CHAPTER IV
The three months' school had begun in earnest. Each day Hope found newinterest in her small class and in her surroundings. She readily learnedto dispense with all the comforts and luxuries to which she had beenborn, substituting instead a rare sense of independence, an expansion ofher naturally wild spirit. She dispensed also with conventionalities,except such as were ingrained with her nature, yet she was far fromhappy in the squaw-man's family. She could have ridden home in a fewhours, but remembered too keenly her mother's anger and her father'sparting words. He said to her:
"You have hurt your mother and spoiled her summer by the stand you havetaken. You are leaving here against my wishes and against your ownjudgment. The only thing I've got to say is this: don't come back heretill you've finished your contract up there, till you've kept your wordto the letter. No one of my blood is going back on their word. A fewrough knocks will do you good."
He probably discovered in a very few hours how much he loved his girl,how she had grown into his life, for the next day after she had left hedrove to the distant town and hunted up his wife's nephew, who hadcaused all this trouble.
"You deserve another thrashing," he said when he had found him, "but nowyou've got to turn to and do what you can to bring things back to wherethey were. Hope's left home and 's gone to teaching school up in themountains at Harris'. Now, what in thunder am I going to do about it?She can't live there with those breeds. Lord, I slept there once and thefleas nearly ate me up!"
The boy's face turned a trifle pale. "I'm sorry, uncle, about this. Inever thought she would do such a thing, on my account--not after Ileft. And she's gone to Joe Harris' place! I know all about that, aregular nest of low breeds and rustlers. She can't stay there!"
"But she will, just the same," announced the man, "because when she toldme that she'd promised Harris, and that she was going, anyway, I toldher to go and take her medicine till the school term was ended."
"But surely you won't allow her to stay, to _live_ at Joe Harris'! Thereare other people up there, white people, with whom she could live. Why,uncle, you can't allow her to stay there!"
"Why not? She's made her nest, let her lie in it for awhile--fleas andall. It won't hurt her any. But I'm going to keep a close eye on herjust the same. I couldn't go up there myself on account of your aunt'sbeing here, but I was thinking about it all last night, and I finallyconcluded to send a bunch of cattle up there, beef cattle, and hold 'emfor shipment. Now I came here to town to tell you that your aunt wantsyou to come back to the ranch, but you're not going to come back, see?You're going up there and hold those cattle for a spell, and keep youreye on my girl. I don't give a damn about the steers--it's the girl; butyou've got to have an excuse for being there. Your aunt's got to have anexcuse, too. These cattle--there's two hundred head of 'em--they're_yours_--see? I'll have 'em all vented to-morrow, for in case Hopethought they wasn't yours she might catch on. You can ship 'em in thefall for your trouble. She won't think anything of you holding cattle upthere, because the range is so good. So you look out for her, see howshe is every day, and send me word by McCullen, who I'll send along withyou. You can take a cook and another man if you need one. And now don'tlet her catch on that I had a hand in this! Seen anything of them blameNew Yorkers yet?" Young Carter shook his head absent-mindedly. He wasfilled with delight at this clever scheme of his uncle's. "No? Well,mebbe there's a telegram. Your aunt expected me to take them back to theranch to-morrow. Never mind thanking me for the cattle. You do your partto the letter. Send me word every day and don't forget. And anotherthing, just quit your thinking about marrying that girl, and keep yourhands off of her! Remember she's in a wild country up there, among toughcustomers, and she probably knows it by now, and the _chances are_ she'sgot a gun buckled onto her!"
He was right. Hope found herself among too many rough characters to feelsafe without a gun concealed beneath her blouse or jacket, yet rough asthe men were, they treated this quiet-faced girl with the utmostrespect, perhaps fearing her. Her reputation as a phenomenal shot wasnot far-fetched, and had reached the remotest corners of the country.She had played with a gun as a baby, had been allowed to use one when awee child, and had grown up with the passion for firearms strong withinher. Shooting was a gift with her, perfected by daily practice. In oneof her rooms at the ranch the girl had such a collection of firearms aswould have filled the heart of many an old connoisseur with longing. Itwas her one passion, perhaps not a more expensive one than most womenpossess; yet, for a girl, unique. Her father gratified her in this, justas other fathers gratify their girls in their desire for music, art,fine clothes, or all, as the case may be. But the things that most girlslove so well had small place in the life of Hope Hathaway. She caredlittle for music, and less for fine clothes. Society she detested,declaring that a full season in New York would kill her. Perhaps if shehad not been filled with the determination to stay away from it, itsexcitement might finally have won her; but she was of the West. Itsvastness filled her with a love that was part of her nature. Itsboundless prairies, its freedom, were greater than all civilization hadto offer her.
She brought with her to the mountains a long-distance rifle and a braceof six-shooters. A shotgun she seldom used, for the reason that to herquick, accurate eye a rifle did better, more varied work, and answeredevery purpose of a shotgun. It was said that each bird she marked on thewing dropped at her feet in two pieces, its head severed smoothly. Thismay not have been true always, but the fact remains that the birdsdropped when she touched the trigger.
She was an odd character for a girl, reserved and quiet even with hermost intimate friends, rough and impulsive as a boy sometimes, in speechand actions, again as dignified as the proudest queen. Her friends neverknew how to take her, because they never understood her. She left, sofar along her trail in life, nothing but shattered ideals and delusions,but she had not become cynical or embittered, only wiser. After herfirst week's stay at Harris' she began to realize that perhaps she hadalways expected too much of people. Here were people of whom she hadexpected nothing opening up new side lights on life that she had neverthought to explore. Life seemed full of possibilities to her now, atleast, immediate possibilities.
She had not met again the courteous, smooth-faced young man who hadmistaken her for an Indian girl, though he had come the next morning forthe horses, and had ridden past the ranch more than once. Yet she hadnot forgotten the incident, or what the Harris girls had told her, fordaily as she passed the group of loungers on her return from school sheheard his name gruffly spoken, intermixed with oaths. They certainlymeant mischief, and she was curious to know what it was.
The first school week had ended. On Friday night she wondered how shecould manage to exist through Saturday and Sunday, but Saturday morningfound her in the saddle, accompanied by the three largest Harris boys,en route for the highest peaks of the mountains.
"This is something like living," she exclaimed, pulling in her horseafter the first few miles. "How pretty all of this is! What people callscenery, I suppose. But give me the prairie, smooth and level as far asthe eye can reach! There's nothing like it in all the world! The openprairie, a cool, spring day like this, and a horse that will go tillit's ready to fall dead--that is life! Who is it that lives over there?"she asked, pointing toward some ranch buildings, nestled in a low, greenvalley.
"That's the Englishman's place," answered the soft-voiced twin.
"Sheep-man," explained Dave disgustedly. "See them sheds?"
"Oh, the new man by the name of Livingston. Do you boys know him?" askedthe girl curiously.
"Nope! Don't want to, neither. Seen him lots of times, though," answeredDave.
"He's come in here without bein' asked, an' thinks he can run the wholecountry," explained the soft-voiced twin.
"Is he trying to run the whole country?" asked Hope.
"Well, he's runnin' his sheep over everybody's range, an' they ain'tgoin' to stand for it," replied the boy.
"But what can
they do about it? Have they asked him to move his sheep?"
"No. What's the use after they've been over the range--spoiled it,anyhow. No, you bet they ain't goin' to ask him nothing!"
The girl thought for a moment, absently pulling the "witches' knots"from her horse's mane, while it climbed a hill at a swinging gait, thencontinued as though talking to herself:
"Once upon a time a young man took what money he had in the world, andgoing into a far-away, wild country started in business for himself. Hehad heard, probably, that there was more money in sheep than in cattle.A great many people do hear that, so he bought sheep, thinking, perhaps,to make a pile of money in a few years, and then go back to his home andmarry some nice, good girl of his choice. It takes money to get marriedand make a home, and to do mostly anything, they say, and so this youngman bought sheep, for no one goes into the sheep business or any otherkind of business unless they want to make money. They don't generally doit for fun. And, of course, he thought, as they all do, to get richimmediately. He made a great mistake in the beginning, being extremelyignorant. He brought his sheep to a cattle country, where there were noother sheep near his own. All the men around him hated sheep, as menwho own cattle always do, and hating the sheep, they thought they hatedthe sheep-man also, who really was a very harmless young man, andwouldn't have offended them for anything. But these men's dislike forthe sheep grew daily, and so their fancied dislike for the young mangrew in proportion.
"The men in the country would meet together in little groups, and everyday some man would have some new grievance to tell the others. Itfinally got on their brains, until all they could think or talk aboutwas this new man and his sheep. The more they thought and talked, themore angry they became, until finally they forgot that he was anotherman like themselves--in all likelihood a good, honest man, who would nothave done them wrong knowingly. They forgot a great many things, and allthey could think about night or day was how they could do something toinjure his business or himself. They got so after awhile that theytalked only in low whispers about him, taking great pains that theirfamilies, children, and even their big _boys_, should not know theirplans. They made a great mistake in not taking their boys into theirconfidence, because _boys_ are very often more reliable than men, andcan always keep a secret a whole lot better. But perhaps the fathersknew that the boys had very good sense and would not go into anythinglike that without a better reason than they had, which was no reason atall.
"I never heard just what they planned to do to this newcomer to get ridof him and his sheep, but I know how it had to end." She looked up,searching each boy's intent, astonished face.
"Say, what're you drivin' at, anyway? You can't fool me--it's _him_!"exclaimed Dave, pointing toward the sheep-ranch. "You're makin' up astory about him!"
"How'd you know all that?" asked the quicker, soft-voiced twin.
"Know all that. Why, how did you boys know all that? I suppose that Ihave ears, too--and I've heard of such things before," she replied.
"But you don't know how the end'll be. That's one thing you don't know,"declared the soft-voiced twin. "You can't know that."
"She might be a fortune-teller like grandmother White Blanket," laughedthe other.
"Is that old squaw in the farthest tepee from the house your owngrandmother?" asked the girl.
"Yep, an' she ain't no squaw, either! She's a French half-breed," hesaid, with an unconscious proud uplifting of the shoulders.
Hope laughed slightly. "What's the other half?" she asked. The boy gaveher a look of deep commiseration.
"I thought you had more learnin' than that! Why, the other half's white,of course."
"I beg your pardon!" gasped the girl. "My education along those linesmust have been somewhat neglected. I had an idea that those were Indianscamped down at your place. But French half-breeds,--a mixture of _white_and _French_,--that's a different matter!" She stopped her horse andlaughed with the immoderation of a boy. "That is rich," she cried. "Ifever I go to New York again I shall spring that on the Prince. '_MonDieu!_' he will exclaim. 'What then are we, Mademoiselle, _we_, the_aristocracy_--the great nation of the _French_?'" Her face sobered."But this is not the question. _I_ do know how this will end, and I amnot a fortune-teller, either. I know that the ones who are in the wrongabout this matter will get the worst of it. Sometimes it means statesprison, sometimes death--at all events, something not expected. I tellyou, boys, I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of this for anything!And do you know, I am real glad that your father doesn't need your help.We will take a little side of our own and watch things--what do you say?It will be lots of fun, and we'll know all the time that we are in theright, and maybe we can prevent them from doing any real wrong tothemselves." She watched them closely to see how they accepted thesuggestion. Her inspiration might be considered a reckless one, buttheir young minds lent themselves readily to her influence.
"The old man licked me this mornin'," growled Dave. "An' he can gostraight to the hot place now, for all o' me! I'm goin' off on theround-up, anyway, next year."
"You boys know, don't you, that if your father ever found out that _I_knew anything about this thing, he would probably give me a licking,too--and send me out of the country?" This for effect.
"I'd like to see him lay hands on you," roared Dave. "I'd fill him sofull of lead that--that----"
Words failed him.
"I'd kill him if he did, Miss Hathaway," exclaimed the small boy, Ned,with quiet assurance that brought a hint of laughter to the girl's face.The soft-voiced twin rode up very close to her.
"He ain't goin' to find it out, an' don't you worry; we'll all stand byyou while there's one of us left!"
"All right, boys, we're comrades now. I'll tell you what we'll do; we'llform a band--brigade--all by ourselves. I am commanding officer and youare my faithful scouts. How's that?" Hope's fancy was leading her away."Come on," she cried, "let's race this flat!"
The self-appointed commanding officer reached the smooth valley far inadvance of her faithful scouts, who yelled in true Indian fashion asthey rode up with her.
"I'll run you a mile an' beat you all hollow," declared Dave. "But on atwo hundred yard stretch like this here place my horse don't have nochance to get started."
"I'll bet my quirt against yourn that you lose," said the soft-voicedtwin.
"Keep your quirt! I don't want it, nohow. One's enough fur me. But I_can_ beat her just the same!" Dave was stubbornly positive.
"You'll have to ride my horse if you do beat her," continued thesoft-voiced twin. Dave grew furious.
"Now, see here, that raw-boned, loose-jointed, watch-eyed cayuse o'yourn couldn't run a good half mile without fallin' dead in his tracks!What'er you a-givin' me, anyhow?" At that instant his attention wasfortunately taken. "Where'd all them cattle come from?" he exclaimed.
They had turned up a narrow gulch, the youngest boy and Hope taking thelead, and had traveled it for perhaps fifty yards when they foundthemselves at a stand-still before a drove of cattle that were makingtheir way slowly down the narrow trail.
"We won't go back," called the girl. "Come on up here and wait till theypass." And followed by the boys she guided her horse up the steep, rockyside of a high bank, and waited while the cattle came slowly on. Theycounted them as they passed in twos and threes down the narrow valley.When nearly two hundred had gone by a rider came in sight around thebend of the hill. Hope's horse whinnied, and the man's answered back,then the girl gave a scream of delight, and, unmindful of the rockybank, or of the appearance of two other riders, rushed down, nearlyunseating the old cow-puncher in her demonstrations of welcome.
"_Jim! Dear old Jim! Where_ did you come from? I am so glad to see you!Why, Jim, I'd rather see you than anyone in the world! How glad I am!Boys," she called, "come down here. This is Jim, my dear old fatherJim!" Old Jim McCullen's eyes were dimmed with tears as he looked fromthe girl's happy, flushed face to the last of the cattle that were goingout of sight around the bend of the gulch. "Where di
d you come from,Jim, and what brings you up here? Whose cattle? Why, they're ours, andrebranded! What are you doing with them?" Just then the two riders, whomin her excitement she had failed to notice, rode up. "Why, Syd, hello,"she said. "And you're here, too! I thought Jim was alone."
She changed instantly from her glad excitement, speaking with thecareless abruptness of a boy. Her cousin rode alongside. She gave oneglance at his companion, then wheeled her horse about and stationedherself a short distance away beside the breed boys.
"This is a happy surprise, Hope," exclaimed her cousin. "What are youdoing up here so far away from home?" She regarded him a trifle morefriendly.
"Is it possible you don't know? Didn't you tell him, Jim, that I hadgone away? Oh, I forgot, you weren't at the ranch when I left, so youcouldn't tell him. Well, I am here, as you can see, Sydney--partlybecause I wanted a change, partly because they wanted a school-teacherup here. I am staying at Joe Harris'. What are you doing here with thosecattle?"
"Oh, thought I'd go to work for a change. Just some cattle that I boughtto hold for fall shipment." He turned to the man at his side,apologizing, then proceeded to introduce him to his cousin. The girl cutit short by a peculiar brief nod.
"Oh, I've met Mr. Livingston before!"
"Indeed?" said Carter in surprise, looking from one to the other.
"At Harris'" explained the sheep-man. "She gave me one of the sweetest,most refreshing drinks of water it has ever been my privilege to enjoy."He spoke easily, yet was much perturbed. Here was his shy Indian maid,a remarkably prepossessed, up-to-date young woman. It took a little timeto get it straightened out in his mind.
"Of course I might have known that you two would have met. There are sofew people here." Carter tried to speak indifferently.
"Well, good-by," said the girl, moving away.
"Don't be in a hurry! Where are you going, Hope?" called her cousin.
"Sorry, but can't wait any longer. We're off for a day's exploring.Good-by."
"I'll see you this evening. We're going to camp near Harris'," saidCarter.
"No, not this evening," she called back to him as she rode on up thegulch. "I won't be back till late, and then I'll be too tired to seeanyone. Good-by, Jim--I'll see _you_ to-morrow." Old Jim watched heruntil she was lost to sight in the turn of the gulch. Livingston alsowatched her until she was out of sight. She rode astride, wearing a neatdivided skirt, and sat her horse with all the ease and perfection of ayoung cowboy. Old Jim McCullen went on in trail of the cattle, whileyoung Carter and Livingston followed leisurely.
"Rather a cool greeting from a girl one expects to marry," said Carter,under his breath.
"Is it possible--your fiancee!" Livingston's face became thoughtful."You are to be congratulated," he said.
Carter laughed nervously. "I can scarcely say she is _that_, yet--but itis her mother's wish. We have grown up together. Miss Hathaway is mycousin, my second cousin. I can see no reason why we will not bemarried--some time."
"_Miss Hathaway_," mused his companion. "And you love her?" he askedquietly.
"Certainly," answered Carter, wondering at the other's abrupt way ofspeaking.
"And may I ask if she loves you?" The sheep-man's tone was quiet andfriendly. Carter wished that it might have been insolent. As it was hecould only laugh uneasily.
"It would seem not," he answered. "To-day she is like anicicle--to-morrow she will be a most devoted girl. That is Hope--aschangeable as the wind. One never knows what to expect. One dayloving--the next, cold and indifferent. But then, you see, I am used toher little ways."
"I wish you all the happiness you deserve, Mr. Carter," said Livingstona little later, as he rode off, taking a short cut to his ranch.
"_Hope_--_Hope Hathaway_; Carter's cousin. What an idiot I've been tothink of her as an Indian girl! An odd name--Hope. _Hope Hath a way_,"he mused as he rode homeward. "If only I had the right to hope!"
Hope Hathaway: A Story of Western Ranch Life Page 4