CHAPTER FIVE
THINGS GIT STARTED WRONG
UP to the day of the sheriff's weddin', I reckon I was about thehappiest feller that's ever been in these parts. Gee! but I was inhigh spirits! It'd be Macie's and my turn next, I figgered, and ifthe ole man didn't like it, he could just natu'lly lump it. So whenI walked through Briggs, why, I hit both sides of the street, exac'lyas if I was three sheets in the wind.
But--this was one time when you' friend Cupid was just a little bit tooprevious. And I want to say right here that _no_ feller needs to thinkhe's the hull shootin'-match with a gal, and has the right-a-way,like a wild-cat ingine on a' open track, just 'cause she's ast himto write in her autograph-album. It don't mean such a blamed lot,neither, if his picture is stuck 'longside of hern on top of theorgan. Them signs is encouragin', a-course; but he'd best take hiscoat off and _git to work_. Even when she's give all the others theG. B., and has gone to church with him about forty Sunday evenin's,hand runnin', and has allus saved him the grand march and the last waltzat the Fireman's Ball, and mebbe six 'r seven others bysides, why,even _then_ it's a toss-up. Yas, ma'am. It took hard knocks t' learnme that they's nothin' dead certain short of the parson's "amen."
Y' see, you can plug a' Injun, and kick a dawg, and take a club to amule; but when it's a gal, and a feller thinks a turrible lot of her,and she's so all-fired skittish he cain't manage her, and so eludin'he cain't find her no two times in the same place, _what's he goin'to do?_ Wal, they ain't no reg'lar way of proceedin'--ev'ry man hasgot to blaze his own trail.
But I couldn't, and that was the hull trouble. I know now that whenit come to dealin' with Mace, I shore was a darned softy. That littleMuggins could twist me right 'round her finger--and me not know it!One minute, she'd pallaver me fer further orders, whilst I'd lookinto them sweet eyes of hern till I was plumb dizzy; the next, she'dbe cuttin' up some dido 'r other and leadin' me a' awful chase.
Then, mebbe, I'd git sore at her, and think mighty serious aboutshakin' the Bar Y dust offen my boots fer good. "Cupid," I'd say tomyself, "git you' duds t'gether, and do you' blankets up in you'poncho."
Just about then, here she come lopin' home from town, her hoss cuttin'up like Sam Hill, and her a-settin' so straight and cute. She'd looktowards the bunk-house, see me, motion me over with her quirt, and--wal,a-course, I'd go.
I made my _first_ big beefsteak at the very beginnin'. Somehow 'rother, right from the minute we had our confidential talk t'gether backof Silverstein's, that last night of the Medicine Show. I got it into myfool haid that I as good as had her, and that all they was left to bedid was t' git 'round the ole man. Wal, this idear worked fine aslong as we was so busy with Bergin's courtin'. But when the sheriffwas hitched, and me and the little gal got a recess, my! _my!_ but aheap of things begun t' happen!
They started off like this: The parson wanted money fer t' buy somehymn-books with. So he planned a' ice-cream social and entertainment,and ast Mace to go down on the pro_gram_ fer a song. She was willin'; Iwas, _too_. So far, ev'ry-thin' smooth as glare-ice.
But fer a week afore that social, they was a turrible smell of gasolineoutside the sittin'-room of the Bar Y ranch-house. That's 'causeDoctor Bugs come out ev'ry day--to fetch a Goldstone woman from theup-train. (That blamed sulky of hisn 'd been stuck t'gether with flourpaste by now, y' savvy, and was in apple-pie order.) After the woman 'dgit to the ranch-house, why, the organ 'd strike up. Then you couldhear Macie's voice--doin', "_do, ray, me._" Next, she'd break loosea-singin'. And pretty soon the doc and the woman 'd go.
Wal, I didn't like it. Y' see, I've allus noticed that if a cityfeller puts hisself out fer you a hull lot, he expects you t' givehim a drink, 'r vote fer him, 'r loan him some money. And why wasBugsey botherin' t' make so many trips to the Bar Y? _I_ knowed whatit was. It was just like Hairoil 'd said--he wanted my Macie.
One night, I says to her, "What's that Goldstone woman doin' out hereso much, honey?"
"Givin' me music lessons," she answers.
"I know," I says. "But you don't need no lessons. You sing goodenough t' suit me right now."
"Wal, I don't sing good enough t' suit myself. And bein' as I'm onthat pro_gram_----"
"Wal, just the same," I cut in, "I don't like that Simpson hangin''round here."
"Alec," she come back, stiffenin' right up, "it's my place to saywho comes into this ranch-house, and who don't."
"But, look a-here! Folks 'll think you like him better'n you do me."
"Aw, that's crazy."
"It ain't. And I won't have him 'round."
Then, she got _turrible po_lite. "I'm sorry, Mister Lloyd," she says,"but I'm a-goin' t' take my lessons."
Wal, the long and short of it is, she did--right up t' the very day ofthe social.
"All right," I says to myself; "but just wait till this shindig isover." And when Mace and her paw started fer town that evenin', Isaddled up my bronc and follered 'em.
Simpson was kinda in charge of that social. He got up and made a'openin' speech, sayin' they was lots of ice-cream and cake fer sale,and he hoped we'd all shell out good. Then, he begun t' read offthe pro_gram_.
"We have with us t'night," he says, "one of the finest and besttrained voices in this hull United States--a voice that I wouldn't besurprised if it 'd be celebrated some day."
I looked over at Mace. She was gittin' pink. Did he mean her?
"And," Simpson goes on, "the young lady that owns it is a-goin' t'give us the first number." And he bowed--Shore enough!
Wal, she sung. It was somethin' about poppies, and it was awful sad,and had love in it. I liked it pretty nigh as good as The Mohawk Vale.But the ole man, he didn't. And when she was done, and settin' next himagain, he said out loud, so's a lot of people heerd him, "I'm notstuck on havin' you singin' 'round 'fore ev'ry-body. And that NooYork Doc is too blamed fresh."
"Paw!" she says, like she was ashamed of him.
"I _mean_ it," he says, and jerked his haid to one side.
Wal, y' know, Mace got her temper offen him, and never handed it back.So all durin' the social, they had it--up and down. I couldn't ketchall what they said--only little bits, now and then. "Cheek," I heardthe boss say oncet, and Mace come back with somethin' about not bein'"a baby."
Afterwards, when the ole man was out gittin' the team, she come over t'me, lookin' awful appealin'. "Alec," she says, like she expected I'dshore sympathise with her, "did you hear what paw said? Wasn't it meanof him?"
I looked down at my boots. Then, I looked straight at her. "Mace," Isays, "he's right. Mebbe you'll git mad at me, too, fer sayin' it.But that Simpson's tryin' t' cut me out--and so he's givin' you allthis taffy about your voice."
"Taffy!" she says, fallin' back a step. "Then you didn't _like mysingin'._"
"Why, yas, I did," I answers, follerin' along after her. "I thoughtit was _fine._"
But she only shook her haid--like she was hurt--and clumb into thebuckboard.
I worried a good deal that night. The more I turned over what Simpson 'dsaid, the more I wondered if I knowed all they was to his game. Whatwas he drivin' at with that "celebrated" business? Then, too, itwouldn't do Mace no good t' be puffed up so much. She'd been 'lectedthe prettiest gal. Now she'd been tole she had a way-up voice. 'Forelong, she'd git the big haid.
"Wal, I'll put a qui_e_tus on it," I says. And, next mornin', when Iseen her, I opened up like this: "Honey, I reckon we've waited justabout long enough. So we git married Sunday week."
"That's too soon," she answers. "We got t' git paw on our side. AndI ain't got no new clothes."
"We'll splice first and ast him about it afterwards. And when you'reMrs. Alec, I'll git you all the clothes you want." (Here's where Iclean fergot the _ad_vice she give me that time in the sheriff's case:"In love affairs," was what she said, "don't never try t' drive_no_body.")
"But, Alec,----" she begun.
"Sunday week, Mace," I says. "We'll talk about it t'-night."
But that night Monkey Mike come nig
h blowin' his lungs out; and I waitedunder the cottonwoods till I was asleep standin'--and no Macie.
Wasn't it cal'lated t' make any man lose his temper? Wal, I lost mine.And when we went in town to a party, a night 'r two afterwards, the hullbusiness come to a haid.
I was plumb sorry about the blamed mix-up. But _no_ feller wants t'see his gal dance with a kettle-faced greaser. I knowed she was goin' tofer the reason that I seen Mexic go over her way, showin' his teethlike a badger and lettin' his cigareet singe the hair on his dirtyshaps--shaps, mind y', at a school-house dance! Then I seen her nod.
Our polka come next. And when we was about half done, I says, "They'slemonade outside, honey. Let's git a swig." But outside I didn't talkno lemonade. "Did Mexic ast you to dance with him?" I begun.
"Wal, he's one of our boys," she answers; "and I'm going to givehim a schottische."
"No, you _ain't,_" I come back. "I won't stand fer it."
"Yas, I _am,_ Alec Lloyd,"--she spoke determined,--"and please don'ttry to boss me."
I shut up and walked in again. Mexic was talkin' to theschool-ma'am--aw, he's got _gall!_ I shassayed up and took him a littleone side. "Mexic," I says, soft as hair on a cotton-tail, "it'sgittin' on towards mornin' and, natu'lly, Macie Sewell ain'tfeelin' just rested; so I wouldn't insist on that schottische, if I wasyou."
"Why?" he ast.
"I tole you why," I says; "but I'll give you another reason: You'boots is too tight."
We fussed a little then. Didn't amount to much, though, 'cause neitherof us had a gun. (Y' see, us punchers don't pack guns no more 'lesswe're out ridin' herd and want t' pick off a coy_o_te; 'r 'lesswe've had a little trouble and 're lookin' fer some one.) But Imanaged to change that greaser's countenance consider'ble, and he bita chunk outen my hand. Then the boys pulled us separate.
They was all dead agin me when I tole 'em what was the matter. They saidthe other gals danced with Mexic, and bein' Macie was the Bar Y gal,she couldn't give him the go-by if she took the rest of the outfit ferpardners.
Just the same, I made up my mind she wouldn't dance with that _greaser_.And I says to myself, "This is where you show you're a-goin' torun the Lloyd house. She'll like you all the better if you git theupper hand." So when I got her coaxed outside again, I led her towhere my bronc was tied. She liked the little hoss, and whilst we waschinnin', I put her into the saddle. Next minute, I was on behindher, and the bronc was makin' quick tracks fer home.
Wal, sir, she was madder'n a hen in a thunder-shower. She tried to pullin the bronc; she twisted and scolted and cried. Tole me she hated melike arsenic.
"Alec Lloyd," she says, "after t'night, I'll never, never speak toyou again!"
When we rode up to the corral, I lifted her down, and she went tearin'away to the house. The ole man heerd her comin', and thought she wassingin'. He slung open the door on the porch.
"Aw, give that calf more rope!" he calls out.
Say! she went by him like a streak of lightnin', almost knockin' himdown. And the door slammed so hard you could 'a' heerd it plumb t'Galveston.
I hung 'round the corral fer as much as half a' hour, listenin' to thepow-wow goin' on at the house. But nobody seemed to be a-hollerin' ferme t' come in, so I made fer the straw. "Aw, wal," I says to myself,"her dander 'll cool off t'-morra."
But the next day, she passed me by without speakin'. And I, like asap-head, didn't speak neither. I was on my high hoss,--wouldn't speaktill _she_ did. So off I had t' go to Hasty Creek fer three days--andno good-bye t' the little gal.
I got back late one afternoon. At the bunk-house, I noticed a changein the boys. They all seemed just about t' bust over somethin'--notlaughin', y' savvy, but anxious, kinda, and achin' to tell news.
Fin'lly, I went over to Hairoil. "Pardner," I says, "spit it out."
He looked up. "Cupid," he says, "us fellers don't like t' git youstirred up, but we think it's about time someone oughta speak--and putyou next."
"Next about what?" I ast. The way he said it give me a kinda start.
"We've saw how things was a-goin', but we didn't say nothin' to you'cause it wasn't none of our funeral. Quite a spell back, folks begunto talk about how crazy Macie Sewell was gittin' to be on the singin'question. It leaked out that she'd been tole she had a A1 voice----"
"It ain't no lie, neither."
"And that her warblin' come pretty clost to bein' as good asMelba's."
"It's a heap _better'n_ Melba's."
"Also"--Hairoil fidgited some--"you know, a-course, that she's beentackin' up photographs of op'ra singers and actresses in her room----"
"Wal, what's the harm?"
"And--and practicin' bows in front of a glass."
I begun t' see what he was drivin' at.
"And whilst you was away, she had a talk with the station-agent--aboutrates East."
"Hairoil! You don't mean it!" I says. I tell y', it was just likea red-hot iron 'd been stuck down my wind-pipe and was a-burnin' thelower end offen my breast-bone!
"I'm sorry, ole man." He reached out a hand. "But we thought yououghta know." And then he left me.
So _that_ was it! And she'd been keepin' me in the dark about itall--whilst ev'ry fence post from the Bar Y t' Briggs knowed whatwas happenin'! Wal, I was mad clean _through_.
Then I begun t' see that I'd been a blamed fool. A fine, high-strunggal!--and I'd been orderin' her 'round like I owned her! And I'd goneaway on that ride without tryin' t' make up. Wal, I'd _druv_ her to it.
I started fer the house.
As I come clost, acrosst the curtains, back'ards and for'ards,back'ards and for'ards, I could see her shadda pass. But when I rapped,she pulled up; then, she opened the door.
"Honey," I says, "can I come in?"
Her eyes was red; she'd been cryin'. But, aw! she was just as nice andsweet as she could be. "Yas, Alec, come in," she says.
"Little gal," I begun, "I want t' tell you I done wrong to kickabout that greaser, yas, I did. And fetchin' you home that-a-way wasn'tright."
"Never mind--I wanted t' come anyhow."
"Thank y' fer bein' so kind. And I ain't never goin' to try to runyou no more."
"I'm glad of that No gal likes t' be bossed."
"Just give me another chanst. Just fergive me this oncet."
She smiled, her eyes shinin' with tears. "I do," she says; "Alec,I do."
The next second, I had her helt clost in my arms, and her pretty haidwas agin my breast. Aw, it was like them first days once more. And allthe hurt went of a suddent, and the air cleared kinda--as if a storm'djust passed. My little gal!
Pretty soon, (I was settin' on the organ-stool, and she was standin' infront of me, me holdin' her hands) I says, "They _is_ one thing--nowthat I've tole you I was wrong--they is _just_ one thing I'm goin' toast you t' do as a favour. If you do it, things 'll go smooth with usfrom now on. It's this, little gal: Cut out that Doctor Bugs."
"I know how you don't like him," she answers; "and you're right.'Cause he shore played you a low-down trick at that Medicine Show. But,Alec, he brings my music-teacher."
"Wal, honey, what you _want_ the teacher fer?"
She stopped, and up went that pert, little haid. "You recollect whatDoctor Simpson said about my voice that night at the social?" she begun."This teacher says _the same thing._"
Like a flash, I _re_called what _Hairoil_ 'd tole me. "Mace," I says,"I want t' ast you about that. A-course, I know it ain't so. ButHairoil says you got pictures of actresses and singers tacked up inyou' room--just one 'r two."
"Yas," she answers; "that's straight. What about it?"
"It's all right, I guess. But the ole son-of-a-gun got the idear,kinda, that you was thinkin' some of--of the East."
"Alec," she says, frank as could be, "yesterday Doctor Simpson gota letter from Noo York. He'd writ a big teacher there, inquirin' if Ihad a chanst t' git into op'ra--_grand_ op'ra--and the teacher saysyas."
I couldn't answer nothin'. I just sit there, knocked plumb silly,almost, and looke
d at a big rose in the carpet. _Noo York!_
She brung her hands t'gether. "Why not?" she answers. "It'll giveme the chanst I want. If I'm a success, you could come on too, Alec.Then we'd marry, and you could go along with me as my manager."
I looked at her. I was hurt--hurt plumb t' the quick, and a littlemad, 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 meantwhat I said--"you can just put the hull thing right to one side.I--won't--_have_--it!"
She set her lips tight, and her face got a deep red.
"So _this_ is the way you keep you' word!" she says. "A minute ago,you said you wasn't goin' t' try to run me no more. Wal,--you wasn'tin 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 inthe dickens is the matter?"
Mace turned to him, face still a-blazin'. "Alec's allus tryin' t'run me," she answers, "and I'm gittin' plumb tired of it."
Sewell's mouth come open. "Run you," he says. "Wal, some while backhe done all the runnin' he's ever a-goin' t' do in _this_ house. Andhe don't do no more of it. By what right is he a-interferin' now?"
I got to my feet. "_This_ right, boss:" I says, "I love Macie."
He begun to kinda swell--gradual. And if a look could 'a' kilt me, I'd'a' keeled over that second.
"You--love--Macie!" he says slow. "Wal , I'll be darned if youhaven't got _cheek!_"
"Sorry you look at it that way, boss."
"And so you got the idear into that peanut haid of yourn"--he wassarcastic now--"that you could marry my gal! Honest, I ain't met abigger idjit 'n you in ten years."
"No man but Mace's paw could say that t' me safe."
"Why," he goes on, "you could just about be President of the UnitedStates as easy as you could be the husband of this gal. M' son, I thinkI 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 bringother folks t'gether never can hitch hisself."
"You got a good mem'ry, Sewell."
Mace broke in then--feard they'd be trouble, I reckon. "Please let'scut this short," she says. "The only thing I want Alec to remember isthat I ain't a-goin' t' be bossed by _no_ man."
Sewell patted her on the shoulder. "That's my gal a-talkin'!" hesays. "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!" hestarted off, slappin' one knee. "Mister Cupid cain't do nothin' ferhisself!" Then he laid back and just _hollered,_ slingin' out his laigwith ev'ry cackle; and pawin' the air fin'lly, he got so short-winded."Aw, lawdy!" he yelled; "aw--I'll _bust_. Mister _Cupid! Whew!_"
I got hot. "You found a he-he's aig in a haw-haw's nest," I begun."Wal, I'll say back to you what you oncet said to me: _Just wait._"Then I faced Macie. "All right, little gal," I says to her, "I s'poseyou know best. Pack you' duds and go East--and sing on the stage in NooYork."
The ole man 'd stopped laughin' t' listen. Now he sit up straight, ahand on each arm of the chair, knees spread, mouth wider open 'n ever,eyes plumb crossed. "Go East!" he repeats, "--sing!--stage!--NooYork!"
Mace showed her sand, all right. "Yas," she answers; "you got it_exac'ly_ right, paw--Noo York."
He riz up, face as white as anythin' so sunbaked can look. "Git thatcrazy idear outen you' brain this _minute!_" he begun. "I won't allowyou t' stir a _step!_ The stage! Lawd a-mighty! Why, _you_ ain't gotno voice fer the stage. You can only squawk."
It was mighty pretty t' see 'em--father and daughter--standin' outagin each other. Alike in temper as two peas, y' savvy. And I knowedsomethin' was shore goin' to pop.
"Squawk!" repeats Mace. (_That_ was the finishin' touch.) "I'll justshow you! Some day when my voice's made me famous, you'll be sorry ferthat. And you, too, Alec Lloyd, if you _do_ think my voice is all taffy.I'll show you _both!_"
"Wal," Sewell come back, "you don't use none of _my_ money fer t'make you' show." He was pretty nigh screechin'.
"Wait till I _ast_ you fer it," she says, pert haid up again. "_Keep_you' money. I can earn my own. _I_ ain't scairt of work."
And just like she was, in the little, white dress she used t' meet mein--she up and walked out!
Now, it was the ole man's turn t' walk the floor. "Noo York!" hebegun, his eyes dartin' fire. "Did y' ever _hear_ such a blamed foolproposition! Doc Simpson is _re_sponsible fer that."
"It's been goin' on fer quite a spell," I says. "But I didn't knowhow far till just afore you come in. Simpson, a-course, is the man."
That second, _clickety_--_clickety_--_clickety_--_click!_--a hoss wasa-passin' the house on the dead run. We both looked. It was thatbald-faced bronc of Macie's, makin' fer the gate like a streak oflightnin'. And the little gal was in the saddle.
"She's goin', boss," I says. (The bald-face was haided towardsBriggs.)
"_Let_ her go," says Sewell. "Let her ride off her mad."
"Boss," I says, "I'm t' blame fer this kick-up. Yas, I am."
And _I_ begun t' walk the floor.
"Wal, no use bellyachin' about it," he answers. "But you're allusa-stickin' in that lip of yourn. And--you'll _re_call what I oncet saidconcernin' the feller that sticks in his lip." (I could see it madehim 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 gotthere, 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 abar-towel."
But I knowed what I was a-goin' to do. Two wags of a dawg's tail, and Iwas in the house again, facin' the ole man. "Sewell," I says, "I wantmy 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'ma-goin' into Briggs," I says, "t' see if I can talk some sense intothat gal's haid."
The ole man give a kinda sour laugh. "Mebbe you think you can bring herhome on hossback again," he says. "Wal, just remember, if she turnsloose one of her tantrums, that you poured out this drench you'self.It's like that there feller in Kansas." And he give that laugh of hisnagain. "Ever heerd about him?"
"No," I says; "no, what about you' Kansas feller?"
"Wal,"--the boss pulled out a plug of t'bacca,--"he bought a houseand lot fer five hunderd dollars. The lot was guaranteed to raiseanythin', and the house was painted the prettiest kind of a green.Natu'lly, he thought he owned 'em. Wal, things went smooth till onenight when he was away from home. Then a blamed cyclone come along.Shore enough, that lot of hisn could raise. It raised plumb into the air,house and all, and the hull business blowed into the neighbourin' State!
"'What goes up must come down,' says the feller. And knowin' whichway that cyclone travelled, he started in the same _di_rection, hotfoot.He goes and goes. Fin'lly he comes to a ranch where they was a new barngoin' up. It was a pinto proposition. Part of it wasn't painted, andsome 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,' hesays, 'fer Heaven's sake have sand enough to accept the hand-out itgives y'.'"
"I savvy what you mean," I says to the ole man, "but you fergit thatin this case the moccasin don't fit. Another man's behind this, boss.The
little gal has ketched singin'-bugs. And when she gits enoughcash----"
"How can _she_ git cash?"
"The eatin'-house is short of, help, Sewell. She can git a jobeasy--passin' fancy Mulligan to the pilgrims that go through."
Say! that knocked all the sarcastic laughin' outen him. A' awfulanxious look come into his face. "Why--why, Cupid," he begun. "Youdon'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 broncof Macie's again, haid down and tail out. But the bridle-reins wascaught 'round the pommel t' keep 'em from gittin' under foot, and thelittle gal's saddle--was empty!
Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Page 5
