he's game. 'Tain't any of my business, though, and I don't want none
of his contrac'. I'm violently addicted to peace and quiet, I am.
Guess I'll unhitch," and he toddled out into the gathering dusk to
his mules, while the landlord peered uneasily down the darkening
trail.

As the saddened Joy lit candles in the front room there came the
rattle of wheels without, and a buckboard stopped in the bar of light
from the door. Bailey's anxiety was replaced by a mask of listless
surprise as the voice of Ross Turney called to him.

"Hello there, Bailey! Are we in time for supper? If not, I'll start
an insurrection with that Boxer of yours. He's got to turn out the
snortingest supper of the season to-night. It isn't every day your
shack is honoured by a bride. Mr. Bailey, this is my wife, since ten
o'clock A. M." He introduced a blushing, happy girl, evidently in
the grasp of many emotions. "We'll stay all night, I guess,"

"Sure," said Bailey. "I'll show ye a room," and he led them up
beneath the low roof where an unusual cleanliness betrayed the
industry of Joy.

The two men returned and drank to the bride, Turney with the reckless
lightness that distinguished him, Bailey sullen and watchful.

"Got another outfit here, haven't you?" questioned the bridegroom.
"Who is it?"

Before answer could be made, from the kitchen arose a tortured howl
and the smashing of dishes, mingled with stormy rumblings. The door