"By marryin' you off. When you're hitched up you'self, you won't
be so all-fired anxious t' git other pore fellers into the traces."
"That good news," I says. "Who's the for-tu_nate_ gal you've picked
fer me?"
"Never you mind," answers Hairoil. "She's a new gal, and she'll be
along next week."
"Is she pretty?"
"Is she pretty! Say! Pretty ain't no name fer it! She's got big grey
eyes, with long, black, sassy winkers, and brown hair that's all kinda
curly over the ears. Then her cheeks is pink, and she's got the cutest
mouth a man 'most ever seen."
Wal, a-course, I thought he was foolin'. (And mebbe he was--_then_.)
A gal like that fer me!--a fine, pretty gal fer such a knock-kneed,
slab-sided son-of-a-gun as me? I just couldn't swaller _that_.
But, aw! if I only had 'a' knowed how that idear of hisn was a-goin'
t' grow!--that idear of him turnin' Cupid fer _me,_ y' savvy. And
if only I'd 'a' knowed what a turrible bust-up he'd fin'lly be
_re_sponsible fer 'twixt me and the same grey-eyed, sassy-winkered
gal! If I had, it's a cinch I'd 'a' sit on him _hard_--right then
and there.
I didn't, though. I switched back on to what was a-puzzlin' and
a-worryin' me. "Billy Trowbridge," I begun, "has waited too long
a'ready fer Rose Andrews. And if things don't come to a haid right
soon, he'll lose her."
Hairoil give a kinda jump. "The Widda Andrews," he says, "--Zach
Sewell's gal? So you're a-plannin' t' interfere in the doin's of ole
man Sewell's fambly."
"Yas."
He reached fer my hand and squz it, and pretended t' git mournful, like
as if he wasn't never goin' t' see me again. "My _pore_ friend!"
he says.
"Wal, what's eatin' you now?" I ast.
"Nothin'--only that pretty gal I tole you about, she's----"
Then he stopped short.
"She's what?"
He let go of my hand, shrug his shoulders, and started off. "Never
mind," he called back. "Let it drop. We'll just see. Mebbe, after
all, you'll git the very lesson you oughta have. Ole man Sewell!" And,
shakin' his haid, he turned the corner of the deepot.
Wal, who was Sewell anyhow?--no better'n any other man. I'd knowed
him since 'fore the Oklahomaw Rushes, and long 'fore he's wired-up
half this end of the Terrytory. And I'd knowed his oldest gal, Rose,
since she was knee-high to a hop-toad. Daisy gal, she allus was, by
thunder! And mighty sweet. Wal, when, after tyin' up t' that blamed
fool Andrews, she'd got her matreemonal hobbles off in less'n six
months--owin' t' Monkey Mike bein' a little sooner in the trigger
finger--why, d'you think I was a-goin' to stand by and see a tin-horn
proposition like that Noo York Simpson put a vent brand on her? _Nixey!_
It was ole man Sewell that bossed the first job and cut out Andrews
fer Rose's pardner. Sewell's that breed, y' know, hard-mouthed as a
mule, and if he cain't run things, why, he'll take a duck-fit. But
he shore put his foot in it _that_ time. Andrews was as low-down and
sneakin' as a coy_o_te, allus gittin' other folks into a fuss if he
could, but stayin' outen range hisself. The little gal didn't have no
easy go with him--we all knowed _that,_ and she wasn't happy. Wal,
Mike easied the sittywaytion. He took a gun with a' extra long carry
and put a lead pill where it'd do the most good; and the hull passel
of us was plumb tickled, that's all, just plumb tickled--even t' the
sheriff.
I said pill just now. Funny how I just fall into the habit of usin'
doctor words when I come to talk of this par_tic_ular mix-up. That's
'cause Simpson, the tin-horn gent I mentioned, is a doc. And so's
Billy Trowbridge--Billy Trowbridge is the best medicine-man we ever had
in these parts, if he _did_ git all his learnin' right here from his
paw. He ain't got the spondulix, and so he ain't what you'd call tony.
But he's got his doctor certifi_cate,_ O. K., and when it comes t'
curin', he can give cards and spades to _any_ of you' highfalutin'
college gezabas, and _then_ beat 'em out by a mile. That's _straight!_
Billy, he'd allus liked Rose. And Rose'd allus liked Billy. Wal, after
Andrews's s-a-d endin', you bet I made up my mind that Billy'd be
ole man Sewell's next son-in-law. Billy was smart as the dickens, and
young, and no drunk. He hadn't never wore no hard hat, neither, 'r
roached his mane pompydory, and he was one of the kind that takes a run
at they fingernails oncet in a while. Now, mebbe a puncher 'r a red
ain't par-_tic_ular about his hands; but a _pro_feshnal gent's _got_ to
be. And with a nice gal like Rose, it shore do stack up.
But it didn't stand the chanst of a snow-man in Yuma when it come to
ole man Sewell. Doc Simpson was new in town, and Sewell'd ast him out
to supper at the Bar Y ranch-house two 'r three times. And he was clean
stuck on him. To hear the ole man talk, Simpson was the cutest thing
that'd ever come into the mesquite. And Billy? Wal, he was the bad man
from Bodie.
Say! but all of us punchers was sore when we seen how Sewell was
haided!--not just the ole man's outfit at the Bar Y, y' savvy, but
the bunch of us at the Diamond O. None of us liked Simpson a _little_
bit. He wore fine clothes, and a dicer, and when it come to soothin'
the ladies and holdin' paws, he was there with both hoofs. Then, he
had all kinds of fool jiggers fer his business, and one of them toot
surreys that's got ingine haidlights and two seats all stuffed with
goose feathers and covered with leather--reg'lar Standard Sleeper.
It was that gasoline rig that done Billy damage, speakin' financial.
The minute folks knowed it was in Briggs City, why they got a misery
somewheres about 'em quick--just to have it come and stand out in
front, smellin' as all-fired nasty as a' Injun, but lookin' turrible
stylish. The men was bad enough about it, and when they had one of Doc
Simpson's drenches they haids was as big as Bill Williams's Mountain.
But the women! The _hull_ cavvieyard of 'em, exceptin' Rose, stampeded
over to him. And Billy got such a snow-under that they had him a-diggin'
fer his grass.
I was plumb crazy about it. "Billy," I says one day, when I met him
a-comin' from 'Pache Sam's hogan on his bi_cy_cle; "Billy, you got
to do somethin'." (Course, I didn't mention Rose.) "You goin' to
let any sawed-off, hammered-down runt like that Simpson drive you out?
Why, it's free grazin' here!"
Billy, he smiled kinda wistful and begun to brush the alkali offen that
ole Stetson of hisn, turnin' it 'round and 'round like he was worried.
"Aw, never mind, Cupid," he says; "--just keep on you' shirt."
But pretty soon things got a darned sight worse, and I couldn't hardly
hole in. Not satisfied with havin' the hull country on his trail account
of that surrey, Simpson tried a _new_ deal: He got to discoverin' bugs!
He found out that Bill Rawson had malaria bugs, and the Kelly kid
had diphtheria bugs, and Dutchy had typhoid bugs that didn't do
business owin' to the alcohol in his system. (_Too_ bad!) Why, it was
astonishin' how many kinds of newfangled critters we'd never heard of
was a-livin' in this Terrytory!
But all his bugs didn't split no shakes with _Rose_. She was _po_lite
to Simpson, and friendly, but nothin' worse. And it was plainer 'n the
nose on you' face that Billy was solid with her. But the ole man is
the hull show in that fambly, y' savvy; and all us fellers could do was
to hope like sixty that nothin' 'd happen to give Simpson a' extra
chanst. But, crimini! Somethin' _did_ happen: Rose's baby got sick.
Wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, kinda whined all the time, like a sick
purp, and begun to look peaked--pore little kid!
I was out at the Bar Y that same day, and when the news got over to the
bunk-house, we was all turrible _ex_cited. "Which'll the ole man send
after," we says, "--Simpson 'r Billy?"
It was that bug-doctor!
He come down the road two-forty, settin' up as stiff as if he had a
ramrod in his backbone. I just happened over towards the house as he
turned in at the gate. He staked out his surrey clost to the porch and
stepped down. My! such nice little button shoes!
"Aw, maw!" says Monkey Mike; "he's too rich fer _my_ blood!"
The ole man come out to say howdy. When Simpson seen him, he says,
"Mister Sewell, they's some hens 'round here, and I don't want 'em
to hop into my machine whilst I'm in the house." Then, he looks at
me. "Can you' hired man keep 'em shooed?" he says.
Hired man! I took a jump his _di_rection that come nigh to splittin' my
boots. "Back up, m' son," I says, reachin' to my britches pocket.
"_I_ ain't no hired man."
Sewell, he puts in quick. "No, no, Doc," he says; "this man's one
of the Diamond O cow-boys. Fer heaven's sake, Cupid! You're gittin'
to be as touchy as a cook!"
Simpson, he apologised, and I let her pass f er _that_ time. But,
a-course, far's him and _me_ was _con_cerned--wal, just wait. As I say,
he goes in,--the ole man follerin'--leavin' that gasoline rig snortin'
and sullin' and lookin' as if it was just achin' t' take a run at the
bunk-house and bust it wide open. I goes in, too,--just t' see the fun.
There was that Simpson examinin' the baby, and Rose standin' by,
lookin' awful scairt. He had a rain-gauge in his hand, and was
a-squintin' at it important. "High temper'ture," he says; "'way up
to hunderd and four." Then he jabbed a spoon jigger into her pore
little mouth. Then he made X brands acrosst her soft little back with his
fingers. Then he turned her plumb over and begun to tunk her like she
was a melon. And when he'd knocked the wind outen her, he _pro_-duced
a bi_cy_cle pump, stuck it agin her chest, and put his ear to the
other end. "Lungs all right," he says; "heart all right. Must
be----" Course, _you_ know--bugs!
"But--but, couldn't it be teeth?" ast Rose.
Simpson grinned like she was a' idjit, and he was sorry as the dickens
fer her. "Aw, a baby ain't _all_ teeth," he says.
Wal, he left some truck 'r other. Then he goes out, gits into his
Pullman section, blows his punkin whistle and _de_parts.
Next day, same thing. Temper'ture's still up. Medicine cain't be kept
down. Case turrible puzzlin'. Makes all kinds of guesses. Leaves some
hoss liniment. Toot! toot!
Day after, changes the pro_gram_. Sticks a needle into the kid and gits
first blood. Says somethin' about "Modern scientific idears," and
tracks back t' town.
Things run along that-a-way fer a week. Baby got sicker and sicker. Rose
got whiter and whiter, and thinned till she was about as hefty as a
shadda. Even the ole man begun t' look kinda pale 'round the gills.
But Simpson didn't miss a trick. And he come t' the ranch-house so
darned many times that his buckboard plumb oiled down the pike.
"Rose," I says oncet to her, when I stopped by, "cain't we give Billy
Trowbridge a chanst? That Simpson doc ain't worth a hill of beans."
Rose didn't say nothin'. She just turned and lent over the kid. Gee
whiz! I hate t' see a woman cry!
'Way early, next day, the kid had a _con_vul-sion, and ev'rybody was
shore she was goin' to kick the bucket. And whilst a bunch of us was
a-hangin' 'round the porch, pretty nigh luny about the pore little
son-of-a-gun, Bill Rawson come--and he had a story that plumb took the
last kink outen us.
I hunts up the boss. "Mister Sewell," I says, by way of beginnin',
"I'm feard we're goin' to lose the baby. Simpson ain't doin' much,
seems like. What y' say if I ride in fer Doc Trowbridge?"
"Trowbridge?" he says disgusted. "_No,_ ma'am! Simpson'll be here
in a jiffy!"
"I reckon Simpson'll be late," I says. "Bill Rawson seen him goin'
towards Goldstone just now in his thrashin'-machine with a feemale
settin' byside him. Bill says she was wearin' one of them fancy
collar-box hats, with a duck-wing hitched on to it, and her hair was
all mussy over her eyes--like a cow with a board on its horns--and
she had enough powder on her face t' make a biscuit."
The ole man begun t' chaw and spit like a bob-cat. "I ain't astin'
Bill's _ad_vice," he says. "When I want it, I'll let him know. If
Simpson's busy over t' Goldstone, we got to wait on him, that's all.
But Trowbridge? Not _no_-ways!"
I seen then that it was time somebody mixed in. I got onto my pinto bronc
and loped fer town. But all the way I couldn't think what t' do. So I
left Maud standin' outside of Dutchy's, and went over and sit down
next Hairoil on the truck. And that's where I was--a-hummin' to myself
and a-workin' my haid--when he give me that rakin' over about playin'
Cupid, and warned me agin monkeyin' with ole man Sewell.
Wal, when Hairoil up and left me, I kept right on a-studyin'. I knowed,
a-course, that I could go kick up a fuss when Simpson stopped by his
office on his trip back from Goldstone. But that didn't seem such a'
awful good plan. Also, I could----
Just then, I heerd my cow-pony kinda whinny. I glanced over towards
her. She was standin' right where I'd left her, lines on the ground,
eyes peeled my way. And _such_ a look as she was a-givin' me!--like
she knowed what I was a-worryin' about and was surprised I was so blamed
thick.
I jumped up and run over to her. "Maud," I says, "you got more savvy
'n any horse I know, bar _none_. _Danged if we don't do it!_"
First off, I sent word t' Billy that he was to show up at the Sewell
ranch-house about four o'clock. And when three come, me and Maud was
on the Bar Y road where it goes acrosst that crick-bottom. She was
moseyin' along, savin' herself, and I was settin' sideways like a
real lady so's I could keep a' eye towards town. Pretty soon, 'way
back down the road, 'twixt the barb-wire fences, I seen a cloud of
dust a-travellin'--a-travellin' so fast they couldn't be no mistake.
And in about a minute, the signs was complete--I heerd a toot. I put
my laig over then.
Here he come, that Simpson in his smelly Pullman, takin' the grade like
greased lightin'. "Now, Maud!" I whispers to the bronc. And, puttin'
my spurs into her, I begun t' whip-saw from one fence to the other.
He slowed up and blowed his whistle.