e wayside. He was taken in and given a warm chair before
the fire. One long look at Bonner and the newcomer lapsed into a
stubborn pout. He groaned occasionally and made much ado over his
condition, but sourly resented any approach at sympathy. Finally he fell
asleep in the chair, his last speech being to the effect that he was
going home early in the morning if he had to drag himself every foot of
the way. Plainly, 'Rast had forgotten Miss Banks in the sudden revival
of affection for Rosalie Gray. The course of true love did not run
smoothly in Tinkletown.

The searchers straggled in empty handed. Early morning found most of
them asleep at their homes, tucked away by thankful wives, and with the
promises of late breakfasts. The next day business was slow in asserting
its claim upon public attention. Masculine Tinkletown dozed while
femininity chattered to its heart's content. There was much to talk
about and more to anticipate. The officials in all counties contiguous
had out their dragnets, and word was expected at any time that the
fugitives had fallen into their hands.

But not that day, nor the next, nor any day, in fact, did news come of
their capture, so Tinkletown was obliged to settle back into a state of
tranquility. Some little interest was aroused when the town board
ordered the calaboose repaired, and there was a ripple of excitement
attached to the funeral of the only kidnaper in captivity. It was
necessary to postpone the oyster supper at the Methodist Church, but
there was some consolation in the knowledge that it would soon be
summer-time and the benighted Africans would not need the money for
winter clothes. The reception at the minister's house was a fizzle. He
was warned in time, however, and it was his own fault that he received
no more than a jug of vinegar, two loaves of bread and a pound of honey
as the result of his expectations. It was the first time that a "pound"
party had proven a losing enterprise.

Anderson Crow maintained a relentless search for the desperadoes. He
refused to accept Wicker Bonner's theory that they were safe in the city
of New York. It was his own opinion that they were still in the
neighbourhood, waiting for a chance to exhume the body of Davy's mother
and make off with it.

"Don't try to tell me, Mr. Bonner, that even a raskil like him hasn't
any love fer his mother," he contended. "Davy may not be much of a
model, but he had a feelin' fer the woman who bore him, an