"I deputize you to act as guard during the day over the remains of Orlando Camp. You are to see to it that no one trespasses within fifty feet of it without an order from me,—or the Governor of New York. You will—"
"What the devil are you talkin' about?" demanded Alf. "There ain't no remains around here named Camp."
The marshal smiled, but there was more pity than mirth in the effort.
"All you got to do is to do what I deputize you to do," he said quietly. "Is Bill Kepsal here?"
"Present," said the iron-armed blacksmith, with a series of winks that almost sufficed to take in the whole assemblage.
"I deputize you, William Kepsal, and—" (he craned his neck slightly)—"and you, Newton Spratt, out there on the edge of the crowd, to act as guards durin' the night, until relieved by Deputy Reesling at seven A. M. tomorrow mornin'. You will permit no one to approach or remove the body of Moses Briscoe from its present place of confinement until further orders. And now, feller citizens, I must request you one and all to disperse and not to congregate again in this locality, under penalty of the law. Disperse at once, move on, everybody."
The crowd didn't move an inch.
"He's gone plumb crazy," said Rush Applegate to Uncle Dad Simms, and he made such a special effort that Uncle Dad heard him quite distinctly.
"He always wuz," agreed Uncle Dad. "What's he crazy about this time?"
"Come on home, Anderson," said Alf Reesling, gently. "Maybe if you took a dose of—"