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, 19M, by The Curtl Publishing Company Copyright, 1906, 1907, by International Magazlna 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 Pur THEY FOOT IN IT . 169 VIII. ANOTHER SCHEME, AND How rr 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 21299G3 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 some- body 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 4 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher of it, y savvy, runnin' so far out towards the ^west line of Oklahomaw that it plumb slices the x sky. .Through it, north and south, the telegraph poles go straddlin' in the Erection 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 scat- term' 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 tumble 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, jerk- s iwater town! The particular 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 per- fumey, like them advertisin' picture cards you git at a drugstore. So, bein' as I was enjoyin* myself, and a-studyin' out somethin' as I Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 5 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. Somebody'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' off en 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, tumble solemn, he was " I have decided 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. "Wai, how?" 6 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher "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- iunate 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, i 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." Wai, 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 swal- ler 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 tumble bust-up he'd fin'lly be responsible fer 'twixt me and the same grey-eyed, sassy- winkered gal! If I had, it's a Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 7 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 Trow- hridge," 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 SewelTs gal? So you're a-plannin' t' interfere in the doin's of ole man SewelTs fambly." "Yas." He reached fer my hand and squz it, and pre- tended t' git mournful, like as if he wasn't never goin' t' see me again. "My pore friend!" he says. " ' Wai, 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 8 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher man Sewell ! " And, shakin' his haid, he turned the corner of the deepot. s Wai, 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 thun- der! And mighty sweet. Wai, 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 proposi- tion like that Noo York Simpson put a vent brand on her? Niamey! It was ole man Sewell that bossed the first job and cut out Andrews fer Rose's pardner. Sew- ell'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 coyote, 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 9 all knowed that, and she wasn't happy. Wai, 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&Vular mix-up. That's 'cause Simpson, the tin-horn gent I mentioned, is a doc. And so's Billy Trowbridge Billy Trow- bridge 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 certificate., 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 alms liked Billy. Wai, 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 reached 10 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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- Ocular about his hands; but a profeshnal 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? Wai, 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 jig- gers fer his business, and one of them toot sur- reys that's got ingine haidlights and two seats Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 11 all stuffed with goose feathers and covered with leather reg'lar Standard Sleeper. It was that gasoline rig that done Billy dam- age, 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 styl- ish. 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 Moun- tain. But the women! The hull cawieyard 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 biq/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. 12' Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher " 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!) iWhy, it was astonishin' how many kinds of new- fangled 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 polite 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 f ambly, 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 hap- pen : 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! Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 13 I was out at the Bar Y that same day, and when the news got over to the bunk-house, we was all tumble excited. "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 Erection that come nigh to splittin' my boots. " Back up, m' son," I says, reachin' to my britches pocket. fc I ain't no hired man." Sewell, he puts in quick. " No, no, Doc," he says; "this man's one 01* the Diamond O cow- 14 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 ccwcerned wal, just wait. As I say, he goes in, ' the ole man f ollerin' 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 f 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 biq/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' id jit, and he Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 15 was sorry as the dickens fer her. "Aw, a baby ain't all teeth," he says. Wai, he left some truck 'r other. Then he goes out, gits into his Pullman section, blows his punkin whistle and departs. Next day, same thing. Temper'ture's still up. Medicine cain't be kept down. Case tumble puz- zlin*. Makes all kinds of guesses. Leaves some hoss liniment. Toot! toot! Day after, changes the program. 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 16 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher lent over the kid. Gee whiz! I hate t' see a woman cry! 'Way early, next day, the kid had a convul- 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, fcy way of beginnin', " I'm f card we're goin' to lose the baby. Simpson ain't doin' much, seems like. What y' say if I ride in fer Doc Trow- faridge? " " Trowbridge?" he says disgusted. "No, ma'am! Simpson'll be here in a jiffy! " " I reckon Simpson'll be late," I says. " Bill Hawson 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." Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher IT The ole man begun t' chaw and spit like a bob-cat. " I ain't astin' Bill's advice," he says. " When I want it, I'll let him know. If Simp- son'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. Wai, 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 18 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher a-givin' me! like she knowed what I was a-wor- ryin' 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-travel- lin' 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. Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 19 " You're a-skeerin' my boss," 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 hide- bound 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 opposite Erection 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 20 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 direction and took up my little rope. About two shakes of a lamb's tail, and it hap- pened. He got nose and nose with me. I throwed, ketchin' him low 'round his chest and arms. Maud come short. Say! talk about you' flym* -machines ! Simp- son 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, dumb it a ways, knocked her wind out, pitched oncet 'r twicet, tumbled over on to her quarters, and begun t' kick up her heels. He lay the kid lookiri* up and put his finger into her mouth " Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 21 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. "Wai, 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 f er this ! " he bellered. " You cain't git blood outen a turnip," I an- swers, sweet as sugar; and Maud backed a step 'r two, so's the rope wouldn't slack. " How dost you do such a' wfameous 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 f er his life when you happen t' be travellin'." He begun t' wiggle his arms. "You lemme go," he says. "Go where? "last. " 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 22 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 engagement." 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! " " Wai, 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 bicycle 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. fr Do you 3 darned- est!" 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 23 a tumble 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, 24 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher zip-zip, zip-zip, zip-zip. And, jumpin' buffa- loes! 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. S " 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! ff Teeth! " says the ole man, like he didn't be- lieve it. " Come look," says Billy. Sewall, 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 25 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 agger- vated. 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 reception he didn't reckon on. But he tried t' keep up his game. " This cow-boy here is responsible fer damages 26 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 Sewall; "sue 1 ? 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 r again, plumb took up with them four new nip- pers. " Cluck, cluck," he says like a chicken, and pokes the kid under the chin. Over one shoul- der, he says to Billy, " And, Trowbridge, you can make out you 3 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 : Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 27 Mister Zach Sewell, debtor to W. A. Trow- fer medical services the hand of one l Rose Andrews in marriage." Sewell, he read the paper over and over, turnin' all kinds of colours. And Billy and me come blamed nigh chokin' from holdin' our breaths. Rose was lookin' up at us, and at her paw, too, tumble 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' id jit. 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 its foot outen the mud. 28 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher " 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 I it got me some nervous. " Seems Mister Cupid Lloyd is a-runnin r things 'round this here ranch-house," he begun slow, like he was holdin' in his mad. I wal, I just kinda stood there, and swal- lered 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 accommodating Haw!" And he give one of them short, sarcastic laughs. ;{ Wal, just let me tell you," he continues, steppin' closter, "that I, fer one, ain't got UQ use fer a feller that's allus a-stickin' in his lip.'* Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 29 " Sewell," I says, tf * 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. Wai, 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 feller 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 mat- ter. ) 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 together cain't never manage t' hitch hisself." I'd been keepin' still 'cause I didn't want they 30 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher should be no hard feelin's 'twixt us. But that last remark 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." Wai, 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 tumble 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. Wai, how was 1 1' 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 Erection 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 difference 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 91 32 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 particular section of Oklahomaw. As I said, Bud was responsible f er 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. Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 33 Wai, 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 no thin' 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! I We planted Bud in city style. But the par- son 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. :< Wai, 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," 34 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 f eller'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 " Sta- tion," 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 particular dawg was so spotted you could 'a' come blamed nigh playin' checkers on him. Wai, 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 nip- pers, and could jerk off the stearin' gear of a cow quicker 'n greazed lightnin'. Wai, the par- son come down to the post-office, drivin' a two- Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 35 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 off en 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 f er 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' Sta- tion " stuck in the parson's craw, and we made out to Dutch that like as not he 'd have to change his sign. 36 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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, jnaype, 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 ad- mission. 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 punch- er's, and a quirt in his fist, one of the Bar Y boys rounded him up agin the meanest, Zot>down buckin' proposition that ever wore the hide of a Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 37 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 tumble lot to me, that goin' to church.) Wai, 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. Nb, 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 f er 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 38 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 se- rious pervided, a-course, that he'd stand fer a little cussin' when the 'casion required. It was a cinch that he'd draw like wet rawhide. Wai, 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 off en that keerige dawg. But pretty soon he got plumb tired of just dawg-fightin'. He prepared to turn hisself loose. And he advertised a free supper fer the very next Sunday night. When Sunday night Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 39 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 f er devil- ment '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 any- wheres else. The parson took to fastenin' him up. Then Dutchy'd mosey over towards Hair- oil's shack. Out'd come Mister Spots. And one, two, three, the saloon dawg 'd sail into him. 40 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 / 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 s 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. Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 41 Wai, 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 vie' 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. Wai, 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 42 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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. Wai, 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 ]ikes! 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 Erection, 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! Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 43 I made fer the parson. ff Excuse me," I says to him, " but wasn't you talkin' to a young lady just now? and if it ain't too gaily, 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 mar- ried, then. T 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. Trow- bridge'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 44 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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, some- how, along with Her name, it sounded awful fine. "Macie Macie Sewell." " Cupid, I wisht you'd walk home witK 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 fool- isher than fer you to git you* eye fixed on a be- longin' of ole man Sewell's. Just paste that in you' sunbonnet." Wai, I rid Shank's mare over t' Han-oil'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 iwith him. I'd never liked Dutchy such a tur- rible lot anyhow, and I did want t' be a friend to the parson. So fer a hour after we hit the Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 45 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 Sil- .verstein'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'-gal- lery at the back of his " Life Savin' Station." fr 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. "Wai," he says, "what I carried over was nailed up good and tight, all right, all right." Wai, 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 46 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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, " '11 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 id jits!" chips in Buckshot Mil-< likin, him that owns such a tumble big bunch of white-faces, and was run outen Arizonaw fer rustlin' sheep, " what can y' expect of a preacher that comes from Williams?' 1 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-ftimflammin' 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 un- \Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncker 47 der 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. "Wai, 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? VI 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 bawled out his purp. " Vatch me I " he says. The parson was a good bit closter by now, settin' up straight as a telegraph pole, and a-hum- min' 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. 48 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher "Be a Mother Hubbard next" says Bill Rawson. Somehow, though, as the parson come 'long- side 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 diif '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. Wai, 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 dia- mond 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 49 runs out. "Come, hellup," he yells to the par- son. 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 tumble 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. iThat 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. " Coin' t' have any more Sunday night dances? " ast the parson. (Bing, bang.} "Nein! Nein!" "Any more" (bing, bang) t (t free Sunday suppers?" "Nein! Nein! Hellup!" " Coin' to change this " {biff, biff) " saloon's name ! " 50 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher "Ya! Ya! Gottl" 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! Wai, the next Sunday night, the school-house was chuck full. She wasn't there no, Monkey Mike tole me she was visitin' down to Gold- stone; but, a-course, all the rest of the women folks was. And about forty-'leven cow-punch- ers was on hand, and Buckshot, and Rawson and Dutchy, yas, ma'am, Dutchy f we rounded him up. Do y' think after such a come-off we was goin' to let that limburger run any compyti- tion place agin our parson? And that night the parson stands up on the Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 51 platform, his face as shiny as a milk-pan, and all smiles, and he looked over that cattle-town hunch and says, " I take f er my text this evenin', ' And the calf, and the young lion and the f atlin' shall lie down iu peace CHAPTER THREE THE PRETTIEST GAL AND THE HOMELIEST MAN I'M just square enough to own up it was one on me. But f ar's that par&'cular mix-up goes, I can afford to be honest, and let anybody snicker that wants to seem' the way the hull thing turned out. 'Cause how about Doc Simpson? Didn't I git bulge Xumber Two on him? And how about the little gal? Didn't it give me my first chanst? Course, it did! And now, some- times, 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 f er tw T o dollars ! " That medicine show follered the dawg fight. It hit Briggs City towards sundown one day, in a prairie-schooner drawed by tw r o big, white 52 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 53 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 shirt- waist. Wai, sir, it was just like they'd struck that town to start things a-movin' f er 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 .Renowned 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 Be- witchin' Song and Dance. Amuricaw's Greatest Nigger Impersynater. The Fav'rite Ban joist of the Sunny South. Injun Shadda Pictures, and a hull lot more I cain't just recall. 54 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 bot- tles. 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 din- guss, 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 f er 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 jam- packed. The front seats was took up by the town kids, a-course. Then come the w r omen 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' f er the show to begin, the punchers done a lot of laughin' and cat-callin' to each other, Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 55 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. Wai, 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, HOW he's a-sail- in' '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 aw- 56 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher ful 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 f er repairs." 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 J 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 57 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." Wai, 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 quick- er '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 58 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher '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! Wai, 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 1 and bowin' and doin' jigs. I wondered if Macie Sewell liked it. Guess she did ! She was a-smilin' and leanin' f or'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 TiU the Sun Shines, Maggie/ " Wai, if I hadn't 'a' had rea- sons 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 Mur- Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 59 ray 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 help- less. That look of hern was a lasso, pullin' me to her, steady and shore. " Macie Made Sewell," I whispered to myself, and I reckon my lips moved. ' You blamed id jit! " says Hairoil, out loud al- most, " 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 program" 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 sis- 60 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher ters 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 childern, 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 oth- ers, 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. Wai, he made friends with a nice Injun boy. He ast him ques- tions about that salve and that medicine. He learnt what plants was dug to make both of Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 61 '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 ! ' " Wai, 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 hun- derd people in this town that'll thank Providence he come : They's little children that won't be or- phans ; 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, / am that boy ! " That got the punchers so excited and so tickled, that they hollered and stamped and banged and the hall. " My friends," goes on the Judge, " I have prepared, aided by my dear Injun comrade here, the sev'ral kinds of medicines discovered by the DBlackfeet." 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 f er the five of us to live on. I do more'n that. Ev'rywheres I go, I present, as a soovneer of my visit, a handsome, solid-gold watch and chain" Out come that singin' lady, holdin' the watch and chain in front of her so's the crowd could see. My! what a lot of whisperin'! " This elegant gift," continues the Judge, " is awarded by means of a votin' contest. And it goes to the prettiest gal." More whisperin', and I seen a brakeman git up and go over to talk to another railroad feller. Wai, / didn't have to be tole who was the pretti- est gal! "Ladies and gents," the Judge again "in this contest, everybody is allowed to vote. All a Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 63 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 rem- edies 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 dol- lars' 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. 64 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher " I'm a sucker, too," hollers the other rail- road feller. " Here's ten more votes f er 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 f er you* rat-pizen. And you can chalk down forty votes fer Miss Macie Sewell." Say! cain't you hear them Bar Y punchers? ff 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? Wai, she was laughin', and blushin', and shakin' that pretty haid of hern at me! I was so &rcited I didn't know whether I was a-foot 'r a-hoss-back. But I knowed enough to buy f all right. Wai, that medicine went like hot- cakes ! I bio wed myself , and Hairoil bio wed My- self, and the Bar Y boys cleaned they pockets till the bottles was piled up knee-high byside the Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 65 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-eel and here's another over on this side! And, lady, it'll be good fer you, too, yas, ma'am. The Blackfoot 1 Injun Rootee, my friends, the Pain Balm, the iCough Balsam, the Magic Salve, and the Worm Destroyer, the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dol- lars!" 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 3 em right." 66 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 'Cause, I figgered, no eatin'-house gal with a face like a flat-car was a-goin' to be elected the pretti- est gal of Briggs. Not if I seen myself, no, ma'am. 'Specially not whilst SewalTs 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. A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 67 "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 interested 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, Bill^ is.) " It won't do 'em no good." " Wai," 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. Wai, I guess the best thing f er 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 68 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher you want to have you' own way, I never seen any- body that could think up more gol-darned .things." " And," I continues, " 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.' 3 " Now, Cupid," says Billy, like he was goin' to scolt me. " 'R if cle 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." Wai, a-course, Simpson was tumble 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.) ,* "Wai, 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 69 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' f er 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 remark about a gal's name bein' " handed 'round town," and that a votin' contest was " vul- gar." Wai, 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. 70 'Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher '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 Sil- verstein'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. " Wai, I knowed it! But is she right? Now, I think, Buckshot, I think you've got the blig- gers." (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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 71 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 SewelPs 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 Okla- homaw, 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' 72 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 sodn, he looked up, kinda sheepish. " I could use another punch- er," 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 ! Wai, 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 Trow- bridge said about Root-ee ! When the show started up in the hall after sup- per, 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' Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 73 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. "Wai, he couldn't. Pain Balm makes a man as limber as a willa. Ladies and gents, it's wowierful what that remedy can do! It'll pro- long 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 f er 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 tumble fuss about the votes that was cast f er him, why, the Judge had decided to keep the homeliest-man contest a secret. Wai, 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 74 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 ! " Wai, 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. " Wai, a man never knows," I goes on. " Now, mebbe, of a mornin', when you wake up, you feel Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 75 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, indiif'rence, hate, courtship, marriage," it looked like this : S/W///T friendship. marriage. 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 76 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher my heart got to goin' somethin' tumble 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 off en 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 yV 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,, Didy'?" " 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 rail- road bunch was a-workin', too, and a-talkin' up A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 77 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 preformance 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. Wai, 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 78 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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. Wai, 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 Mur- ray 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 program too long. Fer the reason that I know just what you-all want to hear most. And that is, the result of the contest." That railroad gang begun t' holler. Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 79 Don't know why, wasn't no reason f er it, but my heart went plumb down into my boots. " Aw, little Macie!" I says to myself; "aw, little Ma- cie! " 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 fortunate young lady to the plat- form." (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." Wai, 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. Wai, 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 belt out his 80 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 81 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 molasses below in Silverstein's. I wisht I was dead, and I wisht the hull blamed bunch of punchers was Wai, I felt something tumble. "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 medi- cine, 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, f eelin' my way. Minute and 82 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher I come out onto Silverstein's hind porch. No- body 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 bosses was fastened there when I come, but it was so dark, and I felt so kinda bad, that I didn't notice the broncs parta'c- ular. Till, 'round the corner, towards 'em, come that Simpson. Next, walkin ' slow and lookin' down Macie. But she got onto her boss 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 boss 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 83 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, / 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 j on the pommel. I reached up only a stay-chain could a' belt me 84 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher back then and took it into both of mine. Say! did you ever holt a little, flutterin' bird 'twixt you' two palms? "Made," 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! Nobody 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 f ambly et. And I recol- lect 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 85 86 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 ir- rigatin' 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 3 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 87 come acrosst the alfalfa like a butterfly. And then- " Don't you want a shawl 'round you' shoul- ders, honey? It's some chilly." " No." (Did you ever see a gal that'd own up she needed a wrap?) :< Wai, 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 (f keep the ole man lis- tenin', y' savvy, and make him fergit t' look f er 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. Wai, 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. 88 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher ' You ain't never liked nobody else, honey? " "No just you, Alec! dear Alec!" " Same here, Made, and this is fer keeps." Wai, 'most ev'ry night it was just like that. And the follerin' day, mehbe 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 to- wards 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 tur- rible happy that we got inter ested in Bergin's Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 89 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' mat- reemonal 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 &rplain. It begun when I'd been out at the Sewell ranch about two weeks. (I disremember the ex- ac' 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. 90 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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, ff 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. Wai, 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 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 91 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 let- ters, y' savvy. (Say! what's the matter that they cain't send no capitals over the wire?) " briggs city oklahomaw meet mrs bridger num- ber 201 friday phillips." " Aw," I says, " Mrs. Bridger. Wai, 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. : ' Wai, who's Phillips, then? " I continued. ' 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 92 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher I've had bad luck lately, and bad luck most allus runs in threes. Last week, my dawg died re- member that one with a buck tooth ? I was tumble fond of that dawg. And yester- day " 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 Erection. Number 201! " Gosh ! " says the sheriff, and sunk down on to the truck again. I didn't leave him. I recollected what hap- pened 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 ! Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 93 But this time, he wasn't a-goin' to have no deputy. I made up my mind to stay right by- side him till he'd did his duty. Yas, ma'am. " Cupid," he hegun again, reachin' f er my fist, "Cupid, when it comes to feemales " I 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!) 94 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Bergin, he just kinda staggered up. He'd had one look, y' savvy. Wai, 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 consigned 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, re- member 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 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 95' 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 f er 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. Wai, when the kid was three years old, Bridger up and died, not leavin' much in the way of cash f er 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 f er sale hunderd down, the bal- ance 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. 96 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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." iThe 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 Jzrect to him, and he just jiggled his knee. / was kinda bothered, too, and got some coffee down my Sunday throat. "Wai, 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 be- gun 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 Kafnr- corn and such roughness. You git the tie- houses of the section-gang plank in front here. But behind, you' possessions rise straight up in Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 97 to the air like the side of a house. Rogers's Butte, they call it. See it, out there? A per- son 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 '11 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'." Wai, 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-bas- ket 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. "Wai, folks," I begun, gittin* up, "I'm tur- rible sorry, but I got to tear myself away. Promised to help the Bar Y boys work a herd." 98 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher ff Cupid! " It was the sheriff, voice kinda croaky. "Good-bye fer just now, Mrs. Bridger." (I pretended not t' hear Mm.) " So long, Ber- gin." And I skedaddled. Two minutes afterwards here they come out en 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 : f< He never keers to wander from his own fire- side; He never keers to ramble 3 r to roam. With his baby on his knee., He J s as happy as can be-e-e, 'Cause ihey'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 busi- ness; and I hated t' think of doin' somethin' Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 99 she wouldn't like. But, fin'lly, I managed t' spunk up sufficient, and described Mrs. Bridger and the kid, and said what I'd like t' do f er 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 f ortu- 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, affectionate little thing. Why, he'd be a blamed sight happier. And he likes the kid " 100 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher "Let's not count our chickens 'fore they hatch," breaks in Mace. Wai, I hiked fer town, and found the sheriff! right where he was settin' that mornin'. But, say! lie was a changed man! No shakin', no caved-in look nothiri* of that kind. He was gazin' thoughtful at a knot in the deepot plat- form, his mouth was part way open, and they was a sorta sickly grin spread all over them fea- tures of hisn. I stopped byside him. " Wai, Sheriff," I says, inquirin*. He sit up. " jw is that you, Cupid? " he ast. r (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.) Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 101 ' 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'? Wai, you could 'a* knocked me down with a feather! ' Yas, Sheriff," k I answers, " I noticed her pretty particular. 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. / seen how the boys acted when she got off en 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. Wai, a kinda shiver went up and down the hull length of him. Then, he sprung up, givin' the truck a kick. " Marry I marry! marry! " he begun, grind- in' 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. Wai, / 102 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncker look at it diff 'rent. / know that nice little kid of hern needs the keer of a father yas, Bergin, the keer of a father. 3 ' 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 3 bugs. Yas, sir. With you, it's a disease" cc Wai 33 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 thro wed in), "is to mind-you j -own-business" " All right," I answers cheerful. ff I heerd y'. But, I never could see why you fellers are so down on me when I advise marryin'. Take my word f er 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 103 and the sheriff, she says, " Alec, leave him alone f er ~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 f er the balance of his life that she'd ketched him like a rat in a trap." ff 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, " Wai, to continue with the Bridger story: You recollect what I said about that kid needin' a father? Wai, say! if he'd 'a' wanted one, he shore could 'a' picked from plenty of candi- dates. Why, 'fore long, ev'ry bach in town had his cap set fer Mrs. Bridger that's straight. All other subjects of jpolite conversation was 104 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher f ergot 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 sand- storm. 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' his- self 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 noihin' he wouldn't V done fer Mrs. Bridger. But big talk's cheap, and he was small potatoes, you bet, and few in the hill. Wai, one after the other, them four fellers blacked they boots, wet they hair down as nice and shiny as Hairoil's, and w r ent 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 105 knowed it. Consequently, 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 aft- ernoons. 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 f er a buggy ride. And, Bergin? Wai, I'd took Macie's advice 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. Wai, 106 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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, Mnda 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 f ryin'-pan on the bed, and a big sack of flour a-spillin' into a pair of his boots. I put the fry in' -pan on the floor, and sit down. " Wai, Sheriff," I begun (he had a skittle 'twixt his knees and was a-peelin' some spuds fer his din- ner) , " I ain't come t' sponge off en 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, Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 107 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 thought- ful. " 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 108 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 chick- ens of yourn come, ma'am. And Hairoil John- son'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 vWatchin' 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. " Ber- Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 109 gin'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 continues. "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!) Wai, 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 110 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher wife said they was nobody 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 ever- lastin' fiestas of theirn, she'd make a big cake and a keg of lemonade, and pass it 'round. And when you consider that a ten-cent package of cigareets and a smile goes further with a Mexi- can than fifty plunks and a cuss, why, you can git some idear of how that hull outfit just wor- shipped her. Wai, 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 crit- ters 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. Wai, 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 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 111 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 be- gun to come to a haid with the calendar gents. I got it straight from her that in just one soli- tary 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' quar- tette got worse in love with her 'n ever. Any- body 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'I 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 112 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher good riddance of bad rubbish. They're too gaily." (Somethin 5 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. / 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. " Wai," says Sam, " I reckon I don't fit speci- fications." And he hiked fer town. Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 113 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." Wai, 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 114 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher lookin' madder'n a wet hen. "Huh!" he says, " I don't vant her nohow. She couldn't vork. She's pretty f er nice, all right, but she's nichts fer stoudt." When ole stingy Curry tried his luck over, he took his lead from Chub's experience. 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-in jine), and I found that the little woman had been cryin' tumble. "What's the matter?" I ast. "Nothin'," she says. " Yas, they is. Didn't you git a dun t'-day? " " Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 115 " Wai," 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 prepared 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 116 K Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 Ranch- ers' 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 117 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 Tier? 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 some- thin' else 'cept a place to scratch you back on." And she shut it him outside, plumb squshed! Wai, 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, ccwsiderin' what come of it, it shore was fortunate 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. 118 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 belt out a paper. Put Tier off! Say! You oughta saw Bergin's face! " Curry," he says, " in Oklahomaw, a dis- possess 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 mil." rf Will they," answers the sheriff, quiet. But they was a fightin' look in his eyes. " Curry, go slow. Don't f ergit 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 id jits, 'stead of gittin' down on Curry, who was responsible, they begun makin' all kinds of brags about what they'd do Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 119 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." Wai, 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. Wai, then what d' you think it was? The sheriff was camped right back of the mddas 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. '*I1?d take a hull regiment of soldiers to put the widda out," he says, " with them greasers of mine so dost." 120 < Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher " 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 1 it's somethin' more'n just good luck." (Them's exac'ly her words " Somethin' more'n just good luck.") " Wai," I goes on, " oncet in a while, a feller's got to admit 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. A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 121 Burt had a lot of potatoes ready to plank about six sacks of 'em, I reckon. The ground was ready, and the sacks was in the field. Wai, 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 1 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 Ne- 122 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher braska. 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 wonder- ful." " 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 Ok- lahoma w," I says. And I whistled, and knocked on wood. "Anyhow, I'm happy," she goes on, "I'm better fixed than I been f er a coon's age." " The eatin'-house '11 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, " '11 pay that balance, and " (her voice broke, kinda, Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 123 and she looked over to where pore little Willie was tryin' to play injine all by hisself ) " with- out 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? Wai, it shore was a fool sittyway- tion! ;< The section-hands is tumble tickled about these pigs," continues Mrs. Bridger. " They come over this mornin' t' see how the fambly was doin', and they named the hull litter, begin- nin' with Carmelita, and ending' with Polky Dot." You couldn't 'a' blamed nobody fer bein' proud of them little pigs. They was smarter 'n the dickens, playin' 'round, and kickin' up they heels, and squee-ee-eeliri '. 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 roily 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 124 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 V 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 y 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 my- self, hopin' some of the boys 'd hear me, and Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 125 f oiler. "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 coyotes. 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. Wai, 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 3 hot. Pretty nigh as big as a box-car, it was. Wai, as big as a wagon, anyhow. 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." 126 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 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." 146 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher "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 arins, 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 '11 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 an- swers; " and you're right. 'Cause he shore played you a low-down trick at that Medicine Show. But, Alec, he brings my music-teacher." ''' Wai, honey, what you want the teacher fer? " She stopped, and up went that pert, little haid. " You recollect what Doctor Simpson said about Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher my voice that night at the social?" she begun. " This teacher says the same thing" Like a flash, I recalled 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, " yester- day 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." 148 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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. Wai, 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. "Wai, some while back he done all the runnin' he's ever a-goin' t' do in this house. 'And Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 149 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 Made." He begun to kinda swell gradual. And if a look could 'a' kilt me, I'd V keeled over that second. "You love Made!" he says slow. "Wai, 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 gall Honest, I ain't met a bigger id jit '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." 150 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher " 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. "Wai, 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." Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 151 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 J n ever, eyes plumb crossed. "Go East!" he repeats, " sing ! stage ! Nbo 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 sun- baked can look. " Git that crazy idear outen you' brain this minute! " he begun. " I won't allow you t' stir a step! The stage! Lawda-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 loth!" "Wai," Sewell come back, "you don't use 152 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 propo- sition ! Doc Simpson is responsible 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 boss 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.) ef Let her go," says Sewell. " Let her ride off her mad." Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 153 " Boss," I says, " I'm t' blame fer this kick-up. Yas, I am." And I begun t' walk the floor. :< Wai, no use bellyachin' about it," he answers. " But you're allus a-stickin' in that lip of yourn. And you'll recall 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 154 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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. "Wai, just remember, if she turns loose one of her tantrums, that you poured out this drench you'self. It's like that there fel- ler in Kansas." And he give that laugh of hisn again. " Ever heerd about him? " " No," I says ; " no, what about you' Kansas feller?" :< Wai," the boss pulled out a plug of t'bacca, " he bought a house and lot f er five hunderd dollars. The lot was guaranteed to raise any- thin', and the house was painted the prettiest kind of a green. Natu'lly, he thought he owned 'em. Wai, 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 155 raise. It raised plumb into the air, house and all, and the hull business blowed into the neighbour- in' State! " ' What goes up must come down,' says the feller. And knowin' which way that cyclone travelled, he started in the same Erection, hot- foot. 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 ac- cept the hand-out it gives yV ' " I savvy what you mean," I says to the ole man, " but you f ergit that in this case the moc- casin 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 sliort of help, Sewell. She can git a job easy passin' fancy Mulligan to the pilgrims that go through." 156 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 1 CHAPTER SIX WHAT A LUNGER 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 J d just pulled outen Briggs City, haided south- west 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 swal- lerin' some, and his eyes looked kinda like he'd been ridin' agin the wind. When I shifted my position, he turned the other way quick, and coughed that pore little gone-in cough of hisn. 157 158 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Wai, I felt pretty bad myself ; and I seen some- thin' tumble 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 IVale." (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 beauiifu\ country!" "I reckon," I says. "It's likely got Okla- homaw skinned t' death." Up- State, he didn't answer that too polite. Aw, he was a gent, too, same as the parson. Minute 'r so, Macie struck up again- f( And dearer by far than all charms on earth byside, Is that bright, rollm' river to me" Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 159 Up- State lent over, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, and begun tremblin' Why, y* know, even a hoss '11 git homesick. Now, I brung a flea-bitten mare from down on the lower Cim- arron 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. Wai, 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 tick- led them eatin'-house Mamies tumble. 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 Okla- homaw," they says, " and cook three meals a day, 160 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher and wash out blue shirts, when she's set on git- tin' 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 off en it if you love her soul. And if I can help, just whistle." I said thank y', but I was f card marryin' was a long way off. " But, Alec," goes on the parson, " that Simp- son 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 kaowed A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 161 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'- iiouse. 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 f av'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." / 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 162 Alec Lloydy Cowpuncher 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 direct 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 ! Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 163 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 hegun, " I'm sorry fer you, all right, but " Up-State looked at him. " Sewell," he whis- pers, " 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 nobody 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 164 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 pass- in' 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 whis- perin' into his fingers. I stooped over. " What is it, pardner? " I ast. " It's full of home," he says, "it's full of home I Cupid! Cupid! " (Darned if I don't wisht them lungers wouldn't come down here, anyhow. They plumb give a feller the misery.) Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 165 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 sand- storm, ole man," he says; "the next sand- storm." " 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 lung- ers 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 bet- ter '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 166 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 Trow- bridge was settin' in the moonlight by the open- in'. Behind him, I could see Up- State, writin'. I trailed home to my bunk. But you can under- stand 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 Trow- Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 167 bridge 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, step- pin' soft, and whisperin' like Up- State 'd allus whispered. Billy turned to me and kinda smiled, f er aU 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 3 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 profeshnal 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 Made. The little gal says she wants a singin' chanst more'n anythin' else. 168 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Wai., I'm goin' to give it to her. You'll find a even five hunderd in green-backs over in Silver- stein'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." Wai, 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 re- membered that Up- State was face up and flat on his back fer keeps and goin' home in the bag- gage-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? Wai, nothin' could. CHAPTER SEVEN THE BOYS PUT THEY FOOT IN IT :< WAL, Hairoil," I says, " I shore am a' un- lucky geezer! Why, d' you know, I don't hardly dast go from one room to another these days f er 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' ques- tion," 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 169 170 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher fetch a dud off en 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 romance 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 romance, 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 Made. 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 under- hand work." " It needn't t' be what you'd call underhand," answers Hairoil. "Pardner," I says, "don't talk about it no Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 171 more. You make me plumb nervous, like crumbs ; in the bed." And so he shut up. But now when I recall 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 par- son 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 ! Wai, I shore was a yap ! Next day, Hairoil didn't even speak of Mace. I thought he'd clean f ergot about her. He was all excited over somethin' else the 'lection of a sheriff. And 'fore he got done tellin' me about it, I was some excited, 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 172 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Gov'ner of Oklahomaw. But you can bet you' bottom dollar it makes a heap of difference [who's our sheriff . If you git a friend in office, you can breathe easy when you have a little dis- agreement; if you don't, why, you git 'lected t' the calaboose! Now, what Hairoil come and represented to me was this: That Hank Shackleton, editor of The Briggs City Eye-Opener, 'd been lickerin' up somethin' tumble 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 advertise- ments 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncker 173 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 .Repub- lican candidate, Walker " 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 cotton- woods, by the ditch, and I'll say, ' Gawd, bless my little gal.' " " I won't f ergit 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. " 111 allus be waitin'," I says, after a little, " if it's five years, 'r fifty, 'r the end of my life." Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 187 " 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 stag- gerin' 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 pis- tol hand, and started my way. "You blamed polecat," he hoUered, "I'll 188 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 ! Wai, 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 f er a whip. Next, she run straight up to Hank and give him a tumble 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. Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 189 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; Trow- bridge!" " 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 f orrid, 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. 190 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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. "Made!" She stooped over me. The boys turned they backs. .Aw, my dear little gal ! Her lips was cold, and "tremblin'. Wai, then she turned to the bunch, speakin* awful anxious. "Is he hurt bad?" she ast, low like. "Naw," I begun, " I- IMonkey 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 ringers off en Mike, and the rest of the fellers -was standin' t'gether, laughin' into they hats fit t' sprain they faces. Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 191 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 he a mighty hig comfort t' pore Cupid." "What's that?" she ast, earnest as the devfl. " I'll do aw/thin' f er 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 morer 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. 192 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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, te we are gathered together " 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 'T 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 193 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. "Made!" 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 lYork," he answers, " and from hem' a' actress." She looked at Billy next. " The hull town was in it!" she went on. "Everybody 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 Tieerd of anythin' so so low." And haid down, and sob- bin', she went out. I tried t' f oiler, but my laigs was sorta wob- 194 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher bley. 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 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 V 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 responsible 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. 195 196 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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.) Wai, when I went over to the post-office a lit- tle bit later on, the post-master tole me that Sew- ell'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 1's anywheres. I belt 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." " Wai," I goes on " would vou mind lettin* me take this over t' Rose? " "Why, no, go ahaid." Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 197 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 fcoa^-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 address?" "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. 198 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 w r ent 'cause I knowed the boys was there; and them days the boys was mighty nice to me. Wai, 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) 1 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-stand- in' 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. " Wai, when did that blow in? " says Bill Rawson. And, " Say! ketch me whilst I faint! " Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 199 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 eomin' eater-corners from the station. He was a slim- Jim, sorta salla complected, jaw clean scraped, and he had on a pair of them tony pinch- bug 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 Erection, and made f er 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 tumble tickled, and take out a piece of paper t' set some- thin' 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. 200 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher " 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? Wai, what d' you think? It's from Bos- ton, 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 maw- terial. Gents, It's a liter'toor sharp!" "Of all the gall!" growls Chuh 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 lit- Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 201 tie 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 hap- penin' in Briggs lately no killings, '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 continues, " 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 weVe 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 rat- tlesnakes. " Now, we'll curl they hair. Listen, gents, 202 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Oklahomaw City's got ceement streets, Guthrie's got a Carniggie lib'rary, and Bliss 's got the Hunderd-One Ranch. And we're a-goin' f cab- bage this book! " : ' Wai, 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." ef 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 f er the rest'rant. Boston was there, all right, talkin' to ole lady Arnaz (but keepin' a' eye peeled towards Car- lota), and pickin' the shucks off en 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 203 him, and no extra dawg ( 'r he wouldn't 'a' come io 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 his- self with one hand, by jingo! Wai, we had a nice, long parley-voo, me gittin' the hull sittywaytion as regards his book, and tellin' him we'd shore lay ourselves out t' help him if we didn't, it wouldn't be white ; him, set- tin' down things ev'ry oncet in a while, 'r whit- tlin' a stick with one of them self-cockin' jack- knives. We chinned f er 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 explain 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' #rplain any thin' 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 204 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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." " Wai, 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. Wai, when I got back t' the thirst-parlour, I acted like I was loco. " Boys ! boys ! boys! " I hol- lered, " 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 f er Mulhall, not this month, anyhow. This liter'toor gent's hired me as his iibook 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 205 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 excitement 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 accept you' offer. Thank y'." " What does this feller want? " ast Sam. "Wai," 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 Silver stein's." " No, Mike," I says, " that ain't the idear. Col- our 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 an- swers. " To continue: He mentioned characters. Course, I had to admit we're kinda shy on them" " Wisht we had a few Injuns," says Hair- 206 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher oil. " 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 In- juns. 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." "Wai," 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'." Wai, we rustled 'round. First off, we togged ourselves out the way punchers allus look in mag- azines. (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, Alec Lloyd, Ccwpuncher 207 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. tf 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 208 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher " Aw 3 Pat 'fer his shirt,, he begged hard and plead, !But, e 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 surveyed them shaps, and them guns till his eyes plumb protruded. " Rippin' ! " I heerd him say. "' That's tough/" repeats Monkey Mike, winkin' to the boys. "Wai, I should remark 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? Wai, one bit is w r hat 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 alms the best eatin'." (He was smart, all right. ) Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 209 "Not a Chinaman's cheek too tough," says the sheriff. Boston begun to kinda talk to hisself . " Hor- rible! " he says. " Shy Locks, by Heaven! " Then to me again, speakin' low and pointin' at the sheriff, " Mister Lloyd, what kind of a f ambly 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 f er it." [And he begun to watch the sheriff clost. " Gents, what you want fer you' supper? " ast the Arnaz boy, comin' our direction. "I feel awful caved in," answers Buckshot. " I'll take a dozen aigs." "How'llyouhave'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. " Wai," 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 210 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher just as I was gittin' nervous that tHe conversa- tion was peterin' out, Boston speaks up. "Rattlesnake?" he says; "did he say rattle- snake? " Like a shot, Rawson turned towards him, wrinklin* his forrid and wigglin' his moustache awful fierce. ee 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 remark on folks's eatin', you don't want t' look tickled." Wai, that was all the colour he got till night, when I had somethin' more prepared. We took up a collection f er winda-glass, and Chub Flan- nagan, who can roll a gun the prettiest you ever seen, walked up and down nigh Boston's stop- pin'-place, invitin' the fellers t' come out and " git et up," makin' one 'r two of us dance the heel-and-toe w r hen 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 211 little gal 'd changed her tune some. She said Noo York took a tumble 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 f er 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." ff 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." 212 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Out come a pencil. " How picture skew! "Bos- ton says, and put it down. End of that first week, when I stopped in at the Arnaz place fer supper, I says to him, " Wai," I says, " book about done? " He was layin' back lazy in a chair, as usual -watchin' Carlota trot the crock'ry in. He bat- ted his eyes. " Done! " he repeats. "No. Why, I ain't got only a few notes." "Notes?" I says; "notes?" I was tumble 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- Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 213 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 ai 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. Wai, 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 ac- commodatin'. Come a' earthquake that shook and shook the ranch. Shook all the stones to the top. Erickson picked 'em up and built the fence." 214 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 f er it's a heroine 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." Wai, 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 city- zens was t' " shed forthwith." I seen somethin' had got t' be done pronto. " Cupid," I says to myself, " you must consider that there book of Boston's some more. 'Pears that Boston ain't gittin' all he come after. Noth- in' 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." Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 215 " 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 me- te'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 pros- pector 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; "some- thin' like that we planned out fer Cupid here ? " 216 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher " Yas." The hull bunch got plumb pale. Then they made f er the door. , "Wait, boys!" I hollered. "Hole on! Re- member 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'U 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 hanker- in' after, you can just count me out en this hawg- tyin'!" "That's right sic 'em, Towser; git t' fight- in'," I says. "Now, Bill, work you' hole-back Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 217 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." Wai, 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 f oiler 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.j 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. Procession 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, 218 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher the boys gittin' the blanks, the bosses and the hay lady. Wai, 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 Bos- ton, all right.) I tole him what we was goin* t' do, why we was a-doin' it, and laid out Ms share of the job. Then I tacked on that the gal he'd steal was Carlota. Now, as I think about it, I recall 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' Tcnowed ) " 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?" Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 219 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 experience 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' #rcitin' t' put in it. We figger t' give it to him." "Como?" she ast. :< With a case of kidnappin'. Man steals gal we f oiler 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 220 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 f er a book character." "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. " Wai," 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 pota- toes." "NoUo/senor!" Pride hurt, I says to myself. "Now, Car- lota," 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 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 221 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 heroine, 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 genu- wine. 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 222 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher will think another man loves me so much that he carries me away?" she repeats. ff 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?" last. " Account of Pedro bein' in town. I rigger t' stay clost to the bunk-house." " So '11 7," 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, Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 223 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 Eye- Opener. "Pedro Garcia/' it read, "was found not guilty by Judge Freeman fer perforatin* Nick Trotmann's sombrero in a street row last Satur- day night week. Proved that Nick got into Ped- ro's way and sassed him. Pedro 'd come to town considerable 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 ex- cuse 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 I " " Half cracked about her," puts in Bill. "And if she won't have him, 'r her maw inter- feres, I'm feared they'll be a tragedy." " Low ruffian!" says Boston. A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher Later on, about ten o'clock, say, I was passin' the rest'rant, and I heerd a man singin' ff Luz de mi alma! Luz de mi vida! " and that somethin' was " despedosin' " his heart. (I savvy the lingo pretty good.) Wai, it was that dog-goned cholo, under Carlota's winda, and he had a guitar. Thundera- tion ! that wasn't in our program! "Say, you!" I hollered. He shut up and come over, lookin' kinda as if lie'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- twest. 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 225 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 f er 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 bosses. [(Us punchers 'd tied our broncs over in the corral 226 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher too, so's we'd have to run f er 'em when Pedro lit out with the gal. And I'd picked that straw- berry 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 he a nice long stretch of dusk just the kind of light fer circlin' a' outlaw and capturin' him, dead 'r alive! Wai, 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 boss 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 227 little cut-up ! and outen the door ! Fer a minute, no sound. Then, the signal a screech. That screech was so blamed genuwine I al- most f ergot 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 smith- ereens. 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 Car- lota aboard, makin' quick tracks up the street. "Alas! yon villain has stole her!" says Sam Barnes, thro win' up his arms like they do in one of them theayter plays. " Come," yells Rawson. " We will f oiler and sa-a-ave her." Then he split fer the corral, us after him. When we got to it, we found somethin* funny: Our bosses was saddled and bridled all right but ev'ry cinch was cut! Wai, 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." 228 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Fast as we could, we got some other saddles and dumb on Bill and Sam and me and Shack- leton, 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 dope." "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 bosses gallopin' side by side. " The gal's bronc is lame!" says the sheriff. "And Pedro's lickin' it. We got him! Pull you' guns." Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 229 Chins. 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 fitted 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 f card 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, f er 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 orcited), that strawberry roan of Sparks's come past us like a streak of lightnin'. Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 off en his hoss; and Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 231 the cholo was poppin' at us as we come on, and yellin' like he was luny. But Boston, it seems, could hear Carlota sob- bin' 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 Bos- ton's gun and looked in. Pedro was on the dirt floor, holdin' his right hand with his left. (No more shovelin' fer him.) Wai, 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 232 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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. "Wai, 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. "Wai," I answers, "I've talked about it some." " It's a good idear," he goes on. " But about Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 238 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 icain'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 south- west 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. Wai, a swaller of that fire- water '11 straighten you out pronto." ' Sam, that shore is thoughtful. Use my bronc whenever you want to she's over in Sparks's corral. Alms speak t' her 'fore you go up to her, though. She's some skittish." 234 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 235 " 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 they- selves out figgerin' how t' git holt of cash with- out workin' f er it." "We'll miss y' turnble, Cupid," breaks in Hairoil. " I don't hardly know what Briggs '11 do with you gone. Somehow you allus manage t' keep the excitement 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 direction silent. Pretty soon, we heerd a rumblin', and the spot got bigger, and steady. The boys got down off en the platform and we moseyed over t' where the end car allus stopped. Too-oo-oot! Shackleton reached out f er my hand. " Good- bye, Cupid, you ole son-of-a-gun," he says almost squeezin' the paw off en me. ' Take keer of you'self," says the sheriff. " Don't let them fly Noo York dudes git you scairt none " (this was Chub). 236 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher " That ain't you' satchel, Cupid, that's the mail-bag." " Wai, we'd rattle am/body." " Here's Boston, lie 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 f ergive me f er puttin' up that shootin'-scrape." " Why, ^-course, I do." Then, whisperin', ff 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 land 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." Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 237 " I wiU, 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 Silver- stein'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 1" 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 sjttin'-room at the Bar Y. " Boss," I says out loud, " they's a little, empty rockin'-chair byside yourn t'-night. Wai, 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher thing I done was to take a fly at that railroad on stilts. Next, I had t' go over and turn my lan- terns 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 purchased a round hat, black and tumble 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! Wai, 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 off en 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 f eUer, " I want t' rent a cheap room." " Look in the papers," he advises. 'Twixt him and me, we located a place afore Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 239 long, and he showed me how t' git to it. Wai, 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 net to blow out the gas with my forty-five," I says, 240 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher " 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 f er. Wai, I ast it 'cause I knowed Macie Sewell good enough to lay my money on one thing : She was too all- fired gone on bosses 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 bosses, 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' Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 241 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 my- self, " 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. Wai, 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. " Wai, 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 242 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher lookin' ladies, with blazin' cheeks, and hair that's a cross 'twixt molasses 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' he 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 J 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 boss'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." Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher , 243 " How 'd you git here?" He stuck out one of them soft paws of hisn. : ' Wai, 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.) "Wai, 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 of- fered t' do anythin' I could f er 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 244 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher better. If I could run into the only man I knowed in the city of Xoo York, then, some- time, 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 tumble 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 boss. 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 tim- ber, I felt better, and I started my bronc up. She was one of them kind that can go all day on Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 245 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 s waller ed 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 f er 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, f er the ladies and gents t' fall on. But whilst I was gettin' kinda used to things, 246 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 sud- dent, 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?" "Wai, 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 247 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! Wai, 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 " 248 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher She set her hoss into a run then. So I fell be- hind and come nigh pullin' the mouth plumb outen that crow-bait I was on. " Wai, 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 dis- couraged. " 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 f orty-'leven times, with- out grub, 'r a drink, 'r even water! And me a-hirin' that hoss l>y 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. Wai, it was be- ginnin' 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 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 249 'round the liat" I says on the postal card, " and send me the collection. Bar that Mexic. Par- ticulars later on. 3 ' Wai, 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 police. They're white, all right (I mean the police 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*. Wai, 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 f ollered 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. 250 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Then, I fell in behind dressed like one of them blamed grooms. I thought I was slick, and I was f er a week. But them park police 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, an- other 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. " Wai," I answers, " our hosses nicker to each other." He pulled at his moustache f er a while. ee 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. " Wai, 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?" Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 251 After that, I shed the groom duds, and not a police 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 alms go on like that. And, by jingo! seems as if things come my way again. Fer one mornin', when I was settin' in a caify eatin' slap-jacks, I heerd some fellers talkin' about a herd of Texas bosses that had stampeded in the streets the night back. Wai, I ast 'em a question 'r two, and then I lit out f er Sixty-four Street, my eyes plumb sore fer a look at a Western hoss with a' ingrowin' lope. 252 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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. "Prepare, 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 boss. It was one of them blue roans, with a long tail, and a reached 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 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 253 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' belt 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 police 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. Wai! 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! 254 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher We took the return trip short cut. First we hit the brush, Mace's boss breakin' trail, mine a clost second, the police 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 policeman 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). Wai, 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 police gent.) At the top, she pitched plumb over, losin* Mace so neat it didn't more 'n jar her. My boss got down on his knees, and I come off en my perch. Then both broncs went on. I was winded, so I didn't speak up fer a bit. Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 255 Fact is, I didn't exac'ly know what to remark. 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 kn&wed 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 256 A lee Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 Erection. " 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, tumble 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.' J 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, Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 257 "you ast me oncet t' cut that man out. Wai, when I got here, it was the only thing I could do f er 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." 258 Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher 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 greas- ers," I says, " if you're thinkin' back to our first little fuss. NOj you ain't. You're too darned nice f er 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? " "Wai wal " " I got holt of her other hand. "Aw, little gal," I says,