“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.