"Ball, ball, ball," said the Ooley-cow briefly, and proceeded to follow his partner into the bunker. Poindexter and Sprott popped conservatively down the middle of the course and the battle was on. Battle, did I say! It was a massacre of the innocents, a slaughter of babes and sucklings. Our foursome trailed along behind, and took note of Mr. Cottle, of Dubuque, in his fruitless efforts to tear the cover off the ball. He swung hard enough to knock down a lamp-post, but he seldom made proper connections, and when he did the ball landed so far off the course that it took him a dozen shots to get back again. He was hopelessly bad, so bad that there was no chance to make the side matches close ones. On the tenth tee Cottle demanded another bet--to give him a chance to get even, he said. Poindexter and Sprott each bet him another ten dollar note on the last nine, and this time Uncle Billy did not say anything about his principles. After it was all over Cottle poured a few mint toddies into his system and floated an alibi to the surface. "It was those confounded sand greens that did it," said he. "I'm used to grass, and I can't putt on anything else. Bet I could take you to Dubuque and flail the everlasting daylights out of you!" "Shouldn't be surprised," said Uncle Billy. "You did a lot better on the last nine--sort of got into your stride. Any time you think you want revenge----" "You can have it," finished Old Man Sprott, as he folded a crisp twenty-dollar note. "We believe in giving a man a chance--eh, Billy?" "That's the spirit!" cried Cottle enthusiastically. "Give a man a chance; it's what I say, and if he does anything, give him credit. You beat me to-day, but I never saw this course before. Tell you what we'll do: Let's make a day of it to-morrow. Morning and afternoon both. Satisfactory! Good! You've got forty dollars of my dough and I want it back. Nobody ever made me quit betting yet, if I figure to have a chance. What's money? Shucks! My country is full of it! Now then, Wesley, if you'll come out on the practise green and give me some pointers on this sand thing, I'll be obliged to you. Ball won't run on sand like it will on grass--have to get used to it. Have to hit 'em a little harder. Soon as I get the hang of the thing we'll give these Native Sons a battle yet! Native Sons? Native Grandfathers! Come on!" Uncle Billy looked at Old Man Sprott and Old Man Sprott looked at Uncle Billy, but they did not begin to laugh until the Ooley-cow and his guest were out of earshot. Then they clucked and cackled and choked like a couple of hysterical old hens. "His putting!" gurgled Uncle Billy. "Did he have a putt to win a hole all the way round?" "Not unless he missed count of his shots. Say, Billy!" "Well?" "We made a mistake locating so far West. We should have stopped in Iowa. By now we'd have owned the entire state!" IV