“From the way it's turning out,” said Garner. “While Buck Black was shaving me just now he remarked that his wife had seen Uncle Lewis and Linda and that she thought they were acting very peculiarly. I asked him in as off-hand and careless a manner as I could what he meant, and he said that his wife didn't think they acted exactly as if they had just lost their only child. Buck said it looked like they were only pretending to be brokenhearted. I thought the best way to discourage him was to be silent, and so I closed my eyes and he went on with his work. Presently, however, he said bluntly, 'Look here, Colonel Garner'--Buck always calls me colonel--'where do you think they put that boy?' He had me there, you know, and I felt ashamed of myself. The idea of as good a lawyer as there is in this end of the State actually wiggling under the eye and tongue of a coon as black as the ace of spades! Finally I told him that, as well as I could gather, the Hillbend faction had put Pete out of the way, and were keeping it a secret to intimidate the negroes through their natural superstition. And what do you reckon Buck said. Huh, he'd make a good detective! He said he'd had his eye on the most rampant of the Hillbend men and that they didn't look like they'd lynched anything as big as a mouse. In fact, he thought they were on the lookout for a good opportunity in that line.” “It certainly looks shaky,” Carson admitted, as they moved on to the store, where Blackburn stood waiting for them just inside the doorway. “How did Pete pass the night?” Carson asked, his brow still clouded by the discouraging observations of his partner. “Oh, all right,” Blackburn made reply. “Bob and Wade slept here on the counters. They say he snored like a saw-mill. They could hear him through the floor. Boys, I hate to dash cold water in your faces, but I never felt as shaky in my life.” “What's the matter with _you?_” Garner asked, with an uneasy laugh. “I'm afraid a storm is rising in an unexpected quarter,” said the store-keeper, furtively glancing up and down the street, and then leading them farther back into the store. “Which quarter is that?” Carson asked, anxiously. “The sheriff is acting odd--mighty odd,” said Blackburn. “Good Lord! you don't think Braider's really on our trail do you?” Garner cried, in genuine alarm. “Well, you two can make out what it means yourselves,” and Blackburn pulled at his short chin whiskers doggedly. “It was only about half an hour ago--Braider's drinking some, and was, perhaps, on that account a little more communicative--he came in here, his face as red as a pickled beet, and smelling like a bunghole in a whiskey-barrel, and leaned against the counter on the dry-goods side. “'I'm the legally elected sheriff of this county, ain't I?' he said, in his maudlin way, and I told him he was by a big majority. “'Well,' he said, after looking down at the floor for a minute, 'I'll bet you boys think I'm a dem slack wad of an officer.'