Fireworks,
AND FREE BARBECUE! ! ! ! EVERYBODY COME AND TURN YOUR WOLF LOOSE.

A sudden thud of pounding hoofs, a snatch of ragtime, and her
foreman swept up in a cloud of white dust. His pony came from a
gallop to an instant halt, and simultaneously Mac landed beside
her, one hand holding the wide-brimmed hat he had snatched off in
his descent, the other hitched by a casual thumb to the belt of
his chaps.

She laughed. "You really did it very well."

Mac blushed. He was still young enough to take pride in his
picturesque regalia, to prefer the dramatic way of doing a
commonplace thing. But, though he liked this girl's trick of
laughing at him with a perfectly grave face out of those dark,
long-lashed eyes, he would have liked it better if sometimes they
had given back the applause he thought his little tricks merited.

"Sho! That's foolishness," he deprecated.

"I suppose they got you to sit for this picture;" and she
indicated the poster with a wave of her hand.

"That ain't a real picture," he explained, and when she smiled
added, "as of course y'u know. No hawss ever pitched that
way--and the saddle ain't right. Fact is, it's all wrong."

"How did it come here? It wasn't here last night."