at the sound of his heroic words.

"But the derned thing's round," was the only thing Ed Higgins could find
to say. Ed, as fickle as the wind, was once more deeply in love with
Rosalie, having switched from Miss Banks immediately after the visit to
Colonel Randall's.

"Aw, you go to Guinea!" was Blootch's insulting reply. Nothing could be
more disparaging than that, but Ed failed to retaliate. "Let's appoint a
committee to wait on Anderson and find out what he thinks we'd better
do."

"But Anderson ain't--" began some one. Blootch calmly waived him into
silence.

"What he wants is encouragement, and not a lot of soup and broth and
lemonade. He ain't sick. He's as able-bodied as I am. Every woman in
town took soup to him this noon. He needs a good stiff drink of whiskey
and a committee to cheer him up. I took a bottle up to 'Rast Little last
night and he acted like another man."

At last it was decided that a committee should first wait on Anderson,
ascertaining his wishes in the premises, and then proceed to get at the
bottom of the mystery. In forming this committee the wise men of the
town ignored Mr. Peabody, and he might have been left off completely had
he not stepped in and appointed himself chairman.

The five good men and true descended upon the marshal late in the
afternoon, half fearful of the result, but resolute. They found him
slowly emerging from his spell of lassitude. He greeted them with a
solemn nod of the head. Since early morning he had been conscious of a
long stream of sympathisers passing through the house, but it was not
until now that he felt equal to the task of recognising any of them.

His son Roscoe had just finished telling him the story of the abduction.
Roscoe's awestruck tones and reddened eyes carried great weight with
them, and for the tenth time that day he had his sisters in tears. With
each succeeding repetition the details grew until at last there was but
little of the original event remaining, a fact which his own family
properly overlooked.

"Gentlemen," said Anderson, as if suddenly coming from a trance, "this
wasn't the work of Tinkletown desperadoes." Whereupon the committee felt
mightily relieved. The marshal displayed signs of a returning energy
that augured well for the enterprise. After the chairman had
impressively announced that something must be done, and that he was
willing to lead his little band to death's door--and beyond, if
necessary--Mr. Crow pathetical