THE TIGER LADY
The winter came on with its rains and soft verdure and desert shrubs
bursting with bloom and, for a man who professed to know just exactly
where he was at, Rimrock Jones was singularly distrait. When he cast
down the glove to Whitney H. Stoddard, that glutton for punishment who
had never quit yet, he had looked for something to happen. Each
morning he rose up with the confident expectation of hearing that the
Old Juan was jumped; but that high, domelike butte remained as lifeless
as ever, without a single guard to herd the apex claim. Then he fell
to watching Jepson and talking to the miners and snooping for some
hidden scheme, but Jepson went ahead with his machine-like efficiency
until the Tecolote began to turn out ore.
Day and night the low thunder of the powerful batteries told of the
milling of hundreds of tons; and the great concentrator, sprawling down
on the broad hillside, washed out the copper and separated it from the
muck. Long trains of steel ore-cars received the precious concentrates
and bore them off to the distant smelters, and at last there came the
day when the steady outpay ceased and the money began to pile up in the
bank. L. W.'s bank, of course; for since the fatal fight he had been
Rimrock's banker and bosom friend. But that ended the long wait. At
the sight of all that money Rimrock Jones began to spend.
For a year and more Rimrock had been careful and provident--that is,
careful and provident for him. Six months of that time had been spent
in the County Jail, and since then he had been watching Stoddard. But
now Whitney H. Stoddard--and Jepson, too--were uniformly polite and
considerate. There was no further question--whatever Rimrock ordered
was done and charged up to the Company. That had been Stoddard's
payment for his share of the mine, and now the money was pouring back.
Rimrock watched it and wondered, then he simply watched it; and at last
he began to spend.
His first big blow-out was a raid on The Mint, where Ike Bray still ran
his games; and when Rimrock rose up from the faro table he owned the
place, fixtures and all. It had been quite a brush, but Rimrock was
lucky; and he had a check-book this time, for more luck. That turned
the scales, for he outheld the bank; and, when he had won The Mint, he
presented it to Old Hassayamp Hicks.
"They can talk all they please," he said in his presentation speech
which, though brief, invoked tremendous applause, "but the man don't
live that can say I don't remember my friends."
Yet how difficult it is to retain all our friends, though we come with
gifts in both hands! Rimrock rewarded Hassayamp and L. W., and Woo
Chong, and every man who had done him a kind act. If money can cement
friendships he had won over the whole town, but with Mary Fortune he
had failed. On that first triumphant night when, after their bout with
Stoddard, they realized the true value of their mine; in the dim light
of the balcony and speaking secretly into her ear, he had won, for one
instant, a kiss. But it was a kiss of ecstasy, of joy at their triumph
and the thought that she had saved him from defeat; and when he laid
hold of her and demanded another she had fought back and leapt up and
fled. And after that, repentance; the same, joyless waiting; and, at
last, drink again, to forget. And then humbler repentance and
forgiveness of a kind, but the sweet trustfulness was lost from her
smile.
So with money and friends there came little happiness, either for
Rimrock or yet for her. They looked at each other across a chasm of
differences where any chance word might offend. He had alluded at one
time to the fact that she was deaf and she had avoided his presence for
days. And she had a way, when his breath smelled of drink, of drawing
her head away. Once when he spoke to her in his loud, outdoor voice
she turned away and burst into tears; but she would never explain what
it was that had hurt her, more than to ask him not to do it again. So
it went until his wild, ungoverned nature broke all bounds and he
turned to drink.
Yet if the first phase of his devotion had been passed by Rimrock he
was not lacking in attentions of a kind, and so one evening as the
West-bound train was due Mary found herself waiting for him in the
ladies' balcony. This oriental retreat, giving them a view of the
lobby without exposing them to the rough talk of the men, was common
ground for the women of the hotel, and as she looked over the railing
Mary was distinctly conscious of the chic Mrs. Jepson, sitting near.
Mrs. Jepson, as the wife of the Tecolote Superintendent, was in a
social class by herself and, even after Mary's startling rise to a
directorship in the Company, Mrs. Jepson still thought of her as a
typist. Still a certain feeling of loyalty to her husband, and a
natural fear for his job, had prompted Mrs. Jepson, in so far as
possible, to overlook this mere accident of occupation. And behind her
too-sweet smile there was another motive--her woman's curiosity was
piqued. Not only did this deaf girl, this ordinary typist, hold the
fate of her husband in her hand, but she could, if she wished, marry
Rimrock Jones himself and become the wife of a millionaire. And yet
she did not do it. This was out of the ordinary, even in Mrs. Jepson's
stratum of society, and so she watched her, discreetly.
The train 'bus dashed up outside the door and the usual crowd of people
came in. There was a whiff of cold air, for the winter night was keen,
and then a strange woman appeared. She walked in with a presence,
escorted by Jepson, who was returning from a flying trip East; and
immediately every eye, including Mrs. Jepson's, was shifted and riveted
upon her. She was a tall, slender woman in a black picture-hat and
from the slope of her slim shoulders to the high heels of her slippers
she was wrapped in a single tiger skin. Not a Bengal tiger with black
and tawny stripes, but a Mexican tiger cat, all leopard spots and red,
with gorgeous rosettes in five parallel rows that merged in the pure
white of the breast. It was a regal robe, fit to clothe a queen, and
as she came in, laughing, she displayed the swift, undulating stride of
the great beast which had worn that fine skin.
They came down to the desk and the men who had preceded them gave way
to let her pass. She registered her name, meanwhile making some gay
answer to a jesting remark from Jepson who laid aside his dignity to
laugh. The clerk joined the merriment, whereupon it was instantly
assumed that the lady was quite correct. But women, so they say, are
preternaturally quick to recognize an enemy of the home. As Mary gazed
down she became suddenly conscious of a sharp rapping on the balcony
rail and, looking up, she beheld Mrs. Jepson leaning over, glaring at
her husband. Perhaps Jepson looked up--he sensed her in some way--and,
remembering, glanced wildly about. And then, to the moment, in came
Rimrock Jones, striding along with his big hat in his hand.
It happened as in a play, the swift entrance of the hero, a swifter
glance, and the woman smiled. At sight of that tiger-skin coat Rimrock
stopped dead in his tracks--and Jepson saw his chance to escape.
"Mr. Jones," he beckoned frantically, "let me introduce you to Mrs.
Hardesty. Excuse me!" And he slipped away. There were explanations
later, in the privacy of the Jepson apartments, but Mr. Jepson never
could quite understand. Mrs. Hardesty had come out with a card from
Mr. Stoddard and it was his duty, no less, to look after her. But
meanwhile the drama moved swiftly, with Mary in the balcony looking on.
She could not hear, but her eyes told her everything and soon she, too,
slipped away. Her appointment was neglected, her existence forgotten.
She had come--the other woman!
"Ah, well, well!" the woman cried as she opened her eyes at Rimrock and
held out a jeweled hand, "have you forgotten me already? I used to see
you so often--at the Waldorf, but you won't remember!"
"Oh! Back in New York!" exclaimed Rimrock heartily. "What'd you say
the name? Oh, _Hardesty_! Oh, yes! You were a friend of----"
"Mr. Buckbee! Oh, I was sure you would remember me! I've come out to
look at your mine!"
They shook hands at that and the crowd moved off further, though it
increased as the circle expanded, and then Rimrock looked again at the
tiger-skin.
"Say, by George!" he exclaimed with unctuous admiration, "ain't that
the finest tiger-skin you ever saw. And that's no circus
product--that's a genuine _tigre_, the kind they have in Old Mexico!"
"Oh, you have been in Mexico? Then that's how you knew it! I meet so
many people who don't know. Yes, I have an interest in the famous
Tigre Mine and this was given me by a gentleman there!"
"Well, he must have been crazy over you!" declared Rimrock frankly, "or
he'd never have parted with that skin!"
"Ah, you flatter me!" she said and turned to the clerk with an inquiry
regarding her room.
"Give her the best there is!" spoke up Rimrock with authority, "and
charge it up to the Company. No, now never you mind! Ain't you a
friend of Buckbee's? And didn't you come out to see our mine?"
"Oh, thank you very much," answered Mrs. Hardesty sweetly, "I prefer to
pay, if you don't mind."
"Your privilege," conceded Rimrock, "this is a fine, large, free
country. We try to give 'em all what they want."
"Yes, it is!" she exclaimed. "Isn't the coloring wonderful! And have
you spent all your life on these plains? Can't we sit down here
somewhere? I'm just dying to talk with you. And I have business to
talk over, too."
"Oh, not here!" exclaimed Rimrock as she glanced about the lobby.
"This may not be the Waldorf, but we've got some class all the same.
Come up to the balcony--built especially for the ladies--say, how's
friend Buckbee and the rest?"
And then with the greatest gallantry in the world he escorted her to
Mary's own balcony. There was another, across the well, but he did not
even think of it. He had forgotten that Mary was in the world. As
they sat in the dim alcove he found himself telling long stories and
listening to the gossip of New York. Every word that he said was
received with soft laughter, or rapt silence or a ready jest; and when
she in her turn took the conversation in hand he found her sharing with
him a new and unseen world. It was a woman's world, full of odd
surprises. Everything she did seemed quite sweet and reasonable and at
the same time daring and bizarre. She looked at things differently,
with a sort of worldly-wise tolerance and an ever-changing, provocative
smile. Nothing seemed to shock her even when, to try her, he moved
closer; and yet she could understand.
It was a revelation to Rimrock, the laughing way she restrained him;
and yet it baffled him, too. They sat there quite late, each delving
into the mystery of the other's personality and mind, and as the lower
lights were switched off and the alcove grew dimmer, the talk became
increasingly intimate. A vein of poetry, of unsuspected romance,
developed in Rimrock's mind and, far from discouraging it or seeming to
belittle it, Mrs. Hardesty responded in kind. It was a rare experience
in people so different, this exchange of innermost thoughts, and as
their voices grew lower and all the world seemed far away, they took no
notice of a ghost.
It was a woman's form, drifting past in the dark corridor where the
carpet was so thick and soft. It paused and passed on and there was a
glint of metal, as of a band of steel over the head. Except for that
it might have been any woman, or any uneasy ghost. For night is the
time the dead past comes back and the soul mourns over what is
lost--but at dawn the spirits vanish and the work of the world goes on.
Mary Fortune appeared late at the Company office, for she had very
little to do; and even when there she sat tense and silent. Why not?
There was nothing to do. Jepson ran the mine and everything about it,
and Rimrock attended to the rest. All she had to do was to keep track
of the records and act as secretary to the Board of Directors. They
never met now, except perfunctorily, to give Rimrock more money to
spend. He came in as she sat there, dashing past her for some papers,
and was dashing out when she spoke his name.
"Oh, Mr. Jones," she said and, dimly noting its formality, he paused
and questioned her greeting.
"Oh, it's Mister again, is it?" he observed stopping reluctantly.
"Well, what's the matter now?"
"Yes, it's Mister," she said, managing to smile quite naturally. "You
know you told me your name was 'Mister'--since you made your pile and
all that--but, Mister, I'm going away."
"Going away!" exclaimed Rimrock, suddenly turning to look at her; and
then he came hurriedly back.
"Say, what's the matter?" he asked uneasily, "have I done something
else that is wrong?"
"Why, no," she laughed, "what a conscience you have! I'm going East
for an operation--I should have gone long ago. Oh, yes, I've been
thinking about it for quite a while; but now I'm going to go. You
don't know how I dread it. It's very painful, and if it doesn't make
me any better it's likely to make me--."
"Oh," said Rimrock thoughtfully, rubbing his chin, "well, say, when do
you want to go? I'm going East myself and there ought to be one of
us----"
"So soon?" enquired Mary and as Rimrock looked at her he caught a
twinkle in her eyes. Not of merriment exactly, but of swift
understanding and a hidden, cynical scorn.
"What d'ye mean?" he blustered. "Ain't I got a right----"
"Why, certainly," she returned, still with that subtle resentment, "I
have no objections at all. Only it might make a difference to Mr.
Stoddard if he found us both away."
"Aw, that's all bosh!" broke out Rimrock impatiently, "he's got his
hands more than full in New York. I happen to know he's framing up a
copper deal that will lay the Hackmeisters wide open. That's why I
want to go back. Mrs. Hardesty says----"
"Mrs. Hardesty?"
Rimrock stopped and looked down. Then he picked up his hat and made
another false start for the door.
"Yes, Mrs. Hardesty--she came in last night. That lady that wore the
tiger skin."
"Oh!" said Mary and something in her voice seemed to stab him in the
back as he fled.
"Say, what do you mean?" he demanded, coming angrily back, "you speak
like something was wrong. Can't a man look twice at some other woman
without your saying: 'Oh!' I want you to understand that this Mrs.
Hardesty is just as good as you are. And what's more, by grab, she's
got stock in our Company and we ought to be treating her nice. Yes,
she bought it from Stoddard; and if I could just pull her over----
"How much stock?" asked Mary, reaching suddenly for a book, and Rimrock
fidgeted and turned red.
"Two thousand shares!" he said defiantly. "She's got as much as you
have."
"Oh!" murmured Mary as she ran through the book, and Rimrock flew into
a fury.
"Now for the love of Mike!" he cried, striding towards her, "don't
always be pulling that book! I know you know where every share is, and
just who transferred it to who, but this Mrs. Hardesty has told me
she's got it and that ought to be enough!"
"Why, certainly!" agreed Mary, instantly closing the book. "I just
didn't recall the name. Is she waiting for you now? Then don't let me
detain you. I'll be starting East to-night."
Rimrock rocked on his feet in impotent anger as he groped for a fitting
retort.
"Well, go then!" he said. "What do I give a damn?" And he rushed
savagely out of the room.