"That's a queer angle," Dakota observed. He laughed immoderately. The parson laughed with him. It _was_ an odd situation, he agreed. Never, in all his experience, had he heard of anything like it. He had stopped for a few hours at Dry Bottom. While there a rider had passed through, carrying word that a certain man in Lazette, called "Baldy," desired to get married. There was no minister in Lazette, not even a justice of the peace. But Baldy wanted to be married, and his bride-to-be objected to making the trip to Dry Bottom, where there were both a parson and a justice of the peace. Therefore, failing to induce the lady to go to the parson, it followed that Baldy must contrive to have the parson come to the lady. He dispatched the rider to Dry Bottom on this quest. The rider had found that there was no regular parson in Dry Bottom and that the justice of the peace had departed the day before to some distant town for a visit. Luckily for Baldy's matrimonial plans, the parson had been in Dry Bottom when the rider arrived, and he readily consented--as he intended to pass through Lazette anyway--to carry Baldy's license to him and perform the ceremony. "Odd, ain't it?" remarked the parson, after he had concluded. "That's a queer angle," repeated Dakota. "You got the license?" he inquired softly. "Mebbe you've lost it." "I reckon not." The parson fumbled in a pocket, drawing out a folded paper. "I've got it, right enough." "You've got no objections to me looking at it?" came Dakota's voice. Sheila saw him rise. There was a strange smile on his face. "No objections. I reckon you'll be usin' one yourself one of these days." "One of these days," echoed Dakota with a laugh as strange as his smile a moment before. "Yes--I'm thinking of using one one of these days." The parson spread the paper out on the table. Together he and Dakota bent their heads over it. After reading the license Dakota stood erect. He laughed, looking at the parson. "There ain't a name on it," he said, "not a name." "They're reckonin' to fill in the names when they're married," explained the parson. "That there rider ought to have knowed the names, but he didn't. Only knowed that the man was called 'Baldy.' Didn't know the bride's name at all. But it don't make any difference; they wouldn't have had to have a license at all in this Territory. But it makes it look more regular when they've got one. All that's got to be done is for Baldy to go over to Dry Bottom an' have the names recorded. Bein' as I can't go, I'm to certify in the license." "Sure," said Dakota slowly. "It makes things more regular to have a license--more regular to have you certify." Looking at Dakota, Sheila thought she saw in his face a certain preoccupation; he was evidently not thinking of what he was saying at all; the words had come involuntarily, automatically almost, it seemed, so inexpressive were they. "Sure," he repeated, "you're to certify, in the license."