CHAPTER XXVI
TAKING HER MEDICINE
The moon was up when Kate got in from town, for she had not hurried.There was no one there to greet her except the sheep dog that ran outbarking. She unsaddled, turned the horse in the corral, and picked upthe mail sack heavy with Bowers's missives.
She had not eaten since noon, but she was not hungry, and she went toher wagon immediately. Opening the door she stood there for a moment.The stillness appalled her. How could such a small space give forth sucha sense of big emptiness, she wondered. Everything was empty--her life,her arms, and, for the moment, even her ambitions. Unexpectedly thethought overwhelmed her.
Throwing down the mail sack and tossing her hat upon it, she sank on theside bench where she folded her arms on the edge of the bunk and buriedher face in them. For a long time she remained so, motionless, in thesilence that seemed to crush her.
When Kate arose finally it was as if she were lifting a burden.Undressing slowly, she lay down on the bunk and looked out through thewindow at the white world swimming in moonlight. Ordinarily, she shuther eyes to moonlight, it had a way of stirring up emotions which had noplace in her scheme of life. It always made her think of Disston, of thelight in his eyes when he had looked at her, of the feeling of his armsabout her, of his lips on hers when he had kissed her. At such times itfilled her with a longing for him which was a kind of sweet torturethat unnerved her and made the goal for which she strove ofinfinitesimal importance.
But that was one of the tricks of moonlight, she told herself angrily,to dwarf the things which counted, and with its false glamour give afictitious value to those which in reality were but impediments.To-night the arguments were hollow as echoes. It was like tellingherself, she thought, that she was going to sleep when she knew she wasnot. She yearned for Disston with all the intensity of her strongnature, and her efforts to conquer the longing seemed only to increaseit.
"God!" She sat up suddenly and struck her breast as though the blowmight somehow stop the pain there, and asked herself fiercely: "Must Ilive forever with this heartache? Isn't there some peace? Some way ofdulling it until my heart stops beating?" She stretched out her arms andher voice broke with the sob that choked her as she cried miserably:
"Oh, Hughie! Hughie! I love you, and I can't help it!"
She felt herself stifling in the wagon and flung aside the covering.Thrusting her bare feet into moccasins and slipping on a sweater, shestepped into the white world that had the still emptiness of space.
The sheep dog got up from under the wagon and stood in front of her witha look of inquiry, but she gave no heed to him; instead, after amoment's indecision, she walked swiftly to the hillside where a shaft ofmarble shone in the moonlight. The sheep dog was at her heels, and whenshe crawled beneath the wire that fenced the spot where Mormon Joe hadturned to dust, it followed.
Mormon Joe was only a name, a memory, but he had loved her unselfishlyand truly. Kate clasped her arms about the shaft and laid her cheekagainst it as if in some way she might draw consolation from it. But itscoldness chilled her. Then, with her face upturned in supplication, asthough his soul might be somewhere in the infinite space above her, shecried aloud in her anguish as she had in another and different kind ofcrisis:
"Uncle Joe, I'm lost! I don't know which way to go--there's no signboardto direct me. Please, please, if you can, come back and helpme--please--help Katie Prentice!"
The sheep dog with his head on his paws watched her gravely. In thecorral below there was the sound of stirring horses; otherwise onlysilence answered her. No light, no help came to her. Her hands droppedgradually to her sides. It was always so--in the end she was thrown backupon herself. Nothing came to her save by her own efforts. There were nomiracles performed for Kate Prentice. A sullen defiance filled her. Ifthis was all life had for her she could stand it; she could go on asusual taking her medicine with as little fuss as possible. That's alllife seemed to be--taking the medicine the Fates doled out in one formor another. To live bravely, to die with all the courage one couldmuster, were the principal things anyhow. She got up from her knees bythe sunken grave slowly and stood erect once more, holding her chin highin self-sufficient arrogance. She would take the best out of life as itoffered and be done with ideals that ended in emotional hysteria likethis present experience. Life was a compromise anyhow. If she couldn'thave the substance, she would have the shadow. If she couldn't havefriendships given her, she'd buy imitations that would answer. If loveand romance were not for her, she'd accept the expedient that offeredand be satisfied!
Bowers was not due at headquarters for several days, so as soon as Katefound the leisure she set out to take his mail to him, anticipating withsome enjoyment his confusion when he saw the extent of it. She cameacross him out in the hills, engaged in some occupation which soabsorbed him that he did not hear her until she was all but upon him.
"Oh, hello!" His face lighted up in pleased surprise when he saw her. "Iwas jest skinnin' out a rattlesnake for you."
"Were you, Bowers?" She looked at him oddly. "You are always doingsomething nice for me, aren't you?"
"This is the purtiest rattler I've seen this season," he declared withenthusiasm. "Look at the markin' on him. I thought it ud show up kind ofnifty laid around the cantle of your saddle. A rattlesnake skin shoremakes a purty trimmin', to my notion. Don't know what he was doin' outof his hole so late in the season. He was so chilled I got him easy--anold feller--nine rattles and a button."
Kate got off her horse and sat down to watch him while Bowers enumeratedthe possibilities of snake skins as decorations.
"I brought your mail to you," she said when he had finished.--"Letters."
"Now who could be writin' to me?" he demanded in feigned innocence.
"I'm curious myself, since there's a bushel," she answered dryly.
Bowers looked up at the bulging mail sack and colored furiously. Then heblurted out in desperate candor:
"I ain't honest, but I won't lie--I been advertisin'."
"What for?"
The perspiration broke out on Bowers's forehead.
"I thought I'd git married, if anybody that looked good to me would haveme."
"You're not happy, Bowers?" she asked gently.
"I ain't sufferin', but I ain't livin' in what you'd call no seventhheaven."
Kate smiled at the grim irony of his tone.
"It's not up to much, this life of ours out here," she agreed in a lowvoice.
"Nothin' to look forward to--nothin' to look back to," he said bitterly.
"I understand," Kate nodded.
"I never had as much home life as a coyote," he continued with rebellionin his tone. "A coyote does git a den and a family around him everyspring." And he added shortly, "I'm lonesome."
They sat in a long silence, Kate with her hands clasped about a knee andlooking off at the mountain. She turned to him after a while:
"Do you like me, Bowers?"
"I shore do."
Then she asked with quiet deliberation:
"Well enough to--marry me?"
Bowers looked at her, speechless. He managed finally:
"Are you joshin'?"
"No."
A prairie dog rose up in front of them and chattered. They both staredat him. Bowers reached over and took her gloved fingers between his twopalms--in the same fashion a loyal subject might have touched hisqueen's hand.
"That's a great thing you said to me, Miss Kate. I never expected anysuch honor ever to come to me. I'd crawl through cut glass and cactusfor you. I guess you know it, too, but anything like that would be amistake, Miss Kate. I ain't in your class."
"My class!" bitterly. "What is my class? I'm in one by myself--I don'tbelong anywhere." She paused a moment, then went on: "We needn't pretendto love each other--we're not hypocrites, but we understand each other,our interests are the same, we are good friends, at least, and in theexperiment there might be something better than our present existence."
"I
want to see you happy," he replied slowly. "I haven't any other wish,and, right or wrong, I'll do anything you say, but I'm as shore as we'resettin' here that you'll never find it with me. I thought--I hoped thatDisston feller--"
She interrupted sharply:
"Don't, Bowers, don't!"
Understanding grew in his troubled eyes as he looked at her quiveringchin and mouth.
"So that was it!" he reflected.
Thick volumes of smoke rolled up from the engine attached to the mixedtrain that stood on the side-track which paralleled the shipping corralsat Prouty, to sink again in the heavy atmosphere presaging a storm. Theclouds were leaden and sagged with the weight of snow about to fall.
Teeters's cattle bawled in the three front cars and the remaining"double deckers" were being loaded with Kate Prentice's sheep. She hadfollowed her early judgment in cutting down the number of her sheep fora hard winter and, in consequence, the engine had steam up to haul thelongest stock train that had ever pulled out of Prouty.
Bowers and his helpers were crowding the sheep up the runway into thelast car when Kate rode up. She looked with pride at the mass of broadwoolly backs as she sat with her arms folded on the saddle horn andthought to herself that if there were any better range sheep going intoOmaha she would like to see them. She had made no mistake when she hadgraded up her herds with Rambouillets.
Bowers saw her and left the chute.
"Teeters is sick," he announced, coming up.
Kate's face grew troubled. She and Teeters had shipped together eversince they had had anything to ship, for it had been mutuallyadvantageous in many ways; but particularly to herself, since he lookedafter her interests and saved her the necessity of making the trip tothe market herself.
"Somethin' he's et," Bowers vouchsafed. "The doctor says it's pantomimepizenin', or some sech name--anyhow, he's plenty sick."
"Where is he?"
Bowers nodded across the flat where they had been holding the sheepwhile waiting for their cars.
Kate swung her horse about and galloped for the tent where Teeters laygroaning in his blankets on the ground.
Teeters was ill indeed--a glance told her that--and there was not theremotest chance that he would be able to leave with the train.
"I guess I'll be all right by the time they're ready to pull out," hegroaned.
Kate made her decision quickly.
"I'll go myself. You're too sick. You get to the hotel and go to bed."
Teeters protested through a paroxysm of pain:
"You can't do that, Miss Kate. It's a tedious dirty trip in thecaboose."
"I can't help it. I've too much at stake to take a chance. There's a bigstorm coming and I've got to get these sheep through in good shape.Don't worry about me and take care of yourself."
The engine whistled a preliminary warning as Kate dropped the tent flapand swung back on her horse. Calling to Bowers to have the train helduntil she returned, she galloped to the Prouty House and ran up thestairs to her room, where she thrust her few articles in the flour sackthat she tied on the back of her saddle when it was necessary to remainover night in town.
The last frightened sheep had been urged up the chute and the door wasclosed when she threw her belongings on the platform of the caboose andinformed Bowers that she was going along. He too protested, but her mindwas made up.
"We're going to run into a storm, and if we're sidetracked I want to bealong. It's not pleasant, but it has to be done."
It was useless to argue when Kate used that tone, so Bowers had tocontent himself with thinking that he would make her as comfortable ascircumstances would allow.
Kate stood in the doorway with her flour sack in her hand looking atProuty as the brakes relaxed and the wheels began to grind. It was notexactly the way in which she had pictured her first trip into the world,but, with a cynical smile, it was as near the realization as her dreamsever were.
Kate had not ridden more than a hundred miles on a train in her life,and her knowledge of cities was still gathered from books and magazines.As she had become more self-centered and absorbed in her work, herinterest in the "outside" gradually had died. She told herselfindifferently that there was time enough to gratify her curiosity.
She sighed as she watched the town fade and then a snowflake,featherlike and moist, swirled under the projecting roof and melted onher cheek, to recall her to herself. She swung out over the step andlooked to the east where the clouds hung sagging with their weight. Yes,it was well that she had come.
Behind the plate-glass window of the Security State Bank its presidentstood with his hands thrust deep in his trousers' pockets watching thelong train as, with much belching of smoke, it climbed the slight grade.There were moments when Mr. Wentz cursed the Fate that had promoted himfrom his washing machine, and this was one of them.
Neifkins, hunched in a leather chair in the banker's office, had anobstinate look on his sunburned face.
"I'd give about half I'm worth if that was your stock goin' out," saidWentz, as he reseated himself at his desk.
Neifkins grunted.
"I heard you the first time you said that." The stubborn look on hisface increased. "When I'm ready to ship, I'll ship. I know what I'mabout--ME."
Wentz did not look impressed by the boast.
Neifkins added in a surly tone:
"I don't need no petticoat to show me how to handle sheep."
Wentz answered with a shrug:
"Looks to me like you might follow a worse lead. She's contracted forall the hay in sight and shoved the price on what's left up to sixteendollars in the stack. What you goin' to do if you have to feed?"
"I won't have to feed; I'll take my chance on that. It's goin' to be anopen winter," confidently.
"It's startin' in like it," Wentz replied dryly, as he glanced throughthe window where the falling snowflakes all but obscured the oppositeside of the street. Then, emphatically: "I tell you, Neifkins, you OldTimers take too big risks."
"I suppose," the sheepman sneered, "you'd recommend my gettin' loaded upwith a few hundred tons of hay I won't need."
"I'd recommend anything that would make you safe." Wentz lowered hisvoice, which vibrated with earnestness as he leaned forward in hischair: "Do you know what it means if a storm catches you and you have abig loss? It means that only a miracle will keep this bank from goin' onthe rocks. We're hangin' on by our eyelashes now, waiting for thepayment of your first big note to give us a chance to get our breath. Ihave the ague every time I see a hard-boiled hat comin' down the street,thinkin' it's a bank examiner. You know as well as I do that you'veborrowed to the amount of your stock, and way beyond the ten per centlimit of the capital stock which we as a national bank are allowed toloan an individual--that it's a serious offense if we're found out."
"If I don't," Neifkins replied insolently, "it ain't because you haven'ttold me often enough."
"But you don't seem to realize the position we're in. If you did, you'dplay safe and ship. It's true enough that you might make more by holdingon, but it's just as true that a big storm could wipe you out." Hisvoice sank still lower and trembled as he confessed: "It's the honestGod's truth that any two dozen of our largest depositors could close ourdoors to-day. I beg of you, Neifkins, to ship as soon as you can getcars."
Neifkins squared his thick shoulders in the chair.
"Look here--I don't allow no man to tell me how to run my business! Whenthat note comes due I'll be ready to meet it, so there's no need of yougettin' cold feet as reg'lar as a cloud comes up." He arose. "This stormain't goin' to last. May be a lot of snow will fall, but it won't lay."
Neifkins' sanguine predictions were not fulfilled, for the next day thesagging wires broke and Neifkins floundered through snow to his knees onhis way down town. It lay three feet deep on the level and was stillfalling as though it could not stop. Every road and trail wasobliterated. All the surrounding country was a white trackless waste andProuty with its roofs groaning under their weight looked like a
diamond-dusted picture on a Christmas card.
There was less resonance in Neifkins' jubilant tone when he stamped intothe bank and declared that it was a record-breaker of a snow fall.
Wentz asked sullenly, as he paced the floor: "How about the sheep, ifthis keeps up?"
"I got herders that know what to do--that's what I pay 'em for."
"Knowing what to do won't help much, with the snow too deep for thesheep to paw, and a two-days' drive from hay, even if you could getthrough." There was the maximum of exasperation in the president'svoice.
Neifkins replied stubbornly: "I've pulled through fifty storms like thisand never had no big loss yet."
"But you've never had so much at stake. You've got us to consider--"
"Don't you fret!" Neifkins interrupted impatiently. "You've worrieduntil you're all worked up over somethin' that hasn't happened and ain'tgoin' to."
With this assurance, which left no comfort in its wake, Neifkins wentout where the first icy blast of the predicted blizzard lifted his hatand whisked it down the street.
The wind completed what the heavy snow had failed to do. Telephone andtelegraph poles lay prone for a quarter of a mile at a stretch. It piledin drifts the snow already fallen and brought more. The blizzardenveloped Prouty until it required something more than normal courage toventure out of doors. It was the courage of desperation which ultimatelysent Neifkins out in an attempt to get hay to his sheep. There was smallresemblance between the optimist who had assured Wentz so confidentlythat everything would be all right and the perspiring and all butexhausted Neifkins who wallowed in snow to his arm-pits in an effort tobreak trail for the four-horse team whose driver was displayingincreasing reluctance to go on with the load of baled hay stalled somemile and a half from town.
"We might as well quit," the driver called with a kind of desperatedecision in his tone as he made to lay down the reins. "I can't affordto pull the life out of my horses like I got to do to make even a thirdof the way to-day."
Dismayed by his threat to go back, Neifkins begged:
"Don't quit me like this. I got six thousand sheep that'll starve if wedon't git this hay through."
The driver hesitated. Reluctantly he picked up the lines:
"I'll give it another go, but I'm sure it's no use. The horses havepulled every pound that's in 'em, and now this wheeler's discouraged andstartin' to balk. Besides, if anybody asks you, the road is gettin' nobetter fast."
The latter prediction in particular was correct, and their progressduring the next hour could be measured in feet. The sweat trickled downthe horses' necks and legs, their thick winter coats lay slick to theirsides, and their breath came labored from their heaving chests. Two andsometimes three out of the four were down at a time.
The fight was too unequal; to pit their pygmean strength longer againstthe drifts and the fury of the elements was useless. Even Neifkinsfinally was convinced of that, and was about to admit as much when,without warning, wagon, driver and horses went over a cut-bank, wherethe animals lay on their backs, a kicking tangled mass.
It was the end. For a second Neifkins stood staring, overwhelmed withthe realization that he was worse off by a good many thousand dollarsthan when he had come into the country--that he was wipedout--broke--and that the thin ice upon which the Security State Bank hadbeen skating would now let it through.
The Fighting Shepherdess Page 26
