“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 Stillwell and the boys.  After their first surprised outburst they were dumb.

“You-all seen thet?” Nick grandly waved his hand.  “Thaught I was joshin’, didn’t you?  Why, I used to go to St. Louis an’ Kansas City to play this here game.  There was some talk of the golf clubs takin’ me down East to play the champions.  But I never cared fer the game.  Too easy fer me!  Them fellers back in Missouri were a lot of cheap dubs, anyhow, always kickin’ because whenever I hit a ball hard I always lost it.  Why, I hed to hit sort of left-handed to let ’em stay in my class.  Now you-all can go ahead an’ play Monty an’ Link.  I could beat ’em both, playin’ with one hand, if I wanted to.  But I ain’t interested.  I jest hit thet ball off the mesa to show you.  I sure wouldn’t be seen playin’ on your team.”

With that Nick sauntered away toward the horses.  Stillwell appeared crushed.  And not a scornful word was hurled after Nick, which fact proved the nature of his victory.  Then Nels strode into the limelight.  As far as it was possible for this iron-faced cowboy to be so, he was bland and suave.  He remarked to Stillwell and the other cowboys that sometimes it was painful for them to judge of the gifts of superior cowboys such as belonged to Nick and himself.  He picked up the club Nick had used and called for a new ball.  Stillwell carefully built up a little mound of sand and, placing the ball upon it, squared away to watch.  He looked grim and expectant.