enter 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