the edge of the town they exchanged seats at June's suggestion and Bob
drove in. It was mid-afternoon by the sun as he tied the horses to the
rack in front of the larger of the two general stores.

"You stay here," the boy advised. "I'll get things fixed, then come back
an' let you know."

He had only a hazy idea of the business details of getting married, but
he knew a justice of the peace could tell him. He wandered down the
street in search of one.

Half a dozen cowpunchers bent on sport drifted in his direction. One of
them was riding down the dusty road. To the horn of his saddle a rope was
tied. The other end of it was attached to a green hide of a steer
dragging after him.

The punchers made a half-circle round Bob.

One grinned and made comment. "Here's one looks ripe, fellows. Jes'
a-honin' for a ride, looks like."

"Betcha he don't last ten jumps," another said.

Before Bob could offer any resistance or make any protest he had been
jubilantly seized and dumped down on the hide.

"Let 'er go," some one shouted.

The horse, at the touch of the spur, jumped to a gallop. Bob felt a
sudden sick sense of helplessness. The earth was cut out from under him.
He crouched low and tried to cling to the slippery hide as it bounced
forward. Each leap of the bronco upset him. Within three seconds he had
ridden on his head, his back, and his stomach. Wildly he clawed at the
rope as he rolled over.

With a yell the rider swung a corner. Bob went off the hide at a tangent,
rolling over and over in the yellow four-inch-deep dust.

He got up, dizzy and perplexed. His best suit looked as though it had
been through a long and severe war.

A boyish puncher came up and grinned at him in the friendliest way.
"Hello, fellow! Have a good ride?"

Bob smiled through the dust he had accumulated. "It didn't last long."

"Most generally it don't. Come in to Dolan's an' have a drink." He
mentioned his name. It was Dud Hollister.

"Can't." Bob followed an impulse. "Say, how do you get married?" he
asked, lowering his voice.

"I don't," Dud answered promptly. "Not so long as I'm in my right mind."

"I mean, how do I?" He added sheepishly, "She's in the buckboard."

"Oh!" Dud fell to sudden sobriety. This was serious business. "I'd get a
license at the cou't-house. Then go see Blister Haines. He's the J. P."

Bob equipped himself with a license, returned to June, and reported
progress.

The bride-to-be was simmering with