Part 31 (2/2)

”_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'-sc.r.a.pe.”

”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, pus.h.i.+n' 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 s.h.i.+rts,--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 sc.r.a.ped 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.

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