Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Part 23

"Huh!"

"And you been _such_ a good friend t' Hank," goes on Buckshot. "Wal, don't it go to show!"

"If he puts on single _word_ about me in that paper of hisn," I says, gittin' on my ear good and plenty, "I'll just natu'ally take him acrosst my knee and give him a spankin'."

"And he'll put enough slugs in you t' make a sinker," answers Buckshot. "Why, Cupid, Hank Shackleton can fight his weight in wildcats.

_You go slow._"

"But _he_ cain't shoot," I says.

"He cain't _shoot!_" repeats Buckshot. "Why, I hear he was a reg'lar gun-fighter oncet, and so blamed fancy with his shootin' that he could drive a two-penny nail into a plank at twenty yards ev'ry bit as good as a carpenter."

"Wal," I says, "I'll be blasted if that's got _me_ scairt any."

Buckshot shook his haid. "I'm right sorry t' see any bad blood 'twixt y'," he says.

Next thing, it was all over town that Hank was a-lookin' fer me.

Afterwards, I heerd that it was Hairoil tole Macie about it. "You know," he says to her, "whenever Hank's loaded and in hollerin'

distance of a town, you can sh.o.r.e bet some one's goin' t' git hurt."

Mace, she looked a little bit nervous. But she just said, "I reckon Alec can take keer of hisself." Then off she goes to pick out a trunk at Silverstein's.

I reckon, though, that ole Silverstein 'd heerd about the trouble, too.

So when Mace come back to the eatin'-house, she sit down and writ me a letter. "_Friend Alec,_" it said, "_I want to see you fer a minute right after supper. Macie Sewell._"

It was four o'clock then. Supper was a good two hours off. Say! how them two hours drug!

But all good things come to a' end--as the feller said when he was strung up on a rope. And the hands of my watch loped into they places when they couldn't hole back no longer. Then, outen the door on the track side of the eatin'-house, here she come!

My little gal! I was hungry t' talk to her, and git holt of one of her hands. But whilst I watched her walk toward me, I couldn't move, it seemed like; and they was a lump as big as a baseball right where my Adam's apple oughta be.

"Macie!"

She stopped and looked straight at me, and I seen she'd been cryin'.

"Alec," she says, "I didn't mean t' give in and see you 'fore I went. But they tole me you and Hank 'd had words. And--and I couldn't stay mad no longer."

"Aw, honey, thank y'!"

"I ain't a-goin' away t' stay," she says. "Leastways, I don't _think_ so. But I want a try at singin', Alec,--a chanst. Paw's down on me account of that. And he don't even come in town no more. Wal, I'm sorry. But--_you_ understand, Alec, don't y'?"

"Yas, little gal. Go ahaid. I wouldn't hole you back. I _want_ you should have a chanst."

"And if I win out, I want you t' come to Noo York and hear me sing.

Will y', Alec?"

"Ev'ry night, I'll go out under the cottonwoods, by the ditch, and I'll say, 'Gawd, bless my little gal.'"

"I won't fergit y', Alec."

I turned my haid away. Off west they was just a little melon-rind of moon in the sky. As I looked, it begun to dance, kinda, and change shape.

"I'll allus be waitin'," I says, after a little, "--if it's five years, 'r fifty, 'r the end of my life."

"They won't never be no other man, Alec. Just you----"

"Macie!"

That second, we both heerd hollerin' acrosst the street. Then here come Hairoil, runnin', and carryin' a gun.

"Cupid," he says, pantin', "take this." (He shoved the gun into my hand.) "Miss Macie, git outen the way. It's Hank!"

Quick as I could, I moved to one side, so's she wouldn't be in range.

"_Ye-e-e-oop!_"

As Hank rounded the corner, he was staggerin' some, and wavin' his shootin'-iron. "I'm a Texas bad man," he yelps; "I'm as ba-a-ad as they make 'em, and tough as bull beef." Then, he went tearin'

back'ards and for'ards like he'd pull up the station platform.

"Hey!" he goes on. "I've put a _lot_ of fellers t' sleep with they boots on! Come ahaid if you want t' git planted in my private graveyard!"

Next, and whilst Mace was standin' not ten feet back of him, he seen me. He spit on his pistol hand, and started my way.

"You blamed polecat," he hollered, "_I'll_ learn you t' shoot off you' mouth when it ain't loaded! You' hands ain't mates and you'

feet don't track, and I'm a-goin' t' plumb lay you out!"

I just stayed where I was. "What's in you' craw, anyhow?" I called back.

He didn't answer. He let fly!

Wal, sir, I doubled up like a jack-knife, and went down kerflop. The boys got 'round me--say! talk about you' pale-faces!--and yelled to Hank to stop. He drawed another gun, and, just as I got t' my feet, went backin' off, coverin' the crowd all the time, and warnin' 'em not t' mix in.

They didn't. But someone else did--Mace. Quick as a wink, she reached into a buckboard fer a whip. Next, she run straight up to Hank--and give him a _turrible_ lick!

He dropped his pistols and put his two arms acrosst his eyes. "Mace!

don't!" he hollered. (It'd sobered him, seemed like.) Then, he turned and took to his heels.

That same second, I heerd a yell--Bergin's voice. Next, the sheriff come tearin' 'round the corner and tackled Hank. The two hit the ground like a thousand of brick.

Mace come runnin' towards me, then. But the boys haided her off, and wouldn't let her git clost.

"Blood's runnin' all down this side of him," says Monkey Mike.

Sh.o.r.e enough, it was!

"Chub!" yells Buckshot, "git Billy Trowbridge!"

"Don't you cry, ner nothin'," says Hairoil t' Mace. And whilst he helt her back, they packed me acrosst the platform and up-stairs into one of them rooms over the lunch-counter. And then, 'fore I could say Jack Robinson, they hauled my coat off, put a wet towel 'round my forrid, and put me into bed. After that, they pulled down the curtains, and bunched t'gether on either side of my pilla.

"Shucks!" I says. "I'm all right. Let me up, you blamed fools!"