“I'll tell somebody you got the bridal chamber,” hissed Arline, in a very loud whisper. “That's number two, in front. I can keep a light going and pass back 'n' forth once in a while, to look like you're there. That'll fool 'em good. They'll wait till the light's been out quite a while before they start in. You go ahead and git married at seven, jest as you was going to--and if Kent'll have the team ready somewheres, I can easy sneak you out the back way.” “I couldn't get the team out of town without giving the whole deal away,” Kent objected. “You'll have to go horseback.”. “Val can't ride,” Fleetwood stated, as if that settled the matter. “Damn it, she's got to ride!” snapped Kent, losing patience. “Unless you want to stay and go on a toot that'll last a week, most likely.” “Val belongs to the W.C.T.U.,” shrugged Fleetwood. “She'd never--” “Well, it's that or have a fight on your hands you maybe can't handle. I don't see any sense in haggling about going, now you know what to expect. But, of course,” he added, with some acrimony, “it's your own business. I don't know what the dickens I'm getting all worked up over it for. Suit yourself.” He turned toward the door. “She could ride my Mollie--and I got a sidesaddle hanging up in the coal shed. She could use that, or a stock saddle, either one,” planned Mrs. Hawley anxiously. “You better pull out, Man.” “Hold on, Kent! Don't rush off--we'll go,” Fleetwood surrendered. “Val won't like it, but I'll explain as well as I can, without--Say! you stay and see us married, won't you? It's at seven, and--” Kent's fingers curled around the doorknob. “No, thanks. Weddings and funerals are two bunches of trouble I always ride 'way around. Time enough when you've got to be _it_. Along about nine o'clock you try and get out to the stockyards without letting the whole town see you go, and I'll have the horses there; just beyond the wings, by that pile of ties. You know the place. I'll wait there till ten, and not a minute longer. That'll give you an hour, and you won't need any more time than that if you get down to business. You find out from her what saddle she wants, and you can tell me while I'm eating supper, Mrs. Hawley. I'll 'tend to the rest.” He did not wait to hear whether they agreed to the plan, but went moodily down the narrow passage, and entered frowningly the “office.” Several men were gathered there, waiting the supper summons. Hawley glanced up from wiping a glass, and grinned. “Well, did you git the pie?” “Naw. She said I'd got to wait for mealtime. She plumb chased me out.” Fred De Garmo, sprawled in an armchair and smoking a cigar, lazily fanned the smoke cloud from before his face and looked at Kent attentively. CHAPTER III. A LADY IN A TEMPER