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' apromynade back'ards and for'ards, (I was itchin' so to git started)and keepin' one eye peeled through the dark towards the southwest--ferthe haidlight of ole 202.
"And, Cupid," Sam Barnes was sayin', "you'll find a quart oftanglefoot in that satchel of yourn. Now, you might go eat somethin'that wouldn't agree with you in one of them Eye-talian rest'rants. Wal,a swaller of that firewater 'll straighten you out pronto."
"Sam, that shore _is_ thoughtful. Use my bronc whenever you wantto--she's over in Sparks's corral. Allus speak t' her 'fore you goup to her, though. She's some skittish."
"And keep you' money in you' boot-laig," begun the sheriff. "I'veheerd that in Noo York they's a hull lot of people that plumb weartheyselves out figgerin' how t' git holt of cash without workin'fer it."
"We'll miss y' _turrible,_ Cupid," breaks in Hairoil. "I don'thardly know what Briggs 'll do with you gone. Somehow you allus managet' keep the _ex_citement up."
"But if things don't go good in Noo York," adds Hank Shackleton,"why, just holler."
"Thank y', Hank,--thank y'."
A little spot was comin' and goin' 'way down the track. The bunchlooked that _di_rection silent. Pretty soon, we heerd a rumblin', andthe spot got bigger, and steady.
The boys got down offen the platform and we moseyed over t' where theend car allus stopped.
_Too-oo-oot!_
Shackleton reached out fer my hand. "Good-bye, Cupid, you oleson-of-a-gun," he says almost squeezin' the paw offen me.
"Take keer of you'self," says the sheriff.
"Don't let them fly Noo York dudes git you scairt none" (this wasChub).
"_That_ ain't you' satchel, Cupid, that's the mail-bag."
"Wal, we'd rattle _any_body."
"Here's Boston, _he_ wants t' say good-bye."
"Wave t' the eatin'-house gals,--cain't you see 'em at that upperwinda?"
"Cupid,"--it was Hairoil, and he put a' arm acrosst myshoulder--"_hope_ you fergive me fer puttin' up that shootin'-scrape."
"Why, a-_course,_ I do."
Then, whisperin', "_She_ was the gal I tole you about that time, Cupid:The one I _said_ I'd marry you off to."
"You don't mean it!"
"I do. So--the best _kind_ of luck, ole socks!"
"Aw, _thank_ y', Hairoil."
Next, pushin' his way through the bunch, I seen Billy Trowbridge,somethin' white in his hand. "Cupid," he says,--into my ear, so'sthe others couldn't ketch it--"if the time ever comes when the littlegal makes a big success back there in Noo York, 'r if the time comeswhen she's thinkin' some of startin' home t' Oklahomaw again, openthis. It's that other letter of Up-State's."
"I will, Doc--I will."
I clumb the steps of the end car and looked round me. On the one side wasthe mesquite, all black now, and quiet. Say! I hated t' think itdidn't stretch all the way East! Here, on the other side was thedeepot, and Dutchy's, and the bunk-house, and the feed-shop, andSilverstein's, and the post-office----
"So long, Cupid!"--it was all-t'gether, gals and fellers, too. Then,"Yee-ee-ee-oop!"--the ole cow-punch yell.
"So long, boys!" I waved my Stetson.
Next thing, Briggs City begun t' slip back'ards--slow at first, thenfaster and faster. The hollerin' of the bunch got sorta fadey; thedeepot lights got littler and littler. Off t' the right, a new lightsprung up--it was the lamp in the sittin'-room at the Bar Y.
"Boss," I says out loud, "they's a little, empty rockin'-chairbyside yourn t'-night. Wal, I'll never come back this way no more'less you' baby gal is home at the ranch-house again t' fill it."
Then, I picked up my satchel and hunted the day-coach.
A-course, when I reached Chicago, the first thing I done was to take afly at that railroad on stilts. Next, I had t' go over and turn mylanterns on the lake. Pretty soon I was so all-fired broke-in that Icould stand on a street corner without bein' hitched. But people wasa-takin' me fer Bill Cody, and the kids had a notion to fall in behindwhen 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 newspaperand pur_chased_ a round hat, black and turrible tony. I bought me somesateen shirts,--black, too, with turn-down collars and little bits ofwhite stripes. A white satin tie last of all, and, say! I was fixed!
Wal, after seein' Chicago, it stands t' reason that Noo York cain'tgit a feller scairt so awful much. Anyhow, it didn't _me_. The minuteI got offen the train at the Grand Central, I got my boots greasedand my clothes breshed; then I looked up one of them Fourth of Julyhitchin'-posts and had my jaw scraped and my mane cut.
"Pardner," I says t' the barber feller, "I want t' rent a cheaproom."
"Look in the papers," he _ad_vises.
'Twixt him and me, we located a place afore long, and he showed me howt' git to it. Wal, sir, I was settled in a jiffy. The room wasn'tbigger '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 almostfell over when I tole her I was a cow-punch.
"Why!" she says, "are y' shore? You're tall enough, but you're alittle thick-set. I thought all cow-boys was very slender."
"No, ma'am," I says; "we're slender in books, I reckon. But out inOklahomaw we come in all styles."
"Wal," she goes on, "they's something _else_ I want to ast. Now, youain't a-goin' to shoot 'round here, are y'? Would you just as liefput 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 comesto killin' and robbin', the West has got to back outen the lead."
You oughta saw her face!
But I didn't want to look fer no other room, so I pretended t' knuckle."I promise not to blow out the gas with my forty-five," I says, "andI won't rope no trolley cars--if you'll please tell me where folksgo 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'-houselady _that_ fer. Wal, I ast it 'cause I knowed Macie Sewell good enoughto lay my money on _one_ thing: She was too all-fired gone on hosses tostay offen a saddle more'n twenty-four hours at a stretch.
I passed a right peaceful afternoon, a-settin' at the bottom of a statueof 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, andone 'r two of 'em rid off on bob-tailed hosses, follered by gezabas inwhite pants and doctor's hats. Heerd afterwards they was grooms, andbein' the gals' broncs was bob-tailed, they had to go 'long to keepoff the flies.
But Mace, she didn't show up. Next day, I waited same way. Day after,ditto. Seemed t' me ev'ry blamed man, woman and child in the hullcity passed me but her. And I didn't know a _one_ of 'em. A Chinkcome by oncet, and when I seen his pig-tail swingin', I felt like Iwanted to shake his fist. About that time I begun to git worried, too."If she ain't ridin'," I says to myself, "how 'm I ever goin'to locate her?"
Another day, when I was settin' amongst the kids, watchin', I seen afeller steerin' my way. "What's this?" I says, 'cause he didn'thave the spurs of a decent man.
Wal, when he came clost, he begun to smile kinda sloppy, like he'djust had two 'r three. "Why, hello, ole boy," he says, puttin' outa bread-hooker; "I met you out West, didn't I? How are y'?"
I had the sittywaytion in both gauntlets.
"Why, yas," I answers, "and I'm tickled to sight a familiar face.Fer by jingo! I'm busted. Can you loan me a dollar?"
He got kinda sick 'round the gills. "Wal, the fact is," he says,swallerin' two 'r three times, "I'm clean broke myself."
<
br /> Just then a gal with a pink cinch comes walkin' along. She was oneof them Butte-belle lookin' ladies, with blazin' cheeks, and hairthat's a cross 'twixt _mo_lasses candy and the pelt of a kit-fox.She was leadin' a dog that looked plumb ashamed of hisself.
"Pretty gal," says the mealy-mouthed gent, grinnin' some more. "AndI know her. Like t' be interdooced?"
"Don't bother," I says. (Her hay was a little too weathered fer _me_.)
"Nice red cheeks," he says, rubbin' his paws t'gether.
"Ya-a-as," I says, "_mighty nice_. But you oughta see the squaws outin Oklahomaw. They varies it with yalla and black."
He give me a kinda keen look. Then he moseyed.
It wasn't more 'n a' hour afterwards when somebody passed that Iknowed--in one of them dinky, little buggies that ain't got no cover.Who d' you think it was?--that Doctor Bugs!
I was at his hoss's haid 'fore ever he seen me. "Hole up, Simpson,"I says, "I want t' talk to you."
"Why, Alec Lloyd!" he says.
"That's my name."
"How 'd _you_ git here?" He stuck out one of them soft paws of hisn.
"Wal, I got turned this way, and then I just follered my nose." (Ididn't take his hand. I'd as soon 'a' touched a snake.)
"Wal, I'm glad t' see you." (That was a whopper.) "How's ev'rybodyin Briggs?"
"Never you mind about Briggs. I want t' ast _you_ somethin': Where'sMacie Sewell?"
"I don't know."
"Don't tell me that," I come back. "I know you're lyin'. When youtalked 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 gothere. I offered t' do anythin' I could fer her, but she didn't seemt' appreciate my kindness."
"All right," I says. "But, Simpson, listen: If you've said a wordt' that gal that you oughtn't to, 'r if you've follered 'round afterher any when she didn't want you should, you'll hear from _me_. Salt_that_ down." And I let him go.
Meetin' _him_ that-a-way, made me feel a heap better. If I could runinto the only man I knowed in the city of Noo York, then, sometime, I'dshore 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 meseein' 'em from where I was. "Why, yas," he says, "they's plentyof 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 loseno time. Next mornin', I was up turrible early and makin' fer a barnclost to the park. I found one easy--pretty frequent thereabouts, y'savvy,--and begun t' dicker on rentin' a hoss. Prices was high, but Idone my best, and they led out a nag. And what do you think? It had onone of them saddles with no horn,--a shore enough _muley_.
Say! that was a hard proposition. "I ast fer a saddle," I says, "nota postage stamp." But the stable-keeper didn't have no other. So I goton and rode slow. When I struck the timber, I felt better, and I startedmy bronc up. She was one of them kind that can go all day on a shingle.And her front legs acted plumb funny--jerked up and down. I figgered itwas the spring halt. But pretty soon I seen other hosses goin' the sameway. So I swallered it, like I done the saddle.
But they was one thing about my cayuse made me hot. She wouldn't lope.No, ma'am, it was trot, trot, trot, trot, till the roots of my hair wasloose, and the lights was near shook outen me. You bet I was mighty gladnone of the outfit could see me!
But if they'd 'a' thought _I_ was funny, they'd 'a' had a duck-fitat 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 kneessqueak! Then 'long come a gal, humpin' just the same, and hangin'on to the side of her cayuse fer dear life, lookin' ev'ry step likeshe was goin' to avalanche. And oncet in a while I passed a feller thatwas runnin' a cultivator down the trail,--to keep it nice and soft,I reckon, fer the ladies and gents t' fall on.
But whilst I was gettin' kinda used to things, I didn't stop keepin'a' eye out. I went clean 'round the track twicet. No Macie. I tell y',I begun to feel sorta caved-in. Then, all of a suddent, just as I wastoppin' a little rise of ground, I seen her!
_She_ wasn't hangin' on to the side of her hoss, no, ma'am! She wasridin' the prettiest _kind_ of a bronc, fat and sassy. And she wassettin' 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 ahit 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 ofhern lifted straight up into the air, she was so surprised. "Alec!"she says.
"Yas, Alec," I answers. "Aw, dear little gal, is y' glad t' see me?"
"Wal, what 're _you_ doin' here!" she goes on. "I cain't hardlybelieve what I see."
I was so blamed flustered, and so happy, and so--so scairt, that I hadt' 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 givemyself another good, ten-hoss-power kick!)
Up till now, her look 'd been all friendly enough. But now of a suddentit got cold and offish. "Take me home!" she begun; "_home!_ Wal, Ilike that! Why, I'm just about t' make a great, big success, _yas_. AndI'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 dothat. 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 therest of the ladies.
I follered after her as fast as I could. "Macie," I says, "talk ain'tgoin' t' show you how I feel. And I'll not speak to you again till youwant me to. But I'll allus be clost by. And if ever you need me----"
She set her hoss into a run then. So I fell behind--and come nighpullin' the mouth plumb outen that crow-bait I was on. "Wal, MisterCupid," I says to myself, "that Kansas cyclone the boss talked aboutseems t' be still a-movin'."
I wasn't discouraged, though,--I wasn't discouraged.
"One of these times," I says, "she'll come t' know that I only wantt' help her."
Next mornin', I started my jumpin'-jack business again. And _that_whack, I shore got a rough layout: 'Round and 'round that blamed park,two hunderd and forty-'leven times, without grub, 'r a drink, 'r evenwater! And me a-hirin' that hoss _by the hour!_
Just afore sundown, she showed up, and passed me with her eyes fixed ona spot about two miles further on. A little huffy, yet, y' might say!
I joked to that three-card-monte feller, you recollect, about bein'busted. Wal, it was beginnin' t' look like no joke. 'Cause that verynext day I took some stuff acrosst the street to a pawnbroker gent's,and hocked it. Then I sit down and writ a postal card t' the boys."_Pass 'round the hat,_" I says on the postal card, "_and sendme the collection. Bar that Mexic. Particulars later on._"
Wal, fer a week, things run smooth. When Mace seen it was no use tochange the time fer her ride, she kept to the mornin'. It saved me apile. But she wouldn't so much as look at me. Aw, I felt fewey, just_fewey_.
One thing I didn't figger on, though--that was the _po_lice. They'rewhite, all right (I mean the _po_lice that ride 'round the park).Pretty soon, they noticed I was allus ridin' behind Macie. I guess theythought I was tryin' to bother her. Anyhow, one of 'em stopped meone mornin'. "Young feller," he says, "you'd better ride alongRiverside oncet in a while. Ketch on?"
"Yas, sir," I says, salutin'.
Wal, I _was_ up a stump. If I was to be druv out of the park, how was Iever goin' to be on hand when Macie '
d take a notion t' speak.
But I hit on a plan that was somethin' _won_-derful. I follered herout and found where she stalled her hoss. Next day, I borraed a'outfit and waited nigh her barn till she come in sight. Then, I fellin behind--_dressed like one of them blamed grooms._
I thought I was slick, and I _was_--fer a week. But them park _po_lice israpid on faces. And the first one that got a good square look at me andmy togs knowed me instant. He didn't say nothin' to me, but loped off.Pretty soon, another one come back--a moustached gent, a right dudeyone, with yalla tucks on his sleeves.
He rides square up to me. "Say," he says, "are you acquainted withthat young lady on ahaid?"
I tried to look as sad and innocent as a stray maverick. But it was nogo. "Wal," I answers, "our hosses nicker to each other."
He pulled at his moustache fer a while. "_You_ ain't no groom," hesays 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 gotas friendly as the devil. "Wal, how's the stock business?" he ast.And I says, "Cows is O. K." "And how's the climate down you' way?And how's prospects of the country openin' up fer farmers?"
After that, I shed the groom duds, and not a _po_lice gent ever more 'nnodded at me. That Bar Y news seemed to make 'em shore easy in theyconscience.
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 justtalked to her hoss all the time.
I went home desp'rate. The boys 'd sent me some cash, but I was shyagain. And I'd been to the pawnbroker feller's so many times that Icouldn't look a Jew in the face without takin' out my watch.
That night I mailed postal number two. "Take up a collection," I saysagain; and added, "Pull that greaser's laig."
I knowed it couldn't allus go on like that. And, by jingo! seems asif things come my way again. Fer one mornin', when I was settin' in acaffy eatin' slap-jacks, I heerd some fellers talkin' about a herd ofTexas hosses that had stampeded in the streets the night back. Wal, Iast 'em a question 'r two, and then I lit out fer Sixty-four Street,my eyes plumb sore fer a look at a Western hoss with a' ingrowin' lope.
When I got to the corral, what do you think? Right in front of my eyes,a-lookin' at the herd, and a-pointin' out her pick, was--Macie Sewell!
I didn't let her see me. I just started fer a harness shop, and I boughta pair of spurs. "_Pre_pare, m' son," I says to myself; "it'll allbe over soon. They's goin' to be trouble, Cupid, trouble, when Macetries 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 thesame, workin' them spurs. But early next mornin', as I done time onmy postage stamp, here Mace huv in sight.
Shore enough, she was on a new hoss. It was one of them blue roans, witha long tail, and a roached mane. Gen'ally that breed can go like greasedlightnin', and outlast any other critter on four laigs. But this onedidn'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 trailruns 'longside the wagon-road, none of them locoed bull's-eye Simpsonvehicles was a-passin'. When she went to go into her stable, Mace slowedher down till the street cars was gone by. The blue roan was meeker 'na blind purp.
But I knowed it couldn't _last_.
The next afternoon the roan come good and ready. She done a fancy gaitinto the park. Say! a J. I. C. bit couldn't a' helt her! 'TwixtFifty-nine and the resservoyer, she lit just _four times;_ and ev'rytime she touched, she kicked dirt into the eyes of the stylish _po_licegent that was keepin' in handy reach. A little further north, wherethey'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'mgoin' to move up."
That very minute, things come to a haid!
We was all three turned south, when 'long come a goggle-eyed smartyin one of them snortin' Studebakers. The second the smarty seen Macewas pretty, he blowed his horn to make her look at him. Wal! that roanturned tail and come nigh t' doin' a leap-frog over me. The skunk inthe buzz-wagon tooted again. And we was off!
We took the return trip short cut. First we hit the brush, Mace'shoss breakin' trail, mine a clost second, the _po_lice gent numberthree. Then we hit open country, where they's allus a lot of youngfellers and gals battin' balls over fly-nets. The crowd scattered, andwe sailed by, takin' them nets like claim-jumpers. I heerd a whistleahaid oncet, and seen a fat _po_liceman runnin' our way, wavin' hisarms. Then we went tearin' on,--no stops fer stations--'round thelake, down a road that was thick with keerages,--beatin' ev'rybody insight--then into timber again.
It was that takin' to the woods the second time that done it. In CentralPark is a place where they have ducks and geese (keep the Mayor inaigs, I heerd). Wal, just to east, like, of that place, is a butte, allrocks and wash-outs. The blue roan made that butte slick as a RockyMountain goat. (We'd shook off the _po_lice gent.) At the top, shepitched plumb over, losin' Mace so neat it didn't more 'n jar her.My hoss got down on his knees, and I come offen _my_ perch. Then bothbroncs went on.
I was winded, so I didn't speak up fer a bit. Fact is, I didn'texac'ly know what to _re_mark. Oncet I thought I'd say, "You ridin'a diff'rent hoss t'day, Mace?" 'r "That roan of yourn can lopesome." But both bein' kinda personal, I kept still.
But pretty soon, I got a hunch. "I just _knowed_ that blamed muleysaddle '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 themtwo-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. "Thesky," she says, some short.
I sighed, and pretended t' watch the sky, too. It looked yalla, likesomebody 'd hit it with a aig.
After while, I couldn't stand it no longer--I started in again. "Giveme a fair shake, Macie," I says. I was lookin' at her. Say! theywasn't no squaw paint on _her_ cheeks, and no do-funny, drug-storestuff in that pretty hair of hern. And them grey eyes----!
But she seemed a hull county off from me, and they was a right coldcurrent blowin' in my _di_rection.
"Mace," I begun again, "since you come t' Noo York you ain't gotyou'self promised, 'r nothin' like that, have you? If you have, I'llgo back and make that Briggs City bunch look like a lot of colanders."
She shook her haid.
"Aw, Mace!" I says, turrible easied in my mind. "And--and, little gal,has that bug doc been a-holdin' down a chair at you' house of Sundaynights?"
"No,--he come just oncet."
"Why just oncet, honey?"
"I didn't want him t' come no more."
"He said somethin' insultin.' _I_ know. And when I see him again----"
She looked at me square then, and I seen a shine in them sweet eyes."Alec," she says, "you ast me oncet t' cut that man out. Wal, whenI got here, it was the only thing I could do fer--fer you."
"My little gal!--and nobody else ain't been visitin' you. Aw! I'm ajealous 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. Theywas 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 rightouten 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 loosehere."
She smiled a little, awful tender. "Bar Y!" she says, pullin' at hergauntlets.
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 thinkof that, little gal?"
She looked down, blinkin'.
I reached over and got holt of one of her hands. I was breathin' likepore Up-State. "Honey," I says, "honey, dear."
She looked square at me. "Alec," she says, "you didn't understand me.I ain't the kind of a gal that can be roped and hobbled and led on ahackamore."
"And you ain't the kind t' dance with greasers," I says, "--ifyou're thinkin' back to our first little fuss. _No,_ you _ain't_.You're too darned nice fer such cattle."
By then, I was shakin' like I had the buck-fever. "Macie," I goes on,"ain't you goin' t' let me come and see you?"
"Wal--wal----"
I got holt of her other hand. "Aw, little gal," I says, "nobody wantsyou t' win out more 'n I do. _I'_m no dawg-in-the-manger, Macie.You got a' _awful_ fine voice. Go ahaid--and be the biggest singer inAmuricaw. But, honey,--that needn't t' keep you from likin' me--fromlikin' ole Alec, that cain't live without his dear little gal----"
"I _do_ like y'! And didn't I allus say you was t' come on when Imade a success?"
She come into my arms then. And, aw! I knowed _just_ how lonesome she'dbeen, pore little sweetheart! by the way she clung t' me.
"Alec!--my Alec!"
"Never mind! honey dear, never mind! I'm here t' take keer of y'."
Pretty soon, I says, "Macie, I bought somethin' fer you a while back."(I felt in my vest pocket.) "Here it is. Will you look at it?"
She looked. And her pretty face got all smiles and blushes, and hereyes tearful. "Alec!" she whispered. "Aint it _beau_tiful!" And shereached out her left hand t' me.
I took it in both of mine--clost, fer a second. Then I sorted out thatslim third finger of hern,--and slipped on my little brandin'-iron.
Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Page 9
