TOOMEY DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF
It had not been possible for Prentiss to go with Kate to Prouty but he
had promised to come as soon as he could arrange his affairs. This had
required something like two weeks, and in the interim the excitement
attendant upon Kate's return had simmered down. She had not been in
Prouty since, but Prentiss, having notified her of the day of his
arrival, was now awaiting her appearance with an impatience that
evidenced itself in the frequency with which he looked at his watch.
As Prentiss stood at the window of the Prouty House looking down Main
Street, his face wore a smile that was at once amused and kindly.
So this was Kate's environment, or a part of it--where she had grown to
womanhood. The very pavements seemed invested with a kind of sacredness
because they had known the imprint of her feet.
It was little short of idolatry--this man's love for his
daughter--representing as it did all the pent-up affection of his life,
and as he had poured that out prodigally so he had lavished his wealth
upon her, laughing in keen enjoyment at her dismayed protests.
"Why, girl, you don't understand at all! What is money for, if not to
spend on some one you love?"
The weeks they had spent together had been a wonderful experience for
himself as well as for Kate. There were times when he still could not
quite realize that this astonishing young woman was his own flesh and
blood.
With the experience and intelligent comprehension of a man, she yet was
one of the most innately feminine women he had ever known--in her
tastes, her small vanities, her quick and comprehensive sympathies;
while her appreciation of all that was fine and good, whether in human
conduct, the arts, or dress, was a constant marvel. Her childish
enjoyment of the most ordinary pleasures was a constant delight and he
found his greatest happiness in planning some new entertainment,
receiving his reward in watching her expression.
But there was one thing about Kate that puzzled Prentiss, and troubled
him a bit: he had observed that while she talked freely of her mother
and the Sand Coulee Roadhouse, of Mullendore and the crisis which had
sent her to Mormon Joe, of the tragedy of his death, of her subsequent
life on the ranch, of her ups-and-downs with the sheep, of anything that
she thought would be of interest to him, of her inner self she had
nothing to say--of friends, of love affairs--and he could not believe
but that that a woman of her unmistakable charm must have had a few.
Furthermore, he found that any attempt to draw her out met a reserve
that was like a stone wall--just so far he got into her life and not a
step beyond.
She reminded him, sometimes--and he could not have said why--of a
spirited horse that has been abused--alert for blows, ready to defend
itself, suspicious of kindness until its confidence has been won.
Kate had expanded and bloomed in the new atmosphere like a flower whose
growth has been retarded by poor soil and contracted space. Her lips had
taken on a smiling upward curve that gave a new expression to her face,
and now her frequent laugh was spontaneous and contagious. Her humor was
of the western flavor--droll exaggeration--a little grim, while in her
unexpected turns of speech, Prentiss found a constant source of
entertainment.
He had told her of the Toomeys and the circumstances in which they had
met; also of the letter endeavoring to interest him in the irrigation
project.
"Do you know them?" he had asked, and she had replied merely,
"Somewhat."
When questioned as to the merits of the project, she had answered
evasively, "Of my own knowledge I know nothing." But he could not fail
to observe the sudden stillness which fell upon her, the inscrutability
of expression which dropped like a mask over her animated face. The name
of Prouty alone was sufficient to bring this change, as if at the sound
of the word a habit of reserve asserted itself.
Prentiss thought of it much, but contented himself with believing that
all in good time he would have his daughter's entire confidence.
The afternoon train had been extraordinarily late, bringing him in long
after dark, so the news of the arrival of this stranger of undoubted
importance had not been widely disseminated as yet. In any event, it had
not reached Toomey, who banged the door violently behind him as he
strode into the office of the hotel. His brow was dark and it did not
belie his mood. He was indignant, and with reason enough, for he had
just learned that he had dined the barber futilely, since the ingrate
had purchased elsewhere a sewing machine of a rival make.
As Toomey was about to take his accustomed seat, his glance chanced to
light upon Prentiss's distinguished back.
He stopped abruptly, staring in a surprise which passed swiftly from
incredulity to joy. "The 'Live One!' Prentiss, at last!"
If he had followed his impulse, Toomey would have cast himself headlong
upon the newcomer's prosperous bosom, for a conventional handshake
seemed inadequate to express the rapture that sent him to Prentiss's
side in a rush.
"Mr. Prentiss, as I live! Why didn't you let me know?" It did not for a
moment occur to Toomey that Prentiss was in Prouty for any other purpose
than to see him.
Roused from a slight reverie, Prentiss turned and responded vaguely:
"Why, how are you Mr.--er--"
"Toomey," supplied that person, taken somewhat aback.
"Ah, to be sure!" with instant cordiality. "And your wife?"
"She will be delighted to learn you are here. I wish you had come direct
to us."
The reply that he was going to his daughter's ranch was on his tongue's
end, but something checked it--the recollection perhaps of the singular
change which had come over Kate's face at the mention of the Toomeys'
name; instead, he expressed his appreciation of the proffered
hospitality and courteously refused.
Glad of the diversion while he was obliged to wait, Prentiss sat down in
one of the chairs Toomey drew out and listened with more or less
attention while he launched forth upon the subject of the project which
would bring manifold returns upon the original investment if it was
handled right--the inference being that he was the man to see to that.
It was the psychological moment to buy up the outstanding stock. The
finances of the town and its citizens were at the lowest ebb--on the
verge of collapse, in fact, if something did not turn up.
Furthermore--he imparted the information in a voice lowered to a
confidential pitch--he had it from a reliable source that the bank
itself had been caught in a pinch and had been obliged to transfer its
stock to a depositor to save itself.
Toomey expatiated upon the merits of the proposition and the subsequent
opportunities if it went through, until a feverish spot burned on either
cheek-bone. And the burden of his refrain was that never since Noah came
out of the ark, "the sole survivor," and all the world his oyster, as it
were, had there been such a chance to "glom" everything in sight for a
song.
If Prentiss's eyes twinkled occasionally, Toomey was too intent upon
presenting his case in the strongest possible light to notice it; nor
did he desist until Prentiss displayed signs of restlessness. Then, not
to crowd his luck, he let the subject drop and sought to entertain him
with a running fire of humorous comments upon the passersby.
Toomey excelled at this, forgetting, as is frequently the case, that no
one of those whom he lampooned was as fitting a subject for ridicule as
himself.
During a pause he observed:
"By the way, there's a woman of your name living about here."
"So I've heard."
"No connection, of course--different spelling, but not apt to be in any
case." There was a covert sneer in his voice.
"How's that?" casually.
"She--" with a shrug--"well, she isn't up to much."
Prentiss stirred slightly.
"No?"
Toomey detected interest and lowered his voice.
"In fact, she's no good."
Prentiss sat quite still--the stillness of a man who takes a shock in
that way.
"They call her the 'Sheep Queen,' but we Old Timers know her as 'Mormon
Joe's Kate.' She shipped a while back, and just come home all dolled up.
Made a little money, no doubt, but any pinhead could do that, the way
prices are. She'll never get 'in,' though."
"'In' where?"
"In society. For a little burg," with pride, "you'd be surprised to know
how exclusive they are here." The speech showed what, among other
things, the years in Prouty had done to Toomey.
A half-inch of cigar burned to ashes between Prentiss's finger-tips
before he spoke.
"So--the Sheep Queen is ostracized?"
"Well--rather!" with unctuous emphasis. "My wife tried to take her
up--but she couldn't make it stick. Found it would hurt us in our
business, socially, and all that."
Prentiss raised his cigar to his lips and looked at Toomey through
slightly narrowed lids which might or might not be due to smoke as he
asked:
"Just what was her offense?"
Toomey laughed.
"It would be hard to say as to that. She came here under a cloud, and
has been under one ever since. She has no antecedents, no blood, and
even in a town like Prouty such things count. Her mother was Jezebel of
the Sand Coulee, a notorious roadhouse in the southern part of the
state; her father was God-knows-who--some freighter or sheepherder, most
like."
"Interesting--quite. Go on."
Toomey did not note the constraint in Prentiss's voice and proceeded
with gusto:
"She followed off a fellow called Mormon Joe, and trailed in here in
overalls behind the little band of ewes that gave them their start. He
took up a homestead back in the hills and they lived on about as near
nothing as anybody could, and live at all--like a couple of white
Indians sleeping in tents and eating out of a frying pan.
"A chap that was visiting me one summer brought her to a dance here at
the Prouty House--did it on a bet that he hadn't sand enough. She came
downstairs looking like a Christmas tree. Everybody gave her the frosty
mitt and they had to leave."
Prentiss watched a smoke ring rise before he asked:
"Why did they do that?"
"So she wouldn't make the same mistake again."
Toomey laughed, and added:
"They took a 'fall' out of her every time they could after that. There
was something about her that invited it," he added reflectively, "the
way she held her head up, as if she defied them to do their worst, and,"
chuckling, "they did."
Prentiss thrust a forefinger inside his collar and gave it a tug as
though it choked.
"This Mormon Joe--what became of him?"
The gleeful light went out of Toomey's face.
"He was killed in a shack down here."
"How?"
"A trap-gun."
"By whom?"
Toomey recrossed his long legs and sought a new position for his hands
with the quick erratic movements of nervousness. He hesitated, then
replied:
"They suspected her."
"Why?"
"She was the only one to benefit."
"There was no proof?"
"No."
"What do you think?"
Toomey deliberated a moment:
"I believe her innocent, myself," he finally replied.
"So she grew up out there in the hills without any friends or social
life," Prentiss commented, musingly.
"There was always a camptender and a sheepherder or two about," Toomey
answered with slurring significance.
Prentiss brushed the ashes from his cigar.
"And Prouty had no sympathy with her in her loneliness, but considered
her a legitimate target--somebody that everybody 'took a fall out of,'
you say?"
There was a quality in his voice now which made Toomey glance at the man
quickly, but it was so elusive, so faint, that he could not be certain;
and reassured by his impassive face he went on:
"Why shouldn't they? What would anybody waste sympathy on her kind for?"
His thin lips curled contemptuously.
Again Prentiss sat in the stillness in which not a muscle or an eyelid
moved. He seemed even not to breathe until he turned with an impressive
deliberateness and subjected Toomey to a scrutiny so searching and
prolonged that Toomey colored in embarrassment, wondering the while as
to what it meant.
"I presume, Mr. Toomey," Prentiss finally inquired with a careful
politeness he had not shown before, "that it would mean considerable to
you in the way of commissions on the sale of stock if this project went
through?"
Toomey's relief that he had not inadvertently given offense was so great
that he almost told the truth as to the exact amount. Just in time he
restrained himself and replied with elaborate indifference:
"I'd get something out of it for my time and work, of course, but,
mostly, I'm anxious to see a friend get hold of a good thing."
This fine spirit of disinterested solicitude met with no response.
"I presume it's equally true, Mr. Toomey, that the completion of the
project means considerable to the town?"
"Considerable!" with explosive vehemence. "It's got where it's a case of
life or death. The coyotes'll be denning in the Security State Bank and
the birds building nests in the Opera House in a year or two, if
something don't turn up."
"How soon can you furnish me with the data you may have on hand?"
"About six minutes and four seconds, if I run," Toomey replied in
humorous earnestness.
Prentiss's face did not relax.
"Get it and bring it to my room--at once." His voice was cold and
businesslike, strongly reminiscent now of Kate's.