CHAPTER SIX
WHAT A LUNGEE DONE
"Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides On its fair, windin' way to the sea--"
It was Macie Sewell singin'. Ole Number 201 'd just pulled outenBriggs City, haided southwest with her freight of tenderfeet, and withIngineer Dave Reynolds stickin' in his spurs to make up lost time.The passengers 'd had twenty-five minutes fer a good grubbin'-up atthe eatin'-house, and now the little gal was help-in' the balance ofthe 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 seehe was swallerin' some, and his eyes looked kinda like he'd beenridin' agin the wind. When I shifted my _po_sition, he turned theother way quick, and coughed--that pore little gone-in cough of hisn.
Wal, I felt pretty bad myself; and I seen somethin' turrible was wrongwith Up-State--I couldn't just make out what. Pretty soon, I put myhand on his arm, and I says, "I don't want t' worm anythin' outenyou, ole man; I just want t' say I'm you' friend."
"Cupid," he whispers back, "it's The Mohawk Vale."
(He allus whispered, y' savvy; couldn't talk out loud no more, bein'so turrible shy on lung.)
"Is that a bony fido place?" I ast, "'r just made up a-purpose ferthe song?"
"It's _my_ country," he whispers, slow and husky, and begun gazin'acrosst to the mesquite again. "And, Cupid, it's a _beau_tifulcountry!"
"I reckon," I says. "It's likely got Oklahomaw skinned t' death."
Up-State, he didn't answer that--too _po_lite. Aw, he was a gent, too,same as the parson.
Minute 'r so, Macie struck up again--
"And dearer by far than all charms on earth byside, Is that bright, rollin' river to me."
Up-State lent over, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, and beguntremblin'--Why, y' know, even a _hoss_ 'll git homesick. Now, I brunga flea-bitten mare from down on the lower Cimarron oncet, and blamed ifthat little son-of-a-gun didn't hoof it all the way back, straighter'n a string! Yas, ma'am. And so, a-course, it's natu'al fer a _man_.Wal, I ketched on to how things was with Up-State, and I moseyed.
I was at the deepot pretty frequent them days--waitin'. Macie hadn'ttalked to me none yet, and mebbe she wouldn't. But I was on hand in casethe notion 'd strike her.
Her hangin' out agin me and her paw tickled them eatin'-house Mamiesturrible. They thought her idear of earnin' her own money, and thengoin' East to be a' op'ra singer, was just _grand_.
But the rest of the town felt diff'rent. And behind my back all thewomen folks and the boys that knowed me was sayin' it was a darnedshame. They figgered that a gal gone loco on the stage propositionwouldn't make _no_ kind of a wife fer a cow-punch. "Would _she_camp down in Oklahomaw," they says, "and cook three meals a day,and wash out blue shirts, when she's set on gittin' up afore a passelof 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 thatgal as quick as ever you can--and marry her. The stage is a' _awful_place fer a decent gal. Keep her offen it if you love her soul. And ifI can help, just whistle."
I said thank y', but I was feard marryin' was a long way off.
"But, Alec," goes on the parson, "that Simpson has gone back t' NooYork----"
"_What?_"
"Yas. He put all his doctor truck into his gasoline wagon last nightand choo-chooed outen town. If _he's_ there, and _she_ goes, wal,--Idon'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', Iwasn't so scairt about Simpson by now. 'Cause why? Wal, y' see, Iknowed
Mace didn't have no money; ole Sewell wouldn't give her none; and shewasn't the kind of a gal t' borra. So it was likely she'd be in Briggsfer quite a spell.
I found Up-State settin' outside the eatin'-house. I sit down bysidehim. Allus, them days, whenever I come in sight of the station, he wasa-hangin' 'round, y' savvy. He'd be on a truck, say, 'r mebbe on theedge 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 ifMacie was singin', he'd be all scrooched over with his face coveredup--and pretty quiet.
When Macie sung, it was The Mohawk Vale ev'ry time. Now, that seemedfunny, bein' she was mad at me and that was my fav'rite song. Then,it didn't seem so funny. One of the eatin'-house gals tole me,confidential, that Up-State had lots of little chins with Macie acrosstthe lunch-counter, and that The Mohawk Vale was "by request."
_I_ didn't keer. Let Up-State talk to her as much as he wanted to._He_ couldn't make me jealous--not on you' life! I wasn't the finestlookin' 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 oleman 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 ablamed 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 manso 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' andactin' breed. We'd had two bunches of op'ra folks in Briggs atdiff'rent times. One come down from Wichita, and was called "The Way toRuin." (Wal, it shore looked its name!) The other was "The Wild WestTroupe" from Dallas. This last wasn't West--it was from Noo York_di_rect--but you can bet you' boots it was _wild_ all right. Bythunder! you couldn't 'a' helt nary one of them young ladies with ahoss-hair rope!
But fer a week of Sundays, he didn't say nothin' to Up-State. He justboiled inside, kinda. Then one day--when he'd got enough steam up, Ireckon,--why, he opened wide and let her go.
"Up-State," he begun, "I'm sorry fer you, all right, but----"
Up-State looked at him. "Sewell," he whispers, "I don't want _no_man's pity."
"Listen to me," says the boss. "Macie's my little gal--the only childI 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 menone of that. You know you lie----"
Up-State shook his haid. "I'm not a man any more, Sewell," hewhispers. "I'm just what's left of one. I didn't used to let_no_body hand out things that flat to me."
I stuck in _my_ lip. (_One_ more time couldn't hurt.) "Now, Sewell,"I says, "put on the brake."
He got a holt on hisself then. "This ain't no josh to me, Cupid," hesays. (He was tremblin', pore ole cuss!) "What you think I heerd thismornin'? Mace ain't makin' enough money passin' slumgullion to thempassenger cattle all day, so she's a-goin' over to Silverstein'sev'ry night after this to fix up his books. I wisht now I'd neversent 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 bestgo. And he walked off, grindin' his teeth.
It seemed to me I could hear Up-State whisperin' into his fingers. Istooped over. "What is it, pardner?" I ast.
"It's full of home," he says, "--it's full of home! Cupid! Cupid!"(Darned if I don't wisht them lungers wouldn't come down here, anyhow.They plumb give a feller the misery.)
Doc Trowbridge stopped by just then. "How you makin' it t'-day,Up-State?" he ast.
Up-State got to his feet, slow though, and put a hand on Billy'sshoulder. "The next sandstorm, ole man," he says; "the nextsandstorm."
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sp; "Up-State," says Billy, "buck up. You got more lives'n a cat."
"No show," Up-State whispers back.
He was funny that-a-way. Now, most lungers fool theyselves. Allus"goin' to git better," y' savvy. But Up-State--_he knew_.
"Come over to my tent t'-night," he goes on to Billy. "I gotsomethin' I want to talk to you about."
"All right," says Billy. "Two haids is better 'n one, if one _is_a sheep's haid."
After supper, I passed Silverstein's two 'r three times, and aboutnine o'clock I seen Macie. She was 'way back towards the end of thestore, a lamp and a book in front of her; and she was a-workin' like asteam-thrasher.
Somehow it come over me all to oncet then that she'd meant ev'rysingle word she said, and that, sooner 'r later--she was goin'._Goin'_. And I'd be stayin' behind. I looked 'round me. Say! BriggsCity didn't show up _much_. "Without _her,_" I says, (they was thatred-hot-iron feelin' inside of me again) "--without her, what isit?--the jumpin'-off place!"
Beyond me, a piece, was Up-State's tent. A light was burnin' inside it,too, and Doc Trowbridge was settin' in the moonlight by the openin'.Behind him, I could see Up-State, writin'.
I trailed home to my bunk. But you can understand I didn't sleep good.And 'way late, I had a dream. I dreamed the Bar Y herd broke fenceand stampeded through Briggs, and after 'em come about a hunderdbull-whackers, all a-layin' it on to them steers with the flick ofthey lashes _-zip, zip, zip, zip_.
Next mornin, I woke quick--with a jump, y' might say. I looked at mynickel turnip. It was five-thirty. I got up. The sun was shinin', theair was nice and clear and quiet and the larks was just singin' away.But outside, along the winda-sill, was stretched _a' inch-wide trickleof sand!_
In no time I was hoofin' it down the street. When I got to Up-State'stent, Billy Trowbridge was inside it, movin' 'round, puttin' stuffinto a trunk, and--wipin' the sand outen his eyes.
"He was right?" I says, when I goes in, steppin' soft, andwhisperin'--like Up-State 'd allus whispered. Billy turned to me andkinda smiled, fer all he felt so all-fired bad. "Yas, Cupid," he says,"he was right. One more storm."
Just then, from the station--
"Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides On its fair, windin' way to the sea--"
Billy walked over to the bed and looked down. "Up-State, ole man," hesays, "you're a-goin' back to the Mohawk."
* * * * *
Up-State left two letters behind him--one fer me and one fer Billy. Thedoc didn't show hisn; said it wouldn't be just _pro_feshnal--yet. Butmine he ast me to read to the boss.
"Dear Cupid," it run, "ast Mister Sewell not to come down too hard on me account of what I'm goin' to do fer Macie. The little gal says she wants a singin' chanst more'n anythin' else. Wal, I'm goin' to give it to her. You'll find a' even five hunderd in green-backs over in Silverstein's safe. It's hern. Tell her I want she should use it to go to Noo York on and buck the op'ra game."
Wal, y' see, the ole man 'd been right all along--Up-State _was_sidin' with Mace. Somehow though, _I_ couldn't feel hard agin him ferit. I knowed that she'd go--help 'r _no_ help.
But Sewell, he didn't think like me, and I never _seen_ a man takeon the way he done. _Crazy_ mad, he was, swore blue blazes, and saidthings that didn't sound so nice when a feller remembered that Up-Statewas face up and flat on his back fer keeps--and goin' home in thebaggage-car.
I tell you, the boys was nice to me that day. "The little gal won'tfergit y', Cupid," they says, and "Never you mind, Cupid, it'll allcome out in the wash."
I thanked 'em, a-course. But with Macie fixed to go (far's money went),and without makin' friends with me, neither, what under the shinin'sun could chirk _me_ up? Wal, _nothin'_ could.
Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Page 6
