nkletown began to take notice of him. A
few of the more enterprising citizens went so far as to consult Justice
Robb about extending Jake's sentence indefinitely, claiming that it
wasn't at all likely the town would ever see another prisoner who took
as much interest in keeping the jail in order as he.

And when he was finally released, he obtained a job with Ed Higgins at a
slight increase in wages over what he had been receiving while in
durance vile.

He was a middle-aged man with a large Adam's apple and a retreating
chin; his legs were so warped that a good ten inches of space separated
the knees. Whence he came and why he was content to abide in Tinkletown
were questions he always answered, but never in a satisfactory manner.
Even the hardiest citizens soon came to the conclusion that there wasn't
much use in asking questions that Jake could answer with a slow and
baffling wink. He became a fixture in Tinkletown, doing odd jobs for
nearly everybody in town, and still finding ample time to attend to his
duties at the feed yard. Whenever any one had a job to be done that he
particularly disliked doing himself, he always appealed to Jake, and
Jake did it.

When not otherwise employed, he slept in the box-stall once inhabited by
the prize stallion, Caleb the Second, now deceased, and you would have
been surprised to see what a tidy place he made of it by tacking up two
or three anatomical pictures from the _Police Gazette_, and putting in a
folding bed,--or, more strictly speaking, a bed that could be folded. It
consisted of three discarded horse blankets. Quite a snug little
bed-chamber, you would say, and, as Jake himself frequently remarked, a
very handy stall to have a nightmare in.

Twice a day, regularly, day in and day out, Jake inquired at the post
office for mail, and invariably Postmaster Lamson, without looking,
replied: "Nothing today, Jake."

A singular thing happened the afternoon before Jake hung himself. He
received a letter,--a rather fat one,--postmarked Sandusky, Ohio. Mr.
Lamson and the loafers at the store were still talking about the
extraordinary event when the former closed up for the night, a little
later than usual. And while they were talking about it, Jake was getting
ready to hang himself.

Marshal Crow headed straight for the _Banner_ office, Mr. Reesling
trailing a few steps behind like a dog at heel. Quite a crowd had
gathered in front of Hawkins's Undertaking Emporium across the