e long black
"four-in-hand" before her mirror, she viewed the result with
satisfaction.

Dr. Harpe regarded the wedding as exceedingly opportune for herself,
bringing in as it did the settlers from the isolated ranches and
outlying districts of the big county, and she meant it to serve as her
real debut in the community.

It was in fact a notable event for the reason that it was the first
wedding in Crowheart, and, since the invitation was general, the guests
were coming from far and near to show their approval and incidentally
perhaps to partake of the champagne which it was rumored was to flow
like water. Champagne was the standard by which Crowheart gauged the
success of an entertainment and certainly Andy P. Symes was not the man
to serve sarsaparilla at his own wedding.

When Dr. Harpe came downstairs she found the long dining-room cleared of
its tables and already well filled with guests. "Curly" the camp cook
was caressing his violin, and "Snake River Jim," tolerably drunk, was in
his place beside him, while Ole Peterson, redolent of the livery-stable
in which he worked, constantly felt his muscle to show that he was
prepared to do his share with the big bass drum.

As Andy P. Symes moved through the rapidly growing crowd no one but Dr.
Harpe guessed that he winced inwardly at the resounding slaps upon his
back and the congratulations or that his heart all but failed him when
he saw his bride-to-be in her bobinet veil, a flush upon her broad face
and following his every movement with adoring eyes. To all but Dr. Harpe
he looked the fortunate and beaming bridegroom and only she saw the tiny
lines which sleeplessness had left about his eyes or detected the
hollowness of his frequent laughter.

It was more or less of a relief to all when the ceremony was over and
the nervous and perspiring Justice of the Peace, miserable in a collar,
had wished them every known joy. It was a relief to Symes who kissed his
bride perfunctorily and returned her to weeping "Grandmother" Kunkel's
arms--a relief to those impatient to dance--a relief to the thirsty
whose surreptitious glances wandered in spite of their best efforts
toward the pile of champagne cases in the corner.

But the reward of patience came to all, and as the violin and guitar
tuned up the popping of corks was assurance enough that the unsurpassed
thirst created by alkali dust would shortly be assuaged. "Hank"
Terriberry, in whose competent charge Symes had pl