The ending was a screamer:
“If you-all what sees this invitation dont come, you shore will miss the only first-class happenin that, so fur, has hit this hyer lively hamlet. I aint seen Mrs. Rafferty yit; but I have her photographt, an shes all to the good, jedgin by it. Anyway, I’m takin the risks. Every man what is goin to laff at me had better come armed; and every man what is goin to envy me my good fortune why he had better come armed, too. The ceremony will be performed strictly accordin to Hoyle, by our cellerbated feller townsmen an Jestis of the Peace Jedge Abercrombie Morris. After the weddin there will be a dance, and after the dance refreshments of the kind you-all can appreciate. The music aint goin to be no Wagnerian concert stuff, but somethin that has got a lively jump in it; furnished by that prince of fiddlers White-eyed Moses. And jokes about Moses’ eyes or nose will provoke a homicide. Likewise anybody callin’ his fiddle a violin will be shot on the spot. What the refreshments aire to consist of will depend on what sort of truck Gopher Gabe happens to have in stock behind his bar when the happy day arrives.”
The thing was signed by “Juniper Joe.”
What the fellow’s real name was few, if any, knew; some said it was Mason, some Morgan, some even slandered him by claiming that he walked about among men bearing the plebeian cognomen of John Jones, where he was better known.
Juniper Joe’s cabin—it was a big one—stood right at the edge of the camp of Blossom Range, on the east. The back of it burrowed into a hill; and in that hill was Juniper Joe’s mine. No one could get into the mine, it was claimed, unless he went through the house; and the house was always locked, when Juniper Joe was at work, or not receiving company.
The mine had gained great fame lately. Juniper Joe had struck “pockets” that were wonderfully rich, judging by Blossom Range standards. They were rather high standards, too; for other men, in other holes in the ground, were making good strikes, all round the town.
It was because he had been so phenomenally lucky that had induced Juniper Joe to seek a helpmate; he wanted a woman to share his joys and sorrows, and help him to spend his surplus cash. He might have got one even in Blossom Range, on account of the plutocratic reputation he had suddenly acquired; but he preferred to pass them by and seek in fields afar for the future partner of his bosom. So he said.
Juniper Joe’s invitations were a ten days’ sensation; they would have been a month’s sensation, if that time had intervened before the wedding and the dance.
When the stage came in from Calumet Springs, on the morning of the day fixed, every man who could be there was down at the stables, for it was known that the stage was bringing the bride.
Juniper Joe was there, of course, at the forefront, ready to welcome to this “garden spot of the mountains” the future Mrs. Joe. Also, he was arrayed regardless; in solemn black, with a shirt and collar as white as Mrs. Maginniss, the laundry lady, could make them; and by extra pay she had been spurred to do her best. Topping his head was a silk cady of the previous year’s vintage, which he had bought of the one Jew pawnbroker of the place. The pawnbroker had worn it the first day he came into the camp; there was still a dent in one side, where the brickbat had landed which expressed the town’s disapproval of that style of headgear. Israel Silverman, being by nature a wise man, had then laid the cady gently away in moth balls; only to resurrect it and sell it to Juniper Joe.