“We’ve got to catch that fellow,” finally resolved the marshal.  There was a dead silence.

“He’s got a pistol,” ventured some one.

“How do you know?” demanded Mr. Crow keenly.  “Did y’ see it?”

“He couldn’t ha’ killed that feller ’thout a gun.”

“That’s a fact,” agreed Anderson Crow.  “Well, we’ve got to get him, anyhow.  I call for volunteers!  Who will join me in the search?” cried the marshal bravely.

“I hate to go to Crow’s Cliff after him,” said George Ray.  “It’s a lonesome place, and as dark as night ’mong them trees and rocks.”

“It’s our duty to catch him.  He’s a criminal, and besides, he’s killed a man,” said Crow severely.

“And he has twenty-one dollars of your money,” added Harry Squires.  “I’ll go with you, Anderson.  I’ve got a revolver.”

“Look out there!” roared Anderson Crow.  “The blamed thing might go off!” he added as the reporter drew a shiny six-shooter from his pocket.

The example set by one brave man had its influence on the crowd.  A score or more volunteered, despite the objections of their wives, and it was not long before Anderson Crow was leading his motley band of sleuths down the lane to the foot-log over which the desperado had gone an hour before.

It was at the beginning of the man-hunt that various citizens recalled certain actions and certain characteristics of the stranger which had made them suspicious from the start.  His prodigal disposition of the box of matches impressed most of them as reckless dare-devilism; his haste, anxiety, and a single instance of mild profanity told others of his viciousness.  One man was sure he had seen the stranger’s watch chain in farmer Grover’s possession; and another saw something black on his thumb, which he now remembered was a powder stain.

“I noticed all them things,” averred Anderson Crow, supreme once more.

“But what in thunder did he want with those hair-pins?” inquired George Ray.

“Never mind,” said Anderson mysteriously.  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Do you know Anderson?” some one asked.

“Of course I do,” responded the marshal loftily.

“Well, what were they for, then?”

“I’m not givin’ any clews away.  You just wait a while and see if I’m not right.”

And they were satisfied that the detective knew all about it.  After crossing the foot-log the party was divided as to which direction it should take.  The marshal said the man had run to the southeast, but for some inexplicable reason quite a number of the pursuers wanted to hunt for him in the northwest.  Finally it was decided to separate into posses of ten, all to converge at Crow’s Cliff as soon as possible.  There were enough double-barrelled shotguns in the party to have conquered a pirate crew.

At the end of an hour Anderson Crow and his delegation came to the narrow path which led to the summit of Crow’s Cliff.  They were very brave by this time.  A small boy was telling them he had seen the fugitive about dinner-time “right where you fellers are standin’ now.”