Two men of very different types shook hands.  One was a finished product of the world of straight lines, conventional methods, and formal affairs.  The other was something freer, wider, and nearer to nature.  Tom Kingman had not been cut to any pattern.  He had been mule-driver, cowboy, ranger, soldier, sheriff, prospector, and cattleman.  Now, when he was bank president, his old comrades from the prairies, of the saddle, tent, and trail found no change in him.  He had made his fortune when Texas cattle were at the high tide of value, and had organized the First National Bank of San Rosario.  In spite of his largeness of heart and sometimes unwise generosity toward his old friends, the bank had prospered, for Major Tom Kingman knew men as well as he knew cattle.  Of late years the cattle business had known a depression, and the major’s bank was one of the few whose losses had not been great.

“And now,” said the examiner, briskly, pulling out his watch, “the last thing is the loans.  We will take them up now, if you please.”

He had gone through the First National at almost record-breaking speed—­but thoroughly, as he did everything.  The running order of the bank was smooth and clean, and that had facilitated his work.  There was but one other bank in the town.  He received from the Government a fee of twenty-five dollars for each bank that he examined.  He should be able to go over those loans and discounts in half an hour.  If so, he could examine the other bank immediately afterward, and catch the 11.45, the only other train that day in the direction he was working.  Otherwise, he would have to spend the night and Sunday in this uninteresting Western town.  That was why Mr. Nettlewick was rushing matters.

“Come with me, sir,” said Major Kingman, in his deep voice, that united the Southern drawl with the rhythmic twang of the West; “We will go over them together.  Nobody in the bank knows those notes as I do.  Some of ’em are a little wobbly on their legs, and some are mavericks without extra many brands on their backs, but they’ll most all pay out at the round-up.”

The two sat down at the president’s desk.  First, the examiner went through the notes at lightning speed, and added up their total, finding it to agree with the amount of loans carried on the book of daily balances.  Next, he took up the larger loans, inquiring scrupulously into the condition of their endorsers or securities.  The new examiner’s mind seemed to course and turn and make unexpected dashes hither and thither like a bloodhound seeking a trail.  Finally he pushed aside all the notes except a few, which he arranged in a neat pile before him, and began a dry, formal little speech.