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Page 36
Confused cries of "Sit down," "Let him talk!" greeted him.
Sage-brush held up his hand for silence: "Go ahead, Parenthesis,"
he cried encouragingly.
Parenthesis climbed on a chair and put a foot on the table. This
was too much for the orderly soul of Mrs. Allen. "Take your
dirty feet off my tablecloth!" she commanded, making a
threatening move 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 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.
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