Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Part 11

Seems she 'd been livin' in Buffalo, where her husband was the boss of a lumber-yard. Wal, when the kid was three years old, Bridger up and died, not leavin' much in the way of cash fer the widda. Then she had to begin plannin' how to git along, a-course. Chicken-ranchin' got into her haid. Somebody said Oklahomaw was a good place. She got the name of a land-owner in Briggs City and writ him. He tole her he had a nice forty acres fer sale--hunderd down, the balance later on. She bit--and here she was.

"Who's the man?" I ast.

The widda pulled a piece of paper outen her hand-satchel. "Frank Curry," she answers.

Bergin give a jump that come nigh to tippin' the table over. (Ole Skinflint Curry was the reason.)

"And where's the ranch?" I ast again.

"This is where." She handed me the paper.

I read. "Why, Bergin," I says, "it's that place right here below town, back of the section-house--the Starvation Gap Ranch."

The sheriff throwed me a quick look.

"I hope," begun the widda, leanin' towards him, "--I hope they's nothin' _agin_ the property."

Fer as much as half a minute, neither of us said nothin'. The sheriff, a-course, was turrible fl.u.s.tered 'cause she 'd spoke _di_rect to him, and he just jiggled his knee. _I_ was kinda bothered, too, and got some coffee down my Sunday throat.

"Wal, as a _chicken_ ranch," I puts in fin'lly "it's O. K.,--sh.o.r.e _thing_. On both sides of the house--see? like this," (I took a fork and begun drawin' on the table-cloth) "is a stretch of low ground,--a swale, like, that keeps green fer a week 'r so ev'ry year, and that'll raise Kaffir-corn and such roughness. You git the tie-houses of the section-gang plank in front--here. But behind, you' _po_ssessions rise straight up in to the air like the side of a house. Rogers's b.u.t.te, they call it. See it, out there? A person almost has to use a ladder to climb it. On top, it's all piled with big rocks. Of a mornin', the hens can take a trot up it fer exercise. The fine view 'll encourage 'em to lay."

"I'm _so_ glad," says the widda, kinda clappin' her hands. "I can make enough to support Willie and me easy. And it'll seem awful fine to have a little home all my own! I ain't never lived in the country afore, but I know it'll be lovely to raise chickens. In pictures, the little bits of ones is allus so cunnin'."

Wal, I didn't answer her. What could I 'a' _said?_ And Bergin?--he come nigh pullin' his cow-lick clean out.

By this time, that little kid had his bread-basket full. So he clumb down outen his chair and come 'round to the sheriff. Bergin took him on to his lap. The kid lay back and shut his eyes. His maw smiled over at Bergin. Bergin smiled down at the kid.

"Wal, folks," I begun, gittin' up, "I'm turrible sorry, but I got to tear myself away. Promised to help the Bar Y boys work a herd."

"_Cupid!_" It was the sheriff, voice kinda croaky.

"Good-bye fer just now, Mrs. Bridger," (I pretended not t' hear _him_.) "So long, Bergin."

And I skedaddled.

Two minutes afterwards here they come outen the eatin'-house, the widda totin' a basket and the sheriff totin' the kid. I watched 'em through the crack of Silverstein's front door, and I hummed that good ole song:

"He never keers to wander from his own fireside; He never keers to ramble 'r to roam.

With his baby on his knee, He's as happy as can be-e-e, Cause they's no-o-o place like home, sweet home."

When I got back to the Bar Y, I was dead leary about tellin' Mace that I had half a mind t' git Bergin married off. 'Cause, y' see, I'd been made fun of so much fer my Cupid business; and I hated t' think of doin' somethin' she wouldn't like. But, fin'lly, I managed t'

s.p.u.n.k up sufficient, and _de_scribed Mrs. Bridger and the kid, and said what I'd like t' do fer the sheriff.

"Alec," says the little gal, "I been tole (Rose tole me) how you like t' help couples that's in love. It's what made me first like you."

"Honey! Then you'll help me?"

"_Sh.o.r.e,_ I will."

I give her a whoppin' smack right on that cute, little, square chin of hern. "You darlin'!" I says. And then I put another where it'd do the most good.

"Alec," she says, when she could git a word in edgeways, "this widda comin' is mighty fortu-_nate_. Bergin's too ole fer the gals at the eatin'-house. But Mrs. Bridger'll suit. Now, I'll lope down to the Gap right soon t' visit her, and you go back t' town t' see how him goin'

home with her come out."

"Mace," I says, "if we _just_ can help such a fine feller t' git settled. But it'll be a job--a' _awful_ job. She's a nice, affection_ate_ little thing. Why, he'd be a _blamed_ sight happier.

And he likes the kid----"

"Let's not count our chickens 'fore they hatch," breaks in Mace.

Wal, I hiked fer town, and found the sheriff right where he was settin'

that mornin'. But, say! _he was a changed man!_ No shakin', no caved-in look--_nothin'_ of that kind. He was gazin' thoughtful at a knot in the deepot platform, his mouth was part way open, and they was a sorta sickly grin spread all over them features of hisn.

I stopped byside him. "Wal, Sheriff," I says, inquirin'.

He sit up. "Aw--is that you, Cupid?" he ast. (I reckon I know a guilty son-of-a-gun when I see one!)

I sit down on the other end of the truck. "Did Mrs. Bridger git settled all right?" I begun.

"Yas," he answers; "I pulled the rags outen the windas, and put some panes of gla.s.s in----"

"_Good_ fer you, Bergin! But, thunder! the idear of her thinkin' she can raise chickens fer a livin'--'way out here. Why, a gra.s.shopper ranch ain't _no_ place fer that little woman." (And I watched sideways to see how he'd take it.)

"You're right, Cupid," he says. Then, after swallerin' hard, "Did you happen t' notice how soft and kinda pinky her hands is?"

Was that the _sheriff_ talkin'? Wal, you could 'a' knocked me down with a feather!

"Yas, Sheriff," I answers, "I noticed her pretty par_tic_ular. And it strikes me that we needn't to worry--she won't stay on that ranch _long_. Out here in Oklahomaw, _any_ widda is in line fer another husband if she'll take one. In Mrs. Bridger's case, it won't be just any ole hobo that comes along. She'll be able to pick and choose from a grea-a-at, bi-i-ig bunch. _I_ seen how the boys acted when she got offen that train t'-day--and I knowed then that it wouldn't be _no_ time till she'd marry."

The sheriff is tall, as I said afore. Wal, a kinda s.h.i.+ver went up and down the hull length of him. Then, he sprung up, givin' the truck a kick. "Marry! marry! marry!" he begun, grindin' his teeth t'gether.

"Cain't you talk nothin' _else_ but marry?"

"No-o-ow, Bergin," I says, "what diff'rence does it make t' _you?_ S'pose she marries, and s'pose she don't. _You_ don't give a bean.

Wal, _I_ look at it diff'rent. _I_ know that nice little kid of hern needs the keer of a father--yas, Bergin, the keer of a _father._" And I looked him square in the eye.

"It's _just_ like Hairoil says," he went on. "If Doc Simpson was t' use a spy-gla.s.s on _you,_ he'd find you plumb alive with _bugs_--_marryin'_ bugs. _Yas,_ sir. With you, it's a _disease._"

"_Wal,_" I answers, "don't git anxious that it's ketchin'. You?

Huh! If I had anythin' _agin_ the widda, I _might_ be a-figgerin' on how t' hitch her up t' _you_--you ole _woman-hater!_"

"The best thing _you_ can do, Mister Cupid," growls Bergin (with a few cuss words throwed in), "is to _mind-you'-own-business._"

"All right," I answers cheerful. "_I_ heerd y'. But, I never could see why you fellers are so down on me when I _ad_vise marryin'. Take my word fer it, Sheriff, _any_ man's a heap better off with a nice wife to look after his shack, and keep it slicked up, and a nice baby 'r two t' pull his whiskers, and I reckon----"

But Bergin was makin' fer the freight shed, two-forty.

When I tole Mace what'd pa.s.sed 'twixt me and the sheriff, she says, "Alec, leave him alone fer a while, and mebbe he'll look _you_ up. In love affairs, don't never try t' drive _n.o.body._"

"But ain't it funny," I says (it was lodge night, and we had the porch to ourselves), "--ain't it funny how dead set some fellers is agin marryin'--the blamed fools! Y' see, they think that if they _don't_ hitch up t' some sweet gal, why, they git ahaid of somebody. It makes me plumb sick!"