Part 2

“Miss Hoyt, you better not stay in Oakwood after this,” I says. “I am leavin’ also, and if you like I will take you over to the county seat to the railroad.”

“All right,” she agrees, and she went and packed her bag. In a half hour we rode out of Oakwood and took the trail for the county seat. It was at sunset.

Carol was on the bronc in front of me, with my arms around her to steady her. “I’m sorry to have to hold you like this, but it can’t be helped,” I apologizes. And she says it was all right.

We rode for a long while, and the conversation was zero. At last I speaks up.

“I told you my name was Joe Smith, but it is not true. I am Joe Caswell, better known as Trigger Caswell.” And I went on and told her all about it--how between spells of cow-punchin’ I went around gamblin’, playin’ crooked if the other fellow started the dirty work, fightin’ and raisin’ hell in general. “So I am not much, you see,” I finishes. “And I’m sorry for havin’ deceived you, Miss Hoyt.”

“You’ve been wonderful to me,” she says kindly. Her face was close to mine, my arms were around her and her hair blew against my cheek. My heart pounded like a hammer, and it was all I could do to keep from pressin’ her close to me and sayin’ that I loved her. I was wild about her, I’d pulled her out of a jam, and by doin’ so had lost her for good. It was a tough break. But I kept cool as ice, and says, “I think a lot of you, Miss Hoyt. It’s too bad we won’t ever see each other any more.”

“Why not? What do you mean?” she asks, surprised.

“Why, you told me that a fellow must be a perfect gentleman, not gamble or fight or anything, or else you wouldn’t have anything to do with him. I have just got done bustin’ all the rules in your calendar, so I guess that finishes me with you.”

Carol raised her eyebrows. “Why, I never said such a thing!” she declares. “I said that I liked men who were strong and brave, who could hold their own with other men, at gambling, or fighting, or anything.”

I could hardly believe my ears. “You said that?”

“Yes,” she says calmly. “You must have misunderstood me.”

We rode on, while I tried to puzzle it out. First she said one thing and then another, and a man couldn’t tell where he was at. And, anyway, I could not call her a liar. Well, women have always been a mystery to me.

One thing was clear--even though I wasn’t a perfect gentleman by a hell of a sight, I was still in the runnin’. And Carol was lookin’ at me sidewise out of the corners of her eyes, and there was a tender look on her face, and she seemed sweeter than ever before. So after a while I took a deep breath. “Miss Hoyt----” I says.

“Please call me Carol, Joe,” says she.

“Carol,” says I, “I love you.”

For a long time she didn’t answer, and I begun to think she had not heard. Then at last she turned and faced me, smilin’, and says, “Joe, you are a big fool.”

“Why?” I asks, dumfounded.

Her warm arms went around my neck. “Can’t you see,” she says, “that I love you, too?”

“Oh,” says I. Then I drew her close in my arms, and kissed her lips. And my bronc Henry did not notice, but went ploddin’ along just like before.

Three miles more. It was twilight by now. “Carol, you can reform me partly, but I will never be a perfect gentleman,” says I.

“Let us hear no more about that,” she answers.

Another mile, and the buildin’s of the county seat came in sight. “We will go there and get married, Carol,” says I.

“Yes, Joe,” says she.

And we did.

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the First December number of _The Popular Magazine_.]