Right after supper, that medicine outfit played in front of Silverstein's. The judge-lookin' feller beat the drum, the Injun blowed a big brass dinguss, the gal a clari'net, and the other two fellers some shiny instruments curlier'n a pig's tail. But it was bully, that's all _I_ got to say, and drawed like a mustard plaster. 'Cause whilst in Oklahomaw a _Injun_ show don't count fer much, bein' that we got more'n our fill of reds, all the same, with music throwed in, Briggs City was there. And Silverstein's hall was just jampacked. The front seats was took up by the town kids, a-course. Then come the women and gals,--a sprinklin' of men amongst 'em; behind _them,_ the cow-punchers. And in the back end of the place a dozen 'r so of niggers and cholos. Whilst all was a-waitin' fer the show to begin, the punchers done a lot of laughin' and cat-callin' to each other, and made some consider'ble noise. I was along with the rest, only up in one of the side windas, settin' on the sill and swingin' my hoofs. When the show opened, they was first a fine piece--a march, I reckon--by the band. All the time, more people was a-comin' in. 'Mongst 'em was Doc Trowbridge and Rose, and Up-State--he was that pore lunger that was here from the East, y' savvy. Next, right after them three, that Doc Simpson I was so all-fired stuck on. And, along with him, a gal. Wal, who do you think it was! _I_ knowed to oncet. They wasn't no mistakin' that slim, little figger and that pert little haid. It was _Her!_ "Cupid," whispered Hairoil Johnson (he was settin' byside me), "it looks to me like you didn't much discourage that Noo York doc who owns what's left of a toot buggy. Failin' to git the oldest gal out at the Bar Y, why, now he's a-sailin' 'round with the youngest one." I didn't say nothin'. I was a-watchin' where _she_ was. I wanted t' ketch sight of her face. "I devilled ole man Sewell about kickin' him out and then takin' him back," goes on Hairoil. "And Sewell said he was a punk doctor, but awful good comp'ny. Huh! Comp'ny ain't what _that_ dude's after. He's after a big ranch and a graded herd. It's a blamed pity you didn't git _him_ sent up t' Kansas City fer _re_pairs." The band was a-playin', but I didn't pay much attention to it. I kept a-watchin' that slim, little figger a-settin' next Simpson--a-watchin' till I plumb fergot where I was, almost. "Macie,--Macie Sewell." Just then, I'm another if she didn't look round! And square at _me!_ She wasn't smilin', just sober, and sorta inquirin'. Her eyes looked dark, and big. She had a square little chin, like the gals you see drawed in pictures, and some soft, white, lacey stuff was a-restin' agin her neck. They was two 'r three good-lookin' gals at the eatin'-house them days, and Carlota Arnaz was awful pretty, too. But none of 'em couldn't hole a candle t' _this_ one. Took in her cute little face whilst she looked straight back at me. Say! them eyes of hern come nigh pullin' me plumb outen that winda!