n
detective was the sensation of the hour. The crowd, merry once more,
lauded him to the skies for the manner in which the supposed culprits
had been trailed, and the marshal's pomposity grew almost to the
bursting point.

"But how about that blood?" he demanded.

"Yes," said Harry Squires with a sly grin, "it was positively identified
as yours, Miss Banks."

"Well, it's the first time I was ever fooled," confessed Anderson
glibly. "I'll have to admit it. The blood really belonged to 'Rast
Little. Boys, the seegars are on me."

"No, they're on me," exclaimed Tom Reddon, producing a box of Perfectos.

"But, Miss Banks, you are wanted in Chicago," insisted Anderson. Reddon
interrupted him.

"Right you are, my dear Sherlock, and I'm going to take her there as
soon as I can. It's what I came East for."

"Ain't--I mean, wasn't you Miss Lovering?" muttered Anderson Crow.

"Good heavens, no!" cried Miss Banks. "Who is she--a shoplifter?"

"I'll tell you the story, Mr. Crow, if you'll come with me," said Mr.
Farnsworth, stepping forward with a wink.

In the library he told the Tinkletown posse that Tom Reddon had met Miss
Banks while she was at school in New York. He was a Chicago
millionaire's son and she was the daughter of wealthy New York people.
Her mother was eager to have the young people marry, but the girl at
that time imagined herself to be in love with another man. In a pique
she left school and set forth to earn her own living. A year's hardship
as governess in the family of Congressman Ritchey and subsequent
disillusionment as a country school-teacher brought her to her senses
and she realised that she cared for Tom Reddon after all. She and Miss
Gray together prepared the letter which told Reddon where she could be
found, and that eager young gentleman did the rest. He had been waiting
for months for just such a message from her. The night of the
spelling-match he induced her to come to Colonel Randall's, and now the
whole house-party, including Miss Banks, was to leave on the following
day for New York. The marriage would take place in a very few weeks.

"I'll accept your explanation," said Mr. Crow composedly as he took a
handful of cigars. "Well, I guess I'll be startin' back. It's gettin'
kind o' late-like."

There was a telegram at the livery stable for him when he reached that
haven of warmth and rest in Tinkletown about dawn the next day. It was
from Chicago and marked "Charges collect."