The Cattle-Baron's Daughter

  II

  HETTY TAKES HEED

  It was evening when Hetty Torrance sat alone in a room of Mrs. Schuyler'shouse at Hastings-on-the-Hudson. The room was pretty, though its adornmentwas garish and somewhat miscellaneous, consisting as it did of thetrophies of Miss Schuyler's European tour. A Parisian clock, rich ingilded scroll work to the verge of barbarity, contrasted with the artisticseverity of one or two good Italian marbles, while these in turn stoodquaintly upon choice examples of time-mellowed English cabinet-work. Therewas taste in them all, but they suffered from the juxtaposition, which,however, was somewhat characteristic of the country. Still, Miss Schuylerhad not spoiled the splendid parquetrie floor of American timber.

  The windows were open wide, and when a little breeze from the darkeningriver came up across the lawn, Hetty languidly raised her head. Thecoolness was grateful, the silken cushions she reclined amidst luxurious,but the girl's eyes grew thoughtful as they wandered round the room, forthat evening the suggestion of wealth in all she saw jarred upon her mood.The great city lay not very far away, sweltering with its crowded tenementhouses under stifling heat; and she could picture the toilers who herdedthere, gasping for air. Then her fancy fled further, following the longemigrant train as it crawled west from side-track to side-track, closepacked with humanity that was much less cared for than her father'scattle.

  She had often before seen the dusty cars roll into a wayside depot to waituntil the luxurious limited passed, and the grimy faces at the windows,pale and pinched, cunning, or coarsely brutal, after the fashion of theirkind, had roused no more than a passing pity. It was, however, differentthat night, for Grant's words had roused her to thought, and she wonderedwith a vague apprehension whether the tramp of weary feet she had listenedto would once more break in upon her sheltered life. Larry had foreseenchanges, and he was usually right. Then she brushed these fancies into thebackground, for she had still a decision to make. Captain Cheyne wouldshortly arrive, and she knew what he came to ask. He was also a personableman, and, so far as the Schuylers knew, without reproach, while Hetty hadseen a good deal of him during the past twelve months. She admitted aliking for him, but now that the time had come to decide, she was notcertain that she would care to spend her life with him. As a companion, heleft nothing to be desired, but, as had happened already with another manwith whom Miss Torrance had been pleased, that position did not appear tocontent him; and she had misgivings about contracting a more permanentbond. It was almost a relief when Miss Schuyler came in.

  "Stand up, Hetty. I want to look at you," she said.

  Miss Torrance obeyed and stood before her, girlishly slender in her longdress, though there was an indefinite suggestion of imperiousness in herdark eyes.

  "Will I pass?" she asked.

  Flora Schuyler surveyed her critically and then laughed. "Yes," she said."You're pretty enough to please anybody, and there's a style about youthat makes it quite plain you were of some importance out there on theprairie. Now you can sit down again, because I want to talk to you. Who'sLarry Grant?"

  "Tell me what you think of him."

  Miss Schuyler pursed her lips reflectively. "Well," she said, "he's notNew York. Quite a good-looking man, with a good deal in him, but I'd liketo see him on horseback. Been in the cavalry? You're fond of them, youknow."

  "No," said Hetty, "but he knows more about horses than any cavalryofficer. Larry's a cattle-baron."

  "I never quite knew what the cattle-barons were, except that your father'sone, and they're mostly rich," said Miss Schuyler.

  Hetty's eyes twinkled. "I don't think Larry's very rich. They're the menor the sons of them, who went west when the prairie belonged to theIndians and the Blackfeet, Crows, and Crees made them lots of trouble.Still, they held the land they settled on, and covered it with cattle,until the Government gave it to them, 'most as much as you could rideacross in a day, to each big rancher."

  "Gave it to them?"

  Hetty nodded. "A lease of it. It means the same thing. A few of them,though I think it wasn't quite permitted, bought other leases in, and outthere a cattle-baron is a bigger man than a railroad king. You see, hemakes the law--all there is--as well as supports the industry, for there'snot a sheriff in the country dares question him. The cattle-boys are hisretainers, and we've a squadron of them at the Range. They'd do just whatTorrance of Cedar told them, whatever it was, and there are few men whocould ride with them in the U. S. Cavalry."

  "Then," said Flora Schuyler, "if the Government ever encouragedhomesteading in their country they'd make trouble."

  Hetty laughed. "Yes," she said drily, "I guess they would, but nogovernment dares meddle with us."

  "Well," said Flora Schuyler, "you haven't told us yet who Larry is. Youknow quite well what I mean."

  Hetty smiled. "I called him my partner when I was home. Larry held me onmy first pony, and has done 'most whatever I wanted him ever since.Fremont isn't very far from the Range, and when I wanted to ride anywhere,or to have a new horse broken, Larry was handy."

  Miss Schuyler appeared reflective, but there was a bond of confidencebetween the two, and the reserve that characterizes the Briton is muchless usual in that country.

  "It always seemed to me, my dear, that an arrangement of that kind is alittle rough on the man, and I think this one is too good to spoil," shesaid.

  Hetty coloured a trifle, but she smiled. "It is all right with Larry. Henever expected anything."

  "No?" said Flora Schuyler. "He never tried to make love to you?"

  The tinge of colour grew a trifle deeper in Hetty's cheek. "Only once, andI scarcely think he meant it. It was quite a long while ago, and I toldhim he must never do it again."

  "And since then he has tamed your horses, and bought you all the latestsongs and books--good editions in English art bindings. It was Larry whosent you those flowers when we could scarcely get one?"

  Hetty for some reason turned away her head. "Don't you get things of thatkind?"

  A trace of gravity crept into Flora Schuyler's blue eyes, which wereunusually attractive ones. "When they come too often I send them back,"she said. "Oh, I know I'm careless now and then, but one has to do thesquare thing, and I wouldn't let any man do all that for me unless I wasso fond of him that I meant to marry him. Now I'm going to talk quitestraight to you, Hetty. You'll have to give up Larry by and by, but if youfind that's going to hurt you, send the other man away."

  "You don't understand," and there was a little flash in Hetty's dark eyes."Larry's kind to everyone--he can't help it; but he doesn't want me."

  Flora Schuyler gravely patted her companion's arm. "My dear, we don't wantto quarrel, but you'll be careful--to please me. Jake Cheyne is coming,and you might be sorry ever after if you made a mistake to-night."

  Hetty made no answer, and there was silence for a space while the lightgrew dimmer, until the sound of voices rose from without, and she felt herheart beat a trifle faster than usual, when somebody said, "CaptainCheyne!"

  Then there was a rustle of draperies and Mrs. Schuyler, thin, angular, andconsiderably more silent than is customary with women of her race, camein, with her younger daughter and a man in her train. The latter bore thestamp of the soldier plainly, but there was a distinction in his pose thatwas not the result of a military training. Then as he shook hands withFlora Schuyler the fading light from the window fell upon his face,showing it clean cut from the broad forehead to the solid chin, andreposeful instead of nervously mobile. His even, low-pitched voice wasalso in keeping with it, for Jackson Cheyne was an unostentatious Americanof culture widened by travel, and, though they are not always to be foundin the forefront in their own country, unless it has need of them, men ofhis type have little to fear from comparison with those to be met with inany other one.

  He spoke when there was occasion, and was listened to, but some time hadpassed before he turned to Mrs. Schuyler. "I wonder if it would be toogreat a liberty if I asked Miss Torrance to give us some music," he said."I am going away
to-morrow to a desolate outpost in New Mexico, and itwill be the last time for months that I shall have a treat of that kind."

  Flora Schuyler opened the piano, and Hetty smiled at Cheyne as she tookher place; but the man made a little gesture of negation when Mrs.Schuyler would have rung for lights.

  "Wouldn't it be nicer as it is?" he said.

  Hetty nodded, and there was silence before the first chords rang softlythrough the room. Though it may have been that the absence of necessity tostrive and stain her daintiness amidst the press was responsible for much,Hetty Torrance's voice had failed to win her fame; but she sang and playedbetter than most well-trained amateurs. Thus there was no rustle ofdrapery or restless movements until the last low notes sank into thestillness. Then the girl glanced at the man who had unobtrusively managedto find a place close beside her.

  "You know what that is?" she said.

  Carolina Schuyler laughed. "Jake knows everything!"

  "Yes," said the man quietly. "A nocturne. You were thinking of somethingwhen you played it."

  "The sea," said Flora Schuyler, "when the moon is on it. Was that it,Hetty?"

  "No," said Miss Torrance, who afterwards wondered whether it would havemade a great difference if she had not chosen that nocturne. "It was theprairie when the stars are coming out over Cedar Range. Then it seemsbigger and more solemn than the sea. I can see it now, wide and grey andshadowy, and so still that you feel afraid to hear yourself breathing,with the last smoky flush burning on its northern rim. Now, you may laughat me, for you couldn't understand. When you have been born there, youalways love the prairie."

  Then with a little deprecatory gesture she touched the keys again. "Itwill be different this time."

  Cheyne glanced up sharply during the prelude, and then, feeling that thegirl's eyes were upon him, nodded as out of the swelling harmonies therecrept the theme. It suggested the tramp of marching feet, but there was acurious unevenness in its rhythm, and the crescendo one of the listenerslooked for never came. The room was almost dark now, but none of those whosat there seemed to notice it as they listened to the listless tramp ofmarching feet. Then the harmonies drowned it again, and Hetty looked atCheyne.

  "Now," she said, "can you tell me what that means?"

  Cheyne's voice seemed a trifle strained, as though the music had troubledhim. "I know the march, but the composer never wrote what you have playedto-night," he said. "It was--may mine be defended from it!--the shuffle ofbeaten men. How could you have felt what you put into the music?"

  "No," said Hetty. "Your men could never march like that. It was footstepsgoing west, and I could not have originated their dragging beat. I haveheard it."

  There was a little silence, until Cheyne said softly, "One more."

  "Then," said Hetty, "you will recognize this."

  The chords rang under her fingers until they swelled into confused andconflicting harmonies that clashed and jarred upon the theme. Their burdenwas strife and struggle and the anguish of strain, until at last, in thehigh clear note of victory, the theme rose supreme.

  "Yes," said Flora Schuyler, "we know that. We heard it with the Kaiser inBerlin. Only one man could have written it; but his own countrymen couldnot play it better than you do. A little overwhelming. How did you getdown to the spirit of it, Hetty?"

  Lights were brought in just then, and they showed that the girl's face wasa trifle paler than usual, as closing the piano, she turned, with a littlelaugh, upon the music-stool.

  "Oh!" she said, "I don't quite know, and until to-night it always cheatedme. I got it at the depot--no, I didn't. It was there I felt the marching,and Larry brought the prairie back to me; but I couldn't have seen whatwas in the last music, because it hasn't happened yet."

  "It will come?" said Flora.

  "Yes," said Hetty, "wherever those weary men are going to."

  "And to every one of us," said Cheyne, with a curious graveness theyafterwards remembered. "That is, the stress and strain--it is the triumphat the end of it only the few attain."

  Once more there was silence, and it was a relief when the unemotional Mrs.Schuyler rose.

  "Now," she said, and her voice, at least, had in it the twang of thecountry, "you young folks have been solemn quite long enough. Can't youtalk something kind of lively?"

  They did what they could, and--for Cheyne could on occasion display apolished wit--light laughter filled the room, until Caroline Schuyler,perhaps not without a motive, suggested a stroll on the lawn. If there wasdew upon the grass none of them heeded it, and it was but seldom anyoneenjoyed the privilege of pacing that sod when Mr. Schuyler was at home.Every foot had cost him many dollars, and it remained but an imperfectimitation of an English lawn. There was on the one side a fringe ofmaples, and it was perhaps by Mrs. Schuyler's contrivance that eventuallyHetty found herself alone with Cheyne in their deeper shadow. It was not,however, a surprise to her, for she had seen the man's desire and tacitlyfallen in with it. Miss Torrance had discovered that one seldom gainsanything by endeavouring to avoid the inevitable.

  "Hetty," he said quietly, "I think you know why I have come to-night?"

  The girl stood very still and silent for a space of seconds, andafterwards wondered whether she made the decision then, or what she hadseen and heard since she entered the depot had formed it for her.

  "Yes," she said slowly. "I am so sorry!"

  Cheyne laid his hand upon her arm, and his voice trembled a little. "Don'tbe too hasty, Hetty," he said. "I would not ask you for very much justnow, but I had ventured to fancy you could in time grow fond of me. I knowI should have waited, but I am going away to-morrow, and I only want youto give me a promise to take away with me."

  It was with a visible effort the girl lifted her head and looked at him."I feel horribly mean, Jake, but I can't," she said. "I ought to have madeyou realize that long ago, but I liked you, and, you see, I didn't quiteknow. I thought if I waited a little I might be more sure of what I feltfor you!"

  "Then," said the man, a trifle hoarsely, "give me what you can now and Iwill be patient."

  Hetty turned half way from him and closed one hand. The man was pleasantto look upon, in character and disposition all she could desire, and shehad found a curious content in his company. Had that day passed as otherdays had done, she might have yielded to him, but she had been stirred tothe depths of her nature during the last few hours, and Flora Schuyler'swarning had been opportune. She had, as she had told him, a liking forJackson Cheyne, but that, she saw very clearly now, was insufficient.Destiny had sent Larry Grant, with the associations that clung about him,into the depot.

  "No," she said, with a little tremble in her voice, "it wouldn't be honestor fair to you. I am not half good enough for you."

  The man smiled somewhat mirthlessly, but his voice was reproachful. "Youalways speak the truth, Hetty. My dear, knowing what the best of us are, Iwonder how I dared to venture to ask you to share your life with me."

  Hetty checked him with a little gesture. "Can't you understand?" she said."The girl who sang to you now and then isn't me. I am selfish,discontented, and shallow, and if you hadn't heard me sing or play youwould never have thought of me. There are people who sing divinely, andare--you see, I have met them with the mask off--just horrible."

  "Hetty," said Cheyne, "I can't allow anyone to malign you, even if it'syourself, and if you have any faults, my dear, I'll take them with therest. In fact, I would be glad of one or two. They would only bring you alittle nearer to me."

  The girl lifted her hand and silenced him. "Jake," she said appealingly,"please take your answer and go away. If I could only be fond of you inthe right way I would, but I can't, you see. It is not my fault--it isn'tin me."

  The man recognized the finality in her tone, but, feeling that it wasuseless, made a last endeavour.

  "I'm going away to-morrow," he said. "You might think differently when Icome back again."

  The girl's voice quivered a little. "No," she said. "I have to bestraightfor
ward now, and I know you will try to make it easier for me,even if I'm hurting you. It's no use. I shall think the same, and by andby you'll get over this fancy, and wonder what you ever saw in me."

  The man smiled curiously. "I am afraid it will take me a lifetime," hesaid.

  In another moment he had gone, and Hetty turned, a trifle flushed in face,towards the house across the lawn.

  "He took it very well--and I shall never find anyone half so nice again,"she said.

  It was half an hour later, and Miss Torrance had recovered at least heroutward serenity, when one of Mrs. Schuyler's neighbours arrived. Shebrought one or two young women, and a man, with her. The latter shepresented to Mrs. Schuyler.

  "Mr. Reginald Clavering," she said. "He's from the prairie where MissTorrance's father lives, and is staying a day or two with us. When I heardhe knew Hetty I ventured to bring him over."

  Mrs. Schuyler expressed her pleasure, and--for they had gone back to thelighted room now--Hetty presently found herself seated face to face withthe stranger. He was a tall, well-favoured man, slender, and lithe inmovement, with dark eyes and hair, and a slightly sallow face thatsuggested that he was from the South. It also seemed fitting that he wasimmaculately dressed, for there was a curious gracefulness about him thatstill had in it a trace of insolence. No one would have mistaken him for aNortherner.

  "It was only an hour ago I found we were so near, and I insisted uponcoming across at once," he said. "You have changed a good deal since youleft the prairie."

  "Yes," said the girl drily. "Is it very astonishing? You see, we don'tspend half our time on horseback here. You didn't expect to find me asharp-tongued Amazon still?"

  Clavering laughed as he looked at her, but the approval of what he saw wasa trifle too evident in his black eyes.

  "Well," he said languidly, "you were our Princess then, and there was onlyone of your subjects' homage you never took kindly to. That was rough onhim, because he was at least as devoted as the rest."

  "That," said the girl, with a trace of acerbity, "was because he tried topatronize me. Even if I haven't the right to it, I like respect."

  Clavering made a little gesture, and the deference in it was at least halfsincere. "You command it, and I must try to make amends. Now, don't youwant to hear about your father and the Range?"

  "No," said Hetty. "I had a talk with Larry to-day."

  "In New York?"

  "Yes. At the depot. He is going back to-morrow. You seem astonished?"

  Clavering appeared thoughtful. "Well, it's Chicago he usually goes to."

  "Usually?" said Hetty. "I scarcely remember him leaving Fremont once inthree years."

  Clavering laughed. "Then he leaves it a good deal more often now. A manmust have a little diversion when he lives as we do, and no doubt Larryfeels lonely. You are here, and Heloise Durand has gone away."

  Hetty understood the implication, for she had some notion how the men whospent months together in the solitude of the prairie amused themselves inthe cities. Nor had she and most of her neighbours wholly approved of theliberal views held by Heloise Durand. She had, however, an unquestioningbelief in Larry, and none in the man beside her.

  "I scarcely think you need have been jealous of him," she said. "Larrywasn't Miss Durand's kind, and he couldn't be lonely. Everybody was fondof him."

  Clavering nodded. "Of course! Still, Larry hasn't quite so many friendslately."

  "Now," said Hetty with a little flash in her eyes, "when you've told methat you have got to tell the rest. What has he been doing?"

  "Ploughing!" said Clavering drily. "I did what I could to restrain him,but nobody ever could argue with Larry."

  Hetty laughed, though she felt a little dismay. It was then a seriousaffair to drive the wheat furrow in a cattle country, and the man who didit was apt to be regarded as an iconoclast. Nevertheless, she would notshow that she recognized it.

  "Well," she said, "that isn't very dreadful. The plough is supreme in theDakotas and Minnesota now. Sooner or later it has got to find a place inour country."

  "Still, that's not going to happen while your father lives."

  The girl realized the truth of this, but she shook her head. "We're nothere to talk wheat and cattle, and I see Flo Schuyler looking at us," shesaid. "Go across and make yourself agreeable to the others for the honourof the prairie."

  Clavering went; but he had left an unpleasant impression behind him, as hehad perhaps intended, while soon after he took his departure FloraSchuyler found her friend alone.

  "So you sent Jake away!" she said.

  "Yes," said Hetty. "I don't know what made me, but I felt I had to. Ialmost meant to take him."

  Flora Schuyler nodded gravely. "But it wasn't because of that manClavering?"

  "It was not," said Hetty, with a little laugh. "Don't you like him? He israther a famous man back there on the prairie."

  Flora Schuyler shook her head. "No," she said; "he reminded me of thatFlorentine filigree thing. It's very pretty, and I bought it for silver,but it isn't."

  "You think he's that kind of man?"

  "Yes," said Miss Schuyler. "I wouldn't take him at face value. Thesilver's all on top. I don't know what is underneath it, and would soonersomebody else found out."