Part 4 (2/2)
We'd got about that far when I shut off, all of a suddent, and c.o.c.ked my haid t' listen. Whose voice was that?--as clear, by thunder! as the bugle up at the Reservation. Wal, sir, I just stood there, mouth wide open.
”Some other to win.
Strive manfully onwards----”
Then, I begun t' look 'round. _Couldn't_ be the Kelly kid's maw (I'd heerd her call the hawgs), ner the teacher, ner that tall lady next her, ner----
Spotted the right one! Up clost to the organ was a gal I'd never saw afore. So many was in the way that I wasn't able t' git more'n a squint at her back hair. But, say! it was _mighty_ pretty hair--brown, and all sorta curly over the ears.
When the song was over, ole lady Baker sit down just in front of me; and as she's some chunky, she cut off nearly the hull of my view. ”But, Cupid,” I says to myself, ”I'll bet that wavy hair goes with a sweet face.”
Minute after, the parson begun t' speak. Wal, soon as ever he got his first words out, I seen that the air was kinda blue and liftin', like it is 'fore a thunder-shower. And his text? It was, ”Lo, I am full of fury, I am weary with holdin' it in.”
Say! _that's_ the kind of preachin' a _puncher_ likes!
After he was done, and we was all ready t' go, I tried to get a better look at that gal. But the women folks was movin' my _di_rection, shakin' hands and gabblin' fast to make up fer lost time. Half a dozen of 'em got 'round me. And when I got shet of the bunch, she was just a-pa.s.sin' out at the far door. My! such a slim, little figger and such a pert, little haid!
I made fer the parson. ”_Ex_cuse me,” I says to him, ”but wasn't you talkin' to a young lady just now? and if it ain't too gally, can I _in_-quire who she is?”
”Why, yas,” answers the parson, smilin' and puttin' one hand on my shoulder. (You know that cuss never oncet ast me if I was a Christian? Aw! I tell y', he was a _gent_.) ”That young lady is Billy Trowbridge's sister-in-law.”
”Sister-in-law!” I repeats. (She was married, then. Gee! I hated t'
hear that! 'Cause, just havin' helped Billy t' git his wife, y'
savvy, why----) ”But, parson, I didn't know the Doc _had_ a brother.”
(I felt kinda down on Billy all to oncet.)
”He ain't,” says the parson. ”(_Good_-night, Mrs. Baker.) This young lady is Mrs. Trowbridge's sister.”
”Mrs. _Trowbridge's_ sister?”
”Yas,--ole man Sewell's youngest gal. She's been up to St. Louis goin' t' school.” He turned out the bracket lamp.
Ole man Sewell's youngest gal! Sh.o.r.e enough, they _was_ another gal in that fambly. But she was just a kid when she was in Briggs the last time,--not more'n fourteen 'r fifteen, anyhow,--and I'd clean fergot about her.
”Her name's Macie,” goes on the parson.
”Macie--Macie Sewell--Macie.” I said it over to myself two 'r three times. I'd never liked the name Sewell afore. But now, somehow, along with _Her_ name, it sounded awful fine. ”Macie--Macie Sewell.”
”Cupid, I wisht you'd walk home with me,” says the parson. ”I want t' ast you about somethin'.”
”Tickled t' death.”
Whilst he locked up, I waited outside. ”M' son,” I says to myself, ”nothin' could be foolisher than fer you to git you' eye fixed on a belongin' of ole man Sewell's. Just paste _that_ in you' sunbonnet.”
Wal, I rid Shank's mare over t' Hairoil's. Whilst we was goin', the parson opened up on the subject of Dutchy and that nasty, mean purp of hisn. And I ketched on, pretty soon, to just what he was a-drivin' at.
I fell right in with him. I'd never liked Dutchy such a turrible lot anyhow,--and I did want t' be a friend to the parson. So fer a hour after we hit the shack, you might 'a' heerd me a-talkin' (if you'd been outside) and him a-laughin' ev'ry minute 'r so like he'd split his sides.
Monday was quiet. I spent the day at Silverstein's Gen'ral Merchandise Store, which is next the post-office. (Y' see, She might come in fer the Bar Y mail.) The parson got off a long letter to a feller at Williams. And Dutchy was awful busy--fixin' up a fine shootin'-gallery at the back of his ”Life Savin' Station.”
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