All this time not a word 'd passed 'twixt Macie and her paw. The ole man was too stiff-necked t' give in and go to her. (He was figgerin' that she'd git tired and come home.) And Macie, she wasn't tired a blamed bit, and she was too stiff-necked t' give in and go t' Sewell. Wal, when the boss heerd about Up-State and Mace, you never _seen_ a man so sore. He said Up-State was aigin' her on, and no white man 'd do _that_. Y' see, he had some reason fer not goin' shucks on the singin' and actin' breed. We'd had two bunches of op'ra folks in Briggs at diff'rent times. One come down from Wichita, and was called "The Way to Ruin." (Wal, it shore looked its name!) The other was "The Wild West Troupe" from Dallas. This last wasn't West--it was from Noo York _di_rect--but you can bet you' boots it was _wild_ all right. By thunder! you couldn't 'a' helt nary one of them young ladies with a hoss-hair rope! But fer a week of Sundays, he didn't say nothin' to Up-State. He just boiled inside, kinda. Then one day--when he'd got enough steam up, I reckon,--why, he opened wide and let her go. "Up-State," he begun, "I'm sorry fer you, all right, but----" Up-State looked at him. "Sewell," he whispers, "I don't want _no_ man's pity." "Listen to me," says the boss. "Macie's my little gal--the only child I got left now, and I warn you not to go talkin' actress to her." "Don't holler 'fore you git hit," whispers Up-State, smilin'. The boss got worse mad then. "Look a-here," he says, "don't give me none of that. You know you lie----" Up-State shook his haid. "I'm not a man any more, Sewell," he whispers. "I'm just what's left of one. I didn't used to let _no_body hand out things that flat to me." I stuck in _my_ lip. (_One_ more time couldn't hurt.) "Now, Sewell," I says, "put on the brake." He got a holt on hisself then. "This ain't no josh to me, Cupid," he says. (He was tremblin', pore ole cuss!) "What you think I heerd this mornin'? Mace ain't makin' enough money passin' slumgullion to them passenger cattle all day, so she's a-goin' over to Silverstein's ev'ry night after this to fix up his books. I wisht now I'd never sent her t' business college." Just then-- "Sweet is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides On its fair, windin' way to the sea--" Up-State lent over, his elbows on his knees, and his face in his hands. The boss looked at me. I give a jerk of my haid to show him he'd best go. And he walked off, grindin' his teeth. It seemed to me I could hear Up-State whisperin' into his fingers. I stooped over. "What is it, pardner?" I ast. "It's full of home," he says, "--it's full of home! Cupid! Cupid!" (Darned if I don't wisht them lungers wouldn't come down here, anyhow. They plumb give a feller the misery.) Doc Trowbridge stopped by just then. "How you makin' it t'-day, Up-State?" he ast. Up-State got to his feet, slow though, and put a hand on Billy's shoulder. "The next sandstorm, ole man," he says; "the next sandstorm."