ten o'clock," Billy explained. "She 'sleep out
yonder, ve'y tired--face wet, been cryin', 'spose; fetch her home, feed
her, she heap much hungry--go 'sleep 'gin."

In her limitless gratitude the happy mother waived rank and hugged him
too, calling him "the angel of God in disguise." And he probably was
in disguise if he was that kind of an official. He was dressed for the
character.

At half past one in the morning the procession burst into the village
singing, "When Johnny Comes Marching Home," waving its lanterns, and
swallowing the drinks that were brought out all along its course. It
concentrated at the tavern, and made a night of what was left of the
morning.

PART II

I

The next afternoon the village was electrified with an immense
sensation. A grave and dignified foreigner of distinguished bearing and
appearance had arrived at the tavern, and entered this formidable name
upon the register:

SHERLOCK HOLMES.

The news buzzed from cabin to cabin, from claim to claim; tools were
dropped, and the town swarmed toward the center of interest. A man
passing out at the northern end of the village shouted it to Pat Riley,
whose claim was the next one to Flint Buckner's. At that time Fetlock
Jones seemed to turn sick. He muttered to himself,

"Uncle Sherlock! The mean luck of it!--that he should come just
when...." He dropped into a reverie, and presently said to himself: "But
what's the use of being afraid of him? Anybody that knows him the way
I do knows he can't detect a crime except where he plans it all out
beforehand and arranges the clues and hires some fellow to commit it
according to instructions.... Now there ain't going to be any clues
this time--so, what show has he got? None at all. No, sir; everything's
ready. If I was to risk putting it off.... No, I won't run any risk like
that. Flint Buckner goes out of this world to-night, for sure." Then
another trouble presented itself. "Uncle Sherlock 'll be wanting to talk
home matters with me this evening, and how am I going to get rid of him?
for I've got to be at my cabin a minute or two about eight o'clock."
This was an awkward matter, and cost him much thought. But he found a
way to beat the difficulty. "We'll go for a walk, and I'll leave him in
the road a minute, so that he won't see what it is I do: the best way to
throw a detective off the track, anyway, is to have him along when you
are preparing the thing. Yes, that's the safest--I