“Billy,” I says to him, “where is she?”
“Cupid–don’t take it hard, ole man–she’s–she’s gone. Boarded the East-bound not half a’ hour ago. But, pardner––”
Gone!
I didn’t answer him. I just rolled over onto my face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ANOTHER SCHEME, AND HOW IT PANNED OUT
Wal, pore ole Sewell! I wasn’t feelin’ dandy them days, you’d better believe. But, Sewell, he took Macie’s goin’ turrible bad. Whenever he come in town, he was allus just as qui-i-et. Not a cheep about the little gal; wouldn’t ’a’ laughed fer a nickel; and never’d go anywheres nigh the lunch-counter. Then, he begun t’ git peakeder’n the dickens, and his eyes looked as big as saucers, and bloodshot. Pore ole boss!
I kept outen his way. He’d heerd all about that Shackleton business, y’ savvy, and was awful down on me; helt me responsible fer the hull thing, and tole the boys he never wanted t’ set eyes on me again. Hairoil went to him and said I’d been jobbed, and was innocenter’n Mary’s little lamb. But Sewell wouldn’t listen even, and said I’d done him dirt.
A-course, I couldn’t go back t’ my Bar Y job, then,–and me plumb crazy t’ git to work and make enough t’ go to Noo York on! But I didn’t do no mournin’; I kept a stiff upper lip. “Cupid,” I says to myself, “allus remember that the gal that’s hard t’ ketch is the best kind when oncet you’ve got her.” And I sit down and writ the foreman of the Mulhall outfit. (By now, my arm was all healed up fine.)
Wal, when I went over to the post-office a little bit later on, the post-master tole me that Sewell’d just got a letter from Macie!–but it hadn’t seemed t’ chirp the ole man up any. And they was one fer Mrs. Trowbridge, too, he says; did I want to look at it?