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"Now, this here Georgia girl, accordin' to all stories, has sung herself into about a quarter of a million dollars and four or five different husbands with that voice of hers; and that same 'Annie Laurie' song was largely responsible. Now, why, why, couldn't she have taken a fellow of her size, and not gone and made trouble for Tom Osby? It wasn't fair play.
They did not hear the door open behind them, did not hear the click of high bootheels on the floor, as there came toward them an unbidden spectator, who had by some slack servant been directed thither. The door did open. In it stood Tom Osby, unannounced. He was dressed in his best, which was not quite so picturesque as his worst, but which did not disguise him nor the region which was his home.
Why, man, say, when I think of what a time we all are going to have, you, and me, and Mac, and Tom Osby, and Dan Anderson, with all them things of our'n, and all these here things on the side champagne and all that, it looks like this world ain't run on the square, don't it?" I assured Curly that this had long been one of my own conclusions.
"I ain't in on writin' the letter," Curly decided; "I'll carry it, but my writin' is too sot, and so's my thinker." "Well, I ain't used my own thinker in this particular way for about twenty years," said Tom Osby, "although I did co'te two of my wives by perlite correspondence, something like this; and I couldn't see but what them wives lasted as good as any."
I been married four times, or maybe five, so what's a woman here or there to me? What is there to any woman to scare a feller, anyway?" "I'm damned if I know!" replied Dan Andersen; "there isn't of course there isn't, of course not. You're perfectly safe. Why, just go right on up. Have your sand along!" "Sure," said Tom Osby. "All right; I'll just mosey along up the trail after a while."
"She talks as though there were no business interests anywhere to be taken care of," grumbled her father. "Oh, now, interests ain't exclusive for the States," said Tom Osby. "You come all the way out here to steal a town, and you couldn't do it. Give the girl a month, an' she'll just about have the town or her and me together will. You settin' there talkin' about goin' home!
Coyotes you'd ought to heard 'em! When you wind her up plumb tight and turn the horn the right direction, you can hear her about a mile." "That," said Dan Anderson, "must have been a gladsome journey." "For sure," said Tom Osby. "Look at the reecords whole box of 'em. Some of the stylishest singers in the business are in here. Some of 'em's Dago, I reckon. Here's one, 'Ah, no Ginger."
Now that you've come, with talk of a railroad and all that " "Oh, well, you know, that's just talk. I'm not responsible for that." "I hope you like canned tomatoes," said Dan Anderson, "or, if you don't, that you're very fond of beefsteak. There won't be much else till Tom Osby gets back from Las Vegas with a load of freight. Tom Osby's our common carrier. I hope the new railroad will do as well."
For a time they were silent, as the well-worn wagon rolled along behind the long-stepping grays; but Tom Osby was patient. "A while ago," he resumed after a time, "you said 'we, and 'our railroad. That's mighty near right. You two folks right here in this wagon, yourself particular, can save that there railroad, and save Heart's Desire, both at the same time.
A laugh choked in his throat as he caught her once more in his arms. "It looks like Willie had made good!" said Tom Osby to Curly, as he took a swift glance back over his shoulder. But Constance and her lover had forgotten all the world, as they stepped out now into the glory of the twilight of Heart's Desire. "You remember," said he "up there the other time?"
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