Alec Lloyd, Cowpuncher Part 7

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 blus.h.i.+n', and shakin' that pretty haid of hern--at _me!_

I was so _ex_cited 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 _my_self, 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 sh.e.l.led 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 _e_lected 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 inter_est_ed 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 _d.i.c.kens_ 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 _con_tinues, "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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e 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 _re_mark 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 _sh.o.r.e_ 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. "Sh.o.r.e 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."