Part 32 (1/2)

”Why!” she says, ”are y' sh.o.r.e? 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed me but her. And I didn't know a _one_ of 'em. A c.h.i.n.k 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, h.e.l.lo, ole boy,” he says, puttin' out a bread-hooker; ”I met you out West, didn't I? How are y'?”

I had the sittywaytion in both gauntlets.

”Why, yas,” I answers, ”and I'm tickled to sight a familiar face.

Fer by jingo! I'm busted. Can you loan me a dollar?”

He got kinda sick 'round the gills. ”Wal, the fact is,” he says, swallerin' two 'r three times, ”I'm clean broke myself.”

Just then a gal with a pink cinch comes walkin' along. She was one of them b.u.t.te-belle lookin' ladies, with blazin' cheeks, and hair that's a cross 'twixt _mo_la.s.ses candy and the pelt of a kit-fox.

She was leadin' a dog that looked plumb ashamed of hisself.

”Pretty gal,” says the mealy-mouthed gent, grinnin' some more. ”And I know her. Like t' be interdooced?”

”Don't bother,” I says. (Her hay was a little too weathered fer _me_.)

”Nice red cheeks,” he says, rubbin' his paws t'gether.

”Ya-a-as,” I says, ”_mighty nice_. But you oughta see the squaws out in Oklahomaw. They varies it with yalla and black.”

He give me a kinda keen look. Then he moseyed.