The Fighting Shepherdess Part 33

As Mrs. Toomey cast a look of despair about, her eyes met those of the man who was sitting alone at the table across the aisle. Even in her distress she had observed him when he had entered, for his height, breadth of shoulder, erectness of carriage--together with the tan and a certain unconventional freedom of movement which, to the initiated, proclaimed him an outdoor westerner, made him noticeable.

He was fifty--more, possibly--with hair well grayed and the face of a man to whom success had not come easily. Yet that he had succeeded was not to be doubted, for neither his face nor bearing were those of a man who could be, or had been, defeated. His appearance--substantial, unostentatious--inspired confidence in his integrity and confidence in his ability to cope with any emergency. The lines in his strong face suggested something more than the mere marks of obstacles conquered, of battles lost and won in the world of business--they came from a deeper source than surface struggles. His mouth, a trifle austere, had a droop of sadness, and in his calm gray eyes there was the look of understanding which comes not only from wide experience but from suffering.

Mrs. Toomey had the feeling that he comprehended perfectly every emotion she was experiencing--her fright, her mortification, her disgust at j.a.p's maudlin speech and foolish appearance. But it was something more than these things which had caused her to look at him frequently. He reminded her of some one, yet she could not identify the resemblance. In their exchange of glances she now caught a sympathetic flash; then he rose immediately and came over.

"May I be of service, brother?" As he spoke he indicated the small b.u.t.ton he wore which corresponded to another on Toomey's waistcoat. With a slight inclination of the head towards Mrs. Toomey, "If you'll allow me--"

The relieved waiter promptly fled with the note he laid on the plate.

"These situations are a little awkward for the moment," he added, smiling slightly.

"Mighty nice of you, Old Top!" Toomey shook hands with him. "Lemme buy you somethin'. Wha'll you have?"

The stranger declined and thanked him.

Mrs. Toomey expressed her grat.i.tude incoherently.

"You must leave your name and address; we'll mail you a check to-morrow."

"I always stay at the Auditorium. Mail addressed to me there will be forwarded." He laid his visiting card upon the table.

Toomey placed a detaining hand upon his arm as he turned from the table.

"Look here! Won't let you go till you promise come make us a visit--stay month--stay year--stay rest o' your life--la'sh string hanging' out for you. Pure air, Swizzerland of America, an' greatest natural resources--"

The stranger detached himself gently.

"I appreciate your hospitality," he replied courteously. "Who knows?" to Mrs. Toomey, "I might some day look in on you--I've never been out in that section of the country."

With another bow he paid his own account and left the restaurant.

"Thoroughbred!" declared Toomey enthusiastically. "Old Dear, I made a hit with him."

Mrs. Toomey was staring after the erect commanding figure.

She read again the name on the card she held in her fingers and murmured with an expression of speculative wonder:

"The spelling's different but--Prentiss! and she looks enough like him to be his daughter."

CHAPTER XVI

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 p.u.s.s.y willow to color the world for them. June might as well be January, if one is financially embarra.s.sed.

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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 pa.s.sengers. 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 att.i.tude 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 pa.s.senger 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 sh.o.r.e done it!" replied Teeters emphatically, casting an eye at the writhing ma.s.s 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."