Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Part 31

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.

"Wal, 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.

"Wal," I answers, "I've _talked_ about it--some."

"It's a good idear," he goes on. "But about 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 cain'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 southwest--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. Wal, a swaller of that firewater 'll straighten you out p.r.o.nto."

"Sam, that sh.o.r.e _is_ thoughtful. Use my bronc whenever you want to--she's over in Sparks's corral. Allus speak t' her 'fore you go up to her, though. She's some skittish."

"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 theyselves out figgerin' how t' git holt of cash without workin'

fer it."

"We'll miss y' _turrible,_ Cupid," breaks in Hairoil. "I don't hardly know what Briggs 'll do with you gone. Somehow you allus manage t' 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 bunch looked that _di_rection silent. Pretty soon, we heerd a rumblin', and the spot got bigger, and steady.

The boys got down offen the platform and we moseyed over t' where the end car allus stopped.

_Too-oo-oot!_

Shackleton reached out fer my hand. "Good-bye, Cupid, you ole son-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 was Chub).

"_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 upper winda?"

"Cupid,"--it was Hairoil, and he put a' arm acrosst my shoulder--"_hope_ you fergive me fer puttin' up that shootin'-sc.r.a.pe."

"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'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."

"I will, 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 Silverstein'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, 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 sittin'-room at the Bar Y.

"Boss," I says out loud, "they's a little, empty rockin'-chair byside 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 a fly at that railroad on stilts. Next, I had t' go over and turn my lanterns 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 pur_chased_ a round hat, black and turrible 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!

Wal, 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 offen 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 sc.r.a.ped and my mane cut.

"Pardner," I says t' the barber feller, "I want t' rent a cheap room."

"Look in the papers," he _ad_vises.

'Twixt him and me, we located a place afore long, and he showed me how t' git to it. Wal, 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.