CHAPTER IX
FOUR YEARS LATER
Nan Tristram smiled to herself as she sat in the comfortable rockerbefore the open French window which gave on to the wide wooden balconybeyond. The view she had was one of considerable charm, for Aston'sHotel was situated facing one end of Maple Avenue, looking straightdown its length, which was at once the principal and most beautifulthoroughfare in the picturesque western city of Calthorpe.
But her smile had nothing to do with anything the prospect yielded her.Its beauties were undeniable; she had admitted them to herself manytimes. But she knew them with that intimacy which robs things of theirfirst absorbing charm. The wide-spreading maple trees, which sosoftened down the cold beauty of the large stone-fronted residenceslining the avenue, were always a source of soothing influence in theexcited delight of a visit to this busy and flourishing city. Then thevista of lofty hills beyond the far limits of the town, with theirpurpling tints, their broken facets, their dimly defined woodlandbelts, they made such a wonderful backing to the civilized foreground.
Nan Tristram loved the place. For her, full of the dreams of youth,Calthorpe was the hub of all that suggested life and gaiety. It wasthe one city she knew. It was the holiday resort of the girl born andbred to the arduous, and sometimes monotonous life of the plains.
But it was, in reality, a place of even greater significance. Nan sawit only as it appealed to her ardent fancy. But Calthorpe was aflourishing and buoyant city of "live" people, who were fully aware ofits favorable possibilities as the centre of the richest agriculturalregion in the whole of the State of Montana.
It was overflowing with prosperity. The ranching community, and therich grain growers for miles around, poured their wealth into it, andsought its light-hearted life for the amusement of their families andthemselves. Its social life was the life of the country, and to takepart in it needed the qualification of many acres, or much stock, abank balance that required no careful scrutiny, and a temperamentcalculated to absorb readily the joy of living.
It was something of this joy of living which was stirring now, lightingthe girl's soft brown eyes with that tender whimsical smile which wasnever very far from them. She was resting after the early excitementsof the day. It was her twenty-second birthday, and, in consequence,with so devoted a father, a day of no small importance. She had beenwarned by that solicitous parent to "go--an' have a sleep, so you don'tpeter right out when the fun gets good an' plenty." But Nan had no usefor sleep just now. She had no use for anything that might rob her ofone moment of the delight and excitement of the Calthorpe Cattle Week,as it was called. Therefore she undutifully abandoned herself to apleasurable review of events whilst waiting for the next act in theday's play to begin.
And what a review it made in her understanding of the life about her.It was four years since her father and Jeff Masters had signed theirpartnership, and she knew that to-day, on the second day of _the_ week,the triumph of the great "Obar" Ranch, which her father and JeffreyMasters had so laboriously and patiently built up, was to be completed.Now, even while she sat there gazing from her window at the panorama oflife passing up and down the broad expanse of Maple Avenue, the Councilof the Western Union Cattle Breeders' Association was sitting for itsannual conference and election of officers. And had she not alreadybeen confidentially warned that Jeff was to be the forthcoming year'spresident?
It was the crowning event in the long dreamed dreams of the two menwhom she frankly admitted to herself were nearest and dearest to her.Why should she not admit it? Her father? Ah, yes, her father was themost perfect, kindly, sympathetic father that ever lived. And Jeff? Awarm thrill swept through her heart and set it beating tumultuously.Jeff was her whole sum and substance of life itself.
Well enough she knew that no other bond than that of friendship existedbetween them; that no word had ever passed between them which might nothave passed in the daily intercourse between brother and sister. Butthis did not cause her to shrink from the admission. Jeff was herwhole horizon in life. There was no detail of her focus which was notoccupied by the image of the man whom she regarded as the genius oftheir fortunes.
There were moments enough when she realized with something akin todismay that Jeff and she _were_ friends. But her gentle humor alwaysserved her at such moments. And there was always the lukewarmconsolation that there was no other woman who had even a similar claim.Therefore she hugged her secret to herself, and only gazed upon it insuch moments of happy dreaming as the present.
And just now they were happy moments. How could it be otherwise in agirl so healthy, and with such a depth of human feeling and with such acapacity for sheer enjoyment of the simple pleasures which came herway? What an evening yet confronted her in this brief week of holidayfrom the claims of the green-brown plains of summer. She must be readyat seven o'clock for the reception at the City Hall. She had a newgown for that particular event, which had, amongst others, been boughtin New York. It had cost one hundred and thirty dollars, anunthinkable price it had seemed, but dismissed as something too paltryto be considered by the open-handed ranchman whom she claimed as father.
She was to assist Jeff and her father in receiving the guests, whowould represent all the heads of their cattle world, and their friends,and their wives, and their daughters. And after that the banquet,which, since the inauguration of the Association, had always takenplace, here at Aston's Hotel.
There would be speeches. Jeff would speak, and her father--no, shehoped he wouldn't speak. Her smile deepened. He had such a way ofsaying just what came into his funny, simple old head, and such acurious vocabulary. Then, after the banquet, the--Ball!
The girl emitted a deep ecstatic sigh. The ball! It was the crowningglory, and--she had a beautiful new gown for each event. It was aravishing thought. Perhaps a mere man may be forgiven his lack ofimagination in his appreciation of such perfect, unutterable delight.But Nan had no cloud to obscure her sun. The labor of dressing afresh,three times in one evening without a maid, except the questionableassistance of a hotel chambermaid, had no terrors for her--nonewhatever.
Her day-dreaming was interrupted by an immoderate thump on the door.She turned her head at once, her pretty dancing eyes alight withexpectancy.
"That you, Dad?" she called.
"Sure, Nan." Then came a fumbling at the door handle.
"You can come right in," the girl cried, without moving from her chair.
The door was thrust open, and the sunburnt face with its shock ofcurling iron gray hair and whiskers appeared round it. The deep-seteyes surveyed the room, and took on a look of deep concern.
"Say, Nan," he cried, "you'll never git fixed in time. I jest give youthe limit of time before I got around. You see, I didn't fancy you notgettin' a good slep."
The girl shook her pretty head and smiled as she observed the carefultoilet she felt sure her father had spent the whole afternoon upon.She sprang from her chair and surveyed him critically, with her headjudicially poised on one side, and her pretty ripe lips slightly pursed.
"Everything's bully but that bow tie," she declared, after aconsidering pause. "Just come right here and I'll fix it. Say, Dad, Ienvy you men. Was there ever a nicer looking suit for men than eveningclothes? I'm--kind of proud of my Daddy, with his wide chest and goodfigure. And that white waistcoat. My, but you don't look as if you'dever branded a calf in your life. It's only your dear handsome facegives you away, and--and the backs of your hands."
Nan laughed as she retied the tie to her satisfaction, the fashion inwhich a girl loves to see a bow tied. The man submitted meekly, butwith concern for her final remark.
"But I scrubbed 'em both--sore," he declared anxiously.
"I don't mean they're dirty, Daddy," the girl laughed. "Was there eversuch a simple, simple soul? It's the wholesome mahogany tan which thewind and the sun have dyed them. Say, there, get a peek at yourself inthat glass." She thrust him toward a wall mirror. "It's not girlsonly wh
o need a mirror, when a man is good to look at, Daddy, is it?Honest? It doesn't make you hate yourself, nor feel foolish. I guessthere's men folks who'd have you think that way, but if I know anythingthey'd hate to be without a mirror when they're fixing themselves for aparty where there's to be some nice looking women, and where they're tobe something better than just a 'stray' blown in."
Bud laughed at the rapid flow of the girl's banter. But he had by nomeans forgotten his own concern.
"But, say, Nan, you hain't got time for foolin' around. You surelyhain't. It's haf after five, an' we're due at the City Hall seven,sharp. Y'see, you ain't like us fellers who don't need no fixin' tospeak of. An' you're helpin' us to receive the folks----"
Nan's delighted laugh rippled through the pleasant room.
"Oh, my Daddy," she cried, with wide, accusing eyes, "you're the bestlaugh in a month." Then she held up one admonishing finger before herdancing eyes. "Now the truth. What was the minute you started to makeyourself--pretty?"
She sat herself upon a table before him with the evident purpose ofenjoying to the full the delighted feelings of the moment.
Bud eyed her steadily. He knew he was to be cornered. Nor would it befor the first time. The relation between these two was that of adelightful companionship in which the frequent measuring of wit held noinconsiderable place amidst a deep abiding affection.
"Say--a touch of the north wind around, Nan, eh?" he smiled.
"Never mind the north wind, Daddy," Nan laughed. "Just when? That'swhat I need to know now."
The man's fingers sought his crisply curling hair.
"No, no," cried Nan, in pretended alarm, "Guess you're going to undo anhour's work that way."
Bud dropped his hand in real dismay.
"Guess I plumb forgot. Wal, say, since you got to know, I'd say itmust ha' bin right after din--I mean luncheon. You see, I'd----"
"Ah, say three o'clock." Nan leaned forward, her pretty face supportedon the knuckles of her clasped hands, her elbows resting upon herknees. "Oh, Daddy--and you aren't due at the party till seven. Fourhours. Four valuable hours sitting around in your dandy new suit ofevening clothes. Vanity. Pure vanity. We're all the same, men who_don't_ need--fixing, and women who _do_. Only you men won't admit it.Women do. They surely do. Any woman's ready to admit she'd ratherlook nicer than any other woman than be all sorts of a girl other ways.And though they don't ever reckon to admit it, men just feel that way,too. Oh, I guess I know. The boys are just yearning for the girls tothink there's nothing but big 'thinks' moving around in theirwell-greased heads. And they'd hate a girl who got the notion they hadtime to stand around gawking in a mirror to see their clothes setright, or study the look they're going to pour into the china blue eyesof some tow-headed bundle who knows his bank wad down to the last cent."
She sighed heavily, but her eyes were literally dancing.
"But it's kind of nice that boys act that way," she went on. "It doesgive a girl a chance to think him all sorts of a god for--a while.Say, if she knew things just as they are, where'd she find that scrapof romance which makes life all sunshine and storm clouds, instead ofthe monotonous gray it really is?"
She pointed at the snowy bed laden with the precious costumes she mustuse before the night was out.
"Say, wouldn't it be just awful if every girl knew that the manshe'd--marked down for her own, worried around with things like thatbefore every party he was to take her to, same as she does? I guessshe'll learn it all later when she marries him, and has two folks toworry for instead of one. But, meanwhile, she just dreams that he'sdreaming those 'big thinks' that's going, some time, to set a dreamingworld wide awake to the mighty 'thinks' she dreams into her beau'shead."
Then she began to laugh, and the infection of it caught her father, whogurgled heavily in chorus.
"Say, wouldn't it be a real circus if a big, strong man had to act thesame as us poor women? I mean when we're scheming to stir up asensation in the hearts of men, and in the envy depot of other girls,when we enter the portals of a swell social gathering. Now Jeff. Say,my Daddy, can you see him sort of mincing across the floor," she cried,springing from her seat and pantomiming across the room, "smiling, andsmirking and bowing, this way and that, all done up in fancy bows, andsheeny satins, and--and with combs in his sleek hair to hold it inplace, and with a jeweled tiara set on top of it? And then--yes, justa teeny tiny touch of powder on his nose? My word!"
A happy chorus of laughter rang through the room as she returned to herseat, Bud's coming in great unrestrained gusts. They were like twoirresponsible children rather than father and daughter.
"Oh, dear. And you, too," laughed Nan. "We can't leave you out of thepicture. Being of more mature years I guess you'd sweep in--that's theway--sweep in gowned--at your age you don't dance around in'frocks'--in something swell, and rich, and of sober hue. Oh, dear,oh, dear. Guess we'd have to match your mahogany face. Wine color,eh? No 'cute little bows for you. Just beads and bugles, whateverthey are. But we'd let you play around with some tinted mixing ofpowder for your nose, or--or we'd sure spoil the picture to death. My,I'd die laughing."
Bud's amusement threatened to burst the white bonds which held his vastneck.
"Oh, quit it, Nan," he cried, with his beaming face rapidly purpling.Then he struggled for seriousness. "I didn't get around to listen toyour foolin', child." Then he bestirred himself to a great display ofparental admonishment. "Now, see right here, Nan, I'll get back in anhour. Maybe Jeff's fixin' himself the way you said. I can't jest say.But anyways he's the big feller to-night, an' it's up to you to worryout so you can be a credit to him, an' me, an' the 'Obar.'" Then hecame across to her and took her affectionately by the shoulders, andgazed down into her face with twinkling, kindly eyes. "Say, you gotmore to work on than most gals. You sure have, Nan. Yep. Your poorma was a pictur', an' you're a pictur'. An' I ain't goin' to say whichof you had claim for the best framing. Anyway, what you have in yourpretty face you owe to the dear woman who never had a chance of theframing you can have. So jest remember it, Nan--and thank her."
Nan's eyes had completely sobered at the mention of her dead mother,whom she scarcely remembered, and earnestness and affection replacedall her mirth.
"Maybe I owe it her," she said, suddenly releasing herself from theheavy hands, and rising from her seat. Then she reached up and slippedher soft arms about the man's neck. "And what do I owe to you?Nothing? Ah, my Daddy, I guess you can shake your funny head till youmuss up its contents to an addle. I'll not forget what I owe my momma,and just thank her all I know, but I'm thanking you too--just as hard."
She tiptoed until she was able to kiss him on the cheek. Then herready smile broke out afresh, and she gently pushed him toward the door.
"Who is it wasting my time? There," she cried, as she opened the door,and her father vanished through it, "get right out, and don't you darecome back for an hour."
The ranchman's laugh echoed down the corridor as he moved away. ThenNan, practical and sober once more, closed the door and rang for thechambermaid.
* * * * * *
Whatever success could be claimed for the men who had founded and builtup the "Obar" Ranch, and it was more than considerable, the triumph ofthat night was in no small measure to the credit of Nan Tristram.
But when it was all over, when the last of the three beautiful gownshad been tucked tenderly away in the drawers which were their temporaryhome, and Nan was left to the night solitude in which to go over oncemore in her secret thoughts each keenly vivid detail of thekaleidoscopic play of events as they had swept past her during theevening, they found her soberly wondering if, after all, theanticipated delight had been realized. Was it possible in all thatunquestioned success there had been no delight, no real enjoyment atall? It seemed impossible. It was impossible, and she tried to putthe thought out of her mind. But it refused to be banished. Itreturned again--and again, and, in despe
ration, not untouched withpanic, she assured herself that she was tired--very tired, and thissilly feeling was the result. Then, too, her humor was summoned, andit warned her of the quantity of ice cream she had devoured at theball. It told her her digestion had suffered in consequence. And thisshe thought was a pity, because she loved ice cream.
But humor was swept aside by a far keener emotion. She scorned theidea of indigestion. She had no pain _there_. But there was pain, asilly ache about her heart which robbed her of all desire for sleep.
She tried to console herself by recalling her father's quaintlyexpressed admiration of her, when he first beheld her in her new andcostly gown. What was it?
"Why, say, Nan, when I look at you I sort o' feel as if two fellers hadbin at work fixin' you, a po't an' a painter, Seems as if they'd settheir mushy heads together, an' each had doped out what the othercouldn't, till ther' ain't a thing left fer the fancy of plainmule-headed sort o' bussocks like me."
Curious as his method of expression had been she had understood andthrilled with delight. But almost at once her thoughts flew on to muchlater when she was gliding through the dancing crowd at the ball. Hiseyes had followed her everywhere. But there was a change in theirexpression. To her it was a complete change. To her the simpleapproval had been replaced by a gleam of sympathetic concern. But thiswas after--after the first cloud had settled upon her hope of unalloyedenjoyment. Perhaps the look had not been there at all. Perhaps it wassimply her own feelings finding reflection for her where none existed.
She became impatient with herself and grasped at the memory of Jeff'sgreeting when she had first appeared in the hotel parlor, equipped forthe reception.
He had not said much. But that was always Jeff's way. But there hadbeen his quick smile of unusual satisfaction. And the words ofgreeting had sprung quite spontaneously to his lips.
"Say, Nan, you're--you're just great."
The hesitation in the middle of it had told her even more than hissmiling admiration. It was almost like--and she thrilled as shethought it--a gasp for breath.
She strove hard to support herself with these memories, out even as sheconsidered them her mind passed on to the reception, and that stupidache supervened once more. Instantly her focus narrowed down. Therewere only two figures in it. The rest merely provided a setting forthese two. All the lights, the decorations, the beautiful costumes andsmiling faces, these became an indistinct blurr, leaving the image ofMrs. Elvine van Blooren and a man standing vividly out.
What a wonderful, wonderful picture of radiant womanhood Mrs. VanBlooren had made! Even in her trouble Nan was generous. The woman wasbeautiful in a way that poor Nan had only dreamed of. The Madonna-likefeatures, calm, perfect. The dark hair, superb in the simplicity ofits dressing. She remembered that at the first glance it had suggestedto her the sheen of a cloudless summer night. And her gown, and herfigure. The gown must have cost--ah, Nan could not appraise its cost.She had had insufficient experience. Her own maximum had been reachedonly now, and the sum seemed to her as paltry as her father had made itappear. The one certainty that remained with her, however, was thatthe taste displayed in Mrs. Van Blooren's gown had placed it beyondsuch a thing as mere material value.
And then her heart had seemed to stand still. It appeared that Jeff,who was talking to some other people, and she had become aware of Mrs.Van Blooren's presence at the same moment. For when Nan glanced in hisdirection he was gazing fixedly at the newcomer with a look in hissteady blue eyes which she had never beheld in them before. Oh, yes,there had been no mistaking that look. She knew she was not clever,but she was a woman, and no woman could ever mistake such a look in theeyes of a man.
But worse was to follow. There was a respite for her in the activitiesof the reception. For Jeff was as busily occupied as she was. Then,too, at the banquet she had ample time to recover from the shock. Butthe ball came, and they were both released from their duties, andeverybody was left free to dance as only the western people love todance.
It was then that her bitter cup was filled to overflowing. Jeff dancedsix times with Mrs. Van Blooren. Six times, and one supper extra,while she had to content herself with a miserable two dances with theone man who, to her stood out foremost among all men.
It was during the long hours of that dreary ball that she hadencountered her father's curious regard, and now she wondered if he hadseen what she had seen. If he had understood as she understood.
Nan wanted to cry. As she lay there on her snowy bed, restless, andwakeful, and troubled, there were certainly moments when her tired eyesfilled with tears. But she did not, would not cry. She smiled toherself, and even laughed. She ridiculed herself and made jest of herabsurd pretensions. She told herself a hundred times she had no claimupon Jeff. He was free to do as he chose, to dance all night with anyMrs. Van Blooren.
But when, at last, the first beam of daylight penetrated the lightmaterial of the window blinds, and slowly flooded the room, it foundNan in a troubled sleep with two great unshed tears slowly welling inthe corners of her eyes, and ready to fall heavily and sadly down theperfect moulding of her softly rounded cheeks.