Part 31 (1/2)
That night, as I was a-settin' on a truck at the deepot, thinkin' to myself, and watchin' acrosst the tracks to the mesquite, here come Boston 'round the corner, and he set down byside me.
”Wal, Cupid?” he says, takin' holt of my arm.
”Boston,” I begun. ”I--I reckon _you_ don't need me no more.”
”No,” says Boston, ”I don't. And I want t' square with y'. Now, the boys say you're plannin' t' go to Noo York later on--t' take the town t' pieces and see what's the matter with it, eh?” And he dug me in the ribs.
”Wal,” I answers, ”I've _talked_ about it--some.”
”It's a good idear,” he goes on. ”But about my bill--I hope you'll think a hunderd and fifty is fair, fer these three weeks.”
”Boston!” I got kinda weak all to oncet. ”I cain't take it. It wasn't worth that.”
”I got a plot,” he says, ”and colour, and a bad man, and”--smilin'
awful happy--”a gal. So you get you' trip right away. And don't you come back _alone._”
CHAPTER NINE
A ROUND-UP IN CENTRAL PARK
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 p.r.o.nto.”
”Sam, that sh.o.r.e _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).