le 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_ printing
office, made itself conspicuous at no less than a dozen points in the
village of Tinkletown on a blustery February morning. Early visitors to
the post office in Lamson's store were the first to discover it, tacked
neatly 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 pole
before leaning against it, found themselves gazing with interest at the
notice that covered the customary admonition:

"Post No Bills."

Of course every one in Tinkletown knew, and had known for the matter of
a week or more, that Mort Fryback's bulldog was "lost, strayed or
stolen," but this was the first glaring intimation that Mort had also
lost his mind. In the first place, Mike--as he was familiarly known to
every inhabitant--wasn't worth more than a dollar and a half when he was
in his prime, and that, according to recollection, must have been at
least twelve or fifteen years prior to his unexplained disappearance. In
the second place, it was pretty generally understood that Mike--recently
Marmaduke--had surreptitiously taken a dose of prussic acid in a shed
back of Kepsal's blacksmith shop and was now enjoying a state of perfect
rejuvenation in the happy hunting ground.

Mr. Alf Reesling, the town drunkard, after having scanned four of the
notices on his way to the post office, informed a group of citizens in
front of Brubaker's drugstore that Anderson Crow would do almost
anything to get his name into print. Alf and the town marshal had had
one 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's
worth stealin', to say nothin' of three dollars. You can't tell me that
Mort Fryback would give three dollars to get that dog back, not even if
he 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 what
it is. I bet if yo