He begun to kinda swell--gradual. And if a look could 'a' kilt me, I'd
'a' keeled over that second.
"You--love--Macie!" he says slow. "Wal , I'll be darned if you
haven't got _cheek!_"
"Sorry you look at it that way, boss."
"And so you got the idear into that peanut haid of yourn"--he was
sarcastic now--"that you could marry my gal! Honest, I ain't met a
bigger idjit 'n you in ten years."
"No man but Mace's paw could say that t' me safe."
"Why," he goes on, "you could just about be President of the United
States as easy as you could be the husband of this gal. M' son, I think
I tole you on one occasion that you'd play Cupid just oncet too many."
"That's what you did."
"This is _it_. And, also, I tole you that the smarty who can allus bring
other folks t'gether never can hitch hisself."
"You got a good mem'ry, Sewell."
Mace broke in then--feard they'd be trouble, I reckon. "Please let's
cut this short," she says. "The only thing I want Alec to remember is
that I ain't a-goin' t' be bossed by _no_ man."
Sewell patted her on the shoulder. "That's my gal a-talkin'!" he
says. "Bully fer you!"
"All right, Mace," I says, "a-all _right._" And I took up my Stetson.
The ole man dropped into a chair and begun t' laugh. (Could laugh now,
thinkin' it was all up 'twixt Mace and me.) "Haw! haw! haw!" he
started off, slappin' one knee. "Mister Cupid cain't do nothin' fer
hisself!" Then he laid back and just _hollered,_ slingin' out his laig
with ev'ry cackle; and pawin' the air fin'lly, he got so short-winded.
"Aw, lawdy!" he yelled; "aw--I'll _bust_. Mister _Cupid! Whew!_"
I got hot. "You found a he-he's aig in a haw-haw's nest," I begun.
"Wal, I'll say back to you what you oncet said to me: _Just wait._"
Then I faced Macie. "All right, little gal," I says to her, "I s'pose
you know best. Pack you' duds and go East--and sing on the stage in Noo
York."
The ole man 'd stopped laughin' t' listen. Now he sit up straight, a
hand on each arm of the chair, knees spread, mouth wider open 'n ever,
eyes plumb crossed. "Go East!" he repeats, "--sing!--stage!--Noo
York!"
Mace showed her sand, all right. "Yas," she answers; "you got it
_exac'ly_ right, paw--Noo York."
He riz up, face as white as anythin' so sunbaked can look. "Git that
crazy idear outen you' brain this _minute!_" he begun. "I won't allow
you t' stir a _step!_ The stage! Lawd a-mighty! Why, _you_ ain't got
no voice fer the stage. You can only squawk."
It was mighty pretty t' see 'em--father and daughter--standin' out
agin each other. Alike in temper as two peas, y' savvy. And I knowed
somethin' was shore goin' to pop.
"Squawk!" repeats Mace. (_That_ was the finishin' touch.) "I'll just
show you! Some day when my voice's made me famous, you'll be sorry fer
that. And you, too, Alec Lloyd, if you _do_ think my voice is all taffy.
I'll show you _both!_"
"Wal," Sewell come back, "you don't use none of _my_ money fer t'
make you' show." He was pretty nigh screechin'.
"Wait till I _ast_ you fer it," she says, pert haid up again. "_Keep_
you' money. I can earn my own. _I_ ain't scairt of work."
And just like she was, in the little, white dress she used t' meet me
in--she up and walked out!
Now, it was the ole man's turn t' walk the floor. "Noo York!" he
begun, his eyes dartin' fire. "Did y' ever _hear_ such a blamed fool
proposition! Doc Simpson is _re_sponsible fer that."
"It's been goin' on fer quite a spell," I says. "But I didn't know
how far till just afore you come in. Simpson, a-course, is the man."
That second, _clickety_--_clickety_--_clickety_--_click!_--a hoss was
a-passin' the house on the dead run. We both looked. It was that
bald-faced bronc of Macie's, makin' fer the gate like a streak of
lightnin'. And the little gal was in the saddle.
"She's goin', boss," I says. (The bald-face was haided towards
Briggs.)
"_Let_ her go," says Sewell. "Let her ride off her mad."
"Boss," I says, "I'm t' blame fer this kick-up. Yas, I am."
And _I_ begun t' walk the floor.
"Wal, no use bellyachin' about it," he answers. "But you're allus
a-stickin' in that lip of yourn. And--you'll _re_call what I oncet said
concernin' the feller that sticks in his lip." (I could see it made
him feel better t' think he had the bulge on me.)
"She won't come back," I goes on. (I felt pretty bad, I can tell y'.)
"No, boss, she won't. I know that gal better'n you do. She's gone t'
Briggs, and she'll stay."
"She'll be back in a' hour. Rose cain't keep her, and----"
But I was outen the room and makin' fer the bunk-house. When I got
there, I begun t' change my clothes.
Hairoil was inside. (He'd been a-listenin' to the rumpus, likely.)
"Don't go off half-cocked," he says to me.
"Cupid's drunk," says Monkey Mike. "Somebody's hit him with a
bar-towel."
But I knowed what I was a-goin' to do. Two wags of a dawg's tail, and I
was in the house again, facin' the ole man. "Sewell," I says, "I want
my time."
"Where you goin', Cupid?" he ast, reachin' into his britches-pocket.
I took my little forty dollars and run it into my buckskin sack. "I'm
a-goin' into Briggs," I says, "t' see if I can talk some sense into
that gal's haid."
The ole man give a kinda sour laugh. "Mebbe you think you can bring her
home on hossback again," he says. "Wal, just remember, if she turns
loose one of her tantrums, that you poured out this drench you'self.
It's like that there feller in Kansas." And he give that laugh of hisn
again. "Ever heerd about him?"
"No," I says; "no, what about you' Kansas feller?"
"Wal,"--the boss pulled out a plug of t'bacca,--"he bought a house
and lot fer five hunderd dollars. The lot was guaranteed to raise
anythin', and the house was painted the prettiest kind of a green.
Natu'lly, he thought he owned 'em. Wal, things went smooth till one
night when he was away from home. Then a blamed cyclone come along.
Shore enough, that lot of hisn could raise. It raised plumb into the air,
house and all, and the hull business blowed into the neighbourin' State!
"'What goes up must come down,' says the feller. And knowin' which
way that cyclone travelled, he started in the same _di_rection, hotfoot.
He goes and goes. Fin'lly he comes to a ranch where they was a new barn
goin' up. It was a pinto proposition. Part of it wasn't painted, and
some of it was green. He stopped to demand portions of his late residence.
"The man he spoke to quit drivin' nails just long enough to answer.
'When you Kansas folks git up one of them baby cyclones of yourn,' he
says, 'fer Heaven's sake have sand enough to accept the hand-out it
gives y'.'"
"I savvy what you mean," I says to the ole man, "but you fergit that
in this case the moccasin don't fit. Another man's behind this, boss.
The little gal has ketched singin'-bugs. And when she gits enough
cash----"
"How can _she_ git cash?"
"The eatin'-house is short of, help, Sewell. She can git a job
easy--passin' fancy Mulligan to the pilgrims that go through."
Say! that knocked all the sarcastic laughin' outen him. A' awful
anxious look come into his face. "Why--why, Cupid," he begun. "You
don't reckon she'd go do that!"
Just then, _Clickety_--_clickety_--_clickety_--_click_ a hoss was comin'
along the road. We both got to a winda. It was that bald-faced bronc
of Macie's again, haid down and tail out. But the bridle-reins was
caught 'round the pommel t' keep 'em from gittin' under foot, and the
little gal's saddle--was empty!