no control--although we did have it up to a short time ago--makeit possible for me to present to you a name that will go down in historyas one of the grandest since the bonny days of good Queen Bess. Gentlemen--and at the same time, ladies--I have the honour to put innomination for Town Marshal our distinguished fellow voter, Mrs. Anderson Crow!" A silence even more potential than the one preceding Mr. Squire'speroration ensued. It was broken this time by Uncle Dad Simms, whoproceeded to further glorify his deafness by squeaking: "And he'll be elected, too, you bet your boots. We don't want nogosh-blamed woman fer--eh? What say, Alf?" And Alf, making a cup of hishands, repeated with great vigour an inch or so from Uncle Dad's ear thetimely remark that had caused the ancient to hesitate. It is notnecessary to quote Alf, but Uncle Dad's rejoinder is important. "Well, _Jee_-hosaphat!" he gasped. "Is there a second to the nomination?" inquired the chairman. Marshal Crow arose. "I second the nomination, " he said, taking a suddentug at his whiskers. "Before we take a ballot, Mr. Chairman, I want tosay right here an' now that Mrs. Crow will have my full an' undividedsupport, just as she has always had. I have allus maintained that awoman's place is in the home. Therefore, when it comes time fer Mrs. Crow to assume the responsibilities of this here office, I am goin' tosee to it that she _stays_ home an' tends to her household duties. I amgoin' to be deputy marshal durin' her term of office, without pay, ladies an' gentlemen, an' I am goin' to lift every bit o' the work off'nher shoulders. I believe in equal sufferin'. If she'll do the woman'sshare o' the work, I'll do the man's, an' nothin' could be fairer thanthat. Between us we'll give the city o' Tinkletown the bestadministration the office of marshal has ever had. My wife ain't heretonight to accept the honour you are goin' to heap on her, but I think Ican safely promise she'll consent to make the race. She may kick like abay steer at first, but when she sees it's her _duty_ to run, you betshe'll do it! It's a case of woman ag'in woman, feller Republicans, an'man ag'in man. All I got to say is that the best woman's bound to win. Ialmost forgot to say that if the voters o' Tinkletown don't jump at thechance to git a marshal an' a experienced deputy for the price o' onesalary, it's because there's more derned fools in the town than Ithought there was. " Mr. Ed Higgins sprang to his feet. "I move, Mr. Chairman, that we make the nomination unanimous without adissenting vote, " he cried out. "We got a chance to get the best deputymarshal in the United States of America without it costin' us a redcent, an' besides that, we get the best cook in all Tinkletown formarshal. If there's anybody here, male or female, who c'n deny that Mrs. Crow is the best cook alive I'd like to hear him say so. I've eat ahundred meals in her house an' I know what I'm talkin' about. I defyanybody--" "I call for a vote!" cried out one of the women, bridling a little. "AndI want to say to you, Ed Higgins, that while I think Mrs. Crow will makethe best marshal we've ever had, I wouldn't go so far as to say she'sthe best cook in Tinkletown. You haven't been invited to eat in _every_house in this town, don't forget that. " "All in favour of making the nomination of Mrs. Crow unanimous signifyby holding up their hands, " said the chairman. Every hand went up. Then a rousing cheer was given for the "next Marshalof Tinkletown, " followed by the customary mumbling of "The Star SpangledBanner. " Three full days were devoted by Anderson and the leaders of theRepublican Party to the task of inducing Mrs. Crow to make the raceagainst Minnie Stitzenberg. At first she refused point-blank. Shedidn't intend to neglect her household duties for all the offices inTinkletown! "But, consarn it, Eva!" Anderson protested for the hundredth time, "nobody's askin' you to neglect your household duties. Ain't I agreein'to handle the job for you?" "Well, I posi-_tive_-ly refuse to wear a star--or carry a pistol. " "You don't have to. I'll wear the star. " "And if you think I'll traipse the streets of Tinkletown from morningtill night, you're very much--" "That ain't any respectable woman's job, " said her husband stiffly. "You're not expected to do it as long as you got a deputy. " "And as for snooping around putting my nose into other people'sbusiness, --why--" "Now, don't let that worry you, Eva. That's part o' my job. " "Who's going to tend jail when there's anybody locked up in it?" "I am, o' course. " "And who's going to be street commissioner, truant officer, chief of thefire depart--" "You are, Eva, --but I'm going to look after _everything_, mind you. Allyou got to do is to see that I git somethin' to eat whenever I need it, an' a bed to sleep in at night, an' I'll--" "A bed to sleep in, you ninny!" she cried. "You're going to sleep inthe same bed you've been sleeping in for forty years. What are youtalking about? Ain't you going to sleep with me if I appoint you deputymarshal?" "Certainly, " Anderson made haste to assure her. "Unofficially, o'course, " he went on, with profound regard for the ethics involved. "Well, I'll think it over, " she said wearily. "Don't bother me now, youtwo; can't you see I'm making apple butter?" "I hope you will consent to run, Mrs. Crow, " put in the wily Mr. Squires, "if only for the sake of showing Minnie Stitzenberg that itwon't do her any good to be saying things about--well, about anybody inparticular. " He concluded very lamely. "Has that woman been saying things about me?" demanded Mrs. Crow. "I ought to have sense enough to keep my mouth shut, " said Harry, scowling darkly. Catching the astonished look on Anderson's face, hehastily suggested that they "beat it. " Out in the front yard Anderson halted him. "Has Minnie been sayinganything about my wife, Harry Squires?" Harry first looked over his shoulder and then winked. "Not that I knowof, " he said, chuckling. "But I guess it's safe to go ahead and printthe ticket with Mrs. Crow's name on it. " Never in all its sedentary existence had Tinkletown experienced alivelier campaign. "If you vote for Minnie Stitzenberg, I'll never speak to you again, " wasthe common argument of the Crowites, and "Don't you ever try to look mein the face again if you vote for that old Mrs. Crow, " was the slogan ofthe opposition. Mrs. Crow conducted her own campaign. Anderson discovered to his great dismay that his meals were not onlyirregular in the matter of time, but frequently did not materialize atall. His wife and daughters neglected him completely. On three separateoccasions after waiting until nearly eight o'clock for his supper, hestrolled disconsolately over to the equally abandoned home of AlfReesling. "I'm a mighty poor cook, " confessed Alf on the first occasion, a hungry, harassed look in his eyes. "But anything's better'n starvin', ain't it?" "It shore is, " said Anderson with feeling. "I ain't seen a petticoat around my house since half-past nine thismornin', " lamented Alf, upsetting a pan of milk while trying to get aplate of cold ham out of the icebox. "It's terrible. " "Lemme take your knife, Alf. I'll peel the pertatoes--if you'll tell mewhere they are. " "I don't know where anything is, " said Alf, leaning dejectedly againstthe kitchen sink. "Well, " said Anderson, "let's look. " "If the election was a week further off, I'd give up an' go to drinkin'again, " said Alf on another occasion. "I'd sooner drink myself to deaththan starve. Starvation is a terrible end, Anderson. Worse than hangin', they say. " "Only four days more, " sighed Anderson, clipping off a hunk of bologna. "My wife says if I'll hold out till after election, she won't neverleave the kitchen ag'in long as she lives. " "That's what mine says. Sherman was only half right. War may be hell formen, but, by gosh, women are hell for war. An' that's what it is--war, Anderson, war to the hilt. Every woman in town's got her knife out an', my God, how they're slashin' each other! There won't be a whole womanleft. " "Well, I'd be satisfied with half a one, " mused Anderson, a faraway lookin his eyes. The day before the election, Mrs. Crow played her trump card. She hadtreasured an open boast made years before by the disappointed old maidwho now opposed her. Minnie, before attaining years of discretion andstill smarting under the failures of youth, had spitefully announcedthat she was a spinster from choice. With great scorn she had stated, while sitting on Mrs. Crow's porch, that she would die an old maid ahundred times over sooner than marry any one in Tinkletown. And, sheadded, the best proof that she meant what she said was the fact thatnearly every man in town had asked her to marry him before he asked anyone else! The news spread like wildfire the instant Mrs. Crow released it. Mrs. Crow's veracity was not a thing to be questioned. When the returns were all in, Mrs. Crow was found to have received 573votes (women included), out of a total of 601 cast. Miss Stitzenbergheld the German vote solid, including seven from her own sex who couldafford to disregard the slander because they had been safely married inGermany long before coming to Tinkletown. * * * * * The day after the new marshal's induction into office Anderson appearedwith his star glittering so brightly that it dazzled the eye. His shoeswere polished, his clothes brushed and--shocking to relate--his trouserscreased. In all his career as marshal he had never gone to such extremesas this. He was, however, not in a happy frame of mind. His customaryaplomb was missing. "Well, of all the--" began Alf Reesling. Then, before Anderson could putin a word of warning, he shouted to the group in front of Lamson'sstore: "Hey! Look at the dude!" Anderson, very red in the face, declined a seat on a soap box. "If I'd knowed she was goin' to act like this, I'd a voted ag'in hermyself, " he said rather wanly. "She started in bossin' me the veryminute she got my place as marshal. She's laid down the law to me, an', by crickety, she says if I'm goin' to be her deputy I've got to looklike this every day. Look at them shoes! And these pants! No, I can'tset down. I don't dare risk sp'ilin' the creases my daughter Susie putin 'em 'fore I was up this mornin'. " VICIOUS LUCIUS Lucius Fry lived up back of the Power-house on the outskirts ofTinkletown. He had a wife, two children and a horse and buggy. For agreat many years he had led a quiet, peaceful, even suppressedexistence. Being a rather smallish, bony sort of man, with a largeAdam's apple and bow legs, he was an object of considerable scorn notonly to his acquaintances but to his wife and children, and after afashion, to his horse. The latter paid absolutely no attention to him when he said "Get-ap, " orwhen he applied the "gad"; she neither obeyed the command nor resentedthe chastisement. She jogged along in her own sweet way quite as if hewere nowhere in the vicinity. His wife abused him, and his childrenignored him. No one, it would appear, had the slightest use or respectfor Lucius Fry. He was, by profession, a well-digger. The installation of a water-workssystem in Tinkletown had made him a well-digger in name only. For amatter of five or six years, barring the last six months, he had been inthe employ of his wife. She took in washing, and it was his job tocollect and deliver the "wash" three times a week. In return for this hereceived board and lodging and an occasional visit to themoving-picture theatre. One of his daughters clerked in thefive-and-ten-cent store, and the other, aged twelve, was errand girl toMiss Angie Nixon, the fashionable dressmaker. Lucius had married very much above him, so to speak. That is to say, hiswife was something like nine or ten inches the taller of the two. Whenthey appeared on the street together, --which was seldom, --you could seehim only if you chanced to be on _that_ side of her. Mrs. Fry was nearlysix feet tall and very wide, but Lucius was not much over five feet two. He had a receding chin that tried to secrete itself behind a scant, dun-colored crop of whiskers, cultivated by him with two purposes inview; first, to provide shelter for his shrinking chin, and second, toavoid the arduous and unnecessary task of shaving. [Illustration: _When they appeared on the street together_] Roughly speaking, Lucius was a shiftless creature. It had long been theconsensus of opinion--freely expressed throughout Tinkletown--that hedid not amount to a tinker's dam. However that may be, some six or seven months prior to the incidentsabout to be related, Mr. Fry himself wrought a tremendous andunbelievable change in the foregoing opinion. Almost in the wink of aneyelash he passed through a process of transmogrification that not onlybewildered him but caused the entire community to sit up and take noticeof him. It all came about in the oddest sort of way. For a number of yearsLucius had been in the habit of currying the old grey mare on Saturdaymornings. Away back in his mind lurked an hereditary respect for theSabbath. He wanted old Peggy to be as clean as possible onSunday--observing the same principle, no doubt, that induces a greatmany people to take a bath on Saturday night. Moreover, he changed thebedding in her stall on Saturdays, employing a pitchfork and a spade. For a number of years Peggy had put up with these attentions, respondingamiably to his directions--such as "Get over, dern ye, " or "Whoa, back, ""Stan' still, can't ye?" and so on. One never-to-be-forgotten Saturday morning in the spring of the year, Peggy happened to be peevish. The cause of her peevishness was a swarmof intensely active flies. Mr. Fry was accustomed to an occasional swishof her tail across his face. He even welcomed it, for the flies botheredhim almost as much as they did Peggy. On mornings when he felt unusuallytired, he was rather grateful to Peggy for including him in the sweep ofher tail. But on this particular morning the exasperated nag planted one of herhoofs on Mr. Fry's toes while he was engaged in brushing out the kinksin her mane. Mrs. Fry happened to be in the stable at the time, seeing if the henshad mislaid anything in the hay. She was astonished by the roar of amighty oath, followed almost instantly by a thunderous thump on thebarrel-like anatomy of the family horse. A second or two later Peggy'shead came in for a resounding whack, and the stream of profanityincreased to a torrent. Springing to her feet, the surprised lady cast a startled glance overthe manger into the stall. Her husband had old Peggy backed up againstthe partition and was preparing to deliver a third blow with the spadewhen she called out to him: "Stop it, you little fool!" Mr. Fry's attention was diverted. Peggy was spared the impending blow. Instead, the outraged hostler charged around the partition, through anarrow passage and into the presence of his wife. He hobbled painfully. Inarticulate sounds issued from his compressed lips. He gripped thespade-handle so tightly that cords stood out on his rather formidableforearms. Mrs. Fry got as far as "You ugly little--" and then, as he bore downupon her, turned to flee. He altered his course, and as she passed himon the way to the open door, the flat of the spade landed with impellingforce upon the broadest part of her person. The sound was not so hollowas that which resulted from the wallop on Peggy's ribs, but its echo wasa great deal more far-reaching. Indeed, Mrs. Fry's howl could have beenheard a quarter of a mile away. She passed through the door into thebarnyard on the wing, as it were. [Illustration: _He altered his course, and as she passed him, the flatof his spade landed with impelling force_] Lucius blindly took another swing at her with the spade as she made herexit. Missing her by several feet, he spun completely around severaltimes with the momentum; then, not to be deprived of the full measure oftriumph, he hurled the implement after her retreating figure. Rageimproved the accuracy as well as the force of his effort. The spadecaught Mrs. Fry below the waistline and for nearly a month thereaftershe was in the habit of repairing with female visitors to an upstairsbedroom where she proudly revealed to them the extensive welt producedby her husband's belated return to power. Not completely satisfied, however, he set out in pursuit of her, principally on one foot, but with a swiftness that surprised both ofthem. Overtaking her near the barnyard gate, he pulled up suddenly, realizing the peril of being too precipitate. He was rushing intodisaster. She was likely to turn and snatch the offensive away from him. But just as he was on the point of turning to run the other way, sheflopped down on her knees and began begging him for God's sake to spareher! Her eyes were tightly closed, and her arms were raised to shieldher face. Seizing this fine opportunity, he edged around in front of her, took themost careful, deliberate aim, and forthwith planted his fist solidlyupon her unprotected nose. He had always wanted to do it, but never before had the opportunitypresented itself. He couldn't remember when he had caught her with hereyes closed before. She invariably stayed awake longer than he did atnight, telling him the same thing she had told him the night before, andin the morning she kicked him out of bed before his eyes were open. Nowhere was the golden, long-desired chance. It might never occur again. Sohe swung with all his might and main. Mrs. Fry involuntarily arose from her knees, balanced on her heels for asecond or two and then sat down some distance away with the same heelsin the air. Then and there Lucius Fry ceased to be a person of no consequence. Two or three neighbours, bent on rescuing Mrs. Fry, got no nearer thanthe barn-lot fence. Lucius, still hopping around on one foot, gatheredup a stick of stove-wood in each hand, and let fly at them with suchdetermination and precision that they decided to let him go ahead andmurder her. When Mrs. Fry's daughters hurried into the house a short time afterward, they found their mother dressing and bandaging Mr. Fry's foot andchokingly inquiring if she was hurting him. Between sentences sheapplied a wet towel to a prodigious, unrecognizable object that had oncebeen her nose. Juliet, the elder, planted herself in front of her father andpassionately inquired if it was true that he had dared to strike hermother. Lucius, with rare forethought, had provided himself with a stick ofstove-wood before entering the house. He now held it in his right hand. He was not going to take any chances on his wife's treachery. He wasready for the slightest sign of an uprising. Without answering hisdaughter's question, he took a firm grip on the stick and started toarise from his chair, upsetting the pail of water that his wife had beenusing. Mrs. Fry screeched. "Don't hit her! Don't kill her, Lucius! For God's----" "Shut up!" snarled Lucius. "I'm goin' to belt the life out of her if shecomes around here disturbin' the peace. I'm peaceable now, Stella--we'vegot perfect peace now, ain't we? But if she tries to--Well, you'll seewhat'll happen, young lady. Go an' get a mop and clean up that water. D'ye hear me? Beat it!" "For the Lord's sake, Juliet, do what he tells you, " begged Mrs. Fry. "An' do it _quick_, " said Mr. Fry. Having so suddenly--and unintentionally--gained the upper hand in hishousehold, he was determined if possible to retain it. Temporarily atleast he had his wife scared almost to death and so submissive that hecouldn't think of half enough indignities to heap upon her, no matterhow hard he tried; and his disdainful daughters spoke in hushed voices, and got up every morning to start the kitchen fire, and carried in thewood, and waited on him first at meals, and allowed him to read _TheBanner_ before any one else claimed it, and fed the chickens, andbehaved as daughters ought to behave. It was too good to be true. But aslong as it really appeared to be true, he couldn't afford to relax foran instant; he went about with a perpetual scowl and swore from morningtill night. Every other week he went out to the stable, and after closing the doors, proceeded to belabour an old saddle with a pitchfork handle. The soundsreaching the back porch of the house caused Mrs. Fry to cover her earsand moan: "Poor old Peggy! O-oh! My gracious! He'll--he'll kill her!" Occasionally he threw a stove-lid or a hatchet or something else at hiswife, but his aim was singularly bad, for try as he would, he did notappear to come closer than five or six feet to her with any of themissiles. Once in a while he displayed the most appalling desire todestroy everything in sight. On such occasions he smashed chairs, brokeup the crockery or tramped all over the garments that Mrs. Fry had justhung out to dry. By mistake, he once picked up a hot stove-lid, and thenhe swore in earnest. His dutiful wife wrapped his hand up in soda andcalled the stove-lid a "nasty old thing!" In a very short time everybody in Tinkletown was talking about LuciusFry. Some one, lying with a little more enterprise than the rest, started the report that he had gone to Boggs City, the county seat, andhad thrashed a bartender who refused to sell him a drink. This reportgrew until Lucius was credited with having polished off a whole bar-roomfull of men without so much as sustaining a scratch himself. When Lucius appeared on Main Street, men who had never noticed himbefore went out of their way to be polite and friendly. Women who pitiedMrs. Fry looked at him with interest and called him, under their breath, a "big ugly brute. " Children stopped playing and ran when they sawLucius Fry approaching. Harry Squires, editor of _The Banner_, in reporting one of Mr. Fry'smost violent eruptions, alluded to him as "vicious Lucius. " The nameclung to the little man. It was some time before the general publiccould utter it with confidence. Haste was not conducive to accuracy. Rash assuredness frequently turned Mr. Fry into "Vooshious Lishius" or"Lishius Vooshious" or even "V'looshious Ooshious. " Mrs. Fry, in course of time, grew to be very proud of her master, thedespot of Power-house Gully. She revealed her pride every time she fellin with acquaintances on the way to church. In reply to an oft-repeatedquestion as to why Mr. Fry did not go to church with her any longer, sheinvariably gave the supercilious reply that nowadays when she requestedher husband to go to church, he told her to go to hell instead--and thatwas the kind of a man she respected, she said, not one of yourweak-kneed, henpecked cowards who go to church because they are moreafraid of their wives than they are of the devil. And while themountainous Mrs. Fry was no longer able to thrash her five-foot-twohusband, she still inspired fear among churchgoers of both sexes and allages. She frequently asserted that she could lick any man in Tinkletownexcept her husband--and moreover, if any officer of the law everattempted to arrest Lucius for what he did to her, she'd beat his headoff--that's what she'd do. The marshal of Tinkletown, Anderson Crow, on three separate occasionsorganized a posse to go out to Power-house Gully to arrest Lucius on thecomplaint of neighbours who said they couldn't stand hearing his wife'showls any longer. On each of these occasions, the marshal got as far asthe Fry front gate, backed by eight or ten of the huskiest men in town. There they were intercepted by Mrs. Fry, who told them that Lucius wasupstairs peaceably reloading his double-barreled shotgun, or oiling uphis trusty old horse-pistol, as the case may have been, and she didn'tbelieve he would like to be disturbed. "Is he ca'am an' quiet, Stella?" Marshal Crow would ask. "As quiet as a lamb, " Mrs. Fry would reply. "Then I guess we'd better leave him alone, " the Marshal would say, adding: "But if he ever goes on the rampage again, just you send for me, Stella, an' I'll come as quick as I can. " And the wife of Vicious Lucius would say: "Don't forget to bring theundertaker with you when you come, Anderson. You won't need a doctor. " At times Lucius would feel his courage slipping. At such times he wouldgo out to the barn and jostle old Peggy around in the stall, hopingagainst hope, but without the desired result. She simply _wouldn't_ stepon his foot. One bitter cold night just before Christmas, a group of Tinkletown'sforemost citizens sat around the big sheet-iron stove in Lamson's store. Outside, the wind was blowing a gale; it howled and shrieked around thecorners of the building, banged forgotten window-shutters, slammedsuspended signboards with relentless fury, and afforded unlimited foodfor reflection, reminiscence and prophecy. It was long past Mr. Lamson'scustomary hour for closing the store, but with rare tact the loungerspermitted him to do most of the talking. It was nice and warm in thevicinity of the stove, and there were tubs of dried apples and prunesand a sack of hazel nuts within easy reach. "I'll never forget the Christmas I spent out in Nebraska, " Mr. Lamsonwas saying. He was probably the most travelled man in town. Every timehe told a story, he went a little farther West. (Harry Squiresdisconcerted him on one occasion by asking in his most ironic manner ifhe didn't think it would be a good idea to settle in California when hegot there, and Mr. Lamson, after thinking it over, stopped hissubscription to _The Banner_. ) "Yes sir; that was a terrible winter. Idon't know as I ever told you about it, but we had to drive twenty-sixmiles in sleighs to get a tree on Christmas Eve. I mean a Christmastree. The thermometer registered twenty-six below zero and--" He was interrupted by the opening of the door. An icy draft swept downthe length of the store. "Shut that door!" roared out Marshal Crow. But the door remained open. Whereupon every one craned his neck to seewho was responsible. There was no one in sight. "That's funny, " said Newt Spratt. "I shut it tight when I came in awhileago. " "Well, go and shut it again, " ordered Mr. Crow. "Do you want us tofreeze our ears right here in sight o' Jim Lamson's stove?" Newt got up and kicked the door shut, saw that it was latched, andreturned to his place near the stove. Marshal Crow, during his absence, had bettered his position. He had exchanged a seat on a box of soap forthe cane-bottom chair Newt had been occupying. "As I was sayin', " resumed Mr. Lamson, "the thermometer registered--" Again the door flew open, banging against a barrel of sugar. With oneaccord the assembled group arose and peered at the open door. "Well, now, that _is_ funny, " said Newt. "I latched her sure that time. " "Acts like ghosts, " said Elmer K. Pratt, the photographer. "If I was a drinking man, " said Alf Reesling, the town drunkard, "I'dthink I had 'em. " Marshal Crow stalked to the door, pulling his coat-collar up about histhroat as he encountered the furious blast of the wind. At the top of the steps leading up to the porch stood a small figurewrapped in a shawl. The light from within shone full upon the figure. Itwas that of a young girl, and she was looking intently up the street. "Well, of all the--Say, don't you know it's after nine o'clock?"exclaimed the old Marshal. "What's a young girl like you doin' out thistime o' night?" "Is--is that you, Mr. Crow?" quaked the girl without turning her head. "It is. What's that got to do with it?" "I--You don't see him anywheres up the street, do you?" "Come inside if you want to talk to me. I ain't goin' to stand here inthis door an' freeze to death. Come in here, I say. " "I dassent. Maybe he follered me. " "Maybe who follered you?" "Him. " By this time several other customers had joined the Marshal. "Why, it's Lucius Fry's girl Elfaretta, " said Elmer K. Pratt. "What'sthe matter, Elfie?" "You're sure he ain't follerin' me? Look hard, " said the girl. They all looked hard. "I don't see anybody, Elfie, " said Anderson Crow. "It's a little early for Santa Claus, " said Harry Squires, turning backto the stove, his eye on the only rocking-chair in the place. "Comeinside and tell us all about it. " The girl entered the store, and some one closed the door. She wasshivering, and not altogether from the cold. Her glance darted hitherand thither, as if in quest of a more enduring protection than thatexemplified by the man-power surrounding her. "Roll that barrel of sugar over against the door, " she ordered quickly. "I wouldn't have him catch me here for anything. " "You needn't be skeered, " said the Marshal. "Ain't we here? Let's see:there's one, two--eight of us. I guess--" "He'd clean this bunch up as easy as rolling off a log, " said Elfaretta, edging toward the fire, but all the while casting uneasy apprehensiveglances over her shoulder. Newt Spratt and Situate M. Jones jointly took it upon themselves to rollthe barrel of sugar up against the door. "Are you referring to your estimable dad?" inquired Mr. Squires from therocking-chair. "Yes, I am, " said Elfaretta somewhat defiantly. "Is he a little more vicious than usual tonight?" asked the reporter. "He never was worse, " said the girl. "He's just simply awful. I had tocome out to see if I couldn't get Mr. Crow to come up to the housean'--an' settle him. He seen me just as I was going out the door, andtook after me. Out by the front gate he slipped on the ice and set downlike a ton of bricks. Oh, I never heard such cussing. You got to come upto the house right away, Mr. Crow. He's just terrible. He--" "Hold on a minute, " interrupted the Marshal. "Go slow, now, an' answermy questions. Is he--" "He's throwing things around something awful. Ma's in the pantry withthe door locked, and Juliet's hiding up in the--" "I know all that, " broke in Mr. Crow sharply. "You needn't tell me aboutthat. What I want to know is, is he or is he not in his own house, underhis own roof?" "He is, unless he's still setting out there in the front yard--orfollerin' after me, " she concluded with a terrified look at thebarricaded door. "Do you think that barrel's heavy enough to stop him?" "Well, if he's inside his own house, I can't touch him without awarrant. You'll have to go an' swear out a search-warrant for him, Elfarettie. It's against the law for me to arrest--" "But ain't it against the law for him to be trying to murder Ma andJuliet and me?" "There ain't no use arguing about it. I can't go an' get him without awarrant. " "You won't have to go in, " said she confidently. "All you got to do isto let him know you're outside--anywheres--looking for him, and he'llcome out; and he'll come without a warrant--you can bet your life onthat, Mr. Crow. He says he's getting awful sick of having nothing tolick but women. He--" "Did he say that?" demanded Marshal Crow, frowning and pulling at hiswhiskers. "He put in some extra words, but I can't say 'em, " said Elfaretta. "I've a notion to--to--" began the Marshal in a somewhat bellicosemanner, and then sadly shook his head. "No, it wouldn't be legal. I'm anofficer of the law. But let me tell you one thing, Elfaretta Fry, if I_wasn't_ an officer of the law, I'd take your dad by the back of theneck and shake him till his shoes flew off. " "We're getting away from the main issue, " broke in Mr. Squires, thegadfly. "The point is, Anderson, are you going to let Vicious Luciusbeat his family to death, or are you going up to the Gully and arresthim?" The Marshal looked at Harry reproachfully. "You know I ain't empoweredby law to enter a man's house without a warrant, Harry Squires. " "But the girl says you won't have to. She says her father will be onlytoo glad to step outside. " "How do I know she's telling the truth about all this rumpus? She ain'tunder oath, is she? Well, there's got to be an affidavit, properly swornto, before I do anything. It's the law, an' you know it. She may belyin' like all get-out. " The girl flared up. "I'm going to tell Pa you called me a liar. He'llbust your jaw if--" "I didn't _call_ you a liar, " snapped Anderson. "I only said _maybe_you're lyin'. I leave it to anybody here if I said you was a liar; an'besides, your pa ain't man enough to bust my jaw anyhow. You go home an'tell him I said--" "Let's get the facts about this present embroglio, Anderson, before wemake arrangements for another, " put in Mr. Squires. "I've no objection to that, " said Anderson, a note of relief in hisvoice. "She can't swear out a warrant till tomorrow morning anyhow, sothere's no particular hurry. " "But he's killin' Ma tonight!" burst in the girl. "Keep cool now, my girl; don't get excited, " cautioned the Marshal. "What was he plannin' to kill her with? A gun?" "No, sir. He had a hammer in one hand and a flatiron in the other, thelast I saw of him. " "Well, go on--tell us all about it. " "It was awful sudden. We were all setting around the kitchen stove, andPa was cracking hickory-nuts, just as nice and peaceful as anything. Hewas joking with Ma and telling her he couldn't help it if the women upour way were going plumb crazy over him--specially that Mrs. Banks, whose husband works at the tanyard. Every time Pa goes out in the backyard, she comes and leans on her fence and talks to him, making eyes andgrinning like a cat. She's worse than Mrs. Elam Crippen and Mrs. Ducker--and Ma's been noticing it too. She's worried about Pa. "Up to three months ago there wasn't a woman in town that'd look at him, and now they can't seem to look at anybody else. Mrs. Banks came out inher back yard yesterday and gave Pa a good pair of overshoes and a furcap that belonged to her husband. Pa didn't want to take 'em, but shesaid she didn't care if Mr. Banks _did_ get mad; he wasn't much of a mananyhow and she wouldn't take any back talk off'n him. Juliet heard Mrs. Crippen say to Pa the other day that if he'd give her one of hisphotographs, she'd be the happiest mortal alive. And Mrs. Ducker callsto see Ma nearly every washday now, just when she's busiest, and so Pahas to sit and entertain her. "Yesterday a couple of women that Ma don't even know stopped out infront of the house and giggled at everything Pa said, and one of 'emsaid: 'Oh, you naughty man!' When Pa came into the house, Ma asked himwhat he was saying to those strange women that made 'em call him anaughty man, and Pa looked awful worried and wouldn't tell her. He saidit wasn't his fault if women acted like fools. He's all swelled-up, Pais. Wears his best clothes every day and has taken to smoking cigarettesinstead of a pipe when he's outside the house. Ma was counting up theother day just to see how much the cigarettes cost her, and--But thatwasn't what I started to tell you. I--" "I seen him walkin' down Cutler Street day before yesterday with awoman, " said Alf Reesling. "Fat sort of a woman with a pink hat on. " "That's Mrs. Banks. She--" "Never mind about Mrs. Banks, " interrupted the Marshal. "Confineyourself to the evidence in this case, an' nothing else. " "Well, as I was saying, Pa was peaceful and quiet, cracking nuts on theflatiron. He got hold of a tough hickor'-nut, and it wouldn't crack veryeasy. So he had to hit it as hard as he could. Somehow he missed it, andsmack went the hammer right on his thumb. My goodness! You'd ought tohave heard him yell. He hopped up and began dancing around the kitchen, sucking his thumb and trying to swear with his mouth full. Masays, --this is all she said, --Ma says: 'Did you hit your finger, Lucius?' Pa let fly the hammer. It didn't miss her head a foot. Then hefired the flatiron at her feet. Ma screamed and started to run to'ardsthe back stairs. Pa knocked over the kitchen table trying to head heroff. She stumbled and fell down on her hands and knees. Then while hewas looking for something to beat her brains out with, she got up andrun into the pantry and locked the door. "Juliet was squealing her head off. Pa picked up the hammer and startedto'ard her. Juliet made a break for the stairs, and Pa let go with thehammer. He missed her, but he knocked a big hole in the ceiling. Then hegrabbed the tea-kettle off the stove and threw it at the cat. He gotsome of the boiling water on his legs, I guess, because he grabbed 'emin his hands and yelled like an Indian. He swore he'd kill everybody inthe house. So I beat it. He was hunting for the flatiron and the hammer, and I was outside before he noticed me. I grabbed this old redtablecloth as I went out and put it around me. When I saw a light inyour store, Mr. Lamson, I knowed Mr. Crow would be here, so up I came. Now, what are you going to do about it, Mr. Crow?" The Marshal pondered. "You say your Ma's safely locked in the pantry?" "She was--unless he busted the door down. " "And Julie is up in the attic?" "Yes, and she's probably dead by this time. There ain't any lock on theattic door. " "Well, seems to me they're perfectly safe till morning. Julie could jumpout of the attic window if the worst come to the worst. The thing that'sworryin' me is you. Where are you going to sleep tonight, Elfie?" "Right here in Mr. Lamson's rocking-chair, " said the girl promptly. "I'll take her up to my house, " said Alf Reesling. "She can crawl inwith my daughter Queenie. " "That's out of the question, " said Harry Squires, arising and lookingaround for his overcoat. "We will need you, Alf. The Marshal is going toorganize a posse and go up to Power-house Gully and capture ViciousLucius dead or alive, before he's half an hour older. " "What's that?" demanded the Marshal, startled. "You heard what I said. Get into your overcoats and goloshes, gentlemen. The Marshal instructs me to say that we will be leaving here in fiveminutes. " "Well, I'll be dog-goned!" oozed from Marshal Crow's lips. He wasstaring quite hopelessly at Harry Squires. "Isn't that a fact, Mr. Crow?" inquired Harry, fixing him with a mostdisconcerting look. Anderson indulged in a short fit of coughing. "Yes, " he said, afterrecovering himself, "it _is_ a fact, but I'd like to know how you gotonto it. " "I am a mental telegrapher, Mr. Crow, " said the reporter, carefullyplacing a hat upon Mr. Reesling's head. "There's your hat, Alf. Now besure and pick out a good coat. " * * * * * The Marshal's posse eventually resolved itself into a party oftwo--Anderson Crow and Harry Squires. Elmer K. Pratt remembered that hisyoungest child had the croup, and he couldn't leave her; Situate M. Jones complained of a sudden and violent attack of lumbago; Newt Sprattloudly demanded the flaxseed his wife had asked him to bring home sothat she could make a poultice for a terrible toothache she was enjoyingthat evening; Alf Reesling refused to desert poor little Elfie; and twoother gentlemen succeeded in sneaking out the back way while theMarshal's view was obstructed by the aforesaid slackers. StorekeeperLamson had a perfectly sound excuse. He was a pacifist. However, he waswilling to lend his revolver to the Marshal and a pair of brass "knucks"to Harry Squires. Approaching Power-house Gully, the two adventurers observed shadowyforms moving about in the darkness at the foot of the slope. Theypaused. "Mostly women, I should say, " remarked the Marshal. "Probably hoping that Lucius is a widower by this time, " said thereporter. "So's they c'n send flowers an' victuals to him all the time he's injail, " said Anderson. "S'pose you go down an' talk to 'em, Harry, whileI sneak around the back way and reconnoitre. " "That's a good idea, " said Harry. "I'll just rush in through the frontdoor, and he'll make a break to escape by the rear, so you'll be rightthere to head him off. " "Come to think of it, " said Anderson hastily, "maybe we'd better see ifhe's out in the front yard first. Come on. " Eight or ten people were congregated in front of the Fry house, conversing in a hushed, excited manner. The Marshal and his companionbore down upon them. As the former had remarked, they were "mostly"women. There was but one man in the group. He turned out to be no otherthan Vicious Lucius himself. [Illustration: _Eight or ten people were congregated in front of the Fryhouse_] "What's this I hear about you, Lucius Fry?" demanded Anderson Crow. "Don't you dare arrest Mr. Fry, Anderson Crow, " cried one of the ladies. "He ain't done anything but give her what she deserves, and----" "Can I speak to you private, Mr. Crow?" interrupted Vicious Lucius in ahurried manner. He was wearing an overcoat that came down to his heels, and a derby hat that rested rather firmly upon his ears. Anderson stared at him in horror. "Good gosh, Lucius, have you--have you had your hands cut off?" hegasped, looking hard at the flapping coat-sleeves. "Course I ain't, " said Mr. Fry, lifting his arms on high, allowing thesleeves to slip down a half a foot or more and revealing his hands. "This ain't my coat. It's Jim Banks'. A little too big fer me--and thehat too, I reckon. " "I just couldn't let him catch his death o' cold, " explained the buxomMrs. Banks. "He just simply won't go back into the house, " said Mrs. Ducker. "And Idon't blame him, either. He's afraid he might throw her out of a windowand--and break her neck, didn't you say, Lucius?" "No, I didn't. I said I was afraid I'd break the winder, " said Lucius, glaring at Mrs. Ducker from beneath the rim of Mr. Banks' hat. "Where is your wife?" demanded Anderson. "In there, " said Lucius, pointing a drooping coat-sleeve in the generaldirection of his domicile. "Come on over here by the lamp-post, Mr. Crow. I got something important I want to say to you. " "You ain't going to give yourself up without a fight, are you, Lucius?"cried Mrs. Banks in considerable agitation. "You leave me alone, " snarled Lucius in a manner so malevolent that Mrs. Banks cried out delightedly: "Oh, ain't he just grand? Did you hear the way he spoke to me, EmmaDucker? Goodness, what would I give if I had a man that could talk to melike--" "You ought to heard what he said to me when I asked him to come over toour house and--" began Mrs. Ducker somewhat acrimoniously. "Oh, cut it out--cut it out!" rasped Lucius. "Beat it! Go home, all ofyou! Gosh a'mighty, can't a feller lick his own wife without--Here!Leggo my arm! What in thunder are you tryin' to do, Lou Banks?" "I'm going to take you over to my house and put your feet in a hotmustard bath, and--" "No, you ain't! Leggo, I say! Fer the Lord's sake, Officer, chase 'emaway!" "Move on, now--move on, all of you, " commanded the Marshal, waving therevolver in lieu of his well-known night-stick. "What you got to say tome, Lucius?" he asked as the women fell back. "Do you think they c'n hear?" "Not unless you whisper loudern' that. " "Well, say, I want you to do me a favour. I want you to take me up tothe jail an' lock me in. " "You--you want to be locked in?" "I don't care whether you put it that way er to lock all these foolwomen out. It's all the same to me. I ain't had a minute's peace fornearly two months. I--" "Why don't you go in your own house an' stay there?" demanded Anderson. "That don't seem to help any. They come to call on me so often you'dthink I was a preacher or a doctor. An' what's more, my wife's beginnin'to get her dander up. I c'n see what's comin'. If she ever--gee, it willbe awful!" "Then you hain't murdered her yet? I understood you had. " * * * * * Vicious Lucius looked over his shoulder and drew closer to the Marshal. "This here strain is gittin' to be too much fer me, Mr. Crow. I can'tkeep it up much longer. I'm breakin' down. I been thinkin' it over, an'I can't see any way out of it except to go to jail fer a month er two. " "What's the charge?" inquired Marshal Crow. "There won't be any. I'll do it fer nothing. It won't cost you a cent toarrest me. " "That ain't what I mean. What I mean is what offence have you committed?What law have you broke?" "Well, it's purty hard to say. " "What charge will your wife make ag'inst you? Somebody has to make one, you know. " "That's just it. She won't make any charge against me--positively not. So I've got to do it myself. You've had a lot of experience. What fersort of a charge would you say I ought to bring?" "Against yourself? It ain't regular, Lucius. " "How about insanity? Wouldn't that be a safe sort of complaint? I beenactin' mighty queer lately. " "I should say you had. Ain't you goin' to resist arrest?" "No, I'm askin' fer it. If you don't want to be seen walkin' through thestreets with me, I'll go on ahead an' wait fer you at the jail. " "Well, this certainly beats all! I thought sure you'd put up an awfulfight, Lucius. " "I want to be locked up so's I won't commit murder, " Lucius explainedeagerly. "Good gracious! You come along with me, Lucius Fry. You got to be putunder lock an' key 'fore this night is over. I can't take no chances onyour murderin' that pore defenceless wife of your'n. You come--" "I ain't thinkin' of murderin' my wife, " protested Lucius, holding back. "What I'm scared of is I'll murder one or two of these pesky women--thatBanks woman, fer instance. It's gittin' so I can't stick my nose outsidethe door 'thout her droppin' everything an' runnin' out to gab with me. I don't get a minute's privacy. If it ain't one, it's another. You'dthink I was Napoleon Boneparte, the way them women act. I don't knowwhat's come over 'em. " "Why, it's just 'cause they think you can lick any man in town. That'sthe way with some women. The more brutal a man is to his own wife, themore the other women seem to appreciate him. I must say, it takes apurty good man to lick that wife of your'n--she's twice as big as youare, and--" "Why, gosh dern it, Mr. Crow, I couldn't lick Stella in a millionyears, " whispered Lucius fiercely. "What's that? You--you say you can't lick your wife?" "_I should say not!_" exclaimed Mr. Fry, raising his voice inearnestness. Instantly he lowered it, standing on his tip-toes thebetter to impart the following information to the amazed Marshal: "Shecan lick me with both hands tied behind her back. Nobody knows itbetter'n I do. I just got to keep throwin' things at her an' cussin' an'smashin' furniture, an' all that, 'cause if she ever got an idea howscared I am of her, she'd pick me up by the seat of my pants an'--Oh, Itell you it's gettin' to be more'n I c'n stand, Mr. Crow. It's mightyhard to keep on thinkin' you got to keep on bein' brave when you'rescared plumb to death all the time. Why, if Stella ever got onto thefact that I--" "But you keep on beatin' her just the same, don't you?" "I never beat her unless her back's turned. First I throw somethin' ather. That's the best way. But you never ought to throw anything unlessyou got somethin' ready in the other hand. _An' hang onto that untilyou're sure she's not goin' to run to'ards you 'stead of the other way. _If you're goin' to be a successful wife-beater, you got to use an awfullot of common-sense. " He looked over his shoulder. "Come on up thestreet a little ways, Mr. Crow, " he said nervously. "Them fool women areedgin' nearer all the time. Next thing you know, they'll be tryin' tosick me onto you, an'--an' I'd have to make good. They got all theirhusbands scared of me, an' they keep tellin' me that I'm the grandestlittle man in the world. You know Jim Banks? Well, he's twice as big asI am. A week or two ago he came out on his back porch an' called me aname. I started over to apologize to him, but he thought I was comin'_after_ him, so he jumped back in the kitchen an' slammed the door. Shetold me he wanted to send fer you, Mr. Crow. I--I wish he had. " "I understand you been makin' threats about what you'd do to me if Iever tried to arrest you, " said Anderson sternly. "Is that true?" "No, it ain't. My wife's been makin' all the threats. She don't make anybones about what _she'll_ do to you if you ever try to arrest me. Shesays she'll bust your head fer you. " Marshal Crow straightened up and glared at the Fry habitation. There wasa light in the kitchen window. "You wait here, Lucius Fry, an' don't move till I come back. I'm goingin there an' talk to that wife o' yourn. " "You better take a gang o' men with you. Remember, I'm givin' you fairwarnin'. She'll eat you alive. " "I'll take my friend Mr. Squires with me fer a witness--that's all. Isshe out in the kitchen?" "I don't know. I ain't been in the house since the row. She locked thedoor on me. " The Marshal strode away, leaving Vicious Lucius to the mercy of thewomen. Harry Squires was nowhere in sight. Mr. Crow looked about in somealarm. His speed noticeably decreased. Fumbling in his coat pocket, hefound his police whistle and proceeded to blow a shrill blast upon it. Afew moments passed, and then Harry came hurrying around the corner ofthe house. "Where have you been, dern you?" "I've been in the house chatting with Mrs. Fry, " said the reporter. "Is she conscious? Is she able to talk?" "She certainly is. Come on. She wants to see you. " Harry Squires grasped his arm and led him toward the kitchen door. Mrs. Fry herself admitted them. She looked most formidable. "Did my daughter Elfaretta ask you to come here and interfere with myprivate affairs, Anderson Crow?" she demanded. "I am not supposed to answer questions like that, Mrs. Fry, " saidAnderson with dignity. "I am pleased to inform you, however, that I havesucceeded in arrestin' your husband, an' I intend to see to it that heis locked up fer--" "Oh, my goodness!" groaned the gigantic lady, dropping suddenly into achair and lowering her face into her apron. The Marshal looked at her in astonishment. "You have got to release Vicious Lucius at once, " said Harry Squiressternly. "We can't afford to wreck this poor little woman's life. " "Little--what's that you said?" stammered the Marshal, still gazing atthe ponderous bulk in the chair. "You heard what I said--wreck this poor but proud lady's life. Speak up, Mrs. Fry. Tell the good Marshal all about it. " Whereupon the woebegone Mrs. Fry lifted her head and her voice inlamentation. "I knew it couldn't last. I might 'a' knowed something would turn up tospoil it. It was too much to expect. Oh, if you only wouldn't lock himup, Mr. Crow! What will people say when they find out you was able toarrest him single-handed, without a gang o' men to help you? Oh, oh, oh!" Mr. Squires interposed a suggestion just as she was on the verge ofsobs. "I dare say we could stage a perfectly realistic struggle between Mr. Fry and Mr. Crow. Mr. Fry could trip Mr. Crow up--all in play, youknow; and then I could rush in and grab Mr. Fry from behind while he wasletting on as though he was kicking Mr. Crow in the face. The spectatorswould--" "I won't be a party to any such monkey business!" exclaimed the Marshalin some heat. "What do you take me for? If I arrest Lucius Fry, I'lljest simply pick him up by the coat-collar and--" "That's just it, " cried Mrs. Fry. "He wouldn't fight back, and how wouldI feel if you carried him off to jail as if he was a lunch-basket? And Iwas beginning to feel so proud and happy. I was getting so I could lookthose cats in the face, all because my husband was the best littledaredevil in the Gully. They used to pity me. Now they are so jealous ofme they don't know what to do. They'd give anything if they had ahusband like Lucius--little as he is. My, how they envy me, and how Ihave been looking down on all of 'em the last six months! And here youarrest him as easy as if he was a little girl, when I been tellingeverybody there wasn't anybody living that could take my man to jail. Oh, I--I wish I'd never been born!" * * * * * Anderson Crow was puzzled. He pulled at his whiskers in the mosthelpless way, and stared wide-eyed. "But--but ain't you afraid to live with him?" he mumbled. "Ain't youafraid he'll lick you to death sometime when he's in one of--" "He couldn't lick me if I was chloroformed, " blurted out Mrs. Fry, arising suddenly. She bared a huge right arm. "See that? Well, that's asbig as his leg. Don't you ever get it in your head that I can't lickLucius Fry. That ain't the point. I can do it, but I wouldn't do it foranything on earth. I want to be proud of him, and I want these otherwomen to feel sorry for me because I've got a _man_ for a husband, andnot a rabbit. Where is he, Mr. Crow?" "He's out there waitin' fer me to take him to jail--that is, he _said_he'd wait. Course, if you won't make any affidavit ag'inst him, I--Iguess there's no sense in me lockin' him up. I was doin' it as a--er--asa sort of favour to him, anyhow. He seemed to be afraid he'd kill someof them women that hang around him. " "I just thought he'd act that way. I won't make any charge against him. I want him to stay just the way he is--a fine, upstanding brutal sort offeller. You go out there an' tell him to come in here. I want to go downon my knees again and forgive him. " The Marshal hesitated. He was between two fires. He couldn't very welloblige _both_ of them. Lucius unquestionably was eager to go to jail forreasons of his own, and Mrs. Fry was just as eager that he shouldremain at large. The Marshal scratched his head. "I feel kinder sorry fer him, " he mused. "Like as not, one of them womenwill git so foolish over him that her husband will take it into his headto get a divorce, an'--" He paused in confusion. "Go on--go on!" pleaded Mrs. Fry, her eyes sparkling. "Well, from all Lucius says, he despises the whole lot of 'em. Still, that ain't goin' to help _him_ any if Jim Banks er one of them otheridiots gits all het up an' jealous an' goes and sues fer a divorce, namin' Lucius Fry as--" Mrs. Fry slapped him violently on the back. "That's just what I want!" she cried eagerly. "I'd be the proudest womanin Tinkletown. " The Marshal stared. Harry Squires covered his mouth with his hand. "Well, of all the gosh--" * * * * * His ejaculation was cut short by the opening of the kitchen door. Luciusstood outlined in the aperture. He was clapping his arms about his body, and his teeth were chattering. The voluminous sleeves flapped like greatlimp wings. "Say, " he whined, "I can't wait out there all night in this kinderweather. If I got to go to jail, I want to do it right away. It'scruelty to animals to leave me standin' out there with nothing on myfeet but carpet-slippers. Come on an'--" "Come in to the fire an' get warm, Lucius dear, " called out his wife, asshrinking and as timid as a whipped child. "I forgive you. Julie!Jul-ie! Come down here an' help me get some hot coffee an' something toeat fer your Pa. " "I--I guess we'd better be goin', Harry, " said Marshall Crowuncomfortably. "I got to disperse that crowd o' women out there in thestreet. Good night, Lucius. Night, Mrs. Fry. If you ever need me, allyer got to do is just send word. " Lucius followed him to the door, and would have gone out into the nightwith him if the Marshal had not deliberately pushed him back. "You--you ain't goin' to desert me, are you?" whispered Lucius fiercely. The Marshal leaned over and whispered to Lucius. "If all the other men in this here town had as soft a snap as you'vegot, Lucius Fry, they'd hate to die worse'n ever, because they'd knowthey'd never git back into heaven ag'in. " THE VEILED LADY AND THE SHADOW A veiled lady is not, in ordinary circumstances, an object of concern toanybody. Circumstances, however, are sometimes so extraordinary that aveiled lady becomes an object of concern to everybody. If the old-timenovelists are to be credited, an abundantly veiled lady is more than asource of interest; she is the vital, central figure in a mystery thatcontinues from week to week, or month to month, as the case may be, until the last chapter is reached and she turns out to be the person youthought she was all the time. Now, the village of Tinkletown is a slow-going, somnolent sort of placein which veils are worn by old ladies who wish to enjoy a pleasantsnooze during the sermon without being caught in the act. That any oneshould wear a veil with the same regularity and the same purpose thatshe wears the dress which renders the remainder of her person invisibleis a circumstance calculated to excite the curiosity of even the mostindifferent observers in the village of Tinkletown. So when the news travelled up and down Main Street, and off into theside-streets, and far out beyond Three Oaks Cemetery to the new divisionknown as Oak Park, wherein reside four lonely pioneer families, thatthe lady who rented Mrs. Nixon's house for the month of September was ina "perpetual state of obscurity" (to quote Mr. Harry Squires, the_Banner_ reporter), the residents of Tinkletown admitted that theydidn't know what to make of it. The Nixon cottage was a quaint, old-fashioned place on the side ofBattle Hill, looking down upon the maples of Sickle Street. The groundswere rather spacious, and the house stood well back from the street, establishing an aloofness that had never been noticed before. A lowstone wall guarded the lawn and rose-garden, and there was an iron gateat the bottom of the slope. The front porch was partly screened by"Dutchman's Pipe" vines. With the advent of the tenant, smart Japanesesun-curtains made their appearance, and from that day on no prying eye, no matter how well-trained it may have been, could accomplish anythinglike a satisfactory visit to the regions beyond. Mrs. Nixon usually rented her house for the summer months. The summer of1918 had proved an unprofitable season for her. It was war-time, and thepeople who lived in the cities proved unduly reluctant to venture farfrom their bases of supplies. Consequently Mrs. Nixon and her daughterAngie remained in occupancy, more heartsick than ever over the horrorsof war. Just as they were about to give up hope, the unexpectedhappened. Joseph P. Singer, the real-estate agent, offices in theLamson Block, appeared bright and early one morning to inquire if thecottage could be had for the month of September and part of October. "You may ask any price you like, Abbie, " he said. "The letter I receivedthis morning was written on the paper of the Plaza Hotel in New York. Anybody who can afford to put up at the Plaza, which is right on CentralPark, --and also on Fifth Avenue, --ain't going to haggle about prices. The party wants a bathroom with hot and cold water and electric lights. Well, you've got all these improvements, and--" "I've got to have references, " said Mrs. Nixon firmly. "I guess if the Plaza is willing to rent a room to a party, thereoughtn't to be any question as to the respectability of the said party, "said Mr. Singer. "They're mighty particular in them New York hotels. " "Well, you write and tell the party--" "I am requested to telegraph, Abbie, " said he. "The party wants to knowright away. " As the result of this conversation and a subsequent exchange oftelegrams, the "party" arrived in Tinkletown on the first day ofSeptember. Mr. Singer's contentions were justified by the manner inwhich the new tenant descended upon the village. She came in amaroon-and-black limousine with a smart-looking chauffeur, a Frenchmaid, a French poodle and what all of the up-to-date ladies inTinkletown unhesitatingly described as a French gown à la mode. Miss Angie Nixon, who had never been nearer to Paris than Brattleboro, Vermont, said to her customers that from what she had seen of the newtenant's outfit, she was undoubtedly from the Tooleries. Miss Angie wasthe leading dressmaker of Tinkletown. If she had said the lady was fromSomaliland, the statement would have gone unchallenged. The same day, a man cook and a "hired girl" arrived from Boggs City, having come up by rail from New York. The tenant was a tall, slender lady. There could be no division ofopinion as to that. As to whether she was young, middle-aged or onlywell-preserved, no one was in a position to asseverate. As a matter offact, observers would have been justified in wondering whether she wasblack or white. She was never abroad without the thick, voluminous veil, and her hands were never ungloved. Mrs. Nixon and Angie described hervoice as refined and elegant, and she spoke English as well as anybody, not excepting Professor Rank of the high school. By the end of her first week in the Nixon cottage, there wasn't a personin Tinkletown, exclusive of small babies, who had not advanced a theoryconcerning Mrs. Smith, the new tenant. On one point all agreed; she wasthe most "stuck-up" person ever seen in Tinkletown. She resolutely avoided all contact with her neighbours. On severaloccasions, polite and cordial citizens had bowed and mumbled "Howdy-do"to her as she passed in the automobile, but there is no record of asingle instance in which she paid the slightest heed to thesecivilities. All of her marketing was done by the man cook, and while hewas able to speak English quite fluently when objecting to the quality, the quantity and the price of everything, he was singularly unable tocarry on a conversation in that language when invited to do so byfriendly clerks or proprietors. As for the French chauffeur, his knowledge of English appeared to belimited to an explosive sort of profanity. Lum Gillespie declared on thethird day after Mrs. Smith's car first came to his garage for livestorage, that "that feller Francose" knew more English cuss-words thanall the Irishmen in the world. The veiled lady did a good many surprising things. In the first place, she had been in the Nixon cottage not more than an hour when she orderedthe telephone taken out--not merely discontinued, but taken out. Shegave no reason, and satisfied the telephone-company by making the localmanager a present of ten dollars. She kept all of the greenwindow-shutters open during the day, letting the sunshine into the roomsto give the carpets the first surprise they had had in years, and atnight she sat out on the screened-in porch, with a reading-lamp, untilan hour when many of the residents of Tinkletown were looking out oftheir windows to see what sort of a day it was going to be. She paidcash for everything, and always with bright, crisp banknotes, "freshfrom the mint. " She slept till noon. She went out every afternoon aboutfour, rain or shine, for long motor-rides in the country. The queerestthing about her was that she never went near the "movies. " Nearly every afternoon, directly after luncheon--they called it dinnerin Tinkletown--she appeared in the back yard and put her extraordinarilybarbered dog through a raft of tricks. Passers-by always paused to watchthe performance. She had him walking first on his hind legs, then on hisfront legs; then he was catching a tennis-ball which she tossed everywhich way (just as a woman would, said Alf Reesling); and when he wasn'tcatching the ball, he was turning somersaults, or waltzing to the tuneshe whistled, or playing dead. The poodle's name was Snooks. * * * * * The venerable town marshal, Anderson Crow, sat in front of Lamson'sstore one hot evening about a week after the advent of the mystery. Hewas the center of a thoughtful, speculative group of gentlemenrepresenting the first families of Tinkletown. Among those present were:Alf Reesling, the town drunkard; Harry Squires, the reporter; EdHiggins, the feed-store man; Justice of the Peace Robb; Elmer K. Pratt, the photographer; Situate M. Jones; and two or three others of lessnote. The shades of night had just descended; some of the gentlemen hadalready yawned three or four times. "There ain't no law against wearin' a veil, " said the Marshal, reachingout just in time to pluck a nice red apple before Lamson's clerk couldmake up his mind to do what he had come out of the store expressly todo--that is, to carry inside for the night the bushel basket containing, among other things, a plainly printed placard informing the public that"No. 1 Winesaps" were "2 for 5c. " Crow inspected the apple critically for a moment, looking for a suitableplace to begin; then, with his mouth full, he went on: "The only thing Igot ag'inst her is that she's settin' a new style in Tinkletown. In thelast two-three days I've seen more'n one of our fair sex lookin' atveils in the Five an' Ten Cent Store, and this afternoon I saw somebodyI was sure was Sue Becker walkin' up Maple Street with her head wrappedup in something as green as grass. Couldn't see her face to save mysoul, but I recognized her feet. My daughter Caroline was fixin' herselfup before the lookin'-glass last night, seein' how she'd look in a veil, she said. It won't be long before we won't any of us be able torecognize our own wives an' daughters when we meet 'em on the street. " "My girl Queenie's got a new pink one, " said Alf Reesling. "She made itout of some sort of stuff she wore over her graduatin' dress three yearsago. " "Maybe she's got a bad complexion, " ventured Mr. Jones. "Who? My girl Queenie? Not on your--" began Alf, bristling. "I mean the woman up at Mrs. Nixon's, " explained Mr. Jones hastily. Harry Squires had taken no part in the conversation up to this juncture. He had been ruminating. His inevitable--you might almost say, hisindefatigable--pipe had gone out four or five times. "Say, Anderson, " he broke in abruptly, "has it ever occurred to you thatthere might be something back of it that ought to be investigated?" Theflare of the match he was holding over the bowl of his pipe revealed aneager twinkle in his eyes. "There you go, talkin' foolishness again, " said Anderson. "I guess thereain't anything back of it 'cept a face, an' she's got a right to have aface, ain't she?" "I mean the _reason_ for wearing a veil that completely obscures herface--_all the time_. They say she never takes it off, even in thehouse. " "Who told you that?" "Angie Nixon. She says she believes she sleeps in it. " "How does she deduce that?" demanded Anderson, idly fingering the badgeof the New York Detective Association, which for obvious reasons, --itbeing a very hot night, --was attached to his suspenders. "She deduced it through a keyhole, " replied Mr. Squires. "Angie was upat the cottage last night to get something she had left in an upstairshall closet. She just happened to stoop over to pick up something on thefloor right in front of Mrs. Smith's door. The strangest thing occurred. She said it couldn't occur again in a thousand years, not even if shetried to do it. Her left ear happened to stop not more than half an inchfrom the keyhole. She just couldn't help hearing what Mrs. Smith said toher maid. Angie says she said, plain as anything: 'You couldn't blame mefor sitting up all night, if you had to sleep in a thing like this. ' Shedidn't hear anything more, because she hates eavesdropping. Besides, shethought she heard the maid walking toward the door. Now, what do youmake of that, Mr. Hawkshaw?" "If you don't stop callin' me Hawkshaw, I'll--" "I apologize. An acute case of lapsus lingua, Mr. Crow. But wasn't thatremark significant?" "I am a friend of Mrs. Nixon's, an' I must decline to criticize herbeds, " said Mr. Crow rather loftily. "I ain't ever slept in one of 'em, but I'd do it any time before I'd set up all night. " "Granting that the bed was all right, then isn't it pretty clear thatshe was referring to something else? The veil, for instance?" "Sounds reasonable, " said Newt Spratt, and then, after duereflection, --"mighty reasonable. " "I'd hate to sleep in a veil, " said Alf Reesling. "It's bad enough totry to sleep with a mustard poultice on your jaw, like I did last winterwhen I had that bad toothache. Doc Ellis says he never pulled a biggerer a stubborner tooth in all his experience than--" "I think you ought to investigate the Veiled Lady of Nixon Cottage, "said Harry Squires, lowering his voice and glancing over his shoulder. "You can't tell what she's up to, Anderson. It wouldn't surprise me ifshe's a woman with a past. She may be using that veil as a disguise. What's more, there may be a price on her head. The country is full ofthese female spies, working tooth and nail for Germany. Suppose sheshould turn out to be that society woman the New York papers say theSecret Service men are chasing all over the country and can't find--theBaroness von Slipernitz. " "What fer kind of a dog is that you got, Ed?" inquired Mr. Crow, calmlyignoring the suggestion. Mr. Higgins' new dog was enjoying a short nap in the middle of thesidewalk, after an apparently fatiguing effort to dislodge something inthe neighbourhood of his left ear. "Well, " began Ed, eyeing the dog doubtfully, "all I know about him isthat he's a black dog. My wife has been sizin' him up for a day or two, figgerin' on having him clipped here and there to see if he can't bemade to look as respectable as that dog of Mrs. Smith. Hetty Adams hasclipped that Newfoundland dog of hers. Changed him something terrible. When I come across them on the street today, I declare I only recognizedhalf of him--an' I wouldn't have recognized that much if he hadn'twagged it at me. It beats all what women will do to keep up with thestyles. " "I seen him today, " said Mr. Spratt, "an' I never in all my life see adog that looked so mortified. I says to Hetty, says I: 'In the name o'Heaven, Hetty, ' says I, 'what you been doin' to Shep?' An' she says:'I'd thank you, Newt Spratt, not to call my dog Shep. His name isEdgar. ' So I says to Shep: 'Come here, Edgar--that's a good dog. ' An' henever moved. Then I says: 'Hyah, Shep!' an' he almost jumped out of hishide, he was so happy to find somebody that knowed who he was. '_Edgar_, your granny!' says I to Hetty. 'What's the use of ruinin' a good dog bycalling him Edgar?' An' Hetty says: 'Come here, Edgar! Come here, Isay!' But Edgar, he never paid any attention to her. He just kep' ontryin' to lick my hand, an' so she hit him a clip with her parysol an'says: 'Edgar, must I speak to you again? Come here, I say! Behave like agentleman!' 'There ain't no dog livin' that's goin' to behave like agentleman if you call him names like that, ' says I. 'It ain't humannature, ' says I. An' just to prove it to her, I turned an' says to Shep:'Ain't that so, Shep, old sport?' An' what do you think that poor olddog done? He got right up on his hind legs and tried to kiss me. " "No wonder she wants to call him Edgar, " said Harry Squires. "That'sjust the kind of thing an Edgar sort of dog would do. " "I was just going to say, " said Mr. Crow, twisting his whiskersreflectively, "that maybe she does it because she's had smallpox, orbeen terribly scalded, or is cross-eyed, or something like that. " Mr. Squires inwardly rejoiced. He knew that the seed had been planted inthe Marshal's fertile brain, that it would thrive in the night andsprout on the morrow. He saw delectable operations ahead; he was fond ofthe old man, but nothing afforded him greater entertainment than thefutile but vainglorious efforts of Anderson Crow to achieve renown as adetective. The reporter was a constant thorn in the side of Crow, who both lovedand feared him. The _Banner_ seldom appeared without some sarcasticadvice to the Marshal of Tinkletown, but an adjoining column invariablycontained something of a complimentary character, the one so adroitlyoffsetting the other that Mr. Crow never knew whether he was "afoot orhorseback, " to quote him in his perplexity. Harry Squires had worked on a New York morning paper in his early days. His health failing him, he was compelled to abandon what might havebecome a really brilliant career as a journalist. Lean, sick anddisheartened, he came to Bramble County to spend the winter with an oldaunt, who lived among the pine-covered hills above the village ofTinkletown. That was twenty years ago. For nineteen years he had filledthe high-sounding post of city editor on the _Banner_. He alwaysmaintained that the most excruciating thing he had ever written was theline at the top of the first column of the so-called editorial page, which said: "City Editor--Harry Sylvester Squires. " Nothing, he claimed, could be more provocative of hilarity than that. In his capacity as city editor, he wrote advertisements, personals, editorials, news-items, death-notices, locals and practically everythingelse in the paper except the poetry sent in by Miss Sue Becker. He evenwrote the cable and telegraph matter, always ascribing it to a "SpecialCorrespondent of the _Banner_. " In addition to all this, he "made-up"the forms, corrected proof, wrote "heads, " stood over the boy who ranthe press and stood over him when he wasn't running the press, took allthe blame and none of the credit for things that appeared in the paper, and once a week accepted currency to the amount of fifteen dollars as anhonorarium. Regarding himself as permanently buried in this out-of-the-way spot onthe earth's surface, he had the grim humour to write his own "obituary"and publish it in the columns of the _Banner_. He began it by sayingthat he was going to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but thetruth about the "deceased. " He had written hundreds of obituaries duringhis career as city editor, he said, and not once before had he been atliberty to tell the truth. In view of the fact that he had no relationsto stop their subscriptions to the paper, he felt that for once in hislife he could take advantage of an opportunity to write exactly as hefelt about the deceased. He left out such phrases as "highly esteemed citizen, " "nobility ofcharacter, " "loss to the community, " "soul of integrity" and other stockexpressions. At the end he begged to inform his friends that flowersmight be deposited at the _Banner_ office or at his room in Mrs. Camp'sboarding-house, as he was buried in both places. Buttonhole bouquetscould be pinned upon him any day by simply stopping his customaryfuneral procession about town. Such attentions should always beaccompanied by gentle words or exclamations of satisfaction, as forexample: "How natural you look!" or "You owed me ten dollars, but Iforgive you, " or "It's a pity your friends allowed you to to be laidaway in a suit of clothes like that, " or "I don't believe half thethings people said about you, " or "It's a perfect shame you don't feellike resting in peace, " or "Did you leave anything worth mentioning?" Healso suggested that he would rest much easier in his grave if a slightincrease in salary attended the obsequies. From this it may be gathered that Harry Squires was a man who made themost out of a very ordinary situation. * * * * * Marshal Crow's suggestion met with instant response. "On the other hand, Anderson, the lady may be as beautiful as the fabulous houri and asdevilish as Delilah. I don't want to take any steps in the matterwithout giving you your chance. " He spoke darkly. Mr. Crow pricked up his ears. "What do you mean by that?" "As a newspaper man, I am determined to clear up the mystery of theVeiled Lady. If you persist in sitting around twiddling your thumbs andlooking like a primeval goat, I shall send to New York and engage adetective to work on the case exclusively for the _Banner_. The _Banner_is enterprising. We intend to give our subscribers the news, no matterwhat it costs. If you--" The Marshal swallowed the bait, hook and all. He arose from his chairand faced Mr. Squires. "I'll thank you, Harry Squires, to keep out ofthis. I didn't mean to say a word about it to you or anybody else untilI had gone a little further with my investigations, but now I've got tolet the cat out of the bag. I've been working day and night on her caseever since she came to town. Never mind, Newt--don't ask me. I'llannounce the result of my investigations at the proper time an' not aminute sooner. Now I guess I'll be moseyin' along. It's gettin' purtylate, an' I've got a lot of work to do before midnight. " He started down the steps. Harry Squires leaned back in his chair andscratched a match on the leg of his trousers. By the time he raised thelighted match to the bowl of his pipe, the smile had left his lips. * * * * * An uneventful week passed. The Veiled Lady made her daily excursions inthe big high-powered car, pursued her now well-known domestic habits, retained her offensive aloofness, played games with the astoundingSnooks, suffered no ill effects whatsoever from the inimical glares ofthe natives; and above all, she continued to set the fashions inTinkletown. [Illustration: _The veiled lady made her daily excursions in the bighigh-powered car_] Mr. Crow stalked the streets early and late. He lurked behind thecorners of buildings; he peered sharply from the off-side of telephonepoles as the big limousine swept haughtily by. He patrolled the Nixonneighbourhood by day and haunted it by night. On occasion he might havebeen observed in the act of scrutinizing the tracks of the automobileover recently sprinkled streets. One evening, just after dusk, --after a sharp encounter with HarrySquires, who bluntly accused him of loafing on the job, --he saunteredpast the Nixon cottage. His soul was full of bitterness. He was baffled. Harry Squires was right; he had accomplished nothing--and what wasworse, he wasn't likely to accomplish anything. He sauntered back, casting furtive glances into the spacious front-yard, and concluded toease his restless legs by leaning against a tree and crossing them in anattitude of profound nonchalance. The tree happened to be almostdirectly in front of the Nixon gate. Not to seem actually employed inshadowing the house, he decided to pose with his back to the premises, facing down the street, twisting his whiskers in a most pensive manner. Suddenly a low, musical voice said: "Good evening!" Mr. Crow looked up into the thick foliage of the elm, then to the rightand left, and finally in the direction of the cottage, out of the cornerof his eye, after a sudden twist of the neck that caused him to wonderwhether he had sprained it. The Veiled Lady was standing at the gate. In the gathering darkness herfigure seemed abnormally tall. The Marshal hastily faced about and stared hard at the mystery. "Evening, " he said, somewhat uncertainly. Then he lifted his hat acouple of inches from his head and replaced it at an entirely new angle, pulling the rim down so far over the left eye that the right eye alonewas visible. This shift of the hat instantly transformed him into afigure of speech; he became as "cunning as a fox. " People in Tinkletownhad come to recognize this as an unfailing symptom of shrewdness on hispart. He always wore his hat like that when he was deep in the processof "ferreting something out. " "Have I the honour of addressing Mr. Anderson Crow?" inquired the lady. "You have, " said he succinctly. "Field Marshal Crow?" "Ma'am?" "Or is it Town Marshal? I am quite ignorant about titles. " "That's the name I go by, ma'am. " "Your name is very familiar to me. Are you in any way related to thegreat detective?" This was unexpected tribute. The only thing he could think up to saywas, "I'm him, " and then, apologetically: "--unless some one's beenusin' my name without authority. " "Are you actually the great Anderson Crow? Do you know, I have alwaysthought of you as a fictitious character--like _Sherlock Holmes_. Areyou really _real_? Do I look upon you in the flesh?" Mr. Crow was momentarily overwhelmed. "Oh, I--I guess I'm not much different from other men, ma'am. I'm nothalf as important as folks make me out to be. " "How nice and modest you are! That is the true sign of greatness, Mr. Crow. I might have known that you would be simple. " "Simple?" murmured Anderson, to whom the word had but one meaning. Hethought of Willie Jones, the village idiot. "'Simplicity, thou art a jewel, '" observed the Veiled Lady. "Will youpardon a somewhat leading question, Mr. Crow?" "Lead on, " said he, still a trifle uncertain of himself. "Who is that man standing against the tree beside you? Is he a friend ofyours?" "Who is--is my what?" "Your companion. Now he has moved over behind the tree. " Anderson shot a startled look over his shoulder. "There ain't any man behind the tree. I'm all alone. " "Are you trying to make sport of me, Mr. Crow?" "I should say not. I been standin' here fer some time, an' I guess I'dknow if anybody was--" "Do you think I am blind?" demanded the lady quite sharply. "Not if you c'n see a man behind this tree, " said he, with conviction. "You got the best eyesight of anybody I ever come across--that's all Igot to say. " "I see him very distinctly. " Anderson obligingly circled the tree. "Do you see him now?" he inquired in an amused tone. "Certainly. He walked around the tree just ahead of you. " "What the--" began Anderson angrily, but checked the words in time. "Youare mistaken. There ain't no one here, 'cept me. " "Is he one of your subordinates?" queried the woman, leaning forward inthe attitude of one peering intently. "Must be a shadow you're seein', ma'am, " he suggested, and suddenly wasconscious of the queer sensation that some one _was_ on the oppositeside of the tree. "That's it!" she exclaimed eagerly. "A shadow! Aren't you detectivesalways shadowing some one?" "Yes, but we don't turn into shadows to do it, ma'am. We just--" "There he is! Standing directly behind you. What object can youpossibly have, Mr. Crow, in lying to me about--" "Lying?" gasped Anderson, after a swift, apprehensive glance over hisshoulder. "I'm tellin' you the gospel truth. Maybe that confoundedveil's botherin' your eyesight. Take it off, an' you'll see there ain'tno one--" "Ah! What a remarkable leap! He must be possessed of wings. " Mr. Crow himself moved with such celerity that one might have describedthe movement as a leap. He was within a yard of her when he next spoke;his back was toward her, his eyes searching the darkness from which hehad sprung. "Good Lord! You--you'd think there _was_ some one there by the way youtalk. " "He leaped from behind that tree to this one over here. It must bethirty feet. How perfectly amazing!" By this time the good Marshal was noticeably impressed. There was nodenying the fact that his voice shook. "_Now_ who's lying?" he cried out. She took no offence. Instead she pointed down the dark sidewalk. Itseemed to him that her arm was six feet long. He was fascinated by it. "Now he is climbing up the tree--just like a squirrel. Look!" Anderson felt the cold perspiration starting out all over his body. "I--I swear I can't see anybody at all, " the Marshal croaked weakly. "Run over to that tree and look up, Mr. Crow, " she whispered in greatagitation. "He is sitting on that big limb, looking at us--his eyes arelike little balls of fire. Send him away, please. " Haltingly the Marshal edged his way toward the tree. Coming to its base, he peered upward. He saw nothing that resembled a human figure. "Be careful!" called out the Veiled Lady. "He is about to swing downupon your head. Hurry! There! Didn't you feel that?" Anderson Crow made a flying leap for safety. He had the uncanny feelingthat his hair was slowly lifting the hat from his head. "Feel--feel what?" he gasped. "He swung down by his hands and kicked at you. I was sure his footstruck your head. Ah! There he goes again. See him? He is climbing overmy wall--no, he is running along the top of it. Like the wind! And he--" "Good heavens! Am I--am I goin' blind?" groaned Mr. Crow, his eyesbulging. "Now he has disappeared behind the rosebushes down in the corner of thelot. He must be the same man I have seen--always about this time in theevening. If he isn't one of your men, Mr. Crow, who in Heaven's name ishe?" "You--you have seen him before?" murmured the Marshal, reaching up tomake sure that his hat was still in place. "Four or five times. Last night he climbed up and stood beside that bigchimney up there--silhouetted against the sky. He looked very tall--muchtaller than any ordinary man. The night before, he was out here on thelawn, jumping from bush to bush, for all the world like a harlequin. Once he actually leaped from the ground up to the roof of the porch, aseasily as you would spring--Where are you going, Mr. Crow?" "I--I thought I saw him runnin' down the street just now, " said AndersonCrow, quickening his pace after a parting glance over his shoulder atthe tall lady in the gateway. "Maybe I can overtake him if I--if I--ButI guess I'd better hurry. He seems to be runnin' mighty fast. " He was twenty feet away when she called after him, a note of warning inher voice: "You are mistaken! He is following you--he is right at your heels, Mr. Crow. " * * * * * This was quite enough for Anderson Crow. He broke into a run. As heclattered past the lower end of the garden wall, a low, horrifyingchuckle fell upon his ears. It was not the laugh of a human being. Heafterwards described it as the chortle of a hyena--hoarse and wild andfull of ghoulish glee. Alf Reesling's house was two blocks down the street. Mr. Reesling wasgetting a bit of fresh air in his front yard. The picket gate was open, probably to let in the air, and he was leaning upon one of the posts. His attention was attracted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Almost before he knew what had happened, they were receding. Andersonswept past; his chin up, his legs working like piston-rods. The astonished Alf recognized his friend and adviser. "Hey!" he shouted. It was a physical impossibility for Anderson to slacken his speed. Atthe same time, it was equally impossible for him to increase it. Alf, scenting excitement, set out at top speed behind him, shouting all thetime. Pursued and pursuer held their relative positions until they roundedinto Main Street. Reaching the zone of light--and safety--produced byshow-windows and open doors, the Marshal put on the brakes and ventureda glance over his shoulder. Alf, lacking the incentive that spurredAnderson, lagged some distance behind. A second glance reassured theMarshal. Alf was lumbering heavily past Brubaker's drugstore, fullyrevealed. Observing an empty chair on the sidewalk in front of Jackson'scigar-store, Mr. Crow directed his slowing footsteps toward it. Heflopped down with an abruptness that almost dismembered it. He wasfanning himself with his hat when Alf came up. Alf leaned against the wooden Indian that guarded the portals. Presentlyhe wheezed: "Wha--what's--all--the--rumpus?" Instead of replying, Mr. Crow pressed his hand to his heart and shookhis head. "Take your time, " advised Alf sympathetically; whereupon Anderson noddedhis head. Sim Jackson ambled to the front door, and Mort Fryback hobbled acrossthe street from his hardware store. Lum Gillespie dropped the hose withwhich he was sousing an automobile in front of his garage and approachedthe group. In less than three minutes all of the nighthawks of Main Street weregathered about Anderson Crow, convinced that something unusual was inthe air despite his protests. Suddenly the Marshal's manner changed. He swept the considerable groupwith an appraising eye, and then in a tone of authority said: "Now that I've got you all together, I hereby order you in my capacityas an official of the State and county, to close up your stores an'consider yourselves organized into a posse. You will close up immejatelyan' report to me here, ready for active work. " * * * * * Shortly after ten o'clock a group of fifteen or eighteen menmoved silently away from Jackson's cigar-store, led by theircommander-in-chief. He was flanked on one side by Bill Kepsal, thebrawny blacksmith, and on the other by Sim Jackson, who happened topossess a revolver. After the posse had turned into the unrelieved shades of Maple Street, Mr. Crow halted every few yards and said: "Sh!" He had related a portion but not all of his experiences, winding up withthe statement that poor Mrs. Smith had been terribly frightened by themysterious prowler, and that it was their duty as citizens to put an endto his activities if possible. "Her description of him don't fit anybody livin' in this town, " he hadsaid during the course of his narrative. "We ain't got anybody who c'njump thirty foot, or who c'n shin up a chimbly like a squirrel. Younever saw anybody as quick as he is, either. Supposin' you think you seehim standin' right beside you. Zip! Before you could blink an eye, he'sover there in front of Mort's store--just like that. Or up a tree!Spryest cuss I ever laid eyes on. Made me think of a ghost. " "Ghost?" said Newt Spratt, pausing in the act of rolling up his sleeves. "You say you saw him, Anderson?" inquired Alf Reesling. "Course I did. Tall feller with--" "And the lady saw him too?" "She saw him first, I been tellin' you. She seemed to be able to seequicker'n I could, 'cause she saw nearly every move he made. Myeyesight ain't as good as it used to be, an' besides, she could seeplainer from where she stood. Come on now--no time to waste. We got topost ourselves all around the place an'--an' nab him if he shows himselfagain. All you fellers have got to do is to obey orders. " * * * * * At the corner of Maple and Sickle streets, a few hundred feet from theNixon cottage, the cavalcade received a whispered order to halt. TheMarshal, enjoining the utmost stealth, instructed his men where to placethemselves about the grounds they were soon to invest from variousapproaches. After stealing over the stone wall, they were to crawlforward on hands and knees until each man found a hiding-place behind abush or flower-bed. There he was to wait and watch. The first glimpse ofthe mysterious intruder was to be the signal for a shout of alarm;whereupon the whole posse was to close in upon him without an instant'sdelay. In course of time, the posse successfully debouched upon the lawn andoccupied crouching positions behind various objects of nature. Theminutes slowly consolidated themselves into half an hour; they werepretty well started on the way toward the three-quarter mark, and stillno sign of the sprightly stranger. Lights were gleaming behind theyellow shades of the downstairs window in the cottage; through theJapanese curtains enveloping the veranda a dull, restricted glow forcedits way out upon the bordering flower-beds. Suddenly out of what had become an almost sepulchral silence, came thesound of a woman's voice. The words she uttered were so startling thatthe listeners felt the flesh on their bones creep. "But wouldn't poisoning be the surer and quicker way? Slip a few dropsof prussic acid into his food, and death would be instantaneous. " Marshal Crow clutched Bill Kepsal's arm. "Did you hear that?" hewhispered. She had spoken in hushed, quavering tones. Then came a man's voice from the porch above, low and suppressed. "Why not wait till he is asleep and let me sneak up to him and put therevolver to his head--" "But--but suppose he should awake and--" "He'll never open his eyes again, believe me. Poison isn't always sureto work quickly or thoroughly. We don't want a struggle. " "You may be right. I--I leave it to you. " "Good! The sooner the better, then. If we do it at once, François andHenry can bury him before morning. I think--" "I cannot bear to talk about it. Creep in and see if he is asleep. Don'tmake the slightest noise. He--he must never know!" Stealthy footsteps, as of one tiptoeing, were heard by the listenersbelow the porch. Then, a moment later, the sound of a woman sobbing. The foregoing conversation was distinctly heard by at least half ofMarshal Crow's posse. Three of the watchers, crouching not far fromAnderson Crow and his two supporters, abruptly left their hiding-placesand started swiftly toward the front gate. The Marshal intercepted them. "Where are you going?" he whispered, grabbing the foremost, who happenedto be Elmer K. Pratt, the photographer. "I was sure I saw that feller you were telling about skipping downtoward the street, " whispered Mr. Pratt, his voice shaking. "I'm goingafter him. I--" "Keep still! Stay where you are. Alf, you round up the boys--collect 'emup here, quiet as possible. We got to prevent this terrible murder. Youheard what they were plottin' to do. Surround the house. Close everyavenue of escape. Three or four of us will bust in through the porchan'--You stay with me, Sim, an' you too, Bill. Get your pistol ready, Sim. When I give the word--foller me! Where's Alf? Is he surrounding thehouse? Sh! Don't speak!" * * * * * Shadowy figures began scuttling about the lawn, darting from bush tobush, advancing upon the house. "Now--get ready, Sim, " whispered Anderson. The words were hardly out of his mouth when a dull, smothered report, as of one striking the side of a barrel, reached the ears of theassembling forces. Then a sharp, agonized cry from the lady in theveranda. "Too late!" cried the Marshal, and dashed clumsily up the front steps, followed by four or five of his henchmen. Yanking open the screen-door, he plunged headlong into the softlylighted veranda. Behind him came Sim Jackson, brandishing a revolver, and Bill Kepsal, clutching the hammer he had brought from his forge. [Illustration: _Yanking open the screen-door, he plunged headlong intothe softly lighted veranda_] They stopped short. A woman in a filmy white gown, cut extremely low inthe neck, confronted them, an expression of alarm in her wide dark eyes. She was very beautiful. They had never seen any one so beautiful, sostriking, or so startlingly dressed. She had just arisen from thecomfortable wicker chair beside the table, the surface of which waslittered with magazines, papers and documents in all sorts of disorder. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?" she demanded, recovering hercomposure after the first instant of alarm. Mr. Crow found his voice. "Surrender peaceable, " he said. "I've got youcompletely surrounded. Won't do any good to resist. My men areeverywhere. Your partner will be shot down if he--" "Why, you--you old goose!" cried out the lady, and forthwith burst intoa merry peal of laughter. The Marshal stiffened. "That kind of talk won't--" he began, and then broke off to roar: "Quityour laughin'! You won't be gigglin' like that when you're settin' inthe 'lectric chair. Hustle inside there, men! Take her paramour, dead oralive!" "Oh, what a stupendous situation!" cried the beautiful lady, her eyesdancing. "You really are a darling, Mr. Crow--a perfect, old dear. You--" "None o' that now--none o' that!" Mr. Crow warned, taking a stepbackward. "Won't do you any good to talk sweet to me. I've got the goodson you. A dozen witnesses have heard you plottin' to murder. Throw upyour hands! Up with 'em! Now, keep 'em up! _An' stop laughin'!_ You'llsoon find out you can't murder a man in cold blood, even if he is atrespasser on your property. You can't go around killin'--Say, where isMrs. Smith? Where's the lady of the house?" "I am the lady of the house, Mr. Crow, " said the lady, performing agraceful Delsartian movement with her long bare arms. Mr. Crow and hiscompanions stared upward at her arms as if fascinated. "I am Mrs. Smith--Mrs. John Smith. " "I guess not, " said Anderson sharply. "She wears a veil, asleep an'awake. Hold on! Put your hands down! She's signalin' somebody, sure asyou're alive, " he burst out, turning to the group of mouth-sagging, eye-roving gentlemen who followed every graceful curve and twist ofthose ivory arms. "What's the matter with you, Sim? Didn't I order youto go in there an' grab that bloody assassin? What--" "Not on your life! He's got a gun, " exclaimed Sim Jackson. "S'pose I'mgoin' in there, an'--Oh, fer gosh sake!" A man appeared in the door leading to the interior of the house. "For the love o' Mike!" issued from the lips of the newcomer. "What inthunder--what's all this?" It was Harry Squires. He gazed open-mouthed, first at the beautiful, convulsed lady, and thenat the huddled group of men. "We are caught red-handed, Mr. Squires, " said the beautiful lady. "Shallwe go to the electric chair hand in hand?" A slow grin began to reach out from the corners of Harry's mouth as ifits intention was to connect with his ears. "My God, Harry--you ain't mixed up in this murder?" bleated Anderson. The old man's dismay was so genuine, his distress so pitiful, that theheart of Harry Squires was touched. His face sobered at once. Steppingforward, he held out his hand to the Marshal. "Good old Anderson! It's all right. Buck up, old top! I'm sorry to saythat blood has been shed here tonight. Come with me; I'll show you thecorpse. " Mr. Crow was not to be caught napping. "Some of you fellers stay herean' guard this woman. Don't let her get away. " * * * * * A few minutes later he stood beside Harry Squires in the cellar belowthe kitchen. There was a smell of gunpowder on the close, still air. They looked down upon the black, inanimate form of the French poodle. "There, Mr. Hawkshaw, " said Harry, "there lies all that is mortal of thefinest little gentleman that ever wore a collar. Take off your hat, Sim--and you too, Bill--all of you. You are standing in the presence ofdeath. Behold in me the assassin. I am the slayer of yon grisly corpse. Shackle me, Mr. Marshal. Lead me to the gallows. I am the guilty party. " Marshal Crow took off his hat with the rest--but he did it the better tomop his forehead. "Do you mean to tell me there ain't been any man slew in this house?" heinquired slowly. "Up to the hour of going to press, " said the city editor of the_Banner_, "no human remains have been unearthed. " "Then, where in thunder is the feller who's been foolin' around Mrs. Smith's front yard, the--" "Last I saw of him he was beating it down the street about two hoursago, and you were giving him the run of his life. I don't believe therascal will ever dare come around here again. The chances are he's stillrunning. " The Marshal muttered something under his breath, and shot a pleadinglook at Harry. "Yes, sir, " continued Harry solemnly, "I'll bet my head he'll never beseen in these parts again. " "If he hadn't got such a start of me, " said Anderson, regaining much ofhis aplomb, "I'd 'a nabbed him, sure as you're alive. He could run likea whitehead. I never seen such--" "Shall we go upstairs, gentlemen, and relieve the pressure on MissHildebrand? She is, I may say, the principal mourner, poor lady. " "Miss Who?" "Gentlemen, the lady up there is no other than the celebrated actress, Juliet Hildebrand. The Veiled Lady and she are one and the same. Beforewe retire from this spot, let me explain that Mr. Snooks, the deceased, was run over by her automobile an hour or so ago. His back was broken. Imerely put an end to his suffering. Now come--" "Mister Snooks?" inquired Anderson quickly. "Well, that solves one ofthe mysteries that's been botherin' me. An'--an' you say she's the bigactress whose picture we see in the papers every now an' again?" "The same, Mr. Crow. She has done me the honour to accept a play that Ihave been guilty of writing. She came up here to go over it with mebefore putting it into rehearsal, and incidentally to enjoy a month'svacation after a long and prosperous season in New York. " "Do you mean to say you've knowed all along who she was?" demandedAnderson. "Been comin' up here to see her every night or so, I suppose. " "More or less. " "That settles it!" said the Marshal sternly. "You are under arrest, sir. Have you got anybody to bail you out, er are you goin' to spend thenight in the lock-up?" "What's the charge, Mr. Hawkshaw?" inquired Harry, amiably. "Practisin' without a dicense. " "Practising what?" asked Harry. "Jokes!" roared Anderson gleefully, and slapped him on the back. * * * * * Again the Marshal slapped the culprit's back. "Yes, sir, the joke's onme. I admit it. I'll set up the seegars for everybody here. Sim, send abox of them 'Uncle Tom' specials round to my office first thing in themornin'. Yes, sir, Harry, my boy, you certainly caught me nappin' goodand plenty. Tain't often I git--" "If you don't mind, Anderson, " interrupted Elmer K. Pratt, "I'll take anickel's worth of chewin'-tobacco. My wife don't like me to smoke aroundthe house. " "Gentlemen, " said Harry Squires, "there are a few bottles of beer in theicebox, and the cook will make all the cheese and ham sandwiches we caneat. I am sure Miss Hildebrand will be happy to have you partake ofher--" "Hold on a minute, Harry, " broke in the Marshal hastily. His face was astudy. The painfully created joviality came to a swift and uncomfortableend, and in its place flashed a look of embarrassment. He simplycouldn't face the smiling Miss Hildebrand. "If it's all the same to you, " he went on, lowering his voice andglancing furtively over his shoulder at the departing members of hisposse, "I guess I'll go out the back way. " Seeing the surprised look-onHarry's face, he floundered badly for a moment or two, and thenconcluded with the perfectly good excuse that it was his duty to leadAlf Reesling, the one-time town drunkard, away from temptation. Insupport of this resolve, he called out to Alf: "Come here, Alf. None o'that, now! You come along with me. " "I ain't goin' to touch anything but a ham sandwich, " protested Alf withconsiderable asperity. "Never mind! You do what I tell you, or I'll run you in. Remember, yougot a wife an' daughter, an'--" "Inasmuch as Alf has been on the water-wagon for twenty-seven years, Mr. Marshal, I think you can trust him--" began Harry, but Anderson checkedhim with a resolute gesture. "Can't take any chances with him. He's got to come with me. " "Nonsense!" exclaimed Harry. "An' besides, " said Anderson, "a man in my position can't afford to beseen associatin' with actresses--an' you know it, Harry Squires. Comeon, Alf!" THE ASTONISHING ACTS OF ANNA The case of Loop vs. Loop was docketed for the September term in theBramble County Circuit Court at Boggs City. When it became officiallyknown in Tinkletown, through the columns of the _Banner_, that EliphaletLoop had brought suit for divorce against his wife Anna, the townexperienced a convulsion that bore symptoms of continuing withoutabatement until snow fell, and perhaps--depending on the evidenceintroduced--throughout the entire winter. For Eliphalet, in accusing hiswife, was obliged to state in his bill that the identity and whereaboutsof "said co-respondent" were at present unknown to complainant. As Mrs. Loop emphatically--some said spitefully--declined to satisfy thecuriosity of Mr. Loop, and the whole of Tinkletown as well, speculationtook such an impatient attitude toward her that Eliphalet, had he beenminded to do so, could have made use of any one of three hundred namesin a village boasting an adult male population of three hundred andseventeen. Husbands who had been in the habit of loafing around thevillage stores for a couple of hours after supper, winter and summer, now felt constrained to remain later than usual for fear thatevil-minded persons outstaying them might question the statement thatthey were going home; and many a wife who was seldom awake after ninestayed up until the man of the house was safely inside, where she couldlook at him with an intentness so strange that he began to develop aferocious hatred for Mrs. Loop. The town marshal, Anderson Crow, encountering the lugubrious Eliphaletin front of Dr. Brown's office early one morning several weeks after thefiling of the complaint, put this question to him: "See here, Liff, why in thunder don't you make that wife o' yourn tellwho 'tis she's been carryin' on with?" Mr. Loop was not offended. He was not even embarrassed. "'Cause I ain't speakin' to her nowadays, that's why. " "But you got a right to speak to her, ain't you? She's livin' in thesame house with you, ain't she? An' it's _your_ house, ain't it? Standup to her. Show her you got a little spunk. " "I been livin' out in the barn, Anderson, on the advice of my lawyer. Hesays as long as she won't git out, I've got to. Been sleepin' out therefor the last three weeks. " "I'd like to see any woman drive me out of a comfortable bed!" "I don't a bit mind sleepin' in the barn, " said Eliphalet in apology. "It's kind of a relief to get away from them women. Hosses can't talk. Idon't know as I've ever slept as well as I have--" "The point is, " broke in Anderson firmly, "this wife of yourn is causin'a great deal of misery in town, Liff. Somethin's got to be done aboutit. " "I ain't askin' anybody to share my misery with me, " said Mr. Loop withsome asperity. "I bet I've heard fifty men's names mentioned in the last twenty-fourhours, " said Anderson, compressing his lips. "'Tain't fair, Liff, an'you know it. " "'Tain't my fault, " said Mr. Loop stubbornly. "I won't ask her ag'in. You wouldn't either, if you'd got a wallop over the head with astove-lid like I did when I asked her the first time. " He removed hisweather-worn straw hat. "See that? Doc Brown had to take seven stitchesin it, an' he says if old Hawkins the undertaker had seen it first, Iwouldn't have had to send for a doctor at all. You ask her yourself, ifyou're so blamed anxious to know. I seen her out in the back yard just'fore I left. She was lookin' kinder sad and down in the mouth; so I sezto her as gentle as I knowed how--an' as legally as possible, on theadvice of my lawyer: 'Good mornin', Mrs. Loop. ' An' then when I seen herlookin' around for somethin' to throw at me, I knowed it wasn't any usetryin' to be polite, so I sez: 'Git out o' my sight, you old cow!' And'fore you could say scat, she was out o' my sight. I didn't know it waspossible for me to be so spry at _my_ age. Just as she was gettin' outo' my sight by me gettin' around the corner of the barn, I heardsomethin' go ker-slam ag'inst the side of the barn, but I don't knowwhat it was. Sounded like a milk-crock. " Anderson looked at him sorrowfully. "Well, you can't say I didn't warnyou, Liff. " "Warn me about what?" "'Bout advertisin' fer a wife. I told you no good could come of it. An'now I guess you'll agree that I was right. " "Oh, shucks! Anna was as good a woman as I ever had, Andy Crow, an' Idon't know as I ever had a better worker around the place. Fer two yearsshe--" He choked up and began to sniffle. "There ain't no denyin' the fact she lasted longer'n any of 'em, " agreedAnderson. "I don't just exactly remember how many funerals you've had, Liff, but--say, just out o' curiosity, how many have you had? Me an'Mrs. Crow had a dispute about it last evenin'. " "It's cost me a lot o' money, Anderson, a turrible lot o' money, "groaned Eliphalet, "what with doctors' bills an' coffins; an'nothin'--absolutely nothin'--to show fer it! No children, no--nothin'but mother-in-laws an' tombstones. By gosh, why is it mother-in-lawslast so long? I've got five mother-in-laws livin' this minute, an' thegood Lord knows I never done anything to encourage 'em. I've lost fourwives an' not a single mother-in-law. It don't seem right--now, doesit, Anderson?" "Well, if you'd married somebody nearer your own age, Liff, you mightstand some chance of out-livin' their mothers. But you been marryin'women anywheres from fifty to sixty years younger'n you are. You must bederned near eighty. " "If you git 'em too old, they're allus complainin' about doin' the workaround the house and garden, an' then you got to git a hired girl. Specially the washin'!" "Seems to me it'd be cheaper in the long run to work a hired girl todeath rather than a wife, " said Anderson tartly. "Most generally it is, " agreed Mr. Loop. "But I sorter got into thehabit of marryin' hired girls, figgerin' they make the best kind ofwives. I give 'em a good home, plenty to eat an'--" His eyes roamedaloft, as if searching for some other beneficence, and finally lightingon Dr. Brown's door-plate, found something to clinch his argument. "An'as fine a funeral as any woman could ask fer!" he concluded. "Let's git back to the main question, " said Anderson unfeelingly. Hedidn't have much use for Eliphalet. "What fer sort of lookin' feller isthis man your wife's been carryin' on with?" "Well, " began Mr. Loop, squinting his bleary eyes reflectively, "I ain'tnever seen him 'cept when he was runnin', an' it was after darkbesides. Twice I seen him jump out of one of our back winders when I gothome earlier'n usual from lodge-meetin'. First time I made out he was aburglar an' hustled in to see if he had took anything. You see, I alluskeep my pocketbook in a burey drawer in our bedroom; an' natcherly, asit was our bedroom winder he jumped out of, I--well, natcherly I'd be alittle uneasy, wouldn't I?" "Specially if you thought your wife might 'a' been rendered insensibleby the robber, " said Anderson. "Natcherly, " said Mr. Loop quickly. "Course, I thought of her first ofall. Well, after I went to the burey an' found the pocketbook all safe, I asked Anna if she'd heard anybody tryin' to get in through the winder. She looked kinder funny-like fer a second er two an' then said no, shehadn't. I told her what I'd seen, and she said I must be drunk ersomethin', 'cause she'd been in the room all the time havin' a bite ofsomethin' to eat 'fore goin' to bed. I never saw anybody that could eatmore'n that woman, Anderson. She's allus eatin'. Course I believed her_that_ time, 'cause there was a plate o' cold ham an' some salt-risin'biscuits an', oh, a lot of other victuals on the washstand, with onlyone knife an' fork. Her mother was sound asleep in her room upstairs;an' her sister Gertie, --who come to visit us six months ago an' is stillvisitin' us an' eatin' more'n any two hired men you ever saw, --Gertie, she was out in the kitchen readin' that Swede paper my wife takes. An'she said she didn't hear anybody either, an' up and told Anna she'd beafraid to live with a man that come home drunk every night in the weeklike I did. She's the meanest woman I ever see, Anderson. She--" "I don't want to hear about that side of your wife's relations, Eliphalet Loop, " interposed Anderson. "Well, " said Eliphalet patiently, "I kinder figered I might 'a' beenmistaken about seein' him that first time, but when the same thinghappened ag'in on the night I went over to set up with Jim Hooper'scorpse, why, I jest natcherly begin to think it was kinder funny. Whatset me thinkin' harder'n ever was finding' a man's hat in my room, hangin' on the back of a chair. Thinks I, that's mighty funny--speciallyas the hat wasn't mine. " "What kind of a hat was it?" questioned Anderson, taking out hisnotebook and pencil. "Describe it carefully, Liff. " "It was a grey fewdory, " said Mr. Loop. "The one you been wearin' to church lately?" "Yes. I thought I might as well be wearin' it, long as nobody claimedit, " explained the ingenuous husband of Anna. "It was a couple of sizestoo big fer me, so I stuffed some paper inside the sweat-band. I allushate to have a hat comin' down on my ears, don't you? Kinder spreads 'emout. " "Well, the first thing we've got to do, Liff, is to find some one witha head two sizes bigger'n yours, " said Anderson, giving his whiskers aslow, speculative twist. "That oughtn't to be hard to do, " said Eliphalet without hesitation. "Iwear a five an' three-quarters. Most everybody I know wears a bigger hatthan I do. " "That makes it more difficult, " admitted Anderson. "Was it bought inTinkletown or Boggs City?" "It had a New York label stamped on the sweat-band. " "Bring it down to my office, Liff, so's I c'n examine it carefully. Now, when did you next see this man?" "'Bout two weeks after the second time--up in our cow-pasture. He wassettin' beside Anna on some rails back of the corn-crib, an' he had hisarm around her--or part way round, anyhow; she's a turrible thick woman. Been fattenin' up somethin' awful in the last two years. I snook up an'looked at 'em through the blackberry bushes, layin' flat so's theycouldn't see me. " "Was that all you did?" "What else could I do?" demanded Mr. Loop in some surprise. "Why, you could have tackled him right then an' there, couldn't you?" "Didn't I tell you there was two of 'em?" "Two men?" "No. Him an' Anna. You don't suppose I could lick _both_ of 'em, do you?I bet there ain't a man in town--'cept that blacksmith, BillKepsal--that c'n lick Anna single-handed. Besides, I ain't half the manI used to be. I'm purty nigh eighty, Anderson. If I'd been four or fiveyears younger, I'd ha' showed him, you bet. " "Umph!" was Mr. Crow's comment. "How long did they set there?" "I can't just perzactly say. They was gone when I woke up!" "When you what?" "Woke up. It was gittin' purty late, long past my bedtime, an' I'd had ahard day's work. I guess I muster fell asleep. " "Was Mrs. Loop up when you got back home?" "Yes, she was up. " "What did you say to her?" "I--I didn't git a chance to say anything, " said Eliphalet mournfully. "All three of 'em was eatin' breakfast, an' I got the most awfultongue-lashin' you ever heard. 'Cused me of everything under the sun. Icouldn't eat a mouthful. " "Served you right, " said Anderson sternly. "Well, did you ever see himag'in?" "I ain't sayin' as it was the same feller, " qualified Mr. Loop, "butlast night I seen a man streakin' through the potato-patch lickety-splitsome'eres round nine o'clock. He was carryin' a bundle an' was allstooped over. I yelled at him to stop er I'd fire. That seemed to makehim run a little faster, so I took after him, an' run smack into Annacomin' round the corner of the hen-roost. Soon as I got my breath, Iasked her what in tarnation she was doin' out at that time o' night. " "Well, go on. What did she say?" demanded Anderson as Mr. Loop paused towipe his forehead. "She--she insulted me, " said Mr. Loop. "How?" inquired Marshal Crow sceptically. "She called me a skunk. " Mr. Crow was silent for some time, tugging at his whiskers. He staredintently at the upper corner of Dr. Brown's cottage. His lip twitchedslightly. Presently, feeling that he could trust his voice, he asked: "Why don't you offer a reward, Liff?" "I thought of doin' that, " said Mr. Loop, but a trifle half-heartedly. "If you offer a big enough reward, I'll find out who the feller is, "said Anderson. "Course, you understand it ain't my duty as marshal toferret out matrimonial mysteries. I'd have to tackle it in my capacityas a private detective. An' you couldn't hardly expect me to do all thisextry work without bein' paid fer it. " Mr. Loop scratched his head. Then he scratched a small furrow in thegravel roadway with the toe of one of his boots. "Well, you see, I got to pay a lawyer right smart of a fee; an'besides--" Anderson interrupted him sternly. "You owe it to your feller-citizens toclear up this mystery. You surely don't think it is fair to yourfriends, do you, 'Liphalet Loop? Purty nigh every man in town is bein'suspicioned, an'--" "That ain't any business o' mine, " snapped Eliphalet, showing some ire. "If they feel as though the thing ought to be cleared up jest fer_their_ sakes, why don't they git together an' offer a reward? I don'tsee why I ought to pay out money to 'stablish the innocence of all themen in Tinkletown. Let them do it if they feel that way about it. I gotno objection to the taxpayers of Tinkletown oppropriatin' a sum out ofthe town treasury to prove they're innocent. Why don't you take it upwith the selectmen, Anderson. I'm satisfied to leave my complaint as itis. I've been thinkin' it over, an' I believe I'd ruther git my divorcewithout knowin' who's the cause of it. The way it is now, I'm onfriendly terms with every man in town, an' I'd like to stay that way. Itwould be mighty onpleasant to meet one of your friends on the street an'not be able to speak to him. Long as I _don't_ know, why--" "Wait a minute, Liff Loop, " broke in Anderson sternly. "Don't sayanything more. All I got to say is that it wasn't _you_ your wifeinsulted when she called you a skunk. Good mornin', sir. " He turned and strode away, leaving the amazed Mr. Loop standing with hismouth open. Some time later that same afternoon Eliphalet succeeded insolving the problem that had been tantalizing him all day. "By gum, " hebleated, addressing the high heavens, "what a blamed old fool he is!Anybody with any sense at all knows that you _can't_ insult a skunk. " * * * * * Briefly, Mr. Loop's fifth matrimonial experience had been, in thestrictest sense, a venture. After four discouraging failures in theeffort to obtain a durable wife from among the young women of Tinkletownand vicinity, he had resolved to go farther afield for his fifth. So headvertised through a New York matrimonial bureau for the sort of wife hemight reasonably depend upon to survive the rigours of climate, industryand thrift. He made it quite plain that the lucky applicant would haveto be a robust creature, white, sound of lung and limb, not more thanthirty, and experienced in domestic economy. Nationality no object. Mr. Loop's idea of the meaning of domestic economy was intensely literal. Also she would have to pay her own railroad fare to Boggs City, nomatter whence she came, the same to be refunded in case she provedacceptable. He described himself as a widower of means, young in spiritthough somewhat past middle age, of attractive personality and anexperienced husband. The present Mrs. Loop was the result of this spirit of enterprise on hispart. She came from Hoboken, New Jersey, and her name was Anna Petersenbefore it was altered to Loop. She more than fulfilled the requirements. As Mr. Loop himself proclaimed, there wasn't "a robuster woman inBramble County;" she was exceedingly sound of lung, and equally sound oflimb. What pleased him more than anything else, she was a Swede. He hadalways heard that the Swedish women were the most frugal, the mostindustrious, and a shade more amenable to male authority than anyothers. Anna was a towering, rather overdeveloped female. She revealed suchastonishing propensities for work that she had been a bride but littlemore than a week when Eliphalet decided that he could dispense with theservices of a hired man. A little later he discovered, much to hissurprise, that there really wasn't quite enough work about the house tokeep her occupied all the time, and so he allowed her to take over someof the chores he had been in the habit of performing, such as feedingthe horses and pigs, and ultimately to chop and carry in the firewood, wash the buckboard, milk the cows, and--in spare moments--to weed thegarden. He began to regard himself as the most fortunate man alive. Annaappeared to thrive where her predecessors had withered and wasted away. True, she ate considerably more than any of them, but he was willing toput up with that, provided she didn't go so far to eat as much as _all_of them. There were times, however, when he experienced a great deal ofuneasiness on that score. The fly avoided his ointment for something like three months. Then itcame and settled and bade fair to remain and thrive upon the fat of hisland. Anna's mother came to live with them. He now realized that he hadbeen extremely shortsighted. He should have stipulated in hisadvertisement that none except motherless young women need apply. Mrs. Petersen was his fifth mother-in-law, and he dolefully foundhimself contending with the paraphrase: like mother, like daughter. Hislatest mother-in-law proved to be a voracious as well as a vociferouseater. She fell little short of Anna in physical proportions, but hiswife assured him that it would be no time at all before she'd have heras plump as a partridge! Mr. Loop undertook the experiment of a joke. Heasked her if _partridge_ was the Swede word for _hippopotamus_. Afterthat he kept his jokes to himself. A year and a half went by. Then Miss Gertie Petersen came up fromHoboken for a flying visit. She was a very tall and lean young woman. Mr. Loop shuddered. The process of developing her into a partridge wassomething horrible to contemplate. But Anna was not dismayed. Sheinsisted that the country air would do her sister a world of good. Mr. Loop was a pained witness to the filling out of Gertrude, but somethingtold him that it wasn't the country air that was doing it. She weighedin the neighbourhood of one hundred and fifty pounds when she flew infor the visit. At the end of six months she strained the scales at twohundred and twenty. There was a good deal of horse-sense in hiscontention that if all this additional weight was country air, she'dhave to be pretty securely anchored or she'd float away like a balloon. But he did not openly complain. He had acquired the wisdom of thevanquished. He was surrounded by conquerors. Moreover, atbutchering-time, he had seen his wife pick up a squealing shoat with onehand and slit its throat with the other in such a skilful and efficientmanner that gooseflesh crept out all over his body when he thought ofit. [Illustration: _He was surrounded by conquerors_] And during those long, solitary nights in the barn he thought of it soconstantly that everything else, including the encroachment of thehome-wrecker, slipped his mind completely. He never ceased wondering howhe screwed up the courage to institute proceedings against Anna, notwithstanding the fact that the matter had been vicariously attendedto by his lawyer and a deputy from the county sheriff's office. * * * * * Marshal Crow fell into a state of profound cogitation after leaving Mr. Loop. The old man had put a new idea into his head. Late in theafternoon he decided to call a meeting of citizens at the town hall forthat night. He drafted the assistance of such able idlers as AlfReesling, Newt Spratt, Rush Applegate, Henry Plumb and Situate M. Jones, and ordered them to impress upon all male citizens of Tinkletown betweenthe ages of twenty-one and seventy-five the importance of attending thismeeting. Ebenezer January, the barber, and George Washington Smith, thegarbage-wagon driver, were the only two men in town whose presence wasnot considered necessary. They, with their somewhat extensive families, represented the total coloured population of Tinkletown. When the impromptu gathering was called to order that night by EzraPounder, the town clerk (acting in an unofficial capacity), there werenearly two hundred and fifty men present, including Messrs. January andSmith. Uncle Dad Simms, aged eighty-four, was present, occupying a frontseat. He confessed for the first time in his life that he was a little"hard o' hearin'. " This was a most gratifying triumph for hisfellow-citizens, who for a matter of twenty years had almost yelledtheir lungs out advising him to get an ear-trumpet, only to have himsay: "What in thunder are you whisperin' about?" The three clergymen of the town put in an appearance, and Elmer K. Pratt, the photographer, brought his seven-months-old baby, explainingthat it was _his_ night to take care of her. He assured the gentlemenpresent that they were at liberty to speak as freely and as loudly asthey pleased, so far as his daughter was concerned; if she got awake andstarted to "yap, " he'd spank the daylights out of her, and if thatdidn't shut her up he'd take her home. Anderson Crow, wearing all his decorations, occupied a chair between Mr. Pounder and Harry Squires, the _Banner_ reporter. By actual count therewere seven badges ranging across his chest. Prominent among them werethe familiar emblems of the two detective associations to which he paidannual dues. Besides these, one could have made out the star of the townmarshal, the shield of the fire chief, badges of the Grand Army of theRepublic, Sons of Veterans, Sons of the Revolution, and the TinkletownBattlefield Association. Harry Squires, at the request of Mr. Crow, arose and stated the objectof the meeting. "Gentlemen, " he began, "the time has come for action. We have beenpatient long enough. A small committee of citizens got together today, and acting upon the suggestion of our distinguished Marshal, decided tomake a determined effort to restore peace and confidence into the homeof practically every gentleman in this community. It is a moralcertainty that all of us can't be the individual in Mr. Loop's woodpile, but it is also more or less an immoral certainty that Mrs. Loopobstinately refuses to vindicate an overwhelming majority of thecitizens of this town. "The situation is intolerable. We are in a painful state of perplexity. One of us, gentlemen, appears to be a _Lothario_. The question naturallyarises: which one of us is it? Nobody answers. As a matter of fact, upto date, nobody has actually _denied_ the charge. Can it be a matter offalse pride with us? Ahem! However, not only does Mrs. Loop decline tolift the shadow of doubt, but Mr. Loop has assumed a most determined anduncharitable attitude toward his friends and neighbours. He positivelyrefuses to come to our rescue. We have put up with Mr. Loop for a greatmany years, gentlemen, and what do we get for our pains? Nothing, gentlemen, nothing except Mr. Loop's cheerful wink when he passes us onthe street. Our esteemed Marshal today proposed to Mr. Loop that heoffer a suitable reward for the apprehension of the man in the case. Hegave him the opportunity to do something for his friends andacquaintances. What does Mr. Loop say to the proposition? He was morethan magnanimous. He as much as said that he couldn't bear the idea thatany one of his numerous friends was innocent. "Now, while Mr. Loop may feel that he is being extremely generous, wemust feel otherwise. Gentlemen, we have arrived at the point where wemust take our reputations out of Eliphalet Loop's hands. We cannotafford to let him trifle with them any longer. Mr. Loop refuses toemploy a detective. Therefore it is up to us to secure the services ofa competent, experienced sleuth who can and will establish ourinnocence. It will cost us a little money, possibly fifty cents apiece;but what is that compared to a fair name? I am confident that thereisn't a man here who wouldn't give as much as ten dollars, even if hehad to steal it, in order to protect his honour. Now, gentlemen, youknow what we are here for. The meeting is open for suggestions anddiscussion. " He sat down, but almost instantly arose, his gaze fixed on an object inthe rear of the hall. "I see that Mr. Loop has just come in. Perhaps he has some news for us. Have you anything to say, Mr. Loop?" Mr. Loop got up and cleared his throat. "Nothin', " said he "except that I'm as willin' as anybody to subscribefifty cents. " Harry Squires suddenly put his hand over his mouth and turned to MarshalCrow. The Marshal arose. "This ain't no affair of yours, Liff Loop. Nobody invited you to bepresent. You go on home, now. Go on! You've contributed all that'snecessary to this here meetin'. Next thing we know, you'll becontributin' your mother-in-law too. Get out, I say. Open the door, Jake, an' head him that way. Easy, now! I didn't say to _stand_ him onhis head. He might accidently squash that new fewdory hat he's wearin'. " After Mr. Loop's unceremonious departure, the Marshal resumed his seatand fell to twisting his sparse whiskers. "What is your opinion, Mr. Crow, " inquired Harry Squires, "as to theamount we would have to pay a good detective to tackle the job?" Mr. Crow ran a calculating eye over the crowd. He did not at once reply. Finally he spoke. "Between a hundred and five an' a hundred an' seven dollars, " he said. "It might run as high as hundred and ten, " he added, as two or threebelated citizens entered the hall. "Can we get a goot man for dot amoundt?" inquired Henry Wimpelmeyer, thetanyard man. "Well, we can get one that c'n tell whether it's daylight or darkwithout lightin' a lantern to find out, " said Mr. Crow in a slightlybellicose tone. "I ain't so sure aboudt dot, " said Henry, eying the Marshal skeptically. He had had it in for Marshal Crow ever since that official compelled himto hang an American flag in front of his tanyard. Luckily Uncle Dad Simms, who had not heard a word of the foregoingremarks, piped up. "This ain't no time to be thinkin' of unnecessary improvements, whatwith peace not signed yet, an' labor an' material so high. I don't seethat there's any call for a new roof, anyway. S'posin' it does leak alittle once in a while. We've all got umbrellas, I guess, an'--" "Wake up, wake up!" bawled Alf Reesling, close to the old man's ear. "Weain't talkin' about a roof. Loop! That's what we're talkin' about!" "What say?" squealed Uncle Dad, putting his hand to his ear. "My hearin'is a little bad lately. " "I said you was the derndest old nuisance in town; that's what Isaid--an' I don't care whether you hear me or not, " roared Alf inexasperation. "That's better, " said Uncle Dad, nodding his head approvingly. "But Iwish you wouldn't chaw tobacker, Alf, " he added rather plaintively. "Order!" commanded Marshal Crow, pounding on the table with his cane. "Now, feller-citizens, let us git down to business. Most of us have gotto be home before nine o'clock, or the dickens will be to pay. All thosein favour of employin' a detective to unearth this dark mystery raisetheir right hands. " "Just a moment, please, " called out the Reverend Mr. Maltby, of theCongregationalist church. "I presume I am safe in saying that FatherMaloney, the Reverend Mr. Downs and myself are hardly to be regarded asinterested parties--" He was interrupted by Father Maloney, who sprang to his feet and shoutedin his most jovial voice: "Nonsense, my dear Maltby! I consider it a great honour to be consideredin the list of suspects. Nothing could give me more pleasure than thefeeling that my parishioners trusted me sufficiently to take me to theirhearts and say: 'He is one of us. ' I should consider myself very badlytreated if they were to leave me out of the case. Come--join me. Let usget all we can out of a most delicate situation. What do you say, friendDowns?" The Methodist minister, an elderly person, looked a trifle dashed for amoment or two, and then heartily declared himself as with FatherMaloney. Whereupon Mr. Maltby said he guessed it would be all right, provided Mr. Squires promised not to publish the names. Harry Squires promptly announced that he intended to save labour andspace by stating briefly and concisely that if any of his femininereaders cared to have a list of "those present, " she could get it veryeasily and alphabetically by consulting the telephone-book. The outcome of the meeting may be recorded in a very few words, althougha great many were required in its achievement. Virtually everybody, including the coloured gentry, had something to say on the subject, andmost of them said it without reservations. After Mr. Squires hadannounced that any man who voted in the negative would automaticallyconvict himself, there wasn't a man present who failed to subscribefifty cents toward the civic honour fund. It was found, on computation, that the total amount was one hundred nine dollars and fifty cents. Marshal Crow at once increased his contribution to one dollar, declaringit would be mortifying to offer a reward of less than one hundred andten dollars to any decent, self-respecting detective. Messrs. January and Smith insisted on their rights as citizens to joinin the movement. Mr. January took the floor and vociferously haranguedthe assemblage at some length on certain provisions of the Proclamationof Emancipation, and Mr. Smith said that "this wasn't no time to drawthe colour-line. " Mr. Crow consented to undertake the baffling case, and it was "soordered. " "Have you got a clue?" whispered Alf Reesling as he started homeward inthe wake of the preoccupied sleuth. "No, but I will have 'fore mornin', " replied Anderson. And he never uttered truer words in all his life. * * * * * Being a man of action, Mr. Crow began operations at once. He went homeand for nearly an hour worked over the list of subscribers to the fund, aided by his wife and daughters. Among them they separated the wheatfrom the chaff. At least twenty per cent. Of the contributors were setaside in a separate group and labelled "no good. " Ten per cent. Weredesignated as "fairly good, " and the remainder as "good. " It must not beassumed that the division had anything to do with the Loop mystery. Mr. Crow was merely figuring out who would pay and who would not. It was shortly after ten o'clock when he started, in a roundabout way, for the home of Eliphalet Loop. The more direct route would have beendown the street from his own house to the Boggs City pike, first turn tothe left, fifty paces straight ahead, and he would have found himself atEliphalet's front gate--in all, a matter of half a mile. But hepreferred to descend upon the premises from an unexpected angle. So heapproached by a far, circuitous way and arrived at the gate aftertraversing something like three miles of wood and pasture-land, stealthily following the stake-and-rider fences in order to screen hismovements. He was well aware that Mr. Loop did not own a dog, on accountof the expense. The house was dark. Mr. Crow leaned against the hitching-post and moppedhis brow. Then he blew his nose. It was his custom when he blew hisnose, to blow it with tremendous force. Having performed these highlyinteresting feats he restored his handkerchief to his hip pocket. Heremembered quite clearly doing all these things. Afterwards he claimedthat he blew his nose as a signal. In any case, it _proved_ to be asignal. A thinly pleated light appeared in one of the front windows ofthe house, narrow little streaks one above the other, shining throughthe window-slats. The Marshal of Tinkletown stared. He craned his neck. A chill ofexcitement swept over him. Was he about to witness the surreptitiousdeparture of the unwelcome guest? Had he arrived in the nick of time?And what in the world was he to do if the fellow had a revolver?Fascinated, he watched one of the blinds slowly swing outward. He heldhis breath. Suddenly it dawned on him that the visitor was still _expected_, and noton the point of departing. In that case it behooved him to retire to aless exposed spot, where he could observe the fellow without beingobserved. Stooping low, he stole across the road and wound his way through thescraggly hedgerow and into the brambles beyond. Just as he was settlinghimself down for his vigil, a most astonishing thing occurred. A hand fell heavily upon his shoulder, and something cold punched him inthe back of the neck--and remained fixed in that spot. "Don't move or I'll blow your brains out, " whispered a voice in his ear. The grip on his shoulder tightened. "Who--who--" he started to gasp. "Shut up!" hissed the voice of the invisible one. "I've got you dead torights. Get up! Put your hands up!" "I--I got 'em up, " gulped Mr. Crow, in a strangled voice. "Don't shoot, Mister! I--I promise to let you go, I swear I will. It's--" "By thunder!" fell from the lips of the captor. It was an exclamation ofsurprise, even dismay. "Take it away, if it's a revolver, " pleaded Anderson. "I withdraw fromthe case. You c'n go as fer as you like. Eliphalet--" "Stand still. I can't take a chance with you. You may be trying to foolme with this rube talk. Keep 'em up!" Swiftly the stranger ran a hand over Mr. Crow's person. "You _ought_ to have a gun, " he said in a puzzled voice. "I loaned it last winter to Milt Cupples, an' he--" "Who the devil are you?" "I'm the marshal of Tinkletown, an' my name is Crow--A. Crow. I made amistake, takin' up this case. Go on in and see Mrs. Loop if you feellike it. I won't say a word to anybody--" "Get down on your knees, Mr. Crow, here beside me, an'--" "Oh, Lordy, Lordy! You shorely ain't going to shoot, Mister!" "I don't want you to pray. I want you to keep still. Don't make asound--do you hear?" "I've got a wife an' children--" "Shut up! Look! She's put out the light. Keep your eyes skinned, oldman! He must be near. Don't make a sound. My partner's in thatrain-barrel at the corner of the house. If we can get him between us, hewon't have any more chance than a snowball in--Look! There he is, sneaking across the yard! By golly, we've got him at last. " What happened in the next fifteen seconds was a revelation to the mostrecent addition to the forces of the International Society of Sleuths. He witnessed the quick, businesslike methods of two of the craftiest menin the craftiest organization in the world--the United States SecretService. Two words were spoken. They came, loud and imperative, from a point nearthe house. "Hands up!" The skulking figure in the yard stopped short, but only for a fractionof a second. Then he made a wild spring toward the front gate. A shot rang out. The man at Anderson's side leaped forward through the hedge. Mr. Crowwas dimly conscious of a mishap to his erstwhile captor. He heard himcurse as he went sprawling over a treacherous vine. Mr. Crow did not waste a second's time. He leaped to his feet andstarted pellmell for home. With rare sagacity he avoided the highway andlaid his course well inside the hedgerow. He knew where he could strikean open stretch of meadowland, and he headed for it through thebrambles. He heard shouts behind him, and the rush of feet. If he could only getclear of the cussed bushes! That was his thought as he plunged along. Down he went with a crash! * * * * * As the marshal tried to rise, a huge object ploughed through the hedgebeside him, and the next instant he was knocked flat and breathless bythe impact of this hurtling body. The next instant two swift, ruthless figures came plunging through thehedge, and he found himself embroiled in a seething mix-up of panting, struggling men. Presently Crow sat up. The steady glare of a "dark-lantern" revealed apicture he was never to forget. A single figure in a kneeling position, hands on high, was crying: "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Over him stood two men with pistols levelled at the white, terrifiedface. [Illustration: _Over him stood two men with pistols levelled at thewhite, terrified face_] Anderson, to his dying day, was to remember those bulging eyes, theflabby and unshaven face, the mouth that appeared to be grinning--butnever had he seen such an unnatural grin! "Stand up!" commanded one of the men, and the victim struggled to hisfeet. In less time than it takes to tell it, the fellow was searched andhand-cuffed. "Run back there, Pyke, and see that the woman don't take acrack at us with a shotgun. She'd do it in a minute. " As his companiondarted back into the roadway, the speaker turned to his captive. "Where's your gun?" By this time Anderson Crow was on his feet. He was clutching somethingin his hand. He looked at it in stark astonishment. It was an automaticpistol. In raising himself from the ground his hand had fallen upon it. "I don't know, " said the captive sullenly. Then his gaze fell upon thegaunt figure of Anderson Crow. A frightful scowl transfigured his face. Mr. Crow involuntarily drew back a step and reversed the pistol in hishand, so that its muzzle was pointing at the enemy instead of athimself. Between imprecations the prisoner managed to convey the factthat he realized for the first time that it was a human being and not alog that had brought him to earth. * * * * * Mr. Crow found his voice and some of his wits at the same time. "I'll learn you not to go rampagin' around these parts carryin'concealed weapons, you good-fer-nothin' scamp! I've got your gun, blastye!" He turned triumphantly to the surprised secret-service man. "I tookit away from him soon as I had him down, an'--" "Holy mackerel!" gasped the operative. "Did--did you head him offand--and down him? You? Well, I'll be hanged!" "I sorter knowed he'd strike about here, tryin' to make the woods upyonder, so I hustled down here to head him off while you fellers--" "Never mind now, " broke in the other. "Tell it to me later. Come on, both of you. We're not through yet. " He urged the burly captive throughthe hedge. Marshal Crow followed very close behind. They found a terrified, excited group on the front porch--three sturdyfemales in nightgowns, all with their hands up! Below, revealed by thelight streaming through the open door, stood a man covering them with arevolver. Fifteen or twenty minutes later Mr. Crow dug the shiveringEliphalet Loop out of the hay-mow and ordered him forthwith to join hisfamily in the kitchen, where he would hear something to his advantage. The happiest man in Bramble County was Eliphalet Loop when he finallygrasped the truth. The prisoner turned out to be his wife's firsthusband--he grasped that fact some little time before he realized that_he_ wasn't even her second husband, owing to certain fundamentalprinciples in law--and a fugitive from justice. The man was an escapedconvict, the leader of a gang of counterfeiters, and he was serving aterm in one of the federal prisons when he succeeded in his break forliberty. For many months the United States Secret Service operatives hadbeen combing the country for him, hot and cold on his trail, but always, until now, finding themselves baffled by the crafty rogue, who, according to the records, was one of the most dangerous, desperatecriminals alive. Finally they got track of his wife, who had lived for atime in Hoboken, but it was only within the week that they succeeded inlocating her as the wife of Eliphalet Loop. The remainder of the storyis too simple to bother about. "Of course, Mr. Loop, " said one of the secret-service men, "you canprosecute this woman for bigamy. " Mr. Loop shook his head. "Not much! I won't take no chance. She mightprove that she wasn't ever married to _this_ feller, an' then wherewould I be? No, sirree! You take her along an' lock her up. She's adangerous character. An' say, don't make any mistake an' fergit to takeher mother an' sister, too. " * * * * * The next evening Mr. Crow sat on the porch in front of Lamson's store. His fellow-townsmen were paying up more promptly than he had expected. Practically three-fourths of the reward was in his coat pockets--allsilver, but as heavy as lead. "Yes, sir, " he was saying in a rather far-reaching voice, for the outerrim of the crowd was some distance away, "as I said before severaltimes, I figgered he would do just what he did. I figgered that I'd haveto outfigger him. He is one of the slickest individuals I have ever hadanything to do with--an' one of the most desperit. I--er--where was Iat, Alf?... Oh, yes, I recollect. He was a powerful feller. Fer a secondor two I thought maybe he'd get the best of me, being so much youngeran' havin' a revolver besides. But I hung on like grim death, an'finally--Thanks, Jim; I wasn't expectin' you to pay 'fore the end of themonth. Finally I got my favourite holt on him, an' down he went. Allthis time I was tryin' to git his revolver away from him. Just as I gotit, the secret-service men came dashin' up an'--What say, Deacon? Well, if the rest of the crowd ain't tired o' hearin' the story, I don't mindtellin' it all over. " Harry Squires, perched on the railing, assured him that the crowdwouldn't mind in the least. "The real beauty of the story Anderson, " he added dryly, "is that it hasso much of the spice of life in it. " "What's that?" "I mean variety. " NO QUESTIONS ANSWERED REWARD!!! $25. 00 For the Apprehension or Capture of Person or Persons Who Successfully Stole the Fashionable Bulldog Belonging to Mrs. M. Fryback on or About Friday of Last Week! N. B. --Said dog occasionally answers to the name of Marmaduke, but mostly to Mike. An Additional Reward of Three Dollars Cash will be paid for the return of said dog, with or without said Criminals. No Questions asked. A. CROW, Marshal of Tinkletown. The foregoing poster, fresh from the press of the _Banner_ printingoffice, made itself conspicuous at no less than a dozen points in thevillage of Tinkletown on a blustery February morning. Early visitors tothe post office in Lamson's store were the first to discover it, tackedneatly on the bulletin board. Others saw it in front of the Town Hall, while others, who rarely took the trouble to look at a telephone polebefore leaning against it, found themselves gazing with interest at thenotice that covered the customary admonition: "Post No Bills. " Of course every one in Tinkletown knew, and had known for the matter ofa week or more, that Mort Fryback's bulldog was "lost, strayed orstolen, " but this was the first glaring intimation that Mort had alsolost his mind. In the first place, Mike--as he was familiarly known toevery inhabitant--wasn't worth more than a dollar and a half when he wasin his prime, and that, according to recollection, must have been atleast twelve or fifteen years prior to his unexplained disappearance. Inthe second place, it was pretty generally understood that Mike--recentlyMarmaduke--had surreptitiously taken a dose of prussic acid in a shedback of Kepsal's blacksmith shop and was now enjoying a state of perfectrejuvenation in the happy hunting ground. Mr. Alf Reesling, the town drunkard, after having scanned four of thenotices on his way to the post office, informed a group of citizens infront of Brubaker's drugstore that Anderson Crow would do almostanything to get his name into print. Alf and the town marshal had hadone of their periodical "fallings out, " and, for the moment at least, the former was inclined to bitterness. "To begin with, " explained Alf, "there ain't a dog in this town that'sworth stealin', to say nothin' of three dollars. You can't tell me thatMort Fryback would give three dollars to get that dog back, not even ifhe was alive--which he ain't, if you c'n believe Bill Kepsal. No, sir;it's just because Anderson wants to see his name in print, that's whatit is. I bet if you was to ask Mort if he has agreed to pay--how much isit all told?--twenty-eight dollars--if he has agreed to pay all thatmoney for _nothin'_, he'd order you out of his store. " "Mrs. Fryback told my wife a couple of weeks ago that Marmaduke was aprize bull, and she wouldn't take a hundred dollars for him, " said NewtSpratt. "Seems that she had somebody look up his pedigree, and he turnsout to be a stepson or something like that of a dog that won first prizeat a bench show--whatever that is--in New York City. " "Ever since that actress woman was here last fall, --that friend of HarrySquires, I mean, --every derned dog in town has turned out to be relatedsome way or other to a thoroughbred animal in some other city, " saidAlf. "Why, even that mangy shepherd dog of Deacon Rank's--accordin' toMrs. Rank--is a direct descendant of two of the finest Boston terriersthat ever came out of Boston. She told me so herself, but, of course, Icouldn't ask how he happened to look so much like a shepherd dog and solittle like his parents, 'cause there's no use makin' poor Mrs. Rankany more miserable than she already is--she certainly don't get any funout of life, livin' with the deacon from one year's end to the other. Yes, sir; just because that actress woman paraded around here for amonth or so last fall with a French poodle, is no reason, far as I cansee, why all the women in town should begin puttin' leashes on theirdogs and washin' 'em and trimmin' 'em and tying red ribbons around theirnecks--yes, and around some of their tails, too. I'll never forget thatstub-tail dog of Angie Nixon's going around with a blue bow stickin'straight up behind him, and lookin' as though he'd lost something andgot dizzy looking for it. And Mort's dog, Mike--poor old Mike, --why, hegot so he'd go down to Hawkins' undertakin' shop every time he could geta minute off and bark till Lem would let him in, and then he'd lay downin a corner and go to sleep, and Lem always swore the poor dog was asmad as a hornet when he woke up and found he was still alive. " "What puzzles me is why Mort Fryback's offerin' this reward, and allthat, if he knows the dog is dead. It costs money to have bills likethis printed at the _Banner_ office. " So spoke Elmer Pratt, thephotographer. "Wasn't he present at the obsequies?" "No, he wasn't, " said Alf. "He claims now that he don't know anythingabout it, and, besides, Bill Kepsal says he'll beat the head off ofanybody that says Mike passed away on his premises--including Mort. Sonaturally Mort denies it. He told me yesterday he would deny it even ifhe had both of his legs; but what chance, says he, has a one-legged mangot with big Bill Kepsal?" "Here comes Anderson now, " said Mr. Spratt, his gaze fixed on anapproaching figure. It was zero weather in northern New York State, and the ancient Marshalof Tinkletown was garbed accordingly. The expansive collar of hisbrass-buttoned ulster was turned up, completely obscuring the ear-flapsand part of the coonskin cap he was wearing. An enormous pair of arcticscovered his feet; his grey and red mittens were of the homemade variety;a muffler of the same material enveloped his gaunt neck, knotted looselyunder his chin in such a way as to leave his whiskers free not only tothe wind but to the vicissitudes of conversation as well. The emblem ofauthority, a bright silver star, gleamed on the breast of his ulster. He stopped when he reached the group huddled in front of the drugstore, and glared accusingly at Alf Reesling. "I thought I told you to keep off the streets, " he said ominously. "Didn't I tell you yesterday I'd run you in if I caught you drunk in thestreets again?" "Yes, you did, " replied Alf, in a justifiably bellicose manner; "but Istill stick to what I said to you at first when you said that to me. " "What was that?" "I said you couldn't ketch me even if I was dead drunk and unconsciousin the gutter, that's what I said. " "For two cents, I'd show you, " said Anderson. "Well, go ahead. Just add two cents to what you claim I already owe you, and go ahead with your runnin' me in. But before you do it, lemme warnyou I'll sue you for false arrest, and then where'll you be? I got fivewitnesses right here that'll swear I ain't drunk now and haven't been intwenty-three years. " "That shows just how drunk you are, " said Anderson triumphantly. "Far asI can see, there are only four men here. " "Don't you call yourself a man?" "What say?" "I mean I got five witnesses includin' you, that's what I mean. I'mgettin' sick of you all the time tellin' me I been drinkin' again, whenyou know I ain't touched a drop since 1896. Why, dog-gone you, AndyCrow, if it wasn't for me an' the way you keep on talkin' about juggin'me, you wouldn't have any excuse at all fer bein' town marshal. You--" "That'll do now, " interrupted Anderson severely. "You have said themvery words to me a thousand times, Alf Reesling, and--Who's that comingout of the post office?" The group gradually turned to look up the street. Tinkletown is a slowplace. Its inhabitants do everything with a deliberation that suggeststhe profoundest ennui. For example, a gentleman of Tinkletown rarelyraised his hat on meeting a lady. He invariably started to do so, but asthe ladies of the place were in the habit of moving with more celeritythan the gentlemen, he failed on most occasions to complete theundertaking. What's the sense of takin' your hat off to a woman, hewould argue, if she's already got past you? So far as anybody knew, there wasn't a woman in town with an eye in the back of her head. "Looks like a stranger, " said Newt Spratt. "It certainly does, " agreed Anderson. "Yes, I'm right, " he added aninstant later. The object of interest was crossing the street in the direction of theGrand View Hotel. The group watched him with mild interest. In front ofthe two-story frame building that seemed to stagger, or at least toshrink, under the weight of its own importance, the stranger--aman--paused to glance at one of the placards heralding the misfortuneand at the same time the far from parsimonious regard of the lady whohad been despoiled of a fashionable bulldog. Having perused thesingularly comprehensive notice, he deliberately tore it down, folded itwith some care, and stuck it into his overcoat pocket. Then he enteredthe Grand View Hotel. "Well, I'll be ding-blasted!" exclaimed Marshal Crow. Mr. Reesling's animosity gave way to civic pride. "By jingo, Anderson, "he cried, "if you want any help arrestin' that scoundrel, call on me!Comin' around here defacin' things like that--he ought to go to jail. " Elmer K. Pratt, the photographer, voiced a time-tried but fruitlesscriticism. "If you'd paste 'em up instead of tackin' 'em up, peoplecouldn't take 'em down like that. I've told you--" "If you got any complaints to make about me, Elmer, you'd better make'em to the town board and not to Alf Reesling and Newt Spratt, "interrupted Marshal Crow testily. "Besides I do paste 'em up when I runout of tacks. " He started off toward the Grand View, his head erect, his whiskersbristling with indignation. "Shall we go with you, Anderson?" inquired Alf. "'Tain't necessary, " replied the Marshal, "but you might go over andwait for me in front of the hotel. " "If you need any help, just holler, " said Alf. Entering the office of the Grand View Hotel, Marshal Crow looked aroundfor the despoiler. Save for the presence of the proprietress, Mrs. Bloomer, relict of the founder of the hostelry, the room was quiteempty. Mrs. Bloomer, however, filled it rather snugly. She was a largeperson, and she had a cold in the head which made her feel even larger. She was now engaged in sweeping the floor. "Mornin', Jennie, " was Anderson's greeting. "Where's the feller that'sstoppin' here?" Mrs. Bloomer had the sniffles. "He's gone up to his room, " she said. Then after another sniffle: "Why?" "I want to see him. " "Well his room's at the head of the stairs, to your right. " Anderson twisted his whiskers in momentary perplexity. "Might be better if you asked him to come down. " "Ask him yourself, " she said. "I don't want to see him. " Marshal Crow made a mental reservation to yank Mrs. Bloomer up beforeJustice Robb the next time she left the garbage can standing on thesidewalk overnight. He hesitated about going up to the guest's bedroom. It wasn't quite thelegal thing to do. The more he thought of it, the longer he hesitated. In fact, while he was about it, he thought he would draw a chair up tothe big sheet-iron stove and sit down. "Won't you take off your overcoat and goloshes?" inquired the landlady, but in a far from hospitable manner. "How long has this feller been here?" demanded Anderson, moving his leftfoot a little, but not quite far enough to avoid the broom. "Last night. " "Um-m! What's his name and where's he from?" "Go and look at the register, and then you'll know as much as I do. It'sa public register. Nothing secret about it. " Anderson got up suddenly. "I guess I'll go look while you're sweepin'around here. " The register on the little counter in the corner revealed the name of asingle arrival below the flowing Spencerian hand of Willie Spence, theclerk, head waiter, porter and bell-boy of the Grand View Hotel. Willie, because of his proficiency as a chirographer, always wrote the date linein the register. He was strong on flourishes, but somewhat feeble inspelling. Any one with half an eye could see that there was somethingwrong with a date line that read: "Febury 25nd 1919. " The lone guest'sname, written in a tight "running" hand with total disregard for theelementary formation of letters, might have been almost anything thatoccupied less than two inches of space. Even his place of residence wasa matter of doubt. The Marshal put on his spectacles and studied the signature. As far ashe could make out, the man's name was something like "WinnumnnMillmmmln. " It was a name that baffled him. The longer he studied it, the worse it became. "Seems to me, Jennie, if I was runnin' this hotel, I'd have WillieSpence register for the guests, and save 'em the trouble. " "Can't you make it out?" "Course I can, " he replied promptly. "It's as plain as day to me, butI'll bet you a good cigar you can't make it out. " She fell into the trap. "All right, I take you up. It's Mr. & Mrs. George F. Fox. " Mr. Crow stared at her for a second or two. Then he recovered himself. "You're right, " he said. "What kind of a cigar do you smoke, Jennie?" As he had feared, she promptly named the highest-priced cigar she had instock, a three-for-a-quarter brand, and then coolly announced that ifhe'd leave a dime on the show case, she'd get it. "Got his wife with him, I see, " remarked Anderson. "Yep, " said Mrs. Bloomer. "What's his business?" "I asked him last night, " said she, pausing in her work to fix Andersonwith a rather penetrating look. "He said he was a trained elephant. " "A--a what?" "A trained elephant. " "You don't say so!" "And his wife is a snake-charmer, " she added uneasily. Anderson blinked rapidly. "Well, of all the--But what on earth's hedoing here in Tinkletown?" "I didn't ask any more questions after that, " said she, with a furtiveglance up the stairway. "I'd give a good deal to know what they've gotin them big black valises they brought with 'em. Three times as big asregular valises, with brass trimmin's. I hope she aint got any reptilesin 'em. " Marshal Crow took that instant to consult the office clock. "By ginger!"he exclaimed, with some sprightliness. "I got to be movin' along. I'mfollerin' up a clue in that dog case. " Mrs. Bloomer's anxious gaze was bent on a dark corner back of thestairway. "I do hope, if she _has_ got any snakes in them valises, she won't let'em get loose and go crawlin' all over the place. I----" Mr. Crow sent a quick, searching look about the office as he strodetoward the door. "Ain't you going up to his room?" inquired Mrs. Bloomer. "Not just now, " replied Anderson, and closed the door quickly behindhim. Alf Reesling and his companions were waiting impatiently on thesidewalk. They were actively disappointed when the Marshal emergedempty-handed. "Was he too much fer you?" was Alf's scathing inquiry. "How many times have I got to tell you, Alf, that I'm able to deducethese cases without your assistance? Now, this is a big case, and youleave it to me to handle. When I get ready to act, you'll hear somethingthat will make your hair stand on end. Hold on, Newt! Don't ask anyquestions. Don't----" "I wasn't going to ask any questions, " snapped Newt. "I was going totell you something. " "You was, eh? Well, what was you going to tell me?" "Mort Fryback went by here a couple of minutes ago an' he says for youto come into his store right away. " Anderson frowned. "I bet he's confessed. " "Who? Him? What's he got to confess?" demanded Alf. "Never mind, never mind, " said the Marshal quickly. "I'll step in andsee him now. " Leaving his "reserves" standing in front of the Grand View, Mr. Crowhurried into Fryback's hardware store. Mort was pacing--or, strictly speaking, stumping--back and forth behindthe cutlery counter. His brow was corrugated with anxiety. The instanthe saw the Marshal he uttered an exclamation that might have beenconstrued as either relief, dismay or wrath. It was, as a matter offact, inarticulate and therefore extremely difficult to classify. Anderson, however, deduced it as dismay. Mr. Fryback came out frombehind the counter, stumped over to the stove, in which there was acrackling fire and, after opening the isinglass door, squirted amouthful of tobacco juice upon the coals. Whereupon it became possiblefor him to articulate. "I been lookin' everywhere fer you, " said he, somewhat breathlessly. "Where you been?" "'Tendin' to business, " retorted Anderson. "What's the matter?" Mr. Fryback took the precaution to ascertain that there were nolisteners in the store. "Somebody--some woman, you c'n bet on that--toldmy wife last night that I poisoned old Mike. " "Well, you did, didn't you?" "Of course I did. That is, I hired Charlie Brubaker to do it. But shesays I did it with my own hands, and--my gosh, Anderson, I never wentthrough such a night in my life as last night. " He mopped his brow. "You'd think I was a murderer. Course, I denied it. I swore he wasn'tdead, and that I'd increase the reward to a hundred dollars just to showher. What I want you to do, right away, is to have a new set of billsprinted, offerin' a hundred dollars reward for that dog, instead ofthree. It's the only chance I've got of ever being able to live in myown house again. " The Marshal eyed him reflectively. "If you could get her to agree to letyou offer the reward for Mike, dead or alive--" "She wants him alive, and no other way. " "Can't you buy her off?" Mr. Fryback groaned. "I could--" he began dismally, and then fell tochewing with great vigour. "What would it cost?" inquired Anderson, feelingly. "An automobile, " replied Mr. Fryback, after opening and closing thestove-door once more. "It would be cheaper, you see, to offer a hundreddollars for Mike, " he explained, ingenuously. "It certainly would, " agreed the Marshal, "seein' as you wouldn't haveto pay fer anything except the printin' of the notices. If you wanted toshow how much you think of your wife, and how anxious you are to pleaseher, you could go as high as a thousand dollars, Mort. " "Would you, reely, Anderson?" "Sure. She could lord it over all these women--includin' my wife--who'vebeen sayin' Mike wasn't worth fifty cents and didn't have a pedigree anylonger than his tail. Why, if she wanted to go on lyin' about the valueof that old dog, she could tell people she had been offered a thousanddollars for Marmyduke by a well-known dog collector in New York. " "That _might_ please her, " reflected Mort. "Course, this thing hasalready cost me quite a lot of money, outside the printin'. I've had togive Bill Kepsal a receipt in full fer what he owes me, and that youngBrubaker's been in twice to price base-burner stoves. He says if he c'nget a good one fer ten dollars he'll take it, and his heart seems to beset on that seventy-dollar Regal over yonder. I'm in an awful fix, Anderson. " "Well, you can't say I didn't advise you to let Mike die a naturaldeath. " "I wish to goodness I had, " lamented Mort. The door opened at that juncture, and in walked a man and a woman. Theformer was carrying a square black "valise, " inadequately described byMrs. Bloomer as twice the natural size. As a matter of fact, it was morelike a half-grown trunk, to quote no less an authority than the townmarshal. The proprietor of the hardware store was, at a glance, qualified to passan opinion on the personal appearance of the two strangers. Hiscompanion's attention, however, was devoted so earnestly to the bigblack "valise, " that he couldn't have told, for the life of him, whetherthe customers were young or old, black or white. His fascinated gaze wasriveted upon the object the man deposited carefully on the floor nearthe door. "You are a locksmith, I perceive, " remarked the strange man, addressingMort. "I'd like to have you see if you can open this box for me. We'velost or mislaid the key. " "What fer sort of a lock is it?" asked Mort, approaching. "Hold on, Mort!" called out Mr. Crow. "Don't monkey with that trunk. " [Illustration: _"Hold on, Mort!" called out Mr. Crow. "Don't monkey withthat trunk"_] The two strangers turned on him. "Well, who the deuce have we here?" said the man, with some acerbity. "Oh, what a nice old policeman!" cried the lady, fixing the Marshal witha pair of intensely blue eyes. Mr. Crow looked at her in amazement. Could any one as pretty, as dainty and as refined-looking as she beengaged in the awful business of charming snakes? "Before we go any further, mister, I've got to know what's inside thatbox, " said Anderson firmly. "What's the matter with you?" demanded the other. "There's nothing in itthat need excite the law, my good man. " "This is our town marshal, Anderson Crow, " explained Mort Fryback. "I might have known it, " said the stranger. "I've heard a good dealabout Mr. Crow. Well, what's the answer?" "That's what I want to know, " snapped Anderson. "What is the answer?What kind are they? And how many have you got?" The stranger was on the point of exploding with indignation when hisfair companion intervened. "Leave it to me, George dear. You always fly into such a temper. Ifyou'd only let me attend to the small things, while you look out forthe big ones, we'd get along so much better. Wouldn't we, Mr. Crow?" She appealed to Mr. Crow so abruptly and so sweetly that he said heguessed so before he could check himself. "If you will stay here until we find a key that will fit, Mr. Crow, youwill see with your own eyes what will make them pop out of your head. " "Mort, you keep away from that box, I say!" commanded Anderson, now sureof his ground. "Do you want to get bit?" "Oh, dear me, they won't bite you!" cried the young lady. "I promise youthey are most amiable. I have been handling them for several weeksand--" Her husband interrupted her. He revealed symptoms of increasingannoyance. "See here, let's get busy and open this thing. They've got to be fed, you know, --and it's all damned poppycock discussing the matter anylonger. " Marshal Crow held up his hand as if stopping traffic in Main Street. "You are in the presence of the law, Mr. Wolf, " he began. The youngwoman giggled. He glared at her. "My name is Fox, " said the young man, curtly. "That don't make any difference, " retorted the Marshal. "Mine's Crow, and I represent the law. You--" "How delicious!" said Mrs. Fox. "So like that cunning poem of GuyWetmore Carryl's. You know it, of course, Mr. Crow?" She declaimed: "'I blush to add that when the bird Took in the situation He said one brief, emphatic word, Unfit for publication. The fox was greatly startled, but He only sighed and answered "tut"'" "Don't be silly, Bess, " said her husband. "This is no time to recitepoetry. " "I don't see any sense in it, anyhow, " said Marshal Crow. Mr. Fryback emerged from behind the cutlery counter, whither he hadrepaired in some haste when it became evident that Mrs. Fox was likelyto remain for some time. He was wiping his lips with the back of hishand, and what very recently might have been mistaken for a prodigiousswelling in his cheek had strangely subsided. "Why shouldn't I fit a key to that lock, Andy?" he demanded, ratherhotly. "What right have you got to interfere with my business?" The Marshal's lips parted to utter a sharp retort, but the words failedto issue. Young Mrs. Fox suddenly stooped over and peered intently atseveral heretofore unnoticed holes at one end of the black box. Theseholes, about an inch in diameter, formed a horizontal row. Much to Mr. Crow's alarm, the young lady pulled off her glove and stuck a fingerinto one of the little apertures and apparently wriggled it without fearor trepidation. Almost instantly there was an ominous rustling insidethe box. Withdrawing her finger, she called out: "Please look!" The invitation was unnecessary. Mr. Crow was looking for all he wasworth. "Good gracious, ma'am!" he gasped. "Don't stir 'em up like that. Nextthing they'll crawl out of them holes and--" "Why, you poor old goose!" she said, but not disrespectfully. "They'remuch too large to crawl through these holes. I wish I could catch holdof one of their tails and--Look!" She held her finger close to the holeand a long, thin black tongue darted through and began to writhe aboutin a most malevolent manner. "For gosh sake!" exclaimed the Marshal, retreating a couple of steps. This sudden action on his part brought a venomous oath from Mr. Fryback, and an instant apology as well. "You'd cuss, too, " explained the blasphemer to the lady, "if a clumsyelephant, stepped on the only good foot you've got. " "If you think I'm the one that claims to be an elephant--" beganAnderson. "Cootchy, cootchy, cootchy, " cooed the lady, addressing the row ofholes. Whereupon the rustling in the interior of the devilish boxincreased to a turmoil. The two citizens of Tinkletown stared wide-eyedat the three little circles, and their eyes grew wider as they saw thatone of them was now completely stopped up by a dark, ugly object thatbore resemblance to nothing they had ever seen before--a wet, shinything that was alive and quivering. The unnatural Mrs. Fox promptly poked her finger through the hole andrubbed the snout of what must have been a full-sized boa-constrictor. Instantly to their horror, the black obstruction, went through a processof splitting, and several deadly fangs were revealed. Once more thewriggling black tongue darted out to caress the lady's unprotectedfinger. "Oh, you darling!" cried the lady. "Please, Mr. Locksmith, see if youcan't find a key that will fit the lock. " Marshal Crow dragged his friend toward the door. "Did you see it?" he whispered hoarsely. Before Mort could answer, the door flew open and in rushed Mrs. Bloomer, bareheaded and in a great state of agitation. "For heaven's sake, Anderson, hurry up and come with me, " she cried. "Bring a pistol--and, Mort, you get a couple of axes and a pitchfork ortwo. My God, something awful is loose in one of them rooms upstairs!The most terrible racket is going on in there. I--Oh, there you are!"She caught sight of her lodgers. "Arrest them, Anderson! Lock them up atonce. They're dangerous people. They oughtn't to be running at large. Oh, that awful thing! It sounds like it was twenty feet long, and it'sthrashing all over the room. Oh, my God! What a scare I've had! Oh, youneedn't look at me innocent like that, you two. You're in for it, or myname ain't Jennie Bloomer. Call a posse, Anderson, and surround thehotel. Thank Heaven, the door of that room is locked, but goodness knowshow soon it will be crawlin' through the transom. " At that instant she discovered that her skirt was almost touching thebig black box on the floor. Emitting a sharp squeal, she gave anelephantine leap to the shelter of Anderson's arms, almost bowling himover. "God knows what she's got in that valise, " she whimpered. Mr. Fox put on an exceedingly bold front. Realizing that he wascornered, he adopted a lightly boastful air. "What we've got in this valise, as you call it, madam, is worth morethan your whole blamed hotel. " "Keep away from that valise, " warned Anderson Crow, addressing Mr. Fox. "Give me time to think. Somethin's got to be done, and right away. Ican't take any chances of these terrible things gettin' loose an'drivin' our citizens out of town. " "The first thing you got to do, Anderson Crow, " shouted Mrs. Bloomer, "is to capture the reptile that's loose in my hotel. That's what you gotto do. " She turned upon the pretty Mrs. Fox. "Snake charmer! That's anice business for a woman to be in. Don't come near me. " "I am not thinking of coming near you, you old rip!" said Mrs. Fox, losing her temper in a very womanly fashion. "None o' that, now--none o' that, " warned the town marshal. "Keep acivil tongue in your head, young woman. " "Why, you long-whiskered old--" began the lady, but her husband sparedthe Marshal a whirlwind of revelations by taking her arm and leading herto the rear of the store, where for some minutes they were in close andearnest conference. "The thing to do, " said Mort Fryback, "is to take this box down to thecrick an' drop it in, all locked and everything. That will put an end tothe cussed things, better'n any other way I know. " A furious commotion took place inside the box, preventing furtherdiscussion on the part of the retreating observers. It was as if a dozenhuge and powerful serpents were exerting every effort to escape. The voice of Mrs. Fox, clear as a bell, assailed them from behind. "They're hungry, poor things, " she cried. "Perfectly ravenous. " "That settles it, " said Marshal Crow. "We've got to git rid of 'em if wehave to set fire to your store, Mort. They're terrible when they haven'tbeen fed fer a long time. Swaller pigs an' sheep--_and_ children whole, they say. " Mr. Fox approached. He was now very polite and ingratiating. "Permit me, " he observed, "to offer a solution. If you will give me abunch of keys, my friend, I will remove the case to my room and openit--if possible. No harm will come to anybody, and in one hour or so, mywife and I will be on our way. My automobile is in your local garage, Mr. Hawk, and we can be ready to start as soon as we have fed and airedthe--er--shall we say contents?" "You arrest him, Anderson, " cried Mrs. Bloomer. "Hold him till Iestimate the damage that's been done to my property. He's got to pay ferthat before he can get out of this town. " "I guess you'd better step over to the calaboose with me, mister, " saidAnderson firmly. "And you too, ma'am. This here lady prefers chargesagainst you, an' it's my duty to--" "What is the charge, madam?" demanded Mr. Fox, lighting a cigarette. "Never mind, " said the Marshal; "we'll attend to that later. " Mr. Fryback put in a word at this point. "Yes, but who's going to takecharge of this here box? It can't stay here in my place. First thing youknow the derned things will gnaw a hole in the side and git out. " "If it is not too far, Mr. Officer, I should be happy to carry the boxover to the lock-up--unless, of course, some one else will volunteer. Isee quite a number of citizens looking in through the window. Doubtlesssome of them might--" "How long after a man's been on a bad spree is he likely to think hesees snakes?" demanded Anderson, struck with an idea. "The time varies, " replied Mr. Fox, rather startled. "Alf ain't been tight in a good many years, " mused the Marshal. "I guessit would be safe to let him carry 'em. Don't you think so, Mort?" "Him and Newt Spratt, " said Mort. "Newt's always braggin' about notbeing afraid of anything. " "Well, perhaps it would be just as well not to tell 'em what's in thishere box, " said Anderson. He turned to the pair of strangers. "Only theyain't going to carry it to the calaboose. They're going to carry it tothe crick, an' throw it in. " The young woman uttered a cry of dismay, and her husband utteredsomething distinctly out of place, for Mrs. Bloomer again told him heought to be ashamed of himself. After a few whispered words in the ear of the distracted young woman, Mr. Fox turned to the others. "I'll tell you what we'll do, gentlemen, " said he, and then added, witha polite bow to the corpulent Mrs. Bloomer, "and ladies. Mrs. Fox and Ihad planned giving a little exhibition at the hotel, but that now seemsto be out of the question. Kindly bear in mind that we are not visitingyour little city on pleasure bent. We are here strictly for business. Asa rule we do not make one-night stands. But we have been attracted toyour charming city almost against our will--although, I may add, it wasat the earnest invitation of one of your most important denizens--Ishould say citizens. You will agree, I am sure, that it would hardly payus to visit a place like this unless we were reasonably assured ofsomething in the way of pecuniary benefits. You may not know it, gentlemen, but we have had a bona-fide offer of one hundred dollars--andthat isn't to be sneezed at, is it? We--Please bear with me, Mr. Hawk. Ishall not detain you--" "My name is Mr. Crow, " snapped Anderson. "Sorry, " apologized Fox. "I fear I confused you with the celebratedHawkshaw, the detective. " Mr. Crow turned purple. "That's what Harry Squires, the reporter on the _Banner_, calls him mostof the time, " volunteered Mort Fryback. "That, an' Shellback Holmes. " "Such is fame, " said Mr. Fox agreeably. "Well, to get right down tocases, Mrs. Fox and I propose that you allow us to give our littleexhibition in the Town Hall, --if you have one--and--" "Not much!" roared Anderson. "I've had enough of this talk. I'm going totake action at once. " He flung open the front door and addressed thegroup in front of the store, now increased to nearly a score, includingseveral scattered women and children--and Ed Higgins' dog. "I call onall you men to assist me in surrounding the Grand View Hotel. There isdangerous work ahead, and I want only the bravest, --wait a second, Newt, don't go away, --and most determined men in town to volunteer. Here, Mort, you hand out some axes, an' pitchforks, an' crowbars, an'--" "Oh, for heaven's sake, George, " cried Mrs. Fox frantically, "don't letthem do it. Stop them!" But the stranger motioned for her to be silent. * * * * * Some time was spent in explaining the situation to the posse, and instationing a group of the hardiest men beneath certain windows of thesecond floor back. During this arrangement of forces, three of thebravest men in Tinkletown had to go to the post office for some veryimportant letters, and two more rushed over to see that they came back. Anderson Crow marshalled a dozen or more able-bodied conscripts in MainStreet, preparatory to a frontal attack on the suite at the head of thestairway. He had commandeered a double-barreled shotgun belonging toBill Kepsal, and with this he proposed to "shoot the daylights" out ofthe serpent through the transom if it hadn't crawled under the bed wherehe couldn't "get a bead on it. " In the meantime, Mr. Fox had carried the big black box out of Fryback'sstore, and his wife was now standing guard over it on the porch of theGrand View Hotel. [Illustration: _His wife was now standing guard over it on the porch ofthe Grand View Hotel_] Marshal Crow was issuing commands right and left, and the squad, augmented by a step-ladder from the hardware shop, was about to enterthe hotel, when Mrs. Fox uttered an excited little shriek, and thenthese desolating words: "Oh, George, I've found it! I've got the key. It was away down in mymuff. " Before any action could be taken to restrain the impetuous young woman, she was inserting the key in the lock! Those nearest her collided violently with those farther away, and inless time than it takes to mention it, there was no one within a radiusof fifty feet--except a new arrival on the scene. To the intense horror of Mort Fryback, his wife emerged from the GrandView Hotel and entered the danger zone. "Hey, Maude!" he bellowed. "Keep away from that! For the love of--" Heclapped his hand over his eyes. Mrs. Fryback had reached the side ofthe eager Mrs. Fox just as that lady lifted the lid of the box. Now, Mrs. Fryback was Mort's third wife; according to longevitystatistics, she was much too young to die. As a matter of fact, she waslittle more than a bride. That probably accounts for the brand-new minkcoat and muff she was sporting. Moreover, it accounts for Mort'ssurprising mendacity and even more amazing humility in relation to thetaking-off of Mike. No doubt in similar circumstances, he would havetold his second wife, who died when she was pretty well along in years, that he'd show her who was boss in his home, and if she didn't like whathe did to Mike, she could lump it. But, alas, between a vacillatingyoung wife who has you under her thumb and a constant old one who hasbeen thoroughly squashed under yours for a great many years, there is aworld of difference. Others who stared in horror at the picture on the porch, groaned audiblyas young Mrs. Fox looked up into the face of the unsuspecting victim andsmiled. Thus encouraged, young Mrs. Fryback, disdaining death, smiled inreturn and stooped over to look into the depths of that unspeakable box. Instead of starting back in alarm, she uttered a shrill little cry ofdelight, and dropping to her knees plunged both hands into the nest ofwriggling horrors! Lucius Fry, who had hastily set up the step-ladder, and was nowbalancing himself somewhat precariously at the top of it, let out alugubrious howl. "She's a goner!" he announced. The two young women had their heads close together and were conversing. Marshal Crow, armed with the double barreled shotgun, began a cautiouscircuitous advance, his finger on the trigger. He stopped short when about twenty feet from the women, andspasmodically pulled the trigger. There is no telling what might havehappened if the gun had been loaded. Mr. Fox had deliberately overturned the box and--out scampered threesprightly Boston terrier puppies! Ten minutes later all but one of Mort Fryback's farming utensils wereback in stock. The missing implement, a hatchet, was furtively on itsway to the barber-shop of one Ebenezer January, coloured. Mr. And Mrs. Fryback, Marshal Crow and the amiable Foxes discussed the"points" of the frolicsome puppies in the rear of the hardware store. "I just adore this one, Mrs. Fox, " said Mrs. Fryback, pointing to arugged little rascal who was patiently gnawing at Mr. Fryback's peg-leg. "Do you really recommend him as the best of the lot, Mr. Fox?" sheinquired, turning her shining eyes upon the gentleman. "Absolutely, " said Mr. Fox. "Wouldn't you say so, Mr. Crow?" "Ab-so-lutely, " said Anderson. "Then I'll take him, " said Mort's wife, and Mort not only sighed butwiped a fine coat of moisture from his brow. "One hundred dollars is thevery least you will take?" "The very least, Mrs. Fryback. He is a thoroughbred, you know. Mykennels are famous, as you doubtless noted in my advertisement in _Townand Country_--and I can personally guarantee every pup that comes out ofthem. In your letter to me, Mrs. Fryback, you stated that only the bestI had on hand would be considered. The mother of these puppies has apedigree a yard long, and the father, as I mentioned before, is Stubbsthe Twelfth. Nothing more need be said. The mother, Bonnie Bridget, youhave just seen. Stubbs the Twelfth belongs to a millionaire in Albany. Allow me to congratulate you, madam, "--extending his hand, --"on havingsecured one of the finest dogs in America. And you also, Mr. Fryback, onhaving a wife who is such a discriminating judge of thoroughbreds. " Mr. Fryback looked a trifle startled, but said nothing. "If you ever come to our town, Mr. Crow, I hope you will look us up, "broke in Mr. Fox. "Our place is about two miles out in the country. Bythe way, has Mrs. Crow a good dog--I mean one that she can be proudof?" "She has a thoroughbred setter, " said Marshal Crow, compressing hislips. "A hundred dollars is a lot of money fer a dog, " murmured Mr. Fryback. He met his wife's eye for a second and then added: "But, of course, mywife has just lost one that was worth a thousand dollars, so--I guess itain't so much, after all. " "Marmaduke was a really wonderful dog, Mrs. Fox, " vouchsafed Mort'swife, assuming a sad and pensive expression. "I am sure he must have been, " said Mrs. Fox. "One hundred dollars is very cheap, sir, for a thoroughbred Bostonterrier in these days, " said Mr. Fox. "Isn't that so, Mr. Crow?" "Cheap as dirt, " said Anderson. "Mortimer, will you please give Mr. Fox the money?" said Mrs. Fryback. "And, by the way, Mr. Crow, I hope you take down all those rewardnotices at once. I wouldn't know what to do with Marmaduke now, even ifsome one did bring him back to me. " "I know what I'd order you to do with him, " said Anderson, meetingMort's melancholy gaze at last. "What, may I inquire?" "I'd order you to bury him, " said the town marshal, speaking in hiscapacity as chairman of the Board of Health. Mrs. Fryback looked at him steadily for a second or two, and then slowlyclosed an eye. SHADES OF THE GARDEN OF EDEN! It wasn't often that Marshal Crow acknowledged that he was in aquandary. When he _did_ find himself in that rare state of mind, heinvariably went to Harry Squires, the editor of the _Banner_, forcounsel--but never for advice. He had in the course of a protractedcareer as preserver of the peace and dignity of Tinkletown, foundhimself confronted by seemingly unsolvable mysteries, but he always hadsucceeded in unravelling them, one way or another, to his own completesatisfaction. Only the grossest impudence on the part of the presentchronicler would permit the tiniest implication to creep into this orany other chapter of his remarkable history that might lead the readerto suspect that he did not solve them to the complete satisfaction ofany one else. So, quite obviously, the point is not one to be debated. Now, as nearly every one knows, Tinkletown is a temperance place. Thereis no saloon there, --unless, of course, one chooses to be rather nastyabout Brubaker's Drugstore. Away back in the Seventies, --soon after theCivil War, in fact, --an enterprising but misguided individual attemptedto establish a bar-room at the corner of Main and Sickle Streets. Heopened the Sunlight Bar and for one whole day and night revelled in theconviction that he had found a silver mine. The male population ofTinkletown, augmented by a swarm of would-be inebriates from all thefarms within a radius of ten miles, flocked to the Sunlight Bar andproceeded to get gloriously and collectively drunk on the contents ofthe two kegs of lager beer that constituted an experimental stock intrade. The next morning the women of Tinkletown started in to put the SunlightBar out of business. They did not, as you may suspect, hurl stones atthe place, neither did they feloniously enter and wreak destruction withaxes, hatchets and hoe-handles. Not a bit of it. They were peaceful, law-abiding women, not sanguinary amazons. What they did was perfectlysimple. It is possible, even probable, that they were the pioneer "pickets" ofour benighted land. At any rate, bright and early on the second day ofthe Sunlight Bar, the ladies of Tinkletown brought their knitting andtheir sewing down to the corner of Main and Sickle streets and satthemselves down in front of the shrinking "silver mine. " They came withrocking-chairs, and camp-chairs, and milk-stools, and benches, too, andinstead of chanting a doleful lay, they chattered in a blithe and merryfashion. There was no going behind the fact, however, that thesesmiling, complacent women formed the Death Watch that was to witness theswift, inevitable finish of the Sunlight Bar. [Illustration: _These smiling, complacent women formed the Death Watchthat was to witness the swift, inevitable finish of the Sunlight Bar_] They came in relays, and they stayed until the lights went out in thedesolate house of cheer. The next day they were on hand again, and thenext, and still the next. Fortunately for them, but most unluckily forthe proprietor of the Sunlight Bar, the month was August: they couldfreeze him out, but he couldn't freeze them out. Sheepish husbands and sons passed them by, usually on the oppositesidewalk, but not one of them had the hardihood to extend a helping handto the expiring saloon. At the end of a week, the Sunlight Bar drew itslast breath. It died of starvation. The only mourner at its bier was thebewildered saloon-keeper, who engaged a dray to haul the remains toBoggs City, the County seat, and it was he who said, as far back as1870, that he was in favour of taking the vote away from the men andgiving it exclusively to the women. Tinkletown, according to the sage observations of Uncle Dad Simms, wasrarely affected by the unsettling problems of the present day. This talkabout "labour unrest" was ridiculous, he said. If the remainder of theworld was anything like Tinkletown, labour didn't do much except rest. It was getting so that if a workin'-man had very far to walk to "git" tohis job, he had to step along purty lively if he wanted to arrive therein plenty of time to eat his lunch and start back home again. And as for"this here prohibition question, " he didn't take any stock in it at all. Tinkletown had got along without liquor for more than a hundred yearsand he guessed it could get along for another century or two withoutmuch trouble, especially as it was only ten miles to Boggs City whereyou could get all you wanted to drink any day in the week. Besides, heargued, loudly and most violently, being so deaf that he had to strainhis own throat in order to hear himself, there wasn't anybody inTinkletown except Alf Reesling that ever wanted a drink, and even Alfwouldn't take it when you offered it to him. But in spite of Uncle Dad's sage conclusions, it was this veryprohibition question that was disturbing Anderson Crow. He saunteredinto the _Banner_ office late one afternoon in May and planked himselfdown in a chair beside the editor's desk. There was a troubled look inhis eyes, which gave way to vexation after he had made three or fourfruitless efforts to divert the writer's attention from the sheet of"copy paper" on which he was scribbling furiously. "How do you spell beverage, Anderson?" inquired Mr. Squires abruptly. "What kind of beverage?" demanded Mr. Crow. "Any kind, just so it's intoxicating. Never mind, I'll take a chance andspell it the easiest way. That's the way the dictionary spells it, so Iguess it's all right. Well, sir, what's on your mind?--besides your hat, I mean. You look worried. " "I am worried. Have you any idee as to the size of the apple crop inthis neighbourhood last summer and fall, Harry?" "Not the least. " "Well, sir, it was the biggest we've had since 1902, 'specially the fallpickin. " "What's the idea? Do you want me to put something in the _Banner_ aboutBramble County's bumper crop of pippins?" "No. I just want to ask you if there's anything in this new prohibitionamendment against apple cider?" "Not that I'm aware of. " "Well, do you know it's impossible to buy a good eatin' or cookin' applein this town today, Harry Squires?" "You don't say so! In spite of the big crop last fall?" "You could buy all you wanted last week, by the bushel or peck orbarrel, --finest, juiciest apples you ever laid your eyes on. " "Well, I don't like apples anyway, so it doesn't mean much in my life. " Anderson was silent for a moment or two, contemplating his foot withsingular intentness. "Was you ever drunk on hard cider?" he inquired at last, --transferringhis gaze to the rapidly moving hand that held the pencil. The reporter jabbed a period, --or "full stop, " as they call it in acertain form of literature, --in the middle of a sentence, and looked upwith sudden interest. "Yes, " he said, with considerable force. "I'll never forget it. You canget tighter on hard cider than anything else I know of. " "Well, there you are, " exclaimed the Marshal, banging his gnarled fiston the arm of the chair. "And as far as I c'n make out, there ain't nolaw ag'inst cider stayin' in the barrel long enough to get good andhard, an' what's more, there ain't no law ag'ainst sellin' cider, hardor sweet, is there?" "I get your point, Anderson. And I also get your deductions concerningthe mysterious disappearance of all the apples in Tinkletown. Apparentlywe are to have a shortage of dried apples this year, with an overflow ofhard cider instead. By George, it's interesting, to say the least. Looksas though an apple orchard is likely to prove more valuable than a goldmine, doesn't it?" "Yes, sir! 'Specially if you've got trees that bear in the fall. Fallapples make the best cider. They ain't so mushy. And as fer the fellerthat owns a cider-press, why, dog-gone it, he ought to be as rich asCrowsis. " "I seem to recall that you have a cider-press on your farm on Crow'sMountain, --and a whacking good orchard, too. Are you thinking ofresigning as Marshal of Tinkletown?" "What say?" "I see you're not, " went on Harry. "Of course you understand you can'tvery well manufacture hard cider and sell it and still retain youruntarnished reputation as a defender of the law. " "I'm not figurin' on makin' hard cider, " said Anderson, with someirritation. "You don't _make_ hard cider, Harry. It makes itself. Allyou do is to rack the apple juice off into a barrel, or something, witha little yeast added, and then leave it to do the work. It ferments an'then, if you want to, you rack it off again an' bottle it an'--well, geewhiz, how tight you c'n get on it if you ain't got sense enough to letit alone. But I ain't thinkin' about what I'm goin' to do, 'cause Iain't to do anything but make applebutter out of my orchard, --an' maybea little cider-vinegar fer home consumption. What's worryin' me is whatto do about all these other people around here. If they all take tomakin' cider this fall, --or even sooner, --an' if they bottle or cask itproper, --we'll have enough hard cider in this township to give the wholestate of New York the delirium trimmins. " "I don't see that you can do anything, Anderson, " said Squires, leaningback in his chair and puffing at his pipe. "You can't keep people frommaking cider, you know. And you can't keep 'em from drinking it. Besides, who's going to take the trouble to ascertain whether itcontains one-half of one percent alcohol? What interests me more thananything else is the possibility of this township becoming 'wet' inspite of itself, --an' to my certain knowledge, it has been up to now thebarrenest desert on God's green earth. " "People are so all-fired contrary, " Anderson complained. "For the lastfifty years the citizens of this town and its suburbs have been so deadset ag'inst liquor that if a man went up to Boggs City an' got a littletipsy he had to run all the way home so's he'd be out of breath when hegot there. Nobody ever kept a bottle of whiskey in his house, 'causenobody wanted it an' it would only be in the way. But now look at 'em!The minute the Government says they can't have it, they begin movin'things around in their cellars so's to make room fer the barrels they'regoing to put in. An' any day you want to drive out in the country youc'n see farmers an' hired men treatin' the apple-trees as if they wasthe tenderest plants a-growin'. I heard this mornin' that HenryWimpelmeyer is to put in a cider-press at his tanyard, an' old manSmock's turnin' his grist mill into an apple-mill. An' everybody ishoardin' apples, Harry. It beats the Dutch. " "It's up to you to frustrate their nefarious schemes, Mr. Hawkshaw. Thefair name of the Commonwealth must be preserved. I use the wordadvisedly. It sounds a great deal better than 'pickled. ' Now, do youwant me to begin a campaign in the _Banner_ against the indiscriminateand mendacious hardening of apple-cider, or am I to leave the situationentirely in your hands?" Marshal Crow arose. The fire of determination was in his ancient eye. "You leave it to me, " said he, and strode majestically from the room. Encountering Deacon Rank in front of the _Banner_ office, he chancedthis somewhat offensive remark: "Say, Deacon, what's this I hear about you?" The deacon looked distinctly uneasy. "You can always hear a lot of things about me that aren't true, " hesaid. "I ain't so sure about that, " said Anderson, eyeing him narrowly. "Holdon! What's your hurry?" "I--I got to step in here and pay my subscription to the _Banner_, " saidthe deacon. "Well, that's something nobody'll believe when they hear about it, " saidAnderson. "It'll be mighty hard fer the proprieter of the _Banner_ tobelieve it after all these years. " "Times have been so dog-goned hard fer the last couple of years, I ain'treally been able to--" "Too bad about you, " broke in Anderson scornfully. "Everything costs so much in these days, " protested the deacon. "I ain'thad a new suit of clothes fer seven or eight years. Can't afford 'em. Mywife was sayin' only last night she needed a new hat, --somethin' she canwear all the year round, --but goodness knows this ain't no time to bethinkin' of hats. She--" "She ain't had a new hat fer ten years, " interrupted Anderson. "Nowonder the pore woman's ashamed to go to church. " "What's that? Who says she's ashamed to go to church? Anybody that saysmy wife's ashamed to go to church is a--is a--well, he tells a story, that's all. " "Well, why don't she go to church?" "'Tain't because she's ashamed of her hat, let me tell you that, Anderson Crow. It's a fine hat an' it's just as good as new. She'stryin' to save it, that's what she's tryin' to do. She knows it's got tolast her five or six years more, an' how in tarnation can she make itlast that long if she wears it all the time? Use a little common sense, can't you? Besides, I'll thank you not to stick your nose in my familyaffairs any--" "What's that you got in your pocket?" demanded Anderson, indicating thebulging sides of the deacon's overcoat. "None of your business!" "Now, don't you get hot. I ask you again, civil as possible, --what yougot in your pocket?" "I'm a respectable, tax-paying, church-going citizen of this here town, and I won't put up with any of your cussed insinuations, " snapped thedeacon. "You act as if I'd stole something. You--" "I ain't accusin' you of stealin' anything. I'm only accusin' you ofhavin' something in your pocket. No harm in that, is there?" The deacon hesitated for a minute. Then he made a determined effort totemporize. "And what's more, " he said, "my wife's hat's comin' back into stylebefore long, anyhow. It's just as I keep on tellin' her. The styleskinder go in circles, an' if she waits long enough they'll get back tothe kind she's wearin', and then she'll be the first woman in Tinkletownto have the very up-to-datest style in hats, --'way ahead of anybodyelse, --and it will be as good as new, too, you bet, after the way she'sbeen savin' it. " "Now I know why you got your pockets stuffed full of things, --eggs, maybe, or hick'ry nuts, or--whatever it is you got in 'em. It's becauseyou're tryin' to save a piece of wrappin' paper or a bag, or the wearand tear on a basket. No wonder you got so much money you don't know howto spend it. " "And as for me gettin' a new suit of clothes, " pursued the deacon, doggedly, "if times don't get better the chances are I'll have to beburied in the suit I got on this minute. I never knowed times to be sohard--" The marshal interrupted him. "You go in an' pay up what you owe fer the_Banner_ an' I'll wait here till you come out. " Deacon Rank appeared to reflect. "Come to think of it, I guess I'll stopin on my way back from the post office. Ten or fifteen minutes--" He stopped short, a fixed intent look in his sharp little eyes. His gazewas directed past Anderson's head at some object down the street. Then, quite abruptly and without even the ceremony of a hasty "good-bye, " hebolted into the _Banner_ office, slamming the door in the marshal'sface. "Well, I'll be dog-goned!" burst from the lips of the astonished Mr. Crow. "I never knowed him to change his mind so quick as that in all mylife, --or so often. What the dickens--" Indignation succeeded wonder at this instant, cutting off his audiblereflections. Snapping his jaws together, he laid a resolute hand on thedoorknob. Just as he turned it and was on the point of stamping in afterthe deacon, his eye fell upon an approaching figure--the figure of awoman. If it had not been for the hat she was wearing, he would havefailed to recognize her at once. But there was no mistaking the hat. "Hi!" called out the wearer of the too familiar object. Marshal Crow letgo of the door knob and stared at the lady in sheer stupefaction. Mrs. Rank's well-preserved hat was perched rakishly at a perilous angleover one ear. A subsequent shifting to an even more precarious positionover the other ear, as the result of a swift, inaccurate sweep of thelady's hand, created an instant impression that it was attached to herdrab, disordered hair by means of a new-fangled but absolutelydependable magnet. Never before had Marshal Crow seen that ancient hatso much as the fraction of an inch out of "plumb" with the bridge ofMrs. Rank's undeviating nose. She approached airily. Her forlorn little person was erect, evensoldierly. Indeed, if anything, she was a shade too erect at times. Atsuch times she appeared to be in some danger of completely forgettingher equilibrium. She stepped high, as the saying is, and without herusual precision. In a word, the meek and retiring wife of Deacon Rankwas hilariously drunk! Pedestrians, far and near, stopped stockstill in their tracks to gazeopen-mouthed at the jaunty drudge; storekeepers peered wide-eyed andincredulous from windows and doors. If you suddenly had asked any one ofthem when the world was coming to an end, he would have replied withoutthe slightest hesitation. She bore down upon the petrified Mr. Crow. "Is zat you, An'erson?" she inquired, coming to an uncertain stop at thefoot of the steps. Where--oh, where! was the subdued, timorous voice ofSister Rank? Whose--oh, whose! were the shrill and fearless tones thatissued forth from the lips of the deacon's wife? "For the Lord's sake, Lucy, --wha--what ails you?" gasped the horrifiedmarshal. "Nothing ails me, An'erson. Nev' fel' better'n all my lipe--life. Where's my hush--hushban'?" She brandished her right hand, and clutched in her fingers an implementthat caused Anderson's eyes to almost start from his head. "What's that you got in your hand?" he cried out. "Thish? Thass a hashet. Don't you know whass a hashet is?" "I--I know it's a hatchet. Lucy, --but, fer heaven's sake, what are yougoin' to do with it?" "I'm going to cut th' deacon's head off wiz it, " she replied blandly. "What!" "Yes, shir; thass what I'm goin' cut off. Right smack off, An'erson, --and you can't stop me, unnerstan', An'erson. I been wannin'cuttiz 'ead off f'r twenny-fi' year. I--" "Hey! Stop wavin' that thing around like that, Lucy Rank!" "You needen be 'fraid, An'erson. I woulden hurt you fer whole UnitedStates. Where's my hussam, An'erson?" Marshal Crow looked hopelessly at the well-scattered witnesses who weretaking in the scene from a respectful distance. Obviously it was hisduty to do something. Not that he really felt that the deacon's headshould not be cut off by his long-suffering wife, but that it was hardlythe proper thing for her to do it in public. Virtually every man inTinkletown had declared, at one time or another, that Mrs. Rank ought toslit the old skinflint's throat, or poison him, or set fire to him, orsomething of the sort, but, even though he agreed with them, the factstill remained that Marshal Crow considered it his duty to protect thedeacon in this amazing crisis. "Gimme that hatchet, Lucy Rank, " he commanded, with authority. "Youain't yourself, an' you know it. You gimme that hatchet an' then lemmetake you home an' put you to bed. You'll be all right in the mornin', an--" "Didden my hussam go in the Blammer ossif minute ago?" she demanded, fixing a baleful glare upon the closed door. "See here, Lucy, you been drinkin'. You're full as a goat. You gimmethat--" "An'erson Crow, are you tryin' inshult me?" she demanded, drawingherself up. "Wha' you mean sayin' I'm dunk, --drump? You know I nevertouched dropper anything. I'm the bes' frien' your wife's got innis townan' she--who's 'at lookin' out zat winner? Zat my hussam?" Before the marshal could interfere, she blazed away at one of thewindows in the _Banner_ office. There was a crash of glass. She was nowempty-handed but the startled guardian of the peace was slow to realizeit. He was still trying to convince himself that it was the gentle, long-suffering Mrs. Rank who stood before him. Suddenly, to his intense dismay, she threw her arms around his neck andbegan to weep--and wail. "I--I--love my hussam, --I love my hussam, --an' I didden mean cuttiz 'eadoff--I didden--I didden, An'erson. My hussam's dead. My hussam's head'sall off, --an' I love my hussam--I love my hussam. " The door flew open and Harry Squires strode forth. "What the devil does this mean--My God! Mrs. Rank! Wha--what's thematter with her, Anderson?" The marshal gazed past him into the office. His eyes were charged withapprehension. "Where--where's the deacon's head?" he gulped. The editor did not hear him. He had eyes and ears only for the mumblingcreature who dangled limply from the marshal's neck; her face was hiddenbut her hat was very much in evidence. It was bobbing up and down on theback of her head. "Let's get her into the office, " he exclaimed. "This is dreadful, Anderson, --shocking!" A moment later the door closed behind the trio, --and a key was turned inthe lock. This was the signal for a general advance of all observers. Headed by Mr. Hawkins, the undertaker, they swarmed up the steps andcrowded about the windows. The thoughtful Mr. Squires, however, conducted Mrs. Rank to the composing-room and the crowd was cheated. Bill Smith, the printer, looked up from his case and pied half of theleading editorial. He proved to be a printer of the old school. After asoft, envious whistle he remarked: "My God, I'd give a month's pay for one like that, " and any one who hasever come in contact with an old-time printer will know precisely whathe meant. "Oh, my poor b'loved hussam, " murmured Mrs. Rank. "My poor b'lovedhussam whass I have endured f'r twenty-fi' years wiz aller Chrissenforcitude of--where is my poor hussam?" She swept the floor with a hazy, uncertain look. Not observing anythingthat looked like a head, she turned a bleary, accusing eye upon BillSmith, the printer, and there is no telling what she might have said tohim if Harry Squires had not intervened. "Sit down here, Mrs. Rank, --do. Your husband is all right. He was here afew minutes ago, and--which way did he go, Bill?" "Out, " said Bill laconically, jerking his head in the direction of anopen window at the rear. "Didden--didden I cuttiz 'ead off?" demanded Mrs. Rank. "Not so's you'd notice it, " said Bill. "Well, 'en, whose 'ead did I c'off?" "Nobody's, my dear lady, " said Squires, soothingly. "Everything's allright, --quite all right. Please--" "Where's my hashet? Gimme my hashet. I insiss on my hashet. I gottercuttiz 'ead off. Never ress in my grave till I cuttiz 'ead off. " Presently they succeeded in quieting her. She sat limply in anarm-chair, brought from the front office, and stared pathetically upinto the faces of the three perspiring men. "Can you beat it?" spoke Harry Squires to the beaddled marshal. "Where do you suppose she got it?" muttered Anderson, helplessly. "Maybeshe had a toothache or something and took a little brandy--" "Not a bit of it, " said Harry. "She's been hitting old man Rank's stockof hard cider, that's what she's been doing. " "Impossible! He's our leadin' church-member. He ain't got any hardcider. He's dead-set ag'inst intoxicatin' liquors. I've heard him say ita hundred times. " "Well, just ask _her_, " was Harry's rejoinder. Mr. Crow drew a stool up beside the unfortunate lady and sat down. "What have you been drinking, Lucy?" he asked gently, patting her hand. "You're a liar, " said Mrs. Rank, quite distinctly. This was anadditional shock to Anderson. The amazing potency of strong drink washere being exemplified as never before in the history of Time. A soberLucy Rank would no more have called any one a liar than she would havecursed her Maker. Such an expression from the lips of the meek anddown-trodden martyr was unbelievable, --and the way she said it! Not evenPat Murphy, the coal-wagon driver, with all his years of practice, couldhave said it with greater distinctness, --not even Pat who possessed themasculine right to amplify the behest with expletives not supposed to beuttered except in the presence of his own sex. "She'll be swearing next, " said Bill Smith, after a short silence. "Icouldn't stand _that_, " he went on, taking his coat from a peg in thewall. Mr. Squires took the lady in hand. "If you will just be patient for a little while, Mrs. Rank, Bill will goout and find your husband and bring him here at once. In the meantime, Iwill see that your hatchet is sharpened up, and put in first-class orderfor the sacrifice. Go on, Bill. Fetch the lady's husband. " He winked atthe departing Bill. "We've got to humour her, " he said in an aside toAnderson. "These hard-cider jags are the worst in the world. The sayingis that a quart of hard cider would start a free-for-all fight inheaven. Excuse me, Mrs. Rank, while I fix your nice new hat for you. Itisn't on quite straight--and it's such a pretty hat, isn't it?" Mrs. Rank squinted at him for a moment in doubtful surprise, and thensmiled. "My hussam tol' you to shay that, " said she, shaking her finger at him. "Not at all, --not at all! I've always said it, haven't I, Anderson? Say_yes_, you old goat!" (He whispered the last, and the marshal respondednobly. ) "Now, while we are waiting for Mr. Rank, perhaps you will tellus just why you want to cut his head off today. What has the old villainbeen up to lately?" She composed herself for the recital. The two men looked down at herwith pity in their eyes. "He d'sherted me today, --abon--abonimably d'sherted me. For'n MissionaryS'ciety met safternoon at our house. All ladies in S'ciety met ourhouse. Deac'n tol' me be generous--givvem all the r'fressmens theywanted. He went down shellar an' got some zat shider he p'up lash Marsh. He said he wanted to shee whezzer it was any good. " She paused, her browwrinkled in thought. "Lesh see--where was I?" "In the parlour?" supplied Anderson, helpfully. She shook her head impatiently. "I mean where was I talkin' 'bout? Oh, yesh, --'bout shider. When Woman For'n Missinary S'ciety come I givvemshider, --lots shider. No harm in shider, An'erson, --so don' look likethat. Deacon shays baby could drink barrel shider an--and sho on an' shoforth. Well, For'n Missinary S'ciety all havin' splennid time, --singin''n' prayin' 'n' sho on 'n' sho forth, an'--an' sho on 'n' sho forth. Then your wife, An'erson, she jumps up 'n' shays we gotter haveshong-shervice, --reg'ler shong shervice. She--" "_My_ wife?" exclaimed Anderson. "Was Eva Crow there?" "Shert'nly. Never sho happy 'n' her life. Couldn't b'lieve my eyes 'n'ears. And Sister Jones too, --your bosh's wife, Misser Squires. Say, d'you ever know she could shing bass? Well, she can, all right. She c'nshing bass an' tenor'n ev'thing else, she can. She--" "Where--where are they now?" demanded Anderson, with a wild look atHarry. "Who? The Woman For'n Missionary S'ciety?" "Yes. For heaven's sake, don't tell me they're loose on the street!" "Not mush! Promished me they wait till I capshered my hussam, deader'live, an' bring 'im 'ome. Didden I tell you my hussam desherted me? Hedesherted all of us--all of For'n Missinary S'ciety. I gotter bring 'imback, deader 'live. Wannim to lead in shong shervice. My hussam's gotloudes' voice in town. Leads shingin' in chursh 'n' prayer meetin' 'n'ever 'where else. Loudes' voice in town, thass what he is. Prays loudes'of anybody, too. All ladies waitin' up my house f'r loudes voice in townto lead 'em in shacred shong. Muss have somebody with loud voice to lead'em. Lass I heard of 'em they was all shingin' differen' shongs. Loudes' voice--lou'st voich--lou--" She slumbered. The marshal and the editor looked at each other. "Well, she's safe for the time being, " said the latter, wiping his wetforehead. "An' so's the deacon, " added Anderson. "See here, Harry, I got to hustleup to the deacon's house an' see what c'n be done with them women. Mylordy! The town will be disgraced if they get out on the streetan'--why, like as not, they'll start a parade or somethin'. You stayhere an' watch her, an' I'll--" "No, you don't, my friend, " broke in Harry gruffly. "You get her out ofthis office as quickly as you can. " "Are you afraid to be left alone with that pore, helpless little woman?"demanded Anderson. "I'll take her hatchet away with me, if that's whatyou're afraid of. " "If you'd been attending to your job as a good, competent official ofthis benighted town, the poor, helpless little woman wouldn't be in thecondition she's in now. You--" "Hold on there! What do you mean by that?" "I mean this, Mr. Shellback Holmes. A dozen people in this town havebeen buying up apples and grinding them and making cider of them as fastas they could cask it ever since last January. Making it right underyour nose, and this is the first you've seen of it. There's enough hardcider in Tinkletown at this minute to pickle an army. See those bottlesover there under Bill's stool? Well, old Deacon Rank left 'em therebecause he was afraid he'd bust 'em when he made his exit through thatwindow. He told Bill Smith he could keep them, if he would assume hisindebtedness to this office, --two dollars and a quarter, --and he alsotold Bill that he could guarantee that it was good stuff! We've gotvisible proof of it here, and we also know how the damned old rascalwent about testing the quality of his wares. He has tried it out on themost highly respected ladies in town, that's what he's done, --and why?Because it was the _cheapest_ way to do it. He didn't have to waste morethan a quart on the whole bunch of 'em. Sure fire stuff! And there arebarrels of it in this town, Mr. Shellback Holmes, waiting to beconverted into song. Now, the first thing you've got to do is to takethis unfortunate result of prohibition home and put her to bed. " Anderson sat down heavily. "My sakes, Harry, --I--I--why, this is turrible! My wife drunk, an'--an'--Mrs. Jones, an' Mrs. Nixon, an'--" "Yes, sir, " said Harry heartlessly; "they probably are lit up like thesunny side of the moon, and what's more, my friend, if they _do_ take itinto their poor, beaddled heads to go out and paint the town, therewon't be any stopping 'em. Hold on! Didn't you hear what I said aboutthe case in hand? You take her home, do you hear?" "But--how am I to get her home? I--I can't carry her through thestreets, " groaned the harassed marshal. "Hire an automobile, or a delivery-wagon, or--what say?" "I was just sayin' that maybe I could get Lem Hawkins to loan me hishearse. " Mr. Squires put his hand over his mouth and looked away. When he turnedback to the unhappy official, his voice was gentler. "You leave her to me, old fellow. I'll take care of her. She can stayhere till after dark and I'll see that she gets home all right. " "By gosh, Harry, you're a real friend. I--I won't ferget this, --no, sir, never!" "What are you going to do first?" "I'm goin' to get my wife out of that den of iniquity and take herhome!" said Anderson resolutely. "Whether she's willing, --or not?" "Don't you worry. I got that all thought out. If she won't let me takeher home, I'll let on as if I'm full and then she'll insist on takin' mehome. " With that he was gone. The crowd in front of the _Banner_ office now numbered at least ahundred. Mr. Crow stopped at the top of the steps and swiftly ran hiseye over the excited throng. He was thinking hard and quiterapidly--for him. All the while the crowd was shouting questions at him, he was deliberately counting noses. Suddenly he held up his hand. Therewas instant, expectant silence. "All husbands who possess wives in the Woman's Foreign MissionarySociety kindly step forward. Make way there, you people, --let 'emthrough. This way, Newt, --an' you, Alf, --come on, Elmer K. , --I said'wives, ' Mrs. Fry, not husbands. All husbands please congregate in thealley back of the _Banner_ office an' wait fer instructions. Don't askquestions. Just do as I tell you. Hey, you kids! Run over an' tell MortFryback an' Ed Higgins an' Situate M. Jones I want 'em right away, --an'George Brubaker. Tell him to lock up his store if he has to, but to comeat once. Now, you women keep back! This is fer men only. " In due time a troubled, anxious group of men sallied forth from thealley back of the _Banner_ office, and, headed by Anderson Crow, marchedresolutely down Sickle Street to Maple and advanced upon the house ofDeacon Rank. The song service was in full blast. The men stopped at the bottom of theyard and listened with sinking hearts. "That's my wife, " said Elmer K. Pratt, the photographer, a bleak look inhis eyes. "She knows that tune by heart. " "Which tune?" asked Mort Fryback, cocking his ear. "Why, the one she's singin', " said Elmer. "Now listen, --it goes thisway. " He hummed a few bars of 'The Rosary. ' "Don't you get it? There!Why, you must be deef. I can't hear anything else. " "The only one I can make out is 'Tipperary. ' Is that the one she'ssingin'?" "Certainly not. I said it goes _this_ way. That's somebody else youhear, Mort. " "Hear that?" cried Ed Higgins excitedly. "That's 'Sweet Alice, BenBolt!' My wife's favourite. My Lord, Anderson, what's to be done?" "Keep still!" ordered Anderson. "I'm tryin' to see if I c'n make out mywife's singin'!" "Well, we got to do somethin', " groaned Newt Spratt, whose wife wasorganist in the Pond Road Church. "She'll bust that piano all to smashif she keeps on like that. " "Come on, gentlemen, " said Anderson, compressing his lips. "Remembernow, every man selects his own wife. Every--" "Wait a minute, Anderson, " pleaded George Brubacker. "It'll take morethan me to manage my wife if she gets stubborn. " "It ain't our fault if you married a woman twice as big as you are, " wasthe marshal's stern rejoinder. "Now, remember the plan. We're justdroppin' in to surprise 'em, to sort of join in the service. Don't ferthe land's sake, let 'em see we're uneasy about 'em. We got to usediplomacy. Look pleasant, ever'body, --look happy. Now, then, --forwardmarch! Laugh, dern you, Alf!" Once more they advanced, chatting volubly, and with faces supposed to bewholly free from anxiety. The merest glance, however, would havepenetrated the mask of unconcern. Every man's eye belied his lips. "I make a motion that we tar an' feather Deacon Rank, " said Newt Spratt, as the foremost neared the porch. Anderson halted them abruptly. "I want to warn you men right now, that I'm going to search all thecellars in town tomorrow, so you might as well be prepared to empty allyour cider into Smock's Crick. You don't need to say you ain't got anyon hand. I've been investigatin' for several weeks, an' I want to tellyou right here an' now that I've got every cask an' every bottle of hardcider in Tinkletown spotted. I know what's become of every derned applethat was raised in this township last year. " Dead silence followed this heroic speech. Citizens looked at each other, and Situate M. Jones might have been heard to mutter something about "anall-seeing Providence. " Ed Higgins lamely explained that he had "put up a little for vinegar, "but Anderson merely smiled. The front door of the house flew open and several of the first ladies ofTinkletown crowded into view. An invisible choir was singing theDoxology. "Hello, boys!" called out Mrs. Jones, cheerily. "Come right in! Where'szat nice old deacon?" "Been waiting for him for nawful long time, " said Mrs. Pratt. "Couldn'twait any louder, --I mean longer. " "You had it right the first time, " said her husband. "Just in time for Doxology, " called out Mrs. Jones. "Then we're allgoing down town to hol' open-air temp-rance meet-meeting. " * * * * * Late that evening, Marshal Crow mounted the steps leading to Dr. Brown'soffice and rang the bell. He rang it five or six times without gettingany response. Then he opened the door and walked in. The doctor was out. On a table inside the door lay the slate on which people left word forhim to come to their houses as soon as he returned. The Marshal put onhis glasses and took up the pencil to write. One side of the slate wasalready filled with hurried scribbling. He squinted and with difficultymade out that Dr. Brown was wanted immediately at the homes of SituateM. Jones, Abbie Nixon, Newton Spratt, Mort Fryback, Professor Rank, Rev. Maltby and Joseph P. Singer. He sighed and shook his head sadly. Then hemoistened a finger and erased the second name on the list, that of Mrs. Abbie Nixon. "Husbands first, " he muttered in justification of his action insubstituting the following line: "Come at once. A. Crow, Marshal of Tinkletown. " Compunction prevailed, however. He wrote the word "over" at the bottomand, turning the slate over, cleared his conscience by jotting down Mrs. Nixon's "call" at the top of the reverse side. Replacing it on thetable, he went away. Virtue was its own reward in this instance atleast, for the worthy marshal neglected to put the slate down as he hadfound it. Mrs. Nixon's "call" alone was visible. He set out to find Harry Squires. That urbane gentleman was smoking hisreportorial corn-cob in the rear of Lamson's store. Except for Lamson'sclerk, who had seized the rare opportunity to delve uninterruptedly intothe mysteries of the latest "Nick Carter, " the store was empty. Theusual habitues were absent. "Did you get her home?" inquired Anderson in a low, cautious tone. "I did, " said Harry. "See anything of the deacon?" "No; but Bill Smith did. Bill saw him down at the crick an hour or soago, knocking in the heads of three or four barrels. Do you know whatI've been thinking, Anderson? If somebody would only empty a barrel orso of olive oil into Smock's Crick before morning, we'd have thefoundation for the largest supply of French dressing ever created in thehistory of the world. " Mr. Crow looked scandalized. "Good gosh, Harry, ain't we had enoughscandal in this here town today without addin' anything French to it?" * * * * * The only moral to be attached to this story lies in the brief statementthat Mrs. Crow's indisposition, slight in duration though it was, sooccupied Mr. Crow's attention that by the time he was ready to begin hissearch the second night after the song service, there wasn't so much asa pint of hard cider to be found in Tinkletown. This condition was duein a large measure, no doubt, to the fact that Smock's Creek is anunusually swift little stream. It might even be called turbulent. "JAKE MILLER HANGS HIMSELF" "Have you heard the latest news?" inquired Newt Spratt, speaking in ahushed voice. He addressed Uncle Dad Simms, the town's oldestinhabitant, whom he met face to face at the corner of Main and Sicklestreets one fine morning in May. Now any one in Tinkletown would tellyou that it was the sheerest folly to address Uncle Dad in a hushedvoice. Mr. Spratt knew this as well as he knew his own name, so itshould be easy to understand that the "news" was of a somewhatawe-inspiring nature. Ordinarily Newt was a loud-mouthed, jovial soul;you could hear him farther and usually longer than any other malecitizen in Tinkletown. But now, he spoke in a hushed voice. Uncle Dad put his hand up to his left ear and said "Hey?" This seemed tobring Mr. Spratt to his senses. He started violently, stared hard for amoment at the octogenarian, and then strode off down Main street, shaking his head as much as to say, "There must be something the matterwith me. Nobody ever speaks to him unless he _has_ to. " And Uncle Dad, after gazing for a long time at the retreating figure, resumed his shuffling progress up Main street, pleasantly satisfied thatNewt had gone to the trouble to tell him it was a nice day. Although it would not have occurred to Newt, in his dismal state ofmind, to look upon the day as a nice one, nevertheless it was. The sunwas shining brightly, (but without Newt's knowledge), and the air wassoft and balmy and laden with the perfume of spring. Birds weretwittering in the new green foliage of the trees, but Newt heard themnot; dogs frisked in the sunshine, wagging their tongues and tails, butNewt saw them not; hens cackled, horses whinnied, children laughed, andall the world was set to music, but Newt was not a happy man. He was not a happy man for the simple reason that everybody else in townhad heard the "news" long before it reached him. For half-an-hour ormore he had been putting that same old question to every one he met;indeed, he even went out of his way five or six blocks to ring the frontdoor bell at the home of William Grimes, night watchman at Smock'sWarehouse, rousing him from a sound sleep in order to impart the "news"to him, only to have Bill call him a lot of hard names while making itclear that he had heard it before going to bed for the day. The more Newt thought of it, the more he realized that it was his dutyto go back and look up Uncle Dad Simms, even though it meant yelling hishead off when he found him; it was a moral certainty that the onlyperson in Tinkletown who _had_n't heard it was Uncle Dad, --and he wouldtake a lot of telling. The _Weekly Banner_ would not be out till the following day; for atleast twenty hours Uncle Dad would remain in the densest ignorance ofthe sensation that had turned Tinkletown completely upside down. Somebody ought to tell him. Somebody ought to tell poor old Uncle DadSimms, that was all there was about it. Moved by a sharp thrill of benevolence, Mr. Spratt retraced his steps, an eager look in his eyes. He found the old man standing in the broad, open door of Bill Kepsal's blacksmith shop. The blacksmith's assistantwas banging away with might and main at his anvil, and Uncle Dad wore apleased, satisfied smile on his thin old lips. He always said he lovedto stand there and listen to the faint, faraway music of the hammer onthe anvil, so different from the hammers and anvils they used to havewhen he was a boy, --when they were so blamed noisy you couldn't hearyourself think. Newt took him by the arm and led him away. He was going to tell him the"news, " but he wasn't going to tell it to him there. The only place totell Uncle Dad anything was over in the Town Hall, provided it wasunoccupied, and thither he conducted the expectant old man. As theymounted the steps leading to the Hall, Uncle Dad's pleased expressiondeveloped into something distinctly audible--something resembling acackle of joy. Mr. Spratt favoured him with a sharp, apprehensiveglance. "Are they goin' to hold the inquest as soon as all this?" shouted UncleDad, putting his lips as close as possible to Newt's ear. Newt stopped in his tracks. "Have _you_ heard it?" he bellowed. "What say?" "I say, _have you heard it_?" "Speak up! Speak up!" complained Uncle Dad. "You needn't be afraid of_him_ hearin' you, Newt. He's been dead for six or eight hours. " "My God!" groaned Newt. For the second time that morning he left Uncle Dad high and dry, andstarted swiftly homeward. There was the possible, but remote chance thathis wife hadn't heard the news, --and if she had heard it, she'd hearfrom him! He'd let her know what kind of a wife she was! Never, within memory, had he failed to be the first person in Tinkletownto hear the news, and here he was on this stupendous occasion, the lastof them all. And why? Because he had taken that one morning to perform apeculiarly arduous and intensive bit of hard work up in the attic of hiswife's house. He had chosen the attic because Mrs. Spratt rathervehemently had refused to let him use the parlour, or even the kitchen. And all the time that he was up in the attic, working his head offtrying to teach his new fox terrier pup how to stand on its hind legsand jump over a broom stick, this startling piece of news was sweepingfrom one end of Tinkletown to the other. Never, said Newt firmly, as he hurried homeward by the backstreets, --never would he do another day's work in his life, if this wasto be the result of honest toil. And what's more, he hadn't evenreceived a single word of praise from his wife when he descended fromthe attic and triumphantly told her what he had accomplished, --he andthe pup between them--after three hours of solid, painstaking endeavour. Mrs. Spratt had merely said: "If you could learn that pup how to splitfirewood or milk a cow or repair the picket fence or something likethat, you might be worth your salt, Newt Spratt. As it is, you ain't. " As Newt turned gloomily into the alley leading up to his back gate, heespied the Marshal of Tinkletown, Anderson Crow, leisurely approachingfrom the opposite direction. Mr. Crow, on catching sight of Newt, hastily removed something from his mouth and held it behind his back. Perceiving that it was nobody but Newt Spratt, he restored the object tohis lips and began puffing away at it, --but not until he had sent afurtive glance over his shoulder. "What you doin' back here?" inquired Newt, somewhat offensively, as thetwo drew closer together. "Lookin' fer clues?" Anderson again removed the corn-cob pipe, spat accurately over the handwith which he shielded his straggling chin whiskers, and remarked: "Do _you_ see anything wrong with this here pipe, Newt?" he asked, gazing rather pensively at the object. "I don't _see_ anything wrong with it, " said Newt. "Still, I thinkyou're mighty sensible not to smoke it any place except in an alley. Whydon't you get a new one? They only cost ten cents. If you got a new oneonce in a while, --say once a year, --your wife wouldn't order you out ofthe house every time you light it. " "She don't order me out of the house when I light it, " retortedAnderson. "'Cause why? 'Cause I never light it till I get two or threeblocks away from home. " The subject apparently being exhausted, the two alley-farers lapsed intocharacteristic silence. Mr. Spratt leaned rather wearily against his ownback fence, while Mr. Crow accepted the support of a telephone pole. Presently the former started to say something about the weather, but gotno farther than the first two or three words when an astoundingconjecture caused him to break off abruptly. He glanced at the oldmarshal, swallowed hard a couple of times, and then hopefully venturedthe time-honoured question: "Anything new, Anderson?" The marshal responded with a slow, almost imperceptible shake of thehead. He was gazing reflectively at a couple of English sparrows perchedon one of the telephone wires some distance down the line. Newt experienced a sudden, overwhelming joy. Caution, however, and acertain fear that he might be mistaken, advised him to go slow. Thereremained the possibility that Anderson might be capable of simulation. "Where's the body?" he inquired, casually. Marshal Crow's gaze deserted the sparrows and fixed itself on Newt'sear. "The what?" His companion exhaled a tremendous breath of satisfaction. Life wassuddenly worth living. The Marshal of Tinkletown had not heard the"news. " The marshal, _himself_! "Well, by Gosh!" exclaimed the revivified Mr. Spratt. "Where have youbeen at?" "That's my business, " snapped Anderson. "All I got to say is that you ought to be attendin' to it, if it's yourbusiness, " said Newt loftily. "You're the marshal of this here town, ain't you? And everybody in town knows that Jake Miller is dead exceptyou. You're a fine marshal. " There was withering scorn in Newt's voice. He even manifested an inclination to walk off and leave the marshalwithout further enlightenment. Anderson made a valiant effort to conceal his astonishment. Assuming amore or less indifferent air, he calmly remarked: "I knowed Jake was a little under the weather, but I didn't think it wasserious? When did he die?" "He didn't die, " said Newt. "He hung himself. " "What's that?" gasped Anderson, his jaw sagging. "Hung himself some time last night, " went on Newt joyously. "From arafter in Ed Higgins's livery stable. With a clothesline. Kicked astep-ladder out from under himself. Why, even Uncle Dad Simms has heardabout it. Ed found him when he went out to--wait a second! I'm goin'your way. What's the rush? He's been dead six or eight hours. He can'tescape. He's down in Hawkins's undertaking place. Hey! You dropped yourpipe. Don't you want it any--" "If you're goin' my way, you'll have to _run_, " called out Marshal Crowas he unlimbered his long legs and made for the mouth of the alley. Hewas not running, but Newt, being an undersized individual, had no othermeans of keeping up with him unless he obeyed the sardonic behest. Forten or fifteen rods, Mr. Spratt jogged faithfully at the heels of theleader, and then suddenly remembered that it was a long way to Hawkins'sUndertaking Emporium in Sickle street, --at least an eighth of a mile asthe crow flies, --and as he already had had a hard day's work, he sloweddown to a walk and then to a standstill. He concluded to wait till someone came along in a wagon or an automobile. There wasn't any use wastinghis valuable breath in running. Much better to save it for future use. In the meantime, by standing perfectly still, he could ruminate to hisheart's content. Marshal Crow's long strides soon carried him to the corner of MapleStreet, where he made a sharp turn to the right, shooting a swift lookover his shoulder as he did so. His late companion was leaning against atree. Satisfied that he had completely thrown Mr. Spratt off the trail, Anderson took a short cut through Justice of the Peace Robb's front andback yards and eventually emerged into Main Street, where he slackenedhis pace to a dignified saunter. He caught sight of Alf Reesling, the reformed town drunkard, holdingconversation from the sidewalk with some one in a second story window ofMrs. Judy O'Ryan's boarding house, half a block away. "Hello!" shouted Alf, discovering the marshal. "Here he comes now. Whereyou been all morning, Andy? I been huntin' everywhere for you. Somethinghorrible has happened. I just stopped to tell Judy about it. " The marshal stopped, and gazed upon Alf with mild interest. He noddedcarelessly to Mrs. O'Ryan in the upstairs window, and addressed thefollowing significant remark to Alf: "I guess I've got Jake's motive purty well established, Alf. You needn'task me what I've unearthed, because I won't tell you. It's a nice day, ain't it, Judy?" Before Mrs. O'Ryan could affirm or deny this polite bit of information, Alf cried out: "You don't mean to say you _know_ about it?" "The rain yesterday and day before has brought your lilacs out splendid, Judy, " said Anderson, ignoring him. "I was up to your house before eight o'clock, and your wife said you'dgone out in the country to practise your new Decoration Day speech, Anderson. How in thunder did you find out about Jake?" Marshal Crow turned upon the speaker with some severity. "See here, Alf, are you tryin' to act like Newt Spratt?" That was a deadly insult to Alf. "What do you mean?" he demanded hotly. "Nothin'--except that Newt had the same kind of an idee in his head thatyou seem to have got into yours. Next time you see Newt you tell him Ibeen laughin' myself almost sick over the way I fooled him, --the blamediggoramus. " Having planted a seed that was intended to bear the fruit ofjustification, the venerable marshal decided that now was the time toprepare himself against anything further in the shape of surprise. So helinked arms with Alf and started off down the street. "Now, see here, Alf, " he began, somewhat sternly. "I won't stand for anybeatin' about the bush from you. You got to tell me the whole truth an'nothin' but the truth, and if your story hangs together and agrees withwhat I've already worked out, --I'll see that you get fair treatmentand--" Alf stopped short. "What in sassafras are you talkin' about? Whatstory?" "Begin at the beginnin' and tell me where you was last night, and _earlythis morning_, and where and when you last saw Jake Miller. " The marshal's manner was decidedly accusative, although tempered bysadness. Something in his voice betrayed a great and illy concealedregret that this life-long friend had got himself so seriously entangledin the Jacob Miller affair. "Where was I last night and this morning?" repeated the astonished Alf. "Percisely, " said Anderson, tightening his grip on Alf's arm. "In bed, " said Alf succinctly. "Come, now, " warned the marshal; "none of that. I want the truth out ofyou. When did you last see Jake Miller, --and what was he doing?" "I saw him about half an hour ago, and he wasn't doin' anything. " "I mean, before he came to his untimely end. " "I don't know what you're drivin' at, but if it gives you anysatisfaction I c'n say that the last time I saw him alive was yesterdayafternoon about four o'clock. He was unloadin' some baled hay over atEd's feed-yard and--that's all. " "How was he actin'?" "He was actin' like a man unloadin' hay. " "Did he appear to have anything on his mind? I mean anything more thanusual?" "Couldn't say. " "Did he look pale or upset-like?" "I kinder thought, --afterwards, --that he did look a _leetle_ pale. Sortof as if he'd eat something that didn't agree with him. " "I see. Well, go on. " "Go on what?" "Tellin' me. Where did you next see him?" "Oh, there was a lot of people saw him after I did. Why don't you askthem?" "Answer my question. " "I didn't see him again until about half past seven this morning. He washangin' from a rafter in Ed's stable. My God, it was awful! I know I'lldream about Jake for the next hundred years. " "Did he have a rope around his neck?" "No, he didn't. " Anderson started. This was an unexpected reply. "Well, --er, what _did_ he have around his neck?" "A halter strap. " "You--you're sure about that?" "Positive. " "I see. So far your story jibes with the facts. Now, answer me thisquestion. When and where did you help Jake Miller write that note offarewell?" "What?" gasped Alf. "You heard me. " "I didn't help him write any note. " "You didn't?" "Nobody helped him write it. " "How do you know that, sir?" "Do you mean to tell me that Jake left a farewell note?" "I'm not sayin' whether he did or not. You don't mean to claim that hedidn't leave one, do you?" "If he did, nobody that I know of has laid eyes on it. " Anderson smiled mysteriously. "Well, we'll drop that feature of the casetemporarily. You was quite a friend of Jake Miller's, wasn't you?" "Off and on, " said Alf. "Same as you was, " he added, quickly. "What reason did he ever give you for wantin' to take his own life?Think carefully, now, --and nothing but the truth, mind you?" "The only thing I ever heard him say that sounded suspicious was when hetold a crowd of us at Lamson's one night that if this here prohibitionwent into effect he'd like to have some one telegraph his sister inBuffalo, so's she could come on and claim his remains. " "But he wasn't a drinkin' man, Alf, and you know it. " "I know, but he always said he was lookin' forward to the day when hecould afford to get as drunk as he sometimes thought he'd like to be. Hewas a droll sort of a cuss, Jake was. He claimed he'd been savin' up hisappetite and his money for nearly three years so's he could see whichwould last the longest in a finish fight. " "Was you present when he was cut down?" "I was. " "Aha! That's what I'm tryin' to get at. Who cut the rope?" "It wasn't a rope, --it was a hitchin' strap. An' nobody cut it, come tothink of it. It was a perfectly good strap, so two or three of us heldJake's body up so's Ed Higgins could untie it from the rafter. " "And then what?" "Old man Hawkins and Doc Brown said he'd been dead five or six hours. " "I see. What did Doc say he died of?" Alf stared at him in amazement. "He died of being hung to a rafter. " Marshal Crow cleared his throat, and was ominously silent for fifteen ortwenty paces. When he next spoke it was with the deepest gravity. Therewas a dark significance in the look he fixed upon Alf. "Is there any proof that Jake Miller wasn't dead long before he wasstrung up to that rafter?" "What's that?" gasped Alf, once more coming to a sudden stop. "It's a matter I can't discuss with anybody at present, " said Anderson, curtly. "Have--have you deduced something important, Anderson?" implored Alf, eagerly. "Is there evidence of foul play?" "That's my business, " said Anderson. "Come on. Don't stand there withyour mouth open like that. He's still over at Hawkins's place, is he? Ibeen workin' on the quiet all by myself since early this morning, an' Idon't know just what's been happening around here for the last couple ofhours. " "He was there the last I heard of him, " said Alf. "Well, you've given a purty good account of yourself, Alf, an' unlesssomething turns up to change my present opinion, you are free to comean' go as you please. " "See here, you blamed old hayseed, what do you mean by actin' as if Ihad anything to do with Jake Mil--" "You don't know what you're doing when you're drunk, Alf Reesling. " "But I ain't been drunk for twenty-five years, you blamed old--" "That remains to be seen, " interrupted Anderson sternly. "Now don't talkany more. I want to think. " Having obtained certain desirable facts in connection with thetaking-off of Jacob Miller, Marshal Crow ventured boldly, confidently, into the business section of the town. He was now in a position todiscuss the occurrence with equanimity, --in fact, with indifference. Moreover, he could account for his physical absence from the centre ofthe stage, so to speak, by reminding all would-be critics that he wasmentally on the job long before Ed Higgins made the gruesome discovery. In other words, it served his purpose to "lie low" and observe fromwell-calculated obscurity the progress of events. Now, Tinkletown had not experienced the shock and thrill of suicide in agreat many years. Sundry citizens had met death in an accidental way, and others had suddenly died of old age, but no one had intentionallyshuffled off since Jasper Wiggins succeeded in completing a hithertounsuccessful life by pulling the trigger of a single-barrelled shotgunwith his big toe, back in the fall of '83. The horrendous act of Jacob Miller, therefore, created a sensation. Tinkletown was agog with excitement and awe. Everybody was talking aboutJake. He was, by all odds, the most important man in town. Alive, hehad been perhaps the least important. He was the sort of citizen you always think of last when trying to takea mental census of the people you know by sight. Once, and only once, had Jake seen his name in the columns of the_Weekly Banner_, and he was so impressed that he cut the article out ofthe paper and pasted it under the sweat-band of his best hat. Ithappened to be the obituary notice of a farmer bearing the same name, but that made no difference to Jake; he was vicariously honoured byhaving his name in print, --and in rather large type at that. And now he was to have at least half a page in the _Banner_, with hisname in huge black letters, double column, something like this: JAKE MILLER HANGS HIMSELF!!! Column after column of Jake Miller and he not there to rejoice! Jake Miller on the front page, crowding out the news from Paris andWashington, displacing local Society "items, " shoving the ordinary"obituaries" out of their hallowed corners, confiscating space thatbelonged to the Lady Maccabees and other lodges, supplantingthoughtfully prepared matter in the editorial column, --why, the nextissue of the _Banner_ would be a Jake Miller number from beginning toend. And Jake not there to enjoy it all! Jake had been a more or less stationary inhabitant of Tinkletown forabout three years. He had taken up his residence there without reallyhaving had the slightest intention or desire to do so. In fact, he wouldhave been safely out of the village in another ten minutes if Mrs. AbbieNixon hadn't missed the blackberry pie from the kitchen window sill, where she had set it out to cool, --and even then he might have got awayif he had had a handkerchief or something with which to remove thedamning stains from his lips and chin. But, in his haste, he used theback of his hand, and--well, Justice of the Peace Robb sent him to thecalaboose for thirty days, --and that's how Jake became a resident ofTinkletown. At the trial he was so shamelessly complimentary about Mrs. Nixon's piethat the prosecuting witness came very near to perjuring herself inorder to show her appreciation. The dignity of the law was preservedonly by Jake's unshaken resolution to plead guilty to the charge offeloniously eating one blackberry pie with never-to-be-forgotten relish. Mrs. Nixon was so impressed by Jake's honesty that she made a practiceof sending a pie to him every baking-day during the period of hisincarceration. But when approached by two or three citizens with theproposal that she join with them in providing the fellow with work as asort of community "handy-man, " she refused to consider the matter at allbecause most of her silver had come down from her grandmother and shewouldn't part with it for anything in the world. [Illustration: _At the trial he was shamelessly complimentary about Mrs. Nixon's pie_] For one who had never laid eyes on the village of Tinkletown up to theday of his arrival, Jake Miller revealed the most astonishing sense ofcivic pride. The first thing he did after being safely locked up was towhitewash the interior of his residence. (The town board furnished arather thin mixture of slaked lime and water, borrowed a whitewash brushfrom Ebenezer January, and got off with a total cost of abouteighty-five cents. ) He also repaired several windows in the calaboose bystuffing newspapers into the broken panes, remodeled the entire heatingsystem with a little stove polish, put two or three locks in order, andonce, on finding that it was possible to remove a grating from one ofthe windows, crawled out of his place of confinement and mowed the grassplot in front of the jail. It was then that the people of Tinkletown began to take notice of him. Afew of the more enterprising citizens went so far as to consult JusticeRobb about extending Jake's sentence indefinitely, claiming that itwasn't at all likely the town would ever see another prisoner who tookas much interest in keeping the jail in order as he. And when he was finally released, he obtained a job with Ed Higgins at aslight increase in wages over what he had been receiving while indurance vile. He was a middle-aged man with a large Adam's apple and a retreatingchin; his legs were so warped that a good ten inches of space separatedthe knees. Whence he came and why he was content to abide in Tinkletownwere questions he always answered, but never in a satisfactory manner. Even the hardiest citizens soon came to the conclusion that there wasn'tmuch use in asking questions that Jake could answer with a slow andbaffling wink. He became a fixture in Tinkletown, doing odd jobs fornearly everybody in town, and still finding ample time to attend to hisduties at the feed yard. Whenever any one had a job to be done that heparticularly disliked doing himself, he always appealed to Jake, andJake did it. When not otherwise employed, he slept in the box-stall once inhabited bythe prize stallion, Caleb the Second, now deceased, and you would havebeen surprised to see what a tidy place he made of it by tacking up twoor three anatomical pictures from the _Police Gazette_, and putting in afolding bed, --or, more strictly speaking, a bed that could be folded. Itconsisted of three discarded horse blankets. Quite a snug littlebed-chamber, you would say, and, as Jake himself frequently remarked, avery handy stall to have a nightmare in. Twice a day, regularly, day in and day out, Jake inquired at the postoffice for mail, and invariably Postmaster Lamson, without looking, replied: "Nothing today, Jake. " A singular thing happened the afternoon before Jake hung himself. Hereceived a letter, --a rather fat one, --postmarked Sandusky, Ohio. Mr. Lamson and the loafers at the store were still talking about theextraordinary event when the former closed up for the night, a littlelater than usual. And while they were talking about it, Jake was gettingready to hang himself. Marshal Crow headed straight for the _Banner_ office, Mr. Reeslingtrailing a few steps behind like a dog at heel. Quite a crowd hadgathered in front of Hawkins's Undertaking Emporium across the streetfrom the newspaper office. "Don't foller me in here, " ordered the marshal, as Alf started to enterthe _Banner_ office with him. "This is private. Move on, now. " "But what'll I tell the gang over there if they ask me what you're doin'about the case?" argued Alf. "You tell 'em I'll soon have the mystery solved. " "What mystery? There ain't any mystery about it. He done it as publiclyas he could. " "Well, you just tell 'em I've got a clue, and I'm follerin' it up. " With that, he disappeared through the door, closing it with someviolence in Alf's face. Harry Squires was putting the finishing touches to a long and graphicaccount of the suicide. He looked up as Anderson sauntered into the backoffice. "I'm glad you came in, Marshal, " he said. "I hated to finish this storywithout mentioning you, one way or another. Now I can add right here atthe end: 'Our worthy Town Marshal, A. Crow, was also present. '" Anderson sat down. He pulled at his sparse chin whiskers for a moment ortwo, evidently trying to release something verbal. Failing in this, hesank back in the chair and fixed Mr. Squires with a pathetic look. "Where have you been?" demanded Harry. "Oh, --rooting around, " said Anderson. "Well, I'll tell you something that no one else in this town knows, "said the other, pitying his old friend. "Are you listening?" Anderson shook his head drearily. "I'll never be able to live this down, Harry. " "Brace up. All is not lost. Will you do exactly what I tell you to do?" "I hope you ain't going to tell me to go down and jump in themill-race. " "Nothing of the sort. That wouldn't help matters. You could swim out. Now, listen. I know why Jake hung himself; and I am the only one whodoes know. The whole story is told here in this article I have justwritten. We've been friends and foes for a great many years, Mr. Hawkshaw, and I want to show my appreciation. I don't know how manytimes you have saved my life. I sha'n't tell you in just what way youhave saved it; I can only say that I should have died long ago of sheerennui, --if you know what that is, --if it hadn't been for you, oldfriend. You have been a life-saver, over and over again. And in spite ofthe many times you have saved my life, I don't seem to have put on anyflesh. I remain as skinny as I was when I first met you. I ought to beso fat that I'd have to waddle. But, that's neither here nor there. I'mgoing to save _your_ life now, Sherlock. I'm going to fix it so thatwhen you _do_ die, the people of this burg will erect a monument to youthat will make the one in Trafalgar Square, --if you know where thatis, --look like a hitching post. Lend me your ear, Mr. Pinkerton. That'sright. Take off your hat. You can hear better. "I am going to reveal to you the true facts in the case of our latelamented friend, Jake Miller. I have in my possession the letter hereceived yesterday afternoon. It is under lock and key, and no one elsehas seen it. While everybody else was gazing at Jake and wondering howlong he'd been hanging there, I--with my nose for news, --went off insearch of that letter. I might have spared myself the trouble, for thelast thing Jake did before ending his life, was to put it in an envelopeand mail it to me. He also enclosed a short note in which he implored meto do the right thing by him and put his name in the biggest type wehave on hand. That's just what I intend to do. Now, I'm going to turnthat letter over to you. Instead of me being the one to tell _you_about it, you are going to be allowed to tell _me_ about it. See? That'swhat you are here for now, --to show me this letter with all itsharrowing details. Later on, when the coroner comes over from BoggsCity, you can deliver it to him. Now listen!" [Illustration: _"I am going to reveal to you the true facts in the caseof our late lamented friend, Jake Miller"_] Ten minutes later, Marshal Crow strode solemnly out of the _Banner_office, and debouched upon the crowd in front of Hawkins's. Severalerstwhile admirers snickered. He paid not the slightest attention tothem. Instead he inquired in a loud, authoritative voice if any one hadseen Alf Reesling. "I'm standin' right in front of you, " said Alf. "I deputize you to act as guard during the day over the remains ofOrlando Camp. You are to see to it that no one trespasses within fiftyfeet of it without an order from me, --or the Governor of New York. Youwill--" "What the devil are you talkin' about?" demanded Alf. "There ain't noremains around here named Camp. " The marshal smiled, but there was more pity than mirth in the effort. "All you got to do is to do what I deputize you to do, " he said quietly. "Is Bill Kepsal here?" "Present, " said the iron-armed blacksmith, with a series of winks thatalmost sufficed to take in the whole assemblage. "I deputize you, William Kepsal, and--" (he craned his neckslightly)--"and you, Newton Spratt, out there on the edge of the crowd, to act as guards durin' the night, until relieved by Deputy Reesling atseven A. M. Tomorrow mornin'. You will permit no one to approach orremove the body of Moses Briscoe from its present place of confinementuntil further orders. And now, feller citizens, I must request you oneand all to disperse and not to congregate again in this locality, underpenalty of the law. Disperse at once, move on, everybody. " The crowd didn't move an inch. "He's gone plumb crazy, " said Rush Applegate to Uncle Dad Simms, and hemade such a special effort that Uncle Dad heard him quite distinctly. "He always _wuz_, " agreed Uncle Dad. "What's he crazy about this time?" "Come on home, Anderson, " said Alf Reesling, gently. "Maybe if you tooka dose of--" "Lemme talk to him, " interrupted Elmer K. Pratt, the photographer. "Ihad an uncle once that _died_ in an asylum, and I used to keep him quietbefore he got hopeless by lettin' on that he really _was_ GeorgeWashington. Now, look here, Anderson, --" Marshal Crow held up his hand. There was no sign of resentment in hisvoice or manner as he addressed the grinning crowd. "I don't blame you for thinkin' that man in there is Jake Miller. Ithought so myself until a couple o' days ago. That's when I first beginto suspect that he was the very man he now turns out to be. Gentlemen, if the individual that you knew as Jake Miller hadn't took his own lifelast night, I would have had him behind the bars today, sure as all getout. He wasn't no more Jake Miller than I am. Jake Miller was one of hisalibis. He had--" "You mean aliases, " interrupted Professor Rank, of the high school. "Or nom de plumes, " added Willie Spence, the chief clerk at the GrandView Hotel, one of the most inveterate readers in town. To Willie thename of any author was a nom de plume; it didn't make any differencewhether it was his real name or not. "He had a lot of names besides Jake Miller, " explained Anderson loftily. "And he didn't have to go to high school to get 'em, " he added as anafterthought, favouring Professor Rank with a withering look. "Now, disperse, --all of you. Go on now, Willie, --disperse. Everybody disperseexcept Alf Reesling. You stay here an' keep watch till I come back. " With that, he took the easiest and most expeditious way of dispersingthe crowd by walking briskly off in the direction of Main Street. Thecrowd followed, --or more strictly speaking, accompanied him. He was thecentre of a drove of eager inquirers. Having successfully dispersed thecrowd in front of Hawkins's Emporium, he stopped in front of the postoffice and addressed it once more. "All you got to do, " he announced, taking a seat on the porch, "is towait till the _Banner_ comes out, and then you'll get all the news. Ijust been in there to tell Harry Squires about my discoveries, and he isworkin' his head off now gettin' it all in shape for the subscribers tothe paper. And that reminds me. He asked me to do him a favour. He saysthere are quite a number of cheap skates in this town that ain't regularsubscribers to the _Banner_. That's why Ebenezer January's barber shopis so crowded on Thursday mornings that Ebenezer is threatenin' to stop_his_ subscription. Ebenezer says there's so many customers in his placewaitin' to be next with the paper that he ain't hardly got room to honeup his razors after Wednesday's work. I promised Harry I'd suggest thatyou all go around and subscribe today, because he says he's engagedEbenezer to whitewash the press-room tomorrow and the barber shop won'tbe open at all. He says it's an outrage that--" He stopped short to glare in speechless amazement at a familiar figurealmost under his nose. "I thought I told you to stand guard back there, Alf Reesling, " heroared. "Aw, thunder, he can't run away, " protested Alf. "An' nobody's goin' to_steal_ him, so what's the sense--" "I'll give you just fifteen minutes to get back there to Hawkins's, "declared the marshal firmly. "If you're not back there by that time, I'll arrest you for contempt. " "That suits me, " said Alf promptly. "Yes, sir, " said Anderson, addressing the crowd, "I would have nabbedhim today if he hadn't gone an' hung himself like this. He must have gotonto the fact that I had him dead to rights. He knowed there wasn't anyescape for him, --no chance in the world. Wait a second! Don't all talkat once, --and don't ask questions! An' say, Abner, it won't do you anygood to go round to the _Banner_ office, because I swore Harry Squiresto secrecy. So stay where you are. Harry won't tell you a thing, even ifyour father-in-law is a regular subscriber. What time is it, Lum?" On being informed by Lum Gillespie that it was later than he thought, Marshal Crow looked at his own watch and arose in some haste. "By ginger, I got to get busy. I still got to see if I can find thatletter Jake received yesterday afternoon. I wouldn't be surprised if thecontents of that letter had a good deal to do with his hurryin' up thishangin' business. Like as not it was a warnin' from some confederate ofhis'n, lettin' him know I was gettin' purty hot on his trail. It'smighty hard to keep these things from leakin' out, 'specially whenyou're workin' at long range as I've been fer some time. Myinvestigations have been carried on from one end of the country to theother. I finally got 'em narrowed down to a place out west calledSandusky, Ohio, an' I was just on the point of telegraphin' to thepolice out there that I had their man when this thing happens. " He was assisted in his search for the letter by a volunteer organizationof about one hundred men and boys. The search was a most diligent one. Much to the disgust of Ed Higgins, the floor of Jake's sleepingapartment was yanked up by willing, excited citizens; the hay-mow wasransacked from one end to the other; the grain bins were turned insideout, and there was some talk of ripping off a section of the roof. Athalf past twelve o'clock, the marshal went home to his midday meal, leaving the work in charge of Lum Gillespie, the garage owner, whoselove for Mr. Higgins was governed entirely by the fact that theliveryman's business interfered considerably with his own prosperity. Secure in the seclusion of his own woodshed, Marshal Crow slyly withdrewJake's letter from an inside pocket and reread it with great care. Lateron, having fortified himself with a substantial dinner, he returned tothe hunt. Advising the toilers that he was going to do a little privatesearching, based on a "deduction" that had come to him while he was athome, he ambled off in the direction of Power House Gulley. Half an hourlater he reappeared and instructed the crowd to knock off work. He hadfound the letter just where he figured he would find it! "I don't see why in thunder you didn't figure it out at breakfastinstead of at dinner, " growled Ed Higgins, moodily surveying thewreckage. "I've a notion to sue you for damages. Look at that box-stall!Look at that--" "Never mind, Ed; I'll have Lum an' the rest of 'em put everything backin order, jest as they found it. Now, you fellers get to work and putthings in shape around here. I'm goin' to take this letter over an' showit to Harry Squires. It proves everything, --absolutely everything. Seehere, Alf, --what in thunder are you doin' here? Why ain't you guardin'them remains as I told you to do?" "I _am_ guardin' 'em, " said Alf. "I c'n guard 'em just as well from adistance as I can close up, an' you know it. All I got to do is to walkto the corner there an' I c'n see Hawkins's place as plain as anything. I could see it from right here if it wasn't fer Lamson's store an' theGrand View Hotel. " The marshal gave him a look of bitter scorn, and strode away. The crowdstraggled along behind. Anderson stopped at the _Banner_ office doorand, exposing the dirty envelope to the eager gaze of the crowd, advisedevery one present to step in and take out a year's subscription to thepaper. Then he disappeared. The crowd surged forward, filling the outeroffice with something like sardine compactness. The door to Mr. Squires's private office, however, closed sharply behind Mr. Crow, andfor the next fifteen or twenty minutes the young lady bookkeeper wasbusy taking subscriptions from the disappointed throng. She gotsixty-three new subscribers and definite promises from a large number ofcitizens who were considerably in arrears. "You'll see it all in your paper tomorrow morning, " said Anderson, coming out of the inner office at the end of half an hour's consultationwith the editor. "All I can say to you now is that I have captured oneof the most desperate criminals in the country. He has been wanted fornearly three years for a diabolical crime. It makes my flesh creep tothink of him being loose among our women an' children all this time. Isthere any one here who ain't subscribed to the _Banner_?" Tinkletown slept fitfully that night when it slept at all. The solecitizen enjoying a peaceful night's rest was Jake Miller. A singularcircumstance connected with the broken rest of three-fourths of thepeople of Tinkletown was the extraordinary unanimity with which Jakebecame visible to them the instant they did drop off to sleep. Bright and early the next morning, the _Banner_ appeared with itsgruesome story. Jake was in very large type, but not much larger, afterall, than Marshal Crow. The whilom Mr. Squires, revelling in generosity, gave Anderson all the credit. He held forth at great length on theachievements of the redoubtable marshal, winding up his account with arecommendation that a movement be inaugurated at once looking to theerection of a memorial statue to the famous "sleuth. " The concludingsentence of this bold panegyric was as follows: "Do not wait till he isdead! Do it now!" And appended, in parentheses, the statement that the_Banner_ would head the list of subscribers with a contribution of onehundred dollars! In the body of his article, Mr. Squires printed in full the contents ofthe letter received by Jacob Miller on the afternoon before hisdeath, --the letter which had been recovered, after the most diligent andacute search by Marshal Crow, at the bottom of an abandoned well inPower House Gulley, --the letter which so completely vindicated thetheories and deductions of Tinkletown's most celebrated son. Jake's letter was from his brother in Sandusky. It warned him that theauthorities had finally located him in Tinkletown and that officers wereeven then on the way east to "pinch" him. They had run him down at last, despite the various aliases under which he had sought to avoidapprehension; brotherly love impelled him to advise Jake to "beat it" as"quick as possible. " Moreover, he went on to state that if they got himhe'd "swing" as sure as hell. Brotherly interest no doubt was alsoresponsible for the frank admission that the "family" had done all itcould for him, and that if he had had a grain of sense, or had listenedto his friends, he wouldn't have married her in the first place. And ifhe hadn't married her, he wouldn't have been placed in a position wherehe had to beat her brains out. Not that she didn't deserve to have herbrains knocked out, and all that, but "you can't go around doing thatsort of thing without getting into trouble about it. " In short, Jake--(by any other name he was just as guilty)--had slain hiswife, presumably in cold blood. At any rate, Mr. Squires, sustained bythe information received from Marshal Crow, (who had gone deeply intothe case), stated in cold type that it had been done in cold blood. Apparently Jake had decided that he was tired of dodging the inevitable. It was quite clear that he could not endure the thought of being "swung"for his diabolical deed. The account also stated that Marshal Crow had at once advised theWestern authorities by telegraph that he had their man, but regretted tostate the scoundrel had anticipated arrest in the manner now so wellknown to the readers of the _Banner_, long recognized as the mostenterprising newspaper in that part of the State of New York. A day or two later, after the inquest, an officer arrived from Sandusky. He was a spectator at the funeral of Jake Miller, whom he readilyidentified as the slayer of Mrs. Camp, and was afterwards a mostinterested listener to the recital given on Lamson's porch by MarshalCrow, who, described with considerable zest and surprising fidelity themanifold difficulties he had experienced in "running the criminal toearth, "--one of the most puzzling cases he had ever been called upon totackle. The astonished officer walked over to the Grand View Hotel with HarrySquires. From time to time he passed his hand over his brow in athoroughly puzzled manner. "I don't mind telling you, Mr. Squires, " he blurted out at last, "thatwe hadn't the faintest idea that this fellow Camp was as desperate acharacter as all this. We looked upon him as a rather harmless, soft-headed guy, --but, my God, he turns out to be one of the slickestall-round crooks in the United States. No wonder he managed to give usthe slip all these years. It only goes to show how even the best of uscan be fooled in a man. " "That's right, " agreed Harry. "It certainly does show how you can befooled in a man. " "When I get back home and tell 'em at headquarters what a slick duck hewas, they'll throw a fit. Why, by Gosh, we all thought he was a nut, --aplain nut. " "Far be it from me, " said Harry, "to speak ill of either the living orthe dead. " "It's a wonder he didn't up and blow the head off this old Rube when hefound he was about to be cornered. " Harry took that moment to relight his pipe, and then abruptly said "Goodnight" to the gentleman from Sandusky. As he rejoined the group in front of Lamson's, Marshal Crow was saying: "I'm mighty glad Harry Squires had sense enough not to say in the_Banner_ that as soon as Jake Miller found out that the jig was up, hetook the law in his own hands, and lynched himself. " THE END