Hope Hathaway: A Story of Western Ranch Life

  Produced by Peter Vachuska, Pat McCoy, Stephen Hope andthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team athttps://www.pgdp.net

  HOPE HATHAWAY

 

  _HOPE HATHAWAY_

  A Story of Western Ranch Life

  _BY FRANCES PARKER_

 

  BOSTON, MASS. C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO. (Inc.) 1904

  _COPYRIGHT, 1904_

  _by_

  _C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO. (Inc.) BOSTON, MASS., U. S. A._

  _Entered at Stationers Hall, London_

  _Rights of Translation, Public Reading and Dramatization Reserved_

  HOPE HATHAWAY

  CHAPTER I

  Hathaway's home-ranch spread itself miles over an open valley on theupper Missouri. As far as the eye reached not a fence could be seen, yetfour barbed-wires, stretched upon good cotton-wood posts, separated theranch from the open country about.

  Jim Hathaway was an old-time cattle-man. He still continued each summerto turn out upon the range great droves of Texas steers driven north byhis cowboys, though at this time it was more profitable to ship inWestern grown stock. He must have known that this was so, for every yearhis profits became less, yet it was the nature of the man to keep in theold ruts, to cling to old habits.

  The old-time cowboy was fast disappearing, customs of the once wild Westwere giving way before an advancing civilization. He had seen its slow,steady approach year after year, dreading--abhorring it. Civilizationwas coming surely. What though his lands extended beyond his goodeyesight, were not these interlopers squatting on every mile of creek inthe surrounding country? The open range would some time be a thing ofthe past. That green ridge of mountains to the west,--_his_ mountains,his and the Indians, where he had enjoyed unmolested reign for manyyears,--were they not filling them as bees fill a hive, so filling themwith their offensive bands of sheep and small cow-ranches that hiscattle had all they could do to obtain a footing?

  On one of his daily rides he had come home tired and out of humor. Thediscovery of a new fence near his boundary line had opened up anunpleasant train of thought, and not even the whisky, placed beside himby a placid-faced Chinese servant, could bring him into his usual jovialspirits. After glancing through a week-old newspaper and finding in itno solace for his ugly mood, he threw himself down upon his officelounge, spreading the paper carefully over him. The Chinaman, by rareintuition, divined his state of mind and stole cautiously into the roomto remove the empty glasses, at the same time keeping his eyes fixedupon the large man under the newspaper.

  Hathaway generally took a nap in the forenoon after returning from hisride, for he was an early riser, and late hours at night made this habitimperative. This day his mood brought him into a condition where he feltno desire to sleep, so he concluded, but he must have fallen into adoze, for the sharp tones of a girl's voice directly outside his windowbrought him to his feet with a start.

  "If that's what you're driving at you may as well roll up your beddingand move on!" It was spoken vehemently, with all the distinctness of aclear-toned voice. A man replied, but in more guarded tone, so thatHathaway went to the window to catch his words.

  "You don't know what you're talking about," he was saying. "This is myhome as well as yours, and I'd have small chance to carry out my word ifI went away, so I intend to stay right here. Do you know, Hope, when youget mad like that you're so devilish pretty that I almost hate you! Lookat those eyes! You'd kill me if you could, wouldn't you? But you'll loveme yet, and marry me, too, don't forget that!"

  "How can you talk to me so," demanded the girl, stepping back from him,"after all my father has done,--made you his son,--given you everythinghe would have given a son? Oh!" she cried passionately, "I can't _bear_you in this new role! It is terrible, and I've looked upon you as a_brother_! Now what are you? You've got no right to talk to me so--toinsist!"

  "But your mother----" he interrupted.

  "My _mother_!" weariedly. "Yes, of course! It would be all right there.You have money--enough. A good enough match, no doubt; and she would befreer to go,--would feel better to know that she had no moreresponsibility here. You know your ground well enough _there_." Thenwith growing anger: "Don't you ring in my mother on me! I tell you Iwouldn't marry you if I _never_ got married! I'm strong enough to fightmy own battles, and I will, and you'd better forget what you've said tome and change the subject forever!" She walked away, her strong, lithebody erect.

  "But you're handsome, you brown devil!" he cried, taking one step andclasping her roughly to him. She tore herself loose, her eyes blazingwith sudden fire, as Hathaway, white with anger, came suddenly aroundthe corner of his office and grasped the offender by the coat collar.Then the slim young man was lifted, kicked, and tossed alternately fromoff the earth, while the girl stood calmly to one side and watched theperformance, which did not cease until the infuriated man becameexhausted. Then the boy picked himself up and walked unsteadily towardthe building, against which he leaned to regain his breath whileHathaway stood panting.

  "Here, hold on a minute," roared the angry father as the young man movedaway. "I ain't done with you yet! Get your horse and get off this ranchor I'll break every bone in your damn body! You will treat my girl likethat, will you? You young puppy!" The young fellow was whippedundoubtedly, but gracefully, for he turned toward Hathaway and saidbetween swollen lips:

  "You don't want to blame me too much, Uncle Jim. Just look at the girl!Any man would find it worth risking his neck for her!" Then he movedslowly away, while the girl's eyes changed from stern to merry. Herfather choked with rage.

  "You--you--you----Get away from here, and don't talk back to me!" heroared at the retreating figure.

  The girl moved forward a few steps, calling: "That's right, Sydney, keepyour nerve! When you're ready to call it off we'll try to be friendsagain." Without waiting for her cousin's reply she ran into the house,while he lost no time in leaving the ranch, riding at a rapid gaittoward the nearest town. Hathaway watched him out of sight, then with anervous, bewildered shake of the head joined his wife and daughter atluncheon.

  "At last your father has come," sighed Mrs. Hathaway, as he appeared."Hope, ring for the chocolate; I'm almost famished. It seems to me,James," turning to her husband with some impatience, "that you might_try_ to be a little more prompt in getting to your meals--here we'vebeen waiting ages! You know I can't bear to wait for anyone!" She sighedproperly and unfolded her napkin.

  "My dear," said Hathaway blandly, "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting,but I've been somewhat occupied--somewhat."

  "But you should always consider that your meals come first, even if yourwife and family do not," continued the lady. "Where is Sydney? The dearboy is generally so very prompt."

  The effect of her words was not apparent. Her husband appearedabsent-minded and the meal began.

  The daughter, Hope, with quiet dignity befitting a matron, occupied thehead of the table, as she had done ever since her mother shifted theresponsibilities of the household to her young shoulders. When thisquestion was asked she gave her father a quick glance. Would heacknowledge the truth? Evidently not, for he began immediately to talkabout the new fence near his boundary line. It was a shame, he said,that these people were settling in around him.

  "The land's no good," he declared. "Nearly all the water around herethat's any account is on my place. All on earth these hobos are takingit up for is in expectation that I'll buy them out. Well, maybe I will,and again maybe I won't. I'd do most anything to get rid of them, but Ican't buy the earth." At this Hope smiled, showing a flash of strong,white teeth.

  "A
nd if you could buy the earth, what would you do with these people?"she asked, her face settling into its natural quiet. Her mother gave herthe usual look of amazement.

  "Hope, I must ask you not to say impertinent things to your father. Youno doubt meant to be witty, but you were none the less rude. Why do youallow her to say such things to you, James? You have succeeded inspoiling her completely. Now if _I_ had been allowed to send her away toschool she would have grown up with better manners."

  Hathaway passed his cup to be refilled, making no answer to his wife'soutburst. Perhaps he had learned in his years of experience that theless said the better. At any rate he made no effort to defend hisdaughter--his only child, and dear to him, too. If she had expected thathe would defend her it was only for a passing instant, then she returnedto her natural gravity. Her face had few expressions. Its chief charmlay in its unchanging immobility, its utter quiet, behind which gleamedsomething of the girl's soul. When her rare smile came, lighting it upwonderfully, she was irresistible--in her anger, magnificent.

  Ordinarily she would not have been noticed at first glance, except,perhaps, for the exceptionally fine poise of her strong, slim body. Shewas a true daughter of the West, tanned almost as brown as an Indianmaid, and easily might have passed for a half-breed, with her blue-blackeyes and hair of the darkest brown. But if she had Indian blood she didnot know it. Her mother, during the season, a flitting butterfly of NewYork society, a Daughter of the Revolution by half a dozen lines ofdescent, would have been horrified at the mere thought.

  The girl herself would not have cared had she been born and raised in anIndian camp. She had what Mrs. Hathaway termed queer ideas, due, as shealways took occasion to explain to her friends who visited the ranch, tothe uncivilized life that she had insisted upon living.

  Hope had been obstinate in refusing to leave the ranch. Threats andpunishments were unavailing. When a young child she had resolved neverto go away to school, and had set her small foot down so firmly that hermother was obliged to yield. Hathaway was secretly glad of this, forthe ranch was home to him, and he would not leave it for any length oftime.

  The little girl was great company to him, for his wife was away monthsat a time, preferring the gayety of her New York home to the quiet,isolated ranch on the prairie. Some people were unkind enough to saythat it was a relief to Hathaway to have the place to himself, andcertain it is that he never made any objections to the arrangement.Their only child, Hope, was educated on the ranch by the bestinstructors procurable, and readily acquired all the education that wasnecessary to her happiness.

  At Mrs. Hathaway's outburst the girl made no effort to defend herself,and was well aware from former experiences that her father would notcome to her aid. That he was afraid of her mother she would not admit.It seemed so weak and foolish. She had exalted ideas of what a manshould be. That her father fell below her standard she would notacknowledge. She loved him so, was proud of his good points, and inmany ways he was a remarkable man, his greatest weakness, if it could becalled that, being his apparent fear of his wife. Her dominion over him,during her occasional visits at the ranch, was absolute. Hope shut hereyes to this, telling herself that it was caused by his desire to makeher happy during these rare opportunities.

  Hathaway did not respond to his wife's somewhat uncalled-for remarks,but after a moment of silence adroitly changed the subject by inquiringof Hope who it was that had ridden up to the ranch just as he left thatmorning.

  "It must have been Joe Harris, from the mountains," she replied, "for hewas here shortly after you rode away. I thought he was out hunting thosecattle of his that I saw over on Ten Mile the other day, but he informedme that it was not cattle he was hunting this time, but a_school-teacher_. They have some sort of a country school up there inhis neighborhood, and I think, from what he said, and what some of theboys told me, that he must be the whole school board--clerk, trustees,and everything. He was on his way over to the Cross Bar ranch to see ifhe could secure that young fellow who came out from the East last fall.One of the boys told him that this young man had given up his callingindefinitely and was going on the round-up instead, but Harris rode onto try what persuasion would do."

  "That _dreadful_ man," sighed Mrs. Hathaway. "He is that _squaw-man_with those _terrible_ children! Hope, I wish you wouldn't talk sointimately with such people; it's below your dignity. If Sydney werehere he would agree with me. Where _is_ Sydney? Do you know where hewent? He will miss his luncheon entirely, the poor boy!"

  Hope looked searchingly at her father, but he ignored her glance. Surelyhe would say something now! The question trembled upon the air, but shewaited involuntarily for him to speak.

  "I've asked you a question, Hope. Why don't you answer; are you dumb?"said her mother, with a show of impatience. "Where _is_ Sydney?"

  "I don't know _just_ where he is," replied the girl at length, "but Ithink it would be safe to say that he is riding toward town; at least hewas heading that way the last I saw of him."

  "Toward town!" gasped her mother. "Why, he was going to drive in for theCresmonds to-morrow! You must be mistaken. Please do not include me inyour jokes!" Then, turning to Hathaway, continued: "James, where _did_he go?"

  Hathaway moved uneasily under the direct gaze of his daughter. "Ihaven't the least idea," he finally answered. "I can't keep track ofeveryone on the ranch." The girl's face turned pale under her tan. Sherose from the table and stood tall and straight behind her chair, herclear eyes direct upon her father.

  "Why don't you tell her," she cried with passion. Then the usual calmsettled over her face. She turned to her mother. "I may as well tellyou that we had a little scene this morning, Sydney and I. He proposedto me." She hesitated an instant, turned and caught her father'snervous, anxious look direct. He was watching her uneasily. Shecontinued deliberately: "I refused him--and sent him away from theranch. You may as well know all about it."

  "_You_ sent him away from the ranch," gasped Mrs. Hathaway.

  "Yes," answered the girl quietly. It was her first lie.

  "You _dared_ send him away--away from his own home!" almost screamedMrs. Hathaway, her rage increasing with every word. "_You dared!_ _You_,my own daughter--ungrateful, inconsiderate----You _know_ how I love thatboy, my poor Jennie's son! What business had you sending him away, oreven refusing him, I'd like to know! What if he is your cousin--yoursecond cousin? Oh, you have no consideration for me, _none_--you neverhad! How can I ever endure it here on this ranch three whole monthswithout Sydney! It was bad enough before!" She wrung her hands and rosesobbing from the table. "James, do go after that poor boy. Say that I amwilling he should marry Hope if he is so foolish as to want her. Tellhim not to mind anything she says, but that he _must_ come home. Youwill go at once, won't you?"

  She placed both hands imploringly on his arm.

  "Yes, I'll go after him to-morrow, so stop your worrying," he answeredsoothingly. "Hope, fetch your mother a glass of wine, don't you seeshe's all upset?"

  The girl brought the wine and handed it to her father, but his eyesshifted uneasily from her clear, steady ones. He led his unhappy wifefrom the room, leaving Hope alone with the empty wine glass in her hand.She stood so for a moment, then walked to the table and set the tinyglass down, but, oddly, raised it up again and looked at it closely.

  "As empty as my life is now," she thought. "As empty as this home is forme. I have no one--father, mother--no one." A queer look crossed herface; determination settled over her, as with a sudden, vehement motionshe shattered the frail glass upon the floor. A single thought, and anew life had opened before her.