ted by lot. However, after Frankie Slade made several
ineffectual attempts to hit the ball from the teeing-ground, at last to
send it only a few yards, the other players were not so eager to follow.
Stillwell had to push Booly forward, and Booly executed a most miserable
shot and retired to the laughing comments of his comrades. The efforts
of several succeeding cowboys attested to the extreme difficulty of
making a good drive.

"Wal, Nick, it's your turn," said Stillwell.

"Bill, I ain't so all-fired particular about playin'," replied Nick.

"Why? You was roarin' about it a little while ago. Afraid to show how
bad you'll play?"

"Nope, jest plain consideration for my feller cow-punchers," answered
Nick, with spirit. "I'm appreciatin' how bad they play, an' I'm not mean
enough to show them up."

"Wal, you've got to show me," said Stillwell. "I know you never seen
a gol-lof stick in your life. What's more, I'll bet you can't hit that
little ball square--not in a dozen cracks at it."

"Bill, I'm also too much of a gent to take your money. But you know I'm
from Missouri. Gimme a club."

Nick's angry confidence seemed to evaporate as one after another he took
up and handled the clubs. It was plain that he had never before wielded
one. But, also, it was plain that he was not the kind of a man to give
in. Finally he selected a driver, looked doubtfully at the small knob,
and then stepped into position on the teeing-ground.

Nick Steele stood six feet four inches in height. He had the rider's
wiry slenderness, yet he was broad of shoulder. His arms were long.
Manifestly he was an exceedingly powerful man. He swung the driver
aloft and whirled it down with a tremendous swing. Crack! The white ball
disappeared, and from where it had been rose a tiny cloud of dust.

Madeline's quick sight caught the ball as it lined somewhat to the
right. It was shooting low and level with the speed of a bullet. It went
up and up in swift, beautiful flight, then lost its speed and began to
sail, to curve, to drop; and it fell out of sight beyond the rim of the
mesa. Madeline had never seen a drive that approached this one. It was
magnificent, beyond belief except for actual evidence of her own eyes.

The yelling of the cowboys probably brought Nick Steele out of the
astounding spell with which he beheld his shot. Then Nick, suddenly
alive to the situation, recovered from his trance and, resting
nonchalantly upon his club, he surveyed S