"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?"

He jumped up and shook hands. "Yas, I am," he says; "but only a land-agent, y' savvy. They's three others in town that's got _capital_. The one that lives over yonder at the hotel is a millionaire.

Then they's a doctor (left a _fine_ practice to come), and a preacher.

But the preacher ain't just one of you' _ord'nary_ pulpit pounders."

I stooped over to git a look at that sheet of blue paper. It had lines all criss-cross on it, same as a checker-board, and little, square, white spots showin' now and again.

"_Ex_cuse me fer astin'," I says, "but what's this?"

"This is the new map of Goldstone," he says, "and drawed two mile square. Here"--pointin' to a white spot--"'ll be the Normal College, and here"--pointin' to another--"the Merchants' _Ex_change. Then, a-course, the Pavilion fer Indus'tral _Ex_hibitions----"

"Pardner," I broke in, "if Goldstone was in the middle 'r east part of Oklahomaw, where crops is allus fine, this boom wouldn't surprise me a _little_ bit. But out _this_ way, where they's only a show fer cattle, I cain't just understand it. Now, they must be some _reason._"

The real estate agent, he smiled awful sly like, and wunk. "Mebbe,"

he says.

Later on, I seen the gent that was stoppin' at the hotel. He was tonier'n the other. Wore one of them knee coats that's got a wedge outen it, right in front, and two b.u.t.tons fastened in the small of the back. He was walkin' up and down the porch and smokin' a seegar. Rich?

Wal, I guess! Had the finest room in the house, and et three six-bit meals a day! About fifty, he was, and kinda porky; not a tub, y'

savvy, but plenty fat.

That same day, a new _Tarantula_ come out. In it was a piece haided "_More Capital Fer Goldstone._" It went on like this: "_Our City has lately acquired four new citizens whose confidence and belief in her future 'd put some of the old hangers-on and whiners to the blush if they faces wasn't made of bra.s.s, and didn't know how to blush.

Wake up,_" goes on the _Tarantula, "wake up, Goldstone, and shake you'self. And gents, here's a hearty welcome! Give us you' paw!_"

Goldstone was woke up, all right, all right. She was as lively and _ex_cited as a chicken with its haid cut off. That real-estate feller 'd bought up two big tracts just north of town, gittin' 'em cheap a-course; _awful_ cheap, in fact, 'cause no one 'd smelt a boom when he first showed up. (Wal, _first_ come, first _served_.) Porky 'd bought, too, and owned some lots 'twixt them tracts and the post-office.

To the east, right where the nicest houses is, the parson was plannin'

to import his fambly. More'n that, them four gun-shy gents stood ready to buy all the time. And Goldstone fellers that would 'a' swapped they lots fer a yalla dawg, and then shot the dawg, was holdin' out fer fifty plunks.

Wal, I had that three hunderd. But I helt back. What I wanted to know was _the why behind the boom._

I just kinda happened past that real-estate corn-crib. The land-agent was to home, and I ast him to come over and have one with me. He said O. K., that suited _him_. So we greased our hollers a few times. And, when he was feelin' so good that he could make out to talk, I drawed from him that Goldstone was likely to stand 'way up yonder at the haid of her cla.s.s account of "natu'al developments."

"Natu'al developments," I says. "Wal, pardner, when it comes to them big, dictionary words, I sh.o.r.e am a slouch. And you got me all twisted up in my picket-rope."

But I had to spend another dollar 'fore he'd talk some more. Then he begun, _turrible_ confidential: "I been sayin' nothin' and sawin'

wood, Lloyd. I ain't let _no_ man git information outen _me_. But I like you, Lloyd, and, say! I'm a-goin' to tell you. Natu'al developments is _coal_ and _oil_ and _gas._"

Same as the Tusla country! Wal, I was plumb crazy. "Blamed if it ain't _likely,_" I says to myself. "Wal, that settles things fer _me._"

I got shet of that real-estate feller quick as I could (didn't want him to remember that he'd talked in his sleep), and hunted up the post-master. The postmaster was one of the china-eyed, corn-silk Swedes, and he owned quite a bit of Goldstone. I tole him I wanted to buy a couple of lots 'cause I was goin' to be married, and figgered to build. (That wasn't no lie, neither.) Said I didn't want to live in the part of town where the greasers was fer the reason that I'd rather settle down in a Sioux Camp in August _any_ day than amongst a crowd of blamed _cholos_.

The postmaster wasn't anxious to sell. Said he didn't have more'n a block left, and he wanted a big price fer that. "'Cause this boom is _solid,_"--he kinda half whispered it. "How do I know? Wal, I pumped one of them suspender-cityzens this mornin'."

That showed me I'd got to hump myself. If that real-estate feller blabbed any more, I wouldn't be able to buy. The station-agent owned some lots. I hiked fer the deepot.

When I looked into the ticket-office through the little winda, I seen that agent--one hand on the tick-machine, other holdin' his haid--with his mouth wide open, like a hungry wall-eye.

"Lloyd," he says, pantin' hard, "I ain't got no right to tell, but I can't hole it in. Them Chicago fellers, Lloyd, are a Standard Oil bunch.

Look a-here!" And he pushed out a telegram.