Honey Bee sat in the buggy, resting his shining feet across the dashboard in order to lessen the pain. The coat was a little tight across the shoulders, and Honey wondered whether the tuck would show where he had gathered in the waistband of the trousers. His cartridge-belt made a decided bulge under his tight vest, but he had no other belt; and no cowboy would ever lower himself to wear suspenders. They were the insignia of a farmer.
“I wish I knowed what kind of a figure that durned tailor had in mind when he built this here suit,” said Honey to himself. “I know I measured myself accurately. I might ’a’ slipped a little on some of it, bein’ as I had to do a little stoopin’; but never as much as this shows. Now where the devil is Joe Rich?”
It was eight o’clock by Honey’s watch. He got out of the buggy and almost fell down. His feet had gone to sleep. And when he made a sudden grab for the buggy wheel he heard a slight rip in the shoulder-seam of his coat.
“Gee! I’m comin’ apart!” he grunted.
Honey had not seen Joe since about five o’clock, and something seemed to tell him that everything was not right. Joe slept in the office. He and Len Kelsey were together the last time Honey had seen them, and Joe said he was going to get a shave. But the barber shop was closed now.
Honey limped around to Joe’s stable and found Joe’s horse there. Then he went back to the buggy. It was after eight now, and the wedding was scheduled for eight-thirty. It was over two miles to the Flying H from Pinnacle City and Honey knew that the buggy horse was not a fast stepper.
Honey swore dismally and stood on one foot. He needed a big drink to kill the pain. Across the street was the Pinnacle bar, the most popular saloon in town. There was sure to be several men in there and they would be sure to make some remarks about Honey’s clothes.
Farther down the street was the Arapaho bar. Honey did not like the place. “Limpy” Nelson owned the Arapaho, and Honey did not like Limpy. But Honey knew that no one would make remarks about his appearance down there, because Honey’s friends frequented the Pinnacle—and friends were the only ones entitled to make remarks.
So Honey stifled his pride and went to the Arapaho, where he leaned against the bar. Old Limpy was the only person there, except a drunk sprawled across a card-table near the rear of the place.
Limpy squinted at Honey and shifted his eyes toward the back of the room as he slid the glasses across the bar.