The Somerset reporter. [volume] (Skowhegan, Me.) 1868-1909, 1902-10-02
ALICIA'S
COWBOY
BY z. 8. WINTHROP
Copyright, 1901, bp E. S. Winthrop


1t needed no iurid posters spread
with bucking bronchos and rough rid.
ers of the world to announce that Buff
falo Bill was coming to town. The
small boy betrayed an almost pathetic
eagerness to render small services to
the heads of the households. The fam.
lily clothesline disappeared under the
barn to emerge later as q lariHt and to
violently choke the youngest hopeful
employed as a target In default of real
wild horses In the family back yard.
The older folk were not above being
interested In the matter. Paterfamilias
told how In his younger days he had
known a man who could shoot all
around Colonel Cody. The mother re
| counted, with faint blush on her
faded cheek, how she had crossed the
plains In 1873 and during a blizzard
had been saved from an untimely
death by the ministrations of young
| lieutenant. In fact. the very blue blan-
| ket under which her husband now took
his Sunday afternoon nap in the libra
| ry was a souvenir of her narrow es-
cape
| Between the two extremes the show
was at once a bait and reward. 1t
was the peace offering when Strephon
fought with Phyllis. 1t was a merit
badge when Phyllis would not quarrel.
Even Edward Thurston and Alicia
Peyton We're interested In the gaudy
pictures as they strolled silently along
In the mild spring air. Yet Thurston
had just asked certain fateful ques-
ton, and Miss Peytons NO had been
very decided.
Il like you better. perhaps, than any
man l know" she had said. Still lik-
ing isn't love, and the man L love must
be some one l can respect. You are a
nice boy, a good talker and have all
the advantages of birth and position.
That Is not enough. l want to marry a
mana real man, strong, reliant-llke
that man there" And she pointed to
the photographic reproduction of the
Rosa Bonheur painting of Cody.
But, Alicia" he urged, this is SO
foolish, you know. chap can't ride
broncho and wear chaps and spurs
when street car or cab is the prop
er thing and patent feathers and black
cloth are preferred. Let me show
you
She raised her hand in protest.
Please" she said, don't argue 1t
hurts me to say this. Don't make it
worse by continuing a conversation
that Is painful"
So he held his peace, but as they
walked slowly back to the house from
the park each fresh "stand" of bills
and Allcia's evident interest In them
increased the twinkle which had come
In Thurston's eye despite the blow to
his hopes
When they reached her door, he
would not enter, but as he took her
hand he asked: MAY l send you seats
for the Wild West? l have friends
shall not be able to be with you it
would give me pleasure to know you
were admlring the real man."
Don't" she urged. You are not
kind. | didn't mean that | wanted to
marry a cowboy, merely that | was
tired of the effeminate men of the cit
les, men who never do things, who are
content simply to exist, 1t Is not your
own fault that you are not other than
you are. 1t is the fault of our modern
training"
He laughed. ~ didn't mean to ques-
ton your judgment" he said. 81 will
send box over for the matinee. Then
you can take the little ones. Good
night"
He held her cool, slender hand for a
moment longer than was strictly good
form, then turned and went down the
street with a springy stride that argued
more strength than was made apparent
by the modern tailors arts.
Thursday afternoon the "show lots"
as the vacant field generally used for
exhibition purposes was called, were
crowded. Those who could afford to
patronize the entertainment were for
the most part already inside, Those
without the gates were those who,
lacking the price, lived in the hope
that some philanthropist would sud
denly happen along and invite them all
inside
Failing that, there was always the
noise OF the shooting. and the year be-
fore three clay pigeons had fallen out
side the fence, and portions had been
cherished In pocket museums of small
boys for weeks thereafter as an Offset
to the cartridge shells obtained by the
fortunate ones who had seen the show.
In a box affording an unobstructed
view of the field sat the Peyton family,
from Grandpa Peyton to Harry, the
four-year-old.
The younger ones were all impatient
for the performance to commence. The
band was something. But bands were
more common than cowboys. even
though this was cowboy band. What
they wanted were men who rode
horses Harry in particular was on
the ragged edge, and his nurse had
difficulty in keeping him from break
ing away in search of his hero. The
year before he had been adjudged too
young to attend.
The first band of Indians came dash
ing into the arena, turning the upper
curve just beyond the Peyton box, and
wheeling smartly into place. Harry