While she was partaking of this with a very unbridelike appetite, 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 passed 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.
Steve Moffatt broke jail here yesterday. Gone over the Border.
This, also, Lafe handed to his wife.
"Doggone his fat head," he said. "Why couldn't he wait? Let somebody else catch him. My successor can do that."
"Of course," she answered, sighing happily. "You'll never be bothered with him again."