Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Part 8

"All right, Cupid. So long."

Seen Sewell a little bit later. And braced right up to him. 'Cause fer two reasons: First, I wanted _him_ t' do some buyin' fer his gal; then, I wanted t' find out if he didn't need another puncher out at the Bar Y. (Ketch on t' my little game?)

The ole man was pretty short, and wouldn't do a livin' lick about them votes. Said _he_ knowed his gal, Mace, was the prettiest gal in Oklahomaw, and it didn't need no pa.s.sel of breeds 'r quacks to cut her out of the bunch of heifers and give her the brand.

Then, I says, "S'pose you ain't lookin' fer no extra punchers out at the Bar Y? I'm thinkin' some of quittin' where I am." ('Twixt you and me and the gate-post, I knowed from Hairoil that the Sewell outfit was shy two men--just when men was wanted _bad_.)

Fer a minute, Sewell didn't answer anothin'. (Stiff-necked, y'

savvy,--see a feller dead first 'fore he'd give in a' inch.) Pretty soon, he looked up, kinda sheepish. "I _could_ use another puncher," he says, "t' ride line. Forty suit y'?"

"Sh.o.r.e, boss. Be out the first. So long."

I was goin' to the Bar Y, where _she_ was! Wal, mebbe I wasn't happy!

And mebbe I wasn't set worse'n ever on havin' the little gal win in that contest! 'Fore night, I rounded up as many as five people that had a bony fido grunt comin', and was glad to hear the grand things Doc Trowbridge said about Root-ee!

When the show started up in the hall after supper, and I slid in to take my seat in the winda, a lot of people,--women and kids and men--kinda turned round towards me and whispered and grinned. "They know I'm fer Macie Sewell," I says to myself, "but that don't bother _me_ none."

That Blackfoot Injun (he was turned into To-Ko, the Human Snake) was a-throwin' squaw-hitches with hisself. The Judge come to the edge of the platform and pointed over his shoulder to him. "Do you think he could do that if he didn't rub his hinges with Pain Balm?" he says.

"Wal, he couldn't. Pain Balm makes a man as limber as a willa. Ladies and gents, it's _won_derful what that remedy can do! It'll prolong you' life, make you healthy, wealthy, happy, and wise. Here you get the Blackfoot Injun Root-ee, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic Salve, and the Worm Destroyer,--the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!"

Say! it made my jaw plumb tired t' listen to him.

"Hairoil," I says to Johnson, "they got the names of the prettiest gals up on the blackboard, but where's the names of the homeliest men?"

Hairoil snickered a little. Then he pulled his face straight and said that, bein' as Monkey Mike 'd kicked up a turrible fuss about the votes that was cast fer _him,_ why, the Judge had _de_cided to keep the homeliest-man contest a secret.

Wal, _I_ didn't keer. Was only a-botherin' my, haid over the way the prettiest gal countin' 'd come out. I got holt of Dutchy, who 'd come in from his thirst-parlour to look on a minute. "Buyin', Dutchy?" I ast.

"Nix."

"But I reckon you need Root-ee, all the same. Do you ever feel kinda full and stuffy after meals?"

"Yaw."

"Now, don't that show! Dutchy, I'm sorry, but it's a cinch you got the bliggers!"

Wal, _he_ bit.

The station-agent was standin' right next me. "Cupid," he whispers, "I hear you got a candi-_date_ in fer the prettiest gal. What you say about runnin' as the homeliest man?"

"No," I answers, quick, "I don't hanker fer the honour. (That 'd hurt me with _her,_ y' savvy.) Then, I begun chinnin' with Sparks, that owns the corral.

"Great stuff, that Root-ee," I says. "Reckon the redskins knowed a heap more about curin' than anybody's ever give 'em credit fer. Tried the medicine yet, Sparks?"

Sparks said no, he didn't think he needed it.

"Wal, a man never knows," I goes on. "Now, mebbe, of a mornin', when you wake up, you feel tired and sorta stretchy; wisht you could just roll over and take another snooze."

"Bet I do!"

"That ain't right, Sparks." And I turned in and give him that bliggers talk.

But he hung off till I tole him about the scheme of the railroad bunch. Seems that Sparks had a grudge agin the eatin'-house 'cause it wouldn't give him train-men's rates fer grub. So he fell right into line.

Macie Sewell didn't come to the show that night, so I didn't stay long. Over to the bunk-house, I got a piece of paper and some ink and (ain't ashamed of it, _neither,_) writ down her name. Under it, I put mine. Then, after crossin' out all the letters that was alike, and countin' "Friendship, love, indiff'rence, hate, courtship, marriage,"

it looked like this:

M[a][c][i][e] S[e]w[e][l][l] friendship, [A][l][e][c] [L][l]oyd marriage.

[Transcriber's note: letters in brackets were "crossed out"]

By jingo, I reckon it stood just about that way!

Next mornin', whilst I was standin' outside the post-office, she come ridin' up! Say, all to oncet my heart got to goin' somethin'

turrible--I was feard she'd hear it, no josh. My hands felt weak, too, so's I could hardly pull off my Stetson; and my ears got red; and my tongue thick, like the time I got offen the trail in Arizonaw and din't have no water fer two 'r three days.

She seen me, and smiled, sorta bashful.

"Miss Sewell," I says, "can I ast fer you' mail? Then you won't have to git down."

"Yas, thank y'."

When I give it to her, I got my sand back a little. "I hope," I says, "that you didn't mind my puttin' you' name up in that votin'

contest. Did y'?"

"Why,--why, no."

"I'm awful glad. And I'm a-comin' out to the Bar Y the first to ride line."

"Are y'?" Them pink cheeks of hern got pinker'n ever, and when she loped off, she smiled back at me!

Say! I never was so happy in all my life! I went to work gittin'

votes fer her, feelin' like ev'rybody was my friend--even ole Skinflint Curry, that I'd had words with oncet. That railroad bunch was a-workin', too, and a-talkin' up Mollie Brown. And I heerd that they planned to hole back a lot of votes till Macie Sewell's count was all in, and then spring 'em to elect the other gal. That got me worried some.

About six o'clock, one of them fancy vests went 'round town, hollerin'

it out that the show 'd give its last performance that night. "What's you sweat?" I ast him. Nothin', he says, only the Judge reckoned about all the folks that intended to buy Root-ee had bought a'ready.

Wal, the show got a turrible big crowd--hall chuch full. And I tell y'

things was livelier'n they was at the dawg fight. The Mollie Brown crowd was rushin' 'round and lookin' corkin' sh.o.r.e, and the punchers holdin' up people as they come in, and the Marvellous Murray's doin'

anty-I-overs with theyselves plumb acrosst the stage.

All the time, the Judge was exercisin' that jaw of hisn. "Ladies and gents," he says, (banjo goin' ev'ry minute) "here's where you git cured whilst you stand--like buffalo gra.s.s. Don't you be scairt that you'll buy me out--I got more down cellar in a teacup!"

Then _she_ come in, and I wouldn't 'a' pulled outen that place fer a new dollar. She looked so cool and pretty, that little haid up, and a wisp of hair blowin' agin her one cheek 'cause they was a breeze from the windas. Simpson was with her. What did _I_ keer! She wasn't noticin' _him_ much. Wal, I just never looked anywheres else but at her. Aw, I hoped that pretty soon she'd look round at me!

She did!--straighter'n a string. And the hull room got as misty and full of roarin' as if a Santa Fee ingine was in there, a-leakin'

steam. I tried t' smile at her. But my face seemed hard, like a piece of leather. I _couldn't_ smile.