"The papers are full of their deeds. Cutthroats of the
worst character."
"I'd let them alone, Anderson," pleaded his wife. "If you corner them,
they'll shoot, and it would be jest like you to follow them right into
their lair."
"Consarn it, Eva, don't you s'pose that I c'n shoot, too?" snorted
Anderson. "What you reckon I've been keepin' them loaded revolvers out
in the barn all these years fer? Jest fer ornaments? Not much! They're
to shoot with, ef anybody asks you. Thunderation, Mr. Gregory, you ain't
no idee how a feller can be handicapped by a timid wife an' a lot o'
fool childern. I'm almost afeard to turn 'round fer fear they'll be
skeered to death fer my safety."
"You cut yourself with a razor once when ma told you not to try to shave
the back of your neck by yourself," said one of the girls. "She wanted
you to let Mr. Beck shave it for you, but you wouldn't have it that
way."
"Do you suppose I want an undertaker shavin' my neck? I'm not that
anxious to be shaved. Beck's the undertaker, Mr. Gregory."
"Well, he runs the barber shop, too," insisted the girl.
During the next three days Tinkletown saw but little of its marshal,
fire chief and street commissioner. That triple personage was off on
business of great import. Early, each morning, he mysteriously stole
away to the woods, either up or down the river, carrying a queer bundle
under the seat of his "buckboard.
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