"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 nobody 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 pass 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 assured that it will ultimately be taken to the house in Hope Cañon. Ever a facetious and far-sighted man, the express agent had sent a go-cart.