CHAPTER X
The Piano
Five weeks had passed since the marriage of Echo and Jack. On herreturn from the honeymoon in the little hunting cabin in the TortillaRange, the young wife set to work, and already great changes had beenmade in the ranch-house on the Sweetwater. Rooms were repapered andpainted. The big center room was altered into a cozy living-room. Onthe long, low window, giving an outlook on fields of alfalfa, corn andthe silver ribbons of the irrigation ditches, dainty muslin curtainsnow hung. Potted geraniums filled the sill, and in the unusedfireplace Echo had placed a jar of ferns. A clock ticking on themantelpiece added to the cheerfulness and hominess of the house. Onthe walls, horns of mountain-sheep and antlers of antelope and deeralternated with the mounted heads of puma and buffalo. Through theopen window one caught a glimpse of the arms of a windmill, and theoutbuildings of the home ranch. Navajo blankets were scattered overthe floors and seats.
Echo had taken the souvenirs of the hunt and trail which Jack hadcollected, and, with a woman's touch of refinement, had used them fordecorative effects. She had in truth made the room her very own. Thegrace 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 whenthe wagon brought it over from Florence station, little work was doneabout the place. The instrument had been unpacked and placed in theliving-room in Echo's absence. Mrs. Allen, Polly, and Jim rode over tobe present at the presentation. The donors gathered in the living-roomto admire the gift, which shone bravely under the energetic polishingof Mrs. Allen.
"That's an elegant instrument," was her observation, as she flicked animaginary 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 changearound here." The group gravely followed Polly's approving glances.
"That she has," assented Mrs. Allen. "Looked a barn when Jack was abachelor. This certainly is the finest kind of a birthday-present youall 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 theconversation. Speaking as if making a dare, he challenged: "What Iwant to know is, is there anybody here present as can rassle a tune outof 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," gravelypiped up Show Low.
"What did you play," asked the inquisitive Polly.
"Poker," answered Show Low seriously, his face showing no trace ofhumor.
"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 notto be turned into an audience for the exploitation of Show Low'sadventures. Moreover, she did not like to be used even indirectly as atarget for fun-making, although she delighted in making some one else afeeder 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 eyedhis 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 thescrew. His actions created greatest interest, especially toParenthesis, 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 theother in imitation of the manner of his friend, the pianist in theTucson 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. Gazingat 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 playedit continuous--which is why I left home."
"I'd sure like to oblige you, but Maiden's Prayers ain't in myrepetory," explained the mollified musician.
Fresno raised his finger uncertainly over the keyboard searching for akey from which to make a start. The group watched him expectantly. Ashe struck a note each member of his audience jumped back in surprise atthe sound. Fresno scratched his head and gingerly fingered anotherkey. After several false starts, backing and filling, over thekeyboard, he began to pick out with one finger the air "The SuwaneeRiver."
"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 hopelesslyconfused.
"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 theair. That device failed him.
"Will you all whistle that tune? I'm forgettin' it," was his plaintiverequest.
"Sure, let her go, boys," cried Sage-brush.
Falteringly, with many stops and sudden they tried to accompanyFresno's halting pursuit over the keyboard after the tune that wasdodging about in his mind. All at once the player struck his gait andintroduced 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 anoisy if not artistic finish, and whirled about on the stool, to begreeted by hearty applause.
"Well, I reckon that's goin' some!" he boasted, when the hand-clappingsubsided, bowing low to Polly and Mrs. Allen.
"Goin'?" laughed Polly. "Limpin' is what I call it. If you don't learnto 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 Winchestersan' 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 inpreparation for the party. Even if everything was ready, the dear oldsoul would find something to do or worry about.
"Come, now, clear out of here, the hull kit an' b'ilin' of you," sheordered.
The men hastily crowded out on the piazza.
"Take that packin'-case out of sight, if you mean this pianny to be asurprise 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 asuccess. Would you like another selection?" he eagerly asked.
"Not unless you wash your finger," snapped Mrs. Allen, busy polishingthe keys Fresno had st
ruck. "You left a grease-spot on every keyyou'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 doto look after that cake." Mrs. Allen darted into the kitchen. Jimslowly filled his pipe and hunted up the most comfortable chair. Aftertwo or three trials he found one to suit him, and sank back with a sighof content.
"Jack ain't back yet?" Polly put the question.
Polly rearranged the chairs in the room, picking up and replacing thearticles on the table to suit her own artistic conceptions. Shestraightened out a war-bonnet on the wall. She was flicking off a spotof dust in the gilt chair that Jack had got as a wedding present forEcho on the day of the station-agent's murder, and, being reminded ofthe tragedy, she asked: "That posse didn't catch the parties thatkilled Terrill, did they?"
"Not that I hear on. Slim Hoover he took the boys that night an triedto pick up the trail after it entered the river, but they couldn't findwhere it come out."
"One of them fellers, the man that left the station alone, and probablydone the job, rode a pacin' horse," answered Jim, between puffs of hispipe.
"Then he's a stranger to these parts. Jack's pinto paces--it's hisregular gait. It's the only pacing hoss around here."
"That's so," he assented, but made no further comment. The full forceof the observation did not strike him at the time.
Polly began to pump Colonel Jim. There were several recent happeningswhich 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'sgot something on his mind."
Jim smiled at her simplicity and jokingly replied: "Well, he'smarried."
The retort exasperated Polly. She was not meeting with the success shedesired. "Do hush!" she cried, in her annoyance.
"That's enough on any man's mind," Jim laughed as he sauntered out ofthe door.
"Something queer about Jack," observed Polly, seating herself at thetable. "He ain't been the same man since the weddin'. He's all rightwhen Echo's around, but when he thinks no one is watchin' him he sitsaround and sighs."
Jack entered the room at this moment. Absent-mindedly he hung his hatand spurs on a rack and leaned his rifle against the wall, sighingdeeply as he did so. So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he didnot notice Polly until he reached the table. He started in surprisewhen 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 towardTucson this morning to get her out of the way so's to snake the piannyin without her seein' it." Polly glided over to the instrument andtouched 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?" shequeried.
"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 withthe money that you said was comin' in soon, as Dick's share of aspeculation you and him was pardners in? I'm powerful anxious to gethim away from McKee."
Jack had not forgotten the promise, but, alas, under the goading ofMrs. Allen that he should clear off the mortgage on his home, he hadused Dick Lane's money for this purpose. In what a mesh of lies andbroken promises he was entangling himself! Now he was forced furtherto deceive trusting little Polly in the matter that was dearest to herheart.
"No, Polly, but the fact is--that speculation isn't turning out sowell, after all."
The disappointed girl turned sadly away, and went out to Mrs. Allen inthe 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 thehouse.
"Hello, Jack!" was Allen's greeting as he entered, shaking the youngerman's hand.
"When did you come over?"
"This morning," Allen told him. "Echo's birthday, you know, and theold lady allowed we'd have to be here. Ain't seen you since theweddin'--got things lookin' fine here." Allen slowly surveyed the room.
Jack agreed with him with a gesture of assent. A more important topicto 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 privatelyto Allen.
The festivities of the wedding had been shortened. Slim had gathered aposse and taken up the trail of the slayers. Jim Allen had joinedthem. The hazing of Jack, and the hasty departure of the bridal pairon horseback in a shower of corn, shelled and on cob, prevented the twomen from meeting.
The older man had volunteered no explanation. Jack knew that in hisheart Allen did not approve of his actions, but was keeping silentbecause of his daughter.
Jack could restrain himself no longer. "Jim--what happened thatnight?" 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 hislaconic answer.
"Where is he?"
Allen relighted his pipe. When he got the smoke drawing freely, hegazed at Jack thoughtfully and answered: "He's gone. Back where hecame from--into the desert." Jim puffed slowly and then added: "Lookslike you didn't give Dick a square deal."
Allen liked his son-in-law, and was going to stand by him, but inArizona the saying "All's fair in love and war" is not accepted at itsface value.
"I didn't," acknowledged Jack. "I was desperate at the thought oflosing her. She loved me, and had forgotten him--she's happy with menow."
"I reckon that's right," was Jim's consoling reply.
To clinch his argument and soothe his troublesome conscience, Jackcontinued: "She never would have been happy with him."
"That's what I told him," declared Allen. "He knew it, an' that's whyhe 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--thebarrier behind which Dick was wandering in the great desert, cut offfrom the woman he loved by a false friend.
"How I have suffered for that lie!" uttered Jack, in tones full ofanguish. "That's what hurts me most--the thought that I lied to her.I might have killed him that night," pondered Jack. He shuddered atthe 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," suggestedAllen.
Jack swung round and faced him. The observation had struck home. Herealized how poignantly Dick must have endured the loss of Echo andthought of his betrayal by Jack. As he had suffered mentally so Dickmust be suffering in the desert. In self-justification he returned tohis old argument.
"I waited until I was sure he was dead. Six months I waited after weheard the news. After I had told Echo I loved her and found that I wasloved in return--then came this letter. God! What a fight I had withmyself when I found that he lived--was thinking of returning home toclaim her for his own. I rode out into the hills and fought it out allalone, like an Indian--then I resolved to hurry the wedding--to lie toher--and I have been living that lie every minute, every hour."
Jack leaned heavily on the table. His head sank. His voice droppedalmost to a whisper.
Allen slapped him on the back to cheer him up. Philosophically heannounced: "Well, it's got to be as it is. You'll mebbe never hearfrom him again. You mustn't never tell her. I ain't a-goin' to saynothin' about it--her happiness means everything to me."
Jack grasped his hand in silent th
ankfulness.
The two men walked slowly out of the room to the corral.
As Echo galloped across the prairie in the glorious morning air, thesunshine, the lowing of the cattle on the hills, and the songs of thebirds in the trees along the Sweetwater had banished all depressingthoughts, and her mind dwelt on her love for Jack and the pleasantnessof the lines in which her life had fallen.
Only one small cloud had appeared on the horizon. Jack had not sharedwith her his confidences in the business of the ranch. He told her hedid not want to worry her with such cares. True, there were times whenhe was deeply abstracted; but in her presence his moroseness vanishedquickly. Carefully as he had tried to hide his secret, she had, with awoman's intuition, seen beneath the surface of things and realized thatsomething was lacking to complete her happiness.
As Echo turned toward home a song sprang to her lips. Polly spied herfar down the trail.
"Boys, she's coming," she shouted to the men, who were at thebunk-house awaiting Mrs. Payson's return. As they passed the corralthey called to Jack and Allen to join them in the living-room toprepare 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 thedemoralized Allen, renewing his appeal.
Polly came to the rescue of the helpless men by plucking a Navajoblanket from the couch. Tossing one end of it to Show Low, shemotioned 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 hercake-baking and hurried in from the kitchen. "Polly, spread yourskirts--you, too, Jim."
Allen ran in front of the piano, holding out an imaginary dress inimitation of Polly. "Which I ain't got none," he cried.
Parenthesis jumped in front of the piano-stool, trying vainly to hideit with his legs.
"Parenthesis, put your legs together," Mrs. Allen cried.
"I can't, ma'am," wailed the unfortunate puncher. He fell on his kneesbefore 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 astonishedEcho faced those she loved and liked.
Echo made a pretty picture framed in the doorway. She wore herriding-habit of olive-green--from the hem of which peeped her softboots. Her hat, broad, picturesque, typical of the Southwest, hadslipped backward, forming a background for her pretty face. An amusedsmile 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 herquestion.
"What's the matter?" she resumed. "You're herded up like a bunch ofcows in a norther."
Sage-brush began gravely to explain. He got only as far as: "This yerebein' a birthday," when Echo interrupted him: "Oh! then it's abirthday-party?"
Once stopped, Sage-brush could not get started again. He cleared histhroat with more emphasis than politeness; striking the attitude of anorator, with one hand upraised and the other on his hip, he hemmed andhawed 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, takinglong, gulping breaths. At last, looking helplessly about him, heshouted: "Oh, shucks! you tell her, Jack." He pushed him toward Echo.Jack rested his hand on the table and began: "We've a surprise foryou--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 withanything 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 histoes, backing toward the piano. "Go it, you're gettin' there," heshouted.
"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 outhis hand behind him. They struck the polished cover of the instrument,slid off, and Sage-brush sat down on the keys with an unmistakablecrash.
"A piano!" cried Echo exultantly.
"Who done that?" demanded Show Low angrily.
Parenthesis, from his place on the floor, looked at the mischief-makerin disgust. "Sage-brush!" he shouted.
"Givin' the hull thing away," snarled Fresno.
Show Low could contain himself no longer. Going up to Sage-brush, heshook his fist in his face, saying: "You're the limit. You ought tobe herdin' sheep."
The victim of the accident humbly replied: "I couldn't help it."
Mrs. Allen smoothed out the differences by declaring: "What's thedifference, she wouldn't have guessed, not in a million years--standaway 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, hereyes 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, Ido--I do--I can't tell how delighted I am. I can't say how much thismeans to me--I thank you--I say it once, but I feel it a thousandtimes." She seized each of the boys by the hand and shook it heartily.
"Would you like to have another selection?" asked Fresno, relieving thetension of the situation.
"No!" shouted the punchers unanimously. Fresno looked very muchcrestfallen, since he considered that he had made a deep impression byhis 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 withhappiness. 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 shesang Fresno, holding up his right index-finger, remarked to no one inparticular: "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 wasso 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 theyblinked vigorously to keep them back.
When she repeated the chorus, Sage-brush said to Fresno: "Ain't thatgreat?"
That worthy, however, with the jealousy of an artist, and to hide hisown deeply moved sensibilities, replied: "That ain't so much."
Jack had become completely absorbed in the music. He and Echo wereoblivious to surroundings. His arm had slipped about his wife's waist,and she gazed fondly into his face. Sage-brush was the first to noticetheir attitude. On his calling the attention of the boys to theirhappiness, these quietly tiptoed from the room. Polly signaled to Mrs.Allen, and followed the boys. Josephine awoke Jim as if from a dreamand led him slowly out, leaving the young couple in an earthly paradiseof 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 apiano," 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 bigexpense to you."
Jack again slipped his arm about her waist and kissed her. "There ain'tany 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 onearth, Jack, and it's all you. I want to be more than a wife to you, Iwant 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 whodared 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 anddays--don't tell me you haven't."
Jack opened his lips as if to contradict her. "We women learn to lookbeneath 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 byher husband.
"You did, and never told me?" she chided. "Where did you get themoney?" she inquired.
"Why, I--" Jack halted. He could not frame an excuse at once, norinvent a new lie to cover his old sin. Deeper and deeper he wasgetting 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 agoand 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 lifewith me, and I want to share some of your business worries. I want tostand my share of the bad."
Jack saw he must humor her. "When the bad comes I'll tell you," heassured 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 northwind from treating it too roughly." She sighed contentedly. "But themountain does it all."
Jack looked down tenderly at his little wife. Her love for him movedhim deeply.
"Not at all," he said to her. "The little tree grows green andbeautiful. It casts a welcome shade about it, and the heart of themountain is made glad to its rocky core to know that the safety of thatlittle 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 twonever settle down to business? There's Bud Lane and a bunch of othersjust 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." Pollyspitefully turned up her nose at him. Jack laughed as he closed thedoor.
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 tocollect much revenue an' we just keep trottin' slow like--wish I wasmarried 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 away, but I'm only a poor relation--your ma was my ma's cousin orsomething like that."
Echo laughed. "Nonsense," she retorted. "Nonsense--you're my dearsister, 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! Slimdoesn't care for girls--he's afraid of 'em," she said at length. "Ilike 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 needlethrough the cloth with angry little jerks, "Bud, he never quitebelieved Dick was dead."
Echo rose hastily. The vague, haunting half-thoughts of weeks werecrystallized on the instant. She felt as if Dick was trying to speakto her from out of the great beyond. With a shudder she into a chairat the table opposite Polly.
"Don't," she said, her voice scarcely above a whisper, "I can't bear tohear him spoken of. I dreamed of him the other night--a dreadfuldream."
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 dreamfabric a tragedy of the desert, in which the two men who had played sogreat a part in her life were the actors.
"It seems," she told, "that I was in the desert, such a vast, terribledesert, where the little dust devils eddied and swirled, and themerciless 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 andhaggard, as in her mind's eye she saw the weary waste of waterless landquiver and swim under the merciless sun. Not a tree, not a blade ofgrass, not a sign of life broke the monotony of crumbling cliffs andpinnacled rocks. Onward and ever onward stretched yellow ridges andalkali-whitened ravines, blinding the eye and parching the throat.
"Then I saw a man staggering toward me," she continued; "his face waswhite and drawn, his lips cracked and parched--now and then he wouldstumble and fall, and lie there on his face in the hot sand, digginginto it with his bony fingers seeking for water."
Echo shut her eyes as if to blot out the picture. Its reality almostoverpowered her.
"Suddenly he raised his eyes to mine," she resumed, after a pause. "Itwas Dick."
In her excitement she had arisen, stretching out her arms as if to wardoff an apparition.
"He tried to call me. I saw his lips move, framing my name. Dragginghimself to his feet, he came toward me with his arms outstretched.Then another form appeared between us fighting to keep him back. Theyfought there under the burning sun in the hot dust of the desert untilat 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 enoughnightmare. If I'd a dream like that I'd wake up the whole houseyapping like a coyote."
As the commonplace ever intrudes upon the unusual, so a knock on thedoor relieved the tension of the situation. It was Slim. He did notwait for an invitation to enter, but, opening the door, asked: "Can Icome in?"
"Sure, come in," cried Polly, glad to find any excuse to shake off thedepression of Echo's dream.
"Howdy, Mrs. Payson, just come over to see Jack," was the jollySheriff's greeting.
"He's down at the corral," she informed him.
Mrs. A
llen 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 sotupon."
Echo closed the lid of the piano and called her mother's attention tothe presence of Slim Hoover.
"How d'ye do, Slim Hoover?--you might have left some of that dustoutside."
The Sheriff was greatly embarrassed by her chiding. In his ride fromFlorence to the Sweetwater, the alkali and sand stirred up by the hoofsof the horses had settled on his hat and waistcoat so freely that hisclothing had assumed a neutral, gray tone above which his sun-tannedface and red hair loomed like the moon in a fog. Josephine's scoldingdrove him to brush his shoulders with his hat, raising a cloud of dustabout his head.
"Stop it!" Mrs. Allen shouted shrilly. "Slim Hoover, if your brainswas 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 ofthe 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 backto him. Somehow or other he found he could speak to her more freelywhen 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. Heturned away to hide his embarrassment. Partly recovering from hisbashfulness, he coughed, preparatory to speaking. But Polly hadvanished. As one looks sheepishly for the magician's disappearingcoin, so Slim gazed at floor and ceiling as if the girl might pop upanywhere. Spying an empty chair behind him, he sank into it gingerlyand awkwardly.
Meantime Polly returned with a broom and began sweeping out theevidences 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 himout 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 brushedSlim's feet with the broom vigorously. With an elaborate "Excuse me,"Slim arose, but re-seated himself in another chair directly in thepathway 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'swedding-present to Echo.
Polly caught sight of him in time. "Look out," she shouted. "Thatchair wasn't built for a full-grown man like you."
Slim nervously replaced the chair before a writing-desk. Polly wieldedher 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 sweptout," 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 ofone of the characters of the Territory. She had expressed her surprisein the of an interrogation, emphasizing the "he," a colloquialism ofthe Southwest.
Slim, however, had chosen to ignore the manner of speech, and with agrin 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 thegourd.
Polly put the broom back of the door, and was rearranging the articleson the table, before Slim could muster up enough courage to speak onthe 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 bebothered 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 openthe door.
"Say, Slim, you're wanted down at the corral," he cried, paying no heedto 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 theluck!"
Bud turned quickly to Polly. "Did Jack pay off the mortgage lastweek?" he almost shouted at the girl.
Polly stamped her foot in anger at what seemed to her to be a totallyirrelevant 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 cango and ask him. It makes me so dog-gone mad!"
Polly, with flushed face and knitted brow, left the bewildered Budstanding in the center of the room, asking himself what it was allabout.
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 hasstirred up the suspicion against Jack Payson. Jack paid off hismortgage, and they wanted to know where he raised the money. Well, Jackcan tell. If he can't, I'll confess the whole business. I won't lethim suffer for me. Buck sha'n't let an innocent man hang for whatwe've done."
The sound of footsteps on the piazza and the opening of the door droveBud to take refuge in an adjoining room, where he could overhear allthat was happening. He closed the door as the cow-punchers enteredwith Slim at their head.
The Round-Up: A Romance of Arizona; Novelized from Edmund Day's Melodrama Page 10
