"Matter? Matter?" shrieked the intruder. "You do fine to ask, don't you, Lafe Johnson? What about me that you left in Abilene, back in Texas?

Hey? How about li'l' Charlie and James, that's the dead image of you?

He's been a-cryin' for you, Lafe. Just after he got over the measles--oh, you wretch!"

"Abilene?" repeated the sheriff dully. "Abilene? Charlie and James? Why, I was never in Abilene longer than half an hour in my life, ma'am. You can see for yourself--"

Hetty, who had shrunk back with a startled air at the entrance of the fat woman, now moved suddenly and pulled up the veil, disclosing the round, shining visage of the Anvil cook.

"Why!" said Horne. "If it ain't old Dave!"

Instead of throwing him into the street or into jail, as he deserved, the company permitted Dave to retire with honor to the outer circle, where he divested himself of skirt, waist and plumed hat, and was heard to entreat one of the boys to help loosen the belt with which he had painfully compressed his figure for the event. They could hear him squeal, pretending to be tickled. All agreed that his portrayal of feminine behavior was a marvel of similitude.

Neither Lafe nor the bride took the interruption in ill part. The justice of the peace only appeared chagrined--Turner was in an agony of fear lest he lose his place--but even he managed to join in the laugh.

The two faced him again. Three minutes later they were man and wife.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE BRIDE IS LOST

For reasons of economy there was to be no wedding trip, except the drive to their home in the Canon. Later, perhaps, they would journey to some railroad town to shop, and--come a good year--Lafe would take her to a Middle West city--"to the East," they called it in Badger.

A buckboard was in waiting, a pair of spirited young bays straining against the men who held them. Sheltering Hetty with his body from a shower of rice and old shoes, the sheriff and his bride sped down the path from the Widow Brown's. He lifted her into the buckboard and picked up the reins. Then a cloud of dust swept down on them, and out of the cloud came a rattle of hoofs. A rope sped, and the sheriff was jerked off the seat.

"Help, Horne!" he cried. "They've got me."

The treacherous Horne gave succor by grinning while the cowboys bound the groom. Hetty had disappeared, whisked away in the turmoil. A man was driving the buckboard toward the company's corrals, but of the bride there was not a trace. Stealing her from her lord's arms is one of the merriest jests we have.

"Well," said Lafe good-naturedly, "I reckon it's one on me. Turn me loose. I buy."

An hour went by, and he endeavored to escape from his friends that he might rejoin his wife. They would not hear of it. When Lafe insisted and left despite them, he was unable to find Hetty. For another hour he kept patient, dawdling in Turner's place and giving as good as he got in the way of badinage. Everybody in town seized the opportunity to rally him while he waited. The sheriff sat on the counter, kicking his heels against the boards, and never once lost countenance.

About five o'clock Mrs. Horne ran in hot haste to her husband.

"Hetty," she panted, "where is she?"

"How should I know?" said Horne. "You had her last. Didn't you and Mrs.

Brown hide her out?"

"We locked her in Mrs. Turner's house. She's gone. She isn't there. Oh, what shall I do? She's gone."

"Pshaw!" the cowman said. "She's all right. She's just given you the slip to go find Lafe."

Still wringing her hands, Mrs. Horne returned to her ally, the Widow, and they hunted the house and Mrs. Turner's house all over again. Hetty was not to be found.

"Boys, a joke's a joke and I can take mine with the rest," said Lafe--in proof whereof he gave vent to a hollow "ha, ha"--"but this has gone further. I want my wife. I want Hetty. Where is she?"

It was the supper hour and they were collected at the Fashion, and still no sign of the bride. Even Horne began to look anxious. His wife and the Widow melted into tears, bitterly bewailing their share in this unfortunate practical joking. Lafe indulged in no reproaches when the situation was explained to him, but started on a systematic raking of Badger. Search parties were instantly formed and not a corner of the town was overlooked.

One of the Lazy L outfit--he who had given the milch cow--became a trifle too acrimonious in his denunciation of the manner in which the Anvil men had behaved. They had stepped beyond the bounds of gentlemanly comportment, he contended. There were high words, but the men separated.

Later they met again in the Cowboys' Rest and a shooting was imminent. A boy summoned the sheriff.

"Don't, boys," said Lafe, entering hastily. "Put up the gun, Dave. No shooting now. Be good boys. If anything happened--if anybody got hurt--Hetty, it'd break her all up."

The combatants reluctantly surrendered their weapons and as reluctantly shook hands. Each was hurriedly impressed into a search party and they were led in opposite directions.

Night found the citizens of Badger beating the bushes and peering into fence corners and yelling Hetty's name. Despairing of finding her in town, the sheriff and Horne made a circuit of the place. It had to be done slowly, as the ground was rough and one was apt to fall over mounds of tin cans and other debris.

They were about a quarter of a mile beyond Badger's limits, when Lafe halted suddenly.

"She's somewhere near," said he.

"Why, how do you figure it? I can't see my hand in front of my face."

"Figure it?" said the sheriff, who was trembling. "Man, I can feel it."

He cupped his hands and shouted--"Hetty! Oh--Hetty!"

"Here I am," said a drowsy voice. "Is that you, Lafe? Gracious, what's happened? It's dark."

There was the bride, sitting beside a mesquite bush and rubbing her eyes. They ran to her. She got up and limped a few steps.

"My foot's gone to sleep," she exclaimed.

With Lafe holding her on one side and Horne pacing austerely on the other, she walked into town. Why had she run away? She had run away from Mrs. Horne and the Widow because she perceived what they planned to do.

For an hour or two she waited for Lafe outside the town and then grew very sleepy. So she lay down beside the bush.

"I knew you would find me," said she.

Horne began to whistle, not caring to hear the sheriff's a.s.surance that he would find her at the ends of the world--wherever those be.

"What time is it? Lafe, dear, I'm so hungry. I feel like a steak," said Hetty.

While she was partaking of this with a very unbridelike appet.i.te, and Lafe was doing his best opposite her, a messenger brought the sheriff an envelope. It was unaddressed, but there was a note inside--

Here's wishing you'll be happy. Adios. I won't bother you till after the honeymoon.

STEVE.

While he was puzzling over it, Hetty asked what was the matter. He pa.s.sed her the paper.

"Wrote it in jail, I reckon," he said.

"Oh, Lafe," said Turner, sticking his head inside the door, "here's a telegram for you."

It was from the county seat.