It was in just such desperate exigencies as this that chagrined warriors of antiquity were wont to fall upon their swords. Unhappily he had no sword upon which to fall. In the midst of crisis and defeat he sat and strove to evolve out of chaos some bright plan by which he, stranded in juxtaposition to the murmuring pines and the hemlocks, might, in the space of a few minutes, transport himself across an unknown distance and be married at Jaffa Junction. It has been commented that at the average wedding the bridgeroom has a minor and insignificant rôle. Mr. Copewell had discovered a sure method, in the parlance of theatrical folk, of fattening the part. The male contracting party has only to stay away. Suddenly he was aroused out of his apathy by the realization that he was not the only living being in that section of rural America. The discovery brought both surprise and comfort. There had drifted to his ears a plaintive singing voice, evidently not far away. The voice was a tenor and it floated through the thick night with the insistent melancholy of a lone minstrel who sings in adversity. Mr. Copewell could quite plainly distinguish the words of the ballad. They were these: “Jay Gould’s daughter afore she died, Done signed a paper, so de bums can’t ride.” There was a silence, then the voice swelled and grew more melancholy, as though the singer were invoking verse and notes for the voicing of his own piteous plight: “Or if they do ride, they must ride the rods, And trust their souls in the hands of Gawd!” The voice dwelt lingeringly on the final chord, then broke off in a deep-drawn sigh. Suddenly it flashed on Mr. Copewell that there was need of quick action. For a while the minutes could hardly be too full of action. CHAPTER V INTRODUCING MR. RAT CONNORS The gentleman whose voice Mr. Copewell heard singing beside him in the wilderness was not, himself, without his troubles. Trouble resembles the star in the drama, who comes in various make-ups and reading various lines, but always demanding the center of the stage and claiming the white glare of the spotlight. Mr. Copewell, longing for the soft voice of the lady of his heart, believed in his soul that no misfortune could equal that of a marriage ruthlessly interrupted by the chance hostility of Fate. Mr. Rat Connors was equally certain that Destiny does her worst when she thwarts a dash for freedom and fortune.