“No, Tom, you're just happy,” said Helen.
Between her and Roy the cowboy was at length persuaded to accept the situation and to see his wonderful opportunity.
“Now—now, Miss Helen—what'd Bo mean by pre—presentable bridegroom?... Presents? Lord, I'm clean busted flat!”
“She meant you must dress up in your best, of course,” replied Helen.
“Where 'n earth will I get a preacher?... Show Down's forty miles.... Can't ride there in time.... Roy, I've gotta have a preacher.... Life or death deal fer me.”
“Wal, old man, if you'll brace up I'll marry you to Bo,” said Roy, with his glad grin.
“Aw!” gasped Las Vegas, as if at the coming of a sudden beautiful hope.
“Tom, I'm a preacher,” replied Roy, now earnestly. “You didn't know thet, but I am. An' I can marry you an' Bo as good as any one, an' tighter 'n most.”
Las Vegas reached for his friend as a drowning man might have reached for solid rock.
“Roy, can you really marry them—with my Bible—and the service of my church?” asked Helen, a happy hope flushing her face.