even in an hour of emergency.

A dull state of paralysis fell upon the citizens, big and little. It
was as if universal palsy had been ordained to pinch the limbs and
brains of Tinkletown until the hour came for the rehabilitation of
Anderson Crow himself. No one suggested a move in any direction--in
fact, no one felt like moving at all. Everything stood stockstill while
Anderson slowly pulled himself together; everything waited dumbly for
its own comatose condition to be dispelled by the man who had been hit
the hardest.

It was not until late in the afternoon that Blucher Peabody, the
druggist, awoke from his lethargy and moved as though he intended to
take the initiative. "Blootch" was Rosalie's most persistent admirer. He
had fallen heir to his father's apothecary shop and notion store, and he
was regarded as one of the best catches in town. He approached the
half-frozen crowd that huddled near old Mrs. Luce's front gate. In this
crowd were some of the prominent men of the town, young and old; they
left their places of business every half hour or so and wandered
aimlessly to the now historic spot, as if drawn by a magnet. Just why
they congregated there no one could explain and no one attempted to do
so. Presumably it was because the whole town centred its mind on one of
two places--the spot where Rosalie was seized or the home of Anderson
Crow. When they were not at Mrs. Luce's gate they were tramping through
Anderson's front yard and into his house.

"Say," said "Blootch" so loudly that the crowd felt like remonstrating
with him, "what's the use of all this?"

No one responded. No one was equal to it on such short notice.

"We've got to do something besides stand around and whisper," he said.
"We've got to find Rosalie Gray."

"But good gosh!" ejaculated Isaac Porter, "they've got purty nigh a
day's start of us."

"Well, that don't matter. Anderson would do as much for us. Let's get a
move on."

"But where in thunder will we hunt?" murmured George Ray.

"To the end of the earth," announced Blootch, inflating his chest and
slapping it violently, a strangely personal proceeding, which went
unnoticed. He had reached the conclusion that his chance to be a hero
was at hand and not to be despised. Here was the opportunity to outstrip
all of his competitors in the race for Rosalie's favour. It might be
confessed that, with all his good intentions, his plans were hopelessly
vague. The group braced up a little