Alcatraz | Page 4

could not master cattle-raising in a few
weeks. She was unfemininely willing to take advice. She even hunted
for it, and though her father refused to enter into the thing even with
suggestions, a little help from Hervey plus her indomitable energy
might have made her attempt a success.
Hervey, however, was by no means willing to help. In fact, he was
profoundly disgruntled. He had found himself, beyond all expectation,
in a position almost as absolute and dignified as that of a real owner
with not the slightest interference from Jordan, when on a sudden the
arrival of this pretty little dark-eyed girl submerged him again in his old
role of the hired man. He took what Marianne considered a sneaking
revenge. He entered at once upon a career of the most perfect
subordination. No fault could be found with his work. He executed

every commission with scrupulous care. But when his advice was
asked he became a sphinx. "Some folks say one way and some another.
Speaking personal, I dunno, Miss Jordan. You just tell me what to do
and I'll do it."
This attitude irritated her so that she was several times on the verge of
discharging him, but how could she turn out so old an employee and
one so painstaking in the duties assigned to him? Many a day she
prayed for "a new foreman or night," but Hervey kept his job, and in
spite of her best efforts, affairs went from bad to worse and the more
desperately she struggled the more hopelessly she was lost. This affair
of the horses was typical. No doubt the saddle stock were in sad need of
improved blood but this was hardly the moment to undertake such an
expenditure. Having once suggested the move, the quiet smiles of
Hervey had spurred her on. She knew the meaning of those smiles. He
was waiting till she should exhaust even the immense tolerance of her
father; when she fell he would swing again into the saddle of control.
Yet she would go on and buy the mares if she could. Hers was one of
those militant spirits which, once committed, fights to the end along
every line. And indeed, if she ever contemplated surrender, if she were
more than once on the verge of giving way to the tears of broken spirit,
the vague, uninterested eyes of her father and the overwise smiles of
Hervey were whips which sent her back into the battle.
But today, when she regained her room in the hotel, she walked up and
down with the feeling that she was struggling against manifest destiny.
And in a rare burst of self-pity, she paused in front of the window,
gritting her teeth to restrain a flood of tears.
A cowpuncher rocked across the blur of her vision on his pony, halted,
and swung down in front of the stable across the street. The horse
staggered as the weight came out of the stirrup and that made Marianne
watch with a keener interest, for she had seen a great deal of merciless
riding since she came West and it always angered her. The
cowpunchers used "hoss-flesh" rather than horses, a distinction that
made her hot. If a horse were not good enough to be loved it was not
good enough to be ridden. That was one of her maxims. She stepped

closer to the window. Certainly that pony had been cruelly handled for
the little grey gelding swayed in rhythm with his panting; from his
belly sweat dripped steadily into the dust and the reins had chafed his
neck to a lather. Marianne flashed into indignation and that, of course,
made her scrutinize the rider more narrowly. He was perfect of that
type of cowboy which she detested most: handsome, lithe, childishly
vain in his dress. About his sombrero ran a heavy width of gold-braid;
his shirt was blue silk; his bandana was red; his boots were shop-made
beauties, soft and flexible; and on his heels glittered--gilded spurs!
"And I'll wager," thought the indignant Marianne, "that he hasn't ten
dollars in the world!"
He unknotted the cinches and drew off the saddle, propping it against
one hip while he surveyed his mount. In spite of all his vainglory he
was human enough to show some concern, it appeared. He called for a
bucket of water and offered it to the dripping pony. Marianne repressed
a cry of warning: a drink might ruin a horse as hot as that. But the gay
rider permitted only a swallow and then removed the bucket from the
reaching nose.
The old man who apparently sat all day and every day beside the door
of the stable, only shifting from time to time to keep in shadow, passed
his beard through his fist