"And what is your business?"
Jeff beamed. He was certainly a good-looking fellow, and warmed by food and, comparatively speaking, free from pain, he was worthy of more than a passing glance.
"I'm deputy-sheriff of San Lorenzo County," he declared, "and mighty proud of it."
"Proud of this yere county?" said the boy, "or proud of being dep'ty- sheriff?"
"By Jing! I'm proud o' both. The county's comin' along fine, and so'm I, Bud. It's a fact, sonny, that I'm held in high esteem as an officer. Why, my boss said to me this very day: 'Jeff,' says he, 'yer makin' a record.'"
"What sort o' record?"
Jeff flushed slightly. He was not in the habit of "tooting his own horn," as he would have put it, but the boy's face invited confidence.
"A record for dooin' my duty," he answered slowly. "'Tain't as easy as you might think for."
"No?"
"Not by no means. Ye see, Bud, in a new country 'tisn't only the real bad eggs that worries us. The community can deal with them. No, no, it's the good fellers gone wrong, the straight 'uns grown crooked, who keep us stirrin'. And, sometimes, when a friend, a neighbour, flies the track, an officer is kind o' tempted to look the other way. See?"