The Fighting Shepherdess

by Caroline Lockhart

  CHAPTER XVI

  STRAWS

  It was spring. The sagebrush had turned from gray to green and thedelicate pink of the rock roses showed here and there on the hillsides.The crisp rattle of cottonwood leaves was heard when the wind stirredthrough the gulches, and along the water course the drooping plumes ofthe willows were pale green and tender. It was the season of hope, ofenergy revived and new ambitions--the months of rejuvenation, when theblood runs faster and the heart beats higher.

  But, alas, the joyful finger of spring touched the citizens of Proutylightly. Worn out and jaded with the strain of a hard winter and waitingfor something to happen, they did not feel their pulses greatlyaccelerated by mere sunshine. It took more than a rock rose and a pussywillow to color the world for them. June might as well be January, ifone is financially embarrassed.

  The suspicion was becoming a private conviction that when Proutyacquired anything beyond a blacksmith shop and a general merchandisestore it got more than it needed. Conceived and born in windy optimism,it had no stamina. The least observant could see that, like a fiddlercrab's, the progress of the town was backward. But these truths wereadmitted only in moments of drunken candor or deepest depression, for tohint that Prouty had no future was as treasonable as criticising thegovernment in a crisis. So the citizens went on boasting with doggedcheerfulness and tried to unload their holdings on any chance stranger.

  A trickle of water came through the ditch that had been scratched in theearth from the mountains to some three miles beyond Prouty. Nearly everyhead-gate the length of it had been the scene of a bloody battle wherethe ranchers fought each other with irrigating shovels for their rights.And, after all, it was seldom worth the gore and effort, for the tricklegenerally stopped altogether in August when they needed it. If the flowdid not stop at the intake it broke out somewhere below and floodedsomebody. If the sides did not give way because of the moistureloosening the soil, the rats and prairie dogs conspired to ruin Proutyby tunneling into the banks. And if by a miracle "the bone and sinew" ofthe community raised one cutting of alfalfa, the proceeds went to theSecurity State Bank, or Abram Pantin, to keep up their 12 per cent.interest.

  When the route to the Coast was shortened by one of the state'srailroads and Prouty found itself on the cutoff, it was delirious withjoy, but it regained its balance when the fast trains not only did notstop, but seemed to speed up instead of slackening; while the localwhich brought any prospective investor deposited him in a frame of mindwhich was such that it was seldom possible to remove his prejudiceagainst the country.

  These were the conditions one spring day when the buds that had notalready burst were bursting and Mr. Teeters dashed into Prouty. "Dashed"is not too strong a word to describe his arrival, for the leaders of hisfour-horse team were running away and the wheelers were, at least, notlagging. It was obvious to those familiar with Mr. Teeters' habits thathe was en route to the station to meet incoming passengers. This wasproclaimed by his conveyance and regalia. He wore a well-filledcartridge belt and six-shooter, while a horse hair watch chain drapedacross a buckskin waistcoat, ornate with dyed porcupine quills, gave anadditional Western flavor to his costume. His beaded gauntlets reachedto his elbow, and upon occasions like the present he wore moccasins.There was a black silk handkerchief around the neck of his red flannelshirt, and if the rattlesnake skin that encircled his Stetson did notbring a scream from the lady dudes when they caught sight of it, Teeterswould feel keenly disappointed.

  "I can wrangle dudes to a fare-ye-well and do good at it," Teeters haddeclared to the Major. And it was no idle boast, apparently, for Teetersstood alone, supreme and unchallenged, the champion dude-wrangler of thecountry.

  "It's a kind of talent--a gift, you might say--like breakin' horses ortamin' wild animals," he was wont to reply modestly when questioned bythose who followed his example and failed lamentably. "You got to bekind and gentle with dudes, yet firm with them. Onct they git the upperhand of you they's no livin' with 'em."

  Five years had brought their changes to Teeters as well as to Prouty.

  He was still faithful to Miss Maggie Taylor, but a subtle difference hadcome into his attitude towards her mother. He was less ingratiating inhis manner, less impressed by the importance of her father, thedistinguished undertaker; less interested in her recitals of her musicaltriumphs when she had played the pipe organ in Philadelphia. Her habitof singing hymns and humming which had annoyed him even in the days whenhe was merely tolerated, actually angered him.

  Now, as the four horses attached to the old-fashioned stagecoach whichhad been resurrected from a junk-heap behind a blacksmith shop, repairedand shipped to the Scissor Outfit as being the last word in thepicturesque discomfort for which dudes hankered, the onlookers observedwith keen interest as the Dude Wrangler tore past the Prouty House,"There must be a bunch of millionaires coming in on the local."

  The horses kept on past the station, but by throwing his weight on onerein Teeters ran them over the flat in a circle until they were winded.Then he brought them dripping and exhausted to the platform, where hesaid civilly to a bystander, indicating a convenient pickhandle:

  "If you'll jest knock the 'off' leader down if he bats an eyelash whenthe train pulls in, I'll be much obliged to you."

  As is frequently the way with millionaires, few of those who emergedfrom the day coach sandwiched in between a coal and freight car, lookedtheir millions. It was evident that they had reserved their betterclothing for occasions other than traveling, since to the critical eyesof the spectators they looked as though they were dressed for one of thelocal functions known as a "Hard Times Party."

  The present party of millionaire folk seemed to be led by a bewhiskeredgentleman in plaid knickerbockers and puttees, who had travelled all theway from Canton, Ohio, in hobnailed shoes in order instantly to be readyfor mountain climbing.

  To a man they trained their cameras upon Teeters, who scowled, displayedhis teeth slightly, and looked ferocious and desperate enough to scare ababy.

  Then his expression changed to astonishment as his eyes fell upon apassenger that was one of three who, slow in collecting their luggage,were just descending. A second look convinced him, and he not only letout a bloodcurdling yell of welcome, but inadvertently slackened thelines that had been taut as fiddle strings over the backs of the horses.The leaders jumped over "the Innocent Bystander" before he had time touse his pickhandle, reared and fell on their backs, where they laykicking the harness to pieces.

  "You miser'ble horse-stealin', petty larceny, cache-robbin'--" just intime Teeters remembered that there were ladies present and curtailed hisgreeting to Hughie Disston. "Why didn't you let me know you was comin'?"he ended.

  "Wanted to surprise you, Teeters," said Disston, dropping the bags hecarried.

  "Yo shore done it!" replied Teeters emphatically, casting an eye at thewrithing mass of horses. "It'll take me an hour or more to patch thatharness!"

  "In that event," said the guest from Canton, Ohio, with a relief thatwas unmistakable, "it were better, perhaps, that we should go to thehotel and wait for you."

  "It were," replied Teeters. "It's that big yella building with the redtrimmin's." He pointed toward the town with his fringed and beadedgauntlet. "I'll be along directly, and if I kin, I'll stop and git you."

  "Isn't he a character!" exclaimed a lady in an Alpine hat, delightedly.

  Teeters wrapped the lines around the brake and descended leisurely.

  "Set on their heads, Old Timers"--to the volunteers who were endeavoringto disentangle the struggling horses--and shook hands with Disston.

  "This is Mrs. Rathburn and Miss Rathburn, Clarence--"

  Mr. Teeters bowed profoundly, and as he removed his hat his bang fell inhis eyes, so that he looked like a performing Shetland pony.

  "Much obliged to meet you, ladies," deferentially. Then to Disston,darkly:

  "I'll take that from you onct, or twict, maybe,--but if you call meClarence three times I'll cut your heart out."


  Disston grinned understandingly.

  Toomey was among those who went to the Prouty House to look at the"bunch of millionaires" waiting on the veranda, and his surpriseequalled Teeters' at seeing Disston.

  "Say, Hughie--I got a deal on that's a pippin--a pippin. There isn't aflaw in it!" said Toomey confidentially.

  "Glad to hear it, Jap," Disston replied cordially, and presented him toMrs. Rathburn and her daughter.

  The mother was a small woman of much distinction of appearance. Awell-poised manner, together with snow-white hair worn in a smoothmoderate roll away from her face, and very black eyes that had a ratherhard brilliancy, made her a person to be noticed. Having engineered herown life successfully, her sole interest now lay in engineering that ofher daughter.

  The last place Mrs. Rathburn would have selected to spend a summer wasan isolated ranch in the sagebrush, but propinquity, she knew, had donewonders in friendships that had seemed hopelessly platonic, so, whenHugh urged them to join him, and endeavored to impart some of his ownenthusiasm for the country, she assented.

  In another way the daughter was not less noticeable than the mother,though more typically southern, with her soft drawl and appealingmanner. Her skin had been so carefully protected since infancy that itwas of a dazzling whiteness that might never have known the sunshine.Her feet were conspicuously small, her hands white, perfectly kept andhelpless. Nature had given her the bronze hair that dyers strive for,and her brown eyes corresponded. She was as unlike the other alertself-sufficient young persons of the "millionaire bunch"--who wereeither dressed for utilitarian purposes only, or in finery of a pastmode as could well be imagined.

  Miss Rathburn had managed to remain immaculate, while their faces weresmudged and streaked with soot and car dust, their hats awry and hairdishevelled. Cool, serene, with a filmy veil thrown back from her hatbrim, she rocked idly, utterly unconscious of the eyes of the populace.

  "The scenery is grand--Wagnerian! Out here one forgets one's ego,doesn't one?" the lady in the Alpine hat was saying when, leading theparty like a bewhiskered gander, the gentleman from Canton, Ohio, dashedto the end of the veranda with his camera ready for action.

  "What a picturesque character!" she cried ecstatically, following. "Andsee how beau-tee-fully she manages those horses!"

  The cameras clicked as a young woman sitting very erect on the highspring seat of a wagon and looking straight ahead of her came past thehotel at a brisk trot, holding the reins over four spirited horses.

  Disston straightened and asked quickly:

  "Who's that, Jap? It looks like--"

  "Mormon Joe's Kate," Toomey finished. His tone had a sneer in it. "Youwere very good friends when you left, I remember."

  The eyes of both Mrs. Rathburn and her daughter showed surprise whenDisston colored.

  "That we are not now is her fault entirely," he answered. "How is she?"

  Toomey shrugged a shoulder.

  "If you mean physically--I should say her health was perfect. No oneever sees her. She lives out in the hills alone with her sheep and acouple of herders."

  "How very extraordinary!" Miss Rathburn observed languidly.

  "Plucky, I call it," Disston answered.

  "They've named her the 'Sheep Queen of Bitter Crick.'" Toomey laugheddisagreeably.

  "It's curious you've never mentioned her, Hughie, when you've told usabout everyone else in the country."

  "I didn't think you'd be interested, Beth," he answered stiffly.

  Toomey changed the subject and the incident seemed forgotten, but Mrs.Rathburn's eyes rested upon Hugh frequently with a look that wasinquiring and speculative.

  * * * * *

  Kate's heart always hardened and her backbone stiffened involuntarilythe moment she had her first glimpse of Prouty. Invariably it had thiseffect upon her and to-day was no different from any other. Her eyesnarrowed and her nerves tightened as though to meet the attack of anadvancing enemy when at the edge of the bench, before she set the brakefor the steep descent, she looked upon the town below her.

  While her own feeling never altered and her attitude remained asimplacable as the day she had sworn vengeance upon it, the bearing ofthe town had changed considerably. With cold inscrutable eyes she hadwatched open hostility and active enmity become indifference. Engrossedin its own troubles, Prouty had forgotten her, save when one of her rarevisits reminded it of her existence. The comments upon such occasionswere mostly of a humorous nature, pertaining to the "Sheep Queen," atitle which had been bestowed upon her in derision.

  They heard exaggerated accounts of her losses through storms andcoyotes, knew that she acted as camptender and herder when necessary,continued to live in a sheep wagon, and they presumed that she was stilldeeply in debt to the mysterious person or persons from whom she hadobtained money at the time the bank threatened foreclosure.

  She was seldom mentioned except in connection with the murder of MormonJoe, a story with which the inhabitants occasionally entertainedstrangers. In other words, she was of no consequence socially orfinancially.

  Looking neither to the right nor to the left as she swung her leadersaround the corner, yet no sign of the town's retrogression since herlast visit escaped her--any more than did the mean small-town smirk uponthe faces of a group of doorway loafers, who commented humorously uponthe "Sheep Queen's" arrival.

  Yet there were tiny straws which showed that the wind was quartering. Afew persons inclined their heads slightly in greeting, while thedeference due a customer who paid cash was creeping into the manner ofScales of the Emporium. And there were others.

  These small things she noted with satisfaction. It was the kind of coinshe demanded in payment for isolation and hardships. She did not wanttheir friendship; she wanted merely their recognition. To force fromthose who had gone out of their way to insult and belittle her the tacitadmission of her success was a portion of the task she had set herself.Her purpose, and the means of attaining it were as clear in her mind asa piece of war strategy.

  Kate gauged her position with intuitive exactness, and could quiteimpersonally see herself as Prouty saw her. She had no hallucinations onthat score and knew that she was a long way yet from the fulfillment ofher ambition. When she had reached a point where to decry her successwas to proclaim her disparager envious or absurd, she would besatisfied; until then, she considered herself no more successful thanthe failures about her who yet found room to laugh at her.

  Kate now shrugged a shoulder imperceptibly as she noted that anotherstore building was empty. So the tailor had flitted? She recalled theWestern adage concerning towns with no Jews in them and smiled faintly.Two doors below, still another shop was vacant. "To Let" signs were notsynonymous with prosperity. Hiram Butefish supported his back againstthe door jamb in an attitude which did not suggest any pressingbusiness. Mrs. Sudds, who formerly had passed Kate with a face that wasostentatiously blank, now stared at her with a certain inquisitiveamiability. Major Prouty sitting in front of the post office waved ahand at her that was comparatively friendly. Oh, yes--the wind wasbeginning to blow from a new direction, undoubtedly.

  She stopped in front of the bank, where she kept an account onlysufficiently large to pay her current expenses. She had set the brakeand was wrapping the lines about them when a curious sound attracted herattention. Looking up she saw approaching the first automobile inProuty, driven by Mrs. Abram Pantin. Beside her, elated andself-conscious, was Mrs. Jasper Toomey. Kate got down quickly to holdthe heads of the leaders, who were snorting at the monster. The machinewas of a type which gave the driver the appearance of taking a sitzbath in public. Mrs. Pantin when driving sat up so straight that shelooked like a prairie dog. Mrs. Toomey unconsciously imitated her, sothey looked like two prairie dogs out for an airing--a thought whichoccurred to Kate as she watched the approaching novelty.

  The sheep woman had not met Mrs. Toomey since the day when the finalblow had been given to her faith in human natu
re. Now while Kate's facewas masklike she felt a keen curiosity as to how Time was using thewoman who had had so much to do with the molding of her character andfuture.

  She saw Mrs. Toomey's mental start when the latter recognized her, andthe momentary hesitation before she drew back far enough not to be seenby Mrs. Pantin, and inclined her head slightly. It was the languid airof a great lady acknowledging the existence of the awed peasantry.

  The incident filled Kate with a white fury that was like one of herold-time rages. Yet she was helpless to resent it. Her resentment wouldmean nothing to anybody, even if she had any way of showing it. It wasquite useless at the moment for her to tell herself that Mrs. Toomey wasonly a pitiful inconsequential little coward, whose action was inkeeping with her nature. She knew it to be true, yet she was stirred toher depths by the insult, and if anything more had been needed to keepher steadfast to her purpose, the incident would have accomplished it.Sensitive to the extent of morbidness--it was impossible for her toignore the occurrence.

  Kate's hands were trembling with the violence of her emotions as shetied a slip noose in a leather strap and secured the horses to therailing. She made a pretence of examining the harness in order to regainsufficient self-possession to transact her business in the bank withthe impersonal coolness to which she had schooled herself when it wasnecessary to enter that institution.

  Mr. Vernon Wentz at his near-mahogany desk was deep in thought when Katepassed him. He bowed absently and she responded in the same manner. Itoccurred to Mr. Wentz that a time when everyone else was eitherborrowing, or endeavoring to, she was one of the few customers whosebalances appeared ample for their expenses.

  The banker's attitude since his interview with Kate and her subsequentastonishing and unexpected payment of the mortgage had been one ofpolite aloofness. That matter was still a mystery which he hoped tosolve sometime. But long ago Mr. Wentz had learned that the life of abanker is not the free independent life of a laundryman, and that with acompetitor like Abram Pantin forever harassing him by getting the creamof the loans, it was sometimes necessary to make concessions andconciliations.

  As Kate was leaving, he arose and extended a hand over the railing.

  "We don't see you often, Miss Prentice."

  She showed no surprise at his action and extended her own hand withouteither alacrity or hesitancy as she replied briefly:

  "I seldom come to Prouty."

  "I merely wished to say that if at any time we can accommodate you, donot hesitate to ask us." Mr. Wentz realized that he was laying himselfopen to an embarrassing reminder, and expected it, but Kate did notbetray by so much as the flicker of an eyelid that she remembered whenshe had pleaded, not for money, but only for time to save herself fromruin.

  "You are very kind." She bowed slightly.

  "You are one of our most valued customers." Her reserve piqued him; itwas a kind of challenge to his gallantry. "I hope--I trust you willallow us to show our appreciation in some way--if only a small favor."

  "I don't need it."

  "You are very fortunate to be in that position, the way times are atpresent. In that case," he smiled with the assurance of a man who hadhad his conquests, "I'll presume to ask one. We should bepleased--delighted to handle your entire account for you. You keep it--"

  "In Omaha."

  "Why not in Prouty?" ingratiatingly.

  Kate did not answer immediately, but while she returned the gaze of hismelting brown eyes steadily she received a swift impression that forsome reason deposits would be particularly welcome. There had been noeagerness or anxiety to suggest it, yet she had the notion strongly thatthe bank needed the money. Perhaps, she reasoned swiftly, the suspicionwas born merely of her now habitual distrust of motives; nevertheless,it was there, to become a fixed opinion.

  While she seemed to deliberate, Mr. Wentz's thoughts were of a differentnature. If she were not so tanned and wore the clothes ofcivilization--she had the features, and, by George! she had a figure!These interesting mental comments were interrupted by a sudden dilationof Kate's pupils as though from some sudden mental excitement. The grayiris grew luminous, he noticed, while her face was flooded with color,as though she had been startled.

  "I will consider it."

  The answer was noncommittal, but the graceful sweeping gesture withwhich he stroked his mustache as she departed was one of satisfaction.Mr. Wentz had a notion that after looking at him for all these yearsthe young woman had just really seen him.

  The banker returned to his desk, opened a drawer and extracted a smallmirror, in which he regarded himself surreptitiously. What was it abouthim--what one thing in particular, he wondered, that was so compellingthat even a woman like this Kate Prentice must relent at his first signof interest? Was it his appearance or his personality?

  In the pleasing occupation of contemplating his own features and tryingto answer these absorbing questions, Mr. Wentz forgot temporarily thatNeifkins, in violation of the law governing such matters, was in debt tothe bank beyond the amount of his holdings as director, and behind withhis interest--a condition which had disturbed the president not a littlebecause it was so fraught with unpleasant possibilities.