Walkin’ up the track afterwards, I remarked, casual like, that they wasn’t many women nicer ’n Mrs. Bridger.
“They’s one thing I like about her,” says the sheriff, “–she’s got eyes like the kid.”
(Dang the kid!)
Wal, me and Macie and them four sparkers wasn’t the only folks that thought the widda was mighty nice. She’d made lots of friends at the section-house since she come. The section-boss’s wife said they was nobody like her, and so did all the greaser women at the tie-camp. She was so handy with a needle, and allus ready to cut out calico dingusses that the peon gals could sew up. When they’d have one of them everlastin’ fiestas of theirn, she’d make a big cake and a keg of lemonade, and pass it ’round. And when you consider that a ten-cent package of cigareets and a smile goes further with a Mexican than fifty plunks and a cuss, why, you can git some idear of how that hull outfit just worshipped her.
Wal, they got in and done her a lot of good turns. Put up a fine chicken-coop, the section-boss overseein’ the job; and, one Sunday, cleaned out her cellar. Think of it! (Say! fer a man to appreciate that, he’s got to know what lazy critters greasers is.) Last of all, kinda to wind things up, the cholos went out into the mesquite and come back with a present of a nice black-and-white Poland China hawg.
Wal, she was tickled at that, and so was the kid. (Hairoil Johnson was shy a pig that week, but you bet he never let on!) The gang made a nice little pen, usin’ ties, and ev’ry day they packed over some feed in the shape of the camp leavin’s.
The widda was settled fine, had half a dozen hens a-settin’ and some castor beans a-growin’ in the low spots next her house, when things begun to come to a haid with the calendar gents. I got it straight from her that in just one solitary week, she collected four pop-the-questions!
She handed out exac’ly that many pairs of mittens–handed ’em out with such a sorry look in them kind eyes of hern, that the courtin’ quartette got worse in love with her ’n ever. Anybody could a’ seen that with one eye. They all begun shavin’ twicet a week, most ev’ry one of ’em bought new things to wear, and–best sign of any–they stopped drinkin’! Ev’ry day ’r so, back they’d track to visit the widda.
She didn’t like that fer a cent. Wasn’t nary one of ’em that suited her, and just when the chickens ’r the cholo gals needed her, here was a Briggs City galoot a-crossin’ the yard.
“Sorry,” she says to Macie, “but I’ll have to give them gents they walkin’-papers. If I don’t, I won’t never git a lick done.”