Betty and Lydia had been Alice’s maids of honor.  This being Betty’s first experience at a frontier wedding, it developed that she was much in need of Lydia’s advice, which she had previously disdained.  She had rested secure in her dignity.  Poor Betty!  The first man to kiss Alice was George Martin, a big, strong fellow, who gathered his brother’s bride into his arms and gave her a bearish hug and a resounding kiss.  Releasing her he turned toward Lydia and Betty.  Lydia eluded him, but one of his great hands clasped around Betty’s wrist.  She tried to look haughty, but with everyone laughing, and the young man’s face expressive of honest fun and happiness she found it impossible.  She stood still and only turned her face a little to one side while George kissed her.  The young men now made a rush for her.  With blushing cheeks Betty, unable to stand her ground any longer, ran to her brother, the Colonel.  He pushed her away with a laugh.  She turned to Major McColloch, who held out his arms to her.  With an exclamation she wrenched herself free from a young man, who had caught her hand, and flew to the Major.  But alas for Betty!  The Major was not proof against the temptation and he kissed her himself.

“Traitor!” cried Betty, breaking away from him.

Poor Betty was in despair.  She had just made up her mind to submit when she caught sight of Wetzel’s familiar figure.  She ran to him and the hunter put one of his long arms around her.

“I reckon I kin take care of you, Betty,” he said, a smile playing over his usually stern face.  “See here, you young bucks.  Betty don’t want to be kissed, and if you keep on pesterin’ her I’ll have to scalp a few of you.”

The merriment grew as the day progressed.  During the wedding feast great hilarity prevailed.  It culminated in the dance which followed the dinner.  The long room of the block-house had been decorated with evergreens, autumn leaves and goldenrod, which were scattered profusely about, hiding the blackened walls and bare rafters.  Numerous blazing pine knots, fastened on sticks which were stuck into the walls, lighted up a scene, which for color and animation could not have been surpassed.

Colonel Zane’s old slave, Sam, who furnished the music, sat on a raised platform at the upper end of the hall, and the way he sawed away on his fiddle, accompanying the movements of his arm with a swaying of his body and a stamping of his heavy foot, showed he had a hearty appreciation of his own value.

Prominent among the men and women standing and sitting near the platform could be distinguished the tall forms of Jonathan Zane, Major McColloch and Wetzel, all, as usual, dressed in their hunting costumes and carrying long rifles.  The other men had made more or less effort to improve their appearance.  Bright homespun shirts and scarfs had replaced the everyday buckskin garments.  Major McColloch was talking to Colonel Zane.  The genial faces of both reflected