Miss Arabella Smithers. She runs the local eatin' place, and just loves to feed trail-hungry hombres. Come along, Mr. Wellkins."
"I'd be pleased iffen you'd call me Archie," I says.
"Archie it is, then," says my new friend and we proceeds down the street, with Biter on our tails.
Well, it warn't no more than a little piece until we reached the Red Rooster, just about the purtiest little shack that I'd ever seen, with the roof all painted a bright red and with lace curtains at the winders. I followed Shorty inside, after givin' Biter stern warning not to eat no passing horses—he settled hisself on the porch and commenced to chewin' on a fence post instead, his buffalo laig bein' long gone. "I'll send you out a bite to eat," I promised him.
Inside the Red Rooster, they was a few tables with chairs around 'em, and the most delicious smells comin' from the back that I ever had the pleasure to smell—and if you recall, my own mamma was the finest cook for miles around at Grizzly Branch. The place was might near empty, and for some unknown reason, the couple of fellers what was there got up and took off, leavin' perfectly good food a'laying on their plates. Outside, they give out with the strangest squeals and squawks, and I could hear 'em runnin' as fast as they could up the sidewalks towards t'other side a town.
"Now, what coulda got into them fellers?" I asked Shorty.
Shorty looked me up and down. "I couldn't say, Archie," he says in the strangest tone. "I couldn't say."
Just then, the without-a-doubt purtiest little woman what I ever done see in all my born days sashayed into the room. Her hair was as gold as a Texas sunset, and her eyes was that blue-green that some cactuses gets along about that same time a day, and her dress was a pale yellow like squash blossoms, and her bosom...well, they weren't nothing that I could see that could stand improving on her, and that's a fact.
"Howdy, gentlemen," she says, and I'll be hornswoggled iffen her voice weren't as purty as her face. "What can I do for you?"
"Howdy, Miss Arabella," says Shorty, a'takin' off his hat. I took my own off in a powerful hurry, blushin' that I'd not already done it afore now—but that was how she struck me, all of a heap at once, as you might say.
"This here's my new friend, Mr. Archibald Wellkins," continues Shorty, waving his hand in an airy kind a fashion that I purely admired. "Me and Archie, why we're a mite hungry, and would appreciate some of your fine vittles."
"Why, certainly, and what would you care to partake of, Mr. Wellkins?" says Miss Arabella, her eyes all a'twinklin' and her little mouth all drawn up in the pertest little bow you could imagine.
"Why, whatever might be most convenient," I says, "and I'd be powerful pleased iffen you could see your way clear to call me Archie, ma'am."
"Why, it'd be my pleasure," says Miss Arabella, and she stroked my arm with one of her dainty little fingers. "My, ain't you the one? I don't believe I ever seen anyone like you in my place."
"Well, ma'am," and I could feel myself blushing, "I ain't never been in an establishment near as nice and pleasant as this, so that makes us even, I'd say."
Miss Arabella give a purty little laugh and disappeared into the back through a red-checked curtain that swayed behind her. I could catch a faint whiff of something that smelled better'n a pan of catfish fryin', and I believe it musta been her.
"Well, whataya think of Miss Arabella?" asked Shorty as he sat hisself down at one a the little table that were dotted around the room. Then, before I could say a word, he jumps up and races over to the table where them gents had been a sittin' when we walked in. Seizing their plates, which was still almost full of food, he give me a wink and took the plates outside so's Biter could have him a little bit to eat too.
I took it right kindly of him.
When he'd come back, I'd sat myself down on a stout kinda bench what ran down one side a the room, seein' as how the little chairs didn't look like they was up to my weight. I was wonderin' how I'd had the luck to reach a town full of little people like myself on my first try, so's not to feel too out a place, me bein' so runty and all.
Just as Shorty seats hisself acrost the table from me, that checked curtain swayed again, and Miss Arabella arrived with a tray in her two hands. The most delicious smells wafted from the plates that was on it, and I could feel my mouth fill up with water, seein' as how it'd been three-four hours since I'd et.
"Here you go, gentlemen," says Miss Arabella, setting the tray down, "and I've got a big ole pot of coffee brewin' too. Just you tuck into these vittles for a spell, and I'll see what I can round up for dessert."
"Thankee, ma'am," I says and took her at her word.
Well, it didn't take no time atall to clear away that food, nor the next four trays full that she brought out neither. I saved all the steak bones and, in between tray deliveries, passed 'em out the winder to Biter to gnaw on. Miss Arabella finished up our lunch with a dish pan full a peach cobbler swimmin' with butter, over which she poured a pitcher a milk. I swear to goodness, that was the best meal I'd had in my life, and not least cause a the pretty lady what cooked and served it to me.
When Miss Arabella had disappeared to fetch our coffee, I gets up my nerve and asks Shorty, "I reckon Miss Arabella's got all kinds a fellers a'courtin' of her, her bein' sech a cook and so purty and all?"
"Well, now, I tells you this, Archie," says Shorty. "It's a sad story. Miss Arabella had her a beau, but he took up with some scarlet woman two towns over, and Miss Arabella ain't never got over it."
"Took up with some other woman?" I asks, amazed—and a mite confused, not knowing that women came in scarlet, having only seen the usual shades. "What kinda fool would do something like that, to a purty little lady what can cook like a angel?"
Shorty shook his head in disbelief. "Ain't it the truth? But left her he did, and she ain't been happy since. Why, I wish she could find herself a new beau, someone who'd take care of her and appreciate her and all."
Well, I didn't say nothing, but my mind was a'workin', I can tell you. Here was I, not a big feller, but not too bad a catch, and I'd purely love to soothe the broken heart of that purty little lady, yep, and eat her cookin' too.
I opened my mouth to say so to Shorty, but shut it agin with a snap when Miss Arabella arrived back with our coffee. "Well, gentlemen, did you have a plenty?"
"It was the best meal I ever put tooth to, ma'am," I says, digging in my pocket for a silver dollar and tossin' it on the table so that it rang like a bell. "And I'd purely love to eat like that all the days of my life," I continued with a meaningful look.
Miss Arabella gave a tinkly little laugh and scooped up the dollar. "Let me fetch you yore change," she says, turning away to that goldarned curtain agin.
"No change necessary, ma'am, for a fine meal like that," I says, and she turns around right quick like.
"Why, thank you, Mr...Archie," says she, and gives me a smile. "You just come on in and eat whenever you like, you hear me?"
"Yes'm, I hear," I says, feeling the blush rise up my face for about the dozenth time that day. "I'll be proud to do it."
Just then, a noise outside in the street made her purty little face go pale. It was a voice, a shoutin' and a yellin' at the top of its lungs.
"Arabella!" cries the voice. "Arabella!"
"Tarnation," whispers Miss Arabella, "if that ain't Buster Braddock!"
I cast a quick look at Shorty, who gives me a nod.
"That's him," he mouthed.
Well, I wasn't going to let my new lady—for I'd already decided in my mind that I was a goin' to court Miss Arabella—be insulted by some man who liked his women scarlet. I took her little hand and give it a squeeze.
"Don't you worry none, ma'am," I whispered. "Biter won't let nobody in who you don't want in, and even iffen he does, I'll be right happy to pound any man what might want to insult you."
Miss Arabella drew herself up like a peacock, and the color came into her pretty cheeks.
"Mister Wellkins," she says, right cold, "I choose who comes into my esta
blishment, and who don't. I'll thank you to leave my business to me, if you please."
Well. I could feel my heart near to bustin' inside my chest. Here was I, ready to leap to her defense, and Miss Arabella was a tellin' me to leave her business alone. What could I do, I asks myself? Orders from a lady is orders what has to be obeyed, as my mamma had always pounded into my head, more'n once with a sledge hammer.
I took my hat, grabbed Shorty by one arm, ignorin' the squeak a protest he give me, and gathering up what was left a my dignity, stalked out of the Red Rooster.
Outside, Biter was a growlin' at a tallish man with green eyes. "Down, boy," I ordered. "We know when we're not wanted, don't we?"
So me and Biter and Shorty proceeded down the street, to the Silver Dollar Saloon, where I commenced to drink away my sorrows. Them what says that in the process, I broke a number of arms and laigs, as well as coming near to destroying the entire establishment, is wrong. I can't help it if I gets a mite rowdy when my heart is broke, and them fellers shouldn't a been teasin' of me in my condition.
But I will admit, by the time I left town to resume my travels, Dry Gulch Station had found out that Archibald Wellkins weren't no man to trifle with.
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About the author of No Man to Trifle With
K.G. McAbee has had several books and nearly a hundred short stories published, some of them quite readable. She takes her geekdom seriously, never misses a sci-fi con, loves dogs and