The snow creaked resoundingly under his heels and the chill wind nipped his muffless ears with a spitefulness that annoyed.

In fact, he became so incensed, that he set his basket down and slapped his ears vigorously for some minutes before resuming his slow progress.

He hated the thought of going in where the dead woman lay.
Suddenly he made up his mind that a confession from the men would be worthless unless he had ear witnesses to substantiate it in court.
Without further deliberation, he retraced his steps hurriedly to Lamson's store, where, after half an hour's conversation on the topics of the day, he deputised the entire crowd to accompany him to the jail.
"Where's Bud ?" he demanded sharply.
"Home in bed, poor child," said old Mr.Borton.
"Well, doggone his ornery hide, why ain't he here to--" began Anderson, but checked himself in time to prevent the crowd from seeing that he expected Bud to act as leader in the expedition.

"I wanted him to jot down notes," he substituted.

Editor Squires volunteered to act as secretary, prompter, interpreter, and everything else that his scoffing tongue could utter.
"Well, go ahead, then," said Anderson, pushing him forward.