doin', consarn you?"

"I beg pardon," everybody within hearing heard the young man say. "Is
this the city of Tinkletown?" He said "city," they could swear, every
man's son of them.

"Yes, it is," answered the marshal severely. "What of it?"

"That's all. I just wanted to know. Where's the store?"

"Which store?" quite crossly. The stranger seemed nonplussed at this.

"Have you more than--oh, to be sure. I should say, where is the
_nearest_ store?" apologised the stranger.

"Well, this is a good one, I reckon," said Mr. Crow laconically,
indicating the post-office and general store.

"Will you be good enough to hold my horse while I run in there for a
minute?" calmly asked the new arrival in town, springing lightly from
the mud-spattered buggy. Anderson Crow almost staggered beneath this
indignity. The crowd gasped, and then waited breathlessly for the
withering process.

"Why--why, dod-gast you, sir, what do you think I am--a hitchin'-post?"
exploded on the lips of the new detective. His face was flaming red.

"You'll have to excuse me, my good man, but I thought I saw a
hitching-rack as I drove up. Ah, here it is. How careless of me. But
say, I won't be in the store more than a second, and it doesn't seem