Read Ebook: Two fares east by Tuttle W C Wilbur C

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Ebook has 1923 lines and 47391 words, and 39 pages

"Wouldn't you ladies like to come up and see the bride?" she asked. "She's just simply a dream. Why, if I looked as pretty in wedding clothes as Peggy does, I'd turn Mormon."

Jim Wheeler watched them go up the stairs and heard their exclamations of astonishment. Out in the kitchen an improvised quartet was singing "Wait till the clouds roll by, Jennie." Jim Wheeler shook his head sadly.

"Don't seem to mind losing your daughter," he muttered.

Oh, but he did mind it. She would live in her own home. Her mother had been dead ten years. After her death it seemed to Jim Wheeler that nothing could ever fill that void. But Peggy had grown to womanhood, filling the old ranch-house with her joyful presence, and Jim Wheeler had thanked God for a daughter like her. Now she would go away to a home of her own.

Some one was knocking on the door, breaking in on Wheeler's thoughts. He opened the door for the minister of the Tumbling River country. Henry Lake was a tall, lean-faced man, near-sighted, dressed in a rusty suit of black. Weddings, funerals or Sunday sermons, he had worn that suit as long as any of them could remember.

He peered closely at Jim Wheeler, shoving out a bony hand. "Howdy, Jim," he said pleasantly.

"Hello, Henry. Got here at last, eh?"

The minister nodded slowly.

"My old horse isn't as fast as she used to be, Jim. We're both getting old, it seems. But--" he looked at his watch--"I'm near enough on time. Where's everybody?"

"Wimmin are upstairs with the bride, and the men--" Jim hesitated and glanced toward the kitchen door.

"Carry me-e-e-e ba-a-ack to ol' Virginny," wailed a tenor, while a baritone roared, "While the old mill wheel turns 'round, I'll love you, Ma-a-a-a-ary; when the bee-e-e-e-es--"

And then came the reedy falsetto of Hozie Wheeler--

"Da-a-a-arling, I am growing o-o-o-old."

The minister nodded slowly.

"The perfectly natural reaction, Jim. The sentiment contained in corn and rye."

"Like a little shot, Henry?"

"Not now, Jim; later, perhaps. Is the groom here yet?"

"Not yet. Him and Honey ought to be here any minute now."

The women were coming back down the stairs, and the minister went to shake hands with them. Aunt Emma cocked one ear toward the kitchen, and a look of consternation crossed her face. She grasped Jim by the arm and whispered in his ear:

"Shake Hozie loose, Jim! He's silver-threadin' already."

Jim nodded and went to the kitchen.

And while the Flying H resounded with good cheer, while more guests arrived and while Peggy Wheeler waited--Honey Bee buzzed angrily about Pinnacle City. Honey had just arrayed himself in a blue made-to-order suit, patent-leather shoes and a brown derby hat. Everything had come with the suit, and Honey cursed the tailor for having acute astigmatism.

The pants were a full six inches too short and at least that much too big around the waist. Honey managed to squeeze a number eight foot into the number six shoe. And the hat should have been a seven and one-quarter, instead of a six and seven-eighths.

Honey Bee was a medium-sized youth of twenty-five, with tow-colored hair, shading to a roan at the ends, blue eyes, tilted nose and a large mouth. The blue eyes were large and inquiring and the mouth grinned at everything. Honey was a top-hand cowboy, even if he was somewhat of a dreamer.

But just now there was no smile on Honey's mouth. He had hired a horse and buggy from the livery-stable and had tied the horse in front of the sheriff's office. It just happened that Joe Rich, the sheriff, was going to marry Peggy Wheeler, and had promised Honey to meet him at the office at half-past seven.

Every cowboy in the Tumbling River range envied Joe. Never had there been a lovelier girl than Peggy Wheeler, and none of the boys would admit that Joe was worthy of her.

"It's a love match, pure and simple," Honey had declared. "Peggy's pure and Joe's simple."

But just now Honey was calling Joe stronger things than simpleton. It was nearing eight o'clock, and no Joe in sight. The office was closed. Len Kelsey, Joe's deputy, was out at the Flying H, probably drinking more than was good for him.

Honey didn't like Len. Possibly it was because Honey thought that Joe should have appointed him as deputy. And it is barely possible that Joe would have appointed Honey, except that, in order to swing a certain element, he had made a pre-election promise to appoint Len.

Joe was barely twenty-three years of age. Too young, many of the old-timers said, to be a sheriff of Tumbling River. But Joe won the election. He was a slender young man, slightly above the average in height, with a thin, handsome face, keen gray eyes and a firm mouth. He had been foreman of the Flying H, and Uncle Hozie had mourned the passing of a capable cowhand.

Honey Bee sat in the buggy, resting his shining feet across the dashboard in order to lessen the pain. The coat was a little tight across the shoulders, and Honey wondered whether the tucks would show where he had gathered in the waistband of the trousers. His cartridge-belt made a decided bulge under his tight vest, but he had no other belt; and no cowboy would ever lower himself to wear suspenders. They were the insignia of a farmer.

It was eight o'clock by Honey's watch. He got out of the buggy and almost fell down. His feet had gone to sleep. And when he made a sudden grab for the buggy wheel he heard a slight rip in the shoulder-seam of his coat.

Honey had not seen Joe since about five o'clock, and something seemed to tell him that everything was not right. Joe slept in the office. He and Len Kelsey were together the last time Honey had seen them, and Joe said he was going to get a shave. But the barber shop was closed now.

Honey limped around to Joe's stable and found Joe's horse there. Then he went back to the buggy. It was after eight now, and the wedding was scheduled for eight-thirty. It was over two miles to the Flying H from Pinnacle City and Honey knew that the buggy horse was not a fast stepper.

Honey swore dismally and stood on one foot. He needed a big drink to kill the pain. Across the street was the Pinnacle bar, the most popular saloon in town. There was sure to be several men in there and they would be sure to make some remarks about Honey's clothes.

Farther down the street was the Arapaho bar. Honey did not like the place. "Limpy" Nelson owned the Arapaho, and Honey did not like Limpy. But Honey knew that no one would make remarks about his appearance down there, because Honey's friends frequented the Pinnacle--and friends were the only ones entitled to make remarks.

So Honey stifled his pride and went to the Arapaho, where he leaned against the bar. Old Limpy was the only person there, except a drunk sprawled across a card-table near the rear of the place.

Limpy squinted at Honey and shifted his eyes toward the back of the room as he slid the glasses across the bar.

"Didn't somebody say that the sheriff was gittin' married t'night?" asked Limpy.

Honey poured out his drink and looked at it wearily. Lifting the glass, he looked critically at it.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "I'm waitin' for him."

"That's him back there," Limpy pointed toward the rear.

"Eh?" Honey jerked around, staring. "What's that, Limpy?"

"Joe Rich. Drunk as an owl."

But Joe merely grunted heavily. He was still wearing the clothes he had worn when Honey saw him last, and he had not shaved.

Dead drunk on his marriage night! Honey sagged weakly against the table, speechless. He could visualize all those people out at the Flying H, waiting for them. He shoved away from the table and looked at Limpy.

"My God, this is awful, Limpy! He was to get married at eight-thirty. It's almost that right now, and look at him!"

"Pretty drunk," nodded Limpy.

"Dead t' the world! Who'd he get drunk with?"

"Alone, I reckon. He was shore polluted when he came here. Got a couple more with Len and went to sleep back there."

Honey groaned painfully. Joe reeked of whisky.

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