Part 38 (1/2)

”Forty a month! That just about keeps you in ca'tridges! Forty a month!--and you without a square foot of land, 'r a single, solitary horned critter, 'r more'n a' Injun's soogin' 'twixt you and the floor! Do y' think you can take that little baby gal of mine into a blank shack that ain't got a stick of anythin' in it, and turn her loose of a Monday, like a c.h.i.n.k, to do the wash?”

”Now, ease up, boss,” I says. ”I reckon I think _al_most as much of Mace as you do. And I'm figgerin' to make her life just as happy as I _can._”

Wal, then he walked up and down, up and down (this all happened out by the calf-corral), and blowed and blowed and blowed. Said that him and his daughters had allus made the Bar Y ranch-house seem like home to the Sewell punchers, and they was men in the outfit just low-down mean enough to take advantage of it. Said he'd raised his gal like a lady--and now she was goin' to be treated like a squaw.

If it'd 'a' been any other ole man but Mace's, I'd 'a' made him swaller ev'ry one of them words 'fore ever he got 'em out. As it stood, a-course, I couldn't. So I just helt my lip till he was over his holler. (By now, y' savvy, I'd went through enough--from sayin' the wrong thing back when Paw Sewell 'r his daughter was a-talkin'--t'

learn me that the best _I_ could do was just t' keep my blamed mouth shut.)

Pretty soon, I says, ”You spoke of land, Mister Sewell,” I says, politer'n pie, and as cool as if I had the hull of Oklahomaw up my sleeve. (Been a beefsteak, y' savvy, fer him to git the idear he had me anxious any.) ”Wal, how much land do you figger out that you'

next son-in-law oughta have?”

He looked oneasy again, got red some, and begun workin' his nose up and down like a rabbit. ”Aw, thunder!” he says, ”what you astin'

_that_ fer? A man--_any_ man--when he marries, oughta have a place big enough so's his chickens can kick up the dirt 'round his house without its fallin' into somebody else's yard. Out here, where the hull blamed country's land--just land fer miles--a man oughta have a piece, say--wal, as big as--as that Andrews chunk of mine.” (When Billy married Rose, Sewell bought over the Andrews' ranch, y' savvy. Wanted it 'cause it laid 'twixt hisn and town, and had a fine water-hole fer the stock. But a good share of the hunderd acres in it wasn't much to brag on--just crick-bottom.)

”The Andrews place?” I says, smooth and easy. ”Wal, Sewell, I'll keep that in mind. And, now, you spoke of cows----”

”Fifty 'r so,” puts in the ole man, quick, like as if he was 'shamed of hisself. (His ranges is plumb _alive_ with cattle.) ”A start, Cupid,--just a start.”

Wal, a-course, whatever he said went with _me_. If he'd 'a' _ad_vised walkin' on my hands as far as Albuquerque, you'd 'a' saw me a-startin', spurs in the air!

”So long,” I says then, and walked off. When I turned round, a little bit later, Sewell was standin' there yet, haid down, shoulders hunched over, arms a-hangin' loose at his sides, and all his fingers twitchin'.

As I clumb on to that pinto bronc of mine and steered her outen the gate, I couldn't help but think that, all of a suddent, seems like, the boss looked a mighty lot _older_.

”Maud,” I says, as I loped fer town, ”Maud, I'm sh.o.r.e feazed! I been believin', since I got back from Noo York, that it was settled I was to marry Mace. And here, if I don't watch out, that Injun-giver'll take her back. I was a blamed idjit to give him any love-talk. The only thing he cares fer is money--money!” Wal, some men 're like that--and tighter'n a wood-tick. When they go to pay out a dollar, they hole on to it so hard they plumb pull it outen shape, yas, ma'am. Why, I can recollect seein' dollars that looked like the handle of a jack-knife.

But if I was brash in front of Sewell, I caved in all right when I got to Briggs City. Say! did you ever have the blues--so bad you didn't want to eat, and you didn't want to talk, and you didn't want to drink, but just wanted to lay, nose in the pilla, and think and think and think?

Wal, fer three days, that was me!

And I was still sullin' when Sheriff Bergin come stompin' in with a copy of the Goldstone _Tarantula_. ”Here's b.u.m luck!” he growls.

”A-course _Briggs_ couldn't hump herself none; but that jay town down the line has to go have a boom.”

”A boom?” I says, settin' up.

”Reg'lar rip-snorter of a Kansas boom. Some Chicago fellers with a lot of cash has turned up and is a-buyin' in all the sand. Wouldn't it make y' _sick?_”

I reached fer that paper with both fists. Yas, there it was--a piece about so long. ”_Goldstone offers the chanst of a lifetime,_” it read.

”_Now is when a little money'll make a pile. Land is cheap t'-day, but later on it'll bring a big price._”

I got on to my feet. They was about a quarter of a' inch of stubble on my face, and I was as shaky as a quakin' asp. But I had my s.p.u.n.k up again. ”Ain't I got a little money,” I says, ”--that nest-aig? Wal, I'll just drop down to Goldstone, and, if that boom is bony fido, and growin', _I'll git in on it._”

Next mornin', I went over to the deepot, borraed some paper from the agent, and writ Mace a note. ”_Little gal,_” I says in the letter, ”_don't you go back on me. I'm prepared to work my fingers down to the first knuckle fer you, and it's only right you' paw should want you took care of good._”

Then Number 201 come in and I hopped abroad. ”It's land 'r no lady,”

I says to myself, puttin' my little post-card photo of Macie into my pocket as the train pulled out; ”--land 'r no lady.”

But when I hit Goldstone, I plumb got the heart-disease. The same ole long street was facin' the track; the same scatterin' houses was standin' to the north and south; and the same bunch of dobe shacks was over towards the east, where the greasers lived. The town wasn't changed none!

Another minute, and I felt more chipper. West of town, two 'r three fellers was walkin' 'round, stakin' out the mesquite. And nigh the station, 'twixt them and me, was a brand-new, hip-roofed shanty with a long black-and-white sign acrosst it. The sign said ”Real Estate.”

Wal, _that_ looked like _business!_

I bulged in. They was a' awful dudey feller inside, settin' at a table and makin' chicken-tracks on a big sheet of blue paper. ”Howdy,” I says, ”you must be one of them Chicago gents?”