He nodded, but it had not been fun for him. He had been distinctly frightened. He felt for June the reluctant admiration gameness compels from those who are constitutionally timid. What manner of girl was this who could shave disaster in such a reckless fashion and actually enjoy it?
At the edge of the town they exchanged seats at June’s suggestion and Bob drove in. It was mid-afternoon by the sun as he tied the horses to the rack in front of the larger of the two general stores.
“You stay here,” the boy advised. “I’ll get things fixed, then come back an’ let you know.”
He had only a hazy idea of the business details of getting married, but he knew a justice of the peace could tell him. He wandered down the street in search of one.
Half a dozen cowpunchers bent on sport drifted in his direction. One of them was riding down the dusty road. To the horn of his saddle a rope was tied. The other end of it was attached to a green hide of a steer dragging after him.
The punchers made a half-circle round Bob.
One grinned and made comment. “Here’s one looks ripe, fellows. Jes’ a-honin’ for a ride, looks like.”
“Betcha he don’t last ten jumps,” another said.
Before Bob could offer any resistance or make any protest he had been jubilantly seized and dumped down on the hide.
“Let ’er go,” some one shouted.