“Are you Lafe Grandoken?” he demanded, looking at the cobbler.
“Yes,” affirmed Lafe.
The man flourished a paper with staid importance.
“I’m the sheriff of this county, an’ I’ve a warrant for your arrest for murderin’ Maudlin Bates,” he sing-songed.
Jinnie sprang forward.
“Lafe didn’t shoot ’im,” she cried desperately.
The man eyed her critically.
“Did you do it, kid?” he asked, smiling.
“No, I wasn’t here!” answered Jinnie, short-breathed.
“Then how’d you know he didn’t do it?”