The Piano
Five weeks had passed since the marriage of Echo and Jack. On her
return from the honeymoon in the little hunting cabin in the Tortilla
Range, the young wife set to work, and already great changes had been
made in the ranch-house on the Sweetwater. Rooms were repapered and
painted. The big center room was altered into a cozy living-room. On
the long, low window, giving an outlook on fields of alfalfa, corn and
the silver ribbons of the irrigation ditches, dainty muslin curtains
now hung. Potted geraniums filled the sill, and in the unused
fireplace Echo had placed a jar of ferns. A clock ticking on the
mantelpiece added to the cheerfulness and hominess of the house. On
the walls, horns of mountain-sheep and antlers of antelope and deer
alternated with the mounted heads of puma and buffalo. Through the
open window one caught a glimpse of the arms of a windmill, and the
outbuildings of the home ranch. Navajo blankets were scattered over
the floors and seats.
Echo had taken the souvenirs of the hunt and trail which Jack had
collected, and, with a woman's touch of refinement, had used them for
decorative effects. She had in truth made the room her very own. The
grace and charm of her personality were stamped upon the environment.
The men of the ranch fairly worshiped Echo. Sending to Kansas City,
they purchased a piano for her as a birthday-gift. On the morning when
the wagon brought it over from Florence station, little work was done
about the place. The instrument had been unpacked and placed in the
living-room in Echo's absence. Mrs. Allen, Polly, and Jim rode over to
be present at the presentation. The donors gathered in the living-room
to admire the gift, which shone bravely under the energetic polishing
of Mrs. Allen.
"That's an elegant instrument," was her observation, as she flicked an
imaginary speck of dust from the case.
Polly opened the lid, saying: "Just what Echo wanted."
Jim cocked his head, as if he were examining a new pinto pony.
"Sent all the way up to Kansas City for it, eh?"
"That's right, Uncle Jim," chorused the punchers.
"Now the room's complete," announced Polly. "Echo's made a big change
around here." The group gravely followed Polly's approving glances.
"That she has," assented Mrs. Allen. "Looked a barn when Jack was a
bachelor. This certainly is the finest kind of a birthday-present you
all could have thought of."
"Josephine'll cry in a minute, boys," chuckled Allen.
"You hesh up," snapped his wife, glaring at the grinning ranchman.
Sage-brush poured oil on the roughening waters by changing the
conversation. Speaking as if making a dare, he challenged: "What I
want to know is, is there anybody here present as can rassle a tune out
of that there box?"
No one came forward.
"Ain't there none of you boys that can play on a pianny?" he demanded.
"I've played on the big square one down at the Lone Star," gravely
piped up Show Low.
"What did you play," asked the inquisitive Polly.
"Poker," answered Show Low seriously, his face showing no trace of
humor.
"Poker!" Polly repeated, in disgust.
"That's all they ever plays on it," explained Show Low indignantly.
Polly grew impatient. This presentation was a serious affair and not
to be turned into an audience for the exploitation of Show Low's
adventures. Moreover, she did not like to be used even indirectly as a
target for fun-making, although she delighted in making some one else a
feeder for her ideas of fun.
Fresno modestly announced he was something of a musical artist.
"I 'low I can shake a tune out of that," he declared.
"Let's hear you," cried Polly, rather doubtful of Fresno's ability.
"Step up, perfesser," cried Allen heartily, slapping him on the back.
Fresno grinned and solemnly rolled up his sleeves. His comrades eyed
his every move closely. He spat on his hands, approached the piano,
and glared fiercely at the keyboard.
"My ma had one of them there things when I was a yearlin'," he observed.
Fresno spun the seat of the piano-stool until it almost twirled off the
screw. His actions created greatest interest, especially to
Parenthesis, who peered under the seat, to see the wheels go round.
Fresno threw his leg over the seat as if mounting a horse.
"Well, boys, what'll you have?" he asked, glancing from one to the
other in imitation of the manner of his friend, the pianist in the
Tucson honkytonk, on a lively evening.
"The usual poison," absently answered Show Low.
Sage-brush struck him in the breast with the with the back of his hand.
"Shut up," he growled.
Turning to Fresno, he said: "Give us the--er--'The Maiden's Prayer.'"
Fresno whisked about so quickly that he almost lost his balance. Gazing
at the petitioner in blank amazement, he shouted: "The what?"
Sage-brush blushed under his tan. In a most apologetic voice he said:
"Well, that's the first tune my sister learned to play, an' she played
it continuous--which is why I left home."
"I'd sure like to oblige you, but Maiden's Prayers ain't in my
repetory," explained the mollified musician.
Fresno raised his finger uncertainly over the keyboard searching for a
key from which to make a start. The group watched him expectantly. As
he struck a note each member of his audience jumped back in surprise at
the sound. Fresno scratched his head and gingerly fingered another
key. After several false starts, backing and filling, over the
keyboard, he began to pick out with one finger the air "The Suwanee
River."
"That's it. Now we're started," he cried exultantly.
His overconfidence led him to strike a false note.
"Excuse me," he apologized. "Got the copper on the wrong chip."
Once more he essayed playing the old melody, but became hopelessly
confused.
"Darn the tune!" he mumbled.
Sage-brush, ever ready to cheer up the failing courage of a performer,
chirruped: "Shuffle 'em up ag'in and begin a new deal."
Fresno spat on his hands and ruffled his hair like a musical genius.
Again he sought the rhythm among the keys. He tried to whistle the
air. That device failed him.
"Will you all whistle that tune? I'm forgettin' it," was his plaintive
request.
"Sure, let her go, boys," cried Sage-brush.
Falteringly, with many stops and sudden they tried to accompany
Fresno's halting pursuit over the keyboard after the tune that was
dodging about in his mind. All at once the player struck his gait and
introduced a variation on the bass notes.
"That ain't in it," shouted Show Low indignantly.
"Shut up!" bellowed Sage-brush.
With both hands hammering the keys indiscriminately, Fresno made a
noisy if not artistic finish, and whirled about on the stool, to be
greeted by hearty applause.
"Well, I reckon that's goin' some!" he boasted, when the hand-clapping
subsided, bowing low to Polly and Mrs. Allen.
"Goin'?" laughed Polly. "Limpin' is what I call it. If you don't learn
to switch off, you'll get a callous on that one finger of yourn."
Fresno looked at that member dubiously.
"Ain't music civilizin'?" suggested Show Low to Jim Allen.
"You bet!" the ranchman agreed. "Take a pianny an' enough Winchesters
an' you can civilize the hull of China."
"Fresno could kill more with his pianny-play than his gun-play,"
suggested Show Low.
Mrs. Allen bethought herself that there was a lot of work to be done in
preparation for the party. Even if everything was ready, the dear old
soul would find something to do or worry about.
"Come, now, clear out of here, the hull kit an' b'ilin' of you," she
ordered.
The men hastily crowded out on the piazza.
"Take that packin'-case out of sight, if you mean this pianny to be a
surprise to Echo. She'll be trottin' back here in no time," she added.
Fresno had lingered to assure Jim: "This yere birthday's goin' to be a
success. Would you like another selection?" he eagerly asked.
"Not unless you wash your finger," snapped Mrs. Allen, busy polishing
the keys Fresno had struck. "You left a grease-spot on every key
you've touched," she explained.
Fresno held up his finger for Allen's inspection. "I've been greasin'
the wagon," was his explanation.
"Git out with the rest of them," she commanded. "I've got enough to do
to look after that cake." Mrs. Allen darted into the kitchen. Jim
slowly filled his pipe and hunted up the most comfortable chair. After
two or three trials he found one to suit him, and sank back with a sigh
of content.
"Jack ain't back yet?" Polly put the question.
Polly rearranged the chairs in the room, picking up and replacing the
articles on the table to suit her own artistic conceptions. She
straightened out a war-bonnet on the wall. She was flicking off a spot
of dust in the gilt chair that Jack had got as a wedding present for
Echo on the day of the station-agent's murder, and, being reminded of
the tragedy, she asked: "That posse didn't catch the parties that
killed Terrill, did they?"
"Not that I hear on. Slim Hoover he took the boys that night an tried
to pick up the trail after it entered the river, but they couldn't find
where it come out."
"One of them fellers, the man that left the station alone, and probably
done the job, rode a pacin' horse," answered Jim, between puffs of his
pipe.
"Then he's a stranger to these parts. Jack's pinto paces--it's his
regular gait. It's the only pacing hoss around here."
"That's so," he assented, but made no further comment. The full force
of the observation did not strike him at the time.
Polly began to pump Colonel Jim. There were several recent happenings
which she did not fully comprehend. At the inquisitive age and a girl,
she wanted to know all that was going on.
"Jack's been acting mighty queer of late," she ventured. "Like he's
got something on his mind."
Jim smiled at her simplicity and jokingly replied: "Well, he's
married."
The retort exasperated Polly. She was not meeting with the success she
desired. "Do hush!" she cried, in her annoyance.
"That's enough on any man's mind," Jim laughed as he sauntered out of
the door.
"Something queer about Jack," observed Polly, seating herself at the
table. "He ain't been the same man since the weddin'. He's all right
when Echo's around, but when he thinks no one is watchin' him he sits
around and sighs."
Jack entered the room at this moment. Absent-mindedly he hung his hat
and spurs on a rack and leaned his rifle against the wall, sighing
deeply as he did so. So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he did
not notice Polly until he reached the table. He started in surprise
when he saw her. "Hello, Polly!" was his greeting. "Where is Echo?"
Polly rose hastily at the sound of his voice.
"Didn't you meet her?" she asked. "We got her to ride over toward
Tucson this morning to get her out of the way so's to snake the pianny
in without her seein' it." Polly glided over to the instrument and
touched the keys softly.
With admiration Jack gazed at the instrument.
"I came around by Florence," answered Jack, with a smile.
Eagerly Polly turned toward him. "See anything of Bud Lane?" she
queried.
"No." Again Jack smiled--this time at the girl's impetuosity.
"He'll lose his job with me if he don't call more regular," she said.
"Say, Jack, you ain't fergettin' what you promised--to help Bud with
the money that you said was comin' in soon, as Dick's share of a
speculation you and him was pardners in? I'm powerful anxious to get
him away from McKee."
Jack had not forgotten the promise, but, alas, under the goading of
Mrs. Allen that he should clear off the mortgage on his home, he had
used Dick Lane's money for this purpose. In what a mesh of lies and
broken promises he was entangling himself! Now he was forced further
to deceive trusting little Polly in the matter that was dearest to her
heart.
"No, Polly, but the fact is--that speculation isn't turning out so
well, after all."
The disappointed girl turned sadly away, and went out to Mrs. Allen in
the kitchen.
Jack removed his belt and gun and hung them on the rack by the door.
Spying his father at the corral, he called to him to come into the
house.
"Hello, Jack!" was Allen's greeting as he entered, shaking the younger
man's hand.
"When did you come over?"
"This morning," Allen told him. "Echo's birthday, you know, and the
old lady allowed we'd have to be here. Ain't seen you since the
weddin'--got things lookin' fine here." Allen slowly surveyed the room.
Jack agreed with him with a gesture of assent. A more important topic
to him than the furnishing of a room was what had become of Dick Lane.
After the wedding ceremony no chance had come to him to speak privately
to Allen.
The festivities of the wedding had been shortened. Slim had gathered a
posse and taken up the trail of the slayers. Jim Allen had joined
them. The hazing of Jack, and the hasty departure of the bridal pair
on horseback in a shower of corn, shelled and on cob, prevented the two
men from meeting.
The older man had volunteered no explanation. Jack knew that in his
heart Allen did not approve of his actions, but was keeping silent
because of his daughter.
Jack could restrain himself no longer. "Jim--what happened that
night?" he asked brokenly.
Allen showed his embarrassment. "Meanin'--" Then he hesitated.
"Dick," was all Jack could say.
"I seed him. If I hadn't, he'd busted up the weddin' some," was his
laconic answer.
"Where is he?"
Allen relighted his pipe. When he got the smoke drawing freely, he
gazed at Jack thoughtfully and answered: "He's gone. Back where he
came from--into the desert." Jim puffed slowly and then added: "Looks
like you didn't give Dick a square deal."
Allen liked his son-in-law, and was going to stand by him, but in
Arizona the saying "All's fair in love and war" is not accepted at its
face value.
"I didn't," acknowledged Jack. "I was desperate at the thought of
losing her. She loved me, and had forgotten him--she's happy with me
now."
"I reckon that's right," was Jim's consoling reply.
To clinch his argument and soothe his troublesome conscience, Jack
continued: "She never would have been happy with him."
"That's what I told him," declared Allen. "He knew it, an' that's why
he went away--an' Echo--no matter what comes, she must never know.
She'd never forgive you--an', fer that matter, me, neither."
Jack looked long out of the window toward the distant mountains--the
barrier behind which Dick was wandering in the great desert, cut off
from the woman he loved by a false friend.
"How I have suffered for that lie!" uttered Jack, in tones full of
anguish. "That's what hurts me most--the thought that I lied to her.
I might have killed him that night," pondered Jack. He shuddered at
the thought that he had been on the point of adding murder to the lie.
He had faced the same temptation which Dick had yet to overcome.
"Mebbe you did. There's more'n one way of killin' a man," suggested
Allen.
Jack swung round and faced him. The observation had struck home. He
realized how poignantly Dick must have endured the loss of Echo and
thought of his betrayal by Jack. As he had suffered mentally so Dick
must be suffering in the desert. In self-justification he returned to
his old argument.
"I waited until I was sure he was dead. Six months I waited after we
heard the news. After I had told Echo I loved her and found that I was
loved in return--then came this letter. God! What a fight I had with
myself when I found that he lived--was thinking of returning home to
claim her for his own. I rode out into the hills and fought it out all
alone, like an Indian--then I resolved to hurry the wedding--to lie to
her--and I have been living that lie every minute, every hour."
Jack leaned heavily on the table. His head sank. His voice dropped
almost to a whisper.
Allen slapped him on the back to cheer him up. Philosophically he
announced: "Well, it's got to be as it is. You'll mebbe never hear
from him again. You mustn't never tell her. I ain't a-goin' to say
nothin' about it--her happiness means everything to me."
Jack grasped his hand in silent thankfulness.
The two men walked slowly out of the room to the corral.
As Echo galloped across the prairie in the glorious morning air, the
sunshine, the lowing of the cattle on the hills, and the songs of the
birds in the trees along the Sweetwater had banished all depressing
thoughts, and her mind dwelt on her love for Jack and the pleasantness
of the lines in which her life had fallen.
Only one small cloud had appeared on the horizon. Jack had not shared
with her his confidences in the business of the ranch. He told her he
did not want to worry her with such cares. True, there were times when
he was deeply abstracted; but in her presence his moroseness vanished
quickly. Carefully as he had tried to hide his secret, she had, with a
woman's intuition, seen beneath the surface of things and realized that
something was lacking to complete her happiness.
As Echo turned toward home a song sprang to her lips. Polly spied her
far down the trail.
"Boys, she's coming," she shouted to the men, who were at the
bunk-house awaiting Mrs. Payson's return. As they passed the corral
they called to Jack and Allen to join them in the living-room to
prepare for the surprise for Echo.
The party quickly reassembled.
"Good land!" shouted Allen, "get something to cover the pianny with!"
The punchers rushed in confusion about the room in a vain search.
"Ain't there a plagued thing we can cover the pianny with?" cried the
demoralized Allen, renewing his appeal.
Polly came to the rescue of the helpless men by plucking a Navajo
blanket from the couch. Tossing one end of it to Show Low, she
motioned to him to help hold it up before the instrument like a curtain.
"Stand in front of it, everybody," ordered Mrs. Allen, who had left her
cake-baking and hurried in from the kitchen. "Polly, spread your
skirts--you, too, Jim."
Allen ran in front of the piano, holding out an imaginary dress in
imitation of Polly. "Which I ain't got none," he cried.
Parenthesis jumped in front of the piano-stool, trying vainly to hide
it with his legs.
"Parenthesis, put your legs together," Mrs. Allen cried.
"I can't, ma'am," wailed the unfortunate puncher. He fell on his knees
before the stool, spreading out his waistcoat for a screen.
Mrs. Allen helped him out with her skirts.
"Steady, everybody!" shouted Jack.
"Here she is!" yelled Sage-brush, as the door opened and the astonished
Echo faced those she loved and liked.
Echo made a pretty picture framed in the doorway. She wore her
riding-habit of olive-green--from the hem of which peeped her soft
boots. Her hat, broad, picturesque, typical of the Southwest, had
slipped backward, forming a background for her pretty face. An amused
smile played about the corners of her mouth.
"Well, what is it?" she smiled inquiringly.
The group looked at her sheepishly. No one wanted to answer her
question.
"What's the matter?" she resumed. "You're herded up like a bunch of
cows in a norther."
Sage-brush began gravely to explain. He got only as far as: "This yere
bein' a birthday," when Echo interrupted him: "Oh! then it's a
birthday-party?"
Once stopped, Sage-brush could not get started again. He cleared his
throat with more emphasis than politeness; striking the attitude of an
orator, with one hand upraised and the other on his hip, he hemmed and
hawed until beads of perspiration trickled down his temples.
Again he nerved himself for the ordeal.
"Mebbe," he gasped.
Then he opened and closed his mouth, froglike, several times, taking
long, gulping breaths. At last, looking helplessly about him, he
shouted: "Oh, shucks! you tell her, Jack." He pushed him toward Echo.
Jack rested his hand on the table and began: "We've a surprise for
you--that is, the boys have--"
"What is it?" asked Echo eagerly.
"You've got to call it blind," broke in Sage-brush.
"Guess it," cried Fresno.
"A pony-cart," hazarded Echo.
"Shucks! no," said Show Low at the idea of presenting Echo with
anything on wheels.
Echo then guessed: "Sewing-machine."
Sage-brush encouraged her, "That's something like it--go on--go on."
"Well, then, it's a--"
Sage-brush grew more excited. He raised and lowered himself on his
toes, backing toward the piano. "Go it, you're gettin' there," he
shouted.
"It's a--"
Again she hesitated, to be helped on by Sage-brush with the assurance:
"She'll do it--fire away--it's a--"
"A--"
"Go on."
Sage-brush in his enthusiasm backed too far into the blanket screen.
His spurs became entangled. To save himself from a fall, he threw out
his hand behind him. They struck the polished cover of the instrument,
slid off, and Sage-brush sat down on the keys with an unmistakable
crash.
"A piano!" cried Echo exultantly.
"Who done that?" demanded Show Low angrily.
Parenthesis, from his place on the floor, looked at the mischief-maker
in disgust. "Sage-brush!" he shouted.
"Givin' the hull thing away," snarled Fresno.
Show Low could contain himself no longer. Going up to Sage-brush, he
shook his fist in his face, saying: "You're the limit. You ought to
be herdin' sheep."
The victim of the accident humbly replied: "I couldn't help it."
Mrs. Allen smoothed out the differences by declaring: "What's the
difference, she wouldn't have guessed, not in a million years--stand
away and let her see it."
Fresno swept them all aside with the blanket.
"Oh, isn't it beautiful, beautiful!" cried Echo.
"Who--what--where--" she stammered, glancing from one to the other, her
eyes finally resting on Jack.
"Not guilty," he cried. "You'll have to thank the boys for this."
With happy tears welling up in her eyes, Echo said: "I do thank them, I
do--I do--I can't tell how delighted I am. I can't say how much this
means to me--I thank you--I say it once, but I feel it a thousand
times." She seized each of the boys by the hand and shook it heartily.
"Would you like to have another selection?" asked Fresno, relieving the
tension of the situation.
"No!" shouted the punchers unanimously. Fresno looked very much
crestfallen, since he considered that he had made a deep impression by
his first effort.
"Mrs. Payson's goin' to hit us out a tune," announced Sage-brush.
Echo seated herself at the piano. Jack leaned against the instrument,
gazing fondly into her eyes, as she raised her face radiant with
happiness. Allen had taken possession of the best rocking-chair. Mrs.
Allen sat at the table, and the boys ranged themselves about the room.
Their faces reflected gratification. They watched Echo expectantly.
Echo played the opening bars of "The Old Folks at Home." Before she
sang Fresno, holding up his right index-finger, remarked to no one in
particular: "I washed that finger."
The singing deeply affected her little audience. Echo had a sweet,
natural voice. She threw her whole soul into the old ballad. She was
so happy she felt like singing, not lively airs, but songs about home.
Her new home had become so dear to her at that moment.
Mrs. Allen as usual began to cry. Polly soon followed her example.
There were tears even in the of some of the punchers, although they
blinked vigorously to keep them back.
When she repeated the chorus, Sage-brush said to Fresno: "Ain't that
great?"
That worthy, however, with the jealousy of an artist, and to hide his
own deeply moved sensibilities, replied: "That ain't so much."
Jack had become completely absorbed in the music. He and Echo were
oblivious to surroundings. His arm had slipped about his wife's waist,
and she gazed fondly into his face. Sage-brush was the first to notice
their attitude. On his calling the attention of the boys to their
happiness, these quietly tiptoed from the room. Polly signaled to Mrs.
Allen, and followed the boys. Josephine awoke Jim as if from a dream
and led him slowly out, leaving the young couple in an earthly paradise
of married love.
When Echo finished, she turned in surprise to find themselves alone.
"Was it as bad as that?" she naively asked Jack.
"What?"
"Why, they've all left us."
Jack laughed softly. "So they have--I forgot they were here," he said,
looking fondly down at his wife.
Echo began to play quietly another ballad. "I've always wanted a
piano," she said.
"You'd found one here waiting, if I'd only known it," he chided.
"You've given me so much already," she murmured. "I've been a big
expense to you."
Jack again slipped his arm about her waist and kissed her. "There ain't
any limit on my love," he declared. "I want you to be happy--"
"Don't you think I am," laughed Echo. "I'm the happiest woman on
earth, Jack, and it's all you. I want to be more than a wife to you, I
want to be a helpmate--but you won't let me."
A wistful expression crept over Echo's countenance.
"Who says so?" he demanded playfully, as if he would punish any man who
dared make such an accusation.
Echo turned on the stool and took his hand. "I know it," she said,
with emphasis. "You've been worried about something for days and
days--don't tell me you haven't."
Jack opened his lips as if to contradict her. "We women learn to look
beneath the surface; what is it, Jack?" she continued.
Jack loosened his wife's handclasp and walked over to the table.
"Nothing--what should I have to worry about?" He spoke carelessly.
"The mortgage?" suggested Echo.
"I paid that off last week," explained Jack.
Echo felt deeply hurt that this news should have been kept from her by
her husband.
"You did, and never told me?" she chided. "Where did you get the
money?" she inquired.
"Why, I--" Jack halted. He could not frame an excuse at once, nor
invent a new lie to cover his old sin. Deeper and deeper he was
getting into the mire of deception.
Echo had arisen from the seat. "It was over three thousand dollars,
wasn't it?" she insisted.
"Something like that," answered Jack noncommittally.
"Well, where did you get it?" demanded his wife.
"An old debt--a friend of mine--I loaned him the money a long time ago
and he paid it back--that's all."
Jack took a drink of water from the olla to hide his confusion.
"Who was it?" persisted Echo.
"You wouldn't know if I told you. Now just stop talking business."
"It isn't fair," declared Echo. "You share all the good things of life
with me, and I want to share some of your business worries. I want to
stand my share of the bad."
Jack saw he must humor her. "When the bad comes I'll tell you," he
assured her, patting her hand.
"You stand between me and the world. You're like a great big mountain,
standing guard over a little tree in the valley, keeping the cold north
wind from treating it too roughly." She sighed contentedly. "But the
mountain does it all."
Jack looked down tenderly at his little wife. Her love for him moved
him deeply.
"Not at all," he said to her. "The little tree grows green and
beautiful. It casts a welcome shade about it, and the heart of the
mountain is made glad to its rocky core to know that the safety of that
little tree is in its keeping."
Taking her in his arms, he kissed her again and again.
"Kissing again," shouted Polly from the doorway. "Say, will you two
never settle down to business? There's Bud Lane and a bunch of others
just into the corral--maybe they want you, Jack."
Jack excused himself. As he stepped out on the piazza he asked Polly:
"Shall I send Bud in?"
"Let him come in if he wants to. I'm not sending for him." Polly
spitefully turned up her nose at him. Jack laughed as he closed the
door.
Echo reseated herself at the piano, fingering the keys.
"How are you getting on with Bud?" she asked the younger girl.
"We don't get on a little bit," she snapped. "Bud never seems to
collect much revenue an' we just keep trottin' slow like--wish I was
married and had a home of my own."
"Aren't you happy with father and mother?"
Polly glanced at Echo with a smile. "Lord, yes," she replied, "in a
way, but I'm only a poor relation--your ma was my ma's cousin or
something like that."
Echo laughed. "Nonsense," she retorted. "Nonsense--you're my dear
sister, and the only daughter that's at the old home now."
"But I want a home of my own, like this," said Polly.
"Then you'd better shake Bud and give Slim a chance."
Polly was too disgusted to answer at once. "Slim Hoover, shucks! Slim
doesn't care for girls--he's afraid of 'em," she said at length. "I
like Bud, with all his orneriness," she declared.
"Why doesn't he come to see you more often?"
"I don't know, maybe it's because he's never forgiven you for marryin'
Jack."
"Why should he mind that?" she asked, startled.
"Well, you know," she answered between stitches, drawing the needle
through the cloth with angry little jerks, "Bud, he never quite
believed Dick was dead."
Echo rose hastily. The vague, haunting half-thoughts of weeks were
crystallized on the instant. She felt as if Dick was trying to speak
to her from out of the great beyond. With a shudder she into a chair
at the table opposite Polly.
"Don't," she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper, "I can't bear to
hear him spoken of. I dreamed of him the other night--a dreadful
dream."
Polly was delighted with this new mystery. It was all so romantic.
"Did you? let's hear it."
With unseeing eyes Echo gazed straight ahead rebuilding from her dream
fabric a tragedy of the desert, in which the two men who had played so
great a part in her life were the actors.
"It seems," she told, "that I was in the desert, such a vast, terrible
desert, where the little dust devils eddied and swirled, and the
merciless sun beat down until it shriveled up every growing thing."
Polly nodded her head sagely.
"That's the way the desert looks--and no water."
Echo paid no heed to the interruption. Her face became wan and
haggard, as in her mind's eye she saw the weary waste of waterless land
quiver and swim under the merciless sun. Not a tree, not a blade of
grass, not a sign of life broke the monotony of crumbling cliffs and
pinnacled rocks. Onward and ever onward stretched yellow ridges and
alkali-whitened ravines, blinding the eye and parching the throat.
"Then I saw a man staggering toward me," she continued; "his face was
white and drawn, his lips cracked and parched--now and then he would
stumble and fall, and lie there on his face in the hot sand, digging
into it with his bony fingers seeking for water."
Echo shut her eyes as if to blot out the picture. Its reality almost
overpowered her.
"Suddenly he raised his eyes to mine," she resumed, after a pause. "It
was Dick."
In her excitement she had arisen, stretching out her arms as if to ward
off an apparition.
"He tried to call me. I saw his lips move, framing my name. Dragging
himself to his feet, he came toward me with his arms outstretched.
Then another form appeared between us fighting to keep him back. They
fought there under the burning sun in the hot dust of the desert until
at last one was crushed to earth. The victor raised his face to mine,
and--it was Jack."
Echo buried her face in her hands. Dry sobs shook her bosom.
Awe-stricken, Polly gazed at the over-wrought wife.
"PFEW!" she laughed, to shake off her fright. "That was a sure enough
nightmare. If I'd a dream like that I'd wake up the whole house
yapping like a coyote."
As the commonplace ever intrudes upon the unusual, so a knock on the
door relieved the tension of the situation. It was Slim. He did not
wait for an invitation to enter, but, opening the door, asked: "Can I
come in?"
"Sure, come in," cried Polly, glad to find any excuse to shake off the
depression of Echo's dream.
"Howdy, Mrs. Payson, just come over to see Jack," was the jolly
Sheriff's greeting.
"He's down at the corral," she informed him.
Mrs. Allen hurried in from the kitchen at this moment, calling: "Echo,
come here, and look at this yere cake. It looks as if it had been sot
upon."
Echo closed the lid of the piano and called her mother's attention to
the presence of Slim Hoover.
"How d'ye do, Slim Hoover?--you might have left some of that dust
outside."
The Sheriff was greatly embarrassed by her chiding. In his ride from
Florence to the Sweetwater, the alkali and sand stirred up by the hoofs
of the horses had settled on his hat and waistcoat so freely that his
clothing had assumed a neutral, gray tone above which his sun-tanned
face and red hair loomed like the moon in a fog. Josephine's scolding
drove him to brush his shoulders with his hat, raising a cloud of dust
about his head.
"Stop it!" Mrs. Allen shouted shrilly. "Slim Hoover, if your brains
was dynamite you couldn't blow the top of your head off."
Polly was greatly amused by Slim's encounter with the cleanly Mrs.
Allen. Slim stood with open mouth, watching Mrs. Allen flounce out of
the room after Polly, who was trying in vain to suppress her laughter.
Turning to the girl, he said: "Ain't seen you in some time."
Slim was thankful that the girl was seated at the table with her back
to him. Somehow or other he found he could speak to her more freely
when she was not looking at him.
"That so?" she challenged. "Come to the birthday?"
"Not regular," he answered.
Polly glanced at him over her shoulder. It was too much for Slim. He
turned away to hide his embarrassment. Partly recovering from his
bashfulness, he coughed, preparatory to speaking. But Polly had
vanished. As one looks sheepishly for the magician's disappearing
coin, so Slim gazed at floor and ceiling as if the girl might pop up
anywhere. Spying an empty chair behind him, he sank into it gingerly
and awkwardly.
Meantime Polly returned with a broom and began sweeping out the
evidences of Slim's visit. She spoke again:
"Get them hold-ups yet that killed 'Ole Man' Terrill?" she asked.
"Not yet. But we had a new shootin' over'n our town yesterday."
Slim was doing his best to make conversation. Polly did not help him
out very freely.
"That so?" was her reply.
"Spotted Taylor shot two Chinamen."
Polly's curiosity was aroused.
"What for?" she asked, stopping her sweeping for a moment.
"Just to give the new graveyard a start," Slim chuckled.
Polly joined in his merriment.
"Spotted Taylor was always a public-spirited citizen," was her comment.
"He sure was," assented Slim.
"Get up there. I want to sweep under that chair." Polly brushed
Slim's feet with the broom vigorously. With an elaborate "Excuse me,"
Slim arose, but re-seated himself in another chair directly in the
pathway of Polly's broom.
"Get out of there, too," she cried.
"Shucks, there ain't any room for me nowhere," he muttered disgustedly.
"You shouldn't take up so much of it."
Slim attempted to take a seat on the small gilt chair which was Jack's
wedding-present to Echo.
Polly caught sight of him in time. "Look out," she shouted. "That
chair wasn't built for a full-grown man like you."
Slim nervously replaced the chair before a writing-desk. Polly wielded
her broom about the feet of the Sheriff, who danced clumsily about,
trying to avoid her.
"You're just trying to sweep me out of here," he complained.
"Well, if you will bring dust in with you, you must expect to be swept
out," Polly replied, with a show of spirit.
Polly was shaking the mat vigorously at the door when Slim said:
"I see they buried Poker Bill this mornin'."
"Is HE dead?" It was the first Polly had heard of the passing away of
one of the characters of the Territory. She had expressed her surprise
in the of an interrogation, emphasizing the "he," a colloquialism of
the Southwest.
Slim, however, had chosen to ignore the manner of speech, and with a
grin answered: "Ye-es, that's why they buried him."
Polly laughed in spite of herself. "What did he die of?" she asked.
As Slim was about to take a drink at the olla, he failed to hear her.
"Eh?" he grunted.
"What did he die of?" she repeated.
"Five aces," was the sober reply of the Sheriff, before he drained the
gourd.
Polly put the broom back of the door, and was rearranging the articles
on the table, before Slim could muster up enough courage to speak on
the topic which was always uppermost in his mind when in her presence.
"Say, Miss Polly," he began.
"If you've anything to say to me, Slim Hoover, just say it--I can't be
bothered to-day--all the fixin's and things," saucily advised the girl.
"Well, what I want to say is--" began the Sheriff.
At this moment Bud Lane, laboring under heavy excitement, burst open
the door.
"Say, Slim, you're wanted down at the corral," he cried, paying no heed
to Polly.
"Shucks!" exclaimed the disappointed Sheriff. "What's the row?"
"I don't know--Buck McKee--he's there with some of the Lazy K outfit.
They want to see you."
Slim threw himself out the door with the mild expletive: "Darn the
luck!"
Bud turned quickly to Polly. "Did Jack pay off the mortgage last
week?" he almost shouted at the girl.
Polly stamped her foot in anger at what seemed to her to be a totally
irrelevant question to the love-making she expected: "How do I know?"
she angrily replied. "If that is all you came to see me for, you can
go and ask him. It makes me so dog-gone mad!"
Polly, with flushed face and knitted brow, left the bewildered Bud
standing in the center of the room, asking himself what it was all
about.
The sound of the voices of disputing men floated in from the corral.
Bud heard them, and comprehended its significance.
"It's all up with me," he cried, in mortal terror. "Buck McKee has
stirred up the suspicion against Jack Payson. Jack paid off his
mortgage, and they wanted to know where he raised the money. Well, Jack
can tell. If he can't, I'll confess the whole business. I won't let
him suffer for me. Buck sha'n't let an innocent man hang for what
we've done."
The sound of footsteps on the piazza and the opening of the door drove
Bud to take refuge in an adjoining room, where he could overhear all
that was happening. He closed the door as the cow-punchers entered
with Slim at their head.