Then, my eyes cleared. And I seen she was sad, like as if somethin' was botherin' her mind. "She thinks she's a-goin' t' git beat," I says to myself. "But she _ain't._" And I reached down to see if my pop-gun was all right.

She turned back towards the stage. The Murray woman 'd just finished one of them songs of hern, and the Judge was talkin' again. "Ladies and gents," he says, "we shall not drag out our pro_gram_ too long. Fer the reason that I know just what you-all want to hear _most_. And that is, the _re_sult of the contest."

That railroad gang begun t' holler.

Don't know why,--wasn't no reason fer it, but my heart went plumb down into my boots. "Aw, little Macie!" I says to myself; "aw, little Macie!" Say! I come mighty nigh prayin' over it!

"The count fer the prettiest gal," goes on the Judge, "is complete.

Miss de Mille, kindly bring for'ard the watch. I shall have to ast some gent to escort the fortu_nate_ young lady to the platform." (I seen a brakeman start over to Mollie Brown.)

"I don't intend"--the Judge again--"to keep you in suspenders no longer. And I reckon you'll all be glad to know" (here he give a bow) "that the winner is--Miss Macie Sewell."

Wal, us punchers let out a yell that plumb cracked the ceiling. "Wow!

wow! _wow!_ Macie Sewell!" And we whistled, and kicked the floor, and banged the benches, and whooped.

Doctor Bugs got to his feet, puttin' his stylish hat and gloves on his chair, and crookin' a' elbow. Wal, I reckon _this_ part wasn't vulgar!

Then, _she_ stood up, took holt of his arm, and stepped out into the aisle. She was smilin' a little, but kinda sober yet, I thought. She went towards the Judge slow, and up the steps. He helt out his hand.

"With the compliments of the company," he says. She took the watch.

Then she turned.

Another cheer--a _whopper_.

She stood there, lookin' like a' angel, 'r a bird, 'r a little bobbin' rose.

"Thank y', boys," she says; "thank y'."

If I'd 'a' knowed what was a-goin' to happen next, I'd 'a' slid out then. But, a-course, I didn't.

"My friends," says the Judge, "I will now read the vote for the homeliest man. Monkey Mike received the large count of twenty. But it stands nineteen hunderd and sixty fer--Cupid Lloyd."

All of a suddent two 'r three fellers had holt of me. And they was a big yell went up--"Cupid! Cupid! The homeliest man! Whee!" The next second, I was goin' for'ards, but shovin' back. I _hated_ to have her see me made a fool of. I seen red, I was so mad. I could 'a' kilt. But she was lookin' at me, and I was as helpless as a little cat. I put down my haid, and was just kinda dragged up the aisle and onto the platform.

She went down the steps to her seat then. But she didn't stop. She bent over, picked up her jacket, whispered somethin' to Rose and, with that Simpson trailin', went to the back of the hall. There she stopped, kinda half turned, and waited.

I wisht fer a knot-hole that I could crawl through. I wisht a crack in the floor 'd open and let me slip down, no matter if I tumbled into a barrel of _mo_la.s.ses below in Silverstein's. I wisht I was dead, and I wisht the hull blamed bunch of punchers was--Wal, I felt something _turrible_.

"Cupid!" "You blamed fool!" "Look at him, boys!" "Take his picture!" "Say! he's a beauty!" Then they hollered like they'd bust they sides, and stomped.

I laughed, a-course,--sickish, though.

The Judge, I reckon, felt kinda 'shamed of hisself. 'Cause I'd helped to sell a heap of medicine, and he knowed it. "That's all right, Lloyd," he says; "they ain't no present fer you. You can vamose--back stairway."

"Whee-oop!" goes the boys.

I seen her start down then. Billy and his wife got up, too. So did the crowd, still a-laughin' and a-hootin'.

I kinda backed a bit. When I reached the stairs, I went slower, feelin'

my way. Minute and I come out onto Silverstein's hind porch. n.o.body was there, so I went over to the edge and lent agin a' upright.

Right back of Silverstein's they's a line of hitchin'-posts. Two hosses was fastened there when I come, but it was so dark, and I felt so kinda bad, that I didn't notice the broncs par_tic_-ular. Till, 'round the corner, towards 'em, come that Simpson. Next, walkin'

slow and lookin' down--Macie.

But she got onto her hoss quick, and without no help. All the time, Bugsey was a-fussin' with his mustang. But the critter was nervous, and wasn't no easy job. Macie waited. She was nighest to me, and right in line with the light from a winda. I could see her face plain. But I couldn't tell how she was feelin',--put out, 'r quiet, 'r just kinda tired.

Simpson got into the saddle then, his hoss rearin' and runnin'. He could steer a gasoline wagon, but he couldn't handle a cayuse. He turned to holler: "Comin', Miss Sewell?"

She said she was, but she started awful slow, and kinda peered back, and up to the hall. At the same time, she must 'a' saw that they was a man on the back porch, 'cause she pulled in a little, lookin' hard.

I felt that rope a-drawin' me then. I couldn't 'a' kept myself from goin' to her. I started down. "Miss Macie!" I says; "Miss Macie!"

"Why,--why, Mister Lloyd!" She wheeled her hoss. "Is that you?"

I went acrosst the yard to where she was. "Yas,--it's me," I says.

She lent down towards me a little. "You been awful good to me," she says. "_I_ know. It was _you_ got all them votes. Hairoil said so."

"Don't mention it."

"And--and"--I heerd her breath 'way deep, kinda like a sob--"you _ain't_ the homeliest man! you _ain't!_ Aw, it was _mean_ of 'em! And it hurt----"

"No, it didn't--please, _I_ don't mind."

"It hurt--me."

That put the cheek of ten men into me. I Straightened up, and I lifted my chin. "Why, Gawd _bless_ you, little gal!" I says. "It's all _right._"

Her one hand was a-restin' on the pommel. I reached up--only a stay-chain could a' helt me back then--and took it into both of mine.

Say! did you ever holt a little, flutterin' bird 'twixt you' two palms?

"Macie," I says, "Macie Sewell." And I pressed her hand agin my face.

She lent towards me again. It wasn't more'n a soft breath, and I could hardly hear. But n.o.body but me and that little ole bronc of hern'll ever know what it was she said.

CHAPTER FOUR

CONCERIN' THE SHERIFF AND ANOTHER LITTLE WIDDA

AW! them first days out at the Bar Y ranch-house!--them first days!

_No_body could 'a' been happier'n I was then.

I hit the ranch on a Friday, about six in the evenin', it was, I reckon,--in time fer supper, anyhow. The punchers et in a room acrosst the kitchen from where the fambly et. And I recollect that sometimes durin' that meal, as the c.h.i.n.k come outen the kitchen, totin' grub to us, I just could ketch sight of Macie's haid in the far room, bobbin' over her plate. And ev'ry time I'd see her, I'd git so blamed fl.u.s.tered that my knife 'd miss my mouth and jab me in the jaw, 'r else I'd spill somethin' 'r other on to Monkey Mike.

And after supper, when the sun was down, and they was just a kinda half-light on the mesquite, and the ole man was on the east porch, smokin', and the boys was all lined up along the front of the bunk-house, clean outen sight of the far side of the yard, why, I just sorta wandered over to the calf-corral, then 'round by the barn and the c.h.i.n.k's shack, and landed up out to the west, where they's a row of cottonwoods by the new irrigatin' ditch. Beyond, acrosst about a hunderd mile of brown plain, here was the moon a-risin', bigger'n a dish-pan, and a cold white. I stood agin a tree and watched it crawl through the clouds. The frogs was a-watchin', too, I reckon, fer they begun to holler like the d.i.c.kens, some ba.s.s and some squeaky. And then, from the other side of the ranch-house, struck up a mouth-organ: