I’m just square enough to own up it was one on me. But far’s that particular mix-up goes, I can afford to be honest, and let anybody snicker that wants to–seein’ the way the hull thing turned out. ’Cause how about Doc Simpson? Didn’t I git bulge Number Two on him? And how about the little gal? Didn’t it give me my first chanst? Course, it did! And now, sometimes, when I want to feel happier’n a frog in a puddle, just a-thinkin’ it all over, I lean back, shut my two eyes, and say, “Ladies and gents, this is where you git the Blackfoot Injun Root-ee, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic Salve and the Worm Destroyer–the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!”

That medicine show follered the dawg fight. It hit Briggs City towards sundown one day, in a prairie-schooner drawed by two big, white mules, and druv up to the eatin’-house. Out got a smooth-faced, middle-aged feller in a linen duster and half a’ acre of hat–kinda part judge, part scout, y’ savvy; out got two youngish fellers in fancy vests and grey dicers; next, a’ Injun in a blanket, and a lady in a yalla-striped shirtwaist. Wal, sir, it was just like they’d struck that town to start things a-movin’ fer me!

The show hired the hall over Silverstein’s store. Then one of them fancy vests walked up and down Front Street, givin’ out hand-bills. The other sent word to all the ranches clost by, and the Injun went ’round to them scattered houses over where the parson and Doc Trowbridge lives.

Them hand-bills read somethin’ like this: The Renowned Blackfoot Medicine Company Gives Its First Performance T’Night! Grand Open-Air Band Concert. Come One, Come All. Free! Free! Free! 3–The Marvellous Murrays–3. To-Ko, the Human Snake, The World Has Not His Equal. Miss Vera de Mille In Bewitchin’ Song and Dance. Amuricaw’s Greatest Nigger Impersynater. The Fav’rite Banjoist of the Sunny South. Injun Shadda Pictures,–and a hull lot more I cain’t just recall.When I seen that such a big bunch was a-goin’ to preform, I walked over and peeked into that schooner. I figgered, y’ savvy, that they was some more people in it that hadn’t come out yet. But they wasn’t–only boxes and boxes of bottles.

Right after supper, that medicine outfit played in front of Silverstein’s. The judge-lookin’ feller beat the drum, the Injun blowed a big brass dinguss, the gal a clari’net, and the other two fellers some shiny instruments curlier’n a pig’s tail. But it was bully, that’s all I got to say, and drawed like a mustard plaster. ’Cause whilst in Oklahomaw a Injun show don’t count fer much, bein’ that we got more’n our fill of reds, all the same, with music throwed in, Briggs City was there. And Silverstein’s hall was just jampacked.

The front seats was took up by the town kids, a-course. Then come the women and gals,–a sprinklin’ of men amongst ’em; behind them, the cow-punchers. And in the back end of the place a dozen ’r so of niggers and cholos. Whilst all was a-waitin’ fer the show to begin, the punchers done a lot of laughin’ and cat-callin’ to each other, and made some consider’ble noise. I was along with the rest, only up in one of the side windas, settin’ on the sill and swingin’ my hoofs.

When the show opened, they was first a fine piece–a march, I reckon–by the band. All the time, more people was a-comin’ in. ’Mongst ’em was Doc Trowbridge and Rose, and Up-State–he was that pore lunger that was here from the East, y’ savvy. Next, right after them three, that Doc Simpson I was so all-fired stuck on. And, along with him, a gal.

Wal, who do you think it was! I knowed to oncet. They wasn’t no mistakin’ that slim, little figger and that pert little haid. It was Her!

“Cupid,” whispered Hairoil Johnson (he was settin’ byside me), “it looks to me like you didn’t much discourage that Noo York doc who owns what’s left of a toot buggy. Failin’ to git the oldest gal out at the Bar Y, why, now he’s a-sailin’ ’round with the youngest one.”

I didn’t say nothin’. I was a-watchin’ where she was. I wanted t’ ketch sight of her face.

“I devilled ole man Sewell about kickin’ him out and then takin’ him back,” goes on Hairoil. “And Sewell said he was a punk doctor, but awful good comp’ny. Huh! Comp’ny ain’t what that dude’s after. He’s after a big ranch and a graded herd. It’s a blamed pity you didn’t git him sent up t’ Kansas City fer repairs.”

The band was a-playin’, but I didn’t pay much attention to it. I kept a-watchin’ that slim, little figger a-settin’ next Simpson–a-watchin’ till I plumb fergot where I was, almost. “Macie,–Macie Sewell.”

Just then, I’m another if she didn’t look round! And square at me! She wasn’t smilin’, just sober, and sorta inquirin’. Her eyes looked dark, and big. She had a square little chin, like the gals you see drawed in pictures, and some soft, white, lacey stuff was a-restin’ agin her neck. They was two ’r three good-lookin’ gals at the eatin’-house them days, and Carlota Arnaz was awful pretty, too. But none of ’em couldn’t hole a candle t’ this one. Took in her cute little face whilst she looked straight back at me. Say! them eyes of hern come nigh pullin’ me plumb outen that winda!

Then the Judge walked out onto the platform, and she faced for’ards again. “Ladies and gents,” says the ole feller, talkin’ like his mouth was full of mush, “we have come to give you’ enterprisin’ little city a free show. A free show, ladies and gents,–it ain’t a-goin’ to cost you a nickel to come here and enjoy you’self ev’ry night. More’n that, we plan to stay as long as you want us to. And we plan to give you the very best talent in this hull United States.”

All this time, the fancy-vest fellers was layin’ a carpet and fixin’ a box and a table on the stage. The Judge, he turned and waved his hand. “Our first number,” he says, “will be the Murrays in they marvellous act.”

Wal, them fancy-vests and the lady was the Marvellous Murrays. And they was all in pink circus-clothes. “Two brothers and a sister, I guess,” says Hairoil. I should hope so! ’Cause the way they jerked each other ’round was enough t’ bring on a fight if they hadn’t ’a’ been relations. All three of ’em could walk on they hands nigh as good as on they feet, and turn somersets quicker’n lightnin’. And when the somersettin’ and leap-froggin’ come to oncet, it was grand! First the big feller’d git down; then, the other’d step onto his back. And as the big one bucked, his brother’d fly up,–all in a ball, kinda–spin ’round two ’r three times, and light right side up. And then they stood on each other’s faces like they’d plumb flat ’em out!

When they was done, they all come to the edge of the platform, the lady kissin’ her hand. All the punchers kissed back!

Wal, ev’rybody laughed then, and clapped, and the Judge brought on the Injun. That Injun was smart, all right. Wiggled his fingers behind a sheet and made ’em look like animals, and like people that was walkin’ and bowin’ and doin’ jigs. I wondered if Macie Sewell liked it. Guess she did! She was a-smilin’ and leanin’ for’ards to whisper to Billy and Rose. But not much to Simpson, I thought. Say! I was glad of that. Wasn’t none of my business, a-course. Course, it wasn’t. But, just the same, whenever I seen him put his haid clost to hern, it shore got under my skin.

The Judge was out again. “Miss Vera de Mille,” he says, “will sing ‘Wait Till the Sun Shines, Maggie.’” Wal, if I hadn’t ’a’ had reasons fer stayin’, I wouldn’t ’a’ waited a minute–reg’lar cow-bellerin’ in place of a voice, y’ savvy. What’s more, she was only that Marvellous Murray woman in diff’rent clothes! (No wonder they wasn’t no more people in that outfit!) But I didn’t keer about the show. I just never took my eyes offen––

She looked my way again!

Say! I was roped–right ’round my shoulders, like I’d roped Simpson! And I was plumb helpless. That look of hern was a lasso, pullin’ me to her, steady and shore. “Macie–Macie Sewell,” I whispered to myself, and I reckon my lips moved.

“You blamed idjit!” says Hairoil, out loud almost, “what’s the matter with you? You’ll have me outen this winda in a minute!”

The Judge was bowin’ some more. “We have now come to the middle of our program,” he says. “But ’fore I begin announcin’ the last half, which is our best, I want to tell you all a story.

“Ladies and gents, I come t’ Briggs to bring you a message–a message which I feel bound to deliver. And I’ve gone through a turrible lot to be able to stand here to-night and say to you what I’m a-goin’ to say.

“Listen! Years ago, a little boy, about so high, with his father and mother and ’leven sisters and brothers, started to cross the Plains with a’ ox-team. They reached the Blackfoot country safe. But there, ladies and gents, a turrible thing happened to ’em. One day, more’n four hunderd Injuns surrounded they wagon and showed fight. They fit ’em back, ladies and gents,–the father and the mother and the children, killin’ a good many bucks and woundin’ more. But the Injuns was too many fer that pore fambly. And in a’ hour, the reds had captured one little boy–whilst the father and mother and the ’leven sisters and brothers was no more!” (The Judge, he sniffled a little bit.)

“The little boy was carried to a big Injun camp,” he goes on. “And it was here, ladies and gents,–it was here he seen won-derful things. He seen them Injuns that was wounded put some salve on they wounds and be healed; he seen others, that was plumb tuckered with fightin’, drink a blackish medicine and git up like new men. Natu’lly, he wondered what was in that salve, and what was in that medicine. Wal, he made friends with a nice Injun boy. He ast him questions about that salve and that medicine. He learnt what plants was dug to make both of ’em. Then, one dark night, he crawled outen his wigwam on his hands and knees. Behind him come his little Injun friend. They went slow and soft to where was the pony herd. They caught up two fast ponies, and clumb onto ’em, dug in they spurs, and started eastwards as fast as they could go. The white boy’s heart was filled with joy, ladies and gents. He had a secret in his bosom that meant health to ev’ry man, woman and child of his own race. As he galloped along, he says to hisself, ‘I'll spend my life givin’ this priceless secret to the world!’

“Wal, ladies and gents, that’s what he begun to do–straight off. And t’-night, my dear friends, that boy is in Briggs City!” (A-course, ev’rybody begun to look ’round fer him.) “Prob-’bly,” goes on the Judge, “they’s more’n a hunderd people in this town that’ll thank Providence he come: They’s little children that won’t be orphans; they’s wives that won’t be widdas. Fer he is anxious to tell ’em of a remedy that will cure a-a-all the ills of the body. And, ladies and gents, I–am–that–boy!”

That got the punchers so excited and so tickled, that they hollered and stamped and banged and done about twenty dollars’ worth of damage to the hall.

“My friends,” goes on the Judge, “I have prepared, aided by my dear Injun comrade here, the sev’ral kinds of medicines discovered by the Blackfeet.” The fancy-vests, rigged out like Irishmen, was fixin’ a table and puttin’ bottles on to it. “I have these wonderful medicines with me, and I sell ’em at a figger that leaves only profit enough fer the five of us to live on. I do more’n that. Ev’rywheres I go, I present, as a soovneer of my visit, a handsome, solid-gold watch and chain.”

Out come that singin’ lady, hoidin’ the watch and chain in front of her so’s the crowd could see. My! what a lot of whisperin’!

“This elegant gift,” continues the Judge, “is awarded by means of a votin’ contest. And it goes to the prettiest gal.”

More whisperin’, and I sees a brakeman git up and go over to talk to another railroad feller. Wal, I didn’t have to be tole who was the prettiest gal!

“Ladies and gents,”–the Judge again–“in this contest, ev’rybody is allowed to vote. All a person has to do is to take two dollars’ worth of my medicine. Each two-dollar buy gives you ten votes fer the prettiest gal; and just to add a little fun to the contest, it also gives you ten votes fer the homeliest man. If you buy these medicines, you’ll never want to buy no others. Here’s where you git the Blackfoot Injun Rootee, my friends, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic Salve, and the Worm Destroyer–the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!”

Then he drawed a good, long breath and begun again, tellin’ us just what the diff’rent medicines was good fer. When he was done, he says,–playin’ patty-cake with them fat hands of hisn–“Now, who’ll be the first to buy, and name a choice fer the prettiest gal?”

Up jumps that brakeman, “Gimme two dollars’ worth of you’ dope,” he says, “and drop ten votes in the box fer Miss Mollie Brown.”

(Eatin’-house waitress, y’ savvy.)

“And the ugliest man?” ast the Judge, whilst one of the fancy vests took in the cash and handed over the medicine.

“Monkey Mike,” answers the brakeman. And then the boys began t’ josh Mike.“I’m a sucker, too,” hollers the other railroad feller. “Here’s ten more votes fer Miss Brown.”

Just then, in she come,–pompydore stickin’ up like a hay-stack. The railroad bunch, they give a cheer. Huh!

I got outen that winda and onto my feet. “Judge,” I calls, puttin’ up one hand to show him who was a-talkin’, “here’s eight dollars fer you’ rat-pizen. And you can chalk down forty votes fer Miss Macie Sewell.”

Say! cain’t you hear them Bar Y punchers?–“Yip! yip! yip! yip! yip! yip! ye-e-e!” A-course all the other punchers, they hollered, too. And whilst we was yellin’, that tenderfoot from Noo York was a-jabberin’ to Macie, mad like, and scowlin’ over my way. And she? Wal, she was laughin’, and blushin’, and shakin’ that pretty haid of hern–at me!

I was so excited I didn’t know whether I was a-foot ’r a-hoss-back. But I knowed enough to buy, all right. Wal, that medicine went like hotcakes! I blowed myself, and Hairoil blowed his-self, and the Bar Y boys cleaned they pockets till the bottles was piled up knee-high byside the benches. And whilst we shelled out, the Judge kept on a-goin’ like he’d been wound up–“Here’s another feller that wants Root-ee! and here’s another over on this side! And, lady, it’ll be good fer you, too, yas, ma’am. The Blackfoot Injun Rootee, my friends, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic Salve, and the Worm Destroyer,–the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!”

When I come to, a little bit later on, the hall was just about empty, and Hairoil was pullin’ me by the arm to git me to move. I looked ’round fer Macie Sewell. She was gone, and so was the Doc and Billy Trowbridge and Rose and Up-State. Outside, right under my window, I ketched sight of a white dress a-goin’ past. It was her. “Macie,” I whispers to myself; “Macie Sewell.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I was upset kinda, and just crazy with thinkin’ how I’d help her to win out. And I made up my mind t’ this: If more votes come in fer Mollie Brown than they did fer the gal that oughta have ’em, why, I’d just shove a gun under that Judge’s nose and tell him to “count ’em over and count ’em right.” ’Cause, I figgered, no eatin’-house gal with a face like a flat-car was a-goin’ to be elected the prettiest gal of Briggs. Not if I seen myself, no, ma’am. ’Specially not whilst Sewell’s little gal was in the country. Anybody could pick her fer the winner if they had on blinders. “Cupid,” I says, “you hump you’self!”

Next day, the Judge, he give consultin’s in the eatin’-house sample-room. I went over and had a talk with him, tellin’ him just how I wanted that votin’ contest to go. He said he wisht me luck, but that if the railroad boys felt they needed his medicine, he didn’t believe he had no right to keep ’em from buyin’. And, a-course, when a feller made a buy, he wanted t’ vote like he pleased. Said the best thing was t’ git holt of folks that ’d met Miss Sewell and liked her, ’r wanted t’ work fer her ole man, ’r ’d just as lief do me a good turn.

I hunted up Billy. “Doc,” I says, “I hope Briggs ain’t a-goin’ to name that Brown waitress fer its best sample. Now––”

“Aw, wal,” says Billy, “think how it ’d tickle her!”

“Tickle some other gal just as much,” I says.“And the prettiest gal ought to be choosed. Now, it could be fixed–easy.”

“Who do you think it oughta be?” ast Billy.

“Strikes me you’ wife’s little sister is the pick.”

“Cupid,” says Billy, lookin’ anxious like, “don’t you git you’self too much interested in Macie Sewell. You know how the ole man feels towards you. And what can I do? He ain’t any too friendly with me yet? So be keerful.”

“Now, Doc,” I goes on, “don’t you go to worryin’ about me. Just you help by prescribin’ that medicine.”

“To folks that don’t need none?” ast Billy. “Aw, I don’t like to.” (Billy’s awful white, Billy is.) “It won’t do ’em no good.”

“Wal,” I says, “it won’t do ’em no harm.”

Billy said he’d see.

“You could let it out that somebody in town’s been cured by the stuff,” I suggests.

“Only make them railroad fellers buy more.”

“That’s so. Wal, I guess the best thing fer me to do is to hunt up people with a misery and tell ’em they’d better buy–and vote my way.”

Billy throwed back his haid and haw-hawed.

“You’re a dickens of a feller!” he says. “When you want to have you’ own way, I never seen any-body that could think up more gol-darned things.”

“And,” I continues, “if that Root-ee just had a lot of forty-rod mixed in it, it ’d be easier’n all git out to talk fellers into takin’ it. If they’d try one bottle, they’d shore take another.”

“Now, Cupid,” says Billy, like he was goin’ to scolt me.

“’R if ole man Baker ’d take the stuff and git his hearin’ back.”

“No show. Nothin’ but sproutin’ a new ear’d help Baker.”

Next person I seen was that Doc Simpson. He was a-settin’ on Silverstein’s porch, teeterin’ hisself in a chair. “Billy,” I says, “I’m goin’ over to put that critter up to buyin’. He’s got money and he cain’t do better’n spend it.”

Wal, a-course, Simpson was turrible uppy when I first spoke to him. Said he didn’t want nothin’ t’ say to me–not a word. (He had sev’ral risin’s on his face yet.)

“Wal, Doc,” I says, “I know you think I didn’t treat you square, but–has you city fellers any idear how mad you make us folks in the country when you go a-shootin’ ’round in them gasoline rigs of yourn? Why, I think if you’ll give this question some little study, you’ll see it has got two sides.”

“Yas,” says the Doc, “it has. But that ain’t why you treated me like you did. No, I ain’t green enough to think that.”

“You ain’t green at all,” I says. “And I’m shore sorry you feel the way you do. ’Cause I hoped mebbe you’d fergit our little trouble and bury the hatchet–long as we’re both workin’ fer the same thing.”

“What thing, I’d like t’ know?”

“Why, gittin’ Miss Macie Sewell elected the prettiest gal.”

Fer a bit he didn’t say nothin’. Then he made some remark about a gal’s name bein’ “handed ’round town,” and that a votin’ contest was “vulgar.”

Wal, he put it so slick that I didn’t just git the hang of what he was drivin’ at. Just the same, I felt he was layin’ it on to me, somehow. And if I’d ’a’ been shore of it, I’d ’a’ put some more risin’s on to his face.

Wisht now I had–on gen’ral principles. ’Cause, thinkin’ back, I know just what he done. If he didn’t, why was him and that Root-ee Judge talkin’ t’gether so long at the door of Silverstein’s Hall–talkin’ like they was thick, and laughin’, and ev’ry oncet in a while lookin’ over at me?

I drummed up a lot of votes that afternoon. Got holt of Buckshot Milliken, who wasn’t feelin’ more’n ordinary good. Ast him how he was. He put his hand to his belt, screwed up his mug, and said he felt plumb et up inside.

“Buckshot,” I says, “anybody else ’d give you that ole sickenin’ story about it bein’ the nose-paint you swallered last night. Reckon you’ wife’s tole you that a’ready.”

“That’s what she has,” growls Buckshot.

“Wal, I knowed it! But is she right? Now, I think, Buckshot,–I think you’ve got the bliggers.” (Made it up on the spot.)

“The bliggers!” he says, turrible scairt-like.

“That’s what I think. But all you need is that Root-ee they sell over yonder.”

He perked up. “Shore of it?” he ast.

“Buy a bottle and try. And leave off drinkin’ anythin’ else whilst you’re takin’ the stuff, so’s it can have a fair chanst. In a week, you’ll be a new man.”

“I’ll do it,” he says, makin’ fer that prairie-schooner.

I calls after him: “And say, Buckshot, ev’ry two dollars you spend with them people, you git the right to put in ten votes fer the prettiest gal. Now, most of us is votin’ fer ole man Sewell’s youngest daughter.” Then, like I was tryin’ hard to recollect, “I think her name is Macie.”

“All right, Cupid. So long.”

Seen Sewell a little bit later. And braced right up to him. ’Cause fer two reasons: First, I wanted him t’ do some buyin’ fer his gal; then, I wanted t’ find out if he didn’t need another puncher out at the Bar Y. (Ketch on t’ my little game?)

The ole man was pretty short, and wouldn’t do a livin’ lick about them votes. Said he knowed his gal, Mace, was the prettiest gal in Oklahomaw, and it didn’t need no passel of breeds ’r quacks to cut her out of the bunch of heifers and give her the brand.

Then, I says, “S’pose you ain’t lookin’ fer no extra punchers out at the Bar Y? I’m thinkin’ some of quittin’ where I am.” (’Twixt you and me and the gate-post, I knowed from Hairoil that the Sewell outfit was shy two men–just when men was wanted bad.)

Fer a minute, Sewell didn’t answer anothin’. (Stiff-necked, y’ savvy,–see a feller dead first ’fore he’d give in a’ inch.) Pretty soon, he looked up, kinda sheepish. “I could use another puncher,” he says, “t’ ride line. Forty suit y’?”

“Shore, boss. Be out the first. So long.”

I was goin’ to the Bar Y, where she was! Wal, mebbe I wasn’t happy! And mebbe I wasn’t set worse’n ever on havin’ the little gal win in that contest! ’Fore night, I rounded up as many as five people that had a bony fido grunt comin’, and was glad to hear the grand things Doc Trowbridge said about Root-ee!

When the show started up in the hall after supper, and I slid in to take my seat in the winda, a lot of people,–women and kids and men–kinda turned round towards me and whispered and grinned. “They know I’m fer Macie Sewell,” I says to myself, “but that don’t bother me none.”

That Blackfoot Injun (he was turned into To-Ko, the Human Snake) was a-throwin’ squaw-hitches with hisself. The Judge come to the edge of the platform and pointed over his shoulder to him. “Do you think he could do that if he didn’t rub his hinges with Pain Balm?” he says. “Wal, he couldn’t. Pain Balm makes a man as limber as a willa. Ladies and gents, it’s wonderful what that remedy can do! It’ll prolong you’ life, make you healthy, wealthy, happy, and wise. Here you get the Blackfoot Injun Root-ee, the Pain Balm, the Cough Balsam, the Magic Salve, and the Worm Destroyer,–the fi-i-ive remedies fer two dollars!”

Say! it made my jaw plumb tired t’ listen to him.

“Hairoil,” I says to Johnson, “they got the names of the prettiest gals up on the blackboard, but where’s the names of the homeliest men?”

Hairoil snickered a little. Then he pulled his face straight and said that, bein’ as Monkey Mike ’d kicked up a turrible fuss about the votes that was cast fer him, why, the Judge had decided to keep the homeliest-man contest a secret.

Wal, I didn’t keer. Was only a-botherin’ my, haid over the way the prettiest gal countin’ ’d come out. I got holt of Dutchy, who ’d come in from his thirst-parlour to look on a minute. “Buyin’, Dutchy?” I ast.

“Nix.”

“But I reckon you need Root-ee, all the same. Do you ever feel kinda full and stuffy after meals?”

“Yaw.”

“Now, don’t that show! Dutchy, I’m sorry, but it’s a cinch you got the bliggers!”

Wal, he bit.

The station-agent was standin’ right next me. “Cupid,” he whispers, “I hear you got a candi-date in fer the prettiest gal. What you say about runnin’ as the homeliest man?”

“No,” I answers, quick, “I don’t hanker fer the honour. (That ’d hurt me with her, y’ savvy.) Then, I begun chinnin’ with Sparks, that owns the corral.

“Great stuff, that Root-ee,” I says. “Reckon the redskins knowed a heap more about curin’ than anybody’s ever give ’em credit fer. Tried the medicine yet, Sparks?”

Sparks said no, he didn’t think he needed it.

“Wal, a man never knows,” I goes on. “Now, mebbe, of a mornin’, when you wake up, you feel tired and sorta stretchy; wisht you could just roll over and take another snooze.”

“Bet I do!”

“That ain’t right, Sparks.” And I turned in and give him that bliggers talk.

But he hung off till I tole him about the scheme of the railroad bunch. Seems that Sparks had a grudge agin the eatin’-house ’cause it wouldn’t give him train-men’s rates fer grub. So he fell right into line.

Macie Sewell didn’t come to the show that night, so I didn’t stay long. Over to the bunk-house, I got a piece of paper and some ink and (ain’t ashamed of it, neither,) writ down her name. Under it, I put mine. Then, after crossin’ out all the letters that was alike, and countin’ “Friendship, love, indiff’rence, hate, courtship, marriage,” it looked like this:

By jingo, I reckon it stood just about that way!

Next mornin’, whilst I was standin’ outside the post-office, she come ridin’ up! Say, all to oncet my heart got to goin’ somethin’ turrible–I was feard she’d hear it, no josh. My hands felt weak, too, so’s I could hardly pull off my Stetson; and my ears got red; and my tongue thick, like the time I got offen the trail in Arizonaw and din’t have no water fer two ’r three days.

She seen me, and smiled, sorta bashful.

“Miss Sewell,” I says, “can I ast fer you’ mail? Then you won’t have to git down.”

“Yas, thank y’.”

When I give it to her, I got my sand back a little. “I hope,” I says, “that you didn’t mind my puttin’ you’ name up in that votin’ contest. Did y’?”

“Why,–why, no.”

“I’m awful glad. And I’m a-comin’ out to the Bar Y the first to ride line.”

“Are y’?” Them pink cheeks of hern got pinker’n ever, and when she loped off, she smiled back at me!

Say! I never was so happy in all my life! I went to work gittin’ votes fer her, feelin’ like ev’rybody was my friend–even ole Skinflint Curry, that I’d had words with oncet. That railroad bunch was a-workin’, too, and a-talkin’ up Mollie Brown. And I heerd that they planned to hole back a lot of votes till Macie Sewell’s count was all in, and then spring ’em to elect the other gal. That got me worried some.

About six o’clock, one of them fancy vests went ’round town, hollerin’ it out that the show ’d give its last performance that night. “What’s you sweat?” I ast him. Nothin’, he says, only the Judge reckoned about all the folks that intended to buy Root-ee had bought a’ready.

Wal, the show got a turrible big crowd–hall chuch full. And I tell y’ things was livelier’n they was at the dawg fight. The Mollie Brown crowd was rushin’ ’round and lookin’ corkin’ shore, and the punchers holdin’ up people as they come in, and the Marvellous Murray’s doin’ anty-I-overs with theyselves plumb acrosst the stage.

All the time, the Judge was exercisin’ that jaw of hisn. “Ladies and gents,” he says, (banjo goin’ ev’ry minute) “here’s where you git cured whilst you stand–like buffalo grass. Don’t you be scairt that you’ll buy me out–I got more down cellar in a teacup!”

Then she come in, and I wouldn’t ’a’ pulled outen that place fer a new dollar. She looked so cool and pretty, that little haid up, and a wisp of hair blowin’ agin her one cheek ’cause they was a breeze from the windas. Simpson was with her. What did I keer! She wasn’t noticin’ him much. Wal, I just never looked anywheres else but at her. Aw, I hoped that pretty soon she’d look round at me!

She did!–straighter’n a string. And the hull room got as misty and full of roarin’ as if a Santa Fee ingine was in there, a-leakin’ steam. I tried t’ smile at her. But my face seemed hard, like a piece of leather. I couldn’t smile.

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 program too long. Fer the reason that I know just what you-all want to hear most. And that is, the result 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 fortunate 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 molasses 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. Nobody 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 partic-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 nobody but me and that little ole bronc of hern’ll ever know what it was she said.