sent the youngest Crow out to tell her father that he'd have to go hungry until supper-time.
It is no wonder that Anderson failed to reach home in time for the midday meal. He started home properly enough, but what progress could he make when everybody in town stopped him to inquire about the remarkable deal and to have a look at the purchase. Without a single dissenting voice, Tinkletown said Anderson had very much the "best of the bargain." George Ray meant all right when he said, "A fool for luck," but he was obliged to explain thoroughly the witticism before the proud Mr. Crow could consider himself appeased.
It was not until he pulled up in front of the Weekly Banner establishment to tell the reporter "the news" that his equanimity received its first jar. He was quite proud of the deal, and, moreover, he enjoyed seeing his name in the paper. In the meantime almost everybody in Tinkletown was discussing the awful profligacy of the stranger. It had not occurred to anybody to wonder why he had been in such a hurry to reach Crow's Cliff, a wild, desolate spot down the river.
"The hoss alone is worth fifty dollars easy," volunteered Mr. Crow triumphantly. The detective's badge on his inflated chest seemed to sparkle with glee.
"Say, Anderson, isn't it a little queer that he should sell out so cheap?" asked Harry Squires, the local reporter and pressfeeder.
"What's that?" demanded Anderson Crow sharply.
"Do you think it's really true that he bought the nag up at Boggs City?" asked the sceptic. Mr. Crow wallowed his quid of tobacco helplessly for a minute or two. He could feel himself turning pale.
"He said so; ain't that enough?" he managed to bluster.
"It seems to have been," replied Harry, who had gone to night school in Albany for two years.
"Well, what in thunder are you talking about then?" exclaimed Anderson Crow, whipping up.
"I'll bet three dollars it's a stolen outfit!"
"You go to Halifax!" shouted Anderson, but his heart was cold. Something told him that Harry Squires was right. He drove home in a state of dire uncertainty and distress. Somehow, his enthusiasm was gone.
"Dang it!" he said, without reason, as he was unhitching the horse in the barn lot.
"Hey, Mr. Crow!" cried a shrill voice from the street. He looked up and saw a small boy coming on the run.
"What's up, Toby?" asked Mr. Crow, all a-tremble. He knew!
"They just got a telephone from Boggs City," panted the boy, "down to the Banner office. Harry Squires says for you to hurry down—buggy and all. It's been stole."
"Good Lord!" gasped Anderson. His badge danced before his eyes and then seemed to shrivel.
Quite a crowd had collected at the Banner office. There was a sudden hush when the marshal drove up. Even the horse felt the intensity of the moment. He shied at a dog and then kicked over the dashboard, upsetting Anderson Crow's meagre dignity and almost doing the same to the vehicle.
"You're a fine detective!" jeered Harry Squires; and poor old Anderson hated him ever afterward.
"What have you heerd?" demanded the marshal.
"There's been a terrible murder at Boggs City, that's all. The chief of police just telephoned to us that a farmer named Grover was found dead in a ditch just outside of town—shot through the head, his pockets rifled. It is known that he started to town to deposit four hundred dollars hog-money in the bank. The money is missing, and so are his horse and buggy. A young fellow was seen in the neighbourhood early this morning—a stranger. The chief's description corresponds with the man who sold that rig to you. The murderer is known to have driven in this direction. People saw him going almost at a gallop."
It is not necessary to say that Tinkletown thoroughly turned inside out with excitement. The whole population was soon at the post-office, and everybody was trying to supply Anderson Crow with wits. He had lost his own.
"We've got to catch that fellow," finally resolved the marshal. There was a dead silence.
"He's got a pistol," ventured some one.
"How do you know?" demanded Mr. Crow keenly. "Did y' see it?"
"He couldn't ha' killed that feller 'thout a gun."
"That's a fact," agreed Anderson Crow. "Well, we've got to get him, anyhow. I call for volunteers! Who will join me in the search?" cried the marshal bravely.
"I hate to go to Crow's Cliff after him," said George Ray. "It's a lonesome place, and as dark as night 'mong them trees and rocks."
"It's our duty to catch him. He's a criminal, and besides, he's killed a man," said Crow severely.
"And he has twenty-one dollars of your money," added Harry Squires. "I'll go with you, Anderson. I've got a revolver."
"Look out there!" roared Anderson Crow. "The blamed thing might go off!" he added as the reporter drew a shiny six-shooter from his pocket.
The example set by one brave man had its influence on the crowd. A score or more volunteered, despite the objections of their wives, and it was not long before Anderson Crow was leading his motley band of sleuths down the lane to the foot-log over which the desperado had gone an hour before.
It was at the beginning of the man-hunt that various citizens recalled certain actions and certain characteristics of the stranger which had made them suspicious from the start. His prodigal disposition of the box of matches impressed most of them as reckless dare-devilism; his haste, anxiety, and a single instance of mild profanity told others of his viciousness. One man was sure he had seen the stranger's watch chain in farmer Grover's possession; and another saw something black on his thumb, which he now remembered was a powder stain.
"I noticed all them things," averred Anderson Crow, supreme once more.
"But what in thunder did he want with those hair-pins?" inquired George Ray.
"Never mind," said Anderson mysteriously. "You'll find out soon enough."
"Do you know Anderson?" some one asked.
"Of course I do," responded the marshal loftily.
"Well, what were they for, then?"
"I'm not givin' any clews away. You just wait a while and see if I'm not right."
And they were satisfied that the detective knew all about it. After crossing the foot-log the party was divided as to which direction it should take. The marshal said the man had run to the southeast, but for some inexplicable reason quite a number of the pursuers wanted to hunt for him in the northwest. Finally it was decided to separate into posses of ten, all to converge at Crow's Cliff as soon as possible. There were enough double-barrelled shotguns in the party to have conquered a pirate crew.
At the end of an hour Anderson Crow and his delegation came to the narrow path which led to the summit of Crow's Cliff. They were very brave by this
