“I’m from Missoury.”
The Major’s hand shot out unexpectedly.
“Shake!” he cried warmly. “I was drug up myself at the foot of the Ozarks.”
“I pulled out when I was a kid and wrangled ’round considerible.” Teeters made the statement as an extenuating circumstance.
“I took out naturalization papers myself,” replied the Major good-humoredly. “My name is Prouty—Stephen Douglas Prouty. You’ll prob'ly hear of me if you stay in the country. The fact is, I’m thinkin’ of startin’ a town and namin’ it Prouty.”
“Shoo—you don’t say so!” In polite inquiry, “Whur?”
“Thur!”
Mr. Teeters looked a little blank as he stared at the town site indicated.
“It seems turrible fur from water,” he commented finally.
“Sink—drill—artesian well—maybe we’ll strike a regular subterranean river. Anyway, ’twould be no trick at all to run a ditch from Dead Horse Canyon and get all the water we want.” He waved his arm at the distant mountains and settled that objection.