b pipe, spat accurately over the hand
with which he shielded his straggling chin whiskers, and remarked:

"Do _you_ see anything wrong with this here pipe, Newt?" he asked,
gazing rather pensively at the object.

"I don't _see_ anything wrong with it," said Newt. "Still, I think
you're mighty sensible not to smoke it any place except in an alley. Why
don't you get a new one? They only cost ten cents. If you got a new one
once in a while,--say once a year,--your wife wouldn't order you out of
the house every time you light it."

"She don't order me out of the house when I light it," retorted
Anderson. "'Cause why? 'Cause I never light it till I get two or three
blocks away from home."

The subject apparently being exhausted, the two alley-farers lapsed into
characteristic silence. Mr. Spratt leaned rather wearily against his own
back fence, while Mr. Crow accepted the support of a telephone pole.
Presently the former started to say something about the weather, but got
no farther than the first two or three words when an astounding
conjecture caused him to break off abruptly. He glanced at the old
marshal, swallowed hard a couple of times, and then hopefully ventured
the time-honoured question:

"Anything new, Anderson?"

The marshal responded with a slow, almost imperceptible shake of the
head. He was gazing reflectively at a couple of English sparrows perched
on one of the telephone wires some distance down the line.

Newt experienced a sudden, overwhelming joy. Caution, however, and a
certain fear that he might be mistaken, advised him to go slow. There
remained the possibility that Anderson might be capable of simulation.

"Where's the body?" he inquired, casually.

Marshal Crow's gaze deserted the sparrows and fixed itself on Newt's
ear.

"The what?"

His companion exhaled a tremendous breath of satisfaction. Life was
suddenly worth living. The Marshal of Tinkletown had not heard the
"news." The marshal, _himself_!

"Well, by Gosh!" exclaimed the revivified Mr. Spratt. "Where have you
been at?"

"That's my business," snapped Anderson.

"All I got to say is that you ought to be attendin' to it, if it's your
business," said Newt loftily. "You're the marshal of this here town,
ain't you? And everybody in town knows that Jake Miller is dead except
you. You're a fine marshal." There was withering scorn in Newt's voice.
He even manifested an inclination to walk off and leave the marshal
without further e