Laramie Holds the Range | Page 8

things she freshened up a
little, in her father's bedroom, and by that time a man cook was
bringing breakfast into the big room, which served as living-room and
dining-room. Bradley, Belle, Kate and her father sat down--the men
had already breakfasted.
Kate, her head in a whirl with novelty and excitement, was overcome
with interest in everything, but especially in her father. Sitting at the
head of the table--at one end of which fresh places had been set--he
maintained her first impression of his stature. His spreading frame was
covered with loose corduroy clothes--which could hardly be said to
fit--and his whole appearance conveyed the impression of unusual
physical strength. It had been said of Barb Doubleday, as a railroad
builder, that he could handle an iron rail alone. His powerful jaw and
large mouth--now fitted, or rather, supplied--with artificial teeth of
proportionate size--all supported Kate's awe of his bigness. His long
nose, once smashed in a railroad fight, was not seriously scarred; and
originally well-shaped, it was still the best feature of a terrifically
weather-beaten face that had evidently seen milder days. The good
looks were gone, but not the strength. His mouth was almost shapeless
but unmistakably hard, and his grayish-blue eyes were cold--very cold;
try as she would, Kate could discern little love or sympathy in them.
This was the man who almost twenty years earlier had deserted her
mother and wee Kate, the baby, and long disappeared from Eastern
view--until by accident the fact that he was alive and in the far West
had become known to his wife and daughter. Kate thought she
understood something of the tragedy in her mother's life when the first
sight of her father's eyes struck a chill into her own heart.
But he was her father--and her mother had tried, in spite of all, to hide
or condone his faults; and more than once before she died, had made
Kate promise to hunt him up and go to him. What the timid girl
dreaded most was finding another woman installed in his household--in
which case she meant to make her stay in the West very short. But
every hour lessened these fears and as he himself gradually thawed a
little, Kate took courage.

The breakfast went fast. Platters were passed without ceremony or
delay. Her father and Bradley ate as Kate had never seen men eat; only
her amazement could keep pace with their quiet but unremitting efforts
to clean up everything in sight. There was little mastication but much
knife and fork work, with free libation of coffee; and Belle, Kate
noticed, while somewhat left behind by the men, paid strict attention to
the business in hand.
Conversation naturally lagged; but what took place had its surprise for
Kate. Doubleday asked a few questions of Belle--everybody seemed to
know everybody else--and learning she was headed for the Reservation,
possibly to teach school, hired her on the spot away from the job, to go
back to his eating-house at Sleepy Cat Junction. No sooner was this
arranged, and Bradley told to take her luggage off the stage, than a
diversion occurred.
A horseman dashed up outside and presently strode into the room. He
was tall and well put together; not quite as straight as an arrow, but
straight, and not ungraceful in his height. This was Harry Van Horn, a
neighboring cattleman, and he wore the ranchman's rig, including the
broad hat and the revolver slung at his hip. But everything about the rig
was fresh and natty, in the sunshine. He looked alert. His step was
clean and springy as he crossed the room, and his voice not unpleasant
as he briskly greeted Doubleday and looked keenly at his guests--last
and longest at Kate sitting at her father's right hand.
Doubleday introduced him to his daughter. Van Horn nodded, without
much deference, to Belle and to Bradley, neither of whom responded
more warmly. He sat down near Kate and with a look of raillery
scrutinized the remnant of meat left on the general platter: "How is it,
Barb?" he asked.
"What?"
"The antelope."
"All right, I guess."

Van Horn with a laugh turned to Kate: "Excited over it, isn't he? I got
an antelope yesterday, so I sent half of it over to your father." Then he
lowered his voice in pretended disgust. "He doesn't know what he's
eating--it might as well be salt pork. And you're a stranger here? I never
knew your father had a daughter. He's very communicative. How do
you like antelope?"
Without paying attention to anyone else, he set out for a moment to
entertain Kate. When he talked his face lighted with energy. Every
expression of his brown eyes snapped with life, and his big Roman
nose, though not making for beauty, one