The thieves made off with some picks, too, as well as some kerosene and a few score yards of rope; but the notable thing was that they took all five shiny new shovels Estel had in stock at the hardware store that served as anteroom to the sheriff ’s office. This was better, though, Estel said. Theft was better than what August brought. Even when the theft made little sense. The thieves did not open the cash drawer, nor did they force the door into the sheriff ’s office where Estel’s Colt .32 revolver hung in its belt; the money one could get for that fine gun would buy a lot of shovels. “What were they going to do,” Estel wondered aloud at the general store, “build a canal? Go on a treasure hunt?” At least the locks weren’t damaged. This was because he almost never locked his window. Even in hard times, Whitbrow was not the sort of place where one had to lock one’s neighbors out. Still, it was apparent that the ease with which he had been robbed stung him. Worse, something about this seemed ominous to him, made him wonder if it was connected with the Falmouth boy’s death.
