Thus happily did Horne temper his generous impulses with shrewdness. These directions provoked a grin from Johnson, and he despatched his riders east and west and north and south to summon the guests. From east and west and north and south they came--a good seventy miles, some of them. In couples, singly, in boisterous parties, they came riding up to the Anvil headquarters. And the dance began. It had lasted two days and two nights and was running comfortably into the third day when a killing occurred which made the function memorable in cowland annals. Everything was going smoothly. There were more than a hundred guests, and the orchestra was still vigorous and resourceful in invention. He occupied a seat on a stool atop a table at one end of the dining-room, and as he sawed with the bow he kept time to the cadences with his left foot. Occasionally a volunteer would come to his assistance and beat on the strings at the neck of the violin with small sticks. This produced the effect of a guitar and was very popular with those ladies who were a bit hazy as to the time of a measure. Oh-oo-oo, ladies to the left and gents to the right. All hands round; now hold 'em tight. Lafe had been designated master of ceremonies and he stood near the orchestra to call off the square dances. Never more than twenty couples were on the floor at one time, but the rhythmical beat of their feet and the welling dust were sufficient to make an onlooker dizzy. Whenever a gentleman swung a lady, he really swung her--no mincing or faint-hearted gyration. With their hands behind each other's shoulders, they spun madly about, and the lady's skirt billowed to the movement. Both would sway dizzily when they stopped. The other guests were sleeping, or crowded into the kitchen, where were put out for refreshment huge platters of barbecued beef, calves' heads roasted whole under live coals in the ground for a whole night, and bread and pickles and cheese. Pots of coffee steamed on the stove, and one had only to give the nod to Jerry Sellers to be honorably escorted to the saddle-shed wherein on a stool rested a full-bellied keg. Jerry had constituted himself Lafe's right-hand man and never relaxed in his vigilant attention to duty. Had it not been for this first aid to the weary, the orchestra would long since have knocked under, but Harry vowed that he would hold out as long as the keg did, and everybody had confidence in him. "The next piece," he announced, "is a li'l piece I done composed myself. It is called 'The Bull in the Corn Brakes.' Get your partners. Polka it is. Step to it."