He suited the natives exactly. What they would have done had he not been available, they shuddered to contemplate. The county was so new a one that but three men had occupied the sheriff\'s office before Charley Mansell was elected. Of the three, the first had not collected taxes with proper vigor; the second was so steadily drunk that aggrieved farmers had to take the law in their own hands regarding horse-thieves; the third was, while a terrible man on the chase or in a fight, so good-natured and lazy at other times, that the county came to be overrun with rascals. But Charley Mansell fulfilled every duty of his office with promptness and thoroughness. He was not very well known, to be sure, but neither was any one else among the four or five thousand inhabitants of the new county. He had arrived about a year before election-day, and established himself as repairer of clocks and watches—an occupation which was so unprofitable at Bunkerville, the county town, that Charley had an immense amount of leisure time at his disposal. He never hung about the stores or liquor-shop after dark; he never told doubtful stories, or displayed unusual ability with cards; neither did he, on the other hand, identify himself with either of the Bunkerville churches, and yet every one liked him. Perhaps it was because, although short, he was straight and plump, whereas the other inhabitants were thin and bent from many discouraging tussles with ague; perhaps it was because he was always the first to see the actual merits and demerits of any subject of conversation; perhaps it was because he was more eloquent in defense of what he believed to be right than the village pastors were in defense of the holy truths to which they were committed; perhaps it was because he argued Squire Backett out of foreclosing a mortgage on the Widow Worth when every one else feared to approach the squire on the subject; but, no matter what the reason was, Charley Mansell became every one\'s favorite, and gave no one an excuse to call him enemy. He took no interest in politics, but one day when a brutal ruffian, who had assaulted a lame native, escaped because the easy-going sheriff was too slow in pursuing, Charley was heard to exclaim, "Oh, if I were sheriff!" The man who heard him was both impressionable and practical. He said that Charley\'s face, when he made that remark, looked like Christ\'s might have looked when he was angry, but the hearer also remembered that the sheriff-incumbent\'s term of office had nearly expired, and he quietly gathered a few leading spirits of each political party, with the result that Charley was nominated and elected on a "fusion" ticket. When elected, Charley properly declined, on the ground that he could not file security bonds; but, within half an hour of the time the county clerk received the letter of declination, at least a dozen of the most solid citizens of the county waited upon the sheriff-elect and volunteered to go upon his bond, so Charley became sheriff in spite of himself.

And he acquitted himself nobly. He arrested a murderer the very day after his sureties were accepted, and although Charley was by far the smaller and paler of the two, the murderer submitted tamely, and dared not look into Charley\'s eye. Instead of scolding the delinquent tax-payers, the new sheriff sympathized with them, and the county treasury filled rapidly. The self-appointed "regulators" caught a horse-thief a week or two after Charley\'s installment into office, and were about to quietly hang him, after the time-honored custom of Western regulators, when Charley dashed into the crowd, pointed his pistol at the head of Deacon Bent, the leader of the enraged citizens, remarked that all sorts of murder were contrary to the law he had sworn to maintain, and then led the thief off to jail. The regulators were speechless with indignation for the space of five minutes—then they hurried to the jail; and when Charley Mansell, with pale face but set teeth, again presented his pistol, they astonished him with three roaring cheers, after which each man congratulated him on his courage.

In short, Bunkerville became a quiet place. The new sheriff even went so far as to arrest the disturbers of camp-meetings; yet the village boys indorsed him heartily, and would, at his command, go to jail in squads of half a dozen with no escort but the sheriff himself. Had it not been that Charley occasionally went to prayer-meetings and church, not a rowdy at Bunkerville could have found any fault with him.

But not even in an out-of-the-way, malarious Missouri village, could a model sheriff be for ever the topic of conversation. Civilization moved forward in that part of the world in very queer conveyances sometimes, and with considerable friction. Gamblers, murderers, horse-thieves, counterfeiters, and all sorts of swindlers, were numerous in lands so near the border, and Bunkerville was not neglected by them. Neither greenbacks nor national bank-notes were known at that time, and home productions, in the financial direction, being very unpopular, there was a decided preference exhibited for the notes of Eastern banks. And no sooner would the issues of any particular bank grow very popular in the neighborhood of Bunkerville than merchants began to carefully examine every note bearing the name of said bank, lest haply some counterfeiter had endeavored to assist in supplying the demand. At one particular time the suspicions had numerous and well-founded grounds; where they came from nobody knew, but the county was full of them, and full, too, of wretched people who held the doubtful notes. It was the usual habit of the Bunkerville merchants to put the occasional counterfeits which they received into the drawer with their good notes, and pass them when unconscious of the fact; but at the time referred to the bad notes were all on the same bank, and it was not easy work to persuade the natives to accept even the genuine issues. The merchants sent for the sheriff, and the sheriff questioned hostlers, liquor-sellers, ferry-owners, tollgate-keepers, and other people in the habit of receiving money; but the questions were to no effect. These people had all suffered, but at the hands of respectable citizens, and no worse by one than by another.

Suddenly the sheriff seemed to get some trace of the counterfeiters. An old negro, who saw money so seldom that he accurately remembered the history of all the currency in his possession, had received a bad note from an emigrant in payment for some hams. A fortnight later, he sold some feathers to a different emigrant, and got a note which neither the store-keeper or liquor-seller would accept; the negro was sure the wagon and horses of the second emigrant were the same as those of the first. Then the sheriff mounted his horse and gave chase. He needed only to ask the natives along the road leading out of Bunkerville to show him any money they had received of late, to learn what route the wagon had taken on its second trip.

About this time the natives of Bunkerville began to wonder whether the young sheriff was not more brave than prudent. He had started without associates (for he had never appointed a deputy); he might have a long chase, and into counties where he was unknown, and might be dangerously delayed. The final decision—or the only one of any consequence—was made by four of the "regulators," who decided to mount and hurry after the sheriff and volunteer their aid. By taking turns in riding ahead of their own party, these volunteers learned, at the end of the first day, that Charley could not be more than ten miles in advance. They determined, therefore, to push on during the night, so long as they could be sure they were on the right track.

An hour more of riding brought them to a cabin where they received startling intelligence. An emigrant wagon, drawn by very good horses, had driven by at a trot which was a gait previously unheard of in the case of emigrant horses; then a young man on horseback had passed at a lively gallop; a few moments later a shot had been heard in the direction of the road the wagon had taken. Why hadn\'t the owner of the house hurried up the road to see what was the matter?—Because he minded his own business and staid in the house when he heard shooting, he said.

"Come on, boys!" shouted Bill Braymer, giving his panting horse a touch with his raw-hide whip; "perhaps, the sheriff\'s needin\' help this minute. An\' there\'s generally rewards when counterfeiters are captured—mebbe sheriff\'ll give us a share."

The whole quartet galloped rapidly off. It was growing dark, but there was no danger of losing a road which was the only one in that part of the country. As they approached a clearing a short distance in front of them, they saw a dark mass in the centre of the road, its outlines indicating an emigrant wagon of the usual type.

"There they are!" shouted Bill Braymer; "but where\'s sheriff? Good Lord! The shot must have hit him!"

"Reckon it did," said Pete Williamson, thrusting his head forward; "there\'s some kind of an animal hid behind that wagon, an\' it don\'t enjoy bein\' led along, for it\'s kickin\' mighty lively—shouldn\'t wonder if \'twas Mansell\'s own pony."

"Hoss-thieves too, then?" inquired Braymer; "then mebbe there\'ll be two rewards!"

"Yes," said Williamson\'s younger brother, "an\' mebbe we\'re leavin\' poor Charley a-dyin\' along behind us in the bushes somewhere. Who\'ll go back an\' help hunt for him!"

The quartet unconsciously slackened speed, and the members thereof gazed rather sheepishly at each other through the gathering twilight. At length the younger Williamson abruptly turned, dismounted, and walked slowly backward, peering in the bushes, and examining all indications in the road. The other three resumed their rapid gallop, Pete Williamson remarking:

"That boy alwus was the saint of the family—look out for long shot, boys!—and if there\'s any money in this job, he\'s to have a fair share of—that is sheriff\'s horse, sure as shootin\'—he shall have half of what I make out of it. How\'ll we take \'em, boys?—Bill right, Sam left, and me the rear? If I should get plugged, an\' there\'s any money for the crowd, I\'ll count on you two to see that brother Jim gets my share—he\'s got more the mother in him than all four of us other brothers, and—why don\'t they shoot, do you s\'pose?"

"P\'r\'aps ther ain\'t nobody but the driver, an\' he\'s got his hands full, makin\' them hosses travel along that lively," suggested Bill Braymer. "Or mebbe he hain\'t got time to load. Like enough he\'s captured the sheriff, an\' is a-takin him off. We\'ve got to be keerful how we shoot."

The men gained steadily on the wagon, and finally Bill Braymer felt sure enough to shout:

"Halt, or we\'ll fire!"

The only response was a sudden flash at the rear of the wagon; at the same instant the challenger\'s horse fell dead.

"Hang keerfulness about firin\'!" exclaimed Braymer. "I\'m a-goin\' to blaze away."

Another shot came from the wagon, and Williamson\'s horse uttered a genuine cry of anguish and stumbled. The indignant rider hastily dismounted, and exclaimed:

"It\'s mighty kind of \'em not to shoot us, but they know how to get away all the same."

"They know too much about shootin\' for me to foller \'em any more," remarked the third man, running rapidly out of the road and in the shadow caused by a tree.

"They can\'t keep up that gait for ever," said Bill Braymer. "I\'m goin\' to foller \'em on foot, if it takes all night; I\'ll get even with em for that hoss they\'ve done me out of."

"I\'m with you, Bill," remarked Pete Williamson, "an\' mebbe we can snatch their hosses, just to show\'em how it feels."

The third man lifted up his voice. "I \'llow I\'ve had enough of this here kind of thing," said he, "an\' I\'ll get back to the settlement while there\'s anything for me to get there on. I reckon you\'ll make a haul, but—I don\'t care—I\'d rather be poor than spend a counterfeiter\'s money."

And off he rode, just as the younger Williamson, with refreshed horse, dashed up, exclaiming:

"No signs of him back yonder, but there\'s blood-tracks beginnin\' in the middle of the road, an\' leanin\' along this way. Come on!"

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