Part 63 (2/2)

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 astonis.h.i.+ng 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 r.e.t.a.r.ded by poor soil and contracted s.p.a.ce. 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 circ.u.mstances 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 a.s.serted 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 pa.s.sed 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.

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