The boys was a-settin' 'long the edge of the freight platform,
Bergin at the one end of the line, Hairoil at the other, and all of
'em either a-chawin' 'r a-smokin'. I was down in front, doin' a
promynade back'ards and for'ards, (I was itchin' so to git started)
and keepin' one eye peeled through the dark towards the southwest--fer
the haidlight of ole 202.
"And, Cupid," Sam Barnes was sayin', "you'll find a quart of
tanglefoot in that satchel of yourn. Now, you might go eat somethin'
that wouldn't agree with you in one of them Eye-talian rest'rants. Wal,
a swaller of that firewater 'll straighten you out pronto."
"Sam, that shore _is_ thoughtful. Use my bronc whenever you want
to--she's over in Sparks's corral. Allus speak t' her 'fore you go
up to her, though. She's some skittish."
"And keep you' money in you' boot-laig," begun the sheriff. "I've
heerd that in Noo York they's a hull lot of people that plumb wear
theyselves out figgerin' how t' git holt of cash without workin'
fer it."
"We'll miss y' _turrible,_ Cupid," breaks in Hairoil. "I don't
hardly know what Briggs 'll do with you gone. Somehow you allus manage
t' keep the _ex_citement up."
"But if things don't go good in Noo York," adds Hank Shackleton,
"why, just holler."
"Thank y', Hank,--thank y'."
A little spot was comin' and goin' 'way down the track. The bunch
looked that _di_rection silent. Pretty soon, we heerd a rumblin', and
the spot got bigger, and steady.
The boys got down offen the platform and we moseyed over t' where the
end car allus stopped.
_Too-oo-oot!_
Shackleton reached out fer my hand. "Good-bye, Cupid, you ole
son-of-a-gun," he says almost squeezin' the paw offen me.
"Take keer of you'self," says the sheriff.
"Don't let them fly Noo York dudes git you scairt none" (this was
Chub).
"_That_ ain't you' satchel, Cupid, that's the mail-bag."
"Wal, we'd rattle _any_body."
"Here's Boston, _he_ wants t' say good-bye."
"Wave t' the eatin'-house gals,--cain't you see 'em at that upper
winda?"
"Cupid,"--it was Hairoil, and he put a' arm acrosst my
shoulder--"_hope_ you fergive me fer puttin' up that shootin'-scrape."
"Why, a-_course,_ I do."
Then, whisperin', "_She_ was the gal I tole you about that time, Cupid:
The one I _said_ I'd marry you off to."
"You don't mean it!"
"I do. So--the best _kind_ of luck, ole socks!"
"Aw, _thank_ y', Hairoil."
Next, pushin' his way through the bunch, I seen Billy Trowbridge,
somethin' white in his hand. "Cupid," he says,--into my ear, so's
the others couldn't ketch it--"if the time ever comes when the little
gal makes a big success back there in Noo York, 'r if the time comes
when she's thinkin' some of startin' home t' Oklahomaw again, open
this. It's that other letter of Up-State's."
"I will, Doc--I will."
I clumb the steps of the end car and looked round me. On the one side was
the mesquite, all black now, and quiet. Say! I hated t' think it
didn't stretch all the way East! Here, on the other side was the
deepot, and Dutchy's, and the bunk-house, and the feed-shop, and
Silverstein's, and the post-office----
"So long, Cupid!"--it was all-t'gether, gals and fellers, too. Then,
"Yee-ee-ee-oop!"--the ole cow-punch yell.
"So long, boys!" I waved my Stetson.
Next thing, Briggs City begun t' slip back'ards--slow at first, then
faster and faster. The hollerin' of the bunch got sorta fadey; the
deepot lights got littler and littler. Off t' the right, a new light
sprung up--it was the lamp in the sittin'-room at the Bar Y.
"Boss," I says out loud, "they's a little, empty rockin'-chair
byside yourn t'-night. Wal, I'll never come back this way no more
'less you' baby gal is home at the ranch-house again t' fill it."
Then, I picked up my satchel and hunted the day-coach.
A-course, when I reached Chicago, the first thing I done was to take a
fly at that railroad on stilts. Next, I had t' go over and turn my
lanterns on the lake. Pretty soon I was so all-fired broke-in that I
could stand on a street corner without bein' hitched. But people was
a-takin' me fer Bill Cody, and the kids had a notion to fall in behind
when I walked any. So I made myself look cityfied. I got a suit--a nice,
kinda brownish-reddish colour. I done my sombrero up in a newspaper
and pur_chased_ a round hat, black and turrible tony. I bought me some
sateen shirts,--black, too, with turn-down collars and little bits of
white stripes. A white satin tie last of all, and, say! I was fixed!
Wal, after seein' Chicago, it stands t' reason that Noo York cain't
git a feller scairt so awful much. Anyhow, it didn't _me_. The minute
I got offen the train at the Grand Central, I got my boots greased
and my clothes breshed; then I looked up one of them Fourth of July
hitchin'-posts and had my jaw scraped and my mane cut.
"Pardner," I says t' the barber feller, "I want t' rent a cheap
room."
"Look in the papers," he _ad_vises.
'Twixt him and me, we located a place afore long, and he showed me how
t' git to it. Wal, sir, I was settled in a jiffy. The room wasn't
bigger 'n a two-spot, and the bed was one of them jack-knife kind.
But I liked the looks of the shebang. The lady that run it, she almost
fell over when I tole her I was a cow-punch.
"Why!" she says, "are y' shore? You're tall enough, but you're a
little thick-set. I thought all cow-boys was very slender."
"No, ma'am," I says; "we're slender in books, I reckon. But out in
Oklahomaw we come in all styles."
"Wal," she goes on, "they's something _else_ I want to ast. Now, you
ain't a-goin' to shoot 'round here, are y'? Would you just as lief
put you' pistols away whilst you're in my house?"
I got serious then. "Ma'am," I says, "sorry I cain't oblige y'.
But the boys tole me a gun is plumb needful in Noo York. When it comes
to killin' and robbin', the West has got to back outen the lead."
You oughta saw her face!
But I didn't want to look fer no other room, so I pretended t' knuckle.
"I promise not to blow out the gas with my forty-five," I says, "and
I won't rope no trolley cars--if you'll please tell me where folks
go in this town when they want t' ride a hoss?"
"Why, in Central Park," she answers, "on the bridle path."
"Thank y', ma'am," I says, and lit out.
A-course, 'most any person 'd wonder what I'd ast the boardin'-house
lady _that_ fer. Wal, I ast it 'cause I knowed Macie Sewell good enough
to lay my money on _one_ thing: She was too all-fired gone on hosses to
stay offen a saddle more'n twenty-four hours at a stretch.
I passed a right peaceful afternoon, a-settin' at the bottom of a statue
of a man ridin' a big bronc, with a tall lady runnin' ahaid and wavin'
a feather. It was at the beginnin' of the park, and I expected t'
see Mace come lopin' by any minute. Sev'ral gals _did_ show up, and
one 'r two of 'em rid off on bob-tailed hosses, follered by gezabas in
white pants and doctor's hats. Heerd afterwards they was grooms, and
bein' the gals' broncs was bob-tailed, they had to go 'long to keep
off the flies.
But Mace, she didn't show up. Next day, I waited same way. Day after,
ditto. Seemed t' me ev'ry blamed man, woman and child in the hull
city passed me but her. And I didn't know a _one_ of 'em. A Chink
come by oncet, and when I seen his pig-tail swingin', I felt like I
wanted to shake his fist. About that time I begun to git worried, too.
"If she ain't ridin'," I says to myself, "how 'm I ever goin'
to locate her?"
Another day, when I was settin' amongst the kids, watchin', I seen a
feller steerin' my way. "What's this?" I says, 'cause he didn't
have the spurs of a decent man.
Wal, when he came clost, he begun to smile kinda sloppy, like he'd
just had two 'r three. "Why, hello, ole boy," he says, puttin' out
a bread-hooker; "I met you out West, didn't I? How are y'?"