e toward the
offender.

Allen restrained her, and Fresno caused Parenthesis to subside by
yelling: "Get down offen that table, you idiot. There's the bride an'
groom comin' in behind you. We CAN see 'em through yer legs, but we
don't like that kin' of a frame."

Jack had slipped his arm about Echo's waist. She was holding his hand,
smiling at the exuberance of their guests. Buck McKee, who had been
drinking freely, staggered to his feet and hiccoughed: "Here, now,
this, yere don't go--this spoonin' business--there ain't goin' to be no
mush and milk served out before the weddin'--"

"Will you shut up?" admonished Slim Hoover.

"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