It's been stole."
"Good Lord!" gasped Anderson. His badge danced before his eyes and then
seemed to shrivel.
Quite a crowd had collected at the _Banner_ office. There was a sudden
hush when the marshal drove up. Even the horse felt the intensity of the
moment. He shied at a dog and then kicked over the dashboard, upsetting
Anderson Crow's meagre dignity and almost doing the same to the vehicle.
"You're a fine detective!" jeered Harry Squires; and poor old Anderson
hated him ever afterward.
"What have you heerd?" demanded the marshal.
"There's been a terrible murder at Boggs City, that's all. The chief of
police just telephoned to us that a farmer named Grover was found dead
in a ditch just outside of town--shot through the head, his pockets
rifled. It is known that he started to town to deposit four hundred
dollars hog-money in the bank. The money is missing, and so are his
horse and buggy. A young fellow was seen in the neighbourhood early this
morning--a stranger. The chief's description corresponds with the man
who sold that rig to you. The murderer is known to have driven in this
direction. People saw him going almost at a gallop."
It is not necessary to say that Tinkletown thoroughly turned inside out
with excitement. The whole population was soon at the post-office, and
everybody was trying to supply Anderson Crow with wits.
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