She flushed. Her temper had been running away with her and she knew it. "I'm sorry," she said. "What happened?" "I didn't have much trouble finding Tommy," the sheriff explained. "He was crossing a field when I spotted him. I stopped my car and walked toward him--_and he took a shot at me_." Down in this country you may do a little private feuding with your neighbors but there is one thing you don't do. You don't shoot at the sheriff. "He shot at you!" Ellen gasped. "Where did he get a gun?" "He didn't have a gun." Ellen's face showed confusion. "Then how did he shoot at you?" she demanded. "With that slingshot he always carries," the sheriff said. Tommy's favorite weapon, in fact his only weapon, was a rubber slingshot. A pocket full of pebbles and a sling was all he needed to be happy. "Sheriff," Ellen's voice was hot again. "Just because he shot at you with a sling is no reason why you should call out a posse and run him down like a mad dog?" "No," the sheriff admitted. "Especially since he didn't hit me." "He didn't hit you! And you--" "He hit my car," the sheriff said. Ellen's face blazed with anger. "So what? A few more nicks in that rattle-trap of yours won't make any difference." "No, Miss Ellen," the sheriff said, his voice dry and tense. "Not any more." "Not any more! _What are you talking about?_" "Not any car any more," the sheriff said. "It blew up." "Blew up!" the girl gasped. "Sky high," the sheriff said. "Chunks of the motor landed a quarter of a mile away. Piece of hot metal hit me--" He looked down at the bloody sling holding his arm. "That's where I got this." I had already seen what was left of his car, which was mostly a hole in the ground. A case of dynamite wouldn't have blown it into smaller pieces. "I got two reasons for wanting to catch Tommy," the sheriff continued. "First, I got a warrant that says I must arrest him. Second, I want to look at those pebbles he's shooting out of that slingshot." * * * * * You can damned well bet he wanted to look at those pebbles! So did I. If a pebble small enough to be shot out of a sling could blow up a car, it was a mighty powerful and mighty important chunk of rock. Think how big an explosion a pebble as big as a baseball would make! Think how many baseballs could be carried in a bomber! _What was Tommy Sonofagun shooting in his sling?_ "I just can't believe it," Ellen said, when she had recovered from her surprise. "Tommy didn't cause those explosions. Your car just happened to blow up at that moment. Tommy didn't do it. He couldn't have done it. It's--it's impossible." The sheriff didn't argue with her and neither did I. We were both watching what was happening down in Ten Mile Valley. Those bloodhounds, after being baffled for a long time, had suddenly hit a hot trail.