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"I'll take it out in board and lodging," grinned Wicker Bonner to Anderson as two strong men lifted him from the sleigh. "Where's Bud?" demanded Anderson after the others had entered the house. "He stayed down to the 'calaboose' to guard the prisoners," said "Blootch." "Nobody could find the key to the door and nobody else would stay.
"Blootch," determined to miss nothing, whirled to follow, or pass him if possible. He had time to shout over his shoulder as he went forth without closing the door: "The old woman has lynched herself!"
He then took the pledge, and talked about the evils of strong drink with so much feeling at prayer meeting that the women of the town inaugurated a movement to stop the sale of liquor in the town. As Peabody's drug store was the only place where whiskey could be obtained, "Blootch" soon saw the error of his ways and came down from his pedestal to mend them.
Everything stood stockstill while Anderson slowly pulled himself together; everything waited dumbly for its own comatose condition to be dispelled by the man who had been hit the hardest. It was not until late in the afternoon that Blucher Peabody, the druggist, awoke from his lethargy and moved as though he intended to take the initiative. "Blootch" was Rosalie's most persistent admirer.
"To the end of the earth," announced Blootch, inflating his chest and slapping it violently, a strangely personal proceeding, which went unnoticed. He had reached the conclusion that his chance to be a hero was at hand and not to be despised. Here was the opportunity to outstrip all of his competitors in the race for Rosalie's favour.
'What's that, Blootch?" "I was just goin' to ask Bud if they're still in there," said Blootch. "Are they, Bud?" asked Anderson in quick alarm. "Sure," replied Bud with a mighty swelling of the chest. Even Blootch envied him. "She's been dead jest an hour an' seven minutes," observed Anderson, gingerly touching the dead woman's wrist. "Doggone, I'm glad o' one thing!" "What's that, Anderson?"
"But I should think she'd telegraph to you," said Blootch. "Telegraph yer granny! Do you s'pose they'd 'a' stole her if they intended to let her telegraph to anybody? Not much. They're spiritin' her away until her estate's settled. After a while it will all come out, an' you'll see if I ain't right. But she's gone. They've got her away from me an' an' we got to stand it, that's all.
Now she was forgetting the wish which had been expressed to Anderson Crow on the drive home from Boggs City. In its place grew the fierce hope that the once despised detective might clear away the mystery and give her the right to stand among others without shame and despair. "Hear from Wick purty reg'lar, don't you, Rosalie?" asked Anderson wickedly, one night while Blootch was there.
He's been there ever sence nine o'clock, an' it's half-past two now." "Roscoe's helpin' him," muttered Anderson, abashed. At that instant there came a rush of footsteps across the front porch and in burst Ed Higgins and "Blootch" Peabody, fairly gasping with excitement. "Hurry up, Anderson down to the jail," sputtered the former; and then he was gone like the wind.
Be it said here, however, that Rosalie was not long in settling many of the speculators straight in their minds. It seemed improbable that it should not be as they had thought and hoped. The news soon reached Blootch Peabody and Ed Higgins, and, both eager to revive a blighted hope, in high spirits, called to see Rosalie on the same night.
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