The Sheriff of Badger Part 23

"Runnin' by? Runnin'--why, man alive," croaked the driver, "that doggone ol' mule you rode used to pull this stage. And he's been daid over a year."

CHAPTER XXIII

THE WEDDING

When in a discursive mood, Badger was wont to say, with the aggressive local pride common to new communities, that the world had produced three great men--Julius Caesar, Theodore Roosevelt and Lafe Johnson. They accorded this ranking to Julius rather reluctantly, he having been a "foreigner." Imagine, then, their feelings of helpless amazement when they learned that Lafe was about to leave them.

"You don't need no sheriff here now," said he. "Things have got so peaceful that what you want is a dog-catcher and a pound-man. I ain't a candidate for that job. Go ahead and elect a city marshal, and let him do the ch.o.r.es when he ain't busy on anything else."

He was obdurate in this resolution. To his intimates he confessed that the hazards and journeyings of the office made it unfit for occupancy by a married man. And, now that Moffatt was safely in jail and the country cleared of its worst element, he proposed to become a married man. It was Hetty who steeled him in this resolve, when the pleadings of his friends and fellow-townsmen appeared to have him wavering. She had her eyes fixed on Lafe's place beyond the Willows as on a haven of rest, and the Widow Brown gathered from her conversation that Hetty's notion of a respectable and happy citizen was a farmer with one hundred and sixty acres and a flock of children. She mentioned this to Hetty, who grew crimson and requested her to talk sense.

So Lafe resigned as sheriff of Badger, and they presented him with a large watch which ticked so loudly that he could not sleep with it under his pillow; and several staid, responsible property holders got very drunk indeed.

The wedding was fixed for the day following that on which he laid down the cares of office. He and Hetty were talking over final arrangements on the eve.

"I've got a surprise for you," said Lafe.

"What is it?"

"Ol' man Horne has bought the Anvil range. He's made me boss, too. A hundred a month."

Hetty exclaimed in delight as Johnson proudly exhibited a letter received quite three weeks before, which he had been holding back in order to cap his resignation. That made everything smooth and safe for them. They would have their home in Hope Canon beyond the Willows, and good fresh beef and b.u.t.ter and milk. a.s.suredly Lafe would himself become a rich cowman some day. Hetty was sure of it.

Their wedding-morn broke, sullen and muttering like a man heavy with sleep. Badger kicked off the blankets, sat up to ascertain just what head it had contracted, and asked hoa.r.s.ely for an eye-opener. An eye-opener is a drink of undiluted whisky, gulped down before breakfast.

Then it stepped out into the road, c.o.c.ked an eye aloft and opined that the weather looked bad for the sheriff's wedding. They will always call him "sheriff" in Badger.

Turner, the storekeeper, announced at a very early hour that it was mere folly trying to work, and n.o.body need expect him to attend to business that day or for several to come, perhaps. Thereupon he shut up shop and carried a graphophone on to the front porch. It played "In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree" eleven times, while the express agent's dog squatted in the road, with its nose tilted back, and howled dismally.

About noon, nine of the Anvil boys rode into town to grace the occasion.

They had on clean shirts, and their boots were greased and odorous.

Following them came Mr. and Mrs. Horne in a buckboard. The couple had driven forty miles to do honor to the new range boss, and Mrs. Horne lost no time in repairing to the Widow Brown's to a.s.sist in attiring the bride. She found that young woman aggravatingly cool--almost placid.

Next there arrived the Floyds, with their son Tommy, now grown to overalls and boastful talk.

All the male population of Badger was gathered in the Fashion and in the Cowboys' Rest across the street. Thither hastened Horne and Floyd to hearten the sheriff, but they discovered only their own men and a crowd of merry-makers. Escaping from them in good time, the two sought Turner, who, as justice of the peace, was to perform the ceremony. The storekeeper was found crouched behind some goods in the back portion of his place. He was perspiring profusely. Some fiend in human form had warned Bob not to mix the burial service with the marriage ceremony, as he had done on another occasion best forgotten, and the justice of the peace could not get the fearful idea out of his head. He was therefore trying to commit as much as possible of the service to memory.

"You're looking pretty slick, Bob. Where's Lafe?" asked Horne.

"He's upstairs. I hid him out in that empty room where we keep the stiffs," said Turner, hastily secreting the book. By "stiffs" he referred to the custom of holding the bodies of gentlemen who met violent deaths, until a coroner's jury p.r.o.nounced on them.

"That's a good place for him," said Floyd.

They started upstairs. "Wait," cried Turner. "I'll take him his dinner."

The trio found Lafe sitting on a stool. He had on a new suit and his hair was plastered down over his forehead, but despite this brave show, he was wretched, gazing miserably out of the window into the street, where numbers of his friends were surging up and down and across. As they entered, a cowboy topped an outlaw mule and the frenzied shrieks of encouragement to the rider drew Horne and Floyd and Turner to look. Then his employer obtained a close view of the sheriff's face.

"You sick?" he demanded.

"No-oo. Why?"

"Then, man alive, brace up. You ain't going to be hung."

Lafe smiled in ghastly fashion and essayed to eat of the steak and vegetables which the justice had brought. It was a vain pretense. His throat was dry and he could not swallow without straining. After watching him a while, Horne suggested that they all take a drink.

"I find a touch of rye helps me a heap when I'm poorly," said he.

To this proposal n.o.body objected.

"Got the ring?" said Horne.

Again the sheriff gave a sickly grin and stuck his forefinger into a waistcoat pocket. Instantly his face turned a pea-green shade.

"Why," he exclaimed, "I done put it there not five--" He started going through every pocket with shaking hands.

"Jumpin' Jupiter!" said Turner. "You done give me that ring to keep for you an hour ago, Lafe. He kept taking it out so often to look at it, I was scared he'd wear it out, Horne."

In any report of a wedding, it is proper to itemize the plunder. We will therefore leave the bridegroom and his three tried friends to pa.s.s the remaining hours playing "cold hands" with cards, whilst we take a peep into the Widow Brown's abode. Hetty is dressing by the aid of Mrs. Horne and Mrs. Floyd, and no peeping is permissible there. Out upon the thought! Suffice that she wore that day certain fine linen and fluffy creations, the like of which the ladies of Badger had never seen and of whose existence in wardrobes the male residents had no suspicion. Mrs.

Horne was vastly gratified.

The presents were laid out in the parlor--all but one. That one was given by the express agent, and was hidden deep in the barn, but rest a.s.sured that it will ultimately be taken to the house in Hope Canon.

Ever a facetious and far-sighted man, the express agent had sent a go-cart.

A piano lamp under a pink gla.s.s shade with green bead fringe centered the display. The fact that it was made for gas--and they would be lucky, indeed, always to have oil in the Canon--did not diminish its value in Hetty's eyes at all. Moreover, there was not a piano in Badger. Somebody had sent Lafe a silver-plated six-shooter; another, a chromo lithograph of the prophet Elijah caught up in a chariot of fire. To Hetty had come shawls and cruetstands, coffee pots and tidies and chair scarfs; also, plated cake dishes, cutlery and rugs. An erstwhile admirer from the Lazy L, who had partaken of many meals at the Fashion on her account, sent a milch cow, and for Lafe came a black saddler from Floyd. This was the horse that had carried the Lazy L boss across a swollen river on a certain occasion in which Johnson had figured, and he had often admired the beast. A very serviceable gift was that from Horne--a check for fifty dollars.

"Wilt thou have this woman to--"

They were standing side by side in the parlor of the Widow Brown's, under a wedding-bell made of cedar boughs, which was suspended from the ceiling by a wire. All Lafe's nervousness was gone. His face was stern, but there was a peaceful light in the eyes that was good to see.

Evidently Mrs. Horne thought so, for she and the Widow Brown cried softly and without ceasing. The bride was rather pale, but entirely composed. Only Turner and Horne fidgeted, the latter because his collar chafed him. Turner skimmed over the words and paused twice to whisper in an aside that he hoped to the Lord Lafe hadn't forgotten the ring.

"Wilt thou have this woman to--"

There was an inward surge, then a break in the ranks of the guests grouped behind the pair and at the door, and Turner paused with his hand raised.

"Hold on there! Hold on," cried a falsetto voice.

An enormously fat woman lurched through the company and confronted the groom. A felt hat with a red plume wagged rakishly on top of her head.

She had on a blue calico skirt, and her feet were large and bulbous.

They could not discern her features because of a veil.

"What's this?" said she in a high-pitched voice. "What's this, Lafe Johnson?"

"Ma'am?" said the sheriff.

"What does this mean? Who is this lady?"

"I don't take you, ma'am. This lady and me, we're just fixing to get married. What's the matter?"