Quickly I crossed the bridge and turned toward Hebron, setting my teeth on my lower lip in firm resolve, and walking rapidly. When I came within view of the hamlet I halted and listened. No ringing sound floated across to me from the shop; the forge was still. I went on, more slowly. Everything seemed to support the theory that my enemy had been arrested. The smithy was open, but empty; the fire was dead. I pushed forward to the store. Mr. Todler (I had learned his name only the Saturday before) was not sitting on the porch this morning, and for good reason. The sun was blazing hot, and fell squarely upon the cracker box where the storekeeper was wont to rest. It is true he might have removed the box to the other side of the door, where the sun did not reach, but this would have involved some effort. I went in. At first I thought the place vacant, and stood listening to some green flies buzzing and butting their foolish heads against the window panes--panes so dirty that they looked like mica. Then I saw Mr. Todler. He was stretched upon the dry goods counter in a space about seven feet clear, his head resting upon a thick bolt of unbleached cotton, a newspaper over his face. Back of him were other bolts of different kinds, piled one upon another, and on top of the whole lay a tortoise-shell cat, slumbering peacefully. Mr. Todler was slumbering, too, but not peacefully. The store was taking care of itself. Assuming that this singular person went to sleep with the expectation of being aroused should a customer perchance arrive, I removed the newspaper, hoping thus to waken him. But the sweet bonds which held him were not to be loosened so lightly. He snored on, and I found myself regarding his grimy collar, his frayed, soiled, green-and-yellow necktie--one of the ready-made kind, where you stick a band through a hole and it catches on a pin. I grasped his shoulder and shook him, for the information I sought was of the first importance. He uttered a sound which was the mingling of a grunt and a groan, and began to bat his heavy lids slowly. "Whut yo' want?" he muttered, thick-tongued because of sleep which still pressed upon him. "Is Buck Steele in jail?" I asked, quickly, for I saw symptoms which pointed toward another period of unconsciousness. "Buck?" he said, faintly, and in a way which led me to believe that he had not comprehended my question. His eyes had shut again. "Yes, Buck!" I cried, shaking him a second time, and lifting my voice to a hard key. "Bart Crawley went for a warrant Saturday. Has the sheriff got him yet? Answer yes or no, and I won't bother you any more!" Mr. Todler neither rose nor stirred under my vehement words, but his eyes came open listlessly, he blinked at me for a few seconds, and replied: "He wa'nt tuk w'en I we'n to sleep. Whut's more, he ain't a-goin' to git tuk--not Buck!"