During all those months neither Madge's aunt nor her lover had done anything. living well off Madge's earnings, and then one night while both lay in a drunken sleep, Madge bought a horse and rode out of town. In Austin she hired the widow of an Irish miner and an old Negro who drove the rig for them and played a banjo. Madge, had been fourteen at the time, prematurely wise, prematurely cynical. Bookings or theatres were no concern of hers. For the next two years she had successfully eluded her aunt and her friend, doing her act wherever a crowd could be assembled, working from loading platforms, piles of lumber, stumps in the woods, in barrooms, cafes, even in livery stables. She looked younger than she was; she laughed, she was gay, and she sang. She sang the songs the miners remembered from their earlier years. She brought back memories of home, and they loved her for it. Most of the crowds had money, and they had few places to spend it. They filled the collection hat with coins, bills, nuggets, even small sacks of dust.
