I spoke of.
"It needs a woman's touch, that's all. The right woman. Needs a woman like you, a pretty woman who's neat about the house and who will cook his chuck and keep the place revved up. I know he'd be speakin' for himself, but he's a shy man, not given to talking much."
"Tom! Listen! For God's sake!" His voice trailed off helplessly as Galway continued.
"He makes a little 'shine now and again, but I've never seen him drunk. Don't drink no more than to be sociable. He owns seven hundred head of steers and a milk cow."
"Did you say a milk cow?" The woman looked thoughtful. "If he's got a milk cow he's a sight more of a plannin' man than most. Mister, I reckon you've talked me into it!"
"Mount up, then!" Galway said cheerfully. "Mount up right there behind Piute and put your arms around him and hang on tight. By the time you get to his place on the creek I think he'll be convinced!"
Piute Bill, his eyes vicious and his face red, helped the young woman up behind "him. She flashed a smile at Galway which suddenly faded.
"Now see here! Ned wasn't much and he beat me when he was drunk. I wasn't sorry to lose him, him bein' what he was, but we were all married up, fittin' and proper!"
"Of course, ma'am!" Galway looked shocked. "I'll ride into Ten Mile as soon as I get you to the house. We will have a preacher out here before sundown. The barkeep was tellin' me there was a preacher there now. I'll get him. Meanwhile," he added, "you better just bake a wedding cake. Somehow without a cake a wedding doesn't seem real, does it now?"
"Maybe the preacher won't come?" Bill suggested hopefully.
"He'll come!" Galway said. "I'll see to that!"
"I just bet you will!" Piute said savagely.
Whistling, Tom Galway turned his sorrel toward Ten Mile. "Horse," he said, "I'd make a poor Cupid but sometimes there's things a man just has to do. And besides, she had a scatter-gun."
When Galway rode into Ten Mile the only sign of life was around the Gold Camp Saloon. Galway tied his horse and pushed through the bat-wing doors. There were six men in the place. One sat alone at a table. He was a red-haired man, short and stocky, with a pious look.
Galway stepped to the bar, noticing one of the men was Digger Cassidy, another was Tinto Bill.
"Rye," Galway ordered, and jerking a thumb toward the redhead he asked, "Is that the preacher?"
"It is." The bartender looked up curiously.
"If you've got a horse," he said to the preacher, "better get him saddled. I've got a wedding for you."
"A wedding? Of course, but--?"
"Everything is going to be all legal and proper, this woman wants to marry this man, and by this time," he chuckled, "he'll be wanting to marry her. If she doesn't have him convinced by now she doesn't have the taking ways I think she has. She looked to me like a woman with a mind of her own."
"Who's gettin' married?" the bartender asked.
"Piute Bill. He's been looking for a wife for a long time."
"Who's marryin' him? There ain't more'n three or four single women in the county!"
"Piute Bill," Galway replied carefully, "is marrying Mrs. Ned Wavers."
Tinto Bill choked on his drink. Digger Cassidy turned for the first time and looked right at Tom Galway. "Who?" he demanded, unbelievingly.
"Mrs. Ned Wavers and Piute Bill," Galway repeated.
"They are getting married this evening. Soon as I can get the parson up there."
"But she's married I" Tinto Bill said. "She's got a husband, and any time she hasn't, I guess I'd be first in line."
"There must be some mistake," Cassidy said. The light was not good and Galway's hat shaded his face somewhat. "Ned Wavers is--"
"Dead," Galway replied. "Mrs. Ned Wavers has been a widow for almost four hours."
Digger Cassidy spoke softly. "You say Ned Wavers is dead."
"That's right, Digger. Seems some of your boys drove off some horses of mine last night, so I rode over to drive them back. Robbins made a fool play and Gorman and Wavers tried to back him up."
Silence filled the room. The
"It needs a woman's touch, that's all. The right woman. Needs a woman like you, a pretty woman who's neat about the house and who will cook his chuck and keep the place revved up. I know he'd be speakin' for himself, but he's a shy man, not given to talking much."
"Tom! Listen! For God's sake!" His voice trailed off helplessly as Galway continued.
"He makes a little 'shine now and again, but I've never seen him drunk. Don't drink no more than to be sociable. He owns seven hundred head of steers and a milk cow."
"Did you say a milk cow?" The woman looked thoughtful. "If he's got a milk cow he's a sight more of a plannin' man than most. Mister, I reckon you've talked me into it!"
"Mount up, then!" Galway said cheerfully. "Mount up right there behind Piute and put your arms around him and hang on tight. By the time you get to his place on the creek I think he'll be convinced!"
Piute Bill, his eyes vicious and his face red, helped the young woman up behind "him. She flashed a smile at Galway which suddenly faded.
"Now see here! Ned wasn't much and he beat me when he was drunk. I wasn't sorry to lose him, him bein' what he was, but we were all married up, fittin' and proper!"
"Of course, ma'am!" Galway looked shocked. "I'll ride into Ten Mile as soon as I get you to the house. We will have a preacher out here before sundown. The barkeep was tellin' me there was a preacher there now. I'll get him. Meanwhile," he added, "you better just bake a wedding cake. Somehow without a cake a wedding doesn't seem real, does it now?"
"Maybe the preacher won't come?" Bill suggested hopefully.
"He'll come!" Galway said. "I'll see to that!"
"I just bet you will!" Piute said savagely.
Whistling, Tom Galway turned his sorrel toward Ten Mile. "Horse," he said, "I'd make a poor Cupid but sometimes there's things a man just has to do. And besides, she had a scatter-gun."
When Galway rode into Ten Mile the only sign of life was around the Gold Camp Saloon. Galway tied his horse and pushed through the bat-wing doors. There were six men in the place. One sat alone at a table. He was a red-haired man, short and stocky, with a pious look.
Galway stepped to the bar, noticing one of the men was Digger Cassidy, another was Tinto Bill.
"Rye," Galway ordered, and jerking a thumb toward the redhead he asked, "Is that the preacher?"
"It is." The bartender looked up curiously.
"If you've got a horse," he said to the preacher, "better get him saddled. I've got a wedding for you."
"A wedding? Of course, but--?"
"Everything is going to be all legal and proper, this woman wants to marry this man, and by this time," he chuckled, "he'll be wanting to marry her. If she doesn't have him convinced by now she doesn't have the taking ways I think she has. She looked to me like a woman with a mind of her own."
"Who's gettin' married?" the bartender asked.
"Piute Bill. He's been looking for a wife for a long time."
"Who's marryin' him? There ain't more'n three or four single women in the county!"
"Piute Bill," Galway replied carefully, "is marrying Mrs. Ned Wavers."
Tinto Bill choked on his drink. Digger Cassidy turned for the first time and looked right at Tom Galway. "Who?" he demanded, unbelievingly.
"Mrs. Ned Wavers and Piute Bill," Galway repeated.
"They are getting married this evening. Soon as I can get the parson up there."
"But she's married I" Tinto Bill said. "She's got a husband, and any time she hasn't, I guess I'd be first in line."
"There must be some mistake," Cassidy said. The light was not good and Galway's hat shaded his face somewhat. "Ned Wavers is--"
"Dead," Galway replied. "Mrs. Ned Wavers has been a widow for almost four hours."
Digger Cassidy spoke softly. "You say Ned Wavers is dead."
"That's right, Digger. Seems some of your boys drove off some horses of mine last night, so I rode over to drive them back. Robbins made a fool play and Gorman and Wavers tried to back him up."
Silence filled the room. The
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