"'It's the Campbellite preacher, who's been brought in to marry us, that starts it. The play's to be made at Peggy's paw's house, after which, for a weddin' trip, she an' me's to go wanderin' out torwards the Shawnee Mission, whar I've got some kin. The parson, when he has the entire outfit close-herded into the parlor, asks––bein' a car'ful old practitioner––to see the license. I turns it over, an' he takes it to the window to read. He gives that docyooment one look, an' then glowers at me personal mighty baleful. "Miserable wretch," says he, "do you-all want to get yourse'f tarred an' feathered?"
"'In my confoosion I thinks this outbreak 208 is part of the cer'mony, an' starts to say "I do!" Before I can edge in a word, however, he calls over Peggy's old man. "Read that!" he cries, holdin' the license onder old Pap Parks' nose. Old Parks reads, an' the next news I gets he's maulin' me with his hickory walkin' stick like he's beatin' a kyarpet.
"'Without waitin' to kiss the bride or recover my license, I simply t'ars out the front of the house an' breaks for the woods. The next day, old Parks takes to huntin' me with hounds. Nacherally, at this proof of man's inhoomanity to man, I sneaks across into Kansas, an' makes for the settin' sun.'
"'An' can't you give no guess,' says Enright, 'at why old Parks digs up the waraxe so plumb sudden?'
"'No more'n rattlesnakes onborn, onless his inordinate glee at gettin' me for a son-in-law has done drove him off his head.'
"'Which it couldn't be that,' says Enright, takin' a hard, thoughtful look at the Turner person. Then, followin' a pause, he adds, 'thar's some myst'ry yere!'
"'Ain't you-all made no try,' asks Nell, 209 'sech as writin' letters, or some game sim'lar, to cl'ar things up?'
"'You-all don't know Pap Parks, Miss, in all his curves. Why, it's lucky he ain't wearin' his old bowie at that weddin', or he'd a-split me into half apples. If I goes to writin' missives that a-way, he'll locate me; an' you can take my word that invet'rate old homicide 'd travel to the y'earth's eends to c'llect my skelp. That ain't goin' to do me; for, much as I love Peggy, I'd a heap sooner be single than dead.'
"'That party ain't locoed,' says Texas, noddin' towards the Turner person, whar he sets sobbin' in a cha'r when Enright gets through examinin' him. 'He's simply a howlin' eediot. Yere he escapes wedlock by a mir'cle; an'––chains an' slavery!––now he can't think of no better way to employ his liberty than in cryin' his heart out because he's free. If I'm bitter, gents, it's because I speaks from hard experience. Considerin' how she later corrals that Laredo divorce an' sells up my cattle at public vandoo for costs an' al'mony, if when I troops to the altar with that lady whom I makes Missis Thompson, my gyardian angel had gone at me with a axe, that faithful 210 sperit would have been doin' no more than its simple dooty in the premises.'
"Enright takes it onto himself to squar' the Turner person at the Red Light an' the O. K. Restauraw; an', since his ensooin' conduct is much within decent bounds, except that Rucker steps some high an' mighty when he heaves in sight an' Black Jack gives him hard an' narrow looks, nothin' su'gestive of trouble occurs. In less'n a week he shakes down into his proper place, an' all as placid as a duck-pond. He's even a sort o' fav'rite with Nell, Missis Rucker an' Tucson Jennie, they claimin' that he's sufferin' from soul blight because of a lost love. Certainly, thar's nothin' in this yere fem'nine bluff, but of course none of us don't say so at the time.