p it,--"Crit and Miss Sally jes went into the bank; I
don't reckin they've come out again."

"Miss Sally's come out again," interposed another Granger, "because I
seen her."

"It's the father that I want to see," said the horseman, with smiling
emphasis, "not the daughter, not Miss Sally." He passed through the bank
door, still smiling, and the Grange group looked at each other, rife
with speculation on the instant.

"Hadn't-a said not, I'd-a said it wuz Miss Sally he wanted to see.
Looks to me like he might be one of her beaux. Wears sumpin the same
clothes."

"Looked like a Yank to me."

"Uh-huh, betchew he lets his biscuits cool before he butters 'em."

"Haven't heard Crit say he was looking for a stranger."

"Reckon if you keep up with Crit's business, my friend, you'll have to
walk faster."

While the Grangers were wondering, supposing, reckoning, the man who
probably let his biscuits cool before he buttered them entered the Bank
of Canaan.

When the cage for the clerical force had been put into the Bank of
Canaan, there was not a great deal of the bank left, so the man stopped
where he thought he was least apt to be scraped, in the little space in
front of the Force's window. The Force put his pen behind his ear, and,
without waiting for inquiry or request, called off to the rear of the
room.

"Mist' Madeira! He's here! Can he come on in? If you'll go right down
there"--went on the Force,--"to that door in front of you, you can go
through it."

The thing seemed feasible, as the door was half open, so the visitor
attempted it. As he reached the door, however, his way was temporarily
blocked by a big red-faced man who held out both hands to him and took
possession of him with violent cordiality.

"God bless my soul! Howdy, howdy, howdy!" cried the big man. "Been
looking for you for a week. Only last night I told Sally that I wasn't
going to look for you any longer. Just eternally gave you up. How in the
Sam Hill have you taken so long to get here? Come on in and have a
seat."

As he talked, the Missourian led his guest inside a small private
office, handed him to a chair and stood up before him, big, colossal,
dominating the younger man, or at least meaning to.

"I am very rapidly concluding that you are Mr. Madeira, and that you
know that I am Steering," smiled the visitor, sinking into a chair
adaptably, though he realised that, for two men who had never seen each
other before, the meeting had