Part 34 (2/2)

I lent closter. ”Say, Mace,” I begun again, ”ain't this park O. K.

fer green gra.s.s? I reckon the Bar Y cows 'd like to be turned loose here.”

She smiled a little, awful tender. ”Bar Y!” she says, pullin' at her gauntlets.

It give me s.p.u.n.k. ”Mace,” I says again, ”if I'd 'a' been mean, I'd 'a' let the parson go on marryin' us, wouldn't I? Did you ever think of that, little gal?”

She looked down, blinkin'.

I reached over and got holt of one of her hands. I was breathin' like pore Up-State. ”Honey,” I says, ”honey, dear.”

She looked square at me. ”Alec,” she says, ”you didn't understand me.

I ain't the kind of a gal that can be roped and hobbled and led on a hackamore.”

”And you ain't the kind t' dance with greasers,” I says, ”--if you're thinkin' back to our first little fuss. _No,_ you _ain't_.

You're too darned nice fer such cattle.”

By then, I was shakin' like I had the buck-fever. ”Macie,” I goes on, ”ain't you goin' t' let me come and see you?”

”Wal--wal----”

I got holt of her other hand. ”Aw, little gal,” I says, ”n.o.body wants you t' win out more 'n I do. _I'_m no dawg-in-the-manger, Macie.

You got a' _awful_ fine voice. Go ahaid--and be the biggest singer in Amuricaw. But, honey,--that needn't t' keep you from likin' me--from likin' ole Alec, that cain't live without his dear little gal----”

”I _do_ like y'! And didn't I allus say you was t' come on when I made a success?”

She come into my arms then. And, aw! I knowed _just_ how lonesome she'd been, pore little sweetheart! by the way she clung t' me.

”Alec!--my Alec!”

”Never mind! honey dear, never mind! I'm here t' take keer of y'.”

Pretty soon, I says, ”Macie, I bought somethin' fer you a while back.”

(I felt in my vest pocket.) ”Here it is. Will you look at it?”

She looked. And her pretty face got all smiles and blushes, and her eyes tearful. ”Alec!” she whispered. ”Aint it _beau_tiful!” And she reached out her left hand t' me.

I took it in both of mine--clost, fer a second. Then I sorted out that slim third finger of hern,--and slipped on my little brandin'-iron.

CHAPTER TEN

MACIE AND THE OP'RA GAME

THE street Mace lived on was turrible narra. Why, if a long-horn had 'a' been druv through it, he could 'a' just give a wiggle of his haid and busted all the windas in the block. And her house! It was nigh as dark as the inside of a cow, and I _judged_ they was a last-year's cabbage a-wanderin' 'round somewheres. Wal, never mind. Two shakes of a lamb's tail, and I'd clumb about a hunderd steps and--

”How are y', little gal?”

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