“I’d rather go to a funeral any old time,” he told the horse as they left town. “I’d rather go to my own funeral. But it can’t be helped; I’ve got to tell ’em.”
It is not difficult to imagine the frame of mind of those at the Flying H when eight-thirty passed and no sign of the groom and best man. The aged minister paced up and down the veranda, trying to make himself believe that everything was all right.
Down by the big gate stood Jim Wheeler, a dim figure beneath the hanging lantern. All hilarity had ceased in the kitchen. Uncle Hozie was seated in the living-room between Aunt Emma and Grandma Owens, grinning widely at nothing whatever.
Upstairs in a bedroom were Peggy Wheeler and Laura Hatton. An old clock on a dresser ticked loudly, its hands pointing at a quarter of nine. Peggy sat on a bed, her hands folded in her lap. She was a decided brunette, taller than Laura, brown-eyed; well entitled to the honour of being the most beautiful girl in the Tumbling River country.
There were tears in her brown eyes, and she bit her lip as Laura turned from the front window, shaking her blonde head.
“Nobody in sight, Peggy. I just can’t understand it.”
Peggy shook her head. She couldn’t trust herself to talk just now. Aunt Emma came slowly up the stairs and looked in at Peggy.
“I’ll betcha the buggy broke down,” she said. “They’ll both come walkin’ in pretty soon. Peggy, you dry them tears. Joe’s all right. Yuh can’t tell what’s happened. Bein’ the sheriff, he might have been called at the last minute. The law don’t wait on marriages. You just wait and see, Peggy.”
“Oh, I hope everything is all right,” sighed Peggy. “He’s twenty minutes late right now, Aunt Emma.”
Still they did not come. Some of the cowboys volunteered to ride back to Pinnacle City to see what the trouble might be, when the long-looked for buggy hove in sight. They could see it far down the road in the moonlight. Laura had seen it from the bedroom window and came running back to Peggy.