He finished with a wink at th’ preacher person, who is huntin’ around inside th’ wrecked stage fer his teeth.
Sig opened th’ envelope and read th’ followin’ aloud:
“Deer Sigismund:
Me and Rosalind were married here today and send you our best wishes. I hated to double-cross you but I told her about our plans and she said that heroes were born and not made and that I’d be one if I saved her from a certain bow-legged person we both know. I asks your pardon and wishes to state that I wouldn’t have done it if I had of been sober. You can have that new quirt which is hangin’ over my bunk. You know how a feller loses his head when he’s spifflikated.
Yours respy
Renley St. Clair Merton & wife.
P.S. The preacher what tied the not is in the stage and can tell you all about it. I hope you don’t kill him during the rescue ’cause he never asked fer a cent.”
“You—you performed a marriage in Curlew last night?” asked Sig, and th’ preacher nods.
“Yeth thir,” he states, with his tongue explorin’ where his teeth used to bed down. “But I never wath paid a thent.”
Sig fumbled around in his pocket for a moment and then hauled out a small roll of bills.
“Here’s uh ten spot with my compliments, old-timer.”
“Wath he a friend of yours?” asks th’ preacher.
“Well,” says Sig, feelin’ of th’ two envelopes in his chaps pocket, “he don’t think so, but he don’t know it all. If uh man would ask me I’d say, yes.”
Sig recovers his horse and pulls out fer Piperock, after promisin’ Art that he’ll send help out to them. Buck is standin’ in front of th’ saloon and as Sig rides up he yells—