The detective surveyed the scene enthusiastically, taking in all of the surrounding area. He examined each square foot of land as if it was a puzzle, trying to piece together a picture in his mind. Frank Albertson stood nearby, his son Bill at his side. Bill was holding a shotgun he had earlier been sent inside to find, upon discovering their scarecrow.
You see, Frank Albertson awoke early in the morning, got into his overalls, and went out into his fields. But when he arrived, he found his scarecrow and much of the surrounding produce in ruin. At first he thought the crows had been wise to his scheme, and that they had torn the scarecrow apart. But when he found the scarecrow's head, and its straw for brains scattered nearly twenty yards away from where its body lay ravaged, he concluded that the offender was a bigger, stronger creature.