It remained for Alf Reesling, the town drunkard, to bring order out of chaos. Not that he seized the opportunity to go on a spree while Anderson was moon-gazing,--not at all. Alf loathed intoxicating liquors. He did not drink himself, and he had a horror of any one who did. He had been drunk just three times in his life, but as he had managed to crowd the three exhibitions into the space of one week--some twenty years before--Tinkletown elected him forthwith for life to the office of town sot. Now, Alf had a grievance. He finally got the ear of Marshal Crow and let loose in a way that startled the old man out of his daze. "Here you been watchin' me, an' trailin' me, an' lecturin' me for twenty years, dern ye,--an' pleadin' with me to keep sober fer the sake of Tinkletown's fair name, an' you let this feller Bonyparte git full an' keep people awake half the night. He's been drunk more times in the last three weeks than I ever was in all my life. He--" "What's that? Did you say drunk?" demanded Anderson, blinking. "Who told you he was drunk?" "_He_ did," said Alf. "He don't make any bones about it. He tells everybody when he is drunk. He's proud of it." "An' I suppose everybody believes him," said Anderson scathingly. "The people of this here town will believe _any_ thing if--" "Las' night that pardner of his'n an' two other fellers from up the hill had to take him up to his room an' lock him in. He was tryin' to sing the Star Spangled Banner in _Dutch_. Gosh, it was awful! He orter be arrested, same as anybody else, Anderson Crow. You got me under suspicion every minute o' the time--night _and_ day--" "That'll do, that'll do, now Alf. No more back talk out o' you," exclaimed Anderson menacingly. "You might as well _be_ drunk as to _act_ drunk. Don't you know any better'n--" "Are you goin' to arrest this Bonyparte feller?" Anderson eyed him sternly for a moment. "I got half a notion to run you in, Alf Reesling, fer interferin' with an officer." "How'm I interferin'?" "You're preventin' me from arrestin' a violater of the law, dern you. Can't you see I'm on my way over to Justice Robb's to swear out a warrant against Abraham Lincoln Bonaparte for bein' intoxicated? What do you mean by stoppin' me an'--" "I'll go along, Andy," broke in Alf, suddenly affable. "I'll swear to it if you--" "'Tain't necessary," announced Anderson loftily. "I c'n attend to my own business, if you can't. Nobody c'n sing the Star Spangled Banner in Dutch without havin' a charge of intoxication filed ag'in him, lemme tell you that. Git out o' my way, Alf." Mr. Crow's pride had been touched. The shaft of criticism had gone home. He would arrest Mr. Abraham Lincoln Bonaparte, no matter what came of it. He did not like Mr. Bonaparte anyway. It was Mr. Bonaparte who had ordered him off Crow's Mountain--his own mountain, mind you--and told him not to come puttering around there any more.