Curly began to shift uneasily on his feet.  His hat went still farther back on his red, kinky curls.

“Law!” said he.  “Law!  You don’t mean—­” For the first time in his life Curly grew pale.  “Why, I’ll clean out the hull bunch!” he said, the red surging back in his face and his hand instinctively going to his gun.

“No, you won’t,” said Dan Anderson.  “Do you want to bust up your marriage with the girl from Kansas?”

“Sho’!” said Curly, and fell thoughtful.  “This looks bad,” said he; “mighty bad.”  He sat down and began to think.  I do not doubt that Dan Anderson at that moment was a disgrace to his profession, though later he honored it.  He winked at me.

“Don’t you tamper with my client,” said he; and then resumed to Curly; “What you need is a lawyer.  You’ve got to have legal advice.  It happens that the full bar of Heart’s Desire is now present talking to you.  Take your pick.  I’ve got a mighty good idea which is the best lawyer of this bar, but I wouldn’t tell you for the world that I’m the one.  Take your pick.  Here’s the whole legal works of the town, us two.  Try the Learned Counsel on my right.”

“Law!” said Curly.  “Why—­law—­lawyers!  Then who—­say, now, I’ll pay for the pig.  I didn’t mean nothing, no way.”

Then Dan Anderson rose to certain heights.  “You can’t settle it that way,” said he.  “That’s too easy.  Oh, you can pay for the pig easy enough; but how about the majesty of the law?  Where is the peace and dignity of the commonwealth to come in?  This is criminal.  Nope, you choose.  You need a lawyer.”

“You—­you-all got me locoed,” said Curly, nervously.  “Law!  Why, I don’t want no law.  There ain’t never been no co’te set here.  Down to the county-seat, over to Lincoln, that’s all right; but here—­why, they don’t want no law here.  Besides, I can’t choose between you two fellers.  I like you both.  You’re both white men.  Ef you could rope and shoot better, I could git either one of you a job cowpunchin’ any day, and that’s a heap better’n practisin’ law.  I couldn’t make no choice between you fellers.  Say, I’ll have you both.”  This with a sudden illumination of countenance.

“That would be unconstitutional,” said Dan Anderson, solemnly, “and against public policy as well.  That would be cornering the whole legal supply of the community, Curly, and it wouldn’t leave anybody for the prosecution.”

“Sho’!” said Curly.  Then suddenly he added:  “There’s the old man.  Don’t you never doubt he’d prosecute joyful.  And there never was a man from Kansas didn’t know some law.  Why, onct, down on the Brazos—­”

“He can’t act as attorney-at-law,” said Anderson.  “He’s never been admitted to the bar.  Say, you flip a dollar.”

The thought of chance-taking appealed to Curly.  He flipped the dollar.

“Heads, me,” said Dan Anderson; and so it fell.  That young man smiled blithely.  “We’ll skin ’em, Curly,” said he.  “You’ll be as free as air in less’n a week.”