ward briskly, hand out like a candidate for office. He was a shrewd appearing little man, his dry narrow face full of humorous wrinkles as he came smiling to meet Bill. He wore a large, cream-colored, cattleman's hat, the crown of it jauntily creased, tilted cockily to one side, which gave him an adventurous, trouble-hunting appearance quite out of keeping with his mildness and his size.
"Simmons—Major Philo Simmons, president of the Capitol Bank of Pawnee Bend," he announced himself, disarming of questionable intent as any high-pressure go-fetcher of the present commercial age. "I greet you, Mr. Dunham, as the six-hundredth citizen of this county. Gentlemen, allow me to present the six-hundredth citizen."
Bill was beginning to get a bit suspicious of some sort of a come-on. He didn't get that talk about the six-hundredth citizen. It was beyond him to understand, as it might have been to a shrewder man in his place, why the six-hundredth citizen was of any more importance than the first, but he gave himself over to the trust of Major Simmons, whose position in the community should have been sufficient to quiet all suspicion, even if it did not do so entirely.
"Mr. Henry Bergen, Mr. Marsh Puckett, of Bergen and Puckett," Major Simmons presented his companions in turn. "Mr. Bergen is our county treasurer, Mr. Puckett our recorder and clerk, or at least they will be under our new county government."
Bill shook hands with them and said he was glad to meet them, although he was not, for he didn't like the
