"No, siree," cried the belligerent McKee. "There ain't no man here can shut me up. I'm Buck McKee, I am, and when I starts in on a weddin'-festivities--I deal--" "This is one game you are not in on," answered Jack quietly, feeling that he would have to take the lead in the settlement of the unfortunate interruption of the fun. "That's all right, Jack," McKee began, holding out his hand--"let bygones--" Jack was in no mood to parley with the offender. McKee had not been invited to the wedding. The young bridegroom knew that if the first offense were overlooked it would only encourage him, and he would make trouble all evening. Moreover, he disliked Buck because of his evil habits and ugly record. "You came to this weddin' without an invite," claimed Jack. "I'm here," he growled. "You're not wanted." "What?" shouted McKee, paling with anger. Turning to his friends, speaking calmly and paying no attention to the aroused desperado, Jack said: "Boys, you all know my objection to this man. Dick Lane caught him spring before last slitting the tongue of one of Uncle Jim's calves." "It's a lie!" shouted McKee, pulling his revolver and attempting to level it at his accuser. Hoover was too quick for him. Catching him by the wrist, he deftly forced him to drop the muzzle toward the floor. With frightened cries the girls huddled in a corner. The other cowboys upset chairs, springing to their feet, drawing revolvers half-way from holsters as they did so. Hoover had pressed his thumb into the back of McKee's hand, forcing him to open his fingers and drop his gun on the table. Picking it up, Hoover snapped the weapon open, emptied the cylinders of the cartridges. Jack made no move to defend himself. He was aware his friends could protect him. "That'll do," he said to the raging, disarmed puncher. "You can go, Buck. When I want you in any festivities, I'll send a special invite to you." "I'm sure much obliged," sneered McKee, making his way toward the door. "Here's your gun," cried Slim, tossing the weapon toward him. McKee caught the weapon, muttering "Thanks." "It needs cleaning," sneered the Sheriff. Turning at the doorway, McKee said; "I ain't much stuck on weddin's, anyway." Looking at Jack, he continued threateningly: "Next time we meet it'll be at a little swaree of my own." "Get," was Jack's laconic and ominous command. With assumed carelessness, McKee answered: "I'm a-gettin'. Well, gents, I hopes you all'll enjoy this yere pink tea. Say, Bud, put a piece of weddin'-cake in your pocket for me. I wants to dream on it." "Who brought him here?" asked Jack, facing his guests. "I did," answered Bud defiantly. "You might have known better," was Jack's only comment. "I'm not a-sayin' who's to come and go. This ain't none of my weddin'." Polly stopped further comment by laying her hand over his mouth and slipping into the seat beside him. "Well, let it go at that," said Jack, closing the incident.