"I dunno, son," said the sheriff benevolently. "But I been drifting
around a tolerable long time, I guess."

"Why," said Terry, with a sort of outburst, "I've simply eaten up
everything I could gather. I've even read about you in magazines!"

"Well, now you don't say," protested the sheriff. "In magazines?"

And his eye quested through the group, hoping for other listeners who
might learn how broadly the fame of their sheriff was spread.

"That Canning fellow who travelled out West and ran into you and was
along while you were hunting down the Garrison boys. I read his article."

The sheriff scratched his chin. "I disremember him. Canning? Canning?
Come to think of it, I do remember him. Kind of a small man with washed-
out eyes. Always with a notebook on his knee. I got sick of answering all
that gent's questions, I recollect. Yep, he was along when I took the
Garrison boys, but that little party didn't amount to much."

"He thought it did," said Terry fervently. "Said it was the bravest,
coolest-headed, cunningest piece of work he'd ever seen done. Perhaps
you'll tell me some of the other things--the things you count big?"

"Oh, I ain't done nothing much, come to think of it. All pretty simple,
they looked to me, when I was doing them. Besides, I ain't much of a hand
at talk!"

"Ah," said Terry, "you'd talk well enough to suit me, sheriff!"