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HOPE HATHAWAY

A Story of Western Ranch Life

BOSTON, MASS. C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING CO. 1904

HOPE HATHAWAY

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

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

On one of his daily rides he had come home tired and out of humor. The discovery of a new fence near his boundary line had opened up an unpleasant train of thought, and not even the whisky, placed beside him by a placid-faced Chinese servant, could bring him into his usual jovial spirits. After glancing through a week-old newspaper and finding in it no solace for his ugly mood, he threw himself down upon his office lounge, spreading the paper carefully over him. The Chinaman, by rare intuition, divined his state of mind and stole cautiously into the room to remove the empty glasses, at the same time keeping his eyes fixed upon the large man under the newspaper.

Hathaway generally took a nap in the forenoon after returning from his ride, for he was an early riser, and late hours at night made this habit imperative. This day his mood brought him into a condition where he felt no desire to sleep, so he concluded, but he must have fallen into a doze, for the sharp tones of a girl's voice directly outside his window brought him to his feet with a start.

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

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

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

"Here, hold on a minute," roared the angry father as the young man moved away. "I ain't done with you yet! Get your horse and get off this ranch or I'll break every bone in your damn body! You will treat my girl like that, will you? You young puppy!" The young fellow was whipped undoubtedly, but gracefully, for he turned toward Hathaway and said between swollen lips:

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