SAY! wouldn't you 'a' figgered, after I'd brung Mace back t' the
ole Bar Y, and made her paw so happy that the hull ranch couldn't hole
him, and he had t' go streak up t' town and telephone Kansas City fer
a grand pyano and a talkin'-machine--now _wouldn't_ you 'a' figgered
that he'd 'a' treated me A1 when I come to ast him fer the little gal?
Wal,--listen t' this!
'Fore ever I spoke to him, I says to myself, "It ain't no use, when
you want to start up a mule, to git behind and push 'r git in front and
pull. No, ma'am. The only way is to hunt a pan of feed 'r a pick-axe.
"Now, Sewell's shore one of them long-eared critters--hardmouthed, and
goin' ahaid like blazes whenever you wanted him to come short; then,
again, balkin' till it's a case of grandfather's clock, and you git
to thinkin' that 'fore he'll move on he'll plumb drop in his tracks.
So no drivin'. Coaxin' is good enough fer you' friend Cupid."
The first time I got a good chanst, I took in my belt, spit on my hands,
shassayed up to the ole man, and sailed in--dead centre.
"Boss," I begun, "some fellers marry 'cause they git plumb sick
and tired of fastenin' they suspenders with a nail, and some fellers
marry----"
"Wal? wal? wal?" breaks in Sewell, offish all of a suddent, and them
little eyes of hisn lookin' like two burnt holes in a blanket. "What
you drivin' at? Git it out. Time's skurse."
"Puttin' it flat-footed, then," I says, "I come to speak to you about
my marryin' Macie."
He throwed up his haid--same as a long-horn'll do when she's
scairt--and wrinkled his forrid. Next, he begun to jingle his cash
(_ba-a-ad_ sign). "So _that's_ what?" (He'd guessed as much
a'ready, I reckon.) "Wal,--I'm a-listenin'."
Then I got a _turrible_ rush of words to the mouth, and put the case up
to him right strong. Said they was no question how I felt about Mace, and
that this shore was a life-sentence fer me, 'cause I wasn't the kind
of a man to want to ever slip my matreemonal hobbles. And I tacked on
that the little gal reckoned _she_ knowed her own mind.
"No gal ever _lived_ that knowed her own mind," puts in Sewell, snappy
as the dickens, and actin' powerful oneasy.
"But Mace ain't the usual brand," I says. "She's got a good haid--a
_fine_ haid. She's like _you,_ Sewell."
"You can keep you' compliments to home," says the boss. Then, after a
little bit, "S'pose you been plannin' a'ready where you'd settle."
(This sorta inquirin'.)
"Ya-a-as," I says, "we've talked some of that little house in Briggs
City which Doc Trowbridge lets--the one over to the left of the tracks."
That second, I seen a look come over his face that made me plumb
goose-flesh. It was the sorta look that a' ole bear gives you when
you've got him hurt and into a corner--some appealin', y' savvy, and
a hull lot mad.
"Gosh!" I says to myself, "I put my foot in it when I brung up
Billy's name. Sewell recollects the time I stuck in my lip."
"You plan t' live in Briggs," he says. He squz his lips t'gether,
and turned his face towards the ranch-house. Mace was inside, goin'
back'ards and for'ards 'twixt the dinin'-room and the kitchen.
She looked awful cute and pretty from where we was, and was callin'
sassy things to the Chinaman. Sewell watched her and watched her, and I
_re_called later on (when I wasn't so all-fired anxious and _ex_cited),
that the ole man's face was some white, and he was kinda all lent over.
"Ya-a-as," I continues (some trembley, though), "that place of
Billy's 'd suit."
Two seconds, and Sewell come round on me like as if he'd chaw me into
bits. "What you goin' to rent on?" he ast. "What you goin' to live
on?"
"Wal," I answers, sorta took back, "I got about three hunderd dollars
left of the money Up-State give me. Wal, that's my nest-aig. And I can
make my little forty a month--_and_ grub--_any_ ole day in the week."
Sewell drawed his breath in, deep. (Look out when a man takes up air
that-a-way: Somethin's shore a-comin'!) "Forty a month!" he says.
"Forty a month! That just about keeps you in ca'tridges! Forty a
month!--and you without a square foot of land, 'r a single, solitary
horned critter, 'r more'n a' Injun's soogin' 'twixt you and the
floor! Do y' think you can take that little baby gal of mine into a
blank shack that ain't got a stick of anythin' in it, and turn her
loose of a Monday, like a Chink, to do the wash?"
"Now, ease up, boss," I says. "I reckon I think _al_most as much of
Mace as you do. And I'm figgerin' to make her life just as happy as I
_can._"
Wal, then he walked up and down, up and down (this all happened out by
the calf-corral), and blowed and blowed and blowed. Said that him and
his daughters had allus made the Bar Y ranch-house seem like home to the
Sewell punchers, and they was men in the outfit just low-down mean enough
to take advantage of it. Said he'd raised his gal like a lady--and now
she was goin' to be treated like a squaw.
If it'd 'a' been any other ole man but Mace's, I'd 'a' made him
swaller ev'ry one of them words 'fore ever he got 'em out. As it
stood, a-course, I couldn't. So I just helt my lip till he was over his
holler. (By now, y' savvy, I'd went through enough--from sayin' the
wrong thing back when Paw Sewell 'r his daughter was a-talkin'--t'
learn me that the best _I_ could do was just t' keep my blamed mouth
shut.)
Pretty soon, I says, "You spoke of land, Mister Sewell," I says,
politer'n pie, and as cool as if I had the hull of Oklahomaw up my
sleeve. (Been a beefsteak, y' savvy, fer him to git the idear he had
me anxious any.) "Wal, how much land do you figger out that you'
next son-in-law oughta have?"
He looked oneasy again, got red some, and begun workin' his nose up
and down like a rabbit. "Aw, thunder!" he says, "what you astin'
_that_ fer? A man--_any_ man--when he marries, oughta have a place
big enough so's his chickens can kick up the dirt 'round his house
without its fallin' into somebody else's yard. Out here, where the
hull blamed country's land--just land fer miles--a man oughta have a
piece, say--wal, as big as--as that Andrews chunk of mine." (When Billy
married Rose, Sewell bought over the Andrews' ranch, y' savvy. Wanted
it 'cause it laid 'twixt hisn and town, and had a fine water-hole
fer the stock. But a good share of the hunderd acres in it wasn't
much to brag on--just crick-bottom.)
"The Andrews place?" I says, smooth and easy. "Wal, Sewell, I'll keep
that in mind. And, now, you spoke of cows----"
"Fifty 'r so," puts in the ole man, quick, like as if he was 'shamed
of hisself. (His ranges is plumb _alive_ with cattle.) "A start,
Cupid,--just a start."
Wal, a-course, whatever he said went with _me_. If he'd 'a' _ad_vised
walkin' on my hands as far as Albuquerque, you'd 'a' saw me
a-startin', spurs in the air!
"So long," I says then, and walked off. When I turned round, a little
bit later, Sewell was standin' there yet, haid down, shoulders hunched
over, arms a-hangin' loose at his sides, and all his fingers twitchin'.
As I clumb on to that pinto bronc of mine and steered her outen the
gate, I couldn't help but think that, all of a suddent, seems like,
the boss looked a mighty lot _older_.
"Maud," I says, as I loped fer town, "Maud, I'm shore feazed! I been
believin', since I got back from Noo York, that it was settled I was
to marry Mace. And here, if I don't watch out, that Injun-giver'll
take her back. I was a blamed idjit to give him any love-talk. The only
thing he cares fer is money--money!" Wal, some men 're like that--and
tighter'n a wood-tick. When they go to pay out a dollar, they hole on
to it so hard they plumb pull it outen shape, yas, ma'am. Why, I can
recollect seein' dollars that looked like the handle of a jack-knife.
But if I was brash in front of Sewell, I caved in all right when I got
to Briggs City. Say! did you ever have the blues--so bad you didn't want
to eat, and you didn't want to talk, and you didn't want to drink,
but just wanted to lay, nose in the pilla, and think and think and think?
Wal, fer three days, that was me!
And I was still sullin' when Sheriff Bergin come stompin' in with a
copy of the Goldstone _Tarantula_. "Here's bum luck!" he growls.
"A-course _Briggs_ couldn't hump herself none; but that jay town down
the line has to go have a boom."
"A boom?" I says, settin' up.
"Reg'lar rip-snorter of a Kansas boom. Some Chicago fellers with a lot
of cash has turned up and is a-buyin' in all the sand. Wouldn't it make
y' _sick?_"
I reached fer that paper with both fists. Yas, there it was--a piece
about so long. "_Goldstone offers the chanst of a lifetime,_" it read.
"_Now is when a little money'll make a pile. Land is cheap t'-day,
but later on it'll bring a big price._"
I got on to my feet. They was about a quarter of a' inch of stubble
on my face, and I was as shaky as a quakin' asp. But I had my spunk up
again. "Ain't I got a little money," I says, "--that nest-aig? Wal,
I'll just drop down to Goldstone, and, if that boom is bony fido, and
growin', _I'll git in on it._"
Next mornin', I went over to the deepot, borraed some paper from the
agent, and writ Mace a note. "_Little gal,_" I says in the letter,
"_don't you go back on me. I'm prepared to work my fingers down to
the first knuckle fer you, and it's only right you' paw should want
you took care of good._"
Then Number 201 come in and I hopped abroad. "It's land 'r no lady,"
I says to myself, puttin' my little post-card photo of Macie into my
pocket as the train pulled out; "--land 'r no lady."
But when I hit Goldstone, I plumb got the heart-disease. The same ole
long street was facin' the track; the same scatterin' houses was
standin' to the north and south; and the same bunch of dobe shacks
was over towards the east, where the greasers lived. The town wasn't
changed none!
Another minute, and I felt more chipper. West of town, two 'r three
fellers was walkin' 'round, stakin' out the mesquite. And nigh the
station, 'twixt them and me, was a brand-new, hip-roofed shanty with a
long black-and-white sign acrosst it. The sign said "Real Estate."
Wal, _that_ looked like _business!_
I bulged in. They was a' awful dudey feller inside, settin' at a table
and makin' chicken-tracks on a big sheet of blue paper. "Howdy," I
says, "you must be one of them Chicago gents?"
He jumped up and shook hands. "Yas, I am," he says; "but only a
land-agent, y' savvy. They's three others in town that's got
_capital_. The one that lives over yonder at the hotel is a millionaire.
Then they's a doctor (left a _fine_ practice to come), and a preacher.
But the preacher ain't just one of you' _ord'nary_ pulpit pounders."
I stooped over to git a look at that sheet of blue paper. It had lines
all criss-cross on it, same as a checker-board, and little, square, white
spots showin' now and again.
"_Ex_cuse me fer astin'," I says, "but what's this?"
"This is the new map of Goldstone," he says, "and drawed two mile
square. Here"--pointin' to a white spot--"'ll be the Normal College,
and here"--pointin' to another--"the Merchants' _Ex_change. Then,
a-course, the Pavilion fer Indus'tral _Ex_hibitions----"
"Pardner," I broke in, "if Goldstone was in the middle 'r east part
of Oklahomaw, where crops is allus fine, this boom wouldn't surprise me
a _little_ bit. But out _this_ way, where they's only a show fer cattle,
I cain't just understand it. Now, they must be some _reason._"
The real estate agent, he smiled awful sly like, and wunk. "Mebbe,"
he says.
Later on, I seen the gent that was stoppin' at the hotel. He was
tonier'n the other. Wore one of them knee coats that's got a wedge
outen it, right in front, and two buttons fastened in the small of the
back. He was walkin' up and down the porch and smokin' a seegar. Rich?
Wal, I guess! Had the finest room in the house, and et three six-bit
meals a day! About fifty, he was, and kinda porky; not a tub, y'
savvy, but plenty fat.
That same day, a new _Tarantula_ come out. In it was a piece haided
"_More Capital Fer Goldstone._" It went on like this: "_Our City
has lately acquired four new citizens whose confidence and belief in
her future 'd put some of the old hangers-on and whiners to the blush
if they faces wasn't made of brass, and didn't know how to blush.
Wake up,_" goes on the _Tarantula, "wake up, Goldstone, and shake
you'self. And gents, here's a hearty welcome! Give us you' paw!_"
Goldstone was woke up, all right, all right. She was as lively and
_ex_cited as a chicken with its haid cut off. That real-estate feller
'd bought up two big tracts just north of town, gittin' 'em cheap
a-course; _awful_ cheap, in fact, 'cause no one 'd smelt a boom when
he first showed up. (Wal, _first_ come, first _served_.) Porky 'd
bought, too, and owned some lots 'twixt them tracts and the post-office.
To the east, right where the nicest houses is, the parson was plannin'
to import his fambly. More'n that, them four gun-shy gents stood ready
to buy all the time. And Goldstone fellers that would 'a' swapped
they lots fer a yalla dawg, and then shot the dawg, was holdin' out
fer fifty plunks.
Wal, I had that three hunderd. But I helt back. What I wanted to know
was _the why behind the boom._
I just kinda happened past that real-estate corn-crib. The land-agent
was to home, and I ast him to come over and have one with me. He said
O. K., that suited _him_. So we greased our hollers a few times. And,
when he was feelin' so good that he could make out to talk, I drawed
from him that Goldstone was likely to stand 'way up yonder at the haid
of her class account of "natu'al developments."
"Natu'al developments," I says. "Wal, pardner, when it comes to them
big, dictionary words, I shore am a slouch. And you got me all twisted
up in my picket-rope."
But I had to spend another dollar 'fore he'd talk some more. Then he
begun, _turrible_ confidential: "I been sayin' nothin' and sawin'
wood, Lloyd. I ain't let _no_ man git information outen _me_. But I like
you, Lloyd, and, say! I'm a-goin' to tell you. Natu'al developments
is _coal_ and _oil_ and _gas._"
Same as the Tusla country! Wal, I was plumb crazy. "Blamed if it ain't
_likely,_" I says to myself. "Wal, that settles things fer _me._"
I got shet of that real-estate feller quick as I could (didn't want
him to remember that he'd talked in his sleep), and hunted up the
post-master. The postmaster was one of the china-eyed, corn-silk Swedes,
and he owned quite a bit of Goldstone. I tole him I wanted to buy a
couple of lots 'cause I was goin' to be married, and figgered to
build. (That wasn't no lie, neither.) Said I didn't want to live in the
part of town where the greasers was fer the reason that I'd rather
settle down in a Sioux Camp in August _any_ day than amongst a crowd of
blamed _cholos_.
The postmaster wasn't anxious to sell. Said he didn't have more'n a
block left, and he wanted a big price fer that. "'Cause this boom is
_solid,_"--he kinda half whispered it. "How do I know? Wal, I pumped
one of them suspender-cityzens this mornin'."
That showed me I'd got to hump myself. If that real-estate feller
blabbed any more, I wouldn't be able to buy. The station-agent owned
some lots. I hiked fer the deepot.
When I looked into the ticket-office through the little winda, I seen
that agent--one hand on the tick-machine, other holdin' his haid--with
his mouth wide open, like a hungry wall-eye.
"Lloyd," he says, pantin' hard, "I ain't got no right to tell, but I
can't hole it in. Them Chicago fellers, Lloyd, are a Standard Oil bunch.
Look a-here!" And he pushed out a telegram.
I wouldn't 'a' believed it if I hadn't saw it writ down in black and
white. But there it was, haided Chicago, addressed to Porky, and as plain
as day: "_Buy up all that's possible. Price no object. Rockafeller._"
Say! I come nigh lettin' out a yell. Then, knowin' they was no use to
ast the agent to sell, I split fer the liv'ry-stable. And when I got
back into town late that night, I'd been down to a ranch below Goldstone
and handed over my nest-aig fer a quarter-section just south of town.
Next mornin', they was a nice pile of stakes throwed out on to that
sand patch of mine, all them stakes white on the one end and sharp on
the other. And they was a big sign onloaded, too. Yas, ma'am. It said,
"The Lloyd Addition."
And that _same_ noon, Number 201 brung me a letter from little Macie!
I didn't cut up my quarter into lots straight off. Made up my mind it'd
be best to see that real-estate feller first, ast his _ad_vice, and see
if he'd handle the property. So I made fer his office in a _turrible_
sweat.
Heerd awful loud talkin' as I come nigh, and seen they was a big crowd
'round the door. And here was Porky and the parson, just _havin'_
it--up and down!
"The idear!" the parson was sayin', "--the idear of you' thinkin'
you can go stick a pavilion where licker'll be sold right next to the
Cathedral!" (He was madder 'n all git out!)
Porky shrug his shoulders. "My dear _sir,_" he says, "I got to use
my own _land_ in my own _way._"
"Aw!" answers the parson, solemn, "--aw! my friend, give you' heart
a housecleanin'. Think not so muchly about worldly _po_ssessions, but
_see_cure a lot in the New Jerusalem!"
Then Porky flew up. Said the parson 'd insulted him. "And," he almost
yelled, "this is how it stands. Either you got to buy the block where
the pavilion's goin' to be, 'r I'll buy the Cathedral property."
"I ain't got you' means at my command," says the parson.
"Never mind. I'll take the church lots. Name you' figger."
"Three thousand."
Porky pulled out his check-book and begun to scribble with one of them
squirt-gun pens. "The matter is settled," he says.
Say! the feller who'd sole that property to the parson fer a hunderd--we
had to prop him up!
Just afterwards, I had my chin with the real-estate dude, and I tell you
it made me pretty blue. "Sorry, Lloyd," he says; "you know _I_ never
tole you to buy _south_ of town. And I don't keer to bother with you'
Addition. 'Cause Goldstone is goin' to grow to the north and east."
Porky was there, and he said the very same thing. And a few minutes later
on, when the doc come in, I couldn't git him to even _con_sider lookin'
over my buy. But fer a lot on the north side, belongin' to the parson,
he put down the good, hard _coin_.
North and east was the hull talk now, and them Goldstone fellers who'd
sole out cheap in that end of town felt some pale. But the Chicago
gents was as pert as prairie-dawgs, and doin' a thunderin' lot of
buyin'. Now, the doc owned sev'ral lots east of Porky's tract. "New
drug-store here," he says, "and a fine town hall over it. I'll put
ten thousand into the buildin'." And the parson bought next to the site
fer the Normal College. "The city," he says, "'ll want a spot fer
its High School."
All the time this was goin' on, I was livin' on nothin', you might
say, and not even spendin' a cent fer a shave. My haid had a crop of
hay on it that would 'a' filled a pilla; I had a Santy Claus beard,
and if I couldn't afford to grub at the hotel, I wasn't mean enough
to use they soap. So, far as looks goes, I was some changed.
Then--the _Tarantula_ showed up with the hull story about coal and oil
and gas! Say! the cat was outen the bag. And Goldstone come nigh havin'
a fit and fallin' in. Here it'd been over a gold-mine, and didn't know
it! And here it'd gone and sole itself out to a passel of strange ducks!
"_Feller citizens,_" says the paper, "_this beautiful city of yourn is
destined to rival South McAlester and Colgate._"
That was on a Thursday, if I recollect right. Wal, say! fer the next two
days, more things happened in that there town than'd ever happened in
the hull _county_ afore. Ev'rybody that could rake, scrape, beg 'r
borra was a-doin' it--so's they could buy. Friday, the postmaster
got a big block from the real-estate gent; same day, kinda as a favour,
the doc sold the ticket-agent two 'r three lots. I felt blamed sore
'cause _I_ didn't have no money to git in on some good deals. But I
hung on to the "Lloyd Addition"--I wouldn't let _that_ git outen
my hands. Aw, I ain't a-goin' to lie--I had the boom-fever bad as
_any_body. Fact is, I had it _worse_. And who wouldn't--when gettin'
that little gal depended on it?
Saturday, Goldstone went plumb crazy. They was buyin' and sellin'
back'ards and for'ards, this way and that way, in circles and
cater-corners. From sun-up on, that real-estate shanty had half a dozen
fellers in it all the time; more was over to the hotel, dickerin'
with Porky; and a lot of others trailed up the parson and the doc.
Nobody et 'cause they was too blamed _ex_cited. Nobody drunk 'cause
they wouldn't spare the cash. The sun went down, and they kept on
a-buyin'. And at midnight, the town went to bed--_rich!_
The day afterwards was Sunday. And I hope I may die if I ever fergit that
Sunday!
When the sun come up, as a story-book'd put it, Goldstone lay as calm
and peaceful as a babe, 'cept where some poor devil of a cow-punch was
gittin' along towards his bunk when he oughta been comin' outen it. But
all else was O. K. Weather fine, ev'rybody well, thank y', and land
so high it's a wonder the temper'ture wasn't gittin' low.
But ain't it funny how quick things can change?
First off, some of us boys went over to that real-estate hogan--and found
the door open and the place stripped. Yas, ma'am; duds gone, pictures
gone. Only the bench and the table left.
"What struck _him?_" ast the postmaster, who was comin' by.
"I guess," says a feller, careless, "--I guess he's moved into a
better office, mebbe."
"I reckon," agrees the postmaster. Then, his voice gittin' holler,
like, "But ain't that the map of Goldstone, with a rip in it?"
It was--tore clean in two!
We wasn't anxious any. Just the same, we drifted over to the hotel.
When we got to the door, we met the clerk comin' out. "Where's you'
millionaire friend this mornin'?" we ast him.
"Started fer Chicago last night."
"What--what's that?"
"Gone to raise more capital, I guess," says the clerk. "'Cause he
didn't settle--is comin' back right off."
Without nobody sayin' nothin' more, we all made up the street to the
doctor's, the crowd growin' as we went along. Even after bein' knocked
plumb flat with a sledge-hammer, we didn't know _yet_ what'd bit us.
But they was another whopper a-comin'--the _doc_ wasn't to be found.
"I think," says the postmaster, swallerin' hard, "that if we ast the
parson----"