and pursuer held their relative positions until they rounded
into Main Street. Reaching the zone of light--and safety--produced by
show-windows and open doors, the Marshal put on the brakes and ventured
a glance over his shoulder. Alf, lacking the incentive that spurred
Anderson, lagged some distance behind. A second glance reassured the
Marshal. Alf was lumbering heavily past Brubaker's drugstore, fully
revealed.

Observing an empty chair on the sidewalk in front of Jackson's
cigar-store, Mr. Crow directed his slowing footsteps toward it. He
flopped down with an abruptness that almost dismembered it. He was
fanning himself with his hat when Alf came up.

Alf leaned against the wooden Indian that guarded the portals. Presently
he wheezed:

"Wha--what's--all--the--rumpus?"

Instead of replying, Mr. Crow pressed his hand to his heart and shook
his head.

"Take your time," advised Alf sympathetically; whereupon Anderson nodded
his head.

Sim Jackson ambled to the front door, and Mort Fryback hobbled across
the street from his hardware store. Lum Gillespie dropped the hose with
which he was sousing an automobile in front of his garage and approached
the group.

In less than three minutes all of the nighthawks of Main Street were
gathered about Anderson Crow, convinced that something unusual was in
the air despite his protests.

Suddenly the Marshal's manner changed. He swept the considerable group
with 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 capacity
as an official of the State and county, to close up your stores an'
consider yourselves organized into a posse. You will close up immejately
an' report to me here, ready for active work."

* * * * *

Shortly after ten o'clock a group of fifteen or eighteen men
moved silently away from Jackson's cigar-store, led by their
commander-in-chief. He was flanked on one side by Bill Kepsal, the
brawny blacksmith, and on the other by Sim Jackson, who happened to
possess 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 with
the statement that poor Mrs. Smith had been terribly frightened by the
mysterious prowler, and that it was their duty as citizens to put an end
to his activities if possible.

"Her descript