“Accept me!” wailed Ren. “Dog-gone it, Sig, she didn’t wait fer that. She took me fer granted! She said—oh Lord! She said she didn’t care if I did used to act wild and shoot Chinamen and Greasers. Can yuh beat it, Sig? She gits me by th’ arm and leads me ’way off down th’ road—it was awful hot in that church and th’ hooch gits to bubblin’, and I ain’t noways to blame—leads me to that old cottonwood tree, which th’ lightnin’ hit last summer, and sits me down on uh log. Cripes! Why can’t lightnin’ hit twice in th’ same place? Then she—aw, I dunno—I do know that in th’ argument I didn’t have no more chance than uh snowball in Yuma!”

“Goin’ to marry her, Ren?”

“Not by a danged sight!” wailed Ren. “Mebby she’ll marry me though.”

Sig took a deep breath and the strains uh “Moonlight” permeated the room. Ren slipped his boot off sort-a unconcerned like and, “Bing!” Sig saw it comin’ and ducked off the other side and the boot hit the other side and started the nails.

“Hey!” yelled the voice of the harness drummer who was in the next room. “Cut out th’ orchestra practise, you drunken sheep-herders!”

“That,” states Ren, “makes me forget personal animosities, Sig. Here’s yore gun. Pull jist below that bunch uh cauliflower pitchers on th’ wall paper and it’ll jist about rake his bunk. Ready?”

Th’ door of th’ opposite room closed quickly and th’ drummer padded off down stairs and slept in uh chair.

“Sig,” says Ren, as he rolls into bed, “I’ll allus blame my downfall on uh quirt.”

“Misspelled,” mumbled Sig. “Should ’a’ been ‘quart.’”

The next mornin’ Sig saddled his horse and sat down in the stable door to roll a smoke.

“Ren, yo’re uh lucky devil,” he stated.

Ren dropped his latigo strap and stared at Sig.

“What do yuh mean?”

“Have another aig, Renley?” mimicked Sig. “Them cakes is all cold. Let me git yuh some hot ones, Renley. Take all th’ cream yuh can use, there’s a-plenty. Have some more nice maple sirup, Renley.”

“Sig!” Ren snapped his cinch hook and walked over to th’ door.

 Prev. P 6/15 next