STRAWS
It was spring. The sagebrush had turned from gray to green and the
delicate pink of the rock roses showed here and there on the hillsides.
The crisp rattle of cottonwood leaves was heard when the wind stirred
through the gulches, and along the water course the drooping plumes of
the willows were pale green and tender. It was the season of hope, of
energy revived and new ambitions--the months of rejuvenation, when the
blood runs faster and the heart beats higher.
But, alas, the joyful finger of spring touched the citizens of Prouty
lightly. Worn out and jaded with the strain of a hard winter and waiting
for something to happen, they did not feel their pulses greatly
accelerated by mere sunshine. It took more than a rock rose and a pussy
willow to color the world for them. June might as well be January, if
one is financially embarrassed.
The suspicion was becoming a private conviction that when Prouty
acquired anything beyond a blacksmith shop and a general merchandise
store it got more than it needed. Conceived and born in windy optimism,
it had no stamina. The least observant could see that, like a fiddler
crab's, the progress of the town was backward. But these truths were
admitted only in moments of drunken candor or deepest depression, for to
hint that Prouty had no future was as treasonable as criticising the
government in a crisis. So the citizens went on boasting with dogged
cheerfulness and tried to unload their holdings on any chance stranger.
A trickle of water came through the ditch that had been scratched in the
earth from the mountains to some three miles beyond Prouty. Nearly every
head-gate the length of it had been the scene of a bloody battle where
the ranchers fought each other with irrigating shovels for their rights.
And, after all, it was seldom worth the gore and effort, for the trickle
generally stopped altogether in August when they needed it. If the flow
did not stop at the intake it broke out somewhere below and flooded
somebody. If the sides did not give way because of the moisture
loosening the soil, the rats and prairie dogs conspired to ruin Prouty
by tunneling into the banks. And if by a miracle "the bone and sinew" of
the community raised one cutting of alfalfa, the proceeds went to the
Security 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's
railroads and Prouty found itself on the cutoff, it was delirious with
joy, but it regained its balance when the fast trains not only did not
stop, but seemed to speed up instead of slackening; while the local
which brought any prospective investor deposited him in a frame of mind
which was such that it was seldom possible to remove his prejudice
against the country.
These were the conditions one spring day when the buds that had not
already burst were bursting and Mr. Teeters dashed into Prouty. "Dashed"
is not too strong a word to describe his arrival, for the leaders of his
four-horse team were running away and the wheelers were, at least, not
lagging. It was obvious to those familiar with Mr. Teeters' habits that
he was en route to the station to meet incoming passengers. This was
proclaimed by his conveyance and regalia. He wore a well-filled
cartridge belt and six-shooter, while a horse hair watch chain draped
across a buckskin waistcoat, ornate with dyed porcupine quills, gave an
additional Western flavor to his costume. His beaded gauntlets reached
to his elbow, and upon occasions like the present he wore moccasins.
There was a black silk handkerchief around the neck of his red flannel
shirt, and if the rattlesnake skin that encircled his Stetson did not
bring a scream from the lady dudes when they caught sight of it, Teeters
would feel keenly disappointed.
"I can wrangle dudes to a fare-ye-well and do good at it," Teeters had
declared to the Major. And it was no idle boast, apparently, for Teeters
stood alone, supreme and unchallenged, the champion dude-wrangler of the
country.
"It's a kind of talent--a gift, you might say--like breakin' horses or
tamin' wild animals," he was wont to reply modestly when questioned by
those who followed his example and failed lamentably. "You got to be
kind and gentle with dudes, yet firm with them. Onct they git the upper
hand 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 had
come into his attitude towards her mother. He was less ingratiating in
his manner, less impressed by the importance of her father, the
distinguished undertaker; less interested in her recitals of her musical
triumphs when she had played the pipe organ in Philadelphia. Her habit
of singing hymns and humming which had annoyed him even in the days when
he was merely tolerated, actually angered him.
Now, as the four horses attached to the old-fashioned stagecoach which
had been resurrected from a junk-heap behind a blacksmith shop, repaired
and shipped to the Scissor Outfit as being the last word in the
picturesque discomfort for which dudes hankered, the onlookers observed
with 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 one
rein Teeters ran them over the flat in a circle until they were winded.
Then he brought them dripping and exhausted to the platform, where he
said civilly to a bystander, indicating a convenient pickhandle:
"If you'll jest knock the 'off' leader down if he bats an eyelash when
the train pulls in, I'll be much obliged to you."
As is frequently the way with millionaires, few of those who emerged
from the day coach sandwiched in between a coal and freight car, looked
their millions. It was evident that they had reserved their better
clothing for occasions other than traveling, since to the critical eyes
of the spectators they looked as though they were dressed for one of the
local functions known as a "Hard Times Party."
The present party of millionaire folk seemed to be led by a bewhiskered
gentleman in plaid knickerbockers and puttees, who had travelled all the
way from Canton, Ohio, in hobnailed shoes in order instantly to be ready
for mountain climbing.
To a man they trained their cameras upon Teeters, who scowled, displayed
his teeth slightly, and looked ferocious and desperate enough to scare a
baby.
Then his expression changed to astonishment as his eyes fell upon a
passenger that was one of three who, slow in collecting their luggage,
were just descending. A second look convinced him, and he not only let
out a bloodcurdling yell of welcome, but inadvertently slackened the
lines that had been taut as fiddle strings over the backs of the horses.
The leaders jumped over "the Innocent Bystander" before he had time to
use his pickhandle, reared and fell on their backs, where they lay
kicking the harness to pieces.
"You miser'ble horse-stealin', petty larceny, cache-robbin'--" just in
time Teeters remembered that there were ladies present and curtailed his
greeting 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 he
carried.
"Yo shore done it!" replied Teeters emphatically, casting an eye at the
writhing mass of horses. "It'll take me an hour or more to patch that
harness!"
"In that event," said the guest from Canton, Ohio, with a relief that
was unmistakable, "it were better, perhaps, that we should go to the
hotel and wait for you."
"It were," replied Teeters. "It's that big yella building with the red
trimmin's." He pointed toward the town with his fringed and beaded
gauntlet. "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 endeavoring
to 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 in
his 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 me
Clarence 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 surprise
equalled Teeters' at seeing Disston.
"Say, Hughie--I got a deal on that's a pippin--a pippin. There isn't a
flaw in it!" said Toomey confidentially.
"Glad to hear it, Jap," Disston replied cordially, and presented him to
Mrs. Rathburn and her daughter.
The mother was a small woman of much distinction of appearance. A
well-poised manner, together with snow-white hair worn in a smooth
moderate roll away from her face, and very black eyes that had a rather
hard brilliancy, made her a person to be noticed. Having engineered her
own life successfully, her sole interest now lay in engineering that of
her daughter.
The last place Mrs. Rathburn would have selected to spend a summer was
an isolated ranch in the sagebrush, but propinquity, she knew, had done
wonders in friendships that had seemed hopelessly platonic, so, when
Hugh urged them to join him, and endeavored to impart some of his own
enthusiasm 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 appealing
manner. Her skin had been so carefully protected since infancy that it
was of a dazzling whiteness that might never have known the sunshine.
Her feet were conspicuously small, her hands white, perfectly kept and
helpless. Nature had given her the bronze hair that dyers strive for,
and her brown eyes corresponded. She was as unlike the other alert
self-sufficient young persons of the "millionaire bunch"--who were
either dressed for utilitarian purposes only, or in finery of a past
mode as could well be imagined.
Miss Rathburn had managed to remain immaculate, while their faces were
smudged and streaked with soot and car dust, their hats awry and hair
dishevelled. Cool, serene, with a filmy veil thrown back from her hat
brim, 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 the
party like a bewhiskered gander, the gentleman from Canton, Ohio, dashed
to the end of the veranda with his camera ready for action.
"What a picturesque character!" she cried ecstatically, following. "And
see how beau-tee-fully she manages those horses!"
The cameras clicked as a young woman sitting very erect on the high
spring seat of a wagon and looking straight ahead of her came past the
hotel 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. "You
were very good friends when you left, I remember."
The eyes of both Mrs. Rathburn and her daughter showed surprise when
Disston 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 one
ever sees her. She lives out in the hills alone with her sheep and a
couple 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 laughed
disagreeably.
"It's curious you've never mentioned her, Hughie, when you've told us
about 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 was
inquiring and speculative.
* * * * *
Kate's heart always hardened and her backbone stiffened involuntarily
the moment she had her first glimpse of Prouty. Invariably it had this
effect upon her and to-day was no different from any other. Her eyes
narrowed and her nerves tightened as though to meet the attack of an
advancing enemy when at the edge of the bench, before she set the brake
for the steep descent, she looked upon the town below her.
While her own feeling never altered and her attitude remained as
implacable as the day she had sworn vengeance upon it, the bearing of
the town had changed considerably. With cold inscrutable eyes she had
watched open hostility and active enmity become indifference. Engrossed
in its own troubles, Prouty had forgotten her, save when one of her rare
visits reminded it of her existence. The comments upon such occasions
were mostly of a humorous nature, pertaining to the "Sheep Queen," a
title which had been bestowed upon her in derision.
They heard exaggerated accounts of her losses through storms and
coyotes, knew that she acted as camptender and herder when necessary,
continued to live in a sheep wagon, and they presumed that she was still
deeply in debt to the mysterious person or persons from whom she had
obtained money at the time the bank threatened foreclosure.
She was seldom mentioned except in connection with the murder of Mormon
Joe, a story with which the inhabitants occasionally entertained
strangers. In other words, she was of no consequence socially or
financially.
Looking neither to the right nor to the left as she swung her leaders
around the corner, yet no sign of the town's retrogression since her
last visit escaped her--any more than did the mean small-town smirk upon
the faces of a group of doorway loafers, who commented humorously upon
the "Sheep Queen's" arrival.
Yet there were tiny straws which showed that the wind was quartering. A
few persons inclined their heads slightly in greeting, while the
deference due a customer who paid cash was creeping into the manner of
Scales of the Emporium. And there were others.
These small things she noted with satisfaction. It was the kind of coin
she demanded in payment for isolation and hardships. She did not want
their friendship; she wanted merely their recognition. To force from
those who had gone out of their way to insult and belittle her the tacit
admission 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 as
a piece of war strategy.
Kate gauged her position with intuitive exactness, and could quite
impersonally see herself as Prouty saw her. She had no hallucinations on
that score and knew that she was a long way yet from the fulfillment of
her ambition. When she had reached a point where to decry her success
was to proclaim her disparager envious or absurd, she would be
satisfied; until then, she considered herself no more successful than
the failures about her who yet found room to laugh at her.
Kate now shrugged a shoulder imperceptibly as she noted that another
store building was empty. So the tailor had flitted? She recalled the
Western adage concerning towns with no Jews in them and smiled faintly.
Two doors below, still another shop was vacant. "To Let" signs were not
synonymous with prosperity. Hiram Butefish supported his back against
the door jamb in an attitude which did not suggest any pressing
business. Mrs. Sudds, who formerly had passed Kate with a face that was
ostentatiously blank, now stared at her with a certain inquisitive
amiability. Major Prouty sitting in front of the post office waved a
hand at her that was comparatively friendly. Oh, yes--the wind was
beginning to blow from a new direction, undoubtedly.
She stopped in front of the bank, where she kept an account only
sufficiently large to pay her current expenses. She had set the brake
and was wrapping the lines about them when a curious sound attracted her
attention. Looking up she saw approaching the first automobile in
Prouty, driven by Mrs. Abram Pantin. Beside her, elated and
self-conscious, was Mrs. Jasper Toomey. Kate got down quickly to hold
the heads of the leaders, who were snorting at the monster. The machine
was of a type which gave the driver the appearance of taking a sitz
bath in public. Mrs. Pantin when driving sat up so straight that she
looked like a prairie dog. Mrs. Toomey unconsciously imitated her, so
they looked like two prairie dogs out for an airing--a thought which
occurred to Kate as she watched the approaching novelty.
The sheep woman had not met Mrs. Toomey since the day when the final
blow had been given to her faith in human nature. Now while Kate's face
was masklike she felt a keen curiosity as to how Time was using the
woman who had had so much to do with the molding of her character and
future.
She saw Mrs. Toomey's mental start when the latter recognized her, and
the momentary hesitation before she drew back far enough not to be seen
by Mrs. Pantin, and inclined her head slightly. It was the languid air
of a great lady acknowledging the existence of the awed peasantry.
The incident filled Kate with a white fury that was like one of her
old-time rages. Yet she was helpless to resent it. Her resentment would
mean nothing to anybody, even if she had any way of showing it. It was
quite useless at the moment for her to tell herself that Mrs. Toomey was
only a pitiful inconsequential little coward, whose action was in
keeping with her nature. She knew it to be true, yet she was stirred to
her depths by the insult, and if anything more had been needed to keep
her steadfast to her purpose, the incident would have accomplished it.
Sensitive to the extent of morbidness--it was impossible for her to
ignore the occurrence.
Kate's hands were trembling with the violence of her emotions as she
tied a slip noose in a leather strap and secured the horses to the
railing. She made a pretence of examining the harness in order to regain
sufficient self-possession to transact her business in the bank with
the impersonal coolness to which she had schooled herself when it was
necessary to enter that institution.
Mr. Vernon Wentz at his near-mahogany desk was deep in thought when Kate
passed him. He bowed absently and she responded in the same manner. It
occurred to Mr. Wentz that a time when everyone else was either
borrowing, or endeavoring to, she was one of the few customers whose
balances appeared ample for their expenses.
The banker's attitude since his interview with Kate and her subsequent
astonishing and unexpected payment of the mortgage had been one of
polite aloofness. That matter was still a mystery which he hoped to
solve sometime. But long ago Mr. Wentz had learned that the life of a
banker is not the free independent life of a laundryman, and that with a
competitor like Abram Pantin forever harassing him by getting the cream
of the loans, it was sometimes necessary to make concessions and
conciliations.
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 without
either 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, do
not hesitate to ask us." Mr. Wentz realized that he was laying himself
open to an embarrassing reminder, and expected it, but Kate did not
betray by so much as the flicker of an eyelid that she remembered when
she had pleaded, not for money, but only for time to save herself from
ruin.
"You are very kind." She bowed slightly.
"You are one of our most valued customers." Her reserve piqued him; it
was a kind of challenge to his gallantry. "I hope--I trust you will
allow 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 at
present. In that case," he smiled with the assurance of a man who had
had his conquests, "I'll presume to ask one. We should be
pleased--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 his
melting brown eyes steadily she received a swift impression that for
some reason deposits would be particularly welcome. There had been no
eagerness or anxiety to suggest it, yet she had the notion strongly that
the bank needed the money. Perhaps, she reasoned swiftly, the suspicion
was 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 different
nature. If she were not so tanned and wore the clothes of
civilization--she had the features, and, by George! she had a figure!
These interesting mental comments were interrupted by a sudden dilation
of Kate's pupils as though from some sudden mental excitement. The gray
iris 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 with
which he stroked his mustache as she departed was one of satisfaction.
Mr. Wentz had a notion that after looking at him for all these years
the young woman had just really seen him.
The banker returned to his desk, opened a drawer and extracted a small
mirror, in which he regarded himself surreptitiously. What was it about
him--what one thing in particular, he wondered, that was so compelling
that even a woman like this Kate Prentice must relent at his first sign
of interest? Was it his appearance or his personality?
In the pleasing occupation of contemplating his own features and trying
to answer these absorbing questions, Mr. Wentz forgot temporarily that
Neifkins, in violation of the law governing such matters, was in debt to
the bank beyond the amount of his holdings as director, and behind with
his interest--a condition which had disturbed the president not a little
because it was so fraught with unpleasant possibilities.