I'M just square enough to own _up_ it was one on me. But far's that
par_tic_ular mix-up goes, I can _afford_ to be honest, and let anybody
snicker that wants to--seein' the way the hull thing turned out. 'Cause
how about Doc Simpson? Didn't I git bulge Number Two on him? And how
about the little gal? Didn't it give me my first chanst? _Course,_ it
did! And now, sometimes, when I want to feel happier'n a frog in a
puddle, just a-thinkin' it all over, I lean back, shut my two eyes, and
say, "Ladies and gents, this is where you git 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!"
That medicine show follered the dawg fight. It hit Briggs City towards
sundown one day, in a prairie-schooner drawed by two big, white mules,
and druv up to the eatin'-house. Out got a smooth-faced, middle-aged
feller in a linen duster and half a' acre of hat--kinda part judge,
part scout, y' savvy; out got two youngish fellers in fancy vests and
grey dicers; next, a' Injun in a blanket, and a lady in a yalla-striped
shirtwaist. Wal, sir, it was just like they'd struck that town to start
things a-movin' fer me!
The show hired the hall over Silverstein's store. Then one of them fancy
vests walked up and down Front Street, givin' out hand-bills. The other
sent word to all the ranches clost by, and the Injun went 'round to
them scattered houses over where the parson and Doc Trowbridge lives.
Them hand-bills read somethin' like this: The _Re_nowned Blackfoot
Medicine Company Gives Its First Performance T'Night! Grand Open-Air
Band Concert. Come One, Come All. Free! Free! Free! 3--The Marvellous
Murrays--3. To-Ko, the Human Snake, The World Has Not His Equal. Miss
Vera de Mille In Bewitchin' Song and Dance. Amuricaw's Greatest Nigger
Impersynater. The Fav'rite Banjoist of the Sunny South. Injun Shadda
Pictures,--and a hull lot more I cain't just _re_call.
When I seen that such a big bunch was a-goin' to preform, I walked over
and peeked into that schooner. I figgered, y' savvy, that they was some
more people in it that hadn't come out yet. But they wasn't--only boxes
and boxes of bottles.
Right after supper, that medicine outfit played in front of
Silverstein's. The judge-lookin' feller beat the drum, the Injun
blowed a big brass dinguss, the gal a clari'net, and the other two
fellers some shiny instruments curlier'n a pig's tail. But it was
bully, that's all _I_ got to say, and drawed like a mustard plaster.
'Cause whilst in Oklahomaw a _Injun_ show don't count fer much, bein'
that we got more'n our fill of reds, all the same, with music
throwed in, Briggs City was there. And Silverstein's hall was just
jampacked.
The front seats was took up by the town kids, a-course. Then come the
women and gals,--a sprinklin' of men amongst 'em; behind _them,_ the
cow-punchers. And in the back end of the place a dozen 'r so of niggers
and cholos. Whilst all was a-waitin' fer the show to begin, the punchers
done a lot of laughin' and cat-callin' to each other, and made some
consider'ble noise. I was along with the rest, only up in one of the
side windas, settin' on the sill and swingin' my hoofs.
When the show opened, they was first a fine piece--a march, I reckon--by
the band. All the time, more people was a-comin' in. 'Mongst 'em was
Doc Trowbridge and Rose, and Up-State--he was that pore lunger that was
here from the East, y' savvy. Next, right after them three, that Doc
Simpson I was so all-fired stuck on. And, along with him, a gal.
Wal, who do you think it was! _I_ knowed to oncet. They wasn't no
mistakin' that slim, little figger and that pert little haid. It was
_Her!_
"Cupid," whispered Hairoil Johnson (he was settin' byside me), "it
looks to me like you didn't much discourage that Noo York doc who owns
what's left of a toot buggy. Failin' to git the oldest gal out at the
Bar Y, why, now he's a-sailin' 'round with the youngest one."
I didn't say nothin'. I was a-watchin' where _she_ was. I wanted t'
ketch sight of her face.
"I devilled ole man Sewell about kickin' him out and then takin' him
back," goes on Hairoil. "And Sewell said he was a punk doctor, but
awful good comp'ny. Huh! Comp'ny ain't what _that_ dude's after.
He's after a big ranch and a graded herd. It's a blamed pity you
didn't git _him_ sent up t' Kansas City fer _re_pairs."
The band was a-playin', but I didn't pay much attention to it. I kept
a-watchin' that slim, little figger a-settin' next Simpson--a-watchin'
till I plumb fergot where I was, almost. "Macie,--Macie Sewell."
Just then, I'm another if she didn't look round! And square at _me!_
She wasn't smilin', just sober, and sorta inquirin'. Her eyes looked
dark, and big. She had a square little chin, like the gals you see drawed
in pictures, and some soft, white, lacey stuff was a-restin' agin her
neck. They was two 'r three good-lookin' gals at the eatin'-house
them days, and Carlota Arnaz was awful pretty, too. But none of 'em
couldn't hole a candle t' _this_ one. Took in her cute little face
whilst she looked straight back at me. Say! them eyes of hern come
nigh pullin' me plumb outen that winda!
Then the Judge walked out onto the platform, and she faced for'ards
again. "Ladies and gents," says the ole feller, talkin' like his
mouth was full of mush, "we have come to give you' enterprisin' little
city a free show. A free show, ladies and gents,--it ain't a-goin'
to cost you a _nickel_ to come here and enjoy you'self ev'ry night.
More'n that, we plan to stay as long as you want us to. And we plan to
give you the very best talent in this hull United States."
All this time, the fancy-vest fellers was layin' a carpet and fixin' a
box and a table on the stage. The Judge, he turned and waved his hand.
"Our first number," he says, "will be the Murrays in they marvellous
act."
Wal, them fancy-vests and the lady was the Marvellous Murrays. And
they was all in pink circus-clothes. "Two brothers and a sister, I
guess," says Hairoil. I should _hope_ so! 'Cause the way they jerked
each other 'round was enough t' bring on a fight if they hadn't
'a' been relations. All three of 'em could walk on they hands nigh
as good as on they feet, and turn somersets quicker'n lightnin'. And
when the somersettin' and leap-froggin' come to oncet, it was grand!
First the big feller'd git down; then, the other'd step onto his
back. And as the big one bucked, his brother'd fly up,--all in a ball,
kinda--spin 'round two 'r three times, and light right side up. And
then they stood on each other's faces like they'd plumb flat 'em out!
When they was done, they all come to the edge of the platform, the lady
kissin' her hand. All the punchers kissed back!
Wal, ev'rybody laughed then, and clapped, and the Judge brought on the
Injun. That Injun was smart, all right. Wiggled his fingers behind a
sheet and made 'em look like animals, and like people that was walkin'
and bowin' and doin' jigs. I wondered if Macie Sewell liked it. Guess
she did! She was a-smilin' and leanin' for'ards to whisper to Billy
and Rose. But not much to Simpson, _I_ thought. Say! I was glad of that.
Wasn't _none_ of my business, a-course. _Course,_ it wasn't. But,
just the same, whenever I seen him put his haid clost to hern, it shore
got under my skin.
The Judge was out again. "Miss Vera de Mille," he says, "will sing
'Wait Till the Sun Shines, Maggie.'" Wal, if I hadn't 'a' had
reasons fer stayin', I wouldn't 'a' waited a _minute_--reg'lar
cow-bellerin' in place of a voice, y' savvy. What's more, she was
only that Marvellous Murray woman in diff'rent clothes! (No wonder
they wasn't no more people in that outfit!) But I didn't keer about
the show. I just never took my eyes offen----
She looked my way again!
Say! I was roped--right 'round my shoulders, like I'd roped Simpson!
And I was plumb helpless. That look of hern was a lasso, pullin' me to
her, steady and shore. "Macie--Macie Sewell," I whispered to myself,
and I reckon my lips moved.
"You blamed idjit!" says Hairoil, out loud almost, "what's the matter
with you? You'll have me outen this winda in a minute!"
The Judge was bowin' some more. "We have now come to the middle of our
pro_gram,_" he says. "But 'fore I begin announcin' the last half,
which is our best, I want to tell you all a story.
"Ladies and gents, I come t' Briggs to bring you a message--a message
which I feel bound to deliver. And I've gone through a turrible lot to
be able to stand here to-night and say to you what I'm a-goin' to say.
"Listen! Years ago, a little boy, about so high, with his father and
mother and 'leven sisters and brothers, started to cross the Plains
with a' ox-team. They reached the Blackfoot country safe. But there,
ladies and gents, a turrible thing happened to 'em. One day, more'n
four hunderd Injuns surrounded they wagon and showed fight. They fit 'em
back, ladies and gents,--the father and the mother and the children,
killin' a good many bucks and woundin' more. But the Injuns was too
many fer that pore fambly. And in a' hour, the reds had captured one
little boy--whilst the father and mother and the 'leven sisters and
brothers was no more!" (The Judge, he sniffled a little bit.)
"The little boy was carried to a big Injun camp," he goes on. "And it
was here, ladies and gents,--it was here he seen _won_-derful things.
He seen them Injuns that was wounded put some salve on they wounds and be
healed; he seen others, that was plumb tuckered with fightin', drink
a blackish medicine and git up like new men. Natu'lly, he wondered
what was _in_ that salve, and what was _in_ that medicine. Wal, he
made friends with a nice Injun boy. He ast him _questions_ about
that salve and that medicine. He learnt what plants was dug to make both
of 'em. Then, one dark night, he crawled outen his wigwam on his hands
and knees. Behind him come his little Injun friend. They went slow and
soft to where was the pony herd. They caught up two fast ponies, and
clumb onto 'em, dug in they spurs, and started eastwards as fast as
they could go. The white boy's heart was filled with joy, ladies and
gents. He had a secret in his bosom that meant health to ev'ry _man,
woman_ and _child_ of his own race. As he galloped along, he says to
hisself, 'I'll spend my _life_ givin' this priceless secret to the
world!'
"Wal, ladies and gents, that's what he begun to do--straight off.
And t'-night, my dear friends, that boy is in Briggs City!" (A-course,
ev'rybody begun to look 'round fer him.) "Prob-'bly," goes on the
Judge, "they's more'n a hunderd people in this town that'll thank
Providence he come: They's little children that won't be orphans;
they's wives that won't be widdas. Fer he is anxious to tell 'em of a
remedy that will cure a-a-all the ills of the body. And, ladies and
gents, _I_--am--that--boy!"
That got the punchers so excited and so tickled, that they hollered and
stamped and banged and done about twenty dollars' worth of damage to the
hall.
"My friends," goes on the Judge, "I have _pre_pared, aided by my dear
Injun comrade here, the sev'ral kinds of medicines discovered by the
Blackfeet." The fancy-vests, rigged out like Irishmen, was fixin' a
table and puttin' bottles on to it. "I have these wonderful medicines
with me, and I sell 'em at a figger that leaves only profit enough fer
the five of us to live on. I do _more'n_ that. Ev'rywheres I go, I
_pre_sent, as a soovneer of my visit, _a handsome, solid-gold watch and
chain._"
Out come that singin' lady, hoidin' the watch and chain in front of
her so's the crowd could see. My! what a lot of whisperin'!
"This elegant gift," _con_tinues the Judge, "is _a_warded by means of
a votin' contest. And it goes to the prettiest gal."
More whisperin', and I sees a brakeman git up and go over to talk to
another railroad feller. Wal, _I_ didn't have to be tole who was the
prettiest gal!
"Ladies and gents,"--the Judge again--"in this contest, _ev'ry_body
is allowed to vote. All a person has to do is to take two dollars'
worth of my medicine. Each two-dollar buy gives you ten votes fer the
prettiest gal; and just to add a little fun to the contest, it also
gives you ten votes fer the homeliest man. If you buy these medicines,
you'll never want to buy no others. Here's where you git the Blackfoot
Injun Rootee, my friends, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic
Salve, and the Worm Destroyer--the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!"
Then he drawed a good, long breath and begun again, tellin' us just
what the diff'rent medicines was good fer. When he was done, he
says,--playin' patty-cake with them fat hands of hisn--"Now, who'll
be the first to buy, and name a choice fer the prettiest gal?"
Up jumps that brakeman, "Gimme two dollars' worth of you' dope," he
says, "and drop ten votes in the box fer Miss Mollie Brown."
(Eatin'-house waitress, y' savvy.)
"And the ugliest man?" ast the Judge, whilst one of the fancy vests
took in the cash and handed over the medicine.
"Monkey Mike," answers the brakeman. And then the boys began t' josh
Mike.
"I'm a sucker, too," hollers the other railroad feller. "Here's ten
_more_ votes fer Miss Brown."
Just then, in she come,--pompydore stickin' up like a hay-stack. The
railroad bunch, they give a cheer. Huh!
I got outen that winda and onto my feet. "Judge," I calls, puttin'
up one hand to show him who was a-talkin', "here's _eight_ dollars
fer you' rat-pizen. And you can chalk down forty votes fer Miss Macie
Sewell."
Say! cain't you hear them Bar Y punchers?--"_Yip! yip! yip! yip!
yip! yip! ye-e-e!_" A-course all the _other_ punchers, they hollered,
too. And whilst we was yellin', that tenderfoot from Noo York was
a-jabberin' to Macie, mad like, and scowlin' over my way. And she?
Wal, she was laughin', and blushin', and shakin' that pretty haid of
hern--at _me!_
I was so _ex_cited I didn't know whether I was a-foot 'r a-hoss-back.
But I knowed enough to _buy,_ all right. Wal, that medicine went like
hotcakes! I blowed _my_self, and Hairoil blowed _his_-self, and the Bar Y
boys cleaned they pockets till the bottles was piled up knee-high
byside the benches. And whilst we shelled out, the Judge kept on
a-goin' like he'd been wound up--"Here's _another_ feller that wants
Root-ee! and here's another over on this side! And, lady, it'll be
good fer you, too, _yas,_ ma'am. The Blackfoot Injun Rootee, my
friends, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic Salve, and the Worm
Destroyer,--the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!"
When I come to, a little bit later on, the hall was just about empty,
and Hairoil was pullin' me by the arm to git me to move. I looked
'round fer Macie Sewell. She was gone, and so was the Doc and Billy
Trowbridge and Rose and Up-State. Outside, right under my window, I
ketched sight of a white dress a-goin' past. It was her. "Macie," I
whispers to myself; "Macie Sewell."
That night, I couldn't sleep. I was upset kinda, and just crazy with
thinkin' how I'd help her to win out. And I made up my mind t' this:
If more votes come in fer Mollie Brown than they did fer the gal that
_oughta_ have 'em, why, I'd just shove a gun under that Judge's
nose and tell him to "count 'em over and _count 'em right._"
'Cause, I figgered, no eatin'-house gal with a face like a flat-car was
a-goin' to be _e_lected the prettiest gal of Briggs. Not if _I_ seen
myself, _no,_ ma'am. 'Specially not whilst Sewell's little gal was
in the country. Anybody could pick _her_ fer the winner if they had
on blinders. "Cupid," I says, "you hump you'self!"
Next day, the Judge, he give consultin's in the eatin'-house
sample-room. I went over and had a talk with him, tellin' him just how I
wanted that votin' contest to go. He said he wisht me luck, but that if
the railroad boys felt they needed his medicine, he didn't believe
he had no right to keep 'em from buyin'. And, a-course, when a feller
made a buy, he wanted t' vote like he pleased. Said the best thing
was t' git holt of folks that 'd met Miss Sewell and liked her, 'r
wanted t' work fer her ole man, 'r 'd just as lief do _me_ a good turn.
I hunted up Billy. "Doc," I says, "I _hope_ Briggs ain't a-goin' to
name that Brown waitress fer its best sample. Now----"
"Aw, wal," says Billy, "think how it 'd tickle her!"
"Tickle some other gal just as much," I says.
"And the _prettiest_ gal ought to be choosed. Now, it could be
fixed--_easy._"
"Who do you think it oughta be?" ast Billy.
"Strikes me you' wife's little sister is the pick."
"Cupid," says Billy, lookin' anxious like, "don't you git you'self
too much inter_est_ed in Macie Sewell. You know how the ole man feels
towards you. And what can _I_ do? He ain't any too friendly with _me_
yet? So be keerful."
"Now, Doc," I goes on, "don't you go to worryin' about me. Just you
help by _prescribin' that medicine._"
"To folks that don't need none?" ast Billy. "Aw, I don't like to."
(Billy's awful white, Billy is.) "It won't do 'em no good."
"Wal," I says, "it won't do 'em no _harm._"
Billy said he'd see.
"You could let it out that somebody in town's been cured by the
stuff," I suggests.
"Only make them railroad fellers buy more."
"That's so. Wal, I guess the best thing fer me to do is to hunt up
people with a misery and tell 'em they'd better buy--and vote my way."
Billy throwed back his haid and haw-hawed.
"You're a _dickens_ of a feller!" he says. "When you want to
have you' own way, I never seen _any_-body that could think up more
gol-darned things."
"And," I _con_tinues, "if that Root-ee just had a lot of forty-rod
mixed in it, it 'd be easier'n all git out to talk fellers into takin'
it. If they'd try _one_ bottle, they'd shore take _another._"
"Now, Cupid," says Billy, like he was goin' to scolt me.
"'R if ole man Baker 'd take the stuff and git his hearin' back."
"No show. Nothin' but sproutin' a new ear'd help Baker."
Next person I seen was that Doc Simpson. He was a-settin' on
Silverstein's porch, teeterin' hisself in a chair. "Billy," I
says, "I'm goin' over to put that critter up to buyin'. He's got
money and he cain't do better'n spend it."
Wal, a-course, Simpson was turrible uppy when I first spoke to him. Said
he didn't want nothin' t' say to me--not a _word_. (He had sev'ral
risin's on his face yet.)
"Wal, Doc," I says, "I know you think I didn't treat you square,
_but_--has you city fellers any idear how mad you make us folks in the
country when you go a-shootin' 'round in them gasoline rigs of yourn?
Why, I think if you'll give this question some little study, you'll
see it has got two sides."
"Yas," says the Doc, "it _has_. But that ain't why you treated _me_
like you did. No, I ain't green enough to think _that._"
"You ain't green at _all,_" I says. "And I'm shore sorry you feel
the way you do. 'Cause I hoped mebbe you'd fergit our little trouble
and bury the hatchet--long as we're both workin' fer the same thing."
"What thing, I'd like t' know?"
"Why, gittin' Miss Macie Sewell elected the prettiest gal."
Fer a bit he didn't say nothin'. Then he made some _re_mark about a
gal's name bein' "handed 'round town," and that a votin' contest
was "vulgar."
Wal, he put it so slick that I didn't just git the hang of what he was
drivin' at. Just the same, I felt he was layin' it on to me, somehow.
And if I'd 'a' been _shore_ of it, I'd 'a' put some _more_ risin's
on to his face.
Wisht now I had--on gen'ral principles. 'Cause, thinkin' back, I know
_just_ what he done. If he didn't, why was him and that Root-ee Judge
talkin' t'gether so long at the door of Silverstein's Hall--talkin'
like they was thick, and laughin', and ev'ry oncet in a while
lookin' over at me?
I drummed up a lot of votes that afternoon. Got holt of Buckshot
Milliken, who wasn't feelin' more'n ordinary good. Ast him how he
was. He put his hand to his belt, screwed up his mug, and said he felt
plumb et up inside.
"Buckshot," I says, "anybody else 'd give you that ole sickenin'
story about it bein' the nose-paint you swallered last night. Reckon
you' wife's tole you that a'ready."
"That's what she has," growls Buckshot.
"Wal, _I_ knowed it! But is she _right?_ Now, _I_ think, Buckshot,--I
think you've got the bliggers." (Made it up on the spot.)
"The bliggers!" he says, turrible scairt-like.
"That's what I think. But all you need is that Root-ee they sell over
yonder."
He perked up. "Shore of it?" he ast.
"Buy a bottle and try. And leave off drinkin' anythin' else whilst
you're takin' the stuff, so's it can have a fair chanst. In a week,
you'll be a new man."
"I'll do it," he says, makin' fer that prairie-schooner.
I calls after him: "And say, Buckshot, ev'ry two dollars you spend
with them people, you git the right to put in ten votes fer the
prettiest gal. Now, most of us is votin' fer ole man Sewell's youngest
daughter." Then, like I was tryin' hard to recollect, "I _think_
her name is Macie."
"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 passel 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'?"
"Shore, 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' shore, 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 grass. 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.
Then, my eyes cleared. And I seen she was sad, like as if somethin' was
botherin' her mind. "She thinks she's a-goin' t' git beat," I says
to myself. "But she _ain't._" And I reached down to see if my pop-gun
was all right.
She turned back towards the stage. The Murray woman 'd just finished
one of them songs of hern, and the Judge was talkin' again. "Ladies
and gents," he says, "we shall not drag out our pro_gram_ too long. Fer
the reason that I know just what you-all want to hear _most_. And that
is, the _re_sult of the contest."
That railroad gang begun t' holler.
Don't know why,--wasn't no reason fer it, but my heart went plumb down
into my boots. "Aw, little Macie!" I says to myself; "aw, little
Macie!" Say! I come mighty nigh prayin' over it!
"The count fer the prettiest gal," goes on the Judge, "is complete.
Miss de Mille, kindly bring for'ard the watch. I shall have to ast some
gent to escort the fortu_nate_ young lady to the platform." (I seen a
brakeman start over to Mollie Brown.)
"I don't intend"--the Judge again--"to keep you in suspenders no
longer. And I reckon you'll all be glad to know" (here he give a bow)
"that the winner is--Miss Macie Sewell."
Wal, us punchers let out a yell that plumb cracked the ceiling. "Wow!
wow! _wow!_ Macie Sewell!" And we whistled, and kicked the floor, and
banged the benches, and whooped.
Doctor Bugs got to his feet, puttin' his stylish hat and gloves on his
chair, and crookin' a' elbow. Wal, I reckon _this_ part wasn't vulgar!
Then, _she_ stood up, took holt of his arm, and stepped out into the
aisle. She was smilin' a little, but kinda sober yet, I thought. She
went towards the Judge slow, and up the steps. He helt out his hand.
"With the compliments of the company," he says. She took the watch.
Then she turned.
Another cheer--a _whopper_.
She stood there, lookin' like a' angel, 'r a bird, 'r a little
bobbin' rose.
"Thank y', boys," she says; "thank y'."
If I'd 'a' knowed what was a-goin' to happen next, I'd 'a' slid
out then. But, a-course, I didn't.
"My friends," says the Judge, "I will now read the vote for the
homeliest man. Monkey Mike received the large count of twenty. But it
stands nineteen hunderd and sixty fer--Cupid Lloyd."
All of a suddent two 'r three fellers had holt of me. And they was a big
yell went up--"Cupid! Cupid! The homeliest man! Whee!" The next second,
I was goin' for'ards, but shovin' back. I _hated_ to have her see me
made a fool of. I seen red, I was so mad. I could 'a' kilt. But she
was lookin' at me, and I was as helpless as a little cat. I put down
my haid, and was just kinda dragged up the aisle and onto the platform.
She went down the steps to her seat then. But she didn't stop. She bent
over, picked up her jacket, whispered somethin' to Rose and, with that
Simpson trailin', went to the back of the hall. There she stopped,
kinda half turned, and waited.
I wisht fer a knot-hole that I could crawl through. I wisht a crack in
the floor 'd open and let me slip down, no matter if I tumbled into a
barrel of _mo_lasses below in Silverstein's. I wisht I was dead, and
I wisht the hull blamed bunch of punchers was--Wal, I felt something
_turrible_.
"Cupid!" "You blamed fool!" "Look at him, boys!" "Take his
picture!" "Say! he's a beauty!" Then they hollered like they'd
bust they sides, and stomped.