Heart of the West

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The black-mitted hand of the old pleader gently touched the breast of
the man she addressed. Very earnest and candid her old, worn face
looked. In her rusty black dress and antique bonnet she sat, near the
close of a long life, and epitomised the experience of the world.
Still the man to whom she spoke gazed above her head, contemplating
the silent son of the old mother.

"What does the marshal say?" he asked. "Does he believe the advice is
good? Suppose the marshal speaks up and says if the talk's all right?"

The tall man moved uneasily. He fingered the badge on his breast for a
moment, and then he put an arm around the old woman and drew her close
to him. She smiled the unchanging mother smile of three-score years,
and patted his big brown hand with her crooked, mittened fingers while
her son spake.

"I says this," he said, looking squarely into the eyes of the other
man, "that if I was in your place I'd follow it. If I was a drunken,
desp'rate character, without shame or hope, I'd follow it. If I was in
your place and you was in mine I'd say: 'Marshal, I'm willin' to swear
if you'll give me the chance I'll quit the racket. I'll drop the
tanglefoot and the gun play, and won't play hoss no more. I'll be a
good citizen and go to work and quit my foolishness. So help me God!'
That's what I'd say to you if you was marshal and I was in your
place."

"Hear my son talkin'," said the old woman softly. "Hear him, sir. You
promise to be good and he won't do you no harm. Forty-one year ago his
heart first beat ag'in' mine, and it's beat true ever since."

The other man rose to his feet, trying his limbs and stretching his
muscles.

"Then," said he, "if you was in my place and said that, and I was
marshal, I'd say: 'Go free, and do your best to keep your promise.'"

"Lawsy!" exclaimed the old woman, in a sudden flutter, "ef I didn't
clear forget that trunk of mine! I see a man settin' it on the
platform jest as I seen son's face in the window, and it went plum out
of my head. There's eight jars of home-made quince jam in that trunk
that I made myself. I wouldn't have nothin' happen to them jars for a
red apple."

Away to the door she trotted, spry and anxious, and then Calliope
Catesby spoke out to Buck Patterson:

"I just couldn't help it, Buck. I seen her through the window a-comin'
in. She never had heard a word 'bout my tough ways. I didn't have the
nerve to let her know I was a worthless cuss bein' hunted down by the
community. There you was lyin' where my shot laid you, like you was
dead. The idea struck me sudden, and I just took your badge off and
fastened it onto myself, and I fastened my reputation onto you. I told
her I was the marshal and you was a holy terror. You can take your
badge back now, Buck."

With shaking fingers Calliope began to unfasten the disc of metal from
his shirt.

"Easy there!" said Buck Patterson. "You keep that badge right where it
is, Calliope Catesby. Don't you dare to take it off till the day your
mother leaves this town. You'll be city marshal of Quicksand as long
as she's here to know it. After I stir around town a bit and put 'em
on I'll guarantee that nobody won't give the thing away to her. And
say, you leather-headed, rip-roarin', low-down son of a locoed
cyclone, you follow that advice she give me! I'm goin' to take some of
it myself, too."

"Buck," said Calliope feelingly, "ef I don't I hope I may--"

"Shut up," said Buck. "She's a-comin' back."