Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Part 4

"Sir," says the parson to Dutchy, when he seen the damage, "call off you' beast."

Dutchy, he just grinned. "Ock," he says, "it mocks nix oudt if dey do sometinks. Here de street iss not brivate broperty."

At that, the parson clumb down and drug his dawg loose. Then he looked up at the thirst-parlour. "What a name fer a _saloon,_" he says, "in a civilised country!"

A-course, us fellers enjoyed the fun, all right. And we fixed it up t'gether to kinda sic the Dutchman on. We seen that "Life Savin'

Station" stuck in the parson's craw, and we made out to Dutch that like as not he 'd have to change his sign.

Dutch done a jig he was so mad. "Fer _dat?_" he ast, meanin' the parson. "Nein! He iss not cross mit my sign. He vut like it, maype, if I gif him some viskey on tick. I bet you he trinks, I bet. Maype he trinks ret ink gocktails, like de Injuns; maype he trinks Florita Vater, oder golone. Ya! Ya! Vunce I seen a feller--I hat some snakes here in algohol--unt dat feller he trunk de algohol. _Ya_. Unt de minister iss just so bat as dat."

Then, to show how he liked _us_, Dutchy set up the red-eye. And the _next_ time the parson come along in his cart, they was a dawg fight in front of that saloon that was worth two-bits fer admission.

Don't think the rest of us was agin the parson, though. We wasn't.

Fact it, we kinda liked him from the jump. We liked his riggin', we liked the way he grabbed you' paw, and he was no quitter when it come to a hoss. _Say!_ but he could ride! One day when he racked into the post-office, his spur-chains a-rattlin' like a puncher's, and a quirt in his fist, one of the Bar Y boys rounded him up agin the _meanest, low_-down buckin' proposition that ever wore the hide of a bronc. But the parson was game from his hay to his hoofs. He clumb into the saddle and stayed there, and went a-hikin' off acrosst the prairie, independent as a pig on ice, just like he was a-straddlin' some ole crow-bait!

So, when Sunday night come, and he preached in the school-house, he had quite a bunch of punchers corralled there to hear him. And I was one of 'em. (But, a-course, that first time, I didn't have no idear it was a-goin' to mean a turrible lot to me, that goin' to church.) Wal, I'm blamed if the parson wasn't wearin' the same outfit as he did week days. We liked that. And he didn't open up by tellin' us that we was all branded and ear-marked a' ready by the Ole Long-horn Gent.

No, ma'am. He didn't _mention_ everlastin' fire. And he didn't ramp and pitch and claw his hair. Fact is, he didn't h.e.l.l-toot!

A-course, that spoiled the fun fer us. But he talked so straight, and kinda easy and honest, that he got us a-listenin' to what he _said_.

Cain't say we was stuck on his text, though. It run like this, that a smart man sees when a row's a-comin' and makes fer the tall cat-tails till the wind dies down. And he went on to say that a man oughta be humble, and that if a feller gives you a lick on the jaw, why, you oughta let him give you another to grow on. Think o' that! It may be O. K.

fer preachers, and fer women that ain't strong enough t' lam back.

But fer me, _nixey_.

But that hand-out didn't give the parson no black eye with _us_. _We_ knowed it was his duty t' talk that-a-way. And two 'r three of the boys got t' proposin' him fer the polo team real serious--pervided, a-course, that he'd stand fer a little cussin' when the 'casion _re_quired. It was a cinch that he'd draw like wet rawhide.

Wal, the long and short of it is, he did. And Sunday nights, the Dutchman lost money. He begun t' josh the boys about gittin' churchy. It didn't do no good,--the boys didn't give a whoop fer his ga.s.s, and they liked the parson. All Dutchy could do was to sic his purp on to chawin' spots offen that keerige dawg.

But pretty soon he got plumb tired of just dawg-fightin'. He _pre_pared to turn hisself loose. And he advertised a free supper fer the very next Sunday night. When Sunday night come, they say he had a reg'lar Harvey layout. You buy a drink, and you git a stuffed pickle, 'r a patty de gra.s.s, 'r a wedge of pie druv into you' face.

No go. The boys was on to Dutchy. They knowed he was the stingiest gezaba in these parts, and wouldn't give away a nickel if he didn't reckon on gittin' six-bits back. So, more fer devilment 'n anythin' else, the most of 'em fooled him some--just loped to the school-house.

The parson was plumb tickled.

But it didn't last. The next Sunday, the "Life Savin' Station" had Pete Gans up from Apache to deal a little faro. And as it rained hard enough t' keep the women folks away, why, the parson preached to ole man Baker (he's deef), the globe and the chart and the map of South Amuricaw. And almost ev'ry day of the next week, seems like, that purp of Dutchy's everlastin'ly chawed the parson's. The spotted dawg couldn't go past the thirst-parlour, 'r anywheres else. The parson took to fastenin' him up. Then Dutchy'd mosey over towards Hairoil's shack. Out'd come Mister Spots. And one, two, three, the saloon dawg 'd sail into him.

Then a piece of news got 'round that must 'a' made the parson madder 'n a wet hen. Dutchy cleaned the barrels outen his hind room and put up a notice that the next Sunday night he'd give a dance. To finish things, the dawgs had a worse fight'n ever Friday mornin', and the parson's lost two spots and a' ear.

I seen a change in the parson that evenin'. When he come down to the post-office, them brown eyes of his'n was plumb black, and his face was redder'n Sam Barnes's. "Things is goin' to happen," I says to myself, "'r _I_ ain't no judge of beef."

Sunday night, you know, a-course, where the _boys_ went. But I drawed lots with myself and moseyed over to the school-house to keep a bench warm. And here is when that new deal was laid out on the table fer you'

little friend Cupid!

I slid in and sit down clost to the door. Church wasn't begun yet, and the dozen 'r so of women was a-waitin' quieter'n mice, some of 'em readin' a little, some of 'em leanin' they haids on the desks, and some of 'em kinda peekin' through they fingers t' git the lay of the land. Wal, _I_ stretched my neck,--and made out t' count more'n fifty spit-b.a.l.l.s on a life-size chalk drawin' of the school-ma'am.

Next thing, the parson was in and a-pumpin' away--all fours--at the organ, and the bunch of us was on our feet a-singin'----

"Yield not to tempta-a-ation, 'Cause yieldin' is sin.

Each vic'try----"

We'd got about that far when I shut off, all of a suddent, and c.o.c.ked my haid t' listen. Whose voice was that?--as clear, by thunder! as the bugle up at the Reservation. Wal, sir, I just stood there, mouth wide open.

"Some other to win.

Strive manfully onwards----"

Then, I begun t' look 'round. _Couldn't_ be the Kelly kid's maw (I'd heerd her call the hawgs), ner the teacher, ner that tall lady next her, ner----

Spotted the right one! Up clost to the organ was a gal I'd never saw afore. So many was in the way that I wasn't able t' git more'n a squint at her back hair. But, say! it was _mighty_ pretty hair--brown, and all sorta curly over the ears.

When the song was over, ole lady Baker sit down just in front of me; and as she's some chunky, she cut off nearly the hull of my view. "But, Cupid," I says to myself, "I'll bet that wavy hair goes with a sweet face."

Minute after, the parson begun t' speak. Wal, soon as ever he got his first words out, I seen that the air was kinda blue and liftin', like it is 'fore a thunder-shower. And his text? It was, "Lo, I am full of fury, I am weary with holdin' it in."

Say! _that's_ the kind of preachin' a _puncher_ likes!

After he was done, and we was all ready t' go, I tried to get a better look at that gal. But the women folks was movin' my _di_rection, shakin' hands and gabblin' fast to make up fer lost time. Half a dozen of 'em got 'round me. And when I got shet of the bunch, she was just a-pa.s.sin' out at the far door. My! such a slim, little figger and such a pert, little haid!

I made fer the parson. "_Ex_cuse me," I says to him, "but wasn't you talkin' to a young lady just now? and if it ain't too gally, can I _in_-quire who she is?"

"Why, yas," answers the parson, smilin' and puttin' one hand on my shoulder. (You know that cuss never oncet ast me if I was a Christian? Aw! I tell y', he was a _gent_.) "That young lady is Billy Trowbridge's sister-in-law."

"Sister-in-law!" I repeats. (She was married, then. Gee! I hated t'

hear that! 'Cause, just havin' helped Billy t' git his wife, y'

savvy, why----) "But, parson, I didn't know the Doc _had_ a brother."

(I felt kinda down on Billy all to oncet.)

"He ain't," says the parson. "(_Good_-night, Mrs. Baker.) This young lady is Mrs. Trowbridge's sister."

"Mrs. _Trowbridge's_ sister?"

"Yas,--ole man Sewell's youngest gal. She's been up to St. Louis goin' t' school." He turned out the bracket lamp.

Ole man Sewell's youngest gal! Sh.o.r.e enough, they _was_ another gal in that fambly. But she was just a kid when she was in Briggs the last time,--not more'n fourteen 'r fifteen, anyhow,--and I'd clean fergot about her.

"Her name's Macie," goes on the parson.

"Macie--Macie Sewell--Macie." I said it over to myself two 'r three times. I'd never liked the name Sewell afore. But now, somehow, along with _Her_ name, it sounded awful fine. "Macie--Macie Sewell."

"Cupid, I wisht you'd walk home with me," says the parson. "I want t' ast you about somethin'."

"Tickled t' death."

Whilst he locked up, I waited outside. "M' son," I says to myself, "nothin' could be foolisher than fer you to git you' eye fixed on a belongin' of ole man Sewell's. Just paste _that_ in you' sunbonnet."

Wal, I rid Shank's mare over t' Hairoil's. Whilst we was goin', the parson opened up on the subject of Dutchy and that nasty, mean purp of hisn. And I ketched on, pretty soon, to just what he was a-drivin' at.

I fell right in with him. I'd never liked Dutchy such a turrible lot anyhow,--and I did want t' be a friend to the parson. So fer a hour after we hit the shack, you might 'a' heerd me a-talkin' (if you'd been outside) and him a-laughin' ev'ry minute 'r so like he'd split his sides.

Monday was quiet. I spent the day at Silverstein's Gen'ral Merchandise Store, which is next the post-office. (Y' see, She might come in fer the Bar Y mail.) The parson got off a long letter to a feller at Williams. And Dutchy was awful busy--fixin' up a fine shootin'-gallery at the back of his "Life Savin' Station."