"WAL, Hairoil," I says, "I shore am a' unlucky geezer! Why, d' you
know, I don't hardly dast go from one room to another these days fer
fear I'll git my lip pinched in the door."
Hairoil, he clawed thoughtful. "You and the boss had a talk oncet on
the marryin' question," he begun. "It was out at the Bar Y." (We
was settin' on a truck at the deepot again, same as that other time.)
"A-course, I don't want t' throw nothin' up, but--you tole him then
that when it come you' _own_ time, _you_ wouldn't have no trouble.
Recollect braggin' that-a-way?"
"Yas," I answers, meeker'n Moses. "But Hairoil, that was 'fore I
met Macie."
"So it was," he says. Then, after a minute, "I s'pose nothin' could
keep her in Briggs much longer."
I shook my haid. "The ole man won't let her fetch a dud offen the
ranch, and so she's havin' a couple of dresses made. I figger that
when _they_ git done, she'll--she'll go."
"How long from now?"
"About two weeks--accordin' to what Mollie Brown tole me."
"Um," says Hairoil, and went on chawin' his cud. Fin'lly, he begun
again, and kinda like he was feelin' 'round. "Don't you think Mace
Sewell is took up with the _ro_mance part of this singin' proposition?"
he ast. "That's _my_ idear. And _I_ think that if she was showed
that her and you was _also_ a _ro_mance, why, she'd give up goin'
to Noo York. Now, it _might_ be possible to--to git her t' see things
right--if they was a little scheme, say."
I got up. "No, Hairoil," I says, "no little scheme is a-goin'
t' be played on _Macie_. A-course, I done it fer Rose and Billy; but
Macie,--wal, Macie is diff'rent. I want t' win her in the open. And
I'll be jiggered if I stand fer any underhand work."
"It needn't t' _be_ what you'd call underhand," answers Hairoil.
"Pardner," I says, "don't talk about it no more. You make me plumb
nervous, like crumbs in the bed."
And so he shut up.
But now when I _re_call that conversation of ourn, and think back on
what begun t' happen right afterwards, it seemed _blamed_ funny that
I didn't suspicion somethin' was wrong. The parson was mixed up in
it, y' savvy, and the sheriff, and Billy Trowbridge--all them three I'd
helped out in one way 'r another. And Hairoil was in it, too--and he'd
said oncet that he was a-goin' t' marry me off. So _why_ didn't I
ketch on! Wal, I shore _was_ a yap!
Next day, Hairoil didn't even speak of Mace. I thought he'd clean
fergot about her. He was all _ex_cited over somethin' else--the
'lection of a sheriff. And 'fore he got done tellin' me about it,
I was some _ex_cited, too--fer all I was half sick account of my own
troubles.
The 'lection of a sheriff, y' savvy, means a' awful lot to a passel
of cow-punchers. We don't much keer who's President of the United
States. (We been plumb _covered_ with proud flesh these six years,
though, 'cause Roos'velt, _he's_ a puncher.) We don't much keer,
neither, who's Gov'ner of Oklahomaw. But you can bet you' bottom
dollar it makes a _heap_ of diff'rence who's our sheriff. If you
git a friend in office, you can breathe easy when you have a little
disagreement; if you don't, why, _you_ git 'lected--t' the calaboose!
Now, what Hairoil come and rep'esented to me was this: That Hank
Shackleton, editor of _The Briggs City Eye-Opener,_ 'd been lickerin'
up somethin' _turrible_ the last twenty-four hours.
"Hank?" I says to Hairoil, plumb surprised. "Why, I didn't know he
ever took more 'n a glass."
"A _glass!_" repeats Hairoil disgusted. "He ain't used no glass
_this_ time; he used a _funnel_. And you oughta see his paper that come
out this mornin'. It's full on the one side, where a story's allus
printed, but the opp'site page looks like somethin' 'd hit it--O. K.
far's advertisements go, but the news is as skurse as hen's teeth,
_and not a word about Bergin._"
"You don't say! But--what does that matter, Hairoil?"
"What does that _matter!_ Why, if Hank gits it into his haid to keep
on tankin' that-a-way (till he plumb spills over, by jingo!) the
_Eye-Opener_ won't show up again fer a month of Sundays. Now, we
need it, account of this 'lection, and the way Hank is actin' has
come home to roost with ev'ry _one_ of us. You been worried, Cupid, and
you ain't noticed how this sheriff sittywaytion is. The Goldstone
_Tarantula_ is behind the _Re_publican can_di_date, Walker----"
"_Walker! That_ critter up fer sheriff?"
"Yas. And, a-course, Hank's been behind Bergin t' git _him_ re'lected
fer the 'leventh time."
"_I_ know, and Bergin's got t' _win_. Why, Bergin's the only fit
man."
"Wal, now, if our paper cain't git in and crow the loudest, and tell
how many kinds of a swine the other feller is, _how's_ Bergin goin'
t' win?"
"I don't know."
"Neither do _I_. (You see how ticklish things is?) Wal, here's Hank
in _no_ shape to make any kind of a newspaper fight, but just achin' t'
use his gun on anybody that comes nigh him. Why, I never _seen_ such a
change in a man in all my born _life!_"
I was surprised some _more_. I didn't know Hank _packed_ a gun. He
was a darned nice cuss, and ev'rybody shore liked him, and he'd never
been laid up fer _re_pairs account of somethin' he'd put in his paper.
He was square, smart's a steel-trap, and white clean through. Had a
handshake that was hung on a hair-trigger, and a smile so winnin' that
he could coax the little prairie-dawgs right outen they holes.
Hairoil goes on. "I can see Briggs City eatin' the shucks when it
comes 'lection-day," he says, "and that Goldstone man cabbagin' the
sheriff's office. Buckshot Milliken tole me this mornin' that the
_Tarantula_ called Bergin 'a slouch' last week; 'so low-down he'd
eat sheep,' too, and 'such a blamed pore shot he couldn't hit the side
of a barn.'"
"That's goin' too far."
"So _I_ say. I wanted Bergin t' go over to Goldstone and give 'em
a sample of his gun-play that'd interfere with the printin' of they
one-hoss sheet. But Bergin said it was no use--the _Tarantula_ editor is
wearin' a sheet-iron thing-um-a-jig acrosst his back and his front, and
has to use a screw-driver t' take off his clothes."
"The idear of Hank actin' like a idjit when the 'lection depends on
him!" I says. "Wal, things _is_ outen kilter."
"Sh-sh-sh!" says Hairoil, lookin' round quick. "Be awful keerful what
you say about Hank. We don't want no shootin'-scrape _here._"
But I didn't give a continental _who_ heerd me. I was sore t' think
a reg'lar jay-hawk 'd been put up agin our man! Say, that Walker
didn't know beans when the bag was open. His name shore fit him,
'cause he couldn't ride a hoss fer cold potatoes. And he was the
kind that gals think is a looker, and allus stood ace-high at a dance.
Lately, he'd been more pop'lar than ever. When we had that little
set-to with Spain, Walker hiked out to the Coast; and didn't show up
again till after the California boys come home from Manila. Then, he hit
town, wearin' a' army hat, and chuck full of all kinds of stories
about the Philippines, and how he'd been in _turrible_ fights. That
got the girls travelin' after him two-forty. Why, at Goldstone, they
was _all_ a-goin' with him, seems like.
I didn't want _him_ fer sheriff, you bet you' boots. He wasn't no
friend to us Briggs City boys any more 'n we was to him. And then,
none of us believed that soldier hand-out. Y' know, we had a little
bunch of fellers from this section that went down t' Cuba with Colonel
Roos'velt and chased the Spanish some. Wal, y' never heerd _them_
crowin' 'round about what they done. And this Walker, he blowed too
much t' be genuwine.
"If he's 'lected sheriff, it's goin' t' be risky business gittin'
in to a' argyment with anybody," I says. "He'd just _like_ t' git
one of us jugged. Say, what's goin' to be did fer Hank?"
"Wal," answers Hairoil, mouth screwed up anxious, "we're in a right
serious fix. So they's to be a sorta convention this afternoon, and
we're a-goin' t' cut out whisky whilst the session lasts."
"I'll come. _Walker_ fer sheriff! _Huh!_"
"Good fer you! So long."
"So long."
We made fer the council-tent at three o'clock--the bunch of us. The
deepot waitin'-room was choosed, that bein', as the boys put it, "the
most _re_spectable public place in town that wouldn't want rent."
Wal, we worked our jaws a lot, goin' over the sittywaytion from start
to finish. "Gents let's hear what you-all got to say," begun Chub
Flannagan, standin' up. Doc Trowbridge was next. "_I ad_vise you to
rope Shackleton," he says, "and lemme give him some hoss liniment t'
put him on his laigs." (We was agreed that the hull business depended
on the _Eye-Opener_.) But the rest of us didn't favour Billy's plan.
So we ended by pickin' a 'lection committee. No dues, no by-laws, no
chairman. But ev'ry blamed one of us a sergeant-at-arms with orders t'
keep Hank Shackleton _outen the saloons_. 'Cause why? If he could buck
up, and _stay_ straight, and go t' gittin' out the _Eye-Opener,_
Bergin 'd shore win out.
"Gents," says Monkey Mike, "soon as ever Briggs hears of our
committee, we're a-goin' t' git pop'lar with the nice people, 'cause
we're tryin' t' help Hank. And we're also goin' t' git a black eye
with the licker men account of shuttin' off the Shackleton trade.
A-course, us punchers must try t' make it up t' the thirst-parlours
fer the loss, though I _ad_mit it 'll not be a' easy proposition.
But things is _desp_'rate. If Walker gits in, we'll have a nasty
deputy-sheriff sent up here t' cross us ev'ry time we make a move. We
got t' _work,_ gents. You know how _I_ feel. By thunder! Bergin treated
me square all right over that Andrews fuss." (Y' see, Mike's a
grateful little devil, if he _does_ ride like a fool Englishman.)
"Wal," says Buckshot Milliken, "who'll be the first sergeant? I call
fer a volunteer."
All the fellers just kept quiet--but they looked at each other, worried
like.
"Don't all speak to oncet," says Buckshot.