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diff --git a/33884.txt b/33884.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8cd5ede --- /dev/null +++ b/33884.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7878 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher, by Eleanor Gates + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher + +Author: Eleanor Gates + +Illustrator: Allen True + +Release Date: October 26, 2010 [EBook #33884] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALEC LLOYD, COWPUNCHER *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.fadedpage.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "_And you can chalk down forty votes fer Miss Macie +Sewell_" (See p. 64)] + + + + +ALEC LLOYD + +COWPUNCHER + +Originally published under the title of + +CUPID: THE COWPUNCH + +BY + +ELEANOR GATES + +AUTHOR OF THE POOR LITTLE RICH GIRL, THE PLOW WOMAN, Etc. + +ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALLEN TRUE + +NEW YORK + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS + + + + +Copyright, 1907, by The McClure Company + +Published, November, 1907 + +Copyright, 1905, 1906, 1907 by The Curtis Publishing Company + +Copyright, 1906, 1907, by International Magazine Company + + + + +CONTENTS + + Chapter Page + I. ROSE ANDREWS'S HAND AND DOCTOR BUGS'S GASOLINE + BRONC 3 + II. A THIRST-PARLOUR MIX-UP GIVES ME A NEW DEAL 31 + III. THE PRETTIEST GAL AND THE HOMELIEST MAN 52 + IV. CONCERNIN' THE SHERIFF AND ANOTHER LITTLE WIDDA 85 + V. THINGS GIT STARTED WRONG 132 + VI. WHAT A LUNGER DONE 157 + VII. THE BOYS PUT THEY FOOT IN IT 169 + VIII. ANOTHER SCHEME, AND HOW IT PANNED OUT 195 + IX. A ROUND-UP IN CENTRAL PARK 234 + X. MACIE AND THE OP'RA GAME 260 + XI. A BOOM THAT BUSTED 276 + XII. AND A BOOM AT BRIGGS 300 + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +ROSE ANDREWS'S HAND AND DOCTOR BUGS'S GASOLINE BRONC + + + "Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides + On its fair, windin' way to the sea; + And dearer by f-a-a-ar----" + +"Now, look a-here, Alec Lloyd," broke in Hairoil Johnson, throwin' +up one hand like as if to defend hisself, and givin' me a kinda scairt +look, "you shut you' bazoo right this minute--and git! Whenever you +begin singin' that song, I know you're a-figgerin' on how to marry +somebody off to somebody else. And I just won't have you _around!_" + +We was a-settin' t'gether on the track side of the deepot platform at +Briggs City, him a-holdin' down one end of a truck, and me the other. +The mesquite lay in front of us, and it was all a sorta greenish brown +account of the pretty fair rain we'd been havin'. They's miles of it, +y' savvy, runnin' so far out towards the west line of Oklahomaw that +it plumb slices the sky. Through it, north and south, the telegraph +poles go straddlin'--in the _di_rection of Kansas City on the right +hand, and off past Rogers's Butte to Albuquerque on the left. Behind +us was little ole Briggs, with its one street of square-front buildin's +facin' the railroad, and a scatterin' of shacks and dugouts and +corrals and tin-can piles in behind. + +Little ole Briggs! Sometimes, you bet you' life, I been pretty down on +my luck in Briggs, and sometimes I been turrible happy; also, I been just +so-so. But, no matter how things pan out, darned if I cain't allus say +truthful that she just about suits me--that ornery, little, jerkwater +town! + +The par_ti_cular day I'm a-speakin' of was a jo-dandy--just cool enough +to make you want t' keep you' back aimed right up at the sun, and +without no more breeze than 'd help along a butterfly. Then, the air +was all nice and perfumey, like them advertisin' picture cards you git +at a drugstore. So, bein' as I was enjoyin' myself, and a-studyin' +out somethin' as I hummed that was _mighty_ important, why, I didn't +want t' mosey, no, ma'am. + +But Hairoil was mad. I knowed it fer the reason that he'd called me +Alec 'stead of Cupid. Y' see, all the boys call me Cupid. And I ain't +ashamed of it, neither. _Some_body's got t' help out when it's a case +of two lovin' souls that's bein' kept apart. + +"Now, pardner," I answers him, as coaxin' as I could, "don't you go +holler 'fore you're hit. It happens that I ain't a-figgerin' on no +hitch-up plans fer _you._" + +Hairoil, he stood up--quick, so that I come nigh fallin' offen my end of +the truck. "But you are fer some _other_ pore cuss," he says. "You +as good as owned up." + +"Yas," I answers, "I are. But the gent in question wouldn't want you +should worry about _him_. All that's a-keepin' _him_ anxious is that +mebbe he won't git his gal." + +"Alec," Hairoil goes on,--turrible solemn, he was--"I have _de_cided +that this town has had just about it's fill of this Cupid business of +yourn--and I'm a-goin' t' stop it." + +I snickered. "Y' are?" I ast. "Wal, how?" + +"By marryin' you off. When you're hitched up you'self, you won't +be so all-fired anxious t' git other pore fellers into the traces." + +"That good news," I says. "Who's the for-tu_nate_ gal you've picked +fer me?" + +"Never you mind," answers Hairoil. "She's a new gal, and she'll be +along next week." + +"Is she pretty?" + +"Is she pretty! Say! Pretty ain't no name fer it! She's got big grey +eyes, with long, black, sassy winkers, and brown hair that's all kinda +curly over the ears. Then her cheeks is pink, and she's got the cutest +mouth a man 'most ever seen." + +Wal, a-course, I thought he was foolin'. (And mebbe he was--_then_.) +A gal like that fer me!--a fine, pretty gal fer such a knock-kneed, +slab-sided son-of-a-gun as me? I just couldn't swaller _that_. + +But, aw! if I only had 'a' knowed how that idear of hisn was a-goin' +t' grow!--that idear of him turnin' Cupid fer _me,_ y' savvy. And +if only I'd 'a' knowed what a turrible bust-up he'd fin'lly be +_re_sponsible fer 'twixt me and the same grey-eyed, sassy-winkered +gal! If I had, it's a cinch I'd 'a' sit on him _hard_--right then +and there. + +I didn't, though. I switched back on to what was a-puzzlin' and +a-worryin' me. "Billy Trowbridge," I begun, "has waited too long +a'ready fer Rose Andrews. And if things don't come to a haid right +soon, he'll lose her." + +Hairoil give a kinda jump. "The Widda Andrews," he says, "--Zach +Sewell's gal? So you're a-plannin' t' interfere in the doin's of ole +man Sewell's fambly." + +"Yas." + +He reached fer my hand and squz it, and pretended t' git mournful, like +as if he wasn't never goin' t' see me again. "My _pore_ friend!" +he says. + +"Wal, what's eatin' you now?" I ast. + +"Nothin'--only that pretty gal I tole you about, she's----" + +Then he stopped short. + +"She's what?" + +He let go of my hand, shrug his shoulders, and started off. "Never +mind," he called back. "Let it drop. We'll just see. Mebbe, after +all, you'll git the very lesson you oughta have. Ole man Sewell!" And, +shakin' his haid, he turned the corner of the deepot. + +Wal, who was Sewell anyhow?--no better'n any other man. I'd knowed +him since 'fore the Oklahomaw Rushes, and long 'fore he's wired-up +half this end of the Terrytory. And I'd knowed his oldest gal, Rose, +since she was knee-high to a hop-toad. Daisy gal, she allus was, by +thunder! And mighty sweet. Wal, when, after tyin' up t' that blamed +fool Andrews, she'd got her matreemonal hobbles off in less'n six +months--owin' t' Monkey Mike bein' a little sooner in the trigger +finger--why, d'you think I was a-goin' to stand by and see a tin-horn +proposition like that Noo York Simpson put a vent brand on her? _Nixey!_ + +It was ole man Sewell that bossed the first job and cut out Andrews +fer Rose's pardner. Sewell's that breed, y' know, hard-mouthed as a +mule, and if he cain't run things, why, he'll take a duck-fit. But +he shore put his foot in it _that_ time. Andrews was as low-down and +sneakin' as a coy_o_te, allus gittin' other folks into a fuss if he +could, but stayin' outen range hisself. The little gal didn't have no +easy go with him--we all knowed _that,_ and she wasn't happy. Wal, +Mike easied the sittywaytion. He took a gun with a' extra long carry +and put a lead pill where it'd do the most good; and the hull passel +of us was plumb tickled, that's all, just plumb tickled--even t' the +sheriff. + +I said pill just now. Funny how I just fall into the habit of usin' +doctor words when I come to talk of this par_tic_ular mix-up. That's +'cause Simpson, the tin-horn gent I mentioned, is a doc. And so's +Billy Trowbridge--Billy Trowbridge is the best medicine-man we ever had +in these parts, if he _did_ git all his learnin' right here from his +paw. He ain't got the spondulix, and so he ain't what you'd call tony. +But he's got his doctor certifi_cate,_ O. K., and when it comes t' +curin', he can give cards and spades to _any_ of you' highfalutin' +college gezabas, and _then_ beat 'em out by a mile. That's _straight!_ + +Billy, he'd allus liked Rose. And Rose'd allus liked Billy. Wal, after +Andrews's s-a-d endin', you bet I made up my mind that Billy'd be +ole man Sewell's next son-in-law. Billy was smart as the dickens, and +young, and no drunk. He hadn't never wore no hard hat, neither, 'r +roached his mane pompydory, and he was one of the kind that takes a run +at they fingernails oncet in a while. Now, mebbe a puncher 'r a red +ain't par-_tic_ular about his hands; but a _pro_feshnal gent's _got_ to +be. And with a nice gal like Rose, it shore do stack up. + +But it didn't stand the chanst of a snow-man in Yuma when it come to +ole man Sewell. Doc Simpson was new in town, and Sewell'd ast him out +to supper at the Bar Y ranch-house two 'r three times. And he was clean +stuck on him. To hear the ole man talk, Simpson was the cutest thing +that'd ever come into the mesquite. And Billy? Wal, he was the bad man +from Bodie. + +Say! but all of us punchers was sore when we seen how Sewell was +haided!--not just the ole man's outfit at the Bar Y, y' savvy, but +the bunch of us at the Diamond O. None of us liked Simpson a _little_ +bit. He wore fine clothes, and a dicer, and when it come to soothin' +the ladies and holdin' paws, he was there with both hoofs. Then, he +had all kinds of fool jiggers fer his business, and one of them toot +surreys that's got ingine haidlights and two seats all stuffed with +goose feathers and covered with leather--reg'lar Standard Sleeper. + +It was that gasoline rig that done Billy damage, speakin' financial. +The minute folks knowed it was in Briggs City, why they got a misery +somewheres about 'em quick--just to have it come and stand out in +front, smellin' as all-fired nasty as a' Injun, but lookin' turrible +stylish. The men was bad enough about it, and when they had one of Doc +Simpson's drenches they haids was as big as Bill Williams's Mountain. +But the women! The _hull_ cavvieyard of 'em, exceptin' Rose, stampeded +over to him. And Billy got such a snow-under that they had him a-diggin' +fer his grass. + +I was plumb crazy about it. "Billy," I says one day, when I met him +a-comin' from 'Pache Sam's hogan on his bi_cy_cle; "Billy, you got +to do somethin'." (Course, I didn't mention Rose.) "You goin' to +let any sawed-off, hammered-down runt like that Simpson drive you out? +Why, it's free grazin' here!" + +Billy, he smiled kinda wistful and begun to brush the alkali offen that +ole Stetson of hisn, turnin' it 'round and 'round like he was worried. +"Aw, never mind, Cupid," he says; "--just keep on you' shirt." + +But pretty soon things got a darned sight worse, and I couldn't hardly +hole in. Not satisfied with havin' the hull country on his trail account +of that surrey, Simpson tried a _new_ deal: He got to discoverin' bugs! + +He found out that Bill Rawson had malaria bugs, and the Kelly kid +had diphtheria bugs, and Dutchy had typhoid bugs that didn't do +business owin' to the alcohol in his system. (_Too_ bad!) Why, it was +astonishin' how many kinds of newfangled critters we'd never heard of +was a-livin' in this Terrytory! + +But all his bugs didn't split no shakes with _Rose_. She was _po_lite +to Simpson, and friendly, but nothin' worse. And it was plainer 'n the +nose on you' face that Billy was solid with her. But the ole man is +the hull show in that fambly, y' savvy; and all us fellers could do was +to hope like sixty that nothin' 'd happen to give Simpson a' extra +chanst. But, crimini! Somethin' _did_ happen: Rose's baby got sick. +Wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, kinda whined all the time, like a sick +purp, and begun to look peaked--pore little kid! + +I was out at the Bar Y that same day, and when the news got over to the +bunk-house, we was all turrible _ex_cited. "Which'll the ole man send +after," we says, "--Simpson 'r Billy?" + +It was that bug-doctor! + +He come down the road two-forty, settin' up as stiff as if he had a +ramrod in his backbone. I just happened over towards the house as he +turned in at the gate. He staked out his surrey clost to the porch and +stepped down. My! such nice little button shoes! + +"Aw, maw!" says Monkey Mike; "he's too rich fer _my_ blood!" + +The ole man come out to say howdy. When Simpson seen him, he says, +"Mister Sewell, they's some hens 'round here, and I don't want 'em +to hop into my machine whilst I'm in the house." Then, he looks at +me. "Can you' hired man keep 'em shooed?" he says. + +Hired man! I took a jump his _di_rection that come nigh to splittin' my +boots. "Back up, m' son," I says, reachin' to my britches pocket. +"_I_ ain't no hired man." + +Sewell, he puts in quick. "No, no, Doc," he says; "this man's one +of the Diamond O cow-boys. Fer heaven's sake, Cupid! You're gittin' +to be as touchy as a cook!" + +Simpson, he apologised, and I let her pass f er _that_ time. But, +a-course, far's him and _me_ was _con_cerned--wal, just wait. As I say, +he goes in,--the ole man follerin'--leavin' that gasoline rig snortin' +and sullin' and lookin' as if it was just achin' t' take a run at the +bunk-house and bust it wide open. I goes in, too,--just t' see the fun. + +There was that Simpson examinin' the baby, and Rose standin' by, +lookin' awful scairt. He had a rain-gauge in his hand, and was +a-squintin' at it important. "High temper'ture," he says; "'way up +to hunderd and four." Then he jabbed a spoon jigger into her pore +little mouth. Then he made X brands acrosst her soft little back with his +fingers. Then he turned her plumb over and begun to tunk her like she +was a melon. And when he'd knocked the wind outen her, he _pro_-duced +a bi_cy_cle pump, stuck it agin her chest, and put his ear to the +other end. "Lungs all right," he says; "heart all right. Must +be----" Course, _you_ know--bugs! + +"But--but, couldn't it be teeth?" ast Rose. + +Simpson grinned like she was a' idjit, and he was sorry as the dickens +fer her. "Aw, a baby ain't _all_ teeth," he says. + +Wal, he left some truck 'r other. Then he goes out, gits into his +Pullman section, blows his punkin whistle and _de_parts. + +Next day, same thing. Temper'ture's still up. Medicine cain't be kept +down. Case turrible puzzlin'. Makes all kinds of guesses. Leaves some +hoss liniment. Toot! toot! + +Day after, changes the pro_gram_. Sticks a needle into the kid and gits +first blood. Says somethin' about "Modern scientific idears," and +tracks back t' town. + +Things run along that-a-way fer a week. Baby got sicker and sicker. Rose +got whiter and whiter, and thinned till she was about as hefty as a +shadda. Even the ole man begun t' look kinda pale 'round the gills. +But Simpson didn't miss a trick. And he come t' the ranch-house so +darned many times that his buckboard plumb oiled down the pike. + +"Rose," I says oncet to her, when I stopped by, "cain't we give Billy +Trowbridge a chanst? That Simpson doc ain't worth a hill of beans." + +Rose didn't say nothin'. She just turned and lent over the kid. Gee +whiz! I hate t' see a woman cry! + +'Way early, next day, the kid had a _con_vul-sion, and ev'rybody was +shore she was goin' to kick the bucket. And whilst a bunch of us was +a-hangin' 'round the porch, pretty nigh luny about the pore little +son-of-a-gun, Bill Rawson come--and he had a story that plumb took the +last kink outen us. + +I hunts up the boss. "Mister Sewell," I says, by way of beginnin', +"I'm feard we're goin' to lose the baby. Simpson ain't doin' much, +seems like. What y' say if I ride in fer Doc Trowbridge?" + +"Trowbridge?" he says disgusted. "_No,_ ma'am! Simpson'll be here +in a jiffy!" + +"I reckon Simpson'll be late," I says. "Bill Rawson seen him goin' +towards Goldstone just now in his thrashin'-machine with a feemale +settin' byside him. Bill says she was wearin' one of them fancy +collar-box hats, with a duck-wing hitched on to it, and her hair was +all mussy over her eyes--like a cow with a board on its horns--and +she had enough powder on her face t' make a biscuit." + +The ole man begun t' chaw and spit like a bob-cat. "I ain't astin' +Bill's _ad_vice," he says. "When I want it, I'll let him know. If +Simpson's busy over t' Goldstone, we got to wait on him, that's all. +But Trowbridge? Not _no_-ways!" + +I seen then that it was time somebody mixed in. I got onto my pinto bronc +and loped fer town. But all the way I couldn't think what t' do. So I +left Maud standin' outside of Dutchy's, and went over and sit down +next Hairoil on the truck. And that's where I was--a-hummin' to myself +and a-workin' my haid--when he give me that rakin' over about playin' +Cupid, and warned me agin monkeyin' with ole man Sewell. + +Wal, when Hairoil up and left me, I kept right on a-studyin'. I knowed, +a-course, that I could go kick up a fuss when Simpson stopped by his +office on his trip back from Goldstone. But that didn't seem such a' +awful good plan. Also, I could---- + +Just then, I heerd my cow-pony kinda whinny. I glanced over towards +her. She was standin' right where I'd left her, lines on the ground, +eyes peeled my way. And _such_ a look as she was a-givin' me!--like +she knowed what I was a-worryin' about and was surprised I was so blamed +thick. + +I jumped up and run over to her. "Maud," I says, "you got more savvy +'n any horse I know, bar _none_. _Danged if we don't do it!_" + +First off, I sent word t' Billy that he was to show up at the Sewell +ranch-house about four o'clock. And when three come, me and Maud was +on the Bar Y road where it goes acrosst that crick-bottom. She was +moseyin' along, savin' herself, and I was settin' sideways like a +real lady so's I could keep a' eye towards town. Pretty soon, 'way +back down the road, 'twixt the barb-wire fences, I seen a cloud of +dust a-travellin'--a-travellin' so fast they couldn't be no mistake. +And in about a minute, the signs was complete--I heerd a toot. I put +my laig over then. + +Here he come, that Simpson in his smelly Pullman, takin' the grade like +greased lightin'. "Now, Maud!" I whispers to the bronc. And, puttin' +my spurs into her, I begun t' whip-saw from one fence to the other. + +He slowed up and blowed his whistle. + +I hoed her down harder'n ever. + +"You're a-skeerin' my hoss," I yells back. + +"Pull t' one side," he answers. "I want to git by." + +But Maud wouldn't pull. And everywheres Simpson was, she was just in +front, actin' as if she was scairt plumb outen her seven senses. The +worse she acted, a-course, the madder _I_ got! Fin'lly, just as Mister +Doc was managin' to pass, I got _turrible_ mad, and, cussin' blue +blazes, I took out my forty-five and let her fly. + +One of them hind tires popped like the evenin' gun at Fort Wingate. Same +minute, that hidebound rig-a-ma-jig took a shy and come nigh buttin' her +fool nose agin a fence-post. But Simpson, he geed her quick and started +on. I put a hole in the other hind tire. She shied again--opp'site +_di_rection--snortin' like she was wind-broke. He hawed her back. +Then he went a-kitin' on, leavin' me a-eatin' his dust. + +But I wasn't _done_ with him, no, ma'am. + +Right there the road make a kinda horse-shoe turn--like this, y' +savvy--to git 'round a fence corner. I'd cal'lated on that. I just +give Maud a lick 'longside the haid, jumped her over the fence, quirted +her a-flyin' acrosst that bend, took the other fence, and landed about +a hunderd feet in front of him. + +When he seen me through his goggles, he come on full-steam. I set Maud +a-runnin' the same _di_rection--and took up my little rope. + +About two shakes of a lamb's tail, and it happened. He got nose and nose +with me. I throwed, ketchin' him low--'round his chest and arms. Maud +come short. + +Say! talk about you' _flyin'_-machines! Simpson let go his holt and +took to the air, sailin' up right easy fer a spell, flappin' his wings +all the time; then, doublin' back somethin' amazin', and fin'lly +comin' down t' light. + +And that gasoline bronc of hisn--minute she got the bit, she acted +plumb loco. She shassayed sideways fer a rod, buckin' at ev'ry jump. +Pretty soon, they was a turn, but she didn't see it. She left the +road and run agin the fence, cuttin' the wires as clean in two as a +pliers-man. Then, outen pure cussedness, seems like, she made towards a +cottonwood, riz up on her hind laigs, clumb it a ways, knocked her +wind out, pitched oncet 'r twicet, tumbled over on to her quarters, and +begun t' kick up her heels. + +[Illustration: "_He lay the kid lookin' up and put his finger into +her mouth_"] + +I looked at Simpson. He'd been settin' on the ground; but now he gits +up, pullin' at the rope gentle, like a lazy sucker. Say! but his face +was ornamented! + +I give him a nod. "Wal, Young-Man-That-Flies-Like-A-Bird?" I says, +inquirin'. + +He began to paw up the road like a mad bull. "I'll make you pay fer +this!" he bellered. + +"You cain't git blood outen a turnip," I answers, sweet as sugar; and +Maud backed a step 'r two, so's the rope wouldn't slack. + +"How _dast_ you do such a' in_fame_ous thing!" he goes on. + +"You gasoline gents got t' have a lesson," I answers; "you let the +stuff go t' you' haids. Why, a _hired man_ ain't got a chanst fer his +life when you happen t' be travellin'." + +He begun t' wiggle his arms. "You lemme go," he says. + +"Go where?" I ast. + +"T' my machine." + +I looked over at her. She was quiet now, but sweatin' oil somethin' +awful. "How long'll it take you t' git her on to her laigs?" I ast. + +"She's ruined!" he says, like he was goin' to bawl. "And I meant +t' go down to Goldstone t'night." + +"That duck-wing lady'll have t' wait fer the train," I says. "But +never mind. I'll tell Rose Andrews you got the _en_gagement." Then +Maud slacked the rope and I rode up t' him, so's to let him loose. "So +long," I says. + +"I ain't done with you!" he answers, gittin' purple; "I ain't done +with you!" + +"Wal, you know where I live," I says, and loped off, hummin' the tune +the ole cow died on. + +When I rid up to the Bar Y ranch-house, here was Billy, gittin' offen +that little bi_cy_cle of hisn. + +"Cupid," he says, and he was whiter'n chalk-rock, "is the baby worse? +And Rose----" + +I pulled him up on to the porch. "Now's you' chanst, Billy," I +answers. "_Do you' darnedest!_" + +Rose opened the door, and her face was as white as hisn. "Aw, Billy!" +was all she says. + +Then up come that ole fool paw of hern, totin' the kid. "What's +this?" he ast, mad as a hornet. "And where's Doc Simpson?" + +It was me that spoke. "Doc Simpson's had a turrible accident," I +answers. "His gasoline plug got to misbehavin' down the road a piece, +and plumb tore her insides out. He got awful shook up, and couldn't +come no further, so--knowin' the baby was so sick--I went fer Bill." + +"Bill!" says the ole man, disgusted. "_Thun-deration!_" + +But Billy had his tools out a'ready and was a-reachin' fer the kid. +Sewell let him have her--cussin' like a mule-skinner. + +"That's right," he says to Rose; "that's right,--let him massacree +her!" + +Rose didn't take no notice. "Aw, Billy!" she kept sayin', and "Aw, +baby!" + +Billy got to doin' things. He picked somethin' shiny outen his kit and +slipped it into a pocket. Next, he lay the kid lookin' up and put his +finger into her mouth. + +"See here," he says to me. + +I peeked in where he pointed and seen a reg'lar little hawg-back of gum, +red on the two slopes, but whitish in four spots along the ridge, like +they'd been a snowfall. Billy grinned, took out that shiny instrument, +and give each of them pore little gum buttes the double cross--zip-_zip,_ +zip-_zip,_ zip-_zip,_ zip-_zip_. And, jumpin' buffaloes! _out pops +four of the prettiest teeth a man ever seen!_ + +Bugs?--rats! + +"Now, a little Bella Donnie," says Bill, "and the baby'll be O. K." + +"O. K.!" says Rose. "Aw, Billy!" And _such_ a kissin'!--the baby, +a-_course_. + +Ole man Sewell stopped swearin' a minute. "What's the matter?" he ast. + +"Teeth," says Billy. + +Think of that! Why, the trouble was so clost to Simpson that if it'd +been a rattler, it'd 'a' bit him! + +"_Teeth!_" says the ole man, like he didn't believe it. + +"Come look," says Billy. + +Sewell, he walked over to the baby and stooped down. Then all of a +suddent, I seen his jaw go open, and his eyes stick out so far you +could 'a' knocked 'em off with a stick. Then, he got red as a turkey +gobbler--and let out a reg'lar war-whoop. + +"_Look_ at 'em!" he yelped. "Rose! Rose!--_look_ at 'em! Four all +to oncet!" And he give the doc such a wallop on the back that it come +nigh to knockin' him down. + +"I know," I says sarcastic, "but, shucks! a baby ain't _all_ teeth. +This is a mighty puzzlin' case, and Simpson----" + +"Close you' fly-trap," says the ole man, "and look at them teeth! +Four of a kind--can y' beat it?" + +"Wa-a-al," I says, sniffin', "they's so, so, I reckon, but any +kid----" + +"_Any_ kid!" yells the ole man, plumb aggervated. And he was just +turnin' round to give _me_ one when--in limps Simpson! + +"Mister Sewell," he says, "I come to make a complaint"--he shook his +fist at me--"agin this here ruffian. He----" + +"Wow!" roars Sewell. "Don't you trouble to make no complaints in +_this_ house. Here you been a-treatin' this baby fer bugs when it was +just teeth. Say! you ain't got sense enough to come in when it rains!" + +That plumb rattled Simpson. He was gittin' a _re_ception he didn't +reckon on. But he tried t' keep up his game. + +"This cow-boy here is _re_sponsible fer damages to my auto," he says. +"The dashboard's smashed into matches, the tumblin'-rods is broke, +the spark-condenser's kaflummuxed, and the hull blamed business is +skew-gee. This man was actin' in you' behalf, and if he don't pay, +I'll sue _you._" + +"Sue?" says Sewell; "_sue?_ You go guess again! You send in you' +bill, that's what _you_ do. You ain't earned nothin'--but, by jingo, +it's worth money just to git shet of such a dog-goned shyster as you. +_Git._" + +And with that, out goes Mister Bugs. + +Then, grandpaw, he turns round to the baby again, plumb took up with +them four new nippers. "Cluck, cluck," he says like a chicken, and +pokes the kid under the chin. Over one shoulder, he says to Billy, "And, +Trowbridge, you can make out _you'_ bill, too." + +Billy didn't answer nothin'. Just went over to a table, pulled out a +piece of paper and a pencil, and begun t' write. Pretty soon, he got +up and come back. + +"Here, Mister Sewell," he says. + +I was right byside the ole man, and--couldn't help it--I stretched to +read what Billy'd writ. And this was what it was: + + "Mister Zach Sewell, debtor to W. A. Trowbridge, fer medical + services--the hand of one Rose Andrews in marriage." + +Sewell, he read the paper over and over, turnin' all kinds of colours. +And Silly and me come blamed nigh chokin' from holdin' our breaths. +Rose was lookin' up at us, and at her paw, too, turrible anxious. As fer +that kid, it was a-kickin' its laigs into the air and gurglin' like a +bottle. + +Fin'lly, the ole man handed the paper back. "Doc," he says, "Rose is +past twenty-one, and not a' idjit. Also, the kid is hern. So, bein' +this bill reads the way it does, mebbe you'd better hand it t' her. +If she don't think it's too steep a figger----" + +Billy took the paper and give it over to Rose. When she read it, her face +got all blushy; and happy, too, I could see _that_. + +"_Rose!_" says Billy, holdin' out his two arms to her. + +I took a squint through the winda at the scenery--and heerd a sound like +a cow pullin' its foot outen the mud. + +"Rose," goes on Billy, "I'll be as good as I know how to you." + +When I turned round again, here was ole man Sewell standin' in the +middle of the floor, lookin' back and forth from Rose and Billy to +the kid--like it'd just struck him that he was goin' t' lose his gal +and the baby and all them teeth. And if ever a man showed that he was +helpless and jealous and plumb hurt, why, that was him. Next, here he +was a-gazin' at me with a queer shine in his eyes--almost savage. And +say! it got me some nervous. + +"Seems Mister Cupid Lloyd is a-runnin' things 'round this here +ranch-house," he begun slow, like he was holdin' in his mad. + +I--wal, I just kinda stood there, and swallered oncet 'r twicet, and +tried t' grin. (Didn't know nothin' t' say, y' savvy, that'd be +likely t' hit him just right.) + +"So Cupid's gone and done it again!" he goes on. "How accommodatin'! +Haw!" And he give one of them short, sarcastic laughs. + +"Wal, just let me tell you," he _con_tinues, steppin' closter, "that +I, fer one, ain't got _no_ use fer a feller that's allus a-stickin' in +his lip." + +"Sewell," I says, "no feller _likes_ to--that's a cinch. But oncet +in a while it's plumb needful." + +"It is, is it? And I s'pose _this_ is one of them cases. Wal, Mister +Cupid, all I can say is this: The feller that sticks in his lip _allus +gits into trouble._" + +Sometimes, them words of hisn come back to me. Mebbe I'll be feelin' +awful good-natured, and be a-laughin' and talkin'. Of a suddent, up +them words'll pop, and the way he said 'em, and all. And even if +it's right warm weather, why, I _shiver,_ yas, ma'am. _The fetter +that sticks in his lip allus gits into trouble_--nothin' was ever said +truer'n that! + +"And," the ole man goes on again, a little bit hoarse by now, "I can +feel you' trouble a-comin'. So far, you been lucky. But it cain't +last--it cain't last. You know what it says in the Bible? (Mebbe it +ain't in the Bible, but that don't matter.) It says, 'Give a fool a +rope and he'll hang hisself.' And one of these times you'll play Cupid +just oncet too many. What's more, the smarty that can allus bring other +folks t'gether cain't never manage t' hitch hisself." + +I'd been keepin' still 'cause I didn't want they should be no hard +feelin's 'twixt us. But that last _re_mark of hisn kinda got my dander +up. + +"Aw, I don't know," I answers; "when it comes my own time, I don't +figger t' have much trouble." + +Wal, sir, the old man flew right up. His face got the colour of +sand-paper, and he brung his two hands t'gether clinched, so's +I thought he'd plumb crack the bones. "Haw!" (That laugh +again--bitter'n gall.) "Mister Cupid Lloyd, _you just wait._" And +out he goes. + +"Cupid," says Billy, "I'm _turrible_ sorry. Seems, somehow, that +you've got Sewell down on y' account of me----" + +"That's all right, Doc," I answers; "_I_ don't keer. It mocks nix +oudt, as Dutchy 'd say." And I shook hands with him and Rose, and +kissed the baby. + +It mocks nix oudt--that's what I said. Wal, how was I t' know then, +that I'd made a' enemy of the _one_ man that, later on, I'd be +willin' t' give my _life_ t' please, almost?--_how_ was I t' know? + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +A THIRST-PARLOUR MIX-UP GIVES ME A NEW DEAL + + +AIN'T it funny what little bits of things can sorta change a feller's +life all 'round ev'ry which _di_rection--shuffle it up, you might +say, and throw him out a brand new deal? Now, take my case: If a sassy +greaser from the Lazy X ranch hadn't 'a' plugged Bud Hickok, Briggs +City 'd never 'a' got the parson; if the parson hadn't 'a' came, +I'd never 'a' gone to church; and mebbe if I hadn't never 'a' gone +to church, it wouldn't 'a' made two cents diff'rence whether ole man +Sewell was down on me 'r not--fer the reason that, likely, I'd never +'a' met up with Her. + +Now, I ain't a-sayin' I'm a' almanac, ner one of them crazies that +can study the trails in the middle of you' hand and tell you that +you're a-goin' to have ham and aigs fer breakfast. No, ma'am, I +ain't neither one. But, just the same, the very first time I clapped +my lookers on the new parson, I knowed they was shore goin' to be +sev'ral things a-happenin' 'fore long in that par_tic_ular section of +Oklahomaw. + +As I said, Bud was _re_sponsible fer the parson comin'. Bud tied +down his holster just oncet too many. The greaser called his bluff, and +pumped lead into his system some. That called fer a funeral. Now, +Mrs. Bud, she's Kansas City when it comes to bein' high-toned. And +nothin' would do but she must have a preacher. So the railroad agent +got Williams, Arizonaw, on his click-machine, and we got the parson. + +He was a new breed, that parson, a genuwine no-two-alike, +come-one-in-a-box kind. He was big and young, with no hair on his face, +and brownish eyes that 'peared to look plumb through y' and out on the +other side. Good-natured, y' know, but actin' as if he meant ev'ry +word he said; foolin' a little with y', too, and friendly as the +devil. And he didn't wear parson duds--just a grey suit; not like us, +y' savvy--more like what the hotel clerk down to Albuquerque wears, 'r +one of them city fellers that comes here to run a game. + +Wal, the way he talked over pore Bud was a caution. Say! they was no +"Yas, my brother," 'r "No, my brother," and no "Heaven's will be +done" outen _him_--nothin' like it! And you'd never 'a' smelt +gun-play. Mrs. Bud ner the greaser that done the shootin'-up (he was at +the buryin') didn't hear no word _they_ could kick at, _no,_ ma'am. +The parson read somethin' about the day you die bein' a darned sight +better 'n the day you was born. And his hull razoo was so plumb sensible +that, 'fore he got done, the passel of us was all a-feelin', somehow +'r other, that Bud Hickok had the drinks on us! + +We planted Bud in city style. But the parson didn't shassay back to +Williams afterwards. We'd no more'n got our shaps on again, when +Hairoil blowed in from the post-office up the street and let it out +at the "Life Savin' Station," as Dutchy calls his thirst-parlour, that +the parson was goin' to squat in Briggs City fer a spell. + +"Wal, of all the dog-goned propositions!" says Bill Rawson, +mule-skinner over to the Little Rattlesnake Mine. "What's he goin' +to do that fer, Hairoil?" + +"Heerd we was goin' to have a polo team," answers Hairoil. "Reckon +he's kinda loco on polo. Anyhow, he's took my shack." + +"Boys," I tole the crowd that was wettin' they whistles, "this +preachin' gent ain't none of you' ev'ry day, tenderfoot, +hell-tooters. Polo, hey? He's got _savvy_. Look a leedle oudt, as +Dutchy, here, 'd put it. Strikes me this feller'll hang on longer +'n any other parson that was ever in these parts ropin' souls." + +Ole Dutch lay back his ears. "Better he do'n make no trubbles mit me," +he says. + +Say! that was like tellin' you' fortune. The next day but one, right +in front of the "Station," trouble popped. This is how: + +The parson 'd had all his truck sent over from Williams. In the pile +they was one of them big, spotted dawgs--keerige dawgs, I think they +call 'em. This par_tic_ular dawg was so spotted you could 'a' come +blamed nigh playin' checkers on him. Wal, Dutchy had a dawg, too. It +wasn't much of anythin' fer fambly, I reckon,--just plain purp--but it +shore had a fine set of nippers, and could jerk off the stearin' gear of +a cow quicker 'n greazed lightnin'. Wal, the parson come down to the +post-office, drivin' a two-wheel thing-um-a-jig, all yalla and black. +'Twixt the wheels was trottin' his spotted dawg. A-course, the parson +'d no more'n stopped, when out comes that ornery purp of Dutchy's. +And such a set-to you never seen! + +But it was all on one side, like a jug handle, and the keerige dawg got +the heavy end. He yelped bloody murder and tried to skedaddle. The other +just hung on, and bit sev'ral of them stylish spots clean offen him. + +"Sir," says the parson to Dutchy, when he seen the damage, "call off +you' beast." + +Dutchy, he just grinned. "Ock," he says, "it mocks nix oudt if dey +do sometinks. Here de street iss not brivate broperty." + +At that, the parson clumb down and drug his dawg loose. Then he looked up +at the thirst-parlour. "What a name fer a _saloon,_" he says, "in a +civilised country!" + +A-course, us fellers enjoyed the fun, all right. And we fixed it up +t'gether to kinda sic the Dutchman on. We seen that "Life Savin' +Station" stuck in the parson's craw, and we made out to Dutch that +like as not he 'd have to change his sign. + +Dutch done a jig he was so mad. "Fer _dat?_" he ast, meanin' the +parson. "Nein! He iss not cross mit my sign. He vut like it, maype, +if I gif him some viskey on tick. I bet you he trinks, I bet. Maype he +trinks ret ink gocktails, like de Injuns; maype he trinks Florita Vater, +oder golone. Ya! Ya! Vunce I seen a feller--I hat some snakes here in +algohol--unt dat feller he trunk de algohol. _Ya_. Unt de minister iss +just so bat as dat." + +Then, to show how he liked _us_, Dutchy set up the red-eye. And the +_next_ time the parson come along in his cart, they was a dawg fight in +front of that saloon that was worth two-bits fer admission. + +Don't think the rest of us was agin the parson, though. We wasn't. +Fact it, we kinda liked him from the jump. We liked his riggin', we +liked the way he grabbed you' paw, and he was no quitter when it come +to a hoss. _Say!_ but he could ride! One day when he racked into the +post-office, his spur-chains a-rattlin' like a puncher's, and a quirt +in his fist, one of the Bar Y boys rounded him up agin the _meanest, +low_-down buckin' proposition that ever wore the hide of a bronc. But +the parson was game from his hay to his hoofs. He clumb into the saddle +and stayed there, and went a-hikin' off acrosst the prairie, independent +as a pig on ice, just like he was a-straddlin' some ole crow-bait! + +So, when Sunday night come, and he preached in the school-house, he had +quite a bunch of punchers corralled there to hear him. And I was one +of 'em. (But, a-course, that first time, I didn't have no idear it +was a-goin' to mean a turrible lot to me, that goin' to church.) Wal, +I'm blamed if the parson wasn't wearin' the same outfit as he did +week days. We liked that. And he didn't open up by tellin' us that +we was all branded and ear-marked a' ready by the Ole Long-horn Gent. +No, ma'am. He didn't _mention_ everlastin' fire. And he didn't ramp +and pitch and claw his hair. Fact is, he didn't hell-toot! + +A-course, that spoiled the fun fer us. But he talked so straight, and +kinda easy and honest, that he got us a-listenin' to what he _said_. + +Cain't say we was stuck on his text, though. It run like this, that a +smart man sees when a row's a-comin' and makes fer the tall cat-tails +till the wind dies down. And he went on to say that a man oughta be +humble, and that if a feller gives you a lick on the jaw, why, you oughta +let him give you another to grow on. Think o' that! It may be O. K. +fer preachers, and fer women that ain't strong enough t' lam back. +But fer me, _nixey_. + +But that hand-out didn't give the parson no black eye with _us_. _We_ +knowed it was his duty t' talk that-a-way. And two 'r three of the +boys got t' proposin' him fer the polo team real serious--pervided, +a-course, that he'd stand fer a little cussin' when the 'casion +_re_quired. It was a cinch that he'd draw like wet rawhide. + +Wal, the long and short of it is, he did. And Sunday nights, the Dutchman +lost money. He begun t' josh the boys about gittin' churchy. It +didn't do no good,--the boys didn't give a whoop fer his gass, and +they liked the parson. All Dutchy could do was to sic his purp on to +chawin' spots offen that keerige dawg. + +But pretty soon he got plumb tired of just dawg-fightin'. He _pre_pared +to turn hisself loose. And he advertised a free supper fer the very next +Sunday night. When Sunday night come, they say he had a reg'lar Harvey +layout. You buy a drink, and you git a stuffed pickle, 'r a patty de +grass, 'r a wedge of pie druv into you' face. + +No go. The boys was on to Dutchy. They knowed he was the stingiest gezaba +in these parts, and wouldn't give away a nickel if he didn't reckon on +gittin' six-bits back. So, more fer devilment 'n anythin' else, the +most of 'em fooled him some--just loped to the school-house. + +The parson was plumb tickled. + +But it didn't last. The next Sunday, the "Life Savin' Station" had +Pete Gans up from Apache to deal a little faro. And as it rained hard +enough t' keep the women folks away, why, the parson preached to ole +man Baker (he's deef), the globe and the chart and the map of South +Amuricaw. And almost ev'ry day of the next week, seems like, that +purp of Dutchy's everlastin'ly chawed the parson's. The spotted +dawg couldn't go past the thirst-parlour, 'r anywheres else. The +parson took to fastenin' him up. Then Dutchy'd mosey over towards +Hairoil's shack. Out'd come Mister Spots. And one, two, three, the +saloon dawg 'd sail into him. + +Then a piece of news got 'round that must 'a' made the parson madder +'n a wet hen. Dutchy cleaned the barrels outen his hind room and put up +a notice that the next Sunday night he'd give a dance. To finish things, +the dawgs had a worse fight'n ever Friday mornin', and the parson's +lost two spots and a' ear. + +I seen a change in the parson that evenin'. When he come down to the +post-office, them brown eyes of his'n was plumb black, and his face +was redder'n Sam Barnes's. "Things is goin' to happen," I says to +myself, "'r _I_ ain't no judge of beef." + +Sunday night, you know, a-course, where the _boys_ went. But I drawed +lots with myself and moseyed over to the school-house to keep a bench +warm. And here is when that new deal was laid out on the table fer you' +little friend Cupid! + +I slid in and sit down clost to the door. Church wasn't begun yet, and +the dozen 'r so of women was a-waitin' quieter'n mice, some of 'em +readin' a little, some of 'em leanin' they haids on the desks, and +some of 'em kinda peekin' through they fingers t' git the lay of the +land. Wal, _I_ stretched my neck,--and made out t' count more'n fifty +spit-balls on a life-size chalk drawin' of the school-ma'am. + +Next thing, the parson was in and a-pumpin' away--all fours--at the +organ, and the bunch of us was on our feet a-singin'---- + + "Yield not to tempta-a-ation, + 'Cause yieldin' is sin. + Each vic'try----" + +We'd got about that far when I shut off, all of a suddent, and cocked +my haid t' listen. Whose voice was that?--as clear, by thunder! as the +bugle up at the Reservation. Wal, sir, I just stood there, mouth wide +open. + + "Some other to win. + Strive manfully onwards----" + +Then, I begun t' look 'round. _Couldn't_ be the Kelly kid's maw (I'd +heerd her call the hawgs), ner the teacher, ner that tall lady next her, +ner---- + +Spotted the right one! Up clost to the organ was a gal I'd never saw +afore. So many was in the way that I wasn't able t' git more'n a +squint at her back hair. But, say! it was _mighty_ pretty hair--brown, +and all sorta curly over the ears. + +When the song was over, ole lady Baker sit down just in front of me; and +as she's some chunky, she cut off nearly the hull of my view. "But, +Cupid," I says to myself, "I'll bet that wavy hair goes with a sweet +face." + +Minute after, the parson begun t' speak. Wal, soon as ever he got his +first words out, I seen that the air was kinda blue and liftin', like +it is 'fore a thunder-shower. And his text? It was, "Lo, I am full of +fury, I am weary with holdin' it in." + +Say! _that's_ the kind of preachin' a _puncher_ likes! + +After he was done, and we was all ready t' go, I tried to get a better +look at that gal. But the women folks was movin' my _di_rection, +shakin' hands and gabblin' fast to make up fer lost time. Half a dozen +of 'em got 'round me. And when I got shet of the bunch, she was just +a-passin' out at the far door. My! such a slim, little figger and +such a pert, little haid! + +I made fer the parson. "_Ex_cuse me," I says to him, "but wasn't +you talkin' to a young lady just now? and if it ain't too gally, can I +_in_-quire who she is?" + +"Why, yas," answers the parson, smilin' and puttin' one hand on +my shoulder. (You know that cuss never oncet ast me if I was a +Christian? Aw! I tell y', he was a _gent_.) "That young lady is +Billy Trowbridge's sister-in-law." + +"Sister-in-law!" I repeats. (She was married, then. Gee! I hated t' +hear that! 'Cause, just havin' helped Billy t' git his wife, y' +savvy, why----) "But, parson, I didn't know the Doc _had_ a brother." +(I felt kinda down on Billy all to oncet.) + +"He ain't," says the parson. "(_Good_-night, Mrs. Baker.) This young +lady is Mrs. Trowbridge's sister." + +"Mrs. _Trowbridge's_ sister?" + +"Yas,--ole man Sewell's youngest gal. She's been up to St. Louis +goin' t' school." He turned out the bracket lamp. + +Ole man Sewell's youngest gal! Shore enough, they _was_ another gal +in that fambly. But she was just a kid when she was in Briggs the last +time,--not more'n fourteen 'r fifteen, anyhow,--and I'd clean fergot +about her. + +"Her name's Macie," goes on the parson. + +"Macie--Macie Sewell--Macie." I said it over to myself two 'r three +times. I'd never liked the name Sewell afore. But now, somehow, along +with _Her_ name, it sounded awful fine. "Macie--Macie Sewell." + +"Cupid, I wisht you'd walk home with me," says the parson. "I want +t' ast you about somethin'." + +"Tickled t' death." + +Whilst he locked up, I waited outside. "M' son," I says to myself, +"nothin' could be foolisher than fer you to git you' eye fixed on a +belongin' of ole man Sewell's. Just paste _that_ in you' sunbonnet." + +Wal, I rid Shank's mare over t' Hairoil's. Whilst we was goin', the +parson opened up on the subject of Dutchy and that nasty, mean purp of +hisn. And I ketched on, pretty soon, to just what he was a-drivin' at. +I fell right in with him. I'd never liked Dutchy such a turrible lot +anyhow,--and I did want t' be a friend to the parson. So fer a hour +after we hit the shack, you might 'a' heerd me a-talkin' (if you'd +been outside) and him a-laughin' ev'ry minute 'r so like he'd split +his sides. + +Monday was quiet. I spent the day at Silverstein's Gen'ral Merchandise +Store, which is next the post-office. (Y' see, She might come in +fer the Bar Y mail.) The parson got off a long letter to a feller at +Williams. And Dutchy was awful busy--fixin' up a fine shootin'-gallery +at the back of his "Life Savin' Station." + +Tuesday, somethin' happened at the parson's. Right off after the +five-eight train come in from the south, Hairoil druv down to the deepot +and got a big, square box and rushed home with it. When he come into +the thirst-parlour about sun-set, the boys ast him what the parson +was gittin'. He just wunk. + +"I bet _I_ knows," says Dutchy. "De preacher mans buys some viskey, +alretty." + +Hairoil snickered. "Wal," he says, "what I carried over was nailed +up good and tight, all right, all right." + +Wal, say! that made the boys suspicious, and made 'em wonder if they +wasn't a darned good _reason_ fer the parson not wearin' duds like +other religious gents, and fer his knowin' how to ride so good. And +they was _sore_--bein' that they'd stood up so strong fer him, y' +savvy. + +"A cow-punch," says Monkey Mike, "'ll swaller almost _any_ ole +thing, long 's it's right out on the table. But he shore cain't go a +_hippy-crit._" + +"You blamed idjits!" chips in Buckshot Millikin, him that owns such +a turrible big bunch of white-faces, and was run outen Arizonaw fer +rustlin' sheep, "what can y' expect of a preacher, that comes from +_Williams?_" + +Dutchy seen how they all felt, and he was plumb happy. "Vot I tole +y'?" he ast. But pretty soon he begun to laugh on the other side of +his face. "If dat preacher goes to run a bar agin me," he says, "py +golly, I makes no more moneys!" + +Fer a minute, he looked plumb scairt. + +But the boys was plumb _disgusted_. "The parson's been playin' us +fer suckers," they says to each other; "he's been a-soft-soapin' +us, a-flimflammin' us. He thinks we's as blind as day-ole kittens." +And the way that Tom-fool of a Hairoil hung 'round, lookin' wise, got +under they collar. After they'd booted him outen the shebang, they all +sit down on the edge of the stoop, just sayin' nothin'--but sawin' +wood. + +I sit down, too. + +We wasn't there more'n ten minutes when one of the fellers jumped up. +"There comes the parson now," he says. + +Shore enough. There come the parson in his fancy two-wheel Studebaker, +lookin' as perky as thunder. "Gall?" says Buckshot. "Wal, I should +smile!" Under his cart, runnin' 'twixt them yalla wheels, was his +spotted dawg. + +I hollered in to Dutchy. "Where's you' purp, Dutch?" I ast. "The +parson's haided this way." + +Dutchy was as tickled as a kid with a lookin'-glass and a hammer. He +dropped his bar-towel and hawled out his purp. + +"Vatch me!" he says. + +The parson was a good bit closter by now, settin' up straight as a +telegraph pole, and a-hummin' to hisself. He was wearin' one of them +caps with a cow-catcher 'hind and 'fore, knee britches, boots and a +sweater. + +"A svetter, mind y'!" says Dutchy. + +"Be a Mother Hubbard _next,_" says Bill Rawson. + +Somehow, though, as the parson come 'longside the post-office, most +anybody wouldn't 'a' liked the way thinks looked. You could sorta +smell somethin' explodey. He was too all-fired songful to be natu'al. +And his dawg! That speckled critter was as diff'rent from usual as +the parson. His good ear was curled up way in, and he was kinda layin' +clost to the ground as he trotted along--layin' so clost he was plumb +_bow-legged_. + +Wal, the parson pulled up. And he'd no more'n got offen his seat when, +first rattle outen the box, them dawgs mixed. + +Gee whillikens! _such_ a mix! They wasn't much of the reg'lar ki-yin'. +Dutchy's purp yelped some; but the parson's? Not fer _him!_ He just +got a good holt--a shore enough diamond hitch--on that thirst-parlour +dawg, and chawed. _Say!_ And whilst he chawed, the dust riz up like they +was one of them big sand-twisters goin' through Briggs City. All of a +suddent, _how that spotted dawg could fight!_ + +Dutchy didn't know what 'd struck him. He runs out. "Come, hellup," +he yells to the parson. + +The parson shook his head. "This street is not my private property," +he says. + +Then Dutchy jumped in and begun t' kick the parson's dawg in the snoot. +The parson walks up and stops Dutchy. + +That made the Dutchman turrible mad. He didn't have no gun on him, so +out he jerks his pig-sticker. + +What happened next made our eyes plumb stick out. That parson +side-stepped, put out a hand and a foot, and with that highfalutin' +Jewie Jitsie you read about, tumbled corn-beef-and-cabbage on to his +back. Then he straddled him and slapped his face. + +"Lieber!" screeched Dutchy. + +"Goin' t' have any more Sunday night dances?" ast the parson. (_Bing, +bang_.) + +"Nein! Nein!" + +"Any more" (_bing, bang_) "free Sunday suppers?" + +"Nein! Nein! Hellup!" + +"Goin' to change this" (_biff, biff_) "saloon's name!" + +"Ya! Ya! _Gott!_" + +The parson got up. "_Amen!_" he says. + +Then he runs into Silverstein's, grabs a pail of water, comes out again, +and throws it on to the dawgs. + +The Dutchman's purp was done fer a'ready. And the other one was tired +enough to quit. So when the water splashed, Dutchy got his dawg by the +tail and drug him into the thirst-parlour. + +But that critter of the parson's. Soon as the water touched him, them +spots of hisn _begun to run_. Y' see, he wasn't the stylish keerige +dawg at all! _He was a jimber-jawed bull!_ + + * * * * * + +Wal, the next Sunday night, the school-house was chuck full. She +wasn't there--no, Monkey Mike tole me she was visitin' down to +Goldstone; but, a-course, all the _rest_ of the women folks was. And +about forty-'leven cow-punchers was on hand, and Buckshot, and Rawson +and Dutchy,--yas, ma'am, _Dutchy,_ we rounded _him_ up. Do y' think +after such a come-off we was goin' to let that limburger run any +compytition place agin our parson? + +And that night the parson stands up on the platform, his face as shiny +as a milk-pan, and all smiles, and he looked over that cattle-town bunch +and says, "I take fer my text this evenin', 'And the calf, and the +young lion and the fatlin' shall lie down in peace t'gether.'" + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +THE PRETTIEST GAL AND THE HOMELIEST MAN + + +I'M just square enough to own _up_ it was one on me. But far's that +par_tic_ular mix-up goes, I can _afford_ to be honest, and let anybody +snicker that wants to--seein' the way the hull thing turned out. 'Cause +how about Doc Simpson? Didn't I git bulge Number Two on him? And how +about the little gal? Didn't it give me my first chanst? _Course,_ it +did! And now, sometimes, when I want to feel happier'n a frog in a +puddle, just a-thinkin' it all over, I lean back, shut my two eyes, and +say, "Ladies and gents, this is where you git the Blackfoot Injun +Root-ee, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic Salve and the Worm +Destroyer--the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!" + +That medicine show follered the dawg fight. It hit Briggs City towards +sundown one day, in a prairie-schooner drawed by two big, white mules, +and druv up to the eatin'-house. Out got a smooth-faced, middle-aged +feller in a linen duster and half a' acre of hat--kinda part judge, +part scout, y' savvy; out got two youngish fellers in fancy vests and +grey dicers; next, a' Injun in a blanket, and a lady in a yalla-striped +shirtwaist. Wal, sir, it was just like they'd struck that town to start +things a-movin' fer me! + +The show hired the hall over Silverstein's store. Then one of them fancy +vests walked up and down Front Street, givin' out hand-bills. The other +sent word to all the ranches clost by, and the Injun went 'round to +them scattered houses over where the parson and Doc Trowbridge lives. + +Them hand-bills read somethin' like this: The _Re_nowned Blackfoot +Medicine Company Gives Its First Performance T'Night! Grand Open-Air +Band Concert. Come One, Come All. Free! Free! Free! 3--The Marvellous +Murrays--3. To-Ko, the Human Snake, The World Has Not His Equal. Miss +Vera de Mille In Bewitchin' Song and Dance. Amuricaw's Greatest Nigger +Impersynater. The Fav'rite Banjoist of the Sunny South. Injun Shadda +Pictures,--and a hull lot more I cain't just _re_call. + +When I seen that such a big bunch was a-goin' to preform, I walked over +and peeked into that schooner. I figgered, y' savvy, that they was some +more people in it that hadn't come out yet. But they wasn't--only boxes +and boxes of bottles. + +Right after supper, that medicine outfit played in front of +Silverstein's. The judge-lookin' feller beat the drum, the Injun +blowed a big brass dinguss, the gal a clari'net, and the other two +fellers some shiny instruments curlier'n a pig's tail. But it was +bully, that's all _I_ got to say, and drawed like a mustard plaster. +'Cause whilst in Oklahomaw a _Injun_ show don't count fer much, bein' +that we got more'n our fill of reds, all the same, with music +throwed in, Briggs City was there. And Silverstein's hall was just +jampacked. + +The front seats was took up by the town kids, a-course. Then come the +women and gals,--a sprinklin' of men amongst 'em; behind _them,_ the +cow-punchers. And in the back end of the place a dozen 'r so of niggers +and cholos. Whilst all was a-waitin' fer the show to begin, the punchers +done a lot of laughin' and cat-callin' to each other, and made some +consider'ble noise. I was along with the rest, only up in one of the +side windas, settin' on the sill and swingin' my hoofs. + +When the show opened, they was first a fine piece--a march, I reckon--by +the band. All the time, more people was a-comin' in. 'Mongst 'em was +Doc Trowbridge and Rose, and Up-State--he was that pore lunger that was +here from the East, y' savvy. Next, right after them three, that Doc +Simpson I was so all-fired stuck on. And, along with him, a gal. + +Wal, who do you think it was! _I_ knowed to oncet. They wasn't no +mistakin' that slim, little figger and that pert little haid. It was +_Her!_ + +"Cupid," whispered Hairoil Johnson (he was settin' byside me), "it +looks to me like you didn't much discourage that Noo York doc who owns +what's left of a toot buggy. Failin' to git the oldest gal out at the +Bar Y, why, now he's a-sailin' 'round with the youngest one." + +I didn't say nothin'. I was a-watchin' where _she_ was. I wanted t' +ketch sight of her face. + +"I devilled ole man Sewell about kickin' him out and then takin' him +back," goes on Hairoil. "And Sewell said he was a punk doctor, but +awful good comp'ny. Huh! Comp'ny ain't what _that_ dude's after. +He's after a big ranch and a graded herd. It's a blamed pity you +didn't git _him_ sent up t' Kansas City fer _re_pairs." + +The band was a-playin', but I didn't pay much attention to it. I kept +a-watchin' that slim, little figger a-settin' next Simpson--a-watchin' +till I plumb fergot where I was, almost. "Macie,--Macie Sewell." + +Just then, I'm another if she didn't look round! And square at _me!_ +She wasn't smilin', just sober, and sorta inquirin'. Her eyes looked +dark, and big. She had a square little chin, like the gals you see drawed +in pictures, and some soft, white, lacey stuff was a-restin' agin her +neck. They was two 'r three good-lookin' gals at the eatin'-house +them days, and Carlota Arnaz was awful pretty, too. But none of 'em +couldn't hole a candle t' _this_ one. Took in her cute little face +whilst she looked straight back at me. Say! them eyes of hern come +nigh pullin' me plumb outen that winda! + +Then the Judge walked out onto the platform, and she faced for'ards +again. "Ladies and gents," says the ole feller, talkin' like his +mouth was full of mush, "we have come to give you' enterprisin' little +city a free show. A free show, ladies and gents,--it ain't a-goin' +to cost you a _nickel_ to come here and enjoy you'self ev'ry night. +More'n that, we plan to stay as long as you want us to. And we plan to +give you the very best talent in this hull United States." + +All this time, the fancy-vest fellers was layin' a carpet and fixin' a +box and a table on the stage. The Judge, he turned and waved his hand. +"Our first number," he says, "will be the Murrays in they marvellous +act." + +Wal, them fancy-vests and the lady was the Marvellous Murrays. And +they was all in pink circus-clothes. "Two brothers and a sister, I +guess," says Hairoil. I should _hope_ so! 'Cause the way they jerked +each other 'round was enough t' bring on a fight if they hadn't +'a' been relations. All three of 'em could walk on they hands nigh +as good as on they feet, and turn somersets quicker'n lightnin'. And +when the somersettin' and leap-froggin' come to oncet, it was grand! +First the big feller'd git down; then, the other'd step onto his +back. And as the big one bucked, his brother'd fly up,--all in a ball, +kinda--spin 'round two 'r three times, and light right side up. And +then they stood on each other's faces like they'd plumb flat 'em out! + +When they was done, they all come to the edge of the platform, the lady +kissin' her hand. All the punchers kissed back! + +Wal, ev'rybody laughed then, and clapped, and the Judge brought on the +Injun. That Injun was smart, all right. Wiggled his fingers behind a +sheet and made 'em look like animals, and like people that was walkin' +and bowin' and doin' jigs. I wondered if Macie Sewell liked it. Guess +she did! She was a-smilin' and leanin' for'ards to whisper to Billy +and Rose. But not much to Simpson, _I_ thought. Say! I was glad of that. +Wasn't _none_ of my business, a-course. _Course,_ it wasn't. But, +just the same, whenever I seen him put his haid clost to hern, it shore +got under my skin. + +The Judge was out again. "Miss Vera de Mille," he says, "will sing +'Wait Till the Sun Shines, Maggie.'" Wal, if I hadn't 'a' had +reasons fer stayin', I wouldn't 'a' waited a _minute_--reg'lar +cow-bellerin' in place of a voice, y' savvy. What's more, she was +only that Marvellous Murray woman in diff'rent clothes! (No wonder +they wasn't no more people in that outfit!) But I didn't keer about +the show. I just never took my eyes offen---- + +She looked my way again! + +Say! I was roped--right 'round my shoulders, like I'd roped Simpson! +And I was plumb helpless. That look of hern was a lasso, pullin' me to +her, steady and shore. "Macie--Macie Sewell," I whispered to myself, +and I reckon my lips moved. + +"You blamed idjit!" says Hairoil, out loud almost, "what's the matter +with you? You'll have me outen this winda in a minute!" + +The Judge was bowin' some more. "We have now come to the middle of our +pro_gram,_" he says. "But 'fore I begin announcin' the last half, +which is our best, I want to tell you all a story. + +"Ladies and gents, I come t' Briggs to bring you a message--a message +which I feel bound to deliver. And I've gone through a turrible lot to +be able to stand here to-night and say to you what I'm a-goin' to say. + +"Listen! Years ago, a little boy, about so high, with his father and +mother and 'leven sisters and brothers, started to cross the Plains +with a' ox-team. They reached the Blackfoot country safe. But there, +ladies and gents, a turrible thing happened to 'em. One day, more'n +four hunderd Injuns surrounded they wagon and showed fight. They fit 'em +back, ladies and gents,--the father and the mother and the children, +killin' a good many bucks and woundin' more. But the Injuns was too +many fer that pore fambly. And in a' hour, the reds had captured one +little boy--whilst the father and mother and the 'leven sisters and +brothers was no more!" (The Judge, he sniffled a little bit.) + +"The little boy was carried to a big Injun camp," he goes on. "And it +was here, ladies and gents,--it was here he seen _won_-derful things. +He seen them Injuns that was wounded put some salve on they wounds and be +healed; he seen others, that was plumb tuckered with fightin', drink +a blackish medicine and git up like new men. Natu'lly, he wondered +what was _in_ that salve, and what was _in_ that medicine. Wal, he +made friends with a nice Injun boy. He ast him _questions_ about +that salve and that medicine. He learnt what plants was dug to make both +of 'em. Then, one dark night, he crawled outen his wigwam on his hands +and knees. Behind him come his little Injun friend. They went slow and +soft to where was the pony herd. They caught up two fast ponies, and +clumb onto 'em, dug in they spurs, and started eastwards as fast as +they could go. The white boy's heart was filled with joy, ladies and +gents. He had a secret in his bosom that meant health to ev'ry _man, +woman_ and _child_ of his own race. As he galloped along, he says to +hisself, 'I'll spend my _life_ givin' this priceless secret to the +world!' + +"Wal, ladies and gents, that's what he begun to do--straight off. +And t'-night, my dear friends, that boy is in Briggs City!" (A-course, +ev'rybody begun to look 'round fer him.) "Prob-'bly," goes on the +Judge, "they's more'n a hunderd people in this town that'll thank +Providence he come: They's little children that won't be orphans; +they's wives that won't be widdas. Fer he is anxious to tell 'em of a +remedy that will cure a-a-all the ills of the body. And, ladies and +gents, _I_--am--that--boy!" + +That got the punchers so excited and so tickled, that they hollered and +stamped and banged and done about twenty dollars' worth of damage to the +hall. + +"My friends," goes on the Judge, "I have _pre_pared, aided by my dear +Injun comrade here, the sev'ral kinds of medicines discovered by the +Blackfeet." The fancy-vests, rigged out like Irishmen, was fixin' a +table and puttin' bottles on to it. "I have these wonderful medicines +with me, and I sell 'em at a figger that leaves only profit enough fer +the five of us to live on. I do _more'n_ that. Ev'rywheres I go, I +_pre_sent, as a soovneer of my visit, _a handsome, solid-gold watch and +chain._" + +Out come that singin' lady, hoidin' the watch and chain in front of +her so's the crowd could see. My! what a lot of whisperin'! + +"This elegant gift," _con_tinues the Judge, "is _a_warded by means of +a votin' contest. And it goes to the prettiest gal." + +More whisperin', and I sees a brakeman git up and go over to talk to +another railroad feller. Wal, _I_ didn't have to be tole who was the +prettiest gal! + +"Ladies and gents,"--the Judge again--"in this contest, _ev'ry_body +is allowed to vote. All a person has to do is to take two dollars' +worth of my medicine. Each two-dollar buy gives you ten votes fer the +prettiest gal; and just to add a little fun to the contest, it also +gives you ten votes fer the homeliest man. If you buy these medicines, +you'll never want to buy no others. Here's where you git the Blackfoot +Injun Rootee, my friends, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic +Salve, and the Worm Destroyer--the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!" + +Then he drawed a good, long breath and begun again, tellin' us just +what the diff'rent medicines was good fer. When he was done, he +says,--playin' patty-cake with them fat hands of hisn--"Now, who'll +be the first to buy, and name a choice fer the prettiest gal?" + +Up jumps that brakeman, "Gimme two dollars' worth of you' dope," he +says, "and drop ten votes in the box fer Miss Mollie Brown." + +(Eatin'-house waitress, y' savvy.) + +"And the ugliest man?" ast the Judge, whilst one of the fancy vests +took in the cash and handed over the medicine. + +"Monkey Mike," answers the brakeman. And then the boys began t' josh +Mike. + +"I'm a sucker, too," hollers the other railroad feller. "Here's ten +_more_ votes fer Miss Brown." + +Just then, in she come,--pompydore stickin' up like a hay-stack. The +railroad bunch, they give a cheer. Huh! + +I got outen that winda and onto my feet. "Judge," I calls, puttin' +up one hand to show him who was a-talkin', "here's _eight_ dollars +fer you' rat-pizen. And you can chalk down forty votes fer Miss Macie +Sewell." + +Say! cain't you hear them Bar Y punchers?--"_Yip! yip! yip! yip! +yip! yip! ye-e-e!_" A-course all the _other_ punchers, they hollered, +too. And whilst we was yellin', that tenderfoot from Noo York was +a-jabberin' to Macie, mad like, and scowlin' over my way. And she? +Wal, she was laughin', and blushin', and shakin' that pretty haid of +hern--at _me!_ + +I was so _ex_cited I didn't know whether I was a-foot 'r a-hoss-back. +But I knowed enough to _buy,_ all right. Wal, that medicine went like +hotcakes! I blowed _my_self, and Hairoil blowed _his_-self, and the Bar Y +boys cleaned they pockets till the bottles was piled up knee-high +byside the benches. And whilst we shelled out, the Judge kept on +a-goin' like he'd been wound up--"Here's _another_ feller that wants +Root-ee! and here's another over on this side! And, lady, it'll be +good fer you, too, _yas,_ ma'am. The Blackfoot Injun Rootee, my +friends, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic Salve, and the Worm +Destroyer,--the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!" + +When I come to, a little bit later on, the hall was just about empty, +and Hairoil was pullin' me by the arm to git me to move. I looked +'round fer Macie Sewell. She was gone, and so was the Doc and Billy +Trowbridge and Rose and Up-State. Outside, right under my window, I +ketched sight of a white dress a-goin' past. It was her. "Macie," I +whispers to myself; "Macie Sewell." + +That night, I couldn't sleep. I was upset kinda, and just crazy with +thinkin' how I'd help her to win out. And I made up my mind t' this: +If more votes come in fer Mollie Brown than they did fer the gal that +_oughta_ have 'em, why, I'd just shove a gun under that Judge's +nose and tell him to "count 'em over and _count 'em right._" +'Cause, I figgered, no eatin'-house gal with a face like a flat-car was +a-goin' to be _e_lected the prettiest gal of Briggs. Not if _I_ seen +myself, _no,_ ma'am. 'Specially not whilst Sewell's little gal was +in the country. Anybody could pick _her_ fer the winner if they had +on blinders. "Cupid," I says, "you hump you'self!" + +Next day, the Judge, he give consultin's in the eatin'-house +sample-room. I went over and had a talk with him, tellin' him just how I +wanted that votin' contest to go. He said he wisht me luck, but that if +the railroad boys felt they needed his medicine, he didn't believe +he had no right to keep 'em from buyin'. And, a-course, when a feller +made a buy, he wanted t' vote like he pleased. Said the best thing +was t' git holt of folks that 'd met Miss Sewell and liked her, 'r +wanted t' work fer her ole man, 'r 'd just as lief do _me_ a good turn. + +I hunted up Billy. "Doc," I says, "I _hope_ Briggs ain't a-goin' to +name that Brown waitress fer its best sample. Now----" + +"Aw, wal," says Billy, "think how it 'd tickle her!" + +"Tickle some other gal just as much," I says. + +"And the _prettiest_ gal ought to be choosed. Now, it could be +fixed--_easy._" + +"Who do you think it oughta be?" ast Billy. + +"Strikes me you' wife's little sister is the pick." + +"Cupid," says Billy, lookin' anxious like, "don't you git you'self +too much inter_est_ed in Macie Sewell. You know how the ole man feels +towards you. And what can _I_ do? He ain't any too friendly with _me_ +yet? So be keerful." + +"Now, Doc," I goes on, "don't you go to worryin' about me. Just you +help by _prescribin' that medicine._" + +"To folks that don't need none?" ast Billy. "Aw, I don't like to." +(Billy's awful white, Billy is.) "It won't do 'em no good." + +"Wal," I says, "it won't do 'em no _harm._" + +Billy said he'd see. + +"You could let it out that somebody in town's been cured by the +stuff," I suggests. + +"Only make them railroad fellers buy more." + +"That's so. Wal, I guess the best thing fer me to do is to hunt up +people with a misery and tell 'em they'd better buy--and vote my way." + +Billy throwed back his haid and haw-hawed. + +"You're a _dickens_ of a feller!" he says. "When you want to +have you' own way, I never seen _any_-body that could think up more +gol-darned things." + +"And," I _con_tinues, "if that Root-ee just had a lot of forty-rod +mixed in it, it 'd be easier'n all git out to talk fellers into takin' +it. If they'd try _one_ bottle, they'd shore take _another._" + +"Now, Cupid," says Billy, like he was goin' to scolt me. + +"'R if ole man Baker 'd take the stuff and git his hearin' back." + +"No show. Nothin' but sproutin' a new ear'd help Baker." + +Next person I seen was that Doc Simpson. He was a-settin' on +Silverstein's porch, teeterin' hisself in a chair. "Billy," I +says, "I'm goin' over to put that critter up to buyin'. He's got +money and he cain't do better'n spend it." + +Wal, a-course, Simpson was turrible uppy when I first spoke to him. Said +he didn't want nothin' t' say to me--not a _word_. (He had sev'ral +risin's on his face yet.) + +"Wal, Doc," I says, "I know you think I didn't treat you square, +_but_--has you city fellers any idear how mad you make us folks in the +country when you go a-shootin' 'round in them gasoline rigs of yourn? +Why, I think if you'll give this question some little study, you'll +see it has got two sides." + +"Yas," says the Doc, "it _has_. But that ain't why you treated _me_ +like you did. No, I ain't green enough to think _that._" + +"You ain't green at _all,_" I says. "And I'm shore sorry you feel +the way you do. 'Cause I hoped mebbe you'd fergit our little trouble +and bury the hatchet--long as we're both workin' fer the same thing." + +"What thing, I'd like t' know?" + +"Why, gittin' Miss Macie Sewell elected the prettiest gal." + +Fer a bit he didn't say nothin'. Then he made some _re_mark about a +gal's name bein' "handed 'round town," and that a votin' contest +was "vulgar." + +Wal, he put it so slick that I didn't just git the hang of what he was +drivin' at. Just the same, I felt he was layin' it on to me, somehow. +And if I'd 'a' been _shore_ of it, I'd 'a' put some _more_ risin's +on to his face. + +Wisht now I had--on gen'ral principles. 'Cause, thinkin' back, I know +_just_ what he done. If he didn't, why was him and that Root-ee Judge +talkin' t'gether so long at the door of Silverstein's Hall--talkin' +like they was thick, and laughin', and ev'ry oncet in a while +lookin' over at me? + +I drummed up a lot of votes that afternoon. Got holt of Buckshot +Milliken, who wasn't feelin' more'n ordinary good. Ast him how he +was. He put his hand to his belt, screwed up his mug, and said he felt +plumb et up inside. + +"Buckshot," I says, "anybody else 'd give you that ole sickenin' +story about it bein' the nose-paint you swallered last night. Reckon +you' wife's tole you that a'ready." + +"That's what she has," growls Buckshot. + +"Wal, _I_ knowed it! But is she _right?_ Now, _I_ think, Buckshot,--I +think you've got the bliggers." (Made it up on the spot.) + +"The bliggers!" he says, turrible scairt-like. + +"That's what I think. But all you need is that Root-ee they sell over +yonder." + +He perked up. "Shore of it?" he ast. + +"Buy a bottle and try. And leave off drinkin' anythin' else whilst +you're takin' the stuff, so's it can have a fair chanst. In a week, +you'll be a new man." + +"I'll do it," he says, makin' fer that prairie-schooner. + +I calls after him: "And say, Buckshot, ev'ry two dollars you spend +with them people, you git the right to put in ten votes fer the +prettiest gal. Now, most of us is votin' fer ole man Sewell's youngest +daughter." Then, like I was tryin' hard to recollect, "I _think_ +her name is Macie." + +"All right, Cupid. So long." + +Seen Sewell a little bit later. And braced right up to him. 'Cause fer +two reasons: First, I wanted _him_ t' do some buyin' fer his gal; then, +I wanted t' find out if he didn't need another puncher out at the Bar +Y. (Ketch on t' my little game?) + +The ole man was pretty short, and wouldn't do a livin' lick about +them votes. Said _he_ knowed his gal, Mace, was the prettiest gal in +Oklahomaw, and it didn't need no passel of breeds 'r quacks to cut her +out of the bunch of heifers and give her the brand. + +Then, I says, "S'pose you ain't lookin' fer no extra punchers out at +the Bar Y? I'm thinkin' some of quittin' where I am." ('Twixt you +and me and the gate-post, I knowed from Hairoil that the Sewell outfit +was shy two men--just when men was wanted _bad_.) + +Fer a minute, Sewell didn't answer anothin'. (Stiff-necked, y' +savvy,--see a feller dead first 'fore he'd give in a' inch.) Pretty +soon, he looked up, kinda sheepish. "I _could_ use another puncher," he +says, "t' ride line. Forty suit y'?" + +"Shore, boss. Be out the first. So long." + +I was goin' to the Bar Y, where _she_ was! Wal, mebbe I wasn't happy! +And mebbe I wasn't set worse'n ever on havin' the little gal win in +that contest! 'Fore night, I rounded up as many as five people that had +a bony fido grunt comin', and was glad to hear the grand things Doc +Trowbridge said about Root-ee! + +When the show started up in the hall after supper, and I slid in to take +my seat in the winda, a lot of people,--women and kids and men--kinda +turned round towards me and whispered and grinned. "They know I'm fer +Macie Sewell," I says to myself, "but that don't bother _me_ none." + +That Blackfoot Injun (he was turned into To-Ko, the Human Snake) was +a-throwin' squaw-hitches with hisself. The Judge come to the edge of +the platform and pointed over his shoulder to him. "Do you think he +could do that if he didn't rub his hinges with Pain Balm?" he says. +"Wal, he couldn't. Pain Balm makes a man as limber as a willa. Ladies +and gents, it's _won_derful what that remedy can do! It'll prolong +you' life, make you healthy, wealthy, happy, and wise. Here you get +the Blackfoot Injun Root-ee, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic +Salve, and the Worm Destroyer,--the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!" + +Say! it made my jaw plumb tired t' listen to him. + +"Hairoil," I says to Johnson, "they got the names of the prettiest +gals up on the blackboard, but where's the names of the homeliest men?" + +Hairoil snickered a little. Then he pulled his face straight and said +that, bein' as Monkey Mike 'd kicked up a turrible fuss about the +votes that was cast fer _him,_ why, the Judge had _de_cided to keep +the homeliest-man contest a secret. + +Wal, _I_ didn't keer. Was only a-botherin' my, haid over the way the +prettiest gal countin' 'd come out. I got holt of Dutchy, who 'd come +in from his thirst-parlour to look on a minute. "Buyin', Dutchy?" I +ast. + +"Nix." + +"But I reckon you need Root-ee, all the same. Do you ever feel kinda +full and stuffy after meals?" + +"Yaw." + +"Now, don't that show! Dutchy, I'm sorry, but it's a cinch you got +the bliggers!" + +Wal, _he_ bit. + +The station-agent was standin' right next me. "Cupid," he whispers, +"I hear you got a candi-_date_ in fer the prettiest gal. What you say +about runnin' as the homeliest man?" + +"No," I answers, quick, "I don't hanker fer the honour. (That 'd +hurt me with _her,_ y' savvy.) Then, I begun chinnin' with Sparks, that +owns the corral. + +"Great stuff, that Root-ee," I says. "Reckon the redskins knowed a +heap more about curin' than anybody's ever give 'em credit fer. Tried +the medicine yet, Sparks?" + +Sparks said no, he didn't think he needed it. + +"Wal, a man never knows," I goes on. "Now, mebbe, of a mornin', when +you wake up, you feel tired and sorta stretchy; wisht you could just +roll over and take another snooze." + +"Bet I do!" + +"That ain't right, Sparks." And I turned in and give him that bliggers +talk. + +But he hung off till I tole him about the scheme of the railroad +bunch. Seems that Sparks had a grudge agin the eatin'-house 'cause it +wouldn't give him train-men's rates fer grub. So he fell right into +line. + +Macie Sewell didn't come to the show that night, so I didn't stay +long. Over to the bunk-house, I got a piece of paper and some ink and +(ain't ashamed of it, _neither,_) writ down her name. Under it, I put +mine. Then, after crossin' out all the letters that was alike, and +countin' "Friendship, love, indiff'rence, hate, courtship, marriage," +it looked like this: + + M[a][c][i][e] S[e]w[e][l][l] friendship, + [A][l][e][c] [L][l]oyd marriage. + +[Transcriber's note: letters in brackets were "crossed out"] + +By jingo, I reckon it stood just about that way! + +Next mornin', whilst I was standin' outside the post-office, she +come ridin' up! Say, all to oncet my heart got to goin' somethin' +turrible--I was feard she'd hear it, no josh. My hands felt weak, too, +so's I could hardly pull off my Stetson; and my ears got red; and my +tongue thick, like the time I got offen the trail in Arizonaw and din't +have no water fer two 'r three days. + +She seen me, and smiled, sorta bashful. + +"Miss Sewell," I says, "can I ast fer you' mail? Then you won't have +to git down." + +"Yas, thank y'." + +When I give it to her, I got my sand back a little. "I hope," I says, +"that you didn't mind my puttin' you' name up in that votin' +contest. Did y'?" + +"Why,--why, no." + +"I'm awful glad. And I'm a-comin' out to the Bar Y the first to ride +line." + +"Are y'?" Them pink cheeks of hern got pinker'n ever, and when she +loped off, she smiled back at me! + +Say! I never was so happy in all my life! I went to work gittin' +votes fer her, feelin' like ev'rybody was my friend--even ole +Skinflint Curry, that I'd had words with oncet. That railroad bunch +was a-workin', too, and a-talkin' up Mollie Brown. And I heerd that +they planned to hole back a lot of votes till Macie Sewell's count +was all in, and then spring 'em to elect the other gal. That got me +worried some. + +About six o'clock, one of them fancy vests went 'round town, hollerin' +it out that the show 'd give its last performance that night. "What's +you sweat?" I ast him. Nothin', he says, only the Judge reckoned about +all the folks that intended to buy Root-ee had bought a'ready. + +Wal, the show got a turrible big crowd--hall chuch full. And I tell y' +things was livelier'n they was at the dawg fight. The Mollie Brown +crowd was rushin' 'round and lookin' corkin' shore, and the punchers +holdin' up people as they come in, and the Marvellous Murray's doin' +anty-I-overs with theyselves plumb acrosst the stage. + +All the time, the Judge was exercisin' that jaw of hisn. "Ladies and +gents," he says, (banjo goin' ev'ry minute) "here's where you git +cured whilst you stand--like buffalo grass. Don't you be scairt that +you'll buy me out--I got more down cellar in a teacup!" + +Then _she_ come in, and I wouldn't 'a' pulled outen that place fer a +new dollar. She looked so cool and pretty, that little haid up, and +a wisp of hair blowin' agin her one cheek 'cause they was a breeze +from the windas. Simpson was with her. What did _I_ keer! She wasn't +noticin' _him_ much. Wal, I just never looked anywheres else but at +her. Aw, I hoped that pretty soon she'd look round at me! + +She did!--straighter'n a string. And the hull room got as misty and +full of roarin' as if a Santa Fee ingine was in there, a-leakin' +steam. I tried t' smile at her. But my face seemed hard, like a piece +of leather. I _couldn't_ smile. + +Then, my eyes cleared. And I seen she was sad, like as if somethin' was +botherin' her mind. "She thinks she's a-goin' t' git beat," I says +to myself. "But she _ain't._" And I reached down to see if my pop-gun +was all right. + +She turned back towards the stage. The Murray woman 'd just finished +one of them songs of hern, and the Judge was talkin' again. "Ladies +and gents," he says, "we shall not drag out our pro_gram_ too long. Fer +the reason that I know just what you-all want to hear _most_. And that +is, the _re_sult of the contest." + +That railroad gang begun t' holler. + +Don't know why,--wasn't no reason fer it, but my heart went plumb down +into my boots. "Aw, little Macie!" I says to myself; "aw, little +Macie!" Say! I come mighty nigh prayin' over it! + +"The count fer the prettiest gal," goes on the Judge, "is complete. +Miss de Mille, kindly bring for'ard the watch. I shall have to ast some +gent to escort the fortu_nate_ young lady to the platform." (I seen a +brakeman start over to Mollie Brown.) + +"I don't intend"--the Judge again--"to keep you in suspenders no +longer. And I reckon you'll all be glad to know" (here he give a bow) +"that the winner is--Miss Macie Sewell." + +Wal, us punchers let out a yell that plumb cracked the ceiling. "Wow! +wow! _wow!_ Macie Sewell!" And we whistled, and kicked the floor, and +banged the benches, and whooped. + +Doctor Bugs got to his feet, puttin' his stylish hat and gloves on his +chair, and crookin' a' elbow. Wal, I reckon _this_ part wasn't vulgar! + +Then, _she_ stood up, took holt of his arm, and stepped out into the +aisle. She was smilin' a little, but kinda sober yet, I thought. She +went towards the Judge slow, and up the steps. He helt out his hand. +"With the compliments of the company," he says. She took the watch. +Then she turned. + +Another cheer--a _whopper_. + +She stood there, lookin' like a' angel, 'r a bird, 'r a little +bobbin' rose. + +"Thank y', boys," she says; "thank y'." + +If I'd 'a' knowed what was a-goin' to happen next, I'd 'a' slid +out then. But, a-course, I didn't. + +"My friends," says the Judge, "I will now read the vote for the +homeliest man. Monkey Mike received the large count of twenty. But it +stands nineteen hunderd and sixty fer--Cupid Lloyd." + +All of a suddent two 'r three fellers had holt of me. And they was a big +yell went up--"Cupid! Cupid! The homeliest man! Whee!" The next second, +I was goin' for'ards, but shovin' back. I _hated_ to have her see me +made a fool of. I seen red, I was so mad. I could 'a' kilt. But she +was lookin' at me, and I was as helpless as a little cat. I put down +my haid, and was just kinda dragged up the aisle and onto the platform. + +She went down the steps to her seat then. But she didn't stop. She bent +over, picked up her jacket, whispered somethin' to Rose and, with that +Simpson trailin', went to the back of the hall. There she stopped, +kinda half turned, and waited. + +I wisht fer a knot-hole that I could crawl through. I wisht a crack in +the floor 'd open and let me slip down, no matter if I tumbled into a +barrel of _mo_lasses below in Silverstein's. I wisht I was dead, and +I wisht the hull blamed bunch of punchers was--Wal, I felt something +_turrible_. + +"Cupid!" "You blamed fool!" "Look at him, boys!" "Take his +picture!" "Say! he's a beauty!" Then they hollered like they'd +bust they sides, and stomped. + +I laughed, a-course,--sickish, though. + +The Judge, I reckon, felt kinda 'shamed of hisself. 'Cause I'd helped +to sell a heap of medicine, and he knowed it. "That's all right, +Lloyd," he says; "they ain't no present fer you. You can vamose--back +stairway." + +"Whee-oop!" goes the boys. + +I seen her start down then. Billy and his wife got up, too. So did the +crowd, still a-laughin' and a-hootin'. + +I kinda backed a bit. When I reached the stairs, I went slower, feelin' +my way. Minute and I come out onto Silverstein's hind porch. Nobody was +there, so I went over to the edge and lent agin a' upright. + +Right back of Silverstein's they's a line of hitchin'-posts. Two +hosses was fastened there when I come, but it was so dark, and I felt +so kinda bad, that I didn't notice the broncs par_tic_-ular. Till, +'round the corner, towards 'em, come that Simpson. Next, walkin' +slow and lookin' down--Macie. + +But she got onto her hoss quick, and without no help. All the time, +Bugsey was a-fussin' with his mustang. But the critter was nervous, and +wasn't no easy job. Macie waited. She was nighest to me, and right +in line with the light from a winda. I could see her face plain. But I +couldn't tell how she was feelin',--put out, 'r quiet, 'r just kinda +tired. + +Simpson got into the saddle then, his hoss rearin' and runnin'. He +could steer a gasoline wagon, but he couldn't handle a cayuse. He turned +to holler: "Comin', Miss Sewell?" + +She said she was, but she started awful slow, and kinda peered back, and +up to the hall. At the same time, she must 'a' saw that they was a man +on the back porch, 'cause she pulled in a little, lookin' hard. + +I felt that rope a-drawin' me then. I couldn't 'a' kept myself from +goin' to her. I started down. "Miss Macie!" I says; "Miss Macie!" + +"Why,--why, Mister Lloyd!" She wheeled her hoss. "Is that you?" + +I went acrosst the yard to where she was. "Yas,--it's me," I says. + +She lent down towards me a little. "You been awful good to me," she +says. "_I_ know. It was _you_ got all them votes. Hairoil said so." + +"Don't mention it." + +"And--and"--I heerd her breath 'way deep, kinda like a sob--"you +_ain't_ the homeliest man! you _ain't!_ Aw, it was _mean_ of 'em! And +it hurt----" + +"No, it didn't--please, _I_ don't mind." + +"It hurt--me." + +That put the cheek of ten men into me. I Straightened up, and I lifted +my chin. "Why, Gawd _bless_ you, little gal!" I says. "It's all +_right._" + +Her one hand was a-restin' on the pommel. I reached up--only a +stay-chain could a' helt me back then--and took it into both of mine. +Say! did you ever holt a little, flutterin' bird 'twixt you' two palms? + +"Macie," I says, "Macie Sewell." And I pressed her hand agin my face. + +She lent towards me again. It wasn't more'n a soft breath, and I could +hardly hear. But nobody but me and that little ole bronc of hern'll ever +know what it was she said. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +CONCERIN' THE SHERIFF AND ANOTHER LITTLE WIDDA + + +AW! them first days out at the Bar Y ranch-house!--them first days! +_No_body could 'a' been happier'n I was then. + +I hit the ranch on a Friday, about six in the evenin', it was, I +reckon,--in time fer supper, anyhow. The punchers et in a room acrosst +the kitchen from where the fambly et. And I recollect that sometimes +durin' that meal, as the Chink come outen the kitchen, totin' grub +to us, I just could ketch sight of Macie's haid in the far room, +bobbin' over her plate. And ev'ry time I'd see her, I'd git so blamed +flustered that my knife 'd miss my mouth and jab me in the jaw, 'r else +I'd spill somethin' 'r other on to Monkey Mike. + +And after supper, when the sun was down, and they was just a kinda +half-light on the mesquite, and the ole man was on the east porch, +smokin', and the boys was all lined up along the front of the +bunk-house, clean outen sight of the far side of the yard, why, I just +sorta wandered over to the calf-corral, then 'round by the barn and +the Chink's shack, and landed up out to the west, where they's a row of +cottonwoods by the new irrigatin' ditch. Beyond, acrosst about a +hunderd mile of brown plain, here was the moon a-risin', bigger'n +a dish-pan, and a cold white. I stood agin a tree and watched it crawl +through the clouds. The frogs was a-watchin', too, I reckon, fer they +begun to holler like the dickens, some bass and some squeaky. And then, +from the other side of the ranch-house, struck up a mouth-organ: + + "Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides + On its fair, windin' way to the sea----" + +A wait--ten seconds 'r so (it seemed longer); then, the same part of +the song, over again, and---- + +Outen the side door of the porch next me come a slim, little figger +in white. It stepped down where some sun-flowers was a-growin' agin +the wall. Say! it was just sunflower high! Then it come acrosst the +alfalfa--like a butterfly. And then---- + +"Don't you want a shawl 'round you' shoulders, honey? It's some +chilly." + +"No." (Did you ever see a gal that'd own up she needed a wrap?) + +"Wal, you got to have _somethin'_ 'round you." And so I helt her +clost, and put my hand under her chin t' tip it so's I could see her +face. + +"You _mustn't,_ Alec!" (She was allus shy about bein' kissed.) + +"I tole Mike to give me ten minutes' lee-way 'fore he played that +tune. But he must 'a' waited a hull hour." And then, with the +mouth-organ goin' at the bunk-house (t' keep the ole man listenin', +y' savvy, and make him fergit t' look fer Mace), we rambled north +byside the ditch, holdin' each other's hand as we walked, like two +kids. And the ole moon, it smiled down on us, awful friendly like, and +we smiled back at the moon. + +Wal, when we figgered that Mike 'd blowed hisself plumb outen breath, we +started home again. And under the cottonwoods, the little gal reached +up her two arms t' me; and they wasn't nothin' but love in them sweet, +grey eyes. + +"You ain't never liked nobody else, honey?" + +"No--just you, Alec!--_dear_ Alec!" + +"Same here, Macie,--and this is fer keeps." + +Wal, 'most ev'ry night it was just like that. And the follerin' day, +mebbe I wouldn't know whether I was a-straddle of a hoss, drivin' +steers, 'r a-straddle of a steer, drivin' hosses. And it's a blamed +good thing my bronc savvied how t' tend to business without _me_ doin' +much! + +Then, mebbe, I'd be ridin' line. Maud 'd go weavin' away up the long +fence that leads towards Kansas, and at sundown we'd reach the first +line-shack. And there, with the little bronc a-pickin', and my coffee +a-coolin' byside me on a bench, I'd sit out under the sky and watch +the moon--alone. Mebbe, when I got home, it 'd be ole man Sewell's +lodge-night, so he'd start fer town 'long about seven o'clock, and +Mace and me 'd have the porch to ourselves--the side-porch, where the +sun-flowers growed. But the next night, we'd meet by the ditch again, +and the next, and the next. Aw! them first happy days at the ole Bar Y! + +And I reckon it was just _'cause_ we was so turrible happy that we got +inter_ested_ in Bergin's case--Mace and me both. (Next t' Hairoil, +Bergin's my best friend, y' savvy.) Figgerin' on how t' fix things +up fer him--speakin' matreemonal--brung us two closter t'gether, and +showed me what a _dandy_ little pardner she was a-goin' t' make. + +But I want t' say right here that we wasn't _re_-sponsible fer the way +that case of hisn turned out--and neither was _no other livin' soul. +No,_ ma'am. The hull happenstance was the kind that a feller cain't +_ex_plain. + +It begun when I'd been out at the Sewell ranch about two weeks. (I +disremember the exac' day, but _that_ don't matter.) I'd rid in +town fer somethin', and was a-crossin' by the deepot t' git it, when +I ketched sight of Bergin a-settin' on the end of a truck,--all by +hisself. Now, that was funny, 'cause they wasn't a man in Briggs +City but liked George Bergin and would 'a' hoofed it a mile to talk to +him. "What's skew-gee?" I says to myself, and looked at him clost; +then,--"Caesar Augustus Philabustus Hennery Jinks!" I kinda gasped, +and brung up so suddent that I bit my cigareet clean in two and come +nigh turnin' a somerset over back'ards. + +White as that paper, he was, and nervous, and so all-fired shaky and +caved-in that they couldn't be no question what was the matter. _The +sheriff was scairt._ + +First off, I wasn't hardly able to believe what I seen with my own +_eyes_. Next, I begun to think 'round fer the cause why. Didn't have +to think much. Knowed they wasn't a _pinch_ of 'fraid-cat in Bergin--no +crazy-drunk greaser 'r no passel of bad men, _red_ 'r white, could put +_him_ in a sweat, _no,_ sir-_ree_. They was just _one_ thing on earth +could stampede the sheriff. I kinda tip-toed over to him. "Bergin," I +says, "_who is she?_" + +He looked up--slow. He's a six-footer, and about as heavy-set as the +bouncer over to the eatin'-house. Wal, I'm another if ev'ry square +inch of him wasn't tremblin', and his teeth was chatterin' so hard +I looked to see 'em fall out--that's _straight_. Them big, blue eyes +of hisn was sunk 'way back in his haid, too, and the rest of his face +looked like it 'd got in the way of the hose. "Cupid," he whispered, +"you've struck it! Here--read this." + +It was a telegram. Say, you know I ain't got _no_ use fer telegrams. +The blamed things _allus_ give y' a dickens of a start, and, nine times +outen ten, they've got somethin' to say that no man wants to hear. But +I opened it up. + +"sheriff george bergin," it read,--all little letters, y' savvy. (Say! +what's the matter that they cain't send no capitals over the wire?) +"briggs city oklahomaw meet mrs bridger number 201 friday phillips." + +"Aw," I says, "Mrs. Bridger. Wal, Sheriff, who's this Mrs. Bridger?" + +Pore Bergin just wagged his haid. "You'll have to give me a goose-aig +on that one," he answers. + +"Wal, who's Phillips, then?" I _con_tinued. + +"The Sante Fee deepot-master at Chicago." + +"Which means you needn't to worry. Mrs. Bridger is likely comin' on +to boss the gals at the eatin'-house." + +"If that's so, what 'd he telegraph to _me_ fer?" + +"Don't know. Buck up, anyhow. I'll bet she's gone _'way_ past the +poll-tax age, and has got a face like a calf with a blab on its nose." + +"Cupid," says the sheriff, standin' up, "thank y'. I feel better. +Was worried 'cause I've had bad luck lately, and bad luck most allus +runs in threes. Last week, my dawg died--remember that one with a buck +tooth? I was turrible fond of that dawg. And yesterday----" + +He stopped then, and a new crop of drops come out on to his face. +"Look!" he says, hoarse like, and pointed. + +'Way off to the north was a little, dark, puffy cloud. It was +a-travelin' our _di_rection. Number 201! + +"Gosh!" says the sheriff, and sunk down on to the truck again. + +I didn't leave him. I recollected what happened that time he captured +"Cud" and Andy Foster and brung 'em into town, his hat shot off and +his left arm a-hangin' floppy agin his laig. Y' see, next day, a +bunch of ladies--_ole_ ladies, they was, too,--tried to find him and +give him a vote of thanks. But when he seen 'em comin', he swore in a +deputy--_quick_--and vamosed. Day 'r two afterwards, here he come +outen that cellar back of Dutchy's thirst-parlour, his left arm in a +red bandaner, a rockin'-chair and a pilla under his right one, and a +lantern in his teeth! + +But _this_ time, he wasn't a-goin' to _have_ no deputy. I made up my +mind to stay right byside him till he'd did his duty. Yas, ma'am. + +"Cupid," he begun again, reachin' fer my fist, "Cupid, when it comes +to feemales----" + +_Too-oo-oot! too-oo-oot!_ Couldn't make him hear, so I just slapped him +on the shoulder. Then I hauled him up, and we went down the platform to +where the crowd was. + +When the train slowed down, the first thing I seen was the conductor +with a kid in his arms,--a cute kid, about four, I reckon,--a boy. Then +the cars stopped, and I seen a woman standin' just behind them. Next, +they was all out on to the platform, and the woman was holdin' the kid +by one hand. + +The woman was cute, too. Mebbe thirty, mebbe less, light-complected, +yalla-haired, kinda plump, and about so high. Not pretty like Mace 'r +Carlota Arnaz, but _mighty_ good t' look at. Blabbed calf? Say! this +was _awful!_ + +"Ber-r-gin!" hollers the corn-doc. + +"Bergin," I repeats, encouragin'. (Hope I never see a man look worse. +He was all blue and green!) + +Bergin, he just kinda staggered up. He'd had _one_ look, y' savvy. Wal, +he didn't look no more. Pulled off his Stetson, though. Then he smoothed +the cow-lick over his one eye, and sorta studied the kid. + +"Sheriff," goes on the corn-doc, "here's a lady that has been +_con_signed to you' care. Good-bye, ma'am, it's been a pleasure +to look out fer you. Good-bye, little feller," (this to the kid). +"Aw-aw-awl abroad!" + +As Number 201 pulled out, you can bet you' little Cupid helt on to +that sheriff! "Bergin," I says, under my breath, "fer heaven's sake, +remember you' oath of office! And, _boys,_" (they was about a dozen +cow-punchers behind us, a-smilin' at Mrs. Bridger so hard that they +plumb laid they faces open) "you'll have us all shoved on to the tracks +in a minute!" + +It was the kid that helped out. He'd been lookin' up at Bergin ever +since he hit the station. Now, all to oncet, he reached towards the +sheriff with both his little hands--as friendly as if he'd knowed him +all his life. + +Y' know, Bergin's heart 's as big as a' ox. He's tender and _awful_ +kind, and kids like him straight off. He likes kids. So, 'fore you could +say Jack Robinson, that Bridger young un was histed up. I nodded to +his maw, and the four of us went into the eatin'-house, where we all +had some dinner t'gether. Leastways, me and the kid and Mrs. Bridger +et. The sheriff, he just sit, not sayin' a word, but pullin' at that +cow-lick of hisn and orderin' things fer the baby. And whilst we +grubbed, Mrs. Bridger tole us about herself, and how she 'd happened to +come out Oklahomaw way. + +Seems she 'd been livin' in Buffalo, where her husband was the boss of +a lumber-yard. Wal, when the kid was three years old, Bridger up and +died, not leavin' much in the way of cash fer the widda. Then she had +to begin plannin' how to git along, a-course. Chicken-ranchin' got into +her haid. Somebody said Oklahomaw was a good place. She got the name +of a land-owner in Briggs City and writ him. He tole her he had a nice +forty acres fer sale--hunderd down, the balance later on. She bit--and +here she was. + +"Who's the man?" I ast. + +The widda pulled a piece of paper outen her hand-satchel. "Frank +Curry," she answers. + +Bergin give a jump that come nigh to tippin' the table over. (Ole +Skinflint Curry was the reason.) + +"And where's the ranch?" I ast again. + +"This is where." She handed me the paper. + +I read. "Why, Bergin," I says, "it's that place right here below +town, back of the section-house--the Starvation Gap Ranch." + +The sheriff throwed me a quick look. + +"I hope," begun the widda, leanin' towards him, "--I hope they's +nothin' _agin_ the property." + +Fer as much as half a minute, neither of us said nothin'. The sheriff, +a-course, was turrible flustered 'cause she 'd spoke _di_rect to him, +and he just jiggled his knee. _I_ was kinda bothered, too, and got some +coffee down my Sunday throat. + +"Wal, as a _chicken_ ranch," I puts in fin'lly "it's O. K.,--shore +_thing_. On both sides of the house--see? like this," (I took a fork and +begun drawin' on the table-cloth) "is a stretch of low ground,--a +swale, like, that keeps green fer a week 'r so ev'ry year, and that'll +raise Kaffir-corn and such roughness. You git the tie-houses of the +section-gang plank in front--here. But behind, you' _po_ssessions +rise straight up in to the air like the side of a house. Rogers's +Butte, they call it. See it, out there? A person almost has to use a +ladder to climb it. On top, it's all piled with big rocks. Of a +mornin', the hens can take a trot up it fer exercise. The fine view +'ll encourage 'em to lay." + +"I'm _so_ glad," says the widda, kinda clappin' her hands. "I can +make enough to support Willie and me easy. And it'll seem awful fine +to have a little home all my own! I ain't never lived in the country +afore, but I know it'll be lovely to raise chickens. In pictures, the +little bits of ones is allus so cunnin'." + +Wal, I didn't answer her. What could I 'a' _said?_ And Bergin?--he +come nigh pullin' his cow-lick clean out. + +By this time, that little kid had his bread-basket full. So he clumb +down outen his chair and come 'round to the sheriff. Bergin took him on +to his lap. The kid lay back and shut his eyes. His maw smiled over at +Bergin. Bergin smiled down at the kid. + +"Wal, folks," I begun, gittin' up, "I'm turrible sorry, but I got +to tear myself away. Promised to help the Bar Y boys work a herd." + +"_Cupid!_" It was the sheriff, voice kinda croaky. + +"Good-bye fer just now, Mrs. Bridger," (I pretended not t' hear +_him_.) "So long, Bergin." + +And I skedaddled. + +Two minutes afterwards here they come outen the eatin'-house, the widda +totin' a basket and the sheriff totin' the kid. I watched 'em through +the crack of Silverstein's front door, and I hummed that good ole song: + + "He never keers to wander from his own fireside; + He never keers to ramble 'r to roam. + With his baby on his knee, + He's as happy as can be-e-e, + Cause they's no-o-o place like home, sweet home." + +When I got back to the Bar Y, I was dead leary about tellin' Mace that +I had half a mind t' git Bergin married off. 'Cause, y' see, I'd +been made fun of so much fer my Cupid business; and I hated t' think +of doin' somethin' she wouldn't like. But, fin'lly, I managed t' +spunk up sufficient, and _de_scribed Mrs. Bridger and the kid, and said +what I'd like t' do fer the sheriff. + +"Alec," says the little gal, "I been tole (Rose tole me) how you like +t' help couples that's in love. It's what made me first like you." + +"Honey! Then you'll help me?" + +"_Shore,_ I will." + +I give her a whoppin' smack right on that cute, little, square chin of +hern. "You darlin'!" I says. And then I put another where it'd do +the most good. + +"Alec," she says, when she could git a word in edgeways, "this widda +comin' is mighty fortu-_nate_. Bergin's too ole fer the gals at the +eatin'-house. But Mrs. Bridger'll suit. Now, I'll lope down to the Gap +right soon t' visit her, and you go back t' town t' see how him goin' +home with her come out." + +"Mace," I says, "if we _just_ can help such a fine feller t' git +settled. But it'll be a job--a' _awful_ job. She's a nice, +affection_ate_ little thing. Why, he'd be a _blamed_ sight happier. +And he likes the kid----" + +"Let's not count our chickens 'fore they hatch," breaks in Mace. + +Wal, I hiked fer town, and found the sheriff right where he was settin' +that mornin'. But, say! _he was a changed man!_ No shakin', no caved-in +look--_nothin'_ of that kind. He was gazin' thoughtful at a knot in +the deepot platform, his mouth was part way open, and they was a sorta +sickly grin spread all over them features of hisn. + +I stopped byside him. "Wal, Sheriff," I says, inquirin'. + +He sit up. "Aw--is that you, Cupid?" he ast. (I reckon I know a guilty +son-of-a-gun when I see one!) + +I sit down on the other end of the truck. "Did Mrs. Bridger git settled +all right?" I begun. + +"Yas," he answers; "I pulled the rags outen the windas, and put some +panes of glass in----" + +"_Good_ fer you, Bergin! But, thunder! the idear of her thinkin' she +can raise chickens fer a livin'--'way out here. Why, a grasshopper +ranch ain't _no_ place fer that little woman." (And I watched sideways +to see how he'd take it.) + +"You're right, Cupid," he says. Then, after swallerin' hard, "Did +you happen t' notice how soft and kinda pinky her hands is?" + +Was that the _sheriff_ talkin'? Wal, you could 'a' knocked me down +with a feather! + +"Yas, Sheriff," I answers, "I noticed her pretty par_tic_ular. And +it strikes me that we needn't to worry--she won't stay on that ranch +_long_. Out here in Oklahomaw, _any_ widda is in line fer another husband +if she'll take one. In Mrs. Bridger's case, it won't be just any +ole hobo that comes along. She'll be able to pick and choose from a +grea-a-at, bi-i-ig bunch. _I_ seen how the boys acted when she got offen +that train t'-day--and I knowed then that it wouldn't be _no_ time +till she'd marry." + +The sheriff is tall, as I said afore. Wal, a kinda shiver went up and +down the hull length of him. Then, he sprung up, givin' the truck a +kick. "Marry! marry! marry!" he begun, grindin' his teeth t'gether. +"Cain't you talk nothin' _else_ but marry?" + +"No-o-ow, Bergin," I says, "what diff'rence does it make t' _you?_ +S'pose she marries, and s'pose she don't. _You_ don't give a bean. +Wal, _I_ look at it diff'rent. _I_ know that nice little kid of hern +needs the keer of a father--yas, Bergin, the keer of a _father._" And I +looked him square in the eye. + +"It's _just_ like Hairoil says," he went on. "If Doc Simpson was +t' use a spy-glass on _you,_ he'd find you plumb alive with +_bugs_--_marryin'_ bugs. _Yas,_ sir. With you, it's a _disease._" + +"_Wal,_" I answers, "don't git anxious that it's ketchin'. You? +Huh! If I had anythin' _agin_ the widda, I _might_ be a-figgerin' on +how t' hitch her up t' _you_--you ole _woman-hater!_" + +"The best thing _you_ can do, Mister Cupid," growls Bergin (with a few +cuss words throwed in), "is to _mind-you'-own-business._" + +"All right," I answers cheerful. "_I_ heerd y'. But, I never could +see why you fellers are so down on me when I _ad_vise marryin'. Take my +word fer it, Sheriff, _any_ man's a heap better off with a nice wife +to look after his shack, and keep it slicked up, and a nice baby 'r two +t' pull his whiskers, and I reckon----" + +But Bergin was makin' fer the freight shed, two-forty. + +When I tole Mace what'd passed 'twixt me and the sheriff, she says, +"Alec, leave him alone fer a while, and mebbe he'll look _you_ up. In +love affairs, don't never try t' drive _nobody._" + +"But ain't it funny," I says (it was lodge night, and we had the porch +to ourselves), "--ain't it funny how dead set some fellers is agin +marryin'--the blamed fools! Y' see, they think that if they _don't_ +hitch up t' some sweet gal, why, they git ahaid of somebody. It makes +me plumb sick!" + +"But think of the lucky gal that don't marry such a yap," says Mace. +"If she _was_ to, by some hook 'r crook, why, he'd throw it up to +her fer the balance of his life that she'd ketched him like a rat in +a trap." + +"_I_ never could git no such notion about you," I says; "aw, little +gal, we'll be _so_ happy, you and me, won't we, honey,----" + +Wal, to _con_tinue with the Bridger story: You recollect what I said +about that kid needin' a father? Wal, say! if he'd 'a' wanted one, +he shore could 'a' picked from plenty of can_di_-dates. Why, 'fore +long, ev'ry bach in town had his cap set fer Mrs. Bridger--that's +_straight_. All other subjects of _po_lite conversation was fergot +byside the subject of the widda. Sam Barnes was in love with her, and +went 'round with that red face of hisn lookin' exac'ly like the +full moon when you see it through a sandstorm. Chub Flannagan was in +love with her, too, and 'd sit by the hour on Silverstein's front +porch, his pop eyes shut up tight, a-rockin' hisself back'ards and +for'ards, back'ards and for-'ards, and a-hummin'. Then, they was +Dutchy's brother, August. Aw, he had it _bad_. And took t' music, just +like Chub, yas, ma'am. Why, that feller spent _hours_ a-knockin' the +wind outen a' pore accordion. And next come Frank Curry--haid over +heels, too, _mean_ as he was, and to hear him talk you'd 'a' bet they +wasn't _nothin'_ he wouldn't 'a' done fer Mrs. Bridger. But big +talk's cheap, and he was small potatoes, _you_ bet, and few in the hill. + +Wal, one after the other, them four fellers blacked they boots, wet they +hair down as nice and shiny as Hairoil's, and went to see the widda. +She ast 'em in, a-course, and was neighbourly; fed 'em, too, if it was +nigh meal-time, and acted, gen'ally speakin', as sweet as pie. + +But she treated 'em all _alike_. And they knowed it. _Con_sequently, in +order so's all of 'em would git a' even chanst, and so's they +wouldn't be no gun-play account of one man tryin' to cut another out by +goin' to see her twicet to the other man's oncet, the aforesaid boys +fixed up a calendar. Sam got Monday, Curry, Wednesday, Dutch August, +Friday, and Chub, Sunday afternoons. That tickled Chub. He owns a +liv'ry-stable, y' savvy, and ev'ry week he hitched up a rig and took +the widda and her kid fer a buggy ride. + +And, Bergin? Wal, I'd took Macie's _ad_vice and stayed away from him. +But--the stay-away plan hadn't worked worth a darn. The sheriff, he +kept to his shack pretty steady. And one mornin', when I seen him at +the post-office, he didn't have nothin' t' say to nobody, and looked +sorta down on creation. + +That fin'lly riled Mace. "What's the _matter_ with him?" she says +one day. "Why, havin' saw the widda, how can he _help_ fallin' in love +with her! She's the _nicest_ little woman! And she's learned me a new +crochet stitch." + +"Little gal," I answers, "you' idear has been carried out +faithful--and has gone fluey. Wal, let Cupid have a try. A-course, I +was sit on pretty hard in that confab I had with him, but, all the +same, I'll just happen 'round fer a little neighbourly call." + +His shack was over behind the town cooler, and stood by itself, +kinda--a' ashes dump on one side of it and Sparks's hoss-corral on +the other. It had one room, just high enough so's Bergin wouldn't +crack his skull, and just wide enough so's when he laid down on his +bunk he wouldn't kick out the side of the house. And they was a +rusty stove with a dictionary toppin' it, and a saddle and a fryin'-pan +on the bed, and a big sack of flour a-spillin' into a pair of his boots. + +I put the fryin'-pan on the floor, and sit down. "Wal, Sheriff," +I begun (he had a skittle 'twixt his knees and was a-peelin' some +spuds fer his dinner), "I ain't come t' sponge offen you. Me and +Macie Sewell had our dinner down to Mrs. Bridger's t'-day." + +He let slip the potato he was peelin', and it rolled under the stove. +"Yas?" he says; "that so?" + +"And _such_ a dinner as she give us!" I goes on. "Had a white oilcloth +on the table,--white, with little blue vi'lets on it--and all her +dishes is white and blue. She brung 'em from Buffalo. And we had fried +chicken, and corn-dodgers, and prune somethin'-'r-other. Say! I--I +s'pose _you_ ain't been down." + +"No,"--kinda wistful, and eyes on his peelin'--"no. How--how is she?" + +"Aw, _fine!_ The kid, he ast after you." + +"Did he?" He looked up, awful tickled. Then, "He's a nice, little +kid," he adds thoughtful. + +"He _shore_ is." I riz. "Sorry," I says, "but I got to mosey now. +Promised Mrs. Bridger I'd take her some groceries down." I started out, +all business. But I stopped at the door. "Reckon I'll have to make two +trips of it--if I cain't git someone t' help me." + +Say! it was plumb pitiful the way Bergin grabbed at the chanst. "Why, +_I_ don't mind takin' a stroll," he answers, gittin' some red. So +he put down the spuds and begun to curry that cowlick of hisn. + +First part of the way, he walked as spry as me. But, as we come closter +to the widda's, he got to hangin' back. And when we reached a big pile +of sand that was out in front of the house--he balked! + +"Guess I won't go in," he says. + +"O. K.," I answers. (No use to cross him, y' savvy, it'd only 'a' +made him worse.) + +When I knocked, and the widda opened the door, she seen him. + +"Why, how d' you do!" she called out, lookin' mighty pleased. +"Willie, dear, here's Mister Bergin." + +"How d' do," says the sheriff. + +Willie come nigh havin' a duck-fit, he was so happy. And in about two +shakes of a lamb's tail, he was outen the house and a-climbin' the +sheriff. + +Inside, I says to Mrs. Bridger, "Them chickens of yourn come, ma'am. +And Hairoil Johnson'll drive 'em down in a' hour 'r so. The most of +'em looked fat and sassy, but one 'r two has got the pip." + +She didn't act like she'd heerd me. She was watchin' the sandpile. + +"One 'r two has got the pip," I repeats. + +"What?--how's that?" she ast. + +"Don't worry about you' boy," I says. "Bergin'll look after him. +Y' know, Bergin is one of the whitest gents in Oklahomaw." + +"_I_ ain't a-worryin'," answers the widda. "_I_ know Mister Bergin +is a fine man." And she kept on lookin' out. + +"In this wild country," I begun, voice 'way down to my spurs, "--this +wild country, full of rattlesnakes and Injuns and tramps, ev'ry ranch +needs a good man 'round it." + +She turned like lightnin'. "What you mean?" she ast, kinda short. +(Reckon she thought _I_ was tryin' t' spark her.) + +"A man like Bergin," I _con_tinues. + +"Aw," she says, plumb relieved. + +And I left things that-a-way--t' sprout. + +Walkin' up the track afterwards, I remarked, casual like, that they +wasn't _many_ women nicer 'n Mrs. Bridger. + +"They's _one_ thing I like about her," says the sheriff, "--she's +got eyes like the kid." + +(Dang the kid!) + +Wal, me and Macie and them four sparkers wasn't the only folks that +thought the widda was mighty nice. She'd made lots of friends at the +section-house since she come. The section-boss's wife said they was +_no_body like her, and so did all the greaser women at the tie-camp. +She was so handy with a needle, and allus ready to cut out calico +dingusses that the peon gals could sew up. When they'd have one of +them everlastin' fiestas of theirn, she'd make a big cake and a keg +of lemonade, and pass it 'round. And when you _con_sider that a ten-cent +package of cigareets and a smile goes further with a Mexican than +fifty plunks and a cuss, why, you can git some idear of how that hull +outfit just _worshipped_ her. + +Wal, they got in and done her a _lot_ of good turns. Put up a fine +chicken-coop, the section-boss overseein' the job; and, one Sunday, +cleaned out her cellar. _Think_ of it! (Say! fer a man to appreciate +that, he's got to know what lazy critters greasers is.) Last of all, +kinda to wind things up, the cholos went out into the mesquite and +come back with a present of a nice black-and-white Poland China hawg. + +Wal, she _was_ tickled at that, and so was the kid. (Hairoil Johnson was +shy a pig that week, but you bet _he_ never let on!) The gang made a nice +little pen, usin' ties, and ev'ry day they packed over some feed in +the shape of the camp leavin's. + +The widda was settled fine, had half a dozen hens a-settin' and some +castor beans a-growin' in the low spots next her house, when things +begun to come to a haid with the calendar gents. I got it straight from +her that in just one solitary week, she collected four pop-the-questions! + +She handed out exac'ly that many pairs of mittens--handed 'em out +with such a sorry look in them kind eyes of hern, that the courtin' +quartette got worse in love with her 'n ever. Anybody could a' seen +_that_ with one eye. They all begun shavin' twicet a week, most ev'ry +one of 'em bought new things to wear, and--best sign of _any_--they +stopped drinkin'! Ev'ry day 'r so, back they'd track to visit the +widda. + +She didn't like that fer a cent. Wasn't nary one of 'em that suited +her, and just when the chickens 'r the cholo gals needed her, here was +a Briggs City galoot a-crossin' the yard. + +"Sorry," she says to Macie, "but I'll have to give them gents they +walkin'-papers. If I don't, I won't never git a lick done." + +"Bully fer you!" Mace answers. "It'll be good riddance of bad +rubbish. They're too gally." (Somethin' like that, anyhow.) "Learn +'em to act like they was civylised. But, say, Mrs. Bridger, you--you +ain't a-goin' to give the rinky-dink to the Sheriff?" + +"Mister Bergin," answers the widda, "ain't bothered me none." (Mace +was shore they was tears in her eyes.) + +"Aw--_haw!_" I says, when the little gal tole me. _I_ savvied. + +That same afternoon, whilst the widda was a-settin' on the shady side +of the house, sewin' on carpet-rags, up come Sam Barnes. (It was Monday.) + +"Mrs. Bridger," he begun, "I'm a-goin' to ast you to think over what +I said to you last week. I don't want to be haidstrong, but I'd like +to git a 'yas' outen you." + +"Mister Barnes," she says. "I'm feard I cain't say yas. I ain't +thinkin' of marryin'. But if I was, it'd be to a man that's--that's +big, and tall, and has blue eyes." And she looked out at the sand-pile, +and sighed. + +"Wal," says Sam, "I reckon I don't fit specifications." And he hiked +fer town. + +He was plumb huffy when he tole me about it. "Fer a woman," he says, +"that's got to look after herself, and has a kid on her hands to boot, +she's got more airs'n a windmill." + +Next! + +That was Chub. + +Now, Chub, he knowed a heap about handlin' a gun, and I reckon he'd +pass as a liv'ry-stable keeper, but he didn't know much about _women_. +So, when he went down to ast the widda fer the second time, he put his +foot in it by bein' kinda short t' little Willie. + +"Say, kid," he says, "you locate over in that rockin'-chair yonder. +Young uns of you' age should be saw and not heerd." + +Mrs. Bridger, she sit right up, and her eye-winkers just snapped. +"Mister Flannagan," she Says, "I'm feard you're wastin' you' +time a-callin' here. If ever I marry again, it's goin' t' be a man +that's fond of childern." + +Wal, ta-ta, Chub! + +And, behind, there was the widda at the winda, all eyes fer that +sand-pile. + +We never knowed what she said to Dutchy's brother, August. But he come +back to town lookin' madder'n a wet hen. "Huh!" he says, "I don't +vant her _no_how. _She_ couldn't vork. She's pretty fer _nice,_ all +right, but she's nichts fer stoudt." + +When ole stingy Curry tried _his_ luck over, he took his lead from +Chub's _ex_perience. Seems he put one arm 'round the kid, and then he +said no man could kick about havin' to adopt Willie, and he knowed that +with Mrs. Bridger it was "love me, love my dawg." Then he tacked on +that the boy was a nice little feller, and likely didn't eat much. + +"And long's I ain't a-goin' to marry you," says the widda, "why, +just think--you won't have to feed Willie at all!" + +But the next day we laughed on the other side of our face. I went down +to Mrs. Bridger's, the sheriff trailin', (he balked half-way from the +sand-pile to the door, this time, and sit down on a bucket t' play he +was Willie's steam-injine), and I found that the little woman had been +cryin' turrible. + +"What's the matter?" I ast. + +"Nothin'," she says. + +"Yas, they is. Didn't you git a dun t'-day?" + +"Wal," she answers, blushin', "I bought this place on tick. +But," (brave as the dickens, she was) "I'll be able t' pay up all +right--what with my chickens and the pig." + +I talked with her a good bit. Then me and the sheriff started back to +town. (Had to go slow at first; Bergin'd helt the ingineer on his knee +till his foot was asleep.) On the way, I mentioned that dun. + +"_Curry,_" says the sheriff. And he come nigh rippin' up the railroad +tracks. + +He made fer Curry's straight off. "What's the little balance due on +that Starvation Gap property?" he begun. + +"What makes you ast?" says Curry, battin' them sneaky little eyes of +hisn. + +"I'm _pre_pared t' settle it." + +"But it happens I didn't sell to _you_. So, a-course, I cain't take +you' money. Anyhow, I don't think the widda is worryin' much. She +could git shet of that balance easy." And he moseyed off. + +She could git shet of it by marryin' _him,_ y' savvy--the polecat! + +The sheriff was boilin'. "Here, Cupid," he says, "is two hunderd. +Now, we'll go down to Mrs. Bridger's again, and you offer her as much +as she wants." + +"Offer it you'self." + +"No, _you_ do it, Cupid,--please. But don't you tell her whose money +it is." + +"I won't. Here's where we git up The Ranchers' Loan Fund." + +I coaxed Bergin as far as the front step _this_ time. Wasn't that fine? +But, say! Mrs. Bridger wouldn't touch a cent of that money, no ma'am. + +"If I was to take it as a loan," she says, "I'd have interest to pay. +So I'd be worse off 'n I am now. And I couldn't take it in no other +way. Thank y', just the same. And how's Miss Sewell t'-day?" + +It wasn't no use fer me to tell her that The Ranchers' Loan Fund +didn't want no interest. She was as set as Rogers's Butte. + +During the next week 'r two, the sheriff and me dropped down to the +widda's frequent. I'd talk to her--about chicken-raisin' +mostly--whilst Bergin 'd play with the kid. One day I got him to come +_as far as the door!_ But I never got him no further. There he stuck, +and 'd stand on the sill fer hours, lookin' out at Willie--like a +great, big, scairt, helpless calf. + +At first the widda talked to him, pleasant and encouragin'. But when +he just said, "Yas, ma'am," and "No, ma'am," and nothin' else, +she changed. I figger ('cause women is right funny) that her pride +was some hurt. What if he _was_ bound up in the boy? Didn't he have +no interest in _her?_ It hurt her all the worse, mebbe, 'cause I was +there, and seen how he acted. 'Fore long she begun to git plumb outen +patience with him. And one day, when he was standin' gazin' out, she +flew up. + +"George Bergin," she says, "a door is somethin' else 'cept a place +to scratch you back on." And she shut it--him outside, plumb squshed! + +Wal, we'd did our best--both Mace and me--and fell down. But right here +is where somethin' better'n just good luck seemed to take a-holt +of things. In the first place, _con_siderin' what come of it, it shore +was fortu_nate_ that Pedro Garcia, one of them trashy section-gang +cholos, was just a-passin' the house as she done that. He heerd the +slam. He seen the look on Bergin's face, too. And he fixed up what +was the matter in that crazy haid of hisn. + +In the second place, the very _next_ day, blamed if Curry didn't hunt +Bergin up. "Sheriff," he begun, "I ain't been able to collect what's +due me from Mrs. Bridger. She ain't doin' nothin' with the property, +neither. So I call on you to put her off." And he helt out a paper. + +_Put her off!_ Say! You oughta saw Bergin's face! + +"Curry," he says, "in Oklahomaw, a dis-_po_ssess notice agin a widda +ain't worth the ink it's drawed with." + +"Ain't it?" says Curry. "You mean you won't act. All right. If you +won't, they's other folks that _will._" + +"_Will_ they," answers the sheriff, quiet. But they was a fightin' +look in his eyes. "Curry, go slow. Don't fergit that the Gap property +ain't worth such a hull lot." + +The next thing, them cholos in the section-gang 'd heerd what Bergin +was ordered to do. And, like a bunch of idjits, 'stead of gittin' down +on Curry, who was _re_sponsible, they begun makin' all kinds of brags +about what they'd do when next they seen the sheriff. And it looked to +me like gun-play was a-comin'. + +But not just yet. Fer the reason that the sheriff, without sayin' "I," +"Yas," 'r "No" to nobody, all of a suddent _disappeared_. + +"What in the dickens has struck him!" I says t' Mace. + +"Just you wait," she answers. "It's got t' do with Mrs. B. He ain't +down in a cellar _this_ time." + +Wal, he wasn't. But we was in the dark as much as the rest of the town, +till one evenin' when the section-boss called me to one side. He had +somethin' t' tell me, he said. Could I keep a secret--cross my heart +t' die? Yas. Wal, then--what d' you think it was? _The sheriff was +camped right back of the widda's_--_on Rogers's Butte!_ + +"Pardner," I says, "don't you cheep that to another soul. Bergin is +up there t' keep Curry from puttin' the widda out." + +The section-boss begun to haw-haw. "It'd take a hull regiment of +soldiers to put the widda out," he says, "--with them greasers of +mine so clost." + +"I'll go down that way on a kinda scout," I says, and started off. +When I got clost to the widda's,--about as far as from here to that +hitchin'-post yonder--I seen a crowd of women and kids a-lookin' at +somethin' behind the house. I walked up and stretched _my_ neck. And +there in that tie-pen was a' even dozen of new little pigs! + +"Ma'am," I says, "this _is_ good luck!" + +"Good luck?" repeats the widda. "I reckon it's somethin' more'n +just good luck." (Them's _exac'ly_ her words--"Somethin' more'n +just good luck.") + +"Wal," I goes on, "oncet in a while, a feller's got to _ad_mit that +somethin' better'n just or-d'nary good luck _does_ git in a whack. +Mebbe it'll be the case of a gezaba that ain't acted square; first +thing you know, _his_ hash is settled. Next time, it's exac'ly the +_other_ way 'round, and some nice lady 'r gent finds theyselves landed +not a' inch from where they wanted to be. But neither case cain't be +called just good _luck, no,_ ma'am. Fer the reason that the contrary +facts is plumb shoved in you' face. + +"Now, take what happened to Burt Slade. Burt had a lot of potatoes +ready to plant--about six sacks of 'em, I reckon. The ground was ready, +and the sacks was in the field. Wal, that night, a blamed ornery thief +come 'long and stole all them potatoes. (This was in Nebraska, mind +y'. Took 'em fifty mile north and planted 'em clost to his house. +So far, you might call it just _bad_ luck. _But_--a wind come up, a +_turrible_ wind, and blowed all the dirt offen them potatoes; next, it +lifted 'em and sent 'em a-kitin' through the windas of that thief's +house--yas, ma'am, it took 'em in at the one side, and outen the +other, breakin' ev'ry blamed pane of glass; then--I'm another if it +ain't so!--it sailed 'em all that fifty mile back to Slade's and +druv 'em into the ground that he'd fixed fer 'em. And when they +sprouted, a little bit later on that spring, Slade seen _they'd been +planted in rows!_ + +"They ain't no doubt about this story bein' _true_. In the first +place, Slade ain't a man that'd lie; in the second place, ev'rybody +knows his potatoes was _stole,_ and ev'rybody knows that, just the +same, he had a powerful big crop that year; and, then, Slade can show +you his field any time you happen to be in that part of Nebraska. And no +man wants any better proof'n _that._" + +"A-_course,_ he don't," says the widda. "And I'd call that potato +transaction plumb wonderful." + +"It shore was." + +She turned back to the hawgs. "I can almost see these little pigs +grow," she says, "and I'm right fond of 'em a'ready. I--I hope +nothin' bad'll happen to 'em. I'm a little nervous, though. +'Cause--have you noticed, Mister Lloyd?--_they's just thirteen pigs in +that pen._" + +"Aw, thirteen ain't never hurt nobody in Oklahomaw," I says. And I +whistled, and knocked on wood. + +"Anyhow, I'm happy," she goes on, "I'm better fixed than I been fer +a coon's age." + +"The eatin'-house 'll buy ev'ry one of these pigs at a good price," +I says, leanin' on the pen till I was well nigh broke in two, "they +bein' pen-fed, and not just _common_ razor-backs. That'll mean fifty +dollars--mebbe more. Why, it's like _findin'_ it!" + +"These and the chickens," she says, "'ll pay that balance, and" (her +voice broke, kinda, and she looked over to where pore little Willie was +tryin' to play injine all by hisself) "without the help of _no_ man." + +I looked up at the Butte. Was that black speck the sheriff? And wasn't +his heart a-bustin' fer her? Wal, it shore was a fool sittywaytion! + +"The section-hands is turrible tickled about these pigs," _con_tinues +Mrs. Bridger. "They come over this mornin' t' see how the fambly was +doin', and they named the hull litter, beginnin' with Carmelita, and +ending' with Polky Dot." + +You couldn't 'a' blamed _no_body fer bein' proud of them little +pigs. They was smarter 'n the dickens, playin' 'round, and kickin' +up they heels, and _squee-ee-eelin'_. All black and white they was, +too, and favoured they maw strong. Ev'ry blamed one had a pink snoot +and a kink in its tail, and reg'lar rolly buckshot eyes. And fat!--say, +no josh, them little pigs was so fat they had double chins--just one +chin right after another--from they noses plumb back to they hind laigs! + +But you never can gamble on t'-morra. And the widda, countin' as she +did on them pigs, had to find that out. A-course, if she'd been a' +Irish lady, she'd 'a' just natu'lly _took_ to ownin' a bunch of +hawgs, and she'd 'a' likely penned 'em closter to the house. Then +nothin' would 'a' hurt 'em. Again, mebbe it _would_--if the hull +thing that happened next was accidentally a-purpose. And I reckon that +shore was the truth of it. + +But I'm a-goin' too fast. + +It was the mornin' after the Fourth of July. (That was why I was in +town.) I was in the Arnaz bunk-house, pullin' on my coat, just afore +daylight, when, all of a suddent, right over Rogers's Butte, somethin' +popped. Here, acrosst the sky, went a red ball, big, and as bright as if +it was on fire. As it come into sight, it had a tail of light a-hangin' +to it. It dropped at the foot of the butte. + +First off, I says, "More celebratin'." Next, I says, "Curry!"--and +streaked it fer the widda's. + +'Fore I was half-way, I heerd hollerin'--the scairt hollerin' of women +and kids. Then I heerd the grumble of men's voices. I yelled myself, +hopin' some of the boys 'd hear me, and foller. "Help! help!" I let +out at the top of my lungs, and brung up in Mrs. Bridger's yard. + +It was just comin' day, and I could see that section-gang all collected +t'gether, some with picks, and the rest with heavy track tools. All +the greaser women was there, too, howlin' like a pack of coy_o_tes. +Whilst Mrs. Bridger had the kid in her arms, and her face hid in his +little dress. + +"What's the matter?" I screeched--_had_ t' screech t' git _heerd_. + +The cholos turned towards me. (Say! You talk about mean faces!) +"Diablo!" they says, shakin' them track tools. + +Wal, it shore looked like the Ole Harry 'd done it! 'Cause right where +the pig-pen used to was, I could see the top of a grea-a-at, whoppin' +rock, half in and half outen the ground, and _smokin' hot_. Pretty +nigh as big as a box-car, it was. Wal, as big as a wagon, _any_how. +But neither hide 'r hair of them pigs! + +I walked 'round that stone. + +"My friend," I says to the section-boss, "the maw-pig made just +thirteen. It's a proposition you cain't beat." + +Them cholos was all quiet now, and actin' as keerful as if that rock +was dynamite. Queer and shivery, they was, about it, and it kinda give +me the creeps. + +Next, they begun pointin' up to the top of the Butte! + +I seen what was comin'. So I used my haid--quick, so's to stave off +trouble. "Mebbe, boys," I says, lookin' the ground over some more, +"--mebbe they was a cyclone last night to the north of here, and this +blowed in from Kansas." + +The section-boss walked 'round, studyin'. "I'm from Missoura," he +says, "and it strikes _me_ that this rock looks kinda familiar, like +it was part iron. Now, mebbe they's been a thunderin' big _ex_plosion +in the Ozark Mountains. But, Mrs. Bridger, as a native son of the ole +State, I don't want to _ad_vise you to sue fer da----" + +I heerd them cholos smackin' they lips. I looked where they was +lookin', and here, a-comin' lickety-split, was the sheriff! + +That section-boss was as good-natured a feller as ever lived, and never +liked t' think bad of _no_ man. But the minute he seen Bergin racin' +down offen that Butte, he believed like the peons did. He turned t' me. +"By George!" he says--just like that. + +Wal, sir, that "By George" done it. Soon as the Mexicans heerd him +speak out what _they_ thought, they set up a Comanche yell, and, with the +whites of they eyes showin' like a nigger's, they made towards the +sheriff on the dead run. + +He kept a-comin'. Most men, seein' a passel of locoed greasers makin' +towards 'em with pickaxes, would 'a' turned and run, figgerin' that +leg-bail was good enough fer _them_. But the sheriff, he wasn't scairt. + +A second, and the Mexicans 'd made a surround. He pulled his gun. They +jerked it outen his hand. He throwed 'em off. + +I drawed _my_ weapon. + +Just then--"Sheriff! sheriff!" (It was the widda, one hand helt out +towards him.) + +A great idear come to me then. I put my best friend back into my pocket. +"I won't interfere fer a while yet," I says to myself. "Mebbe this +is where they'll be a show-down." + +"Cupid," says Bergin, "what's the matter?" + +I fit my way to him. "They think you throwed this rock, here," I +answers. + +"The low-down, ornery, lay-in-the-sun-and-snooze good-fer-nothin's is +likely t' think 'most _any_ ole thing," he says. "Pedro, let go my +arm." + +Just then, one of the cholos come runnin' up with a rope! + +The section-boss seen things was gittin' pretty serious. He begun to +wrastle with the feller that had the rope. Next, all the women and kids +set up another howlin', Mrs. Bridger cryin' the worst. But I wasn't +ready to play my last card. I stepped out in front of the gang and helt +up my hand. + +"Boys," I says; "_boys! Give_ the man a chanst t' talk. Why, this +rock ain't like the rocks on the Butte." + +"You blamed idjits!" yells Bergin. "Use you' haids! How could _I_ +'a' hefted the darned thing?" + +"Aw, he _couldn't_ 'a' done it!" (This from the widda, mind +y',--hands t'gether, and comin' clost.) + +"Thank y', little woman," says the sheriff. + +(Say! that was _better_.) + +[Illustration: "_He pulled his gun, they jerked it outen his +hand_"] + +But the cholos wasn't a-foolin'--they was in dead earnest. Next minute, +part of 'em grabbed Bergin, got that rope 'round him, and begun +draggin' him towards a telegraph pole. + +I was some anxious, but I knowed enough to hole back a while more. + +"Aw, boys," begged the widda, droppin' Willie and runnin' 'longside, +"don't hurt him! _don't!_ What does the pigs matter?" + +"I'll discharge ev'ry one of you," says the section-boss. + +"Boys," I begun again, "_why_ should this gent want to harm this lady. +Why, I can tell you----" + +Pedro Garcia stuck his black fist into my face. "He lof her," he says, +"and she say no. So he iss revenge hisself." (Say! the grammar they +use is plumb fierce.) + +"He iss revenge hisself!" yells the rest of the bunch. Then they all +looked at the widda. + +"Boys," she sobs, "I ain't _never_ refused him. Fer a good reason--he +ain't never ast me." + +(The cholos, they just growled.) + +"_What?_" I ast, turnin' on Bergin like I was hoppin'. "You love +her, and yet you ain't never ast her to marry you? Wal, you blamed +bottle of ketchup, you _oughta_ die!" + +"How _could_ I ast her?" begun the sheriff. "She plumb hates the sight +of me." + +"I don't! I don't!" sobs the widda. "Mister Lloyd knows that ain't +so. Willie and me, we--we----" + +"Y' _see?_" I turned to the Mexicans. "He loves her; she loves him. +We're a-goin' to have a weddin', not a hangin'." + +"The stone--he iss revenge," says Pedro. + +"The stone," I answers, "come outen the sky. It's a mete'rite." + +"I felt it hit!" cries the widda. + +Wal, you couldn't expect a Mexican t' swaller _that_. So we'd no +more'n got the words outen our mouths when they begun to dance 'round +Bergin again with the halter. + +Wal, how do you think it come out? + +Mebbe you figger that Mrs. Bridger drawed a knife and sa-a-aved him, +'r I pulled my gun and stood there, tellin' 'em they 'd only hang +the sheriff over my dead body. But that ain't the way it happened. No, +ma'am. _This_ is how: + +'Round the bend from towards Albuquerque come the pay-car. Now, the +pay-car, she stops just one minute fer ev'ry section-hand, and them +section-hands was compelled to git into line and be quick about it, 'r +not git they money. So they didn't have no spare time. They let go of +Bergin's rope and run--the section-boss leadin'. + +The sheriff, he slung the rope to one side--and the widda goes into his +arms. "Little woman," he says, lookin' down at her, "I'll--I'll +be a good father to the boy." Then he kissed her. + +(Wal, that's about all you could reas'nably expect from _Bergin_.) + +Next thing, he borraed my gun and just kinda happened over towards the +pay-car. And when a cholo got his time and left the line, he showed him +the way he was to go. And you bet he _minded!_ + +Wal, things come out _fine_. A big museum in Noo York bought that rock +(If you don't believe it, just go to that museum and you'll see it +a-settin' out in front--big as life.) A-course, Mrs. Bridger got a nice +little pile of money fer it, and paid Curry the balance she owed him. +Then, the sheriff got Mrs. Bridger! + +And the bunch that didn't git her? Wal, the bunch that didn't git her +just natu'lly got _left!_ + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +THINGS GIT STARTED WRONG + + +UP to the day of the sheriff's weddin', I reckon I was about the +happiest feller that's ever been in these parts. Gee! but I was in +high spirits! It'd be Macie's and my turn next, I figgered, and if +the ole man didn't like it, he could just natu'lly lump it. So when +I walked through Briggs, why, I hit both sides of the street, exac'ly +as if I was three sheets in the wind. + +But--this was one time when you' friend Cupid was just a little bit too +previous. And I want to say right here that _no_ feller needs to think +he's the hull shootin'-match with a gal, and has the right-a-way, +like a wild-cat ingine on a' open track, just 'cause she's ast him +to write in her autograph-album. It don't mean such a blamed lot, +neither, if his picture is stuck 'longside of hern on top of the +organ. Them signs is encouragin', a-course; but he'd best take his +coat off and _git to work_. Even when she's give all the others the +G. B., and has gone to church with him about forty Sunday evenin's, +hand runnin', and has allus saved him the grand march and the last waltz +at the Fireman's Ball, and mebbe six 'r seven others bysides, why, +even _then_ it's a toss-up. Yas, ma'am. It took hard knocks t' learn +me that they's nothin' dead certain short of the parson's "amen." + +Y' see, you can plug a' Injun, and kick a dawg, and take a club to a +mule; but when it's a gal, and a feller thinks a turrible lot of her, +and she's so all-fired skittish he cain't manage her, and so eludin' +he cain't find her no two times in the same place, _what's he goin' +to do?_ Wal, they ain't no reg'lar way of proceedin'--ev'ry man has +got to blaze his own trail. + +But I couldn't, and that was the hull trouble. I know now that when +it come to dealin' with Mace, I shore was a darned softy. That little +Muggins could twist me right 'round her finger--and me not know it! +One minute, she'd pallaver me fer further orders, whilst I'd look +into them sweet eyes of hern till I was plumb dizzy; the next, she'd +be cuttin' up some dido 'r other and leadin' me a' awful chase. + +Then, mebbe, I'd git sore at her, and think mighty serious about +shakin' the Bar Y dust offen my boots fer good. "Cupid," I'd say to +myself, "git you' duds t'gether, and do you' blankets up in you' +poncho." + +Just about then, here she come lopin' home from town, her hoss cuttin' +up like Sam Hill, and her a-settin' so straight and cute. She'd look +towards the bunk-house, see me, motion me over with her quirt, and--wal, +a-course, I'd go. + +I made my _first_ big beefsteak at the very beginnin'. Somehow 'r +other, right from the minute we had our confidential talk t'gether back +of Silverstein's, that last night of the Medicine Show. I got it into my +fool haid that I as good as had her, and that all they was left to be +did was t' git 'round the ole man. Wal, this idear worked fine as +long as we was so busy with Bergin's courtin'. But when the sheriff +was hitched, and me and the little gal got a recess, my! _my!_ but a +heap of things begun t' happen! + +They started off like this: The parson wanted money fer t' buy some +hymn-books with. So he planned a' ice-cream social and entertainment, +and ast Mace to go down on the pro_gram_ fer a song. She was willin'; I +was, _too_. So far, ev'ry-thin' smooth as glare-ice. + +But fer a week afore that social, they was a turrible smell of gasoline +outside the sittin'-room of the Bar Y ranch-house. That's 'cause +Doctor Bugs come out ev'ry day--to fetch a Goldstone woman from the +up-train. (That blamed sulky of hisn 'd been stuck t'gether with flour +paste by now, y' savvy, and was in apple-pie order.) After the woman 'd +git to the ranch-house, why, the organ 'd strike up. Then you could +hear Macie's voice--doin', "_do, ray, me._" Next, she'd break loose +a-singin'. And pretty soon the doc and the woman 'd go. + +Wal, I didn't like it. Y' see, I've allus noticed that if a city +feller puts hisself out fer you a hull lot, he expects you t' give +him a drink, 'r vote fer him, 'r loan him some money. And why was +Bugsey botherin' t' make so many trips to the Bar Y? _I_ knowed what +it was. It was just like Hairoil 'd said--he wanted my Macie. + +One night, I says to her, "What's that Goldstone woman doin' out here +so much, honey?" + +"Givin' me music lessons," she answers. + +"I know," I says. "But you don't need no lessons. You sing good +enough t' suit me right now." + +"Wal, I don't sing good enough t' suit myself. And bein' as I'm on +that pro_gram_----" + +"Wal, just the same," I cut in, "I don't like that Simpson hangin' +'round here." + +"Alec," she come back, stiffenin' right up, "it's my place to say +who comes into this ranch-house, and who don't." + +"But, look a-here! Folks 'll think you like him better'n you do me." + +"Aw, that's crazy." + +"It ain't. And I won't have him 'round." + +Then, she got _turrible po_lite. "I'm sorry, Mister Lloyd," she says, +"but I'm a-goin' t' take my lessons." + +Wal, the long and short of it is, she did--right up t' the very day of +the social. + +"All right," I says to myself; "but just wait till this shindig is +over." And when Mace and her paw started fer town that evenin', I +saddled up my bronc and follered 'em. + +Simpson was kinda in charge of that social. He got up and made a' +openin' speech, sayin' they was lots of ice-cream and cake fer sale, +and he hoped we'd all shell out good. Then, he begun t' read off +the pro_gram_. + +"We have with us t'night," he says, "one of the finest and best +trained voices in this hull United States--a voice that I wouldn't be +surprised if it 'd be celebrated some day." + +I looked over at Mace. She was gittin' pink. Did he mean her? + +"And," Simpson goes on, "the young lady that owns it is a-goin' t' +give us the first number." And he bowed--Shore enough! + +Wal, she sung. It was somethin' about poppies, and it was awful sad, +and had love in it. I liked it pretty nigh as good as The Mohawk Vale. +But the ole man, he didn't. And when she was done, and settin' next him +again, he said out loud, so's a lot of people heerd him, "I'm not +stuck on havin' you singin' 'round 'fore ev'ry-body. And that Noo +York Doc is too blamed fresh." + +"Paw!" she says, like she was ashamed of him. + +"I _mean_ it," he says, and jerked his haid to one side. + +Wal, y' know, Mace got her temper offen him, and never handed it back. +So all durin' the social, they had it--up and down. I couldn't ketch +all what they said--only little bits, now and then. "Cheek," I heard +the boss say oncet, and Mace come back with somethin' about not bein' +"a baby." + +Afterwards, when the ole man was out gittin' the team, she come over t' +me, lookin' awful appealin'. "Alec," she says, like she expected I'd +shore sympathise with her, "did you hear what paw said? Wasn't it mean +of him?" + +I looked down at my boots. Then, I looked straight at her. "Mace," I +says, "he's right. Mebbe you'll git mad at me, too, fer sayin' it. +But that Simpson's tryin' t' cut me out--and so he's givin' you all +this taffy about your voice." + +"Taffy!" she says, fallin' back a step. "Then you didn't _like my +singin'._" + +"Why, yas, I did," I answers, follerin' along after her. "I thought +it was _fine._" + +But she only shook her haid--like she was hurt--and clumb into the +buckboard. + +I worried a good deal that night. The more I turned over what Simpson 'd +said, the more I wondered if I knowed all they was to his game. What +was he drivin' at with that "celebrated" business? Then, too, it +wouldn't do Mace no good t' be puffed up so much. She'd been 'lected +the prettiest gal. Now she'd been tole she had a way-up voice. 'Fore +long, she'd git the big haid. + +"Wal, I'll put a qui_e_tus on it," I says. And, next mornin', when I +seen her, I opened up like this: "Honey, I reckon we've waited just +about long enough. So we git married Sunday week." + +"That's too soon," she answers. "We got t' git paw on our side. And +I ain't got no new clothes." + +"We'll splice first and ast him about it afterwards. And when you're +Mrs. Alec, I'll git you all the clothes you want." (Here's where I +clean fergot the _ad_vice she give me that time in the sheriff's case: +"In love affairs," was what she said, "don't never try t' drive +_no_body.") + +"But, Alec,----" she begun. + +"Sunday week, Mace," I says. "We'll talk about it t'-night." + +But that night Monkey Mike come nigh blowin' his lungs out; and I waited +under the cottonwoods till I was asleep standin'--and no Macie. + +Wasn't it cal'lated t' make any man lose his temper? Wal, I lost mine. +And when we went in town to a party, a night 'r two afterwards, the hull +business come to a haid. + +I was plumb sorry about the blamed mix-up. But _no_ feller wants t' +see his gal dance with a kettle-faced greaser. I knowed she was goin' to +fer the reason that I seen Mexic go over her way, showin' his teeth +like a badger and lettin' his cigareet singe the hair on his dirty +shaps--shaps, mind y', at a school-house dance! Then I seen her nod. + +Our polka come next. And when we was about half done, I says, "They's +lemonade outside, honey. Let's git a swig." But outside I didn't talk +no lemonade. "Did Mexic ast you to dance with him?" I begun. + +"Wal, he's one of our boys," she answers; "and I'm going to give +him a schottische." + +"No, you _ain't,_" I come back. "I won't stand fer it." + +"Yas, I _am,_ Alec Lloyd,"--she spoke determined,--"and please don't +try to boss me." + +I shut up and walked in again. Mexic was talkin' to the +school-ma'am--aw, he's got _gall!_ I shassayed up and took him a little +one side. "Mexic," I says, soft as hair on a cotton-tail, "it's +gittin' on towards mornin' and, natu'lly, Macie Sewell ain't +feelin' just rested; so I wouldn't insist on that schottische, if I was +you." + +"Why?" he ast. + +"I tole you why," I says; "but I'll give you another reason: You' +boots is too tight." + +We fussed a little then. Didn't amount to much, though, 'cause neither +of us had a gun. (Y' see, us punchers don't pack guns no more 'less +we're out ridin' herd and want t' pick off a coy_o_te; 'r 'less +we've had a little trouble and 're lookin' fer some one.) But I +managed to change that greaser's countenance consider'ble, and he bit +a chunk outen my hand. Then the boys pulled us separate. + +They was all dead agin me when I tole 'em what was the matter. They said +the other gals danced with Mexic, and bein' Macie was the Bar Y gal, +she couldn't give him the go-by if she took the rest of the outfit fer +pardners. + +Just the same, I made up my mind she wouldn't dance with that _greaser_. +And I says to myself, "This is where you show you're a-goin' to +run the Lloyd house. She'll like you all the better if you git the +upper hand." So when I got her coaxed outside again, I led her to +where my bronc was tied. She liked the little hoss, and whilst we was +chinnin', I put her into the saddle. Next minute, I was on behind +her, and the bronc was makin' quick tracks fer home. + +Wal, sir, she was madder'n a hen in a thunder-shower. She tried to pull +in the bronc; she twisted and scolted and cried. Tole me she hated me +like arsenic. + +"Alec Lloyd," she says, "after t'night, I'll never, never speak to +you again!" + +When we rode up to the corral, I lifted her down, and she went tearin' +away to the house. The ole man heerd her comin', and thought she was +singin'. He slung open the door on the porch. + +"Aw, give that calf more rope!" he calls out. + +Say! she went by him like a streak of lightnin', almost knockin' him +down. And the door slammed so hard you could 'a' heerd it plumb t' +Galveston. + +I hung 'round the corral fer as much as half a' hour, listenin' to the +pow-wow goin' on at the house. But nobody seemed to be a-hollerin' fer +me t' come in, so I made fer the straw. "Aw, wal," I says to myself, +"her dander 'll cool off t'-morra." + +But the next day, she passed me by without speakin'. And I, like a +sap-head, didn't speak neither. I was on my high hoss,--wouldn't speak +till _she_ did. So off I had t' go to Hasty Creek fer three days--and +no good-bye t' the little gal. + +I got back late one afternoon. At the bunk-house, I noticed a change +in the boys. They all seemed just about t' bust over somethin'--not +laughin', y' savvy, but anxious, kinda, and achin' to tell news. + +Fin'lly, I went over to Hairoil. "Pardner," I says, "spit it out." + +He looked up. "Cupid," he says, "us fellers don't like t' git you +stirred up, but we think it's about time someone oughta speak--and put +you next." + +"Next about what?" I ast. The way he said it give me a kinda start. + +"We've saw how things was a-goin', but we didn't say nothin' to you +'cause it wasn't none of our funeral. Quite a spell back, folks begun +to talk about how crazy Macie Sewell was gittin' to be on the singin' +question. It leaked out that she'd been tole she had a A1 voice----" + +"It ain't no lie, neither." + +"And that her warblin' come pretty clost to bein' as good as +Melba's." + +"It's a heap _better'n_ Melba's." + +"Also"--Hairoil fidgited some--"you know, a-course, that she's been +tackin' up photographs of op'ra singers and actresses in her room----" + +"Wal, what's the harm?" + +"And--and practicin' bows in front of a glass." + +I begun t' see what he was drivin' at. + +"And whilst you was away, she had a talk with the station-agent--about +rates East." + +"Hairoil! You don't mean it!" I says. I tell y', it was just like +a red-hot iron 'd been stuck down my wind-pipe and was a-burnin' the +lower end offen my breast-bone! + +"I'm sorry, ole man." He reached out a hand. "But we thought you +oughta know." And then he left me. + +So _that_ was it! And she'd been keepin' me in the dark about it +all--whilst ev'ry fence post from the Bar Y t' Briggs knowed what +was happenin'! Wal, I was mad clean _through_. + +Then I begun t' see that I'd been a blamed fool. A fine, high-strung +gal!--and I'd been orderin' her 'round like I owned her! And I'd gone +away on that ride without tryin' t' make up. Wal, I'd _druv_ her to it. + +I started fer the house. + +As I come clost, acrosst the curtains, back'ards and for'ards, +back'ards and for'ards, I could see her shadda pass. But when I rapped, +she pulled up; then, she opened the door. + +"Honey," I says, "can I come in?" + +Her eyes was red; she'd been cryin'. But, aw! she was just as nice and +sweet as she could be. "Yas, Alec, come in," she says. + +"Little gal," I begun, "I want t' tell you I done wrong to kick +about that greaser, yas, I did. And fetchin' you home that-a-way wasn't +right." + +"Never mind--I wanted t' come anyhow." + +"Thank y' fer bein' so kind. And I ain't never goin' to try to run +you no more." + +"I'm glad of that No gal likes t' be bossed." + +"Just give me another chanst. Just fergive me this oncet." + +She smiled, her eyes shinin' with tears. "I do," she says; "Alec, +I do." + +The next second, I had her helt clost in my arms, and her pretty haid +was agin my breast. Aw, it was like them first days once more. And all +the hurt went of a suddent, and the air cleared kinda--as if a storm'd +just passed. My little gal! + +Pretty soon, (I was settin' on the organ-stool, and she was standin' in +front of me, me holdin' her hands) I says, "They _is_ one thing--now +that I've tole you I was wrong--they is _just_ one thing I'm goin' to +ast you t' do as a favour. If you do it, things 'll go smooth with us +from now on. It's this, little gal: Cut out that Doctor Bugs." + +"I know how you don't like him," she answers; "and you're right. +'Cause he shore played you a low-down trick at that Medicine Show. But, +Alec, he brings my music-teacher." + +"Wal, honey, what you _want_ the teacher fer?" + +She stopped, and up went that pert, little haid. "You recollect what +Doctor Simpson said about my voice that night at the social?" she begun. +"This teacher says _the same thing._" + +Like a flash, I _re_called what _Hairoil_ 'd tole me. "Mace," I says, +"I want t' ast you about that. A-course, I know it ain't so. But +Hairoil says you got pictures of actresses and singers tacked up in +you' room--just one 'r two." + +"Yas," she answers; "that's straight. What about it?" + +"It's all right, I guess. But the ole son-of-a-gun got the idear, +kinda, that you was thinkin' some of--of the East." + +"Alec," she says, frank as could be, "yesterday Doctor Simpson got +a letter from Noo York. He'd writ a big teacher there, inquirin' if I +had a chanst t' git into op'ra--_grand_ op'ra--and the teacher says +yas." + +I couldn't answer nothin'. I just sit there, knocked plumb silly, +almost, and looked at a big rose in the carpet. _Noo York!_ + +She brung her hands t'gether. "Why not?" she answers. "It'll give +me the chanst I want. If I'm a success, you could come on too, Alec. +Then we'd marry, and you could go along with me as my manager." + +I looked at her. I was hurt--hurt plumb t' the quick, and a little +mad, too. "I _see_ myself!" I says. "Travel along with you' poodle. +Huh! And you wearin' circus clothes like that Miss Marvellous Murray, +and lettin' some feller kiss you in the play. Macie,"--and I meant +what I said--"you can just put the hull thing right to one side. +I--won't--_have_--it!" + +She set her lips tight, and her face got a deep red. + +"So _this_ is the way you keep you' word!" she says. "A minute ago, +you said you wasn't goin' t' try to run me no more. Wal,--you wasn't +in earnest. I can see that. 'Cause here's the same thing over again." + +The door into the ole man's bedroom opened then, and he come walkin' +out. "You two make a thunderin' lot of noise," he begun. "What in +the dickens is the matter?" + +Mace turned to him, face still a-blazin'. "Alec's allus tryin' t' +run me," she answers, "and I'm gittin' plumb tired of it." + +Sewell's mouth come open. "Run you," he says. "Wal, some while back +he done all the runnin' he's ever a-goin' t' do in _this_ house. And +he don't do no more of it. By what right is he a-interferin' now?" + +I got to my feet. "_This_ right, boss:" I says, "I love Macie." + +He begun to kinda swell--gradual. And if a look could 'a' kilt me, I'd +'a' keeled over that second. + +"You--love--Macie!" he says slow. "Wal , I'll be darned if you +haven't got _cheek!_" + +"Sorry you look at it that way, boss." + +"And so you got the idear into that peanut haid of yourn"--he was +sarcastic now--"that you could marry my gal! Honest, I ain't met a +bigger idjit 'n you in ten years." + +"No man but Mace's paw could say that t' me safe." + +"Why," he goes on, "you could just about be President of the United +States as easy as you could be the husband of this gal. M' son, I think +I tole you on one occasion that you'd play Cupid just oncet too many." + +"That's what you did." + +"This is _it_. And, also, I tole you that the smarty who can allus bring +other folks t'gether never can hitch hisself." + +"You got a good mem'ry, Sewell." + +Mace broke in then--feard they'd be trouble, I reckon. "Please let's +cut this short," she says. "The only thing I want Alec to remember is +that I ain't a-goin' t' be bossed by _no_ man." + +Sewell patted her on the shoulder. "That's my gal a-talkin'!" he +says. "Bully fer you!" + +"All right, Mace," I says, "a-all _right._" And I took up my Stetson. + +The ole man dropped into a chair and begun t' laugh. (Could laugh now, +thinkin' it was all up 'twixt Mace and me.) "Haw! haw! haw!" he +started off, slappin' one knee. "Mister Cupid cain't do nothin' fer +hisself!" Then he laid back and just _hollered,_ slingin' out his laig +with ev'ry cackle; and pawin' the air fin'lly, he got so short-winded. +"Aw, lawdy!" he yelled; "aw--I'll _bust_. Mister _Cupid! Whew!_" + +I got hot. "You found a he-he's aig in a haw-haw's nest," I begun. +"Wal, I'll say back to you what you oncet said to me: _Just wait._" +Then I faced Macie. "All right, little gal," I says to her, "I s'pose +you know best. Pack you' duds and go East--and sing on the stage in Noo +York." + +The ole man 'd stopped laughin' t' listen. Now he sit up straight, a +hand on each arm of the chair, knees spread, mouth wider open 'n ever, +eyes plumb crossed. "Go East!" he repeats, "--sing!--stage!--Noo +York!" + +Mace showed her sand, all right. "Yas," she answers; "you got it +_exac'ly_ right, paw--Noo York." + +He riz up, face as white as anythin' so sunbaked can look. "Git that +crazy idear outen you' brain this _minute!_" he begun. "I won't allow +you t' stir a _step!_ The stage! Lawd a-mighty! Why, _you_ ain't got +no voice fer the stage. You can only squawk." + +It was mighty pretty t' see 'em--father and daughter--standin' out +agin each other. Alike in temper as two peas, y' savvy. And I knowed +somethin' was shore goin' to pop. + +"Squawk!" repeats Mace. (_That_ was the finishin' touch.) "I'll just +show you! Some day when my voice's made me famous, you'll be sorry fer +that. And you, too, Alec Lloyd, if you _do_ think my voice is all taffy. +I'll show you _both!_" + +"Wal," Sewell come back, "you don't use none of _my_ money fer t' +make you' show." He was pretty nigh screechin'. + +"Wait till I _ast_ you fer it," she says, pert haid up again. "_Keep_ +you' money. I can earn my own. _I_ ain't scairt of work." + +And just like she was, in the little, white dress she used t' meet me +in--she up and walked out! + +Now, it was the ole man's turn t' walk the floor. "Noo York!" he +begun, his eyes dartin' fire. "Did y' ever _hear_ such a blamed fool +proposition! Doc Simpson is _re_sponsible fer that." + +"It's been goin' on fer quite a spell," I says. "But I didn't know +how far till just afore you come in. Simpson, a-course, is the man." + +That second, _clickety_--_clickety_--_clickety_--_click!_--a hoss was +a-passin' the house on the dead run. We both looked. It was that +bald-faced bronc of Macie's, makin' fer the gate like a streak of +lightnin'. And the little gal was in the saddle. + +"She's goin', boss," I says. (The bald-face was haided towards +Briggs.) + +"_Let_ her go," says Sewell. "Let her ride off her mad." + +"Boss," I says, "I'm t' blame fer this kick-up. Yas, I am." + +And _I_ begun t' walk the floor. + +"Wal, no use bellyachin' about it," he answers. "But you're allus +a-stickin' in that lip of yourn. And--you'll _re_call what I oncet said +concernin' the feller that sticks in his lip." (I could see it made +him feel better t' think he had the bulge on me.) + +"She won't come back," I goes on. (I felt pretty bad, I can tell y'.) +"No, boss, she won't. I know that gal better'n you do. She's gone t' +Briggs, and she'll stay." + +"She'll be back in a' hour. Rose cain't keep her, and----" + +But I was outen the room and makin' fer the bunk-house. When I got +there, I begun t' change my clothes. + +Hairoil was inside. (He'd been a-listenin' to the rumpus, likely.) +"Don't go off half-cocked," he says to me. + +"Cupid's drunk," says Monkey Mike. "Somebody's hit him with a +bar-towel." + +But I knowed what I was a-goin' to do. Two wags of a dawg's tail, and I +was in the house again, facin' the ole man. "Sewell," I says, "I want +my time." + +"Where you goin', Cupid?" he ast, reachin' into his britches-pocket. + +I took my little forty dollars and run it into my buckskin sack. "I'm +a-goin' into Briggs," I says, "t' see if I can talk some sense into +that gal's haid." + +The ole man give a kinda sour laugh. "Mebbe you think you can bring her +home on hossback again," he says. "Wal, just remember, if she turns +loose one of her tantrums, that you poured out this drench you'self. +It's like that there feller in Kansas." And he give that laugh of hisn +again. "Ever heerd about him?" + +"No," I says; "no, what about you' Kansas feller?" + +"Wal,"--the boss pulled out a plug of t'bacca,--"he bought a house +and lot fer five hunderd dollars. The lot was guaranteed to raise +anythin', and the house was painted the prettiest kind of a green. +Natu'lly, he thought he owned 'em. Wal, things went smooth till one +night when he was away from home. Then a blamed cyclone come along. +Shore enough, that lot of hisn could raise. It raised plumb into the air, +house and all, and the hull business blowed into the neighbourin' State! + +"'What goes up must come down,' says the feller. And knowin' which +way that cyclone travelled, he started in the same _di_rection, hotfoot. +He goes and goes. Fin'lly he comes to a ranch where they was a new barn +goin' up. It was a pinto proposition. Part of it wasn't painted, and +some of it was green. He stopped to demand portions of his late residence. + +"The man he spoke to quit drivin' nails just long enough to answer. +'When you Kansas folks git up one of them baby cyclones of yourn,' he +says, 'fer Heaven's sake have sand enough to accept the hand-out it +gives y'.'" + +"I savvy what you mean," I says to the ole man, "but you fergit that +in this case the moccasin don't fit. Another man's behind this, boss. +The little gal has ketched singin'-bugs. And when she gits enough +cash----" + +"How can _she_ git cash?" + +"The eatin'-house is short of, help, Sewell. She can git a job +easy--passin' fancy Mulligan to the pilgrims that go through." + +Say! that knocked all the sarcastic laughin' outen him. A' awful +anxious look come into his face. "Why--why, Cupid," he begun. "You +don't reckon she'd go do that!" + +Just then, _Clickety_--_clickety_--_clickety_--_click_ a hoss was comin' +along the road. We both got to a winda. It was that bald-faced bronc +of Macie's again, haid down and tail out. But the bridle-reins was +caught 'round the pommel t' keep 'em from gittin' under foot, and the +little gal's saddle--was empty! + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +WHAT A LUNGEE DONE + + + "Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides + On its fair, windin' way to the sea--" + +It was Macie Sewell singin'. Ole Number 201 'd just pulled outen +Briggs City, haided southwest with her freight of tenderfeet, and with +Ingineer Dave Reynolds stickin' in his spurs to make up lost time. +The passengers 'd had twenty-five minutes fer a good grubbin'-up at +the eatin'-house, and now the little gal was help-in' the balance of +the Harvey bunch to clear off the lunch-counter. Whilst she worked, +she was chirpin' away like she'd plumb bust her throat. + +I was outside, settin' on a truck with Up-State. He was watchin' +acrosst the rails, straight afore him, and listenin', and I could see +he was swallerin' some, and his eyes looked kinda like he'd been +ridin' agin the wind. When I shifted my _po_sition, he turned the +other way quick, and coughed--that pore little gone-in cough of hisn. + +Wal, I felt pretty bad myself; and I seen somethin' turrible was wrong +with Up-State--I couldn't just make out what. Pretty soon, I put my +hand on his arm, and I says, "I don't want t' worm anythin' outen +you, ole man; I just want t' say I'm you' friend." + +"Cupid," he whispers back, "it's The Mohawk Vale." + +(He allus whispered, y' savvy; couldn't talk out loud no more, bein' +so turrible shy on lung.) + +"Is that a bony fido place?" I ast, "'r just made up a-purpose fer +the song?" + +"It's _my_ country," he whispers, slow and husky, and begun gazin' +acrosst to the mesquite again. "And, Cupid, it's a _beau_tiful +country!" + +"I reckon," I says. "It's likely got Oklahomaw skinned t' death." + +Up-State, he didn't answer that--too _po_lite. Aw, he was a gent, too, +same as the parson. + +Minute 'r so, Macie struck up again-- + + "And dearer by far than all charms on earth byside, + Is that bright, rollin' river to me." + +Up-State lent over, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, and begun +tremblin'--Why, y' know, even a _hoss_ 'll git homesick. Now, I brung +a flea-bitten mare from down on the lower Cimarron oncet, and blamed if +that little son-of-a-gun didn't hoof it all the way back, straighter +'n a string! Yas, ma'am. And so, a-course, it's natu'al fer a _man_. +Wal, I ketched on to how things was with Up-State, and I moseyed. + +I was at the deepot pretty frequent them days--waitin'. Macie hadn't +talked to me none yet, and mebbe she wouldn't. But I was on hand in case +the notion 'd strike her. + +Her hangin' out agin me and her paw tickled them eatin'-house Mamies +turrible. They thought her idear of earnin' her own money, and then +goin' East to be a' op'ra singer, was just _grand_. + +But the rest of the town felt diff'rent. And behind my back all the +women folks and the boys that knowed me was sayin' it was a darned +shame. They figgered that a gal gone loco on the stage proposition +wouldn't make _no_ kind of a wife fer a cow-punch. "Would _she_ +camp down in Oklahomaw," they says, "and cook three meals a day, +and wash out blue shirts, when she's set on gittin' up afore a passel +of highflyers and yelpin' 'Marguerite'? _Nixey._" + +Next thing, one day at Silverstein's, here come the parson to me, +lookin' worried. "Cupid," he says, "git on the good side of that +gal as quick as ever you can--and marry her. The stage is a' _awful_ +place fer a decent gal. Keep her offen it if you love her soul. And if +I can help, just whistle." + +I said thank y', but I was feard marryin' was a long way off. + +"But, Alec," goes on the parson, "that Simpson has gone back t' Noo +York----" + +"_What?_" + +"Yas. He put all his doctor truck into his gasoline wagon last night +and choo-chooed outen town. If _he's_ there, and _she_ goes, wal,--I +don't like the looks of it." + +"I don't neither, parson. He's crooked as a cow-path, that feller. +Have you tole her paw?" + +"No, but I will," says the parson. + +I went over to the deepot again. Havin' done a little thinkin', I +wasn't so scairt about Simpson by now. 'Cause why? Wal, y' see, I +knowed + +Mace didn't have no money; ole Sewell wouldn't give her none; and she +wasn't the kind of a gal t' borra. So it was likely she'd be in Briggs +fer quite a spell. + +I found Up-State settin' outside the eatin'-house. I sit down byside +him. Allus, them days, whenever I come in sight of the station, he was +a-hangin' 'round, y' savvy. He'd be on a truck, say, 'r mebbe on the +edge of the platform. If it was all quiet inside at the lunch-counter, +he'd be watchin' the mesquite, and sorta swingin' his shoes. But if +Macie was singin', he'd be all scrooched over with his face covered +up--and pretty quiet. + +When Macie sung, it was The Mohawk Vale ev'ry time. Now, that seemed +funny, bein' she was mad at me and that was my fav'rite song. Then, +it didn't seem so funny. One of the eatin'-house gals tole me, +confidential, that Up-State had lots of little chins with Macie acrosst +the lunch-counter, and that The Mohawk Vale was "by request." + +_I_ didn't keer. Let Up-State talk to her as much as he wanted to. +_He_ couldn't make me jealous--not on you' life! I wasn't the finest +lookin' man in Oklahomaw, and I wasn't on right good terms with Mace. +But Up-State--wal, Up-State was pretty clost t' crossin' the Big Divide. + +All this time not a word 'd passed 'twixt Macie and her paw. The ole +man was too stiff-necked t' give in and go to her. (He was figgerin' +that she'd git tired and come home.) And Macie, she wasn't tired a +blamed bit, and she was too stiff-necked t' give in and go t' Sewell. + +Wal, when the boss heerd about Up-State and Mace, you never _seen_ a man +so sore. He said Up-State was aigin' her on, and no white man 'd do +_that_. + +Y' see, he had some reason fer not goin' shucks on the singin' and +actin' breed. We'd had two bunches of op'ra folks in Briggs at +diff'rent times. One come down from Wichita, and was called "The Way to +Ruin." (Wal, it shore looked its name!) The other was "The Wild West +Troupe" from Dallas. This last wasn't West--it was from Noo York +_di_rect--but you can bet you' boots it was _wild_ all right. By +thunder! you couldn't 'a' helt nary one of them young ladies with a +hoss-hair rope! + +But fer a week of Sundays, he didn't say nothin' to Up-State. He just +boiled inside, kinda. Then one day--when he'd got enough steam up, I +reckon,--why, he opened wide and let her go. + +"Up-State," he begun, "I'm sorry fer you, all right, but----" + +Up-State looked at him. "Sewell," he whispers, "I don't want _no_ +man's pity." + +"Listen to me," says the boss. "Macie's my little gal--the only child +I got left now, and I warn you not to go talkin' actress to her." + +"Don't holler 'fore you git hit," whispers Up-State, smilin'. + +The boss got worse mad then. "Look a-here," he says, "don't give me +none of that. You know you lie----" + +Up-State shook his haid. "I'm not a man any more, Sewell," he +whispers. "I'm just what's left of one. I didn't used to let +_no_body hand out things that flat to me." + +I stuck in _my_ lip. (_One_ more time couldn't hurt.) "Now, Sewell," +I says, "put on the brake." + +He got a holt on hisself then. "This ain't no josh to me, Cupid," he +says. (He was tremblin', pore ole cuss!) "What you think I heerd this +mornin'? Mace ain't makin' enough money passin' slumgullion to them +passenger cattle all day, so she's a-goin' over to Silverstein's +ev'ry night after this to fix up his books. I wisht now I'd never +sent her t' business college." + +Just then-- + + "Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides + On its fair, windin' way to the sea--" + +Up-State lent over, his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands. + +The boss looked at me. I give a jerk of my haid to show him he'd best +go. And he walked off, grindin' his teeth. + +It seemed to me I could hear Up-State whisperin' into his fingers. I +stooped over. "What is it, pardner?" I ast. + +"It's full of home," he says, "--it's full of home! Cupid! Cupid!" +(Darned if I don't wisht them lungers wouldn't come down here, anyhow. +They plumb give a feller the misery.) + +Doc Trowbridge stopped by just then. "How you makin' it t'-day, +Up-State?" he ast. + +Up-State got to his feet, slow though, and put a hand on Billy's +shoulder. "The next sandstorm, ole man," he says; "the next +sandstorm." + +"Up-State," says Billy, "buck up. You got more lives'n a cat." + +"No show," Up-State whispers back. + +He was funny that-a-way. Now, most lungers fool theyselves. Allus +"goin' to git better," y' savvy. But Up-State--_he knew_. + +"Come over to my tent t'-night," he goes on to Billy. "I got +somethin' I want to talk to you about." + +"All right," says Billy. "Two haids is better 'n one, if one _is_ +a sheep's haid." + +After supper, I passed Silverstein's two 'r three times, and about +nine o'clock I seen Macie. She was 'way back towards the end of the +store, a lamp and a book in front of her; and she was a-workin' like a +steam-thrasher. + +Somehow it come over me all to oncet then that she'd meant ev'ry +single word she said, and that, sooner 'r later--she was goin'. +_Goin'_. And I'd be stayin' behind. I looked 'round me. Say! Briggs +City didn't show up _much_. "Without _her,_" I says, (they was that +red-hot-iron feelin' inside of me again) "--without her, what is +it?--the jumpin'-off place!" + +Beyond me, a piece, was Up-State's tent. A light was burnin' inside it, +too, and Doc Trowbridge was settin' in the moonlight by the openin'. +Behind him, I could see Up-State, writin'. + +I trailed home to my bunk. But you can understand I didn't sleep good. +And 'way late, I had a dream. I dreamed the Bar Y herd broke fence +and stampeded through Briggs, and after 'em come about a hunderd +bull-whackers, all a-layin' it on to them steers with the flick of +they lashes _-zip, zip, zip, zip_. + +Next mornin, I woke quick--with a jump, y' might say. I looked at my +nickel turnip. It was five-thirty. I got up. The sun was shinin', the +air was nice and clear and quiet and the larks was just singin' away. +But outside, along the winda-sill, was stretched _a' inch-wide trickle +of sand!_ + +In no time I was hoofin' it down the street. When I got to Up-State's +tent, Billy Trowbridge was inside it, movin' 'round, puttin' stuff +into a trunk, and--wipin' the sand outen his eyes. + +"He was right?" I says, when I goes in, steppin' soft, and +whisperin'--like Up-State 'd allus whispered. Billy turned to me and +kinda smiled, fer all he felt so all-fired bad. "Yas, Cupid," he says, +"he was right. One more storm." + +Just then, from the station-- + + "Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides + On its fair, windin' way to the sea--" + +Billy walked over to the bed and looked down. "Up-State, ole man," he +says, "you're a-goin' back to the Mohawk." + + * * * * * + +Up-State left two letters behind him--one fer me and one fer Billy. The +doc didn't show hisn; said it wouldn't be just _pro_feshnal--yet. But +mine he ast me to read to the boss. + + "Dear Cupid," it run, "ast Mister Sewell not to come down + too hard on me account of what I'm goin' to do fer Macie. The + little gal says she wants a singin' chanst more'n anythin' + else. Wal, I'm goin' to give it to her. You'll find a' + even five hunderd in green-backs over in Silverstein's safe. + It's hern. Tell her I want she should use it to go to Noo + York on and buck the op'ra game." + +Wal, y' see, the ole man 'd been right all along--Up-State _was_ +sidin' with Mace. Somehow though, _I_ couldn't feel hard agin him fer +it. I knowed that she'd go--help 'r _no_ help. + +But Sewell, he didn't think like me, and I never _seen_ a man take +on the way he done. _Crazy_ mad, he was, swore blue blazes, and said +things that didn't sound so nice when a feller remembered that Up-State +was face up and flat on his back fer keeps--and goin' home in the +baggage-car. + +I tell you, the boys was nice to me that day. "The little gal won't +fergit y', Cupid," they says, and "Never you mind, Cupid, it'll all +come out in the wash." + +I thanked 'em, a-course. But with Macie fixed to go (far's money went), +and without makin' friends with me, neither, what under the shinin' +sun could chirk _me_ up? Wal, _nothin'_ could. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +THE BOYS PUT THEY FOOT IN IT + + +"WAL, Hairoil," I says, "I shore am a' unlucky geezer! Why, d' you +know, I don't hardly dast go from one room to another these days fer +fear I'll git my lip pinched in the door." + +Hairoil, he clawed thoughtful. "You and the boss had a talk oncet on +the marryin' question," he begun. "It was out at the Bar Y." (We +was settin' on a truck at the deepot again, same as that other time.) +"A-course, I don't want t' throw nothin' up, but--you tole him then +that when it come you' _own_ time, _you_ wouldn't have no trouble. +Recollect braggin' that-a-way?" + +"Yas," I answers, meeker'n Moses. "But Hairoil, that was 'fore I +met Macie." + +"So it was," he says. Then, after a minute, "I s'pose nothin' could +keep her in Briggs much longer." + +I shook my haid. "The ole man won't let her fetch a dud offen the +ranch, and so she's havin' a couple of dresses made. I figger that +when _they_ git done, she'll--she'll go." + +"How long from now?" + +"About two weeks--accordin' to what Mollie Brown tole me." + +"Um," says Hairoil, and went on chawin' his cud. Fin'lly, he begun +again, and kinda like he was feelin' 'round. "Don't you think Mace +Sewell is took up with the _ro_mance part of this singin' proposition?" +he ast. "That's _my_ idear. And _I_ think that if she was showed +that her and you was _also_ a _ro_mance, why, she'd give up goin' +to Noo York. Now, it _might_ be possible to--to git her t' see things +right--if they was a little scheme, say." + +I got up. "No, Hairoil," I says, "no little scheme is a-goin' +t' be played on _Macie_. A-course, I done it fer Rose and Billy; but +Macie,--wal, Macie is diff'rent. I want t' win her in the open. And +I'll be jiggered if I stand fer any underhand work." + +"It needn't t' _be_ what you'd call underhand," answers Hairoil. + +"Pardner," I says, "don't talk about it no more. You make me plumb +nervous, like crumbs in the bed." + +And so he shut up. + +But now when I _re_call that conversation of ourn, and think back on +what begun t' happen right afterwards, it seemed _blamed_ funny that +I didn't suspicion somethin' was wrong. The parson was mixed up in +it, y' savvy, and the sheriff, and Billy Trowbridge--all them three I'd +helped out in one way 'r another. And Hairoil was in it, too--and he'd +said oncet that he was a-goin' t' marry me off. So _why_ didn't I +ketch on! Wal, I shore _was_ a yap! + +Next day, Hairoil didn't even speak of Mace. I thought he'd clean +fergot about her. He was all _ex_cited over somethin' else--the +'lection of a sheriff. And 'fore he got done tellin' me about it, +I was some _ex_cited, too--fer all I was half sick account of my own +troubles. + +The 'lection of a sheriff, y' savvy, means a' awful lot to a passel +of cow-punchers. We don't much keer who's President of the United +States. (We been plumb _covered_ with proud flesh these six years, +though, 'cause Roos'velt, _he's_ a puncher.) We don't much keer, +neither, who's Gov'ner of Oklahomaw. But you can bet you' bottom +dollar it makes a _heap_ of diff'rence who's our sheriff. If you +git a friend in office, you can breathe easy when you have a little +disagreement; if you don't, why, _you_ git 'lected--t' the calaboose! + +Now, what Hairoil come and rep'esented to me was this: That Hank +Shackleton, editor of _The Briggs City Eye-Opener,_ 'd been lickerin' +up somethin' _turrible_ the last twenty-four hours. + +"Hank?" I says to Hairoil, plumb surprised. "Why, I didn't know he +ever took more 'n a glass." + +"A _glass!_" repeats Hairoil disgusted. "He ain't used no glass +_this_ time; he used a _funnel_. And you oughta see his paper that come +out this mornin'. It's full on the one side, where a story's allus +printed, but the opp'site page looks like somethin' 'd hit it--O. K. +far's advertisements go, but the news is as skurse as hen's teeth, +_and not a word about Bergin._" + +"You don't say! But--what does that matter, Hairoil?" + +"What does that _matter!_ Why, if Hank gits it into his haid to keep +on tankin' that-a-way (till he plumb spills over, by jingo!) the +_Eye-Opener_ won't show up again fer a month of Sundays. Now, we +need it, account of this 'lection, and the way Hank is actin' has +come home to roost with ev'ry _one_ of us. You been worried, Cupid, and +you ain't noticed how this sheriff sittywaytion is. The Goldstone +_Tarantula_ is behind the _Re_publican can_di_date, Walker----" + +"_Walker! That_ critter up fer sheriff?" + +"Yas. And, a-course, Hank's been behind Bergin t' git _him_ re'lected +fer the 'leventh time." + +"_I_ know, and Bergin's got t' _win_. Why, Bergin's the only fit +man." + +"Wal, now, if our paper cain't git in and crow the loudest, and tell +how many kinds of a swine the other feller is, _how's_ Bergin goin' +t' win?" + +"I don't know." + +"Neither do _I_. (You see how ticklish things is?) Wal, here's Hank +in _no_ shape to make any kind of a newspaper fight, but just achin' t' +use his gun on anybody that comes nigh him. Why, I never _seen_ such a +change in a man in all my born _life!_" + +I was surprised some _more_. I didn't know Hank _packed_ a gun. He +was a darned nice cuss, and ev'rybody shore liked him, and he'd never +been laid up fer _re_pairs account of somethin' he'd put in his paper. +He was square, smart's a steel-trap, and white clean through. Had a +handshake that was hung on a hair-trigger, and a smile so winnin' that +he could coax the little prairie-dawgs right outen they holes. + +Hairoil goes on. "I can see Briggs City eatin' the shucks when it +comes 'lection-day," he says, "and that Goldstone man cabbagin' the +sheriff's office. Buckshot Milliken tole me this mornin' that the +_Tarantula_ called Bergin 'a slouch' last week; 'so low-down he'd +eat sheep,' too, and 'such a blamed pore shot he couldn't hit the side +of a barn.'" + +"That's goin' too far." + +"So _I_ say. I wanted Bergin t' go over to Goldstone and give 'em +a sample of his gun-play that'd interfere with the printin' of they +one-hoss sheet. But Bergin said it was no use--the _Tarantula_ editor is +wearin' a sheet-iron thing-um-a-jig acrosst his back and his front, and +has to use a screw-driver t' take off his clothes." + +"The idear of Hank actin' like a idjit when the 'lection depends on +him!" I says. "Wal, things _is_ outen kilter." + +"Sh-sh-sh!" says Hairoil, lookin' round quick. "Be awful keerful what +you say about Hank. We don't want no shootin'-scrape _here._" + +But I didn't give a continental _who_ heerd me. I was sore t' think +a reg'lar jay-hawk 'd been put up agin our man! Say, that Walker +didn't know beans when the bag was open. His name shore fit him, +'cause he couldn't ride a hoss fer cold potatoes. And he was the +kind that gals think is a looker, and allus stood ace-high at a dance. +Lately, he'd been more pop'lar than ever. When we had that little +set-to with Spain, Walker hiked out to the Coast; and didn't show up +again till after the California boys come home from Manila. Then, he hit +town, wearin' a' army hat, and chuck full of all kinds of stories +about the Philippines, and how he'd been in _turrible_ fights. That +got the girls travelin' after him two-forty. Why, at Goldstone, they +was _all_ a-goin' with him, seems like. + +I didn't want _him_ fer sheriff, you bet you' boots. He wasn't no +friend to us Briggs City boys any more 'n we was to him. And then, +none of us believed that soldier hand-out. Y' know, we had a little +bunch of fellers from this section that went down t' Cuba with Colonel +Roos'velt and chased the Spanish some. Wal, y' never heerd _them_ +crowin' 'round about what they done. And this Walker, he blowed too +much t' be genuwine. + +"If he's 'lected sheriff, it's goin' t' be risky business gittin' +in to a' argyment with anybody," I says. "He'd just _like_ t' git +one of us jugged. Say, what's goin' to be did fer Hank?" + +"Wal," answers Hairoil, mouth screwed up anxious, "we're in a right +serious fix. So they's to be a sorta convention this afternoon, and +we're a-goin' t' cut out whisky whilst the session lasts." + +"I'll come. _Walker_ fer sheriff! _Huh!_" + +"Good fer you! So long." + +"So long." + +We made fer the council-tent at three o'clock--the bunch of us. The +deepot waitin'-room was choosed, that bein', as the boys put it, "the +most _re_spectable public place in town that wouldn't want rent." +Wal, we worked our jaws a lot, goin' over the sittywaytion from start +to finish. "Gents let's hear what you-all got to say," begun Chub +Flannagan, standin' up. Doc Trowbridge was next. "_I ad_vise you to +rope Shackleton," he says, "and lemme give him some hoss liniment t' +put him on his laigs." (We was agreed that the hull business depended +on the _Eye-Opener_.) But the rest of us didn't favour Billy's plan. +So we ended by pickin' a 'lection committee. No dues, no by-laws, no +chairman. But ev'ry blamed one of us a sergeant-at-arms with orders t' +keep Hank Shackleton _outen the saloons_. 'Cause why? If he could buck +up, and _stay_ straight, and go t' gittin' out the _Eye-Opener,_ +Bergin 'd shore win out. + +"Gents," says Monkey Mike, "soon as ever Briggs hears of our +committee, we're a-goin' t' git pop'lar with the nice people, 'cause +we're tryin' t' help Hank. And we're also goin' t' git a black eye +with the licker men account of shuttin' off the Shackleton trade. +A-course, us punchers must try t' make it up t' the thirst-parlours +fer the loss, though I _ad_mit it 'll not be a' easy proposition. +But things is _desp_'rate. If Walker gits in, we'll have a nasty +deputy-sheriff sent up here t' cross us ev'ry time we make a move. We +got t' _work,_ gents. You know how _I_ feel. By thunder! Bergin treated +me square all right over that Andrews fuss." (Y' see, Mike's a +grateful little devil, if he _does_ ride like a fool Englishman.) + +"Wal," says Buckshot Milliken, "who'll be the first sergeant? I call +fer a volunteer." + +All the fellers just kept quiet--but they looked at each other, worried +like. + +"Don't all speak to oncet," says Buckshot. + +I got up. "_I'_m willin' t' try my hand," I says. + +"_Thank_ y', Cupid." It was Buckshot, earnest as the dickens. +"But--but we hope you're goin' to go slow with Hank. Don't do +nothin' foolish." + +"What in thunder 's got _into_ you fellers?" I ast, lookin' at 'em. +"Is Hank got the hydrophoby?" + +"You ain't saw him since he begun t' drink, I reckon," says Chub. + +"No." + +"_Wal,_ then." + +By this time, I was so all-fired et up with curiosity t' git a look at +Hank that I couldn't stand it no more. So I got a move on. + +Hank is a turrible tall feller, and thin as a ramrod. He's got hair you +could flag a train with, and a face as speckled as a turkey aig. And when +I come on to him that day, here he was, stretched out on the floor of +Dutchy's back room, mouth wide open, and snorin' like a rip-saw. + +I give his shoulder a jerk. "Here, Hank," I says, "wake up and pay +fer you' keep. What's got into you, anyhow. My goodness me!" + +He opened his eyes--slow. Next, he sit up, and fixed a' awful ugly look +on me. "Wa-a-al?" he says. + +"My friend," I begun, "Briggs City likes you, and in the present case +it's a-tryin' t' make 'lowances, and not chalk nothin' agin y', +but----" + +"Blankety blank Briggs City!" growls Hank. "Ish had me shober and ish +had me drunk, and neither way don't shoot." + +"Now, ole man, I reckon you're wrong," I says. "But never mind, +anyhow. Just try t' realise that they 's a 'lection comin', and +that you got t' help." + +"Walkersh a friend of mine," says Hank, and laid down again. + +Wal, I didn't want t' be there all day. I wanted t' have _some_ time +to myself, y' savvy, so 's I could keep track of Mace. So I grabbed +him again. + +This whack, he got up, straddlin' his feet out like a mad tarantula, +and kinda clawin' the air. They wasn't no gun visible on him, but he +was loaded, all right. Had a revolver stuck under his belt in front, so +'s the bottom of his vest hid it. + +I jerked it out and kicked it clean acrosst the floor. Then I drug him +out and started fer the bunk-house with him. _Gosh!_ it was a job! + +Wal, the pore cuss didn't git another swalla of forty-rod that day; +and by the next mornin' he was calm and had a' appetite. So three +of us sergeant-at-arms happened over to see him. Bill Rawson was there +a'ready, keepin' him comp'ny. And first thing y' know, I was handin' +that editor of ourn great big slathers of straight talk. + +"_I_ know what you done fer me, Cupid," says Hank. "And I'm +grateful,--yas, I am. But let me tell you that when I git started +drinkin', I cain't _stop_--never do till I'm just wored out 'r +stone broke. And I git mean, and on the fight, and don't know what +I'm doin'. But," he _con_-tinues (his face was as long as you' +arm), "if you-all 'll fergive me, and let this spree pass, why, I'll +go back t' takin' water at the railroad tank with the Sante Fee +ingines." + +"Hank," I says, "you needn't t' say nothin' further. But pack +no more loads, m' son, pack no more loads. And _try_ t' git out another +_EyeOpener_. Not only is this sheriff matter pressin', but the lit'rary +standin' of Briggs City is at stake." + +"That's dead right," he says. "And I'll git up a' issue of the +_Opener_ pronto--only you boys 'll have t' help me out some on the +news part. I don't recollect much that's been happenin' lately." + +Wal, things looked cheerfuller. So, 'fore long, I was back at the +deepot, settin' on a truck and watchin' the eatin'-house windas, +and the boys--Bergin and all--was lined up 'longside Dutchy's bar, +celebratin'. + +But our work was a long, l-o-n-g way from bein' done. Hank kept +sober just five hours. Then he got loose from Hairoil and made fer a +thirst-parlour. And when Hairoil found him again, he was fuller'n a tick. + +"I'm blue as all git out about what's happened," says Hairoil. "But +I couldn't help it; it was just rotten luck. And I hear that when the +_Tarantula_ come out yesterday it had a hull column about that Walker, +callin' him a brave ex-soldier and the next sheriff of Woodward County." + +"And just ten days 'fore 'lection!" chips in Bill Rawson. "Cupid, +it's root hawg 'r die!" + +"That's what it is," I says. "Wal, I'll go git after Hank again." + +He was in Dutchy's, same as afore. But not so loaded, this time, and +a blamed sight uglier. Minute he _seen_ me, his back was up! "Here, you +snide puncher," he begun, "you tryin' to arrest _me?_ Wal, blankety +blank blank," (fill it in the worst you can think of--he was beefin' +somethin' _awful_) "I'll have you know that I ain't never 'lowed +_no_ man t' put the bracelets on me." And his hand went down and begun +feelin' fer the butt of a gun. + +"Look oudt!" whispers Dutchy. "You vill git shooted!" + +But I only just walked over and put a' arm 'round Hank. "Now, come on +home," I says, like I meant it. "'Cause y' know, day after t'-morra +another _Eye-Opener_ has _got_ to rise t' the top. Hank, think of +Bergin!" + +He turned on me then, and give me such a push in the chest that I sit +down on the floor--right suddent, too. Wal, that rubbed me the wrong way. +And the next thing _he_ knowed, I had him by the back of the collar, and +was a-draggin' him out. + +I was plumb wored out by the time I got him home, and so Chub, he stayed +t' watch. I went back to the deepot. And I was still a-settin' there, +feelin' lonesome, and kinda put out, too, when here come Buckshot +Milliken towards me. + +"I think Hank oughta be 'shamed of hisself," he says, "fer the way +he talks about you. Course, we know why he does it, and that it ain't +true----" + +"What's he got t' say about me?" I ast, huffy. + +"He said you was a ornery hoodlum," answers Buckshot, "and a loafer, +and that he's a-goin' t' roast you in his paper. He'd put Oklahomaw +on to _you,_ he said." + +"Huh!" + +"And you been _such_ a good friend t' Hank," goes on Buckshot. "Wal, +don't it go to show!" + +"If he puts on single _word_ about me in that paper of hisn," I says, +gittin' on my ear good and plenty, "I'll just natu'ally take him +acrosst my knee and give him a spankin'." + +"And he'll put enough slugs in you t' make a sinker," answers +Buckshot. "Why, Cupid, Hank Shackleton can fight his weight in wildcats. +_You go slow._" + +"But _he_ cain't shoot," I says. + +"He cain't _shoot!_" repeats Buckshot. "Why, I hear he was a reg'lar +gun-fighter oncet, and so blamed fancy with his shootin' that he could +drive a two-penny nail into a plank at twenty yards ev'ry bit as good +as a carpenter." + +"Wal," I says, "I'll be blasted if that's got _me_ scairt any." + +Buckshot shook his haid. "I'm right sorry t' see any bad blood 'twixt +y'," he says. + +Next thing, it was all over town that Hank was a-lookin' fer me. + +Afterwards, I heerd that it was Hairoil tole Macie about it. "You +know," he says to her, "whenever Hank's loaded and in hollerin' +distance of a town, you can shore bet some one's goin' t' git hurt." + +Mace, she looked a little bit nervous. But she just said, "I reckon +Alec can take keer of hisself." Then off she goes to pick out a trunk +at Silverstein's. + +I reckon, though, that ole Silverstein 'd heerd about the trouble, too. +So when Mace come back to the eatin'-house, she sit down and writ me a +letter. "_Friend Alec,_" it said, "_I want to see you fer a minute +right after supper. Macie Sewell._" + +It was four o'clock then. Supper was a good two hours off. Say! how them +two hours drug! + +But all good things come to a' end--as the feller said when he was +strung up on a rope. And the hands of my watch loped into they places +when they couldn't hole back no longer. Then, outen the door on the +track side of the eatin'-house, here she come! + +My little gal! I was hungry t' talk to her, and git holt of one of her +hands. But whilst I watched her walk toward me, I couldn't move, it +seemed like; and they was a lump as big as a baseball right where my +Adam's apple oughta be. + +"Macie!" + +She stopped and looked straight at me, and I seen she'd been cryin'. +"Alec," she says, "I didn't mean t' give in and see you 'fore I +went. But they tole me you and Hank 'd had words. And--and I couldn't +stay mad no longer." + +"Aw, honey, thank y'!" + +"I ain't a-goin' away t' stay," she says. "Leastways, I don't +_think_ so. But I want a try at singin', Alec,--a chanst. Paw's down +on me account of that. And he don't even come in town no more. Wal, I'm +sorry. But--_you_ understand, Alec, don't y'?" + +"Yas, little gal. Go ahaid. I wouldn't hole you back. I _want_ you +should have a chanst." + +"And if I win out, I want you t' come to Noo York and hear me sing. +Will y', Alec?" + +"Ev'ry night, I'll go out under the cottonwoods, by the ditch, and +I'll say, 'Gawd, bless my little gal.'" + +"I won't fergit y', Alec." + +I turned my haid away. Off west they was just a little melon-rind of +moon in the sky. As I looked, it begun to dance, kinda, and change shape. +"I'll allus be waitin'," I says, after a little, "--if it's five +years, 'r fifty, 'r the end of my life." + +"They won't never be no other man, Alec. Just you----" + +"Macie!" + +That second, we both heerd hollerin' acrosst the street. Then here come +Hairoil, runnin', and carryin' a gun. + +"Cupid," he says, pantin', "take this." (He shoved the gun into my +hand.) "Miss Macie, git outen the way. It's Hank!" + +Quick as I could, I moved to one side, so's she wouldn't be in range. + +"_Ye-e-e-oop!_" + +As Hank rounded the corner, he was staggerin' some, and wavin' his +shootin'-iron. "I'm a Texas bad man," he yelps; "I'm as ba-a-ad +as they make 'em, and tough as bull beef." Then, he went tearin' +back'ards and for'ards like he'd pull up the station platform. +"Hey!" he goes on. "I've put a _lot_ of fellers t' sleep with +they boots on! Come ahaid if you want t' git planted in my private +graveyard!" + +Next, and whilst Mace was standin' not ten feet back of him, he seen +me. He spit on his pistol hand, and started my way. + +"You blamed polecat," he hollered, "_I'll_ learn you t' shoot off +you' mouth when it ain't loaded! You' hands ain't mates and you' +feet don't track, and I'm a-goin' t' plumb lay you out!" + +I just stayed where I was. "What's in you' craw, anyhow?" I called +back. + +He didn't answer. He let fly! + +Wal, sir, I doubled up like a jack-knife, and went down kerflop. The +boys got 'round me--say! talk about you' pale-faces!--and yelled to +Hank to stop. He drawed another gun, and, just as I got t' my feet, went +backin' off, coverin' the crowd all the time, and warnin' 'em not +t' mix in. + +They didn't. But someone else did--Mace. Quick as a wink, she reached +into a buckboard fer a whip. Next, she run straight up to Hank--and give +him a _turrible_ lick! + +He dropped his pistols and put his two arms acrosst his eyes. "Mace! +don't!" he hollered. (It'd sobered him, seemed like.) Then, he turned +and took to his heels. + +That same second, I heerd a yell--Bergin's voice. Next, the sheriff come +tearin' 'round the corner and tackled Hank. The two hit the ground like +a thousand of brick. + +Mace come runnin' towards me, then. But the boys haided her off, and +wouldn't let her git clost. + +"Blood's runnin' all down this side of him," says Monkey Mike. + +Shore enough, it was! + +"Chub!" yells Buckshot, "git Billy Trowbridge!" + +"Don't you cry, ner nothin'," says Hairoil t' Mace. And whilst he +helt her back, they packed me acrosst the platform and up-stairs into one +of them rooms over the lunch-counter. And then, 'fore I could say Jack +Robinson, they hauled my coat off, put a wet towel 'round my forrid, +and put me into bed. After that, they pulled down the curtains, and +bunched t'gether on either side of my pilla. + +"Shucks!" I says. "I'm all right. Let me up, you blamed fools!" + +Just then, Monkey Mike come runnin' in with the parson, and the parson +put out a hand t' make me be still. "My _dear_ friend," he says, +"I'm _sorry_ this happened." And he was so darned worried lookin' +that I begun t' think somethin' shore _was_ wrong with me, and I laid +quiet. + +Next, the door opened and in come Mace! + +The room was so dark she couldn't see much at first. So, she stepped +closter, walkin' soft, like she didn't want to jar nobody. "Alec!" +she says tearful. + +"Macie!" + +She stooped over me. + +The boys turned they backs. + +Aw, my dear little gal! Her lips was cold, and tremblin'. + +Wal, then she turned to the bunch, speakin' awful anxious. "Is he hurt +bad?" she ast, low like. + +"Naw," I begun, "I----" + +Monkey Mike edged 'twixt me and her, puttin' one hand over my mouth so +'s I couldn't talk. "We don't know exac'ly," he answers. + +"Boys!" she says, like she was astin' 'em to fergive her; and, +"Alec!" + +Buckshot said afterwards that it _shore_ was a solemn death-bed scene. +The parson was back agin the wall, his chin on his bosom; I was chawin' +the fingers offen Mike, and the rest of the fellers was standin' +t'gether, laughin' into they hats fit t' sprain they faces. + +Billy come in then. "Doc," says Macie, "save him!" + +"I'll do all I can," promises Billy. "Let's hope he'll pull +through." + +"Aw, Alec!" says Mace, again. + +Hairoil went up to her. "Mace," he says, "they's one thing you can do +that'd be a _mighty_ big comfort t' pore Cupid." + +"What's that?" she ast, earnest as the devil. "I'll do _any_thin' +fer him." + +"Marry him, Mace," he says, "and try to nuss him back t' health +again." + +I was plumb amazed. "_Marry!_" I says. + +But 'fore I could git any more out, Mike shut off my wind! + +Dear little gal! She wasn't skittish no more: She was so tame she'd +'a' et right outen my hand. "Parson," she says, goin' towards him, +"will--will you marry Alec and me--now?" + +"Dee-lighted," says the parson, "--if he is able t' go through the +ceremony." + +"Parson," I begun, pullin' my face loose, "I want----" + +Mike give me a dig. + +I looked at him. + +He wunk--_hard_. + +And then, I tumbled! + +Fer a minute, I just laid back, faint shore enough, thinkin' what a +all-fired sucker I was. And whilst I was stretched out that-a-way, Mace +come clost and give me her hand. The parson, he took out a little black +book. + +"_Dearly beloved,_" he begun, "_we are gathered t'gether----_" + +It was then I sit up. "Parson, stop!" I says. And to Mace, "Little +gal, I ain't a-goin' t' let 'em take no advantage of you. I _wasn't_ +hit in the side. It's my arm, and it's only just creased a little." + +Mace kinda blinked, not knowin' whether t' be glad 'r not, I reckon. + +"And this hull bsuiness," I goes on, "is a trick." + +Her haid went up, and her cheeks got plumb white. Then, she begun t' +back--slow. "A trick!" she repeats; "--it's a trick! Aw, how mean! +how _mean!_ I didn't think you was like that!" + +"Me, Mace? It wasn't----" + +"A trick!" she goes on. "But I'm glad I found it out--_yas_. This +afternoon when I was talkin' to y', I wanted t' stay right here in +Briggs--I wanted t' stay with you. If you'd just said you wisht I +would; if you'd just turned over you' hand, why, I'd 'a' give up the +trip. My heart was achin' t' think I was goin'. But now, _now--_" And +she choked up. + +"Macie!" I says. "Aw, don't!" Somehow I was beginnin' t' feel +kinda dizzy and sick. + +She faced the parson. "And you was in it, too!--_you!_" she says. + +"I'd do anythin' t' keep you from goin' t' Noo York," he answers, +"and from bein' a' actress." + +She looked at Billy next. "The hull _town_ was in it!" she went on. +"_Ev'ry_body was ready t' git me fooled; t' make me the josh of the +county!" + +"No, _no,_ little gal," I answers, and got to my feet byside the bed. +"Not me, honey!" + +She only just turned and opened the door. "I don't wonder the rest +of you ain't got nothin' t' say," she says. "Why, I ain't never +_heerd_ of anythin' so--so low." And haid down, and sobbin', she went +out. + +I tried t' foller, but my laigs was sorta wobbley. I got just a step +'r two, and put a' arm on Billy's shoulder. + +The boys went out then, too, not sayin' a word, but lookin' some sneaky. + +"Bring her back," I called after 'em. "Aw, I've hurt my pore little +gal!" I started t' walk again, leanin' on the doc. "Boys!----" + +Next thing, over I flopped into Billy's arms. + + * * * * * + +When I come to, a little later on, here was Billy settin' byside me, a' +awful sober look on his face. + +"Billy," I says to him, "where is she?" + +"Cupid--don't take it hard, ole man--she's--she's gone. Boarded the +East-bound not half a' hour ago. But, pardner----" + +Gone! + +I didn't answer him. I just rolled over onto my face. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +ANOTHER SCHEME, AND HOW IT PANNED OUT + + +WAL, pore ole Sewell! _I_ wasn't feelin' dandy them days, you'd better +believe. But, Sewell, he took Macie's goin' _turrible_ bad. Whenever +he come in town, he was allus just as _qui-i-et_. Not a cheep about +the little gal; wouldn't 'a' laughed fer a nickel; and never'd go +anywheres nigh the lunch-counter. Then, he begun t' git peakeder'n the +dickens, and his eyes looked as big as saucers, and bloodshot. Pore ole +boss! + +I kept outen his way. He'd heerd all about that Shackleton business, +y' savvy, and was awful down on me; helt me _re_sponsible fer the hull +thing, and tole the boys he never wanted t' set eyes on me again. +Hairoil went to him and said I'd been jobbed, and was innocenter'n +Mary's little lamb. But Sewell wouldn't listen even, and said I'd done +him dirt. + +A-course, I couldn't go back t' my Bar Y job, then,--and me plumb crazy +t' git to work and make enough t' go to Noo York on! But I didn't do +no mournin'; I kept a stiff upper lip. "Cupid," I says to myself, +"allus remember that the gal that's hard t' ketch is the best kind +when oncet you've got her." And I sit down and writ the foreman of +the Mulhall outfit. (By now, my arm was all healed up fine.) + +Wal, when I went over to the post-office a little bit later on, the +post-master tole me that Sewell'd just got a letter from Macie!--but it +hadn't seemed t' chirp the ole man up any. And they was one fer Mrs. +Trowbridge, too, he says; did I want to look at it? + +"I don't mind," I answers. + +It was from her--I'd know her little dinky l's _anywheres_. I helt it +fer a minute--'twixt my two hands. It was like I had her fingers, kinda. +Then, "S'pose they ain't nothin' fer me t'day," I says. + +"No, Cupid,--sorry. Next time, I reckon." + +"Wal," I goes on "would you mind lettin' me take this over t' Rose?" + +"Why, no,--go ahaid." + +I went, quick as ever my laigs could carry me, the letter tucked inside +my shirt. + +Rose read it out loud t' me, whilst I helt the kid. It wasn't a long +letter, but, somehow, I never could recollect afterwards just the +exac' words that was in it. I drawed, though, that Mace was havin' +a _way_-up time. She was seein' all the shows, she said, meetin' +slathers of folks, and had a room with a nice, sorta middle-aged lady, +in a place where a lot of young fellers and gals hung out t' study all +kinds of fool business. Some of 'em she liked, and some she didn't. +Some took her fer a greeney, and some was fresh. But she was learnin' a +pile--and 'd heerd Susy's Band! + +"Is that all?" I ast when Rose was done. + +"Yas, Cupid." + +"Nothin' about me?" + +"No." + +"Does she give her _ad_dress?" + +"Just Gen'ral Deliv'ry." + +"Thank y', Rose." + +"Stay t' dinner, Cupid. I'm goin' t' have chicken fricassee." + +But I didn't feel like eatin'. I put the kid down and come away. + +I made towards Dutchy's--pretty blue, I was, a-course. "Cupid," I +says, "bad luck runs in you' fambly like the wooden laig." + +But, mind y', I wasn't goin' with the idear of boozin' up, _no,_ +ma'am. _I_ figger that if a gal's worth stewin' over any, she's a +hull lot _too_ good fer a man that gits _drunk_. I went 'cause I knowed +the boys was there; and them days the boys was _mighty_ nice to me. + +Wal, this day, I'm powerful glad I went. If I hadn't, it's likely I'd +never 'a' got that bully _po_-sition, 'r played Cupid again (without +knowin' it)--and so got the one chanst I was a-prayin' fer. + +Now, this is what happened: + +I'd just got inside Dutchy's, and was a-standin' behind Buckshot +Milliken, watchin' him bluff the station-agent with two little pair, +when I heerd Hairoil a-talkin' to hisself, kinda. "Dear me suz!" he +says (he was peerin' acrosst the street towards the deepot), "what +blamed funny things I see when I ain't got no gun!" + +A-course, we all stampeded over and took a squint. "Wal, when did _that_ +blow in?" says Bill Rawson. And, "Say! ketch me whilst I faint!" +goes on one of the Lazy X boys, making believe as if he was weak in +the laigs. The rest of just haw-hawed. + +A young feller we'd never seen afore was comin' cater-corners from the +station. He was a slim-Jim, sorta salla complected, jaw clean scraped, +and he had on a pair of them tony pinchbug spectacles. He was rigged +out fit t' kill--grey store clothes, dicer same colour as the suit, +sky-blue shirt, socks tatooed green, and gloves. He passed clost, not +lookin' our _di_rection, and made fer the Arnaz rest'rant. + +Just as he got right in front of it, he come short and begun readin' +the sign that's over the door-- + + Meals 25c + Start in and It's a Habit + You cain't Quit. + +Then we seen him grin like he was _turrible_ tickled, and take out a +piece of paper t' set somethin' down. Next, in he slides. + +We all dropped back and lined up again. + +"Not a sewin'-machine agent, 'r he'd 'a' wore a duster," says +Hairoil. + +"And a patent medicine man would 'a' had on a stove-pipe," adds +Bergin. + +"Maype he iss a preacher," puts in Dutchy, lookin' scairt as the +dickens. + +"Nixey," I says. "But if he was a drummer, he'd 'a' steered +straight fer a thirst-parlour." + +Missed it a mile--the hull of us. Minute, and in run Sam Barnes, face +redder'n a danger-signal. + +"Boys," he says, all up in the air, "did y' see It? Wal, what d' +you think? It's from Boston, and It writes. I was at the Arnaz feed +shop, gassin' Carlota, when It shassayed in. Said It was down here fer +the first time in a-a-all Its life, and figgers t' work this town fer +book mawterial. Gents, It's a liter'toor sharp!" + +"Of all the _gall!_" growls Chub Flannagan, gittin' hot. "Goin' t' +take a shy outen us!" And I seen that some of the other boys felt like +_he_ did. + +Buckshot Milliken spit in his hands. "I'll go over," he says, "and +just natu'lly settle that dude's hash. I'd _admire_ t' do it." + +I haided him off quick. Then I faced the bunch. "Gents," I begun, +"ain't you just a little bit hasty? Now, don't git in a sweat. +_Con_-sider this subject a little 'fore you act. Sam, I thought you +_liked_ t' read liter'toor books." + +Sam hauled out "Stealthy Steve"--a fav'-rite of hisn. "Shore I do," +he answers. "But, as I tole this Boston feller, no liter'toor's been +happenin' in Briggs lately--no killin's, 'r train hole-ups." + +"_That's_ right, Sam," I says, sarcastic; "go and switch him over +t' Goldstone,--when they won't be another book writer stray down this +way fer a coon's age. Say! You got a haid like a tack!" + +Sam dried up. I come back at the boys. "Gents," I _con_tinues, "don't +you see this is Briggs City's one big chanst?--the chanst t' git +put in red letters on the railroad maps! T' git five square mile of +this mesquite staked out into town lots! You all know how we've had t' +take the slack of them jay-hawk farmers over Cestos way; and they ain't +such a _much,_ and cain't raise nothin' but shin-oak and peanuts and +chiggers. But they tell how _we_ git all the cyclones and rattlesnakes. + +"Now, we'll curl they hair. Listen, gents,--Oklahomaw City's got +element streets, Guthrie's got a Carniggie lib'rary, and Bliss's +got the Hunderd-One Ranch. _And we're a-goin' t' cabbage this book!_" + +"Wal, that's a hoss of another colour," admits Chub. + +"Yas," says Buckshot, "Cupid's right. We certainly got to attend to +this visitor that's come to our enterprisin' city, and give him a fair +shake." + +"_But,_" puts in Sam, "we're up a tree. Where's his mawterial?" + +"Mawterial," I says, "--I don't just savvy what he means by that. +But, boys, whatever it is, we got t' see that he _gits_ it. Now, +s'posin' I go find him, and sorta feel 'round a little, and draw +him out." + +They was agreed, and I split fer the rest'rant. Boston was there, all +right, talkin' to ole lady Arnaz (but keepin' a' eye peeled towards +Carlota), and pickin' the shucks offen a tamale. I sit down and ast fer +flapjacks. And whilst I was waitin' I sized him up. + +Clost to, I liked his looks. And from the jump, I seen one thing--they +wasn't _no_ showin' off to him, and no extra dawg ('r he wouldn't +'a' come to a joint where meals is only two-bits). He was a +book-writer, but when he talked he didn't use no ten-dollar-a-dozen +words. And, in place of seegars, he smoked cigareets--and rolled 'em +hisself with _one_ hand, by jingo! + +Wal, we had a nice, long parley-voo, me gittin' the hull sittywaytion +as _re_gards his book, and tellin' him we'd shore lay ourselves out +t' help him--if we didn't, it wouldn't be white; him, settin' down +things ev'ry oncet in a while, 'r whittlin' a stick with one of them +self-cockin' jackknives. + +We chinned fer the best part of a' hour. Then, he made me a proposition. +This was it: "Mister Lloyd," he says, "I'd like t' have you with +me all the time I'm down here,--that'll be three weeks, anyhow. You +could _ex_plain things, and--and be a kinda bodyguard." + +"Why, my friend," I says, "_you_ don't need no bodyguard in +Oklahomaw. But I'll be glad t' _ex_plain anythin' I can." + +"Course, I want t' pay you," he goes on; "'cause I'd be takin' +you' time----" + +"I couldn't take no pay," I breaks in. "And if I was t' have to go, +why any one of the bunch could help you just as good." + +"Let's talk business," he says. "I like you, and I don't _want_ you +t' go. Now, what's you' time worth?" + +"I git forty a month." + +"Wal, that suits me. And you' job won't be a hard one." + +"Just as you say." + +So, then, we shook hands. But, a-course, I didn't swaller that bodyguard +story,--I figgered that what he wanted was t' git in with the boys +through me. + +Wal, when I got back t' the thirst-parlour, I acted like I was loco. +"Boys! boys! _boys!_" I hollered, "I got a job!" And I give 'em all +a whack on the back, and I done a jig. + +Pretty soon, I was calmer. Then, I says, "I ain't a-goin' t' ride fer +Mulhall,--not _this_ month, anyhow. This liter'toor gent's hired me +as his book foreman. As I understand it, they's some things he wants, +and I'm to help corral 'em. He says that just now most folks seem +t' be takin' a lot of interest in the West. He don't reckon the +fashion'll keep up, but, a-course a book-writer has t' git on to the +band-wagon. So, it's up t' me, boys, to give him what's got to be +had 'fore the _ex_citement dies down." + +Hairoil come over t' me. "Cupid," he says, "the hull kit and boodle +of us'll come in on this. We want t' help, that's the reason. We _owe_ +it to y', Cupid." + +"Boys," I answers, "I appreciate what you mean, and I _ac_cept you' +offer. Thank y'." + +"What does this feller want?" ast Sam. + +"Wal," I says, "he spoke a good bit about colour----" + +"They's shore colour at the Arnaz feed shop," puts in Monkey Mike; +"--them strings of red peppers that the ole lady keeps hung on the +walls. And we can git blue shirts over to Silverstein's." + +"No, Mike," I says, "that ain't the idear. Colour is _Briggs,_ and +_us._" + +"Aw, punk!" says Sam. "What kind of a book is it goin' t' be, +anyhow, with us punchers in it!" + +"Wait till you hear what I got t' _do,_" I answers. "To _con_tinue: +He mentioned char_ac_ters. Course, I had to _ad_mit we're kinda shy on +_them._" + +"Wisht we had a few Injuns," says Hairoil. "A scalpin' makes _mighty_ +fine readin'. Now, mebbe, 'Pache Sam'd pass,--if he was lickered up +proper." + +"Funny," I says, "but he didn't bring up Injuns. Reckon they ain't +stylish no more. But he put it plain that he'd got to have a bad man. +Said in a Western book you _allus_ got t' have a bad man." + +"Since we strung up them two Foster boys." says Bergin, "Briggs +ain't had what you'd call a bad man. In view of this writin' feller +comin', I don't know, gents, but what we was a little _hasty_ in +the Foster matter." + +"Wal," I says, "we got t' do our best with what's left. This +findin' mawterial fer a book ain't no dead open-and-shut proposition. +'Cause Briggs ain't big, and it ain't what you'd call bad. That'll +hole us back. But let's dig in and make up fer what's lackin'." + +Wal, we rustled 'round. First off, we togged ourselves out the way +punchers allus look in magazines. (I knowed that was how he wanted +us.) We rounded up all the shaps in town, with orders to wear 'em +constant--and made Dutchy keep 'em on, too! Then, guns: Each of us +carried six, kinda like a front fringe, y' savvy. Next, one of the boys +loped out t' the Lazy X and brung in a young college feller that'd +come t' Oklahomaw a while back fer his health. It 'pears that he'd +been readin' a Western book that was writ by a' Eastern gent somewheres +in Noo Jersey. And, say! he was the wildest lookin' cow-punch that's +ever been saw in these parts! + +We'd no more'n got all fixed up nice when, "Ssh!" says Buckshot, +"here he comes!" + +"Quick, boys!" I says, "we got t' sing. It's expected." + +The sheriff, he struck up---- + + "Paddy went to the Chinaman with only one shirt. + How's that?" + +"_That's tough!_" we hollers, loud enough to lift the shakes. + + "He lost of his ticket, says, 'Divvil the worse', + How's that?" + +"_That's tough!_" + +Mister Boston stopped byside the door. The sheriff goes on---- + + "Aw, Pat fer his shirt, he begged hard and plead, + But, 'No tickee, no washee', the Chinaman said. + Now Paddy's in jail, and the Chinaman's dead! + How's that?" + +"_That's tough!_" + +It brung him. He looked in, kinda edged through the door, took a bench, +and _sur_veyed them shaps, and them guns till his eyes plumb _pro_truded. +"Rippin'!" I heerd him say. + +"'That's tough,'" repeats Monkey Mike, winkin' to the boys. "Wal, +I should _re_mark it was!--to go t' jail just fer pluggin' a Chink. +Irish must 'a' felt like two-bits." + +Boston lent over towards me. "What's two bits?" he ast. + +"What's two bits," says Rawson. "Don't you know? Wal, _one_ bit is +what you can take outen the other feller's hide at one mouthful. _Two_ +bits, a-course, is two of 'em." + +"And," says that college feller from the Lazy X, "go fer the cheek +allus--the best eatin'." (He was smart, all right.) + +"Not a Chinaman's cheek--too tough," says the sheriff. + +Boston begun to kinda talk to hisself. "Horrible!" he says. "Shy +Locks, by Heaven!" Then to me again, speakin' low and pointin' at the +sheriff, "Mister Lloyd, what kind of a fambly did that man come from?" + +"Don't know a hull lot about him," I answers, "but his mother was +a squaw, and his father was found on a doorstep." + +"A _squaw,_" he says. "That accounts fer it." And he begun to watch +the sheriff clost. + +"Gents, what you want fer you' supper?" ast the Arnaz boy, comin' +our _di_rection. + +"I feel awful caved in," answers Buckshot. "I'll take a dozen aigs." + +"How'll you have 'em?" + +"Boil 'em hard, so's I can hole 'em in my fingers. And say, cool 'em +off 'fore you dish 'em up. I got blistered _bad_ the last time I et +aigs." + +"Rawson, what'll _you_ have?" + +Rawson, he kinda cocked one ear. "Wal," he says, easy like, "give me +rattlesnake on toast." + +Nobody cheeped fer a minute, 'cause the boys was stumped fer somethin' +to go on with. But just as I was gittin' nervous that the conversation +was peterin' out, Boston speaks up. + +"Rattlesnake?" he says; "did he say _rattlesnake?_" + +Like a shot, Rawson turned towards him, wrinklin' his forrid and +wigglin' his moustache awful fierce. "_That's_ what I said," he +answers, voice plumb down to his number 'levens. + +It give me my show. I drug Boston away. "Gee!" I says, "on _this_ side +of the Mississippi, you got to be _keerful_ how you go shoot off you' +mouth! And when you _re_mark on folks's eatin', you don't want t' +look tickled." + +Wal, that was all the colour he got till night, when I had somethin' +more _pre_pared. We took up a collection fer winda-glass, and Chub +Flannagan, who can roll a gun the _prettiest_ you ever seen, walked up +and down nigh Boston's stoppin'-place, invitin' the fellers t' come +out and "git et up," makin' one 'r two of us dance the heel-and-toe +when we showed ourselves, and shootin' up the town gen'ally. + +Then, fer a week, nothin' happened. + +It was just about then that Rose got another letter from Macie. And it +seemed t' me that the little gal 'd changed her tune some. She said +Noo York took a _turrible_ lot of money--clothes, and grub, and so forth +and so on. Said they was so blamed little oxygen in the town that a lamp +wouldn't burn, and they'd got to use 'lectricity. And--that was all +fer _this_ time, 'cause she had t' write her paw. + +"I s'pose," I says to Rose, "that it'd be wastin' my breath t' +ast----" + +"Yas, Cupid," she answers, "but it'll be O. K. when she sees you." + +"_I_ reckon," I says hopeful. And I hunted up my new boss. + +He didn't give me such a lot t' do them days--except t' show up at the +feed-shop three times reg'lar. That struck me as kinda funny--'cause +he was as flush as a' Osage chief. + +"Why don't you grub over to the eatin'-house oncet in a while?" I +ast him. "They got all _kinds_ of tony things--tomatoes and cucumbers +and as-paragrass, and them little toadstool things." + +"And out here in the desert!" says Boston. "I s'pose they bring 'em +from other places." + +"Not on you' life!" I answers. "They grow 'em right here--in flower +pots." + +Out come a pencil. "How pictureskew!" Boston says,--and put it down. + +End of that first week, when I stopped in at the Arnaz place fer supper, +I says to him, "Wal," I says, "book about done?" + +He was layin' back lazy in a chair,--_as_ usual--watchin' Carlota trot +the crock'ry in. He batted his eyes. "Done!" he repeats. "_No_. +Why, I ain't got only a few notes." + +"Notes?" I says; "notes?" I was _turrible_ disappointed. (I reckon I +was worryin' over the book worse'n _he_ was.) "Why, say, couldn't +you make nothin' outen that bad man who was a-paintin' the town the +other night?" + +"Just a bad man don't make a book," says Boston; "leastways, only +a yalla-back. But take a bad man, and a _gal,_ and you git a story of +_ad_-venture." + +A gal. Yas, you need a gal fer a book. And you need _the_ gal if you want +t' be right happy. I knowed that. Pretty soon, I ast, "Have you picked +on a gal?" + +"Here's Carlota," he says. "_She'd_ make a figger fer a book." + +Carlota!--the little skeezicks! Y' see, she's _aw-ful_ pretty. Hair +blacker'n a stack of black cats. Black eyes, too,--big and friendly +lookin'. (That's where you git fooled--Carlota's a blend of tiger-cat +and bronc; she can purr 'r pitch--take you' choice.) Her face is just +snow white, with a little bit of pink--now y' see it, now y' don't +see it--on her cheeks, and a little spot of blazin' red fer a mouth. + +"But what I'm after most now," he goes on, "is a plot." + +A plot, y' savvy, is a story, and I got him the best I could find. This +was Buckshot's: + +"Boston, this is a _blamed_ enterprisin' country,--almost _any_ ole +thing can happen out here. Did you ever hear tell how Nick Erickson +got his stone fence? No? You could put _that_ in a book. Wal, you +know, Erickson lives east of here. Nice hunderd and sixty acres he's +got--level, no stones. Wanted t' fence it. Couldn't buy lumber 'r +wire. Figgered on haulin' stone, only stone was so blamed far t' +haul. Then,--Nature was accommodatin'. Come a' earthquake that shook +and shook the ranch. Shook all the stones to the top. Erickson picked +'em up--and built the fence." + +But Boston was hard t' satisfy. So I tried to tell him about Rose and +Billy. + +"No," he says; "if they's _one_ thing them printin' fellers won't +stand fer it's a hero_ine_ that's hitched." + +So, then, I branched off on to pore Bud Hickok. + +"No," says Boston, again; "_that_ won't do. It's got to end up +happy." + +Wal, it looked as if that book was goin' fluey. To make things worse, +the boys begun kickin' about havin' t' pack so many guns. And I had +to git up a notice, signed by the sheriff, which said that more'n two +shootin'-irons on any one man wouldn't be 'lowed no more, and that +cityzens was t' "shed forthwith." + +I seen somethin' had got t' be done pronto. "Cupid," I says to +myself, "you _must con_sider that there book of Boston's some more. +'Pears that Boston ain't gittin' all he come after. Nothin' ain't +happenin' that he can put into a book. Wal, it's _got_ t' happen. +Just chaw on _that._" + +Next, I hunted up the boys. "Gents," I says to 'em, "help me find a +bad man that'll fit into a story with a gal." + +"Gal?" they repeats. + +"Yas; every book has got t' have a gal." + +"I s'pose," says Rawson. "Just like ev'ry herd had got t' have a +case of staggers. But--who's the gal?" + +The boys all lent towards me, fly-traps wide open. + +"Carlota Arnaz," I answers. + +Some looked plumb eased in they minds--and some didn't. Carlota, she's +ace-high with quite a bunch--all ready t' snub her up and marry her. + +"The Senorita'll do," says Rawson. "She gen'ally makes out t' keep +_some_ man mis'rable." + +And fer the bad man, we picked out Pedro Garcia, the cholo that was mixed +up in that mete'rite business. Drunk 'r sober, fer a hard-looker Pedro +shore fills the bill. + +Next, we hunted ev'ry which way fer a plot. "I'll tell y'," says +Californy Jim, that ole prospector that hangs 'round here; "if the +lit'rary lead has pinched out, why don't you _salt_--_and pretend to +make a strike?_" + +Hairoil pricked up his ears. "Wouldn't that be somethin' like a--a +scheme?" he ast; "somethin' like that we planned out fer Cupid here?" + +"Yas." + +The hull bunch got plumb pale. Then they made fer the door., + +"Wait, boys!" I hollered. "_Hole_ on! Remember this is a scheme +that's been _ast_ fer." + +They stopped. + +"And," I says, "it looks pretty good t' _me._" + +They turned back--shakin' they haids, though. "Just as you say, +Cupid," says Rawson. And, "Long's it's fer _you,_" adds the sheriff. +"But schemes is some dangerous." + +"I'll tell y'!" begins Sam Barnes. "We'll hole up the dust wagon +from the Little Rattlesnake Mine, all of us got up like Jesse James!" + +Bill Rawson jumped nigh four feet. "You go soak you' haid!" he +begun, mad's a hornet. "Hole up the dust wagon! And whichever of us +mule-skinners happens t' be bringin' it in'll git the G. B. from +that high-falutin' gent in the States that owns the shootin'-match. +No, _ma'am!_ And if _that's_ the kind of plot you-all 're hankerin' +after, you can just count me _outen_ this hawg-tyin'!" + +"That's right--sic 'em, Towser; git t' fightin'," I says. "Now, +Bill, _work_ you' hole-back straps. I cain't say as Sam's plan hit +the right spot with me, neither. 'Cause how could _Carlota_ figger in +that pow-wow? Won't do." + +Wal, after some more pullin' and haulin', we fixed it up this way: +Pedro'd grab Carlota and take her away on a hoss whilst Boston and the +passel of us was in the Arnaz place. He was t' hike north, and drop +her at the Johnson shack on the edge of town--then go on, takin' a dummy +in her place, and totin' a brace of guns filled with blanks. We'd +foller with plenty of blanks, too--and Boston. How's that fer high! + +If you want to ast me, I think the hull idear was just _O. K.,_ and +no mistake. Beautiful gal kidnapped--bra-a-ave posse of punchers--hard +ride--hot fight--rescue of a pilla stuffed with the best alfalfa on +the market. _Pro_cession files back, all sand and smiles. + +"Why," I says to Bergin, "them Eastern printin' fellers'll set 'em +up fer Boston so fast that he'll plumb float." + +And the sheriff agreed. + +But it couldn't happen straight off. Pedro had t' be tole about it, and +give his orders. Carlota, the same. I managed this part of the shindig, +the boys gittin' the blanks, the hosses and the hay lady. + +Wal, I rode down to the section-house and ast fer Pedro. He come out, +about ten pounds of railroad ballast--more 'r less--spread on to them +features of hisn. (_That_'d 'a' been colour fer Boston, all right.) I +tole him what we was goin' t' do, _why_ we was a-doin' it, and laid +out _his_ share of the job. Then I tacked on that the gal he'd steal +was Carlota. + +Now, as I think about it, I _re_call that he looked _mighty_ tickled. +Grinned all over and said, "Me gusta mucho" more'n a dozen times. +But _then_ I didn't pay no 'tention to how he acted. I was so glad +he'd fall in with me. (The Ole Nick take the greasers! A' out-and-out, +low-down lot of sneakin' coyotes, anyhow! And I might 'a' _knowed_----) + +"Pedro," I says, "they's no rush about this. We'll kinda work it up +slow. T' make the hull thing seem dead real, you come to town ev'ry +evenin' fer a while, and hang 'round the rest'rant. Spend a little +spondulix with the ole woman so's she won't kick you out, and shine +up t' Carlota when Boston's on the premises. Ketch on?" + +Pedro said he did, and I loped back to town t' meet up with Carlota and +have it out with her--and that was a job fer a caution! + +Carlota was all bronc that day--stubborn, pawin', and takin' the bit. +And if I kept up with her, and come out in the lead, it was 'cause +I'd had some _ex_perience with Macie, and I'd learned when t' leave a +rambunctious young lady have her haid. + +"Carlota," I says, "us fellers has fixed up a mighty nice scheme t' +help out Boston with that book he's goin' to write." + +"So?" She was all awake--quicker'n scat. + +"Yas," I goes on. "Y' know, he's been wantin' somethin' +_ex_citin' t' put in it. We figger t' give it to him." + +"Como?" she ast. + +"With a case of kidnappin'. Man steals gal--we foller with Boston--lots +of shootin'--save the gal----" + +"What gal?" + +"It's a big honour--and we choosed you." + +"So-o-o!" + +Say! that hit her right, _I_ tell y'! But I had to go put my foot in it, +a-course. "Yas, _you,_" I goes on. "Mebbe you noticed Boston's here +pretty frequent?" + +"Si! si! si! senor!" + +"That's 'cause he's been studyin' you--so's he could use you fer +a book char_ac_ter." + +"So!" she said. "_That_ is it! _that_ is why!" Mad? Golly! Them black +eyes of hern just snapped, and she grabbed a hunk of bread and begun +knifin' it. + +"Wal," I says, "you don't seem t' ketch on to the fact that you +been handed out a blamed big compliment. A person in a _book_ is _some +potatoes._" + +"No! _no!_ senor!" + +Pride hurt, I says to myself. "Now, Carlota," I begun, "don't cut +off you' nose t' spite you' face. Pedro Garcia is turrible tickled +that we ast _him._" + +"Pedro--puf!" + +"In the book," I goes on, "he's the bad man that loves you so much +he cain't help stealin' you." + +"I _hate_ Pedro," she says. "He is like that--bad." + +"But we ain't astin' you t' _like_ him, and he don't _git_ you. He +drops you off at Johnson's and takes a dummy the rest of the way. We +want t' make Boston _think_ they's danger." + +"So?" All of a suddent, she didn't seem nigh as mad--and she looked +like she'd just thought of somethin'. + +I seen my chanst. "That was the way we fixed it up," I goes on. +"A-course, now you don't want t' be the hero_ine,_ I'll ast one +of the eatin'-house gals. I reckon _they_ won't turn me down." And I +moseyed towards the door. + +"Cupid," she calls, "come back. You say, he will think another man +loves me so much that he carries me away?" + +"You got it," I answers. + +She showed them little nippers of hern. "Good!" she says. "I do it!" + +"But, Carlota, listen. Boston ain't to be next that this is a put-up +job. He's to think it's genuwine. Savvy? And he'll git all the +feelin's of a real kidnap. Now, to fool him right, you got to do one +thing: Be nice t' Pedro when Boston's 'round." + +Little nippers again. "I do it," she says. + +I started t' go, but she called me back. "He will think another man +loves me so much that he carries me away?" she repeats. + +"_Shore,_" I says. And she let me go. + +Y' know, _flirtin'_ was Carlota's strong suit. And that very +evenin' I seen her talkin' acrosst the counter to Pedro sweeter'n +panocha,--with a takin' smile on the south end of that cute little +face of hern. But her _eyes_ wasn't smilin'--and a Spanish gal's +eyes don't lie. + +But supper was late, and Boston and me was at a table clost by,--him +lookin' ugly tempered. So ole lady Arnaz tole Carlota t' jar loose. And +pretty soon we was wrastlin' our corn-beef, and Pedro was gone. + +Rawson sit down nigh us. "Cupid," he says solemn, "reckon we won't +git to play that game of draw t'-night." And he give my foot a kick. + +"Why?" I ast. + +"Account of Pedro bein' in town. I figger t' stay clost to the +bunk-house." + +"So 'll _I_," I says, and begun examinin' my shootin'-iron mighty +anxious. + +"Who's this Pedro?" ast Boston. + +"Didn't y' see him?" I says. "He's a greaser, and a' awful bad +cuss t' monkey with. If you happen t' go past him and so much as wiggle +a finger, it's like takin' you' life in you' hands. Look at this." +And I showed him a piece that me and Hairoil 'd fixed up fer the last +_EyeOpener_. + +"_Pedro Garcia,_" it read, "_was found not guilty by Judge Freeman fer +perforatin' Nick Trotmann's sombrero in a street row last Saturday +night week. Proved that Nick got into Pedro's way and sassed him. Pedro +'d come to town consider'ble the worse fer booze and, as is allus +the case_--" Then they was a inch 'r two without no writin'. Under +that was this: "_As a matter of extreme precaution, we have lifted the +last half of the above article, havin' got word that Garcia is due +in town again. Subscribers will please excuse the gap. I didn't git no +time t' fill it in. Editor._" + +"And what's he doin' in _here?_" says Boston, "--talkin' to a young +gal!" + +"Half cracked about her," puts in Bill. "And if she won't have him, +'r her maw interferes, I'm feared they'll be a tragedy." + +"Low ruffian!" says Boston. + +Later on, about ten o'clock, say, I was passin' the rest'rant, and +I heerd a man singin'---- + + "Luz de mi alma! + Luz de mi vida!" + +and that somethin' was "despedosin'" his heart. (I savvy the lingo +pretty good.) + +Wal, it was that dog-goned cholo,--under Carlota's winda, and he had a +guitar. Thunderation! that wasn't in our pro_gram!_ + +"Say, you!" I hollered. + +He shut up and come over, lookin' kinda as if he'd been ketched +stealin' sheep, but grinnin' so hard his eyes was plumb closed--the +mean, little, wall-eyed, bow-laigged swine! + +"Pedro," I says, "you' boss likely wants you. Hit the ties." +'Cause, mebbe Carlota 'd git mad at his yelpin,' and knock the hull +scheme galley-west. + +Talk about you' cheek! Next night, that greaser and his guitar was +doin' business at the ole stand. I let him alone. Carlota seemed t' +like it. Anyhow, she didn't hand him out no hot soap suds through the +winda, 'r no chairs and tables. + +I was glad things was goin' so nice. 'Cause lately I'd had t' worry +about Mace a good deal. Her letters had eased up a hull lot. Seems she'd +been under the weather fer a few days. + +When she writ again though, she said she was O. K., but a-course Noo York +_was_ lonesome when a person was sick. Op'ra prospects? Aw, they was +_fine!_ + +Next thing, I was nervouser'n a cow with the heel-fly. _No_ letters +come from the little gal!--leastways, none to Rose. And ev'ry day ole +man Sewell snooped 'round the post-office, lookin' more and more down +in the mouth. + +"How's Mace?" Rawson ast him oncet. + +"Tol'rable," he answers, glum as all git out. + +That kidnappin' was fixed on fer Saturday. We didn't tell Carlota +that was the day. Her maw might git wind of the job; 'r the gal 'd go +dress up, which 'd spoil the real look of the hull thing. Then, on +a Saturday, after five, Pedro was free to come in town--and most allus +showed up with some more of the cholos, pumpin' a hand-car. + +This Saturday he come, all right, and went over to Sparks's corral fer a +couple of hosses. (Us punchers 'd tied our broncs over in the corral +too, so's we'd have to run fer 'em when Pedro lit out with the gal. +And I'd picked that strawberry roan of Sparks's fer Boston. It was +the fastest critter on four laigs in the hull country. Y' see, I wanted +Boston t' lead the posse.) + +Six o'clock was the time named. It 'd give us more 'n two hours of day +fer the chase, and then they'd be a nice long stretch of dusk--just the +kind of light fer circlin' a' outlaw and capturin' him, dead 'r alive! + +Wal, just afore the battle, mother, all us cow-punchers happened into the +Arnaz place. And a-course, Boston was there. Me and him was settin' +'way back towards the kitchen-end of the room. Pretty soon, we seen +Pedro pass the front winda, ridin' a hoss and leadin' another. His +loaded quirt was a-hangin' to his one wrist, and on his right laig +was the gun filled with blanks that we'd left at Sparks's fer him. +He stopped at the far corner of the house, droppin' the bridle over +the broncs' haids so they'd stand. Then he came to the side door, +opened it about a' inch, peeked in at Carlota,--she was behind the +counter--and whistled. + +She walked straight over to him, smilin'--the little cut-up!--and outen +the door! Fer a minute, no sound. Then, the signal--a screech. + +That screech was so blamed genuwine I almost fergot to stick out my laig +and trip Boston as he come by me. Down he sprawled, them spectacles of +hisn flyin' off and bustin' to smithereens. The boys bunched at the +doors t' cut off the Arnaz boy and the ole lady. Past 'em, I could see +them two broncs, with Pedro and Carlota aboard, makin' quick tracks +up the street. + +"Alas! yon villain has stole her!" says Sam Barnes, throwin' up his +arms like they do in one of them the_ay_ter plays. + +"Come," yells Rawson. "We will foller and sa-a-ave her." Then he +split fer the corral,--us after him. + +When we got to it, we found somethin' funny: Our hosses was saddled and +bridled all right--_but ev'ry cinch was cut!_ + +Wal, you could 'a' knocked me down with a feather! + +That same minute, up come Hank Shackleton on a dead run. "Boys!" he +says, "that greaser was half shot when he hit town. Got six more jolts +at Dutchy's." + +Fast as we could, we got some other saddles and clumb on--Bill and +Sam and me and Shackleton, Monkey Mike, Buckshot Milliken and the +sheriff--and made fer Hairoil's shack. + +_No Carlota_--but that blamed straw feemale, keeled over woeful, and a +cow eatin' her hair. + +Shiverin' snakes! but we was a sick-lookin' bunch! + +But we didn't lose no time. A good way ahaid, some dust was travellin'. +We spurred towards it, cussin' ourselves, wonderin' why Carlota +didn't turn her hoss, 'r stop, 'r jump, 'r put up one of her +tiger-cat fights. + +"What's his idear?" says Monkey Mike. "Where's he takin' her?" + +"Bee line fer the reservation," says Buckshot. + +"Spanish church there. Makin' her _e_lope." + +"Wo-o-ow!" It was Sheriff Bergin. We'd got beyond the Bar Y +ranch-house, and 'd gone down a slope into a kinda draw, like, and +then up the far side. This 'd brung us out on to pretty high ground, +and we could see, about a mile off, two hosses gallopin' side by +side. "The gal's bronc is lame!" says the sheriff. "And Pedro's +lickin' it. We _got_ him! Pull you' guns." + +_Guns_. I got weaker'n a cat. And, all at the same time, the other +fellers remembered--and _such_ a howl. We had guns, _a-course_--_but +they was filled with blanks!_ + +We slacked a little. + +"Is that greaser loaded?" ast Bergin. + +"Give him blanks myself," says Bill. + +Ahaid again, faster 'n ever. Carlota's hoss was shore givin' +out--goin' on three feet, in little jumps like a jackrabbit. Pedro +wasn't able t' git her on to _his_ bronc, 'r else he was feard the +critter wouldn't carry double. Anyhow, he was behind her, everlastin'ly +usin' his quirt--and losin' ground. + +Pretty soon, we was so nigh we made out t' hear him. And when he looked +back, we seen his face was white, fer all he's a greaser. Then, of a +suddent, he come short, half wheeled, waited till we was closter, and +fired. + +Somethin' whistled 'twixt me and the sheriff--_ping-ng-ng!_ It was +lead, all right! + +And just then, whilst he was pullin' t' right and left, scatterin' +quick, but shootin' off blanks (we was so _ex_cited), that strawberry +roan of Sparks's come past us like a streak of lightnin'. And on her, +with his dicer gone, no glasses, a ca'tridge-belt 'round his neck, and +a pistol in one hand, was Boston! + +"Hi, you fool," yells the sheriff, "You'll git killed!" + +(Tire Pedro out and then draw his fire was the best plan, y' savvy.) + +Boston didn't answer--kept right on. + +But the run was up. Pedro 'd reached that ole dobe house that Clay +Peters lived in oncet, pulled the door open, and makin' Carlota lay +flat on her saddle (_she was tied on!_) druv in her hoss. Then, he begun +t' lead in hisn--when Boston brung up his hand and let her go--bang. + +Say! that greaser got a surprise. He give a yell, and drawed back, +lettin' go his hoss. Then, he shut the door to, and we seen his weasel +face at the winda. + +Boston's gun come up again. + +"Look out," I hollered. "You'll hurt the gal." + +He didn't shoot then, but just kept goin'. Pedro fired and missed. +Next minute, Boston was outen range on the side of the house where they +wasn't no winda, and offen his hoss; and the cholo was poppin' at us +as we come on, and yellin' like he was luny. + +But Boston, it seems, could hear Carlota sobbin' and cryin' and +prayin'. And it got in to his collar. So darned if he didn't run +right 'round to that winda and smash it in! + +Pedro shot at him, missed; shot again, still yellin' bloody murder. + +Boston wasn't doin' no yellin'. He was actin' like a blamed +jack-in-the-box. Stand up, fire through the winda, duck--stand up, +duck---- + +He got it. Stayed up a second too long oncet--then tumbled back'ards, +kinda half runnin' as he goes down, and laid quiet. + +Pedro didn't lean out t' finish him; didn't even take a shot at us +as we pulled up byside him and got off. + +But the gal was callin' to us. I picked up Boston's gun and looked in. + +Pedro was on the dirt floor, holdin' his right hand with his left. (No +more shovelin' fer _him_.) + +Wal, we opened the door, led Carlota's hoss out, set the little gal +loose, and lifted her down. + +At first, she didn't say nothin'--just looked to where Boston was. Then +she found her feet and went towards him, totterin' unsteady. + +"Querido!" she calls; "querido!" + +Boston heerd her, and begun crawlin' t' meet her. "All right, +sweetheart," he says, "--all right. I ain't hurt much." + +Then they kissed--and we got _another_ surprise party! + + * * * * * + +That night, as I was a-settin' on a truck at the deepot, thinkin' to +myself, and watchin' acrosst the tracks to the mesquite, here come +Boston 'round the corner, and he set down byside me. + +"Wal, Cupid?" he says, takin' holt of my arm. + +"Boston," I begun. "I--I reckon _you_ don't need me no more." + +"No," says Boston, "I don't. And I want t' square with y'. Now, +the boys say you're plannin' t' go to Noo York later on--t' take the +town t' pieces and see what's the matter with it, eh?" And he dug me +in the ribs. + +"Wal," I answers, "I've _talked_ about it--some." + +"It's a good idear," he goes on. "But about my bill--I hope you'll +think a hunderd and fifty is fair, fer these three weeks." + +"Boston!" I got kinda weak all to oncet. "I cain't take it. It +wasn't worth that." + +"I got a plot," he says, "and colour, and a bad man, and"--smilin' +awful happy--"a gal. So you get you' trip right away. And don't you +come back _alone._" + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +A ROUND-UP IN CENTRAL PARK + + +The boys was a-settin' 'long the edge of the freight platform, +Bergin at the one end of the line, Hairoil at the other, and all of +'em either a-chawin' 'r a-smokin'. I was down in front, doin' a +promynade back'ards and for'ards, (I was itchin' so to git started) +and keepin' one eye peeled through the dark towards the southwest--fer +the haidlight of ole 202. + +"And, Cupid," Sam Barnes was sayin', "you'll find a quart of +tanglefoot in that satchel of yourn. Now, you might go eat somethin' +that wouldn't agree with you in one of them Eye-talian rest'rants. Wal, +a swaller of that firewater 'll straighten you out pronto." + +"Sam, that shore _is_ thoughtful. Use my bronc whenever you want +to--she's over in Sparks's corral. Allus speak t' her 'fore you go +up to her, though. She's some skittish." + +"And keep you' money in you' boot-laig," begun the sheriff. "I've +heerd that in Noo York they's a hull lot of people that plumb wear +theyselves out figgerin' how t' git holt of cash without workin' +fer it." + +"We'll miss y' _turrible,_ Cupid," breaks in Hairoil. "I don't +hardly know what Briggs 'll do with you gone. Somehow you allus manage +t' keep the _ex_citement up." + +"But if things don't go good in Noo York," adds Hank Shackleton, +"why, just holler." + +"Thank y', Hank,--thank y'." + +A little spot was comin' and goin' 'way down the track. The bunch +looked that _di_rection silent. Pretty soon, we heerd a rumblin', and +the spot got bigger, and steady. + +The boys got down offen the platform and we moseyed over t' where the +end car allus stopped. + +_Too-oo-oot!_ + +Shackleton reached out fer my hand. "Good-bye, Cupid, you ole +son-of-a-gun," he says almost squeezin' the paw offen me. + +"Take keer of you'self," says the sheriff. + +"Don't let them fly Noo York dudes git you scairt none" (this was +Chub). + +"_That_ ain't you' satchel, Cupid, that's the mail-bag." + +"Wal, we'd rattle _any_body." + +"Here's Boston, _he_ wants t' say good-bye." + +"Wave t' the eatin'-house gals,--cain't you see 'em at that upper +winda?" + +"Cupid,"--it was Hairoil, and he put a' arm acrosst my +shoulder--"_hope_ you fergive me fer puttin' up that shootin'-scrape." + +"Why, a-_course,_ I do." + +Then, whisperin', "_She_ was the gal I tole you about that time, Cupid: +The one I _said_ I'd marry you off to." + +"You don't mean it!" + +"I do. So--the best _kind_ of luck, ole socks!" + +"Aw, _thank_ y', Hairoil." + +Next, pushin' his way through the bunch, I seen Billy Trowbridge, +somethin' white in his hand. "Cupid," he says,--into my ear, so's +the others couldn't ketch it--"if the time ever comes when the little +gal makes a big success back there in Noo York, 'r if the time comes +when she's thinkin' some of startin' home t' Oklahomaw again, open +this. It's that other letter of Up-State's." + +"I will, Doc--I will." + +I clumb the steps of the end car and looked round me. On the one side was +the mesquite, all black now, and quiet. Say! I hated t' think it +didn't stretch all the way East! Here, on the other side was the +deepot, and Dutchy's, and the bunk-house, and the feed-shop, and +Silverstein's, and the post-office---- + +"So long, Cupid!"--it was all-t'gether, gals and fellers, too. Then, +"Yee-ee-ee-oop!"--the ole cow-punch yell. + +"So long, boys!" I waved my Stetson. + +Next thing, Briggs City begun t' slip back'ards--slow at first, then +faster and faster. The hollerin' of the bunch got sorta fadey; the +deepot lights got littler and littler. Off t' the right, a new light +sprung up--it was the lamp in the sittin'-room at the Bar Y. + +"Boss," I says out loud, "they's a little, empty rockin'-chair +byside yourn t'-night. Wal, I'll never come back this way no more +'less you' baby gal is home at the ranch-house again t' fill it." + +Then, I picked up my satchel and hunted the day-coach. + +A-course, when I reached Chicago, the first thing I done was to take a +fly at that railroad on stilts. Next, I had t' go over and turn my +lanterns on the lake. Pretty soon I was so all-fired broke-in that I +could stand on a street corner without bein' hitched. But people was +a-takin' me fer Bill Cody, and the kids had a notion to fall in behind +when I walked any. So I made myself look cityfied. I got a suit--a nice, +kinda brownish-reddish colour. I done my sombrero up in a newspaper +and pur_chased_ a round hat, black and turrible tony. I bought me some +sateen shirts,--black, too, with turn-down collars and little bits of +white stripes. A white satin tie last of all, and, say! I was fixed! + +Wal, after seein' Chicago, it stands t' reason that Noo York cain't +git a feller scairt so awful much. Anyhow, it didn't _me_. The minute +I got offen the train at the Grand Central, I got my boots greased +and my clothes breshed; then I looked up one of them Fourth of July +hitchin'-posts and had my jaw scraped and my mane cut. + +"Pardner," I says t' the barber feller, "I want t' rent a cheap +room." + +"Look in the papers," he _ad_vises. + +'Twixt him and me, we located a place afore long, and he showed me how +t' git to it. Wal, sir, I was settled in a jiffy. The room wasn't +bigger 'n a two-spot, and the bed was one of them jack-knife kind. +But I liked the looks of the shebang. The lady that run it, she almost +fell over when I tole her I was a cow-punch. + +"Why!" she says, "are y' shore? You're tall enough, but you're a +little thick-set. I thought all cow-boys was very slender." + +"No, ma'am," I says; "we're slender in books, I reckon. But out in +Oklahomaw we come in all styles." + +"Wal," she goes on, "they's something _else_ I want to ast. Now, you +ain't a-goin' to shoot 'round here, are y'? Would you just as lief +put you' pistols away whilst you're in my house?" + +I got serious then. "Ma'am," I says, "sorry I cain't oblige y'. +But the boys tole me a gun is plumb needful in Noo York. When it comes +to killin' and robbin', the West has got to back outen the lead." + +You oughta saw her face! + +But I didn't want to look fer no other room, so I pretended t' knuckle. +"I promise not to blow out the gas with my forty-five," I says, "and +I won't rope no trolley cars--if you'll please tell me where folks +go in this town when they want t' ride a hoss?" + +"Why, in Central Park," she answers, "on the bridle path." + +"Thank y', ma'am," I says, and lit out. + +A-course, 'most any person 'd wonder what I'd ast the boardin'-house +lady _that_ fer. Wal, I ast it 'cause I knowed Macie Sewell good enough +to lay my money on _one_ thing: She was too all-fired gone on hosses to +stay offen a saddle more'n twenty-four hours at a stretch. + +I passed a right peaceful afternoon, a-settin' at the bottom of a statue +of a man ridin' a big bronc, with a tall lady runnin' ahaid and wavin' +a feather. It was at the beginnin' of the park, and I expected t' +see Mace come lopin' by any minute. Sev'ral gals _did_ show up, and +one 'r two of 'em rid off on bob-tailed hosses, follered by gezabas in +white pants and doctor's hats. Heerd afterwards they was grooms, and +bein' the gals' broncs was bob-tailed, they had to go 'long to keep +off the flies. + +But Mace, she didn't show up. Next day, I waited same way. Day after, +ditto. Seemed t' me ev'ry blamed man, woman and child in the hull +city passed me but her. And I didn't know a _one_ of 'em. A Chink +come by oncet, and when I seen his pig-tail swingin', I felt like I +wanted to shake his fist. About that time I begun to git worried, too. +"If she ain't ridin'," I says to myself, "how 'm I ever goin' +to locate her?" + +Another day, when I was settin' amongst the kids, watchin', I seen a +feller steerin' my way. "What's this?" I says, 'cause he didn't +have the spurs of a decent man. + +Wal, when he came clost, he begun to smile kinda sloppy, like he'd +just had two 'r three. "Why, hello, ole boy," he says, puttin' out +a bread-hooker; "I met you out West, didn't I? How are y'?" + +I had the sittywaytion in both gauntlets. + +"Why, yas," I answers, "and I'm tickled to sight a familiar face. +Fer by jingo! I'm busted. Can you loan me a dollar?" + +He got kinda sick 'round the gills. "Wal, the fact is," he says, +swallerin' two 'r three times, "I'm clean broke myself." + +Just then a gal with a pink cinch comes walkin' along. She was one +of them Butte-belle lookin' ladies, with blazin' cheeks, and hair +that's a cross 'twixt _mo_lasses candy and the pelt of a kit-fox. +She was leadin' a dog that looked plumb ashamed of hisself. + +"Pretty gal," says the mealy-mouthed gent, grinnin' some more. "And +I know her. Like t' be interdooced?" + +"Don't bother," I says. (Her hay was a little too weathered fer _me_.) + +"Nice red cheeks," he says, rubbin' his paws t'gether. + +"Ya-a-as," I says, "_mighty nice_. But you oughta see the squaws out +in Oklahomaw. They varies it with yalla and black." + +He give me a kinda keen look. Then he moseyed. + +It wasn't more 'n a' hour afterwards when somebody passed that I +knowed--in one of them dinky, little buggies that ain't got no cover. +Who d' you think it was?--that Doctor Bugs! + +I was at his hoss's haid 'fore ever he seen me. "Hole up, Simpson," +I says, "I want t' talk to you." + +"Why, Alec Lloyd!" he says. + +"That's my name." + +"How 'd _you_ git here?" He stuck out one of them soft paws of hisn. + +"Wal, I got turned this way, and then I just follered my nose." (I +didn't take his hand. I'd as soon 'a' touched a snake.) + +"Wal, I'm glad t' see you." (That was a whopper.) "How's ev'rybody +in Briggs?" + +"Never you mind about Briggs. I want t' ast _you_ somethin': Where's +Macie Sewell?" + +"I don't know." + +"Don't tell me that," I come back. "I know you're lyin'. When you +talked that gal into the op'ra business, you had 'a' ax t' grind, +yas, you did. Now, _where is she?_" + +He looked plumb nervous. "I tell y', I don't know," he answers; +"_honest,_ I don't. I've saw her just oncet--the day after she got +here. I offered t' do anythin' I could fer her, but she didn't seem +t' appreciate my kindness." + +"All right," I says. "But, Simpson, listen: If you've said a word +t' that gal that you oughtn't to, 'r if you've follered 'round after +her any when she didn't want you should, you'll hear from _me_. Salt +_that_ down." And I let him go. + +Meetin' _him_ that-a-way, made me feel a heap better. If I could run +into the only man I knowed in the city of Noo York, then, sometime, I'd +shore come acrosst _her_. + +That was the last day I set on the steps of the statue. About sundown, +I ast a police feller if anybody could ride in the park without me +seein' 'em from where I was. "Why, yas," he says, "they's plenty +of entrances, all right. This is just where a few comes in and out. +The best way to see the riders is to go ride you'self." + +Don't know why I didn't think of that _afore_. But I didn't lose +no time. Next mornin', I was up turrible early and makin' fer a barn +clost to the park. I found one easy--pretty frequent thereabouts, y' +savvy,--and begun t' dicker on rentin' a hoss. Prices was high, but I +done my best, and they led out a nag. And what do you think? It had on +one of them saddles with no horn,--a shore enough _muley_. + +Say! that was a hard proposition. "I ast fer a saddle," I says, "not +a postage stamp." But the stable-keeper didn't have no other. So I got +on and rode slow. When I struck the timber, I felt better, and I started +my bronc up. She was one of them kind that can go all day on a shingle. +And her front legs acted plumb funny--jerked up and down. I figgered it +was the spring halt. But pretty soon I seen other hosses goin' the same +way. So I swallered it, like I done the saddle. + +But they was one thing about my cayuse made me hot. She wouldn't lope. +No, ma'am, it was trot, trot, trot, trot, till the roots of my hair was +loose, and the lights was near shook outen me. You bet I was mighty glad +none of the outfit could see me! + +But if they'd 'a' thought _I_ was funny, they'd 'a' had a duck-fit +at what I seen. First a passel of men come by, all in bloomers, humpin' +fast,--_up_ and down, _up_ and down--Monkey Mike, shore's you live! +None of 'em looked joyful, and you could pretty nigh hear they knees +squeak! Then 'long come a gal, humpin' just the same, and hangin' +on to the side of her cayuse fer dear life, lookin' ev'ry step like +she was goin' to avalanche. And oncet in a while I passed a feller that +was runnin' a cultivator down the trail,--to keep it nice and soft, +I reckon, fer the ladies and gents t' fall on. + +But whilst I was gettin' kinda used to things, I didn't stop keepin' +a' eye out. I went clean 'round the track twicet. No Macie. I tell y', +I begun to feel sorta caved-in. Then, all of a suddent, just as I was +toppin' a little rise of ground, I seen her! + +_She_ wasn't hangin' on to the side of her hoss, no, ma'am! She was +ridin' the prettiest _kind_ of a bronc, fat and sassy. And she was +settin' a-straddle, straight and graceful, in a spick-and-span new suit, +and a three-cornered hat like George Washington. + +I let out a yell that would 'a' raised the hair of a reservation Injun. +"Macie Sewell!" I says--just like that. I give my blamed little nag a +hit that put her into her jerky trot. And I come 'longside, humpin' +like Sam Hill. + +She pulled her hoss down to a standstill; and them long eye-winkers of +hern lifted straight up into the air, she was so surprised. "Alec!" +she says. + +"Yas, Alec," I answers. "Aw, dear little gal, is y' glad t' see me?" + +"Wal, what 're _you_ doin' here!" she goes on. "I cain't hardly +believe what I see." + +I was so blamed flustered, and so happy, and so--so scairt, that I had +t' go say the _one_ thing that was plumb foolish. "I'm on hand t' +take you back home if you're ready," I answers. (Hole on till I give +myself another good, ten-hoss-power kick!) + +Up till now, her look 'd been all friendly enough. But now of a suddent +it got cold and offish. "Take me home!" she begun; "_home!_ Wal, I +like that! Why, I'm just about t' make a great, big success, _yas_. And +I'll thank you not t' spoil my chanst with any more of you' tricks." +She swung her bronc round into the trail. + +"Macie! Spoil you' chanst!" I answers. "Why, honey, I wouldn't do +that. I only want t' be friends----" + +Her eyes can give out fire just like her paw's. And when I said that, +she give me one turrible mad stare. Then, she throwed up her chin, +spurred her bronc, and went trottin' off, a-humpin' the same as the +rest of the ladies. + +I follered after her as fast as I could. "Macie," I says, "talk ain't +goin' t' show you how I feel. And I'll not speak to you again till you +want me to. But I'll allus be clost by. And if ever you need me----" + +She set her hoss into a run then. So I fell behind--and come nigh +pullin' the mouth plumb outen that crow-bait I was on. "Wal, Mister +Cupid," I says to myself, "that Kansas cyclone the boss talked about +seems t' be still a-movin'." + +I wasn't discouraged, though,--I wasn't discouraged. + +"One of these times," I says, "she'll come t' know that I only want +t' help her." + +Next mornin', I started my jumpin'-jack business again. And _that_ +whack, I shore got a rough layout: 'Round and 'round that blamed park, +two hunderd and forty-'leven times, without grub, 'r a drink, 'r even +water! And me a-hirin' that hoss _by the hour!_ + +Just afore sundown, she showed up, and passed me with her eyes fixed on +a spot about two miles further on. A little huffy, yet, y' might say! + +I joked to that three-card-monte feller, you recollect, about bein' +busted. Wal, it was beginnin' t' look like no joke. 'Cause that very +next day I took some stuff acrosst the street to a pawnbroker gent's, +and hocked it. Then I sit down and writ a postal card t' the boys. +"_Pass 'round the hat,_" I says on the postal card, "_and send +me the collection. Bar that Mexic. Particulars later on._" + +Wal, fer a week, things run smooth. When Mace seen it was no use to +change the time fer her ride, she kept to the mornin'. It saved me a +pile. But she wouldn't so much as look at me. Aw, I felt fewey, just +_fewey_. + +One thing I didn't figger on, though--that was the _po_lice. They're +white, all right (I mean the _po_lice that ride 'round the park). +Pretty soon, they noticed I was allus ridin' behind Macie. I guess they +thought I was tryin' to bother her. Anyhow, one of 'em stopped me +one mornin'. "Young feller," he says, "you'd better ride along +Riverside oncet in a while. Ketch on?" + +"Yas, sir," I says, salutin'. + +Wal, I _was_ up a stump. If I was to be druv out of the park, how was I +ever goin' to be on hand when Macie 'd take a notion t' speak. + +But I hit on a plan that was somethin' _won_-derful. I follered her +out and found where she stalled her hoss. Next day, I borraed a' +outfit and waited nigh her barn till she come in sight. Then, I fell +in behind--_dressed like one of them blamed grooms._ + +I thought I was slick, and I _was_--fer a week. But them park _po_lice is +rapid on faces. And the first one that got a good square look at me and +my togs knowed me instant. He didn't say nothin' to me, but loped off. +Pretty soon, another one come back--a moustached gent, a right dudey +one, with yalla tucks on his sleeves. + +He rides square up to me. "Say," he says, "are you acquainted with +that young lady on ahaid?" + +I tried to look as sad and innocent as a stray maverick. But it was no +go. "Wal," I answers, "our hosses nicker to each other." + +He pulled at his moustache fer a while. "_You_ ain't no groom," he +says fin'lly. "Where you from?" + +"I'm from the Bar Y Ranch, Oklahomaw." + +"That so!" It seemed to plumb relieve him. All of a suddent, he got +as friendly as the devil. "Wal, how's the stock business?" he ast. +And I says, "Cows is O. K." "And how's the climate down you' way? +And how's prospects of the country openin' up fer farmers?" + +After that, I shed the groom duds, and not a _po_lice gent ever more 'n +nodded at me. That Bar Y news seemed to make 'em shore easy in they +conscience. + +But that didn't help me any with _her_. She was just as offish as ever. +Why, one day when it rained, and we got under the same bridge, she just +talked to her hoss all the time. + +I went home desp'rate. The boys 'd sent me some cash, but I was shy +again. And I'd been to the pawnbroker feller's so many times that I +couldn't look a Jew in the face without takin' out my watch. + +That night I mailed postal number two. "Take up a collection," I says +again; and added, "Pull that greaser's laig." + +I knowed it couldn't allus go on like that. And, by jingo! seems as +if things come my way again. Fer one mornin', when I was settin' in a +caffy eatin' slap-jacks, I heerd some fellers talkin' about a herd of +Texas hosses that had stampeded in the streets the night back. Wal, I +ast 'em a question 'r two, and then I lit out fer Sixty-four Street, +my eyes plumb sore fer a look at a Western hoss with a' ingrowin' lope. + +When I got to the corral, what do you think? Right in front of my eyes, +a-lookin' at the herd, and a-pointin' out her pick, was--Macie Sewell! + +I didn't let her see me. I just started fer a harness shop, and I bought +a pair of spurs. "_Pre_pare, m' son," I says to myself; "it'll all +be over soon. They's goin' to be trouble, Cupid, trouble, when Mace +tries to ride a Texas bronc with a city edication that ain't complete." + +She didn't show up in the park that day. I jigged 'round, just the +same, workin' them spurs. But early next mornin', as I done time on +my postage stamp, here Mace huv in sight. + +Shore enough, she was on a new hoss. It was one of them blue roans, with +a long tail, and a roached mane. Gen'ally that breed can go like greased +lightnin', and outlast any other critter on four laigs. But this one +didn't put up much speed that trip. She'd been car-bound seventeen days. + +Clost behind her, I come, practicin' a knee grip. + +Nothin' happened that mornin'. Ev'ry time she got where the trail +runs 'longside the wagon-road, none of them locoed bull's-eye Simpson +vehicles was a-passin'. When she went to go into her stable, Mace slowed +her down till the street cars was gone by. The blue roan was meeker 'n +a blind purp. + +But I knowed it couldn't _last_. + +The next afternoon the roan come good and ready. She done a fancy gait +into the park. Say! a J. I. C. bit couldn't a' helt her! 'Twixt +Fifty-nine and the resservoyer, she lit just _four times;_ and ev'ry +time she touched, she kicked dirt into the eyes of the stylish _po_lice +gent that was keepin' in handy reach. A little further north, where +they's a hotel, she stood on her hind laigs t' look at the scenery. + +I begun to git scairt. "Speak 'r _no_ speak," I says to myself, "I'm +goin' to move up." + +That very minute, things come to a haid! + +We was all three turned south, when 'long come a goggle-eyed smarty +in one of them snortin' Studebakers. The second the smarty seen Mace +was pretty, he blowed his horn to make her look at him. Wal! that roan +turned tail and come nigh t' doin' a leap-frog over me. The skunk in +the buzz-wagon tooted again. And we was off! + +We took the return trip short cut. First we hit the brush, Mace's +hoss breakin' trail, mine a clost second, the _po_lice gent number +three. Then we hit open country, where they's allus a lot of young +fellers and gals battin' balls over fly-nets. The crowd scattered, and +we sailed by, takin' them nets like claim-jumpers. I heerd a whistle +ahaid oncet, and seen a fat _po_liceman runnin' our way, wavin' his +arms. Then we went tearin' on,--no stops fer stations--'round the +lake, down a road that was thick with keerages,--beatin' ev'rybody in +sight--then into timber again. + +It was that takin' to the woods the second time that done it. In Central +Park is a place where they have ducks and geese (keep the Mayor in +aigs, I heerd). Wal, just to east, like, of that place, is a butte, all +rocks and wash-outs. The blue roan made that butte slick as a Rocky +Mountain goat. (We'd shook off the _po_lice gent.) At the top, she +pitched plumb over, losin' Mace so neat it didn't more 'n jar her. +My hoss got down on his knees, and I come offen _my_ perch. Then both +broncs went on. + +I was winded, so I didn't speak up fer a bit. Fact is, I didn't +exac'ly know what to _re_mark. Oncet I thought I'd say, "You ridin' +a diff'rent hoss t'day, Mace?" 'r "That roan of yourn can lope +some." But both bein' kinda personal, I kept still. + +But pretty soon, I got a hunch. "I just _knowed_ that blamed muley +saddle 'd butt me off some day," I says. "It was shore accomodatin', +though, to let me down right here." + +She didn't say nothin'. She was settin agin a tree, another of them +two-mile looks in her eyes, and she was gazin' off west. + +I lent her way just a little. "What you watchin', honey?" I ast. + +She blushed, awful cute. + +I could feel my heart movin' like a circular saw--two ways fer Sunday. +"Honey, what you watchin'?" This time I kinda whispered it. + +She reached fer her George Washington, and begun fixin' to go. "The +sky," she says, some short. + +I sighed, and pretended t' watch the sky, too. It looked yalla, like +somebody 'd hit it with a aig. + +After while, I couldn't stand it no longer--I started in again. "Give +me a fair shake, Macie," I says. I was lookin' at her. Say! they +wasn't no squaw paint on _her_ cheeks, and no do-funny, drug-store +stuff in that pretty hair of hern. And them grey eyes----! + +But she seemed a hull county off from me, and they was a right cold +current blowin' in my _di_rection. + +"Mace," I begun again, "since you come t' Noo York you ain't got +you'self promised, 'r nothin' like that, have you? If you have, I'll +go back and make that Briggs City bunch look like a lot of colanders." + +She shook her haid. + +"Aw, Mace!" I says, turrible easied in my mind. "And--and, little gal, +has that bug doc been a-holdin' down a chair at you' house of Sunday +nights?" + +"No,--he come just oncet." + +"Why just oncet, honey?" + +"I didn't want him t' come no more." + +"He said somethin' insultin.' _I_ know. And when I see him again----" + +She looked at me square then, and I seen a shine in them sweet eyes. +"Alec," she says, "you ast me oncet t' cut that man out. Wal, when +I got here, it was the only thing I could do fer--fer you." + +"My little gal!--and nobody else ain't been visitin' you. Aw! I'm a +jealous critter!" + +"Nobody else. People ain't very sociable here." Her lip kinda trembled. + +That hurt me, and I run outen talk, fer all I had a heap t' say. They +was a lot of twitterin' goin' on overhaid, and she was peekin' up and +'round, showing a chin that was enough t' coop the little birds right +outen the trees. + +I lent closter. "Say, Mace," I begun again, "ain't this park O. K. +fer green grass? I reckon the Bar Y cows 'd like to be turned loose +here." + +She smiled a little, awful tender. "Bar Y!" she says, pullin' at her +gauntlets. + +It give me spunk. "Mace," I says again, "if I'd 'a' been mean, I'd +'a' let the parson go on marryin' us, wouldn't I? Did you ever think +of that, little gal?" + +She looked down, blinkin'. + +I reached over and got holt of one of her hands. I was breathin' like +pore Up-State. "Honey," I says, "honey, dear." + +She looked square at me. "Alec," she says, "you didn't understand me. +I ain't the kind of a gal that can be roped and hobbled and led on a +hackamore." + +"And you ain't the kind t' dance with greasers," I says, "--if +you're thinkin' back to our first little fuss. _No,_ you _ain't_. +You're too darned nice fer such cattle." + +By then, I was shakin' like I had the buck-fever. "Macie," I goes on, +"ain't you goin' t' let me come and see you?" + +"Wal--wal----" + +I got holt of her other hand. "Aw, little gal," I says, "nobody wants +you t' win out more 'n I do. _I'_m no dawg-in-the-manger, Macie. +You got a' _awful_ fine voice. Go ahaid--and be the biggest singer in +Amuricaw. But, honey,--that needn't t' keep you from likin' me--from +likin' ole Alec, that cain't live without his dear little gal----" + +"I _do_ like y'! And didn't I allus say you was t' come on when I +made a success?" + +She come into my arms then. And, aw! I knowed _just_ how lonesome she'd +been, pore little sweetheart! by the way she clung t' me. + +"Alec!--my Alec!" + +"Never mind! honey dear, never mind! I'm here t' take keer of y'." + +Pretty soon, I says, "Macie, I bought somethin' fer you a while back." +(I felt in my vest pocket.) "Here it is. Will you look at it?" + +She looked. And her pretty face got all smiles and blushes, and her +eyes tearful. "Alec!" she whispered. "Aint it _beau_tiful!" And she +reached out her left hand t' me. + +I took it in both of mine--clost, fer a second. Then I sorted out that +slim third finger of hern,--and slipped on my little brandin'-iron. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +MACIE AND THE OP'RA GAME + + +THE street Mace lived on was turrible narra. Why, if a long-horn had +'a' been druv through it, he could 'a' just give a wiggle of his +haid and busted all the windas in the block. And her house! It was nigh +as dark as the inside of a cow, and I _judged_ they was a last-year's +cabbage a-wanderin' 'round somewheres. Wal, never mind. Two shakes +of a lamb's tail, and I'd clumb about a hunderd steps and-- + +"How are y', little gal?" + +"Alive and kickin', Alec." + +She ast me in. A kinda ole lady was over to one side, cookin'. At a +table was two gents, the one young, with a complexion like the +bottom-side of a watermelon; the other about fifty, with a long +coat, a vest all over coffee, and no more chin'n a gopher. + +"Mrs. Whipple," says Macie, "Mister Lloyd." + +"Ma'am, I'm tickled t' death." + +"Hair Von" (somethin'-r'-other), "Mister Lloyd." (Don't wonder she +called him "_Hair._" By thunder! he had a mane two feet long!) "And +Mister Jones." (I ketched _that_ name O. K.) + +"Mister Lloyd," says the ole lady, "will you have some breakfast?" + +I felt like sayin' they 'd likely be blamed little fer _me,_ 'cause +them two gezabas was just a-_hoppin'_ it in to 'em. But I only answers, +"Thank y', I just et in one of them bong-tong rest'rants that's down +in a cellar, and so, ma'am, my breadbasket's plumb full." + +I sit down on a trunk (it had a tidy over it, but I knowed it was a +_trunk_ all right), and Macie, she sit down byside me. + +"Alec," she begun,--say! she looked mighty sweet!--"t'-night is +a' awful important night in my life. I been a-studyin' with Hair +Von" (you know), "and now I'm a-goin' to have a _re_cital. And what +d' you think? Seenyer" (I fergit who, this minute), "the grea-a-at +impressyroa, is comin' to hear me. And he's goin' to put me into +grand op'ra." + +"You don't say!" + +"Yas," says Long-hair, swellin' up. "The Seenyer is my friend, and +any favour----" + +I turned and looked clost at Macie. Her face was all alive, she was so +happy, and her eyes was dancin'. "You're a-goin' t' make you' big +stab t'-night," I says. "Wal, I shore wish you luck." + +Then I took another look at that Perfessor--and of a suddent I begun to +wonder _if all the cards was on the table._ 'Cause he was too oily to be +genuwine. And I'd saw his stripe afore--"even up on the red and white, +five to one on the blue, and ten to one on the numbers." + +"She'll be a second Patty," he says, puttin' out a bread-hooker fer +more feed. + +"I'll take another slice of toast," says Melon-face, "and a' aig +and a third cup--it's _so_ good, Miss Sewell, I'm really _ashamed,_ +yas, I _am._" + +After that, I didn't say much--just plumb petryfied watchin' them two +gents shovel. Talk about you' grizzly in the springtime! And you bet +they was no gittin' shet of 'em till they couldn't hole no more. + +But, fin'lly, they moseyed, and me and Macie and the ole lady had a +chin. It come out that Long-hair (_and_ his friend) showed up ev'ry +mornin'. + +"And allus gits his breakfast," I says. + +"Wal, in Noo York, folks drop 'round that--a-way," she answers. +"It's Bohemia." + +"Bohemia--you mean a kinda free hand-out." + +"Alec! _No!_ Bohemians divvy with each other." + +"Seem's t' me Macie Sewell does _most_ of the divvyin'." + +"You don't understand," she says. "People with artistic temper'ments +don't think about such--such common things." + +"No? Just the same, that artistic team of yourn was shore stuck on +boiled aigs." + +That ruffled her up some. "Alec," she says, "you mustn't run down +the Perfessor. He's a big musician." + +"Wal," I answers, "if hair makes a big musician, 'Pache Sam oughta +lead the band." + +"And he's been awful good to me. Why, he's let go dozens and _dozens_ +of rich pupils to come here ev'ry day and give me my lesson." + +"Fer how much?" + +"What?" She got red. + +"Fer how much?" I ast again. + +"Five dollars," she answers. + +I snickered. + +"But he charges all the others _ten,_" she puts in quick. "He come +down in the price 'cause he was so wrapped up in my _ca_reer." + +"Money lastin'?" I ast, and looked at the ole lady. + +She give me the high sign. + +But Macie answered cheerful. "It's carried me good so far," she says; +"and after t'-night I can stand on my own feet." + +"Reckon you won't mind my comin' t' hear you," I says. ('Cause I'd +got a' idear what I was goin' to do.) She said come ahaid. Then I skun +out. + +First off, I hunted one of them sun-bonnet keeriges. The feller that +owned it was h'isted 'way up on top, and he had a face like a cured +ham. I tole him who I was goin' t' visit, and ast him what 'd be the +damage if he carted me that far. He said a two spot 'd do the trick, so +I clumb in, he give his broomtail a lick, and we was off in a bunch. + +Wal, fer the balance of that day, you can bet I didn't let no grass +sprout under _my_ moccasins. And when I turned up, 'twixt eight and +nine o'clock at that _re_cital, I was a-smilin' like Teddy--and loaded +fer bear! + +It was at Long-Hair's shebang. He took me into a big room where they was +about a dozen ladies and gents. But I couldn't hardly see 'em. They was +plenty of gas fixin's, only he had 'em turned 'way down, and little +red parasol-jiggers over 'em. And they was some punk-sticks a-burnin' +in a corner. + +If you want t' ast _me,_ I think I hit the funny spot of that bunch +right good and hard. The women kinda giggled at each other, and the men +cocked they eyes at the ceilin' and put they hands to they mouths. But I +wasn't nigh as big a freak to them as they was t' _me!_ + +"Say!" I says to Macie, 'way low, "where 'd you round up this passel +of what-is-its?" + +"Ssh!" she whispers back. "They'll hear you! Most of 'em is big +artists." + +"No!" I got turrible solemn. "Have they brought they temper'ments +with 'em?" + +She laughed. + +"Now, don't devil me, Alec," she says. "But honest, ain't this +Bohemian atmosphere just grand?" + +"Wal," I says, sniffin' it, "it reminds _me_ of a Chinee wash-house." + +That wasn't the worst of it. The men was tankin' up like the Ole +Harry--right in front of the women! And on beer! What d' you think! +_Beer!_ + +And the ladies--say! if they was t' wear them kind of dresses out our +way (not more'n a pocket-handkerchief of cloth in the waist, that's +straight), why, they 'd git run in to the cooler _shore_. And, by +thunder! some of 'em was smokin'! _Smokin'!_ And they wasn't a +greaser gal amongst 'em, neither. + +"What kind of a place I got in to?" I ast Macie. Gee! I felt turrible. + +"Ssh! Long-hair is goin' to play a pyano piece he made up a-a-all by +hisself." + +And he done it. First, he goes soft, fingerin' up and down, and movin' +from side t' side like his chair was hot. Then, he took a runnin' +jump at hisself and worked harder. But they wasn't the sign of a +tune--just jiggles. Next, by jingo! it was help you'self to the gravy! +He everlastin'ly lambasted them keys, and knocked the lights plumb +outen that pore instrument. + +Jumpin' buffalo! I got t' laughin' so I kinda tipped over again a' +iron thing that was set clost to the wall, and come blamed nigh burnin' +the hand offen me. + +When I come to, he was done and down, and a bleached lady, so whitewashed +and painted she was plumb disguised, was settin' afore the pyano. Then +up gits a tall gal, skinny, long neck, forrid like a fish, hair that +hadn't been curried since week a-fore last. + +She begun t' sing like a dyin' calf--eyes shut, and makin' faces. +But pretty soon, she took a _new_ holt, and got to goin' uphill and +down, faster 'n Sam Hill; then 'round and 'round, like a dawg after +its tail; then hiccupin'; then--she kinda shook herself--and let out a +last whoppin' beller. + +"Macie," I says, "do you have t' herd with this outfit _reg'lar?_ +Why, say, _all_ the wild Injuns ain't out West." + +She didn't say nothin'. Pore little gal, she was watchin' the door. +And Mister Long-hair? He was wanderin' 'round, lookin' powerful +oneasy. (He'd 'a' better, the scale-haid!) 'Fore long, he goes +outside. + +Up gits a short, stumpy feller with a fiddle. All the rest begun t' +holler and clap. Stumpy, he bowed and flopped his ears, and then he went +at that little, ole fiddle of hisn like he'd snatch it bald-haided. +Wal, _that_ was bully! + +And now it was Macie they wanted. + +"But _he_ ain't here yet," she says. + +Long-hair come back just then. "I _re_gret to say, Miss Sewell," he +begun, "that Seenyer" (the impressyroa) "cain't run over t'-night. +But he'll be to my next little _re_cital a month from now." + +"A _month,_" repeats Macie. Her face fell a mile, and she got as white +as chalk-rock. + +"It's all right," says the Perfessor, rubbin' his hands. "Go ahaid +and sing anyhow." + +So she stood up, tremblin' a little. Long-hair sit down to the pyano, +and this was it! + + "Oh, + oh, + oh, + sweet + sing bird, + Oh, + oh, + sweet + sing bird, + ety + plump plump----" + plump + plump + Plump + +It was a shame. But Macie done her best. When she ended up, they hollered +fer more, and Long-hair like to break hisself in two, bowin'. + +She just stood there--like she'd been run to ground. The Perfessor waved +his hand. "The Jew's song from Fowst," he calls out. + +I couldn't stand it no longer. I lent towards her. "The Mohawk Vale," +I says; "_please_ sing The Mohawk Vale." + +The crowd giggled. The Perfessor, he started to laugh, too--but ketched +my eye, and coughed. + +Macie turned towards him. "A' ole friend; I'd like to," she says. And +sit down to play fer herself. + + "Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides + On its fair, windin' way to the sea----" + +She helt herself straight, and tried t' stick it out. But she couldn't. +I seen her shake a little, her voice got husky,--and she bent 'way over, +her face in her hands. + +"Why, Miss Sewell!" they exclaims, "why, what's the _matter?_" + +Then, I gits up. "_Ex_cuse me," I says, "fer puttin' a kibosh on +you' party. But I just want to say that this +Bohemia-artistic-temper'ment fandango stands _ad_journed. Ev'rybody +please vamose--'ceptin' the Perfessor." + +My goodness! the pow-wow! But they skedaddled just the same. Then I +turned to Long-hair. + +"You' little game is over," I begun. "You don't flimflam this gal +another minute. You don't bum offen her fer another meal. You don't +give her no more of that Patty song-and-dance." + +Macie come at me. "Alec! that's insultin'," she says. + +The Perfessor starts a-gabblin'. + +"Hole you' hosses," I says. "You knowed _all_ the time that the +impressyroa wasn't goin' to show up." + +"Miss Sewell, this is _too_ much," says Long-hair, clawin' at his mane. + +"They's more a-comin'," I says. "Macie, I was shore somethin' was +skew-gee about this mealy-mouth here, so I had a talk with that Seenyer +this afternoon." + +That give Long-hair a jolt. "Impossible!" he yells; "the +secretaries----" + +"They _was_ about eight, not to mention some office kids," I says; +"but when I give 'em some straight ole Oklahomaw, I went in O. K." + +Long-hair backed off, plumb kaflummuxed. + +"The Seenyer said he'd heerd of this gent," I goes on, "and wouldn't +let him learn a _cow_ of hisn to sing. Friend? any little favour? come +here? _Nixey._" + +I walks over to him. "Acknowledge the corn, you polecat," I says. + +He seen the jig was up. But he made his bluff. + +"Miss Sewell, this coarse feller----" + +Macie cut in. "It's all so," she says. "You've put me off and _put_ +me off. All my money's gone. I'd banked on t'-night. And now--what am +I goin' to do!" She dropped on to a chair, her face in her hands again. + +"My pore little gal!" + +She sit up. "No, Alec," she says, "I _ain't_ pore. I've got you, +and the best paw a gal _ever_ had, and my home--aw, the _dear_ ole Bar +Y! And, Alec, I'm goin'." + +"Goin' where, little gal?" + +She come over and stood in front of me, and put her two hands on my arm. +"Alec," she says, tears and smiles all to oncet, "I'm goin' t' +start home to Oklahomaw." + +"Start home to Oklahomaw"--them words made me think, of a suddent, +about what Billy 'd said t' me at the train. I reached into my inside +coat-pocket. "Wait, little gal," I says, "we must read _this_ first. +It's that other letter of Up-State's." + +She opened it, her fingers all thumbs, she was so _ex_cited. And +standin' there byside me, with the Perfessor a-watchin' us from a +corner, she begun: + +"_'Dear Alec Lloyd----_'Why, it ain't fer _me,_ Alec." + +"Go right on, honey." + + "Dear Alec Lloyd, you'll git this after Macie's gone to Noo + York. Alec, you know now the trip was needful. Do you think + you could 'a' helt her if she didn't have her try? Mebbe. + But you wouldn't 'a' been happy. All her life she 'd 'a + felt sore about that career she give up, and been longin' and + longin'. + + "And, Macie, 'cause you'll read this, too--now you know + they was somethin' else you wanted more 'n a singin' + chanst, and you won't hole it agin me fer sayin' I knowed + you wouldn't make no go of it. The op'ra game at its best + is a five-hunderd-to-one shot. A turrible big herd plays + it, the foreigners git the main prizes, and the hull thing's + fixed crooked by all kinds of inside pull. + + "'Sides, you' voice don't match with crowded streets and + sapped-out air. It fits the open desert. Mebbe so many won't + listen to it out here, but they'll even things up by the way + they'll feel. And this letter is to tell you how I thank + y' fer singin' The Mohawk Vale. Gawd bless y', little gal! + + "And, Alec, all kinds of good luck to you. What's in this + letter ain't much, but it'll be a nest-aig." + +Mace peeked inside the envelope. "Why, here's a bill!" she says. +"Alec!" And she drawed it out. + +"A bill?" I turned it over. "Why--why, it's fer five hunderd dollars! +Macie!" + +Long-Hair got up and started our way, grinnin'. + +"But _you_ don't git a cent of it," I says, turnin' on him quick. + +He dodged. + +"You'd _better_ be keerful," I says. Then, to Macie, "Honey, here's +another chanst t' make a try. You can git a _good_ teacher, _this_ +time--yas, that's what I said, Perfessor, _a good teacher_--and you'll +be the biggest singer in Amuricaw _yet._" And I helt the bill out to her. + +The only answer she give was t' run to the door and pull at one of them +round thing-um-a-jigs that brings a telegraph kid. Next, she come back +to a table, found a piece of paper and writ somethin' on it. + +"Here, Alec," she says, "here. Read this." + +It said: + + "Manager Harvey Eatin'-House, Briggs City, Oklahomaw. Please + telephone paw that I'm comin' home, and Alec wants back his + job." + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +A BOOM THAT BUSTED + + +SAY! wouldn't you 'a' figgered, after I'd brung Mace back t' the +ole Bar Y, and made her paw so happy that the hull ranch couldn't hole +him, and he had t' go streak up t' town and telephone Kansas City fer +a grand pyano and a talkin'-machine--now _wouldn't_ you 'a' figgered +that he'd 'a' treated me A1 when I come to ast him fer the little gal? + +Wal,--listen t' this! + +'Fore ever I spoke to him, I says to myself, "It ain't no use, when +you want to start up a mule, to git behind and push 'r git in front and +pull. No, ma'am. The only way is to hunt a pan of feed 'r a pick-axe. + +"Now, Sewell's shore one of them long-eared critters--hardmouthed, and +goin' ahaid like blazes whenever you wanted him to come short; then, +again, balkin' till it's a case of grandfather's clock, and you git +to thinkin' that 'fore he'll move on he'll plumb drop in his tracks. +So no drivin'. Coaxin' is good enough fer you' friend Cupid." + +The first time I got a good chanst, I took in my belt, spit on my hands, +shassayed up to the ole man, and sailed in--dead centre. + +"Boss," I begun, "some fellers marry 'cause they git plumb sick +and tired of fastenin' they suspenders with a nail, and some fellers +marry----" + +"Wal? wal? wal?" breaks in Sewell, offish all of a suddent, and them +little eyes of hisn lookin' like two burnt holes in a blanket. "What +you drivin' at? Git it out. Time's skurse." + +"Puttin' it flat-footed, then," I says, "I come to speak to you about +my marryin' Macie." + +He throwed up his haid--same as a long-horn'll do when she's +scairt--and wrinkled his forrid. Next, he begun to jingle his cash +(_ba-a-ad_ sign). "So _that's_ what?" (He'd guessed as much +a'ready, I reckon.) "Wal,--I'm a-listenin'." + +Then I got a _turrible_ rush of words to the mouth, and put the case up +to him right strong. Said they was no question how I felt about Mace, and +that this shore was a life-sentence fer me, 'cause I wasn't the kind +of a man to want to ever slip my matreemonal hobbles. And I tacked on +that the little gal reckoned _she_ knowed her own mind. + +"No gal ever _lived_ that knowed her own mind," puts in Sewell, snappy +as the dickens, and actin' powerful oneasy. + +"But Mace ain't the usual brand," I says. "She's got a good haid--a +_fine_ haid. She's like _you,_ Sewell." + +"You can keep you' compliments to home," says the boss. Then, after a +little bit, "S'pose you been plannin' a'ready where you'd settle." +(This sorta inquirin'.) + +"Ya-a-as," I says, "we've talked some of that little house in Briggs +City which Doc Trowbridge lets--the one over to the left of the tracks." + +That second, I seen a look come over his face that made me plumb +goose-flesh. It was the sorta look that a' ole bear gives you when +you've got him hurt and into a corner--some appealin', y' savvy, and +a hull lot mad. + +"Gosh!" I says to myself, "I put my foot in it when I brung up +Billy's name. Sewell recollects the time I stuck in my lip." + +"You plan t' live in Briggs," he says. He squz his lips t'gether, +and turned his face towards the ranch-house. Mace was inside, goin' +back'ards and for'ards 'twixt the dinin'-room and the kitchen. +She looked awful cute and pretty from where we was, and was callin' +sassy things to the Chinaman. Sewell watched her and watched her, and I +_re_called later on (when I wasn't so all-fired anxious and _ex_cited), +that the ole man's face was some white, and he was kinda all lent over. + +"Ya-a-as," I continues (some trembley, though), "that place of +Billy's 'd suit." + +Two seconds, and Sewell come round on me like as if he'd chaw me into +bits. "What you goin' to rent on?" he ast. "What you goin' to live +on?" + +"Wal," I answers, sorta took back, "I got about three hunderd dollars +left of the money Up-State give me. Wal, that's my nest-aig. And I can +make my little forty a month--_and_ grub--_any_ ole day in the week." + +Sewell drawed his breath in, deep. (Look out when a man takes up air +that-a-way: Somethin's shore a-comin'!) "Forty a month!" he says. +"Forty a month! That just about keeps you in ca'tridges! Forty a +month!--and you without a square foot of land, 'r a single, solitary +horned critter, 'r more'n a' Injun's soogin' 'twixt you and the +floor! Do y' think you can take that little baby gal of mine into a +blank shack that ain't got a stick of anythin' in it, and turn her +loose of a Monday, like a Chink, to do the wash?" + +"Now, ease up, boss," I says. "I reckon I think _al_most as much of +Mace as you do. And I'm figgerin' to make her life just as happy as I +_can._" + +Wal, then he walked up and down, up and down (this all happened out by +the calf-corral), and blowed and blowed and blowed. Said that him and +his daughters had allus made the Bar Y ranch-house seem like home to the +Sewell punchers, and they was men in the outfit just low-down mean enough +to take advantage of it. Said he'd raised his gal like a lady--and now +she was goin' to be treated like a squaw. + +If it'd 'a' been any other ole man but Mace's, I'd 'a' made him +swaller ev'ry one of them words 'fore ever he got 'em out. As it +stood, a-course, I couldn't. So I just helt my lip till he was over his +holler. (By now, y' savvy, I'd went through enough--from sayin' the +wrong thing back when Paw Sewell 'r his daughter was a-talkin'--t' +learn me that the best _I_ could do was just t' keep my blamed mouth +shut.) + +Pretty soon, I says, "You spoke of land, Mister Sewell," I says, +politer'n pie, and as cool as if I had the hull of Oklahomaw up my +sleeve. (Been a beefsteak, y' savvy, fer him to git the idear he had +me anxious any.) "Wal, how much land do you figger out that you' +next son-in-law oughta have?" + +He looked oneasy again, got red some, and begun workin' his nose up +and down like a rabbit. "Aw, thunder!" he says, "what you astin' +_that_ fer? A man--_any_ man--when he marries, oughta have a place +big enough so's his chickens can kick up the dirt 'round his house +without its fallin' into somebody else's yard. Out here, where the +hull blamed country's land--just land fer miles--a man oughta have a +piece, say--wal, as big as--as that Andrews chunk of mine." (When Billy +married Rose, Sewell bought over the Andrews' ranch, y' savvy. Wanted +it 'cause it laid 'twixt hisn and town, and had a fine water-hole +fer the stock. But a good share of the hunderd acres in it wasn't +much to brag on--just crick-bottom.) + +"The Andrews place?" I says, smooth and easy. "Wal, Sewell, I'll keep +that in mind. And, now, you spoke of cows----" + +"Fifty 'r so," puts in the ole man, quick, like as if he was 'shamed +of hisself. (His ranges is plumb _alive_ with cattle.) "A start, +Cupid,--just a start." + +Wal, a-course, whatever he said went with _me_. If he'd 'a' _ad_vised +walkin' on my hands as far as Albuquerque, you'd 'a' saw me +a-startin', spurs in the air! + +"So long," I says then, and walked off. When I turned round, a little +bit later, Sewell was standin' there yet, haid down, shoulders hunched +over, arms a-hangin' loose at his sides, and all his fingers twitchin'. +As I clumb on to that pinto bronc of mine and steered her outen the +gate, I couldn't help but think that, all of a suddent, seems like, +the boss looked a mighty lot _older_. + +"Maud," I says, as I loped fer town, "Maud, I'm shore feazed! I been +believin', since I got back from Noo York, that it was settled I was +to marry Mace. And here, if I don't watch out, that Injun-giver'll +take her back. I was a blamed idjit to give him any love-talk. The only +thing he cares fer is money--money!" Wal, some men 're like that--and +tighter'n a wood-tick. When they go to pay out a dollar, they hole on +to it so hard they plumb pull it outen shape, yas, ma'am. Why, I can +recollect seein' dollars that looked like the handle of a jack-knife. + +But if I was brash in front of Sewell, I caved in all right when I got +to Briggs City. Say! did you ever have the blues--so bad you didn't want +to eat, and you didn't want to talk, and you didn't want to drink, +but just wanted to lay, nose in the pilla, and think and think and think? +Wal, fer three days, that was me! + +And I was still sullin' when Sheriff Bergin come stompin' in with a +copy of the Goldstone _Tarantula_. "Here's bum luck!" he growls. +"A-course _Briggs_ couldn't hump herself none; but that jay town down +the line has to go have a boom." + +"A boom?" I says, settin' up. + +"Reg'lar rip-snorter of a Kansas boom. Some Chicago fellers with a lot +of cash has turned up and is a-buyin' in all the sand. Wouldn't it make +y' _sick?_" + +I reached fer that paper with both fists. Yas, there it was--a piece +about so long. "_Goldstone offers the chanst of a lifetime,_" it read. +"_Now is when a little money'll make a pile. Land is cheap t'-day, +but later on it'll bring a big price._" + +I got on to my feet. They was about a quarter of a' inch of stubble +on my face, and I was as shaky as a quakin' asp. But I had my spunk up +again. "Ain't I got a little money," I says, "--that nest-aig? Wal, +I'll just drop down to Goldstone, and, if that boom is bony fido, and +growin', _I'll git in on it._" + +Next mornin', I went over to the deepot, borraed some paper from the +agent, and writ Mace a note. "_Little gal,_" I says in the letter, +"_don't you go back on me. I'm prepared to work my fingers down to +the first knuckle fer you, and it's only right you' paw should want +you took care of good._" + +Then Number 201 come in and I hopped abroad. "It's land 'r no lady," +I says to myself, puttin' my little post-card photo of Macie into my +pocket as the train pulled out; "--land 'r no lady." + +But when I hit Goldstone, I plumb got the heart-disease. The same ole +long street was facin' the track; the same scatterin' houses was +standin' to the north and south; and the same bunch of dobe shacks +was over towards the east, where the greasers lived. The town wasn't +changed none! + +Another minute, and I felt more chipper. West of town, two 'r three +fellers was walkin' 'round, stakin' out the mesquite. And nigh the +station, 'twixt them and me, was a brand-new, hip-roofed shanty with a +long black-and-white sign acrosst it. The sign said "Real Estate." +Wal, _that_ looked like _business!_ + +I bulged in. They was a' awful dudey feller inside, settin' at a table +and makin' chicken-tracks on a big sheet of blue paper. "Howdy," I +says, "you must be one of them Chicago gents?" + +He jumped up and shook hands. "Yas, I am," he says; "but only a +land-agent, y' savvy. They's three others in town that's got +_capital_. The one that lives over yonder at the hotel is a millionaire. +Then they's a doctor (left a _fine_ practice to come), and a preacher. +But the preacher ain't just one of you' _ord'nary_ pulpit pounders." + +I stooped over to git a look at that sheet of blue paper. It had lines +all criss-cross on it, same as a checker-board, and little, square, white +spots showin' now and again. + +"_Ex_cuse me fer astin'," I says, "but what's this?" + +"This is the new map of Goldstone," he says, "and drawed two mile +square. Here"--pointin' to a white spot--"'ll be the Normal College, +and here"--pointin' to another--"the Merchants' _Ex_change. Then, +a-course, the Pavilion fer Indus'tral _Ex_hibitions----" + +"Pardner," I broke in, "if Goldstone was in the middle 'r east part +of Oklahomaw, where crops is allus fine, this boom wouldn't surprise me +a _little_ bit. But out _this_ way, where they's only a show fer cattle, +I cain't just understand it. Now, they must be some _reason._" + +The real estate agent, he smiled awful sly like, and wunk. "Mebbe," +he says. + +Later on, I seen the gent that was stoppin' at the hotel. He was +tonier'n the other. Wore one of them knee coats that's got a wedge +outen it, right in front, and two buttons fastened in the small of the +back. He was walkin' up and down the porch and smokin' a seegar. Rich? +Wal, I guess! Had the finest room in the house, and et three six-bit +meals a day! About fifty, he was, and kinda porky; not a tub, y' +savvy, but plenty fat. + +That same day, a new _Tarantula_ come out. In it was a piece haided +"_More Capital Fer Goldstone._" It went on like this: "_Our City +has lately acquired four new citizens whose confidence and belief in +her future 'd put some of the old hangers-on and whiners to the blush +if they faces wasn't made of brass, and didn't know how to blush. +Wake up,_" goes on the _Tarantula, "wake up, Goldstone, and shake +you'self. And gents, here's a hearty welcome! Give us you' paw!_" + +Goldstone was woke up, all right, all right. She was as lively and +_ex_cited as a chicken with its haid cut off. That real-estate feller +'d bought up two big tracts just north of town, gittin' 'em cheap +a-course; _awful_ cheap, in fact, 'cause no one 'd smelt a boom when +he first showed up. (Wal, _first_ come, first _served_.) Porky 'd +bought, too, and owned some lots 'twixt them tracts and the post-office. +To the east, right where the nicest houses is, the parson was plannin' +to import his fambly. More'n that, them four gun-shy gents stood ready +to buy all the time. And Goldstone fellers that would 'a' swapped +they lots fer a yalla dawg, and then shot the dawg, was holdin' out +fer fifty plunks. + +Wal, I had that three hunderd. But I helt back. What I wanted to know +was _the why behind the boom._ + +I just kinda happened past that real-estate corn-crib. The land-agent +was to home, and I ast him to come over and have one with me. He said +O. K., that suited _him_. So we greased our hollers a few times. And, +when he was feelin' so good that he could make out to talk, I drawed +from him that Goldstone was likely to stand 'way up yonder at the haid +of her class account of "natu'al developments." + +"Natu'al developments," I says. "Wal, pardner, when it comes to them +big, dictionary words, I shore am a slouch. And you got me all twisted +up in my picket-rope." + +But I had to spend another dollar 'fore he'd talk some more. Then he +begun, _turrible_ confidential: "I been sayin' nothin' and sawin' +wood, Lloyd. I ain't let _no_ man git information outen _me_. But I like +you, Lloyd, and, say! I'm a-goin' to tell you. Natu'al developments +is _coal_ and _oil_ and _gas._" + +Same as the Tusla country! Wal, I was plumb crazy. "Blamed if it ain't +_likely,_" I says to myself. "Wal, that settles things fer _me._" + +I got shet of that real-estate feller quick as I could (didn't want +him to remember that he'd talked in his sleep), and hunted up the +post-master. The postmaster was one of the china-eyed, corn-silk Swedes, +and he owned quite a bit of Goldstone. I tole him I wanted to buy a +couple of lots 'cause I was goin' to be married, and figgered to +build. (That wasn't no lie, neither.) Said I didn't want to live in the +part of town where the greasers was fer the reason that I'd rather +settle down in a Sioux Camp in August _any_ day than amongst a crowd of +blamed _cholos_. + +The postmaster wasn't anxious to sell. Said he didn't have more'n a +block left, and he wanted a big price fer that. "'Cause this boom is +_solid,_"--he kinda half whispered it. "How do I know? Wal, I pumped +one of them suspender-cityzens this mornin'." + +That showed me I'd got to hump myself. If that real-estate feller +blabbed any more, I wouldn't be able to buy. The station-agent owned +some lots. I hiked fer the deepot. + +When I looked into the ticket-office through the little winda, I seen +that agent--one hand on the tick-machine, other holdin' his haid--with +his mouth wide open, like a hungry wall-eye. + +"Lloyd," he says, pantin' hard, "I ain't got no right to tell, but I +can't hole it in. Them Chicago fellers, Lloyd, are a Standard Oil bunch. +Look a-here!" And he pushed out a telegram. + +I wouldn't 'a' believed it if I hadn't saw it writ down in black and +white. But there it was, haided Chicago, addressed to Porky, and as plain +as day: "_Buy up all that's possible. Price no object. Rockafeller._" + +Say! I come nigh lettin' out a yell. Then, knowin' they was no use to +ast the agent to sell, I split fer the liv'ry-stable. And when I got +back into town late that night, I'd been down to a ranch below Goldstone +and handed over my nest-aig fer a quarter-section just south of town. + +Next mornin', they was a nice pile of stakes throwed out on to that +sand patch of mine, all them stakes white on the one end and sharp on +the other. And they was a big sign onloaded, too. Yas, ma'am. It said, +"The Lloyd Addition." + +And that _same_ noon, Number 201 brung me a letter from little Macie! + +I didn't cut up my quarter into lots straight off. Made up my mind it'd +be best to see that real-estate feller first, ast his _ad_vice, and see +if he'd handle the property. So I made fer his office in a _turrible_ +sweat. + +Heerd awful loud talkin' as I come nigh, and seen they was a big crowd +'round the door. And here was Porky and the parson, just _havin'_ +it--up and down! + +"The idear!" the parson was sayin', "--the idear of you' thinkin' +you can go stick a pavilion where licker'll be sold right next to the +Cathedral!" (He was madder 'n all git out!) + +Porky shrug his shoulders. "My dear _sir,_" he says, "I got to use +my own _land_ in my own _way._" + +"Aw!" answers the parson, solemn, "--aw! my friend, give you' heart +a housecleanin'. Think not so muchly about worldly _po_ssessions, but +_see_cure a lot in the New Jerusalem!" + +Then Porky flew up. Said the parson 'd insulted him. "And," he almost +yelled, "this is how it stands. Either you got to buy the block where +the pavilion's goin' to be, 'r I'll buy the Cathedral property." + +"I ain't got you' means at my command," says the parson. + +"Never mind. I'll take the church lots. Name you' figger." + +"Three thousand." + +Porky pulled out his check-book and begun to scribble with one of them +squirt-gun pens. "The matter is settled," he says. + +Say! the feller who'd sole that property to the parson fer a hunderd--we +had to prop him up! + +Just afterwards, I had my chin with the real-estate dude, and I tell you +it made me pretty blue. "Sorry, Lloyd," he says; "you know _I_ never +tole you to buy _south_ of town. And I don't keer to bother with you' +Addition. 'Cause Goldstone is goin' to grow to the north and east." + +Porky was there, and he said the very same thing. And a few minutes later +on, when the doc come in, I couldn't git him to even _con_sider lookin' +over my buy. But fer a lot on the north side, belongin' to the parson, +he put down the good, hard _coin_. + +North and east was the hull talk now, and them Goldstone fellers who'd +sole out cheap in that end of town felt some pale. But the Chicago +gents was as pert as prairie-dawgs, and doin' a thunderin' lot of +buyin'. Now, the doc owned sev'ral lots east of Porky's tract. "New +drug-store here," he says, "and a fine town hall over it. I'll put +ten thousand into the buildin'." And the parson bought next to the site +fer the Normal College. "The city," he says, "'ll want a spot fer +its High School." + +All the time this was goin' on, I was livin' on nothin', you might +say, and not even spendin' a cent fer a shave. My haid had a crop of +hay on it that would 'a' filled a pilla; I had a Santy Claus beard, +and if I couldn't afford to grub at the hotel, I wasn't mean enough +to use they soap. So, far as looks goes, I was some changed. + +Then--the _Tarantula_ showed up with the hull story about coal and oil +and gas! Say! the cat was outen the bag. And Goldstone come nigh havin' +a fit and fallin' in. Here it'd been over a gold-mine, and didn't know +it! And here it'd gone and sole itself out to a passel of strange ducks! + +"_Feller citizens,_" says the paper, "_this beautiful city of yourn is +destined to rival South McAlester and Colgate._" + +That was on a Thursday, if I recollect right. Wal, say! fer the next two +days, more things happened in that there town than'd ever happened in +the hull _county_ afore. Ev'rybody that could rake, scrape, beg 'r +borra was a-doin' it--so's they could buy. Friday, the postmaster +got a big block from the real-estate gent; same day, kinda as a favour, +the doc sold the ticket-agent two 'r three lots. I felt blamed sore +'cause _I_ didn't have no money to git in on some good deals. But I +hung on to the "Lloyd Addition"--I wouldn't let _that_ git outen +my hands. Aw, I ain't a-goin' to lie--I had the boom-fever bad as +_any_body. Fact is, I had it _worse_. And who wouldn't--when gettin' +that little gal depended on it? + +Saturday, Goldstone went plumb crazy. They was buyin' and sellin' +back'ards and for'ards, this way and that way, in circles and +cater-corners. From sun-up on, that real-estate shanty had half a dozen +fellers in it all the time; more was over to the hotel, dickerin' +with Porky; and a lot of others trailed up the parson and the doc. +Nobody et 'cause they was too blamed _ex_cited. Nobody drunk 'cause +they wouldn't spare the cash. The sun went down, and they kept on +a-buyin'. And at midnight, the town went to bed--_rich!_ + +The day afterwards was Sunday. And I hope I may die if I ever fergit that +Sunday! + +When the sun come up, as a story-book'd put it, Goldstone lay as calm +and peaceful as a babe, 'cept where some poor devil of a cow-punch was +gittin' along towards his bunk when he oughta been comin' outen it. But +all else was O. K. Weather fine, ev'rybody well, thank y', and land +so high it's a wonder the temper'ture wasn't gittin' low. + +But ain't it funny how quick things can change? + +First off, some of us boys went over to that real-estate hogan--and found +the door open and the place stripped. Yas, ma'am; duds gone, pictures +gone. Only the bench and the table left. + +"What struck _him?_" ast the postmaster, who was comin' by. + +"I guess," says a feller, careless, "--I guess he's moved into a +better office, mebbe." + +"I reckon," agrees the postmaster. Then, his voice gittin' holler, +like, "But ain't that the map of Goldstone, with a rip in it?" + +It was--tore clean in two! + +We wasn't anxious any. Just the same, we drifted over to the hotel. +When we got to the door, we met the clerk comin' out. "Where's you' +millionaire friend this mornin'?" we ast him. + +"Started fer Chicago last night." + +"What--what's that?" + +"Gone to raise more capital, I guess," says the clerk. "'Cause he +didn't settle--is comin' back right off." + +Without nobody sayin' nothin' more, we all made up the street to the +doctor's, the crowd growin' as we went along. Even after bein' knocked +plumb flat with a sledge-hammer, we didn't know _yet_ what'd bit us. +But they was another whopper a-comin'--the _doc_ wasn't to be found. + +"I think," says the postmaster, swallerin' hard, "that if we ast the +parson----" + +Up pipes a kid. "The parson wasn't to Sunday school this mornin'." + +Fer a spell, we all just looked at each other. Then, the _pro_cession +formed and moved east--towards the parson's. + +A square table was inside. On it was a lot of bottles and glasses and a +pack of cards--nothin' more. + +Ole sin-killer, too! + +I spoke up: "They's gone, boys,--but what about they _land?_" + +"Wal," answers one feller, "I don't think the doc _had_ none. 'Cause +I bought the Merchants' _Ex_change site offen him yesterday." + +"And I bought the Normal School block offen the parson," says Number +Two. + +"And what I got from the real-estate feller last night," adds the hotel +clerk, "must 'a' come nigh to cleanin' _him_ out." + +Another spell of quiet. Then---- + +"I wonder," _re_marks the station-agent, "if that Rockafeller telegram +was _genuwine._" + +The postmaster throwed up his hands. "We're it!" he says. "We sole +our sand fer a song, and we bought it back at a steep figger." + +"With all that money," adds the hotel clerk, "they must 'a' had to +walk bow-laigged." + +"My friends," says the station-agent, "the drinks is on us!" + + * * * * * + +And me? Wal, I wandered 'round fer a while--like I was plumb loco. When +I landed up at last, I seen somethin' white in front of me. It was a +sign, and it said, "The Lloyd Addition." + +I sit down on my little pile of stakes, and pulled out the last letter +I'd got from Macie. + + "Dear Alec," it begun, "I'm so glad you got you' land----" + +I didn't read no further. I looked off acrosst the mesquite in the +_di_rection of Briggs City. "The land ain't no good," I says. "And +all my money's gone." And I laid my haid down on my arms. + +Just then, outen a bunch of grass not far off, I heerd the spunky little +song of a lark! + +I riz up. + +"Anyhow," I says, "I'm goin' home. Mebbe I look like a bum; but I'm +goin' back where I got some friends! I'm goin' back where they call +me Cupid!" + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +AND A BOOM AT BRIGGS + + +I GOT back all right. It takes two dollars and six-bits to git from +Goldstone to Briggs City on the Local. But if you happen to have a little +flat bottle in you' back pocket, you ride in the freight caboose fer +nothin'. I _had_ a flat bottle. I swapped "The Lloyd Addition" fer it. + +When I hit ole Briggs City, she looked all right t' _me,_ I can tell +y'. And so did the boys. And by noon I was plumb wored out, I'd gassed +so much. + +Wal, I went over and sit down on the edge of Silverstein's porch to +rest my face and hands. Pretty soon, I heerd a hoss a-comin' up the +street--_clickety, clickety, clickety, click._ It stopped at the +post-office, right next me. I looked up--and here was Macie! + +Say! I felt turrible, 'cause I hadn't slicked up any yet. But she +didn't seem to notice. She knowed they was somethin' gone wrong though, +'fore ever I said a word. She just helt out one soft little hand. +"Never you mind, Alec," she says; "never you mind." + +My little gal! + +"It means punchin' cows fer four years at forty per, Macie," I says +to her. + +"I'll wait fer you, Alec," she answers. + +She'd gone, and I was turnin' back towards Silverstein's, when--I'm +a son-of-a-gun if I didn't see, a-comin' acrosst from the deepot, one +of them land-sharks! It was Porky, with that wedge-coat of hisn, and a +seegar as big as a corn-cob! + +Say! I duv under the porch so quick that I clean scairt the life outen +six razorbacks and seventeen hens that was diggin' 'round under it. And +when I come out where the back door is, I skun fer Hairoil Johnson's +shack to borra a dif-f'rent suit of clothes offen the parson. Next, I +had my Santy Claus mowed at the barber-shop. + +But, when I looked in the glass, I wasn't satisfied, 'cause I wasn't +changed enough. "What'll I _do?_" I ast the barber. + +"Wash," he says. + +Wal, I'll be dog-goned!--the _dis_guise was complete! + +Just then, in come Hank Shackleton. "Hank," I says, "what do y' +think?--that fat Chicago millionaire I was a-tellin' you of is _here!_" + +"You don't say so!" he answers, beginnin' to grin. "That shore _is_ +luck!" + +"How so?" ast the barber. + +"Why," I says, "just think what we can _do_ to him!" + +Hank just lent back and haw-hawed like he'd bust his buttons off. "Aw, +_don't_ make me laugh," he says; "my lip's cracked!" + +They ain't no use talkin'--we fixed up a proposition that was a _daisy_. + +"And it'll work like yeast," says Shackleton. "A-course, whatever +_I_ make outen it, Cupid, you git a draw-down on--yas, you do." + +"Nobody from Goldstone'll speak up and spoil the fun, neither," I +says. "Not by a jugful! That passel of yaps down there is jealous of +Briggs, and 'd just _like_ to see her done. What's more, they got a +heap of little, mean pride, and 'd never own up _they_ been sold." + +It was shore funny, but from that _very_ minute, and all by _itself_ +kinda, Briggs City begun to boom! Billy Trowbridge put a barb-wire fence +'round a couple of vacant lots next his house. Bergin dug a big hole +behind that ole vacant shack of hisn, and buried about a ton of tin cans. +Hairoil turned some shoats into a rock patch he owned and cleaned out +the rattlesnakes. And all over town, sand got five times as high as +it'd ever been afore. + +So when my dudey friend, the real-estate feller, struck our flourishin' +city, and hired a' empty shanty fer his office, he didn't find no one +anxious to sell him a slice of land. "Say! property's up here," he +_re_marked, whilst he put down the stiff price that Bill Rawson 'd ast +fer a lot. He seemed sorta bothered in his mind. (But he had to have +land--to start his game on.) + +"And _climbin',_" says Bill, pocketin' the spondulix. (Later on, Bill +says to _me,_ "I ain't a-goin' to do another lick of hard work this +year!") + +Same day, here was Sam Barnes, walkin' up and down on that acre of hisn +and holdin' to a forked stick. Wouldn't tell Porky _why,_ though he +hinted that whenever a forked stick dipped _three_ times, _it meant +somethin' more 'n water._ + +"But I ain't got the cash to do no investigatin'," says Sam, sad-like. + +Porky got turrible inter_est_ed. "Say," he says t' Shackleton, "what +you think of that land of Barnes's?" + +"Wal," answers Hank, "I'll tell y': Oncet I seen another strip +that looked _just_ like hisn on top. And it was rich in gold. It was so +blamed rich in the colour that when the feller who owned it (he was as +lazy as a government mule)--when that feller wanted more t'bacca, 'r +some spuds, 'r a piece of pig, why, he'd just go out into the yard and +roll. Then he'd hike to town, and when he'd get into the bank, he'd +shake hisself--good--pick up what fell to the floor, git it weighed, +and the payin'-teller would hand him out what was comin' t' him." + +Porky peeled his eyes. (It was plain he didn't swaller it all.) But, +after talkin' with that real-estate feller, he hunted up Sam and bought +ev'ry square inch he had. "'Cause it's dollars to doughnuts," he +says, "that Briggs City'll grow this way." + +"Wal, I don't know," says Sam. "Bergin is powerful strong in +pollytics, and he figgers to git the Court House _er_ected on the +other side of town--where his wife's got some land." + +The new parson and the doc showed up that same afternoon. And I reckon +they liked that Court House idear, 'cause they took the north half of +the Starvation Gap property straight off. + +"The City Park," they says, "should allus be next the public +buildin's." + +"The City Park," says Buckshot Milliken, "will likely be further +north, right agin the University. I _know_--fer the reason that they was +a meetin' of the University _di_rectors last night. Then, the Farmers' +and Merchants' Bank is goin' to be located facin' the Park, and so +is the Grand Op'ra House." + +Porky gave Buckshot a' awful sharp look. But Buckshot's a' Injun when +it comes to actin' innocenter'n a kitten. So then the millionaire gent +looked _tickled_ ('cause, just think!--if we was _ex_cited a'ready +about a boom, what a pile of trouble it'd save him and his pardners!) +Wal, he waddled off and hunted 'em up. And that night they pur_chased_ +'most all of them north lots--payin' good. + +It was the next mornin' that they got holt of ole man Sewell and bought +the Andrews place. Sewell wasn't _on_--he hadn't been into town since I +come from Goldstone. But the real-estate gent was used to puttin' up a +good figger by now, and the boss made a fair haul. + +Right off, the Andrews chunk was laid out in fifty-foot lots. It was +just rows and _rows_ of white stakes, and when the West-bound was stopped +at the deepot fer grub, I seen Bill Rawson pointin' them stakes out +to two poor ole white-haired women. "Ladies," he says, "that's the +battlefield where Crook fit the Kiowas. Ev'ry stake's a stiff." + +As the train pulled out, she was tipped all to one side kinda, and +runnin' on her off wheels, 'cause the pass'ngers was herded along +the west side of the cars, lookin' at that big graveyard. + +When Hank's next _Eye-Opener_ come out, one hull side of it was covered +with a map of Briggs City--drawed three mile square, so's to take +in what Mrs. Bergin had left. Under the map it said, "_The left-hand +cross marks the position of the West Oklahomaw Observatory, which is +to be built on top of Rogers's Butte, and the cross in the Andrews +Addition marks the spot where the great Sanatarium'll stand._" (Say! +it was gittin' to be a cold day in Briggs when somebody didn't start +a grand, new institootion!) "_Why,_" goes on Shackleton, in that +piece of hisn, "_breathin' that fine crick-bottom air, and on a plain +diet--say, of bread and clabbered milk, a sick person oughta git cured +up easy, and a healthy person oughta live more'n a hunderd years._" +(Wal, as far as _I'_m concerned, if I had to eat clabbered milk a +hunderd years, I'd ruther _die!_) + +Next thing, two 'r three of the boys got into a reg'lar jawin'-match +over some property. Chub Flannagan wanted to start a new paper called +the _Rip-Saw_. Shackleton, a-course, didn't want he should. Right in +front of that real-estate feller's, Chub drawed a gun on Hank. And +Monkey Mike had to interfere 'twixt them. + +"I got a right to do what I please on my own land," yells Chub. + +"Wal, I'll buy you' blamed lots," says Shackleton, "but I don't +stand fer compytition. Here, agent, what's Chub's block worth?" + +The dude reckoned it was worth five hunderd. And Shackleton dug down like +a man! + +The rest of us done a turrible lot of buyin' and sellin' right after +that--one to the other. The sheriff sold to Sam Barnes (fer a chaw of +t'bacca); Bill Rawson, he sold to me (on tick); Hairoil Johnson to +Dutchy, and so forth. 'R, it'd be like this: "Bet you a lot I can +jump the furth'est." "Bet you cain't." Then real estate 'd change +hands, and the _Tarantula_ 'd talk about "a lively market." + +A-course, the dude and Porky, and the doc and the new parson was +doin' some buyin', too. 'Fore long, they owned all Bergin had, and +Shackleton's, and Chub's, and Rawson's, and Johnson's, and mine. And +they picked out a place fer the Deef, Dumb, and Blind Asylum; and named +ole man Sewell fer President of the Briggs City Pott'ry works. + +[Illustration: "_I'll buy you blamed lots, but I don't stand fer +compytition_"] + +Pretty soon, havin' all the land they wanted, they begun, steady by +jerks, to sell each other, notice of them sales appearin' in the +_Eye-Opener_ at two-bits apiece. Next, they got to sellin' faster. +Then, it was dawg eat dawg. Lickin' things into a' _ex_citin' pass, +them lots of theirn flew back'ards and for'ards till the air was +plumb full of sand. When the sun went down that never-to-be-fergot +evenin' (as the speaker allus says at a _po_litical pow-wow), ole +Briggs City was the colour of mesquite. But the pockets of the punchers +was so chuck full that, as the hours drug by, our growin' city got +redder 'n a section-house, 'cause the boys was busy paintin' it. (But +count _me_ out--I had my draw-down, and I was a-hangin' _on_ to it.) +Whilst over at the real-estate shack, them gun-shy gents was havin' +a quiet, little business talk, gittin' ready fer they onloadin' +campaign next day. + +About ten o'clock, I stopped by they shebang and knocked. When the door +was opened, here they all sit, makin' out more deeds 'n you could +shake a stick at. I didn't go in. I figgered I'd be gittin' married +soon; and no feller wants his face spotted up like a Sioux chief's on +his weddin' day. + +"Gents," I says, "the boys sent me over to thank you all fer +pur_chasin'_ property hereabouts in such a blamed gen'rous way. And +it's shore too bad that _they_ feel they cain't invest. But they plan +to wait a year, and buy in what you got fer taxes." + +Fer as long as you could count ten, not a' one of 'em said a word. Then +the doc stood up. "Who in thunder are _you?_" he ast, voice like a frog. + +"Why," I answers, "don't you recollect _me?_ I'm Cupid here; but, +down at Goldstone, I was the owner of the Lloyd Addition." + +They jumped like they'd been stuck with a pin. "The Lloyd Addition!" +they kinda hisses. + +"Yas," I goes on. "So I reckon you realise that it wouldn't be no +use fer Mister Real-Estate Agent, here, to git three-sheets-in-the-wind, +and then let out his grand natu'al development secret; 'r fer our +millionaire friend to go send hisself a telegram from Rockafeller. +Gent's you' little Briggs City boom is busted." + +Say! next minute the hull quartette of 'em was a-swearin' to oncet, +so's it sounded like a tune--nigger chords and all. + +Next, Porky begun a solo. Said if they hadn't all been plumb crazy, +they'd 'a' knowed they was a screw loose in Briggs. And now here they +was stripped cleaner'n a whistle by a set of ornery cow-punchers---- + +I cut him short. "We know how to cure a dawg of suckin' aigs," I says. +"We give him all he wants of 'em--red hot. Wal, you gents had the boom +disease, and you had it bad. But I reckon now you've got just about all +the land you can hole." + +They nodded they haids. It was a show-down, and no mistake, and they +was plumb offen they high hoss. Blamed if I didn't come nigh feelin' +sorry fer 'em! But I goes on, "I'm feard you-all're _just_ a little +bit ongrateful to me--_con_sider-in' that I come here t'-night to help +y'." + +"Help?" they says. (Quartette again.) + +"Why, yas. Don't you think, about this time, that Chicago 'd look +pretty good to you?" + +"Chicago!" says Porky, low and wistful, like he didn't never expect +to see the place again. + +"And hittin' the ties, fer two dudes like the agent, here, and the +parson----" + +"Parson be hanged!" says the last named gent, ugly as the dickens. + +"I hope not," I goes on, "but you never can tell what the boys'll +do." + +The doc was standin' up. As I said that, he come down kerplunk onto a +bench, like as if a spring 'd give way in his laigs. + +"Lloyd," he says, "we--we--we're willin' to go, but we ain't got +no money." + +"You're what I'd call land-poor," I says. + +"You need four tickets--wal, now, you own that Andrews chunk, don't +y'?" + +"Lloyd," says the real-estate feller, "you've got the dead wood on +us, ole man." He picked up one of them deeds from the table. "Git us +the tickets," he says, "and here's the Andrews property." + +"A up-freight goes by in twenty minutes," I says. And started fer the +station. + +"Lloyd!" calls Porky after me, "think you could spare us a' extra +twenty fer grub?--_you_ don't want us to starve, Lloyd. And--and mebbe +you could use the rest of these deeds." + +I come back. + +"Twenty?" I says; "I'll make it fifty fer luck." + +They was tears in that fake parson's eyes. "Lloyd," he says, "if I +really _was_ a preacher, I'd pick you fer a saved man." + +Later on, when I walked into Dutchy's thirst-parlour, the boys was on +hand, waitin' patient. As they ketched sight of me, they hollered some. + +"My friends," I says, "this is where I stand treat. But it ain't +licker this tune, _no,_ ma'am; I'm presentin' hunderd-foot lots." +So out I drawed my little bunch of deeds and handed one to each feller. +Bergin got the Observatory site and the City Park; Rawson, the University +grounds; Hairoil, the Farmers' and Merchants' Bank block; Chub, the +Court House; Sam Barnes, the spot fer the Grand Op'ra House, and Billy +Trowbridge, the land fer the Deef, Dumb and Blind Asylum. Then I slid. + +Ten minutes, and my pinto bronc was a-kitin' fer the Bar Y ranch-house. +Turnin' in at the gate, I seen a light in the sittin'-room winda. I +dropped the reins over Maud's haid and hoofed it up onto the porch. +And inside, there was Macie, a-settin' in her rocker in front of the +fire. On the other side was the President of the Briggs City Pott'ry +Works. + +"Boss," I says, as I shook hands with him, "Boss, I've come fer you' +little gal." Say! it took him quick, like a stitch in the side. "Fer +my gal?" he kinda stammers. + +"Why--why, Alec,----" she whispers to me. + +"Sewell," I goes on, "when I ast you fer her, a while back, you said, +'Git a piece of land as big as the Andrews chunk.' Wal," (I handed +out my deed) "would you mind lookin' at this?" + +"It's yourn!" The ole man put his hands to his haid. + +"Also," I says, rattlin' the little stack of twenties in my right-hand +britches pocket, "I'm fixed t' git some cows; fifty 'r so--a start, +boss, just a start." + +"How'd you do it! Why, I'm plumb knocked silly!" + +"But you' ain't the man to go back on you' word, Sewell. I can take +good keer of Mace now--and I want to be friends with the man that's +goin' to be my paw." + +He begun to look at me, awful steady and sober, and he looked and he +looked--like as if he hadn't just savvied. Next, he sorta talked to +hisself. "My little Macie," he kept sayin'; "my little Macie." + +She put her arms 'round him then, and he clean broke down. "Aw, I +_cain't_ lose my little gal," he says. "I don't keer anythin' about +land 'r cattle. But Macie--she's all I got left. _Don't_ take her +away from me!" + +So _that_ was it! (And I'd said that all Sewell keered fer was money.) +"Boss," I says, "you mean you'd like us to live here--with you?" + +He come over to me, tremblin' like he had the ague. "Would y', +Cupid?" he ast. "I'd never interfere with you two none. _Would_ y'?" + +"Aw, daddy!" says Mace, holdin' to him tight. + +"Why, bless you' heart, Sewell," I answers, "what do I want to live +any _other_ place fer? _Mace_ is what I want--just Mace. And, say! you +take back you' little ole crick-bottom." + +"Got more land'n I want _now._" + +"Boss,"--I helt out my hand--"here's where you git a new son-in-law, +and a foreman fer keeps on cow-punch pay. Shake!" + +He give one hand to Mace, and he give me the other. "Not by a long shot, +Cupid!" he says. "Here's where I git a half-_pardner._" + + * * * * * + +So here I am--settled down at the ole Bar Y. And it'd take a twenty-mule +team t' pull me offen it. Of a evenin', like this, the boss, he sits +on the east porch, smokin'; the boys 're strung along the side of +the bunk-house t' rest and gass and laugh; and, out yonder, is the +cottonwoods, same as ever, and the ditch, and the mesquite, leveler'n a +floor; and--up over it all--the moon, white and smilin'. + +Then, outen the door nigh where the sun-flowers 're growin', mebbe +she'll come--a slim, little figger in white. And, if it's plenty warm, +and not too late, why, she'll be totin' the smartest, cutest---- + +Listen! y' hear that? + + "Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides + On its fair, windin' way to the sea----" + +That's my little wife,--that's Macie, now--a-singin' to the kid! + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher, by Eleanor Gates + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALEC LLOYD, COWPUNCHER *** + +***** This file should be named 33884.txt or 33884.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/8/8/33884/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.fadedpage.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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