“Now you just hold on, Mac,” replied the former.  “This here croquet is a new style of shootin’, and with two dollars on the game I ain’t goin’ to be hurried none.”

“It ain’t a half-decent outfit, either,” complained Doc Tomlinson.  “Hay wire ain’t any good for croquet arches; and as for these here balls and mallets you bought sight-unseen by mail, they’re a disgrace to civilization.”

“Pronto! Pronto!  Hurry up!” called Dan Anderson from his perch on the fence of Whiteman’s corral, from which he was observing what was probably the first game of croquet ever played between the Pecos and Rio Grande rivers.  There were certain features of the contest in question which were perhaps not usual.  Indeed, I do not recall ever to have seen any other game of croquet in which two of the high contracting parties wore “chaps” and spurs and the other two overalls and blue shirts.  But in spite of all admonition Curly stood perplexed, with his hat pushed back on his forehead and his mallet held gingerly between the fingers of one hand, while a cigarette graced those of the other.

“The court rules,” resumed Dan Anderson, “that this game can’t wait for arguments of counsel.  Curly, you are a disgrace.  You and McKinney ought to skin Doc and the Learned Counsel easy if you had a bit of savvy.  Can’t you hit that stake?”

“I could if you’d let me take a six-shooter or a rope,” said Curly.  “I ain’t fixed for this here tenderfoot game you-all have sprung on me.  If it wasn’t for that there spur, I’d have sent Doc’s ball plumb over Carrizy Mountain that last carrom.  You watch me when onct I get the hang of this thing.”

“You can’t get the hang of nothing,” said McKinney.  “A cow puncher ain’t got no sense except to ride mean horses and eat canned tomatoes.”

“Maybe you don’t like your pardner,” said Curly.  “Now you change around next game, and I’ll bet me and the lawyer can skin Doc and you to a finish.  Bet you three pesos.  Of course, I can’t play this thing first jump like a borned tenderfoot.  I wonder what my mammy’d say to me if she caught me foolin’ around here with this here little wooden tack hammer.”

“It all comes of Mac’s believin’ everything he saw in an advertisement,” said Dan Anderson.

“Well, you put me up to it,” retorted McKinney, flushing.

“Now, there you go!” exclaimed Dan Anderson.  “I didn’t figure on what it might do to our mortality tables.  You fellows can’t play the game wearin’ spurs, and I’m afraid to see you try any further with your guns on.  Here, all of you, come over here.  The umpire decides that you’ve got to check your guns during the game.  I don’t mind bein’ umpire in the ancient and honorable game of croquet, but I ain’t goin’ to assume no unpaid obligations as coroner.”

[Illustration:  “’The umpire decides that you’ve got to check your guns during the game.’”]