Part 42 (2/2)

”Aw, daddy!” says Mace, holdin' to him tight.

”Why, bless you' heart, Sewell,” I answers, ”what do I want to live any _other_ place fer? _Mace_ is what I want--just Mace. And, say! you take back you' little ole crick-bottom.”

”Got more land'n I want _now._”

”Boss,”--I helt out my hand--”here's where you git a new son-in-law, and a foreman fer keeps on cow-punch pay. Shake!”

He give one hand to Mace, and he give me the other. ”Not by a long shot, Cupid!” he says. ”Here's where I git a half-_pardner._”

So here I am--settled down at the ole Bar Y. And it'd take a twenty-mule team t' pull me offen it. Of a evenin', like this, the boss, he sits on the east porch, smokin'; the boys 're strung along the side of the bunk-house t' rest and ga.s.s and laugh; and, out yonder, is the cottonwoods, same as ever, and the ditch, and the mesquite, leveler'n a floor; and--up over it all--the moon, white and smilin'.

Then, outen the door nigh where the sun-flowers 're growin', mebbe she'll come--a slim, little figger in white. And, if it's plenty warm, and not too late, why, she'll be totin' the smartest, cutest----

Listen! y' hear that?

”Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides On its fair, windin' way to the sea----”

That's my little wife,--that's Macie, now--a-singin' to the kid!

THE END

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