indignation. In those days she had not
yet cultivated a sense of humor.

"I saw what they did to you--the brutes," she snapped.

"Sho! That wasn't nothin', June. The boys was only funnin'. Well, I got
things fixed. We gotta go to the J. P."

The justice was having forty winks when they entered his office. He was
enormously fat, a fact notable in a country of lean men. Moreover, he had
neither eyebrows nor hair, though his face announced him not more than
thirty in spite of its triple chin. Mr. Haines was slumped far down in a
big armchair out of which he overflowed prodigally. His feet were on a
second chair.

Bob wakened him ruthlessly. He sat up blinking. Bob started to speak. He
stopped him with a fat uplifted hand.

"I r-reckon I know what _you_ want, y-young man," he said.

CHAPTER VIII

BLISTER GIVES ADVICE

Blister Haines, J. P., was by way of being a character. His waggish
viewpoint was emphasized by a slight stutter.

"S-so you want to h-hitch up to double trouble, do you?" he asked.

"We want to get married," Bob said.

"S-same thing," the fat man wheezed, grinning. "C-come right in an' I'll
tie you tighter 'n a d-drum."

"I've only got six dollars," the bridegroom explained.

"No matter a-tall. My f-fee is jus' six d-dollars," the justice announced
promptly.

Bob hesitated. June nudged him and whispered. The husband-elect listened,
nodded, and spoke up.

"I'll pay you two dollars."

Blister looked at the bride reproachfully. "L-lady, if you ain't worth
s-six dollars to him you ain't worth a c-cent. But I'll show you how good
a sport I am. I'll m-make you a wedding present of the j-job. Got any
witnesses?"

"Do we have to have witnesses?" asked Bob helplessly. Getting married was
a more formidable and formal affair than he had supposed.

"Sure. I'll dig 'em up."

The justice waddled to the door of the saloon adjoining and stuck his
head inside. A row of cowpunchers were lined up in front of the bar.

"Y-you, Dud Hollister an' Tom Reeves, I'm servin' a subpoena on you lads
as w-witnesses at a w-weddin'," he said in the high wheeze that sounded
so funny coming from his immense bulk.

"Whose wedding?" demanded Reeves, a lank youth with a brick-red face, the
nose of which had been broken.

"N-none of yore darned business."

"Do we get to kiss the bride?"

"You h-hotfoot it right to my office or I'll throw you in the c-calaboose
for c-contempt of court, Tom Reeves."

The p