CHAPTER III
PROUTY
Major Prouty hung over the hitching post in front of the post officelistening with a beatific smile to the sound of the saw and the hammerthat came from the Opera House going up at the corner of Prouty Avenueand Wildwood Street. The Major's eyes held the brooding tenderness of apatron saint, as he looked the length of the wide street of the townwhich bore his name.
"Sunnin' yourself, Major?" inquired Hiram Butefish jocularly as hepassed; then paused to add, "I'm lookin' for a big turn-out at theBoosters Club to-night."
"I trust so, Hiram."
Aside from himself, no one person had contributed more to Prouty'sgrowth than the editor of the _Grit_.
Mr. Butefish had arrived among the first with the intention of opening aplumbing shop, but since the water supply was furnished by a windmillthe demand for his services was not apt to be pressing for some time tocome.
Therefore, with true western resourcefulness he bought the handpress ofa defunct sheet and turned to journalism instead. Though less lucrative,moulding public opinion and editing a paper that was to be a recognizedpower in the state seemed to Mr. Butefish a step ahead.
The Middle West had responded nobly to his editorial appeals to come outand help found an Empire. The majority of the optimistic citizens whowalked with their heads in the clouds and their eyes on the roseatefuture were there through his efforts. Appreciative of this fact, theMajor's eyes were kindly as they gazed upon the editor's retreatingback.
His expression was benignity itself as his glance turned lovingly to theProuty House and the White Hand Laundry--the latter in particular beinga milestone on the road of Progress since it heralded the fact that theday was not far distant when a man could wear a boiled shirt withoutembarrassing comment. Three saloons, the General Merchandise Emporium,and "Doc" Fussel's drug store completed the list of business enterprisesas yet, but others were in contemplation and a bottling works wasunderway. Oh, yes, Prouty was indelibly on the map.
The Major's complacent smile changed to a slight frown as a man in ablack tall crowned hat stopped to rest his back against the post of theLaundry sign.
It had reached the Major's ears that Mormon Joe had said that Prouty hadno more future than a prairie dog town. He had been in his cups at thetime but that did not palliate the offense.
Now, there--there was the kind of a man that helped a town! The Major'sbrow cleared as Jasper Toomey swung round the corner by the Prouty Houseand clattered down the main street sitting high-headed and arrogant in aBrewster cart. Spent money like a prince--he did. A few more people likethe Toomeys and the future of the country was assured.
In the meantime Toomey had brought the velvet-mouthed horse to itshaunches in front of the laundry where he tossed a bundle into thesheepman's arms, saying casually;
"Take that inside, my man."
Without a change of expression, Mormon Joe caught it, rolled itcompactly and kicked it over the horse's back into the street.
"There's no brass buttons sewed on my coat--take it yourself!" MormonJoe shrugged a shoulder as he walked off.
Walter Scales of the Emporium dashed into the street and recovered thelaundry with an apologetic air as though he were somehow responsible forthe act.
"You have to make allowances for the rough characters that swarm into anew country," he said, as he delivered the bundle himself.
"I'll break that pauper sheepherder before I quit!" A vein underToomey's right eye and another on his temple stood out swollen andpurple.
"People like him that send away for their grub and never spend a centthey can help in their home town don't benefit a country none." Mr.Scales did not attempt to conceal his pleasure at the foot-long listToomey handed him. He added urgently, "Wisht you'd try and stay in forthe Boosters Club to-night, Mr. Toomey. We'd like your advice."
Toomey refused curtly.
"Get that order out at once," he said peremptorily, as he drove off.
* * * * *
No invitation cordial or otherwise was extended to Mormon Joe, so it wasupon his own initiative that he stumbled into the room where theBoosters Club was in session that evening. Unmistakably drunk, Joe satdown noisily beside Clarence Teeters who was the only one who made roomfor him.
The purpose of the meeting was to consider ways and means to build aditch that should bring water from the mountains in sufficient quantitynot only to supply the town but to irrigate the agricultural landsurrounding it.
Mr. Abram Pantin, a man of affairs from Keokuk, Iowa, in the vicinitywith a view to locating, had been called upon for a few remarks and wasjust closing with the safe and conservative statement that an amplewater supply was an asset to any community.
He was followed by the chairman, Mr. Butefish, who pleaded eloquentlyfor the construction of the ditch by local capital, and having arousedthe meeting to a high pitch of enthusiasm ended with a peroration thatbrought forth a loud demonstration of approbation.
"Gentlemen," declared Mr. Butefish, "back there in the mountains is anoble stream waitin' to irrigate a thirsty land. For the trifling sum oftwenty thousand dollars we can turn this hull country into a gardenspot! The time is comin' when we'll see nothin' but alfalfa field inpurple bloom as fur as the eye can reach! We're as rich in naturalresources as any section on God's green earth. We're lousy with 'em,gentlemen, and all we gotta do is to put our shoulders to the wheel andscratch!"
Mr. Butefish sat down and dried the inside of his collar with hishandkerchief midst tumultuous applause.
The evening had been a veritable love-feast without a jarring note andeverybody glowed with a feeling of neighborliness and confidence in afuture that was to bring them affluence.
"Mr. Chairman, may I have a word?"
There was a general turning of heads as Mormon Joe, thick of tongue,lurched over the back of the seat in front.
"Kindly make it brief," replied Mr. Butefish reluctantly. "We still haveimportant business to transact."
"I only want to say that this country hasn't any more natural resourcesthan a tin roof and when Prouty got any bigger than a saloon and ablacksmith shop it overreached itself." There was a tightening of lipsas the members exchanged looks, but Mormon Joe went on, "One third ofthe work that you dry farmers put in trying to make ranches out of aridland," he addressed a row of tousled gentlemen on the front seat, "wouldbring you independence in a state where climatic conditions arefavorable to raising crops.
"As for your ditch, there never was an irrigation project yet that didnot cost double and treble the original estimate. If you try to put itthrough without outside help, you'll all go broke. In other words," hejeered, "you haven't one damned asset but your climate, and you'rewasting your time and energy until you figure out a way to realize onthat."
Shabby, undersized, distinctly drunk, Mormon Joe made an unheroic figureas he stood swaying on his feet looking mockingly into the frowningfaces of the Boosters Club, and yet, somehow, his words cast a momentarydepression over the room.
He stood an instant, then staggered out, indifferent to the fact that hehad committed the supreme offense in a western town--he had"knocked"--and that henceforth and forever he was a marked man--adetriment to the community--to be discredited, shunned, and, ifpossible, driven out.
The invitation composed and printed by Mr. Butefish after much mentaltravail, requesting the pleasure of the Toomeys' company at a receptionand dance in the Prouty House to celebrate the third year of the town'sprosperity and progress was one of the results of this meeting of theBoosters Club.
Toomey's thin lips curled superciliously as he glanced at it and tossedit across the breakfast table:
"Here, Hughie, why don't you take this in?"
"You'll go, won't you?" the lad asked eagerly after reading it.
"We never mingle socially with the natives." As Mrs. Toomey shook herhead her smile and tone expressed ineffable exclusiveness. Seeing thatthe boy's face fell in disappointment she urged, "But
you go, Hughie."
"If I knew some one to ask--"
"There's Maggie Taylor," Mrs. Toomey suggested.
"And Mormon Joe's Kate," Toomey added, laughing.
"Who's she?" the boy asked curiously.
"Do you remember the day when you were here before that we met thosepeople driving a band of sheep--a man and a barefooted girl inoveralls?"
Hughie's eyes sparkled:
"They stopped here, then?"
Toomey scowled.
"Yes, confound 'em! I've had more than one 'run in' with 'em since overrange and water. But," he urged, "don't let that hinder you. They livewith their sheep back there in the foothills like a couple of whitesavages, and she's some greener than alfalfa. Go and ask her. You'll getsome fun out of it. I dare you! I'll bet you a saddle blanket againstanything you like that you haven't got the sand to take her."
"Done!" Hughie Disston's eyes were dancing. "If my nerve fails me when Isee her, you are in a new Navajo."
It was a great lark to Disston, now a tall boy of nineteen, handsome,attractive, with the soft drawl of his southern speech and the easymanners of those who have associated much with women-folk. He was inhigh spirits as, one morning early, he and Teeters turned off from themain road and took the faint trail which led up Bitter Creek.
They rode until they saw two tepees showing white through the willows.
"We're in luck to catch them home at this hour," said Teeters, as theyheard a faint tinkle from the corrals on the other side of the creek."They've got the sheep inside--must be cuttin' out. Yes," as they fordedand drew closer, "there's Kate at the dodge gate."
The corral was a crude affair, built at the minimum of expense, ofcrooked cottonwood poles, willow sticks and brush interlaced. It wasdivided into three sections, with a chute running from the largerdivision into two smaller ones.
Kate was standing at the "dodge gate" at the end of the chute separatingthe sheep as they came through by throwing the gate to and fro, thussending each into the division in which it belonged. It was work whichrequired intense concentration, a trained eye and quick brain, and evenDisston and Teeters, who knew nothing of sheep, could appreciate theremarkable skill with which the girl performed the task.
"Let 'em come, Uncle Joe!" she called in her clear confident voice.
Mormon Joe flapped a grain sack over the backs of the sheep and havingstarted a leader the rest went through the chute on the run.
When the last one was through Kate's aching arm dropped limply to herside and she called in a tired but jubilant voice:
"I don't believe I've made a single mistake this time."
Mormon Joe's expression was not too friendly when he saw strangers butit changed upon recognizing Teeters.
"Maybe you don't remember this here gent," said that person, indicatingDisston with his thumb after he and Mormon Joe had shaken hands. "He'sgrowed about four feet since you saw him."
"I remember him very well." Mormon Joe's tone and manner had the suavityand polish which was so at variance with his general appearance.
Hughie, leaving Teeters and Mormon Joe to a conversation which did notinterest him, rode up to see Kate at closer range.
Busy in one of the pens, the girl was still unaware of visitors, so hehad had ample opportunity to observe her before she saw him.
She, too, had grown since their meeting, being now as tall and straightand slim as an Olympian runner. Her hair swung in a thick fair braid farbelow her waist as she darted hither and thither in pursuit of a lamb.The man's blue flannel shirt she wore was faded and the ragged sleeveshad been cut off at the elbow for convenience. Her short skirt was ofstiff blue denim and a pair of coarse brown and white cotton stockingsshowed between the hem and the tops of boys' shoes which disguised theslenderness of her feet. Yet, withal, she was graceful as she ran andsomehow managed to look picturesque.
The boy's face was an odd mixture of expressions as he watchedher--amusement, astonishment, disapproval, and grudging admiration allin one.
Finally, catching the lamb by the hind leg she threw it by a twistacquired through much practice and buckled a bell around its neck.
As she turned it loose and straightened up, she saw Disston. When hesmiled she knew him instantly and the color rose in her face as shewalked towards him, suddenly conscious of her clothes and grimy hands.She was soon at her ease, however, and when he told her his errand theradiance that leaped into her face startled him.
"Would I like to go?" she cried joyously. "There's nothing I can thinkof that I would like better. I've never been to a dance in all my life.I've never been anywhere. It's so good of you to ask me!"
"It's good of you to go with me," he said awkwardly, shamed by hergratitude, remembering the wager.
"But I don't know how to dance," she said almost tearfully.
"You don't?" incredulously. He had thought every girl in the world knewhow to dance. "Never mind," he assured her, "I can teach you in a fewlessons."
So it was settled, and they talked of other things, laughing merrily,frequently, while Mormon Joe and Teeters discussed with some gravity thefact that it had been several months since the latter had been able toget his wages from Toomey.
"I think he's workin' on borried capital and they're shuttin' down onhim," Teeters conjectured. "His 'Old Man,'" he nodded toward Hughie,"has got consider'ble tied up in the Outfit, I've an idea. Anyhow, if Igit beat out of my money after the way Toomey's high-toned it over me--"He cast a significant look at a fist with particularly prominentknuckles.
"You hang on a while," Mormon Joe cautioned. "You may be boss of theScissor Outfit yet--stranger things have been waiting around thecorner."
Teeters shifted his weight in the saddle.
"Say," he confessed in some embarrassment, "a sperrit told me somethin'like that only day 'fore yisterday. I was settin' in a circle over toMis' Taylor's and an Injun chief named 'Starlight' spelled out on thetable that all kinds of honor and worldly power was comin' to me. Itmakes me feel cur'ous, hearin' you say it--like they was somethin' init."
Mormon Joe smiled quizzically but made no comment; perhaps he suspectedthat the privilege of touching fingers with Miss Maggie Taylor whilewaiting for the spirits to "take holt" had as much to do with Teeters'interest in the unseen world as the messages he received from it. Heasked:
"You remember what I said at the Boosters' Club the other night?"
"I ain't apt to fergit it anyways soon," replied Teeters, dryly, "seein'as 'Tinhorn' riz and put it to a vote as to whether they should tar andfeather you or jest naturally freeze you out."
"The truth is acid," he laughed. "It's a fact though, Teeters, that thiscountry's chief asset is its climate, and," with his quizzical smile,"this Scissor Outfit would make a fine dude-ranch."
Kate did not tell Mormon Joe of her invitation until the sheep werebedded for the night, the supper dishes out of the way and they weresitting, as was their custom, on two boxes watching the stars andtalking while Mormon Joe smoked his pipe.
"Our company this morning made me forget to tell you how well youhandled the gate; it was a clean cut." Mormon Joe added in obviouspride, "You're the best sheepman in the country, Katie, bar none."
"Then I wish you'd listen to me and buy some of those Rambouillets andgrade up our herd."
"We're doing all right," he returned, indifferently.
"Anybody would know you didn't like sheep."
"They're a means to an end; they keep me in the hills out of mischiefand furnish a living for us both."
"I wonder that you haven't more ambition, Uncle Joe."
"That died and was buried long ago. The little that I have left is foryou. I want you to have the benefit of what I have learned from booksand life; I want you to be happy--I can't say that I'm interested inanything beyond that."
She threw him a kiss.
"You're too good to be true almost." Then, with a quite inexplicablediffidence she faltered, "Uncle Joe, that--that boy asked me to go to adance."
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bsp; He turned his head quickly and asked with a sharp note in his voice:
"Where?"
"In Prouty."
"Do you want to go?"
"I can't tell you how much!" she cried eagerly. "I can hardly believe itis me--I--invited to a dance. I've never been out in the evening in allmy life. I don't know a single woman and may be I'll never have such achance again to get acquainted and make friends."
"I didn't know that you had been lonely, Katie," he said after asilence.
"Just sometimes," she admitted.
"You said you didn't want to go to Prouty again because the childrenbleated at you the last time you were in."
"But that was long ago--a year--they wouldn't do that now--they'reolder, and, besides, there are others who have sheep. We're not the onlyones any more. But," with a quaver in her voice, "don't you want me togo, Uncle Joe?"
"I don't want you to put yourself in a position to get hurt."
"What--what would anybody hurt me for?" she asked, wide-eyed.
His answer to the question was a shrug. Then, as though to himself,"They may be bigger than I give them credit for."
He had not refused to let her go, but he had chilled her enthusiasmsomewhat so they were silent for a time, each occupied with his ownthoughts.
As Mormon Joe, with his hands clasped about his knee, his pipe dead inhis mouth, sat motionless in the starlight, he ceased to be conscious ofthe beauty of the night, of the air that touched his face, soft and coolas the caress of a gentle woman, of the moist sweet odors of burstingbuds and tender shoots--he was thinking only that the child who had runinto his arms for safety had come to be the center of the universe tohim. He could not imagine life without her. He had mended her manners,corrected her speech, bought her books of study to which she haddiligently applied herself in the long hours while she herded sheep, andnothing else in life had given him so much pleasure as to watch her minddevelop and her taste improve.
Anybody that would hurt her! Instinctively his hands clenched. Aloud hesaid:
"Go to your party, Katie, and I hope with all my heart it will beeverything you anticipate."
The Fighting Shepherdess Page 3
