"Dear Cupid," it run, "ast Mister Sewell not to come down too hard on me account of what I'm goin' to do fer Macie. The little gal says she wants a singin' chanst more'n anythin'

else. Wal, I'm goin' to give it to her. You'll find a'

even five hunderd in green-backs over in Silverstein's safe.

It's hern. Tell her I want she should use it to go to Noo York on and buck the op'ra game."

Wal, y' see, the ole man 'd been right all along--Up-State _was_ sidin' with Mace. Somehow though, _I_ couldn't feel hard agin him fer it. I knowed that she'd go--help 'r _no_ help.

But Sewell, he didn't think like me, and I never _seen_ a man take on the way he done. _Crazy_ mad, he was, swore blue blazes, and said things that didn't sound so nice when a feller remembered that Up-State was face up and flat on his back fer keeps--and goin' home in the baggage-car.

I tell you, the boys was nice to me that day. "The little gal won't fergit y', Cupid," they says, and "Never you mind, Cupid, it'll all come out in the wash."

I thanked 'em, a-course. But with Macie fixed to go (far's money went), and without makin' friends with me, neither, what under the shinin'

sun could chirk _me_ up? Wal, _nothin'_ could.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE BOYS PUT THEY FOOT IN IT

"WAL, Hairoil," I says, "I sh.o.r.e am a' unlucky geezer! Why, d' you know, I don't hardly dast go from one room to another these days fer fear I'll git my lip pinched in the door."

Hairoil, he clawed thoughtful. "You and the boss had a talk oncet on the marryin' question," he begun. "It was out at the Bar Y." (We was settin' on a truck at the deepot again, same as that other time.) "A-course, I don't want t' throw nothin' up, but--you tole him then that when it come you' _own_ time, _you_ wouldn't have no trouble.

Recollect braggin' that-a-way?"

"Yas," I answers, meeker'n Moses. "But Hairoil, that was 'fore I met Macie."

"So it was," he says. Then, after a minute, "I s'pose nothin' could keep her in Briggs much longer."

I shook my haid. "The ole man won't let her fetch a dud offen the ranch, and so she's havin' a couple of dresses made. I figger that when _they_ git done, she'll--she'll go."

"How long from now?"

"About two weeks--accordin' to what Mollie Brown tole me."

"Um," says Hairoil, and went on chawin' his cud. Fin'lly, he begun again, and kinda like he was feelin' 'round. "Don't you think Mace Sewell is took up with the _ro_mance part of this singin' proposition?"

he ast. "That's _my_ idear. And _I_ think that if she was showed that her and you was _also_ a _ro_mance, why, she'd give up goin'

to Noo York. Now, it _might_ be possible to--to git her t' see things right--if they was a little scheme, say."

I got up. "No, Hairoil," I says, "no little scheme is a-goin'

t' be played on _Macie_. A-course, I done it fer Rose and Billy; but Macie,--wal, Macie is diff'rent. I want t' win her in the open. And I'll be jiggered if I stand fer any underhand work."

"It needn't t' _be_ what you'd call underhand," answers Hairoil.

"Pardner," I says, "don't talk about it no more. You make me plumb nervous, like crumbs in the bed."

And so he shut up.

But now when I _re_call that conversation of ourn, and think back on what begun t' happen right afterwards, it seemed _blamed_ funny that I didn't suspicion somethin' was wrong. The parson was mixed up in it, y' savvy, and the sheriff, and Billy Trowbridge--all them three I'd helped out in one way 'r another. And Hairoil was in it, too--and he'd said oncet that he was a-goin' t' marry me off. So _why_ didn't I ketch on! Wal, I sh.o.r.e _was_ a yap!

Next day, Hairoil didn't even speak of Mace. I thought he'd clean fergot about her. He was all _ex_cited over somethin' else--the 'lection of a sheriff. And 'fore he got done tellin' me about it, I was some _ex_cited, too--fer all I was half sick account of my own troubles.

The 'lection of a sheriff, y' savvy, means a' awful lot to a pa.s.sel of cow-punchers. We don't much keer who's President of the United States. (We been plumb _covered_ with proud flesh these six years, though, 'cause Roos'velt, _he's_ a puncher.) We don't much keer, neither, who's Gov'ner of Oklahomaw. But you can bet you' bottom dollar it makes a _heap_ of diff'rence who's our sheriff. If you git a friend in office, you can breathe easy when you have a little disagreement; if you don't, why, _you_ git 'lected--t' the calaboose!

Now, what Hairoil come and rep'esented to me was this: That Hank Shackleton, editor of _The Briggs City Eye-Opener,_ 'd been lickerin'

up somethin' _turrible_ the last twenty-four hours.

"Hank?" I says to Hairoil, plumb surprised. "Why, I didn't know he ever took more 'n a gla.s.s."

"A _gla.s.s!_" repeats Hairoil disgusted. "He ain't used no gla.s.s _this_ time; he used a _funnel_. And you oughta see his paper that come out this mornin'. It's full on the one side, where a story's allus printed, but the opp'site page looks like somethin' 'd hit it--O. K.

far's advertis.e.m.e.nts go, but the news is as skurse as hen's teeth, _and not a word about Bergin._"

"You don't say! But--what does that matter, Hairoil?"

"What does that _matter!_ Why, if Hank gits it into his haid to keep on tankin' that-a-way (till he plumb spills over, by jingo!) the _Eye-Opener_ won't show up again fer a month of Sundays. Now, we need it, account of this 'lection, and the way Hank is actin' has come home to roost with ev'ry _one_ of us. You been worried, Cupid, and you ain't noticed how this sheriff sittywaytion is. The Goldstone _Tarantula_ is behind the _Re_publican can_di_date, Walker----"

"_Walker! That_ critter up fer sheriff?"

"Yas. And, a-course, Hank's been behind Bergin t' git _him_ re'lected fer the 'leventh time."

"_I_ know, and Bergin's got t' _win_. Why, Bergin's the only fit man."

"Wal, now, if our paper cain't git in and crow the loudest, and tell how many kinds of a swine the other feller is, _how's_ Bergin goin'

t' win?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do _I_. (You see how ticklish things is?) Wal, here's Hank in _no_ shape to make any kind of a newspaper fight, but just achin' t'

use his gun on anybody that comes nigh him. Why, I never _seen_ such a change in a man in all my born _life!_"

I was surprised some _more_. I didn't know Hank _packed_ a gun. He was a darned nice cuss, and ev'rybody sh.o.r.e liked him, and he'd never been laid up fer _re_pairs account of somethin' he'd put in his paper.

He was square, smart's a steel-trap, and white clean through. Had a handshake that was hung on a hair-trigger, and a smile so winnin' that he could coax the little prairie-dawgs right outen they holes.

Hairoil goes on. "I can see Briggs City eatin' the shucks when it comes 'lection-day," he says, "and that Goldstone man cabbagin' the sheriff's office. Buckshot Milliken tole me this mornin' that the _Tarantula_ called Bergin 'a slouch' last week; 'so low-down he'd eat sheep,' too, and 'such a blamed pore shot he couldn't hit the side of a barn.'"

"That's goin' too far."

"So _I_ say. I wanted Bergin t' go over to Goldstone and give 'em a sample of his gun-play that'd interfere with the printin' of they one-hoss sheet. But Bergin said it was no use--the _Tarantula_ editor is wearin' a sheet-iron thing-um-a-jig acrosst his back and his front, and has to use a screw-driver t' take off his clothes."

"The idear of Hank actin' like a idjit when the 'lection depends on him!" I says. "Wal, things _is_ outen kilter."

"Sh-sh-sh!" says Hairoil, lookin' round quick. "Be awful keerful what you say about Hank. We don't want no shootin'-sc.r.a.pe _here._"

But I didn't give a continental _who_ heerd me. I was sore t' think a reg'lar jay-hawk 'd been put up agin our man! Say, that Walker didn't know beans when the bag was open. His name sh.o.r.e fit him, 'cause he couldn't ride a hoss fer cold potatoes. And he was the kind that gals think is a looker, and allus stood ace-high at a dance.

Lately, he'd been more pop'lar than ever. When we had that little set-to with Spain, Walker hiked out to the Coast; and didn't show up again till after the California boys come home from Manila. Then, he hit town, wearin' a' army hat, and chuck full of all kinds of stories about the Philippines, and how he'd been in _turrible_ fights. That got the girls travelin' after him two-forty. Why, at Goldstone, they was _all_ a-goin' with him, seems like.

I didn't want _him_ fer sheriff, you bet you' boots. He wasn't no friend to us Briggs City boys any more 'n we was to him. And then, none of us believed that soldier hand-out. Y' know, we had a little bunch of fellers from this section that went down t' Cuba with Colonel Roos'velt and chased the Spanish some. Wal, y' never heerd _them_ crowin' 'round about what they done. And this Walker, he blowed too much t' be genuwine.