Rosalie was to be one of the guests at the
house party, but her foster-sisters were not the kind to be envious.
They revelled with her in the preparations for that new season of
delight.
With the coming of the Bonners, Anderson once more revived his
resolution to unravel the mystery attending Rosalie's birth. For some
months this ambition had lain dormant, but now, with the approach of the
man she loved, the old marshal's devotion took fire and he swore daily
that the mystery should be cleared "whether it wanted to be or not."
He put poor old Alf Reesling through the "sweat box" time and again, and
worthless Tom Folly had many an unhappy night, wondering why the marshal
was shadowing him so persistently.
"Alf," demanded Anderson during one of the sessions, "where were you on
the night of February 18, 1883? Don't hesitate. Speak up. Where were
you? Aha, you cain't answer. That looks suspicious."
"You bet I c'n answer," said Alf bravely, blinking his blear eyes. "I
was in Tinkletown."
"What were you doin' that night?"
"I was sleepin'."
"At what time? Keerful now, don't lie."
"What time o' night did they leave her on your porch?" demanded Alf in
turn.
"It was jest half past 'leven."
"You're right, Anderson. That's jest the time I was asleep."
"C'n you prove it? Got witnesses?"
"Yes, but they don't remember the night.
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