The Fighting Shepherdess

by Caroline Lockhart

  CHAPTER XXV

  THE CHINOOK

  Emblazoned on the front page of the Omaha paper upon which Mr. Pantinrelied to keep him abreast of the times was the announcement that bothmutton and wool had touched highwater mark in the history of thesheep-raising industry.

  Mr. Pantin moved into the bow window where the light was better and readthe article carefully. The Australian embargo, dust-storms in thesteppes of Russia, rumors of war, all had contributed to send pricessoaring. When he had concluded, he took the stub of a pencil from hiswaistcoat pocket and made a computation in neat figures upon the margin.As he eyed the total his mouth puckered in a whistle which changedgradually to a grin of satisfaction.

  "You can't keep a squirrel down in a timbered country," Mr. Pantinchuckled aloud, ambiguously.

  A pleased smile still rested upon his face when Mrs. Pantin entered.

  "Priscilla, will you do me a favor?"

  "Abram," reproachfully, "have I ever failed you? What is it?"

  "The next time you have something going on here I want you to inviteKate Prentice."

  Mrs. Pantin recoiled.

  "What!"

  "Don't squawk like that!" said Mr. Pantin, irritably. "You do it often,and it's an annoying mannerism."

  "Do you quite realize what you are asking?" his wife demanded.

  "Perfectly," replied Mr. Pantin, calmly. "I've passed the stage when Italk to make conversation."

  "But think how she's been criticised!"

  Mr. Pantin got up impatiently.

  "Oh, you virtuous dames--"

  Mrs. Pantin's thin lips went shut like a rat-trap.

  "Abram, are you twitting me?"

  Mr. Pantin ignored the accusation, and observed astutely:

  "I presume you've done your share of talking, and that's why--"

  "She is impossible, and what you ask is impossible," Mrs. Pantindeclared firmly.

  "It's not often that I ask a favor of you, Prissy." His tone wasconciliatory.

  Mrs. Pantin met him half way and her voice was softer as she answered:

  "I appreciate that, Abram, but there are a few of us who must keep upthe bars against such persons. Society--"

  "Rats!" ejaculated Mr. Pantin coarsely.

  The hand which she had laid tenderly upon his shoulder was withdrawn asif it harbored a hornet.

  "I don't understand this at all--not at all," she said, icily."However," very distinctly, "it is not necessary that I should, for Ishall not do it." She folded her arms as she confronted him.

  Mr. Pantin was silent so long that she thought the battle was over, andpurred at him:

  "You can realize how I feel about it, can't you, darling?"

  "No, by George, I can't! And I'm not going to either." He slapped thetable with Henry Van Dyke in ooze leather for emphasis. "I want KatePrentice invited here the next time she's in town. If you don't do as Iask, Priscilla, you shan't go a step--not a step--to Keokuk thiswinter."

  "Is that an ultimatum?" Mrs. Pantin demanded.

  Mr. Pantin gave a quick furtive look over either shoulder, then declaredwith emphatic gusto:

  "I mean every damn word of it!"

  Mrs. Pantin stood speechless, thinking rapidly. There was nothing for itevidently but to play her trump card, which never yet had failed her.She wasted no breath in further argument, but threw herself full-lengthon the davenport and had hysterics.

  Only a few times in their married life had Mr. Pantin risen on his hindlegs, speaking figuratively, and defied her. In the beginning, before hewas well housebroken, he was careless in the matter of cleaning hissoles on the scraper, and had been obstinate on the question of changinghis shirt on Wednesdays, holding that once a week was enough for aperson not engaged in manual labor. Mrs. Pantin had won out on eachissue, but it had not been an easy victory. Mr. Pantin had been docileso long now that she had expected no further trouble with him, thereforethis outbreak was so unlooked for that her fit was almost genuine.

  Having hurled his thunderbolt, Mr. Pantin stood above his wife regardingher imperturbably as she lay with her face buried in a sofa pillow.Unmoved, he even felt a certain interest in the rise and fall of hershoulder blades as she sobbed. Actually, she seemed to breathe withthem--"like the gills of a fish," he thought heartlessly--and wonderedhow long she could keep it up.

  "It's no use having this tantrum, Prissy," he said inexorably.

  Tantrum! The final insult. Mrs. Pantin squealed with rage and gnawed thecorner of the leather pillow.

  "You might as well come out of it," he admonished further. "You'll onlymake your eyes red and give yourself a headache."

  "You're a brute, Abram Pantin, and I wish I'd never seen you!"

  Mr. Pantin suppressed the reply that the wish was mutual. Instead, hepicked up the leather button which flew on the floor when Mrs. Pantindoubled her fist and smote the davenport.

  "I doubt very much if she'd come, even if you ask her," said Pantin. Itwas a stroke of genius.

  "Not come!" The eye which Mrs. Pantin exposed regarded Mr. Pantinscornfully. "Not come? Why, she'd be tickled to pieces."

  But of that Mr. Pantin continued to have his own opinion.

  Mrs. Pantin sat up and winked rapidly in her indignation.

  "She's made if I take her up, and the woman isn't so stupid as not toknow it, is she?"

  "She may not see it from that angle," dryly. "At any rate, you'll bepleasing me greatly by asking her."

  Mrs. Pantin looked at her husband fixedly:

  "Why this deep interest, Abram?"

  Flattered by the implied accusation, Mr. Pantin, however, resisted thetemptation to make Mrs. Pantin jealous, and answered truthfully:

  "I admire her greatly. She deserves recognition and will get it. If youare a wise woman you'll swallow your prejudices and be the first toadmit it."

  Mrs. Pantin raised both eyebrows--her own and the one she put onmornings--incredulously.

  "She's the kind that would win out anywhere," he added, with conviction.

  Mrs. Pantin stared at him absently, while the tears on her lashes driedto smudges. She murmured finally:

  "I could have pineapple with mayonnaise dressing."

  To conceal a smile, Mr. Pantin stooped for his paper.

  "Or would you have lettuce with roquefort cheese dressing, Abram?"

  "You know much more about such things than I do--your luncheons arealways perfect, Prissy. Who do you think of inviting to meet her?"

  Mrs. Pantin considered. Then her eyes sparkled with malice, "I'll beginwith Mrs. Toomey."

  * * * * *

  In the office of the _Grit_, Hiram Butefish was reading the proof of hiseditorial that pointed out the many advantages Prouty enjoyed over itsrival in the next county.

  There was no more perfect spot on the footstool for the rearing ofchildren, Mr. Butefish declared editorially. Fresh air, pure water, anda moral atmosphere--wherein it differed, he hinted, from its neighbor.There Vice rampant and innocent Youth met on every corner, while thecurse of the Demon Rum was destroying its manhood.

  Mr. Butefish laid down the proof-sheet, sighed deeply, and quiteunconsciously moistened his lips.

  He was for Reform, certainly, but the thought would intrude that whenVice moved on to greener fields it took with it much of the zest ofliving. In the days when a man could get drunk as he liked and as oftenas he liked without fear of criticism, sure of being laid away tenderlyby tolerant friends, instead of, as now,--being snaked, scuffling, tothe calaboose by the constable--

  The arrival of the mail with its exchanges interrupted thoughts flowingin a dangerous channel.

  The soaring price of wool, featured in the headlines, caught hisattention instantly, since, naturally, anything that pertained to thesheep industry was of interest to the community. Mr. Butefish used hisscissors freely and opined that the next issue of the _Grit_ would be acorker. Then an idea came to him. Why not make it a sheep numberexclusively? Give all the wool-growers
in the vicinity a write-up.Great! He'd do it. Mr. Butefish enumerated them on his fingers. When hecame to Kate Prentice, he hesitated. Would Prouty stand for it--theeulogy he contemplated? In a small paper one had to consider localprejudices--besides, she was not a subscriber.

  While Mr. Butefish debated, a spirit of rebellion rose within him. Eversince he had established the paper he had been a worm, and what had itgot him? It had got him in debt to the point of bankruptcy--that's whatit had got him--and he was good and sick of it! He was tired ofgrovelling--nauseated with catering to a public that paid in rutabagasand elk meat that was "spoilin' on 'em." He hadn't started inright--that was half the trouble. If he had dug into their pasts andblackmailed 'em, they'd be eating out of his hand, instead of poundingon the desk in front of him if he transposed their initials. He wouldhave been a power in the country in place of having to drag his hat brimto 'em, lest they take out their advertisement of a setting of eggs or aPlymouth Rock rooster.

  He'd show 'em, by gorry! He'd show 'em! Mr. Butefish jabbed his pen intothe potato he used as a penwiper, instead of the ink, in his fury. Hewrote with the rapidity of inspiration, and words came which he had notknown were in his vocabulary as he extolled Kate and her achievements.Emotion welled within him until his collar choked him, so he removed it,while the pen spread with the force he put into the actual writing. Andwhen he had finished, he walked the floor reading the editorial, hisvoice vibrating, tingling with his own eloquence. The article snorteddefiance. Mr. Butefish tacitly waved the bright flag of personal freedomin the face of Public Opinion. He bellowed his liberty, as it were, overKate's shoulder. He strode, he swaggered--he had not known such aglorious feeling of independence since he left off plumbing. And hecould go back to it if he had to! Mr. Butefish stopped in the middle ofthe floor and showed his teeth at an invisible audience of advertisersand subscribers.

  The article came out exactly as written. Reflection did not temper Mr.Butefish's attitude with caution. The bruised worm not only had turned,but rolled clean over.

  The following week, Kate rode into Prouty in ignorance of the flatteringtribute which the editor had paid her. Coming at a leisurely gait downMain Street she looked as usual in pitiless scrutiny at the signs whichtold of the collapse of the town's prosperity. She saw withoutcompassion the graying hair, the tired eyes of anxiety, the lines ofbrooding and despondency deepening in faces she remembered as carefreeand hopeful, the look of resignation that comes to the weaklings whohave lost their grip, the emptiness of burned-out passion, the wearylanguor of repeated failure--she saw it all through the eyes of herrelentless hatred.

  But to-day there was a something different which, in her extremesensitiveness, she was quick to see and feel. There was a new expressionin the eyes of the passersby with whom she exchanged glances. Eyeswhich for years had stared at her with impudence, indifference, orostentatious blankness now held a sort of friendly inquiry, somethingconciliatory, which told her they would have spoken had they not beenmet by the immobile mask of imperturbability that she wore in Prouty.

  "Why the chinook?" Kate asked herself ironically.

  The warm wave met her everywhere and she continued to wonder, though itdid not melt the ice about her heart that was of many years'accumulation.

  Kate had sold her wool, finally, through a commission house, and at anadvance over the price at which she had held it when Bowers had advisedher to accept the buyer's offer. She expected the draft in the threeweeks' accumulation of mail for which she had come to Prouty. When themail was handed out to her, she looked in astonishment at the amount ofit. At first glance, there appeared to be only a little less than abushel. The postmaster, who had forgotten Bowers's instructions, grinnedknowingly as he passed out photographs and sweet-scented, pink-tintedenvelopes addressed to the sheepherder in feminine writing.

  "So he had done it!" Kate mused as she crowded them all into the leathermail sack which bulged to the point of refusing to buckle. The lettershe expected was among the rest, and, as she looked at the draft itcontained, a smile that had meant not only gratification but exultationlurked at the corners of her mouth. She led her horse to the bank andtied it. Mr. Wentz came nimbly forward to the receiving teller's windowas she entered, and flashed his eloquent eyes at her.

  "You're quite a stranger!" he greeted her tritely, and added, "But we'vebeen reading about you."

  Kate looked her surprise.

  "In the _Grit_--haven't you seen it? A great boost! Butefish reallywrites vurry, vurry well when he puts his mind to it."

  This explained the warmer temperature, she thought sardonically, butsaid merely:

  "I haven't seen the paper." Then changing the subject: "I've decided toincrease the size of my account with you, Mr. Wentz. I'll leave thisdraft on open deposit, though it may be considerable time before I needit." She passed it to him carelessly.

  Since leaving the laundry, where he had been as temperamental as heliked, and taken it out on the wringer, Mr. Wentz had endeavored totrain himself to conceal his feelings, and imagined he had succeeded.But now the wild impulse he felt to crawl through the aperture andembrace Kate told him otherwise.

  Kate watched the play of emotions over his face in deep satisfaction.There was no need of words to express his gratitude--which was mostlyrelief.

  "I appreciate this, Miss Prentice, I do indeed. I am glad that you donot hold it against us because upon a time we were not able toaccommodate you."

  "A bank must abide by its rules, I presume," she replied noncommittally.

  "Exactly! A bank must protect its customers at all hazards."

  "And the directors."

  Mr. Wentz colored. Did she mean anything in particular? He wondered. Hecontinued to speculate after her departure. It was a random shot, hedecided. If it had been otherwise she scarcely would be giving him herbusiness now, especially to the extent of this deposit--which he wasneeding--well, nobody but Mr. Wentz knew exactly how much.

  There was a quizzical smile upon Kate's face as she passed down thesteps of the bank and turned up the street on another errand. She waswalking with her eyes bent upon the sidewalk, thinking hard, when herway was blocked by Mrs. Abram Pantin extending a high supine hand withthe charming cordiality which distinguished her best social manner. Mrs.Pantin slipped her manner on and off, as the occasion warranted, as shedid her kitchen apron.

  The suddenness of the meeting surprised Kate into a look ofastonishment.

  "This is Miss Prentice, isn't it?"

  "That's the general impression," Kate answered.

  Mrs. Pantin registered vivacity by winking rapidly and twittering in apert birdlike fashion:

  "I've so much wanted to know you!"

  The reply that there always had been ample opportunity seemedsuperfluous, so Kate said nothing.

  "I've been reading about you, you know, and I want to tell you how proudwe all are of you and of what you have accomplished. This is Woman'sDay, isn't it?"

  Since she seemed not to expect an answer, Kate made none and Mrs. Pantincontinued:

  "I've been wanting to see you that I might ask you to come to me--saynext Thursday?"

  Mrs. Pantin's manner was tinged with patronage.

  Kate's silence deceived her. She imagined that Kate was awed andtongue-tied in her presence. The woman was, as Prissy had assured Abram,"tickled to pieces."

  In the meanwhile, interested observers of the meeting were saying toeach other cynically:

  "Nothing succeeds like success, does it?"

  This time, apparently, Mrs. Pantin expected an answer, so Kate askedbluntly:

  "What for?"

  "Luncheon. At one--we are very old-fashioned. I want you to meet some ofour best ladies--Mrs. Sudds--Mrs. Neifkins--Mrs. Toomey--and others."

  As she enumerated the guests on her fingers the tip of Mrs. Pantin'spink tongue darted in and out with the rapierlike movement of anant-eater.

  Kate's face hardened and she replied curtly:

  "I already have had that doubtful pleasure
upon an occasion, which youshould remember."

  Mrs. Pantin flushed. Disconcerted for a moment, she collected herself,and instead of protesting ignorance of her meaning, as she was tempted,she said candidly:

  "We must let bygones be bygones, Miss Prentice, and be friends. We areolder now, and wiser, aren't we?"

  Kate clasped her hands behind her, a mannerism with which offendingherders were familiar, and regarded Mrs. Pantin steadily.

  "Older but not wiser, apparently, else you would have known better thanto suggest the possibility of friendship between us. You are a poorjudge of human nature, and conceited past my understanding, to imaginethat it is a matter which is entirely optional with you." With the slowone-sided smile of irony which her face sometimes wore, she bowedslightly. Then, "You will excuse me?" and passed on.