The Fighting Shepherdess

by Lockhart, Caroline

  The banker went to meet Kate with an outstretched hand.

  “You’ve been gone a long time; I’ve been wondering when we’d see you back.”

  “I’ve been east,” she replied, casually.

  “The trip’s did wonders for you. You look—well, bloomin’ isn’t hardly strong enough. Miss Prentice, I want you to meet my wife—you must.”

  “Thanks—so much.” A certain dryness momentarily disconcerted Mr. Wentz.

  With a shade of chagrin Mr. Wentz returned to his desk, telling himself inelegantly that she was “feeling her oats.”

  Kate filled out a check in a deliberate and careful way and passed it in to the cashier, who had been noting the details of her appearance with unqualified interest. Her eyes had an increased brilliancy and there was a faint flush on her cheeks, but otherwise there was nothing in her impassive face to show how fast her heart was beating as she waited in the silence to learn if the blow she meant to strike had been well-timed or not.

  She was not kept long in suspense. The swift consternation which made the cashier’s color fade when he grasped the fact that the check was for the full amount of her deposit told her all she wished to know. The shadow of her enigmatic smile rested on her lips.

  She was curiously aware of every sound—the ticking of the flat clock against the wall, the scratching of Wentz’s pen, the steps of passersby on the sidewalk—as she waited for what seemed an unconscionable time for the cashier to speak. Panic was in his eyes when he finally raised them from the check. He stood uncertainly for a moment, then turned and walked quickly to the president’s desk.

  Wentz read it without lifting his head as it lay before him. He continued to stare at it as though he had been stunned, while Kate with her eyes fixed upon his face thrummed lightly on the counter with her finger tips. He had pictured something like this a thousand times, yet now that it actually had come he seemed as little prepared to meet it as if it were a crushing and complete surprise.

  He lifted his head as though with an effort.

  “Will you step here, please?” His voice sounded thick.

  The cashier quickly withdrew while Wentz arose slowly and opened the gate.

  As Kate sank slowly into the depths of a leather covered chair, the much-discussed coat, a fitting garment for a princess, with its ample cut and voluminous unstinted hem, swirled gracefully about her feet. Her gloves, her close-fitting hat with its well-adjusted veil drawn over her carefully-dressed hair—everything, to the smallest detail of the subdued elegance of her toilette—suggested not only discriminating taste but unlimited means with which to indulge it.

  The Sheep Queen toyed idly with a gold mesh-bag suspended by a chain about her neck, and her face was sphinx-like as she waited for Wentz to speak.

  The check fluttered as the banker picked it up at last and held it between his two trembling hands.

  “Is it necessary, Miss Prentice, that you have this money at once?”

  Kate replied evenly:

  “No—I can’t say that. Why?”

  He hesitated and the color swept hotly over his face.

  “It will be an accommodation to us if you will wait a few days.”

  “In what way?”

  Her calmness reassured him and he replied with a little less constraint:

  “This is a large sum for a small bank, and I don’t mind telling you confidentially that the payment of this check will leave us a little—er—short.”

  Kate raised her beautifully arched eyebrows and questioned:

  “Yes?”

  Wentz drew a deep breath of relief.

  “You see, I inferred that you would be leaving this with us for a considerable length of time and, anyway, I was sure that you would be considerate if it was not quite—not quite convenient to pay the full amount at once.”

  “What made you think that?” she asked softly.

  “Oh, our friendly relations, and all that,” he replied more easily.

  “Aren’t you taking a great deal for granted, Mr. Wentz?”

  The timbre of her voice—the deadly coldness of it—made him start. He had the sensation of an icicle being drawn slowly the length of his back.

  “Why, I—I don’t know,” he stammered. “Am I?”

  “Do you recall any reason, as you look back, why I should grant this favor that you ask?”

  Mr. Wentz distinctly squirmed.

  “N-no.”

  “Quite the contrary, if you’ll recollect.”

  “I hope,” with a deprecatory gesture of his white hand, “you are not laying that up against us, Miss Prentice? Surely you can understand that a bank must protect itself.”

  Kate’s eyes which had been violet were gray now.

  “But not to the extent that you did when you tried to put the screws on me for Neifkins’ benefit. With every means at your command you endeavored to take advantage of my necessity. And yet”—she gripped the fat arms of the leather chair as she threw off her mask of impassivity and cried in a voice that was hoarse with the emotion with which she shook—“that’s not the real reason that I’m going to close your doors, that I’m going to wreck you and your bank and give the finishing blow to this already bankrupt town! It’s for a woman’s reason that I am going to take my revenge.

  “You weren’t content to make a pauper of me. No, you couldn’t be satisfied with that, but you must hurt my woman’s pride—you must cut me to the quick with your studied insolence, the disrespect of your eyes, your manner, your tone, your speech, every time that business brought me here!

  “You couldn’t resist the temptation to hit me when I was down. It was so easy, and there was so little chance of being hit back. Besides, it gave you an agreeable feeling of importance, after having been so long ignored or patronized yourself. That’s why, Mr. Wentz,” the words sounded sibilant through her shut teeth, “you’re going to honor my check to-day—now—or suspend.”

  Wentz listened dumbfounded. The slight question which once had been in his mind as to whether or not she harbored resentment had long since been removed by her continued patronage and her even courtesy. He never had dreamed of such a vindictive, deep-rooted animosity as this.

  When he could speak he half started from his chair and cried sharply:

  “Miss Prentice! Kate! You won’t do that!”

  “Won’t I?” Her short laugh was hard as with a nervous movement she got up, and walking behind it, laid her folded arms on the back of the big leather chair. “Do you think I’ve been planning and working to this end all these years to weaken at your first outcry? To watch you squirm is a part of the reward I promised myself, Mr. Wentz.”

  He thrust out a supplicating hand:

  “Give us time—just a little time—that’s all I ask! We’ll tide over somehow if you’ll—”

  Kate interrupted bitterly:

  “There’s a familiar ring to that. My own words exactly, if you will recollect—and you sneered in my face.” She looked at him with narrowed eyes and her voice was flint: “The time you’ll get is the time it will require for me to go before a notary and swear that your bank is insolvent—twenty minutes—a half hour at most.”

  “For God’s sake—” His face was chalky when he sprang out of his chair as though to stop her forcibly when she laid her hand upon the gate. “Isn’t there some other way—some concession that we can make?”

  Wentz did not breathe, in the tense moment that she seemed to hesitate.

  “Yes,” she flashed, “there is one way to save your bank; turn over to me your and Neifkins’ stock, which will give me the control.”

  Wentz stood mute.

  She demanded imperiously:

  “Yes or no?”

  “You—you would retain me as president?” he asked, heavily.

  Her answer came with the decisive snap of a rapid fire gun.

  “Certainly not. You demonstrated your unfitness to occupy a position of such responsibility when you allowed yourself to be influenced by a m
an of Neifkins’ stripe, to say nothing of the lack of knowledge of human nature which you have shown in your dealings with me.

  “The man who enabled me to block your game when you thought you had me down and out—not through any particular kindness of heart or chivalry, but because he had the gift of insight into character—the discernment to recognize a safe loan—will take your place. Abram Pantin, if he wants it, will be this bank’s next president.”

  Wentz looked his amazement.

  So that was the source from which her money had come! The bank’s ancient enemy had taken what any other man in Prouty would have considered an extremely long chance. Wentz never had blamed himself, but this news made him wince. Pantin—the fox—rather anyone else! A rebellious expression came over the man’s face. With Abram Pantin in his chair his humiliation would be complete.

  “I won’t do it!” he blurted.

  “Then you’ll suspend. I don’t bluff. There isn’t a plea you can make, or a single argument, that will have any weight. There’s but this one way to save your reputation and your bank. Do you quite realize what failure means, coming at this time? It means the finishing touch to a nearly bankrupt town. It means that the temper of your depositors will be such that you’re liable to be lynched, when they learn that you might have kept the bank open and did not. Think twice, Mr. Wentz.”

  “God, but you’re cold-blooded!” He groped for the chair and sat down.

  “You pay me a compliment,” she answered, mockingly. “I take it you consent?”

  He muttered sullenly:

  “There’s nothin’ else. Yes.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER XXIX

  TOOMEY DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF

  It had not been possible for Prentiss to go with Kate to Prouty but he had promised to come as soon as he could arrange his affairs. This had required something like two weeks, and in the interim the excitement attendant upon Kate’s return had simmered down. She had not been in Prouty since, but Prentiss, having notified her of the day of his arrival, was now awaiting her appearance with an impatience that evidenced itself in the frequency with which he looked at his watch.

  As Prentiss stood at the window of the Prouty House looking down Main Street, his face wore a smile that was at once amused and kindly.

  So this was Kate’s environment, or a part of it—where she had grown to womanhood. The very pavements seemed invested with a kind of sacredness because they had known the imprint of her feet.

  It was little short of idolatry—this man’s love for his daughter—representing as it did all the pent-up affection of his life, and as he had poured that out prodigally so he had lavished his wealth upon her, laughing in keen enjoyment at her dismayed protests.

  “Why, girl, you don’t understand at all! What is money for, if not to spend on some one you love?”

  The weeks they had spent together had been a wonderful experience for himself as well as for Kate. There were times when he still could not quite realize that this astonishing young woman was his own flesh and blood.

  With the experience and intelligent comprehension of a man, she yet was one of the most innately feminine women he had ever known—in her tastes, her small vanities, her quick and comprehensive sympathies; while her appreciation of all that was fine and good, whether in human conduct, the arts, or dress, was a constant marvel. Her childish enjoyment of the most ordinary pleasures was a constant delight and he found his greatest happiness in planning some new entertainment, receiving his reward in watching her expression.

  But there was one thing about Kate that puzzled Prentiss, and troubled him a bit: he had observed that while she talked freely of her mother and the Sand Coulee Roadhouse, of Mullendore and the crisis which had sent her to Mormon Joe, of the tragedy of his death, of her subsequent life on the ranch, of her ups-and-downs with the sheep, of anything that she thought would be of interest to him, of her inner self she had nothing to say—of friends, of love affairs—and he could not believe but that that a woman of her unmistakable charm must have had a few. Furthermore, he found that any attempt to draw her out met a reserve that was like a stone wall—just so far he got into her life and not a step beyond.

  She reminded him, sometimes—and he could not have said why—of a spirited horse that has been abused—alert for blows, ready to defend itself, suspicious of kindness until its confidence has been won.

  Kate had expanded and bloomed in the new atmosphere like a flower whose growth has been retarded by poor soil and contracted space. Her lips had taken on a smiling upward curve that gave a new expression to her face, and now her frequent laugh was spontaneous and contagious. Her humor was of the western flavor—droll exaggeration—a little grim, while in her unexpected turns of speech, Prentiss found a constant source of entertainment.

  He had told her of the Toomeys and the circumstances in which they had met; also of the letter endeavoring to interest him in the irrigation project.

  “Do you know them?” he had asked, and she had replied merely, “Somewhat.”

  When questioned as to the merits of the project, she had answered evasively, “Of my own knowledge I know nothing.” But he could not fail to observe the sudden stillness which fell upon her, the inscrutability of expression which dropped like a mask over her animated face. The name of Prouty alone was sufficient to bring this change, as if at the sound of the word a habit of reserve asserted itself.

  Prentiss thought of it much, but contented himself with believing that all in good time he would have his daughter’s entire confidence.

  The afternoon train had been extraordinarily late, bringing him in long after dark, so the news of the arrival of this stranger of undoubted importance had not been widely disseminated as yet. In any event, it had not reached Toomey, who banged the door violently behind him as he strode into the office of the hotel. His brow was dark and it did not belie his mood. He was indignant, and with reason enough, for he had just learned that he had dined the barber futilely, since the ingrate had purchased elsewhere a sewing machine of a rival make.

  As Toomey was about to take his accustomed seat, his glance chanced to light upon Prentiss’s distinguished back.

  He stopped abruptly, staring in a surprise which passed swiftly from incredulity to joy. “The 'Live One!' Prentiss, at last!”

  If he had followed his impulse, Toomey would have cast himself headlong upon the newcomer’s prosperous bosom, for a conventional handshake seemed inadequate to express the rapture that sent him to Prentiss’s side in a rush.

  “Mr. Prentiss, as I live! Why didn’t you let me know?” It did not for a moment occur to Toomey that Prentiss was in Prouty for any other purpose than to see him.

  Roused from a slight reverie, Prentiss turned and responded vaguely:

  “Why, how are you Mr.—er—”

  “Toomey,” supplied that person, taken somewhat aback.

  “Ah, to be sure!” with instant cordiality. “And your wife?”

  “She will be delighted to learn you are here. I wish you had come direct to us.”

  The reply that he was going to his daughter’s ranch was on his tongue’s end, but something checked it—the recollection perhaps of the singular change which had come over Kate’s face at the mention of the Toomeys' name; instead, he expressed his appreciation of the proffered hospitality and courteously refused.

  Glad of the diversion while he was obliged to wait, Prentiss sat down in one of the chairs Toomey drew out and listened with more or less attention while he launched forth upon the subject of the project which would bring manifold returns upon the original investment if it was handled right—the inference being that he was the man to see to that.

  It was the psychological moment to buy up the outstanding stock. The finances of the town and its citizens were at the lowest ebb—on the verge of collapse, in fact, if something did not turn up. Furthermore—he imparted the information in a voice lowered to a confidential pitch—he had it from a reliable source that the bank i
tself had been caught in a pinch and had been obliged to transfer its stock to a depositor to save itself.

  Toomey expatiated upon the merits of the proposition and the subsequent opportunities if it went through, until a feverish spot burned on either cheek-bone. And the burden of his refrain was that never since Noah came out of the ark, “the sole survivor,” and all the world his oyster, as it were, had there been such a chance to “glom” everything in sight for a song.

  If Prentiss’s eyes twinkled occasionally, Toomey was too intent upon presenting his case in the strongest possible light to notice it; nor did he desist until Prentiss displayed signs of restlessness. Then, not to crowd his luck, he let the subject drop and sought to entertain him with a running fire of humorous comments upon the passersby.

  Toomey excelled at this, forgetting, as is frequently the case, that no one of those whom he lampooned was as fitting a subject for ridicule as himself.

  During a pause he observed:

  “By the way, there’s a woman of your name living about here.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “No connection, of course—different spelling, but not apt to be in any case.” There was a covert sneer in his voice.

  “How’s that?” casually.

  “She—” with a shrug—“well, she isn’t up to much.”

  Prentiss stirred slightly.

  “No?”

  Toomey detected interest and lowered his voice.

  “In fact, she’s no good.”

  Prentiss sat quite still—the stillness of a man who takes a shock in that way.

  “They call her the 'Sheep Queen,' but we Old Timers know her as 'Mormon Joe’s Kate.' She shipped a while back, and just come home all dolled up. Made a little money, no doubt, but any pinhead could do that, the way prices are. She’ll never get ‘in,’ though.”

  “‘In’ where?”

  “In society. For a little burg,” with pride, “you’d be surprised to know how exclusive they are here.” The speech showed what, among other things, the years in Prouty had done to Toomey.