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Allen, throwing her arms about Echo's neck, burst into tears, crying: "My little girl." "What's the use of opening up the sluices now, Josephine?" "Let her alone, Jim," drawled Slim; "her feelin's is harrowed some, an' irrigation is what they needs most." The outburst of tears was incomprehensible to the bridegroom.
There was honesty in this argument, but he vitiated it by deferring to act upon the suggestion that naturally arose with it: Why, then, not take Jim Allen, Echo's father, to whom her happiness was the chief purpose in life, into confidence in regard to the matter? There will be time enough to tell the Colonel before the wedding, he thought.
"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.
I knew several of the dwelling places of echo; one in chief was between a large barn and a deep wood, and others at different points on Beaver Pond. Never would they return the individual voice; all came reflected back as echo's own, neither mine nor that of my companions; only now louder or less, more distinct or faint.
"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.
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.
But the echo's laugh was a phantasy of mist and dawn and inestimable balsam-scented spaces where little green ferns and little brown beasties and soft-breasted birdlings frolicked eternally in pristine sweetness. Seven miles further down the lake, at the beginning of the rapids, the Indian Guide spoke again.
The skirt was divided, and reached just below the knee; her blouse, of lighter material, and brown in color, was loose, allowing free play for her arms and shoulders. High riding-boots were laced to the knee. A sombrero and riding-gloves lay on the table ready to complete her costume. Bud coldly acknowledged Echo's affectionate and happy greeting, and curtly informed her that Jack had arrived.
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