“Maud,” I says, as I loped fer town, “Maud, I’m shore feazed! I been believin’, since I got back from Noo York, that it was settled I was to marry Mace. And here, if I don’t watch out, that Injun-giver’ll take her back. I was a blamed idjit to give him any love-talk. The only thing he cares fer is money–money!” Wal, some men ’re like that–and tighter’n a wood-tick. When they go to pay out a dollar, they hole on to it so hard they plumb pull it outen shape, yas, ma’am. Why, I can recollect seein’ dollars that looked like the handle of a jack-knife.
But if I was brash in front of Sewell, I caved in all right when I got to Briggs City. Say! did you ever have the blues–so bad you didn’t want to eat, and you didn’t want to talk, and you didn’t want to drink, but just wanted to lay, nose in the pilla, and think and think and think? Wal, fer three days, that was me!
And I was still sullin’ when Sheriff Bergin come stompin’ in with a copy of the Goldstone Tarantula. “Here’s bum luck!” he growls. “A-course Briggs couldn’t hump herself none; but that jay town down the line has to go have a boom.”
“Reg’lar rip-snorter of a Kansas boom. Some Chicago fellers with a lot of cash has turned up and is a-buyin’ in all the sand. Wouldn’t it make y’ sick?”
I reached fer that paper with both fists. Yas, there it was–a piece about so long. “Goldstone offers the chanst of a lifetime,” it read. “Now is when a little money’ll make a pile. Land is cheap t’-day, but later on it’ll bring a big price.”
I got on to my feet. They was about a quarter of a’ inch of stubble on my face, and I was as shaky as a quakin’ asp. But I had my spunk up again. “Ain’t I got a little money,” I says, “–that nest-aig? Wal, I’ll just drop down to Goldstone, and, if that boom is bony fido, and growin’, I’ll git in on it.”
Next mornin’, I went over to the deepot, borraed some paper from the agent, and writ Mace a note. “Little gal,” I says in the letter, “don’t you go back on me. I’m prepared to work my fingers down to the first knuckle fer you, and it’s only right you’ paw should want you took care of good.”
Then Number 201 come in and I hopped abroad. “It’s land ’r no lady,” I says to myself, puttin’ my little post-card photo of Macie into my pocket as the train pulled out; “–land ’r no lady.”
But when I hit Goldstone, I plumb got the heart-disease. The same ole long street was facin’ the track; the same scatterin’ houses was standin’ to the north and south; and the same bunch of dobe shacks was over towards the east, where the greasers lived. The town wasn’t changed none!