"No," said Miss Schuyler, "though there was a time when I wished I could.
You can't help being pretty, but it ought to make you careful when you see
another of them going that way again."
Hetty made a little impatient gesture. "If there ever is another, he'll be
pulled up quite sharp. You don't think their foolishness, which spoils
everything, is any pleasure to me. It's too humiliating. Can't one be
friends with a nice man without falling in love with him?"
"Well," said Miss Schuyler drily, "it depends a good deal on how you're
made; but it's generally risky for one or the other. Still, perhaps you
might, for I have a fancy there's something short in you. Now, I'm going
to ask you a question. Is it thinking of the other man that has made you
restless? I mean the one we saw at the depot?"
Hetty laughed outright. "Larry? Why, as I tried to tell you, he has always
been just like a cousin or a brother to me, and doesn't want anything but
his horses and cattle and his books on political economy. Larry's quite
happy with his ranching, and his dreams of the new America. Of course,
they'll never come to anything; but when you can start him talking they're
quite nice to listen to."
Flora Schuyler shook her head. "I wouldn't be too sure. That man is in
earnest, and the dreams of an earnest American have a way of coming true.
You have known him a long while, and I've only seen him once, but that man
will do more than talk if he ever has the opportunity. He has the quiet
grit one finds in the best of us--not the kind that make the speeches--and
some Englishmen, in him. You can see it in his eyes."
"Then," said Hetty, with a little laugh, "come back with me to Cedar, and
if you're good you shall have him. It isn't everybody I'd give Larry to."
There was a trace of indignation in Flora Schuyler's face. "I fancy he
would not appreciate your generosity, and there's a good deal you have got
to find out, Hetty," she said drily. "It may hurt you when you do. But you
haven't told me yet what has been worrying you."
"No," said Hetty, with a little wistful smile. "Well, I'm going to. It's
hard to own to, but I'm a failure. I fancied I could make everybody listen
to my singing, and I would come here. Well, I came, and found out that my
voice would never bring me fame, and for a time it hurt me horribly.
Still, I couldn't go back just then, and when you and your mother pressed
me I stayed. I knew what you expected, and I disappointed you. Perhaps I
was too fastidious, but there were none of them that really pleased me.
Then I began to see that I was only spoiling nicer girls' chances and
trying the patience of everybody."
"Hetty!" said Flora Schuyler, but Miss Torrance checked her.
"Wait until I'm through. Then it became plain to me that while I'd been
wasting my time here the work I was meant for was waiting at Cedar. The
old man who gave me everything is very lonely there, and he and Larry have
been toiling on while I flung 'most what a ranch would cost away on
lessons and dresses and fripperies, which will never be any good to me.
Still, I'm an American, too, and now, when there's trouble coming, I'm
going back to the place I belong to."
"You are doing the right thing now," said Flora Schuyler.
Hetty smiled somewhat mirthlessly. "Well," she said, "because it's hard, I
guess I am; but there's one thing would make it easier. You will come and
stay with me. You don't know how much I want you; and New York in winter
doesn't suit you. You're pale already. Come and try our clear, dry cold."
Eventually Miss Schuyler promised, and Hetty rose. "Then it's fixed," she
said. "I'll write the old man a dutiful letter now, while I feel like
doing it well."
The letter was duly written, and, as it happened, reached Torrance as he
sat alone one evening in his great bare room at Cedar Range. Among the
papers on the table in front of him were letters from the cattle-men's
committees, which had sprung into existence every here and there, and
Torrance apparently did not find them reassuring, for there was care in
his face. It had become evident that the big ranchers' rights were mostly
traditional, and already, in scattered detachments, the vanguard of the
homesteaders' host was filing in. Here and there they had made their
footing good; more often, by means not wholly constitutional, their
outposts had been driven in; but it was noticeable that Torrance and his
neighbours still believed them no more than detachments, and had not heard
the footsteps of the rest. Three years' residence in that land had changed
the aliens into American citizens, but a lifetime of prosperity could
scarcely efface the bitterness they had brought with them from the east,
while some, in spite of their crude socialistic aspirations, were drilled
men who had herded the imperial legions like driven cattle into Sedan.
More of native birth, helots of the cities, and hired hands of the plains,
were also turning desiring eyes upon the wide spaces of the cattle
country, where there was room for all.
Torrance opened his letter and smiled somewhat drily. It was affectionate
and not without its faint pathos, for Hetty had been stirred when she
wrote; but the grim old widower felt no great desire for the gentle
attentions of a dutiful daughter just then.
"We shall be at Cedar soon after you get this," he read among the rest. "I
know if I had told you earlier you would have protested you didn't want
me, just because you foolishly fancied I should be lonely at the Range;
but I have been very selfish, and you must have been horribly lonely too;
and one of the nicest girls you ever saw is coming to amuse you. You can't
help liking Flo. Of course I had to bring a maid; but you will have to
make the best of us, because you couldn't stop us now if you wanted to."
It was noticeable that Torrance took the pains to confirm this fact by
reference to a railroad schedule, and, finding it incontrovertible, shook
his head.
"Three of them," he said.
Then he sat still with the letter in his hand, while a trace of tenderness
crept into his face, which, however, grew grave again, until there was a
tapping at the door, and Clavering came in.
"You seem a trifle worried, sir, and if you're busy I needn't keep you
long," he said. "I just wanted to hand you a cheque for the subscription
you paid for me."
"Sit down," said Torrance. "Where did you get the dollars from?"
Clavering appeared almost uneasy for a moment, but he laughed. "I've been
thinning out my cattle."
"That's not a policy I approve of just now. We'll have the rabble down
upon us as soon as we show any sign of weakening."
Clavering made a little deprecatory gesture. "It wasn't a question of
policy. I had to have the dollars. Still, you haven't told me if you have
heard anything unpleasant from the other committees."
Torrance appeared thoughtful. He suspected that Clavering's ranch was
embarrassed, and the explanation was plausible.
"No," he said. "It was something else. Hetty is on her way home, and she
is bringing another young woman and a maid with her. They will be here
before I can stop them. Still, I could, if it was necessary, send them
back."
Clavering did not answer for a moment, though Torrance saw the faint gleam
in his dark eyes, and watched him narrowly. Then he said, "You will find a
change in Miss Torrance, sir. She has grown into a beautiful young woman,
and has, I fancy, been taught to think for herself in the city; you could
not expect her to come back as she left the prairie. And if anything has
induced her to decide that her place is here, she will probably stay."
"You're not quite plain. What could induce her?"
Clavering smiled, though he saw that the shot had told. "It was
astonishing that Miss Torrance did not honour me with her confidence. A
sense of duty, perhaps, although one notices that the motives of young
women are usually a trifle involved. It, however, appears to me that if
Miss Torrance makes up her mind to stay, we are still quite capable of
guarding our women from anxiety or molestation."
"Yes," said Torrance grimly. "Of course. Still, we may have to do things
we would sooner they didn't hear about or see. Well, you have some news?"
Clavering nodded. "I was in at the railroad, and fifty Dakota men came in
on the cars. I went round to the hotel with the committee, and, though it
cost some dollars to fix the thing, they wouldn't take them in. The boys,
who got kind of savage, found a pole and drove the door in, but we turned
the Sheriff, who had already sworn some of us in, loose on them. Four or
five men were nastily clubbed, and one of James's boys was shot through
the arm, while I have a fancy that the citizens would have stood in with
the other crowd; but seeing they were not going to get anything to eat
there, they held up a store, and as we told the man who kept it how their
friends had sacked Regent, he fired at them. The consequence is that the
Sheriff has some of them in jail, and the rest are camped down on the
prairie. We hold the town."
"Through the Sheriff?"
Clavering laughed. "He'll earn his pay. Has it struck you that this
campaign is going to cost us a good deal? Allonby hasn't much left in hand
already."
"Oh, yes," said the older man, with a little grim smile. "If it's wanted
I'll throw my last dollar in. Beaten now and we're beaten for ever. We
have got to win."
Clavering said nothing further, though he realized, perhaps more clearly
than his leader, that it was only by the downfall of the cattle-men the
small farmer could establish himself, and, when he had handed a cheque to
Torrance, went out.
It was three days later when Hetty Torrance rose from her seat in a big
vestibule car as the long train slackened speed outside a little Western
station. She laughed as she swept her glance round the car.
"Look at it, Flo," she said; "gilding and velvet and nickel, all quite in
keeping with the luxury of the East. You are environed by civilization
still; but once you step off the platform there will be a difference."
Flora Schuyler, who noticed the little flush in her companion's face,
glanced out of the dusty window, for the interior of the gently-rocking
car, with its lavish decoration and upholstery, was not new to her, and
the first thing that caught her eye was the miscellaneous deposit of
rubbish, old boots, and discarded clothing, amidst the willows that slowly
flitted by. Then she saw a towering water-tank, wooden houses that rose
through a haze of blowing dust, hideous in their unadornment, against a
crystalline sky, and a row of close-packed stock-cars which announced that
they were in the station.
It seemed to be thronged with the populace, and there was a murmur,
apparently of disappointed expectancy, when, as the cars stopped, the
three women alone appeared on the platform. Then there was a shout for the
conductor, and somebody said, "You've no rustlers aboard for us?"
"No," said the grinning official who leaned out from the door of the
baggage-car. "The next crowd are waiting until they can buy rifles to whip
you with."
Hoarse laughter followed, and somebody said, "Boys, your friends aren't
coming. You can take your band home again."
Then out of the clamour came the roll of a drum, and, clear and musical,
the ringing of bugles blown by men who had marched with Grant and Sherman
when they were young. The effect was stirring, and a cheer went up, for
there were other men present in whom the spirit which, underlying
immediate issues, had roused the North to arms was living yet; but it
broke off into laughter when, one by one, discordant instruments and
beaten pans joined in. The din, however, ceased suddenly, when somebody
said, "Hadn't you better let up, boys, or Torrance will figure you sent
the band for him?"
Miss Schuyler appeared a trifle bewildered, the maid frightened; but
Hetty's cheeks were glowing.
"Flo," she said, "aren't you glad you came? The boys are taking the trail.
We'll show you how we stir the prairie up by and by!"
Miss Schuyler was very doubtful as to whether the prospect afforded her
any pleasure; but just then a grey-haired man, dressed immaculately in
white shirt and city clothes, kissed her companion, and then, taking off
his hat, handed her down from the platform with ceremonious courtesy. He
had a grim, forceful face, with pride and command in it, and Miss
Schuyler, who felt half afraid of him then, never quite overcame the
feeling. She noticed, however, that he paid equal attention to the
terrified maid.
"It would be a duty to do our best for any of Hetty's friends who have
been so kind to her in the city, but in this case it's going to be a
privilege, too," he said. "Well, you will be tired, and they have a meal
waiting you at the hotel. This place is a little noisy to-day, but we'll
start on the first stage of your journey when you're ready."
He gave Miss Schuyler his arm, and moved towards the thickest of the
crowd, which, though apparently slightly hostile, made way for him. Here
and there a man drove his fellows back, and one, catching up a loose
plank, laid it down for the party to cross the rail switches on. Torrance
turned to thank him, but the man swept his hat off with a laugh.
"I wouldn't worry; it wasn't for you," he said. "It's a long while since
we've seen anything so pretty as Miss Torrance and the other one."
Flora Schuyler flushed a little, but Hetty turned to the speaker with a
sparkle in her eyes.
"Now," she said, "that was 'most worth a dollar, and if I didn't know what
kind of man you were, I'd give it you. But what about Clarkson's Lou?"
There was a laugh from the assembly, and the man appeared embarrassed.
"Well," he said slowly, "she went off with Jo."
Miss Torrance nodded sympathetically. "Still, if she knew no better than
that, I wouldn't worry. Jo had a cast in his eye."
The crowd laughed again, and Flora Schuyler glanced at her companion with
some astonishment as she asked, "Do you always talk to them that way?"
"Of course," said Hetty. "They're our boys--grown right here. Aren't they
splendid?"
Miss Schuyler once more appeared dubious, and made no answer; but she
noticed that the man now preceded them, and raised his hand when they came
up with the band, which had apparently halted to indulge in retort or
badinage with some of those who followed them.
"Hold on a few minutes, boys, and down with that flag," he said.
Then a tawdry banner was lowered suddenly between two poles, but not
before Miss Torrance had seen part of the blazoned legend. Its unvarnished
forcefulness brought a flush to her companion's cheek.
"Dad," she asked more gravely, "what is it all about?"
Torrance laughed a little. "That," he said, "is a tolerably big question.
It would take quite a long while to answer it."
They had a street to traverse, and Hetty saw that it was filled with
little knots of men, some of whom stared at her father, though as she
passed their hats came off. Miss Schuyler, on her part, noticed that most
of the stores were shut, and felt that she had left New York a long way
behind as she glanced at the bare wooden houses cracked by frost and sun,
rickety plank walks, whirling wisps of dust, and groups of men, splendid
in their lean, muscular symmetry and picturesque apparel. There was a
boldness in their carriage, and a grace that approached the statuesque in
every poise. Still, she started when they passed one wooden building where
blue-shirted figures with rifles stood motionless in the verandah.
"The jail," said Torrance, quietly. "The Sheriff has one or two rioters
safe inside there."
They found an indifferent meal ready at the wooden hotel, and when they
descended in riding dress a wagon with their baggage was waiting outside
the door, while a few mounted men with wide hats and bandoliers came up
with three saddle-horses. Torrance bestowed the maid in the light wagon,
and, when the two girls were mounted, swung himself into the saddle. Then,
as they trotted down the unpaved street, Hetty glanced at him and pointed
to the dusty horsemen.
"What are the boys for?" she asked.
Torrance smiled grimly. "I told you we had our troubles. It seemed better
to bring them, in case we had any difficulty with Larry's friends."
"Larry's friends?" asked Hetty, almost indignantly.
Torrance nodded. "Yes," he said. "You have seen a few of them. They were
carrying the flag with the inscription at the depot."
Hetty asked nothing further, but Flora Schuyler noticed the little flash
in her eyes, and as they crossed the railroad track the clear notes of the
bugles rose again and were followed by a tramp of feet. Glancing over
their shoulders the girls could see men moving in a body, with the flag
they carried tossing amidst the dust. They were coming on in open fours,
and when the bugles ceased deep voices sent a marching song ringing across
the wooden town.
Hetty's eyes sparkled; the stockriders seemed to swing more lightly in
their saddles, and Flora Schuyler felt a little quiver run through her.
Something that jingling rhythm and the simple words expressed but
inarticulately stirred her blood, as she remembered that in her nation's
last great struggle the long battalions had limped on, ragged and
footsore, singing that song.
"Listen," said Hetty, while the colour crept into her face. "Oh, I know
it's scarcely music, and the crudest verse; but it served its purpose, and
is there any nation on earth could put more swing and spirit into the
grandest theme?"
Torrance smiled somewhat drily, but there was a curious expression in his
face. "Some of those men are drawing their pension, but they're not with
us," he said. "It's only because we have sent in all the boys we can spare
that the Sheriff, who has their partners in his jail, can hold the town."
A somewhat impressive silence followed this, and Flora Schuyler glanced at
Hetty when they rode out into the white prairie with two dusty men with
bandoliers on either flank.