DOUBLEDAY'S
When they got back to the ford it was daylight and the Crazy Woman was
hurrying on as peacefully as if a frown had never ruffled its repose.
Gnarled trees springing out of gashes along its tortuous channel
showed, in the debris lodged against their flood-bared roots and
mud-swept branches, the fury of the night, and the creek banks, scoured
by many floods, revealed new and savage gaps in the morning sun; but
Bradley made his crossing with the stage almost as uneventfully as if a
cloud-burst had never ruffled the mountains.
Kate was eager to meet her father, eager to see what might be her new
home. The moment the horses got up out of the bottom, Bradley pointed
with his whip to the ranch-house. Kate saw ahead of her a long,
one-story log house crowning, with its group of out-buildings, a level
bench that stretched toward the foothills. The landscape was bare of
trees and, to Kate, brown and barren-looking, save for a patch of green
near the creek where an alfalfa field lay vividly pretty in the sun.
The ranch-house, built of substantial logs, was ample in its
proportions and not uninviting, even to her Eastern eyes.
Bradley, with a flourish, swept past the stable, around the corral and
drew up before the door with a clatter. In front of the bunk-house on
the right, a cowboy rolling a cigarette, was watching the arrival, and
just as Bradley plumped Kate, on his arms, to the ground, her father,
Barb Doubleday himself, opened the ranch-house door.
Kate had never seen her father. And until Bradley spoke, she had not
the slightest idea that this could be he. She saw only a rough-looking
man of great stature, slightly stooped, and with large features burnt
to a deep brown.
"Hello, Barb," said Bradley, without much enthusiasm.
His salutation met with as little: "What's up?" demanded Doubleday.
Kate noticed the huskiness in the strong, cold tone.
"Brought y' a passenger."
From the talk of the night she recognized her father's nickname. It
was a little shock to realize that this must, indeed, be he. And the
unmoved expression of his face as he surveyed her without a smite or
greeting, was not reassuring.
But she hastened forward: "Father?" there was a note of girlish appeal
in her greeting: "I'm Kate--your daughter. You don't remember me, of
course," she added with an effort to extort a welcome. "You got my
letter, did you?"
He looked at her uncertainly for a moment and nodded slowly. "Was it
all right," she asked, now almost panic-stricken, "to come to see you?"
Confused or preoccupied, he stumbled out some words of welcome, spoke
to Belle on the stage, took the suitcase out of Bradley's hand and led
Kate into the house. In the large room that she entered stood a long
table and a big fireplace opened at the back. On the left, two
bedrooms opened off the big room, and on the right, the kitchen.
The chill of the strange greeting embarrassed Kate the more because she
felt Belle could hardly fail to notice it, and her own resentment of it
did not easily wear off. But hoping for better things she freshened up
a little, in her father's bedroom, and by that time a man cook was
bringing breakfast into the big room, which served as living-room and
dining-room. Bradley, Belle, Kate and her father sat down--the men had
already breakfasted.
Kate, her head in a whirl with novelty and excitement, was overcome
with interest in everything, but especially in her father. Sitting at
the head of the table--at one end of which fresh places had been
set--he maintained her first impression of his stature. His spreading
frame was covered with loose corduroy clothes--which could hardly be
said to fit--and his whole appearance conveyed the impression of
unusual physical strength. It had been said of Barb Doubleday, as a
railroad builder, that he could handle an iron rail alone. His
powerful jaw and large mouth--now fitted, or rather, supplied--with
artificial teeth of proportionate size--all supported Kate's awe of his
bigness. His long nose, once smashed in a railroad fight, was not
seriously scarred; and originally well-shaped, it was still the best
feature of a terrifically weather-beaten face that had evidently seen
milder days. The good looks were gone, but not the strength. His
mouth was almost shapeless but unmistakably hard, and his grayish-blue
eyes were cold--very cold; try as she would, Kate could discern little
love or sympathy in them. This was the man who almost twenty years
earlier had deserted her mother and wee Kate, the baby, and long
disappeared from Eastern view--until by accident the fact that he was
alive and in the far West had become known to his wife and daughter.
Kate thought she understood something of the tragedy in her mother's
life when the first sight of her father's eyes struck a chill into her
own heart.
But he was her father--and her mother had tried, in spite of all, to
hide or condone his faults; and more than once before she died, had
made Kate promise to hunt him up and go to him. What the timid girl
dreaded most was finding another woman installed in his household--in
which case she meant to make her stay in the West very short. But
every hour lessened these fears and as he himself gradually thawed a
little, Kate took courage.
The breakfast went fast. Platters were passed without ceremony or
delay. Her father and Bradley ate as Kate had never seen men eat; only
her amazement could keep pace with their quiet but unremitting efforts
to clean up everything in sight. There was little mastication but much
knife and fork work, with free libation of coffee; and Belle, Kate
noticed, while somewhat left behind by the men, paid strict attention
to the business in hand.
Conversation naturally lagged; but what took place had its surprise for
Kate. Doubleday asked a few questions of Belle--everybody seemed to
know everybody else--and learning she was headed for the Reservation,
possibly to teach school, hired her on the spot away from the job, to
go back to his eating-house at Sleepy Cat Junction. No sooner was this
arranged, and Bradley told to take her luggage off the stage, than a
diversion occurred.
A horseman dashed up outside and presently strode into the room. He
was tall and well put together; not quite as straight as an arrow, but
straight, and not ungraceful in his height. This was Harry Van Horn, a
neighboring cattleman, and he wore the ranchman's rig, including the
broad hat and the revolver slung at his hip. But everything about the
rig was fresh and natty, in the sunshine. He looked alert. His step
was clean and springy as he crossed the room, and his voice not
unpleasant as he briskly greeted Doubleday and looked keenly at his
guests--last and longest at Kate sitting at her father's right hand.
Doubleday introduced him to his daughter. Van Horn nodded, without
much deference, to Belle and to Bradley, neither of whom responded more
warmly. He sat down near Kate and with a look of raillery scrutinized
the remnant of meat left on the general platter: "How is it, Barb?" he
asked.
"What?"
"The antelope."
"All right, I guess."
Van Horn with a laugh turned to Kate: "Excited over it, isn't he? I
got an antelope yesterday, so I sent half of it over to your father."
Then he lowered his voice in pretended disgust. "_He_ doesn't know
what he's eating--it might as well be salt pork. And you're a stranger
here? I never knew your father had a daughter. He's very
communicative. How do you like antelope?"
Without paying attention to anyone else, he set out for a moment to
entertain Kate. When he talked his face lighted with energy. Every
expression of his brown eyes snapped with life, and his big Roman nose,
though not making for beauty, one soon got used to.
Barb broke abruptly in on the conversation: "What did Stone find out?"
he asked.
Van Horn answered a question of Kate's and turned then, and not until
then, to her father: "That's what I came over to tell you. Dutch Henry
and another fellow--described like Stormy Gorman--sold ten head of
steers to the railroad camp last week--that's where our cattle are
going right along now. And Abe Hawk," he exclaimed, pointing his
finger at Doubleday and poking it forward to emphasize each point,
"sold ten head of your long yearlings to a contracting outfit north of
the Falling Wall and never changed the brands!"
Doubleday stared at the speaker. Van Horn, speaking to Kate, went
right on: "There's a bunch of rustlers over in the Falling Wall,
snitching steers on us right and left," he explained in a lower and
very deferential tone, but a warm one.
While Van Horn talked and Doubleday muttered husky and bitter
questions, Bradley and Belle paid continuous attention to their coffee
and griddle cakes.
Doubleday by this time had forgotten all about Kate. Completely
absorbed by the reports brought in he rose from the table and followed
Van Horn to the open door where Van Horn turned and paused as he kept
on talking so that with his eyes he could still take in Kate at the
table. The two men were now joined at the door by a third. This man
looked in to see who was at the table. Bradley glanced up at him only
long enough to recognize Tom Stone, the new foreman; no greeting
passed. Kate looked longer, though when she saw the eyes of the
new-comer were on her she gave her attention to Belle.
Belle had told her that a woman at the ranch would be a great curiosity
and Kate every day resigned herself to inspection. When she got better
acquainted with the men, and while there were good and bad among them,
she liked them all, except Stone. His face did not seem kindly. At
times agreeable enough, he was only tolerable at best and when even
slightly in liquor he was irritable. His low forehead, over which he
plastered his hair, and his straight yellow eyebrows and hard blue eyes
were not confidence inspiring; even his big mustache was harsh and
lacked a generous curve--his normal outlook seemed one of reticence and
suspicion. Kate refused to like him; his smile was not good.
On this morning he showed the signs of a hard journey. He had brought
the news from the Falling Wall and was just in after a troublesome
ride. Bradley and Belle left the table together and Kate followed to
the door. Bradley tried to edge past the three men without speaking,
but Stone not only stopped him with a cold grin but followed the driver
toward the stage: "Wouldn't that kill you"--Kate heard him say to
Bradley, and she saw his attempt at an ingratiating grin: "Abe Hawk
rustling?"
Bradley gave him scant sympathy: "What did Doubleday discharge him
for?" he demanded. "What did the cattlemen blacklist him for? He's
the best foreman this ranch ever had--or ever will have," added
Bradley, summoning his scant courage to rub it in. "He fired him
because he took up a little piece of land agin the Falling Wall and got
together a few cows of his own. That's a crime, ain't it? Like ----.
These cattlemen will learn a thing or two when they get old."
Stone flared back at him: "What are you over here eating their bacon
for?"
"Not f'r any likin' I've got f'r 'em," retorted Bradley, "n'r f'r any
o' their pets."
The old driver got away without a fight, but he had little to spare.
Van Horn rode off presently with Stone, and Doubleday returned to the
house, where Kate was sitting with Belle. He told Belle he would send
her over to the Junction in the afternoon, and after dinner told Kate
she had better go over and stay at the Junction with Belle till they
could get a room "fixed up" at the ranch.
There were really no accommodations at the ranchhouse for Kate until
some could be prepared. A room had to be made ready and there was no
bed or furniture. And Belle told her that her father spent most of his
time at the Junction, anyway, where he had a cottage. She explained
about the railroad branching off the main line at the Junction. Her
father had built this to coal mines on the Falling Wall river. He was
supposed to own this branch line and the mines, but she hinted strongly
that his creditors had got everything there was of the railroad but the
rust, and would sometime get that.
Kate wished her new acquaintance had been less candid.