ean 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 Ja